Chapter 9: If she's the President, we've lost our government
When I left the hangar bay with Yellowstone to get some supplies I found the corridors full of people.
"How many people were there supposed to be?" she asked.
"About a hundred and fifty, I think." I thought back. "No, two hundred."
"There's more than that."
"When the Cylons hit the colony we had time to drop the bulkheads," a girl younger than me said. "We thought ours was the only section to survive. We were wrong."
"Right." Which meant we would be overflowing with wounded. I noticed there were a lot of young and old people. I hoped we could feed them all. Yellowstone and I collected our supplies in silence.
On the Starsong, people had been shaken, but the people in the cargo bays were bawling their eyes out, moving like numbed robots, incapable of doing more than functioning. I wasn't that far off that state myself. I was almost glad to be working on the fighters. Yellowstone and Derrick, in particular, still had plenty of fight in them.
"How much longer?" Sarashiko asked me as I wriggled under the Viper.
"I have no idea," I said. "If you want to help, be my guest." He had certainly been doing less work than most.
"Can you fix my cockpit?" he asked. "The fractures…"
"Temporarily - yes. Permanently - no. I'd need spare sheeting."
"What's the temporary fix?" I finished replacing the piping.
"Hmm?" I had been thinking about something else. I was tired.
"How do you plan to fix it?"
"Oh. I'll fill in the cracks with something that'll freeze solid in space."
"Like what? We don't have the standard sealants here, I checked."
"I'll improvise."
"That sentence fills me with dread."
"More than the thought of waiting on board to die instead of flying?"
No answer came.
"Nice one, Amy," Yellowstone said. "You got any ideas?"
"Sure, but if I say what they are he'll hit the roof." I glared at him. "Again."
"I didn't do that on purpose, I was trying to shut down my computer system."
"And it was a very nice idea, but you still hit the roof."
"Does she ever shut up?" he asked Jesse.
"Sure. She has to sleep sometime."
I caught Jesse a crack in the knee from where I was lying. "Hey! I resent that remark. I have been known to be silent and awake for, oh, six seconds at a time on rare occasions."
"Hey!" Cara came running in. "Oh, I'm sorry to interrupt. Amy…"
"Yeah?" I slid out. "What's up, Cara? And is your arm alright?"
"What? Yes, I'm fine. Some of the others…" She shuddered. "No, the Captain picked up some signals. A bunch of ships are forming up a convoy, we're jumping to join them shortly. He said you should know."
"Who's in charge?" Yellowstone asked.
"Someone named Roslin. Says he's the President."
"She," I corrected. "Laura Roslin. Secretary of Education. She would have been returning from the decommissioning ceremony on the Galactica. And if she's the President, we've lost our government. If she was less than thirty-fifth in the line of succession, I'll eat my sunhat."
"You won't need to. I looked it up. Forty-third." Cara was a bubbly sort, but now she talked with a kind of desperation, the need to vent. "I just hope she knows what she's doing. We're going to be one big target."
"Probably," I said. "Look, can you tell me how soon?"
"How soon what?"
"How soon are we jumping?"
"About now."
"Oh. Right. Jesse, you'd better sit down."
"Problem?" Gallow asked.
"I hate hyperlight jumps," he grumbled. "They make me feel sick." He had just finished lying down when we jumped.
"That was painless," Derrick remarked.
"Speak for yourself," Jesse looked green.
"Bathroom's down the corridor," I told him and he left very quickly. "Poor him. He's a planet-lover at heart. What's this conduit here?"
Sarashiko peered past my hands. "Hold on a moment." He reached for the manual.
"Let's hope at least one Battlestar has survived," I said grimly. "We need proper mechanics to get these things working right."
"One has," Kambosi - Zebra - said. "I was working back through the transmissions. About two hours ago the Galactica transmitted a message to all Colonial units. Commander Adama is taking command of the Fleet and ordered all units to rendezvous at Ragnar Anchorage. He's planning a counter-attack."
"Did we pick up any acknowledgements?" I asked.
She shook her head. "Not a one. And that's worrying."
"Very," I said. "Over a hundred Battlestars, not to mention the smaller vessels, the orbital colonies and dock-yards, the ground-based units, the Raptors and Vipers and shuttles and even the repair and rescue crews… and they're all dead?"
"Except for maybe thirty ships in a convoy," Cara said. "Where's your wireless?"
I gestured with a foot, since my hands were busy. "Whatever this line is, it looks undamaged. Pressure's constant."
"What about my cockpit?" Sarashiko demanded.
"Hey, it's more like sixty ships," Zebra said. "Wow. That's a lot of people. This President's got my vote."
"Well, clean out the runners, here," I said. "There's crud in here. You try to pull the canopy back, it'll get stuck. Find a vacuum cleaner."
"A what?"
"The thing used to clean floors. It'll work."
"You seriously want me to…"
"Are you deaf?"
"No, but…"
"Then get moving." I got back to work. It was comforting hearing people talk of pooling supplies, fuel transfers, inventories and passenger manifests. Suddenly we weren't one ship running alone and scared.
Well, I at least was still scared, but we had a chance. Safety in numbers and all that.
I shook that thought aside. There was still the question of how we were going to feed everyone, but there was more hope with more resources. Perhaps a few ships could be converted to hydroponics and protein farming. Food grown that way tasted terrible, but it was food.
I shook that thought aside. It wasn't my problem. Getting these Vipers flying was my problem. Things like food were the problem of the captains and the President, the ones with the responsibility. I had no right to be a back-seat driver.
