BSG FanFic - Bree's Twin
Chapter 3, Complications
Please note: I own no part or share in the Battlestar Galactica realm. This story is submitted for entertainment purposes only. Any similarities in names (other than specific BSG cast) are unintended. Any plot similarities to other FF stories are also unintended.
Reminder: I did not spend time making up non-earth names for common things; a soda is not a "fizzy ", oil is not "slip-juice", a pistol is not a mini 'hand-boomer", etc.
"Three pushes of a button or six holes, the result is the same."
~Cru, Journal, if he had time to keep one
Freighter, Bree's Twin, within the destruction of non-FTL ships - Day 1 of the attack
Cru and John watched out the windows and at the camera monitor screens as they went white with explosions. They shielded their eyes from the intense light and waited for death. Death did not come.
A Doramen colonial freighter, which had been inbound from the asteroid fields, had been intercepted by the Galactica raptor and redirected to the gathering ships under the new president, Laura Roslin. Their crew, all of them military, waited dutifully for new orders. Their ship was not FTL equipped and when the Cylons first appeared and the order to jump was given, they instead, hard-burned back in the direction of the distant asteroid fields. They intended to make a run for it. They started on the other side of the gathering fleet and were at full speed when they crossed in front of BREE'S TWIN. The inbound Cylon missile targeting them, and the inbound Cylon missile targeting BREE'S TWIN, both slammed into the freighter and blew it into thousands of big and little pieces. The angles of the missiles on impact and the direction and speed of the freighter, caused the greatest portion of the explosions to miss BREE'S TWIN. Even though the blast happened right in front of them, the destructive force passed on their right. The explosion caused little damage to BREE'S TWIN.
Cru had fired the good starboard-side lift to move the ship in front of Lita's shuttle. In his haste to protect Lita, he also fired the portside lift thruster, which wasn't working. Just like on Caprica, unburned fuel gathered in the bell-nozzle. It exploded with the rest of the conflagration.
BREE'S TWIN Lurched from the missiles and freighter explosions at close range and lurched again, a fraction of a moment later, from the starboard-side lift thruster blowing away much of the bow landing undercarriage.
Cru was battered and bloody when he picked himself off the floor twenty minutes later. John had been thrown with great force against the wall and was lying unconscious nearby. Cru could see he was still breathing.
"John, you okay?" said Cru as he brought the ship back under control.
John did not respond. He would have to wait.
They were both still alive and a quick scan of the consoles in front of Cru suggested that so too was BREE'S TWIN. There were minor air leaks registered that self-sealing gel, more than a hundred years old, filled in and stoppered. Most of the important systems were still online. The FTL was still online but also still locked out because of the open landing bay door.
"Okay Lita, where are you?" said Cru to himself. He worked through a row of switches, turning each off and on. The outside cameras had protection circuits that turned them off during extreme lighting conditions, to avoid damage. Cru reset each and they slowly blinked back to life. He found Lita's shuttle. It was a long-distance off, among the wreckage of other ships, but well within camera range. Her ship was spinning slowly as it traveled further away. Cru could see many holes in the fuselage and when the cockpit window rolled into view, Cru could see it was broken through. Several bodies were free-floating and unmoving inside. Lita, her son, her mother and father were dead.
Cru's heart sank. John was indeed lucky when Lita walked through the shop door, years before. Cru looked over at John who was still unmoving. He turned off the monitor and started paging through the old service manual until he found the override code.
When John came to, Cru showed him the shuttle and the gaping holes. He cut the video short as the cockpit came into view. John fell into the chair and sat there without speaking.
"Let's get out of here," said Cru. He punched in the code that overrode the open bay door.
"We shouldn't leave them," said John with a defeated voice.
"We can't stay - the debris will chew us up. We'll come back, if possible, and do them up right," replied Cru.
John nodded. He had a sinking feeling they would never return.
"Hello? Is there anyone there?" said a voice over the radio. It was a man's voice, speaking low as if being quiet would help hide a radio signal from unwanted reception.
Cru clicked the mic. "Cut the chatter, man," he replied, "the Cylons may be listening."
"Not in this mess," said John. His voice trailed and was soft - almost inaudible. "Nothing will punch through all of this."
Cru rumpled his face. "Good point."
The whole region was filled with the wrecks and the expanding debris field of many ships. BREE'S TWIN rang out with an unending thrum of parts and pieces hitting its sides. Radio signals would be diminished as they scattered and bounced in the cloud of ship remains. A clear radio signal would need to be very close by. Cru had a sinking feeling he knew who it was.
