WSG-1: Fall of the Twelve Colonies

by Kelso323

As the Cylons unleash their genocidal strike upon the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, disparate groups of survivors struggle to defy bleak odds and the cold, calculating wrath of the Cylons; aged veterans and a new generation of inexperienced warriors band together to safeguard the addled survivors in their care. Their only mission; ensure the survival of humanity.

10. Part 9 - Into the Wilderness

Warstar Galactica
Location Unknown

The first sensation he felt was pain; a pounding, unrelenting, excruciating pain in his skull.

By that, Commander Sean Kelso could at least be certain of one thing.

"I'm alive," he whispered, his throat dry, his voice raspy.

"Commander?" muttered a voice, at first indistinct. "Commander, I need you to talk to me."

Slowly, he tried to open his eyes, only to have a bright light cast down into them, blinding him.

His already throbbing head pounding still harder, Kelso clasped his eyes back shut against the light.

"Commander, I need you to talk to me," urged the voice again.

All of the sudden, Kelso realized that someone was actually slapping him. No, not a slap actually, more a gentle but insistent tapping against his cheek.

Slowly opening his eyes again, Kelso looked up to see two people staring back down at him; one was Major Burke, the other he didn't know.

"I need to get him to medical," said the woman he didn't recognize flatly.

Clearly worried, Burke simply nodded.

Within moments two more crewmen stepped into Kelso's view, immediately setting a stretcher down next to him.

"Careful," said the unfamiliar woman as the two crewmen knelt down beside him as well, one at his head, the other at his feet.

"Oh, you're a medic," muttered Kelso weakly as he caught sight of the sash on her upper arm.

His head still pounding, his consciousness little more than a blur, Kelso was only vaguely aware of the two crewmen lifting him over to the stretcher.

"Okay now; one, two, three, lift," muttered one of the crewmen as Kelso felt himself suddenly rise up on the stretcher.

As the two crewmen began stepping towards the CIC hatch with the stretcher now bearing the wounded Commander, Kelso's foggy perceptions cleared enough that he reached up with his hand and grabbed onto the sleeve of the man at his head.

"Wait, hold it a minute," he muttered. "Put me down for a second."

"Commander, we need to get you to medical," urged the young medic who was standing beside him, checking his pulse.

"I said hold it a minute," growled Kelso weakly as he grabbed hold of her wrist. "That's an order."

Looking down at him, she hesitated for a moment before relenting with a gentle nod.

Obediently, the two men carrying the stretcher slowly set him back down.

"Major Burke?" groaned Kelso as he lifted his head up and strained to look around at his visibly shattered CIC.

"Commander?" muttered Burke as she stepped over and knelt down beside him.

"Did we make it, Major?"

"Yes, Commander, the jump was successful."

"And the others?"

"DRADIS is a mess, but we got in contact over short range wireless; all ships are present and accounted for, sir."

"Good," sighed Kelso, truly relieved as he dropped his head back down onto the stretcher. "What's the damage?"

"We'll be picking up the pieces for a while, sir, but we're alive. We've already got DC and medical teams coming over from the rest of the fleet to assist."

"Very good, Major," sighed Kelso as he closed his eyes against the bright lights overhead. "Have Runel put his ships in a defensive pattern…and, you have the conn."

"Aye, Commander."

With that, the two men lifted Kelso back up, and with the medic at his side, stepped out into the flickering lights in the corridor and began making their way towards the medical bay.

Turning back to face the shattered CIC, Burke took a deep breath, the air acrid with the scent of scorched metal and burnt insulation, and watched the remaining crewmembers continue to assess the damage.

Making her way over to Lieutenant Cortez, Burke stepped over the shattered DRADIS screen that had fallen down onto the Commander's head.

"Damage report, Lieutenant?" asked Burke as she stepped up next to Cortez.

"We have dozens of fires amidships, spread between frames one-ten and three-oh-five," replied Cortez evenly. "DC teams have them contained, but it could still be a while before they're able to access those sections and give a full report; Cylons really did a number on us, Major."

"Where are we with propulsion?"

"Offline," sighed Cortez, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Main engineering has shut down all tylium transfer lines to keep from feeding the fires."

"And what about our weapons?"

"We're running on aux generators only, Major," replied Cortez evenly, shaking his head slightly. "Main cannons are down. Suppressive batteries have power, but the ammo hoists are down to all mounts save those along the flight pods."

"Keep on it," sighed Burke.

But as she was about to step away, Burke couldn't help but note the peculiar expression on Cortez's face. He seemed hesitant, uncertain.

"Is there something else, Lieutenant?" she prodded.

Glancing up at Burke, Cortez was clearly disturbed, his entire expression seeming to convey just one thought; something else was definitely wrong.

"What is it?" asked Burke adamantly.

"The stars, Major," muttered Cortez as he pointed over towards the lone unshattered screen on his console. "I've been trying to get a firm fix on our position but…the stars…"

"What about the stars?"

"They're…wrong, Major," muttered Cortez as he dropped his hands back down into his lap.

"I'm afraid I don't follow, Lieutenant."

Letting out a long sigh, Lieutenant Cortez turned to look at Burke.

"The jump, Major, I think something went wrong during our FTL jump," he said evenly. "All the ships made the jump, we all arrived in the same place, but it's not where we were supposed to be from the calculations we made."

Looking back at the screen, Burke felt her heart begin beating faster.

"The charts we have on the Prolmar sector are sketchy at best, Lieutenant," began Burke as she too looked at the screen. "Might just be navigational creep."

"This goes way beyond navigational creep, Major," replied Cortez flatly. "Stellar drift, inertial or gravitational distortion, none of it would even begin to account for this."

"Just what are you saying, Lieutenant?"

"Well, we're not in Colonial space anymore, that much is clear," began Cortez evenly, running a hand back through his sweat dampened hair. "But, we're not in the Prolmar sector either."

"Then where are we, Lieutenant?"

"That's the problem, Major," sighed Cortez, his tone somewhat defeated. "I have no idea where we are."

---

Battlestar Pacifica
Forward Observation Lounge

With his hands clasped tightly behind his back, Adrian Kelso, former Commander in the Colonial Fleet, stood looking out the ultra-thick window at the Warstar Galactica; his son's ship.

At first glance, one might not think there was much wrong with the vessel.

Although her main engines were shut down, she was maintaining her trim, indeed, there were even Raptors and Shuttles moving back and forth from her flight decks to some of the other ships in the fleet.

But to a trained eye, an eye which had seen the wounds of war first hand, eyes like his, the mighty Galactica's survival seemed to be anything but certain.

Across the entire length of her once pristine armored hull, massive burn marks, dents and torn alloy marked the numerous impacts the vessel had endured during her toe-to-toe slug-match with the Cylons.

Although technically it hadn't been a lone stand, every combat-capable ship in their ad hoc fleet had joined in the melee, the Cylons themselves had clearly concentrated their efforts in a very single-minded, almost fanatical attack on Galactica alone.

And for the stout defense she had put up against such a determined, brutal assault, the Warstar looked every bit the wounded leviathan she was. Along her hull, the occasional vent action would release a torrent of rapidly suffocated flames into space, cracks in the thick alloy-ceramic armor were venting jets of water vapor and atmosphere into the vacuum.

"Gods damned mother-fraking sons-a-bitches," muttered Adrian angrily as he lashed out and slammed a fist into the unfeeling window.

His breath heavy and ragged, his now-aching knuckles pressed firmly against the window, Adrian Kelso dipped his head, fighting to contain the sobs of rage, of fear, that threatened to overwhelm him.

Before he'd come down to the observation lounge, Adrian had spoken very briefly with Major Burke. When she'd told him that his son was injured and had been taken to the infirmary, Adrian had nearly jumped in a Raptor to come over himself.

The only thing that had prevented him from doing so was his own training from so long ago. In very practical terms, the last thing the crew of Galactica needed was an old man prattling about the corridors looking for his son while damage control teams were still fighting to save the ship itself.

And so it was that instead of racing over himself, like most every other ship in the fleet, Adrian had organized together as many DC and medical teams as he could and sent them over to assist Galactica's crew.

Now, alone, feeling frustrated and helpless, Adrian Kelso looked back up through the thick window, out across the breathless void, out at the ship that had nearly been sacrificed along with his son to make good their escape and began praying the most earnest prayer he had ever uttered that his son was still alive.

---

Warstar Galactica
Infirmary

As he once again struggled back to consciousness, the first thing Commander Sean Kelso became aware of was the sound of someone screaming; a truly horrible, blood-curdling scream of someone in an unimaginable amount of pain.

Groggy as he was, it took Kelso a moment to remember being evacuated from the CIC. But as he lay there, eyes shut, surrounded by men and women, some desperately crying out in pain, Kelso wasn't quite sure exactly where it was he'd been taken.

His head swimming, pounding, Kelso slowly opened his eyes.

As he did so, a wave of nausea passed over him, churning his stomach as his head throbbed with pain. Taking several deep, steadying breaths, Kelso fought against the pain, fought against the gripping reflex he felt to vomit.

As he continued to fight back down the nausea, Kelso continued to hear the myriad of shouts and screams echoing around him. All around him, curses were muttered, orders shouted, people yelling for help, calling for medications and equipment.

Though he was by no means certain he would be able to maintain his at-best tentative control over the gut wrenching nausea, Commander Sean Kelso mustered every last measure of his fortitude and slowly pushed himself into a seated position.

