Chapter 5: Our life is gone
When Jesse came in to see how I was doing, I had finished taking the guns off every Viper except the Mark 4, and I had rigged that one up on a stand with the aid of some hydraulics meant for stacking crates and was trying to figure out what to do with the busted wing. I couldn't just replace it because of slight size differences which would affect the flight characteristics, and I didn't have the parts to repair it. His was the only Mark 4 in the bay.
I glanced at the name-plate. It was almost the only untouched thing on the whole craft.
Dancer. Lt Alex Sarashiko.
He had been dark-skinned, bronze with tilted eyes. Mongoloid, that was the old term. Stunningly good-looking. He made Toby look ugly in comparison. Probably knew it, too.
I shrugged that thought aside and bent back down to see if I could fit spare panels on over the damaged ones, but it would interfere with the weapons and instrumentation. Maybe I could ask the pilot's advice.
"Hard at it, I see," Jesse said behind me and I jumped a mile, lost my footing, fell off the ladder and ended up flat on my back staring up at him stupidly.
"Don't do that," I finally managed to wheeze. "You just took ten years off my life." He offered a hand and I let him pull me up; the distraction made me realise I was tired.
"You've been at this for five hours, Amy," he said. "Are you alright?"
"Five hours? Feels like five minutes." I looked at my watch. "Oh." My arms and shoulders were one solid ache. I usually spent my days studying at a computer terminal, not wielding welding torches and carrying heavy equipment. I'd need a painkiller before I could sleep and I'd feel even worse in the morning. My head was pounding.
"Here," he held out a tube of pills. I gulped two dry; migraine medication Jesse took sometimes. "I figured you'd need them. Your body is turning black except for your face." I didn't like to think about it. If I were a haemophiliac I'd be dead.
"Thanks," I said. "Is there water?"
"Over there, and I brought some sandwiches."
"I can't eat right now."
"You have to."
I sat down on the floor near a corpse and ate mechanically. I couldn't tell you what was in those sandwiches if my life depended on it.
"Can we install these?" he jerked a thumb at the butchered guns.
"Probably. Some have gone out already, a while back. There's not much ammunition, but it's better than nothing." I leaned back. "If I didn't hurt so much I wouldn't believe this was real."
"I know what you mean." He slid down beside me with a huff of breath. "Why did you drop Helena?"
I winced. "Does everyone know I did that?"
"No. Tell me why."
I stared at the ceiling and wondered why I wasn't crying. "I could save myself. I couldn't save both of us. I just wasn't strong enough to pull her up."
"I've seen you in the gym. You're strong enough. Helena was light."
"Not when you throw in the decompression I'm not. I know. I tried. I couldn't even hold on to her. I had to let her go while there was still enough time for all of us to get out without freezing to death." I looked down at my hands. Jesse was that colour naturally.
"You make it sound so logical."
"Jesse, if you don't want to be my friend anymore, just say so. I can't take the heartache right now."
"What's gotten into you?"
"Our life is gone. Northwood, the university, the city, our families. Even if the Cylons don't find us and kill us, what are we going to eat? Where are we going to get more fuel? How long can we possibly last?"
He hadn't thought that far ahead. "I mean," I ploughed on, "think of all the things we need to survive. Air and engine parts and food and water purification gear and medicines and clothes and tools… where's it all coming from? There's nothing left of the Colonies, Jesse."
He bowed his head. "No," he whispered. "There's nothing left." He started to cry, his whole body racking with sobs. I wondered again why I couldn't cry. I felt empty inside, like inside my ribs was a hollow cavern instead of a heart. I was pain and fear and anger and desperation all wrapped in one contorted package, and the grief hadn't really hit me yet. Oh, yes, I was scared.
As if from a great distance, I remembered that Jesse was my best friend, and I put an arm clumsily over his shoulders. My shoulders were sending spikes of pain whenever I moved.
"Why?" He gasped angrily. "What did we ever do to them?"
"We made them," I said dully. "And then we rejected them. You know how I treat my parents. Think that, with no laws against murder."
I don't think he heard me, and it's probably just as well. He was shaking, blubbering shamelessly, sobbing fit to tear himself apart.
We sat like that for a few minutes until he quietened down, and I handed him the water bottle. I didn't know what else to do. I wondered when my feelings would stop being so remote. Even the sick desperate terror I had felt dangling over the abyss of space was better than this detached low-key horror of the future.