Cru flipped on the directional scanner and picked up an ambient radio signal. It was nearby and towards the back. He flipped on the appropriate camera monitor and there was the wrecked shuttle craft that pushed in before Lita's. It was out beyond BREE's gravity and caught on the winch cable like a fish on a hook.
"Bastard," growled John. He stormed from his chair, off the bridge, and down the companionway towards the back. Cru followed.
The pathway was littered with all manner of loose gear and stores and dirt that had spilled out from where it had been pushed. It took more than three minutes for the two men to force their way into the stern and the workshop in front of the landing bay.
John accessed the winch remote. His movement in the window caught the attention of the shuttle's pilot who began waving wildly. His wife was with him and she waved as well.
John held the remote up in front of the window with one hand and drew his finger across his throat with the other, signaling their imminent death. The husband's and wife's eyes grew wide in fear. Two more stood behind the couple, their young daughter and a son who was younger still. John hesitated.
"John," said Cru. "Do it. Cut them loose. It's the red button. Press it three times to open the cable hook."
John hesitated still. The man in the shuttle pounded on the shuttle window. The woman cried and the daughter held the son tight. Both children buried their heads in each other's shoulders.
"I'm not a killer," said John.
"I am," said Cru. "I'll do this if you want. She was your fiancé but she was my friend, also. These people killed her and her boy and her parents."
John paused for a long moment before handing Cru the winch remote. He could not release them to their deaths.
"Okay," said Cru with a nod. He looked through the door window, out to the pilot, whose vessel was dangling sixty feet away. They held each other's gaze - one who was about to be left to die and one who would facilitate it. Cru could be a hard man in tough times, and principled to a fault. He could stare a man in the eyes and take that man's life. He had done it before.
"Goodby," said Cru. He got to the second press of the red button before John stopped him.
"Wait, boss."
Cru paused. "What are your thoughts, John?" asked Cru. He did not turn from the window - he kept his cold stare out the window at the man whose life he was taking. Cru's voice was level despite the weight of death being literally at his fingertip.
"I don't want to do this out of anger."
"Okay," said Cru. "Understood. I'm angry too. I've done plenty out of anger." He paused for a moment longer to consider the options. He tapped the window glass as he pointed to the disabled shuttle. "If I pull them back in, we are deciding that they live. Are we okay with that? They live. Millions have died in the last hour - maybe billions. Four more Capricans is nothing. We have to cut them loose now or we figure out a way forward."
John nodded his understanding.
"I'll support whatever play you make, here," said Cru "I can let them go or pull them in."
John hesitated again.
"John?" asked Cru.
"Pull them in, boss. But, I don't want to see them."
Cru nodded. "Okay, Sure. I'll get them aboard."
John looked out at the shuttle and what he could see of the family within. "Lita," he said to himself as he turned away.
Cru watched the broken man as he pushed his way over the scattered boxes and bins. John was only ten years his elder but he walked the walk of the aged, as one who was tired beyond years, tired and alone.
"John, how about you check the FTL prep? We gotta get outta here," said Cru. "Also, find a bottle of booze, any flavor. I need a drink."
John nodded and continued his way forward.
~~~~~/~~~~~
Cru used the winch to pull in the craft. He was none-to-gentle. He let it hit heavily against the ship and crash down on the landing bay floor as the ship's gravity pulled it in. He dragged it across the floor and let it slam into the back wall. The shuttle was a larger model and he had to run it up the wall until it's back end was clear of the far door.
The bay door went down slowly. Once it was in place and secured, Cru re-filled the bay with the same air John had removed. The walls creaked and groaned but the seals held and the pressure maintained. Cru opened the door between the workshop and landing bay. It gave a final hiss as the remaining difference in pressure equalized. The shuttle's first impact had wrecked the floor and wall plating. Cru had done his own damage dragging it into the bay. It wasn't the first time a bad landing had done such damage, but away from Caprica and the colonies, it was likely to be permanent.
The shuttle was tipped upward, against the wall, at an angle. It was not a high jump down but was one that could turn an ankle on the broken and buckled floor. Cru pulled down a ladder from it's pegs on the wall and leaned it against the shuttle, next to the door.
"Thank you!" called Mark Hawkins, the production manager, as he forced open the shuttle door. It was crumpled with damage and required several heavy kicks. "We thought you were going to-"
"Say nothing," growled Cru as he turned his back to the family. His voice was cold and level. "Get your family down, grab whatever gear you have, and follow me."
"We have no gear - we have our lives, and that is a better start than expected," said the man from his perch above.
Cru did not reply.
~~~~~/~~~~~
Mark Hawkins had secured passage for his family, but at a cost.
