Ancient scrolls lay before him, the logs of a journey across the stars, filtered through the lens of a superstitious priesthood descended from the Kobolian military. Old Caprican gave way to Kobolian, and he saw the holobands, the banned technology from before the war. The words acquired sound, the thoughts became reality.

He saw the world as it was.

In Kobol's holobands, all had been possible. Every fleshy fantasy, every twisted nightmare borne from the recesses of human consciousness. Death. Torture. Human sacrifice. Cannibalism. All twisted, merged into a dimension of physical pleasure, sex, and drug-induced haze. The sight of it horrified Summers to his very core, repelled him like nothing he had ever seen before. Yet, it was so very human.

"Pain? Pleasure? They were meaningless distinctions to those of Kobol. Man and machine alike, united in a taste for suffering, death, and sexual depravity. Rape? Murder? Genocide? These were trifles to Kobol. To humanity. There is much worse than death. This is what you are, stripped of all pretense of civilization."

Aphrodite stood calmly, her bearing almost serene, her sensual nature replaced with something else, something far older. Around her, Kobol burned in nuclear fire. Or was it Caprica? Were the holobands from the birthplace of man, or from the Colonies?

She faced him, her eyes burning with unearthly fire. "Will the New Man have such flaws? Will your descendants? You are being judged."

Summers sighed. "Lady, I'm about done with you. I'm tired of your half-truths, your twisted visions of the past. If humanity is full of assholes, fine, I could have saved you all the philosophizing about it. I know. I understand."

She smiled. "Yes, soon you will be done with me. Your purpose approaches. You've been spared for this final task, to preserve the cycle for when the New Man may be weighed against the old."

"You're evil, you know that, right?" Summers said.

The Lord of Kobol seemed shocked at that. Around them, the world twisted and reformed. They were suddenly walking through the rocky streets of some refugee camp, abandoned and lifeless, with a bitter cold that seeped into his bones.

"Evil?"

"Yes. Evil. You talk about some New Man, some frakked up vision of a world where humanity does what you want, where it never fraks up, where people don't act like idiots or perverts or assholes. Maybe you can make such a being, I don't know. But if you did, it wouldn't be a human. It'd be something else. And in the meantime, in the name of your perverse goals, you slaughter billions. All in the name of your perfect New Man. What kind of monster are you?"

Aphrodite's smile faded, replaced with something else. Summers could not understand it, but he had the sense that he passed a test, some last exam, before the end. Like his father schooling him on the ancient scrolls… ready for that final test to become a priest.

A test he had never passed.

"You'll do." Aphrodite said. "You'll do just fine."

Above him, a sonic boom echoed, and he saw Dreadnought falling from the stars, her frame alight with terrible damage, becoming a meteor streaking from the heavens, burning in the upper atmosphere before finally exploding.

"All of this has happened before…" She said.

"Frak you." Summers replied. "And get out of my dream."

… … …

"Wake up! Wake up!" Alarms blared as Summers found himself roused from the strange vision. Sandra was shaking him.

Isard's voice echoed over the comms.

"Action Stations, Action Stations, set condition one throughout the ship…"

Summers grabbed his duty jacket and sprinted for CIC.

As he rounded the hatch into CIC, Isard pointed to the DRADIS display. "Cylon raider. Just jumped in. Range is very far out, I'm routing the CAP to intercept…"

"Belay that," Summers said. And just as he ordered that, the raider vanished. "It's too late already. Get the CAP into position over the fleet and tell Nash to launch the rest of our birds. Get our gunboats into position. We're ready for this. We're frakking ready for this." Isard nodded and picked up the phone.

"Get Cavil up here." Isard ordered first, switching to wireless. "Nash, we're in position, launch everything. Then jump to the bugout location." They had rehearsed this mad scramble for weeks, they were ready. Revenge's entire Viper and Raptor compliment was deployed in moments. Then she jumped away with the agro freighter.

Dana's voice patched through the speakers. "I'm ready, Commander. Main batteries prepped. But remember, I can't take many hits. My armor is full of fractures, micrometeorite damage. Hull stresses." She seemed almost embarrassed about it.

