![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Big Bang Fic: Part Seven, BSG/Babylon Five, Wheel Turns
All disclaimers and other information can be found on the Prologue.
Part Six
Caprica could have wished that fewer people had heard her news. It had seemed like a good idea to tell them, and being a novelty wasn't new to her. But now that it was all out in the open, it had palled even faster than being a war hero had, and she'd sought an empty room to simply sit in, wishing that she dared talk to Saul. It wasn't much of a relationship, but it was what they had.
She liked to think it was a good one, even if he hated what he was.
Then again, he was still on the list of the missing, presumed dead. She wasn't going to think about that, though. Not yet.
Finding a light coming from one of the rooms along the corridor where there should have been none, Caprica debated with herself before shouldering the inevitable and continuing towards it to see whom it might contain.
Tory Foster was sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring absently at nothing. Projection, Caprica guessed, not needing any intervention from him to suggest it. The Five were different, unknowable. She didn't know if they could project. And if they did, what would they see?
"Please don't just stand there lurking." Tory's voice was calm.
"My apologies," licking dry lips, Caprica stepped into the doorway, "I'm not sure what to call you. Sister? Mother?"
Eyes wide with surprise, Tory shook her head, the gesture violent. "No, I--" then her emotions seemed to smooth themselves down again, "Sister, please. If you won't simply call me Tory."
Gracefully, Caprica sank down in front of her, mirroring her pose, and finding it comfortable. "It's different, isn't it. Without the Galactica."
"Not really--I had already left it for here. This is my home," looking up, Tory seemed to trace the lines of the ceiling with her eyes.
"And Galactica isn't something you miss?" Not knowing why, Caprica probed a little. Tory was someone she had never really known, not until after the Big Secret was out. And even then, it had only been glimpses as she stood tall and proud with the Cylon. Trying so hard to fit in with people she didn't really understand anymore than they understood her.
"God," Tory rolled her eyes, "Why does everyone think that ship was the best thing to happen to any of us?"
"It brought us together," was Caprica's dry reply.
Tory snorted, but changed the subject, "How do you stand the dullness? It's something I didn't ask before. I don't know why."
"Projection." Caprica smiled a little at Tory's snort, and explained, "We can make the world around us what we want it to be. It's an illusion, of course," she added in a soft murmur.
Tory frowned, and shook her head, "But how?"
Shifting a little, Caprica tried to relax the sudden tension in her body. On the Galactica, she hadn't really bothered with projection. It hadn't seemed relevant. "I'm a little rusty," she warned, before she closed her eyes, remembering--
The bare little room filled with the scents of spring: grass, freshly-turned earth, and the daisies she used to see when she went for walks in the sculpted gardens of Caprica City. Little weeds, pushing free of the strict regimentation. Opening her eyes, she found the forest surrounding them, sun dappling the walls that peeked through the trees.
"Give me your hands. And relax."
Tory hesitated, then held her hands out. Caprica slid hers beneath, reaching out, trying to find that strange little twisty chord that all Cylons could hear, even if they didn't know it.
"Oh God," Tory breathed out, eyes wide as they darted around. "Are you--it's a forest."
"Yes."
"Caprica," whispered Tory, as though she'd been there, as though it were a memory she hadn't touched for a long time. Her hands turned over, fingers digging into Caprica's hands. "Can, can I do this on my own?"
It had been a long time since she'd helped a young Cylon find their bearings in projection. Caprica smiled, "Where would you like to be?"
There was a stir in the forest, a ripple, and then it was replaced with an office. A desk, a chair, paintings by some abstract professional. Papers half-sliding off the desk and a computer monitor with a blinking query. Caprica could smell the steam rising from the coffee cup.
"It's so real," Tory murmured. "And it's so fake. This wasn't me."
The office slipped away, leaving the bare room once more.
Caprica slowly pulled her hands free, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. That was... interesting."
Feeling that there was nothing more to be said, Caprica slowly got to her feet. "I'll leave you to your solitude."
"You've given me something to think about," Tory murmured, looking up at her.
"God's grace be upon you, sister," said Caprica, her tone oddly heavy.
She walked away before Tory could respond.
-=-
"This is intolerable."
Ambassador Londo Mollari looked as though he suddenly wished he hadn't set foot in the Zocolo. "Yes?" He managed to mumble, obviously not trying to encourage G'Kar.
They had a history, these two, and G'Kar felt a flash of amusement. Londo probably wondered if he were planning some sort of extravagant assassination attempt. It would be interesting to try, but it wasn't what he had in mind, at the moment. No, he was more interested in other things.
The Narn ex-ambassador didn't quite grab his arm, for he didn't want to really touch the Centauri who had caused the downfall of his race, but he emanated the urgency with his stance. "Commander Ivanova," he explained, wondering a little that Mollari hadn't already hear the news. "She's been closeted for hours with these refugees."
"The new ones?"
