Colonial Space

"Attention, all Colonial units. Cylon attack underway. This is not a drill." The message repeated, broadcasting on all Colonial Military frequencies.

Colonial Heavyliner 897 - Docked in Galactica

Laura cursed her body for making her feel so… weak. Her head lolled back on the headrest as the exhaustion from the day caught up to her. Groaning, a wave of sickness and helplessness nearly overwhelmed her. After a moment, the intensity of the feeling faded. It wasn't easy ignoring the curious looks Liam and Zak gave her or the worried face Billy wore. She drew in a ragged breath and looked out the window, turning her face away from them.

Why are we still docked? she wondered. They should have launched by now. Echoes of her visions danced at the periphery of her consciousness. It lurked like a sinister darkness that wanted to reach out and grasp them all in its claws; Laura could feel it coming. Stop! She ordered her mind to ignore her almost Delphian senses. A few deep breaths in and out helped her keep her poised, calm facade. Then the sound of someone marching past several rows of seats before stopping by them caught her attention.

"Madame Secretary, Galactica Actual would like to talk to you," Captain Russo relayed, standing over the four seated passengers: Laura, Billy, Zak, and Liam. Laura's brows furrowed, but she stood, motioning for her children to stay put. She followed the Captain through the docked heavyliner and into the cockpit. Russo's friendly co-pilot handed her a headset.

"Roslin," she answered formally out of habit; it was standard practice until she knew whether the line was secure or not.

"Cylons have launched their attack against the Colonies," Bill immediately reported, almost dispassionately.

"No," Laura breathed, bracing herself against the heavyliner's control panel. She closed her eyes and felt an icy chill race along her spine. Her body felt as though she were falling, but she listened as Bill reported the little bit he'd learned from Hector before the line went dead. The Cylons, despite having no backdoor into the Defense Mainframe or Fleet Battlestars, had still managed to commit Armageddon. She focused on keeping her expression neutral, the small act helping her feel at least a little in control.

As she knew he would, Bill explained that he was taking Galactica to Ragnar Station. The contacts he'd maintained in the Fleet knew to fall back there for a regroup. The Fleet, what remained of it, would do no good getting picked off one by one.

"We'll stay and conduct rescue operations," Laura said, knowing that's what she needed to do, just as she had last time. Her part in gathering survivors had made it easier for humanity to willingly follow her once—it would again. She'd been their savior, willing to risk her own life to guide them away from sure destruction. Hearing the beginning of her husband's protests, she cut him off. "There are people who will need our help. It's our responsibility." Her tone was firm and had a hard edge to it. She heard his deep inhale of breath over the line and knew he was debating if arguing with her would do any good.

"Gather as many as you can, but you get yourself to Ragnar, understood?" he ordered, trying not to think of how she and Lee had nearly died last time. It was moments like this where loving a woman who couldn't help but serve others despite the risk was damn painful. She wasn't giving up; she had the guts to do what was right even when anyone else would run away. So, despite the ache he felt in his heart, strong enough to make him feel as if his chest might implode, he let her go. Galactica's Viper Squadron would stay to protect the gathering Fleet, and his Raptor crews would help search for survivors.

"Laura…"

"I'll see you at Ragnar," she promised, cutting off his goodbye. There were thousands of things they wanted to say to the other, but they already knew everything important.

Part of her had always known, since the moment she'd awoken, that this day would come again. She thought of her children sitting back in their seats. Zak. They'd already saved one person, and there would be others spared. Just save someone, and then move onto saving the next someone, she told herself.

Boomer's Raptor

If her Cylon brothers and sisters were watching, they would know her for the traitor she was. Along with the rest of the pilots, she launched her raptor. Once in space, Sharon had a clear shot on Roslin's ship. Taking a deep breath, she looked at the heavyliner, the raptors in space, and the vipers. Her choice.

Helo's warm voice relayed the first set of coordinates to her, and Boomer angled her bird away from the heavyliner. Following their new heading, she went in search of human survivors.

CIC Galactica

"Action stations. Action stations. Set Condition One throughout the ship. This is not a drill."

The Battlestar's blaring alarm wailed electronically along the corridors, leaping out from the corners, echoing everywhere. It sent adrenaline racing through the blood of the crew.

