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Big Bang Fic: Part Three, BSG/Babylon Five, Wheel Turns
All disclaimers and other information can be found on the Prologue.
Part Two
The Cylons were standing over their control surfaces, reports coming in about the strength of the ships still left in the fleet and the make-up of the space station and the ships around it. There were different types, different configurations, and two of the Eights were excitedly talking mechanics and spaceship design in one corner of the room as they tried to work out the engines and control systems.
D'Anna stood in the center, watching them, watching the others. Adama and Roslin were nearby, taking in the chaos in a similar yet different fashion. She rather wished Colonial One's docking facility hadn't been damaged, but she would survive their presence. The Three wondered if this was how a parent felt as they watched a child. Having seen the Final Five, having been boxed, she wondered if she had a rather different perspective on things.
"Gaeta spoke with the station," Tory said suddenly, turning away from where she'd been talking to him. D'Anna found her cold, but confident, and one of the Twos seemed fascinated by her, following her around, catching her when she heard music that wasn't really there. D'Anna would have spoken to him about getting burned by fire that burned too-hot, but that seemed pointless. They'd had their obsession with Starbuck, it only felt natural that it would spread.
Perhaps she'd find they were following Roslin around soon, or perhaps that little communications technician from the Galactica. If she'd survived.
"And?" D'Anna asked, raising an eyebrow.
Tory shrugged, "We have to move the fleet."
"That will be difficult, half the ships are down with engine problems or damage from the attack," one of the Sixes said. She rubbed a hand over her face, then looked at D'Anna. "We should send crews to get them in working order. Get out of here before this space station decides we're the enemy."
"Did Mr. Gaeta say what frequency he used to contact the station?" asked Laura Roslin. She'd been rattled, earlier. Now she was composed again. Something like a station, like diplomacy, she could understand.
D'Anna might have scoffed at her once. No more; unless the situation required it, of course.
"He didn't mention it, but he'll be aboard soon, and we can contact them from here."
Roslin nodded curtly. She and Tory weren't really getting along, but for the moment, they were civil. D'Anna would have found that amusing, at any other time.
Her fingertips tapped the edge of the control surface, a question coming from her now that there was time to breathe. "Who do you suppose they were?"
"Perhaps our new... friends will know." Adama rumbled. He wasn't anymore comfortable here than Roslin, but then again, he'd lost his battlestar. Something he'd prized dearly for years. He seemed oddly smaller, almost broken, without the broken-down hulk of his ship behind him. "Or perhaps they are merely part of the same group."
"Race? People? We know nothing about them. Jumping to conclusions is a bad idea." Roslin leaned against the console, her complexion greying.
A Six moved to her side, her hand sliding beneath the human's elbow. "Madame President, if you'd like to have a seat over here?"
For a moment, Roslin looked as though she'd refuse, and D'Anna considered saying something mocking as a goad, but the President was apparently aware that fainting would look worse than simply sitting down. She allowed the Six to lead her to a chair and sank down onto it, with a soft little sigh.
"How many did we lose with the battlestar?" One of the Twos asked suddenly. He was looking at Adama, as if for an answer.
"It's hard to tell, but I think nearly a thousand people were still aboard," one of the Eights reported, when he didn't answer. She sighed, "We could send raptors and raiders to see if there are any survivors, but I'm not sure that's a good idea."
"Too much chance for our attackers to follow us," Adama barked, subsiding again after a moment.
Such sympathy and sadness for humanity. D'Anna wanted to sneer at her, but didn't. The Cylons had changed while she was boxed. She'd sensed it before, but here, now, watching as they worked to keep humanity safe, to put their own ship at risk--it was so strange. It was almost wrong.
And yet D'Anna had faith. She'd seen the future, seen the creation of their race. It was hard to go back to being merely a Three, after that. In their own way, these Cylon models: Eights, Sixes, Twos, had made that same leap. Though perhaps theirs had been harder.
"The fleet survived, despite the best attempts of whomever it was," Roslin said, her voice stronger.
"Yes. One wonders why we weren't followed, if they were so powerful." Tapping her fingers again, D'Anna turned away from the control surface and moved to catch one of the Twos. "I want you to keep sweeping with the sensors, keep watch for those things, whatever they were. And at the instant they appear, you jump this ship." Her voice was low, controlled.
He stared at her, startled, then shook his head. "We cannot abandon the fleet, D'Anna."
Leoben. Just her luck. "Afraid your precious Starbuck won't survive without you?"
"She has a destiny," his gaze strayed, touching Tory, who was conversing with an Eight now. "There is something so compelling about her, about the movements she makes in the stream."
"Yes. Naked, I expect," D'Anna snapped. "Just keep an eye out for trouble, then."
Leoben didn't exactly smile, but there was something about him that said he was amused by her. He merely nodded and turned away from her.
Annoyed, D'Anna moved back to her position and plunged her hand into the datastream. Perhaps there was something to be found if she went through the footage of the attack again. There wasn't much of it, but it was something to do.
-=-
Susan pressed the buzzer again, feeling impatient. With a normal refugee fleet, from a colony she recognized, the procedures were clear and easy. They'd be allowed access to the station, and given help for repairs. But there was something different about this fleet. They weren't from a recognizable colony, and they'd been on the run. From what, or whom, Gaeta hadn't said, but Susan had a pretty good idea it was the Shadows.
But there was something about that one ship, with its strangely star-like pattern, that made her wonder. And if this really was a first contact situation of a sort, she thought she could use some help.
"Enter."
