Roger stood among the Colonials for the weekly religious duty aboard the Galactica's chapel.

Usually, in a normal BSG-verse, the constant Condition Two would prevent such a thing from happening (aboard Galactica, at least).  So the head priestess (Elosha, her name was? He couldn't recall) stood high in the podium up front, leading the congregation into thanking the Lords of Kobol for sending them backup. To her right, a small bunch of people stood, bearing the uniform of the Robotech Defense Force. Off to Galactica's starboard, easily seen thru the chapel's windows, the SDF-1 moved along, its fighters doing patrol duty. 

Roger clapped when the RDFers were introduced, but he knew better than to be `thankful', because if the Zentraedi didn't catch up to them, the Cylons would up the ante… /Or the bastard will sabotage things./, he thought. His targeting software had locked on to a face in the crowd and his eyes had zoomed in. He clapped along, a large grin on his face, auburn hair in an impeccable style, blue eyes shining with a spark typical of a prankster-waiting to strike.

/Tempus./, Roger thought, the name sounding (to him) like a curse.

Alternate version number 204-P26-3-J. Standard canon Tempus up unti the `John Doe' scheme went too well, and he got killed by a wacko anarchist bomber.  The bomber's name was Stanley Libowski, Sr. The grandfather to that bomber in the `Batman Beyond' series, `Mad Stan'. /Surprise, surprise./

But living in Asgard, even if it WAS the proverbial ‘center of the Multiverse’ and nowhere near a utopia, didn't killed Tempus' boredom, and so one day, he went and slapped 1200 bucks on a bookie for a Running Man Bet, on the death of a man and his were-cheetah companion. He walked away with a lot of money, him and several other people.

And in doing so, he entered Roger's not-yet-made death list.

And after a month’s worth of legwork, the Watchers have managed to push Mr. ‘I-Destroy-Everything-For-The-Sake-Of-The-Kicks’ against the ropes. There was nowhere else for him to run, no other options for him to hide, no backups, no plans, no decoys. Nothing between him and the upcoming piece of street justice.

/You’ll pay, bastard. I sworn it, and I’ll collect./

Roger was shaken out of his thoughts by the targeting system's report. Tempus had taken off the chapel just as Roslin approached the podium, leaving a small briefcase behind. Roger waded amongst the crowd, in Tempus' chase, picking the case as he went.

Neither wanting, nor needing, to know what Tempus had put inside the case, Roger opened the nearest airlock and put the case inside delicately, walking away at a brisk pace once he opened the outside door. A flash of light and panicked shouting came from inside the chapel, but no `boom' or a laser `Zapp!', so it definitely came from outside.

/Ok, so it was a bomb./, Roger thought. /Maybe he adopted the ‘Mad Stan Method’ at last./

But why, for the life of him (or unlife) would Tempus bomb the Galactica? Roger couldn't figure it out. This was purely a Robotech/BSG crossover, damn it. Had he lost it? Was he THAT desperate?

/You're one to talk, Hackett./ Where would Tempus had gone?

He would search for something that would provide a lot of chaos, damage and scaring. Hangars, CIC and Colonial One were highly protected. He gained nothing from going for the water or small arms-the SDF would compensate. There weren’t enough nukes left on Galactica, and THOSE were even more highly guarded then Colonial One-the `Old Man' would have seen to that.

So where…?

"Viewing area.", Roger mumbled at last. Up front, unprotected, the only "official" area in Galactica for the crew to unwind, maybe will get some slackers (killed, brainwashed, whatever).

/So Tempus./

Roger walked towards it at a fast pace, racking back the bolt of his primary weapon-an FN P-90, a perfect look-alike to the Colonial's SMGs. The SWAT-style Colonial Marine uniform made him another (alarmed) face in the crowd.  He found Tempus right at the area's door, loading a silenced mini-SMG by a bunch of boxes, relatively undetected.

"Doe!", Roger said aloud. "Heeeee-heeey, Johnny-boy, how are ya?" Tempus turned towards Roger, the SMG held close to his pants leg. A couple of crewmen noticed the Marine uniform and looked, warily, at Tempus' all-too-well-maintained looks. Roger walked closer.  "'John Doe is a Nice Guy', right? How long ago was that?", Roger stretched his left hand "I voted for you, pal!"

Tempus noted the rising level of stares (and hands nearing holsters) and so, he took Roger's hand. "But of course!", he said with feigned honesty. "How good of me to meet a fellow voter!"

Roger let go of Tempus' hand and wrapped that arm around his shoulders. "It was… a pretty flashy time, wasn't it?", he asked Tempus, who nodded nervously, grinning.

"Who the fuck are you?". He mumbled out. Roger grinned as well. "Renember the Running Man? 1200 bucks to two kills, guy died in Vegas? Ticket number 7-70211?" He tightened his grip on Tempus' shoulder, making the bone crack. "Guess who?"

And then, Tempus knew. Maybe it was the feralty that appeared on Roger's grin, or the mad spark in the (seen up-close) glass eyes, or maybe just some fact *clicked*, but Tempus knew.  And it scared him to high Hell. His eyes widened and his skin paled, his mouth flopped open. He tried to bring up his gun to bear-too damn late.

Hackett had the P-90 up in a heartbeat, and it was half-unloaded the next, 25 point-blank rounds of 5.7mm Armor-Piercing ammo punching thru Tempus' organs. He became as flaccid as if turned boneless, but Roger kept him up with his grip on the man's shoulders.  Tempus lived long enough to hear Roger's words: "That was for getting Brit killed, bastard." And that was all.

