![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Big Bang Fic: Part Four, BSG/Babylon Five, Wheel Turns
All disclaimers and other information can be found on the Prologue.
Part Three
Perhaps having a meeting with the Admiral and the President after the end of the world would have struck some people as frivolous, but Felix knew better. The Six he'd asked for a room for them had looked surprised, but then understanding. They must be as used to these sorts of committee meetings as the humans were, but Gaeta wasn't going to ask her about that. He wasn't going to get along with the Cylons, just yet, if ever. There was too much bad blood and not enough forgiveness on either side.
Felix didn't think of himself as desperate. Not like the woman who'd gotten a knife into a Two, earlier. She'd been sedated by Ishay (Cottle was already making the rounds of the other refugee ships), and was being moved to one of the other ships for observation.
"We lost nearly half the people on the Galactica," Felix reported to Adama. He wasn't sure whether anyone really cared about numbers anymore, but he'd been asked to produce them, "Among the missing are Tigh, Starbuck, Anders, Dualla, Hoshi and Laird--Seelix claims they made it to a raptor before decompression, but there's been no word since. We were already a little short on ranking officers, though, so I'm not sure it matters."
Roslin looked exhausted, but she nodded, "Thank you, lieutenant. Have you slept recently?"
"Yes, sir." Which was a lie. But Felix couldn't sleep, not until he was certain that Louis would never return. "Um, sir, are you planning on sending rescue missions back to our previous location?"
"No. That's just what they'd want us to do, and I'm not going to lose the rest of the fleet to stupidity." Adama had changed since the destruction of the Galactica. His face was slightly-sunken, as though his ego could no longer sustain it. Unlike Roslin, he didn't seem to thrive on it, either.
Then again, if rumor were true, Roslin had been dealing with loss for most of her life. Felix raised his eyebrows at her, but she shook her head. She wasn't going to gainsay the Admiral at this juncture.
"The other order of business is that Commander Ivanova is now requesting a meet and greet; says she wants to put faces with names."
Roslin glanced at the Admiral, then straightened as though she'd been caught napping. "We shouldn't be surprised. We did show up on their doorsteps, and if they really are from Earth..."
"Hasn't Earth taunted us enough?" the Old Man muttered. As though he regretted making the original decision to search for Earth.
Ignoring him, Felix raised his eyebrows at the President, "I would suggest yourself, a marine or two--" it was a pity Sergeant Matthias hadn't made it back with the Demetrius, "--and a Cylon. I don't think these people mean us harm, but a show of weakness might give them a bad impression."
For a moment, Roslin was silent, thoughts obviously racing through her mind. Then she shook her head, "No marines. I'll take a raptor, the pilots will be enough. And I want the Agathons, including Hera; I'm getting tired of secrets. Lee Adama will remain in charge of the fleet while I'm away."
Once, Felix would have objected to Lee in any form. But the man was shaking out to be vaguely competent, as long as no one made him go against his father. "I'll notify the Agathons, they can fly the raptor, too."
Roslin gave him a brief smile, then leaned back into her chair, scrounged from a storage bay with mis-matched, dilapidated equipment taken from the colonies, most likely. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Have you considered a promotion?"
"Madame President?" Gaeta asked, hoping he didn't look as confused as he felt.
"We lost too many people, Mr. Gaeta. Lieutenants are plentiful, but Captains are a bit rarer." She glanced at the Admiral, who didn't seem to care either way. "If you can find the pips, consider it a battlefield promotion."
He knew she had a list of those who had survived, and he knew she was right: of the seven captains Galactica had, only Helo and Racetrack had survived, though Felix figured Starbuck would show up like a bad penny, one of these days. There was no getting rid of that woman. "Thank you. I think."
That slight smile crossed her lips, and then she levered herself to her feet, "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to catch a nap before our diplomatic entourage gets underway."
"I'll arrange a meeting for--seven hours from now, if that's feasible?"
"Yes. Thank you, Captain Gaeta."
OK. So there was definitely a ring to that. Felix grinned a little, and began gathering his notes. He'd have time to contact Ivanova's people, the Agathons, and then grab a nap of his own.
-=-
Ellen wasn't sure what Boomer's motives were for leaving behind the rest of the fleet, but she waited until they were in open space, several jumps from John and his machinations and friends to ask her about it.
"Why?"
The word hung between them for a long time. Ellen contented herself with the change in scenery, taking stock of the raptor. She wondered, idly, which ship it had come from, or if her children had manufactured it all on their own. Her fingers poked through the contents of a locker, and she dropped back into the co-pilot's seat, a stale packet of cookies in her hand.
"I've always heard talking helps," Ellen said, offering a cookie to Boomer. Her child, in a way, and Ellen wasn't entirely sure she'd ever get used to that idea.
She, Saul, the others, they had all designed and programmed and built the Seven (Eight, but Ellen didn't want to think about Daniel at that moment), but they had all grown, evolved. Perhaps they'd outstripped their initial programming, and perhaps they hadn't. She was sure the jury was still out, and some philosopher would have more to say on the subject.
"Not sure why," continued Ellen, relaxing, but not slouching. Maybe later, when the conversation had stopped going nowhere.
Boomer turned to her, "I don't want to talk, Ellen." Obviously, Ellen wouldn't be able to convince Boomer to call her 'mother'. Not yet.
"If you're planning to kill me, at least make sure we're out of resurrection range." The words were calm, but Ellen wasn't. She was trapped in a tiny raptor with a madwoman. John might claim that all of her extra bodies had been destroyed with the hub, but Ellen wouldn't ever trust him to be truthful. He enjoyed torturing her too much.
Something like amusement curled Boomer's mouth up, but it was almost a parody of the emotion. "I'm not entirely sure I can find the fleet."
Ellen frowned, "But John said--"
"It's been probabilities, calculations--" Boomer laughed, the sound raw and choked. "It's so easy to follow a fleet that has a pre-set destination, Ellen. Gaius Baltar might not have known everything, but Cavil remembers more than he tells."
"John... John knew where Earth was." It should have been a surprise. Ellen bit into her cookie, and smiled, "Do you know, I don't think I've had one of these since the last time Saul and I--there was a late-night run to an all-night grocery, and he almost got arrested for wearing my bathrobe instead of his own clothing."
Boomer looked as though she thought that Ellen were the crazy one.
