"How often have you sailed in my dreams... Your dreams are my awakening."
"What nonsense is this?" Summers' voice wavered as he stared at the burning towers of Caprica City, the cinders and ash of its inhabitants falling from the stormy skies. Out there was a dive bar he remembered from his youth, afire and melting into the radioactive wreckage. Beyond that was the slummy housing development on the outskirts of the city, now nothing more than ashes.
"It's your future, Thomas. Millenia from now they will write about you and the holy journey across the heavens." It was Ellison, seductive as always, taunting him with a hint of the figure beneath.
"Make sense, toaster." He quipped, reaching his hand out to catch the falling flakes of charred blackness.
"I'm no toaster. Perhaps I am an angel from God? Or maybe you're just losing your mind, bit by bit, piece by tiny piece." Her fingers traced along his forehead.
"Are there more like you?
"Many look like me... but many don't. I wonder if you would know a 'toaster' if you saw one?" The question was certainly a valid one. He had no answer to give her. Did it even matter anymore?
"This is a cycle to be repeated throughout the cosmos, again and again... Always the same, always different." Her voice was soft and seductive, carrying across the silent orange death extending across the horizon. That flowing red dress was one with the wind, melding into the image of a great Cylon eye, wavering back and forth... and back again. The pendulum of man and machine continued as it always had...
Beyond the Red Line
Dreadnought was herself again. It was as if the ship knew she had returned to truly active duty. Though she bore fresh scars, her menacing appearance was only enhanced by them. Fresh armor plates salvaged from the wreck of Atlantia were mounted in critical areas. New point defense batteries had been installed all over the ship, giving her much greater coverage than she had originally boasted. Forty years of experience with battlestar design had affected the work the salvage teams and military survivors had done, giving her two extra primary batteries and over fifty new point-defense mounts. Two of her long-range missile tubes had been reopened and stocked with the salvaged nukes.
Though her exterior boasted the most updates, her interior had been altered too, giving her a limited ability to reclaim water, produce basic Viper and cannon ammunition and hopefully produce some usable rounds for the main guns too. Welding and manufacturing equipment was everywhere and even the new refugees were motivated to help. Summers sighed with frustration knowing that even these new changes were not enough for long-term survival, but they were at least a step in the right direction.
"Sandra, you have the numbers on our foodstuffs and water supply?" He asked simply.
"Yeah. Not so good. The rations we scavenged will last awhile, say 8 or 9 months... but the water will run dry in around two months, tops. Got some more booze, though." She took a swig from her flask distractedly. "You know everyone always said 'Sandy, that's a nasty habit you got there.' But I say it's the end of the world. They're dead and I'm still drinking. Frak 'em all."
"I'll drink to that." Jack replied, unscrewing his flask and taking a pull before munching on some of the hard, compressed food rations. They were disgusting, and he nearly puked it back up, but food was food. "Gods these are worse than I remembered."
"Never had them myself," Isard began. "The newer rations actually taste something like food."
"I don't care either way. Wash it down with booze, I say." Summers added. "The water problem is a big one. Only place I can think of to tank off is the colonies, and I don't think we could get a fix on the colonies to jump back, assuming we even wanted to."
"We're outside of charted space, but I do know some colonial fleet elements made it out this far during the first war. All I know is there are some planets out here with supplies, tylium, water and such things... no idea where to look for them, though. We're way beyond the Red Line now," said Isard, scratching his chin.
"How's the fuel situation, Sandra?" Summers asked.
"We're swimming in tylium right now. Frak, we were fully loaded before scavenging from the wrecks. We had to build some new tanks just to hold all of the salvaged fuel. The ship could fly for years off of this crap." She replied mechanically. Summers stared at her for a few moments, his eyes staring into her soft blue orbs, then traveling down her neck and across her ample bosom with lust. For her part, she just rolled her eyes, obviously not drunk enough at the moment.
"So water and something edible... you know, Cap'n there are no fancy Caprican restaurants out here." Jack added, his voice dripping with sarcasm before turning to a different subject. "Can't say I miss them fancy joints, but man.. what I wouldn't give for a strip club."
"Seriously, our civilization had been destroyed, and the only thing you miss is strip clubs?" Isard glared at him for a moment before chuckling lightly. "You see one pair of tits you've seen 'em all."
"Ahem..." Sandra coughed. "I'm still here you know."
