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Big Bang Fic: Part Five, BSG/Babylon Five, Wheel Turns
All disclaimers and other information can be found on the Prologue.
Part Four
The room was cut from the rock; as they stepped inside, lights came up on the ceiling above. It was obviously an antechamber, not quite an airlock, but dust covered shelves along one wall. Moving towards them, Kara poked one of the items and it fell off with a clatter that made everyone jump.
"It's warm," one of the civilians said suddenly. There was wonder in her voice as she looked around. "This is... this is so weird."
"Don't touch anything," Kara replied, even as she reached out to brush a hand over the wall.
The light brightened, and Kara looked at the design she'd uncovered. It wasn't anything she'd seen before, but it was obviously some sort of insignia, stars and trees and flowers mixed into a pattern that made no sense. "Anyone recognize this?"
Sam moved up beside her. "No."
Trying to ignore him wasn't really working. Kara turned away and stared at the door they'd come through. It had shut behind them, but if this were an antechamber... she found the door leading out of the chamber on the opposite wall and put her hand on the panel that looked like the one Sam had used. There was a warmth to the panel, then it rippled (she almost yanked her hand back in alarm) and the door slid soundlessly open.
Scrubbing her hand off on her flight suit, Kara turned to the others. "If no one objects, we should probably move inwards. We need to find some sort of generator, if we're going to get the raptor working again."
Laird didn't point out the flaw in her plan. The raptor would probably never fly again, given the rips in her hull, and the mess of her engines. She hadn't been in any shape to fly beforehand, and it had been sheer luck they hadn't exploded as they'd jumped from Galactica to where they were now.
Sam followed her into the corridor, his hand on his side-arm. Kara had hers out and pointed towards the ground. The place had an empty feel to it, but it was never a bad idea to be paranoid. She glanced both ways, then headed for the left as more lights came on, dotting both ways. "Dee, Hoshi," she gestured at about half of the group, "You head that way, see what you find. Meet back here in an hour."
"Sir," Dee mock-saluted, but took point, no longer looking tired and in pain.
The corridor led past several doors, and Sam and Kara looked inside each room, finding mostly empty, barren places, coated in dust and the debris of the passage of time. There was some stuff in one of them, but it was so old and falling apart, none of them could tell what it was. Eventually, the corridor turned and they found stairs leading up and down.
"Demons are usually down," Sam joked, as he tried to see down the stairwell.
"Only yours." Stepping past him, Kara headed upwards, figuring that going down on the way back would be easier than coming up.
Doors at regular intervals made her think of office buildings, and she ignored them and continued upwards, counting the floors as they went.
The air was thicker as they reached the last set of stairs, and Kara paused to let everyone get their breath back before heading up to the door which Sam opened for them.
Another room opened out before them, huge in a way Kara felt shouldn't really exist inside a mountain. And yet they were still inside that mountain, and there was no way it could contain the vastness of the space that seemed to stretch before them.
"Mirrors," Sam said, his voice echoing strangely.
Then Kara saw them, positioned somewhere in the middle distance. And she waved back at herself, comforted to know that the space wasn't really infinite. "What the frak is this for, do you think?" Then she almost took the words back, as familiar shapes were lit by the slowly-brightening light.
"No idea." Sam moved away from her, ignoring the planes as he stepped in the nearly ankle-deep dust, sending some of it swirling into the air. "I wonder who built this place?"
As if in answer, the mirrors vibrated, and a sound boomed through them, swelling and gathering force until it roared through the air, blasting them.
It was almost words, and Kara found the shockwaves sending her to her knees, as her mind and body heard we did.
-=-
"This is intolerable." Captain Herakles Andreides of the Sulaco sounded angry over the radio. To the others, on the small network, all tuned into a frequency that no one monitored, echoed his anger.
It was intolerable. Time and again, Roslin and Adama had things their own way. Time and again, things had gotten worse. And now the Galactica was gone, destroyed by forces unknown. Captain Myra F. Rihnd sounded breathless when she finally replied, taking the lead from the others. "We are still alone in the universe. This Babylon Five may be nothing to us."
"We should take for ourselves," chimed in the communications officer of the Cherry Ripe. He'd been trying to lead a mutiny off and on for years, though it had gone nowhere.
Now, though, now there were more options. Or less options, depending on how one looked at things.
For Rihnd, it was the terror that these aliens had designs upon her people, her ship. That she would become fodder for someone else's war.
"We know nothing of these people," she continued, as though the commoff hadn't spoken. "They could be planning to space us all and take our ships for scrap--as Cain did."
A shuddering ripple went through the listeners. They all knew of Cain's depredations, had understood that the only reason Adama hadn't done the same was Roslin. Not that they were grateful to her, of course. Laura Roslin took far more than she gave, and they all chafed at her restrictions upon them, the demands she made to house, clothe and feed The People of the fleet.
"Look, we're all agreed--" Andreides broke into her ranting, his voice calm. "This isn't a good situation, it's going to go from bad to worse."
"Yes," several said, talking over one another for a moment, shouting suggestions for what to do: destroying the Cylon basestar, running, destroying Babylon Five. All of these ideas over-lapped until Andreides shouted them down again.
