Battlestar Galactica: Runaway

by Mirwalker

NOTE: This chapter contains very brief, non-graphic descriptions of some nonetheless disturbing scenes.


Chapter 2.

The students began their second verse, a little more unified as they settled into its simple rhythm:

Fields of Caprica, Picon's seas,

Mounts of Tauron, songs in Gemonese…

Roslin again clutched her hands excitedly, both overjoyed at the sounds of happy singing, and sickened at how sadly rare these children's voices now were in the universe. This was her first truly happy moment in literal months.

Still mouthing the words to prompt his impromptu performers, Ran returned Lee's congratulatory smile, both clear on how much this performance meant—to the President, and to the Fleet and species more generally. Sensing motion beside him, Baresi turned and nodded to the beaming Mrs. Lato, mother of pig-tailed (and entirely tone deaf) D'neese. He knew the two moms who had been traveling with him appreciated this distraction as much as he did, occupying the children for an afternoon, and giving them all a reason to smile for that happiness.

Having proudly surveyed the other audience members for himself, Adama was just turning back toward to the pending refrain, when the cabin pitched suddenly and a quick sequence of thuds, shudders and pops were replaced by gasps and shrieks as the song and scene quickly disintegrated into chaos.

As everyone scrambled to right themselves, the proud woman beside Baresi fell to the ground differently than everyone else had, and a rapidly reddening blouse accompanied the next symptom of something gone horribly wrong: a swirling wind swept through the cabins, as lighting flickered and cheap plastic masks dropped limply from panels above every seat.

Instinctively shoving the President toward her suited security detail, Lee was struck, literally, by a book or something, which slammed into and bounced off him toward the fore cabin. Raising his arms to fend off anything following, he quickly deduced that no one had thrown anything at him, and so turned to follow the flight of the projectile. Following the book and number of other small objects along their wild trajectories, his eye was led to a small, ragged, sparking hole in the bulkhead. Cabin puncture, from the exterior, he deduced quickly. Projectile weapon. Attack!

Turning toward the President, he saw that her security had dragged her to the floor, and were now inching her toward the hatch and waiting raptor. He first thought she was screaming and struggling in pain, before realizing that she was ordering them to ignore her and see to the children.


"Two contacts; definite bogies. They've made along the President's current location, and appear to be turning for a second pass."

"Get the CAP in there, now. Scramble ready vipers, set Condition One throughout the fleet."


The passenger liner continued to shake with a new and irregular rhythm, as children, adults and escaping atmosphere screamed under the whirling debris.

Adama herded the several children closest to him into the waiting raptor behind the President, over the pointless protests of her security officers.

He shouted to the ECO as the pilot frantically worked to keep the attached smaller ship in relative location to the larger liner, "What the frak is going on?"

"Two bogeys out of nowhere; CAP is responding!" Looking up from her boards, as two children latched onto her, she stated unnecessarily, "We've got to push…"

Nodding, Lee made eye contact with the President, who clutched a half-dozen terrified children huddled around her. Looking out into the chaos of the corridor, he tossed in another few children and ordered, "You're full, so get well clear; no heroics. Jump if you have to; just get the President out of here!" He slammed the liner's door shut, a final exclamation on the importance of his order and their cargo.

Comforted that the head of government was safe to the best of his ability, he set his jaw and turned the next crowding youngster toward the escape pod hatch back down the bulkhead, glancing through the whipping winds for his friend. Wading into the strobing, wind-whipped cabins, he shouted "Lifepods. Everybody to the lifepods!"

Lighting and gravity plating flashed intermittently, as shudders of additional damage or launching escape capsules rippled through deck. Adama stepped over the body of the schoolmother, scooping up the child who shouted and pulled at her pointlessly. Shoving her gently into the arms of an overwhelmed cabin steward, he pointed the young woman toward an open evac chamber and herded a few additional children and adult passengers in with her. "Let your training take over," he counseled loudly, hoping she'd had enough to kick in.

Still no sign of Baresi, Adama moved toward the schoolroom at rear of the ship. Turning into the corridor, he disentangled himself from a piece of fabric that had caught on his leg, and realized the howl of escaping atmosphere died down abruptly in this room.

At the far end of the space, Baresi climbed carefully over art-littered rows of seats, moving steadily and reaching toward a point near the rear overhead bins.

