Consoles in the CIC were idle for exactly ten minutes when they simultaneously went black.

“DRADIS and FTL are down!” Lieutenant Gaeta announced.

William (Bill) Adama began the dance he knew all too well. “Colonel Tigh, launch the ready Vipers. I need eyes.”

“Vipers scrambled, Admiral,” reported Tigh. “The CAP will be up in fifteen seconds.”

Emergency lighting cast long shadows across darkened computer monitors and weary officers.

The first Viper report came right on time. “Galactica, Racetrack. I’ve got bogies out here. Half a dozen, maybe more. They’re vectoring in at a really odd angle.“

Adama grabbed the handset. “Racetrack, Galactica Actual. Any ID?”

“Negative ID. These bogies aren’t squaking codes.“

“Then get me a visual.”

More seconds passed. Finally: “Galactica, Racetrack. Markings read, After Dark One-Niner-Eight-Niner. Admiral, these things have wings on them. Real, flapping wings!“

Tigh looked at Adama in horror.

“Sir, I’ve got frackin’ flying toasters everywhere. What do I do?“