"Ah, Delenn," Susan tried to smile and failed. The loss of John Sheridan had rattled them all, Delenn most of all. The room was dimmer than Susan was used to, and Delenn sat, staring at a candle flame. "There's a new refugee fleet."
"Yes?"
Susan tapped her fingers together and said, "I need your help with them. It sounds like it might be a diplomatic nightmare, and you know me and diplomacy."
That stirred Delenn a little, and the Minbari ambassador looked up at Susan. "You are asking my help?"
"Yes, to put it bluntly, I'd like you to find out who they really are. They gave me some story about being from the 'Twelve Colonies'. Now, I don't know about you, but that's nothing I've ever heard of."
A moment passed while Delenn's frown deepened. "The Twelve Colonies... No, it's not something I remember hearing about."
"Then you'll come?"
Delenn gathered herself and stood up, "Yes, I believe I shall. It will give me something to do, to make the time pass more quickly."
"Yes." Susan paused for a moment, her own worry shining in her eyes. "He'll be back, Delenn. I just... He has to."
The ambassador didn't respond, and Susan was grateful. There really was nothing to say on the subject. And Susan was feeling guilty enough for allowing John to fly to his probable death without Delenn adding to it. The fact that Delenn didn't blame her for anything, and that John had snuck off on purpose so she wouldn't feel bad wasn't lost on her. But, coupled with the missing Garibaldi, just added to the conviction that she should have known enough to stop him.
With silence between them, they returned to C&C, and Susan had Kingsley hail Gaeta again.
For a moment, there was no response, and then a woman's voice answered them. "This is Laura Roslin, President of the Twelve Colonies. To whom am I speaking?"
Susan and Delenn exchanged a look, and then Susan answered, "Commander Susan Ivanova of Earthforce and Babylon Five. Ms. Roslin, I was wondering if your people have the capability for face to face communication?" She'd wondered earlier, when talking with Gaeta, but hadn't pushed the matter.
"I'm afraid not, Commander. And, pardon me for the impertinence, but did you say Earthforce?" There was something odd in Roslin's voice.
"Yes. Do you have a problem with Earth, Ms. Roslin?" If they did, they might end up being more of a liability than a help. More of one than simply being refugees, at least, Susan mentally amended.
There was silence, and then Roslin replied, "Earth is a legend among the Twelve Colonies, Commander. So you'll have to forgive our ignorance of your customs."
A legend. Susan's eyebrows went up, and she turned to Delenn, who was looking pensive. "Ms. Roslin, how are those repairs coming to your fleet?"
"I'm told it will be another two hours before we'll be able to move all of our ships, Commander. Apparently, a few of the captains are insisting that they finish their repairs and move under their own steam."
Feeling on more solid ground, Susan said, "I'm afraid that's too long. Tell your captains you can tow them, or we will."
It wasn't really a question: already, two freighters had been delayed in leaving, and there were reports of another group of refugees coming in from one of the outposts near Shadow-occupied space. Sheridan or no, Babylon Five still had to run.
Roslin sounded stiff when she replied, "Is that an ultimatum, Commander?"
"President Roslin, pardon me for the interruption. I'm Minbari Ambassador Delenn, Babylon Five will assist your people in any way possible to ensure a safe removal, but I'm afraid it must be done quickly." Delenn was looking at the incoming texts, and Susan saw what she'd seen.
"Ivanova to Blue Squadron, it looks like you're about to have company. Can you attach tow lines to those ships and get them out of the area?"
From the text, a shipment was coming through from Centauri Prime, or one of its colony worlds. The captain was refusing to wait until he was given permission to use the jumpgate. In normal circumstances, that would be fine. But with the fleet half inside the jumpgate area, that would spell disaster, for both the fleet and the cargo vessel.
-=-
If asked, Boomer would never have been able to explain why she went to Ellen, of all people. The dream had been so vivid and real. She'd never had it before, most of her dreams were small things: reporting to Cavil, holding Hera, that moment underground when she and Caprica had made a pact, or about her old life. The fake one she no longer owned. But this had been different. A place she'd never seen, and she'd been chasing a child--Hera, maybe, Boomer couldn't be sure anymore what Hera looked like (and she should have been). Or the child was chasing her. Boomer had memories of playing hide and seek as a child, and knew those to be as false as everything else about her life.
This had been different, and Ellen had been there.
In the end, perhaps it was that which pushed her over the edge to make this decision. It had been coming for a while, it had just needed something to make it real.
Cavil had used her, he'd programmed her, and Sharon wasn't entirely sure she could trust her own memories of what he'd done, what she'd done. Sometimes, her skin crawled as she remembered his touch, his lips trailing over her skin as his body--and sometimes, she remembered enjoying every moment, of asking for it, begging for him.
There was no such thing as a soul, not for a machine, but Cavil didn't simply put himself into a centurion. He held onto his frail Cylon body, and for what?
She didn't know. And he never gave a satisfactory answer.
They made the hangar bay without incident, and she checked out the first raptor, having Ellen reading off the information from the ECO console, just to make sure that the ship would fly.
Ellen was impatient to leave, but Boomer delayed a few minutes longer to check the underside of the raptor for tracking devices. Being under there, the warmth of the hangar around her, the beat of the basestar pulsing through her, made her pause. She closed her eyes and let herself simply feel it. This feeling of being home, of belonging, wasn't something that could be replicated with human smiles or human touch.
So why was she leaving it?
We love you, Sharon. They had said that, and then they had died. For her.
A shiver slid through her, and she finished checking for trackers and then slid out. Ellen gave her an odd look as she climbed back on board, but said nothing.
One last check and she shut the hatch and began powering up.
