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Big Bang Fic: Part Six, BSG/Babylon Five, Wheel Turns
All disclaimers and other information can be found on the Prologue.
Part Five
The problem with being in the midst of a fleet of refugees that had lost its flagship, Felix Gaeta decided grimly, was that it was increasingly more and more obvious that the fleet had only managed to stay together through sheer chance before. He'd been listening to the wireless, gauging the mood of the ships around them. Some of them wanted to cut and run, not trusting the behemoth of a space station. Some wanted to throw themselves on the station's mercy. Still others thought they should tell the station about the Cylons being the enemy in exchange for food. He tried not to blame the captains for the exhaustion that seemed to have over-ruled their sense of caution and intelligence, but these were the same people who'd been following Adama, Roslin and even Baltar for years.
He also wondered where Louis was. The last time he'd seen him had been CIC. It wasn't like him or Dee to not check in. Felix worried that both of them had been with Starbuck--her luck might not extend to them.
The list of the dead was continuing to grow as Roslin's clerks worked on it, collating reports and head-counts. His own estimate had actually been smaller than their current tallies.
Five ships had been lost in the battle, if it could be called that. The Galactica had been the largest, and more than half of the people on-board had died when the hull ruptured. There simply hadn't been time to evacuate them all. Civilians and military alike were reduced again, the devastation something he could only think of as numbers. Abstracts.
It was a self-defense mechanism, and he knew it. Reducing people to numbers had been the trick of politicians for years, and Felix hated himself a little for allowing it.
The numbness kept the worry at bay, though, and for that he was grateful.
It was strange to think that this wasn't all there was to the universe, that the Twelve Colonies had been nothing more than a drop of water in something vast that teemed with life. Felix wasn't really sure he wanted to think about that, and he was definitely sure that most of the fleet was trying hard not to. There were already demands for makeshift rotgut from half a dozen ships, as the captains tried to keep their passengers from driving everyone insane.
Around him on the basestar, the Cylons worked and talked amongst themselves (they, too, had their factions who wanted to turn tail and run, or throw themselves on the mercy of Babylon Five). For the most part, they ignored him. Athena had checked in hours before, but she hadn't stayed long.
"They make her nervous," Helo had told him, gaze fond as he watched his wife go.
Now, of course, she'd gone with Roslin and the others on the diplomatic mission. Gaeta wasn't sure whose bright idea taking Hera with them had been, but he doubted the people of this 'Earthforce' would be swayed by a smiling child.
Even if she was adorable, Felix could never look at her without a part of him remembering her mother. And her mother's sisters. Boomer... And the Eight he'd known on New Caprica.
Just the thought of her made his stomach clench. Sometimes, he'd thought of telling Louis about it, of lying there in the dark, confessing his sins. I was a collaborator... But it had never seemed the right time for such a confession. And now perhaps, it never would be. He wouldn't even be able to tell Louis he was a captain now.
A light flickered on his makeshift board, and Felix sighed before toggling over to the open radio frequency, "Baseship Central, go ahead."
His thoughts and worries would have to wait until later. There was a job to do, and no one else to do it.
-=-
Kara came to herself groggily. She had only the dimmest memory of pressure and voices, and then an overwhelming nothing that seemed to go on forever (if it reminded her of diving through a hole in the sky, her mind shied from the comparison). She was sprawled on something softer than the floor, and took a moment to realize she was half-draped across Sam. Another moment was spent deciding whether to stay there or move.
His fingers brushing across her arm made the decision for her, and she pushed away, scrambling onto her hands and knees on the cold, hard floor of the room. The dust was gone, and she only briefly wondered about that.
"What happened?"
The words echoed through the chamber, as more people struggled awake. None of them attempted to stand yet. Kara could feel the sluggishness in her muscles, and wondered if she'd simply fall over if she tried.
"Anything about this familiar, Sam?" she asked, resorting to sarcasm and prodding people to mask her own weakness.
He ignored the bite in her voice and shook his head, then rubbed a hand over his face, "Nothing like this is in my memories, not that I have many of them before the fiction begins."
The bitterness in his voice grated on Kara's nerves. She pushed to her feet.
The room hadn't changed, the walls and floor still a brilliant white, the light still at a lower level than before, the space still felt too big (the mirrors had gone). And there were still things which might have been planes in the corner of what she was beginning to realize was definitely a hangar of some sort. She headed towards them, ignoring the way her hands were shaking.
"You should have told me," Kara said, her voice harsh with anger. She was fighting against fear over what had caught them. Her skin felt filthy, as though someone had rubbed it with sticky fingers. Or perhaps it was her mind that felt that way. "Keeping it a secret, Sam--"
"Are we doing this now?" he asked, moving away from the others.
She wasn't forced to, but she followed him, leaving the rest to fend for themselves. A part of her was saying this was a stupid time for this conversation, but that part was also the one that had thought landing on this frakking icicle was their only option. "You should have told me," she repeated, feeling stupid, and not caring. Some of her fear dissipated, the anger and adrenaline making the world come in sharper, clearer than before.
There was a huge square of doorway behind Sam, one they hadn't seen before the voice had dropped them to the ground. It must have been how the planes got in and out. Kara wondered if it still worked.
"I know. But I was afraid--" Sam's face twisted a little, his eyes going past her to some hell she didn't want to know. "What you said, Kara. I couldn't risk it destroying us."
"Destroying you," was her harsh correction before she pushed past him and headed for the wall. There had to be a control box for the hangar doors. Just like all the rest, she should be able to press her hand against it and feel... what? She wasn't sure, really, but she knew it was there, and she knew she could open it.
A shout behind her distracted Sam, and she sent one sneering glare after him as he loped over to join the others as they inspected the planes. He didn't have anything to say that she wanted to hear, anyway.