"Yes, the new ones." G'Kar made a gesture, underscoring his impatience with Londo's sudden reticence, "Their fleet landed on our doorstep, and people have been querying her for hours. And yet, she tells us nothing. Is that not wrong?"
"I suppose she believes she has the station's best interests," suggested Londo, with what might have been a sigh.
That gave G'Kar pause, and his ire fled for a moment. That Susan Ivanova was a woman under a great deal of strain was something he knew quite well. But he also knew that, with John Sheridan currently missing, she was the only one they had to rely on. Putting herself under strain and in more danger with these new refugees was simply a bad idea. At least she should have presented them to the council, and let the League decide whether they deserved aide. Why, they might be Shadow agents in disguise!
Not that he really thought that was remotely possible. "Yes, perhaps she does," he reluctantly said, "But I still believe this should be a matter for the Council and the League."
"Will you go away if I agree?" asked Londo brusquely.
Enjoying his impatience, G'Kar took a moment longer than he needed before answering, "We shall both go to the council chambers. And if you do not, I shall continue to argue with you. Peacefully, of course."
Londo heaved a sigh, obviously having decided it wasn't worth the time it would take to argue. At least at the moment. "Let us contact the Commander, and request that she present these refugees and their petition to the League."
Having won, G'Kar clapped Mollari on the shoulder, "This, we shall do. Come!"
-=-
Jeanne had scrounged a radio from one of the raptors. No one seemed to care much that she'd lurked in the hangar deck of the basestar, and she wondered a little about that, as she sat cross-legged on her cot (the sheets smelled like mildew and New Caprica, but she wouldn't ask where it had come from), fingers twisting and fiddling, until there was static. She left it low and closed her eyes, listening as she searched for voices in the dark.
It had been something they'd done, back in the beginning of their flight from the colonies. Her and Paulla, later Gina and some others had joined. Tracey Anne had joked about pilots and the Galactica's comm officers becoming a whole new status of celebrity to a fleet with only a few journalists left.
There-- Jeanne listened as voices spilled across the airwaves, the captains of two fleet ships arguing about where they were going.
"What's the point of this frakking stop?" The one demanded.
Another chimed in with a string of oaths that left Jeanne giggling into her pillow. And then a third quietly said, "I'm going to leave as soon as my engine repairs are finished. I'm not sticking around with no battlestar to keep those frakking Cylons from shooting us down at their leisure."
"That's treason," remonstrated the first, before he laughed.
No names, of course. They wouldn't want names for chatter like this. Jeanne's fingers brushed the dial and static obscured more words.
It wasn't as fun anymore. She turned the sound down, and wondered how it had come to this. How the rest of them couldn't see this space station as the gift from God that it was. He'd given them a whole new world to live in, to make his.
Jeanne closed her eyes and bent her head, lips moving soundlessly as she prayed.
My Father, who art in heaven...
-=-
"The Shadows," said Delenn calmly, "Are an evil which we have been fighting for centuries. Theirs is a cyclical nature, and one day, perhaps we shall end it."
Listening to the explanation of the current crisis, Laura Roslin wondered if the fleet had jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. The Cylons were at least something they could grasp, something they understood. Then again, it wasn't as though they had anyplace else to go. There was a very real possibility, that the dream of Earth would remain just that. That the people of the Twelve Colonies would be swallowed into other conflicts, other places.
The universe was suddenly bigger, and oddly just as cruel.
She was also tired, not that she would show it. Her pills hadn't been with her when she'd run from CIC, and stopping would have been folly. Idly, she wondered if the medical facilities on the space station were any good. They would probably have to be, if there were a working military. Refugees were something Ivanova had seen more than once, obviously.
The discussion continued around her, D'Anna and the Agathons providing explanations for the Cylons. They sounded mean and small compared to a universe-wide conflict that had devastated many worlds already.
"It's only a matter of time before they come for us," Ivanova said, her tone practical. "Up till now, we hadn't really hurt them where it counted. But with our recent attack, and John's flight to Z'Ha'Dum--"
There was something there, and Roslin chased it, her instincts flaring. "John?"
"Captain John Sheridan," she broke off with a glance at Delenn, and Ivanova didn't try to hide the worry in her own eyes, "He left on a mission a few days ago, to the homeworld of the Shadows."
"We do not know his fate as of yet," murmured Delenn. "But the White Star he took was destroyed, with several nuclear devices aboard."
They were more than commander and commanded, more than ambassador and captain. Roslin found that she wanted to know what their emotional connections were, to see if it would give her an edge in negotiations. Once, she might have been ashamed of that. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring up painful memories."
Before anyone could say anything more, Ambassadors Mollari and G'Kar bustled into Susan's office. She glared at them, "What is the meaning of this?"
"Commander!" Raising his hand, the Narn smiled at her, "I'm aware that this is unusual. But I find it most disagreeable that you would squirrel away our new friends." He beamed at Roslin and held out a hand to her, "I'm Ambassadar G'Kar of what was once the Narn Empire, and this is my colleague Londo Mollari of Centauri Prime. When we heard of your plight, we could not fail to wish to respond."