"There's a squad of centurions heading our way." Ellen suddenly said. She moved forward, and strapped herself into the co-pilot's seat as Boomer kicked free of the deck and headed for the airlock doors.
"C'mon, c'mon--there--" Boomer found the right sequence to key in, and the doors opened, showing the freedom of space in front of them.
She flew them out into it, then dove downwards, skimming the surface of the basestar. "I'll need another minute to get the jump plotted."
"We might not have it," Ellen warned.
Raiders were spiraling towards them, and Boomer thought of their brains and personalities being destroyed as the Fours operated on them cauterizing their intelligence, so they had no will of their own.
Just like her.
Her knuckles whitened, but she didn't reply as she continued her course, letting the computer plot the jump. It was nearly done when the communications system cut in.
"Boomer?"
Reaching out, Boomer shut it off, and glanced at Ellen. "Thirty seconds."
"Good." Ellen's knuckles were white where she gripped the edge of the console. "I've never wanted a vacation more, you know. A beach, a nice bottle of good alcohol. Something tall, dark and handsome." She gave a heart-felt sigh.
"What, not the Colonel?" Boomer asked, her tone sardonic.
"Saul's for after the flirting and the sunlight and the booze." A smug smile crossed Ellen's mouth.
The computer beeped, and Sharon reached over, flipping the switches. The raptor didn't even shudder as it jumped, the backwash ripping open the skin of the basestar where they'd been using it for cover.
-=-
The avalanche had washed away the trail back to the raptor. Looking out of the cave mouth, Sam thought ruefully that they were lucky to have emptied the damaged ship before it had hit. The swathe of destruction left by the tumble of snow and rock was huge, and he wasn't entirely sure that he could even see the other side of it. With some of the scrubby brush around the cave they'd gotten a fire started. Unsurprisingly, most of the others were huddled around it, trying to stay warm.
Sam had never really felt the cold that much; before, he'd assumed it was just from being fit or a guy. But now, he had to wonder if it was because he was a Cylon. The thought made him wince a little. Kara still wasn't speaking to him. Oh, she was giving orders, and acting as normal as she could, but she was still upset.
It wasn't something he could really blame her for. He'd lied to her, covered up what he was--but he hadn't wanted to hurt her. And surely she had to know that, had to understand why he'd done what he'd done.
Being a Cylon hadn't been what he'd wanted, hadn't been something he could handle. In the early days, he'd thought of wild ideas: flying himself into space and blowing up his viper. Air-locking himself, or letting a Cylon shoot him down. Cutting his wrists, telling a marine and getting shot--and yet, he'd never gone through with it. He'd realized that he was still Sam Anders. Still the man he'd been before he'd discovered he wasn't a man.
He refused to believe he was nothing but programming. He had a heart and a soul, and he believed that there was more to life than being human or Cylon.
He'd taken shelter in Kara's touch, in her drive to find Earth. He'd let her use him as a punching bag, let himself use her as protection against the thought that he wasn't real. That none of it was real. But he'd discovered, in that moment, when Kara found him out, that it was real.
They were real. The pain of his betrayal had cut her to the core. She might have saved his life along with the others, but he'd been incidental.
Now they were stuck on an ice-cold planet, sheltering in a cave with more than a dozen mostly useless civilians, and she didn't even have the luxury of ignoring him.
"We need to move back." It was the communications officer, Hoshi. He was shivering just a little, his gaze distant as he stared at the path of the avalanche. "Further into the cave, I mean."
"Not until we've gathered more wood." Sam didn't really want to head back out into the cold, but there was nothing else for it. "I'd rather not have to start setting people on fire to stay warm."
"We could start with you, Sammy."
Kara had joined them quietly, but Sam had still sensed her presence. It was Hoshi that jumped. "How's Dee?" Sam asked, diverting the conversation for the moment.
"Better. Warmer, I think. We got her wrapped up with some of the civilians. And Dara is working on hot coffee for all of us." Wrapping her arms around herself, Kara stared at the snow. "We've got enough supplies to last for two days. Maybe."
"Then we'd better hope that beacon reaches the fleet," Hoshi muttered, turning and leaving them to stare at the snow on their own.
"If it doesn't, we'll start eating Cylons first."
When Sam didn't rise to her bait, she kicked at a rock, her head down as though finding the pattern it made in the snow as it bounced utterly fascinating.
"I'll get two others and organize more firewood," Sam finally said, when it was obvious she wasn't going to say more. He felt too tired to know whether she was joking or not. And he really didn't want to know that she was serious. Being eaten was not on his list of the top ten ways to die. Not dying was actually at the top, of course.
"All right. Laird and one of the others has started working their way further into the cave, trying to find a better place to stay."
"It's colder than New Caprica," Sam said, feeling stupid for mentioning something from their shared past as soon as the words left his mouth.
"Noticed that, did you?"
"Kara--"
"Don't. Not now. Maybe not ever."
She was gone before he could think of anything else to say.
-=-
Racetrack and Hardball had paired up their raptors to tow Gaia's Prize out of the way. The ship had taken too many hits, and while she'd made the jump, her engines had blown out afterwards. The captain wasn't too thrilled with being considered nothing more than flotsam, but he couldn't deny that he was in the way.
Babylon Five was hurrying them, warning more than once that if they were still there when the jumpgate activated that they would be destroyed by the wash of energy. Maggie had no frakking clue what a jumpgate was, but she wasn't going to let the physics bother her.
"Hardball, Racetrack, tow-lines locked. We're ready when you are."
"Roger, Hardball. Captain Andreides, are you ready to be towed like the junker you are?"