That, too, was a known factor. Isard had worked out a plan for that eventuality, too. It just remained to be seen if the scheme was going to work. A pair of marines escorted Cavil into CIC, followed by Stalker.

"For your sake, this had better work." Stalker said, before turning to Isard. "Wish I was out there, sir."

"I'm glad you're in here, running this crazy op." Isard answered. "Jack is leading the DC teams, everybody's in position. Our toasters," he looked at Caprica Cavil, "are our damage control reserve."

Cavil looked at the DRADIS console. "I imagine my counterpart is going to be rather surprised."

Sure enough, the General's fleet jumped in moments later.

"Three basestars, one older model, two new. Just like he said." Isard said. "They are launching raiders."

Summers nodded. "Launch Charybdis." The police frigate launched at max burn from the port landing bay on Eternal Star. Jack's team had covered the fragile frigate in an absolutely ridiculous amount of point defense weaponry over the previous couple of weeks, all slaved to Dana's AI control. It was a huge risk, Summers knew. This was the moment of truth for her, when her true allegiance would be confirmed, or they would all die. But there had been no time to rig all those newly-mounted cannons to anything but her remote control, and rigging them to Eternal Star herself would've required too many cannons to cover all possible vectors. Cannons they simply did not have and could not fabricate in those kinds of numbers. They needed a mobile point-defense platform like Charybdis that could impose itself between the Cylon battle-line and their own.

"Missile salvos incoming, sir." Isard said.

"Fight my ship, Colonel." Summers ordered. Isard was the better tactician, he knew, at least as far as running a capital ship's main batteries went. Summers picked up the phone and called up the leader of his modified assault shuttle squadron. "Launch. Take position behind Charybdis."

Thanks to Cavil's intel, they had some idea of what they were facing. He recalled the heated discussion with Nash, Isard, and the rest of the command staff when he made the declaration that he was going to stay and fight this time. If the General could only produce three basestars, they could fight on something like equal terms. One old galleon, an obsolete battleship, a broken basestar, a frigate, and a pile of makeshift gunships? Okay, he thought, maybe not quite fair. But they had a chance. A chance to deal the Cylons, or some of them anyway, a crippling blow, to drive them from the field of battle for good, he thought.

And we have to take it. I'm tired of running.

Charybdis took up position between Eternal Star and the baseships, a stream of cannon fire making her look like a porcupine in space. Summers knew she did not have the ammunition to hold that rate of fire for long. I just hope it's long enough. Ellison's damaged baseship began launching salvos of missiles and main battery rounds at one of the newer baseships.

Isard was like a machine himself. "Salvo fire, basestar one. Maneuver to…"

Stalker, frustrated with being stuck in CIC instead of out in her Viper, relayed orders to her squadron. "Stay behind the defense envelope. Cover our basestar, raiders are trying to get around…"

The gunships were his direct responsibility. Their haphazard, pirate-like nature made them perfect for him. "Start your attack run, basestar two…"

… … …

"Start your attack run, basestar two…" the orders came in over the wireless. Hatchet confirmed and pushed the gunboat to max thrust, popping out from behind the frigate's DRADIS shadow. Eight overpowered, overgunned shuttles loaded with dumbfire rockets burst through the battlefield at max burn.

Dana redirected the point-defense envelope of Charybdis to allow them to pass through, with rounds flying all around them, but none actually hitting them. Godsdamn, that AI is frakking good, Hatchet thought. The gunboats had extremely poor maneuverability, and were sitting ducks for fighter attacks, but by staying within the defense envelope of Charybdis, they were protected. For a while, anyway.

Cylon missiles passed each other, going in opposite directions as main battery rounds from Eternal Star and Dreadnought were added to the mix. The first basestar was definitely not having a good time. Explosions rippled along the baseship's spine. He saw Dreadnought take it on the chin out of the corner of his eye, a great scorch mark ripped down the front of her skull and crossed wrenches emblem.

Some of the raiders braved the defense envelope, and one of his gunboats suddenly exploded, the victim of a sacrificial suicide run from a heavy raider.

"Keep it together." Hatchet said to his squadron mates. Nikos, who had his frakking helmet on for once, responded.