In CIC, Adama watched the DRADIS screen show the launch of Colonial 798. He tensed at the sight of the small blip moving away from Galactica's protection. It went against his instincts to let them go, but they had responsibilities. Besides, no one was safe anywhere anymore.

More little blips filled the screen. Vipers. Raptors. Search-and-Rescue birds. Some immediately moved off in different directions, their pilots and ECOs having pulled up last known positions of as many civilian ships as they could. With a surge of pride, Adama watched the viper squadron take a tactical formation around the heavyliner. He'd trained them well.

A moment later, he raised the heavy comm unit and spoke, hating how familiar each word sounded.

"This is the Admiral. Moments ago, this ship received word that a Cylon attack against our home worlds was underway..." He paused, letting his words sink in. Shocked, frightened expressions faced him from each of the crewmen in CIC. These were children who'd never seen combat; they'd been raised in the sunshine of the years of peace. Thrust into the darkness, they blinked at him slowly, trying to believe what they were seeing and hearing.

Adama continued speaking in measured tones, like a father reassuring his children. They were trained, he reminded them. They were ready. He looked around the CIC, meeting the eyes of almost everyone. This was what they had to do, meet their fears head on. And Adama? He had to be strong so that they could be strong.

Colonial 798

Liam pressed his face to the portholes of the ship, watching the vipers circle around them. There was a distant explosion, but the flames quickly consumed the escaping air of the ship before dying in the vacuum of space. One Cylon down, Liam thought. He felt someone come stand behind him, and an arm wrap around his shoulders. Turning, he looked at his mother, his sixteen-year-old frame now slightly taller than her… when he wasn't bent down to look out the window at the grim spectacle.

"Are you scared, mom?" he asked. Laura's grip on her son tightened as she looked into his ashen face. His elbows were pressed into his sides, making him look smaller than he was. So young, Laura thought, resting her head against his in motherly reassurance.

"Of course. I think anyone would be, but we just gotta keep going," she said. We must be strong. If we're not, who else will be? Laura thought. Her son nodded his understanding, but Laura felt him tremble. She pressed a comforting kiss against his hair. She had to be strong, for her son if nothing else.

"We don't give up; we rise up against the odds," Liam said, quoting his father. We rise up against the odds until one day death is proud to take us, Laura mentally finished her husband's old quote. She smiled at her son, but felt the others on the ship watching, taking in the scene. The last thing they needed was to see the senior-most government official present start shaking and breaking.

"Madame Secretary," Captain Russo said softly, coming up to them and handing her a printout. Laura took a deep breath and looked at the paper. Seeing that it was exactly as she had thought and feared, she wept inwardly, but pushed the despair away. She read the printout: the whole line of succession.

0. President Richard Adar… Presumed Dead.

1. Vice President Daniel McCree… Presumed Dead.

She took in more of the names, and the adrenaline surged through her leaving a sour taste in her mouth.

4. Secretary of State Sam Coulson… Presumed Dead.

5. Secretary of Defense Kenneth Hector… Presumed Dead.

These were people she'd known and worked with for years. Colleagues. Friends. She could easily picture their faces.

Presumed dead. Presumed dead. Presumed dead.

22. Quorum Delegate John Lancie… Presumed Dead.

33. Quorum Delegate Mae Archer… Presumed Dead.

Then there was her name. Her heart hammered in her chest, and there was a ringing in her ears.

Secretary of Education Laura Roslin… Confirmed Alive

At the end of the page there was a simple proclamation.

"According to the Articles of Colonization per section 35, article 17 of the Emergency Continuity of Government, Laura Roslin is named President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol."

Laura felt her role slipping into the fibers of her being once again. The pressure. The weight. A burden so heavy she could feel it trying to physically bend her spine. She briefly envied her husband who had never had to stop playing soldier.

"We'll need a priest," she said, and her voice was soft. She squared her shoulders and looked at Captain Russo, who stared at her wide-eyed. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. What words could he find that could fit the situation? What phrase fit the catastrophe? He finally nodded before heading off in search of Elosha.