"Don't mind me, memory's an odd thing," Ellen waved a hand, "Do continue, my dear."
Turning over the cookie in her hands, Boomer stared out the viewscreen, "Cavil knew where Earth was, and he liked to drop in on the fleet at odd moments. I think it amused him to poke at them, to worry them. But then..." Her brow wrinkled.
"Mr. Morden," Ellen said quietly.
"After Natalie, he... he relied on Morden more than I liked."
"Not liking Morden is smart, Boomer."
Boomer nodded in agreement, then said, "Not that he left it completely to chance, of course. He still had Dr. Baltar's calculations. Well, and a homing beacon buried in the Galactica's super-structure."
"And you know the frequency of that beacon?" Ellen asked, one eyebrow raised. After all, if Boomer didn't know, this was all for nothing. She couldn't quite bring herself to believe that Boomer had brought her out here in an elaborate ruse to murder her, though Ellen wasn't sure she could put it past her entirely.
"Yes, of course. So we can find the fleet, the question is, do we really want to?"
"Yes," Ellen said emphatically. She didn't comment on John's deviousness, and she didn't point out that the whole reason they'd left was to do exactly that. It didn't surprise her that Boomer was having second thoughts. "Boomer, they might not want to see us, but we still need to warn them about Morden--and now you tell me about this beacon?"
A laugh escaped Ellen, full of amusement, "Poor Bill. His own ship has kept him at John's beck and call. He won't like knowing that."
The mention of Adama made Boomer stiffen slightly, then she shrugged, "I'll key in navigation to pick up the beacon's signal, then. And if they shoot us on sight, I'll come back just to haunt you."
"You do that, dear."
-=-
Laird and his group had returned, some of them babbling excitedly, and Dee roused herself from the nap she'd taken, wrapped in blankets. There'd been two people bracketing her earlier, bringing her body temperature back up. It was colder without them, but she welcomed how the cold slapped her awake when she struggled free of the cocoon.
Interested in what was going on, she walked towards the group.
"There's a door," one of the men said. He sketched it, in the air, then shrugged, "We couldn't open it."
"Cables, too. And other things--" this from one of the members of the deck crew. Cherise, Dee thought her name was. "It's sort of frakking weird. This isn't a colony world, and it's not Earth. Are we on a Cylon world?"
"No. This isn't--at least, I don't think it is." Anders said, looking vaguely uncomfortable.
Cylon, Dee thought as she looked at him, but she also trusted him. It was hard not to, after he'd saved her life. "We should find out if there's a power source we can use. Perhaps to get the raptor's systems running again."
"It might not work that easily," Laird told her, as the conversation continued all around them. "We don't know if this power source would even be compatible with our systems." He frowned, "But we might be able to rig something with our communications board. Broadcasting a signal isn't as hard as getting an engine running."
Tucking her hands under her arms, Dee nodded, "That's right. Even if we're reduced to the old mariner's code, pulses and longs, we should be able to manage something. If the beacon is still transmitting, it should be enough for someone to find us."
"Yeah, as long as they're not the Cylons."
"Laird, if that happens, our luck is really crap." A consensus seemed to have been reached, and Dee turned back to watch Starbuck give her orders.
Within a few minutes, the supplies had been shouldered again and everyone with an extra hand was carrying a hastily-made torch, the flickers of light dancing along the walls, painting them with shadows the deeper they went inside the cavern.
It opened up a little way further in, the sides spreading outwards. Light bounced off of the ceiling overhead, and Dee stared up, wondering if she was seeing things when she realized there was a pattern to it. She traced the lines of the grid, then followed Laird as he drifted to one of the walls, hand brushing against the curiously-flat surface. As though it had been cut from the original stone, and smoothed down with more than the passage of time.
There was a shout, and the others converged upon the door. Dee didn't bother joiing them, figuring they had enough hands to work it out.
"It looks... organic," Laird noted, a strange fascination on his face as he leaned closer to the wall, fingers trailing over the spines of cables that came from the floor and went into the ceiling. Or perhaps it was the other way around, Dee couldn't be sure.
She frowned at him, and glanced ahead to where Starbuck and Anders were working to open the door they'd found. "Does it?"
"Yeah."
Dee hadn't ever really had an opinion one way or the other of Laird, but in the last few hours, she'd gotten to like him. Being Chief of the deck of Galactica wasn't an easy job to fill, but he'd managed it. He was sort of helped (at least for the Pegasus crew, that still hadn't entirely integrated) by his predecessor being a Cylon. Dee didn't like to think of the slurs and horrific things she'd heard people say about him, ever since Pegasus had joined the fleet.
It was strange to think he was same man Admiral Cain had conscripted. Dee knew the rumors, knew that his wife and daughter had been slaughtered in front of him. Humanity had occasionally been crueler than the Cylons. Sometimes, she wondered that Laird and those like him hadn't rebeled against Adama.
Hadn't sided with the Cylons, in end. But old habits were hard to break.
"Chief--Laird." She touched his shoulder and nodded towards where Starbuck was impatiently arguing with Anders now. "Let's go find out if this is going to be the saving of us, shall we?"
"In a moment." He tilted his head again, looking up and down the wire, "This is so fascinating. Can you feel the heat from these?"
"Heat?" Confused, Dee reached out, but didn't touch them.
Laird pressed his hand to them, "They're warm. I think there's live current going through these."
The universe felt disturbingly bigger, suddenly. The idea that there was something else out there, someone else had created this--it didn't feel like Cylon technology, but then again, what else could it be? Dee stepped away from the wire, "How is that a good thing?"
"I'm not sure it is, but it's fascinating--ow!" He yanked his hand back, shaking it.
"What?"
"Must have been the heat," he shrugged, peering at his palm. There was nothing to mar the surface, and he showed it to her. "Perhaps just a momentary flash of heat, felt a little like being stung."
A shout from the door drew their attention, and Dee nodded, "Sounds like they've got the door open."
"Yes." He moved past her, heading for the now open doorway. Light was spilling from it, putting the torchlight to shame.
Dee had no trouble keeping up with him, and the others were jostling their way inside before they reached the doorway. They chattered, over-bright and happ over the warmth and the light, as though it were natural for their to be warmth and light inside a derelict cave. Starbuck and Sam were waiting for her, Hoshi just inside the room, watching outwards. "This is weird," Dee informed them.