"Ran!" screamed Adama, trying to catch his friend's attention over the whistling air and alarms, wondering why he hadn't gotten himself to one of the few remaining escape pods. Then he saw the teacher's goal: There, hanging limply in one of the "luxury" portholes—"your window to the stars," was a small figure. Just small enough to be sucked up into the damaged opening, the outspoken Kalin Carson had been just too large to go through; oddly bent, bruised and at least unconscious, he was wedged in enough to nearly seal the breach.

Sympathetic but realistic, Lee sighed and shouted, "Ran, she's not going to last much longer; we need to move!"

"Then help me," his friend responded, making clear he wasn't leaving without the last of his wards.

Knowing arguing wouldn't save any time or lives now, Adama ripped out several of the flimsy seat cushions in the front row, and rushed down the aisle.

With equal urgency and care, Baresi forced hands between the pinned child and the edges of the hole, grimacing at both the exertion needed and the ragged surfaces. As he was able to shift the child ever so slightly, Adama helped gently pull the boy away and jam the cushions into the hungry void.

Structural creaking signaled their time was increasingly short, as Adama shoved a handy piece of baggage onto his makeshift plug and turned to follow Baresi, already awkwardly heading to the aisle murmuring comforting words to them all as the artificial gravity finally died.

One bloody arm clutching the battered little form to his chest, Ran literally climbed up the aisle head down, bracing his feet on the seat frames and pulling himself forward with his other arm. Lee pushed from behind, doubling their leverage against the sudden weightlessness.

As the ship's vibrations increased, the cushions and bag behind them disappeared into space; and the quick outrush of remaining air resumed. A large something, finally shaken or pulled loose from its place of origin, hurtled their way from another cabin, and exploded through the glass divider ahead of them. Baresi reacted in time to turn quickly, shielding his care and colleague from the spray of shards that hurtled past. Grunting from multiple, piercing impacts, Baresi toppled into Adama, who pivoted over and around him, taking the lead in the odd flight to safety. Coaching and pulling as he backed up the aisle, the pilot kept them moving toward the intercabin lounge.

And finally reaching the tiny refuge, Lee was relieved when the more-together steward reached out to him. He pulled Ran and the boy in on top of him, and kicked at the jettison buttons. The doors slid shut; and a quick jostle and the comforting pull of gravity and hiss of air indicated the breathless group had achieved a significantly higher level of safety.

If they hadn't just launched into debris, a firefight or empty space from which the fleet had already jumped to safety…


"CAP reports one raider destroyed; the second jumped away."

"This strike was surgical," stated Tigh for the record.

That such precision also meant the Cylons knew exactly where the entire fleet was, needed not be said. It did lead to one explicit conclusion, which the Commander named, "Make the jump as soon as all small craft are accounted for."


The last to jump away from the crippled liner, the battlestar had been safe harbor for the Presidential raptor and the small swarm of escape pods that had launched with her. Littered about the landing bay with the CAP vipers that had guarded them to the last moment, the pods were quickly towed to docking ports there or to flight elevators for descent to the hangar decks below.

As one such pod opened, Apollo leapt out, a whimpering child in his arms. Speaking to the first uniform he saw, he asked, "Gleason, did the President's raptor make it aboard?"

The petty officer responded quickly, taking the stunned girl gently from him, "Yes sir; she's docked on the flight deck. We're focusing on about a dozen pods, most hard-landed."

Helping other children down from the adult-sized hatch, he stated what was obviously already well underway. "Let's just get them off, triaged for Sickbay and put them somewhere for right now."

Arms full of the wide-eyed and unexpected ward, the crewman stammered, "Actually, sir, I was sent down here to look for you, sir; we presumed you'd be on the raptor... You're wanted in the CIC pronto." Instinctively, he rocked and patted the young girl who now latched onto him.

Pausing in his fireline work, Apollo looked about him at the chaos of several capsules spilling shocked children and adults into the cramped hangar. Behind him, Baresi carefully lifted a too still form through the airlock, his own glasses cracked and both their clothing shredded and bloodied. His friend made emotionless eye contact, clearly not paying attention to anything beyond his immediate care.