"Mom?" Liam asked. Laura licked her lips and tried to find the words to explain. Her son's eyes grew wider as he realized what was going to happen. This wasn't supposed to happen to his mom, he thought shivering. This was something they were supposed to learn about in civics class, and then for the students to laughingly imagine the jolly Secretary of Housing and Urban Development becoming president or, gasp, the kind Secretary of Education. It wasn't supposed to actually happen. Liam wanted to scream at the gathering press to go away, to leave his mom alone. But the media crews who'd been aboard Colonial 978 on assignment to cover Galactica's decommissioning trickled into the room anyway. After a wordless exchange from her aide, Billy stepped over and drew Liam away from the circus.

Laura felt the sting of tears in her eyes. She'd have liked her children to have lived in the safety of the Colonies. Liam was so kindhearted and earnest; how did an innocent like him deserve this? She wanted him, Zak, Lee, Kara, and Billy to be surrounded by the feeling of wind and sun on their skin, not filtered air and artificial gravity. She thought of Earth briefly: it would be another long and dangerous journey to get there.

Liam watched the crowd part for Elosha, the nice priest who had officiated at the decommissioning ceremony. She'd patiently answered many of his curious questions on religion, a topic Liam had noticed his mother stayed away from. With a strange fascination, he looked at the sacred scrolls held in her hands which she slowly unfurled. Cameras and microphones trained on Elosha and his mother, to witness the transfer of presidential power. It was just like his civics class had taught him.

"Please raise your right hand and repeat after me." Liam watched as his mom raised her hand and for a moment it trembled but then became steady. He stared at the worn gold band adorning her ring finger; it didn't match her wedding band, but like it, she never took it off. Liam could almost feel the weight of the sadness weighing down everyone in the room, but watched his mom stand up as straight as possible.

"She's going to be OK," Billy whispered in his ear. "We're going to be OK.

He listened to his mother echo after the priest, her voice quaking just a little. "I … Laura Roslin… do now avow and affirm that I accept the office of the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol…" For a moment, Liam wanted to be a little boy again, sitting on her lap and watching movies together snuggled in her loving arms. He wanted his father to come back and take him, his brothers, and his mother away to a cabin by a lake—like in the memory of his favorite vacation. But Lee was with Kara in their vipers around this ship. His father was probably going into battle. Zak had set up a triage center in the cargo hold of the heavyliner. He was watching his mother assume the presidency due to the government's doomsday backup plan.

"I will protect and defend the sovereignty of the Colonies with every fiber of my being." He listened to his mother's strained voice on those last words, and the weight of the responsibility she was taking on hit him like a rockslide. He wanted to go home, but the world he knew was gone. It was his mother who was going to lead them through the valley of darkness.

Boomer's Raptor

When the attack began, the government ordered a full stop on all civilian vessels. Throughout their space, hundreds of ships became stranded in solar system as their home ports were vaporized into oblivion. They hung in the cold, dark abyss of space listening to reports of their worlds being reduced to rubble, filth, and debris. Each ship was a stranded island of fear and uncertainty, their hope slowly draining.

Sometimes, the SAR raptors made it to them first. Sometimes the Cylons beat them, and only a wreckage remained. Many ships were lost, some were damaged, some were losing power.

Sharon had relayed jump coordinates to several scared and stranded Colonial ships while those with no FTLs cruised toward Roslin's gathering fleet. It would be more efficient to jump to Ragnar, but they needed to get as many people out of the non-FTL-capable ships as possible. Finding the Tylium ship again was a huge relief, and she sent their new friends to the rendezvous.

After that, everything had gone to hell for Sharon Valerrii. Despite the lack of enemy contact on DRADIS, she and Helo came under fire from an enemy combatant. Boomer managed to hide them in a debris field and cut the power. She noted the silhouette of a heavy raider when it flew in front of the sun and kept her eyes trained on the ship until it flew out of range.

Alarms blared, and Helo reported an air and fuel leak. Taking a deep breath, Boomer knew what she had to do. Angling their raptor toward the nearest planet, she set a course, glancing behind her at Helo and feeling her heart hammering in her chest. She had a bad feeling leaving him behind would happen again.

Galactica

Adama's voice echoed through the corridors.

"Preliminary reports indicate that a thermonuclear device in the fifty-megaton range was detonated over Caprica City thirty minutes ago." Though Adama could not see it from where he stood, all through the ship, shock waves reverberated among the crewmembers. Many of them had family, friends, and other loved ones in the city and the surrounding region. Caprica City. Their shining capitol. It was too shocking to grasp, and yet their Commanding Officer continued, listing the planets that had been hit.

