Thanks for reading and for your comments. As the New Caprica colonists are returning to the fleet, they are facing the consequences of the occupation.

Chapter 20

Helena sighed unable to comprehend some of the action she translated. It was not the first time the word 'jump' was used for their mode of travel with the space ships. Yet she had no idea of what it meant in terms of technology. The team's first assumption was something liked to hyperspace, but that was difficult to prove or show without more details and especially without the technological evidence to support such a hypothesis. She understood that those Vipers, which Laura mentioned earlier already in her diary, were likely combat plane-like ships. She was astonished to learn more about Sharon, the cylon turned against its own kind and collaborating with the group of Laura and how this cylon had a child with a human. Clearly there was more to be learned about the story and she could not wait to progress through the books.

"I do not know if Heaven exists. But I sure know that Hell does. All of us on New Caprica have seen it, up close and personal. Those who, by a turn of a random dice, were located on Galactica or the Pegasus when the cylons invaded did not see it, even if their sacrifice was tremendous and their dedication to continue trying to save us has to be commended. They did not see Hell. They cannot imagine the horrors we have witnessed and endured. This, I am afraid, has created a chasm between us, a fracture, which probably will take forever to be mended, if ever. Indeed, that is the final pervasive action of the cylons: to instill doubt, fear and division among us. They did this on New Caprica; they planted the seeds of doubt and discord. "

"We have been back for less than a day, only a few hours, really. It is complete chaos and probably will be for a while. Families have been divided and are looking for their lost ones, split between ships or killed in the rescue operations. Reports are coming that refugees are piling into Galactica, as many of the original ships have been lost in the battle against the cylons. The crew of Pegasus, the ship destroyed in the fight by the heroic move and sacrifice of Lee Adama, who boldly joined the rescue against the will of his father and hereby saved us all, has joined the military crew of the Galactica. We are establishing registries of survivors and deceased for the families to locate their loved ones. Calls are coming in non-stop with endless questions and problems. There is no functioning government and, while Tom Zarek is technically the president now, as Baltar has not been located, it has become very clear that once again I am in charge. Baltar has been killed or left on the surface, as it seems apparent that he never made it back into the fleet. Resources are now a problem as our food stocks are depleted. More, we had moved quite a lot of our supplies and materials to the surface. These are now left on New Caprica and lost to us. That is, of course, without mentioning the huge number of casualties."

"My first priority has been to find a bed for every refugee and update our census. Ships' captains are reporting damage to their ships and we are making a thorough inventory of our resources in lives and materials. If we have to continue to survive, we have to organize quickly and find the people who can best operate the ships and perform various duties to replace those lost. Since I set foot back on Colonial One amidst the evacuation, I have had no time for myself. I have been working non-stop. I sent Tory to try and find Maya and Isis, as they had not found their way back to us. The whole fleet was in some kind of chaos and it is unlikely they would have gotten an easy transport to Colonial One, as all shuttles were busy bringing people back to their original ships. Zarek was gracious enough to let me use Colonial One as my quarters, and for the first time in days I found myself alone, tired and pensive. After the adrenaline rush, I was quiet, drained, and empty. We had won and were free. But we had lost so much too. I was dirty, dusty and achy and the appeal of a warm shower, the first in weeks, was too strong to resist. The water, once again, cleaned by body and my soul."

"One soldier had delivered some of my possessions I had left in storage on board Galactica over one year ago. I had my presidential clothes again. When I put my clothes on, blue shirt and suit, I was back, as if none of this ever happened. But it did. And while I felt glad to be back in power, I also felt terribly shaken by our ordeal.

When Tory came back, I saw the look on her face and I knew we had lost Maya and Isis. They were not seen since we were running through the tent village to the ships under heavy fire in the chaotic battle. There had been people everywhere, dust and bullets flying all around us. Tory could not find them on any list. I had sworn to protect their lives. I had failed them, just like I failed so many others. It was indeed the reality of our existence, an existence spent at war, defending ourselves with the sole purpose of survival. I looked at my meager possessions saved from New Caprica: my diaries, notes, lists of names, pictures of war casualties, and a picture of the woman and her baby, emotion caught in my throat, as I fought back tears. There was no more time to grieve. There was only time for survival. That was now and again our life."

"It was dark. It was always dark in space, day or night. Tory had gone to sleep. I could not. Colonial One was silent. Several previous members of the Quorum were sleeping in seats adjacent to my little cabin, merely separated from me by a sheet of curtains. We all had worked late to rebuild our government. Instead of indulging the blessing of slumber and its loss of consciousness, I was fighting my feelings, avoiding be submerged by waves of grief, rage and guilt. I sat at my desk, alone, going one more time over the long list of survivors, a pen in hand. I am not sure what else I would find there. The names of Maya and Isis would not appear by miracle on a list I had already read over and over again. The list would not get longer either with each new reading."