"Me too." Elena added, walking onto CIC with obvious disdain. Summers' eyes gravitated to her lithe body despite her obvious personal hatred for him. "Captain, sir, you wanted to see me?" She stated simply, subtly mocking her commanding officer. At least she was obeying orders now, though, however unhappily.
"Yes, Lieutenant. What's the situation on our squadron?"
"Well, sir, we're down to seven Vipers maybe eight if these salvage guys can part together one out of the scraps. We have eight Raptors, all damaged to varying degrees from the evacuation of Zeus. No idea about those gunboat shuttles this trash has been rigging together..."
"You mean the gunboat that saved your pretty little ass?" Summers laughed and took a pull from his tankard. Elena ignored the mocking voice pointedly, but didn't deny it either.
"We need the Raptors to do some scouting for us. Check out all the nearby systems, see if there is any water available. I can't stress it enough." Isard ordered. "Get your best pilots together and let's start scouting the systems on this chart... And I'd avoid making trouble. You can always go back in the brig, you know."
"Oh yes, very nice. More brig time for the lady, eh? Like seeing a girl behind bars?" Elena quipped.
"That's sir to you, Lieutenant," said Isard, sternly.
"Yeah? Sir of what? It's not like the there are any Admirals or even Commanders left out here." Elena's hostility grew, her cheeks turning red with pent up rage.
"I'm here, Stalker. Try me, please." Summers motioned towards his sidearm. "Where'd you get that callsign anyway?"
"Basic flight. 'Cause I'm a sneaky sort of bitch." Despite the vitriol, Elena left it at that. Isard had confiscated her sidearm on general principle after here mutinous behavior. But the battle with the Cylons convinced him to return her to limited release duty. She was too good of a pilot to leave her in hack forever. Nevertheless the situation weighed upon him. It was proof that even his position as the military commander was tenuous at best. Everything all depended on cooperation. Petty politics could collapse the fragile alliance of salvage pirates and officers at any moment.
"Good for you. You better be sneaky, if you're gonna threaten me." Summers replied
"Hey all of you, save it for the frakkin Cylons. Plenty of them to kill, destroy or whatever." Sandra pointed out.
"I'm all for that." Jack agreed, holding his shotgun in one hand. "But if you want to try your luck, pilot, you know where to find me." Feeling outmatched, Elena beat a hasty retreat from CIC. It was obvious from her mannerisms, however, that she'd be back.
"On another note, Paul Graystone, the unofficial spokesman for the refugees, wants to setup some kind of meeting. As he put it, he doesn't want any 'frakkin military dictators' ordering him around." Isard added, reaching for the phone.
"Sounds like Paul all right. Hell, next he'll tell me the dogs want a say," said Summers. "The smaller the anthill, the more who want to climb to the top."
"Wouldn't surprise me." Jack quipped, rubbing his forehead. "Sandra, this swill of yours is terrible for hangovers."
"Yeah, well if you got something better, I'm all ears." She began. "Besides, it's not my problem you're not man enough to handle some real liquor."
"What a lady you got there, Cap'n." Jack laughed.
Summers tried to follow the conversation, but soon lost interest. His mind reflected back to his dreams and the words of that mechanical woman stuck in his mind. Were there other Cylons on board and how could he tell one apart from a human? Was there anyone he could trust anymore? A part of him knew the toasters would find Dreadnought again, and next time they would be coming in greater numbers. Though the battleship had finally been made worthy of combat again, she couldn't stand alone against the entire Cylon fleet, especially if enemies were already aboard her...
Unknown Planet, Outside Charted Space, Raptor 4, One Month Later
Elena, callsign Stalker, huffed with annoyance, her throat still parched from her meager water ration. That gutless Captain Isard she'd been stuck with didn't have the testicles to depose the idiotic drunken salvage captain, Summers and toss the useless refugees out the nearest airlock. Humanity was almost extinct and this was no time to follow the leadership of same fool scavenging waste of water. On the other hand, she grudgingly accepted his fighting ability. Somewhere deep in her mind, she understood that she owed the man her life, but it didn't make the current situation easier to bear. Still, most of the men were with Isard and Summers, but that could change very quickly. She had her methods, of course, and most of them were at least somewhat fun.
