Battletech Battletech/Battlestar Galactica Crossover - Lucky 13th (the rewrite)
- Thread starter LordSunhawk
- Start date
PainGod85
Member
Ah, I see. I'm not familiar with that designer. Looks like a strange artifact to not have been patched TBH.
Adventwolf
Well-known member
It is making as if the thing was a mech instead of a ASF. It isn't a huge deal since for aerotech units it is .5g per movement point anyways.
To be fair, Blake was one of the only people in the ex-Star League government who sincerely tried to make the situation better. It's not really his fault that his second-in-command decided to not only take his deathbed ravings literally, but double down on them until they became the exact sort of power mongering corruption that Blake literally spent his life fighting against.
and do remember 'unreliable narrator', the perspective of the THiE *may not be true*, it's what they *believe* to be true.
Wait, I thought the dude genuinely went nuts towards the end of his life and started believing in the coolaid he was drinking from? Forgive me but my Lore is still spotty but I thought that upon his death his Second in Command decided to take it to the next level from there.
It's kinda a matter of interpretation. Given all the good Blake did while trying to salvage civilization from the fall of the Star League, I think it's reasonable to be generous towards him.
UltimatePaladin
Well-known member
I don't think Blake really sounds like he's raving, here.
BattleTech Second Succession War said:
Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Adama was still frowning when the comm tech twitched again visibly, he was already turning to face the youngster when the boy looked up “Sir, I’m picking something up, but I can’t understand it at all.” he looked… very confused.
“How so?” Adama asked, arching one eyebrow.
“It’s some language I can’t really understand, a few fragments of it are familiar, but it’s mostly just gibberish.” came the response.
Adama was across CIC in a few steps and held out his hand for the headset, which the baffled comm tech handed over immediately.
Indeed, whatever was being said was gibberish. A few syllables were familiar, and his mind latched onto them, but otherwise it was incomprehensible jibber jabber. He pointed to the transmit button and the tech hastily pressed it.
“This is Admiral Adama of the Colonial Battlestar Galactica. Halt your approach or I will be forced to consider it a hostile action.” he said firmly, in his typical Voice Of Command.
His eyebrow twitched, as he was sure that most of the CIC crew who weren’t long service veterans probably expected the other side to obey simply because The Old Man said so. More likely they’d at least slow down to investigate, because this was an attempt at communication. Whoever these ships belonged to, it at least wasn’t the Cylons they knew about.
-----
Onboard Constitution the Comm Officer started, adjusting his controls slightly. “I think I’ve gotten something, Skipper, but it’s… not in English, Sir, that I can say for sure.”
Dacre nodded. “Back port it through the HPG link to Circe Base, they’ve got linguists.” he ordered calmly. “Meanwhile, Helm, hold position relative to the unknowns, maintain sensor locks and make sure Petra and Kurogami have their birds on hot alert. If they want to actually talk, we’ll let them. Sensors, let me know if that other group of vessels an AU away does anything.”
The Helm Officer responded crisply even as he operated his console, bringing the heavy cruiser to a relative halt acceleration wise with a powerful retro burn. “Holding position relative to the unknown, Sir, Aye.”
“Aye sir.” the Comm Officer replied, tapping a few controls. After a few moments he looked up at Dacre. “Petra and Kurogami report full readiness, Circe Base has acknowledged receipt… hold one… Sir, Circe Base would like to speak with you.”
-----
Kerry was frowning as she listened to the audio, taking notes on a notepad in her isolated office. Surrounded by her beloved computers and well away from other people she was actually relaxed, rather than having to fake it and bluster through on sheer bravado.
She’d picked up a mix of Classical Attic Greek, Aramaic and Akkadian roots, with a hint or two of Ancient Egyptian at points. It was a fascinating mix that seemed far too organic to be an artificial construct.
She tapped her pencil on the notepad as she listened with one ear, waiting for the ship on the other end to respond to her request.
-----
“Very well.” he picked up the spare headset. “Constitution Actual here.” he said shortly, confident that the Comm Officer had already set up the link.