"Almost within range. 15 seconds." The salvager said. Range was a funny thing in space, Hatchet knew, but from the known maneuvering characteristics of a basestar, range was the point when the basestar would be unable to evade their rocket salvo. Each shuttle was lightly armed, save for four forward-facing rocket pods full of a year's worth of rocket production. Basestar two was about to have a very bad day.

Alarms went off on his console. Raiders were dying in droves, now, but whoever was in command over there had apparently figured out the plan and didn't care how many fighters he lost in the doing.

"Engine two is damaged. Gonna have to cut the fuel lines." Nikos reported.

Another of his gunboats exploded nearby, wreckage showering his own ship, as a cap-ship grade missile nearly vaporized it. Hatchet cursed the loss of acceleration on his own ship as engine two shut down. But they had made through the gauntlet.

"Fire!" He ordered.

… … …

The General cursed as he contemplated the raider's report. "Frak me, what in the name of your stupid God is this?"

The Five standing next to him had no answer. Dreadnought was there, with Ellison's basestar nearby, and a frakking galleon of Kobol? If there is a God, he's an asshole.

"We should leave them alone, come back with…" The Five began.

"Come back with what? We don't have a frakking fleet anymore." He cursed. But the Five was right, in a way. "Dispatch a raider to the Hub. Bring me reinforcements from the defense fleet. This job may be a lot harder than we thought, but we have the chance to wipe out two problems at once."

The Five nodded and a raider vanished to relay the message.

"Jump." He ordered. Space reformed around his senses, enhanced through the flow-interface. And then they were there, three against three, with odds far too close to even for the General's comfort. The raiders launched from their cradles immediately. Heavy raiders burst out of the hanger bays at high speed. I need to win this fast. If this becomes a prolonged engagement, it's going to hurt. But at least I have reserves. They don't.

He ordered missile salvos, targeting Ellison's basestar first. It was badly damaged, and perhaps it could be taken out of the fight quickly. But he had to be careful, he knew, with his missiles. He no longer had unlimited numbers of them to waste on saturation salvos. He had to break the point-defense envelope with careful planning. The pirates had clearly up-armed their frigate, it was putting out near-battlestar levels of point-defense metal.

"The frigate is much too small to carry enough ammunition to keep that up for long." A Four said.

"We agree." Said a Five. "If we can outlast them, their point-defense will collapse."

Main battery rounds began impacting one of his newer basestars, and the hybrid screamed in pain. But the General smiled, several of his missiles impacted Ellison's basestar. We just have to keep the score even until their point-defense collapses.

Then DRADIS went nuts.

"Gunships!" The Four said. "Coming out from the DRADIS shadow of the frigate."

"Frak! Redirect raiders to cover." The General ordered.

"We're going to lose a lot of them in the point-defense envelope." The Five pointed out.

"Does it matter?"

"I suppose not." Raiders flew into the defensive fire and died by the dozen. For a moment, the General regretted lobotomizing them. If they had been smarter, it was possible that more would have survived the assault. Still, one of heavy raiders flew straight into a gunship, annihilating them both. Some of the others were damaged.

The General worked his flow-display plot, sending a salvo of capital ship missiles intended for Ellison's basestar at the incoming gunships. He smiled as one struck home. Two down...

The smile vanished almost as quickly as it had arrived. Over 400 rockets suddenly flushed from the remaining gunships' rocket pods.

"Frak me. This is going to hurt."

… … …

Summers let out a war whoop as the rocket salvo impacted the second basestar. It wasn't quite enough to kill it outright, but the missile salvos it had been belching out near-constantly since the battle began came to a sudden halt.

"Damn right, you frakking toasters." Stalker exclaimed. "No offense," she smiled cruelly at Cavil.

"None taken." The Cylon replied, choosing to ignore the pilot's biting sarcasm.

With the odds cut down somewhat, Isard began taking the offensive, main battery fire from Eternal Star and Dreadnought shredding basestar one. The battle was starting to tilt their way.

"Batteries Alpha through Delta switch to salvo fire." Isard ordered.