Deck crews slowed as they tried to wrap their mind around the sheer number of casualties. The dead would number in the millions, they realized. A darkness seeped into their souls, slowly swallowing all their hopes and dreams.

"Mourn the dead later," Adama commanded them. They worked on trying to get the birds, originally meant to be pieces in Galactica's museum, ready for launch. Mark II and III Vipers, Wild Weasel Raptors all were readied for launch while reserve pilots reported for duty. Suddenly, it seemed almost miraculous that they were carrying so much extra equipment and a full crew complement.

CIC

Adama studied the different reports he was receiving, quickly absorbing the information. Unlike last time, their ships weren't falling like someone had flipped a switch and turned the power off. Instead, reports indicated the enemy wasn't appearing on DRADIS and only visual ID from viper and raptor pilots were able to warn of incoming attacks. He frowned, wondering what new trick the bastards had up their sleeve.

Behind him he heard Gaeta mumbling furiously to himself as he plotted the faster-than-light jump to Ragnar Station. Tigh was ordering engineering to prepare. At his side, Petty Officer Dualla delivered yet another printout. Her eyes were sad and her face tense.

"Priority message, sir," she reported. Reading the newest report, Adama felt the blood drain from his face. He pulled off his glasses, working through the million thoughts that assaulted him. After a deep breath, Adama raised his voice to make his own announcement.

"Admiral Nagala is dead. Battlestar Atlantia has been destroyed. So has the Triton, Solaria, Columbia… the list goes on," he said, unable to read the whole casualty report. It was almost everyone. He lowered his head. How? They'd prepared. The Fleet was de-networked. Battlestars were overhauled and ready. Raising his head, he met Tigh's eyes. He could read the support in his best friend's gaze.

"Send a message to all the Colonial military units, Priority Channel One. Message begins: Am taking command of fleet."

Ragnar Station

As the ship jumped to Ragnar, Tigh felt grateful that this disaster wasn't as bad as it could be. His wife was in his quarters, safe. They'd jumped to Ragnar quickly and thus there was no battle and no fire. He hadn't condemned almost a hundred people to death from his order to seal the bulkheads. He wasn't having to comfort his friend who believed his son dead. Things were different but so similar.

Ragnar Anchorage was an unmanned station, suspended in the upper atmosphere of the gas giant Ragnar. A remnant from the First Cylon War, it had been largely abandoned by the Colonial Fleet. Until a certain group of people had remembered the future and decided to prepare for the apocalypse—just in case. Then it became an incredibly useful depot for them.

Above Ragnar, a few Colonial ships had already gathered, an echo of the once great Colonial Fleet. The Battlestars Valkyrie and Daedalus limped through the sky, their hulls marred with scorch marks. Soon after Galactica's jump, Battlestar Prometheus joined them in the storm as well. On the other side of Ragnar, Battlestar Yashuman was currently docking with the station.

Five Battlestars. Hell of a lot better than one, Tigh and Adama thought. A few Escort ships patrolling the area added a little fuel to the fire of hope. Other ships dotted the screen, a few piloted by old friends: a few extra raptors, a marine transport, and some civilian vessels. One of them sent a message to Galactica, 'I hate it when you're right. –Coker.' Bill had smiled briefly at the message.

The Commanders of the other Battlestars immediately deferred to the newly arrived Admiral as protocol dictated, grateful to have a hero of the First Cylon War present to take command. Adama stayed in CIC to communicate with the other Battlestars, while Galactica carefully docked at Ragnar Station. The storm's currents threatened to throw the ship out of the control of its helmsman, but she stayed steady.

Commander Yar, CO of the Battlestar Yashuman, reported that no Cylon presence had been detected around or in the station. Adama frowned, feeling a strange combination of unease and relief at the lack of a gun wielding Leoben to greet them. Satisfied his people were safe, Adama sent crews into Ragnar Anchorage himself now. It was good to know his people had caught a break and were left to work in peace.

The warehouse was chaotic with activity. A strange surge of hope swelled through the ranks of the remaining Colonial Military as they inventoried and transported the crates and large containers crammed into Ragnar. The crewmen flashed their beams around, finding munitions symbols and caution messages in large letters. Forklifts hauled away large pallets, preparing to distribute the ordinance among the Battlestars and Escort ships. Quickly but carefully, the eager knuckledraggers grabbed everything that was still of use.

