Babylon 5/Battlestar galactica
Babel Rebuilt
Chapter 1: The Remnant
"G'Quon said that time was like the twinkle of a star—an eyeblink expressed across millions of years. And what happened with the Humans in the years after the Shadow War was that eyeblink. Events prepared thousands of years past rushed inexorably toward their conflagration and conclusion.
"It was in the second year after the formation of the InterStellar Alliance. I had only recently begun my travels in the company of the Human telepath Lyta Alexander. An object was found that would—again—cause great consternation among the Humans."
—G'Kar, The Book of the Wanderings, II: 2-4
Although it was his watch, G'Kar was paying far more attention to his manuscript than to the instruments, otherwise, he might have seen the ship first. Although, perhaps not. Lyta had probably sensed its occupant long before it was in range of G'Kar's sensors.
"Have you ever seen a ship like that?"
G'Kar jumped, startled. He'd thought he was alone in the cockpit, that Lyta was still sleeping. Yet, there she was, standing over his shoulder, peering out the window and at the instruments. I should have smelled her perfume, he thought. Unless she'd taken to telepathically blocking that sense specifically so she could sneak up on him… Ignoring that thought for the moment, he gently closed his manuscript, set it aside, and tried to locate the mystery ship.
"I'm afraid I wasn't aware of any other vessels in our immediate neighborhood," G'Kar replied as he scrambled to get a fix on the unknown contact.
"Maybe you should pay more attention to where we're going," Lyta remarked.
The computer finally acquired a visual fix on the object. A small craft, about 50% bigger than a Human starfury, triangular and oblong at the same time. Three fins at the back formed a triangle—not unlike a Minbari design—and a long nose extended forward from it. The ship was listing, leaking a fluid G'Kar surmised was some form of either fuel or coolant, and giving off minimal energy readings.
"Do you suppose there's a pilot?" he asked.
"I don't suppose—there is," Lyta replied. "Comatose. And he might not make it if we don't do something quickly."
G'Kar laughed to himself—not that Lyta couldn't pick up on it, if she wanted to. He supposed he could lecture her on the dangers of bringing aboard strange space wreckage, or about not knowing the pilot's intent. But he reasoned that such arguments would likely be futile. G'Kar had realized at the outset of this journey that he would likely have to very carefully pick his fights with Lyta. And this particular instance wasn't worth it.
"I have dispatched two maintenance bots. They should not have a problem retrieving the craft."
A pair of automated robots jetted out to meet the drifting craft. G'Kar watched the visual telemetry as the two bots grappled the ship. Evidence of weapons fire—violent black streaks—lanced across both sides of the craft. One of the engines—the top one—was completely shattered. And the fuel lines to one of the others were severed. It looked almost, G'Kar thought, as if the Shadows had returned.
Fortunately, according to the sensors, the pilot was in better shape than his ship—although not by much. G'Kar's sick bay was not very extensive, but he did possess a copy of Dr. Franklin's xenomedical database. G'Kar hoped that would be enough.
G'Kar was waiting for Lyta outside the sick bay.
"You said you have a surprise?" she asked.
"First—I did manage to stabilize him—although he's still in a coma. But I think you're going to find this very interesting." He opened the door and showed her in.
Lyta looked at the bed, and then looked back at G'Kar. "He's human!"
On the bed, linked to the rudimentary medical scanners, lay a dark-skinned man wearing the remnants of an unfamiliar brown uniform and flight suit.
G'Kar grinned. "Quite so. Although there are some minor anatomical irregularities, according to Dr. Franklin's database. But I've never seen any humans in uniforms like this, and his ship is like nothing in the database—"
Lyta approached the bed. "G'Kar—in your opinion, would it be fair to say that this man would not be a citizen of Mars, EarthGov, or the InterStellar Alliance?"
"Well, yes, of course! Isn't that—"
"Then the prohibitions against unauthorized scanning wouldn't apply here." She stood over him, looking into his face. "The coma is pretty deep," she said. "But I think I can reach him without causing more damage. Although it will take some effort."
G'Kar watched. Lyta closed her eyes, and concentrated.
"He is a warrior—a fighter pilot. There's a fleet of ships—refugees. Although I can't quite make out from what. And I can't get a position.
"But they're human—not from Earth—this is very clear—they're looking for Earth."