The others nodded, but they all stepped inside as well. Dee was the last, and her heels had barely cleared the threshold before there was a sound and she turned to find the door already closed. "Shit."
It was hard to tell who the makers had been, even harder to guess their motives and intentions. Dee hoped they weren't intent on destroying the universe, otherwise, things might go pretty shittily for them. She almost laughed at that--when weren't things going shittily for the only human survivors of the Twelve Colonies?
-=-
"Well, that programming trick worked," Cavil said aloud, as though to no one in particular.
One didn't bother shrugging as he leaned against the control console. "Did you expect anything less from an Eight? She's always been a flawed machine."
"I have more worries over where our allies are. They've been awful quiet since they promised me the universe," replied Cavil, his tone a little less bored.
"You know they said there was a large operation going down. Something about upstart Earthlings from some space station," mused One. He wasn't very fond of Mr. Morden and his not-easy-to-see friends in high places. They bothered him the same way the Sixes and their religiosity did. Not that he'd ever admit that.
"Right. Earthlings." There was deep sarcasm in Cavil's voice; he didn't believe in the myth of Earth anymore than One did. But it was a pretty dream to dangle at the humans. "A Captain Sheridan is giving them trouble--and some aliens, too."
As though aliens truly existed. Not that One was objecting to their reality, but he was fairly certain that Morden's 'allies' were little more than parlor tricks--high technology that he simply couldn't pierce.
"While we wait for Morden to get off his ass, I think our little gambit with Boomer and Mother will work," Cavil reminded him. "If they manage to find the fleet without killing themselves in the process. I wouldn't put it past Adama to shoot them down."
"Man's paranoid," agreed One with a grimace, "But if they get there, and Boomer remembers our request..."
"Yes." A little smile played over Cavil's mouth, "That should set the cat amongst the pigeons."
One rolled his eyes. He was really beginning to regret talking to himself, these days.
-=-
Roslin's planned visit was going ahead, even though the Admiral had decided to object. She was going as a gesture of peace, and also to discover what she could about Babylon Five's connection to Earth. An entire galaxy of people they'd never heard of or seen was sending most of the fleet for a loop. Some of it was panic over the idea that this was a Cylon trap, a lie. Most of it was people wondering if they'd become food for aliens, or be turned into slaves of some sort. It was sort of amusing to D'Anna, how many humans refused to be optimistic about things.
"I don't trust any of them," Roslin had snapped flatly at the Admiral, her voice hushed as she tried not to be overheard, "But I'm not sure who else to take. Tom Zarek? Do you really think he'd manage to watch my back?"
D'Anna hadn't heard his response, but imagined it was some pious monologue about humanity triumphing over the evil of the Cylon.
The Agathons, D'Anna and Sonja (one of the Sixes) were planning to go. D'Anna had declined at first, then decided that Sonja shouldn't go alone. She herself didn't trust Athena as far as she could throw a basestar, and if there was trouble, D'Anna preferred to be in the thick of it. Besides, there might be something to be gained by showing more of a Cylon presence.
Adama was staying behind, to soothe himself, and keep the fleet together. He would monitor the situation with his son, Tory and the Cylon's help. D'Anna couldn't hide her amusement at his discomfort with that idea.
With the raptor packed with those going, they ran last-minute checks while Athena contacted Babylon Five to gain coordinates for their landing site.
They were silent as they flew towards the immense station. It was majestic, a giant, bulbous monster that spun slowly, lights blinking everywhere upon its hull. There were ships crowded around it, some moving to and fro, possibly hauling cargo, possibly with passengers. It was an awe-inspiring sight that not even D'Anna could deny. She felt a new reverence for God, and wondered if he'd had a hand in this.
Landing in their docking bay, they waited for the all-clear before disembarking into the same air they were used to breathing, stale oxygen mixed with the tang of metal and oil.
Waiting for them were two women surrounded by what was obviously security. One was tall and slim, her hair pulled back severely from her face. The other was... different. D'Anna found herself staring at the odd bone structure that circled the shorter woman's head.
"On behalf of Babylon Five," the shorter woman said, her voice strangely accented, "I welcome you in the name of peace. I am Ambassador Delenn of Minbar."
"Commander Ivanova," with a nod, Ivanova indicated the security officers, "And these gentlemen are merely here for show. They're a little jumpy right now, so if you are carrying any weapons, now would be the time to hand them over."
There was a moment of strained silence before Roslin stepped forward. "Commander, I'm Laura Roslin, President of the Twelve Colonies, and I assure you, we are not armed. It was one of your conditions, after all."
"Yes." The silence broken, Ivanova gave a curt command to the security men and they dispersed, two falling in behind Athena and Helo, Hera between them.
Bringing the child had seemed a bold move, on Roslin's part. After trying to protect her, here they were, putting her in the line of fire. But Roslin's argument had been that children would show their lack of militaristic intentions better than words would. And, as Ivanova and Delenn spotted her, it seemed to have worked, their postures relaxing slightly.
"If you'll follow me, I've had refreshment prepared for all of us and we can get down to business."
Letting the Babylon Five people lead the way, D'Anna dropped back to walk with the security men. "Do you do this often? Escort refugees, I mean."
They were silent, and she wondered how easy it would be to take over the station. It would take a surgical strike, in and out, as long as one knew what one was doing. Perhaps destroying their command center would be more than enough, but she didn't know the station. Yet. The time to plan it was not now, however, as much as she disliked not being in charge. Perhaps later, when they proved how untrustworthy humans could be. For now, she would simply watch and plan.
-=-
With barely a pulse, the raptor jumped to the coordinates given by the homing beacon.
"There, the Galactica should be around here somewhere..." Boomer's voice trailed off as the raptor banked, and the starfield was obscured by the shattered hulk of the battlestar. Pieces were still slowly pin-wheeling in space, tossed off the superstructure as it continued its own lazy turn. Absently, she noted there were other debris fields, but the Galactica was the largest, and Boomer ignored them as she felt her gut clench in shock.
"Oh my God," murmured Ellen, her eyes wide as she stared out at the destruction.
"Morden." She felt unsteady, and Boomer wondered if the pain was real. She'd lived and breathed and died on that ship for three years, and now it was gone. Reduced to a pile of scrap. "He--he said they had a trap."