Kerry’s voice came through. “Circe Base here, Captain. The language is very similar to classical Attic Greek with some Akkadian and Aramaic elements. An Admiral Adama of something something Galactica ordered you to halt your approach or he’d consider us foes. Galactica sounded like a proper noun, probably the ship's name, so the unknown words are probably the designation, might be something like conflict star or the like since it sounds like a compound word. The first word could be either outpost, colony, or port. Voice Stress Analysis indicates an older man, probably a lifer, has harmonics typical of long service officers. Determined, stressed, but not really hostile.”
Dacre nodded even as he spoke. “If I linked you into a conference can you handle translations realtime?”
“Of course I can!” came a somewhat amused sounding response. “What do you want me to tell them?”
He nodded over to the Comm officer, who manipulated the controls. “You’re live and microphone’s hot, Sir.”
“Galactica, this is Captain Dacre of HWS Constitution you have entered space claimed by the Terran Hegemony. State your purpose for being here.” Dacre said, then waited for Kerry to make the translation.
-----
Adama’s eyebrow twitched again as the incoming vessel actually came to a relative halt, although it did require a rather considerable retro thruster burn to cancel the momentum it had built up in a fairly short amount of time. Then came another rush of gibberish, followed by a very heavily accented but barely comprehensible statement in Old Caprican.
He frowned, then went very still. “Repeat that last, did you say Terran Hegemony?”
Heads across CIC snapped over to stare at him, and for once he didn’t immediately order them to attend to their duties. Could it be…
----
Dacre blinked as Kerry translated the response. “The Terran Hegemony in Exile, yes. Please explain your presence here, Admiral Adama.” he said slowly, eyes narrowing in thought.
----
Adama straightened, a light burning in his eyes. The ‘in exile’ part concerned him, but this must be the 13th Tribe, Terra was the Old Caprican term for ‘Earth’.
The CIC crew caught his reaction and looked to be on the verge of pandemonium, but he quickly glared everybody back to their duties, although he knew they were all listening to him.
He tapped one finger on the console, trying to decide just what to say. He looked over at Tigh.
“Is Racetrack’s Raptor available?” he asked, frowning slightly.
“Yes.” his XO said, but Adama cut him off before he could say anything more.
“Good, send it back to the main fleet and request that Colonial One return. Tell President Roslin.” he paused, then slowly smiled. “That we may have made contact with the 13th Tribe.”
CIC erupted.
----
Dacres was frowning, waiting for a response to come through. Longer than he’d thought it would take the gruff incomprehensible voice returned.
“Sending a… bird?... to bring authority.” came the translation from Kerry. “Sounded like a proper noun, but maybe raptor, or hawk, or something predatory and avian.”
Dacre blinked, a bit floored. “You mean that we’re close enough to their space that they have a political sort this close that an Admiral has to ask permission to talk?” he was incredulous. “And we never knew they were out here?”
A/N - I am not 100% satisfied with this chapter, mostly because it is dialogue heavy and that is my weakest area as a writer. Quick note, in the Battlestar Galactica Writer’s Guide, 1 parsec is equal to the distance between Earth and the Sun (IE 1 AU), which is wildly different from the actual scientific definition. A metric is a kilometer. DRADIS is a sort of jack-of-all-sensors thing, as DRADIS is used for things radar would never be useful for.
Adama was still frowning when the comm tech twitched again visibly, he was already turning to face the youngster when the boy looked up “Sir, I’m picking something up, but I can’t understand it at all.” he looked… very confused.
“How so?” Adama asked, arching one eyebrow.
“It’s some language I can’t really understand, a few fragments of it are familiar, but it’s mostly just gibberish.” came the response.
Adama was across CIC in a few steps and held out his hand for the headset, which the baffled comm tech handed over immediately.
Indeed, whatever was being said was gibberish. A few syllables were familiar, and his mind latched onto them, but otherwise it was incomprehensible jibber jabber. He pointed to the transmit button and the tech hastily pressed it.
“This is Admiral Adama of the Colonial Battlestar Galactica. Halt your approach or I will be forced to consider it a hostile action.” he said firmly, in his typical Voice Of Command.