Lyta opened her eyes. "I think that's all I'm going to be able to get, until he recovers."
"Refugee humans, searching for their lost home…" G'Kar remarked. "I was not familiar with such an idea, even in human mythology."
"There isn't such an idea in human mythology—at least not common mythology," Lyta said. "I've never heard of such a thing."
"Then perhaps this is an entirely new discovery. And if there is a fleet of refugees, then we must contact the InterStellar Alliance. I'll contact President Sher—"
"No," Lyta said. "I don't want anything to do with Sheridan." And before G'Kar could make another suggestion, she added, "Or anyone in EarthGov, either."
"We must contact someone, Lyta," G'Kar said. "Who would be acceptable to you? Perhaps the Rangers? Or Captain Ivanova?"
Lyta considered for a moment. "You may contact Susan," she said. Then she turned, and left.
Boomer had been missing for more than a day, and Major Apollo was not happy.
As commander of the Galactica's flight wings, the well-being of every fighter pilot in the fleet was his responsibility.
To be fair, his two immediate subordinates, Captains Starbuck and Sheba, were no happier. Starbuck had far more reason to be upset—not only was Boomer one of his best friends, not only was Boomer under Starbuck's command as a member of Blue Squadron, but Boomer had been flying on Starbuck's wing when he was lost.
Apollo felt as responsible for Boomer's loss as if he'd been out there instead of Starbuck. It might have been easier to deal with if Boomer's viper had been destroyed outright. But the thought that a pilot was still lost, out there, somewhere, rankled.
And so Apollo had asked Sheba and Starbuck to accompany him when he went to ask Commander Adama for an unusual dispensation.
"Absolutely not." Adama stood with his back to his officers, looking out the window.
Apollo, Sheba, and Starbuck had gathered in the Commander's quarters to hear his answer.
"If we've already lost one pilot, I can see no valid reason to risk any more. We're short on experience warriors as it is."
"Which is exactly why we must go after Boomer, Father." Apollo replied.
Adama turned to face his son. "Apollo, your dedication and loyalty to your warriors is commendable. But we can not afford to risk any more resources than we absolutely have to."
"But there doesn't have to be any risk," Apollo said. "We can outfit a shuttle with a laser cannon and extra fuel. We can send two people out, and they can meet up with the fleet at a rendezvous point. Risk would be minimal."
"It's like doubling on three quarters of a pyramid," Starbuck said. "Worst case is a draw. Best case, you win the whole pot."
"Even with that scenario, Starbuck, there's still the chance you could lose the entire hand," Adama countered.
"Commander, there is another scenario we have to consider," Sheba added. "What if Boomer's viper is recovered by the Cylons, and they analyze his navcomputer? That could lead them directly to the fleet."
Adama turned back toward the window. "Take a shuttle," he said finally. "Coordinate a rendezvous point with Colonel Tigh."
"Thank you, Father," Apollo said. "We won't let you down."
The EAS Warlock moved through space like a crouching dancer. Even at low speed, the ship's power was evident.
Captain Susan Ivanova fidgeted in her seat. Fidgeting? She thought. I'm too old to fidget. But the idea of meeting up with Lyta Alexander made her a little uncomfortable.
Could be worse, she thought. If she had to meet up with a telepath, then, at least one who'd rejected Psi Corps was the best option. Still, she thought, she didn't like it. She'd heard both from John and from Michael how powerful Lyta had become—how powerful the Vorlons had made her—and it frightened Ivanova. Then again, facing fear was part of her job description.
"Incoming communication, Captain," her comm officer reported.
Ivanova stood and walked to a comm console. "Susan! You look well. You received my message, I take it?" G'Kar's smile and voice seemed to convey something more than pleasure at seeing Ivanova again. There was something else. Relief, maybe?
"G'Kar," she replied. "It's good to see you, too. I take it your journey is going well?"
G'Kar shifted. "For the most part. Apart from this matter, about which I've called you."
"So naturally you wanted to pass your problem off to the nearest available person."
"Not at all, Captain," G'Kar replied. "However, I lack the facilities necessary to deal with this specific situation. And a human life is in the balance."
"Lyta?"
"No, Lyta is quite well. Perhaps it would be best if I showed you."
Ivanova paused. This was starting to sound like trouble—the kind of trouble she hadn't encountered since leaving Babylon 5. She sighed. "Alright. I'll be aboard in fifteen minutes."
