Two days later, the Sunnydalers found themselves on the damaged command deck of the Galactica. The Fleet with Baltar's compliance had managed to turn the tables on the Cylons and win a pyrrhic victory over the machines. For six Base Stars and two thousand saucers, four Battlestars had been so badly damaged as to be unserviceable, one eventually self-destructed to eliminate a hundred and fifty saucers flying by it for Scorpio. So far, the enemy had managed several deep raids against primarily military targets once the ambush failed, but eight cities of over ten million each had suffered fiery elimination, underscoring the truth of the Sunnydalers assertions. The Fleet managed to hold off the Base Stars, guiding them back nearly to the Peace Conference location through skillful maneuvering, six Battlestars against nine Base Stars, though the fighter craft forces numbered the same.
The pregnant girls had found themselves immediately under Joyce's tutelage, and they'd begun making plans for sliding, Colonial and return-home possibilities as much as possible. With a return to 'temporal progression' Dawn's physical changes had become evermore noticeable, her face tending toward Elven and Asian qualities around the cheekbones and eyes, and a body that seemed like a 5' 10" Angelina Jolie capable of winning a world body-building championship, but had Dawn's unique facial features. The physique of a young woman that seemed no younger than eighteen to Xander's now-early twenties look.
Joyce was still getting over the huge shocks of her last few days, but her Wonder Woman physique and gifts were still firmly in place without signs of lessening.
Doyle had gained somewhat in height and stature, and as many of his more recent costumes had been in excellent physical condition, so for now was he and trying to maintain it. Like the rest of the Sunnydalers, he'd taken to wearing unadorned and unranked black uniforms as did Commander Adama and much of the command crew.
"Any regrets, about staying with 'em Xander?" Doyle asked quietly as the opposing forces drew almost to within long-range gunnery.
"If the Fleet fails, I don't think we'd survive long enough to make the next slide," Xander replied with a sad smile, "And they're our friends, where else could we be? It's not like they have a Chappa 'ai."
"A Ring of the Gods?" Adama remarked with surprise, "There was one that was found when the Colonies were first discovered, made of an extremely rare metal alloy and matches one mentioned in the texts as being back on Kobol. It's in the main square in Settlement Park on Caprica."
"An outer ring with thirty-nine symbols, and another with…fewer," Xander pressed strongly, "With a smaller unit nearby with a large red stone in the top?"
"The ring is as you describe, but no red stone device, Alexander," Adama replied, "After this battle, I'll make it a priority to get you there."
The battle started as a slugfest, an exchange of long-range fire with the expectation of increased payload and accuracy as time went on, the Colonial Vipers and support craft punching through the enemy fighter screen and concentrating on softening up the lead Base Stars achieving very little but to draw the enemy craft to defender the larger vessels.
"Don't you guys have any old-fashioned nuclear weapons or mines or anything?" Xander asked Adama when the enemy craft pulled away and allowed a lull.
"They're too hard to track and only three of our capital vessels have had them these last few yarens," Adama informed him mildly.
"So if all those vessels were here and you guys were to fake a retreat and dump the stuff in the most likely path of those big Base Stars…and send a remote signal to detonate them all or most at once…"
"Colonel Tigh," Adama addressed his second, "Contact your counterparts and pose the possibility to them, I've been considering a fighting retreat due to our numbers."
The group helped as it could, many choosing to serve as emergency on-site paramedics; as many of the costumed had acquired medical experience, the familiarization with the newer equipment proved a straightforward prospect for the Earthlings.
Four hours later, the Colonials had been able to jam their enemy counterparts' finer sensors, and gained only the tiniest edge before Adama ordered the retreat. First his most damaged vessels, then the others, broke off in a pre-arranged pattern, taking them passed and nearly skipping off of a nearby rogue gas giant's atmosphere. With any luck the damaged vessels would have their systems under control with the greater part of the viper forces rested enough to swing back around and into the flank and rear of the charging Base Stars as the nuclear warheads provided both a distraction and possible serious damage as atmospheric gasses ignited around the Cylons. Only the planet's moon had proved unscannable at this range.
Slowly, then surely, then Base Stars began to pursue their ancient enemy, the unorthodox retreat pattern and the lighter-than-expected viper coverage indicating that fuel and pilots had been severely reduced in the last few days of fighting. The forward two triads were ordered forward at full speed, the damaged triad making best-speed behind them.
The faster-than-expected Cylon pursuit speed had almost upset the plan as the counterattack force would only be a third of the way toward its attack position when the Base Stars reached the 'minefield.' Adama after consultation with the other commanders, ordered everything to proceed as planned.