And doing so immediately sent his head spinning.

Taking slow, deep breaths, he sat there with his eyes closed as he fought back against the spinning sensation. As it finally ebbed away, Kelso opened his eyes again, looked around, and saw nothing short of a hellish nightmare surrounding him.

Having been set off to one side of the compartment, Kelso was able to look out over the entirety of the packed infirmary. All around, Medics were rushing from patient to patient, screaming crewman reaching out, groping at the air with charred hands. All around him they lay, on stretchers, on the deck, propped up against bulkheads. Low moans of pain, punctuated by piercing screams, the sounds of a few sobbing gently. Over on a bed, a man cried out in horrible pain as the Medics worked to peel away some of the charred remnants of his burned uniform, the blackened, bloody skin beneath looking anything but human.

All around there was blood; bloody handprints on the bulkheads, on uniforms, bloody footprints on the deck, pooling around bodies, blood-soaked bandages overflowing from the waste baskets, lying in scattered piles around them, the once orderly infirmary now a horrific image of butchered and broken bodies.

And for each man or woman who already lay screaming, moaning, or even unmoving around him, it seemed that three more stretcher teams were bringing in still more injured, dead, or dying.

As he slowly kicked his legs over the edge of the stretcher he was on, the entryway again opened, two Marines rushing in, carrying the charred, screaming form of a comrade, a tourniquet wrapped around the bloody stump that had once been his leg, the traumatically-truncated limb twitching eerily as a third man fumbled to keep pressure on a compress bandage, a fourth man following close, the shredded remains of the severed leg visible through the clear trash bag in his hands.

With his stomach churning for the first time from something other than the pounding in his skull, Kelso looked away in revulsion, leaning forward as he gulped in several deep, almost desperate breaths.

"Oh, dear gods," he muttered, forcing himself to look back up at the horribly wounded Marine as one of the Medics rushed forward with a syringe of morpha. "What have I done?"

It was then that a one of the Medics noted that he was awake, quickly stepping over to kneel down next to the Commander.

"Are you okay, sir?"

Unable to muster enough strength to speak, his voice almost lost to him, his throat feeling choked, tight, Kelso nevertheless looked the Medic in the eye, nodded, and motioned for him to move on to the myriad of other, far more grievously injured patients.

Nodding, the Medic stood back up and rushed over to the entry as another patient being carried by two grime-covered deckhands stepped in.

Reaching over, Kelso gripped his hand around a service pipe running from the deck to the ceiling, gave it a gentle tug, testing how firmly it was anchored, and once convinced it would handle his weight, slowly began pulling himself back up to his feet.

Gritting his teeth against the excruciating pounding within his skull, Commander Sean Kelso at last planted his feet on the deck and straightened up.

As the latest wave of nausea once again abated, Kelso opened his eyes, steadying himself against the pipe. Then, with slow, deliberate steps, he released his hold on the pipe and began making his way through the hellish scene.

His heart heavy with sorrow, Kelso watched as the Medics continued to work feverishly to attend to the dozens upon dozens of wounded. With the woefully few Doctors occupied with the most seriously wounded, medics were beginning to act as Doctors, and regular deckhands acting as medics.

As he continued to make his way slowly through the horrific chaos, he was startled when he felt a hand clasp onto his leg. Looking down, he saw the partially charred face of a woman looking up at him from a stretcher.

"Who's there?" she gasped, choking on the blood in her throat.

Kneeling down beside her, Kelso gently took hold of her bloody, outstretched hand.

"Who's there?" she pleaded, sobbing. "Gods, please, I don't want to die."

As she lay there, bleeding, her body shaking, convulsing, her eyes darted about, unseeing, her hair matted with sweat and blood.

"You're going to be okay, crewman," he whispered, his own voice raspy, choked.

Reaching up, he wiped away a tear that had begun to fall down his cheek, then reached down and pushed a lock of hair from her face.

Gods, she was little more than a child, nineteen at most…

"Who are you?" she asked, gasping, coughing.

"It's not important," he muttered, trying to choke back his own tears.

"Did we make it?" she asked weakly, her voice growing weak. "Did we get away from the Cylons?"

He could feel her hand going limp in his, her strength ebbing quickly.

"Did we make it?" she implored again urgently, mustering her last strength into her quaking hand, squeezing his intently.

"Yeah," he muttered, another tear falling down his cheek. "We made it, crewman."

Burned, bloodied, she smiled weakly.

And then, with one last gurgling exhale, her body went still, her hand limp.

Reaching up, he pushed his shaking fingers against her neck, feeling for a pulse.

She was gone.

Had she recognized his voice? In her last moments, had she known who she was speaking to? Did it really matter if she had?

With a sinking heart, Kelso reached up, and with a quaking hand, gently closed her eyes. Looking down, he saw that she was clutching onto a small idol pendant with her other hand.

It had to be one of her matron gods.

Reaching over, he gently placed the hand with the pendant onto her chest over her heart, then gently wrapped the hand he'd been holding around the idol as well.

Numb, Kelso slowly stood back up, his eyes transfixed on the lovely young woman who'd just died.

With still more choked tears rolling down his cheek, he looked up to see that he himself was being watched. Huddled together off to one side of the infirmary, two crewmen and another injured Marine sat propped against a bulkhead. As they all met his gaze, one of the crewman muttered something to the other two, then he and the Marine stood up, they in turn reaching down to help pull the third to his feet.

For a moment, all three stood there, bloodied, battered, staring across a veritable hell at him.

Then, slowly, deliberately, all three came to attention and saluted him.

Overcome, indeed, supremely humbled by the gesture, he fought his reflex to look away; in that moment, standing amidst the carnage his orders had wrought upon his crew, he felt little more than ashamed. And yet, here, amid that same carnage, these three, themselves wounded as well, were honoring him in the simplest, yet truly most profound way they could.

His breath quickening, full tears welling up in his eyes, Kelso held their gaze, came to attention, and with a trembling hand, returned the salute. As all three slowly slumped back down onto the deck, their strength sapped, Kelso was nothing short of overwhelmed.

Wiping away the tears that were spilling down his cheeks, Kelso turned and began making his way towards the entryway.

"Commander!" snapped a voice from behind, just barely cutting through the screams still echoing out through the infirmary.

Turning around, Kelso saw Major Cassiopeia Lefler, the Chief Medical Officer they'd rescued from the Heracles. With her medical smock all but soaked in blood, Lelfer tossed a pair of bloodied gloves onto a pile beside the overflowing trash bin and stepped towards him.

"Where do you think you're going, Commander?" she snapped as she stepped up, propping her hands on her hips as she came almost nose to nose with him.

"I have a ship to command, Major," replied Kelso flatly, his voice gravely, his throat dry.

"What you have is head trauma and a possible concussion," countered Lelfer flatly as she reached over and took hold of his arm. "You're not going anywhere till I have an MRI…"

As she gave his arm a tug, Lefler was visibly surprised when Kelso pulled himself out of her grip.

"There are plenty of people who are injured far worse than I am, Major," said Kelso as he turned and once again began making his way towards the entryway. "The only way you're going to keep me here is to have a couple Marines cuff me to a stretcher."

"I'll do it."

"With the ship in the shape she's in, if you think you think you can find a couple Marines to do it, then be my guest, Major," replied Kelso evenly as he stepped out into the corridor. "I'll be in CIC when you're ready to have me dragged back down here."

---

If anyone had been able to stop and ask the Commander how long it had taken him to make the trip from the infirmary to CIC, Sean Kelso would never habe been able to give them an answer. Between the pounding in his head, the waves of nausea, and the shocked numbness he felt emotionally, he was literally taking each step as it came, bracing himself against the bulkhead as he moved. The flickering lights overhead did little to help his disorientation, but by sheer force of will, Commander Sean Kelso fought his way back to the CIC.

As he rounded the last corner, he was only vaguely aware of the Marine posted outside the entry hatch watching him intently. Nevertheless, when his legs faltered for a moment as he made his way down a small flight of stairs, Kelso was grateful for his presence when the Marine rushed forward, grabbing hold of his arms, keeping the Commander on his feet.

"Whoa, I've got you, Commander," sighed the Marine as he helped steady Kelso.

Looking up, Kelso saw that it was Corporal Daniels, the same Marine Kelso had spoken with before about his desire to become a teacher.

"Still feels like the ship is moving," smiled Kelso weakly as he slowly regained his balance.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Kelso fought back against the dizziness, gave Daniels an appreciative pat on the shoulder, then reached out towards the CIC hatch. Somewhat embarrassed when his own hand missed the locking latch, his fingers coming up short and grasping at empty air, Kelso was once again grateful when Daniels reached over and opened the hatch for the Commander.

Nodding in appreciation, Commander Kelso forced himself to straighten up, gave his uniform tunic a curt tug, then stepped into CIC.

"Commander on deck!" shouted a voice.

Although he didn't know offhand which crewman it was that had announced his presence, Kelso did not miss the myriad of pleased, even shocked expressions on the faces around CIC as he slowly made his way towards the plot table.

Under the fretful gaze of nearly everyone, Kelso settled into place below the smashed and blank DRADIS displays, took a deep breath, then looked across into the clearly concerned expression of Major Tyra Burke.

"Status, Major?"

Watching him, her demeanor clearly unsure, even somewhat dubious, Burke nevertheless slowly slid a clipboard stacked with pages across the plot table to him.