Ellen was quiet for a moment, then her hand touched Boomer's, "The planet," she murmured, "They must have... Maybe it's Earth."
"Does it matter?" Boomer didn't care how bitter she sounded. All of her hopes and dreams, those little fantasies of a life with people who loved her, died. Cavil had been right: emotions were for the weak and stupid.
"This isn't the entire fleet, Boomer."
Ellen's observation made Boomer frown, and she stared at the dradis readouts, coming to the same realization. "They had time to scramble and jump away," she realized.
"Can we follow them?"
"I don't--wait. They would have broadcast emergency jump coordinates, and those would still be logged in the communications console of the Galactica."
"Boomer," Ellen sounded uncertain, "Is going inside a good idea?"
No. No, it wasn't. The battlestar was slowly moving, and anyone inside would have to be very frakking careful. Boomer clenched her fingers around the stick, and seriously considered turning tail and returning to Cavil. But her skin crawled as she thought about it, and if she died in the wreck of the Galactica, at least she would be her own person. A Cylon, but a person, making her own choices.
"I'll be fine," she lied, sending the raptor gliding closer, trying to figure out the best route from the outer skin to CIC. Damn. If only the battlestar had networked computers! She could have tapped a terminal near an airlock, and been done with it.
The irony of why Adama had insisted on no networks wasn't lost on her.
"Well, if you aren't, don't expect me to come in after you," Ellen informed her. She shuddered, "Space-walking was never my idea of fun."
Boomer rolled her eyes. She never would have expected Ellen to do any such thing. "There's an emergency spacesuit, you're going to have to put it on. Raptors aren't equipped with airlocks," she explained, her tone bland.
At least, there should have been. Boomer remembered Chief complaining about having to dig moldier and moldier plastic suits from storage, just to keep the raptors supplied. Apparently, people had used them for things not their intended purpose, and the Galactica had never had top of the line equipment in the first place. After a quick search, she sighed, "Ok, so there isn't one. You'll have to stay in the cockpit for the duration--you'll be able to monitor me from there, anyway."
Not bothering to wait for a reply, Boomer finished doing up her flight suit and checked all the fastenings before she pulled her helmet on. She'd have a better chance with another airpack, but no one had bothered to put one on the raptor, so she was stuck with hoping to come across internal air on the battlestar.
"If I can't find another air source, I'll be back in two hours." She pulled the raptor as close as she dared to one of the larger holes, then sent a grapple to bite into the edge. With it tethered there, she'd have a decent shot going down into the guts to get to CIC. The mass of the battlestar would pull the raptor along with it while it moved, at least, she hoped it would.
"And if you don't return?"
Boomer shrugged, "You should be able to plot a course back to Cavil. Try not to hit the Galactica when you release the grappling clamp, and you should be fine."
"How comforting," Ellen muttered.
Ignoring her, Boomer stepped into the cargo area and closed up the hatch to the cockpit. "Boomer to raptor 587, do you read?"
"You're coming through fine."
"Good. Just sit tight, and I'll be back. Don't repressurize the cargo area unless it's an emergency."
Boomer took hold of one of the handles, then triggered the hatch. It opened with a whoosh of escaping air, and she let the current swing her legs up, not letting it suck her through. The raptor bobbed a little, but the grapple was for use in worse conditions. It would hold.
When the air was gone, Boomer checked that the escaping air hadn't sent them towards any protrusions, then flicked a salute at the cockpit before she started down the tether line.
It was disorienting, if she looked around, so she didn't. Space lazily moved above her and below her, but the battlestar and raptor remained stationary. It was enough to make her want to close her eyes and never move again, but she ignored the urge, knowing it would dissipate once she could only see the interior.
Once inside the battlestar, she paused to get her bearings and then started down (or sideways, once), steps careful.
There were bodies everywhere, people frozen in the act of escaping, terror in their ice-locked faces. Boomer tried to ignore them, having to move them sometimes. Equipment and decking were spilled everywhere, as though the attackers had taken the ship and shaken it into pieces. She tried not to let the silence get to her, but even the sound of her boots on the deck weren't enough to break the sensation that she was alone.
Lost forever, abandoned by everyone who loved her, she thought, before catching her breath and steadying herself against a bulkhead. She was near the hangar tool room, and realized she could find air supplies inside.
"Still with me?"
Ellen's voice made her jump, and Boomer let out a long breath before replying, "Yeah. Getting new air."
Reaching out, she tugged at the wheel locking the hatch closed. It didn't budge, and she frowned, then yanked harder, making the metal crunch. Though in the airless environment, it wasn't a sound, more a sensation in her hands.
It occurred to her that there was something wrong: someone had locked the hatch, from the inside.
There were survivors, the thought made her dizzy for a moment, before she sternly told herself it was impossible. It didn't matter if there were survivors, anyway, that wasn't her mission. Boomer stared at the hatch, wondering if she were simply being stupid. Perhaps the hatch had closed during the fight, and pressure was the only thing working against her.
Before she could get too far with that sort of thinking, there was a crackle of static, and someone banged on the hatch from the other side.
"Shit--" Yanking her hand off the wheel, she stared at it. The radio crackled again.
"What's going on?"
"I think I found survivors."
Ellen laughed, the sound harsh, "You've got to be joking."
Putting one hand on the hatch, palm flattened to the metal, she banged it with her fist. One-two-three short, one-two-three long, one-two-three, short. She paused, waiting.
The pattern was echoed back to her, felt through her palm, and Boomer grinned a little wildly before restraining herself.
Ok, fine. There were survivors, "Ellen, I'm going to have to get them out." Maybe if she did, maybe if she proved that she wasn't some soulless thing, Adama wouldn't have her shot on-sight. Boomer gave a mirthless smile. That was if the Old Man was still alive.
"All right," she muttered, "Let's see if I can find out how many of you there are."
Part Five
Part Three
Perhaps having a meeting with the Admiral and the President after the end of the world would have struck some people as frivolous, but Felix knew better. The Six he'd asked for a room for them had looked surprised, but then understanding. They must be as used to these sorts of committee meetings as the humans were, but Gaeta wasn't going to ask her about that. He wasn't going to get along with the Cylons, just yet, if ever. There was too much bad blood and not enough forgiveness on either side.
Felix didn't think of himself as desperate. Not like the woman who'd gotten a knife into a Two, earlier. She'd been sedated by Ishay (Cottle was already making the rounds of the other refugee ships), and was being moved to one of the other ships for observation.