"I'm looking forward to it, Captain."
Three days gone. G'Kar and Lyta had gone on their way, and left an enigma in Ivanova's lap. She'd sent a detailed report back to Earthdome, but expected no guidance for the foreseeable bureaucratic future.
She sat at the desk in her quarters, tempted to rip her hair out at the roots. Laid out in front of her was all the information about the stranger that her people had been able to gather. And each piece of information raised a forest of questions—without a single answer between them. Well, except one. Her sickbay had informed her that the unknown pilot would probably live, and might come out of his coma in several days.
That's something, at least, she thought. She began to gather up the papers when her commlink sounded.
"Ivanova. Go."
"Captain, I've got a secure line for you coming in from Babylon 5."
"Babylon 5?" she asked. "Who is it?"
"It's President Sheridan, Ma'am."
Susan shrugged. "I'll take it here," she said, and activated her comm screen.
John appeared on the monitor—in civilian clothes, no less. And was that a goatee?
"Susan. It's good to see you," Sheridan said.
"John. I didn't expect to hear from you. I thought you'd have your hands full with the Alliance…"
"Susan, I'm afraid this isn't a social call, and I don't want to leave this channel open for too long."
"What's up?" she asked.
"EarthGov forwarded us a copy of the files you sent to them, plus some analysis from IPX. Both EarthGov and the Alliance are concerned about the implications of this discovery. Specifically, EarthGov's afraid to handle the situation at this time. Plus, they felt that the ISA was probably better equipped to handle this sort of situation, and they dropped this in our lap. And I wanted to personally bring you up to speed on what's been learned."
"Can I get a copy of whatever material you've got?" she asked.
"I'm having it sent on another secure channel," Sheridan replied.
Ivanova checked her display. The files were uploading smoothly. It looked like her reading was just beginning. "They're coming through fine, John," she said.
"Good," Sheridan said. "Susan, I want you to know that I'm glad that it's you out there on this one."
"At least it looks like it'll give us the chance to work together again," she said.
John grinned. "Hopefully not for the last time," he said. "Good luck, Susan."
"John—take care. And give my regards to Delenn."
John smiled again, and closed the connection.
Ivanova sat again at her desk, and began paging through the new information Included was a software module for the translator—apparently IPX had been able to break the language from the information gathered from the mystery pilot's ship's systems. A notation on the module caught her eye, though. The xenoarchaeologist—someone named Eilerson—had made a note: "This language is almost pure Indo-European—hardly a challenge. Send something more interesting next time."
Other files detailed the recovered ship's power and weapons systems, including estimated power output. And there was a file on the pilot's biology, with a note from Stephen Franklin—"Subject is evidently human. However, there are minor anatomical differences with Earth humans—including the absence of the appendix without attendant surgical scars. Most notable, however, are differences in non-expressing DNA. The extent of these differences indicate a separation from the baseline gene-pool of not less than ten thousand years."
The last document, at the end of the burst, was Earthdome's analysis of the ship's likely flight path. Ivanova looked it over quickly. At first blush, at least, it matched what her own navigators had figured.
And she figured that if there was going to be an answer to this mystery, that, without her guest being conscious, the best place to look for it would be along that flight path.
Shuttle Number 3 (which Starbuck wanted to nickname Mercury when the modifications had been completed) re-traced Boomer's likely flight path, her sensors sniffing the surrounding space for traces of the lost viper.
Apollo stared out at the stars. They'd been out here for three centons already, and things weren't looking good.
Starbuck was staring at one of the scanner panels, looking confused.
"Did you find something?" Apollo asked, hopefully.
"I don't know—this reading doesn't make sense," Starbuck replied. "I'm picking up fuel traces—two vipers and five Cylon raiders—which was what we faced. But the viper fuel trail reads two centons older than the Cylon fuel. How's that possible?"
"Is there any Cylon wreckage?" Apollo asked.
"I'm not picking up any. But then again, we did hit them pretty hard." Starbuck peered at the panel again. "And there's another signature, too. But I can't make heads or tails of it—"
A thought had been tickling the edge of Apollo's mind for thelast minute. Finally, it expressed itself: "Starbuck, didn't we come across Cylon fuel trails a centon back?"
"Yeah, so?"