"As much as I would like to, I don't condone destroying the basestar--yet," he added, shouting again to be heard.
The hatred of the Cylons, the machines that had ripped away their lives ran deep.
"This is New Caprica all over again!" Rihnd pointed out, her voice strident now. She'd lost a son to the Cylons and their petty little schemes there. "We won't stand for it! We have to show Adama and Roslin that we're committed, together!"
"Yes. Yes, but not yet. We need a catalyst." Soothing now, Andreides continued, "One more thing, one problem that rips away this veneer of civilization, and we're gone. Agreed?"
Seven captains, three first officers and half a dozen communications officers made their opinions known, unanimously. For himself, Andreides felt a glow of satisfaction: they would answer to him, now. All their petty little differences would ensure that they followed him, no matter where he lead.
It was almost like being Admiral.
-=-
"They have arrived."
Lyta Alexander didn't really pay Ambassador Kosh (mark two, but who was counting?) much heed. She was exhausted from carrying a part of the Vorlon inside of her, his essence twisting around her thoughts until she was never sure that she ended and he began.
Still, a part of her registered the words, storing them away as she prepared herself to release the rest of him back into his encounter suit. Some found the Vorlons fascinating--Lyta herself had once been one of those people. But the routine encounters, the constant need to keep secrets, even from herself, had worn away at that interest. It was run of the mill now, almost like walking from her quarters to the gardens.
"Will you need me again today?" she asked, rubbing her temples before slowly putting the oxygen mask back on. She knew that the Vorlons had changed her, adapted her so that she could breathe their atmosphere for a short time. But even that took its toll, these days.
"I will not." The Vorlon shifted, then seemed to think of something else. Almost reluctantly, it said, "Rest."
"Thank you," she muttered, turning away and leaving the ambassador's quarters without bothering to wait for dismissal. Early on in her training, she'd waited--sometimes upwards of an hour--before the Vorlon had remembered she was there and released her.
So now, she rarely waited.
Outside in the corridor, it was warmer, and she racked her oxygen mask and walked away, nose wrinkling a little as she adjusted to station air again.
For a moment as she waited for the elevator, Lyta felt something brush her mind. She pushed back, annoyed, and shot a look around her. There was no one and nothing, and she would have chalked it up to being the Vorlon Ambassador lurking where he wasn't wanted (Kosh had been much more polite about such things), except that the flavor was all wrong.
A child's laughter tickled up her spine. Lyta straightened, surprised. She looked around again, but saw nothing. For telepathy, there had to be line of sight, and there was no one in sight.
She took a step away from the elevator. "Hello?"
Nothing. The hallway echoed her voice back, but there was no tell-tale rustle of fabric or the shuffle of feet on carpet.
Lyta rubbed her eyes and got into the 'vator when it arrived. Obviously, she was a lot more tired than she thought. Or she was going mad. She'd always wondered if she'd go mad, one of these days.
The laughter didn't come again, and she resolved to eat something nutritious and fall into bed as soon as she reached her quarters.
-=-
It took some trial and error, Boomer managing to hack into the still-working comm system, and quite a bit of ingenuity on Giana O'Neill's part, but Boomer managed to talk to the people in the tool room.
After that, it was a matter of finding the materials she needed to to rig a makeshift airlock, so that Boomer could give them suits to protect against the vacuum. It took nearly three hours; the whole time she was doing it, she kept asking herself why she was--hell, Ellen would sometimes needle her about it, asking if she was doing it as some sort of penance. It wasn't that, Boomer tried to convince herself; she had nothing to be sorry for, not anymore. But there was still some good in saving the lives of a few humans. It made her feel human, feel real, and Boomer liked the ache in her muscles and the burn of oxygen in her lungs. She could remember (in flashes, her time aboard the Galactica was more fragmented than she would like), trying to explain humanity to Cavil, to get him to understand why she couldn't just walk away from them. He'd never listened then, either.
By the time she was finished, she was extremely glad she'd been able to tap into the oxygen feeds on the battlestar. Running out of air would have made the entire venture useless, and Boomer didn't plan to become just another frozen corpse. There were already enough of those around as it was.
Moving to the side, she tapped into the communications system again, "Hello?"
"Thank the Gods," Giana said, her tone not-quite-panicked, "We were beginning to worry you'd gotten lost somewhere."
"Sorry, it just took longer than I'd thought. I'm going to pressurize it, and check the seals. I'll let you know when you can open up from the inside."
"Thank you, Athena."
And that was the kicker, wasn't it? Boomer disengaged before she could shout that she wasn't bloody Athena. But the illusion that she was, made them trust her to get them out. Though, again, she didn't know why she wanted their trust. As soon as they realized who she really was, they'd probably try to kill her.
For a moment, Boomer felt a wave of intense hatred sweep her. Athena had stolen so much of her life, so much of who she was. Even this--people who used to trust her--was ruined. Destroyed. It was irrational, considering she'd lied about what she was, done some of the destroying all on her own.
But Boomer had never wanted what she was, not until it was ripped away from her.
There was horrific irony in that. She shook herself free of her thoughts and keyed in the raptor, "Nearly done. If you don't hear from me, they've killed me, so watch your back."
