Chapter 12. Bobbing in an Eddy
Battlestar Galactica – Cross Ship Passageways; Secondary Hull.
It had been many years since Rebecca had been in the service, and she had forgotten just how colossally large a Colonial Battlestar was. Already aggravated, her mood further soured as the herd mechanically clopped through the endless narrow and dimly lit corridors towards the port flight pod on the other side of the ship. The group she was with came from ten of the sixty odd ships which were cowering behind the old Battlestar and the abandoned space station. Rebecca covertly assessed the gaggle of mostly men. Móros, all of them, she thought as they continued to trudge past yet another vaguely numbered passageway.
She wondered why they couldn't have the meeting on the Galactica; as that would have made this operation a lot simpler. Instead, the meeting was being held on the luxury cruise liner Cloud-9. No longer anchored to the station, the military had been ferrying people from the station to the liner for the better part of an hour now. At least the accommodations on the Cloud-9 would be a lot nicer than in the aging Battlestar, she figured. They had been obediently following their guide for nearly half an hour and she still had no idea when they would arrive at their destination. Exhausted, her emotions spent, Rebecca plodded next to Parah while she raged silently, poised to lash out at any fool who accidently crossed her path.
Battlestar Galactica – Port Flight Pod
After what seemed an eternity, the large group of ships' captains and officers found themselves facing a pressure tight hatch. Rebecca tilted her neck so that she could read the directory label next to it.
Port Hangar, Flight Deck, Brace 15, Compartment 9
Most of the people in her group, including her 2nd mate Marel, pushed forward and crowded the door. All hoping to be the first thru the dog, where they would feast their eyes on scores of Vipers, Raptors, and other exotic military fare. She let the crowd push around her, taking comfort in the comparative elbow-room at the back of the pack. The hatch swung inwards and the crowd pressed in with great anticipation. She held back again, waiting for the area to clear in front of her. Crossing through the hatch, she smiled inwardly as she dismissed the disappointed whispers and comments from the others in her group. To the majority's surprise, they found themselves in a well apportioned and pleasant waiting room overlooking the flight deck. It was a nice room she thought as she relaxed on one of the many vinyl couches that filled the room. The occupants of the room had divided themselves into two groups; the majority was aimlessly drifting through the room briefly chatting with their fellow sailors as they gently crashed together before wandering off moments later. The second group had migrated to the far wall, where they ogled the empty flight deck below through the four large windows. The windows were actually large LED screens, and were divided equally along the length of the room, a pressure hatch located between each. Rebecca found Marel with the second group, pressed against the screen carefully studying the General Purpose shuttles docked just below. Climbing out of the couch she softly approached him, as she got close she couldn't help to notice the disappointed expression on his face. "You didn't actually think that they'd let us in the hangar, did you?" she asked cautiously.
He turned to face her, "Well, they let Marsha check it out," he answered despondently.
"Some people have all the luck," she responded with a supportive smile. She looked at the screen, watching the deck crew prep the shuttles below them.
Parah approached the two from behind, grunting quietly as pushed between Marel and the stranger next to him. His face now pressed close to the large viewer, he rotated his head from fore to aft, slowly scanning the long flight line. "Looks like two are coming in now," he said, a trace of excitement in his voice.
Marel was on his tip toes, craning his neck uncomfortably so he could see around Parah's bulk. Two delta shaped Vipers sped past them before quickly decelerating to a hover, each above a large elevator pad. Both planes spun 180 degrees in unison, their noses pointing back towards the aft end of the flight pod before gently setting down on the pad. Moments later both planes were sinking below the cold and silent deck on their way to the chaos of the hectic hangar below. The three shipmates remained at the windows and continued to stare vacantly into the now dormant flight pod.
"May I have everyone's attention, please," a man's voice called out from behind them.
Turning, Rebecca saw three young officers dressed in flight suits standing at the center gate. The officer in the middle, was of average height and build and looked just slightly older than the other two pilots.
"My name is Lt. Saunders, these are Lieutenants Baker and Arrington, we will be taking y'all to Cloud-9 in just a few minutes," he said, indicating to the male and then female pilot standing on either side of him. "Each shuttle has room for twenty people, so if you would form up in lines behind each of these three jet ways, we can get on board and head out. Thank you." He quietly nodded to the crowd before turning to his right and silently headed towards the far shuttle.