"We lost nearly half the people on the Galactica," Felix reported to Adama. He wasn't sure whether anyone really cared about numbers anymore, but he'd been asked to produce them, "Among the missing are Tigh, Starbuck, Anders, Dualla, Hoshi and Laird--Seelix claims they made it to a raptor before decompression, but there's been no word since. We were already a little short on ranking officers, though, so I'm not sure it matters."
Roslin looked exhausted, but she nodded, "Thank you, lieutenant. Have you slept recently?"
"Yes, sir." Which was a lie. But Felix couldn't sleep, not until he was certain that Louis would never return. "Um, sir, are you planning on sending rescue missions back to our previous location?"
"No. That's just what they'd want us to do, and I'm not going to lose the rest of the fleet to stupidity." Adama had changed since the destruction of the Galactica. His face was slightly-sunken, as though his ego could no longer sustain it. Unlike Roslin, he didn't seem to thrive on it, either.
Then again, if rumor were true, Roslin had been dealing with loss for most of her life. Felix raised his eyebrows at her, but she shook her head. She wasn't going to gainsay the Admiral at this juncture.
"The other order of business is that Commander Ivanova is now requesting a meet and greet; says she wants to put faces with names."
Roslin glanced at the Admiral, then straightened as though she'd been caught napping. "We shouldn't be surprised. We did show up on their doorsteps, and if they really are from Earth..."
"Hasn't Earth taunted us enough?" the Old Man muttered. As though he regretted making the original decision to search for Earth.
Ignoring him, Felix raised his eyebrows at the President, "I would suggest yourself, a marine or two--" it was a pity Sergeant Matthias hadn't made it back with the Demetrius, "--and a Cylon. I don't think these people mean us harm, but a show of weakness might give them a bad impression."
For a moment, Roslin was silent, thoughts obviously racing through her mind. Then she shook her head, "No marines. I'll take a raptor, the pilots will be enough. And I want the Agathons, including Hera; I'm getting tired of secrets. Lee Adama will remain in charge of the fleet while I'm away."
Once, Felix would have objected to Lee in any form. But the man was shaking out to be vaguely competent, as long as no one made him go against his father. "I'll notify the Agathons, they can fly the raptor, too."
Roslin gave him a brief smile, then leaned back into her chair, scrounged from a storage bay with mis-matched, dilapidated equipment taken from the colonies, most likely. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Have you considered a promotion?"
"Madame President?" Gaeta asked, hoping he didn't look as confused as he felt.
"We lost too many people, Mr. Gaeta. Lieutenants are plentiful, but Captains are a bit rarer." She glanced at the Admiral, who didn't seem to care either way. "If you can find the pips, consider it a battlefield promotion."
He knew she had a list of those who had survived, and he knew she was right: of the seven captains Galactica had, only Helo and Racetrack had survived, though Felix figured Starbuck would show up like a bad penny, one of these days. There was no getting rid of that woman. "Thank you. I think."
That slight smile crossed her lips, and then she levered herself to her feet, "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to catch a nap before our diplomatic entourage gets underway."
"I'll arrange a meeting for--seven hours from now, if that's feasible?"
"Yes. Thank you, Captain Gaeta."
OK. So there was definitely a ring to that. Felix grinned a little, and began gathering his notes. He'd have time to contact Ivanova's people, the Agathons, and then grab a nap of his own.
-=-
Ellen wasn't sure what Boomer's motives were for leaving behind the rest of the fleet, but she waited until they were in open space, several jumps from John and his machinations and friends to ask her about it.
"Why?"
The word hung between them for a long time. Ellen contented herself with the change in scenery, taking stock of the raptor. She wondered, idly, which ship it had come from, or if her children had manufactured it all on their own. Her fingers poked through the contents of a locker, and she dropped back into the co-pilot's seat, a stale packet of cookies in her hand.
"I've always heard talking helps," Ellen said, offering a cookie to Boomer. Her child, in a way, and Ellen wasn't entirely sure she'd ever get used to that idea.
She, Saul, the others, they had all designed and programmed and built the Seven (Eight, but Ellen didn't want to think about Daniel at that moment), but they had all grown, evolved. Perhaps they'd outstripped their initial programming, and perhaps they hadn't. She was sure the jury was still out, and some philosopher would have more to say on the subject.
"Not sure why," continued Ellen, relaxing, but not slouching. Maybe later, when the conversation had stopped going nowhere.
Boomer turned to her, "I don't want to talk, Ellen." Obviously, Ellen wouldn't be able to convince Boomer to call her 'mother'. Not yet.
"If you're planning to kill me, at least make sure we're out of resurrection range." The words were calm, but Ellen wasn't. She was trapped in a tiny raptor with a madwoman. John might claim that all of her extra bodies had been destroyed with the hub, but Ellen wouldn't ever trust him to be truthful. He enjoyed torturing her too much.
Something like amusement curled Boomer's mouth up, but it was almost a parody of the emotion. "I'm not entirely sure I can find the fleet."
Ellen frowned, "But John said--"
"It's been probabilities, calculations--" Boomer laughed, the sound raw and choked. "It's so easy to follow a fleet that has a pre-set destination, Ellen. Gaius Baltar might not have known everything, but Cavil remembers more than he tells."
"John... John knew where Earth was." It should have been a surprise. Ellen bit into her cookie, and smiled, "Do you know, I don't think I've had one of these since the last time Saul and I--there was a late-night run to an all-night grocery, and he almost got arrested for wearing my bathrobe instead of his own clothing."
Boomer looked as though she thought that Ellen were the crazy one.
"Don't mind me, memory's an odd thing," Ellen waved a hand, "Do continue, my dear."
Turning over the cookie in her hands, Boomer stared out the viewscreen, "Cavil knew where Earth was, and he liked to drop in on the fleet at odd moments. I think it amused him to poke at them, to worry them. But then..." Her brow wrinkled.
"Mr. Morden," Ellen said quietly.
"After Natalie, he... he relied on Morden more than I liked."
"Not liking Morden is smart, Boomer."
Boomer nodded in agreement, then said, "Not that he left it completely to chance, of course. He still had Dr. Baltar's calculations. Well, and a homing beacon buried in the Galactica's super-structure."