"You're saving their lives, I don't think they'll kill you, Boomer."
Boomer laughed, but the sound had edges. She switched on the air, watching the seals, waiting for a leak. "They're human, Ellen, I expect them to not even notice stomping me like a bug."
There--quickly, Boomer slapped another layer of plastic over one section, sealing it down with the quick-set glue before the leak could destabilize the entire thing and wreck her handiwork. She held that edge until the rest had filled, air puffing the strangely-shaped bubble into a protuberance that made her want to giggle.
"Giana, you're set, over."
For a moment, there was nothing, and then the hatch made a creaking noise as it opened just a little. There was a whistle as the atmospheres mixed, the bubble pulsing slightly before the pressure was equal on both sides. Then the hatch was pulled open further and Giana gave her a wave before grabbing up the suits and pushing the hatch shut again.
Boomer let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She'd done it. They would be safe now, alive. They'd survive, and it was thanks to her. Before the thought went to her head, she reminded herself that she was still a Cylon to them, the enemy, in fact.
There was static, suddenly, and then Giana's voice crackled over the comm, "O'Neil here, we're set. Leave the bubble pressurized and we'll bleed it once we're out."
"Roger that." Boomer turned away and began backing up her internal oxygen supply before gently disengaging herself from the externals. The battlestar was still a marvel--in pieces, but parts of it still worked. Vital components still gave off energy readings, and Boomer hoped that meant Dee's console would still have the coordinates they needed.
A sound drew her attention back to the bubble, and she waved back to Giana as the deckhand finished depressurizing the bubble from the inside.
There were three of them, a pitifully small amount compared to the bodies Boomer had seen. She knew Giana, but couldn't place the others and wondered if they were civilians.
"My daughter," Giana said suddenly, her voice careful, "Did she survive?"
"I'm not--I think she did," frantically, Boomer tried to remember what ship Giana's daughter would have been on, if it wasn't the Galactica. "I'm sorry, the evacuation was insane, but I'm sure she's alive." Boomer made a face, "We'll be able to know for certain once we've found the fleet."
"Find?"
"We jumped to the wrong coordinates," Boomer tried to make a joke of it, "I guess my raptor thought Racetrack's shouldn't have all the fun."
Giana chuckled, "Poor Racetrack, Athena steals her thunder this time!"
Again, Boomer thought about telling her the truth, but it would get them nowhere, and Giana needed to trust her if they were all going to get out of this alive.
"We should head for CIC, if you want to pull the coordinates from the communications station."
Boomer nodded, but added cautiously "It might not be that easy."
"I know," Giana gave her an encouraging grin, "But at least it's better than smelling the two of them until I'm dead."
Her two companions protested, the sound of laughter giving the start of the journey a false cheer.
-=-
Dee was finally warm again, the ambient temperature in the complex buried inside the mountain was warm enough for some of them to take off their jackets. She even went so far as to fold the blanket wrapped around her shoulders over one arm. As they went down the corridor, counting rooms and the occasional stairwell, she began to get a sense that the place was larger than just a few hollowed-out caves.
"People could have lived here," Laird murmured to her. He ran his fingers over the wall every so often, and seemed to find the wires and junction boxes fascinating.
"Yes," Dee said. She frowned, "If it goes on like this, I'd estimate several thousand could have been housed comfortably. There are suites and single rooms along this hallway."
There were sometimes objects in the rooms. Some of them had survived the passage of time, others hadn't. Furniture, the occasional dish, piles of what Dee realized were slowly decaying books, and what looked like children's toys. There were no insects that they could see, and Dee was glad about that.
Surprisingly, for being underground, the air was fresh, and not musty. She finally realized why that bothered her when they were walking into a larger room.
"Laird, have you seen air vents?"
"A few," he brushed a hand over the surface of the consoles in the room and flashed her an odd look. "Why?"
Dee eyed the consoles, wondering why they looked more like plinths from some ancient temple than technology. "Something is circulating the air, making it possible for us to breathe. Don't you find that a little odd?"
"They're turning the lights on, too," pointed out Cawder. At least, Dee thought that was his name. He was a civilian, and she hadn't been awake when introductions were made. She also wished Starbuck had made the non-military stay in the ante-room, but she supposed it couldn't be helped. People liked large numbers in strange situations.
If this were a movie, some of them would die soon.
"It's very convenient," he agreed.
Dee felt a little better, now that she'd voiced her concern. It was odd, it wasn't as though she were expecting Cylons to come springing out of the shadows, but something could. She just didn't know what. And the nebulous nature of it all made her jump when someone smacked one of the consoles, trying to knock some life into it.
Taking herself in hand, she took a step back and looked at the room, trying to make it conform to the setups she was used to. If this were a Colonial ship... (she didn't think about why she thought ship and not planet-based command center)
Moving towards a console no one else had stopped at, Dee ran her hand over the surface, feeling the differences in the material it was made from. The edges and base were rougher, the control areas slick. Cleaning the dust off, she tilted her head this way and that before placing her fingers in the approximate places for a keyboard. It was silly to think that whomever had built it had been human, with the correct alphabet, but she typed hello? anyway.