Spinning to follow the senior pilot, Rebecca grabbed her crewmate's elbows indicating for them to fall in behind her. The three of them quietly passed through the jet way and into the utilitarian confines of the shuttle. She led the trio forward thru the small windowless aft section and settled on a row with a nice sized port to look thru. She stood aside and let Marel take the window seat. She gestured at Parah, and with a kidding sneer quipped, "Rank has privileges."
"Nice," he growled as he squeezed his large frame into the narrow seat row.
Rebecca waited for him to sit down before dropping into the aisle seat next to him. Minutes later, the shuttle lifted off the deck and dashed towards the nearby luxury liner.
Luxury Cruise Liner Cloud Nine.
Rebecca emerged from the jet-way into a lavish waiting room, complete with fountains, holographic statues, fine art, and large overstuffed leather sofas and lounges. The group was efficiently herded through the hatch and into an equally impressive passageway. This is the life she thought as they made their way towards the meeting.
It was the first time that she had set foot on a cruise liner since taking a school trip to Caprica as a child. Like most Sagittarons', Rebecca's family was poor, and she had only been able to pay for the trip by winning a scholarship. Climbing aboard that first cruiser had changed her life and given her purpose. Her goal from that day forward had been to get off the rock on which she had been raised and into the Captain's chair of an opulent star liner. And until two days ago, she had been moving towards that goal. Rebecca had hoped that the rich surroundings of the liner would quiet her unsettled mind as she followed the group through the corridors. Instead, she remained anxious and frustrated, her mind continuously rehashing the events from earlier in the day.
Bill Thurston 12 – 2 hours earlier
Rebecca had been sleeping in her bunk when the phone sharply rang out for her attention. She quickly sat up, lifting the phone from its base with an aggravated curse. "Yes," she drolled into the receiver.
"There's a gentleman at Airlock-1 waiting to see you. Says it's important."
Rebecca, scowled at the phone before replying, "Does he have a name?"
"Yeah, name's Wallace Gray, says he's an aide to the President."
"Alright, send him…" she paused for just a second. "Have Campara escort him to the galley, I'll meet him there in five minutes." She dropped the phone back into its receiver without waiting for a response from Marel. Sliding out of her rack, she hurriedly rustled through her locker looking for something to wear. Snorting in aggravation, she grabbed a set of navy coveralls and slipped into them. "This will be have to be presidential enough," she said gruffly to the image in the mirror.
Bill Thurston 12 – Galley.
She found the man sitting at a table, a cup of coffee in his hand and a laptop computer setting in front him. Dressed in a finer suit than anyone she had ever known, his thin brown hair was balding slightly and she guessed that he was in his mid-forties. Crossing to him, she extended her hand and flashed a blatantly insincere smile. "Mr. Gray, I'm Rebecca Davenport, ship's Captain. Welcome aboard."
"Thank you, Captain."
She walked around the table and sat on the bench across from him, "What do we owe for the pleasure?" she asked, her lips pulled into a wide smile.
He studied her carefully, his eyes narrowing slightly. "How are you and your crew holding up through all of this?" His head dropped slightly as he relaxed the muscles in his neck, waiting for her reply.
"Were muddling through the best we can. Thanks for asking." Ready to get the impromptu meeting started, Rebecca stiffened her back and raised herself to her full height. She looked the interloper directly in his watery eyes, "I'm afraid that I'm not one for pleasantries", she began. "Now, what can I do for you?" she asked impatiently.
He grimaced slightly, "Certainly ma'am, I certainly don't want to take up to much of your time, but there are a few things that we need to discuss if we are going to survive in both the near and the long term."
Rebecca had largely tuned out the chattering bureaucrat. Too tired to be concerned with manners, she closed her eyes as she rested her head in her hands, her fingers slowly massaging the screaming headache that had been tormenting her since she woke."Miss, Miss Davenport."
Rebecca shook her head slowly, opening her eyes she refocused on the man seated in front of her. "Umm, yes," she stated wearily.
He sighed quietly, "You haven't heard a word that I've said."
"Sorry, it's been a long couple of days," she responded, her aggravation from earlier replaced with exhaustion.
"That's fine, ma'am, we can discuss this in more detail later," he paused for a moment, then quickly slid his laptop to her. "If you would sign this work order, we can get started on the upgrades to your ship."
Rebecca sat bolt upright, "Upgrades?" she stammered. Rebecca watched the man brace himself. "What upgrades," she repeated.