Annoyed, Susan stood up, planning to put a stop to things, when Roslin took the lead. She smiled back and shook G'Kar's hand, standing herself. "I'm President Laura Roslin of the Twelve Colonies, Ambassadors. It's very nice to meet you."
Shooting Susan a smug little look, G'Kar turned to Biers and the Agathons, "And you are?"
"I'm D'Anna Biers, and I speak for the Cylon." D'Anna had a calculating look in her eyes, and she seemed to squeeze G'Kar's hand a bit too hard, but he didn't wince.
Londo did.
"The Agathons are here as a gesture of peace," Roslin murmured.
"Sonja," the blonde Cylon said, her tone cool. She tilted her head to the side and glanced around, "Am I to assume that there is a more appropriate place to learn about the universe we've been thrust upon?"
"Well, there's the Council Chamber--you know that the League would be interested to hear of a new threat, Commander," G'Kar's voice was dry, reproachful.
Susan sighed, but firmed her back as she replied, "Yes, well, I wanted to learn everything before presenting it to them. A fait accompli, as it were."
"And Ambassador Delenn was merely taking notes?"
Delenn smiled, exchanging a glance with Susan before she stood gracefully, "Perhaps we should move this to the Council Chamber. President Roslin? Ms. Biers?"
-=-
Kara had been getting impatient. The planes weren't like anything she'd seen outside of their basic, obvious, design. They couldn't even get into one. So it was with relief that she looked up and spotted Dee, Hoshi and Laird walking towards them. She didn't even question where the rest of Dee's team were, just hopped down from sitting on the cockpit she'd been studying through the glass, and headed for them.
The problem was Laird; he moved wrong, and Kara found herself pulling her side-arm before he got within ten feet of them.
Sam was next to her, his own gun pointed.
"Dee?" Kara asked, not sure what was going on, but fairly sure she wasn't going to like it.
"Starbuck, it's all right."
"It's not all right," Hoshi objected, reaching out to shove Laird towards the waiting guns.
"Dee, report," Kara ordered.
"Please," said Laird, "Let me--"
"Shut up," snapped Dee. "Starbuck, it's not Laird. It's the beings who built this complex. They're using his body."
"And Laird?" Sam sounded as though he were dreading the answer.
Dee heaved a sigh, seeming to sink into herself. Kara spared her a glance and found that she was swaying with fatigue. "He's dead. I shot him in the head when this thing took him over."
"Please," said Laird, his voice almost a parody of earnest concern. "He--I--am not dead. Merely preserved. Captain," he looked at Kara, "Captain, these people, they can help us find the fleet."
"How about I just shoot you," suggested Kara.
"Then we shall merely take another host. One that is younger, perhaps, or less in pain." The voice sounded scornful now, "Your Laird, he would have been happy with us, but his memories are lost, thanks to Dee. We could have made him whole again."
"Convincing," Kara mocked, debating whether to squeeze the trigger or not. But the earlier voices in her head, the way her skin was still sometimes crawling, stayed her, and she lowered her gun. "All right. We won't shoot you. For now. How can you find the fleet?"
Laird frowned, looking them over until his gaze rested on Sam. "There's... there's something different about you. These humans, they all resonate the way humans have for millions of years, but you..."
"Resonate?" Sam shook his head and looked helplessly at Kara, as if asking her if he could shoot not-Laird.
"Cylon." Triumphant now, the ex-Chief clapped his hands enthusiastically, "You're different from them because you're not human. You're one of the children's Cylons! Oh, that's lovely, that is." He smiled, "I can find the others like you, now. Program the ship's sensors to detect them using your signature."
Kara blinked. "Ship? What ship?"
"Why, this--" gesturing around them, not-Laird smiled, "We're standing in the hangar bay of the--how shall I translate this in your language? Ah. The Innishin, I think."
Seeing their blank looks, he sighed, "I suppose we can't have everything."
Deciding to ignore him for the moment, Kara turned her attention to Dee, hoping to get something that wasn't a fairy tale out of her. "What happened to the others?"
"They're dead," Hoshi said, his voice ragged. He glared at Laird, then touch Dee's shoulder, "We need to get her to sit down and rest. She took a bad fall earlier."
"I'm fine," Dee protested. But she swayed and paled before Kara and Hoshi caught her from either side.
"Here--" Sam scooped her up, ignoring her curses at his presumption, "Where would you like her, captain?"
Kara led him to the side where a small room opened off the hangar. There was no longer dust coating the surfaces, and she wondered how long they'd all been unconscious, but didn't see the point in asking as they settled Dee in one of the chairs.
Returning through the door, she found Laird watching them all with a strange expression on his face. "How soon can we be in the air, tracking the fleet?" she asked him. There was no point in waiting for them to come looking, and even less point in worrying about Laird's probable abilities in relation to the fleet.
