"Asslestar Galactica"

“We’ve got contacts.”
Commander Danadama birthed no emotion.
“How many?”
“Five Cylon Basestars.” Petty Officer Dualla’s voice trembled.
“Sir,” interrupted Lt. Agathon, “we only have four Cylon contacts.”
Petty Officer Dualla slammed her fist against her screen, “There are, FIVE, lights.”
“One of those is us,” spat Agathon.
“Sir, Lt. Agathon is a Cylon.”
Colonel Tigh awoke from a stupor. He was drunk, angry and his balls hurt.
“That is it,” he roared, drawing his firearm which had been wedged between his legs, “ I have had it with these mother fracking Cylons, on this mother fracking Battlestar.”
Danadama spoke. “Old friend, there are no Cylons on Galactica.”
“Sir, we’re receiving a transmission.”
“Put it on speakers Lt. Roborg.”
Roborg’s one red eye flashed across his face. “By your command.”
There was static first and then a voice.
“I don’t think they’re going to pick up.”
“This is Galactica Actual.”
“This is, uh, Cylon Actual. Listen, about that war, we’ve had a change of, uh, faith. We don’t believe in God anymore.” “Yeah fuck God,” chimed another voice.
“We found something way better to believe. So, you know, sorry… about the nuking and genocide…and stuff.” “Uh, so, we’ll be off, busy busy busy.”
“Target the lead Cylon ship.”
“Bringing guns online”
Danadama’s knuckles were white. “You destroyed everything we hold dear. You brought our people to the brink of extinction. You expect it to end like that.”
A new voice broke over the speakers.
“Danadama, you know, I could have killed you in your sleep.”

…

Almost everyone in the Galactica control centre turned to look at Danadama. Tigh, the only exception pulled at his collar. His face was covered in grey stubble and booze sweat. His ass hurt like hell and his gun was missing. Finally, he turned to his leader.
“It’s a beautiful morning,” said Danadama, “why don’t I make breakfast.”