The man's face hardened slightly, "The conversion of Cargo Holds Five and Six to living quarters for the refugees of this fleet."
Her blood boiling, Rebecca nearly leapt out of her seat at the arrogant administrator seated across from her. "Listen here, buddy. No one touches my ship," she spat out.
"Ms. Davenport, surely you recognize the dire straits that our people are in," he said in an exasperated tone. "The President…"
"The President is dead you moron," she cut him off, venom dripping from every word.
The well-dressed man stood to his full height, looking down at her with the well-practiced authority of one of Caprica's business elites. The exasperation in his voice from a minute ago replaced with directness, "Laura Roslin is the President now. The cargo-holds on this ship will be converted to living quarters. If needed, we can find someone else to captain her." He remained standing, sneering at her from up high, "Am I clear, Ms. Davenport?"
Trapped, she stood to face him. She snapped to attention; bringing her hand smartly to her eyebrow in a mocking salute. Fire in her eyes, she snarled, "Aye-Aye Captain."
"Good," he replied with a condescending smile. He turned to leave, but stopped. He looked her over with a casual expression on his face as he ignored her withering stare, "There is a fleet organization meeting at 12:30 that the President would like for you to attend. I will send someone to escort you and your senior officers to the conference. They will be here at 11:30, be sure to be ready."
The blood draining from her face, Rebecca silently fumed as she watched the man quietly head down the corridor towards the airlock. She watched him for a few moments longer, before turning in the opposite direction and retreating further into her ship.
At 11:30 sharp Hatch CT-1 opened and true to Mr. Gray's word, a nameless solider entered. Fixing him with a haughty and arrogant gaze, she motioned for him to wait while she gathered Parah and Marel. Without a word, Rebecca and her shipmates walked through the hatch into the station, leaving him behind. He caught up with them a moment later, passing her wordlessly before leading them to the waiting Mag-Lev train.
Luxury Cruise Ship Cloud-9
Rebecca had been running that conversation through her head for most of her trek through the bowels of the ship. Frustrated, her mind spinning in circles, she repeatedly asked herself, 'What is my plan?' She didn't have one.
The thought of letting a team of strangers on her ship and run roughshod through it, cutting and welding sections together at the their whim sickened her. But what choice did she have? It's not like she could stand up to a Battlestar, she told herself. Part of her, a very small part of her, understood the administration's position; stories of over-crowding throughout the gathered ships were running rampant across the station. What really pissed her off was that no one asked her. This was her ship dammit, and who in the hell were they to tell her what to do. She wanted, desperately wanted, to tell them all to kiss her lily-white ass, as she and her ship sailed on their own for greener pastures. But, as she thought about it more carefully, she realized striking out on her own was not a long term solution.
Rebecca hadn't been planning to leave the illusory security offered by the venerated Battlestar. Continuously rehashing the problem in her mind, she would conclude that, for the time being, she had to remain with the Galactica for protection and supplies. Minutes later she would deduce that remaining with the Galactica was certain suicide, as the Cylons would certainly prioritize finding the old warship and her freighter by default. Distracted by her internal ruminations, she hadn't noticed that the crowd had slowed their march. Snapping her mind back to reality, she observed that the narrow corridor had opened into a wide foyer, with three sets of double doors in front of them.
In the front of the room, a long table covered in a dark and rich blue fabric was set with five chairs and matching name plaques. The flags of the Twelve Colonies stood proudly behind the table as if the events of the past two days hadn't occurred at all. It also did not slip Rebecca's attention that the flag of Caprica stood near the center, while the flag of her home colony Sagittaron was relegated to the last position on the left hand side. Some things never change, even after the apocalypse, she thought.
The majority of the ships officers and crew were milling about the large room, gathered in groups of three and four. Most were talking quietly amongst themselves, sharing the latest rumors and gossip, while a very small minority boasted loudly of their exploits in a vain attempt to bolster their ego. She did her best to avoid everyone. Failing to find a head to retreat to, she turned towards the next best thing, a water fountain hidden in a small alcove at the back of the room. Finishing her drink, she turned to leave only to feel a hand lightly tap her on the shoulder.
She turned to face the man. He was short, which is to say that he was slightly taller than her. He was thin and dirty, with flowing greasy blonde hair pulled into a short pony tail.