"I will need to finish running diagnostics, and get the engines online. Perhaps an hour or two?" He flashed a look around the group, then pointed at Sam, "I'll need his help, as well. If you'll follow me," he turned away, without waiting to see if Sam would follow.
Kara exchanged a look with him. "Go with him," she rubbed a hand over her face, "And if you don't return, I'll shoot you myself."
"Thanks," he muttered dryly, before he followed the alien.
-=-
"Did you save us as some sort of bargaining chips?"
"No!" Boomer felt again as though no one trusted her, that feeling of being out of control and spiralling down until it was almost worth it the pull the trigger. She shouldn't have been so surprised, and she hated herself for that. She swallowed, fighting past it, "Do you--do you remember, when we first met?"
"What?"
"I don't--at least, I do, but it's like it's not quite real, like it's someone else meeting you and I'm just watching. But it was me. I know it was." For an instant, the doubt choked her again and she was waking in a resurrection tub, all of her sins laid out before her.
Giana shook her head, "I don't understand--"
"You treated me like a person," Boomer whispered, "You and all the rest of the crew. I wasn't just another Cylon, I was a person to all of you. And I hate that what I am has changed all of that. But I can't go back."
"None of us can," said Ellen quietly.
"So you saved us, as what, a link to the past?" Sneering a little, Giana glared at Boomer. The two men, civilians, were staying out of things.
"Your husband, Giana. Your husband was a Cylon. And he was like me until he learned that there was more--that there was a whole world of being human that we didn't understand. Did you ever think that was why he killed himself? That he wanted you to remember him as real instead of just another copy?"
"Don't you dare bring Simon into this!"
Boomer laughed, the sound almost hysterical, "He was just like me, Giana. He was real and he was a Cylon, and he learned and he loved and he killed himself--"
She'd gone too far, and she knew it, but Giana's punch lacked force, and Boomer grappled with her for a moment before Giana head-butted her. Light exploded behind Boomer's eyes, and she released the smaller woman, backing away, trying to remind herself that she hadn't wanted any of this.
Tasting blood, Boomer dropped to sit on the deck, one hand on her mouth. She was seeing double at the edges of her sight, and she closed her eyes, fighting it off.
"You frakking deserve that," Giana muttered.
Boomer winced as she poked her lip. It was going to get swollen and look awful, but at least it wasn't a bullet to the head.
"Are we done now?" asked Ellen, looking between them, almost bored.
"Yeah, fine. We're done. For now--but no more lies."
"No more lies," Boomer agreed, looking up at Giana, wondering if she would ever reach her. "We're not trying to destroy anything, or use you to bargain with. We're going to the fleet, and if Adama shoots us down, so be it."
"Time to go meet our destiny," muttered Ellen before she clapped her hands, "Well, Boomer, I certainly hope your playtime was worth it."
"Yeah. I got the coordinates." Pushing herself back to her feet, Boomer moved unsteadily into the cockpit, sitting with a sigh before she started checking her systems automatically. "Let's hope no one shoots first and asks questions later."
"We were going to search for survivors." Giana's words were quiet, but full of scorn.
Boomer had what she wanted, and there was no need to lie anymore, or so she saw things. Swallowing, Boomer nodded, "We were. Can you man the ECO console and give me atmosphere readings? This might not be easy, your pocket wasn't traceable from here."
"Yeah." Moving towards the console, Giana was careful to avoid Ellen.
The two civilians were huddled in the corner, obviously deciding that being alive was worth anything else. Boomer wondered if they'd think the same if Cavil had been the one to pull them off the battlestar.
It took time to scan and then deep-scan the battlestar, but when they were done, the news was dismal: no more pockets of oxygen that couldn't be accounted for as air tanks for suits. No more heat signatures except what the drives were still putting off in crazy, erratic patterns. Giana finally convinced herself there was no more point in looking, and joined Boomer in the cockpit.
Ellen made a joke about fixing drinks, but they all ignored her as they prepared to jump to the fleet.
-=-
"So, our thinking is?" Cavil asked, hands on the edge of the datastream.
One shifted, and glanced sideways at the Four standing nearby, trying to look as though he wasn't listening. It wasn't really part of his plan to reveal certain things to the others, but it couldn't be helped, for the moment. Besides, it wasn't as though any of the other models were really that bright. "Mother and Boomer should have reached the fleet by now--if Morden and his people left any of it for them to find."
"Then we should follow and observe--from a safe distance, of course," Cavil replied absently. He didn't seem to care about the Four, or any of the others around them.
"Of course," with a slight smile, One caressed the console containing his section of the datastream. "With resurrection to return..."
"Don't let's get ahead of ourselves," murmured Cavil. "We take the fleet, first. I'm tired of this shilly-shallying, and Boomer has been a continued let-down."
One brushed his fingers into the datastream, and let it whirl him away. He was already ahead of himself, Cavil simply hadn't realized it yet.