The doors became her focus again, and she moved towards them, feet making almost no sound on the metal of the decking. It was incredible to think there had once been a civilization here, that this was all that was left. It reminded her of Earth, of that incredible moment where she stood in a field and tasted the sunlight on her skin.
Kara closed her eyes and stood still, remembering that feeling in her gut, the push and the pull of desperation as they tried to find Earth.
A planet that had led to their destruction.
Her eyes opened again and she reached out to touch the wall. Her fingers ached with cold from the brief contact, and she wondered if the warmth around them was an illusion. Following the wall to the right, she watched for the change in texture that would indicate a control panel.
If the planes were workable, if they were for more than in-atmosphere flight, they might just have a way off the planet. Kara felt a sudden stir of excitement as she spotted the panel ahead of her where her wall met the next one at an angle.
She really should go and see if the others had discovered something they could use.
"Kara?" Sam sounded hesitant, and she almost turned to mock him. "Find something?"
"Door controls," she answered him, her tone short. She reached out and touched the wall again, wincing a little as the cold bit into her fingers. "For those--" she waved up at the panels in the wall that obviously slid back and away so that craft could take off and land.
Sam said, his tone careful. "We haven't found anything but small fighter craft."
"We'll find something." She reached out and touched the panel. It was warmer.
"Kara, wait--" Sam's hand grabbed her wrist, and he was suddenly a lot closer than she really wanted him to be. "Maybe we should wait until we've got an idea what's beyond the door."
"Air, sky, atmosphere," Kara enumerated, twisting her wrist and getting free. "We'll need 'em if we want to get off this rock."
"With what?" The words were reasonable enough.
Kara glared at him, "We'll find something. Now let me open the door, so we can--"
"No--" Sam caught her wrist again, this time in a tight grip, pulling her hand away from the panel, "Kara, what if it's not clear out there? What if there's been an avalanche, or the cold is too intense? We need to understand what we're getting into before we go leaping into the fire."
"I don't need a Cylon," she twisted the word into a taunt, since she couldn't free her wrist, "telling me what to do--"
Sam jerked her away from the panel, spinning her until she was pressed between him and the wall. Intense cold scorched her back, and Kara froze, her mind clearing.
"Kara?" He murmured softly, eyes worried as he looked at her.
Pushing against him, she got away from the cold, but the clarity stayed. "Shit. What the hell was that?"
His fingers rubbed at her wrist, something like apology in his eyes for the bruises she could feel, "I don't know. You just... It was weird."
"Yeah. Shit. Sam--" she stared at the doors, but the weird compulsion was gone as quickly as it had come. A shiver slid through her. "We need to check out the planes before we head back to meet with Dee."
Kara stepped away from the panel and the doors, letting Sam bring up the rear. She didn't have time to really think about what had just happened, and she didn't have to ask Sam to know he wouldn't mention it to the others. Kara made a face as she reached out to touch one of the planes. He might not press now, but another thing had been added to their list of conversations.
-=-
In her (temporary, John would be back soon) office, Commander Susan Ivanova was smiling as politely as she could at her guests. "President Roslin, you must understand that we can't simply hand over the coordinates of Earth," she managed, wishing she were anywhere but here. One year of trying to be diplomatic was not going to cut it in what was essentially a first contact situation, even with Delenn's help. The thought of John not being there for good cut across her mind and she pushed it back, trying to ignore it. He was alive, he had to be.
The conversation had been going for quite a while, and although Delenn had managed to deflect large portions of it, Susan still felt as though she were the one they needed to see as the authority. Babylon Five was, to all intents and purposes, her station, with Sheridan missing. There was also the worry that the Shadows would reappear at any moment; and Susan wasn't sure how the colonials would deal with that.
"I am sadly aware of that, Commander." Roslin paused, glancing against at Delenn, her posture erect and quiet.
The trip through the Zocolo had taken longer than it should have, Roslin's retinue wide-eyed as they watched the aliens as they went about their normal business. It was just the sort of thing Susan had always hated about new delegations. Really, as if they'd never seen a Minbari or Centauri before! Even the Pak'ma'ra were better traveled than that.
"At the moment, things are a bit delicate, anyway," Susan admitted, trying to be careful even as she didn't want to raise the woman's hopes. "The best we can offer is a rest before we send you on your way--and that will have to be at cost. We still have a station to run."
For the moment, she wasn't admitting that they were still at odds with Earth. Sheridan might have seemed insane in some quarters for his decision, but Susan had stood by it then and she did now. President Clark was not elected, and did not deserve the office he held, especially if their suspicions about his collusion in the death of President Santiago were true.
She only hoped Roslin wouldn't find out that little tidbit until after things had calmed down. And they would calm down.
"Our people are refugees," said Roslin quietly, "I believe I understand your position." She drew herself straighter, and speared Susan with a look, "And you must understand mine. The people under my care are frightened. We lost our one defensive capability when we thought we had found a home--"
"There's the basestar," interrupted Biers, her arrogance and malice in her eyes and mouth. She was one to watch, Susan could tell. Though whether for a knife in the back or a strangely perfect gift, she didn't know yet. "The Cylon would never abandon our new allies in their hour of need. Indeed," her tone shifted, "we have been pressed into service without even a request."
Something passed across Roslin's face, some hatred or anguish that made Susan stiffen, and then it was gone. Her words seemed dredged from somewhere distant when she replied, "If the basestar wishes to leave, Ms. Biers, it can. I'm sure Cavil will enjoy welcoming you back."
"He'll box her." Sharon Agathon, who also caused Roslin some sort of problem, looked tired and grave. "He'll box all of them. Cavil can't afford the mutiny anymore than we can."
"Of course, you would be welcome to come with us, sister," replied Biers, her tone silky.
