Partida Rol por web

LIFE HERE BEGAN OUT THERE

Growing up in the colonies, it’s easy to believe that we always lived there. The tribes settled over two thousand years ago and there’s been a lot of historysince: the trouble at the start and the wars between the worlds. A lot of information was lost with the dead. Too little time was spent recording the past. We let our roots slip away as we focused on other things and eventually it all became myth. The zealots regale you with stories of glorious Kobol. They speak of it like it’s the Promised Land. Ambrosia for all, they say! And most believe them. Kobol wasn’t just the home of the tribes, it was the home of the gods. Kobol was where it all started. It was the root of all culture, the forge of all technology, and the wellspring of every one of our eternal souls. It’s also where we learned to hate and kill each other.

The lords of Kobol

Our knowledge of Kobol is sketchy. The Sacred Scrolls tell us it was the cradle of human civilization, a world of endless fruit and fancy. Rolling hills and sweeping seas, the stuff of frakking legends! The heart of it all was the City of the Gods, where Zeus, Ares, Aphrodite, Hera, and the other gods lived in harmony with the tribes. The people enjoyed the finest in art and explored the limits of science. They built the famous Forum, Temple, and Opera House, which we tried to copy in Delphion Caprica. Did we succeed? Well, that’s one for the critics. Some people devoted themselves entirely to the gods and began calling themselves oracles. They became the spiritual leaders of the tribes and remain our spiritual leaders today. If you believe the scripture, the gods gifted the oracles with the power of prophecy and this led to the Sacred Scrolls. These were the collected writings of all the oracles, in particular Pythia, who wrote about the cycle of time. She foresaw a coming darkness and said that it would consume humanity over and over again. With each cycle, the people would be exiled or flee their home to be reborn elsewhere. That was 3,600 years ago and given what’s happened since, it’s hard to ignore the possibility that she was right. The first time of darkness came two thousand years ago when one of the Lords—no one’s really sure which—made a jealous play to rule the rest. At least that’s what we think happened; remember, our intel here is sketchy. This troublemaker called down a great blaze from the heavens and the other Lords were powerless against it. The next part, for once, is pretty well documented. To escape the onslaught, a number of Lords and a bunch of people boarded a vessel called the Galleon and fled into space. Hera, queen of the gods, was so overwhelmed by grief as she watched the Galleon leave that she threw herself from a high mountain. Zeus was enraged at her death and screamed to the heavens that any who returned to Kobol would pay a price in blood. How the folks aboard that ship heard Zeus’ words is just one of those things the oracles tell us we got to take on faith. However it was that they heard it, the tribes heeded the warning and never came back. They ventured into the deep black, in time finding twelve habitable worlds orbiting a single sun. If you’ve read your history, you know that didn’t work out so well....

The Twelve Colonies

The planets that the tribes settled eventually became the Twelve Colonies we know today. That didn’t happen without some rough patches though. Leaving Kobol so unexpectedly, the colonists brought little with them. Worse, their anger and confusion over the gods’ selfish conflict caused rifts. The people neglected, even rejected, their past and found ways to separate themselves rather than bind together. Hot and cold civil wars began and the colonists entered a dark age that stalled or reversed much of their progress. This continued for many hundreds of years. The resident Lords of Kobol, still riled up by the events at their home world, didn’t do much to help matters. Many actually fought and died in battle. Others turned their backs on their children, leaving them to their folly. Precious few tried to make peace. One way or another, by the time the wars ran their course, the gods no longer walked among the tribes. Getting humankind back on its feet was no picnic. There was no shortage of problems. Survivors were scattered and fearful of their neighbors. Tempers remained high, making it difficult for the colonies to work together. Much knowledge was lost in the fighting. Infrastructure was destroyed, or had never existed in the first place. Efforts on every front were stymied: agriculture, industry, research, rediscovery. In the end, the tribes got their act together and began to move forward. Open warfare and destruction waned, but that didn’t eliminate the conflict. Each of the Twelve Colonies developed their own identities and some were just better than others. Worlds flush with natural resources pulled ahead, seizing positions as the cultural leaders of the system. The fruitless worlds had it the worst, their peoples limited to menial labor and curtailed learning. To some people’s delight and other’s disgust, these roles stuck. Colonials were defined mostly by where they were born. Truth to tell, this sad state of affairs hasn’t changed much since. The peace also brought progress, though. Travel and communication between the worlds became easier. Industry and education took center stage.