When there was no response, she dropped her hands to her sides and looked around for Laird. They must be getting close to the time to turn around to meet up with Starbuck's group.
"Lieutenant?" Laird was at one of the other consoles, looking strange as light bathed his face from the screen in front of him.
It wasn't a screen, more a panel, but Dee pushed that quibble aside as she moved towards him. "What've you found, Chief?"
"I'm not entirely sure." He sounded odd, not exactly frightened, but at least worried.
"Laird--" Hoshi was suddenly there, reaching for him, then stopping. His hands fell to his sides and he looked at Dee, something strange in his eyes.
Getting closer, she realized why. Laird's hands were resting where a keyboard would be, at least, she assumed they were. She couldn't see them for the mass of writhing, shifting, black cords. It was as though someone had dumped a pile of rubber bands on top of them, and they were alive.
"Can you move your fingers?" she asked, wondering if she should touch him.
"No."
Dee put her hand on his shoulder, feeling the slight tremor in his muscles. "Don't panic, Chief." Raising her voice, she called, "No one touch anything. I want everyone to head back to the rendezvous. Hoshi, tell Starbuck what's happened--"
HELLO.
The word thrummed through the room; it wasn't spoken, so much as felt. Dee shivered, but kept her reaction to herself. "Hello?"
Who are you? The voice had shifted, softened.
For a moment, no one answered, and then there was--Dee clutched at her head as something touched her mind. Numbers and words, colors and smells surrounded her, as her senses were overwhelmed by the touch of something cold and foreign while at the same time being almost familiar.
Distantly, she heard screams, and they gave her something to focus on, to push past that strange feeling. She found herself kneeling, almost leaning against Laird. He'd managed to remain standing, something twisted in his expression.
His hands, of course, she decided, as the taste of metal flooded her mouth from where she'd bitten her lip. The pain was worth it, giving her something to focus on.
"Stop it." She said, "Please." The pressure rolled over her, then suddenly stopped.
"I'm sorry," Laird said. Only it wasn't Laird. Looking up, Dee could see his face had gone curiously blank, as though he were asleep or dead. "I didn't realize--"
Dee shoved herself back to her feet and stepped back from him. "What the hell? Laird?"
"I am--" His face twisted, then smoothed again, "Your bodies are so different, and yet the same." He suddenly turned his head and looked at Dee. "I am not here to harm you."
"What about Laird?" Dee asked, her tone angry. It didn't matter that she didn't really know the man, or care about him. He was a shipmate, a man who'd survived the Cylon War just as much as she had. He was a human being, and he had the right not to be a puppet.
If she wasn't hallucinating the whole thing. Maybe she was still wrapped in a silvery blanket, a civilian on either side while Starbuck and Anders argued in a corner, and this was her brain's way of reminding her things could be worse.
"I regret that this was necessary. Soon, it will not be--" Laird staggered, then, sagging forward. "He fights, but half-heartedly, as though he wishes to give up, to be absorbed."
Pointing her side-arm at his forehead, Dee said, her tone calm, "Get out of Laird, or so help me Gods I will end both your lives."
Sluggishly, Laird murmured, "It does not work like that. So much sadness, so much pain... I would make it better, if I could--Dee, don't shoot--hush now, rest while we--I--learn so much."
Don't shoot. It might have been Laird, it might not have. Dee met his eyes, "Let. Him. Go."
Lee Adama would have told the creature she wasn't bluffing, would have warned everyone not to push her. But neither he nor Felix Gaeta were there.
"You would not shoot your friend."
The shot sounded loud in the room, and Dee could taste blood again, mixing with cordite from the gun. She staggered back a little, not wanting to see what she'd done.
"Sir--" A civilian grabbed her arm, "What the frak is happening?"
"I don't know."
Why? the voice pulsed around them, almost tearing at them, and Dee sagged a little. The gun in her hand felt heavy, dragging her arm towards the floor. She pushed the safety back on and holstered it with effort. WHY.
"Because we are human beings, and we demand our freedom," she rasped in answer.
The room went silent for an instant, and Dee felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Hoshi felt it, too, his eyes wide as he looked at her. The door, he mouthed, as though they had to get out.
Energy began to crackle, heat sliding along Dee's skin as though someone had opened a window.
"Frak--everyone get out, NOW," Hoshi called, grabbing for Dee.
Somehow, they'd ended up closest to the door.
We offered our help, we offered whole-ness, we offered--
Dee felt her knees buckle and Louis hauled her back to her feet even as he seemed just as shaky.
"MOVE," she shouted at the others, hearing something that sounded like a scream begin.
It was Laird, she realized, darting a glance over her shoulder. He'd been slumped over the console, but now he slowly straightened, the energy crackling over him. "Dee," he gasped, "What have you done?"
Then Hoshi was hauling her into the corridor barely ahead of the blast-wave that smashed them to the floor.
Part Six
Part Four
The room was cut from the rock; as they stepped inside, lights came up on the ceiling above. It was obviously an antechamber, not quite an airlock, but dust covered shelves along one wall. Moving towards them, Kara poked one of the items and it fell off with a clatter that made everyone jump.
"It's warm," one of the civilians said suddenly. There was wonder in her voice as she looked around. "This is... this is so weird."
