Chapter 34 - Take Me Where I Cannot Stand
Miranda, The Verse - January, 2250
The roar and blast of engines shook the grass across the otherwise silent landscape. An Earth Force assault shuttle and a Colonial Raptor touched down at the same time. A Cylon Heavy Raider followed just a second later. They were merely the first of dozens. Hopefully, if they did their jobs well, they would be followed by thousands more within days. Colonization had begun.
Miranda was the perfect candidate. Terraformed into a perfect world for humanity. The right air, the right gravity, even the right amount of sunlight, if a little too red for general comfort. Beyond that, it had fully established infrastructure. And entire cities and towns, complete with established utilities, sat more or less intact. Certainly, it had been abandoned and decaying for many years, and there had been a certain amount of damage during the collapse. But it was still light years more built up than they had any right to hope for. They wouldn't have to terraform. They wouldn't have to tear apart their own ships to build up a civilization, one hut at a time. It was perfect.
More so because no one claimed it. The Alliance didn't want to be here. They wanted to pretend the place didn't exist. And everyone else was terrified of the Reavers. Who were a danger, certainly, but they also seemed to have no interest in the planet. The only real concern was the Pax, but careful analysis had shown definitively that all traces of it had broken down.
Yes, Miranda was the perfect candidate for colonization. And the civilian inhabitants of two fleets demanded their shot at it. Be they Colonial or Earth Alliance, unending months of being packed into tin cans like sardines…of being helpless to do anything about their fate, having to place the entirety of their future into the hands of their protectors and leaders, bubbled over into screaming frustration. The people demanded to be let out of their pens. They demanded a chance to walk free under the sunlight and feel the wind in their hair. They demanded a shot at building a new future. They demanded home.
And nothing was going to stop them. Even the Cylon young, for lack of a better term, were looking for a place where they could grow into individuals. It had been Roslin who had seen the writing on the wall. Organized the colonization effort. And so now a horde of Colonial and Earth Force specialists descended on the former, and likely future, capital city of Miranda. They didn't even know its name. But it would be their job to bring the city back to life. To repair and restart the power plants. To get the electricity and water and sewers all flowing again. To make this dead world a home. But first they'd need to remove the prior inhabitants.
Stepping down from his Raptor, Chief Galen Tyrol looked around and took stock of his assets. He'd volunteered for this detail, and though the Admiral wouldn't allow him to set aside his duties on the Galactica for very long, he'd been given permission to come down, set up, and organize the Colonial portion of the effort. And the Cylon too, apparently. Upon hearing that he'd been put in charge of the Colonial efforts, the Cylon council had happily seconded their own forces to him as well.
He watched now as a pair of Sixes, apparently of the young and unprogrammed variety, went running by, gazelle-like. They were laughing and chasing each other through the high grass. Even the older Cylons and his own jaded personnel seemed uncharacteristically cheerful. Everywhere he looked, he saw smiles in the ruddy sunlight.
Looking over, he saw that it was a bit rougher on the Earth Alliance folks. They had a far broader pool of manpower and talent from which to draw, including specialists in all of the various tasks they would need to perform. Galen knew he'd probably be making shit up as he went. And the Earth Alliance had all of the right tools and supplies for the job as well.
But for all of that, Galen was just as happy to be on the Colonial and Cylon side of the aisle. Their people seemed no less cheerful, but there was no running and playing there. For every smile, he saw grimaces in equal measure. People were stepping gingerly, many shambling like they were elderly. Those people had been in space well over a year. Their military personnel had been in zero g for most of that time. And even once they had gotten the grav plates he had helped to provide, only the most crew intensive parts of their vessels had gotten them. Which meant that those officers and crew had still only gotten to spend a small portion of their day in gravity.
It wasn't all that much better for their civilians either. They'd had centripetally generated pseudo-gravity for the entire trip. But that simply wasn't a match for true gravity, or even the artificial kind Colonial and Cylon tech could provide. Coriolis forces put weird strains on the body. Being stuck with mostly perfectly flat floors and horizons which curved in the wrong direction didn't help much either. All of those people would need to reacclimate to living and working on a planet.