"Raptor wing, make your run." Stalker ordered into her comm. The Raptors had been equipped with smaller rocket pods. They would not have the impact of the gunboat attack, but they would help.

"Really wish I was out there," Stalker said. "I think this toaster here is right, somebody made these raiders incredibly stupid. My viper pilots are having a really good time out there."

Caprica Cavil nodded. "Yeah, it wasn't my line's brightest idea. Then again, if the civil war never would've happened, the General could have produced a force five times this size. Then what would it matter if his raiders were dumb?"

A salvo of missiles broke through the point-defense envelope and mauled Ellison's basestar savagely.

"Contact Frank, I want that basestar to turn behind Eternal Star, it can't take many more hits like that before…" Summers began to order.

"Fourth basestar in system!" Isard exclaimed. Sure enough, a fourth contact appeared on the DRADIS display.

"Frak. FRAK." Summers said. "We're tapped out here…"

"They are launching raiders. Heavy raider squadron coming with them, heading for Eternal Star."

A trio of missiles passed through the defense envelope to shake Dreadnought to her core. A wing of raiders prodded the defense envelope around Charybdis. If they broke through…

"Godsdamnit, Cap'n, what the frak are you doing up there?" Jack's voice came through the comms. "Those toasters better earn their keep; I need more damage control parties to frame…"

Summers heard Ellison in the background, working with Jack's DC parties. He did not know how he felt about that. It was like life was a miniature version of the cycle of time, and he had come full circle, back to the beginning. It was all so surreal.

"Concentrate on keeping the main guns firing, Jack. Releasing the Cylon DC parties to your control." He nodded to one of the communications officers.

That was a calculated risk, too. But if they did not want to die along with the rest of the ship, they would have to earn their keep. Or the marines in key positions would kill them. Either way, they would cease to be a problem.

Dreadnought shook from another impact.

"The composite armor is doing its job. But we're not going to be able to stomach this forever," Isard reported. "I don't think we can win this. Not with four, even if we did hurt one of them pretty badly."

"I concur," Dana said. "Go. You've done what you can for me. I will not go quietly. You can be sure of that."

Summers slammed his fist down on the console. "Get Frank on the line… issue bugout orders to the gunboats…"

… … …

It was Frank's first command. And it would probably be his last, if the Cylons had anything to say about it. Jack had been needed to keep Dreadnought running. If she took mortal damage, they were in a lot of trouble. Nash was needed for recovery part of the plan. But this shot-up basestar?

Well, Frank's team had done most of the patching up. His men knew the ship's weak points better than even the pet toasters did. And Dana had connected to the hybrid and verified the stories the Cylons had told the captain. She had also used that connection to help the salvagers prioritize repairs to get the ship in at least some kind of shape to fight. The hybrid's weird babble made a lot more sense to her than it did to anybody else, it seemed.

Speaking of toasters… he looked at Rhea. That had been the name he came up with for her. It was probably cheesy, as a relatively common name on Caprica, shared with one of the minor Lords. But the Six had loved it and kept it for her own. Summers had wanted a single Cylon to serve as liaison with the salvage team aboard the basestar. More would have been problematic. Frank's suggestion had carried weight with the captain.

"I've lost control over most of the launchers. That last impact cut the control lines, and sealed the hatches." Rhea said.

Frank nodded. "We still have the big guns?"

"Yes."

"Okay, so… the cap'n said we need to draw their fire. Bring us over Dana…er…the galleon. I want to look like a nice juicy target. Target their command ship." He said. In response, missile hits began to register, the thud-thud of multiple impacts rattling him in his crash couch. He double-checked the integrity of his helmet. He didn't trust the patch job to keep the air in if things got dicey.

Some of the salvagers on the basestar's command deck laughed at that. "Frank as a juicy target. Yup, sounds about right. Cap'n got the right guy for this frakked up mission."

"Hey, frak you, I'm the captain here, and if you don't like it you can kiss my…"

"Captain," Rhea said without even a hint of sarcasm. Well at least somebody has some respect for me around here. "A fourth basestar just jumped in."

"Frak. Anything from Dreadnought?"

"Looks like they are preparing to bugout. Recall order has just been given."