"Don't touch anything," Kara replied, even as she reached out to brush a hand over the wall.
The light brightened, and Kara looked at the design she'd uncovered. It wasn't anything she'd seen before, but it was obviously some sort of insignia, stars and trees and flowers mixed into a pattern that made no sense. "Anyone recognize this?"
Sam moved up beside her. "No."
Trying to ignore him wasn't really working. Kara turned away and stared at the door they'd come through. It had shut behind them, but if this were an antechamber... she found the door leading out of the chamber on the opposite wall and put her hand on the panel that looked like the one Sam had used. There was a warmth to the panel, then it rippled (she almost yanked her hand back in alarm) and the door slid soundlessly open.
Scrubbing her hand off on her flight suit, Kara turned to the others. "If no one objects, we should probably move inwards. We need to find some sort of generator, if we're going to get the raptor working again."
Laird didn't point out the flaw in her plan. The raptor would probably never fly again, given the rips in her hull, and the mess of her engines. She hadn't been in any shape to fly beforehand, and it had been sheer luck they hadn't exploded as they'd jumped from Galactica to where they were now.
Sam followed her into the corridor, his hand on his side-arm. Kara had hers out and pointed towards the ground. The place had an empty feel to it, but it was never a bad idea to be paranoid. She glanced both ways, then headed for the left as more lights came on, dotting both ways. "Dee, Hoshi," she gestured at about half of the group, "You head that way, see what you find. Meet back here in an hour."
"Sir," Dee mock-saluted, but took point, no longer looking tired and in pain.
The corridor led past several doors, and Sam and Kara looked inside each room, finding mostly empty, barren places, coated in dust and the debris of the passage of time. There was some stuff in one of them, but it was so old and falling apart, none of them could tell what it was. Eventually, the corridor turned and they found stairs leading up and down.
"Demons are usually down," Sam joked, as he tried to see down the stairwell.
"Only yours." Stepping past him, Kara headed upwards, figuring that going down on the way back would be easier than coming up.
Doors at regular intervals made her think of office buildings, and she ignored them and continued upwards, counting the floors as they went.
The air was thicker as they reached the last set of stairs, and Kara paused to let everyone get their breath back before heading up to the door which Sam opened for them.
Another room opened out before them, huge in a way Kara felt shouldn't really exist inside a mountain. And yet they were still inside that mountain, and there was no way it could contain the vastness of the space that seemed to stretch before them.
"Mirrors," Sam said, his voice echoing strangely.
Then Kara saw them, positioned somewhere in the middle distance. And she waved back at herself, comforted to know that the space wasn't really infinite. "What the frak is this for, do you think?" Then she almost took the words back, as familiar shapes were lit by the slowly-brightening light.
"No idea." Sam moved away from her, ignoring the planes as he stepped in the nearly ankle-deep dust, sending some of it swirling into the air. "I wonder who built this place?"
As if in answer, the mirrors vibrated, and a sound boomed through them, swelling and gathering force until it roared through the air, blasting them.
It was almost words, and Kara found the shockwaves sending her to her knees, as her mind and body heard we did.
-=-
"This is intolerable." Captain Herakles Andreides of the Sulaco sounded angry over the radio. To the others, on the small network, all tuned into a frequency that no one monitored, echoed his anger.
It was intolerable. Time and again, Roslin and Adama had things their own way. Time and again, things had gotten worse. And now the Galactica was gone, destroyed by forces unknown. Captain Myra F. Rihnd sounded breathless when she finally replied, taking the lead from the others. "We are still alone in the universe. This Babylon Five may be nothing to us."
"We should take for ourselves," chimed in the communications officer of the Cherry Ripe. He'd been trying to lead a mutiny off and on for years, though it had gone nowhere.
Now, though, now there were more options. Or less options, depending on how one looked at things.
For Rihnd, it was the terror that these aliens had designs upon her people, her ship. That she would become fodder for someone else's war.
"We know nothing of these people," she continued, as though the commoff hadn't spoken. "They could be planning to space us all and take our ships for scrap--as Cain did."
A shuddering ripple went through the listeners. They all knew of Cain's depredations, had understood that the only reason Adama hadn't done the same was Roslin. Not that they were grateful to her, of course. Laura Roslin took far more than she gave, and they all chafed at her restrictions upon them, the demands she made to house, clothe and feed The People of the fleet.
"Look, we're all agreed--" Andreides broke into her ranting, his voice calm. "This isn't a good situation, it's going to go from bad to worse."
"Yes," several said, talking over one another for a moment, shouting suggestions for what to do: destroying the Cylon basestar, running, destroying Babylon Five. All of these ideas over-lapped until Andreides shouted them down again.
"As much as I would like to, I don't condone destroying the basestar--yet," he added, shouting again to be heard.
The hatred of the Cylons, the machines that had ripped away their lives ran deep.
"This is New Caprica all over again!" Rihnd pointed out, her voice strident now. She'd lost a son to the Cylons and their petty little schemes there. "We won't stand for it! We have to show Adama and Roslin that we're committed, together!"