The detonations completely obliterated the first two Base Stars in the first second, with communications and sensors thoroughly gutted on the Cylon side. Two more Base Stars suffered heavy damage and most of the fully redeployed and advancing saucer craft disintegrated as the Colonials turned and charged.
The Sunnydalers and Sliders watched silently with most of the Galactica command officers as the reports came in, and that the Cylons were still running straight ahead.
"Commander, a large craft has emerged from the moon directly behind and to the right of the Cylon position and moving up fast," Tigh shouted, and it seems to be approaching the slowing rear triad."
"Any idea how that vessel remained hidden?" Adama asked.
"No Sir, but we are getting a message relayed from the first of our own vessels in contact with the enemy," the colonel replied, patching it through the speakers.
"Hey Adama, you old war horse," the voice came through with some interference, "Thought you could have a big fight without us? Hope you don't mind some party crashers. Pegasus out." The cheers were deafening.
Two hours later, only two Cylon Base Stars escaped into space and, heavily damaged, made it away in the direction of the Cylon Empire as the exhausted Colonials, suffering extreme viper and external armor losses, regrouped over the planet then headed for Caprica.
Ten more days of mourning and celebration had passed on the Colonies, the visitors from Earth by their very declination of attention drawing even greater attention and near-adulation, especially from lingering traditionalists that were floored to have one of their greatest myths be shown as truth. A few ceremonies had been pressed on them, but for the most part they settled for efforts to reactivate the Chappa'ai in time for the next slide.
Fortunately, having a Professor Arturo, Quinn Mallory, and based on possessions a MacGyver-O'Neill and three Carters sped up the process of not only determining a manual power and dial sequence, but use of even the somewhat backward Colonial computer systems to program in a dialing system. Doyle without the SG-1 background, but with Professor Arturo and Anakin Skywalker memories, was up to establishing the beginnings of the Colonial Sliding Directorate, concentrating on improvement of computer technology and related systems as a start, suggesting fuel systems and firing systems for greater efficiency, frequency of fire and range.
Wade, Remy and Joyce, as the non-technical members of the team, were left to public relations and team coordination. Joyce was the face much of the Colonies saw on a daily basis, talking about Earth, its history and its culture, and the group's hopes for getting home. Wade and Remy interacted with entertainers and younger people, making friends and actually relaxing for the first time in many slides.
Three days had passed on Caprica before some quiet was seized upon, the chance to stay over at Adama's estate while his family would be at home. Adama's wife Ila greeted the ten Earth inhabitants warmly, especially when she learned that her son Apollo would have flown a patrol right into the suicide saucer forces at Cimtar had the Sliders not transited to the conference room of the Atlantia.
"Thank you all again," Ila repeated again at a full dinner that evening, smiling as Apollo translated, "This time, for actually being able to have my family together in one place."
"We're glad to be of service, madam." Professor Arturo replied graciously, "And truth be told, we're quite happy at being out of the public view for a little while."
"Understandable, Professor," Ila responded via translation, "And if I may ask, how are your treatments going so far?"
"After, the initial 'assault' it turns out I'll only need to take some medications for the next ten days to be whole again," the Professor said with a relieved smile, Wade covering his for a moment in daughterly affection, "So I'll be fully enjoying the interaction with your scientific community.
Meanwhile, Xander and his new extended family were talking with Adama, Zac and Athena on the other side of the table, Athena translating for the youngest of Adama's clan.
"So, is there anything special about the calling Xander a patriarch, Commander?" Wade Wells asked, "Other than being a new daddy?"
"Ah, some of us more traditionally backgrounded families, on Caprica, and especially on Scorpio," Adama began, "The…founder of a new Family is afforded that respect, and the spectacular manner of your arrival, the results of all of you saving our people, and the…large number of expected births by a triad of women…has very much led to the popularization of the description."
"So the birth thing is important?" Remmy asked, "The Professor or I wouldn't be referred to as a patriarch?"
"It is the combination of factors on top of the mostly-abandoned familial situation, Mr. Brown," Adama stressed, "And the momentum of public thought. And just how many wives and children do you have?"
"So are there any other people called patriarchs, or just Xander?" Doyle asked, happily eating and swapping tales with Starbuck.
"The head of each existing Family is considered a patriarch, though except in rural Scorpion society, it is no longer of more than an historical reference," Adama considered, sipping tea, "The same is true of the few titles extant within our society, they usually refer to very old families that are still heavily-landed and whose ancestors had the foresight to invest in industry."
"So it's really just a courtesy thing," Rembrandt Brown sought to clarify, "There's no real power in it?"