His eyebrow twitched, as he was sure that most of the CIC crew who weren’t long service veterans probably expected the other side to obey simply because The Old Man said so. More likely they’d at least slow down to investigate, because this was an attempt at communication. Whoever these ships belonged to, it at least wasn’t the Cylons they knew about.
-----
Onboard Constitution the Comm Officer started, adjusting his controls slightly. “I think I’ve gotten something, Skipper, but it’s… not in English, Sir, that I can say for sure.”
Dacre nodded. “Back port it through the HPG link to Circe Base, they’ve got linguists.” he ordered calmly. “Meanwhile, Helm, hold position relative to the unknowns, maintain sensor locks and make sure Petra and Kurogami have their birds on hot alert. If they want to actually talk, we’ll let them. Sensors, let me know if that other group of vessels an AU away does anything.”
The Helm Officer responded crisply even as he operated his console, bringing the heavy cruiser to a relative halt acceleration wise with a powerful retro burn. “Holding position relative to the unknown, Sir, Aye.”
“Aye sir.” the Comm Officer replied, tapping a few controls. After a few moments he looked up at Dacre. “Petra and Kurogami report full readiness, Circe Base has acknowledged receipt… hold one… Sir, Circe Base would like to speak with you.”
-----
Kerry was frowning as she listened to the audio, taking notes on a notepad in her isolated office. Surrounded by her beloved computers and well away from other people she was actually relaxed, rather than having to fake it and bluster through on sheer bravado.
She’d picked up a mix of Classical Attic Greek, Aramaic and Akkadian roots, with a hint or two of Ancient Egyptian at points. It was a fascinating mix that seemed far too organic to be an artificial construct.
She tapped her pencil on the notepad as she listened with one ear, waiting for the ship on the other end to respond to her request.
-----
“Very well.” he picked up the spare headset. “Constitution Actual here.” he said shortly, confident that the Comm Officer had already set up the link.
Kerry’s voice came through. “Circe Base here, Captain. The language is very similar to classical Attic Greek with some Akkadian and Aramaic elements. An Admiral Adama of something something Galactica ordered you to halt your approach or he’d consider us foes. Galactica sounded like a proper noun, probably the ship's name, so the unknown words are probably the designation, might be something like conflict star or the like since it sounds like a compound word. The first word could be either outpost, colony, or port. Voice Stress Analysis indicates an older man, probably a lifer, has harmonics typical of long service officers. Determined, stressed, but not really hostile.”
Dacre nodded even as he spoke. “If I linked you into a conference can you handle translations realtime?”
“Of course I can!” came a somewhat amused sounding response. “What do you want me to tell them?”
He nodded over to the Comm officer, who manipulated the controls. “You’re live and microphone’s hot, Sir.”
“Galactica, this is Captain Dacre of HWS Constitution you have entered space claimed by the Terran Hegemony. State your purpose for being here.” Dacre said, then waited for Kerry to make the translation.
-----
Adama’s eyebrow twitched again as the incoming vessel actually came to a relative halt, although it did require a rather considerable retro thruster burn to cancel the momentum it had built up in a fairly short amount of time. Then came another rush of gibberish, followed by a very heavily accented but barely comprehensible statement in Old Caprican.
He frowned, then went very still. “Repeat that last, did you say Terran Hegemony?”
Heads across CIC snapped over to stare at him, and for once he didn’t immediately order them to attend to their duties. Could it be…
----
Dacre blinked as Kerry translated the response. “The Terran Hegemony in Exile, yes. Please explain your presence here, Admiral Adama.” he said slowly, eyes narrowing in thought.
----
Adama straightened, a light burning in his eyes. The ‘in exile’ part concerned him, but this must be the 13th Tribe, Terra was the Old Caprican term for ‘Earth’.
The CIC crew caught his reaction and looked to be on the verge of pandemonium, but he quickly glared everybody back to their duties, although he knew they were all listening to him.
He tapped one finger on the console, trying to decide just what to say. He looked over at Tigh.