Agathon glanced at her child, playing quietly in the corner with her father, and shook her head. "Never." She shifted her stance and looked at Susan, "Your military, the people you have defending this station. Can you use some help?"
"Earthforce," Susan started, when Delenn touched her arm.
Until now, Delenn had been mostly silent, watching the others converse. Now she placed her hands on the surface of John's--Susan's for now--desk. "I believe that your offer is honest, Lieutenant. However, we do not know your loyalties, any of you. And yet..." her gaze fastened on Hera, her eyes troubled, "...there is something I would know about your Cylons, your talk of 'boxing'."
Agathon, Roslin and Biers exchanged a look, and Roslin inclined her head, "As you wish, Ambassador."
"What are Cylons?"
Roslin was silent for a moment, and then she looked at Susan, "I'll answer that, as soon as you tell us who the Shadows are."
-=-
Already knowing what to expect, Boomer warned the other three that it wasn't going to be a fun trip to CIC. She was mostly right. Corridors had been sheered away, in some places. In others, twisted lumps of metal and falling wires blocked their path. The movement of the battlestar didn't effect things, except where the artificial gravity wasn't working anymore. Boomer was careful to negotiate all areas, watching to see if there was anything live before pushing through. And then there were the bodies. After the second, Giana ordered the two civilians to stay where they were, to keep them from puking inside their suits. To be fair to them, the second body had been cut in half by a falling deck plate, and it was particularly gruesome.
Boomer herself had to swallow a few times after that one.
Continuing on with Giana, Boomer suggested radio silence to conserve oxygen and Giana agreed. Boomer hoped Ellen wasn't going to interrupt anytime soon.
They had to pry open the hatch to CIC, and slither under the buckled side-wall to get inside, but they managed to make it. There were no bodies, and Boomer was grateful for that as she made her careful way towards the communications board. There was still light from the dradis console, and Boomer was suddenly glad at the lack of oxygen: a fire in zero gravity wasn't exactly fun to encounter.
"Shit," Boomer swore when she got to the console. It had been fried during the attack, scorch-marks and twisted plastic covering the surface. There was even a hole in one side, and Boomer hoped it wasn't Dee who'd been killed by the explosion.
"No, wait, it's all right--" Drifting to the console next to Dee's, Giana tapped at the keyboard, "There was always a backup through here."
Boomer wondered how she knew that, but decided asking would make Giana suspicious, "Thank the Gods for your memory," she said instead, feeling odd to be using 'gods' again.
"Yeah--" Giana gave a slight laugh, then swore as she tried to type with her gloves on. "This may take longer than I'd thought."
Boomer looked around, wondering if there were a way to make her faster. A memory making her pull two pens from the strategy desk. She gripped them in her fists, pondering, and then realized what they could be used for and hurried back, "Here. Try using these."
"What? Oh!" With a laugh of genuine amusement, Giana took them, fumbling for a moment before she had them positioned. She typed away quickly, "Glad you thought of that. Almost--there!"
A string of coordinates flashed onto the display, and Boomer hastily committed them to memory.
"There." Giana dropped her pencils, "Let's get out of here."
"Wait. We should check for more survivors."
Giana frowned, then nodded and moved to the dradis console, Boomer half a step behind her. "We should be careful, though, we might not have enough oxygen to last for another three-hour mission to build an airlock."
"It'll go faster with two," Boomer pointed out. She had no idea why she'd thought of looking for more survivors. Maybe in a misguided attempt to prove she cared, or use them as bargaining power. Boomer discarded both of those ideas with an eye-roll at herself. She was doing it because she remembered Cavil's reports. After New Caprica, nearly a thousand people had been abandoned to starve. The Cylons hadn't gone back for them, either.
"We can't scan, there's a live feed on the console."
It was something Boomer had noticed on the way in, but she'd hoped she'd been wrong. "Frak," she said.
"Yeah." Giana twisted her arm, looking at her oxygen dial, "Let's head back to your raptor, we can scan from there."
"Good idea," relieved to get out of CIC, Boomer led the way, ducking and twisting to get out. Ever-careful, she double-checked her flight suit for scratches once she was free, then did the same for Giana when she'd popped out from under the hatch.
"You know, there were days I wished that gravity didn't exist on this hulk," Giana said cheerfully as they made their way back up the corridor.
"Same here." Making a face, Boomer gently pushed a body from their path. She remembered sliding under it on the way in, but it had shifted a little. It was someone she didn't recognize, and she was grateful for that. So far, none of the bodies had been friends (if they would have considered her their friend still).
"I'm going to miss this place," murmured Giana, as she slipped past Boomer to take the lead.
"It was home."
They were silent until they reached the civilians they'd left behind. Both men looked relieved to see them, and the one on the right (Boomer hadn't bothered asking their names), waved, then asked, "Did you get them?"
"Yes."
"Thank the Gods." The other man echoed his sentiment, and Boomer took the lead again, guiding them back to the hole she'd used to enter the battlestar.
As they approached, she keyed in the outer comm, "Raptor 587, we're approaching. I hope you're still braced in the cockpit."
"Roger that," Ellen replied, her voice business-like.
Boomer was glad Ellen had obviously been listening. She wasn't about to give either of them away, at least not yet, she hoped.
It was a relatively simple operation to get them all inside the cargo area, then Boomer triggered the jets to push them away from the Galactica as she un-coupled the tether and brought in the cabling, letting the winch pull it back slowly. Giana dogged the hatch and Boomer triggered the atmosphere, listening to the hiss with a sigh of relief. She hated the canned air inside her suit.
One of the tell-tales beeped, and Boomer cracked her helmet with another sigh. "Gods, that's better."
Giana was the first of the others with her helmet off, and she tucked it under her arm, a wary look on her face as she said, "Hello, Boomer."