Part Eight
Part Six
Caprica could have wished that fewer people had heard her news. It had seemed like a good idea to tell them, and being a novelty wasn't new to her. But now that it was all out in the open, it had palled even faster than being a war hero had, and she'd sought an empty room to simply sit in, wishing that she dared talk to Saul. It wasn't much of a relationship, but it was what they had.
She liked to think it was a good one, even if he hated what he was.
Then again, he was still on the list of the missing, presumed dead. She wasn't going to think about that, though. Not yet.
Finding a light coming from one of the rooms along the corridor where there should have been none, Caprica debated with herself before shouldering the inevitable and continuing towards it to see whom it might contain.
Tory Foster was sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring absently at nothing. Projection, Caprica guessed, not needing any intervention from him to suggest it. The Five were different, unknowable. She didn't know if they could project. And if they did, what would they see?
"Please don't just stand there lurking." Tory's voice was calm.
"My apologies," licking dry lips, Caprica stepped into the doorway, "I'm not sure what to call you. Sister? Mother?"
Eyes wide with surprise, Tory shook her head, the gesture violent. "No, I--" then her emotions seemed to smooth themselves down again, "Sister, please. If you won't simply call me Tory."
Gracefully, Caprica sank down in front of her, mirroring her pose, and finding it comfortable. "It's different, isn't it. Without the Galactica."
"Not really--I had already left it for here. This is my home," looking up, Tory seemed to trace the lines of the ceiling with her eyes.
"And Galactica isn't something you miss?" Not knowing why, Caprica probed a little. Tory was someone she had never really known, not until after the Big Secret was out. And even then, it had only been glimpses as she stood tall and proud with the Cylon. Trying so hard to fit in with people she didn't really understand anymore than they understood her.
"God," Tory rolled her eyes, "Why does everyone think that ship was the best thing to happen to any of us?"
"It brought us together," was Caprica's dry reply.
Tory snorted, but changed the subject, "How do you stand the dullness? It's something I didn't ask before. I don't know why."
"Projection." Caprica smiled a little at Tory's snort, and explained, "We can make the world around us what we want it to be. It's an illusion, of course," she added in a soft murmur.
Tory frowned, and shook her head, "But how?"
Shifting a little, Caprica tried to relax the sudden tension in her body. On the Galactica, she hadn't really bothered with projection. It hadn't seemed relevant. "I'm a little rusty," she warned, before she closed her eyes, remembering--
The bare little room filled with the scents of spring: grass, freshly-turned earth, and the daisies she used to see when she went for walks in the sculpted gardens of Caprica City. Little weeds, pushing free of the strict regimentation. Opening her eyes, she found the forest surrounding them, sun dappling the walls that peeked through the trees.
"Give me your hands. And relax."
Tory hesitated, then held her hands out. Caprica slid hers beneath, reaching out, trying to find that strange little twisty chord that all Cylons could hear, even if they didn't know it.
"Oh God," Tory breathed out, eyes wide as they darted around. "Are you--it's a forest."
"Yes."
"Caprica," whispered Tory, as though she'd been there, as though it were a memory she hadn't touched for a long time. Her hands turned over, fingers digging into Caprica's hands. "Can, can I do this on my own?"
It had been a long time since she'd helped a young Cylon find their bearings in projection. Caprica smiled, "Where would you like to be?"
There was a stir in the forest, a ripple, and then it was replaced with an office. A desk, a chair, paintings by some abstract professional. Papers half-sliding off the desk and a computer monitor with a blinking query. Caprica could smell the steam rising from the coffee cup.
"It's so real," Tory murmured. "And it's so fake. This wasn't me."
The office slipped away, leaving the bare room once more.
Caprica slowly pulled her hands free, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. That was... interesting."
Feeling that there was nothing more to be said, Caprica slowly got to her feet. "I'll leave you to your solitude."
"You've given me something to think about," Tory murmured, looking up at her.
"God's grace be upon you, sister," said Caprica, her tone oddly heavy.
She walked away before Tory could respond.
-=-
"This is intolerable."
Ambassador Londo Mollari looked as though he suddenly wished he hadn't set foot in the Zocolo. "Yes?" He managed to mumble, obviously not trying to encourage G'Kar.
They had a history, these two, and G'Kar felt a flash of amusement. Londo probably wondered if he were planning some sort of extravagant assassination attempt. It would be interesting to try, but it wasn't what he had in mind, at the moment. No, he was more interested in other things.
The Narn ex-ambassador didn't quite grab his arm, for he didn't want to really touch the Centauri who had caused the downfall of his race, but he emanated the urgency with his stance. "Commander Ivanova," he explained, wondering a little that Mollari hadn't already hear the news. "She's been closeted for hours with these refugees."
"The new ones?"
"Yes, the new ones." G'Kar made a gesture, underscoring his impatience with Londo's sudden reticence, "Their fleet landed on our doorstep, and people have been querying her for hours. And yet, she tells us nothing. Is that not wrong?"
