CHAPTER SEVEN
False Start

Celestial Mariner military escort
Somewhere over the Pacific

"Husker, Mariner. We're approximately six hundred kilometers away from the city," came the voice of the Mariner's captain through Bill Adama's headset. "We are reducing speed and descending to eighteen thousand meters."

"Copy that, Mariner." Adama eased up on the throttle and gently steered his Viper closer to the Mariner as she pitched downward. "Starbuck, move alongside for descent."

"Aye aye," Kara Thrace replied, then added with a chuckle, "Husker."

Adama was soon close enough to the larger vessel to have a clear view of the forward observation lounge, and took advantage of the proximity to see how the others were holding up. Lee was pacing and looked like he was talking to someone, probably Racetrack, since she was looking at him. The Marines were spread throughout the room, some conversing, some going through equipment, and some looking out the glass at the deep blue ocean below. Tom Zarek and Laura Roslin were still talking, as they had been the entire trip, and sat so close together that their knees were nearly touching, a fact that induced a surge of jealousy in Adama's gut. He didn't like the interest Zarek had taken in the president over the last few months. Most of it was political, but if the way he looked at her when he thought no one else was watching served as any indicator, not all of it was.

Suddenly, Roslin's shoulders slumped, and she covered her face with one hand and hugged herself with the other. It was uncharacteristic of her to show any outward signs of distress, but any compassion Adama felt for her situation vanished when Zarek took her hand and appeared to be offering some words of encouragement. The admiral scowled; how dare he touch her? And how could he do anything about it while still maintaining the sanctity of the mission?

"Starbuck, Husker. Delay that last order," Adama said as an idea took him. "Come about; I'm dropping down and ahead to scout. Mariner, I'll be going across your nose to reduce friction on initial burst. It'll be loud, but harmless."

Once the Mariner confirmed and Kara was where she needed to be, Adama rolled his Viper hard to the left. The barrel roll was executed in such a way that the second full revolution carried him in an arc directly over the observation deck with only feet to spare, and as he came out of it, he kicked in the afterburners. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book, and came in particularly handy in atmospheric flight; the basic idea was to fool the laws of physics into thinking the Viper was a missile being fired from the larger ship. To the people in the forward observation lounge, it would both look and sound like they were under attack.

He expected Zarek to be the only one who would be caught off-guard; anyone who'd ever flown a fighter would know exactly what he was doing as soon as he entered the barrel roll, and he knew Roslin had seen it performed at least once, probably even before the attacks. The maneuver was successful on all counts. He shot away from the Celestial Mariner like a bat out of hell, but not before he had the chance to see Tom Zarek jump out of his seat when the sky above him turned to fire and shook with a sonic boom.

Adama smiled triumphantly as the Mariner faded from view. Hot shot pilot, one; sleazy ex-terrorist, zero.

His self-satisfaction was short-lived: minutes after he shot away from the Mariner, an alarm sounded as his DRADIS console picked up thee new contacts, coming in from straight ahead. Based on their distance and speed, they would be on top of them in just a few minutes. "Mariner, Husker," he radioed. "Three new DRADIS contacts bearing down on us, estimate two minutes out from my current position, and four from you."

"We see them, Husker," the Mariner replied. "Do you have a visual?"

"Negative. They're still a few hundred meters below me, but they're climbing." He cursed himself for giving in to Roslin's stipulation that there only be two fighter escorts. For a moment, he thought he should keep going and head them off, but changed his mind when he weighed it against the other options. He could easily eliminate an enemy force this size, but if these contacts were hostile, he didn't want to leave the Mariner with only one Viper in case this was a decoy. They'd pulled that trick on the Cylons enough times that he'd feel like a damned fool if he fell for it himself. "I'm returning to you."

Adama flipped his Viper around, and once it had stabilized, jetted back in the direction he came. The DRADIS contacts were gaining on him. Whatever these things were, they had been designed specifically for atmospheric flight, unlike the Viper. For the first time in the mission, he felt something he could only describe as fear. He'd always been one of the best pilots in the Colonial fleet, and being at the controls of a Viper even after all this time came as easily as tying his shoes. This wasn't the Colonial fleet, though, and they weren't facing Cylons, the enemy they'd long fought and studied. This was Earth, and he knew nothing about it.

"Mariner, Husker," Adama said as the ship grew larger against the azure sky. "Spool up your FTL."


"Bill, what the hell are you doing?" Laura Roslin wondered aloud when the Mariner's captain informed them of Adama's FTL order. That didn't make sense. So far, the only thing apparently wrong with their mission was that everyone's blood pressure had risen ten points from nerves.