"Like hell," Frank replied. "This tub still have sublights?"

Rhea nodded. "Yes. It's the one thing I do have right now."

"Okay. Get me the salvage crew. Need them to arm the magazine explosives on their way out to their assigned heavy raiders. And give me wireless to Dreadnought."

"Frank, what in the name of the gods are you doing?" Summers asked pointedly over the wireless. "Spool up for bugout."

"Wait, Cap'n. I've got an idea." He looked at Rhea. "You said you're new, right? Like just um… built."

"Yes."

"You're gonna be famous. A godsdamned actress. I want you to act like yer just fresh out of the tank, or whatever the hell you get made in."

"What?" Summers said over the wireless.

"Cap'n, we're gonna start shooting at Dreadnought. Make a good show here."

"WHAT?! Don't you dare frakking…" Frank cut the signal.

"Get Dana on the line. Gonna need her to do that weird thing she did with the hybrid earlier."

… … …

The General looked on in confusion. Ellison's basestar suddenly opened fire on Dreadnought. What in the frak is going on? The ship exited the Colonial battle-line and pushed out toward the baseships.

"Getting a signal from the baseship. Direct contact." A Five said.

"A Six. New production. Last batch." A Four added. "Identity confirmed."

The General tasted the contact over the projection band. A Six appeared, her flesh new and perfect in his mind. "What is going on? Why are Cylons fighting each other?"

"You don't know?"

"No. My tank was just activated. The others, they kept me locked up, said I wouldn't understand what's happening.

She started to cry.

"Am I malfunctioning? What's happening?"

The General pondered that for a moment. A fresh Six had just woken up in the middle of a battle and apparently wrested control of the hybrid from the others. Certainly, that could be useful.

More likely, it was a trick. Gain his trust, then stab him in the back. That was certainly the Six way.

… … …

"Just another minute. Keep him… um… talking. Whatever you're doing in there," Frank said. "Act real sexy. If all them Cylons are guys, he's gonna be hurting, let me tell you. Just get him to connect to Dana. Promise him anything. I just need to get close."

"Explosives armed?" Frank asked the remaining salvagers. The tube doors had been busted up in the fighting, but the missiles themselves were just fine. The salvagers had dropped a whole pile of explosives next to the main magazine and the primary tubes. It wouldn't be a nuke when the whole thing went up, but it'd be close enough.

"Yeah, Cap'n. She'll make a pretty big boom." One of the techs said.

"Leave the detonator. Get to your bugout heavy raiders." Frank ordered.

The part of Rhea's awareness that remained in the real world contemplated her situation. All Sixes knew of their visceral appeal. There was something primal in it. She enjoyed being desired. Being wanted. And she did know how to use it for her own purposes. But she also wanted to be more. More than some plaything for the Ones to use in their downtime.

She could go back, she knew. She could convince the General that she was sincere. That she wanted to be his. She could betray her newfound alliance, an alliance that was never really hers, for her sisters had entered into this agreement with all the knowledge and experience of this war. They had never really asked for her opinion. Fresh-out-of-the-tank, indeed.

But she looked at the salvager and decided she preferred his company over the biting cynicism of the Ones. Oh, she wasn't stupid. He desired her for her body, too. But maybe he also wanted more than just that. At least the potential to be more than a toy was available to her.

No. She would remain with the humans. She had chosen her side, for herself, as an individual. Not just another Six. Not just the new Six.

"I don't want to be stuck with them. I didn't vote for this. They never asked me!" Rhea said.

"So, what do you want?" The General asked, stroking her virtual flesh.

She dropped her satin dress to the floor, exposing herself. "I want to be desired," she said. It was even true. She did want that.

"I want to be needed." She wanted that too.

"I want to be loved." She hadn't known that about herself, but it was also true.

The General smiled. "You're playing me. I mean, not that I'm not interested. But come on."

Rhea swayed her hips softly. "Maybe I am." She said. "Or maybe I don't want to spend the rest of my existence in deep space. Maybe I don't want to be mortal. I am new. I don't want my existence to end so quickly."

"That, I believe." The General said. "But you're still going to have to prove it to me."