"I suppose she believes she has the station's best interests," suggested Londo, with what might have been a sigh.
That gave G'Kar pause, and his ire fled for a moment. That Susan Ivanova was a woman under a great deal of strain was something he knew quite well. But he also knew that, with John Sheridan currently missing, she was the only one they had to rely on. Putting herself under strain and in more danger with these new refugees was simply a bad idea. At least she should have presented them to the council, and let the League decide whether they deserved aide. Why, they might be Shadow agents in disguise!
Not that he really thought that was remotely possible. "Yes, perhaps she does," he reluctantly said, "But I still believe this should be a matter for the Council and the League."
"Will you go away if I agree?" asked Londo brusquely.
Enjoying his impatience, G'Kar took a moment longer than he needed before answering, "We shall both go to the council chambers. And if you do not, I shall continue to argue with you. Peacefully, of course."
Londo heaved a sigh, obviously having decided it wasn't worth the time it would take to argue. At least at the moment. "Let us contact the Commander, and request that she present these refugees and their petition to the League."
Having won, G'Kar clapped Mollari on the shoulder, "This, we shall do. Come!"
-=-
Jeanne had scrounged a radio from one of the raptors. No one seemed to care much that she'd lurked in the hangar deck of the basestar, and she wondered a little about that, as she sat cross-legged on her cot (the sheets smelled like mildew and New Caprica, but she wouldn't ask where it had come from), fingers twisting and fiddling, until there was static. She left it low and closed her eyes, listening as she searched for voices in the dark.
It had been something they'd done, back in the beginning of their flight from the colonies. Her and Paulla, later Gina and some others had joined. Tracey Anne had joked about pilots and the Galactica's comm officers becoming a whole new status of celebrity to a fleet with only a few journalists left.
There-- Jeanne listened as voices spilled across the airwaves, the captains of two fleet ships arguing about where they were going.
"What's the point of this frakking stop?" The one demanded.
Another chimed in with a string of oaths that left Jeanne giggling into her pillow. And then a third quietly said, "I'm going to leave as soon as my engine repairs are finished. I'm not sticking around with no battlestar to keep those frakking Cylons from shooting us down at their leisure."
"That's treason," remonstrated the first, before he laughed.
No names, of course. They wouldn't want names for chatter like this. Jeanne's fingers brushed the dial and static obscured more words.
It wasn't as fun anymore. She turned the sound down, and wondered how it had come to this. How the rest of them couldn't see this space station as the gift from God that it was. He'd given them a whole new world to live in, to make his.
Jeanne closed her eyes and bent her head, lips moving soundlessly as she prayed.
My Father, who art in heaven...
-=-
"The Shadows," said Delenn calmly, "Are an evil which we have been fighting for centuries. Theirs is a cyclical nature, and one day, perhaps we shall end it."
Listening to the explanation of the current crisis, Laura Roslin wondered if the fleet had jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. The Cylons were at least something they could grasp, something they understood. Then again, it wasn't as though they had anyplace else to go. There was a very real possibility, that the dream of Earth would remain just that. That the people of the Twelve Colonies would be swallowed into other conflicts, other places.
The universe was suddenly bigger, and oddly just as cruel.
She was also tired, not that she would show it. Her pills hadn't been with her when she'd run from CIC, and stopping would have been folly. Idly, she wondered if the medical facilities on the space station were any good. They would probably have to be, if there were a working military. Refugees were something Ivanova had seen more than once, obviously.
The discussion continued around her, D'Anna and the Agathons providing explanations for the Cylons. They sounded mean and small compared to a universe-wide conflict that had devastated many worlds already.
"It's only a matter of time before they come for us," Ivanova said, her tone practical. "Up till now, we hadn't really hurt them where it counted. But with our recent attack, and John's flight to Z'Ha'Dum--"
There was something there, and Roslin chased it, her instincts flaring. "John?"
"Captain John Sheridan," she broke off with a glance at Delenn, and Ivanova didn't try to hide the worry in her own eyes, "He left on a mission a few days ago, to the homeworld of the Shadows."
"We do not know his fate as of yet," murmured Delenn. "But the White Star he took was destroyed, with several nuclear devices aboard."
They were more than commander and commanded, more than ambassador and captain. Roslin found that she wanted to know what their emotional connections were, to see if it would give her an edge in negotiations. Once, she might have been ashamed of that. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring up painful memories."
Before anyone could say anything more, Ambassadors Mollari and G'Kar bustled into Susan's office. She glared at them, "What is the meaning of this?"
"Commander!" Raising his hand, the Narn smiled at her, "I'm aware that this is unusual. But I find it most disagreeable that you would squirrel away our new friends." He beamed at Roslin and held out a hand to her, "I'm Ambassadar G'Kar of what was once the Narn Empire, and this is my colleague Londo Mollari of Centauri Prime. When we heard of your plight, we could not fail to wish to respond."
