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Big Bang Fic: Part Two, BSG/Babylon Five, Wheel Turns
All disclaimers and other information can be found on the Prologue.
Part One
Commander Susan Ivanova made another routine check of the communications channels and bounced on one foot, then the other. Stretching during a long watch had become a necessity, even with the occasional moment of excitement; it was a distraction from thinking about the Shadows. The war with the Shadows was never far from her thoughts as she worried about the men and women out there, battling against what seemed like impossible odds. Captain Sheridan's plan to go to Z'Ha'Dum was foolhardy and stupid, but he wasn't there for her to rail at. In all probability, he was dead. It had been over twenty-four hours since he'd left on his fools' mission.
Babylon Five was in her hands, and it made her nervous, uncertain. So she throttled that down and worked instead of worrying. Of course, she was Russian, and worrying was second nature to her.
Movement from the pit pulled her attention away from the stars and slowly moving ships outside the screen. "Commander, we've got unidentified ships appearing from what looks like nowhere."
"Where?"
The technician swallowed, looking earnest and far too young for her post. "Two clicks from the jumpgate, sir," she replied.
"What?" Susan whipped back to the portal, staring in shock as ships began appearing in the distance, dotting the starfield. "Red alert. I want to know what the hell they are. Get a squadron out there, but don't fire unless commanded to."
The last time ships had appeared, it had been a fleet of inky-black Shadow vessels. This was different. Susan couldn't see what they were, but they weren't moving with any sort of purpose. She stared at them, as though it would make them appear closer.
"Kingsley, do we have a camera on them?"
"One of the patrols is swinging around now, Commander."
Susan stared at the images on her screen; the designs weren't familiar, and she frowned harder. Not Shadows, certainly. But there was something to them that reminded her of cargo ships and passenger liners. And some of them were damaged, burn marks and patched hulls showing in the light from the nearby star.
"Hail them," she snapped, "And divert traffic from the gate until we know what and who they are." A part of her wanted Sheridan there, to help her. But she had survived other engagements without him, and this would not be the exception to that rule.
Petty Officer Simone Kingsley nodded, and began tapping away at her post. "Babylon Five to unidentified ships, please identify yourselves." She repeated the message several times, switching channels and getting nothing but static.
From her station, Susan plotted the courses of the ships. They were drifting in a loose formation, nearly fifty of them. She wondered if it was planned or mere happenstance. The camera panned another angle, and she frowned as the strange, broken star design of one of them that tugged at her memory. She shook her head and ignored it for the moment, concentrating on the smaller ships that were flitting around in amongst the larger ones. They seemed to be arriving, then landing for a short while before reappearing and flickering out of existence.
Bringing passengers. Refugees, perhaps? Bringing more and then returning for another group of them... "Kingsley, any luck?"
"No, sir-- the petty officer broke off as static poured through all of the speakers, shifting and sliding until a voice crackled through, "--Gaeta of the battlestar Galactica, can anyone read me? I repeat, we are not a threat. We are refugees. This is Lieutenant Felix Gaeta of the battlestar Galactica..."
"Can you get on that frequency, Kingsley?"
"Already there, sir--you're on, Commander."
Susan turned to face the viewport again, "This is Commander Susan Ivanova of Earthforce station Babylon Five. Now, who the hell are you and what are you doing blocking my shipping lanes?"
It wasn't really the best introduction the derelict fleet could have had, but Susan wasn't really in the mood to cut them any slack or presume their innocence. Not until she knew who and what they were.
"Well, as long as you're not going to shoot us down, Commander," Gaeta replied, "If you give us a few hours to attend to repairs, we'll get out of your hair."
"And if I were to shoot at you?"
"We'd try to run," he said promptly.
Susan had to approve of his honesty, if that's what it was. "That's fine. I've no plans to shoot you down." For the moment, "Just tell me who you are."
Probably, she should be offering assistance. But with the way things were, this could be a feint by the Shadows, or some strange trick from Earth Gov to attempt a coup, and take out Babylon Five. She shouldn't be treating them with suspicion, but there was no one to take the place of Babylon Five if it fell. John had charged her to keep it safe, more than once.
"We're survivors, Commander. Now, in return, who are you?"
"Oh, just a way-station in the deep night." Turning to her screens again, she frowned, "Were you attacked recently?"
"Yes. We're not sure who it was, but it wasn't the Cylons. They just came out of nowhere. We managed to jump the fleet, and we ended up here." He muttered something that Ivanova didn't really catch.
"Can you describe them--your attackers?" A text message appeared on her screen; the squadron were in position, now, patrolling around the edges of the fleet.
"Black. Huge, like nothing I'd ever seen, Commander."
"All right. Lieutenant, we've got a squadron patrolling around your fleet now. Please keep behind the cordon."
"You're not going to just start shooting at us, then?" He sounded sarcastic again.
Susan found that a much better response than whining about their innocence, "As long as you don't start shooting at us, my squadron will see no need to return fire. If possible, I'd like you to move your ships away from the jumpgate," She didn't add that they would be protecting the fleet from curious eyes, as well.
"Commander, some of the ships are too damaged, we're going to have to attach tow lines to move them. It might be a little while before we can move. I'd like to apologize for the inconvenience to your shipping schedule."