By unspoken consensus, both Tyrol and the Earth Alliance foreman allowed their people fifteen minutes to simply rest and enjoy themselves. And then it was down to work. Today would be about establishing a basecamp on the outskirts of the city. Heavy equipment, mostly transports, were decanted from storage and put to work. A series of buildings were selected, and crews went in to sweep them. The bodies of the original inhabitants were removed, carefully and respectfully. Some tissue samples were taken for analysis, but otherwise they were all taken to be cremated in the industrial incinerator which had been brought down for that exact purpose.. Those performing the burning wore full haz-mat suits, and were carefully sampling the exhaust, lest any of the G-23 Paxilon Hydrochlorate locked up in those bodies might be released into the atmosphere. But all the tests came back clear.
As the bodies were cleared, other teams went to work on repairing the buildings. Generators were set up and adjusted to match the local grid, and power was quickly restored. Still others began clearing brush, and setting up defenses. It was almost surprising how smoothly the Cylon, Colonial, and Earth Alliance teams were working together.
Tyrol was thinking about calling a break for lunch when he heard a squeal of static coming from within the cabin of the Raptor. Walking over and hopping up into the cabin, he found Racetrack hunched over the comms panel. "What's going on?"
"Galactica's trying to communicate with us, but it's being lost in some kind of interference. Ionization in the upper atmosphere maybe." She keyed to transmit. "Galactica, Racetrack. Say again. Your last signal did not come through. Say again. Over." There was another burst and squeal of static as Galactica retransmitted the message, but not a single word was decipherable.
"I'll head over to the Heavy Raider," Tyrol advised. "Maybe the Cylon systems will have an easier time filtering out the interference."
He was turning to leave when one of the Eights came sprinting up from that direction. Despite the speed with which she was crossing the ground, she wasn't so much as out of breath. Galen found himself just a bit jealous. Why the hells hadn't he gotten any of that Cylon stamina?
Such thoughts were wiped from his mind when the approaching Eight blurted out, "Reavers! There are Reaver ships on direct approach to this location! The Galactica scrambled Vipers to intercept, but they were out of position. They'll be on us any minute."
Perhaps it was just his imagination, but Tyrol would swear he could now hear the low rumble of approaching vessels. He didn't hesitate, slamming down a hand to activate the Raptor's sirens and hazard lights, attempting to get everyone's attention. He grabbed up the mic handset and keyed the comms system to broadcast over both the radio and the Raptor's loudspeakers. "All personnel, evacuate to your ships. We have hostiles inbound. Crews, man your ships and prepare for take off. Do not try to salvage your gear. Just drop whatever you're doing and get your asses on board those ships! Move it, people!"
Dropping the handset, he leapt out of the Raptor and sprinted away to ensure none of his people got left behind. A quick glance showed that the Earth Force personnel had just begun their own evacuation. And now the low rumbling in the air was unmistakable, coming from the south. Turning to look in that direction, he saw half a dozen vessels in the distance, dropping out of the sky. Dark and beetle-like, their drives clearly poorly tuned, trails of bilious black smoke left floating in their wake.
The evacuation actually went well, given it was mostly a bunch of panicked civilians. Even so, it was taking too long, the Reaver ships growing as they rapidly approached. An Earth Force officer came running by, face red and breathing ragged. Tyrol winced as a bone in the officer's leg snapped audibly. With a scream he collapsed to the ground. Cursing, Tyrol bent down over the man's injured side, and put a shoulder under the man's arm, levering him up off of the ground. He assisted the young Earth Force officer in hobbling over to the nearby Raptor, the man whimpering as his broken leg shifted and bounced with the movement. Losing patience at the end, Galen simply picked him up and threw him into the craft, then hopped in after.
A couple of the civilian shuttles were just getting off the ground as Racetrack launched the Raptor. Galen contacted the Earth Force assault shuttle and advised them he had one of their officers aboard. Panning one of the outside cameras, he saw that shuttle, the last still remaining on the ground, begin to take off. An energy beam from the lead Reaver ship slammed into the shuttle. The vessel's heavy armor held off the worst of the blast, but it lost all power and dropped a half dozen meters to smack back into the ground.
One of the Reaver ships a bit further back fired a shot which flashed past the Raptor's canopy. "Frak!" Racetrack screamed, dropping the small craft into a dive to pick up speed just a little bit faster. The maneuver sent those inside, several of whom, including Galen, had yet to strap in, bouncing and tumbling around the cabin. Tyrol managed to grab a handhold, but watched one of the Marines stumble and land directly on the Earth Force officer's broken leg. The officer didn't even scream this time, simply blacking out. The Marine, on the other hand, freaked out, feeling the officer's leg flex obscenely underneath him.