"Yes. Yes, but not yet. We need a catalyst." Soothing now, Andreides continued, "One more thing, one problem that rips away this veneer of civilization, and we're gone. Agreed?"
Seven captains, three first officers and half a dozen communications officers made their opinions known, unanimously. For himself, Andreides felt a glow of satisfaction: they would answer to him, now. All their petty little differences would ensure that they followed him, no matter where he lead.
It was almost like being Admiral.
-=-
"They have arrived."
Lyta Alexander didn't really pay Ambassador Kosh (mark two, but who was counting?) much heed. She was exhausted from carrying a part of the Vorlon inside of her, his essence twisting around her thoughts until she was never sure that she ended and he began.
Still, a part of her registered the words, storing them away as she prepared herself to release the rest of him back into his encounter suit. Some found the Vorlons fascinating--Lyta herself had once been one of those people. But the routine encounters, the constant need to keep secrets, even from herself, had worn away at that interest. It was run of the mill now, almost like walking from her quarters to the gardens.
"Will you need me again today?" she asked, rubbing her temples before slowly putting the oxygen mask back on. She knew that the Vorlons had changed her, adapted her so that she could breathe their atmosphere for a short time. But even that took its toll, these days.
"I will not." The Vorlon shifted, then seemed to think of something else. Almost reluctantly, it said, "Rest."
"Thank you," she muttered, turning away and leaving the ambassador's quarters without bothering to wait for dismissal. Early on in her training, she'd waited--sometimes upwards of an hour--before the Vorlon had remembered she was there and released her.
So now, she rarely waited.
Outside in the corridor, it was warmer, and she racked her oxygen mask and walked away, nose wrinkling a little as she adjusted to station air again.
For a moment as she waited for the elevator, Lyta felt something brush her mind. She pushed back, annoyed, and shot a look around her. There was no one and nothing, and she would have chalked it up to being the Vorlon Ambassador lurking where he wasn't wanted (Kosh had been much more polite about such things), except that the flavor was all wrong.
A child's laughter tickled up her spine. Lyta straightened, surprised. She looked around again, but saw nothing. For telepathy, there had to be line of sight, and there was no one in sight.
She took a step away from the elevator. "Hello?"
Nothing. The hallway echoed her voice back, but there was no tell-tale rustle of fabric or the shuffle of feet on carpet.
Lyta rubbed her eyes and got into the 'vator when it arrived. Obviously, she was a lot more tired than she thought. Or she was going mad. She'd always wondered if she'd go mad, one of these days.
The laughter didn't come again, and she resolved to eat something nutritious and fall into bed as soon as she reached her quarters.
-=-
It took some trial and error, Boomer managing to hack into the still-working comm system, and quite a bit of ingenuity on Giana O'Neill's part, but Boomer managed to talk to the people in the tool room.
After that, it was a matter of finding the materials she needed to to rig a makeshift airlock, so that Boomer could give them suits to protect against the vacuum. It took nearly three hours; the whole time she was doing it, she kept asking herself why she was--hell, Ellen would sometimes needle her about it, asking if she was doing it as some sort of penance. It wasn't that, Boomer tried to convince herself; she had nothing to be sorry for, not anymore. But there was still some good in saving the lives of a few humans. It made her feel human, feel real, and Boomer liked the ache in her muscles and the burn of oxygen in her lungs. She could remember (in flashes, her time aboard the Galactica was more fragmented than she would like), trying to explain humanity to Cavil, to get him to understand why she couldn't just walk away from them. He'd never listened then, either.
By the time she was finished, she was extremely glad she'd been able to tap into the oxygen feeds on the battlestar. Running out of air would have made the entire venture useless, and Boomer didn't plan to become just another frozen corpse. There were already enough of those around as it was.
Moving to the side, she tapped into the communications system again, "Hello?"
"Thank the Gods," Giana said, her tone not-quite-panicked, "We were beginning to worry you'd gotten lost somewhere."
"Sorry, it just took longer than I'd thought. I'm going to pressurize it, and check the seals. I'll let you know when you can open up from the inside."
"Thank you, Athena."
And that was the kicker, wasn't it? Boomer disengaged before she could shout that she wasn't bloody Athena. But the illusion that she was, made them trust her to get them out. Though, again, she didn't know why she wanted their trust. As soon as they realized who she really was, they'd probably try to kill her.
For a moment, Boomer felt a wave of intense hatred sweep her. Athena had stolen so much of her life, so much of who she was. Even this--people who used to trust her--was ruined. Destroyed. It was irrational, considering she'd lied about what she was, done some of the destroying all on her own.
But Boomer had never wanted what she was, not until it was ripped away from her.
There was horrific irony in that. She shook herself free of her thoughts and keyed in the raptor, "Nearly done. If you don't hear from me, they've killed me, so watch your back."
"You're saving their lives, I don't think they'll kill you, Boomer."
Boomer laughed, but the sound had edges. She switched on the air, watching the seals, waiting for a leak. "They're human, Ellen, I expect them to not even notice stomping me like a bug."
There--quickly, Boomer slapped another layer of plastic over one section, sealing it down with the quick-set glue before the leak could destabilize the entire thing and wreck her handiwork. She held that edge until the rest had filled, air puffing the strangely-shaped bubble into a protuberance that made her want to giggle.