"DC teams have finally gotten a handle on most of the midship fires, sir," began a mildly befuddled Burke as she continued to watch Kelso warily. "Engineering should be able to restore main power once they have a chance to verify that the tylium transfer lines are still intact."

"What about our casualties?" asked Kelso hoarsely as the mental image of the hellish scene in sickbay flashed through his mind.

"Reports are only preliminary, sir, sketchy at best," replied Burke evenly, her expression clearly concerned that Kelso himself might still end up on the list. "With our teams still waiting to enter some of the more damaged sections, it could be hours before we have a final tally."

"Very well," muttered Kelso evenly as he absently began to flip through the pages on the clipboard.

Blinking his eyes, he found it hard to keep his vision focused as he tried to read through the reports.

"Sir," began Burke, slowly making her way around the table beside him. "With all due respect, you need to go back to the infirmary."

"You know, Major, it's an odd thing," began Kelso, looking up at her, the faintest smile creasing his lips. "I'm beginning to think that anyone who preambles a sentence with the phrase 'with all due respect' is really about to say something that is in no way respectful at all."

Looking up at her, he could see that his attempt at humor hadn't so much as made a dent in her concern.

"The infirmary has more than enough wounded to keep them busy for the time being," began Kelso, waving somewhat dismissively as he looked back down at the blurry, hand-written figures on the sheets before him. "They don't have time to worry about a simple headache."

"A headache, sir?" scoffed Burke as she pointed over at the smashed screen lying on the deck. "You had a fraking display screen land on your head."

Looking first at Burke, then over at the screen lying on the deck, then back to Burke, Kelso again smiled.

"That's the screen that hit me?"

Burke simply nodded her head.

Without skipping a beat, Kelso turned, stepped over to the screen, looked down at the smashed display, then gave it a swift kick, sending it skittering across the debris-strewn deck.

"There, now we're even," he muttered as he stepped back over to the plot table.

Off to one side of CIC, someone actually laughed.

Clearly shocked, but at least a little amused, Burke stood there looking at Kelso.

"Have you sent out requests for additional medical and DC teams from the rest of the fleet?" asked Kelso evenly as he looked back over at Burke.

"They started landing about an hour ago, sir," replied Burke, gently shaking her head as she stepped back around to the other side of the plot table.

"Good," sighed Kelso as he reflexively looked up at the blank screens overhead. "We could use all the assistance we can get."

Lightly drumming his fingers on the plot table, Kelso continued to take deep, steadying breaths as he continued to look up at the blank screens.

"Pass the word, to all crew, anyone not involved in DC efforts should be prepared to report to the infirmary," began Kelso as he slowly looked back over to Burke. "We'll need every available body ready to donate blood."

"Aye, sir."

"How long before we have DRADIS back up?" asked Kelso evenly as he pointed up at the blank screens.

"Engineering is still picking up the pieces, but we should have eyes back in under three hours."

"Harris, get on the wireless and verify Runel has his ships in a defensive formation…" began Kelso as he slowly turned and looked over at the comm station.

But Harris wasn't there.

"Where's Harris?" asked Kelso evenly as he looked back over at Burke.

Burke simply shook her head.

Letting out a long breath, Kelso's shoulders sagged a bit.

"I've known her for four years," he muttered, glancing back over at the empty station. "Damn."

Taking another deep breath, Kelso drummed his fingers uncomfortably.

"I've got a line open to the Enceladus, sir," offered Lieutenant Cortez.

Looking over, Kelso glanced over at the visibly tired Cortez, then simply nodded.

"Advise Colonel Runel that our DRADIS is down, we'll need him to cover us."

"Colonel Runel has already deployed his ships in a defensive formation, Commander," said Burke evenly. "Savitri and Proteus have both put up a CAP and have birds at the ready if the Cylons jump into range."

Surprised, even pleased, Kelso looked back over at Burke, smiling.

"Very good, Major."

Casting his eyes once more up at the blank screens overhead, Kelso reached up and began massaging the knot forming in his neck. Only after a moment did he realize his hands were covered in dried blood.

Some doubtless from the young woman who'd died…

Some undoubtedly his own…

Looking down at the dry blood on his fingertips, rubbing his fingertips together, some of the dried blood flaking off, Kelso looked back over at Burke.

"I must look a sight," he chuckled as he absently began wiping the dried blood on his pant leg.

"You have looked better, sir," she shrugged. "Shall I have someone escort you back down to the infirmary?"

"In due time," sighed Kelso as he wiped the dried blood on his trouser leg. "Have we had any indications of Cylon pursuit?"

At first, Burke didn't answer.

Groggy as Kelso was, he didn't miss the pause. Glancing back over at Burke, he saw his XO in turn looking over at Lieutenant Cortez.

"What is it, Major?" asked Kelso evenly.

"I was hoping this could wait until after you'd been seen by the Doctor, sir," muttered Burke as she slowly waved Cortez over to the plot table. "We're still compiling the data, and until you've been cleared medically…"

"Cut to the point, Major," sighed Kelso as he glanced over at Cortez stepping up to the plot table. "I'm willing to admit that I'm tired enough, with a splitting headache, and as such in no mood for double-talk."

"There was a problem with the jump, Commander," sighed Cortez, his shoulder drooping a bit.

"A 'problem'? What kind of 'problem', Lieutenant?"

Taking a deep breath himself, Lieutenant Cortez slowly unrolled a plot overlay across the table.

"This was our position near Leto's Twins, where our jump originated," began Cortez as he pulled out a grease pencil and pointed at a mark on the overlay. "And this was the position I'd plotted in the Prolmar Sector."

"Okay, I follow you," sighed Kelso as he glanced up at Cortez. "And?"

Now it was Cortez who paused.

Noting the hesitation, Kelso reached up and began gently tapping his temple.

"Remember, Lieutenant; splitting headache," said Kelso evenly. "No time or patience for long routes to the truth."

"This isn't where we ended up, Commander," said Cortez flatly, wincing a bit as he said as much. "We're not where we were supposed to be."

Glancing first over a Burke, then back to Cortez, Kelso slowly lifted his hand up, scoffing for a second as he slowly slid the overlay closer.

"What do you mean we're not where were supposed to be, Lieutenant?"

"We jumped, sir, but we did not jump to the coordinates we were supposed to; we are not in the Prolmar Sector."

"How far off the mark are we?" asked Kelso evenly.

"Far off enough, sir, that we haven't been able to find a single familiar stellar marker…"

His head spinning a bit once again, almost feeling as though he'd been punched in the gut in fact, Kelso leaned in a little over the plot table, a low groan escaping his lips as he looked down at the overlay.

"Where did we jump, Lieutenant; short answer?"

"Short answer?" muttered Cortez, sheepishly playing with the grease pencil between his fingers.

Gently nodding, Kelso looked over at Cortez, his expression the epitome of 'no-nonsense'.

"Short answer, sir; 'I have no idea'."

---

Warstar Galactica
Command Operations Center
Exodus Day 2

Making a slow circle around the large operations plot table, Commander Sean Kelso was flipping through a clipboard full of printouts.

It had been two days since their harried escape from Leto's Twins and the Galactica was more-or-less operational again, though making more extensive repairs would be an ongoing battle for some time to come. But with her own crew putting forth a truly heroic effort to right the damage, as well as the assistance from the other ships in the fleet, the injuries inflicted upon the Galactica had slowly begun to heal.

Galactica was at least fortunate in one regard, with the smelting and fabrication facilities on board the ship would be able to repair much of the damaged sections of her hull and armor given time. Indeed, those facilities could even be used to repair some of the damage to the other ships as well.

But there was one thing that even time would never be able to heal, that was the cost their escape had incurred in lives; two hundred and thirty-seven crewmembers had been lost making good their escape. In addition, there were still over seventy-six people in the infirmary euphemistically listed as touch-and-go. In spite of this, however, Commander Sean Kelso had to concede that the price could have been far worse considering the damage the ship had taken stem-to-stern.

But with most of the ship's major systems back on line, attention throughout the fleet had begun to focus in on one overriding question, one that needed to be answered; what now?

For the last two days, several teams throughout the fleet had been practically glued to long-range optical and wireless telescopes, relentlessly scanning the skies for a star formation, a nebula, something, anything familiar enough to help to determine their position. But the reality was, the farther away from the Colonies a ship went, the less and less familiar the stars began to look.

So far, nothing they saw looked even vaguely familiar. And without a reference point, the likelihood that they'd ever pinpoint their position was almost nil.

The one bright side that most people were beginning to clutch onto out of the whole mess, however, was the fact that the Cylons had yet to reappear.

With a sigh, Commander Sean Kelso gently tossed the clipboard down onto the large plot table with a clatter. Arching his back slightly, he tried to stretch out the knot that was forming, taming the throbbing burn down to merely a low ache.

Leaning in over the plot table, he glanced back down at the clipboard to the uninspiring reports regarding their position.

"I can't even tell if I'm supposed to be pissed or elated at this development," sighed Kelso.

With no one else in the Command Operations Center, Commander Sean Kelso had to concede that speaking to himself out loud seemed a touch odd; probably best to blame it on the injury to his head.

Or…

"Maybe I'm talking to the gods," he muttered, answering out loud his own internal question of just whom he was speaking to.

But in a moment, that particular whimsical thought soured in his mind.

The gods.