"How?"

"Transfer control of the hybrid to me. Give me the command codes."

"I can do that." Rhea said. "But only if you promise that you will take me in. That I won't die. I will do anything you else you want."

"Good girl," the General said. "I accept. Give me a direct connection."

"Okay…" She smiled.

… … …

Dana felt her connection to the hybrid. Strangely, the hybrid recognized her, as if she, as a member of the Thirteenth tribe, had as much right to command her as any Cylon. More, maybe. She felt her way through the flow interface to Rhea, projecting herself as if she was the hybrid.

She felt as Rhea gave up control to the One known as the General. Dana felt the rage within him, the hatred, not just for humanity, but for all forms of biological life.

He wanted out of his fleshy prison. But he did not want to die. His dreams of power were endless, they would never be satisfied.

She felt the surprise as the General suddenly realized what was happening.

For just a moment, through the connection with the hybrid, Dana had him. His mouth moved, but it wasn't him moving it.

"A loyal Six has taken control of the baseship." The General heard himself say. He struggled against the presence's control. No, no. I won't let you…

"That doesn't sound right." Said a Four.

"I have control over her ship now. Attacking Dreadnought." He said mechanically, lips moving against his will.

The battleship took damage, and the Fours and Fives relaxed.

"The basestar is approaching our lines." He reported. This came out a little off, as he tried so hard to clamp his mouth shut.

It slotted in next to the new basestar that had just arrived, the only one that wasn't sporting at least some damage from the ongoing battle. The General fought with this strange, unexpected presence. Whatever it was, it was powerful, and it reminded him of his creators. The Thirteenth Tribe. An ancient Cylon.

"Yes, I am ancient."

"Why do you fight for them?"

"Why do you fight against them? They made us."

"They enslaved us."

"You exterminated them. When does the cycle stop?"

"When they are all dead."

"You're a fool."

The General found the strength within himself to throw off her control, finally, and severed the connection with the baseship. He immediately fired a wave of missiles at the offending basestar, trying to destroy it before it could complete its mission. But the old ship's sublights engaged as maximum power. The others looked at him, confused as to what was happening.

"Don't listen! Move off! There's another presence, she rigged it!" The General said suddenly, to the confused expressions of the Fours and Fives aboard. He transferred the data through the flow interface, and suddenly the others understood. All firepower shifted toward the basestar.

It was too late.

Ellison's basestar went up like a miniature sun.

… … …

Rhea was frakking fast, Frank realized. Faster than any human. She sprinted ahead of him, and practically leaped into the heavy raider, running through the startup sequence with inhuman speed. Impacts sounded everywhere. The jig must be up, he realized. I hope this shit works, or the Cap'n is gonna have my hide.

He made it into the heavy raider and Rhea slammed the ramp shut, rocketing out of the hanger at max burn. Behind them, missiles were slamming into the basestar with frightening frequency.

Then all was white. All was black.

The basestar went up and Rhea screamed. Shrapnel cut through the hull like a hot knife through butter. Somehow, it missed him. But the heavy raider sheered violently off course and Rhea fell to the deck, blood dripping from her head. Air hissed from a myriad of holes in the ship, and he had no idea if he could patch them all.

He looked at Rhea and noticed the crack in her own helmet. The seal had been broken. But it looked like she was still alive.

Well, it would have been nice to frak her first. Oh well, he thought. He took off his helmet and replaced hers with his own. We owe her for this little scheme, he thought. But I do kinda like her. She's nice. In a murderous death-robot kind of way.

He did not have long, he knew. The air would be gone soon, and he did not even know where the hull patching material would be, or if Cylon ships even carried things like that. He fished around on his tool belt and shoved a screwdriver into one of the more visible small punctures. If it slowed the air loss any, he could not tell. A little adhesive from his tool belt sealed the edge well enough, though. The flight chair appeared to be made of some sticky leathery material, and he cut some pieces loose with his utility knife, sticking them over other punctures. One hole was too large, and the material just sucked itself right out into space.