Definitely sarcastic. Susan almost appreciated it. "Mr. Gaeta, please make sure you move as quickly as possible."
"Yes, sir, Commander. Gaeta out."
Susan didn't let her shoulders slump. Her brain was moving again, her thoughts sluggish, but not mired in worry. This was new, this was different--this wasn't Sheridan returning, but it could be the prelude. And who knew, perhaps this fleet of refugees would hold some key to the survival of the universe in the war against the Shadows.
-=-
Felix Gaeta hadn't meant to become the point of contact for Babylon Five, but he was the only one on the raptor who could cycle through frequencies until they found one that worked. Somewhere in the fleet were the Admiral and the President, but until they were found, Felix was on his own. A mere lieutenant held their fate in his hands. He would have laughed if he hadn't been shaking so hard.
Getting through to the station had been surprisingly easy, getting past the suspicions on both sides had been too easy. Then again, Racetrack reported that there was now a squadron of fighter craft surrounding them, boxing them in. Uneasily, Felix wondered if they'd simply open fire. He hoped not. He also hoped the Cylon ship wouldn't take umbrage.
Switching to a colonial frequency, he started broadcasting, "Gaeta, to Cylon baseship, do you copy? I've managed to contact the space station, and they are not firing on us. Repeat, they are non-hostile."
There was static for a moment, then a voice answered him. Tory Foster, her voice crisp and vaguely cold. "Mr. Gaeta, this is the Cylon baseship. As we have been shown no hostile action as of yet, there are no plans to start a war. We can, after all, learn from our mistakes."
Which sounded promising. "We need to get the fleet up to working order again, and move out of the way of their machinery. Can you tow any of the other ships?"
"Possibly. Several of your raptors have landed on our decks." Tory was going to say more, Felix could tell. He waited her out. Her voice was quiet, sounding odd even over the crackling radio system. "Is it true the Galactica is gone?"
"Yes."
Tory cursed, then said, "Colonial One was damaged, so the President and the Admiral are aboard the baseship. Perhaps you should join them, and give us all a better report."
It was as good a suggestion as any, even if Felix didn't trust that Cylon to be anything but treacherous. He'd heard more than enough rumors about Tory's involvement with Baltar, and that had been before she'd been revealed as a Cylon. One of the pilots who'd been over there during that little standoff had told him she'd cheerfully participated with the air-locking contingent.
He signed off and made his way forward to confer with Racetrack.
-=-
Caprica had never expected to return to a basestar, at least not willingly. She stood on the wing of the raptor, letting the refugees surge around her and exit while she simply looked at the place that had once been her home. Not that this was her basestar, but they were all alike, and it was hard to tell from one moment from the next. Projection had always been a way to escape the monotony, but she hadn't bothered with it in months.
Yes, very nice, Gaius murmured from her side.
She ignored him, as she'd been doing since he first accosted her in the corridor.
"Caprica." It was Athena, hand on her shoulder, "I need to unload you and get back out there."
Silent for a moment, Caprica studied the other woman, then she smiled, "Hera's safe, isn't she?"
"Helo's got her," Athena confirmed, stiffening ever so slightly.
Caprica touched her arm, "I don't mean to pry. I just haven't seen either of you... I'm glad she's well." Shaking herself, Caprica brushed a hand over the curve of her abdomen. "I know your joy now."
Eyes going wide, Athena glanced down, then back up. "Caprica?" Her voice was surprised. As though she hadn't expected any other model to follow her example.
"I've always wanted a child," Caprica replied wistfully before she saw there were several other Cylons nearby, obviously listening. Abruptly, her feelings of pleasure vanished. She didn't know these Cylons anymore, couldn't predict their reactions, though she wanted to have faith in them.
They had rebelled against Cavil, it had to be a start.
"You should go with them," Athena said gently, "There's a call for raptors to help tow damaged ships out of their space lanes, and I need to go."
"Right." Impulsively, Caprica hugged Athena. "Thank you for saving us."
Athena hugged her back a little awkwardly, then helped her step off the wing. For a moment, Caprica stood on the floor of the hangar, watching as Athena closed the hatch and prepped the raptor for take-off. Then she turned and found two other Sixes watching her, eyes curious.
Letting her smile free, Caprica held out a hand to one of them, "Sisters, I have good news. Cylons can procreate."
-=-
Ellen was staring down into an abyss, trying to find the end of it and failing. There was laughter somewhere, and a child was giggling--
"What do you want? Who are you?"
The words, the questions, echoed forever. Ellen tried to ignore them, to push them away, but they pulled at her mind, at her sense of self. And then it changed. She was standing on a balcony, the abyss dissolving, shifting into something else. An audience in plush seats, red carpet and sumptuous gold accents brought to mind the Palace Theatre on Tauron.
A child ran through the aisle underneath the balcony, her head tipped back, curls and laughter swirling around her. There was light coming from somewhere, spilling into the audience. The audience which didn't exist. Ellen wanted to ask them who they were, but then the entire thing was gone again in a swirl of light, and she was falling--
Jerking awake, Ellen gasped for breath, her fingers white-knuckled in the sheet as she struggled to piece together what had just happened. A dream, no more. But those questions... She'd heard them before. At least the one--Aust was still a bitter memory. "What do you want?" She'd been such a fool to answer that question, but she wasn't sure she'd be able to change her answer even if she were to go back, knowing all she knew.