Sean Kelso had never been much of a religious man. His world was typically defined in more quantifiable terms; engineering problems, equations; physics, not metaphysics. The few times he'd even talked about matters of faith, and then only when conversationally cornered, he'd often claimed to be an agnostic, his socially palatable answer being that his faith was based on his own life experiences, not the archaic ramblings of some pharmaceutically-addled 'Oracle' eating bugs while huddled in a cave thousands of years ago.

Kelso let out a long, frustrated sigh.

So how did the current situation fit into his 'life experience' explanation? The gods, if they existed, had allowed tens of billions of men, women and children to be vaporized by the Cylons. And yet somehow, in their ethereal 'mercy', they'd allowed his small group to escape.

Divine intervention? Or plain, simple, terrible atheist luck?

Scoffing in little more than mild disgust, Kelso shoved the clipboard, sending it skittering across the tabletop.

"Bad news, I take it?"

Surprised, Sean Kelso looked up to see his father standing in the entryway.

"Dad?" sputtered Sean, feeling like a child who'd been caught doing something naughty. "What are you doing here?"

"You asked all the ship commanders to come over for a collective bitch session, remember?" began Adrian Kelso wryly as he stepped over to the table, picked up the clipboard, and began making his way around to his son's side.

"Meeting's not for another hour," said Sean evenly as he watched his father make his way around the large table.

Stopping in front of son, Adrian Kelso let out a long sigh as he set the clipboard back down on the table.

"I have spent the last two days practically squatting in a Raptor, just waiting for any excuse to get over here," muttered Adrian evenly as he reached out and snatched his son into his arms. "Give your old man a break for wanting to know you're okay."

Returning the embrace, Sean smiled.

"I'm fine, Dad," said Sean as he took a deep breath and glanced over at the clipboard.

"That bandage on your heads says different," replied Adrian evenly as he took a step back and pointed up at the gauze wrapped around his son's head.

"Seven stitches," sighed Sean as he reached up and gently scratched the lump beneath the dressing. "Scar won't even show if I let my hair grow out to medium-regs. As for the MRI, Doc Lefler says it's clear."

"I suppose that means you have a hard head, taking a lump like that so cavalierly," chuckled Adrian.

"According to Mom I inherited it from you," countered Sean evenly as he reached over and gave his father another hug.

"That you did," snickered Adrian as he reached up and wiped a small tear from the corner of his eye. "In any case, I'm just damned glad to see that you're okay."

And so it was, father and son, again reunited, continued to exchange idle chitchat. While little of it would be apparent from the words they spoke, the relief both felt that the other was alive and well was evident in their tone and demeanor with one another.

Before long, the other ship commanders, both military and civilian, began to filter into the large compartment, quickly falling into place around the operations table. But no matter who it was that walked into the room, what did not change was the arrangement of the Kelsos themselves; the father directly beside his son.

Before long, the last two ship CO's, Colonel Thadius Runel and Colonel Brianna Webber arrived. Glancing up at the clock on the wall, Commander Sean Kelso noted silently that they were a couple minutes late. By the way Colonel Webber was hurriedly preening her hair as she fell into place around the table, the Commander was dubiously certain he could guess the reason why; their rekindled relationship was already becoming about the worst kept secret in the fleet.

Nevertheless, with everyone now present, Commander Sean Kelso stepped up to the table and cleared his throat, gently tapping the clipboard on the tabletop to cut through the din of conversations, capturing the collective attention of everyone present.

Looking out at the faces assembled around the table, Commander Kelso took a deep breath.

"Okay, people," he began simply. "What now?"

For a moment, the question simply hung there over the assemblage. Slowly looking to one another, and in turn, the Commander looking out at all of them, the pall of silence was so palatable that were it not for the low rumble of the ship's engines, one might have been able to hear a pin drop.

"Well then, I suppose to get our thoughts moving on the subject, let's just review our situation," said Commander Kelso as he leaned in over the plot table. "For two days now, we've been working to make repairs to Galactica, and now that the major systems are back in operation, we face the stark reality that we have remained completely idle during that time. Clearly, we must anticipate that just because the Cylons haven't found us yet doesn't mean that they're likely to just give up their search. So, I ask you again; what now people?"

"If I may, Commander," began Paul Bess as he too leaned in over the plot table. "Before we try and hammer out an idea of where we go from here, it might be helpful if we first are able figure out exactly where 'here' is in the first place."

"Colonel Runel?" prodded Commander Kelso. "Your people have been working that problem, any progress?"

"Much as I hate to say it, Commander, we've had no success as yet," replied Runel evenly as he held up a clipboard he'd brought with him. "Two days scanning the skies with both long-range optical, infra-red and gamma-ray telescopes has yielded no known star configurations or stellar markers within range."

"And without any reference point, we have no way of getting even a generalized fix on our position," interjected Colonel Webber evenly

"All we know with any certainty is that this is not the Prolmar Sector," sighed Adrian Kelso as he absently flipped through some of the pages on the clipboard his son had been reviewing.

"Okay, so if we didn't jump to where we'd intended, and we can't yet figure out where we are, then how did we get here?" asked Captain Jack Foster evenly. "Was there a malfunction in the FTL systems?"

"All FTL systems on every ship were checked," began Mark Shipman, the Sagittaron Depot supervisor commanding the former Assaultstar Kilkis. "Checked and double checked. Whatever caused us to jump off-course, it wasn't mechanical."

"And even if it were, it wouldn't account for all of our ships jumping this far off course as a group," continued Nakaya Foteva, another Depot Supervisor, now CO of the Limnos. "Whatever the cause, it affected all ships simultaneously."

"Lieutenant Cortez has been pouring over all the telemetry data from each ship," began Commander Kelso as he picked up his clipboard. "And frankly, if his theory is correct, we should be counting our blessings, such as they are."

"What's his theory?" asked Adrian evenly as he glanced over his son's shoulder somewhat.

"I won't bore you with the long winded physics of the matter, best to leave that to the physics professors, if there are any left in our fleet," began Commander Kelso evenly as he began running his finger along the text of the report he was looking at. "But it would seem that at the moment we initiated our jump, Leto's Twins flared with an exceptionally high energy burst."

"Just how big an energy burst are we talking about here?" asked Paul Bess.

"Off the charts," replied Sean Kelso evenly as he set the clipboard back down. "Best guess is that this energy burst somehow interacted with our own FTL cores, and for a lack of a more accurate way to describe it, supercharged the effect."

"But if a pulsar flash could cause this kind of a malfunction in an FTL, why has it never popped up before now?" interjected Major Paul Ambrose, CO of the Destroyer Adroa.

"Simple answer, no one has ever attempted a jump that close to a pulsar flash before," answered Commander Kelso. "Before now, it was just assumed that a pulsar flash would cause a soliton feedback loop in the FTL core, frying the system and maroon the vessel."

"Besides which, most pulsars flashes are regular, predicable," added Colonel Thadius Runel. "SOP says to time jumps between the energy bursts, and then only if FTL is absolutely necessary. But our escape was hardly SOP."

"That it was not," agreed Commander Kelso evenly.

"But if the pulsar did cause us to make some sort of 'super jump'…" began Captain Jack Foster, stopping as Commander Kelso held up his hand.

"Look, we could spend years trying to muddle through the theoretical physics of this," sighed Commander Kelso evenly, grinning a bit. "But frankly, between the mathematics involved and my mild concussion I have too much of a headache to even try right now."

"More to the point; does it really matter?" interjected Adrian Kelso flatly. "Whatever the cause, it happened, we survived and got away; what we need to muddle through is where we go from here."

"Is there any chance the Cylons will be able to track us?" asked Major Kiana Japser, CO of the other Destroyer, Ikenga.

"Off hand, I'd have to say no," replied Commander Kelso, one eyebrow raised. "Beyond the normal difficulties of tracking a ship through an FTL, considering that we can't be certain of exactly how we got what apparently is a very significant distance away from the Colonies, the chances that the Cylons would be able to intentionally recreate the exact conditions that brought us here are likely miniscule at best."

"Short story; we managed to escape beyond their grasp," sighed Adrian Kelso softly. "Sounds good to me."

"But to where?" interjected one of the civilian captains.

"Again; does it matter, Tom?" shot back Jack Foster. "Let's be clear here, we all understood that we were leaving the Colonies for good, didn't we?"

"There's a difference between intending to leave the Colonies behind and actually having the possibility of returning forever cut off," countered Colonel Brianna Webber evenly. "However we go about moving ahead, we'll have to keep in mind the impact of that fact, especially for the civilians in our care."

For a moment, Webber's statement hung over the assemblage.

Through it all, though, everyone kept looking to Commander Sean Kelso.

As he stood there, the focus of everyone's attention, Sean Kelso glanced over at his father and read something in the elder man's eyes.

No matter what, the Commander has to have an answer…

Turning back to the others, Commander Sean Kelso took a deep, steadying breath.

"So the facts as expressed are these," he began evenly. "We escaped; how and to where, we don't have a way of knowing for now. The chances that the Cylons will find us at this point; likely somewhere close to zero. As any of these facts relate directly to our current situation; not one bit."

Taking another deep breath, Commander Kelso straightened back up and gave his uniform tunic a curt tug.

"Circumstances may have changed, but our overriding imperative has not," he continued, looking around at each of the faces assembled around the table. "Our one duty is to do everything to ensure the long term survival of the civilians in this fleet, of our society and of the human race itself. Everything else, all the theories and what-ifs, they can wait until the more practical concerns of food, water and supplies are taken care of."

With that, several of the heads around the table began to nod gently in agreement.