Roger let go of Tempus' body (which dropped to the ground in a heap), and summarily walked away. He knew (and hoped) that the Colonial uniform would buy him a few seconds' leeway to get to his exit point-the souvenir shop on the starboard hangar.

He was halfway there when Adama came over the PA speakers, saying to look out for a shortish, black-haired, brown-eyed Colonial Marine.  Which represented several of their remaining number, scattered all over the Battlestar. He was safe, they sure wouldn't search first in the souvenir shop.

Once inside the hangar, he pulled out his Pda and pressed a complicated sequence on its small keyboard. In response, a wormhole (like the Mallory `Sliding' Effect) opened in front of him.

The last thing the Colonials heard (that is, if there was someone to hear it) was a somewhat joyful whoop.  /One down, Brit. One more down/.

And then the wormhole closed with a loud clap, and it was like it had never appeared.

As an additional extra, here’s the ‘ECHOES’ snippet by Arthur Hansen to my own snippet, complete with his own reasoning for it to exist (which I agree with wholeheartedly). It has no connection with my own snippet (well, for the moment), much to Roger’s relief (but I like to torture the poor man , so well… who knows?).

-Reply Written By Howard Melton, Sat. March 18, ’06:

-Sorry Marco, but I couldn't resist writing this. It popped into mind as I was rereading your snippet in a critical frame of mind.

One of my C&C thoughts was that Tempus who owns a time machine and had the genius to be able to independently modified a time machine into a vehicle capable of hopping from universe to universe wouldn't be that easy to kill.

I'm nowhere near as insane as Tempus or as paranoid.(It depends on who you ask.) But here is one basic safety precaution I would implement if I owned a time machine.

A deadman's switched linked to my life force and designed to "backstep" the time machine at least one week into the past.”

A bright portal opened by the slumped form and two men and two lovely women stepped from the portal. At first glance the two men were perfect copies, in every detail, save for the fatal wounds to the dead version on the floor. A second glance revealed the falsity of the first moment of observation, for the man who's arms were being clutched by the lovely young women had an aura of power, arrogance and darkness that eclipsed the light and presence of the other three.

Tempus smiled down at number 13's dead form and turned to the living number 13 and smiled saying:

"Mr. John Doe do your god proud."

Snapping his fingers a large dark portal opened below the slumped body and it vanished silently within. A moment after the bodies’ disappearance, the large dark portal was replaced by a multitude of tiny black swirling portals opening on every droplet of spilled blood, sucking all traces within.

Smiling at his Cylon doppelganger Tempus said: "Get back to my work, my child. I blame my enemies for this failure."

The Cylon copy of Tempus's form looked on with a well-practiced look that was a mixture of relief and awe as his peoples’ god and his two Cylon consorts’ teenage forms stepped back in perfect unison, a portal appearing mid-step and vanishing with them.

John Doe A.K.A. Cylon Unit Number 13 paused for several moments, looking at the space the dead body had occupied, and then with a shiver the cyborged human clone turned and left his thoughts unreadable.

 And Finally: SETTING NOTES:

-ASGARD: Although this city is named after the Viking ‘afterlife’, it has more relationwith Sigil, the City of Doors. It is somewhere between Heaven, Earth and most dimensions. It is an incredibly huge city (like the "Dark City" of the movie of the same name, or the City of Doors) that stands suspended in Limbo, a mish-mash of cities around the world and time. It is here that those beings of Fiction that we call "Gods" or "Goddesses" make a living.
It is visibly split in several sections:

-Corporate Sector: It takes looks from places like New York, MegaTokyo and LA, with massive skyscrapers and arcologies. The tallest arcology is the Earth Relief Office/Goddess Relief Office building, with its distinctive double-tree profile.

-High Class Sector: It's Beverly Hills for the higher-ups, and the ever-visited Belleview Avenue is home to some of the most powerful (such as the "Prime" Belldandy).

-Projects Sector: It's the suburbs, the middle-class place. Feeling-like, it's like Queens. Most of those who live here want to be left alone or stay down-to-Earth. The Rival Relief Office has its offices here.

-The "Combat Zone": It's the "Hell's Kitchen" of Asgard, 30 squeare blocks big, chock-full of lowlifes, bars, illegal tech and mercs. The RRO is the only Office trying to enforce some order in the Zone, the other two Offices just saying that "it's beneath them" (although they do perform operations there). Feelings-wise, it's every cyberpunk slum given primal shape.

-Forest Sector: It's a HUGE forest edging one end of the city. Most of the more "environment-depending" individuals and species have their home here.

-Harbor/Sea Sector: It's a large beach/harbor edging the other end of the city. Boats that part from the harbor might end on any of the Multiverse's oceans.

-‘HUMANITY’S SURVIVORS’: Created by Arthur Hansen for the Anime Addventure, the setting is pretty simple in premise: the SDF-1 and Macross Island dropping in the middle of the re-imagined ‘Battlestar Galactica’ universe a short time before the attack on the Colonies. Thanks to that, there are more people than the original 50, 000 and the Battlestar ‘Pegasus’ has been part of the Fleet from the beginning.

It is incomplete, but it’s to guess than the Cylons now consider the taking out of the SDF-1 a priority, and Heaven knows what might happen if the Zentraedi come calling…

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