Annoyed, Susan stood up, planning to put a stop to things, when Roslin took the lead. She smiled back and shook G'Kar's hand, standing herself. "I'm President Laura Roslin of the Twelve Colonies, Ambassadors. It's very nice to meet you."
Shooting Susan a smug little look, G'Kar turned to Biers and the Agathons, "And you are?"
"I'm D'Anna Biers, and I speak for the Cylon." D'Anna had a calculating look in her eyes, and she seemed to squeeze G'Kar's hand a bit too hard, but he didn't wince.
Londo did.
"The Agathons are here as a gesture of peace," Roslin murmured.
"Sonja," the blonde Cylon said, her tone cool. She tilted her head to the side and glanced around, "Am I to assume that there is a more appropriate place to learn about the universe we've been thrust upon?"
"Well, there's the Council Chamber--you know that the League would be interested to hear of a new threat, Commander," G'Kar's voice was dry, reproachful.
Susan sighed, but firmed her back as she replied, "Yes, well, I wanted to learn everything before presenting it to them. A fait accompli, as it were."
"And Ambassador Delenn was merely taking notes?"
Delenn smiled, exchanging a glance with Susan before she stood gracefully, "Perhaps we should move this to the Council Chamber. President Roslin? Ms. Biers?"
-=-
Kara had been getting impatient. The planes weren't like anything she'd seen outside of their basic, obvious, design. They couldn't even get into one. So it was with relief that she looked up and spotted Dee, Hoshi and Laird walking towards them. She didn't even question where the rest of Dee's team were, just hopped down from sitting on the cockpit she'd been studying through the glass, and headed for them.
The problem was Laird; he moved wrong, and Kara found herself pulling her side-arm before he got within ten feet of them.
Sam was next to her, his own gun pointed.
"Dee?" Kara asked, not sure what was going on, but fairly sure she wasn't going to like it.
"Starbuck, it's all right."
"It's not all right," Hoshi objected, reaching out to shove Laird towards the waiting guns.
"Dee, report," Kara ordered.
"Please," said Laird, "Let me--"
"Shut up," snapped Dee. "Starbuck, it's not Laird. It's the beings who built this complex. They're using his body."
"And Laird?" Sam sounded as though he were dreading the answer.
Dee heaved a sigh, seeming to sink into herself. Kara spared her a glance and found that she was swaying with fatigue. "He's dead. I shot him in the head when this thing took him over."
"Please," said Laird, his voice almost a parody of earnest concern. "He--I--am not dead. Merely preserved. Captain," he looked at Kara, "Captain, these people, they can help us find the fleet."
"How about I just shoot you," suggested Kara.
"Then we shall merely take another host. One that is younger, perhaps, or less in pain." The voice sounded scornful now, "Your Laird, he would have been happy with us, but his memories are lost, thanks to Dee. We could have made him whole again."
"Convincing," Kara mocked, debating whether to squeeze the trigger or not. But the earlier voices in her head, the way her skin was still sometimes crawling, stayed her, and she lowered her gun. "All right. We won't shoot you. For now. How can you find the fleet?"
Laird frowned, looking them over until his gaze rested on Sam. "There's... there's something different about you. These humans, they all resonate the way humans have for millions of years, but you..."
"Resonate?" Sam shook his head and looked helplessly at Kara, as if asking her if he could shoot not-Laird.
"Cylon." Triumphant now, the ex-Chief clapped his hands enthusiastically, "You're different from them because you're not human. You're one of the children's Cylons! Oh, that's lovely, that is." He smiled, "I can find the others like you, now. Program the ship's sensors to detect them using your signature."
Kara blinked. "Ship? What ship?"
"Why, this--" gesturing around them, not-Laird smiled, "We're standing in the hangar bay of the--how shall I translate this in your language? Ah. The Innishin, I think."
Seeing their blank looks, he sighed, "I suppose we can't have everything."
Deciding to ignore him for the moment, Kara turned her attention to Dee, hoping to get something that wasn't a fairy tale out of her. "What happened to the others?"
"They're dead," Hoshi said, his voice ragged. He glared at Laird, then touch Dee's shoulder, "We need to get her to sit down and rest. She took a bad fall earlier."
"I'm fine," Dee protested. But she swayed and paled before Kara and Hoshi caught her from either side.
"Here--" Sam scooped her up, ignoring her curses at his presumption, "Where would you like her, captain?"
Kara led him to the side where a small room opened off the hangar. There was no longer dust coating the surfaces, and she wondered how long they'd all been unconscious, but didn't see the point in asking as they settled Dee in one of the chairs.
Returning through the door, she found Laird watching them all with a strange expression on his face. "How soon can we be in the air, tracking the fleet?" she asked him. There was no point in waiting for them to come looking, and even less point in worrying about Laird's probable abilities in relation to the fleet.