When Jesse came in to see how I was doing, I had finished taking the guns off every Viper except the Mark 4, and I had rigged that one up on a stand with the aid of some hydraulics meant for stacking crates and was trying to figure out what to do with the busted wing. I couldn't just replace it because of slight size differences which would affect the flight characteristics, and I didn't have the parts to repair it. His was the only Mark 4 in the bay.
I glanced at the name-plate. It was almost the only untouched thing on the whole craft.
Dancer. Lt Alex Sarashiko.
He had been dark-skinned, bronze with tilted eyes. Mongoloid, that was the old term. Stunningly good-looking. He made Toby look ugly in comparison. Probably knew it, too.
I shrugged that thought aside and bent back down to see if I could fit spare panels on over the damaged ones, but it would interfere with the weapons and instrumentation. Maybe I could ask the pilot's advice.
"Hard at it, I see," Jesse said behind me and I jumped a mile, lost my footing, fell off the ladder and ended up flat on my back staring up at him stupidly.
"Don't do that," I finally managed to wheeze. "You just took ten years off my life." He offered a hand and I let him pull me up; the distraction made me realise I was tired.
"You've been at this for five hours, Amy," he said. "Are you alright?"
"Five hours? Feels like five minutes." I looked at my watch. "Oh." My arms and shoulders were one solid ache. I usually spent my days studying at a computer terminal, not wielding welding torches and carrying heavy equipment. I'd need a painkiller before I could sleep and I'd feel even worse in the morning. My head was pounding.
"Here," he held out a tube of pills. I gulped two dry; migraine medication Jesse took sometimes. "I figured you'd need them. Your body is turning black except for your face." I didn't like to think about it. If I were a haemophiliac I'd be dead.
"Thanks," I said. "Is there water?"
"Over there, and I brought some sandwiches."
"I can't eat right now."
"You have to."
I sat down on the floor near a corpse and ate mechanically. I couldn't tell you what was in those sandwiches if my life depended on it.
"Can we install these?" he jerked a thumb at the butchered guns.
"Probably. Some have gone out already, a while back. There's not much ammunition, but it's better than nothing." I leaned back. "If I didn't hurt so much I wouldn't believe this was real."
"I know what you mean." He slid down beside me with a huff of breath. "Why did you drop Helena?"
I winced. "Does everyone know I did that?"
"No. Tell me why."
I stared at the ceiling and wondered why I wasn't crying. "I could save myself. I couldn't save both of us. I just wasn't strong enough to pull her up."
"I've seen you in the gym. You're strong enough. Helena was light."
"Not when you throw in the decompression I'm not. I know. I tried. I couldn't even hold on to her. I had to let her go while there was still enough time for all of us to get out without freezing to death." I looked down at my hands. Jesse was that colour naturally.
"You make it sound so logical."
"Jesse, if you don't want to be my friend anymore, just say so. I can't take the heartache right now."
"What's gotten into you?"
"Our life is gone. Northwood, the university, the city, our families. Even if the Cylons don't find us and kill us, what are we going to eat? Where are we going to get more fuel? How long can we possibly last?"
He hadn't thought that far ahead. "I mean," I ploughed on, "think of all the things we need to survive. Air and engine parts and food and water purification gear and medicines and clothes and tools… where's it all coming from? There's nothing left of the Colonies, Jesse."
He bowed his head. "No," he whispered. "There's nothing left." He started to cry, his whole body racking with sobs. I wondered again why I couldn't cry. I felt empty inside, like inside my ribs was a hollow cavern instead of a heart. I was pain and fear and anger and desperation all wrapped in one contorted package, and the grief hadn't really hit me yet. Oh, yes, I was scared.
As if from a great distance, I remembered that Jesse was my best friend, and I put an arm clumsily over his shoulders. My shoulders were sending spikes of pain whenever I moved.
"Why?" He gasped angrily. "What did we ever do to them?"
"We made them," I said dully. "And then we rejected them. You know how I treat my parents. Think that, with no laws against murder."
I don't think he heard me, and it's probably just as well. He was shaking, blubbering shamelessly, sobbing fit to tear himself apart.
We sat like that for a few minutes until he quietened down, and I handed him the water bottle. I didn't know what else to do. I wondered when my feelings would stop being so remote. Even the sick desperate terror I had felt dangling over the abyss of space was better than this detached low-key horror of the future.