"Hi," he said, "Gabe McClacken, drill operator on the Monarch," he started, wearing a silly grin on his face.
She noticed that his eyes were directed below her chin. Glaring at him, she looked at the grimy and stubble faced man in front of her and almost responded, 'Bitchy lesbian, back off.' She held her tongue, and almost to her own surprise, she instead responded with an extended hand and smile, "Rebecca Davenport, Bill Thurston 12."
His eyes ticked upwards, his cool green eyes meeting her hard brown ones. "Hell of a couple days," he muttered absently.
Rebecca scanned the room for her crew-mates, hoping to use them as an excuse to extricate herself from the man's musings.
But the man pressed on. He wore a determined expression on his face now, his eyes hardening slightly, "We were in the Archeron Belt when the Basestars jumped in," he paused momentarily. "Don't look a thing like the ones from the first war, more like jacks from the kids game, and a damn sight bigger than old ones, too," he added randomly. "Had a front row seat to the whole thing."
Rebecca could tell that he was waiting for her. She had planned to choose the least interesting response she could, but instead asked "What were you doing in the field?"
The man seemed taken aback momentarily, "Well the Monarch's a mining ship. Sorry, I assumed you had checked out the ship registry."
"Been kind of busy since we got here, I haven't really paid attention to the com log. That's probably why they had to send that corporal to drag me here in the first place." She found herself smiling slightly as she pointed at the soldier who had led the group of refugees to the meeting.
"Right," he paused a second, preparing himself to start his story again. "Yeah, well we saw it all. The Basestars showed up, a Battlestar and a couple cruisers came out to meet 'em, and then they just went dead. It was a slaughter. First them Basestars tore up those ships, then they started rainin' nukes down at the planet, meanwhile their raiders took out every single ship they seen, civilian or military." He shook his head and shuddered in an effort to clear the memory. "We hadn't been hiding in that belt, man, we'd be dead too," he finished quietly.
"I'm from Sagittaron," she offered somberly.
"Yeah, me too," he responded quietly. "Well, I'm glad you got out."
She reached for him, grabbing his elbow softly as he turned to leave. She waited until she had his full attention, "We were on our way to Virgon, outside of DRADIS range." She squeezed her eyes together momentarily, "We heard the entire battle over the wireless, by the time we got in system, the fleet, Hagenus Station," she paused "hell the whole fracking planet was gone." She looked down at the floor, her hands were clenched, "The whole fracking planet," she choked.
"Wait a minute," he responded, a mixture of confusion and awe in his voice, "You went in system?"
"Yeah, we rescued some of the crew from one of the Battlestar's before jumping to Sagittaron," she said dejectedly.
"Your heroes," he stated. "May the gods bless you."
She looked up at him, a mixture of sorrow, resentment and pride clouding her thoughts, "We're not heroes, and to be honest, I'm not real thrilled with the gods right now, either." Turning her head towards the center of the room she found that Parah and Marel had grabbed seats near the back. She turned back to Gabe, "My crew's waiting for me."
"Yeah, I guess we had better get our seats," he answered quietly.
"Thanks, Gabe," she responded. Spinning on her heel, she quickly made her way to join her crew mates.
Rebecca crossed the space and took a seat next to Nurse Harris, whom unexpectedly had joined them. Rebecca could see that Spera was exhausted. She was wearing dirty and wrinkled scrubs provided by the Battlestar's medical staff. She looked over her nurse with concern. Her face was strained and tight, her hair was disheveled. Small stains of blood, grease, and other chemicals could be seen on her hands, under her fingernails and on the cuffs of her sleeves. Even Spera's pale blue eyes, usually so vibrant, now appeared dull and tired. Slowly reaching over, Rebecca softly squeezed the top of her knee. "You alright?" she asked.
Spera turned to her, "Yeah, just tired," she answered dully. She looked down at her lap and then covered Rebecca's hand with her own. She squeezed it, and then looked up at Rebecca. "It's pretty bad down there, they're really short staffed, and there are so many patients. Lots of wounded: burns, broken bones, exposure. Did you know they took a nuke in their port flight-pod?" she asked.
"That explains the damage we saw when we came in," Rebecca responded quietly. She removed her hand, placing it in her own lap before asking, "I wonder why that ship survived when all the others didn't?"
"Scuttle-Butt is it had something to do with the computers," Parah's boorish voice belted out sharply. "I expect they will let us know in this meeting."