"So, here's the agenda as I see it," began Commander Kelso as he pulled a pen from his pocket, took one of the printouts off the clipboard and flipped it over. "Priority one; defense. We need to redistribute all the fighters and pilots in this fleet in order to operate more effectively. Some ships are also still heavy on crew, others could use those extra bodies, so we'll also need to redistribute our manpower a bit to make sure everyone has the personnel they need to keep things running as smoothly as possible."

As he spoke, Commander Kelso began making several shorthand notes on the blank side of the printout.

"If I may, sir, I do have a suggestion on that point," began Colonel Webber. "In speaking with my CAG, she suggested it might go a long way towards streamlining logistics and repair if we try and make the air wings more homogenous."

"I and my own CAG also concur, sir," offered Major Tyle.

"What exactly did they have in mind?" asked Commander Kelso as he paused in his note taking.

"Well, sir, it's been suggested that we ought to transfer most of the older Vipers over here and try and limit the Savitri and Proteus to operating only the Mark Sevens," stated Colonel Webber evenly.

"Major Culver might have some objections with having his fighter wing saddled with the older birds," countered Commander Kelso, smirking a bit. "I hope this isn't just some attempt to placate the egos of your pilots because they're not as happy flying some of the older ships."

"No, sir," replied Colonel Webber evenly. "Savitri simply doesn't have as extensive an AIMD for performing repair work on so many different models."

"Our equipment on Proteus is even less capable of servicing the older planes, sir," interjected Major Tyle. "Eventually we could find ourselves dead-lining planes for lack of parts."

"But Galactica does have the equipment for milling new components," muttered Commander Kelso, gently tapping the pen against the table top. "We could simply manufacture them here and then transfer them as needed."

"It's still an extra step we could remove from the process, sir," countered Colonel Webber evenly.

Pausing, Commander Kelso mulled over the suggestion for a moment.

"Well, I'm not going to make an arbitrary decision about that for right now," he finally said. "But, I think we should go ahead and have our CAG's get together for a heart-to-heart on the matter; we'll let them hammer it out since it's there pilots and service personnel that are going to have to deal with the consequences."

"Understood, Commander," replied Colonel Webber evenly.

"Aye, sir," nodded Major Tyle dutifully a moment later.

"Okay, next order of business?" asked Commander Kelso evenly as he looked back out at the assemblage.

"If I may, I think our next priority after personnel transfers should be to redistribute some of the civilians as well," offered Adrian Kelso evenly. "Some of our people are packed in pretty tight. Would go a long way towards salvaging morale if we get everyone a little more breathing room, or at least a bunk under each and every person we can."

"Agreed," nodded Commander Kelso as he made another annotation.

"Third priority should be a complete inventory of our supplies," continued Colonel Runel. "Food, water, fuel. After that we should look into setting up some sort of ration system to make them stretch."

"Rationing might not go over very well with the civilians," muttered Major Ambrose evenly.

"Perhaps not," interjected Paul Bess, a wry grin on his face. "But I'd imagine it would go over far worse if our ships went dead in the water for lack of fuel, or everyone starved to death for lack of food."

"You do have a point there," conceded Ambrose, nodding slightly.

As he finished making the quick annotations on the page, Commander Sean Kelso set the pen down, feeling nonetheless energized, feeling at least some sense of purpose. Any plan was better than no plan.

"Once we've taken care of the concrete issues, we can start looking again at the theoretical problems," began Commander Kelso as he looked back out at the assemblage. "Is there anything else anyone would like to bring up?"

Looking to each person, Commander Kelso only received several negative gestures in response.

"Very well," he sighed, grinning slightly. "Let's get back to work, people."

---

Battlecruiser Enceladus
Exodus Day 87

"You really are a son-of-bitch," snapped Colonel Brianna Webber as she kicked her bare feet angrily over the edge of the bunk. "Where the frak is my uniform?"

As she sat on the edge of the bed, fuming, her eyes darting about, searching the clothes-strewn floor for her uniform, Colonel Thadius Runel reached over and ran his fingers along the warm skin at the small of Webber's back.

"Don't you fraking touch me," she barked, not looking back as she reached down and snatched up her underwear.

"That's not what you were saying five minutes ago," chuckled Runel as he continued to run his fingers across her skin, following the line of her spine.

"Stop!" snapped Webber, lashing out with her hand, smacking his fingers away

As Runel slowly lay back down onto his pillow, Webber reached over, snatched up the bed sheet, pulling it up around her shoulders as she resumed her fumbling attempt to put her feet through her underwear. Snorting in frustration, about half way up her legs, she realized she was about to put her underwear on backwards, the sheet falling back away from her shoulders as she fumbled still more, correcting the error.

"This was a mistake," she muttered angrily as she slid the underwear up over her hips.

"At least you realized it before you had them all the way up," smiled Runel as he lay there smirking, hands clasped behind his head.

Shaking her head, Webber continued to look for the rest of her uniform, snatching up her trousers. As she began pulling them onto her legs, Webber caught sight of her bra, snatching it up as well, fastening it into place before resuming her efforts with her trousers.

Letting out a long sigh, Runel looked over, reaching out once more to caress the small of her back.

"Brie," he sighed. "Please, don't go."

In spite of her fuming anger, Brianna Webber paused, her eyes closing at the frankly arousing touch of his fingers.

"You can be so difficult sometimes," she muttered as she glanced back over at him.

"True, but it doesn't mean I don't care about you," replied Runel softly as he reached over and gently pulled her closer to him.

As his hand slid up along the curve of her neck, pulling her lips to his in a soft kiss, Webber only put up the meekest of resistance. With the kiss growing deeper, more longing, Runel ran his fingers up through her long brunette hair.

"I love you, Brie," he muttered softly when their lips parted, looking deeply into her eyes as his fingers continued to caress her hair.

"Love was never the problem, Thadius," sighed Webber as she enjoyed the feel of his fingers along the nape of her neck. "But I need to know where this is going."

"Who says it has to go anywhere?" sighed Runel as he again leaned back against his pillow.

"Answered like a typical man," muttered Webber as she slowly turned back and again set about pulling her trousers up her legs.

"Okay then," began Runel evenly. "How about this for an answer?"

"How's what for an answer?" sighed Webber as she turned back around…

…And saw Runel lying there with a ring perched between his fingers.

Stunned, Webber simply sat there speechless, looking first to the ring, then over at Runel.

Shaking herself from her stupor, Webber slowly reached out, as if afraid to touch the ring.

"Where did you get that?" she asked, withdrawing her hand.

"I picked it up on Gemenon," began Runel, himself looking at the ring for a moment.

"Gemenon, how's that possible…" began Webber, stammering a bit.

"I picked it up before the trip," he replied, looking back over to her. "Our last trip together, as it turned out. You walked out on me the next day."

"I didn't walk out on you," began Webber, her anger roiling up a bit. "You gave me plenty of reasons to break off our relationship, and you know it."

Taking a deep breath, Runel held the ring up a little higher.

"Maybe I did," he sighed gently fiddling with the ring between his fingers. "Nevertheless, the question still stands, Brie; will you marry me?"

"Do you mean to tell me you bought this ring three years ago and have been holding onto it all this time?" muttered Webber, somewhat avoiding looking directly at the ring.

"I did, and I have," replied Runel, grinning a bit.

Silent, Bianna Webber looked first at Runel, then finally again at the ring.

"And what do you think the Commander will think of two of his frontline CO's getting married?" asked Webber evenly.

"You could resign your commission," shrugged Runel, his fingers still holding the ring provocatively within Webber's gaze.

"You could resign yours," shot back Webber defensively.

"You're stalling, Brie," countered Runel flatly.

"But the question still stands; what's Commander Kelso going to say?"

"I'm not asking the Commander to marry me, I'm asking you," replied Runel pointedly.

Silence.

"Fine," sighed Runel as he leaned back, stretching his hand out towards the handset mounted on the wall beside his bed. "If you're truly so worried, let's go ahead and ask the Commander what he thinks."

"No!" snapped Webber, reaching out, clasping onto his outstretched hand. "We can't let him know we're…involved… with one another."

"If the rumor mill is as efficient as it normally is aboard a warship, I'm sure he already knows, Brie," chuckled Runel as he dropped his hand away from the handset. "Let's face it, we haven't exactly been discreet."

"Maybe, but…married?" muttered Webber weakly as she glanced down at the ring, now resting on top of the sheet.

"In case you haven't noticed, my love, we're kind of making things up on the fly out here," began Runel as he gently picked the ring back up, cradling it for a moment. "The Commander might object, but somehow I doubt he will; we all have to start rebuilding our lives, and we can't do that by following a rigid set of rules written by grumpy old Admirals who never foresaw a situation like this."

As she watched Runel cradle the ring in his hand, Brianna Webber felt her heart racing.

"Are you saying you want to rebuild a life with me?" she muttered, her voice choked.

Looking up at her, Runel smiled.

"What I'm saying, Colonel Webber, is that you are my life," he said, once more taking the ring in his fingers. "And I am asking you; will you marry me?"

Stunned, her heart pounding, Brianna Webber sat there as Thadius Runel reached over, took her gently trembling hand in his, and slowly slid the ring into place on her finger.

"Don't frak with me on this, Thadius," warned Brianna weakly, shaking her head slightly as a tear rolled down her cheek, her own fingers beginning to gently play with the ring on her finger.

"Is that a 'yes'?"