"Very funny, Captain," he replied, his voice annoyed. "We're as ready as we'll ever be."
The basestar was coordinating all of them. Those that could move on their own were already gone, stationed further towards the planet. The seven that were left were being towed by raptors and three ships from Babylon Five, loaned for the job.
All of the raptors now had the frequencies to converse with Babylon Five. There was background chatter, of course, and Racetrack was sort of amused that the Babylon Five pilots sounded like her own. Loud, ego-driven, and good at what they did. She seriously doubted that any of them had been at war or on the run for years, though.
There was an edge to her pilots now, to their reaction times and their instincts. They'd been through hell and back, and would do it again if they had to.
"Hardball, let's get this hunk of junk moved." Racetrack said, flipping two switches on her boards and glancing back at Skulls. "In five."
With ease, he counted off, echoing her. "Four, three, two, one--"
Both raptors kicked in their engines together, moving against the tow lines. There was a moment where nothing seemed to be happening and then they were taut, pulling at the hulk of the Pride. It moved after a moment, pulling free of its inertia. Skulls kept a running commentary, noting the position of the ship as they moved. On cue, both raptors sped up just a little.
"Racetrack to Babylon Five, we've got one down. Six to go."
"Roger that, Racetrack. Keep moving at the rate you're going." Commander Ivanova sounded a hard woman. Racetrack rather thought she'd get along with Starbuck. Then again, Starbuck was frakking crazy, and possibly a Cylon. Maggie didn't really know if Ivanova would get along with that or not.
It took almost ten minutes, but they towed the passenger liner to the rest of the fleet, and slowed her down before she smacked into anything else. A few minutes later, three more ships arrived, towed by raptors in pairs.
The basestar notified them that only one ship was left to be towed, but Babylon Five's people had it.
And just in time, too. Maggie was watching the location when light flared up, a swirl of vortex, that spilled across the area. Ships came down the opening, flying straight out into the open area in front of it.
"Babylon Five to Centauri vessel, I certainly hope you have a good reason for causing a panic."
Racetrack tuned out the rest of the conversation, not really caring about their ambassador or his recall to homeworld. The fleet was as safe as it could be, for now. It would be nice to find out where she was supposed to set down, and who else had survived the destruction of the Galactica.
-=-
"Dampers baffled. The four shall lead the one. All time stops." The hybrid was in fine form, even if Leoben said so himself. He crouched near her tank, wondering if she would speak of Kara again, of if the end of Kara's journey had already occurred. His words to D'Anna aside, he'd already heard the worst: Kara's raptor had never arrived.
"Two to the power of one. Life support: critical in ten point oh oh oh days. Repairs started. Older than time, they will never cease their brangling. Give unto others as you would have them to you."
A step alerted him to a presence, and he glanced up as D'Anna peered down. "Nice to know some things don't change," the Three murmured.
The only Three left; Leoben sometimes wondered if that had been God's will, or if there were something more capricious. He essayed a half-shrug, a movement picked up from the humans on New Caprica that he'd repressed until now.
"Would you have a leopard change her spots?" he asked idly, as the hybrid continued to drone and prophecy in the background.
With a snort, D'Anna knelt next to him, back straight; "I suppose that's what passes for wit with you."
Leoben felt his lip twitch upwards in a half-something that might have been termed a smile. "We can't all be freelance journalists."
They had never truly been at odds, even when he'd been at his most obsessive over a mere human. But then, Leoben had known a little of what she would discover, once Hera had been found. He'd watched from afar as she slid into her own obsession, but hadn't interfered. That had never been his place. Now, he wasn't sure any of them had a place.
"No," she murmured, "I suppose you can't."
They were both silent, surrounded by the shift and change of the hybrid's status reports and prophecies.
"Haunted by something they cannot define, they grow, change, push towards the sunlight. All is lost. Oxygen scrubbers report three-point-zero-three loss in efficiency. Alliances swirl into being, dissipated by the winds of change. One must die to understand loss. Hull repairs need continuance. Draft centurions again, confirmed."
It didn't matter if there was truly a message there anymore. It was habit to sit at the side of her tank, and let the words wash over him. Leoben bowed his head and wondered if he were going to pray.
Even here, he could feel the desperation and despair of the refugees. Galactica was lost forever, and half the people on board with her. He wasn't sure why that should concern him. But then again, the humans had always concerned him in one way or another. On New Caprica, he'd stayed away from them, isolating himself with Kara and their shared destiny. But now that destiny appeared gone.
He'd seen the light shining out of her, but that seemed almost nothing compared to finding they were not alone in the universe. He wondered what sort of God these Earthforce people worshipped.
"I should have been with Kara."
D'Anna didn't acknowledge his words.
"No one knows..." He closed his eyes against the reality that could include Kara gone for good.
"Unknowing, they stumble. Ice forms bond, water pulls wheel, heart changes course... Atmospheric pressure up point-two, adjust."
"Caprica is pregnant," D'Anna said, the words dropping into the murmuring of the hybrid like a stone. "With Saul Tigh's child, not that he's around to pay attention to her. Just like a human to stop answering his calls."
There was no need to spell out the implications of that. Even if he was still reeling from the identities of his forebears, Leoben could grasp many things at once. "So there is hope for continuance."
"If you can call it that."
"Shadows race destiny to a bitter end."
Silent again, they continued to listen to the hybrid, understanding only a little of what she predicted.
Part Four
Part Two
The Cylons were standing over their control surfaces, reports coming in about the strength of the ships still left in the fleet and the make-up of the space station and the ships around it. There were different types, different configurations, and two of the Eights were excitedly talking mechanics and spaceship design in one corner of the room as they tried to work out the engines and control systems.