Rebecca ignored his comment, her attention instead focused on a young man with a mop of brown wavy hair. Her eyes followed him as he made his way to the center podium, noticing for the first time that it had the Presidential Seal fastened to it. No shit, she thought, as the occupants of the room suddenly became very quiet.
"Excuse me, please," he stated into the microphone. "My name is Billy Keikeya," he said nervously. "If you will all please give me your attention, we can get started."
Four people crossed the stage from the left, two men and two women. Taking a seat to the left of the center chair was an obese dark skinned Priestess. She wore the ceremonial robes with an air of righteousness that could only come from the cloth. A familiar looking man with shoulder length black hair sat next to the Priestess. Rebecca guessed that he was in his early thirties. He was nervous and appeared disheveled, despite being impeccably dressed in a fashionable black pin-striped suit. On the other side of the table the Captain of the Cloud-9 seemed to alight gently on the chair in front of her before delicately removing her cover. A tall and thin woman, she had bronze skin and seemed exceptionally fit for a woman in her mid-sixties. She sat at rigid attention exceeding the crisp creases of the glaring white and elaborately adorned uniform that she wore. Rebecca quashed a flare of anger as the last man, Wallace Gray, took his seat to the right side of the President.
Rebecca chewed her cheek as a growing discomfort gnawed at her while she looked over the group that settled into their seats. The source of her discomfort materialized a moment later, the sudden realization sounding like a bell in her mind, she nearly stood up in alarm, her head swiveling back forth as she scanned the audience seated around her. Settling back in her seat, she looked down in her lap, her spirits quickly plunging down another pitfall in this roller coaster of a day.
"What is it, Becca?" the soft voice of Spera beckoned her.
Rebecca looked up and met her friend's eyes. "The military, they're not here." She watched as Spera broke her gaze so that she could quickly scan the room.
"Well, I'm sure their very busy. I wouldn't worry too much about it." She offered hopefully.
Rebecca closed her eyes as she tried to calm her free-falling emotions. Oh, you lucky naïve girl,she thought to herself. She opened her eyes, finding Spera's large blue eyes looking over her worriedly. "Spera, if the President doesn't have the backing of the military, then this fleet has no chance. This is very, very bad," she whispered to the young nurse.
"Ladies and Gentleman," the young man behind the microphone addressed them, "The President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, Laura Roslin." The man quickly stepped back before scurrying to a small desk placed in the far left corner of the stage.
She found herself craning her neck uncomfortably to see through the mass of people whom had immediately stood up. Rebecca just now realized that the room was filled to capacity. She guessed that at least 300 people were inside. A woman in a gray suit emerged from the left side of the stage and confidently crossed to the center position. Rebecca estimated she was in her mid-fifties. She was tall with full, reddish-brown hair, and she wore glasses.
Hours earlier, Rebecca's morale had managed to plummet to depths never before reached after she had discovered that President Adar had been replaced by the Secretary of Education. But to her surprise, the woman behind the podium was not the timid, overwhelmed, and scared school teacher that she had expected. Her eyes, piercing through her glasses, told a very different story. This woman was angry, that much was obvious. But she was also crafty, strong, confident, and very, very intelligent. Rebecca's spirits boosted somewhat as she took her seat with the rest of the audience. Hazarding a glance to her left, she caught Spera's attention, and shot her a rare hopeful smile.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," her hands gripped the podium as if she had to hold it in place. She scanned the crowd slowly from left to right, gauging the audience's demeanor with her eyes. "Early yesterday morning the Cylons launched a massive and unprovoked attack upon all twelve colonies and every satellite outpost. I will let Commander Kronus address the specifics of the attack and the condition of our fleet. Needless to say, the attack was unquestionably catastrophic. Nuclear bombardments have made our home worlds unlivable, and we estimate that upwards of 49 billion souls were lost." She paused as the audience groaned in response to the number of casualties. "Included in those killed are President Richard Adar, the entire Quorum of Twelve, and every member of the President's cabinet, except for myself. It is with a heavy heart that I have assumed the Presidency of the Twelve Colonies as required by the Order of Succession in the Articles of Colonization." She continued to hold her head high, as she waited for the crowd to settle. "To the best of our knowledge, this fleet of 50,309 souls contains the last surviving members of not just our society, but of our species." This time she cut off the audience's response, "This meeting is about our future, not our past," she stated dramatically. "With me at the table are; Bao-Hai Kronus, the Captain of the Cloud-9 and a retired Commander of the Colonial Fleet. She has agreed to act as my military advisor. Seated next to her is Mr. Wallace Gray, the founder of Aegle Health; he will be coordinating logistical efforts for the fleet. On the left side of the table, the Priestess Elosha will be providing spiritual and moral guidance during these difficult times. Seated at the end, I am sure you all recognize Dr. Gaius Baltar, he will be serving as my science and technology advisor. Now if you would all bow your heads, Elosha will offer a prayer to the gods."