"And you know the frequency of that beacon?" Ellen asked, one eyebrow raised. After all, if Boomer didn't know, this was all for nothing. She couldn't quite bring herself to believe that Boomer had brought her out here in an elaborate ruse to murder her, though Ellen wasn't sure she could put it past her entirely.
"Yes, of course. So we can find the fleet, the question is, do we really want to?"
"Yes," Ellen said emphatically. She didn't comment on John's deviousness, and she didn't point out that the whole reason they'd left was to do exactly that. It didn't surprise her that Boomer was having second thoughts. "Boomer, they might not want to see us, but we still need to warn them about Morden--and now you tell me about this beacon?"
A laugh escaped Ellen, full of amusement, "Poor Bill. His own ship has kept him at John's beck and call. He won't like knowing that."
The mention of Adama made Boomer stiffen slightly, then she shrugged, "I'll key in navigation to pick up the beacon's signal, then. And if they shoot us on sight, I'll come back just to haunt you."
"You do that, dear."
-=-
Laird and his group had returned, some of them babbling excitedly, and Dee roused herself from the nap she'd taken, wrapped in blankets. There'd been two people bracketing her earlier, bringing her body temperature back up. It was colder without them, but she welcomed how the cold slapped her awake when she struggled free of the cocoon.
Interested in what was going on, she walked towards the group.
"There's a door," one of the men said. He sketched it, in the air, then shrugged, "We couldn't open it."
"Cables, too. And other things--" this from one of the members of the deck crew. Cherise, Dee thought her name was. "It's sort of frakking weird. This isn't a colony world, and it's not Earth. Are we on a Cylon world?"
"No. This isn't--at least, I don't think it is." Anders said, looking vaguely uncomfortable.
Cylon, Dee thought as she looked at him, but she also trusted him. It was hard not to, after he'd saved her life. "We should find out if there's a power source we can use. Perhaps to get the raptor's systems running again."
"It might not work that easily," Laird told her, as the conversation continued all around them. "We don't know if this power source would even be compatible with our systems." He frowned, "But we might be able to rig something with our communications board. Broadcasting a signal isn't as hard as getting an engine running."
Tucking her hands under her arms, Dee nodded, "That's right. Even if we're reduced to the old mariner's code, pulses and longs, we should be able to manage something. If the beacon is still transmitting, it should be enough for someone to find us."
"Yeah, as long as they're not the Cylons."
"Laird, if that happens, our luck is really crap." A consensus seemed to have been reached, and Dee turned back to watch Starbuck give her orders.
Within a few minutes, the supplies had been shouldered again and everyone with an extra hand was carrying a hastily-made torch, the flickers of light dancing along the walls, painting them with shadows the deeper they went inside the cavern.
It opened up a little way further in, the sides spreading outwards. Light bounced off of the ceiling overhead, and Dee stared up, wondering if she was seeing things when she realized there was a pattern to it. She traced the lines of the grid, then followed Laird as he drifted to one of the walls, hand brushing against the curiously-flat surface. As though it had been cut from the original stone, and smoothed down with more than the passage of time.
There was a shout, and the others converged upon the door. Dee didn't bother joiing them, figuring they had enough hands to work it out.
"It looks... organic," Laird noted, a strange fascination on his face as he leaned closer to the wall, fingers trailing over the spines of cables that came from the floor and went into the ceiling. Or perhaps it was the other way around, Dee couldn't be sure.
She frowned at him, and glanced ahead to where Starbuck and Anders were working to open the door they'd found. "Does it?"
"Yeah."
Dee hadn't ever really had an opinion one way or the other of Laird, but in the last few hours, she'd gotten to like him. Being Chief of the deck of Galactica wasn't an easy job to fill, but he'd managed it. He was sort of helped (at least for the Pegasus crew, that still hadn't entirely integrated) by his predecessor being a Cylon. Dee didn't like to think of the slurs and horrific things she'd heard people say about him, ever since Pegasus had joined the fleet.
It was strange to think he was same man Admiral Cain had conscripted. Dee knew the rumors, knew that his wife and daughter had been slaughtered in front of him. Humanity had occasionally been crueler than the Cylons. Sometimes, she wondered that Laird and those like him hadn't rebeled against Adama.
Hadn't sided with the Cylons, in end. But old habits were hard to break.
"Chief--Laird." She touched his shoulder and nodded towards where Starbuck was impatiently arguing with Anders now. "Let's go find out if this is going to be the saving of us, shall we?"
"In a moment." He tilted his head again, looking up and down the wire, "This is so fascinating. Can you feel the heat from these?"
"Heat?" Confused, Dee reached out, but didn't touch them.
Laird pressed his hand to them, "They're warm. I think there's live current going through these."
The universe felt disturbingly bigger, suddenly. The idea that there was something else out there, someone else had created this--it didn't feel like Cylon technology, but then again, what else could it be? Dee stepped away from the wire, "How is that a good thing?"
"I'm not sure it is, but it's fascinating--ow!" He yanked his hand back, shaking it.
"What?"
"Must have been the heat," he shrugged, peering at his palm. There was nothing to mar the surface, and he showed it to her. "Perhaps just a momentary flash of heat, felt a little like being stung."
A shout from the door drew their attention, and Dee nodded, "Sounds like they've got the door open."
"Yes." He moved past her, heading for the now open doorway. Light was spilling from it, putting the torchlight to shame.
Dee had no trouble keeping up with him, and the others were jostling their way inside before they reached the doorway. They chattered, over-bright and happ over the warmth and the light, as though it were natural for their to be warmth and light inside a derelict cave. Starbuck and Sam were waiting for her, Hoshi just inside the room, watching outwards. "This is weird," Dee informed them.
The others nodded, but they all stepped inside as well. Dee was the last, and her heels had barely cleared the threshold before there was a sound and she turned to find the door already closed. "Shit."
It was hard to tell who the makers had been, even harder to guess their motives and intentions. Dee hoped they weren't intent on destroying the universe, otherwise, things might go pretty shittily for them. She almost laughed at that--when weren't things going shittily for the only human survivors of the Twelve Colonies?
-=-
"Well, that programming trick worked," Cavil said aloud, as though to no one in particular.
One didn't bother shrugging as he leaned against the control console. "Did you expect anything less from an Eight? She's always been a flawed machine."