"Precisely what I'd like to know," Tom Zarek added, noticeably irritated. He hadn't appreciated the admiral's little stunt over the observation lounge, and the feeling was intensified when he realized he was the only one who had no idea what Adama was doing.

It wasn't Roslin's style to sit around and wait for something to happen; she set off at a brisk pace in the direction of the cockpit, with Zarek and the younger Adama on her heels. "Captain," she said as she rapped on the door, "may I please speak with Admiral Adama?"

The captain opened the door and allowed the president inside; seeing there wasn't much room, Zarek and Lee waited outside with the door still open. "If this is about the FTL order," the captain said to the president, "I don't think it's anything to worry about. Probably just a precaution."

"Thank you, Captain." From the tone of Roslin's voice, it was clear that while she believed he was correct, she wanted to get her information straight from the source just in case. She picked up the ship-to-ship microphone and depressed the Transmit button on the control panel. "Admiral Adama, this is the president."

"Madam President!" Lee whispered hoarsely. "Pilots go by call signs during flight. It's easier." All this time and she still needs me to be her military advisor, he thought, and smiled on the inside.

"Oh, yes," Roslin said absentmindedly. "Admiral Husker, do you copy?"

Now Lee was smiling on the outside, unable to help himself. He didn't even bother trying to correct her. Innocence was such a rare commodity these days that it was charming no matter what form it took. Besides, her habit of linking rank and call sign was a quirk that started with him, and it reminded him of the special bond she'd formed with his family.

"Madam President, this is Husker. I have a bad feeling about this. I want the Mariner to jump away if it looks like we're going to be attacked."

"What about you and Captain Starbuck?"

"We'll be fine. We've got enough fuel to make it back to the baseship. For now, we're staying on course. You just need to be able to make a quick getaway if you need to."

"Do you think that will be necessary?" she asked, looking down at the DRADIS console and the three unknown contacts that were closing in.

There was a pause on Adama's end, and then, "Well, we'll know real soon."


Ben Kovolsky was sweating. It was getting into his eyes and stinging, and he couldn't wipe it away because of his helmet. It wasn't because it was hot; even though it could get hot in the F-15's pressurized cockpit, his flight suit was temperature-controlled. It had to be nerves. The higher they climbed, the more the sweat came down. They were fast approaching the F-15's sixty-five thousand foot ceiling, and the laws of aerodynamics were going to start doing some funny things if they didn't get back down to a more serviceable level soon.

"You holding up, Crossfire?" came Nathan Puchantey's voice over the radio, referring to Ben by his call sign.

"I'm holding something, Slingshot," Ben replied. "If we don't get our Eagles down about fifteen thousand feet here real quick, we're all boned." Fortunately, they should know what they were dealing with soon; their radar was reading the bogeys just above the next level of cloud cover. Just a little higher...

Moments later, the three fighters reached their target altitude, and there was nothing but the sky above and clouds below as far as they could see... nothing except a flying submarine and two small planes flying alongside it.

"Son of a bitch!" came Burke's voice.

Ben was so shocked that he could not help but echo Burke's statement. "Son of a bitch!"


"Son of a bitch!" Kara Thrace exclaimed when the three unknown DRADIS contacts burst into view. "What the hell are those things?"

"Whatever they are, they're coming for us," was the reply from the other Viper. "We don't know if they're hostile, but just in case, don't let them get near the Mariner."

As the strange aircraft grew closer, Kara saw that while they didn't resemble Vipers much, from the way the three were flying, they probably served a similar purpose. She wondered how the Colonial air superiority fighters compared to Earth's.

While Kara was studying her opponents, an unusual sound came through her headset. It was garbled at first, but gradually became more clear – whoever it was, they were probably trying to find the right frequency. When they succeeded, Kara could hear what they were saying, but could not make sense of it.

"Husker, Starbuck," Kara said. "Are you getting this? I think they're trying to tell us something."


"Unknown aircraft, you are in restricted airspace," Ben Kovolsky said over the radio, having successfully picked up the radio frequency the bogeys were using to communicate with each other. Perhaps they were human after all. "Identify yourselves and enter holding pattern for escort to Kadena Air Base."

All he got back was the chatter in the bizarre language he'd never heard before. Ben didn't know what to make of it. He wasn't an expert, but he was fluent in English, Spanish, and Japanese, and fancied himself smart enough to at least guess a different language's region. "Pelican, Slingshot, get alongside them," Ben ordered his two wingmen. "I'll keep trying to get through."

As Burke and Nate broke off, Ben contacted the ground. "Kadena, Crossfire. Get a linguist on this and figure out what these guys are saying."


"Mariner, Husker. Two of them have broken away. The leader's still holding position."

"Do you want us to jump, Husker?"