-=-
Waking up hurt. Dee kept her eyes closed as she focused on breathing, remembering who and what she was. Where she was. The sick feeling that settled in her gut wasn't just leftover from her near-concussion. Heat touched her shoulder, and she flinched, pulling away from it and rolling to her feet.
The corridor was scorched, and Laird was crouched on the floor, looking up at her as if she fascinated him.
Louis was by her feet, and she ignored Laird to kneel, checking for a pulse. Alive, but unconscious still. Good.
"Lieutenant Dualla," Laird rasped, "We would like to apologize for the unfortunate feedback you experienced."
He sounded almost sad. "You killed those people," Dee spat at him, eyes blazing with anger as she turned, keeping herself between Laird and Louis.
Laird shook his head, "You must understand. Our systems have been dormant for centuries, we weren't prepared for your actions--the power surge was too much to contain."
"You are blaming me for your own machinery failing?" asked Dee, her tone scornful.
"I--no. Not really." Looking sad, Laird slowly got to his feet. Dee had to keep reminding herself that this wasn't really Laird, that she'd put a bullet in his brain and killed him. But that didn't stop this thing from being comfortably in Laird's shape.
Curious suddenly, Dee stood as well. "Why Laird?"
"You can't understand what it feels like," the thing that had once been Laird said. His eyes were wide, seeing nothing or everything. Dee wasn't sure anymore that she cared. "It doesn't hurt, Anastasia. I feel... complete."
"And what about your family?" she demanded, her voice raw with fear and anger. This thing had destroyed people. She wasn't sure she was ready to cut it any slack.
"My... family..." The words seemed foreign in Laird's mouth, and his lips twisted as he tried to think. Then his features smoothed, "They are dead. They will always be dead, Dualla."
"Why are you doing this?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, the disgust at having this thing in his body almost choking her.
"You will need our help in the battles to come. Humanity's children..." Laird laughed, then, the sound wrong. It crawled up Dee's spine, twitching along her shoulder-blades and then stopped as Laird's mouth closed. "The nebula was not the end, the destruction of the Galactica was a trifle."
Louis groaned and Dee reached down to help him to his feet. "Thank you," she said to him.
He shook his head, eyes focusing past her. "What the frak?"
"It's not Laird. I don't know what it is, but it's not Laird." Dee warned him.
"Who and what are you?" Louis asked Laird, looking a little green around the edges, as though he expected the answer was something he wouldn't like.
"We--I--" the thing that was in Laird's shape smiled. It probably thought it was pleasant, but it made Dee's skin crawl. "We are known as the Suppron, and I'm not sure I remember my name anymore. Why don't you just call me Laird?"
"Are you organic or machines?"
"We were organic, once. Like you, in some respects," Laird twisted away from them, back towards the way they'd come. "There are more of you, are there not? We should go to them."
"Where are the rest of your people?" Dee demanded, side-stepping that. Starbuck might want to shoot him, and she wasn't sure that would do any good.
There was silence for a moment, and then Laird looked at her, his expression almost blank, "We exist as memories stored in our machines. I am the only one with a physical form. If others would offer their minds, we could co-exist in a physical form."
Dee stared at the thing, appalled at the suggestion.
"I take it that's a no," Laird murmured.
"Frak right it is," muttered Hoshi in response.
"We're overdue for a rendezvous with Starbuck," Dee said, breaking the tension for the moment. She wasn't happy with this alien thing, but it didn't matter. "We should find her, and discuss where to go from here."
"Your other people are on the flight deck. We can take a lift--actually," Laird continued, as he located a panel in the wall and produced a lift. "This is as good a time as any to let you, and your commander know: this complex is a buried star-spanner. A spaceship," he clarified as they stepped aboard.
All lifts looked the same, Dee had once heard. There was a sort of roundness to the edges of this one, but there was still that moment where it started to move that jerked at you. She blinked, "This is a spaceship?"
"It was the last of our fleet, thousands--possibly millions--of years in the past. We had nowhere else to go." Laird suddenly smiled, "That's neither here nor there, though. The point is, once we've checked the systems, it should still fly."
"So." Dee wasn't very happy about this whole thing, but the lift doors were opening, and she wanted to get at least one solid answer from this alien... thing. "If this thing still flies, you can take us to the rest of the fleet?"
"Yes." A frown again, then Laird shook his head and headed out into the open area that was obviously a hangar of some sort, "At least, we can try. Hopefully there will be some sort of resonance to give us a thread..."
Dee glanced at Louis, who shrugged, and then they followed Laird.
Part Seven
Part Five
The problem with being in the midst of a fleet of refugees that had lost its flagship, Felix Gaeta decided grimly, was that it was increasingly more and more obvious that the fleet had only managed to stay together through sheer chance before. He'd been listening to the wireless, gauging the mood of the ships around them. Some of them wanted to cut and run, not trusting the behemoth of a space station. Some wanted to throw themselves on the station's mercy. Still others thought they should tell the station about the Cylons being the enemy in exchange for food. He tried not to blame the captains for the exhaustion that seemed to have over-ruled their sense of caution and intelligence, but these were the same people who'd been following Adama, Roslin and even Baltar for years.
He also wondered where Louis was. The last time he'd seen him had been CIC. It wasn't like him or Dee to not check in. Felix worried that both of them had been with Starbuck--her luck might not extend to them.
The list of the dead was continuing to grow as Roslin's clerks worked on it, collating reports and head-counts. His own estimate had actually been smaller than their current tallies.
Five ships had been lost in the battle, if it could be called that. The Galactica had been the largest, and more than half of the people on-board had died when the hull ruptured. There simply hadn't been time to evacuate them all. Civilians and military alike were reduced again, the devastation something he could only think of as numbers. Abstracts.
It was a self-defense mechanism, and he knew it. Reducing people to numbers had been the trick of politicians for years, and Felix hated himself a little for allowing it.