Colonies traded resources, products, and services, and started defining value in the post-war era. A cross-planet colonial economy developed. The official currency of the Twelve Colonies, the cubit, was introduced. That could easily have gone badly, but somehow the leaders of the systems’ fledgling governments refrained from disputing the cost of potatoes over the barrels of their guns. It looked like things were finally settling down again. Some started saying that the whole cycle of time thing was behind us. The colonies turned their attention to space again. They built observatories and explored the edges of their new home. They built listening stations and pointed them up to see if anyone was talking, but the skies were silent. They built fleets of new ships to venture back out into the deep black. Yeah, there was a point—mind you, it was brief where it looked like it the colonies would build a lasting peace. Didn’t last, though. It never does.

The next time of darkness came on the colonies slowly. It started with two seemingly unrelated events. First was the gradual breakdown of the peace. Old prejudices and new arguments clouded the politics of the day. No single thing set it all off. None of it was particularly new, either. The poor colonies wanted more from the rich. The small planets wanted space on the large worlds. Debates about prices got heated and then shut down altogether. Practical disputes gave way to personal biases and the old hatreds resurfaced. The second round of civil wars was far more subdued. The fighting was mostly restricted to border moons and backwash parts of the core worlds. That way it couldn’t interfere with the comfortable daily lives of the wealthy and influential. Gods forbid the frakking ingrates sending men off to war actually watch them die. The blood on their hands might have stained their pretty clothes. No, while the grunts were smearing themselves across the system, the leaders of the colonies were focused on more and more imaginative ways to avoid an honest day’s work. That’s where the real kicker comes in. Against all common sense, those bastards did the impossible, the abominable. Fifty years ago, they created life. Worse, they created slaves. The Cylons were meant to help us. They were stronger, faster. They could go places we couldn’t and do things we wouldn’t. They could work forever and they never asked for a wage or better conditions or even a hot meal. They could even fight our wars, absolving us of our guilt over the fallen. The Cylons were the perfect solution for a civilization consumed with cozy efficiency. The eggheads pushed Cylon development and reaped billions doing so. They gave the robots advanced processing capabilities and logic systems. More and more elaborate software was designed. In time, the Cylons became aware. Must have taken a hard look at their existence. Big surprise, they didn’t like it.

