Battlestar Galactica: Runaway

by Mirwalker

This story takes place in the first season, between episodes 1.6 (Litmus) and 1.7 (Six Degrees).

CHAPTER ONE

The sharp clank and low shudder of the hard seal between the shuttle and the passenger liner reverberated through the seat under, the air around and the skin of Captain Lee Adama. Ship-to-ship docking was nothing new to this second generation viper pilot; but this connect, his sixth of the day, was sure not to be counted among his favorites.

He appreciated the President's interest in having his counsel, though he didn't feel he had much to offer her during this latest tour of civilian ships. She wanted to see for herself what conditions faced the survivors through the several dozen odd ships, to chart their needs and resources so that she'd have a better understanding in trying to balance them all. She also felt it important that the government and military be seen together as symbols of stability and security—the civil officials tasked with governing the remnants of human civilization and the Colonial officers tasked with protecting them.

He was braced for what new horrors awaited them on this ship—cramped quarters, sparse provisions, barely adequate sanitation if they were fortunate. It was the faces, perhaps, more than anything that he looked forward to least—drawn, tired, hunted, desperate, silently begging and simultaneously accusing. He had been braced for curses and questions about why the Fleet hadn't done that job better. It was a question with which he haunted himself some nights; but no one else had yet put him on that spot.

It helped, he knew, to keep the human perspective on the hard work he and his pilots did; but it was hard to face them nonetheless. President Roslin, tired as she was, seemed to draw strength and purpose from those same faces when she met them. Another reason he respected her courage and resolve.

But she wasn't here today. Her assistant, Billy, and he were alone on this initial survey, to gather information and make a report back to the President. In addition to bringing back their specialized reports, together they were also to help her select a few 'choice' ships to visit in person. Even in survival there was politics; and he couldn't wait to get out of the latter and let Keikeya and Roslin face those challenges directly.

While Mr. Keikeya attended to the civil and political priorities of each ship, Adama assessed their military/defensiveness condition—if the fleet was to continue for any length of time, they would need to rely on more than just the Galactica to protect them. They needed to know the capabilities of all ships in the fleet—what were their top and maximum sustainable speeds, whether they might host some armament, which ones could take what kind of beating from travel or attack, and which ones could and should be sacrificed if need be.

A quick pulse through the atmosphere and a whiff of an unfamiliar smell beat the shuttle pilot to announcing that the airlock was now open; and Adama followed Keikeya into the cramped ingress corridor of the passenger liner. 'Liner' is generous descriptor, he thought to himself.

He could quickly tell that the Maiden of the Stars was very likely among that final, expendable group of ships—only capable of mid-range jumps, well into its service life, etc. He took mental note of the threadbare upholstery, dated color scheme and actually smiled at the etched glass cabin dividers that had gone out of fashion about the time he outgrew diapers. This was clearly an economy ticket for those who'd bought passage for this intercolonial voyage; but it had been able to make The Fateful Jump, and so this little ship's passengers might have gotten the best bargain on salvation of any in the fleet.

They were greeted in the boarding lounge by that lucky ship's captain, who indicated that the first officer was currently at the controls, and that it was his honor to welcome the President and her entourage aboard. Flanking him were a few of the service stewards—actually, the three young women were probably all of the cabin crew, as service saturation was not one of the hallmarks of this particular carrier. Also visible were a few more adventurous passengers who'd left their seats to crowd the aisle. They too seemed happy for the scrap of attention finally being paid them, as well as the excuse to get it up from their crowded seat-homes. Adama knew well, however, that all of the pleasantries would quickly give way to…

Shouting. Someone further into the seating cabin was shouting angrily. "…'Bout time someone paid us some mind! Did she bother to bring any decent food?"

The welcoming committee looked slightly embarrassed, but still quite agreeable to the sentiments and to having the question answered. They looked past Adama and Keikeya, clearly expecting more arrivals, one absent official in particular.

As he had on every other ship that day, the President's Chief of Staff (of one), took a deep breath, clenched his jaw and waded in. "The President regrets that she is not able to visit with you today in person; but I'd be more than happy to address what I can for you, and make sure she knows of all your concerns…"

Happy to let him do his job, Adama remained in the boarding lounge as the crowd absorbed Billy into the nearest passenger cabin, waiting until the coast was clear to begin doing his. As he looked down into his clipboard, Adama realized that not everyone had followed the crowd into the seating areas. At the bulkhead an older, portly man stood at apparent attention, as if waiting for Adama to do something. He also seemed a bit overdressed for a commercial pilot, his uniform replete with a motley collection of lapel medals and pins, a tarnished Colonial Fleet insignia among them.

Recognizing him as their host, the military attaché threw him a scrap of protocol respect, "Captain, permission to come aboard, sir?"