"I will need to finish running diagnostics, and get the engines online. Perhaps an hour or two?" He flashed a look around the group, then pointed at Sam, "I'll need his help, as well. If you'll follow me," he turned away, without waiting to see if Sam would follow.
Kara exchanged a look with him. "Go with him," she rubbed a hand over her face, "And if you don't return, I'll shoot you myself."
"Thanks," he muttered dryly, before he followed the alien.
-=-
"Did you save us as some sort of bargaining chips?"
"No!" Boomer felt again as though no one trusted her, that feeling of being out of control and spiralling down until it was almost worth it the pull the trigger. She shouldn't have been so surprised, and she hated herself for that. She swallowed, fighting past it, "Do you--do you remember, when we first met?"
"What?"
"I don't--at least, I do, but it's like it's not quite real, like it's someone else meeting you and I'm just watching. But it was me. I know it was." For an instant, the doubt choked her again and she was waking in a resurrection tub, all of her sins laid out before her.
Giana shook her head, "I don't understand--"
"You treated me like a person," Boomer whispered, "You and all the rest of the crew. I wasn't just another Cylon, I was a person to all of you. And I hate that what I am has changed all of that. But I can't go back."
"None of us can," said Ellen quietly.
"So you saved us, as what, a link to the past?" Sneering a little, Giana glared at Boomer. The two men, civilians, were staying out of things.
"Your husband, Giana. Your husband was a Cylon. And he was like me until he learned that there was more--that there was a whole world of being human that we didn't understand. Did you ever think that was why he killed himself? That he wanted you to remember him as real instead of just another copy?"
"Don't you dare bring Simon into this!"
Boomer laughed, the sound almost hysterical, "He was just like me, Giana. He was real and he was a Cylon, and he learned and he loved and he killed himself--"
She'd gone too far, and she knew it, but Giana's punch lacked force, and Boomer grappled with her for a moment before Giana head-butted her. Light exploded behind Boomer's eyes, and she released the smaller woman, backing away, trying to remind herself that she hadn't wanted any of this.
Tasting blood, Boomer dropped to sit on the deck, one hand on her mouth. She was seeing double at the edges of her sight, and she closed her eyes, fighting it off.
"You frakking deserve that," Giana muttered.
Boomer winced as she poked her lip. It was going to get swollen and look awful, but at least it wasn't a bullet to the head.
"Are we done now?" asked Ellen, looking between them, almost bored.
"Yeah, fine. We're done. For now--but no more lies."
"No more lies," Boomer agreed, looking up at Giana, wondering if she would ever reach her. "We're not trying to destroy anything, or use you to bargain with. We're going to the fleet, and if Adama shoots us down, so be it."
"Time to go meet our destiny," muttered Ellen before she clapped her hands, "Well, Boomer, I certainly hope your playtime was worth it."
"Yeah. I got the coordinates." Pushing herself back to her feet, Boomer moved unsteadily into the cockpit, sitting with a sigh before she started checking her systems automatically. "Let's hope no one shoots first and asks questions later."
"We were going to search for survivors." Giana's words were quiet, but full of scorn.
Boomer had what she wanted, and there was no need to lie anymore, or so she saw things. Swallowing, Boomer nodded, "We were. Can you man the ECO console and give me atmosphere readings? This might not be easy, your pocket wasn't traceable from here."
"Yeah." Moving towards the console, Giana was careful to avoid Ellen.
The two civilians were huddled in the corner, obviously deciding that being alive was worth anything else. Boomer wondered if they'd think the same if Cavil had been the one to pull them off the battlestar.
It took time to scan and then deep-scan the battlestar, but when they were done, the news was dismal: no more pockets of oxygen that couldn't be accounted for as air tanks for suits. No more heat signatures except what the drives were still putting off in crazy, erratic patterns. Giana finally convinced herself there was no more point in looking, and joined Boomer in the cockpit.
Ellen made a joke about fixing drinks, but they all ignored her as they prepared to jump to the fleet.
-=-
"So, our thinking is?" Cavil asked, hands on the edge of the datastream.
One shifted, and glanced sideways at the Four standing nearby, trying to look as though he wasn't listening. It wasn't really part of his plan to reveal certain things to the others, but it couldn't be helped, for the moment. Besides, it wasn't as though any of the other models were really that bright. "Mother and Boomer should have reached the fleet by now--if Morden and his people left any of it for them to find."
"Then we should follow and observe--from a safe distance, of course," Cavil replied absently. He didn't seem to care about the Four, or any of the others around them.
"Of course," with a slight smile, One caressed the console containing his section of the datastream. "With resurrection to return..."
"Don't let's get ahead of ourselves," murmured Cavil. "We take the fleet, first. I'm tired of this shilly-shallying, and Boomer has been a continued let-down."
One brushed his fingers into the datastream, and let it whirl him away. He was already ahead of himself, Cavil simply hadn't realized it yet.
Part Eight
no subject
no subject
no subject