D'Anna stood in the center, watching them, watching the others. Adama and Roslin were nearby, taking in the chaos in a similar yet different fashion. She rather wished Colonial One's docking facility hadn't been damaged, but she would survive their presence. The Three wondered if this was how a parent felt as they watched a child. Having seen the Final Five, having been boxed, she wondered if she had a rather different perspective on things.
"Gaeta spoke with the station," Tory said suddenly, turning away from where she'd been talking to him. D'Anna found her cold, but confident, and one of the Twos seemed fascinated by her, following her around, catching her when she heard music that wasn't really there. D'Anna would have spoken to him about getting burned by fire that burned too-hot, but that seemed pointless. They'd had their obsession with Starbuck, it only felt natural that it would spread.
Perhaps she'd find they were following Roslin around soon, or perhaps that little communications technician from the Galactica. If she'd survived.
"And?" D'Anna asked, raising an eyebrow.
Tory shrugged, "We have to move the fleet."
"That will be difficult, half the ships are down with engine problems or damage from the attack," one of the Sixes said. She rubbed a hand over her face, then looked at D'Anna. "We should send crews to get them in working order. Get out of here before this space station decides we're the enemy."
"Did Mr. Gaeta say what frequency he used to contact the station?" asked Laura Roslin. She'd been rattled, earlier. Now she was composed again. Something like a station, like diplomacy, she could understand.
D'Anna might have scoffed at her once. No more; unless the situation required it, of course.
"He didn't mention it, but he'll be aboard soon, and we can contact them from here."
Roslin nodded curtly. She and Tory weren't really getting along, but for the moment, they were civil. D'Anna would have found that amusing, at any other time.
Her fingertips tapped the edge of the control surface, a question coming from her now that there was time to breathe. "Who do you suppose they were?"
"Perhaps our new... friends will know." Adama rumbled. He wasn't anymore comfortable here than Roslin, but then again, he'd lost his battlestar. Something he'd prized dearly for years. He seemed oddly smaller, almost broken, without the broken-down hulk of his ship behind him. "Or perhaps they are merely part of the same group."
"Race? People? We know nothing about them. Jumping to conclusions is a bad idea." Roslin leaned against the console, her complexion greying.
A Six moved to her side, her hand sliding beneath the human's elbow. "Madame President, if you'd like to have a seat over here?"
For a moment, Roslin looked as though she'd refuse, and D'Anna considered saying something mocking as a goad, but the President was apparently aware that fainting would look worse than simply sitting down. She allowed the Six to lead her to a chair and sank down onto it, with a soft little sigh.
"How many did we lose with the battlestar?" One of the Twos asked suddenly. He was looking at Adama, as if for an answer.
"It's hard to tell, but I think nearly a thousand people were still aboard," one of the Eights reported, when he didn't answer. She sighed, "We could send raptors and raiders to see if there are any survivors, but I'm not sure that's a good idea."
"Too much chance for our attackers to follow us," Adama barked, subsiding again after a moment.
Such sympathy and sadness for humanity. D'Anna wanted to sneer at her, but didn't. The Cylons had changed while she was boxed. She'd sensed it before, but here, now, watching as they worked to keep humanity safe, to put their own ship at risk--it was so strange. It was almost wrong.
And yet D'Anna had faith. She'd seen the future, seen the creation of their race. It was hard to go back to being merely a Three, after that. In their own way, these Cylon models: Eights, Sixes, Twos, had made that same leap. Though perhaps theirs had been harder.
"The fleet survived, despite the best attempts of whomever it was," Roslin said, her voice stronger.
"Yes. One wonders why we weren't followed, if they were so powerful." Tapping her fingers again, D'Anna turned away from the control surface and moved to catch one of the Twos. "I want you to keep sweeping with the sensors, keep watch for those things, whatever they were. And at the instant they appear, you jump this ship." Her voice was low, controlled.
He stared at her, startled, then shook his head. "We cannot abandon the fleet, D'Anna."
Leoben. Just her luck. "Afraid your precious Starbuck won't survive without you?"
"She has a destiny," his gaze strayed, touching Tory, who was conversing with an Eight now. "There is something so compelling about her, about the movements she makes in the stream."
"Yes. Naked, I expect," D'Anna snapped. "Just keep an eye out for trouble, then."
Leoben didn't exactly smile, but there was something about him that said he was amused by her. He merely nodded and turned away from her.
Annoyed, D'Anna moved back to her position and plunged her hand into the datastream. Perhaps there was something to be found if she went through the footage of the attack again. There wasn't much of it, but it was something to do.
-=-
Susan pressed the buzzer again, feeling impatient. With a normal refugee fleet, from a colony she recognized, the procedures were clear and easy. They'd be allowed access to the station, and given help for repairs. But there was something different about this fleet. They weren't from a recognizable colony, and they'd been on the run. From what, or whom, Gaeta hadn't said, but Susan had a pretty good idea it was the Shadows.
But there was something about that one ship, with its strangely star-like pattern, that made her wonder. And if this really was a first contact situation of a sort, she thought she could use some help.
"Enter."
"Ah, Delenn," Susan tried to smile and failed. The loss of John Sheridan had rattled them all, Delenn most of all. The room was dimmer than Susan was used to, and Delenn sat, staring at a candle flame. "There's a new refugee fleet."
"Yes?"
Susan tapped her fingers together and said, "I need your help with them. It sounds like it might be a diplomatic nightmare, and you know me and diplomacy."