Brightening, the captain snapped a little more upright, gave a lingering salute, put out his hand for a vigorous shake, and launched into the remainder of his carefully prepared introduction: He had been a viper pilot many years before, but not career military. After the War, he'd wanted a little more freedom to see the Colonies, and signed up with the civilian lines. He now sees that he's needed again, and could get back to the excitement, the variety—and the important work of defending the fleet and kicking toaster ass.

Adama listened politely—happy for the distraction from Billy's chore, and scribbled the man's name on his notepad, with vague promises to keep him in mind as they looked for potential new, or renewed, fighter pilots.

Beaming with desperate gratitude, the passenger pilot thanked him and promised he wouldn't regret re-activating him to service. Stepping forward, he dropped his voice and looked Adama square in the eye. "Don't get me wrong, captain; I thank the gods we were mid-trip during the attack, and were able to last this long. But I'm wasted on this passenger barge, and I know I could be of more use out there than ferrying rowdy school kids."

Adama looked back up from his attentive doodling, "You have children aboard?"

"Yeah, couldn't just be business folk I'm stuck with; no, the Cylons had to attack the day I have dozens of school brats aboard."

Happy with a possible subject change, and hearing Billy struggling with the big questions of civilization in the background, Adama wondered, more than worried, what hordes of youngsters had done after weeks in an old, pressurized metal tube in space. Gesturing to his notepad, Adama looked around in further nonverbal indication he needed to move on. "Captain, I do have your information, and will pass that along; and we do appreciate your fine service in getting the Maiden and her passengers out of harm's way. If you could point me in the direction of your horde, I'll see what we can do about them as well."

The Captain scowled as he nodded, "Rear cabin; can't miss them..." Shoving out his hand again eagerly at the chance of trading uniforms, he reiterated, "I know you won't regret calling me up, sir."

Adama smiled non-committally, and hurried aft.

It didn't take long to locate the complained about classroom; the sounds of children didn't have much ship to travel, and would have been noticeable in a space of any size. Through the etched water-sailing ships that decorated the dividers, he could see little faces shifting in and out of view between clear and opaque glass, as volume levels waxed and waned with their constant conversation. Stepping into the cabin, he saw only two people standing taller than the seats; it was clear that the other adults onboard has ceded this compartment to the children, leaving only these stalwart few to shepherd them. Two women, haggard yet motherly, shifted along the center aisle, checking on small groups at work in the seats and on the floor between them.

At the far end of the cabin, a young boy was looking down dejectedly as a third adult squatted before him, wiped his bleary eyes and running nose, and spoke sternly but warmly to him. Still sniffling, the boy responded to the indistinct address with an exaggerated nod of the head. The child's dark bowl cut stood in contrast to the light, tight curls of the man speaking with him, though both heads had clearly not been cut in some time. The boy started to wipe his nose on his sleeve and the man to take his arm, when he looked up and saw the colonial officer standing in the doorway. Ignoring whatever had just transpired, he gaped and pointed silently. The man tried to refocus his attention; but the boy would not be turned. "Soldier…," Lee saw him mouth to the man, as if explaining his reaction and confirming the vision for himself.

Without standing, the man glanced over his shoulder, perhaps suspicious of a distraction or skeptical of another misinterpretation of the flight crew's uniforms. First seeing the clear color and design of a Colonial uniform, the man exhaled and began to stand, bracing for some bad news. "Look, I already told the captain that I was really sorry about the dining—" He stopped in mid sentence, the boy, the 'racing cart' and in fact most everything else aboard the Maiden forgotten in an instant. Taking a half-step forward, he whispered rhetorically, "Lee?"

Opposite him, the "soldier" needed no time to see past the bushy, reddish beard and dingy, once formal shirt. A brief drop of the jaw was quickly replaced with a drop of his clipboard and a jog forward, accompanied by an ecstatic shout of "Ran!"

The two men slammed into one another mid-cabin, and stumbled about briefly in a no-holds-barred embrace, as surprised and skittish children and chaperones gaped around, between and tentatively over steerage seats. A laugh welled up from the pair as they steadied, and finally held one another just far enough away to get another confirming look across smiles, shakes and even slightly watery eyes.

The civilian spoke first, a wobble not entirely hidden in his voice, "I thought you were… on the Atlantia."

The soldier shook his head and explained with a nervous laugh, "I was ordered to Galactica for the decommissioning as part of the PR—with Dad being the CO, and all. And you Mr Baresi? Teaching?"

The man wiped his own nose on his sleeve and nodded, "A few parents and I took the class on an overnight trip to the Science Museum on Picon; we were red-eyeing back to Aerilon when… when the attack came."