Warning alarms shrieked and Racetrack cursed again, banking hard and popping a twin trail of flares behind them. There was a flash, and the Raptor heaved, dislodging Tyrol from his handhold and slamming him to the floor. "Frak this! Where's our godsdamned air cover?"
"Who needs those prima donnas?" Racetrack quipped. "They're probably still doing their frakking hair." Gravity and the world outside the canopy spun dizzyingly, and Tyrol floated up off of the floor before being slammed violently back into it. When he managed to look forward again, they were flying behind the formation of Reaver craft. He could see the gaggle of fleeing Earth Alliance, Colonial, and Cylon craft just beyond them. "Have a taste of your own medicine," Racetrack snarled, and a pair of missiles went shrieking off of the Raptor's hardpoints to impact the engine bells of the nearest Reaver vessel. The whole craft came apart spectacularly.
"We must have destabilized their reactor," Tyrol shouted. "Those missiles shouldn't have done that much damage. Racetrack sent another volley of missiles slamming into a second Reaver ship. This one was apparently better maintained. It began billowing even more smoke and went plummeting towards the surface, but it didn't simply come apart midair. The Raptor began to climb as Racetrack pulled up hard. "What are you doing?" Tyrol shouted.
"We have to break and run," she replied. "That was the last of our missiles. We didn't come down with a full load." In the distance, Tyrol witnessed one of the Reavers fire a godsdamned harpoon into the back of an Earth Alliance shuttle. With a violent jerk of the cable, it began to real in the unarmed vessel. The pilot must have panicked and lost control, because the vessel began swinging wildly at the end of the cable, until it impacted moving sideways against the side of a rocky hillside. The shuttle burst apart in a violent fireball.
The civilian vessels were scattering now, not attempting to maintain formation as they each made a run for safety. Tyrol saw another of the Reaver vessels hovering over the downed Earth Force assault shuttle, Reavers roping down to engage and slaughter the injured Marines who were attempting to defend themselves and the civilians who were aboard. And then he saw another of the scabrous vessels turning their way. Giving chase to their Raptor. Racetrack engaged with the wingtip mounted chainguns, the heavy caliber weapons hammering away beneath them.
They didn't seem to have much effect. Racetrack was forced to bank hard as another beam weapon went streaking past the Raptor. They were now too low and slow to do much maneuvering, and the Reaver was catching up to them. "Spool up the Jump Drive," Tyrol shouted. He was too late.
A trio of missiles impacted the Reaver vessel with devastating effect. They were followed up by a squadron of Vipers, coming in hot. The squadron split to envelop the remainder of the Reavers, still chasing the fleeing shuttles. Saving their missiles, they caught up to and flew rings around the Reaver craft, dodging counter-fire and using their autocannon with pinpoint accuracy against any visible weak points.
One after another the Reaver vessels fell from the sky, either exploding midair or breaking up on impact. The final Reaver ship, which had been hovering over the downed assault shuttle, began to move. It didn't appear to Tyrol that they had left any survivors on the ground. Not many corpses either. Apparently they'd taken their food with them. The Viper jocks weren't about to let that stand, and this time they unleashed their missiles…half a dozen of them impacting near simultaneously on the wallowing craft. The flaming detritus of the vessel rained down, covering the remains of the assault shuttle and her slaughtered crew.
Tyrol looked around, taking in the ruined aftermath of their first attempts at colonization. They'd been so focused on how the Alliance might react that they'd underestimated the Reaver threat. And because of it they'd lost yet more irreplaceable citizens. They wouldn't give up, but this whole effort was going to need to be rethought. "Take us back to the Galactica."
Battlestar Pegasus, Ion Cloud, The Verse - January, 2250
"What the hell is this piece of obsolete gǒushǐ?" the 'Mechanic' called Kaylee asked acerbically.
Commander Laurel Takashima's ears perked up at the phrase. The last word sounded…very familiar. She had been tasked by Commodore Sheridan with checking on the Serenity crew and making certain they got what they needed to repair their vessel. In return, the crew were answering every question they were asked about the system and the local cultures and technologies. Answers which frequently sent the questioners spinning in circles of miscommunication and misunderstanding. And who the hell names their solar system the 'Verse? Laurel wondered. Massively egocentric.