That stirred Delenn a little, and the Minbari ambassador looked up at Susan. "You are asking my help?"
"Yes, to put it bluntly, I'd like you to find out who they really are. They gave me some story about being from the 'Twelve Colonies'. Now, I don't know about you, but that's nothing I've ever heard of."
A moment passed while Delenn's frown deepened. "The Twelve Colonies... No, it's not something I remember hearing about."
"Then you'll come?"
Delenn gathered herself and stood up, "Yes, I believe I shall. It will give me something to do, to make the time pass more quickly."
"Yes." Susan paused for a moment, her own worry shining in her eyes. "He'll be back, Delenn. I just... He has to."
The ambassador didn't respond, and Susan was grateful. There really was nothing to say on the subject. And Susan was feeling guilty enough for allowing John to fly to his probable death without Delenn adding to it. The fact that Delenn didn't blame her for anything, and that John had snuck off on purpose so she wouldn't feel bad wasn't lost on her. But, coupled with the missing Garibaldi, just added to the conviction that she should have known enough to stop him.
With silence between them, they returned to C&C, and Susan had Kingsley hail Gaeta again.
For a moment, there was no response, and then a woman's voice answered them. "This is Laura Roslin, President of the Twelve Colonies. To whom am I speaking?"
Susan and Delenn exchanged a look, and then Susan answered, "Commander Susan Ivanova of Earthforce and Babylon Five. Ms. Roslin, I was wondering if your people have the capability for face to face communication?" She'd wondered earlier, when talking with Gaeta, but hadn't pushed the matter.
"I'm afraid not, Commander. And, pardon me for the impertinence, but did you say Earthforce?" There was something odd in Roslin's voice.
"Yes. Do you have a problem with Earth, Ms. Roslin?" If they did, they might end up being more of a liability than a help. More of one than simply being refugees, at least, Susan mentally amended.
There was silence, and then Roslin replied, "Earth is a legend among the Twelve Colonies, Commander. So you'll have to forgive our ignorance of your customs."
A legend. Susan's eyebrows went up, and she turned to Delenn, who was looking pensive. "Ms. Roslin, how are those repairs coming to your fleet?"
"I'm told it will be another two hours before we'll be able to move all of our ships, Commander. Apparently, a few of the captains are insisting that they finish their repairs and move under their own steam."
Feeling on more solid ground, Susan said, "I'm afraid that's too long. Tell your captains you can tow them, or we will."
It wasn't really a question: already, two freighters had been delayed in leaving, and there were reports of another group of refugees coming in from one of the outposts near Shadow-occupied space. Sheridan or no, Babylon Five still had to run.
Roslin sounded stiff when she replied, "Is that an ultimatum, Commander?"
"President Roslin, pardon me for the interruption. I'm Minbari Ambassador Delenn, Babylon Five will assist your people in any way possible to ensure a safe removal, but I'm afraid it must be done quickly." Delenn was looking at the incoming texts, and Susan saw what she'd seen.
"Ivanova to Blue Squadron, it looks like you're about to have company. Can you attach tow lines to those ships and get them out of the area?"
From the text, a shipment was coming through from Centauri Prime, or one of its colony worlds. The captain was refusing to wait until he was given permission to use the jumpgate. In normal circumstances, that would be fine. But with the fleet half inside the jumpgate area, that would spell disaster, for both the fleet and the cargo vessel.
-=-
If asked, Boomer would never have been able to explain why she went to Ellen, of all people. The dream had been so vivid and real. She'd never had it before, most of her dreams were small things: reporting to Cavil, holding Hera, that moment underground when she and Caprica had made a pact, or about her old life. The fake one she no longer owned. But this had been different. A place she'd never seen, and she'd been chasing a child--Hera, maybe, Boomer couldn't be sure anymore what Hera looked like (and she should have been). Or the child was chasing her. Boomer had memories of playing hide and seek as a child, and knew those to be as false as everything else about her life.
This had been different, and Ellen had been there.
In the end, perhaps it was that which pushed her over the edge to make this decision. It had been coming for a while, it had just needed something to make it real.
Cavil had used her, he'd programmed her, and Sharon wasn't entirely sure she could trust her own memories of what he'd done, what she'd done. Sometimes, her skin crawled as she remembered his touch, his lips trailing over her skin as his body--and sometimes, she remembered enjoying every moment, of asking for it, begging for him.
There was no such thing as a soul, not for a machine, but Cavil didn't simply put himself into a centurion. He held onto his frail Cylon body, and for what?
She didn't know. And he never gave a satisfactory answer.
They made the hangar bay without incident, and she checked out the first raptor, having Ellen reading off the information from the ECO console, just to make sure that the ship would fly.
Ellen was impatient to leave, but Boomer delayed a few minutes longer to check the underside of the raptor for tracking devices. Being under there, the warmth of the hangar around her, the beat of the basestar pulsing through her, made her pause. She closed her eyes and let herself simply feel it. This feeling of being home, of belonging, wasn't something that could be replicated with human smiles or human touch.
So why was she leaving it?
We love you, Sharon. They had said that, and then they had died. For her.
A shiver slid through her, and she finished checking for trackers and then slid out. Ellen gave her an odd look as she climbed back on board, but said nothing.
One last check and she shut the hatch and began powering up.
"There's a squad of centurions heading our way." Ellen suddenly said. She moved forward, and strapped herself into the co-pilot's seat as Boomer kicked free of the deck and headed for the airlock doors.
"C'mon, c'mon--there--" Boomer found the right sequence to key in, and the doors opened, showing the freedom of space in front of them.