When I left the hangar bay with Yellowstone to get some supplies I found the corridors full of people.
"How many people were there supposed to be?" she asked.
"About a hundred and fifty, I think." I thought back. "No, two hundred."
"There's more than that."
"When the Cylons hit the colony we had time to drop the bulkheads," a girl younger than me said. "We thought ours was the only section to survive. We were wrong."
"Right." Which meant we would be overflowing with wounded. I noticed there were a lot of young and old people. I hoped we could feed them all. Yellowstone and I collected our supplies in silence.
On the Starsong, people had been shaken, but the people in the cargo bays were bawling their eyes out, moving like numbed robots, incapable of doing more than functioning. I wasn't that far off that state myself. I was almost glad to be working on the fighters. Yellowstone and Derrick, in particular, still had plenty of fight in them.
"How much longer?" Sarashiko asked me as I wriggled under the Viper.
"I have no idea," I said. "If you want to help, be my guest." He had certainly been doing less work than most.
"Can you fix my cockpit?" he asked. "The fractures…"
"Temporarily - yes. Permanently - no. I'd need spare sheeting."
"What's the temporary fix?" I finished replacing the piping.
"Hmm?" I had been thinking about something else. I was tired.
"How do you plan to fix it?"
"Oh. I'll fill in the cracks with something that'll freeze solid in space."
"Like what? We don't have the standard sealants here, I checked."
"I'll improvise."
"That sentence fills me with dread."
"More than the thought of waiting on board to die instead of flying?"
No answer came.
"Nice one, Amy," Yellowstone said. "You got any ideas?"
"Sure, but if I say what they are he'll hit the roof." I glared at him. "Again."
"I didn't do that on purpose, I was trying to shut down my computer system."
"And it was a very nice idea, but you still hit the roof."
"Does she ever shut up?" he asked Jesse.
"Sure. She has to sleep sometime."
I caught Jesse a crack in the knee from where I was lying. "Hey! I resent that remark. I have been known to be silent and awake for, oh, six seconds at a time on rare occasions."
"Hey!" Cara came running in. "Oh, I'm sorry to interrupt. Amy…"
"Yeah?" I slid out. "What's up, Cara? And is your arm alright?"
"What? Yes, I'm fine. Some of the others…" She shuddered. "No, the Captain picked up some signals. A bunch of ships are forming up a convoy, we're jumping to join them shortly. He said you should know."
"Who's in charge?" Yellowstone asked.
"Someone named Roslin. Says he's the President."
"She," I corrected. "Laura Roslin. Secretary of Education. She would have been returning from the decommissioning ceremony on the Galactica. And if she's the President, we've lost our government. If she was less than thirty-fifth in the line of succession, I'll eat my sunhat."
"You won't need to. I looked it up. Forty-third." Cara was a bubbly sort, but now she talked with a kind of desperation, the need to vent. "I just hope she knows what she's doing. We're going to be one big target."
"Probably," I said. "Look, can you tell me how soon?"
"How soon what?"
"How soon are we jumping?"
"About now."
"Oh. Right. Jesse, you'd better sit down."
"Problem?" Gallow asked.
"I hate hyperlight jumps," he grumbled. "They make me feel sick." He had just finished lying down when we jumped.
"That was painless," Derrick remarked.
"Speak for yourself," Jesse looked green.
"Bathroom's down the corridor," I told him and he left very quickly. "Poor him. He's a planet-lover at heart. What's this conduit here?"
Sarashiko peered past my hands. "Hold on a moment." He reached for the manual.
"Let's hope at least one Battlestar has survived," I said grimly. "We need proper mechanics to get these things working right."
"One has," Kambosi - Zebra - said. "I was working back through the transmissions. About two hours ago the Galactica transmitted a message to all Colonial units. Commander Adama is taking command of the Fleet and ordered all units to rendezvous at Ragnar Anchorage. He's planning a counter-attack."
"Did we pick up any acknowledgements?" I asked.
She shook her head. "Not a one. And that's worrying."
"Very," I said. "Over a hundred Battlestars, not to mention the smaller vessels, the orbital colonies and dock-yards, the ground-based units, the Raptors and Vipers and shuttles and even the repair and rescue crews… and they're all dead?"
"Except for maybe thirty ships in a convoy," Cara said. "Where's your wireless?"
I gestured with a foot, since my hands were busy. "Whatever this line is, it looks undamaged. Pressure's constant."
"What about my cockpit?" Sarashiko demanded.
"Hey, it's more like sixty ships," Zebra said. "Wow. That's a lot of people. This President's got my vote."
"Well, clean out the runners, here," I said. "There's crud in here. You try to pull the canopy back, it'll get stuck. Find a vacuum cleaner."
"A what?"
"The thing used to clean floors. It'll work."
"You seriously want me to…"
"Are you deaf?"
"No, but…"
"Then get moving." I got back to work. It was comforting hearing people talk of pooling supplies, fuel transfers, inventories and passenger manifests. Suddenly we weren't one ship running alone and scared.
Well, I at least was still scared, but we had a chance. Safety in numbers and all that.
I shook that thought aside. There was still the question of how we were going to feed everyone, but there was more hope with more resources. Perhaps a few ships could be converted to hydroponics and protein farming. Food grown that way tasted terrible, but it was food.
I shook that thought aside. It wasn't my problem. Getting these Vipers flying was my problem. Things like food were the problem of the captains and the President, the ones with the responsibility. I had no right to be a back-seat driver.