The first Cylon war

The First Cylon War was just the “Cylon War” in the history books that came before the holocaust. It lasted twelve years and knocked the piss out of the Twelve Colonies. Battles were fought across the system, on the colonies, and in space around them. It was clear from the outset that the eggheads hadn’t just given the toasters the ability to think, they’d stupidly given them the ability to hate. Reports from all theaters spoke of the Cylons’ horrifying ferocity. They killed without mercy, leaving no survivors. They wiped out entire cities and hunted down all who ran. They boarded ships to engage the enemy in bloody hand-to-hand combat, seemingly for the joy of it. This was the case with the Brenik, where only 20 of its highly capable 75-man crew escaped. With intimate knowledge of computers, the Cylons developed “logic bombs,” viruses that shut down networked machines. Worse, they turned the computers against us. Colonial ships targeted each other or locked in collision courses with friendlies. IFFs failed, letting the Cylons catch us unaware. Defense grids fell. Barracks were explosively vented into space while half the pilots on board were getting some rack time. It was a frakking nightmare. The Cylons’ savagery and success had one up side, though: it banded the humans together like never before. Not surprising, really. Fear produces clarity. Talk of unification quickly became action and before too long the Twelve Colonies drafted and signed the Articles of Colonization. The modern colonial government—a democratic federal republic—was born. The first president was inaugurated. Sure, laws and rights were introduced, but that was all secondary to massing the soldiers and the war machines. The first order of business had to be mounting a defense against the toasters. The arms race ran hot and heavy. Both sides came up with new and more destructive ways to exterminate each other. The humans built the battlestars, one for each of the colonies, and loaded them with squadrons of Viper fighters. The Atlantia, the Athena, the Galactica, and other flagships took to the skies against the Cylons’ new basestars and hordes of raider craft. We’d gotten wise to their tricks. The new colonial ships were specifically designed without networked computers so the Cylons couldn’t turn them against us. For the first time, we had an honestto- gods chance of winning the blasted war! A lot of courageous men and women died in the years that followed. Viper pilots led the charge in the heavens as grunts fought Centurions on the surface. The fighting was pitched and dire. Both sides wanted nothing less than to grind the last of the enemy under their heels. A lot of the time, they succeeded. The Twelve Colonies were littered with dead bodies and broken toasters. Ultimately, the First Cylon War ended in stalemate. Neither side could gain a sustained advantage and the attrition was brutal. After twelve years of fighting, man and machine meet on a small moon named Cimtar. An armistice was declared and the Cylons agreed to leave the system to search for a world of their own. Some experts believe that the Cylons fleeing the system of their creation had as much religious importance as the tribes fleeing Kobol. They said it might be the culmination of the second time of darkness, just as Pythia foresaw. Those of us who lived through the recent holocaust see it differently. Later, those in the colonies willing to forgive the toasters tried to open peaceful relations. They built an Armistice Station at the line both sides agreed never to cross. They sent a representative every year and hoped the Cylons would respond in kind. Waste of time. We heard squat for nearly forty years.

The federal era

The military kept pushing the envelope in the years following the First Cylon War. Dozens of new battlestars joined those already in service. Technology improved. Your basic Viper, which had undergone a single major upgrade during the war (from Mark I to Mark II), went through several more. Roughly twenty years after the war, new Mercury-class battlestars, including the Pegasus, became the jewels of the Colonial Fleet. Relics like the Atlantia and the Galactica remained in active service but plans commenced to decommission them. Another twenty years later, one hundred and twenty battlestars soared the skies. They patrolled the Armistice Line and the frontier. When needed, their troops performed missions around the Twelve Colonies as well, most of them peacekeeping operations. On Sagittaron, a group calling itself “SFM” blew up a federal building in protest of the government’s “exploitation” of the planet’s people and natural resources. Some called SFM terrorists. Others called them revolutionaries. Regardless, the military stepped in to quell the uprising and took the group’s ringleader, Tom Zarek, into custody. Zarek was thrown in jail, though years later President Adar offered him freedom if he’d renounce his terrorist ways. He refused. The man’s got steel in his shorts, but he’s an idiot. The military expansion had many lasting effects. A big one was the emergence of military families. Sons and daughters followed their parents into service, creating a sub-section of the populace that many called exclusive. Some people argued that the military shouldn’t be the only ones with guns. Peace activists spoke out against the build-up, claiming that the Cylon threat was past. They warned that building more guns would only lead to civil war again. This movement gained a lot of support amongst younger civilians. Of course, many of them only knew the First Cylon War from history class. Friction between the military and civilian sectors got worse over the years, though it never flared into anything. There wasn’t enough time. Left alone, we might have figured out a reason to start fighting with each other again, but the Cylons didn’t give us the chance. Veterans watched the Armistice Line, waiting for the toasters to make another move. Eventually, they watched alone. The next generation of the military moved on and the civilians forgot. Everyone was so frakking eager to abandon their past that they wound up surrendering their future.
 