"So these aren't from the raiders you shot down—they're from a different squadron."
"You suppose they're still around?" Starbuck asked.
"I don't know. But I sure as hades don't want to take any chances. Charge up the gun, and let's take an evasive post—" And with that, the shuttle shook with an incoming laser volley.
"That answers that question," Starbuck said.
Apollo moved to climb into the newly-mounted laser turret at the top of the shuttle. "I'll take the gun. You keep them from getting a clear shot," he told Starbuck.
"Aye-aye, Major."
Apollo settled in behind the laser turret controls. He hadn't used controls like this since his academy days. Normally, flying a viper, he'd become one with his ship's guns—aligning himself with the target. Now, he'd have to adjust to aiming at a target while his ship moved in a different direction. Luckily, Cylons were not the most innovative of evasive pilots.
One of the raiders broke formation, and made a run at the shuttle. While Starbuck was pulling every last bit of maneuverability out of the bulky shuttle, Apollo lined up with the Raider, and fired. The enemy ship exploded in red and green sparks, leaving its four companions to bear down on the shuttle.
"Yo, Apollo!" Starbuck called up.
"I'm a little busy now, Starbuck."
"Apollo! I'm getting a really strange reading…"
Apollo swiveled in his turret chair, trying to line up another shot. He rotated over the shuttle's port side, and saw something that made him drop his jaw…
Ivanova was already on the bridge when the alert came through. The Warlock was moving slowly through hyperspace, trying to re-trace the alien ship's likely flight path when her tactical officer reported the weapons discharges occurring in normal space.
"Captain, I'm reading multiple weapons discharges in normal space, 2,000 kilometers off our current bead," Lt. Rabin reported.
"Anaylsis, Lieutenant?" Ivanova asked.
"Some of the discharges are consistent with scoring on the alien ship," Rabin replied.
"Some of them?" Ivanova asked.
"Yes, Captain, some of them. I don't have any matches for the other discharges."
"Battle stations," Ivanova said. "Prepare to jump to normal space. Bring us out at 500 kilometers, and have two squadrons of starfuries standing by."
"Aye, Captain," Rabin said.
A jump point opened, and the ship moved into normal space.
And in front of the Warlock, five ships were duking it out. Four saucer-shaped fighters were circling around a largish, boxy-looking shuttle, shooting at it.
"Captain," Rabin said, "Energy weapons discharge from the fighters matches the scoring on the alien ship. Markings on the shuttle match markings on the alien ship. I am reading no life signs on the fighters, and two humans on the shuttle."
"Launch starfuries, and target those fighters. I'm going to have some questions for the people in that shuttle."
"Apollo—what the frak is that?" Starbuck sounded a little panicked.
Trying to keep his own voice calm, Apollo replied, "I haven't any idea, Starbuck." In front of the shuttle, space had seemed to warp, and fold in on itself. A point formed, and that point twisted itself into a blue swirling cone. And out of that cone came a ship—about a third the size of a Battlestar. And out of that ship spat a screen of star-shaped fighters. The fighters—more maneuverable than vipers—quickly surrounded, and made short work of, the Cylon raiders. And then the comm came to life with a woman's voice.
"Attention unknown shuttle. This is Captain Susan Ivanova of the Earth Alliance destroyer Warlock. Please respond."
Apollo climbed down from the laser turret, and looked at Starbuck.
"Did she just say 'Earth Alliance'?" Starbuck asked. "And, by the way, the pilots in those ships read human."
"Now don't get your hopes up, Starbuck. If we're lucky, they found Boomer. That's all I'm hoping right now." Apollo sat at the controls and flipped the comm switch. "Warlock—this is Air Major Apollo of the Battlestar Galactica. We are engaged in a search-and-rescue mission. One of our pilots was lost—"
"We may be of some assistance there," the woman replied. "If you would like to stand down and be taken aboard our ship, we may be able to discuss this further."
"One moment, Captain," Apollo replied, and muted the comm. "What do you think?" he asked Starbuck.
"I think they'd have no trouble taking us by force," Starbuck said. "And they did take care of the Cylons for us. Plus, they might not be so eager to help if we put up a fight."
"I agree," Apollo said. He re-activated the comm. "Captain Ivanova, we are prepared to comply. I look forward to meeting you."
"Likewise, Major. The starfuries will escort you into the landing bay."
To be continued…