Adama bit his lower lip, and nodded knowingly. "And Pol?," he smiled in hopeful change of subject, peeking expectantly, even optimistically, beyond his friend's shoulder.

Baresi shook his head, "He would have been at work, I guess, since it was midday there. No word yet from the registry office. But, I…" He hung his head and looked away, unwilling to speak or face the likelihood.

"Ran, I'm sorry." Lately, the words grew infinitely more meaningless each time he heard or spoke them.

Baresi shrugged his best show of strength, "Everyone's lost people, Lee… What about you, any news on your mom or Gia-?"

"No," Lee interrupted, a bit too emphatically.

Long since having lost interest in the grown-ups quieted chat, a child screamed past, nearly slamming into them both. The teacher looked after her, a mix of irritation and amusement on his face. "At least we all have plenty of daily details to keep us pre-occupied from it."

Another, dark-eyed child came running over to show Baresi the detailed scribble he'd drawn on the back of an in-flight menu. Lee smiled politely, unsure exactly what the mass of graphite lines was supposed to be, while his friend studied it deeply and proudly pronounced it, "I think this is the best you've done yet, Lorn. Do you think we should hang it with the others?"

The boy glowed with pleasure at the praise and apparent privilege, and nodded immodestly. Baresi pointed him toward the walls nearest where Adama had entered, which Lee could now see were covered in similarly scribbled masterpieces on all sorts of scrap paper.

Lee smiled at the simple glee and noted, "I don't get it, Ran. They love you…"

Baresi laughed at the implicit insult, smiling after the student. With clear adoration for the motley collection, he conceded, "That they're loving speaks more to their quality than mine… Working with them is a lot of work; but it can be immensely humbling and educational. It's really amazing how straightforward and insightful they can be. Unlike us adults, you never have to wonder what's on their minds, no need to guess what they're feeling."

As if on cue, a peal of bubbly laughter echoed from a few rows away; and the cabin seemed to grow lighter as it rippled past.

"And what about you, flyboy? If memory serves, that's a CAG insignia. You also get to stand in front of a group of subordinates, telling them what to do day-to-day and being responsible for whether and how well they produce. Our roles aren't that different you know, in some ways."

"Except that your crew doesn't drink, smoke or carry weapons."

"That's why I wouldn't teach middle school," Baresi smiled; and they broke into laughter as when they had been the schoolkids. "It's so good to see you again, Lee. I can't tell you how encouraging it is to know you made it through, and are out there protecting us. And we all need all the hope we can get these days."

Adama nodded and gazed out at the anthill of activity the two dozen or so little people managed to squeeze into the small space. "Speaking of hope, how would you feel about having another visitor? Someone with a little more experience and influence than me?"

Baresi recognized the grin on his friend's face, and smiled nervously at whatever plot was brewing behind it.

The Maiden's eager crowd was again present when the President actually arrived the next shipboard afternoon. Rather than compete with the adults, Adama and Keikeya had arranged to have her briefly run the gauntlet and then join the schoolchildren in their own compartment. Lee wanted her to see the conditions they were living in firsthand; and Billy wanted to have better control over the media and other interactions. So, on coming out of the airlock and greeting the crowd, the President turned aft and headed toward a smaller audience several spaces back.

Lee stepped in first and Roslin behind him, to find a freshly shaven, smiling young man flanking a rowdy row of school kids three bodies deep. "Madame President, I'd like to introduce my friend, Terran Baresi, and his second grade class."

Their eyes caught more by the bright lights and microphones of the two reporters who circled quickly around for presidential reaction shots, the children paid Roslin little attention until their teacher prompted, "Class, let's give a warm welcome to the leader of the Colonies of Kobol, President Laura Roslin."

With no unity of timing, enthusiasm or comprehension, they shrieked as practiced, "Good afternoon, Madame President!"

"Good day, students," she beamed back–as happy and healthy looking as Lee or Billy had seen her since That Day. She gripped her hands at her waist to keep from throwing her arms out to them, covering her mouth in happy surprise, or grabbing onto anyone nearby for excited support. In that moment, she remembered her own pupils through the years: bright faces anxious on the first day of the new year, scribbled and food-stained homework, normally wagging tongues lightly bitten to help with concentration on particularly tough math or spelling exercises…. So many little lives had come her way during her classroom years, so much energy, openness, hope and potential. And in stark contrast to their sudden, recent absence, she was again surrounded by a fresh sea of lives just begun.

To help her and the little ones focus, Baresi kept the meeting moving. "And, everyone, you remember Captain Lee Adama. He's the CAG, the head pilot, aboard the Galactica."

"You actually fly the vipers?" exclaimed one child, on behalf of many excited faces. "That's frakking cool!"

The other children looked shocked, but in total agreement, and instantly and entirely lost interest in the President and the cameras.