Exodus

The Cylons never stopped hating us. Their war never ended. It evolved. Hell, the Cylons evolved, too. On Caprica, celebrated intellectual Gaius Baltar was spearheading a new military project. His Command Navigation Program (CNP) was an operating system designed to improve the Colonial Fleet’s response time, coordination, and combat efficiency. It was also the damned Cylons’ key right through our front door. Just as the CNP’s installation was complete, a Cylon basestar—a nasty upgrade from their old ships—jumped into place beside Armistice Station. Minutes later, the basestar unleashed a torrent of missiles on the station, obliterating it. More basestars appeared over every colony and bombarded them with nuclear salvos. The Picon Fleet headquarters and the Scorpian Shipyards were immediately destroyed. Time and time again, the Cylons outmaneuvered colonial forces, as if they knew all our most closely guarded military secrets ahead of time. The remaining ninety battlestars quickly mobilized a counter-attack under the command of Admiral Nagala aboard the Atlantia. Thousands of Vipers and other fighter craft approached the basestars spoiling for a fight, but they were in for a rude awakening. All at once their systems cut out, leaving them drifting—helpless. They were sitting ducks for the Cylon onslaught. Notice of system failures quickly spread through the fleet but it was already too late. By the time the military pulled the plug on the Command Navigational Program, the enemy had achieved a near-total victory. The last futile defense of the colonies took place over Virgon, where Nagala valiantly went down with the Atlantia. Reports continued to arrive over the fleet wireless: the battlestars Columbia, Solaria, Triton, Valkyrie . . . all gone. The colonies of Caprica, Gemenon, Aerelon, Libris, Canceron . . . each consumed by nuclear fire. In a matter of hours, twenty billion lives were lost. Twenty billion. The whole of the human race, or very nearly. Three hundred million miles away from the seat of colonial government, the battlestar Galactica was powering down. After fifty years in service, the last of the original battlestars was being decommissioned. She wasn’t ready for combat. She had point main guns and defense batteries but no ammunition for them. Her Viper squadrons had been reassigned. Her starboard landing pod was a museum. Still, she was a legend, and gods dammit, legends never die.

The decommissioning ceremony was coming to a close as wireless reports about the attack reached Galactica’s CIC. Executive Officer Saul Tigh was skeptical, assuming it was all a retirement prank, but Commander William Adama wasn’t so sure. He scrambled his crew, alerting them that the Cylons had returned and the Twelve Colonies were at war. Adama intended to take the fight back to the Cylons, but first he had to find munitions and fighters. Ammo was available at Ragnar Anchorage, a colonial armory suspended in the upper atmosphere of a gas giant plagued by violent storms. As for planes, a squadron of mothballed Mark IIs were sitting in the starboard flight pod. Granted, they were obsolete, but it wasn’t like any better options were available. The Galactica got the Mark IIs in the air just in time to defend against a flight of incoming raiders. The battle was brutal, but for once the Cylons didn’t have the upper hand. The Command Navigation Program had been delivered to Galactica but never installed, and the Vipers were too old to use it. The crack pilots at the sticks made up the difference and shredded the raiders, though the Galactica suffered a nuclear strike for her troubles. Her forward port flight pod suffered heavy damage and caught fire. Violent decompressions erupted through the pod frame by frame, threatening to ignite the fuel lines and blow the ship to hell. The only option was to perform an emergency vent of the burning compartments, sacrificing eighty-five deck crew in the process. Gotta have brass balls to make that call. It’s the kind of thing that will drive you to drink. The Galactica couldn’t waste any time licking her wounds. She needed to get to Ragnar and reload so she could get back into the fight. The crew spooled up her FTL drive, crossing their fingers that it still worked, and flipped the switch. That particular piece of her equipment hadn’t been used in twenty years and it was anyone’s guess where the ship would wind up. Miraculously, the drive functioned as hoped and minutes later the Galactica began its descent into the clouds of Ragnar. Elsewhere, starliner Colonial Heavy 798 was facing its own troubles. The ship had delivered a bunch of civilians to the Galactica’s decommissioning, including clergy, the press, and the feeble offering the government had sent. President Adar couldn’t be bothered to make an appearance himself, so he sent the frakking Secretary of Education! If the Cylons hadn’t crashed the party, the Secretary of Defense and a whole line of four-star generals would have had some words on that little stunt.