"Not exactly," Adama continued, enjoying discussion in his area of personal interest, "To keep the title, the titleholder must fulfill the traditional obligations and duties associated with it, it's just that very few of those things actually impact us any more. For instance, if there had been a groundside incursion and no regular forces available, Lords or Ladies are expected to call up their tenants, armsmen, former service personnel and engage the enemy. A Patriarch is expected to hold off the enemy until his family is safely away, then he is to either move with his eldest sons to join up with the nearest appropriate Lord, or to assume that role until the military arrives to assume such responsibilities."
"Has that ever happened since spaceflight resumed for your people?" Joyce asked, thinking of the Colonies eight thousand yarens of history.
"On the Outer settlements in nearby space, about every twenty or thirty yarens," Adama admitted, "And that's what keeps it alive within the Twelve. The last time a Cylon raid struck a Homeworld, was nearly two hundred yarens ago, a small vessel each landed on Gemini and Sagittarius, and raised havoc and death until a young man of fourteen in both instances managed to blow up the enemy vessel or capture it, then lead an orphanage on one world, and a juvenile rehabilitation center on the other, to overcome with nearly nothing but old antiques and knives, a century of centurions. It was the last time that Secessionists on Scorpio ever put up a fuss about our Union as opposed to complaining about other members."
"Wait a minute, Commander," Remmy interrupted, "Why would Scorpio feel that way about what happened on two other worlds."
"The amusing thing was, as the Member from Scorpio, who also happened to be a real Traditionalist, a Patriarch and a Lord put it," Adama smiled in lecture mode, "If the children of the lowest of the least-traditional of the Colonials still had in the, uh, man-stones to rise up, attack, rally and cast out an enemy of Scorpio of eight hundred yarens duration of war, he'd take his wives and children and disavow his own Colony before allowing such a dishonor and disgrace to be perpetuated with his acquiescence. And as he was the hereditary head of their colony, it carried weight."
"So what happened to the two kids?" Wade asked, being drawn into the story in spite of what she perceived as chauvinistic overtones.
"Sire Sopion, the Councilman, having cowed his own people, sent all fourteen of his daughters, aged thirteen to twenty, and suitable chaperones, guards, military and agronomic trainers, and accountants to the two worlds and the gesture was both shockingly fairy tale as well as old-fashioned generous in an old-fashioned sort of way, that both colonies dusted off the law books, found that the old laws were still in effect, and proceeded to descend on both lads and used them as examples of egalitarian potential, made them Patriarchs and Lords, and proceeded to compel all of the old families to assume responsibilities if they wanted to keep their titles and any lands and incomes derived from feudal sources. Except that the titles are passed along by merit, and no one is allowed to defer. And eventually a pair of sisters teamed up against each of the young men and defeated them into marriage and large families most soundly."
"Ha ha! So the rich have to fulfill responsibility and not just sit on their butts?" Rembrandt chortled, remembering many a rich brat that had an easy time back in the day even if they did end up in the military, "That's great!"
"Yes, and Traditionalists and Secessionists on Scorpio either considered it divine justice or at the very least a great joke on their lazy counterparts on those two worlds," Adama added, "So on those three worlds especially, Alexander is popularly accepted as a positive symbol of unity, virility, responsibility, and victory against Cylons." Xander blushed deeply in embarrassment and excused himself from the table for a moment.
"Two wives each!" Wade exhaled in exasperation, only to be interrupted by Athena.
"Those poor boys were no womanizers, Wade," Adama's daughter emphasized, "They managed to throw themselves into their new responsibilities as much as they could, but eventually the young women decided they were going to marry these capable young men that didn't consider them property and while they could hold a conversation, ran at the first sign of flirting."
"So you're blaming it on the girls?" Wade asked, watching as Joyce got up to follow Xander toward a balcony overlooking a valley.
"They are one of the many required readings in school," Athena corrected her, "And all of the cultural and personal elements are examined, as well as their memoirs and personal diaries. The two boys had the looks of Starbuck but the lackluster social abilities of Apollo…"
"Hey!" from both males.
"…And eventually the princesses essentially tag-teamed the poor guys and dragged them up into the tower, if you get my meaning," Athena finished as Wade smiled at the realization that the women decided what they wanted. They watched as the three young ladies exchanged a look and slowly made their way toward the balcony as well.
"Hey, Joyce," Xander greeted without turning to face her next to him, choosing to lean over the stone railing as dusk began to set and lights of homes came on, "Just needed a minute to think. You?"
"I wanted to apologize for being a little rough on you these last few days, Alexander," Joyce began slowly, also taking in the magnificent and calming view, "And to let you know that assuming a responsibility that really isn't yours actually goes far beyond what's expected of you."