Looking up into his face, Brianna Webber practically tackled Runel back onto the bed, her lips hungrily meeting his as she pressed her body against him.

"Is that a yes?" he gasped when their lips finally parted.

"Ask me again in the morning," whispered Brianna as she once more pressed herself against him.

---

Warstar Galactica
Commander's Quarters

Cradling the neat shot of ambrosia in his hand, Commander Sean Kelso let out a long sigh as he leaned back in his chair and kicked his feet up, gently bringing them to rest on an open desk drawer.

"So, do you plan to officiate?" muttered Adrian Kelso as he too settled back into another chair opposite his son, his own shot cradled in hand.

"What, me, no…" replied Sean Kelso evenly as he tossed the shot back in a single gulp. "There's a priest or two left in the fleet who can take care of that."

"And what if they ask you to officiate?"

"I would respectfully decline," chuckled Sean Kelso as he began played his finger in the residue at the bottom of the shot glass. "I've got a full docket of responsibilities to deal with already."

"So counting the esteemed Colonels, how many weddings do we have planned now?" asked Adrian, a moment before he tossed back his own shot of ambrosia.

"Are you suggesting that we're somehow keeping track of people's personal lives now, Dad?" asked Sean, grinning a bit.

"Not at all; such a thing might be considered an invasion of privacy," chuckled Adrian as he reached over and set his empty glass down on the desktop. "So, how many?"

Glancing up at his father, Sean slowly reached over, pulled open another drawer, picked up a small notepad, and held it up.

"Counting the pending nuptials of Thadius Runel and Brianna Webber," began Sean, clearing his throat a bit. "That makes five weddings total, twelve more still pending."

"Not that we're keeping track," chuckled Adrian as he leaned back in his chair.

Tossing the notepad down onto the desk, Sean too leaned back.

"Add in eight births, about two dozen pregnancies…"

"That we know of," offered Adrian with a grin.

"That we know of," corrected Sean with a slight nod. "One might get the impression that our race has a chance at rebuilding after all."

"Not bad for being only three months out from the apocalypse," muttered Adrian as he reached over and gave his empty glass a suggestive nudge.

"And best of all," began Sean as he pulled the bottle back out and gently refilled both glasses. "No fraking Cylons."

"I'll drink to that," replied Adrian as he picked up the refill, clinked the glass with his son's and slammed it back with gusto.

With his stomach all but empty, Adrian very quickly began to feel the intoxicating effect of the ambrosia beginning to numb the edges of his perceptions. Leaning back in his chair, he cradled his empty glass and simply enjoyed the effect. His senses on the verge of giddiness, the elder Kelso looked across the desk at his son.

"And what about you?" he said flatly.

"What about me, what?" muttered Sean.

"Do you have any plans on settling down?"

Breaking down into laughter, Sean tossed back his second shot, coughed a bit, then reached out and set the empty glass down on the desk.

"And who exactly am I supposed to settle down with, Dad?" continued Sean, still chuckling as he leaned back, clasping his hands behind his head as he looked up at the ceiling tiles.

"As I recall, your XO has one hell-of-a fine set of curves."

Looking back over at his somewhat smirking father, Sean had half a moment where he wasn't sure if the elder Kelso was kidding or not.

"Major Burke?"

Adrian nodded.

"Major Tyra Burke?" sputtered Sean, almost losing his balance as he leaned forward a bit. "You're not serious, are you?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" countered Adrian. "She's a damned fine woman."

"Only in an old man's fantasy, maybe," scoffed Sean dismissively. "And while I realize you are an old man, she shouldn't be in your fantasies."

"Too creepy?"

"Way too creepy; what would Mom say?"

Chuckling slightly, Adrian settled back into his chair.

"Your mother would have agreed with me," replied Adrian, smirking slightly.

"That's even creepier," shuddered Sean, chuckling a moment later.

"You know, when I first met your mother, she wouldn't have given me the time of day if I'd paid her," began Adrian wistfully. "Took a bit of time to wear down that tough exterior, but once I did, I couldn't have imagined my life without her."

Letting out a deep sigh, Adrian half-wondered whether he was getting a bit too intoxicated, empty stomach considering.

"Maybe not Dad, but you are forgetting one detail," sighed Sean as he cast his eyes back towards the ceiling tiles. "Mom wasn't your XO."

"So you admit you find Major Burke attractive."

Trapped.

His father had laid a trap, and he'd stepped right into it.

"She's my XO, period, end of story," replied Sean flatly. "To put it in perspective, as much as you've talked about her, would you have ever considered dating Dani Cole?"

"Dani Cole was a fine woman," muttered Adrian as he slowly closed his eyes and drifted in his light intoxication. "But you, my son, are avoiding the issue."

"What issue?" chuckled Sean, silently noting his father's own evasion. "Tyra Burke, even if she was interested, big 'if' by the way, she just isn't my type."

"And what type is that, exactly?"

For a moment, Sean merely chuckled.

"Ok, what about Captain Gaines then?" asked Adrian simply, his smirk still very much present. "I understand the two of you have begun seeing a lot of each other."

"Only in an official capacity; she's the senior-most surviving Marine officer we have left," replied Sean evenly. "With only a token number of actual cops aboard this fleet, the detachments are acting as much to keep the peace alongside them as anything else these days and that means a lot of reports she has to pass on."

"A lot of late nights then I take it?" grinned Adrian, his smirk becoming little short of a leer. "Working hand-in-hand, pouring over security reports to make sure the people are behaving themselves."

"It's just business, Dad," sighed Sean, shaking his head dismissively. "And I don't mind saying that this is about the most awkward topic of conversation for a son to have with his father."

With that, both broke back down into laughter.

"I suppose so," laughed Adrian as he gently closed his eyes, once again savoring the slight numbing of his senses from the ambrosia. "But I'm a father first, have to make sure I have the chance to see my grandchildren before I die."

"Well as soon as I find a 'broodmare' worthy enough to carry on your genetic legacy, I'll be sure to let you know," chuckled Sean.

---

Warstar Galactica
Exodus Day 183

Deftly dodging to one side of the corridor, Commander Sean Kelso was gulping in heavy breaths as he rounded the corner. Mustering himself, he quickly sprinted up the small rise of stairs.

"Make a hole," he called through heavy breath.

In response, the trio of crewmembers blocking his path stepped aside to allow the Commander to pass as he rounded yet another corner into a long corridor.

His path clear and straight, Kelso quickened his pace to a flat-out sprint.

With sweat pouring down his face, Kelso glanced up in time to catch the highlighted location marker on the bulkhead. With a grin of satisfaction, he slowed himself to a walk, taking in deep, gulping breaths. In his chest, Kelso's heart was pounding so hard it felt as though it would burst through his chest, but in spite of his admitted exhaustion, the Commander felt a twinge of pride.

Five kilometers.

Prior to their escape from the Colonies, Commander Sean Kelso doubted he would have been able to make five kilometers at a slow jogging pace with anything less than an entire division of Cylon Centurions chasing him.

But now, six months and over forty pounds later, Commander Sean Kelso felt a rush of accomplishment.

As he continued to wrestle back control over his breathing, the Commander looked back in time to see Marine Captain Jordan Gaines vault up the small flight of stairs at the end of the straightaway. Sprinting the last couple of meters, Gaines also slowed to a walk as she passed the marker on the bulkhead, gently shaking her head as she looked over at him.

"Didn't expect you to break into that last sprint there, Commander," muttered Gaines as she stepped up next to him.

"You didn't expect it?" smiled Kelso as he continued to wrestle back control over his breathing. "I'm surprised I didn't keel over from a massive coronary."

Chuckling slightly, Gaines slowly began stretching her back as she stood there in her workout attire.

"You keep this up, sir, there won't be enough thread left in the fleet to keep taking in your uniform," muttered Gaines evenly as she gave Kelso's stomach a gentle tap. "It was a good run, though."

Nodding his head slightly, Kelso set off along the corridor to walk off his still-racing pulse.

In truth, while these almost daily exercise runs with Captain Gaines had gone a long way towards slimming his profile, the strict rationing of food implemented throughout the fleet had just as much to do with his frankly drastic drop in weight. Food, like fuel, uniforms, and yes, thread, were in short supply considering it was being stretched thin to support over fifty-two thousand people.

In very real terms, a few caches of supplies aside, everyone in the fleet had escaped with literally not much more than the clothes on their backs. And while the salvage work from the lost Battlestars and their resupply at Torvik Anchorage had replenished much in the way of ammo and military stores, even some uniform and clothing items, in the grand scheme of military planning, the lesser consumables and sundries had been lost in the shuffle.

Continuing along the corridor with Gaines just a pace behind, Kelso rounded a small corner and caught sight of a Marine standing guard outside a service entryway.

"Shall we stop in and check on the progress?" asked Kelso evenly as he reached up and wiped away the sweat pouring down his cheek.

"Sounds good to me, Commander," smiled Gaines as she gestured for the Kelso to lead the way.

As the two of them stepped up to the entryway, the Marine standing guard outside quickly unsecured the latch and opened the hatch.

Stepping in through the entryway, Gaines and Kelso felt the distinct change as they went from walking on the unyielding metal deck of the passageway to the comparatively soft feel of soil inside the compartment.

Prior to their fleet's escape from the Colonies, this compartment had been just one of many unremarkable storage areas scattered throughout the massive ship. But as the realities of food rationing began to inspire innovation, a few minds had gotten together and concocted a rather enlightened solution to their long-term need for provisions and suggested the establishment of gardens in some of the unused sections aboard each of the ships in the fleet.