Pulling the blanket around her shoulders, she moved to sit on the chaise lounge. Ellen remembered, when Two had first opened his eyes. He'd stared into her own and smiled a sweet, haunted smile. Her fingers had stroked over his face and he'd murmured, "All of this has happened before."
Since then, Ellen had heard the corollary. Or perhaps she'd merely guessed it: "And all of this will happen again."
If she could go back, change her decision, it wouldn't matter. She'd change the course of her own destiny, but her own destiny would end in blood and death, right there.
No one would save the Twelve Colonies, no one would create new life from that death.
The cycle would go on, but it would change, adapt. Perhaps it would be worse.
Perhaps Morden's friends would be different, but she doubted that. They would delight in the chaos they brought, in the death and destruction that occurred wherever they went. If she'd said nothing, they would still have found a way--they seemed the type for plans that folded into each other.
Sound from the corridor outside her cell drew her to her feet. She wasn't surprised when Boomer stepped inside, but wanted to be. The Eight looked exhausted, haunted. Torn in a way that Ellen hadn't expected to ever see before. She gestured at the centurions outside the door, and they left, leaving them alone.
"What's happened?" Ellen asked, a sense of foreboding filling her.
"You were in my dream."
Ellen didn't even try to pretend she knew what Boomer was talking about. "Are you sure you weren't in mine?"
A shiver passed through Boomer, and she moved closer to Ellen, looking lost. "We're trapped, aren't we. Trapped forever until the wheel turns again."
"If this is about John--"
"No. Yes." Looking indecisive, Boomer sat down, head in her hands. "I don't know. There's elephants in my dream."
Bits of things she'd seen over the last year slipped through Ellen's mind, swirling around and then making her ask something she thought she might not have, if it had been during the day with all her wits about her. "He controlled you, didn't he. Programmed you to follow his orders, no matter what."
Silence fell, and Ellen wondered if it was a comfortable one, or if Boomer was considering ways to kill her. Suggesting that Boomer was not in control of herself, and might never be in control of herself was cruel. But if it were true, it gave the lie to John's insistence that he believed in a greater good. That he wanted their people to be true to themselves, to their own programming, as it were.
"My mission was a gift from God," Boomer said, and her voice was bitter.
Ellen realized it was the only answer she would get. They could spend hours analyzing Boomer, finding out where she ended and John's programming began, but that was fruitless for the moment. It was time to stop fooling around, and go for what she truly wanted. "All right. We should find the fleet, let them know what they're up against. Morden and his friends..." she shook her head, "I don't think I trust them as far as I can throw a battlestar."
"Neither do I." Looking unsurprised (as though she'd been waiting for Ellen to come up with a reason to go to the fleet), Boomer climbed to her feet, "C'mon, I know how to find the fleet, and we've still got raptors."
It was a start. Ellen dressed swiftly, then followed Boomer down to the hangar bay. Whatever outcome would result, at least she was finally able to do something. And right or wrong, that was better than sitting like a pampered pet in the middle of a war zone.
-=-
The cold was the worst. Dee could have dealt with the pain in her head and the bruises, but the cold ate into her bones, making her feel sluggish, even inside the raptor. Starbuck had probably tried her best to keep them in one piece, but there were cracks in hull, allowing wind to blow through and the heat to leach out. Laird had jumbled part of the generator back into some semblance of working order, and there was warm air blowing through the system now. But it wasn't enough, and it wouldn't last.
Several of the civilians were already huddled in a corner, complaining bitterly about their luck. Dee didn't bother telling them that it could have been a lot worse, she just got on with her work. Anders and two of the others had left to find the cave system Dee had spotted when she scanned with the half-working dradis. If it was suitable, they would be back soon. She hoped it was suitable.
"Here--" Louis was there suddenly, hands catching the supplies she'd been sorting through and dropping. "Go sit and rest, Dee. You're not doing anyone any good pushing yourself."
"I was almost done," she objected, even as she gave in and slid down next to the console, pulling her knees up for warmth.
Hoshi didn't answer her as he checked through the crash kit. There wasn't much there, unfortunately. Enough to sustain a pilot and ECO for a few days, but not for twenty people in the deathly cold. He pulled a blanket out and shoved it at her, "Wrap yourself up."
"I'm fine," she lied, her teeth chattering, even in the warmth of the raptor.
"Do it, sir," he said patiently.
"Fine." Grumbling like a small child, Dee shifted and wrapped the silver blanket around herself, pulling it tight. For a moment, it seemed to do nothing, and then she felt a little better. Not much, but better.
"We're going to die here," Hoshi said, his voice low, so as not to be heard by the others.
Dee smacked his leg. "Don't be stupid. Starbuck's gotten out of worse scrapes."
"Yeah, Starbuck has--"
"Shut up," Dee growled. She wasn't exactly the most optimistic of people; Earth had been her dream for over a year, and right when it appeared, everything went to hell. Hard to be optimistic when the Gods just kept taking more and more away. She wondered if the Cylons had the same feeling about their own God.
The raptor rocked slightly as Anders climbed back in, conferring briefly with Starbuck. She turned and looked at the rest of them. "They've found shelter. We're going to pack up what we can and head over there. Break out anything we can use to keep us warm for the journey--and rotgut does not count."