The numbness kept the worry at bay, though, and for that he was grateful.
It was strange to think that this wasn't all there was to the universe, that the Twelve Colonies had been nothing more than a drop of water in something vast that teemed with life. Felix wasn't really sure he wanted to think about that, and he was definitely sure that most of the fleet was trying hard not to. There were already demands for makeshift rotgut from half a dozen ships, as the captains tried to keep their passengers from driving everyone insane.
Around him on the basestar, the Cylons worked and talked amongst themselves (they, too, had their factions who wanted to turn tail and run, or throw themselves on the mercy of Babylon Five). For the most part, they ignored him. Athena had checked in hours before, but she hadn't stayed long.
"They make her nervous," Helo had told him, gaze fond as he watched his wife go.
Now, of course, she'd gone with Roslin and the others on the diplomatic mission. Gaeta wasn't sure whose bright idea taking Hera with them had been, but he doubted the people of this 'Earthforce' would be swayed by a smiling child.
Even if she was adorable, Felix could never look at her without a part of him remembering her mother. And her mother's sisters. Boomer... And the Eight he'd known on New Caprica.
Just the thought of her made his stomach clench. Sometimes, he'd thought of telling Louis about it, of lying there in the dark, confessing his sins. I was a collaborator... But it had never seemed the right time for such a confession. And now perhaps, it never would be. He wouldn't even be able to tell Louis he was a captain now.
A light flickered on his makeshift board, and Felix sighed before toggling over to the open radio frequency, "Baseship Central, go ahead."
His thoughts and worries would have to wait until later. There was a job to do, and no one else to do it.
-=-
Kara came to herself groggily. She had only the dimmest memory of pressure and voices, and then an overwhelming nothing that seemed to go on forever (if it reminded her of diving through a hole in the sky, her mind shied from the comparison). She was sprawled on something softer than the floor, and took a moment to realize she was half-draped across Sam. Another moment was spent deciding whether to stay there or move.
His fingers brushing across her arm made the decision for her, and she pushed away, scrambling onto her hands and knees on the cold, hard floor of the room. The dust was gone, and she only briefly wondered about that.
"What happened?"
The words echoed through the chamber, as more people struggled awake. None of them attempted to stand yet. Kara could feel the sluggishness in her muscles, and wondered if she'd simply fall over if she tried.
"Anything about this familiar, Sam?" she asked, resorting to sarcasm and prodding people to mask her own weakness.
He ignored the bite in her voice and shook his head, then rubbed a hand over his face, "Nothing like this is in my memories, not that I have many of them before the fiction begins."
The bitterness in his voice grated on Kara's nerves. She pushed to her feet.
The room hadn't changed, the walls and floor still a brilliant white, the light still at a lower level than before, the space still felt too big (the mirrors had gone). And there were still things which might have been planes in the corner of what she was beginning to realize was definitely a hangar of some sort. She headed towards them, ignoring the way her hands were shaking.
"You should have told me," Kara said, her voice harsh with anger. She was fighting against fear over what had caught them. Her skin felt filthy, as though someone had rubbed it with sticky fingers. Or perhaps it was her mind that felt that way. "Keeping it a secret, Sam--"
"Are we doing this now?" he asked, moving away from the others.
She wasn't forced to, but she followed him, leaving the rest to fend for themselves. A part of her was saying this was a stupid time for this conversation, but that part was also the one that had thought landing on this frakking icicle was their only option. "You should have told me," she repeated, feeling stupid, and not caring. Some of her fear dissipated, the anger and adrenaline making the world come in sharper, clearer than before.
There was a huge square of doorway behind Sam, one they hadn't seen before the voice had dropped them to the ground. It must have been how the planes got in and out. Kara wondered if it still worked.
"I know. But I was afraid--" Sam's face twisted a little, his eyes going past her to some hell she didn't want to know. "What you said, Kara. I couldn't risk it destroying us."
"Destroying you," was her harsh correction before she pushed past him and headed for the wall. There had to be a control box for the hangar doors. Just like all the rest, she should be able to press her hand against it and feel... what? She wasn't sure, really, but she knew it was there, and she knew she could open it.
A shout behind her distracted Sam, and she sent one sneering glare after him as he loped over to join the others as they inspected the planes. He didn't have anything to say that she wanted to hear, anyway.
The doors became her focus again, and she moved towards them, feet making almost no sound on the metal of the decking. It was incredible to think there had once been a civilization here, that this was all that was left. It reminded her of Earth, of that incredible moment where she stood in a field and tasted the sunlight on her skin.
Kara closed her eyes and stood still, remembering that feeling in her gut, the push and the pull of desperation as they tried to find Earth.
A planet that had led to their destruction.
Her eyes opened again and she reached out to touch the wall. Her fingers ached with cold from the brief contact, and she wondered if the warmth around them was an illusion. Following the wall to the right, she watched for the change in texture that would indicate a control panel.
If the planes were workable, if they were for more than in-atmosphere flight, they might just have a way off the planet. Kara felt a sudden stir of excitement as she spotted the panel ahead of her where her wall met the next one at an angle.
She really should go and see if the others had discovered something they could use.
"Kara?" Sam sounded hesitant, and she almost turned to mock him. "Find something?"
"Door controls," she answered him, her tone short. She reached out and touched the wall again, wincing a little as the cold bit into her fingers. "For those--" she waved up at the panels in the wall that obviously slid back and away so that craft could take off and land.
Sam said, his tone careful. "We haven't found anything but small fighter craft."
"We'll find something." She reached out and touched the panel. It was warmer.
"Kara, wait--" Sam's hand grabbed her wrist, and he was suddenly a lot closer than she really wanted him to be. "Maybe we should wait until we've got an idea what's beyond the door."