But it wasn't just ammunition stored there. An almost incomprehensible number of military rations were squirreled away in its cargo holds. Different medicines, which Cottle was already yelping about how they must be stored in a climate-controlled environment, were almost overflowing. The crew checked every nook and cranny for anything and everything they could find for possible use on the ship, their hopes increasing with each discovery.

Colonial One

Laura met with another captain whose crew was being transferred to an FTL-capable ship along with any useful materials and supplies its crew could grab. The captain was reluctant to abandon the liner itself, wailing about how much money had been invested in the ship. He was being firmly chastised by the new President for putting a price on his own survival.

Resources. Fuel. Food. Water. Clothing. Space. Laura tried to take on the weight of her responsibility as President again. It felt like she was drowning. Hundreds of thousands of people teetering on the brink of despair and panic. Sharon had returned, bringing with her a raptor full of children, and telling her Helo had stayed behind so that the last children could have a seat. Laura knew the tears in her eyes were real, and told her it was time for her to take a break. At least he hadn't given his seat to Baltar, Boomer muttered before curling up in a corner of the heavyliner.

"Madame President, Apollo is asking to speak with you," Captain Russo said. Laura nodded and moved into the cockpit, her body feeling almost numb at this point.

"M…" Lee cleared his throat. Would he ever know what to call his stepmother? "Madame President, I don't think we should stay here much longer. CAP has taken care of a few incoming raiders, but they've stopped coming." Laura clenched her fists. The Cylons were trying to mop up the rest of humanity, the Colonies having now been finished off. They would fail.

"You think they could be regrouping," Laura realized. Regrouping, and coming at them en masse with a force they wouldn't be able to push back with just a viper squadron.

"At some point, we need to go," Lee said in a strong and confident voice, as if they weren't weighing human lives in the balance. And I know they're coming, Laura thought. The Cylons would come, eventually with enough force to wipe out the assembled Fleet. There was a ringing in her ears again. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

"Have the ships prepare for jump," Laura ordered.

"We'll have the Vipers land on the Rising Star, she has the room on her hangar deck," Lee said.

"Count down the jump when you've all landed, Lee," she said softly.

"Yes, sir," he said, and signed off on the comm.

Laura walked cold with regret and remorse toward her seat. Billy was there organizing reports for her, while Liam had curled up in a chair and was trying to sleep. After a couple of minutes, the comm exchanges turned frantic. Glancing at her son, Laura wished she'd had them turn it off. It had been helpful to hear of new ships coming in, but now her ears were ringing with the sound of desperation and fear. Why? Why them? Why us? Why me? Laura thought. Her head spun as Lee started the count.

Out the window, a series of flashes caught the attention of several passengers. Laura felt her heart in her throat when three large flashes lit up the sky next. Chaos erupted over the comm channels at the sight of Cylon Basestars. The despair surged as people begged not to be left behind. I've saved as many as I can, I've saved as many as I can, I've saved..., Laura repeated to herself but felt a tear run down her cheek. She heard Lee keeping the count steady.

"One… Mark."

"I hope you people rot in hell for this!"

Galactica

"I'm getting Colonial signals," Dualla reported. Adama and Tigh felt a surge of relief, but Tight still narrowed his eyes and demanded confirmation. Better safe than sorry. In fact, he marched over toward the comm station and looked over the console, wanting to see it with his own eyes. "Confirmed, sir. Incoming ships are friendly."

Adama watched as the DRADIS screen lit up with over a hundred signals. Wow, he thought. She did good.

"The lead ship is requesting permission to come alongside, sir. They say…" Dualla hesitated, listening closely, "they say they have the President of the Colonies aboard." Tigh turned to look at Adama and raised an eyebrow. I'm not dealing with her this time, his expression said.

"Grant their request," Adama ordered. "Have them dock in the landing bay, and have the President escorted to the briefing room."

...

Billy Keikeya looked up from the reports he was organizing, as Laura Roslin paced the room. She was rubbing her forehead, trying to ease the massive headache that had formed.