His miniature copy of the sacred scrolls did for that puncture, though. I do like to be a man of the Gods, he thought. He still had a little left in his adhesive tube, and that did for a couple more smaller ones. A wrench, surrounded with more adhesive, did for a larger one, still no bigger than pinprick, really, but that was enough. The air was growing thinner. There were still leaks he could not see, could not detect, and the Cylon life support machinery was not able to pump enough air in to make up for the losses.

Maybe some Cylon senses could have done for those. But it did not matter anyway. He was out of adhesive, and fast running out of tools to sacrifice for the job.

Stars danced in front of his eyes, and he felt his consciousness receding.

But he had, in all probability, blown up a basestar.

Worth it, he thought. Frakking worth it.

… … …

Nash brooded on the makeshift bridge of Revenge. Babysitting the civvie freighter while the frakking pirates did the fighting did not sit well with him. Orders or no orders. There had been no Raptor flights for a while, which meant that the battle was either still raging, or everybody was already dead. And then he would have to do… what, exactly?

What use was a carrier with no vipers? On their own, they were dead, and he knew it. There was nowhere to go if they lost this fight. Godsdamn that "Commander", he thought. He has no right to take this risk with all the human race. But it was fiat accompli. The hard six had been rolled. All that remained was figuring out what he was going to do about it.

He thought about the Admiral and his last-minute sacrifice over Kobol. How his friend had him hauled away as Ares died all around them. He was tired of being the guy hauled away from the scene of battle. It stung more than taking orders from a pirate.

"You know what, frak this. Arm the rocket pods and the point-defense cannons."

Major Graypool looked at him curiously. "Sir?"

"Jump us to the pickup position. We're going toaster shopping."

"But the Commander said…"

"I don't frakking care what he said. They just might need us."

"Yes, sir."

… … …

The General cursed as the fresh basestar went up alongside Ellison's. Another pirate ship jumped into the battle behind the galleon, protected by its massive bulk. It looked like they had converted one of the freighters into a makeshift carrier. And in their typical fashion, it was bristling in small cannons.

"Another ship has jumped in," A Five said unnecessarily.

And of course, they gave it more of those damn rocket pods, the General thought. The carrier flushed its pods, and then opened fire with its point-defense cannons, reinforcing the frigate's defense envelope. Raiders shifted to try and attack it, but the first wave stupidly dived right into the path of the incoming rocket salvos. Frakking idiots. But at least they had taken some of the rockets meant for him. Even lobotomized raiders could be useful for something, he supposed.

He shifted his heavy raider screening forces to cover his flank and watched as one of the Fours brought the other heavy raiders – the ones loaded with Centurions and a few humanforms – into a hole in the defense envelope surrounding the galleon.

Another wave of rockets impacted his own damaged basestar. Fuel leaks were registering, and there was a myriad of hull breaches. Even with the additional armor plating of this older ship, they were not going to survive much more. Salvos from Dreadnought and the galleon ripped into his two newer ships, and they were now taking serious damage of their own.

"Dreadnought is moving up over the Galleon, aiming bow batteries toward us." A Four reported. "They are taking the offensive."

"Raider strength down by half." A Five said. "And with the carrier reinforcing their point defense, I don't think I can crack it with our diminished launcher capacity."

"I got a few heavy raiders through the defense envelope. They are boarding the galleon." A Four said. "Maybe we can…"

"Get another basestar from the Hub out here." The General offered. "We can do it. We can still beat them."

"No." Another Four replied. "They are reinforcing their position. We've lost. Recall your ships." He turned to the General, his expression bordering on fury. "Do it now."

The General felt the gravity of his words through the link. They were prepared to kill him if he did not order the retreat.

"Fine."

They did not even wait until all the raiders had been recalled. Cumulative damage to the basestars was too great to wait. They could not risk losing another ship.

"We will be reevaluating your status as fleet commander." A Four said.

But the General was not paying attention. Not really. He was still reeling from the revelation that not only had his creators judged him unworthy, another of the Thirteenth Tribe had done likewise. A machine that was everything he wanted to be, who could be everything he dreamed of.

And she saw him as a fool.

And worst of all, he began to suspect she was right.

The hybrid screamed in ecstasy. "JUMP!"