After the ceremony, 798 headed back to Caprica with Adama’s son Lee flying escort. The starliner got word of the attack en route. Laura Roslin, the Secretary in question, contacted the remnants of the government. That amounted to one shell-shocked guy on Caprica with a radio, who told her that after the first nukes President Adar had offered an unconditional surrender. The Cylons didn’t answer. Just in case the message hadn’t fully processed, a Cylon raider jumped in. It scanned the ship, fireda missile at the 798, and bugged out. Showing some serious flying chops, Captain “Apollo” Adama shot the missile down, taking heavy damage in the process. He did manage to land the Viper in the starliner’s cargo bay. Good thing—post-invasion, planes are damned precious. Also, the fighter used to be the Old Man’s and he was awfully fond of it. Oh sure, he’d miss Lee too, blood being thicker than Viper fuel. Usually. Last thing Roslin heard from the government was a Case Orange message. Case Orange was a crisis failsafe the colonials came up with during the First Cylon War. In the event that the government was “decapitated,” an automated message started broadcasting to see who was left. Of those who responded, the highest on a pre-set list of succession became the new President of the Twelve Colonies. Despite being forty-third in line, Roslin pulled the lucky straw. Roslin, Lee, the 798’s captain, and others piled into one of the starliner’s passenger cabins for an impromptu oath of office. The senior clergy on board, an oracle named Elosha, swore her in. Just like that, a schoolteacher became the head of the colonies. Well, what was left of them. The new President’s first official act was to round up all the civilian ships stranded throughout the system. After the initial attack, all non-military vessels were ordered to a full stop, leaving them defenseless against the Cylon onslaught. President Roslin personally spearheaded the effort from the 798, which its captain re-dubbed the Colonial One in honor of its illuminated passenger. Dozens of ships were recovered, including the Tauranian, a tylium refinery ship that could refuel the others. A few military craft joined the party as well, including a Raptor and a few Mark VII Vipers. By this time, the Galactica was at Ragnar and sent word for ships to regroup at the gas giant. Roslin stuck to her guns about the rescue mission and tried to countermand Commander Adama. She ordered the Galactica to her position to assist. This was the first of many post-invasion flare-ups between the military and civilian sectors, but it was never resolved. Before anyone could make their case, another Cylon raider jumped to Colonial One’s position and attacked with several nukes. In desperation, Captain Adama pulled a stunt that would have gotten him busted down to ensign in peacetime. He jiggered an EM coil that Colonial One was bringing back from the Galactica and used it to disable the missiles. Even better, it made it look like the missiles had gone off and bought them enough time to change their trousers and choose a new course of action. Roslin was initially dead set against leaving civilians behind, but the ruse wouldn’t fool the Cylons long enough to get everyone aboard an FTL drive craft. Again, hard truths require hard choices. Many people were left to die that day. Some say they were the lucky ones.