A groan issued from several of them, but it didn't take long before everything usable was packed into cases or bundles, even the civilians shouldering their share. Dee started to take a case of her own, but Louis waved her off and handed it to Anders, when he came back to check on the cargo area. "I'm fine," she protested.
Anders helped her to her feet, then shook his head. "You're not fine. I've seen enough concussions on a pyramid court, Dee."
She grumbled, but didn't protest again.
The cold outside of the raptor was far worse than she'd expected, the air biting into her skin, pulling at her lungs. Dee tried to breathe in shallow breaths, even though the exertion demanded deeper ones. Anders and Louis kept pace with her, bringing up the rear as Starbuck led the way, following the tracks and Anders shouted directions.
Snow crunched under their feet, sucking at their boots and making it difficult to walk with any speed. The wind buffeted them, stealing the warmth of exertion from their skin.
Dee stopped really paying attention to their surroundings as time went on. It had seemed like no time had passed between the scouting party leaving, and Anders returning. But now that seemed wrong. Hours had passed, years--Dee stopped abruptly and coughed, the freezing air feeling like a knife in her lungs.
"Hey, hey--" Anders stopped with her, shouting at the others to hold on. "Dee?"
"I'm fine," she managed, her voice hoarse.
"Good." He kept a hand on her arm, pulling her in against his side. "Can you keep up with me?"
"I was never a pyramid player," she mumbled, wondering why he was so warm while she was so cold. It must be that hot-blooded thing that had attracted Starbuck to him. She'd have to ask her about him later. She giggled a little, then stopped suddenly, feeling sober. "Anders. Hypothermia."
He didn't stop, turning and handing her his bag of supplies before scooping her up into his arms. Some part of her wanted to object, but she was shivering again, and her mind was reciting the old litany of signs of hypothermia. "It's not long now," he told her, his voice strained.
"Good."
His chest seemed to be rumbling. Dee giggled again and poked him. "You sound hilarious, Anders. Is this why Starbuck likes sleeping with you?"
"What? Oh, frak," his voice raised, and he was shouting at the others, exhorting them to move.
Dee lost the thread of his meaning as he shifted to sling her over his shoulder and run. As she bounced along, she could hear the others cursing and shouting, running, too, as the sound of rumbling got closer. She turned her head and watched in a bounced-around daze as a wall of white poured down towards them all.
They were on a mountain; Dee thought it was inevitable that an avalanche would try to kill them.
-=-
The Galactica was gone. The place that had been her home once they'd left New Caprica, was destroyed in what felt like an instant. Jeanne stayed near to Gaius and Paulla more out of habit, than because she wanted to hear his murmurs of prayer, or questions as to whom had attacked them. Just the thought of all the people who were left behind, who she might never see again was devastating. And she hadn't even liked most of them. Hell, there had been a few times where she'd considered walking away from the causes Paulla dragged her into, and turning into nothing more than a face in the crowd.
She had taken God as her witness, and now there seemed to be no God. Or perhaps he was biding his time.
It wasn't that she felt lost without the hulking battlestar surrounding her, but it had been a constant. And now there was nothing for her, but the basestar. She could see the way Paulla watched the Cylons with suspicion as they went about their tasks, trying to organize the refugees in some fashion.
It made Jeanne want to laugh, possibly with a hysterical edge: here they had taken the Cylon God, but they weren't comfortable amongst them.
She wasn't entirely sure she could blame humanity for that. Sometimes, she remembered the people of the colonies who hadn't made it: her family, her co-workers, all of the ones she would never see again. She wouldn't know if Alicia's baby girl would grow strong, or if Derek would get his divorce. She just knew they were all dead.
"This way," one of the statuesque Sixes said, gesturing to her right. "We've started turning this deck into living quarters, but it's going to take time. I'm afraid we're all going to have to pitch in."
It was hard to imagine one of these super-model beautiful women (Cylons, Jeanne reminded herself) doing manual labor. But as they entered the room, they found a whole group of mixed Cylons, including Sixes, hauling what looked like bedding and plumbing facilities around.
Only temporary, Jeanne hoped. She didn't want to think about years spent using plastic toilets that stank no matter what. And two-foot cubicle showers, with ice-cold water would just bring back memories of New Caprica.
The thought made her want to laugh again. This was what they'd fought against on New Caprica, what the resistance had worked so hard to stop: Cylons taking in refugee humans, and giving them living space. But the Cylons were in the same boat, this time. Jeanne thought that had to count for something.
"Lida!" An Eight burst in from another corridor, "I just heard on the wireless that they're not expecting anymore raptors."
Which meant there were no more survivors. Jeanne shivered, and turned to help Paulla direct the few members of their flock left in the universe. Maybe they could rebuild, but for the moment, that wasn't a goal any of them had.
Part Three
Part One
Commander Susan Ivanova made another routine check of the communications channels and bounced on one foot, then the other. Stretching during a long watch had become a necessity, even with the occasional moment of excitement; it was a distraction from thinking about the Shadows. The war with the Shadows was never far from her thoughts as she worried about the men and women out there, battling against what seemed like impossible odds. Captain Sheridan's plan to go to Z'Ha'Dum was foolhardy and stupid, but he wasn't there for her to rail at. In all probability, he was dead. It had been over twenty-four hours since he'd left on his fools' mission.