"I have more worries over where our allies are. They've been awful quiet since they promised me the universe," replied Cavil, his tone a little less bored.
"You know they said there was a large operation going down. Something about upstart Earthlings from some space station," mused One. He wasn't very fond of Mr. Morden and his not-easy-to-see friends in high places. They bothered him the same way the Sixes and their religiosity did. Not that he'd ever admit that.
"Right. Earthlings." There was deep sarcasm in Cavil's voice; he didn't believe in the myth of Earth anymore than One did. But it was a pretty dream to dangle at the humans. "A Captain Sheridan is giving them trouble--and some aliens, too."
As though aliens truly existed. Not that One was objecting to their reality, but he was fairly certain that Morden's 'allies' were little more than parlor tricks--high technology that he simply couldn't pierce.
"While we wait for Morden to get off his ass, I think our little gambit with Boomer and Mother will work," Cavil reminded him. "If they manage to find the fleet without killing themselves in the process. I wouldn't put it past Adama to shoot them down."
"Man's paranoid," agreed One with a grimace, "But if they get there, and Boomer remembers our request..."
"Yes." A little smile played over Cavil's mouth, "That should set the cat amongst the pigeons."
One rolled his eyes. He was really beginning to regret talking to himself, these days.
-=-
Roslin's planned visit was going ahead, even though the Admiral had decided to object. She was going as a gesture of peace, and also to discover what she could about Babylon Five's connection to Earth. An entire galaxy of people they'd never heard of or seen was sending most of the fleet for a loop. Some of it was panic over the idea that this was a Cylon trap, a lie. Most of it was people wondering if they'd become food for aliens, or be turned into slaves of some sort. It was sort of amusing to D'Anna, how many humans refused to be optimistic about things.
"I don't trust any of them," Roslin had snapped flatly at the Admiral, her voice hushed as she tried not to be overheard, "But I'm not sure who else to take. Tom Zarek? Do you really think he'd manage to watch my back?"
D'Anna hadn't heard his response, but imagined it was some pious monologue about humanity triumphing over the evil of the Cylon.
The Agathons, D'Anna and Sonja (one of the Sixes) were planning to go. D'Anna had declined at first, then decided that Sonja shouldn't go alone. She herself didn't trust Athena as far as she could throw a basestar, and if there was trouble, D'Anna preferred to be in the thick of it. Besides, there might be something to be gained by showing more of a Cylon presence.
Adama was staying behind, to soothe himself, and keep the fleet together. He would monitor the situation with his son, Tory and the Cylon's help. D'Anna couldn't hide her amusement at his discomfort with that idea.
With the raptor packed with those going, they ran last-minute checks while Athena contacted Babylon Five to gain coordinates for their landing site.
They were silent as they flew towards the immense station. It was majestic, a giant, bulbous monster that spun slowly, lights blinking everywhere upon its hull. There were ships crowded around it, some moving to and fro, possibly hauling cargo, possibly with passengers. It was an awe-inspiring sight that not even D'Anna could deny. She felt a new reverence for God, and wondered if he'd had a hand in this.
Landing in their docking bay, they waited for the all-clear before disembarking into the same air they were used to breathing, stale oxygen mixed with the tang of metal and oil.
Waiting for them were two women surrounded by what was obviously security. One was tall and slim, her hair pulled back severely from her face. The other was... different. D'Anna found herself staring at the odd bone structure that circled the shorter woman's head.
"On behalf of Babylon Five," the shorter woman said, her voice strangely accented, "I welcome you in the name of peace. I am Ambassador Delenn of Minbar."
"Commander Ivanova," with a nod, Ivanova indicated the security officers, "And these gentlemen are merely here for show. They're a little jumpy right now, so if you are carrying any weapons, now would be the time to hand them over."
There was a moment of strained silence before Roslin stepped forward. "Commander, I'm Laura Roslin, President of the Twelve Colonies, and I assure you, we are not armed. It was one of your conditions, after all."
"Yes." The silence broken, Ivanova gave a curt command to the security men and they dispersed, two falling in behind Athena and Helo, Hera between them.
Bringing the child had seemed a bold move, on Roslin's part. After trying to protect her, here they were, putting her in the line of fire. But Roslin's argument had been that children would show their lack of militaristic intentions better than words would. And, as Ivanova and Delenn spotted her, it seemed to have worked, their postures relaxing slightly.
"If you'll follow me, I've had refreshment prepared for all of us and we can get down to business."
Letting the Babylon Five people lead the way, D'Anna dropped back to walk with the security men. "Do you do this often? Escort refugees, I mean."
They were silent, and she wondered how easy it would be to take over the station. It would take a surgical strike, in and out, as long as one knew what one was doing. Perhaps destroying their command center would be more than enough, but she didn't know the station. Yet. The time to plan it was not now, however, as much as she disliked not being in charge. Perhaps later, when they proved how untrustworthy humans could be. For now, she would simply watch and plan.
-=-
With barely a pulse, the raptor jumped to the coordinates given by the homing beacon.
"There, the Galactica should be around here somewhere..." Boomer's voice trailed off as the raptor banked, and the starfield was obscured by the shattered hulk of the battlestar. Pieces were still slowly pin-wheeling in space, tossed off the superstructure as it continued its own lazy turn. Absently, she noted there were other debris fields, but the Galactica was the largest, and Boomer ignored them as she felt her gut clench in shock.
"Oh my God," murmured Ellen, her eyes wide as she stared out at the destruction.
"Morden." She felt unsteady, and Boomer wondered if the pain was real. She'd lived and breathed and died on that ship for three years, and now it was gone. Reduced to a pile of scrap. "He--he said they had a trap."
Ellen was quiet for a moment, then her hand touched Boomer's, "The planet," she murmured, "They must have... Maybe it's Earth."
"Does it matter?" Boomer didn't care how bitter she sounded. All of her hopes and dreams, those little fantasies of a life with people who loved her, died. Cavil had been right: emotions were for the weak and stupid.
"This isn't the entire fleet, Boomer."
Ellen's observation made Boomer frown, and she stared at the dradis readouts, coming to the same realization. "They had time to scramble and jump away," she realized.
"Can we follow them?"
"I don't--wait. They would have broadcast emergency jump coordinates, and those would still be logged in the communications console of the Galactica."
"Boomer," Ellen sounded uncertain, "Is going inside a good idea?"