"I'm assuming you aren't going to get into a fight with Colonel Tigh this time,'' he said in a low voice, trying to lighten the tension surrounding her. Laura rolled her eyes.

"You've definitely got more cheek this time," she muttered.

"Younger and wiser," Billy said, returning his attention to the reports. He'd relaxed significantly after hearing his sisters had survived, while Laura had tensed upon learning that Baltar had managed to get on board a departing ship.

Before Laura could think of a suitable retort to Billy, the hatch door opened, and Bill Adama stepped over the threshold. The second their eyes met, they were moving toward the other. For a moment, there was no pretense toward decorum as they met in a tight embrace. Only then did they let themselves fully acknowledge how worried they'd been about the other. Bill closed his eyes and breathed in the warm scent of her. His grip around her waist tightened as he experienced a moment of euphoria at her return and knew she felt the same way.

After a moment, and with a great deal of reluctance, Laura slipped out of his arms.

"Gathered as many as I could and got to Ragnar," she said, her voice nearly a croak. Bill searched her face, reading the exhaustion and heartache there. She looked bone weary and in need of rest.

"We've loaded all the supplies from Ragnar," he said, trying to give her something positive to think about. "With all those requisitioned supplies you got 'for the museum' already onboard, we're in okay shape."

"Did something right there," Laura muttered, thinking of the supplies Jack, Bill, and she had managed to stockpile.

"We're not even getting reports of fights. After the disaster at Armistice Line, there were a few skirmishes. It was so fast this time. The Fleet, what's left of it, has fallen back here. Five Battlestars, and a few escort and support ships."

"It's time to run," Laura sighed. We're running because there's hope for the future; there are hundreds of ships out there, and a civilization that can be saved, she comforted herself mentally.

Adama tugged her closer and rested his forehead on his wife's. "We'll get through this. We'll find a new home again. We can do this together just like last time."

"So, I don't have to argue with you about running."

"Not this time," he chuckled. "'We need to get out of her and start having babies,'" he said, repeating her old words to her. At the troubled look on Laura's face, Bill sighed, knowing the wound of not having another child was still fresh to Laura.

"I'm sorry. I know you wanted…" Laura touched his chest lightly, cutting him off.

"It's alright. But, it's time to get out of here," she said. Hearing movement from Billy, they remembered they had an audience. Laura gave her aide a look over the rim of her glasses, and the boy blushed before looking down at his reports.

They both made their way to the hatch, stepped through, and heading towards CIC.

Escape

The rag-tag fleet was moving. Galactica led the way out through the storm of Ragnar's atmosphere. Her sister Battlestars tactically spread out among the Fleet. Lightning flashed across the sky while the ships moved along their carefully plotted route that would keep the fleet hidden as long as possible from the Cylons whom Starbuck had discovered were waiting for them.

Only in the days of humanity's exodus from Kobol had there been a Fleet such as this. There were ships of every size and description. A medical frigate, mining ships, a tylium refinery, shipping freighters, passenger liners, botanical cruisers. A motley gang of survivors.

Galactica approached the outer limits of the storm. The warship took position with her sisters at the jump point, protecting the Colonial Fleet, which was able to execute their jumps from behind the protective stance of the Battlestars. The Cylons detected them easily, but the Colonials only saw the Basestars on DRADIS… several of them.

From the Battlestars, Vipers shot outward in a frantic formation, opening fire on the approaching raiders they had visual ID on. Fighters dodged and swerved, engaging the enemy. Ships exploded, friend and enemy alike. Spinning. Twisting. Despite the presence of several Battlestars, there were more Cylons than there were Vipers in the skies. Clearly, they'd long been preparing for war.

Starbuck didn't notice when the last civilian ship jumped away. She was too filled with rage. Fire. Hot burning anger that sought to harm her enemies. She let it flood her senses, let it cover the despair at being trapped in the nightmare again. What had she ever done to the Cylons?

"Starbuck, Galactica. What… you hear?"

"WHAT?" she shouted, trying to make out the words through the static and the debris hitting her ship.

"What do you hear?"

"Nothing but the rain."

"Then grab your gun and bring the cat in."

The final vipers hit the deck in a blazing combat landing just as a storm of missiles and raiders converged on the injured Battlestars. There was no way the Valkyrie or Prometheus could survive this final bombardment unleashed by the Basestars. They jumped away in time.