Babylon Five was in her hands, and it made her nervous, uncertain. So she throttled that down and worked instead of worrying. Of course, she was Russian, and worrying was second nature to her.
Movement from the pit pulled her attention away from the stars and slowly moving ships outside the screen. "Commander, we've got unidentified ships appearing from what looks like nowhere."
"Where?"
The technician swallowed, looking earnest and far too young for her post. "Two clicks from the jumpgate, sir," she replied.
"What?" Susan whipped back to the portal, staring in shock as ships began appearing in the distance, dotting the starfield. "Red alert. I want to know what the hell they are. Get a squadron out there, but don't fire unless commanded to."
The last time ships had appeared, it had been a fleet of inky-black Shadow vessels. This was different. Susan couldn't see what they were, but they weren't moving with any sort of purpose. She stared at them, as though it would make them appear closer.
"Kingsley, do we have a camera on them?"
"One of the patrols is swinging around now, Commander."
Susan stared at the images on her screen; the designs weren't familiar, and she frowned harder. Not Shadows, certainly. But there was something to them that reminded her of cargo ships and passenger liners. And some of them were damaged, burn marks and patched hulls showing in the light from the nearby star.
"Hail them," she snapped, "And divert traffic from the gate until we know what and who they are." A part of her wanted Sheridan there, to help her. But she had survived other engagements without him, and this would not be the exception to that rule.
Petty Officer Simone Kingsley nodded, and began tapping away at her post. "Babylon Five to unidentified ships, please identify yourselves." She repeated the message several times, switching channels and getting nothing but static.
From her station, Susan plotted the courses of the ships. They were drifting in a loose formation, nearly fifty of them. She wondered if it was planned or mere happenstance. The camera panned another angle, and she frowned as the strange, broken star design of one of them that tugged at her memory. She shook her head and ignored it for the moment, concentrating on the smaller ships that were flitting around in amongst the larger ones. They seemed to be arriving, then landing for a short while before reappearing and flickering out of existence.
Bringing passengers. Refugees, perhaps? Bringing more and then returning for another group of them... "Kingsley, any luck?"
"No, sir-- the petty officer broke off as static poured through all of the speakers, shifting and sliding until a voice crackled through, "--Gaeta of the battlestar Galactica, can anyone read me? I repeat, we are not a threat. We are refugees. This is Lieutenant Felix Gaeta of the battlestar Galactica..."
"Can you get on that frequency, Kingsley?"
"Already there, sir--you're on, Commander."
Susan turned to face the viewport again, "This is Commander Susan Ivanova of Earthforce station Babylon Five. Now, who the hell are you and what are you doing blocking my shipping lanes?"
It wasn't really the best introduction the derelict fleet could have had, but Susan wasn't really in the mood to cut them any slack or presume their innocence. Not until she knew who and what they were.
"Well, as long as you're not going to shoot us down, Commander," Gaeta replied, "If you give us a few hours to attend to repairs, we'll get out of your hair."
"And if I were to shoot at you?"
"We'd try to run," he said promptly.
Susan had to approve of his honesty, if that's what it was. "That's fine. I've no plans to shoot you down." For the moment, "Just tell me who you are."
Probably, she should be offering assistance. But with the way things were, this could be a feint by the Shadows, or some strange trick from Earth Gov to attempt a coup, and take out Babylon Five. She shouldn't be treating them with suspicion, but there was no one to take the place of Babylon Five if it fell. John had charged her to keep it safe, more than once.
"We're survivors, Commander. Now, in return, who are you?"
"Oh, just a way-station in the deep night." Turning to her screens again, she frowned, "Were you attacked recently?"
"Yes. We're not sure who it was, but it wasn't the Cylons. They just came out of nowhere. We managed to jump the fleet, and we ended up here." He muttered something that Ivanova didn't really catch.
"Can you describe them--your attackers?" A text message appeared on her screen; the squadron were in position, now, patrolling around the edges of the fleet.
"Black. Huge, like nothing I'd ever seen, Commander."
"All right. Lieutenant, we've got a squadron patrolling around your fleet now. Please keep behind the cordon."
"You're not going to just start shooting at us, then?" He sounded sarcastic again.
Susan found that a much better response than whining about their innocence, "As long as you don't start shooting at us, my squadron will see no need to return fire. If possible, I'd like you to move your ships away from the jumpgate," She didn't add that they would be protecting the fleet from curious eyes, as well.
"Commander, some of the ships are too damaged, we're going to have to attach tow lines to move them. It might be a little while before we can move. I'd like to apologize for the inconvenience to your shipping schedule."
Definitely sarcastic. Susan almost appreciated it. "Mr. Gaeta, please make sure you move as quickly as possible."
"Yes, sir, Commander. Gaeta out."
Susan didn't let her shoulders slump. Her brain was moving again, her thoughts sluggish, but not mired in worry. This was new, this was different--this wasn't Sheridan returning, but it could be the prelude. And who knew, perhaps this fleet of refugees would hold some key to the survival of the universe in the war against the Shadows.
-=-
Felix Gaeta hadn't meant to become the point of contact for Babylon Five, but he was the only one on the raptor who could cycle through frequencies until they found one that worked. Somewhere in the fleet were the Admiral and the President, but until they were found, Felix was on his own. A mere lieutenant held their fate in his hands. He would have laughed if he hadn't been shaking so hard.