"Giana, you're set, over."
For a moment, there was nothing, and then the hatch made a creaking noise as it opened just a little. There was a whistle as the atmospheres mixed, the bubble pulsing slightly before the pressure was equal on both sides. Then the hatch was pulled open further and Giana gave her a wave before grabbing up the suits and pushing the hatch shut again.
Boomer let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She'd done it. They would be safe now, alive. They'd survive, and it was thanks to her. Before the thought went to her head, she reminded herself that she was still a Cylon to them, the enemy, in fact.
There was static, suddenly, and then Giana's voice crackled over the comm, "O'Neil here, we're set. Leave the bubble pressurized and we'll bleed it once we're out."
"Roger that." Boomer turned away and began backing up her internal oxygen supply before gently disengaging herself from the externals. The battlestar was still a marvel--in pieces, but parts of it still worked. Vital components still gave off energy readings, and Boomer hoped that meant Dee's console would still have the coordinates they needed.
A sound drew her attention back to the bubble, and she waved back to Giana as the deckhand finished depressurizing the bubble from the inside.
There were three of them, a pitifully small amount compared to the bodies Boomer had seen. She knew Giana, but couldn't place the others and wondered if they were civilians.
"My daughter," Giana said suddenly, her voice careful, "Did she survive?"
"I'm not--I think she did," frantically, Boomer tried to remember what ship Giana's daughter would have been on, if it wasn't the Galactica. "I'm sorry, the evacuation was insane, but I'm sure she's alive." Boomer made a face, "We'll be able to know for certain once we've found the fleet."
"Find?"
"We jumped to the wrong coordinates," Boomer tried to make a joke of it, "I guess my raptor thought Racetrack's shouldn't have all the fun."
Giana chuckled, "Poor Racetrack, Athena steals her thunder this time!"
Again, Boomer thought about telling her the truth, but it would get them nowhere, and Giana needed to trust her if they were all going to get out of this alive.
"We should head for CIC, if you want to pull the coordinates from the communications station."
Boomer nodded, but added cautiously "It might not be that easy."
"I know," Giana gave her an encouraging grin, "But at least it's better than smelling the two of them until I'm dead."
Her two companions protested, the sound of laughter giving the start of the journey a false cheer.
-=-
Dee was finally warm again, the ambient temperature in the complex buried inside the mountain was warm enough for some of them to take off their jackets. She even went so far as to fold the blanket wrapped around her shoulders over one arm. As they went down the corridor, counting rooms and the occasional stairwell, she began to get a sense that the place was larger than just a few hollowed-out caves.
"People could have lived here," Laird murmured to her. He ran his fingers over the wall every so often, and seemed to find the wires and junction boxes fascinating.
"Yes," Dee said. She frowned, "If it goes on like this, I'd estimate several thousand could have been housed comfortably. There are suites and single rooms along this hallway."
There were sometimes objects in the rooms. Some of them had survived the passage of time, others hadn't. Furniture, the occasional dish, piles of what Dee realized were slowly decaying books, and what looked like children's toys. There were no insects that they could see, and Dee was glad about that.
Surprisingly, for being underground, the air was fresh, and not musty. She finally realized why that bothered her when they were walking into a larger room.
"Laird, have you seen air vents?"
"A few," he brushed a hand over the surface of the consoles in the room and flashed her an odd look. "Why?"
Dee eyed the consoles, wondering why they looked more like plinths from some ancient temple than technology. "Something is circulating the air, making it possible for us to breathe. Don't you find that a little odd?"
"They're turning the lights on, too," pointed out Cawder. At least, Dee thought that was his name. He was a civilian, and she hadn't been awake when introductions were made. She also wished Starbuck had made the non-military stay in the ante-room, but she supposed it couldn't be helped. People liked large numbers in strange situations.
If this were a movie, some of them would die soon.
"It's very convenient," he agreed.
Dee felt a little better, now that she'd voiced her concern. It was odd, it wasn't as though she were expecting Cylons to come springing out of the shadows, but something could. She just didn't know what. And the nebulous nature of it all made her jump when someone smacked one of the consoles, trying to knock some life into it.
Taking herself in hand, she took a step back and looked at the room, trying to make it conform to the setups she was used to. If this were a Colonial ship... (she didn't think about why she thought ship and not planet-based command center)
Moving towards a console no one else had stopped at, Dee ran her hand over the surface, feeling the differences in the material it was made from. The edges and base were rougher, the control areas slick. Cleaning the dust off, she tilted her head this way and that before placing her fingers in the approximate places for a keyboard. It was silly to think that whomever had built it had been human, with the correct alphabet, but she typed hello? anyway.
When there was no response, she dropped her hands to her sides and looked around for Laird. They must be getting close to the time to turn around to meet up with Starbuck's group.
"Lieutenant?" Laird was at one of the other consoles, looking strange as light bathed his face from the screen in front of him.
It wasn't a screen, more a panel, but Dee pushed that quibble aside as she moved towards him. "What've you found, Chief?"
"I'm not entirely sure." He sounded odd, not exactly frightened, but at least worried.