“Is Racetrack’s Raptor available?” he asked, frowning slightly.
“Yes.” his XO said, but Adama cut him off before he could say anything more.
“Good, send it back to the main fleet and request that Colonial One return. Tell President Roslin.” he paused, then slowly smiled. “That we may have made contact with the 13th Tribe.”
CIC erupted.
----
Dacres was frowning, waiting for a response to come through. Longer than he’d thought it would take the gruff incomprehensible voice returned.
“Sending a… bird?... to bring authority.” came the translation from Kerry. “Sounded like a proper noun, but maybe raptor, or hawk, or something predatory and avian.”
Dacre blinked, a bit floored. “You mean that we’re close enough to their space that they have a political sort this close that an Admiral has to ask permission to talk?” he was incredulous. “And we never knew they were out here?”
A/N - I am not 100% satisfied with this chapter, mostly because it is dialogue heavy and that is my weakest area as a writer. Quick note, in the Battlestar Galactica Writer’s Guide, 1 parsec is equal to the distance between Earth and the Sun (IE 1 AU), which is wildly different from the actual scientific definition. A metric is a kilometer. DRADIS is a sort of jack-of-all-sensors thing, as DRADIS is used for things radar would never be useful for.
UltimatePaladin
Well-known member
Interesting to see communications difficulties. I'm no expert, but all things considered, they're managing to communicate somewhat understandably for such a short amount of time.
Adventwolf
Well-known member
There is shared lineage for the languages which is why it is possible. Plus it isn't like this is the first time that BT powers have had a contact with a colony or group that was cut off and had language development that went in a completely different line.
Bear Ribs
Well-known member
"Turns out the alien language is actually English, they just have really thick accents. Also their written language is also English, we were just thrown off by how bad their handwriting is."
Poor BT, they're undoubtedly thinking a small craft can't possibly travel or communicate FTL so there must be a settlement in the same system. This is going to shock them mightily.
I'm going with the Colonial language being very closely related to Attic Greek, Akkadian, and Aramaic, like I said in the text. And yes, I have reasons for those specific languages.
Adventwolf
Well-known member
They already know that small craft has FTL ability as that is what started this whole thing. Nearby is relative considering space is huge.
They've already seen nBSG's ASF-sized jump drives in action (a Raptor is 50 tons), they just haven't correlated the name "Raptor" to the jump-capable medium ASF (by their standards) they saw.
Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Captain Dacre was frowning in CIC as he watched the repeater display while strapped into his acceleration couch. Since they were still at alert he hadn’t ordered the grav decks started, and they were at relative rest so there was no acceleration to give the illusion of gravity.
A few moments earlier one of those small jump fighters had deployed from the vessel apparently called Galactica and had promptly jumped away. He’d had all of Constitutions forminable sensor arrays focused on the craft,and had immediately sent all of their available data back to Circe Base for analysis. It’s not like he had theoretical KF physicists on board.
Ten minutes later he was still frowning, he found that frowning tended to motivate his crew to work a little bit harder to avoid his ire. Although he strongly suspected that they had figured out he wasn’t actually as grumpy as he tried hard to portray. The little jump fighter returned, accompanied by a larger craft roughly the size of a small to medium dropship that looked completely civilian in design and construction considering the number of large viewports on the silly thing. The dropship had gone and docked inside of Galactica, rather than connecting sensibly to a jump collar, but it seemed these people had a different definition of sensible.
His Comm Officer looked over at him. “Transmission from Galactica, Circe Base translated it to a request to send a delegation over to them to meet with their President.”
Considering that they’d managed to track the little jump fighter heading to a fleet of various sized vessels approximately an AU away and then back again the implication was that this President had actually traveled with this formation, which struck Dacre as increasingly odd and potentially troublesome.
He looked over to the young Lt manning that console as the officer continued. “Circe Base informs me that they are dispatching a team to our location, ETA 2 days.”
Dacre pursed his lips, whoever they were sending was having to endure 3g acceleration in order for them to reach the jump point in that amount of time. Several of the other officers in CIC were a bit more demonstrative, wincing at the thought.