It was a straightforward idea, almost brilliant in its simplicity. But, turning it into a practical reality had almost proven a logistical nightmare.

Once it was decided to go ahead with the project, it had taken some time for Raptor scouts to locate a star system with a planetary body bearing anything approaching usable soil. While they were lucky enough to finally find a moon containing fine enough soil for them to avoid the hassle of spending untold man-hours pulverizing rocks into dirt, a new problem arose; the moon from which they'd harvested the soil had no atmosphere.

No atmosphere meant soil with no inherent nutrients for plant growth; it was just plain, dead dirt.

The solution, one it took Commander Kelso and many of the other ship commanders time to wholly accept, was to divert an amount of raw sewage and food wastes into the dead soil. Mulching the organic waste into the dirt had gone a long way towards making it suitable for growing fruits and vegetables, but the endeavor had imbued the areas with a rather unpleasant odor for a time.

Once the doctors had performed their analyses, certifying that the wastes had not opened up the risk of contamination, next came the painstaking process of saving seeds from various fruits and vegetables and planting them in the new soil. While born of a practical need for food, and at least nominally embraced by the fleet as a whole as a worthwhile endeavor, there were a more dedicated few in the fleet who had grasped onto the project with a near zealous obsession, suppressing the pain of their loss by throwing themselves fully into this new life's work.

And as Commander Sean Kelso and Captain Jordan Gaines made their way further into the compartment, it was hard to find any fault in their dedication.

Running the full breadth of the compartment in dozens of neat rows, seedlings had long since begun to sprout. Carefully, almost lovingly attended to and nurtured, these infant plants had begun to take on an aura of hope all their own. As they continued to grow, pushing further and further up into the air, these gardens offered a respite from the cold, sterile environment of a military vessel to the disheartened people who had already lost so much.

Beyond the dedicated volunteers who tended to the plants themselves, others had begun coming to the gardens, often to do little more than walk amongst the rows upon rows of new life. Some even walked barefoot, carrying their boots, cherishing in some small yet profound way the feel of real soil between their toes. Soon others came as well, new loves and lovers, to walk hand-in-hand, nurturing new affections. But the one common thread binding them all was that simplest need, of a people, refugees fleeing the loss of everything they'd ever known, searching to hold on to a measure of their own humanity, coming to these gardens, returning in some small way to their proverbial roots.

That being the case, it hardly struck Kelso with much surprise that the Marines posted to guard the gardens often did so with as much vigilance and zeal as when they guarded the ship's more restricted areas; these gardens were now hallowed ground.

Pausing halfway along one of the rows, Kelso took in a deep breath, smiling a bit as he savored the truly earthy aroma filling the space.

"You know, it does leave me wondering," muttered Gaines as she too took in a deep breath.

"What's that?" asked Kelso as he caught site of a couple enjoying a tender kiss at the far end of the compartment.

"The plants," continued Gaines as she slowly kneeled down and ran her fingers gently along a couple of budding leaves. "When these finally flower, how do they plan on pollinating them?"

"Not much in the way of insects aboard, is there?" smiled Kelso as he looked down at her. "I suppose they'll use cotton swabs or some such thing to breed them."

"Artificial sex, huh?" chuckled Gaines, glancing up at him. "That doesn't sound like much fun."

For some reason, the comment caused Kelso's heart to skip a beat.

What had she said?

As she continued to smile at him somewhat coyly, Gaines stood back up and once again began making her way along the row. Taking a deep breath, Kelso continued to follow closely behind Gaines. With a couple they'd seen kissing passionately on the far side of the compartment now making their way hand-in-hand back the opposite direction, Kelso became somewhat more acutely aware that most of the other people in the garden were likewise coupled off. The idea that these gardens were somehow becoming tantamount to a lover's lane suddenly left him feeling decidedly awkward, churning with a sense that he somehow didn't belong, or was perhaps intruding on so much budding intimacy.

Nevertheless, doing his best not to stare, he did in fact count at least a dozen pairs before he forced himself to look nonchalantly down at his feet, gently kicked the soil as he moved.

Glancing up, he just barely caught sight of Gaines, once again looking back over at him with that same coy smile.

Was she…flirting with him?

Looking back down at his feet again, Kelso gently shook his head.

No, he had to be imagining it.

Before long, Kelso and Gaines had completed a full circuit through the garden rows and were slowly making their way back to the entryway.

"I almost hate this part," groaned Gaines as she gently pushed the hatch open.

"Me, too," sighed Kelso as he continued to follow her.

With each pausing a moment to kick some of the loose dirt off their shoes, the two of them stepped back into the utilitarian corridor.

In contrast to the garden, the corridor suddenly felt gloomy.

As the two of them set off along the corridor, Commander Sean Kelso felt a rush of embarrassment when he realized he'd begun to pay just a little too much attention to the admittedly shapely Gaines as she walked barely a full stride in front of him.

Her legs…

Her thighs…

"Something on your mind, Commander?" asked Gaines, glancing over her shoulder at him. "You seem awfully…preoccupied."

If he'd felt embarrassed before, now he felt downright mortified.

She'd caught him; glancing back over her shoulder, she'd seen where his attention had been focused.

He opened his mouth, stammering a few unintelligible syllables, but quickly shut up.

Gaines simply seemed to grin as she continued her way along the corridor.

For his part, Kelso just tried to regain some measure of composure.

But it wasn't easy.

Gaines didn't seem to want to make it easy for him either.

He couldn't be sure, he wasn't even sure he wanted to be sure, but when Gaines noted his attention, that coy smile seemed to widen a bit, and he could swear she had begun moving her hips a little more, ever so slightly, almost enticingly.

Blushing once more, Commander Sean Kelso forced himself not to notice.

As they finally reached the section where Gaines and her Marines were billeted, Gaines turned around and extended a hand to Kelso.

"A pleasure as always, Commander," she said softly.

"Till next time, Captain," replied Kelso evenly as he took hold of her hand.

Now once again, he couldn't be sure, he wasn't even sure he wanted to be sure, but it almost seemed as though Gaines held onto his hand a bit longer than usual, her soft fingers gently playing across his palm as she slowly pulled away.

With that same coy smile, she turned and opened the hatch.

"Just so you know, sir," she began, casually looking back over at him. "I spoke with Chief Copeland; she'll be setting me up in my own quarters by the end of the week."

"Tired bunking in the barracks?"

"A little," she smiled. "No privacy in here; kinda miss the freedom of being able to walk around naked after a shower."

With that, she cast him yet another coy glance, stepped through the hatch and closed it.

Now alone in the corridor, Kelso felt almost as stunned as when that screen had bounced off his skull.

He felt…

"Oh, gods dammit," he muttered to himself as he turned and began making his way along the corridor.

Shaking his head, Commander Sean Kelso quickened his pace, intent of making his way back to his quarters for a shower.

A very cold shower.

---

Warstar Galactica
Command Operations Center

"And this is why I think we need to start reorganizing some sort of civilian government," sighed Commander Sean Kelso evenly as he gently massaged the bridge of his nose. "If they aren't willing to trust what we say at face value anymore, maybe they'll believe it from representatives they themselves elect."

"Doubtful," chuckled Paul Bess as he leaned forward onto the large operations table. "Even in deep space, a politician is a politician."

"You'll get no argument from me on that point," grinned Commander Kelso as he looked back out at the assemblage around the table. "Nevertheless, we need to get a better handle on this before it becomes an even bigger issue."

"Be it direct from us or from some ad hoc quorum selected by the people, facts are facts," began Adrian Kelso as he slowly stretched his back. "Finite resources are called 'finite' for a reason; eventually they run out."

"Fuel is manageable, at least for now," continued Commander Kelso evenly as he picked up the stack of papers lying in front of him. "But before long we will need to start sending out Raptors to hunt down some new sources of raw tylium; if we can find some, we have facilities aboard Galactica that can refine it."

"Well, so far our water supplies are holding out pretty well," continued Colonel Runel. "Between the supplies we were carrying and the few moons and comets we've stumbled across we've been able to keep the taps flowing, even with the liners tankering off of us."

"Food is the one thing that is going to remain problematic," finished Paul Bess. "Even with the gardens we've managed to plant aboard each of the larger ships, and those not likely to produce any appreciable foodstuffs for several weeks, if not months, our most optimistic projections say that in a little over fourteen months, fifty-two thousand people will begin to starve to death."

"I don't see how we can stretch the food stores any further," sighed Major Lefler as she gently cracked her knuckles. "As it is, the only people receiving even half-rations are pregnant women and children; everyone else is already starting to show the earliest signs of malnutrition."

"Won't be too long before we see women getting pregnant just for the extra food," muttered Major Paul Ambrose.

"There's an enlightened perspective," scoffed Major Kiana Jasper as she glared over at Ambrose.

"No, much as I hate saying it, he may be right," countered Lefler. "True, there's nothing definitive linking one to the other, but there has been a distinct spike in pregnancies over the last two months since we implemented the new rationing scheme."

"Fraking for more food; there's a lovely thought," muttered Mark Shipman derisively.

"Well, between the extra rations and the transfer to Galactica, stretch marks and swollen feet might seem a small price to pay," offered Paul Bess.

"Speak for yourself, Paul," shot back Foteva as she stretched her arms above her head. "Maybe we should think about implementing some sort of mandatory birth control program."