Getting through to the station had been surprisingly easy, getting past the suspicions on both sides had been too easy. Then again, Racetrack reported that there was now a squadron of fighter craft surrounding them, boxing them in. Uneasily, Felix wondered if they'd simply open fire. He hoped not. He also hoped the Cylon ship wouldn't take umbrage.
Switching to a colonial frequency, he started broadcasting, "Gaeta, to Cylon baseship, do you copy? I've managed to contact the space station, and they are not firing on us. Repeat, they are non-hostile."
There was static for a moment, then a voice answered him. Tory Foster, her voice crisp and vaguely cold. "Mr. Gaeta, this is the Cylon baseship. As we have been shown no hostile action as of yet, there are no plans to start a war. We can, after all, learn from our mistakes."
Which sounded promising. "We need to get the fleet up to working order again, and move out of the way of their machinery. Can you tow any of the other ships?"
"Possibly. Several of your raptors have landed on our decks." Tory was going to say more, Felix could tell. He waited her out. Her voice was quiet, sounding odd even over the crackling radio system. "Is it true the Galactica is gone?"
"Yes."
Tory cursed, then said, "Colonial One was damaged, so the President and the Admiral are aboard the baseship. Perhaps you should join them, and give us all a better report."
It was as good a suggestion as any, even if Felix didn't trust that Cylon to be anything but treacherous. He'd heard more than enough rumors about Tory's involvement with Baltar, and that had been before she'd been revealed as a Cylon. One of the pilots who'd been over there during that little standoff had told him she'd cheerfully participated with the air-locking contingent.
He signed off and made his way forward to confer with Racetrack.
-=-
Caprica had never expected to return to a basestar, at least not willingly. She stood on the wing of the raptor, letting the refugees surge around her and exit while she simply looked at the place that had once been her home. Not that this was her basestar, but they were all alike, and it was hard to tell from one moment from the next. Projection had always been a way to escape the monotony, but she hadn't bothered with it in months.
Yes, very nice, Gaius murmured from her side.
She ignored him, as she'd been doing since he first accosted her in the corridor.
"Caprica." It was Athena, hand on her shoulder, "I need to unload you and get back out there."
Silent for a moment, Caprica studied the other woman, then she smiled, "Hera's safe, isn't she?"
"Helo's got her," Athena confirmed, stiffening ever so slightly.
Caprica touched her arm, "I don't mean to pry. I just haven't seen either of you... I'm glad she's well." Shaking herself, Caprica brushed a hand over the curve of her abdomen. "I know your joy now."
Eyes going wide, Athena glanced down, then back up. "Caprica?" Her voice was surprised. As though she hadn't expected any other model to follow her example.
"I've always wanted a child," Caprica replied wistfully before she saw there were several other Cylons nearby, obviously listening. Abruptly, her feelings of pleasure vanished. She didn't know these Cylons anymore, couldn't predict their reactions, though she wanted to have faith in them.
They had rebelled against Cavil, it had to be a start.
"You should go with them," Athena said gently, "There's a call for raptors to help tow damaged ships out of their space lanes, and I need to go."
"Right." Impulsively, Caprica hugged Athena. "Thank you for saving us."
Athena hugged her back a little awkwardly, then helped her step off the wing. For a moment, Caprica stood on the floor of the hangar, watching as Athena closed the hatch and prepped the raptor for take-off. Then she turned and found two other Sixes watching her, eyes curious.
Letting her smile free, Caprica held out a hand to one of them, "Sisters, I have good news. Cylons can procreate."
-=-
Ellen was staring down into an abyss, trying to find the end of it and failing. There was laughter somewhere, and a child was giggling--
"What do you want? Who are you?"
The words, the questions, echoed forever. Ellen tried to ignore them, to push them away, but they pulled at her mind, at her sense of self. And then it changed. She was standing on a balcony, the abyss dissolving, shifting into something else. An audience in plush seats, red carpet and sumptuous gold accents brought to mind the Palace Theatre on Tauron.
A child ran through the aisle underneath the balcony, her head tipped back, curls and laughter swirling around her. There was light coming from somewhere, spilling into the audience. The audience which didn't exist. Ellen wanted to ask them who they were, but then the entire thing was gone again in a swirl of light, and she was falling--
Jerking awake, Ellen gasped for breath, her fingers white-knuckled in the sheet as she struggled to piece together what had just happened. A dream, no more. But those questions... She'd heard them before. At least the one--Aust was still a bitter memory. "What do you want?" She'd been such a fool to answer that question, but she wasn't sure she'd be able to change her answer even if she were to go back, knowing all she knew.
Pulling the blanket around her shoulders, she moved to sit on the chaise lounge. Ellen remembered, when Two had first opened his eyes. He'd stared into her own and smiled a sweet, haunted smile. Her fingers had stroked over his face and he'd murmured, "All of this has happened before."
Since then, Ellen had heard the corollary. Or perhaps she'd merely guessed it: "And all of this will happen again."
If she could go back, change her decision, it wouldn't matter. She'd change the course of her own destiny, but her own destiny would end in blood and death, right there.
No one would save the Twelve Colonies, no one would create new life from that death.
The cycle would go on, but it would change, adapt. Perhaps it would be worse.