Rebecca watched the leaders more than she listened to the platitudes of regret and the plans to rebuild which they extolled to the audience. But, she found herself sitting at the edge of her seat as the newly appointed President and then Commander Kronus spoke. It was an odd pairing she thought; the modern, liberated, and idealistic president was a strong counter to the stoic and clearly conservative retired naval officer standing by her side. She vacantly listened to the presentation and was pleasantly surprised by it. It was a fairly informative, if not a vague, summation of the attack, the status of the colonies, and what they knew of the Cylons. Her mind stopped however when they declared their intent to flee the colonies, effectively abandoning any survivors to the Cylons. A flash of fury shot through her, and before she could think she shot up out of her seat. Both the President and Wallace Gray were watching her intently.
"You have some concerns, miss?" the President asked. "If you would, tell us your name first," she added coldly.
She matched the president's gaze, "I'm Rebecca Davenport, from the freighter Bill Thurston 12," she stated clearly. She waited as the President and Mr. Gray turned to each other, watching as the two silently acknowledged her identity between them. She took a moment and when she was fully composed, she calmly addressed the two leaders. "I believe it would be unfortunate if we left our surviving brothers and sisters to the Cylons without at least attempting a rescue." Relaxing slightly, she quietly sat down in her seat.
Laura Roslin closed her eyes and bowed her head slightly as if she were physically struck. Fully recovered, she faced the audience before quietly responding, "Thank you, Ms. Davenport." Laura spoke slowly and in a measured tone, "not only for bringing up such a delicate, and important concern, but also for putting your ship and crew at risk when you rescued the survivors from the Battlestar Promptus." She kept her eyes fixed on Rebecca as she continued, "Unfortunately, any attempt to rescue survivors from our home worlds at this point would be suicide." The President looked over the crowd critically before turning to her right, "Commander Kronus?"
The President's military advisor waited for the President to move aside, before she stepped to the podium. "Thank you, Madam President." She looked down at the podium as she sorted through her notes. "We have confirmed that every colony has a minimum of four Basestars stationed in orbit, Caprica has the most with eight. We can also confirm that the Cylons have destroyed all major population centers and that they have landed ground troops on every home world. Any remaining survivors at this point are spread out in small groups and have gone into hiding. Additionally, survivors are battling the effects from radiation exposure. Even if we could get sufficient forces to the ground to retrieve survivors, we would not have the time to find them, we don't have the ships to get them off planet, and we don't have the medical supplies or food to treat and feed them. The Galactica is our last known remaining warship, and it is imperative that she remain with this fleet." The polished demeanor presented by the retired Commander dulled slightly as she sighed in resignation, "The Cylons have destroyed our homes, but they have not destroyed us. The Sacred Souls tell us that 'All of this has happened before, and it will all happen again.'" The ship captain looked to the President for a moment, before continuing, "As our ancestors set off from a devastated Kobol in search of a new home thousands of years ago, so shall we. We will take this fleet, and we will set off to find a new home for our children, and our children's children. We will find a new home which will provide us a safe and stable future, a place where we can rebuild our society in time." Looking slightly self-conscious, she turned away from the podium and quietly sat down.
The President resumed her place at the podium and looked over the crowd with a greater sense of confidence. A tight smile pulling the corners of her mouth upwards, she nodded at her adviser, "Thank you, Commander, for your inspirational words." She turned back to the crowd, looking them over, "Ladies and Gentleman, our road is uncharted and treacherous, but if we stay together, we will prevail. I have taken enough of your time already, thank you."
The crowd erupted in applause as the new President walked off the stage. Rebecca clapped as well, although not with the same enthusiasm as her colleagues. Instead, a single thought spread from the pit of her stomach through her core, seeping into every pore of her being. They were doomed, if the military would not support her, they were doomed. "Shit, now what?" she whispered quietly to herself.