"Laird--" Hoshi was suddenly there, reaching for him, then stopping. His hands fell to his sides and he looked at Dee, something strange in his eyes.
Getting closer, she realized why. Laird's hands were resting where a keyboard would be, at least, she assumed they were. She couldn't see them for the mass of writhing, shifting, black cords. It was as though someone had dumped a pile of rubber bands on top of them, and they were alive.
"Can you move your fingers?" she asked, wondering if she should touch him.
"No."
Dee put her hand on his shoulder, feeling the slight tremor in his muscles. "Don't panic, Chief." Raising her voice, she called, "No one touch anything. I want everyone to head back to the rendezvous. Hoshi, tell Starbuck what's happened--"
HELLO.
The word thrummed through the room; it wasn't spoken, so much as felt. Dee shivered, but kept her reaction to herself. "Hello?"
Who are you? The voice had shifted, softened.
For a moment, no one answered, and then there was--Dee clutched at her head as something touched her mind. Numbers and words, colors and smells surrounded her, as her senses were overwhelmed by the touch of something cold and foreign while at the same time being almost familiar.
Distantly, she heard screams, and they gave her something to focus on, to push past that strange feeling. She found herself kneeling, almost leaning against Laird. He'd managed to remain standing, something twisted in his expression.
His hands, of course, she decided, as the taste of metal flooded her mouth from where she'd bitten her lip. The pain was worth it, giving her something to focus on.
"Stop it." She said, "Please." The pressure rolled over her, then suddenly stopped.
"I'm sorry," Laird said. Only it wasn't Laird. Looking up, Dee could see his face had gone curiously blank, as though he were asleep or dead. "I didn't realize--"
Dee shoved herself back to her feet and stepped back from him. "What the hell? Laird?"
"I am--" His face twisted, then smoothed again, "Your bodies are so different, and yet the same." He suddenly turned his head and looked at Dee. "I am not here to harm you."
"What about Laird?" Dee asked, her tone angry. It didn't matter that she didn't really know the man, or care about him. He was a shipmate, a man who'd survived the Cylon War just as much as she had. He was a human being, and he had the right not to be a puppet.
If she wasn't hallucinating the whole thing. Maybe she was still wrapped in a silvery blanket, a civilian on either side while Starbuck and Anders argued in a corner, and this was her brain's way of reminding her things could be worse.
"I regret that this was necessary. Soon, it will not be--" Laird staggered, then, sagging forward. "He fights, but half-heartedly, as though he wishes to give up, to be absorbed."
Pointing her side-arm at his forehead, Dee said, her tone calm, "Get out of Laird, or so help me Gods I will end both your lives."
Sluggishly, Laird murmured, "It does not work like that. So much sadness, so much pain... I would make it better, if I could--Dee, don't shoot--hush now, rest while we--I--learn so much."
Don't shoot. It might have been Laird, it might not have. Dee met his eyes, "Let. Him. Go."
Lee Adama would have told the creature she wasn't bluffing, would have warned everyone not to push her. But neither he nor Felix Gaeta were there.
"You would not shoot your friend."
The shot sounded loud in the room, and Dee could taste blood again, mixing with cordite from the gun. She staggered back a little, not wanting to see what she'd done.
"Sir--" A civilian grabbed her arm, "What the frak is happening?"
"I don't know."
Why? the voice pulsed around them, almost tearing at them, and Dee sagged a little. The gun in her hand felt heavy, dragging her arm towards the floor. She pushed the safety back on and holstered it with effort. WHY.
"Because we are human beings, and we demand our freedom," she rasped in answer.
The room went silent for an instant, and Dee felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Hoshi felt it, too, his eyes wide as he looked at her. The door, he mouthed, as though they had to get out.
Energy began to crackle, heat sliding along Dee's skin as though someone had opened a window.
"Frak--everyone get out, NOW," Hoshi called, grabbing for Dee.
Somehow, they'd ended up closest to the door.
We offered our help, we offered whole-ness, we offered--
Dee felt her knees buckle and Louis hauled her back to her feet even as he seemed just as shaky.
"MOVE," she shouted at the others, hearing something that sounded like a scream begin.
It was Laird, she realized, darting a glance over her shoulder. He'd been slumped over the console, but now he slowly straightened, the energy crackling over him. "Dee," he gasped, "What have you done?"
Then Hoshi was hauling her into the corridor barely ahead of the blast-wave that smashed them to the floor.
Part Six
no subject
Boomer pretending to be Athena - wow, that's just so twistedly right.
This is getting quite exciting. You right good action scenes.
no subject
Boomer pretending to be Athena - wow, that's just so twistedly right.
This was expediency on Boomer's part--she might not have a clue why she's rescuing people who probably hate her, but she's gonna do it if she can, and letting them think she's Athena keeps them from shooting her straight off.
Thank you =D
no subject
::Cracks up::
I really like reading this from a non-B5 point of view, because I really empahtize with the Colonials and their confusion.
The Boomer-Athena switch was awesome- I really love that! Boomer is so fascinating here. I'm really enjoying her.
no subject
I'm very glad to know that you can follow along, even if it is confusing at times.
Boomer did all sorts of things where she surprised me and made me gleeful as a result. =D