She flew them out into it, then dove downwards, skimming the surface of the basestar. "I'll need another minute to get the jump plotted."
"We might not have it," Ellen warned.
Raiders were spiraling towards them, and Boomer thought of their brains and personalities being destroyed as the Fours operated on them cauterizing their intelligence, so they had no will of their own.
Just like her.
Her knuckles whitened, but she didn't reply as she continued her course, letting the computer plot the jump. It was nearly done when the communications system cut in.
"Boomer?"
Reaching out, Boomer shut it off, and glanced at Ellen. "Thirty seconds."
"Good." Ellen's knuckles were white where she gripped the edge of the console. "I've never wanted a vacation more, you know. A beach, a nice bottle of good alcohol. Something tall, dark and handsome." She gave a heart-felt sigh.
"What, not the Colonel?" Boomer asked, her tone sardonic.
"Saul's for after the flirting and the sunlight and the booze." A smug smile crossed Ellen's mouth.
The computer beeped, and Sharon reached over, flipping the switches. The raptor didn't even shudder as it jumped, the backwash ripping open the skin of the basestar where they'd been using it for cover.
-=-
The avalanche had washed away the trail back to the raptor. Looking out of the cave mouth, Sam thought ruefully that they were lucky to have emptied the damaged ship before it had hit. The swathe of destruction left by the tumble of snow and rock was huge, and he wasn't entirely sure that he could even see the other side of it. With some of the scrubby brush around the cave they'd gotten a fire started. Unsurprisingly, most of the others were huddled around it, trying to stay warm.
Sam had never really felt the cold that much; before, he'd assumed it was just from being fit or a guy. But now, he had to wonder if it was because he was a Cylon. The thought made him wince a little. Kara still wasn't speaking to him. Oh, she was giving orders, and acting as normal as she could, but she was still upset.
It wasn't something he could really blame her for. He'd lied to her, covered up what he was--but he hadn't wanted to hurt her. And surely she had to know that, had to understand why he'd done what he'd done.
Being a Cylon hadn't been what he'd wanted, hadn't been something he could handle. In the early days, he'd thought of wild ideas: flying himself into space and blowing up his viper. Air-locking himself, or letting a Cylon shoot him down. Cutting his wrists, telling a marine and getting shot--and yet, he'd never gone through with it. He'd realized that he was still Sam Anders. Still the man he'd been before he'd discovered he wasn't a man.
He refused to believe he was nothing but programming. He had a heart and a soul, and he believed that there was more to life than being human or Cylon.
He'd taken shelter in Kara's touch, in her drive to find Earth. He'd let her use him as a punching bag, let himself use her as protection against the thought that he wasn't real. That none of it was real. But he'd discovered, in that moment, when Kara found him out, that it was real.
They were real. The pain of his betrayal had cut her to the core. She might have saved his life along with the others, but he'd been incidental.
Now they were stuck on an ice-cold planet, sheltering in a cave with more than a dozen mostly useless civilians, and she didn't even have the luxury of ignoring him.
"We need to move back." It was the communications officer, Hoshi. He was shivering just a little, his gaze distant as he stared at the path of the avalanche. "Further into the cave, I mean."
"Not until we've gathered more wood." Sam didn't really want to head back out into the cold, but there was nothing else for it. "I'd rather not have to start setting people on fire to stay warm."
"We could start with you, Sammy."
Kara had joined them quietly, but Sam had still sensed her presence. It was Hoshi that jumped. "How's Dee?" Sam asked, diverting the conversation for the moment.
"Better. Warmer, I think. We got her wrapped up with some of the civilians. And Dara is working on hot coffee for all of us." Wrapping her arms around herself, Kara stared at the snow. "We've got enough supplies to last for two days. Maybe."
"Then we'd better hope that beacon reaches the fleet," Hoshi muttered, turning and leaving them to stare at the snow on their own.
"If it doesn't, we'll start eating Cylons first."
When Sam didn't rise to her bait, she kicked at a rock, her head down as though finding the pattern it made in the snow as it bounced utterly fascinating.
"I'll get two others and organize more firewood," Sam finally said, when it was obvious she wasn't going to say more. He felt too tired to know whether she was joking or not. And he really didn't want to know that she was serious. Being eaten was not on his list of the top ten ways to die. Not dying was actually at the top, of course.
"All right. Laird and one of the others has started working their way further into the cave, trying to find a better place to stay."
"It's colder than New Caprica," Sam said, feeling stupid for mentioning something from their shared past as soon as the words left his mouth.
"Noticed that, did you?"
"Kara--"
"Don't. Not now. Maybe not ever."
She was gone before he could think of anything else to say.
-=-
Racetrack and Hardball had paired up their raptors to tow Gaia's Prize out of the way. The ship had taken too many hits, and while she'd made the jump, her engines had blown out afterwards. The captain wasn't too thrilled with being considered nothing more than flotsam, but he couldn't deny that he was in the way.
Babylon Five was hurrying them, warning more than once that if they were still there when the jumpgate activated that they would be destroyed by the wash of energy. Maggie had no frakking clue what a jumpgate was, but she wasn't going to let the physics bother her.
"Hardball, Racetrack, tow-lines locked. We're ready when you are."
"Roger, Hardball. Captain Andreides, are you ready to be towed like the junker you are?"
"Very funny, Captain," he replied, his voice annoyed. "We're as ready as we'll ever be."
The basestar was coordinating all of them. Those that could move on their own were already gone, stationed further towards the planet. The seven that were left were being towed by raptors and three ships from Babylon Five, loaned for the job.
