Much to my astonishment I quite liked the '03 miniseries, having been a fan of the classic series in the 1970's. But I was rather enraged by the fact that the humans are caught so flat-footed and are unable to work out what's happening.

Now call me Mr Cynical but I've always worked on the assumption that humans devious sods. So I've put together a little AU that caused me much satisfaction. Enjoy!


Cylons weren't designed to worry. To look worried, yes. To actually be worried no. Six stared up at the sky and wondered just where the hell the scout ship was. It was three hours late and that was not a good thing. Cylons were supposed to be efficient, and that meant good timing. Three hours late was not good timing.

She looked around. Baltar was due at any moment and the last thing she needed was for him to start asking irrelevant questions, like why she was scowling at the sky. She'd been able to rely on his gullibility, arrogance and ambition to get to make her own special modifications to the new software that the Colonial Fleet had just installed. Software that had a special trapdoor built into it that would reduce the much-vaunted fleet to defenceless, helpless targets for the cylons. When they arrived.

She felt an electronic flicker in the space high above her and the worry faded. They were here.

"About time," she muttered and went off to meet her human lover.


Carefully concealed eyes saw her depart. "I think she was concerned for a moment, until we restored her faith in her compatriots," said the first watcher, before shaking her head. "That bitch, we've got to get her for killing that child. 'Observe,' they said, 'Don't interfere until it's time.'"

"Don't worry about it," her companion muttered. "Let him deal with her."

"I'd love to watch that..."

"Business before pleasure. The decoy has arrived. We've sacrificed a few small pieces. Let's start the game."


Commander William Adama walked down the corridor. He was not in a good mood, something that from the very set of his shoulders, the crewmen of the Galactica could see at a glance.

Firstly, and most importantly, his ship was scheduled for a very public decommissioning, something that still gnawed at his vitals. At least the plan was to turn it into a museum. If she had been ignominiously scrapped he would have been the first to bellow into High Command's collective ear. A warship was something that should be left to wander the stars, not to be turned into frakking bulkheads or have snotty kids meandering through it, picking their noses and failing to realise how much they owed to the ship and to the men and women who had fought and died in it.

Then, just a short time before, he had received a massively encoded priority one message on his personal comlink, saying 'drop everything and meet me at airlock one', with a four-digit notation denoting transmission from someone of shadow cabinet rank. He didn't like the shadow cabinet, they were an adjunct to the real cabinet and they, according to the rumours he'd heard, occasionally did murky things. He hated the fact that one of these murky little errands was going to distract him from the decommissioning ceremony.

Pausing briefly to salute a startled maintenance crew and watch Starbuck run through an adjacent corridor, he entered airlock one and scowled at the other person present, who was playing with a small device in his hand.

"What the hell is this about?"

His contact smiled briefly and started to talk, mentioning first of all that there was going to be an unscheduled supply drop. With a lot of munitions. And second that the museum was a ruse... As the contact went on, Adama started to smile. Payback was a bitch.


Six entered the house silently, walking carefully, the countdown to the first ships arriving in orbit clicking softly in the back of her head. Baltar was here in the house, with the other woman that he thought that he had kept so hidden from her. She frowned for a moment. That thought still bothered her. Emotions were raw, strange things. On the one hand they made far easier to pass as a human, on the other they introduced other problems, complicated feelings, odd intermeshings of drives and desires. She could still remember the satisfaction that the other Six had felt at the Armistice Station when she had held the human close and kissed him as the room blew apart around them at the impact of the cylon missiles.

The house was quiet. The two humans were probably asleep. She pushed the door to the sleeping chamber open and walked in... to see an empty bed. Startled she looked around and finally saw the shadowy figure sitting on the chair opposite that had been watching her from the moment she'd entered the room.

"Lights," whispered the figure and suddenly all the glowbulbs in the room came on, almost dazzling her. Refocusing quickly she looked at the figure.

Gaius Baltar was sitting in the chair. He looked... different. His floppy hair had been pulled back and held in place with a band, he was wearing a dark red uniform of some sort, with the 12-pointed star of the Colonial government pinned to the right breast and on both shoulders a gold bar gleamed.

He was also holding a small device in both hands and as she gazed at him he pressed part of it. There was a small soft click and suddenly she felt a terrible pain her midriff, as if someone had punched a fist through her belly and was squeezing her central nervous plexus in an inexorable grip. She tried to speak, tried to move, but instead she fell to her knees and then onto her side, helpless, voiceless, motionless.

"Did you really think," said Baltar, in an authoritative voice that was very different to the arrogant yet insecure manner that he normally used, "That we, In Colonial Security, are so stupid as not to be able to pick up unknown activity on our spatial borders? That we didn't detect you, and realise what you are, when you first arrived in our space? That we hadn't been watching out for you for several decades?" He leant forwards. "And that we hadn't worked out what you were doing here?"

Another button on the device bleeped and she suddenly found herself able to talk again. "You're too late," she smiled through the pain, "We're already here. Humanity's children are coming home."

She received a chilling smile in response. "We know. By the way, the scout ship you think is up there? It had a little... accident. Ever heard of a gravimetric wave distorter? I thought not. Your ship came out of FTL in the core of Caprica's sun. Oh dear. That's a decoy up there. And the software you so carefully, so diligently, rewrote? Oh dear again. I junked it all and replaced it with something..." he waggled the device. "Like this. Humanity's children are coming home. And the fleet is waiting to spank the little brats. By the way, there's an induction field around this house, so no playback with your other selves. Just oblivion."

He leant forwards and pulled out a large and rather nasty-looking blaster. "Game over."


Holding the commic receiver Commander Adama looked at the screen, which was displaying the motionless, defenceless, cylon fleet. The words of Admiral Nagawa were still ringing in his ears. He glanced over at the still dumbfounded – but grinning- Tigh. Then he activated the commic. "This is the Commander. The Galactica has the first shot. They came into our space, hoping to find us helpless. Well, we just turned things around for them, so lets see how they like being helpless. Open fire. Take them down!"

There was a whoop from one of the speakers to the side.

"Ain't nothing but the rain!" exulted Kara Thrace as she swooped in towards the helpless cylons. "Welcome to human space!"