The pilot didn't have any compunctions against using the body the Gods had seen fit to bless her with. If they didn't want her to use it to her advantage, they shouldn't have given it to her in the first place. She banked the Raptor slightly, dodging some debris stuck in orbit over this underwhelming rock, glancing at her monitor from time to time. There were only two qualified ECM operators, and she was one of them, saddling her with double duty as bus driver and scan monkey. Her qualifications were further proof in her mind that she should be leading this little escape from the colonies, not some drunken, barely competent salvage roughneck.
A singular beep echoed, distracting her train of thought. She almost jumped out of her seat with surprise. The scanners were registering pure water down there. It wasn't as if she hadn't hoped for it, but the odds were pretty terrible. She figured they'd never find an easy source, but here was a planet full of water ice right beneath her Raptor. Well she'd get the credit for the find, and that wouldn't hurt her popularity among the military survivors. As she swooped down for a closer look, flipping on her cameras, she could almost imagine the look on Isard's face...
…...
"What do you mean, someone's already been here?" Asked Isard bluntly. It had bothered him enough to extend Elena grudging credit for the fortunate find. Not that he had any issue with giving credit where it was due, but the devious pilot would parlay it into her own political gain. It was a wonder she wound up in the fleet instead of the legislature. Then again, her questionable sanity and tendency to insult everyone she didn't like didn't win her too many friends outside of her inner circle.
"I did an atmosphere flyby of the most promising ice sheets, and I'm telling you there were definite cut marks on the ice. Artificial, judging by the straightness of them." She smirked and produced the recon photos. Nature didn't just produce lines like that...
"Cylons?" Inquired Jack, leaning over the command console, staring at the snapshots.
"What do machines need with water?" Asked Sandra, adjusting her bra strap as Summers sauntered in behind her.
"Well.. if there are any more like... what we encountered..." Jack offered, wincing slightly at the offending memory of the Cylon he'd frakked.
"Maybe. Seems like a long shot, though. They wouldn't need to cut up ice on a crappy rock to get a drink. More likely, there are other survivors lurking about somewhere. We know Pegasus survived at least for a little while, maybe this was their work," said Summers. The words from his dreams echoed in his mind, like a hangover you just couldn't shake. It fit. There could be a whole fleet of escapees out there somewhere, just as screwed Dreadnought's crew, just as lost out in the depths.
"I say we risk it. No water means we die. Going for this water means maybe some Cylons come knocking, but probably not." Sandra pointed out simply.
"I'm just as worried Pegasus might show up if she's still around. After what she did to that refugee fleet..." Jack offered.
"Look, water is life. Besides, all of you idiots need a frakking shower. May look nice in here but Gods does it smell." Summers chuckled slightly before his expression soured again.
"These frakked up old rations aren't helping any." Jack pointed out. "You could hook my ass up to a Tylium tank, as bad as this is getting."
"So we good?" Isard inquired, but the statement was more of a confirmation than a question. As a military man, the young Captain was far more preferable than Elena and her cronies, but Summers didn't care for the cavalier way the officer just assumed he always knew the answer. The man was decent enough, but wouldn't have lasted two minutes in the salvage world. Not without a punch in the face sometime or another, anyway.
"Yeah, small teams though. If we need to bail out of here in a real hurry, it would be nice not to be stuck recovering teams or abandoning people," Summers said. His gut wasn't warning him of anything, but it never hurt to maintain some caution. His eyes gravitated back towards the recon photos. As a salvage spacer, he recognized the drill marks and the general patterns. This was mining equipment adapted as cutting tools, wielded by people somewhat unfamiliar with the machinery. It was a story he'd seen time and time again in improvised salvage yards like his own. You used whatever equipment was around. It wasn't Pegasus, unless she had run across a mining vessel somewhere along the way, which seemed unlikely. It could only mean there were other survivors out there. Ellison's face was there in the back of his mind, lurking like a shadow in his awareness, taunting him.
"...even as the twelve tribes of Kobol joined the caravan of the heavens to the new lands, did the thirteenth tribe settle upon Earth. Alone, they were, for no others were to follow them. And the cycle of time started again in their new homes, each the same as before, each destined for the fate of all men..."
The quote from the scrolls echoed in his mind and he knew the words for what they were. All of the believers remembered the cycle of time, that everything must repeat eventually. Certainly his father hadn't omitted that from his education, even if he had given Summers little else. And now, here they were, alone in this universe, a single ship fleeing from a machine empire. It was not so different from that long-lost thirteenth tribe, perhaps time truly did repeat in its own convoluted way...