"I did not see him enter, but I knew right away it was him at his quiet and heavy steps, bearing the weight of his burden. He waited in the shade, watching me, silent. For months, I had anticipated this moment: the moment I would meet Bill again. I had imagined how it would be, from the depth of my loneliness and despair. I thought there would be a long hug, kisses, certainly tears, my skin vibrating and humming at the recognized sensual touch of his body. I thought there would be sex. I had missed him so much that my soul and body were aching from his absence and the emptiness he left there. But now it was different; I was different; I was in pain. We had lost so much and I was consumed in a mix of anger, emptiness and grief. We had been rescued, but really had we won? And at which price? Any display of happiness would feel indecent to me.

I did not lift my head, but I whispered bitterly, a tight dry knot in my throat. 'I should have stolen the election'. I am not sure I meant to hurt him that much. But his heavy silence was full of the pain I just inflicted him.

He did not move.

'Laura', he said with gentleness and emotion.

'Thank you for sending my belongings over, Admiral.' Like the predator giving the final blow to its prey, to kill just with one word: Admiral.

I could not watch him, for fear I would break down. Our life had changed. The past moments of innocence were gone. New Caprica with its pain and its sweetness was behind us. We were never a couple. We got lost in each other for a while, lured into a life that was never ours to begin with, like moths attracted, blinded and then killed by a flame. We thought we could trick fate with dreams of a cabin by a lake and lovemaking under the stars. But Bill and I never had room for a relationship. We were destined to rule and to be servant of the people, always to protect and save what was left of the human race.

He completely ignored my dismissal and walked toward my desk and around. His hand on mine stopped my writing on the report. The contact of his fingers' warm skin, was overpowering and spreading to my chest, tightening it, as if it would just crush me with longing. I took a deep breath and looked at him. He looked strong and determined, the mustache gone, the Admiral, the way I used to know him, before New Caprica. For weeks, I had held in my mind his memory, like the only lifeline holding me to reality. And then, when the memory of the times shared together became unbearable in the face of atrocity, death and hopelessness, I banned him from my mind and my heart. I banned him because it had become too hard, because one cannot live on dreams and some dreams are much more dangerous than reality.

His eyes, questioning, searched mine and brought me to the edge of a precipice. We had lost so much, and so many, because we decided we were going to hold on to morality and do what was right. We decided to be the rightful ones and we lost. Our present and past survival situations did not allow for such noble sentiments. We wanted to be ethical, show our high principles and beliefs of democracy, and everyone paid with their lives, and those, who did not die, paid with their souls. Does it really matter, if we do the right thing, when nobody will be left alive to judge us, because the right thing got us exterminated?

He pulled me up out of my chair like a puppet and embraced me tightly. I shuddered at the pain his strong arms holding me brought to my still aching and bruised flesh, but I let him. My hands, the knuckles white, from the fists I made to keep myself from sobbing at the contact of his body, clenched to his back.

'What took you so long?' I managed to whisper through my anger and despair, my throat so tight, I could barely breathe, fighting the overpowering urge to scream, overwhelmed by his touch, his scent and his warmth.

He did not answer and kept on holding me, burying his face in my hair and stroking my back, as if it could release my tension and pain. But it could not. And his gentle caress, his tenderness, could not erase the months spent in solitude, fear and despair. I refused to lean into his touch. I wanted to hurt him. I could not afford weakness, not now, not after all of what happened. I appreciated the concern and the comfort, and was grateful for his presence, but I could not allow myself to acknowledge it. We had lost too much. I was going to be president again of a fleet that had been disseminated, corrupt, with a bunch of cylons collaborators amongst the people. I had to be tough and my personal life had been buried on New Caprica, when the cylons invaded. It had been buried among the prison, the ruins. It had been buried with the bodies of those who died, those I did not save, like Maya and Isis, and those who got tortured day after day. My personal life lay at the bottom of a lake, as a red dress wrapped around a rock. I closed my eyes, willing my tears away.

'Thank you for coming and getting us, Bill', I finally voiced gently as I regained control of my feelings. 'Thank you for saving us'.

He looked at me, sad. 'I am glad to see that you are safe, Laura'.

I took his bandaged hand.

'I heard you had been hurt.'

'It's nothing.'

'I'm meeting with Zarek in the morning. We will discuss the plans to rebuild the government.'

Bill was all business again.

'He's a terrorist. He cannot be in charge.'

I smiled, knowing too well Bill's opinion of Zarek.

'Nevertheless, he was elected as vice-president.'

'I'm not dealing with terrorists.'

He stopped and looked at me with a smile, knowing that we were arguing, just like old times about fleet matters. We were again the President and the Admiral. We were again in business. In a sense, it felt good. It felt familiar. This was the territory, which was safe for both of us, close friends, as we had become over weeks of struggle, keeping our personal relationship at bay. It was safe. It was the way it used to be, before...

'Goodnight, Laura. Take care of yourself.'

I closed my eyes and I accepted his soft kiss on my lips, unshed tears burning under my eyelids. It was familiar like the kiss he gave me when he thought I was dying. This time it was the tenderness of our reunion.

'Thank you, Bill.' I whispered and we smiled at each other. He slowly traced my cheek with the tip of his fingers and we looked at each other for a minute with understanding. Then, turning around, he left.

I slept very little that night, my dreams filled of terror and pain, and haunted by the faces of those we lost, full of sadness and regrets."

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