“Inform Galactica of the time frame for our translator to arrive.” he ordered, turning his attention back to the display. Three days of weightlessness. He hated trying to sleep in null grav conditions. But needs must, if things degenerated into hostilities the time required to stow the grav deck could be the difference between life and death.
Of course, if the standoff lasted more than a week they’d have to deploy the grav deck. Health and Safety regulations were rather draconian on that point. Dacre forced himself not to chuckle at the thought, even keeping it off this long would require extra paperwork to keep those bastards happy.
He sometimes thought that the best way for the Hegemony to defeat the Rimmers (whatever convoluted name they were calling themselves this decade) would be to graciously gift them with Hegemony Health and Safety, they’d find themselves so busy filling out all the compliance paperwork they wouldn’t have time to dream up new atrocities.
“Sir, they acknowledge the time frame, although according to Circe Base they seemed rather baffled by it based on the word choice.” came the report from the Comms station.
Did those bozos think he had the life support capacity to haul around a bunch of linguists just on the off chance he ran into some group that didn’t speak English?
---
In Admiral Adama’s office on board Galactica there was consternation that these possible 13th Tribe members didn’t speak proper Caprican, or even Taurian, Capricornian, or Geminian and needed a translator to speak properly.
“They need to wait how long for their translator? How could there translator not be here when we’ve been talking to her in real time?” Roslin asked incredulously.
“It might be a delaying tactic of some sort.” Adama replied with a frown. “Or… DRADIS did pick up an odd spatial distortion about a metric astern of the big ship that is similar to what a jump creates, could they have some sort of faster than light wireless?” As he spoke he was fiddling with the ship model on his desk as he often did when he was relaxing. And these days meeting with Laura Roslin was rather relaxing for him.
Roslin, in turn, didn’t mind that Adama spent time with that model, she rather enjoyed watching him work on creating something like that. It was… hopeful. And she badly needed hope these days.
“When will the expedition back to the Colonies return?” she asked, shifting a bit in her chair to get more comfortable.
“If all goes according to plan? Two days.” he grimaced slightly. “We might want to warn the 13th Tribe of their return.”
“If they are, in fact, the 13th Tribe.” Roslin pointed out, frowning. “We haven’t seen that constellation shown on Kobol yet, after all.”
Adama grunted, acknowledging the point, even if he didn’t put nearly as much stock in the religious folderal as his President. “Perhaps.” he allowed. “But the rumor mill has already dubbed them the 13th Tribe, morale is soaring because of this, and the fact that their ship is large and powerful looking is giving everybody hope that we can finally fight back against the Cylons.”
She shrugged “And if they turn out not to be, morale will crash right back down again, especially if they turn out to be hostile.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” Adama replied, nodding in agreement with her analysis.
Captain Dacre was frowning in CIC as he watched the repeater display while strapped into his acceleration couch. Since they were still at alert he hadn’t ordered the grav decks started, and they were at relative rest so there was no acceleration to give the illusion of gravity.
A few moments earlier one of those small jump fighters had deployed from the vessel apparently called Galactica and had promptly jumped away. He’d had all of Constitutions forminable sensor arrays focused on the craft,and had immediately sent all of their available data back to Circe Base for analysis. It’s not like he had theoretical KF physicists on board.
Ten minutes later he was still frowning, he found that frowning tended to motivate his crew to work a little bit harder to avoid his ire. Although he strongly suspected that they had figured out he wasn’t actually as grumpy as he tried hard to portray. The little jump fighter returned, accompanied by a larger craft roughly the size of a small to medium dropship that looked completely civilian in design and construction considering the number of large viewports on the silly thing. The dropship had gone and docked inside of Galactica, rather than connecting sensibly to a jump collar, but it seemed these people had a different definition of sensible.
His Comm Officer looked over at him. “Transmission from Galactica, Circe Base translated it to a request to send a delegation over to them to meet with their President.”
Considering that they’d managed to track the little jump fighter heading to a fleet of various sized vessels approximately an AU away and then back again the implication was that this President had actually traveled with this formation, which struck Dacre as increasingly odd and potentially troublesome.