"Negative," Adama replied. "They haven't done anything hostile yet." He wished he knew what they were saying, but at least the rules of combat appeared to be universal. He tried to imagine what orders he would be giving right now if he were an Earth commander in this situation. Three unknown ships have just come out of the sky and are flying toward the capital, he thought. They haven't attacked or otherwise threatened our people in any way, but I can't take the chance of letting them get near our leaders just in case that's their plan. What am I going to do?

The leader was still coming straight at them, but with reduced speed; the other two had made wide arcs that placed them behind the Mariner, and were now coming up alongside the civilian vessel. No weapons had been fired, and Adama was starting to put two and two together. I am going to escort them to a military facility.

Suddenly, the lead ship's trajectory arced up and around, placing him between Adama and the Celestial Mariner, and at a higher altitude than both. He fired something; Adama entered a barrel roll to dodge it, and as he was spinning, seized the controls for the guns just in case. When whatever had been fired exploded, however, he saw that it was just a harmless flash of light.

"Husker, Starbuck!" Kara shouted over the radio. "I've got a clear shot – I'm taking this guy out before he can fire off another!"

"Negative, Starbuck!" Adama ordered. "It was just a flare! Do not engage!"


"I repeat: do not engage," Colonel House told Ben over the radio. "Fire another flare if you need to, but don't neutralize the target unless they won't follow you to Kadena. Now that you've got their attention, see if they'll comply."

"Yes, sir. All right, boys, you heard the man," Ben told his two pilots. "Let's bring 'em home."

Ben pitched his F-15 downward until he was alongside the craft at which he'd fired the flare. Soon, he was close enough to see the pilot himself. He appeared human, but Ben wasn't as comforted by that fact as he hoped he would be. He fired another flare straight ahead to get the pilot's attention, and once he had it, pointed to himself, then pointed down. Verbal communication wasn't working, so hopefully, this foreigner would understand the gestures.

Ben held his breath as he waited for a reaction from the other, and let it out when the man pointed at the Air Force pilot, then at the ground, and nodded. "Pelican, Slingshot, I think he gets it!" he radioed. "Kadena, Crossfire. We're bringing them down!"


"Mariner and Starbuck, Husker. I think he wants us to follow him," Adama informed their other two ships. "Reduce your speed, and let these guys lead. Mariner, do not power down your FTL."

"Yes, sir," the Mariner responded, and Kara echoed the acknowledgment a moment later.

Adama allowed himself to relax a bit for the first time since he'd climbed into the Viper back aboard the Fate's Embrace. Maybe Laura was right in calling for just two escort ships. These people were surprised, but it didn't look like they wanted to hurt them. This whole Earth thing could probably work out after all.

Kadena Air Base
Okinawa, Japan

Approximately thirty minutes after they were intercepted by the Earth fighters, the Celestial Mariner and her two escorts touched down on a long, wide airstrip at what they assumed was some sort of military installation. Laura Roslin watched as several dozen people approached, some on foot, others in vehicles, and took a deep breath to prepare herself for her first encounter with the people of Earth. If they wanted to hurt us, they would have done it already, she rationalized. We can do this.

She had a feeling it was going to be a long day. She'd heard the chatter taking place between the Earth pilots, and Adama and Starbuck's subsequent wondering as to what they were saying. The language barrier was going to be a problem, but it was also one they'd expected. Hopefully, there would be someone on Earth who understood them, and since they all shared a common birthplace, after all, it seemed likely. Besides, there were ways of communicating without words – how else would Adama have known the Earth pilots wanted the Colonials to follow them?

There was no time to second guess, to look back. It was now or never, all or nothing. She gave her attention to her vice-president. "Ready, Tom?"

"I was born ready, Laura," he replied smoothly.

They moved through the Celestial Mariner toward the cargo hold: Roslin at the center, with Zarek on her right and Lee on her left. Olivia, Racetrack, and the Marines fell into formation behind them. The ramp was open, and their path was illuminated with sunlight. As their eyes adjusted, the silhouette of the people below became more clear. They were giving the colonists a wide berth, but were still close enough to make out faces. Most wore similar uniforms, though a few latecomers running in were in flight suits, and their expressions were nearly universal as well: curiosity mixed in with fear.

Roslin's nerves were rising again, and she glanced around, hoping to see Adama or Kara. She relaxed slightly when she saw their Vipers near the Mariner and the two pilots edging toward their group, keeping their eyes on the Earth humans and their hands visible. They stopped at the base of the ramp leading into the larger ship, where the others were coming down.

The colonial procession soon reached the end of the ramp, and following Roslin's lead, moved away from their ship and toward the members of the thirteenth tribe that had come to greet them. When they were about halfway between the Mariner and the strangers who looked like then, they stopped. All was silent as they stared at each other, and finally, the President of the Colonies spoke.