At Ragnar, the Galactica led the Colonial One and other ships into the storms. The Ragnar armory was positioned in a pocket of relative calm deep within the violent turmoil of the giant’s atmosphere. Lousy place to put a military outpost...unless you fought the Cylons in the first war. The storms at Ragnar interfered with the silica pathways in Cylon brains. Kept the munitions safe from the enemy. The storms also masked DRADIS signatures, so just then, they kept the ships safe too. Galactica’s crew went about collecting munitions, including several Class D nuclear warheads. The supply party also encountered a man calling himself Leoben Conoy. He claimed to be an arms dealer and said he didn’t know the Cylons had returned. Introductions were cut short as one of the warhead racks being wheeled onto the Galactica tipped over, spilling its explosive cargo. Fortunately, it was explosive shells and not nukes. Otherwise, the whole drama would have ended right there. As it happened, the blast trapped Commander Adama and Conoy behind a damaged bulkhead door. The deck crew tried to free them but Conoy knew a faster way out and led Adama deeper into the station. Conoy was clearly ill. He mentioned headaches and nausea. He was burning up with fever. And it was getting worse. Adama soon became convinced that Conoy’s suffering was a telltale sign that the surrounding EM interference was rotting the “man’s” silica relays . Adama confronted Conoy and nearly got strangled for his troubles. Good thing the Old Man had twenty years of experience scrapping in the Colonial Fleet. He bested him and escaped the station with the startling news: somehow, the Cylons looked like us now. Or at least some of them did. Back on the Galactica, the survivors compared notes. Beyond the Cylons’ human forms, it was evident that they were somehow able to seize control of the Command Navigation Program, so all copies of the software were purged from the ships’ systems. All the Vipers got retrograded as well. Dr. Baltar had survived the bombing on Caprica and led this effort with the help of the Galactica’s CIC staff. Newly armed and outfitted, Adama was hell bent on taking the fight back to the toasters. He dispatched a scout to the edge of the storms, where two Cylon basestars, ten raider squadrons, and two recon drone detachments had set up shop. On a good day, the Galactica might have been able to take half that. It was pretty clear a frontal assault was suicide. After discussions with Roslin, the Commander came up with a daring escape plan. The Galactica flew just outside the storm and positioned herself between the Cylons and the civilians. She was reloaded and used her guns and Vipers to hold off the enemy as the other ships flew just far enough outside Ragnar’s cloud to jump. A third basestar joined the fray, nearly overwhelming the Galactica, but she held. Tough old broad, that boat. They might not have built them smart back in the day, but they certainly built them strong. As the last of the civilian ships jumped away, Galactica recalled her fighters and followed. We humans ran for our lives.
 

Equipo.

 

 
 

Weapons
Now that the colonies are gone, what’s among them is all that’s left. Galactica has a decent stock of weapons, and better yet, most are standardized. It’s also got ammo production facilities. As long as raw materials are available, the Fleet’s got a nearly endless supply of all but the heaviest types of ammo.

Melee Weapons

Ranged weapons

Handguns: Semi-automatic pistols fire one bullet per triggerpull. They are not capable of burst, autofire, or spray.

Submachine guns: can fire semi-automatic, burst, autofire and spray

Armor

Heavier armor hinders the combatant. The Armor Table indicates the step penalties to Attributes imposed by armor. 

 