"Air, sky, atmosphere," Kara enumerated, twisting her wrist and getting free. "We'll need 'em if we want to get off this rock."
"With what?" The words were reasonable enough.
Kara glared at him, "We'll find something. Now let me open the door, so we can--"
"No--" Sam caught her wrist again, this time in a tight grip, pulling her hand away from the panel, "Kara, what if it's not clear out there? What if there's been an avalanche, or the cold is too intense? We need to understand what we're getting into before we go leaping into the fire."
"I don't need a Cylon," she twisted the word into a taunt, since she couldn't free her wrist, "telling me what to do--"
Sam jerked her away from the panel, spinning her until she was pressed between him and the wall. Intense cold scorched her back, and Kara froze, her mind clearing.
"Kara?" He murmured softly, eyes worried as he looked at her.
Pushing against him, she got away from the cold, but the clarity stayed. "Shit. What the hell was that?"
His fingers rubbed at her wrist, something like apology in his eyes for the bruises she could feel, "I don't know. You just... It was weird."
"Yeah. Shit. Sam--" she stared at the doors, but the weird compulsion was gone as quickly as it had come. A shiver slid through her. "We need to check out the planes before we head back to meet with Dee."
Kara stepped away from the panel and the doors, letting Sam bring up the rear. She didn't have time to really think about what had just happened, and she didn't have to ask Sam to know he wouldn't mention it to the others. Kara made a face as she reached out to touch one of the planes. He might not press now, but another thing had been added to their list of conversations.
-=-
In her (temporary, John would be back soon) office, Commander Susan Ivanova was smiling as politely as she could at her guests. "President Roslin, you must understand that we can't simply hand over the coordinates of Earth," she managed, wishing she were anywhere but here. One year of trying to be diplomatic was not going to cut it in what was essentially a first contact situation, even with Delenn's help. The thought of John not being there for good cut across her mind and she pushed it back, trying to ignore it. He was alive, he had to be.
The conversation had been going for quite a while, and although Delenn had managed to deflect large portions of it, Susan still felt as though she were the one they needed to see as the authority. Babylon Five was, to all intents and purposes, her station, with Sheridan missing. There was also the worry that the Shadows would reappear at any moment; and Susan wasn't sure how the colonials would deal with that.
"I am sadly aware of that, Commander." Roslin paused, glancing against at Delenn, her posture erect and quiet.
The trip through the Zocolo had taken longer than it should have, Roslin's retinue wide-eyed as they watched the aliens as they went about their normal business. It was just the sort of thing Susan had always hated about new delegations. Really, as if they'd never seen a Minbari or Centauri before! Even the Pak'ma'ra were better traveled than that.
"At the moment, things are a bit delicate, anyway," Susan admitted, trying to be careful even as she didn't want to raise the woman's hopes. "The best we can offer is a rest before we send you on your way--and that will have to be at cost. We still have a station to run."
For the moment, she wasn't admitting that they were still at odds with Earth. Sheridan might have seemed insane in some quarters for his decision, but Susan had stood by it then and she did now. President Clark was not elected, and did not deserve the office he held, especially if their suspicions about his collusion in the death of President Santiago were true.
She only hoped Roslin wouldn't find out that little tidbit until after things had calmed down. And they would calm down.
"Our people are refugees," said Roslin quietly, "I believe I understand your position." She drew herself straighter, and speared Susan with a look, "And you must understand mine. The people under my care are frightened. We lost our one defensive capability when we thought we had found a home--"
"There's the basestar," interrupted Biers, her arrogance and malice in her eyes and mouth. She was one to watch, Susan could tell. Though whether for a knife in the back or a strangely perfect gift, she didn't know yet. "The Cylon would never abandon our new allies in their hour of need. Indeed," her tone shifted, "we have been pressed into service without even a request."
Something passed across Roslin's face, some hatred or anguish that made Susan stiffen, and then it was gone. Her words seemed dredged from somewhere distant when she replied, "If the basestar wishes to leave, Ms. Biers, it can. I'm sure Cavil will enjoy welcoming you back."
"He'll box her." Sharon Agathon, who also caused Roslin some sort of problem, looked tired and grave. "He'll box all of them. Cavil can't afford the mutiny anymore than we can."
"Of course, you would be welcome to come with us, sister," replied Biers, her tone silky.
Agathon glanced at her child, playing quietly in the corner with her father, and shook her head. "Never." She shifted her stance and looked at Susan, "Your military, the people you have defending this station. Can you use some help?"
"Earthforce," Susan started, when Delenn touched her arm.
Until now, Delenn had been mostly silent, watching the others converse. Now she placed her hands on the surface of John's--Susan's for now--desk. "I believe that your offer is honest, Lieutenant. However, we do not know your loyalties, any of you. And yet..." her gaze fastened on Hera, her eyes troubled, "...there is something I would know about your Cylons, your talk of 'boxing'."
Agathon, Roslin and Biers exchanged a look, and Roslin inclined her head, "As you wish, Ambassador."
"What are Cylons?"
Roslin was silent for a moment, and then she looked at Susan, "I'll answer that, as soon as you tell us who the Shadows are."
-=-
Already knowing what to expect, Boomer warned the other three that it wasn't going to be a fun trip to CIC. She was mostly right. Corridors had been sheered away, in some places. In others, twisted lumps of metal and falling wires blocked their path. The movement of the battlestar didn't effect things, except where the artificial gravity wasn't working anymore. Boomer was careful to negotiate all areas, watching to see if there was anything live before pushing through. And then there were the bodies. After the second, Giana ordered the two civilians to stay where they were, to keep them from puking inside their suits. To be fair to them, the second body had been cut in half by a falling deck plate, and it was particularly gruesome.
Boomer herself had to swallow a few times after that one.
Continuing on with Giana, Boomer suggested radio silence to conserve oxygen and Giana agreed. Boomer hoped Ellen wasn't going to interrupt anytime soon.