Swallowing hard, Lee touched his friend on the shoulder and turned him toward Gleason. "Ran. Ran? I've got to go, but will come back as fast as I can. Gleason here will get you and the kids to the Sickbay."

Still no indication of comprehension.

Taking his friend's face gently but firmly in hand, Apollo persisted in breaking through, "Terran, I need you to go with Gleason. Do you hear me?"

Still with no sign of recognition on his scratched and bloodied face, Baresi nodded obediently.

Gleason did not protest, but held out one arm to direct the ragged man and crowd of huddled children toward the ship's interior.

As he headed forewards while the crowd gradually funneled toward Sickbay, Apollo heard an announcement over the loudspeaker, "All hands, stand down from FTL jump."


A quiet hum hung over the CIC, as they settled back into real space.

Petty Officer Dualla broke the silence with welcome words, "All ships jumped and accounted for, sirs. Maiden of the Stars, excepted."

Colonel Tigh stepped up to the status table, joining Commander Adama and Lt Gaeta already there. "Apollo said that ship didn't have long to go anyway; the fleet may be faster and better off without her. And just three dead from this kind of attack, that's a gods-damned miracle…"

"At least three," the Fleet Commander corrected, his matter-of-factness belying more grief than his XO's passionate description. All caught his meaning, and were caught short by the fact of that minimum loss.

Several minutes later, Apollo and Roslin entered into that lingering silence. One hand wiping his face—the top of a wide, bloody line stretching down the front of his duty jacket, the CAG helped the President down the CIC steps. Commander Adama, closest to them, stepped over and offered his hand to Roslin, catching Lee's eye at the same time.

As Roslin took the hand, more of courtesy than need, Lee answered the unasked question and changed the subject. "I'm fine. What happened?"

With everyone now at the table, Adama nodded to Gaeta to summarize.

"Two Cylon raiders jumped into the fleet, almost directly ahead of the Maiden, and proceeded to strafe her ventral and dorsal lengths several times before the CAP was able to destroy one and drive the other off."

Once again showing why she shouldn't be under-estimated, even on tactical issues, Roslin cut to the point. "And do we know how it is they knew precisely where I'd be when, and could jump that precisely into the middle of the moving fleet?"

Tigh continued his own commentary, "We've got a much bigger infiltration problem than we'd thought. Somebody, or bodies, knows a helluva a lot, and can get them that good information out pretty damn fast."

Modeling a cooler head, Commander Adama kept his eyes on Gaeta, indicating he should continue.

Laying out a rough map of the pre-jump Fleet, the Lieutenant continued his guided tour of the debacle. "They jumped in too close for missiles, so it was literally dogfight mode. They fired on the bridge first, to disable any possible reaction by the flight crew; then peppered the fuselage with shots on the way toward the engines. Short of dropping in dead astern and firing directly into the sublights, they couldn't have been more precise in their execution of the ship."

The ranking officer added a final summation that included his unique brand of subtle praise for his crew. "Only having the two vipers on Presidential detail allowed the raiders to be distracted long enough to get most everyone off."

"How many people did we lose?" Roslin asked.

"Rough count is that more than a hundred got out in capsules," semi-answered Gaeta.

"How many people did we lose?" she repeated.

The Commander looked to Gaeta, who glanced at Dualla. Referencing her console, she stated simply, "Ship's census was one hundred thirty-four souls."

Glancing at a report sitting on the status table before them, the junior Adama clarified further, "Flight control reports bringing aboard eleven escape pods plus your raptor, Madame President. The pods are rated for ten adults each."

The survival algebra hung palpably under the DRADIS console.

Preferring to focus on what could and needed to be addressed, Adama brought the meeting to a clear close, with two final instructions, "Let's get a headcount of who we've got, so we can figure out what to do with them. Colonel Tigh, let's make one more jump, just in case."

Catching Lee's arm as the group disbanded, the elder Adama asked his son, "How is Terran?"

"He got showered with debris, like we all did, but I think was OK. He's with one of the children, who didn't look good. I'd like to get back to them in Sickbay."

Adama nodded. "I'd like to see him, when we can."

"I'll let him know. He'll appreciate the concern." And so do I, he thought, knowing the question and concern included more than just his childhood friend.

Apollo nodded to the President, who smiled after him, jogged up the stairs and smoothed down his hair as he continued the quick pace down the corridor.