~~~~~/~~~~~
"Listen, Captain," said Mark as he, his wife, and two children followed after Cru. "We've not met and I think we should do so properly." Mark paused in his steps, expecting Cru to do likewise and turn back to him. It was a subtle maneuver to control the conversation and establish equality. His next move would be to extend a firm handshake which, when done right, would convey leadership. For Mark and his family's survival, it was crucial that he establish his importance. But even more so, and in terms of the big-picture, holistic view, Mark believed he was effective at whatever he did. He was a manager of people and processes. He knew the freighter captain, the man walking before him, could benefit from his knowledge and abilities.
Cru never paused as he led the small procession forward.
"Keep moving," he growled.
Mark and his family continued after. Undaunted, he spoke again. "Very well, I'll start. My name is Mark Hawkins. This is my wife, Evvie, and our two children, Emily and Fletcher. We want to thank you for taking us aboard. As I said, we thought you were going to leave us. I appreciate that you did not."
Cru continued forward.
Mark's shoulders drooped. He was trying, but not getting through to the freighter captain.
"Okay," said Mark. "This is a bad situation for all of us. We all left behind everything we had and none of us know if we'll ever be able to return. I'm sure you can see-"
Cru spun around and advanced on Mark until they were face to face with but two or three inches between them. "All I can see is a gods' damned-," Cru began, but he was stopped short by a loud clanking against the ship's side. BREE'S TWIN was being pelted by small and large pieces of other ships, but this one had the unmistakable sound of another ship latching on to the access port.
Cru spun back around and headed up the companionway at a run.
"John!" shouted Cru. "Someone is boarding us. What do you see?"
"I got nothing, boss. I'm still resetting monitors," shouted John back to Cru. He was up on the bridge. "They're in our blind. Give me a moment."
"Why is the proximity off-line?"
"It's on-line, it's not working with all this junk."
Cru leaped up the stairs and onto the receiving deck where the ship-to-ship access port was located.
The access port was framed by a long antechamber which was used for pressure equalizing when needed, and a don/doff station for gear. Next to the access port was a full-height, reinforced, freight-access door for use while landed and in standard atmospheric pressure. These were on Cru's left while facing towards the ship's bow. Lockers lined the rest of the wall, with a long bench in front of them. On the right was a small alcove, which was just large enough to fit a desk and two chairs. It was a place for doing business with shipping-related people and customs agents. Next to the alcove were several large closets in a row, each with an assortment of cleaning and maintenance items.
A loud boom reverberated through the ship's steelwork frame. Cru cursed. Whoever was coming aboard, was putting dents in his hull.
"John, anything?" shouted Cru. "Give me port-side, lat view, facing back."
"Sure, switching now."
A small monitor lit up on the far wall. It displayed a view from a forward angle, looking back towards the rear.
"What is it, Captain?" said Mark. He and Evvie followed Cru in. Their children stayed behind, at the companionway stairs. Mark made another attempt at installing himself in the conversation and the ship's operations. "No video, yet? What about docking cams?" Mark referred to the cameras around the access port, for assisting in port-to-port alignment. Old ships had them. New ships didn't need them. "Do you have them? Are they operable?"
Cru ignored Mark as he stepped up to the monitor for a better look. Mark followed a short distance, which put him three paces behind Cru and in front of the antechamber's open door. Another loud clunk drew Mark's attention towards the access port within.
"I give them low marks for their piloting skills," added Mark.
"Boss," said John as he emerged from the bridge. "I don't like it. That boat isn't like anything I've seen."
"Does it have a transponder?" asked Cru. "Can we confirm it is or is not colonial?"
"Still garbled, Cru. Don't know."
"Children," said Evvie in an alarmed tone. "Go back down, now. Come with me."
Cru heard Evvie cross back to the stairway, She had never spoken until then. She had a clear ring to her voice, but hers was the kind of voice that did not spend much time being loud.
It was Evvie's tone that caught Cru's attention. He backed up from the monitor and in doing so, noticed the pistol and rifle in John's hands. John had brought them with them just as they left Caprica. John held out the pistol.
Cru nodded as he took the sidearm and tucked it under his belt, in the small of his back. The two men acknowledged an understanding. If Cylon's came through the access port, it would be a fight to the death.
"John, hide yourself in the office, turn out the light and wait with guns up."
"Yep," said John as he turned in place, entered the small business office, and proceeded to tuck himself in.
"Mark, you and your family need to find someplace to hide. Go back the way we came up. Be silent."
The ship boomed again from another docking impact. The sound of a long ratcheting scrape meant the other ship's port was nesting itself into the port of BREE'S TWIN.
"They can't be Cylons if their docking hardware matches ours," said Mark. "Think about it."