They had to pry open the hatch to CIC, and slither under the buckled side-wall to get inside, but they managed to make it. There were no bodies, and Boomer was grateful for that as she made her careful way towards the communications board. There was still light from the dradis console, and Boomer was suddenly glad at the lack of oxygen: a fire in zero gravity wasn't exactly fun to encounter.
"Shit," Boomer swore when she got to the console. It had been fried during the attack, scorch-marks and twisted plastic covering the surface. There was even a hole in one side, and Boomer hoped it wasn't Dee who'd been killed by the explosion.
"No, wait, it's all right--" Drifting to the console next to Dee's, Giana tapped at the keyboard, "There was always a backup through here."
Boomer wondered how she knew that, but decided asking would make Giana suspicious, "Thank the Gods for your memory," she said instead, feeling odd to be using 'gods' again.
"Yeah--" Giana gave a slight laugh, then swore as she tried to type with her gloves on. "This may take longer than I'd thought."
Boomer looked around, wondering if there were a way to make her faster. A memory making her pull two pens from the strategy desk. She gripped them in her fists, pondering, and then realized what they could be used for and hurried back, "Here. Try using these."
"What? Oh!" With a laugh of genuine amusement, Giana took them, fumbling for a moment before she had them positioned. She typed away quickly, "Glad you thought of that. Almost--there!"
A string of coordinates flashed onto the display, and Boomer hastily committed them to memory.
"There." Giana dropped her pencils, "Let's get out of here."
"Wait. We should check for more survivors."
Giana frowned, then nodded and moved to the dradis console, Boomer half a step behind her. "We should be careful, though, we might not have enough oxygen to last for another three-hour mission to build an airlock."
"It'll go faster with two," Boomer pointed out. She had no idea why she'd thought of looking for more survivors. Maybe in a misguided attempt to prove she cared, or use them as bargaining power. Boomer discarded both of those ideas with an eye-roll at herself. She was doing it because she remembered Cavil's reports. After New Caprica, nearly a thousand people had been abandoned to starve. The Cylons hadn't gone back for them, either.
"We can't scan, there's a live feed on the console."
It was something Boomer had noticed on the way in, but she'd hoped she'd been wrong. "Frak," she said.
"Yeah." Giana twisted her arm, looking at her oxygen dial, "Let's head back to your raptor, we can scan from there."
"Good idea," relieved to get out of CIC, Boomer led the way, ducking and twisting to get out. Ever-careful, she double-checked her flight suit for scratches once she was free, then did the same for Giana when she'd popped out from under the hatch.
"You know, there were days I wished that gravity didn't exist on this hulk," Giana said cheerfully as they made their way back up the corridor.
"Same here." Making a face, Boomer gently pushed a body from their path. She remembered sliding under it on the way in, but it had shifted a little. It was someone she didn't recognize, and she was grateful for that. So far, none of the bodies had been friends (if they would have considered her their friend still).
"I'm going to miss this place," murmured Giana, as she slipped past Boomer to take the lead.
"It was home."
They were silent until they reached the civilians they'd left behind. Both men looked relieved to see them, and the one on the right (Boomer hadn't bothered asking their names), waved, then asked, "Did you get them?"
"Yes."
"Thank the Gods." The other man echoed his sentiment, and Boomer took the lead again, guiding them back to the hole she'd used to enter the battlestar.
As they approached, she keyed in the outer comm, "Raptor 587, we're approaching. I hope you're still braced in the cockpit."
"Roger that," Ellen replied, her voice business-like.
Boomer was glad Ellen had obviously been listening. She wasn't about to give either of them away, at least not yet, she hoped.
It was a relatively simple operation to get them all inside the cargo area, then Boomer triggered the jets to push them away from the Galactica as she un-coupled the tether and brought in the cabling, letting the winch pull it back slowly. Giana dogged the hatch and Boomer triggered the atmosphere, listening to the hiss with a sigh of relief. She hated the canned air inside her suit.
One of the tell-tales beeped, and Boomer cracked her helmet with another sigh. "Gods, that's better."
Giana was the first of the others with her helmet off, and she tucked it under her arm, a wary look on her face as she said, "Hello, Boomer."
-=-
Waking up hurt. Dee kept her eyes closed as she focused on breathing, remembering who and what she was. Where she was. The sick feeling that settled in her gut wasn't just leftover from her near-concussion. Heat touched her shoulder, and she flinched, pulling away from it and rolling to her feet.
The corridor was scorched, and Laird was crouched on the floor, looking up at her as if she fascinated him.
Louis was by her feet, and she ignored Laird to kneel, checking for a pulse. Alive, but unconscious still. Good.
"Lieutenant Dualla," Laird rasped, "We would like to apologize for the unfortunate feedback you experienced."
He sounded almost sad. "You killed those people," Dee spat at him, eyes blazing with anger as she turned, keeping herself between Laird and Louis.
Laird shook his head, "You must understand. Our systems have been dormant for centuries, we weren't prepared for your actions--the power surge was too much to contain."
"You are blaming me for your own machinery failing?" asked Dee, her tone scornful.
"I--no. Not really." Looking sad, Laird slowly got to his feet. Dee had to keep reminding herself that this wasn't really Laird, that she'd put a bullet in his brain and killed him. But that didn't stop this thing from being comfortably in Laird's shape.
Curious suddenly, Dee stood as well. "Why Laird?"
"You can't understand what it feels like," the thing that had once been Laird said. His eyes were wide, seeing nothing or everything. Dee wasn't sure anymore that she cared. "It doesn't hurt, Anastasia. I feel... complete."
"And what about your family?" she demanded, her voice raw with fear and anger. This thing had destroyed people. She wasn't sure she was ready to cut it any slack.