Adama turned to the Roslin, "Are you sure we don't need to get you to Sickbay?"

She smiled and took off her glasses, "I'm fine, Commander, thank you. My security detail and Captain Apollo made sure I was safely on the raptor immediately." Looking off where Apollo had gone, she admired, "And then your son went back for his friend."


Several decks away, the orderly pointed Apollo into the curtained cubicle, and shook his head solemnly.

Lee stopped short on stepping into the small space. Before him, Baresi sat with his bloodied back to the entry—his shirt more rags than garment now, and his back covered in darkening scratches and cuts. "Scars are private medals for small battles survived and victories won," his father had once told him. Congratulations, Ran, he thought.

But the small, fully draped form lying in front of his friend made it clear that these wounds would likely never signify victory for Baresi.

Lee approached quietly and pulled up a seat directly beside him. He noted that Ran's hands were bandaged from wrist to fingertips as if he wore gauze oven mitts; and they sat as still as the rest of him. Ran stared blankly onto the form before him, giving no indication that he realized Lee was present.

They sat for several moments, in silent vigil—both for the children, and Lee also for his hurting friend. Finally, Lee felt compelled to break the quiet, "'I'm sorry' falls so short, Ran…" Again.

Ran didn't react; and Lee wondered whether he should repeat himself or even do something more to bring Ran out of his reverie. "I wish that I had trusted the President to her guards… If I'd focused on the kids… Maybe…"

"No," Baresi cut him off before he could theorize any further. Without looking over, Baresi spoke in a quiet, but quite calm voice, "The President is your responsibility; the children are mine." Having reminded himself of that obligation, he paused and smiled at its irony. "I never expected to be a father, Lee. Much less a single parent. And of twenty-seven," he laughed slightly.

Lee smiled with him, surprised himself at that turn of events, and nervous also at where Ran was going with this unexpected reaction.

Baresi's laugh quickly turned into a barely controlled sob, as the past hour came to a head. "And now, to have lost one…" His voice trailed off in more of a question than statement, and he began to roll off his stool perch.

As the well-practiced, professionally-required stoicism fell away from his all-but-brother's face, Lee pulled him into a fierce embrace, holding him up and letting him mourn the lost child, his left-behind partner and their larger state of affairs. As Baresi screamed hoarsely into his shoulder, shaking in alternating waves of rage and impotence against a pitiless universe, Lee could identify with the pressure Ran must have felt to be strong and confident for his wards, with the need to support them in their time of pain by ignoring his own. He could only imagine, however, having mainly children for company through that difficulty. What horror masterpieces Ran must have wanted to draw in colored wax over the past months. Playing anchor to his life-long friend, Lee did not allow himself to join in the grief beyond the tears in his own eyes; in this moment, he would simply share his strength.

When they finally pulled apart, Ran grimaced slightly at the painful cost of the embrace to his wounded back.

Not needing Ran to voice appreciation for the safe space in which to be vulnerable, and needing no such payment for something freely given, Lee nodded at him in pro-active acknowledgement, and in simple question. Baresi nodded back, the transaction complete, assuring his friend that he was well enough now. Offering a tissue from a nearby medical tray, Lee suggested, "We need to get the rest of you looked at."

The self-indulgent moment passed, Baresi wiped his face dry and returned to his duty, "I need to see them."

Nodding, Lee gathered a few more tissues, and explained, "They've all been seen to and given a little something to eat. We didn't think it wise for them to hang out here, so as soon as it was clear the Cylons weren't following, a few pilots took them over to the starboard pod museum as part of a tour of the ship. They were going to end with a VIP tour of the active flight deck."

Baresi nodded at the comfort of knowing his wards were being seen after.

Protective in his own way, Lee added, "The pilots love the attention as much as the kids do; and I thought we might let them enjoy that a little while and give you a little longer break. Since we don't really have spare family quarters per se, someone suggested a sleepover in the gym?"

"We'll see," smiled the schoolteacher, imagining the sight of children taking reassurance from fighter pilots, who in turn were fueling up on a little hero worship. "Let's see how they're doing, and let them see that I'm OK before breaking out the campfire snacks."


TBC... (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 and especially welcome, and always encourage more writing!)