Perhaps Morden's friends would be different, but she doubted that. They would delight in the chaos they brought, in the death and destruction that occurred wherever they went. If she'd said nothing, they would still have found a way--they seemed the type for plans that folded into each other.
Sound from the corridor outside her cell drew her to her feet. She wasn't surprised when Boomer stepped inside, but wanted to be. The Eight looked exhausted, haunted. Torn in a way that Ellen hadn't expected to ever see before. She gestured at the centurions outside the door, and they left, leaving them alone.
"What's happened?" Ellen asked, a sense of foreboding filling her.
"You were in my dream."
Ellen didn't even try to pretend she knew what Boomer was talking about. "Are you sure you weren't in mine?"
A shiver passed through Boomer, and she moved closer to Ellen, looking lost. "We're trapped, aren't we. Trapped forever until the wheel turns again."
"If this is about John--"
"No. Yes." Looking indecisive, Boomer sat down, head in her hands. "I don't know. There's elephants in my dream."
Bits of things she'd seen over the last year slipped through Ellen's mind, swirling around and then making her ask something she thought she might not have, if it had been during the day with all her wits about her. "He controlled you, didn't he. Programmed you to follow his orders, no matter what."
Silence fell, and Ellen wondered if it was a comfortable one, or if Boomer was considering ways to kill her. Suggesting that Boomer was not in control of herself, and might never be in control of herself was cruel. But if it were true, it gave the lie to John's insistence that he believed in a greater good. That he wanted their people to be true to themselves, to their own programming, as it were.
"My mission was a gift from God," Boomer said, and her voice was bitter.
Ellen realized it was the only answer she would get. They could spend hours analyzing Boomer, finding out where she ended and John's programming began, but that was fruitless for the moment. It was time to stop fooling around, and go for what she truly wanted. "All right. We should find the fleet, let them know what they're up against. Morden and his friends..." she shook her head, "I don't think I trust them as far as I can throw a battlestar."
"Neither do I." Looking unsurprised (as though she'd been waiting for Ellen to come up with a reason to go to the fleet), Boomer climbed to her feet, "C'mon, I know how to find the fleet, and we've still got raptors."
It was a start. Ellen dressed swiftly, then followed Boomer down to the hangar bay. Whatever outcome would result, at least she was finally able to do something. And right or wrong, that was better than sitting like a pampered pet in the middle of a war zone.
-=-
The cold was the worst. Dee could have dealt with the pain in her head and the bruises, but the cold ate into her bones, making her feel sluggish, even inside the raptor. Starbuck had probably tried her best to keep them in one piece, but there were cracks in hull, allowing wind to blow through and the heat to leach out. Laird had jumbled part of the generator back into some semblance of working order, and there was warm air blowing through the system now. But it wasn't enough, and it wouldn't last.
Several of the civilians were already huddled in a corner, complaining bitterly about their luck. Dee didn't bother telling them that it could have been a lot worse, she just got on with her work. Anders and two of the others had left to find the cave system Dee had spotted when she scanned with the half-working dradis. If it was suitable, they would be back soon. She hoped it was suitable.
"Here--" Louis was there suddenly, hands catching the supplies she'd been sorting through and dropping. "Go sit and rest, Dee. You're not doing anyone any good pushing yourself."
"I was almost done," she objected, even as she gave in and slid down next to the console, pulling her knees up for warmth.
Hoshi didn't answer her as he checked through the crash kit. There wasn't much there, unfortunately. Enough to sustain a pilot and ECO for a few days, but not for twenty people in the deathly cold. He pulled a blanket out and shoved it at her, "Wrap yourself up."
"I'm fine," she lied, her teeth chattering, even in the warmth of the raptor.
"Do it, sir," he said patiently.
"Fine." Grumbling like a small child, Dee shifted and wrapped the silver blanket around herself, pulling it tight. For a moment, it seemed to do nothing, and then she felt a little better. Not much, but better.
"We're going to die here," Hoshi said, his voice low, so as not to be heard by the others.
Dee smacked his leg. "Don't be stupid. Starbuck's gotten out of worse scrapes."
"Yeah, Starbuck has--"
"Shut up," Dee growled. She wasn't exactly the most optimistic of people; Earth had been her dream for over a year, and right when it appeared, everything went to hell. Hard to be optimistic when the Gods just kept taking more and more away. She wondered if the Cylons had the same feeling about their own God.
The raptor rocked slightly as Anders climbed back in, conferring briefly with Starbuck. She turned and looked at the rest of them. "They've found shelter. We're going to pack up what we can and head over there. Break out anything we can use to keep us warm for the journey--and rotgut does not count."
A groan issued from several of them, but it didn't take long before everything usable was packed into cases or bundles, even the civilians shouldering their share. Dee started to take a case of her own, but Louis waved her off and handed it to Anders, when he came back to check on the cargo area. "I'm fine," she protested.
Anders helped her to her feet, then shook his head. "You're not fine. I've seen enough concussions on a pyramid court, Dee."
She grumbled, but didn't protest again.
The cold outside of the raptor was far worse than she'd expected, the air biting into her skin, pulling at her lungs. Dee tried to breathe in shallow breaths, even though the exertion demanded deeper ones. Anders and Louis kept pace with her, bringing up the rear as Starbuck led the way, following the tracks and Anders shouted directions.