"My... family..." The words seemed foreign in Laird's mouth, and his lips twisted as he tried to think. Then his features smoothed, "They are dead. They will always be dead, Dualla."
"Why are you doing this?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, the disgust at having this thing in his body almost choking her.
"You will need our help in the battles to come. Humanity's children..." Laird laughed, then, the sound wrong. It crawled up Dee's spine, twitching along her shoulder-blades and then stopped as Laird's mouth closed. "The nebula was not the end, the destruction of the Galactica was a trifle."
Louis groaned and Dee reached down to help him to his feet. "Thank you," she said to him.
He shook his head, eyes focusing past her. "What the frak?"
"It's not Laird. I don't know what it is, but it's not Laird." Dee warned him.
"Who and what are you?" Louis asked Laird, looking a little green around the edges, as though he expected the answer was something he wouldn't like.
"We--I--" the thing that was in Laird's shape smiled. It probably thought it was pleasant, but it made Dee's skin crawl. "We are known as the Suppron, and I'm not sure I remember my name anymore. Why don't you just call me Laird?"
"Are you organic or machines?"
"We were organic, once. Like you, in some respects," Laird twisted away from them, back towards the way they'd come. "There are more of you, are there not? We should go to them."
"Where are the rest of your people?" Dee demanded, side-stepping that. Starbuck might want to shoot him, and she wasn't sure that would do any good.
There was silence for a moment, and then Laird looked at her, his expression almost blank, "We exist as memories stored in our machines. I am the only one with a physical form. If others would offer their minds, we could co-exist in a physical form."
Dee stared at the thing, appalled at the suggestion.
"I take it that's a no," Laird murmured.
"Frak right it is," muttered Hoshi in response.
"We're overdue for a rendezvous with Starbuck," Dee said, breaking the tension for the moment. She wasn't happy with this alien thing, but it didn't matter. "We should find her, and discuss where to go from here."
"Your other people are on the flight deck. We can take a lift--actually," Laird continued, as he located a panel in the wall and produced a lift. "This is as good a time as any to let you, and your commander know: this complex is a buried star-spanner. A spaceship," he clarified as they stepped aboard.
All lifts looked the same, Dee had once heard. There was a sort of roundness to the edges of this one, but there was still that moment where it started to move that jerked at you. She blinked, "This is a spaceship?"
"It was the last of our fleet, thousands--possibly millions--of years in the past. We had nowhere else to go." Laird suddenly smiled, "That's neither here nor there, though. The point is, once we've checked the systems, it should still fly."
"So." Dee wasn't very happy about this whole thing, but the lift doors were opening, and she wanted to get at least one solid answer from this alien... thing. "If this thing still flies, you can take us to the rest of the fleet?"
"Yes." A frown again, then Laird shook his head and headed out into the open area that was obviously a hangar of some sort, "At least, we can try. Hopefully there will be some sort of resonance to give us a thread..."
Dee glanced at Louis, who shrugged, and then they followed Laird.
Part Seven
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1. BOOMER. Boomer trying to reason her way out of her complicated, muddled, mess of a life on her own instead of trying to make someone else make it all better.
2. Dee. Because she is Dee, and because she gets to be awesome. Because she gets to do all kinds of things that are useful and important.
3. Sam. Because he's trying to figure it out.
4. ELLEN. Because Ellen with all her memories is terrifyingly, amazingly sure of herself, and centered in a way that's hard to describe, but easy to see.
5. Roslin and Delenn and Ivanova and diplomatic shenanigans. OH MY GOD. (Throw Elizabeth Weir and Zhaan in there and it's a fannish dream come true.)
6. D'Anna reacting to being unique and trying to figure out the new dynamics since she's been unboxed.
I am waiting to see what Kara and Lyta do when they act instead of react before commenting on them, but they're pretty awesome anyway.
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Roslin was silent for a moment, and then she looked at Susan, "I'll answer that, as soon as you tell us who the Shadows are."
Yes, they do have some touchy topics of conversation, don't they.
The awesomeness of Boomer & Giana building an airlock is unmatched. I love how all the minor characters are shining, while the major characters continue to play their roles in the spotlight.
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Also, I meant to comment on it last time, but the mutiny in the Fleet is awesome. I'm looking forward to seeing where that is going.
And given my comments on your post, I'm guessing you know this, but I'm loving the Dee-Hoshi stuff. I really like seeing interactions with the two of them, and it's really great to see that comradeship between them. (And Felix, sitting on the basestar, worrying that Louis is dead and thinking of everything he was never able to say. ::heart breaks:: Also, looking forward to seeing if Sweet!Eight is wandering around said basestar....)
Looking forward to reading more!
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1. The show dropped the ball with her so hard, I sometimes want to meet Ron in a back alley.
4. That was one of the best scenes from Ellen returning in 4.5, was how she was just... so ELLEN and yet different, because she knew herself. (thank you!)
5. The diplomatic stuff is the hardest part, and adding the other two would just... I'd be all "let me describe everything around this..." about it. (frankly, writing Delenn and Roslin terrifies me as they're such complex women, but not the way that, say, Kara is. Kara, I get mostly. But the other two? Not so easy).
6. It might even be slightly terrifying, though the Threes were never as into conformity as some of the other models.
Thank you so much, even though this is ridiculously late.
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I had an answer, once upon a time. Iirc, Giana was suspicious of the whole thing from the beginning, and then asking after her daughter and Hera confirmed it: because Athena would know that stuff, as Athena is very obsessive.
And I know this is really belated, but a lot of the Dee-Hoshi stuff I sort of blame on you, as Hoshi was sort of a non-entity, but you wrote stuff with him (as did some others), so my brain sort of started paying more attention (and this sounds horrible, but, most of what I know about him comes from various porn battles whilst skimming).
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::putting this on my reclist::