No. No, it wasn't. The battlestar was slowly moving, and anyone inside would have to be very frakking careful. Boomer clenched her fingers around the stick, and seriously considered turning tail and returning to Cavil. But her skin crawled as she thought about it, and if she died in the wreck of the Galactica, at least she would be her own person. A Cylon, but a person, making her own choices.
"I'll be fine," she lied, sending the raptor gliding closer, trying to figure out the best route from the outer skin to CIC. Damn. If only the battlestar had networked computers! She could have tapped a terminal near an airlock, and been done with it.
The irony of why Adama had insisted on no networks wasn't lost on her.
"Well, if you aren't, don't expect me to come in after you," Ellen informed her. She shuddered, "Space-walking was never my idea of fun."
Boomer rolled her eyes. She never would have expected Ellen to do any such thing. "There's an emergency spacesuit, you're going to have to put it on. Raptors aren't equipped with airlocks," she explained, her tone bland.
At least, there should have been. Boomer remembered Chief complaining about having to dig moldier and moldier plastic suits from storage, just to keep the raptors supplied. Apparently, people had used them for things not their intended purpose, and the Galactica had never had top of the line equipment in the first place. After a quick search, she sighed, "Ok, so there isn't one. You'll have to stay in the cockpit for the duration--you'll be able to monitor me from there, anyway."
Not bothering to wait for a reply, Boomer finished doing up her flight suit and checked all the fastenings before she pulled her helmet on. She'd have a better chance with another airpack, but no one had bothered to put one on the raptor, so she was stuck with hoping to come across internal air on the battlestar.
"If I can't find another air source, I'll be back in two hours." She pulled the raptor as close as she dared to one of the larger holes, then sent a grapple to bite into the edge. With it tethered there, she'd have a decent shot going down into the guts to get to CIC. The mass of the battlestar would pull the raptor along with it while it moved, at least, she hoped it would.
"And if you don't return?"
Boomer shrugged, "You should be able to plot a course back to Cavil. Try not to hit the Galactica when you release the grappling clamp, and you should be fine."
"How comforting," Ellen muttered.
Ignoring her, Boomer stepped into the cargo area and closed up the hatch to the cockpit. "Boomer to raptor 587, do you read?"
"You're coming through fine."
"Good. Just sit tight, and I'll be back. Don't repressurize the cargo area unless it's an emergency."
Boomer took hold of one of the handles, then triggered the hatch. It opened with a whoosh of escaping air, and she let the current swing her legs up, not letting it suck her through. The raptor bobbed a little, but the grapple was for use in worse conditions. It would hold.
When the air was gone, Boomer checked that the escaping air hadn't sent them towards any protrusions, then flicked a salute at the cockpit before she started down the tether line.
It was disorienting, if she looked around, so she didn't. Space lazily moved above her and below her, but the battlestar and raptor remained stationary. It was enough to make her want to close her eyes and never move again, but she ignored the urge, knowing it would dissipate once she could only see the interior.
Once inside the battlestar, she paused to get her bearings and then started down (or sideways, once), steps careful.
There were bodies everywhere, people frozen in the act of escaping, terror in their ice-locked faces. Boomer tried to ignore them, having to move them sometimes. Equipment and decking were spilled everywhere, as though the attackers had taken the ship and shaken it into pieces. She tried not to let the silence get to her, but even the sound of her boots on the deck weren't enough to break the sensation that she was alone.
Lost forever, abandoned by everyone who loved her, she thought, before catching her breath and steadying herself against a bulkhead. She was near the hangar tool room, and realized she could find air supplies inside.
"Still with me?"
Ellen's voice made her jump, and Boomer let out a long breath before replying, "Yeah. Getting new air."
Reaching out, she tugged at the wheel locking the hatch closed. It didn't budge, and she frowned, then yanked harder, making the metal crunch. Though in the airless environment, it wasn't a sound, more a sensation in her hands.
It occurred to her that there was something wrong: someone had locked the hatch, from the inside.
There were survivors, the thought made her dizzy for a moment, before she sternly told herself it was impossible. It didn't matter if there were survivors, anyway, that wasn't her mission. Boomer stared at the hatch, wondering if she were simply being stupid. Perhaps the hatch had closed during the fight, and pressure was the only thing working against her.
Before she could get too far with that sort of thinking, there was a crackle of static, and someone banged on the hatch from the other side.
"Shit--" Yanking her hand off the wheel, she stared at it. The radio crackled again.
"What's going on?"
"I think I found survivors."
Ellen laughed, the sound harsh, "You've got to be joking."
Putting one hand on the hatch, palm flattened to the metal, she banged it with her fist. One-two-three short, one-two-three long, one-two-three, short. She paused, waiting.
The pattern was echoed back to her, felt through her palm, and Boomer grinned a little wildly before restraining herself.
Ok, fine. There were survivors, "Ellen, I'm going to have to get them out." Maybe if she did, maybe if she proved that she wasn't some soulless thing, Adama wouldn't have her shot on-sight. Boomer gave a mirthless smile. That was if the Old Man was still alive.
"All right," she muttered, "Let's see if I can find out how many of you there are."
Part Five
no subject
D'Anna is fascinating in this. I also really like that Roslin gets to stay herself :) (Roslin never irritated me remotely as much as Bill Adama.)
One of the advantages to not knowing the other canon is I have no idea what the Raptor crew with Dee and Anders (also, love seeing them get some time) and Hoshi (hugs Hoshi) and Laird are walking into. I suspect I'd have a clue if I ever watched Babylon 5, but at the moment, it's very creepy and exciting.
Oh, and you promoted my pet! THANK YOU! :)
Unfortunately, despite the fact I set my alarm to get up early and read this, it seems like everyone else in the house had Issues with me getting time to myself and are up. I'll have to come back to this tomorrow or something. ::sighs::
no subject
(: Felix getting a battlefield promotion :)
no subject
Hoshi snuck in. I mean, I think I can sort of blame you, if only for this fandom osmosis thing wherein I remembered he existed less from the show and more from other peoples' fics/commentary? But I needed someone who wasn't a pilot, and he was suddenly there, and, er, apparently my default setting for everyone is 'sarcasm'.
Captain Gaeta! It has an excellent ring to it (and was totally something that just randomly popped out, and I went "...well, that actually makes sense.")
no subject