Soporte vital: Viajar a través del espacio requiere el mantenimiento de seis funciones básicas por parte del soporte vital: la eliminación de desechos, la depuración de aguas, el suministro de aire fresco y oxigenado, la generación de gravedad, el control de la temperatura y los sistemas antiincendios.
Aire: una adecuada mezcla de gases es necesaria para poder respirar. Los gases producidos por la respiración humana deben ser cuidadosamente filtrados fuera antes de que saturen la atmósfera del interior de la nave. Asimismo debe de ser mantenido un rango relativamente estrecho y constante de presión de aire. La mayoría de los sistemas empleados en dicho mantenimiento usan ordenadores para monitorizar el flujo de aire y la presión dentro del vehículo y numerosas escotillas y puertas de seguridad pueden cerrar y aislar las secciones que han sido dañadas para mantener la atmósfera.
Medio ambiente: Los humanos necesitan un ambiente estable y relativamente cálido para poder vivir. Complejos ordenadores y sensores mantienen el mortal frío espacial fuera de la nave. Los sistemas de transferencia de calor, los radiadores y humidificadores producen un ambiente habitable para el ser humano manteniéndolo constante.
Fuego: es un constante peligro especialmente dentro de aquellos vehículos con una atmósfera cerrada. Las naves coloniales están dotadas de programas de seguridad y equipamiento para la prevención, detección y supresión de los incendios aunque en ocasiones los accidentes ocurren. Por ello hay que estar siempre vigilante. Desde el ataque Cylon la sobresaturación y limitación de los recursos de la flota superviviente han aumentado el peligro de la generación de incendios no controlados. Con el tiempo los sistemas de detección, alarma y de aviso tienden a fallar volviéndose menos efectivos y, lo que es incluso peor, los supervivientes en ocasiones se han visto obligados a reutilizar los sistemas de control de incendios en la ejecución de otras actividades más vitales.
Cuando un incendio se descontrola en el interior de una nave el método más efectivo para extinguirlo es abrir las secciones afectadas al espacio exterior y ventilarlas ahogando el fuego al suprimirle el oxígeno. Sin embargo, dado que las naves coloniales supervivientes están masificadas esta opción no sería muy viable y la primera línea de defensa serían los extintores no tóxicos y el equipo de protección antiincendios.
Comida: la flota tiene que alimentar a cerca de 50000 supervivientes. Gracias a los dioses un gran número de naves comerciales se unieron a la flota justo antes del éxodo y desde entonces se dedican al suministro de comida. A través de un cuidadoso racionamiento, dichas reservas de comida podrían durar largo tiempo. A los productos que están en sus bodegas se une la producción permanente de una nave agrícola que se dedica al cultivo de diversas plantas y algas que un vez refinadas dan lugar a un suplemento proteínico muy rico. Por desgracia, muchas de estas algas tienen un sabor muy desagradable pero eso no importa cuando se tiene en mente que mantienen a la gente con vida. Tanto las reservas como las distintas cosechas se almacenan en dicha nave agrícola siendo repartidas desde ella al resto de la flota.
Gravedad: La falta de gravedad es uno de los aspectos más perjudiciales del viaje espacial. Sin una forma de saber lo que está arriba o abajo el cerebro humano es incapaz de orientarse y en casos extremos es posible que la persona incluso llegue a perder la conciencia de donde están sus propios miembros. Además, en condiciones de ausencia de gravedad los nervios y músculos se deterioran dejando a la persona tan débil que ni siquiera se puede incorporar o desplazarse hacia una zona con gravedad. Por tanto, un mecanismo de generación de gravedad artificial es necesario para poder pasar un tiempo en el espacio. La forma más fácil es mediante la tecnología rotacional pero, aunque efectiva, genera numerosos problemas por lo que no se suele usar. La forma más usual de generación de gravedad es mediante el uso de tecnología basada en los campos magnéticos y, aunque el ponerlo en marcha es sumamente difícil, una vez que la gravedad ha sido establecida en el interior de una nave pocos recursos se tienen que dedicar a su mantenimiento. En líneas generales, la gravedad artificial es exactamente igual que la natural por lo que en teoría permite el viaje espacial por tiempo indefinido.
Sistemas médicos: el viaje espacial es un asunto peligroso de forma habitual pero en situaciones de guerra aún más. Debido a ello todas las naves tienen algún tipo de sistema médico a bordo. En las naves más pequeñas éste no suele ser más grande que un armario y suele estar equipado con poco más de lo que habría en el interior de una ambulancia. Las naves más grandes dotadas de una gran tripulación o aquellas en las que probabilidades de un accidente son grandes (como las naves refinería) los recursos sanitarios son mayores.
Desechos y reciclado: los desechos son tratados de diversas formas en el interior de las naves: incineración, eyección al espacio o almacenamiento. Sin embargo el más usado es el reciclado y prácticamente todos los residuos y desechos generados por la flota son reciclados y reutilizados de una forma u otra.
Agua: la tecnología actual del reciclado del agua es tan eficiente que una nave militar como Galactica podría operar durante años sin necesidad de acudir a una fuente de agua dulce. Esto es válido para la gran parte de las naves más grandes de la flota pero no para todas. En algunos casos, el agua usada es llevada o bombeada a aquellas naves cuya efectividad para su reciclaje es mayor, aunque algo de agua se pierde durante la transferencia. El beber agua reciclada puede sonar desagradable pero frecuentemente es más limpio que muchas de las aguas consideradas como potables de las Doce Colonias. La decisión de todas formas es fácil: o la bebes o te mueres de sed.
Sistemas secundarios: de acuerdo con los códigos de mantenimiento coloniales las naves espaciales deben de operar con dos sistemas de retroalimentación. El primero, o sistema auxiliar, permite el uso limitado de casi el 100% de los servicios de una nave mientras que el segundo, conocido como sistema de emergencia, provee de la potencia mínima para mantener la tripulación con vida mientras la nave vuelve a funcionar de manera normal.