He looked over to the young Lt manning that console as the officer continued. “Circe Base informs me that they are dispatching a team to our location, ETA 2 days.”
Dacre pursed his lips, whoever they were sending was having to endure 3g acceleration in order for them to reach the jump point in that amount of time. Several of the other officers in CIC were a bit more demonstrative, wincing at the thought.
“Inform Galactica of the time frame for our translator to arrive.” he ordered, turning his attention back to the display. Three days of weightlessness. He hated trying to sleep in null grav conditions. But needs must, if things degenerated into hostilities the time required to stow the grav deck could be the difference between life and death.
Of course, if the standoff lasted more than a week they’d have to deploy the grav deck. Health and Safety regulations were rather draconian on that point. Dacre forced himself not to chuckle at the thought, even keeping it off this long would require extra paperwork to keep those bastards happy.
He sometimes thought that the best way for the Hegemony to defeat the Rimmers (whatever convoluted name they were calling themselves this decade) would be to graciously gift them with Hegemony Health and Safety, they’d find themselves so busy filling out all the compliance paperwork they wouldn’t have time to dream up new atrocities.
“Sir, they acknowledge the time frame, although according to Circe Base they seemed rather baffled by it based on the word choice.” came the report from the Comms station.
Did those bozos think he had the life support capacity to haul around a bunch of linguists just on the off chance he ran into some group that didn’t speak English?
---
In Admiral Adama’s office on board Galactica there was consternation that these possible 13th Tribe members didn’t speak proper Caprican, or even Taurian, Capricornian, or Geminian and needed a translator to speak properly.
“They need to wait how long for their translator? How could there translator not be here when we’ve been talking to her in real time?” Roslin asked incredulously.
“It might be a delaying tactic of some sort.” Adama replied with a frown. “Or… DRADIS did pick up an odd spatial distortion about a metric astern of the big ship that is similar to what a jump creates, could they have some sort of faster than light wireless?” As he spoke he was fiddling with the ship model on his desk as he often did when he was relaxing. And these days meeting with Laura Roslin was rather relaxing for him.
Roslin, in turn, didn’t mind that Adama spent time with that model, she rather enjoyed watching him work on creating something like that. It was… hopeful. And she badly needed hope these days.
“When will the expedition back to the Colonies return?” she asked, shifting a bit in her chair to get more comfortable.
“If all goes according to plan? Two days.” he grimaced slightly. “We might want to warn the 13th Tribe of their return.”
“If they are, in fact, the 13th Tribe.” Roslin pointed out, frowning. “We haven’t seen that constellation shown on Kobol yet, after all.”
Adama grunted, acknowledging the point, even if he didn’t put nearly as much stock in the religious folderal as his President. “Perhaps.” he allowed. “But the rumor mill has already dubbed them the 13th Tribe, morale is soaring because of this, and the fact that their ship is large and powerful looking is giving everybody hope that we can finally fight back against the Cylons.”
She shrugged “And if they turn out not to be, morale will crash right back down again, especially if they turn out to be hostile.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” Adama replied, nodding in agreement with her analysis.
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UltimatePaladin
Well-known member
Huh. Are those two days spent traveling to the edge of the system? Guessing they don't have any ships at a pirate/Lagrange point. Jumping to those is risky, but jumping from them is safer, I think?
Adventwolf
Well-known member
there is no pirate point they are in the middle of empty space. And they wouldn't be stupid enough to jump a jumpship into a hostile area with unknowns. That means they would jump in far enough away that they can not be hit before they jump out. Colonial FTL drives aren't as advanced or good as Cylons so it is unlikely they can do tactical jumps for their warships as they can do for the small craft.
The 2 days is the time spent at 3g from New Circe to the Zenith jump point, where the destroyer that will carry the translator to the rendezvous is waiting. There were no warships sitting at any closer pirate points, as this is a backwater system with only the local garrison and (luckily for the Hegemony) a visiting patrol that had been recharging at the Zenith and held for this mission.