Snow crunched under their feet, sucking at their boots and making it difficult to walk with any speed. The wind buffeted them, stealing the warmth of exertion from their skin.
Dee stopped really paying attention to their surroundings as time went on. It had seemed like no time had passed between the scouting party leaving, and Anders returning. But now that seemed wrong. Hours had passed, years--Dee stopped abruptly and coughed, the freezing air feeling like a knife in her lungs.
"Hey, hey--" Anders stopped with her, shouting at the others to hold on. "Dee?"
"I'm fine," she managed, her voice hoarse.
"Good." He kept a hand on her arm, pulling her in against his side. "Can you keep up with me?"
"I was never a pyramid player," she mumbled, wondering why he was so warm while she was so cold. It must be that hot-blooded thing that had attracted Starbuck to him. She'd have to ask her about him later. She giggled a little, then stopped suddenly, feeling sober. "Anders. Hypothermia."
He didn't stop, turning and handing her his bag of supplies before scooping her up into his arms. Some part of her wanted to object, but she was shivering again, and her mind was reciting the old litany of signs of hypothermia. "It's not long now," he told her, his voice strained.
"Good."
His chest seemed to be rumbling. Dee giggled again and poked him. "You sound hilarious, Anders. Is this why Starbuck likes sleeping with you?"
"What? Oh, frak," his voice raised, and he was shouting at the others, exhorting them to move.
Dee lost the thread of his meaning as he shifted to sling her over his shoulder and run. As she bounced along, she could hear the others cursing and shouting, running, too, as the sound of rumbling got closer. She turned her head and watched in a bounced-around daze as a wall of white poured down towards them all.
They were on a mountain; Dee thought it was inevitable that an avalanche would try to kill them.
-=-
The Galactica was gone. The place that had been her home once they'd left New Caprica, was destroyed in what felt like an instant. Jeanne stayed near to Gaius and Paulla more out of habit, than because she wanted to hear his murmurs of prayer, or questions as to whom had attacked them. Just the thought of all the people who were left behind, who she might never see again was devastating. And she hadn't even liked most of them. Hell, there had been a few times where she'd considered walking away from the causes Paulla dragged her into, and turning into nothing more than a face in the crowd.
She had taken God as her witness, and now there seemed to be no God. Or perhaps he was biding his time.
It wasn't that she felt lost without the hulking battlestar surrounding her, but it had been a constant. And now there was nothing for her, but the basestar. She could see the way Paulla watched the Cylons with suspicion as they went about their tasks, trying to organize the refugees in some fashion.
It made Jeanne want to laugh, possibly with a hysterical edge: here they had taken the Cylon God, but they weren't comfortable amongst them.
She wasn't entirely sure she could blame humanity for that. Sometimes, she remembered the people of the colonies who hadn't made it: her family, her co-workers, all of the ones she would never see again. She wouldn't know if Alicia's baby girl would grow strong, or if Derek would get his divorce. She just knew they were all dead.
"This way," one of the statuesque Sixes said, gesturing to her right. "We've started turning this deck into living quarters, but it's going to take time. I'm afraid we're all going to have to pitch in."
It was hard to imagine one of these super-model beautiful women (Cylons, Jeanne reminded herself) doing manual labor. But as they entered the room, they found a whole group of mixed Cylons, including Sixes, hauling what looked like bedding and plumbing facilities around.
Only temporary, Jeanne hoped. She didn't want to think about years spent using plastic toilets that stank no matter what. And two-foot cubicle showers, with ice-cold water would just bring back memories of New Caprica.
The thought made her want to laugh again. This was what they'd fought against on New Caprica, what the resistance had worked so hard to stop: Cylons taking in refugee humans, and giving them living space. But the Cylons were in the same boat, this time. Jeanne thought that had to count for something.
"Lida!" An Eight burst in from another corridor, "I just heard on the wireless that they're not expecting anymore raptors."
Which meant there were no more survivors. Jeanne shivered, and turned to help Paulla direct the few members of their flock left in the universe. Maybe they could rebuild, but for the moment, that wasn't a goal any of them had.
Part Three
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Jeanne as a POV character? Neat! She's someone I haven't seen much fic with, but that's fascinating. And the Raptor lost on Earth is neat, too.
::wishing I'd have time to read the whole thing before the end of Sesame Street::
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Jeanne was someone I ended up grabbing without purpose at first until I realized she'd provide excellent perspective.
Thank you. =D
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"Well, as long as you're not going to shoot us down, Commander," Gaeta replied, "If you give us a few hours to attend to repairs, we'll get out of your hair."
"And if I were to shoot at you?"
"We'd try to run," he said promptly.
YES! That's them perfectly, completely, & after this is all over they need to meet for drinks and exchange war stories of impossible commanders & ungrateful civilians.
Given the timing, I don't expect an appearance by Garibaldi. However, he'd like Felix and he would absolutely adore Dee. Just saying, in case there's a sequel in the offing ;)
edit: Also, Boomer & Ellen's dreams = uber!Creepy
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And I loved writing Susan and Felix snarking at each other. =D
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That's a question that I sort of love myself, and I don't think I managed to poke it enough this time around. Filling in these philosophical gaps is tricky.
And Ellen, who even with all of her memories is still Ellen. Sigh. =D
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