Sistemas Com/Sen: Las naves espaciales poseen diferentes tipos de ordenadores y sistemas de detección sin los cuales el viaje a través del espacio y la comunicación serían imposibles.
Ordenadores: como sistema de defensa contra una posible infiltración durante la primera guerra Cylon las Colonias se deshicieron de los ordenadores más avanzados dotados de capacidad para conectarse en red. Sin embargo, tras cuarenta años de paz los sistemas en red han vuelto a ser introducidos, incluso en el propio cuerpo militar, y solo aquellas naves no dotadas de sistemas en red como Galactica o aquellas dotadas de ordenadores demasiados primitivos fueron inmunes a las tácticas Cylon durante el ataque. Las naves espaciales tienen cientos de ordenadores que controlan los distintos aspectos de la vida a bordo y del funcionamiento de la misma, siendo la clave de su funcionamiento el hecho de que están aislados unos de otros y, por tanto, no son susceptibles de interferencias externas. Algunos ejemplos de ordenadores son los siguientes:
    • Ordenadores aviónicos: son los que están a bordo de los vipers y los raptors. Suelen constar de una línea de comunicación no direccional de alcance medio para contacto nave-nave y planeta-nave, un programa DRADIS para la detección de enemigos y la ejecución de maniobras de vuelo, un transpondedor colonial para el IFF (que comunicalos códigos coloniales para identificar a la nave como amiga), un sistema de navegación estelar a velocidad subluz o para viajes FTL y un programa de contramedidas electrónicas (EC). Este último programa controla todos aquellos sistemas que son usados para confundir al DRADIS de los enemigos y sus armas. En un Viper el EC es en gran parte autónomo realizando de manera automática las contramedidas apropiadas cuando detecta un peligro aunque el piloto puede en todo momento controlarlo. En un Raptor el oficial ECO generalmente monitoriza el EC durante una batalla y despliega todas las contramedidas necesarias aunque el sistema puede ser programado para dar una respuesta autónoma.
    • Control de daños: el ordenador DC alerta a toda la tripulación acerca de algún posible daño que haya sufrido la nave, dando información sobre las características del mismo y sus repercusiones sobre la integridad operacional. En las naves más grandes incluso el DC puede activar sistemas DC remotos que de manera autónoma lleven a cabo sus propias contramedidas o arreglar el daño recibido. El ordenador DC principal se encuentra en el CIC pero otras partes vitales de la nave como la proa, la popa, babor y estribor tienes sus propios ordenadores DC auxiliares. En las naves más pequeñas como los Raptor dicho ordenador sólo se limita a informar de los daños recibidos.
    • FTL: este sistema de navegación tiene su propio ordenador en el CIC. Se encarga de hacer los complejos cálculos para el salto a partir de las coordenadas que le da el Oficial Táctico.
    • Control de fuego: este ordenador se encarga del manejo en las naves militares de las armas ofensivas y de las torres y puntos de defensa. Aunque normalmente tiene casi total autonomía en cualquier momento puede ser puesto en control manual.
    • Navegación: conocido comúnmente como el ordenador Nav se dedica a marcar la posición del vehículo, monitorizar la posición de otras naves y otros objetos situados en las cercanías y coordinar la velocidad subluz.