"That won't go over very well with the Gemenese," sighed Adrian Kelso, shaking his head gently. "Those sects are all about the 'right to life'; birth control and abortion are real hot buttons with them."

"And not something I'm about to start regulating," stated Commander Kelso evenly, pausing a moment as he took a slow, deep breath. "At least, not yet. We need options people."

"I'm just not certain there's much more that we can do," sighed Paul Bess. "Other than stumbling across a perfectly hospitable planet with a discount supermarket, what we've got is what we have to work with."

"Well, facts being facts, when we all piled aboard these ships back at Sagittaron we didn't know we'd be facing the possibility of spending the rest of our lives aboard them," muttered Mark Shipman, gently shaking his head as he leaned in over the table.

"All things considered, still better than remaining on the Colonies," sighed Jack Foster, suppressing a yawn as he spoke. "At least out here we have a chance."

"We're not here to second guess the evacuation," said Commander Kelso evenly. "There is no blame, there is simply the question of what we do to ensure the survival of those under our charge."

"Maybe we're looking at this problem from the wrong perspective," offered Adrian Kelso, slowly folding his arms across his chest, his brow furrowing a bit in thought. "As I see it, there is a possibility that we're all tiptoeing around; it's obvious, it's right there in front of us, we just have to be bold enough to seriously consider it."

"You mean permanent settlement," said Colonel Runel flatly.

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting," replied Adrian Kelso.

All around the table, the ship commanders, including Commander Kelso, let out a long sigh.

"Think about it," began Adrian Kelso as he began slowly making his way around the periphery. "For over six months now we've been trolling about out here, more or less waiting for some sign that the Cylons are still in pursuit. So far the only thing that's even come close was the unexploded missile the EOD guys found lodged in the hull plating of Galactica."

"We can't ignore the chance that they might still find us," offered Hanna Shepard, one of the other civilian captains.

"A slim chance," countered Colonel Runel. "Even now, we still have no better idea where our jump from Leto's Twins has placed us."

"Exactly," said Adrian as he continued to make his way around the table. "Maybe it's time we changed our focus."

"A habitable planet," muttered Commander Kelso, watching his father move around the group.

"I don't see we have much of a choice," shrugged Adrian as he settled back in beside his son.

"He's right," sighed Colonel Webber evenly. "I mean did we honestly expect to stay aboard these ships indefinitely?"

"Gods, perish the thought," muttered Mark Shipman. "I'd hate to think the last thing I'll see in this life is some gods-forsaken bulkhead."

"There's one thing we'll have to keep in mind, though," continued Colonel Webber. "We could go blind looking through the telescopes and never get the information we need to make an accurate assessment. We need to send out recon Raptors if we're really committed to finding a habitable planet to settle on."

"That will be difficult," noted Colonel Runel. "Fleet tylium reserves are down to sixty percent. All our fuel rationing measures will have to go right out the window if we start sending out large numbers of Raptors."

"All a matter of what we're willing to risk," shrugged Webber.

"Roll the hard-six," offered Paul Bess flatly.

"We're not going to make it without taking some risks," interjected Jack Foster.

"Not a day goes by I don't have my CAG in my office bitching at me in one ear and out the other that his people aren't getting enough by-the-book flight time to remain qualified," interjected Major Tyle, CO of the Proteus. "As it is we only have a single CAP up from the Galactica, Savitri or Proteus at any one time."

"Then this will be the perfect opportunity to get our pilots some stick time," stated Commander Kelso evenly, gently thumping his fist against the tabletop. "We go with the recon plan. Starting tomorrow, I want the CAG's from all three ships to prepare a flight roster, fifteen Raptors total, five from each deck, around the clock."

"But how will the Raptors be able to navigate through FTL jumps if we haven't been able to pinpoint our location?" asked Foteva. "The charts we're putting together of the local region by telescope are rudimentary at best."

"We'll just have to rely on line-of-sight jumps," replied Commander Kelso evenly. "The fleet will act as the reference point out and back. We'll be able to triangulate our position off the stars locally, that should allow us to conduct operations in this general vicinity."

"Far out enough at least to get some in-depth recon of the local star systems," finished Colonel Runel evenly as Foteva began gently nodding her head. "Even if we don't find a planet right away, we might still be able to locate some supplies."

"Well, I don't know about any of you, but I could use some rack time," said Commander Kelso as he glanced up at the clock on the wall. "If there's nothing else, we'll adjourn for the evening. CAG's can start hammering out the recon plan in the morning."

With that, everyone around the table started gathering up their papers and notes and began filtering out of the room.

As the last of the other ship commanders filtered out into the corridor, Commander Sean Kelso slowly turned to his father, letting out a long exhale.

"I am really beginning to hate these weekly meetings," he said evenly, rubbing his eyes with his palms.

"Price you pay for being the Commander, my son," chuckled Adrian, wincing a bit as be gingerly rubbed the small of his back. "You might want to consider putting some chairs in here though, I'm getting a little too old to stay on my feet for so long."

"Can't," replied Sean lightly. "There's a shortage of chairs."

Chuckling softy, Adrian watched his son gather up his stack of reports. Neatly tucking the pile up under his arm, the two of them began making their way towards the entryway.

"I've been meaning to ask, how's Mike Franklin doing?" asked Sean evenly as the two of them stepped out into the corridor.

"He's managing I suppose," sighed Adrian as the two of them started off down the passageway. "Never easy to lose anyone, and under these circumstances, still worse because we seem to have so few left to lose."

Sean simply nodded.

Unlike so many others, Pacifica's staunch Chief Engineer had managed to escape the destruction of the Colonies not only with his wife, but with both his daughters and two grandsons as well. But that which the gods give, the Fates inevitably take away; Mike Franklin's wife, Joan, had finally succumbed a few days ago to the cancer that had been ravaging her body even before the Cylon attack.

"Wish we had a way of doing more in the way of a funeral; just setting her body adrift in space, seems so impersonal," continued Adrian, his voice trailing off as he gently shook his head. "But…"

For a moment, Sean Kelso likewise nodded his head in agreement, even as a twinge of incongruity about the situation crossed his mind.

Burial in space was SOP for military dead, but for a civilian there was an ingrained belief the body should be buried, that it had to have a place, a physical location where the family could mourn the loss.

For a few moments, the two of them simply continued on their way, silent, lost in their respective thoughts.

At last, Adrian simply shook his head slightly.

"Look, I hope you don't think I stepped on your toes back there," began Adrian, clearing his throat a bit. "Suggesting settlement and all…"

"No, you're absolutely right," sighed Sean as he absently readjusted the pile under his arm. "We've all been thinking it, it needed to be said, all you did was actually say it. Besides, like you said, we don't have much of a choice. Too many good people have already died getting us this far, I'll be damned if we're going to go out with a whimper with our food and fuel exhausted."

With that, Sean reached up, rubbing his tired eyes again as they continued on along the corridor.

"All we have to do now is avoid getting tunnel vision," sighed Adrian.

"What do you mean?"

"Runel was right, we can't count on stumbling across a habitable planet in the near future," began Adrian evenly. "But we might just be able to find some more fixes to our supply problems while we're searching. Tylium supplies, water…"

"Food is the biggest hurdle to our survival right now," sighed Sean.

"If we get creative, I think there's still plenty of room for the establishment of more gardens," replied Adrian evenly.

"Where exactly?"

"Well, both Pacifica and Asterica have a lot of hangar deck space," offered Adrian. "We'll have to tighten up some of the living areas a bit, but if we open up some space on the flight pods, we could probably double the output of the gardens."

"From Battlestar to breadbasket," chuckled Sean. "I doubt the engineers who designed them ever considered that possibility."

"Just try to have a little faith, Sean," continued Adrian, reaching out and grasping his son's shoulder. "Sometimes all we can do is trust the gods…"

"Whoa, wait right there," sputtered Sean, stopping midstride in the corridor as he turned to face his father. "Faith didn't do us a whole lot of good when the Cylons came back. More to the point, since when did you become so religious; Mom rarely ever got you to go to Temple."

Smiling a bit, Adrian's expression became almost sheepish.

"Let's just say I've had a few reasons as of late to reexamine my faith," he replied evenly.

"Care to elaborate on those reasons?"

"When the time is right, I will, but for now, go get some rest; you have a fleet to run."

Taking a deep breath, Sean looked at his father, certain there was more to this subtle 'reexamining' than Adrian was letting on. But the elder Kelso was correct, Commander Sean Kelso had a fleet to run, and he couldn't do that fatigued.

"You want me to walk you to your Raptor?"

"I think I can find my way, son," chuckled Adrian as he reached out and gave his son a quick hug.

Pausing just long enough to look his son in the eye for one more moment, Adrian Kelso then turned and began making his way off along the corridor towards the flight pod.

"Why do I still feel like you have something you're not telling me?" called Sean as he watched his father walk away.

"Why are you worrying about it?" replied Adrian simply, not turning back as he continued on his way. "Don't you have enough on your plate already?"

"I just don't want any more surprises," said Sean evenly as he watched his father disappear around a corner at the far end of the corridor.

With his father now gone, Kelso stood there for a moment longer, gently tapping his fingers on the stack of papers tucked under his arm. Taking a deep breath, he then turned and began making his way towards his quarters.

As he moved, he casually pulled the stack out from under his arm and began leafing through the sheets.

"Please, gods, no more surprises."