"When you have the memories and sometimes more of the fathers of those children, at least from what we can tell," Xander began with emphasis, "And that somehow my DNA seems to be that of the father, I'm going to make sure those children have a real father in every sense of the word, Joyce."
"I'm glad, but why is it so important to you?" she asked, glancing toward the dinner party, "I'm not trying to talk you out of it, it's just that after my divorce, and the general insanity of the last few days for me, I need to know something."
"I want them to have…what I never had," Xander offered slowly.
"Your, uh, family life…wasn't good?"
"Alcohol…lots of yelling…a hospital file at age ten bigger than Buffy will have by age twenty."
"I'm sorry to hear that, but you came through pretty well in spite of it, she slowly responded, "But is that the best reason to help?"
"What? To not be my father?" Xander sighed, "No, it's just the right thing to do, if they'll let me."
"You should let go of your insecurities about yourself, Alexander," she replied, but he interrupted.
"Xander, Joyce," the young man corrected her, "Only my family calls me Alexander."
"You're a good man Alexander," Joyce paused and quietly contemplated her reaction to that. She placed a hand on his shoulder, "And I've watched a few of those shows of the characters you've described as going, and while quieter and obviously much bigger physically, you've kept your self through it all. You have it right when you say only your family calls you Alexander, Alexander. And considering what you've been through, and how you've tried to make sure Dawn and others were safe, I think you are Alexander."
"Why?"
"Xander needed to hide things from his friends, so they wouldn't worry, but Alexander is making sure that 'his girls' are taken care of, Alexander. I can understand not wanting to be called Mr. Harris, but after Willow told me what your name means, I think Alexander's a fitting name for my future son-in-law."
"Alright Joyce, we'll try it," the young man capitulated, realizing that the thousands of years of experiences had given him insight for overcoming his feelings of inadequacy, just as his practice of Master Cain's and Master Qui-Gon's meditative exercises had left him actually at peace inside.
"Now, Alexander," Joyce continued, "I know you'll be a good father, but how do you feel about my daughter, Willow and Tara."
"Oh, the really personal stuff, huh Joyce?" Xander smiled in a Methos way, "Well, before we came to the Colonies, you know from reading the Book that Willow, Dawn and I were rapidly starting to head into a relationship. I want to emphasize that no sex was likely to happen, but we were starting to…sow interest."
"How do you feel about them?"
'They were becoming the air I breathed, they were most of why I hadn't given up entirely," he exhaled deeply, then paused, finishing his fourth ambrosia since dinner had started, "And I can't see life having any happiness without them."
"What about Tara? You've only known her for a short time," Joyce broached, looking around and behind Xander slowly, "What are your feelings for her?"
"The princess who single-handedly brought the Traitor Baltar to justice?" he smiled, "The girl who has the blue and the green of Summers eyes, with the effect and largeness of Willow eyes, your and Dawn's apparent temper but general demeanor, Willow-smart even before the costume, a smile that has the ability to either melt my heart or if sad rend it in two?"
"Yeah, that Tara," Joyce smiled with a snicker.
"I've been with her as much as the rest of you these last few days, and if I've not fallen for her already, all she has to do is brush her lips once against mine and I'll be defeated and as utterly smitten as I am with Willow and Dawnie, but I'd never press her on it."
"Why not?"
"She seems to have had an experience in her family similar to mine, if not worse being a girl."
"How can you tell?" Joyce asked, the Amazon urge to track down Tara's parents, and father in particular, starting to show through her calm speech.
"Over ten thousand years of memories, Joyce, some of it by those who once delighted in causing that look."
"And now?"
"Tara's men-folk better pray I never find them, because no one will ever find them after that for hurting her."
"D-don't, please," a soft voice from just behind them spoke. Xander turned around with some surprise. He'd so focused on what they were discussing that Tara, with Dawn and Willow behind her, had come right behind him, "I-it wouldn't be right."
"But they hurt you…" he replied softly, somewhat embarrassed that she'd overheard, his eyes meeting hers but turning to the floor of the balcony before hers.
"P-Please, A-Alexander," she whispered, hesitantly reaching out to take his hands tentatively in hers, "F-for me?" He looked up, she hesitated again, quickly kissed him, and looked back down, blushing herself. Xander found himself hugged tightly by all three of us girls. 'No, my wives,' he emphasized to himself as he found his opened heart and emotions embraced and accepted.
"Alexander, it is," he whispered, looking up to a happy and teary-eyed Joyce. He reached out and drew her in, "Mom."