"My name is Laura Roslin, President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol," she began. "We come to Earth in peace, seeking a safe haven for our people, and to reunite humanity. We have traveled long and far, and respectfully request to speak with Earth's leaders so that we might tell our story."

The Earth humans were unresponsive for the most part. Only one came closer: a short, dark-haired woman with tanned skin, more decorations on her uniform than the others, and two stars on each shoulder. She moved with an authoritative air, but did not speak.

Roslin took a few more steps forward, with Zarek matching pace; she motioned for the others to stay behind. "This is my vice-president, Thomas Zarek," she said, then gestured toward Adama, "and the admiral of our fleet, William Adama. We know you may not understand our words, but pray there are those in this world who do. Our scriptures tell us the birthplace of humanity was the sacred planet of Kobol, and that Earth was the first tribe to depart from the ancient home of the gods. Long ago, our people were as one, and we seek for humanity to become whole again."

The woman with the stars on her uniform finally spoke, with power in her voice that belied her stature, but they could not understand her words save for one: "Earth."

"You're getting through to them," Zarek whispered excitedly.

Roslin was beaming. "I know, I know," she whispered in return. The success had restored not only her confidence, but the others as well. Her mind drifted back to her days as a teacher, and she thought of some of the young children she'd worked with who had trouble understanding things. It didn't mean they weren't intelligent – obviously, these people here on Earth were smart – they just weren't able to express things in the same way. Nouns and gestures were the most effective way to communicate. It was primitive, but it could work.

The president made a sweeping motion with her arm, indicating the area around them. It would be best to clarify. "Earth."

The other woman did the same thing. "Earth," she repeated, and said another word while nodding.

"That must mean 'yes,'" Zarek guessed, reading into the woman's body language.

The woman brought her palm to her chest and tapped it lightly. "Rebecca Bagalayos."

Roslin repeated the gesture and stated her name. "Laura Roslin."

Bagalayos pointed at her. "Laura Roslin."

The Colonial president nodded and decided to test Zarek's theory on the other word. "Yes, Rebecca Bagalayos."

"Think they're ready for more?" Zarek whispered.

"I do. And I think we're going to be all right." She took Zarek's left hand in her right, and raised it high enough for them all to see. With her left hand, she indicated him, herself, and the other people with them, then held it out toward Bagalayos. "Friend to Earth."

She didn't have to wonder if Bagalayos understood; the confused look on the other woman's face was all the answer she needed. Roslin sighed and racked her brain for another idea. Recalling that she was still holding hands with Zarek, she pointed at him, said, "Tom," and embraced him.

Zarek was a little surprised, but he didn't mind, and he could see where she was going with this. "Tom friend," he said, making a show of hugging Roslin in return. "Laura friend."

Roslin finished the analogy as they let go of each other. "Earth friend."

The Earth woman walked forward until she was about half the distance from her previous position away from the two Colonial leaders, and when she stopped, she held out her hand. "Friend to Earth friend."

Not even the fact that she knew she sounded like a two-year-old could bring down Roslin's mood. Could there be any doubt that they were all human, that somewhere deep inside, they knew they were looking at a long-lost brother or sister? They wouldn't be able to communicate this way in the long run, but it could at least hold them over until they knew more about each other. The message was getting across, and clearly, the Earth humans were not without intelligence. Everything was coming together.


On top of a building several hundred feet away, a man dressed in black was looking at the strangers who came out of the spaceship through the scope of a sniper rifle. "I see them," he said into his headset. "I have a shot."

"Then take it," his controller ordered. "Kill the one called Laura Roslin. The rest will fall when their leader does."

The man switched on his targeting laser, and adjusted the rifle until he saw the red dot on the woman's head through his scope. The laser was the only way to make sure his aim would be true; he had one shot, and if he missed, the consequences would be severe.

"Remember, the Handle of Humanity must be protected at all costs," came the disembodied voice of the controller once more. "I cannot protect you if you fail."

"By your command," he said, and wrapped his finger around the trigger.


Tom Zarek was starting to take back everything he ever said about putting a schoolteacher in charge of the government. Roslin's approach to the situation, while primitive, was working, and she had both the patience to do it and the intelligence to think of it in the first place. He watched her, feeling pleased, as she interacted with the Earth leader. You done good, Roslin, he thought. You done real good.

Pleasure turned to panic, though, when he noticed something strange out of the corner of his eye: a small but bright red dot on Roslin's temple. There was no time to think, only to act, but even as he shouted a warning and grabbed the president, he heard the shot and feared he was too late.