All of the raptors now had the frequencies to converse with Babylon Five. There was background chatter, of course, and Racetrack was sort of amused that the Babylon Five pilots sounded like her own. Loud, ego-driven, and good at what they did. She seriously doubted that any of them had been at war or on the run for years, though.
There was an edge to her pilots now, to their reaction times and their instincts. They'd been through hell and back, and would do it again if they had to.
"Hardball, let's get this hunk of junk moved." Racetrack said, flipping two switches on her boards and glancing back at Skulls. "In five."
With ease, he counted off, echoing her. "Four, three, two, one--"
Both raptors kicked in their engines together, moving against the tow lines. There was a moment where nothing seemed to be happening and then they were taut, pulling at the hulk of the Pride. It moved after a moment, pulling free of its inertia. Skulls kept a running commentary, noting the position of the ship as they moved. On cue, both raptors sped up just a little.
"Racetrack to Babylon Five, we've got one down. Six to go."
"Roger that, Racetrack. Keep moving at the rate you're going." Commander Ivanova sounded a hard woman. Racetrack rather thought she'd get along with Starbuck. Then again, Starbuck was frakking crazy, and possibly a Cylon. Maggie didn't really know if Ivanova would get along with that or not.
It took almost ten minutes, but they towed the passenger liner to the rest of the fleet, and slowed her down before she smacked into anything else. A few minutes later, three more ships arrived, towed by raptors in pairs.
The basestar notified them that only one ship was left to be towed, but Babylon Five's people had it.
And just in time, too. Maggie was watching the location when light flared up, a swirl of vortex, that spilled across the area. Ships came down the opening, flying straight out into the open area in front of it.
"Babylon Five to Centauri vessel, I certainly hope you have a good reason for causing a panic."
Racetrack tuned out the rest of the conversation, not really caring about their ambassador or his recall to homeworld. The fleet was as safe as it could be, for now. It would be nice to find out where she was supposed to set down, and who else had survived the destruction of the Galactica.
-=-
"Dampers baffled. The four shall lead the one. All time stops." The hybrid was in fine form, even if Leoben said so himself. He crouched near her tank, wondering if she would speak of Kara again, of if the end of Kara's journey had already occurred. His words to D'Anna aside, he'd already heard the worst: Kara's raptor had never arrived.
"Two to the power of one. Life support: critical in ten point oh oh oh days. Repairs started. Older than time, they will never cease their brangling. Give unto others as you would have them to you."
A step alerted him to a presence, and he glanced up as D'Anna peered down. "Nice to know some things don't change," the Three murmured.
The only Three left; Leoben sometimes wondered if that had been God's will, or if there were something more capricious. He essayed a half-shrug, a movement picked up from the humans on New Caprica that he'd repressed until now.
"Would you have a leopard change her spots?" he asked idly, as the hybrid continued to drone and prophecy in the background.
With a snort, D'Anna knelt next to him, back straight; "I suppose that's what passes for wit with you."
Leoben felt his lip twitch upwards in a half-something that might have been termed a smile. "We can't all be freelance journalists."
They had never truly been at odds, even when he'd been at his most obsessive over a mere human. But then, Leoben had known a little of what she would discover, once Hera had been found. He'd watched from afar as she slid into her own obsession, but hadn't interfered. That had never been his place. Now, he wasn't sure any of them had a place.
"No," she murmured, "I suppose you can't."
They were both silent, surrounded by the shift and change of the hybrid's status reports and prophecies.
"Haunted by something they cannot define, they grow, change, push towards the sunlight. All is lost. Oxygen scrubbers report three-point-zero-three loss in efficiency. Alliances swirl into being, dissipated by the winds of change. One must die to understand loss. Hull repairs need continuance. Draft centurions again, confirmed."
It didn't matter if there was truly a message there anymore. It was habit to sit at the side of her tank, and let the words wash over him. Leoben bowed his head and wondered if he were going to pray.
Even here, he could feel the desperation and despair of the refugees. Galactica was lost forever, and half the people on board with her. He wasn't sure why that should concern him. But then again, the humans had always concerned him in one way or another. On New Caprica, he'd stayed away from them, isolating himself with Kara and their shared destiny. But now that destiny appeared gone.
He'd seen the light shining out of her, but that seemed almost nothing compared to finding they were not alone in the universe. He wondered what sort of God these Earthforce people worshipped.
"I should have been with Kara."
D'Anna didn't acknowledge his words.
"No one knows..." He closed his eyes against the reality that could include Kara gone for good.
"Unknowing, they stumble. Ice forms bond, water pulls wheel, heart changes course... Atmospheric pressure up point-two, adjust."
"Caprica is pregnant," D'Anna said, the words dropping into the murmuring of the hybrid like a stone. "With Saul Tigh's child, not that he's around to pay attention to her. Just like a human to stop answering his calls."
There was no need to spell out the implications of that. Even if he was still reeling from the identities of his forebears, Leoben could grasp many things at once. "So there is hope for continuance."
"If you can call it that."
"Shadows race destiny to a bitter end."
Silent again, they continued to listen to the hybrid, understanding only a little of what she predicted.
Part Four
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Sesame Street is almost over, so I'm done for a while, but I'll definitely be returning to read the rest of this one!
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Yep, that's the Twos.
The ladies are kicking ass and taking names quite nicely. I did like the observation of how frail Adama seems with his ship. Quite fitting to his character.
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And I love the women of BSG, so my main goal was giving them the spotlight. =D
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Hybrid speak is easier if you're backtracking to fill in and can throw in veiled comments about later happenings. Or so I've discovered.