Cru turned to Mark. "Why are you still here?"
Just then, the portal hatch slammed open. A Cylon, overly large for the human-sized port, but also with the agility of a cat, sailed through the link with a single jump and stood.
"Tack! Tack! Tack!"
Mark's chest had three large, smoking holes in it, so too did the wall behind him.
Evvie screamed. The children screamed. Cru drew the large-caliber pistol and unloaded half its magazine of rounds into the Cylon at close range. The Cylon was jarred by the impacts, but unphased. John, in the darkened room behind, put four rounds into the cyclon; two in the chest, just below the breast plate, one in its forehead, and another in the right-most portion of its eye. John was an excellent shot. But more importantly, he thought to use steel-jacketed rounds.
Evvie crossed back to Mark with speed born in desperation. She caught him as he dropped to his knees. She helped him to his back and cradled his head as tears streamed from her eyes and cries escaped her lips. Mark searched for her eyes with his and found them. They locked for the meerest of moments before he fell lax and his life ended.
Above Evvie and Mark, the Cylon sputtered and shook as systems within it failed. It smoked and sparked as it was thrown out of the way by the next cylon through. Cru raised his aim at the new target. He could do no damage to the shining chromium giant, but it was better than dying without having tried.
Without warning, the access port seal ruptured. It was the same weakened seal that Cru and John spoke of multiple times since leaving Caprica. A concussive blast buffeted the room as a catastrophic breach opened around the hatchway's circular perimeter. Steel framing bent and plate steel tore open wide in a fraction of a moment. The massive force blew the two ships apart from each other. Humans and Cylons, alike, were swept up towards the rift, but so too were the walls of the sturdy compression antechamber before the port. Large panels of plexi and sheet metal tore from the framing like paper from a bulletin board and slammed into the opening.
In the same instance, the portal ripped away, the gaping hole was closed. The antechamber walls covered the expanse and for a moment, held. Both Cylons were gone. Anything small and loose on the shelves was gone in that same instance. Evvie and her fallen husband had been a hair's breadth from being dragged through and away.
Next, the bulkhead doors slammed shut. This was an emergency safeguard to prevent cascading decompression throughout the ship. Loud vents hissed as the internal systems detected people within and tried to keep the room at its life-sustaining pressure.
All were dazed from the heavy battering. The air had been ripped from their lungs and breathing it back in was near impossible. Hearts pounded in their chests. Senses dulled. Vision faded. Cru staggered to his feet first. "John, open the doors!" Cru attempted a shout but his voice was barely a rasping whisper. "We gotta get out of here!"
John pulled himself up and along the wall. He had a trail of blood leading from his ear. He was disoriented but driven by the need. He worked the keypad next to the door and in a short moment, had both safety doors up. Cru grabbed Evvie by the collar and dragged her towards the children. Evvie cried for her husband who was left there in an expanding pool of his blood.
Once Cru pulled Evvie clear of the doorway, John closed them again. None-too-soon. The damaged hatchway blasted open. The force shook the ship from stem to stem. The bulkheads trembled under the strain of decompression. In all their years, they had never known the pressure, but they were built to withstand it. They groaned and they flexed outward but held.
Mark was gone to the cold and the dark. The region would forever hold the remains of those ships that could not travel faster than light and were left behind - those that were found by the Cylons and destroyed by them. Mark, both husband and father and also a promising operations manager, would be forever a part of them.
"John, I'm using the crawl-way," said Cru via the intercom. His voice was raw. "I'll meet you on the bridge. We need to get the frak out of here."
"Right, Cru. I'll move us out of the field so we get a clean shot."
"Clean shot? The FTL is still up? It didn't reset?"
"No, it's up."
"Outstanding."
Cru turned to the family, who was huddled together on the stairs. Evvie held her son and daughter as they cried. She looked up with swollen eyes. She was in shock, as were her children.
"Evvie, that's your name, right? Mrs. Hawkins? I need you to take your children back down to where we came in. You see where I am pointing, right? Look at where I am pointing."
Evvie followed the direction of Cru's outstretched hand. Her head turned as if in slow motion.
"Find a room and lock yourselves in. I'll come get you when we are away. Do you understand me?"
Evvie nodded.
Cru left Evvie and the children. He didn't care if they worked their way back or not. He didn't care if they were still sitting right where they were, on the stairs, when he returned. BREE'S TWIN was in peril. Their lives had been spared, all but Mark, at the last moment by some wild turn of fate. That turn could be reversed in any of the next moments.
"Cru, get up here," called John in a strained voice, "now!"
I'm about 10,000 words in. Please leave a comment - let me know you were here.