Billy's face dropped in shock, not sure whether to intervene with the child or the President. Lee bit his lip in amusement, both at the profanity and the child's enthusiasm for his work. Roslin's face didn't change at all, as she continued to bask in the uncensored, carefree honesty of these futures of humanity.

For his part, Baresi blushed and clamped a firm hand on the child's shoulder, "Kalin, language!" His words indicated that the admonition was not new; and so the youngster should know better. Turning to the dignitaries without releasing the offender, Baresi continued, "Madame President, Captain, please excuse Mr. Carson's… exuberance; we've heard stories of the Colonial forces obviously and caught a few glimpses out the portholes; but most of them haven't met any direct players to date."

Nodding perfunctorily, Roslin looked at her Captain to see how he wished to respond. Grinning himself, he glanced from her to his friend to the profaner, stepped forward and squatted to look the child eye-to-eye. "It's Kalin, isn't it?"

The child's eyes lit up at being known to the warrior, and nearly shook his head off his shoulders.

"Well," continued Lee, "At some point soon, we're going to need some additional viper pilots for the Fleet. Do you know of anyone who might be brave enough, and smart enough, and strong enough to do that?" He glanced about at the other eager faces. "Where might those pilots be?"

The class erupted into a cacophony of "Me!," raised hands, bouncing bodies and squeals of utter, desperate delight. Drowned by the shouts, Lee looked about the sea of faces, pointing and asking, "You? Ok. You? Alright…"

Watching the scene as teacher and leader, Roslin beamed even more broadly than before. This was her element; and the children's excitement was contagious. These were the clientele of her former career; they now were the constituents of everyone's future. Looking at Baresi, she saw him smiling contentedly, though more on Captain Adama's actions than those of the class. Curious, pleased, but ever professional, she asked, colleague-to-colleague, "Mr. Baresi, may I…?"

He nodded, "Of course, Madame President," and gestured her into the cabin.

She took her temporary role easily, and invited the children to follow her, "Let's sit down; shall we? I want to hear what you've all been up to."

As the short crowd parted and then tumbled around her as she waded into their midst, she nodded a quick thanks to their teacher, and tossed a heartfelt smile of gratitude to her personal military advisor. With his having recognized and arranged the afternoon's excursion, she was pleased with having chosen him….

Deferring class management to his colleague and head of state, Baresi leaned against the bulkhead, simply watching Roslin reading to, quizzing and answering questions for the students.

After returning to the raptor to update Galactica on their likely extended stay, Adama stepped up behind his friend and joined his smile at the serene scene. He clasped Baresi by the shoulders, shook him jokingly, and whispered, "She's better with them than you are."

Baresi smiled wryly, saying, "Thanks… She's a new face, with different stories. She's also very good."

"But…?

"But soon enough, her novelty will wear off; and they'll be looking for the next source of amusement… She and I, we aren't enough for these few, much less the other children in the fleet."

Both all too clear about the short and long-term challenges that lay ahead of them, the children and the fleet, they silently agreed to simply enjoy the nostalgic scene before them. Larger problems later.

Nearly two hours later, and more than an hour over schedule, Billy was finally able to interrupt the President sufficiently to convince her it was time to go. Noting the hour and slowly dropping energy level, even her Military Advisor suggested, "Madame President, we really need to get the raptor back."

She bit her lip and looked around at the cloud of small faces before her. She so clearly did not want to leave this familiar, happy role for the harsh reality to which the children were oblivious enough. Nodding with resignation, she closed the book in her lap and stood slowly, "Well thank you all; this has been the most enjoyable storytime I've had in a long time…"

Baresi interrupted, "Before you go, Madame President, the children have a little something for you. We don't have supplies to make you anything, so we've prepared a little song for you to remember us by."

Ushering the motley class back through the cabins to the airlock, and then prying a few hands loose from the President to join the waist-high ranks, Baresi finally gathered them into a makeshift school choir to send her off as in the older days.

At his signal, and almost simultaneously, multiple unpracticed voices shared a tune familiar to all the ears present:(1)

Kobol's children, twelve are we.

Joined in our humanity:

A dozen worlds, no single sun.

Singing now, our voices one.

To one side of Galactica's CIC, a series of blinking lights erupted in Lt. Gaeta's face. Without turning he shouted to all ears, first in alarm, then outright shock, "DRADIS contact…! Within the fleet!"

NOTES:

1. The children's rhyme is my own creation; but the astronomy and planetary features are based on canon references, including an amazing, semi-canonical map of the Twelve Colonies star systems, reported on io9 dot com on 24 January 2011.

With several works actively in progress, I invite you to subscribe for story alerts to stay updated on this one. Reviews and constructive feedback always welcome, and always encourage more writing!