The survivor fleet was gathered around the scorched and battered Battlestars.

Funeral

The bodies of those who had fallen were lined up with military precision at the front of the hangar bay, not as many as last time, but there were casualties in the battle with the Cylons. More numerous were the helmets also lined up, representing the pilots who'd died in space, their bodies unrecoverable.

At the front of the room stood Elosha. Her songs and prayers echoing through the room and out to the Fleet on talk wireless. Standing before her in person was a multitude assembled from the crew of Galactica, the Commanders of the other Battlestars, and representatives from many of the other ships. Dead center stood William Adama and Laura Roslin side by side. The people looked to their leaders, who stood tall and strong. They were the calm at the center of a hurricane.

"So say we all," Elosha said, finishing her prayers and songs. Her voice sounding like a whisper even though everyone could hear her.

"So say we all," the disheartened, weary survivors muttered. Adama turned around to take in the broken-looking rabble that now was all that was left of humanity. His insides clenched. He'd promised himself that he wouldn't give this speech again, making lofty claims that fell at his and Laura's feet to fulfill. He moved out in front of the gathering again, looking up and down the rows. Why did he have to do this again? He saw Laura watching him, and her slight nod. Her permission. Her acceptance. He repeated the words again in a firm voice. The assembly echoed his words, just a little louder. Louder and louder until he had their voices rising together in solid refrain:

"So say we all!" Adama walked up alongside the first row of the fallen, gazed down at the flag-covered bodies, and looked back at his people and at Laura. "Are they the lucky ones?" he asked, his voice booming across the room. There was some stirring, as people considered his words. He continued speaking distantly familiar words to him. They needed hope, and he knew he could give it to them.

"'Life here began out there.' Those are the first words of the sacred scrolls, handed down to us by the Lords of Kobol, many centuries ago. And those words made something perfectly clear: We are not alone in this universe. The Thirteenth Tribe left Kobol in the early days. They traveled far and made their home upon a planet called Earth, which circles a distant and unknown star." Adama let that last phrase hang in the air for a moment, before saying, "We're going to find it. It won't be an easy journey. It'll be long, and arduous. But we will find a new home." He knew he was being vaguer than he was last time, but he was walking the line between offering hope and making too-lofty promises. After the disaster of Earth 1.0 last time, he couldn't make himself promise Earth to the Fleet in no uncertain terms. Even if he knew the coordinates.

"Dismissed!" An enthusiastic cheer went up, as the tension was finally released.

Commander's Quarters

Laura pushed her husband's, now their, quarter's hatch open and stepped inside. She'd been working in the briefing room until Billy ordered her to go rest. They were desperately trying to get a headcount and a complete list of their not-so-meager supplies. Colonial One would become her office again, the state ship of the remainder of humanity, but she'd already been aboard Galactica for the funeral.

Inside the quarters, Liam was already passed out on the couch with a blanket tucked around him. Bill was behind his desk, paperwork scattered around him and glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He hadn't heard her come in, so for a moment she studied him. Thick salt and pepper hair, scars along his face, and deep worry lines. To her, ruggedly handsome in his own unique way and now looking like the man she'd originally met. She moved over to him.

"Bill," she said, catching his attention. She gave him a tired smile. "We need sleep," she murmured.

"We tried," Bill sighed, looking up at her. The soft light of his quarters suffused her hair with a fiery glow while the lines around her eyes creased with exhaustion and worry. Here we are again, he thought. Looking into her eyes, he saw the fire there and it comforted him. They'd fight on together, side by side as they had always done.

"We have to move forward. Despite the pain and what's been lost," Laura said for her sake as much as his. Taking his hand and tugging him out of his chair. Sometimes being the one still alive is a bigger curse, Bill mused following her. "Everything has its time, and everything ends."

…

Author's note: But, they forgot to supply Ragnar with a white board...oh the lack of humanity! J/K

Well, we are now firmly into the show. Admittedly, it took longer than I wanted. Whoops! Sorry!

Reviews are so, so, so appreciated.

Thanks to Anastasia1224 , USS-Galactica, Pythian Prophesy, adama-roslininlove, Just a Cazy Man, Allonsyspaceman, Magges, ChamallaDreamer, SchagMG, YoungDiva21, and guests for your reviews!