The Pegasus's Chief Engineer, similarly assigned to assist with the repairs to the Serenity, didn't appear to appreciate the comment. "That," he said acerbically, "is a brand new, high end spare, produced here, by the Pegasus's state of the art fabbers."
"Gǒushǐ is gǒushǐ, don't matter where it was made, or by what. But I guess it will have to do. Maybe I can break it down and rejigger it into something a bit more useful."
The Chief Engineer was puffing up dangerously, about to explode, when a calm voice inserted, "Why don't you head back down to Engineering, Captain?" Major Kendra Shaw, making the order sound like more of a suggestion, approached the confrontation. "I'll continue to interface with the Serenity crew."
Only slightly red in the face, he gave a sharp nod and did an about face, seething silently as he exited. And if he pulled the hatch shut a little more forcefully than required on his way out…well, it wasn't quite a slam. "That one is rather…punctilious," Takashima found herself saying.
"If by punctilious you mean he's got a giant stick up his ass," Shaw replied, "then I agree completely. Quite unlike miss Frye here. But it makes him good at his job."
"Hey," Kaylee said defensively, "I'm good at my job. And I save the ass sticks for special occasions."
Laurel, chuckling, approached at the same time Kendra did. "If the Pegasus can't provide the parts you need, then I can see if the Earth Alliance fleet can manufacture something that meets your needs. But our tech base has a fair amount of differences. If it's grav tech you need, we probably won't be able to come close to meeting your requirements. We could try the Cylons though."
"I should be able to make this work," Kaylee declined. "But thank you. Are you really from Earth-That-Was?"
"I'm from a planet named Earth. Whether or not that's your Earth-That-Was….we're still trying to figure out. Was that a little Mandarin I heard?" she asked, changing the subject. "Nǐ huì shuō guóyǔ ma?"
"Doesn't everyone?" Kaylee asked, a bit of confusion wrinkling her brow. "It's pretty much everywhere in the 'Verse."
"Not so much. Nihongo ga wakarimasu ka?" At Kaylee's look of pure confusion, she translated, "I was asking if you spoke Japanese as well."
"I never even heard of it."
"Well my Japanese father would be officially insulted by that situation. And my Chinese mother would find it hilarious. I guess I'll have to settle for getting to speak Mandarin."
"And I've been told I need to learn Old Canceran," Shaw noted, "which is apparently the Colonial match. "'We need to make sure we're not missing anything,'" she said, visibly mimicking Commander Adama.
"Aww…it ain't hard." Kaylee offered. "Besides…we mostly use it for cursing."
"And on that note," Captain Reynolds said, emerging from the Serenity's forward hatch, "you got a part that needs installin'. We work before we gossip." Grimacing, Kaylee stomped back into the ship. Mal, on the other hand, spent a long moment examining both Laurel and Kendra. "Ladies. We very much appreciate your assistance. But somehow I doubt officers of your rank were selected for delivering parts. Somethin' I can do you for?"
"Just wanted to have a little chat, Captain Reynolds," Laurel said. "On your turf. Nothing like an interrogation. Just a friendly chat."
"Well that'll be nice for a change."
"You heard about the trouble we ran into on Miranda?"
"Heard the Reavers made a mess of trouble. Now who could'a foretold that? Oh, wait. Seems I recall tellin' you folks that stakin' claim to that rock'd end in tears. But ya went ahead anyway."
"And we have no plans of stopping," Major Shaw cut in. "Our people need a world to settle, and Miranda has everything we need. Air, water, infrastructure…"
"Bloodthirsty cannibals flyin' round in orbit..."
Kendra sighed. "That too."
"We were focused on potential Alliance reprisals," Laurel calmly advised. "Reprisals for helping broadcast that message. We considered the Reavers to be the lesser threat."
"And so they are. Don't mean you should take your eyes off 'em."
"Which means we have a problem," Kendra replied. "We need that planet. We'll have to deal with the Reavers, but in helping you, we've potentially made an enemy of the Alliance. We can't afford to be caught between the two."
"Well, that is a problem. Fortunately, it ain't mine."
"So it looks like we'll have to come to some sort of arrangement with the Alliance. Work out a treaty, so we can focus on dealing with the Reavers, without having to constantly be keeping an eye on our backs."
Reynolds stiffened. "Any treaty they sign wouldn't be worth the paper it was printed on. Is that likewise true of you? You didn't strike me as the types who would work with the Alliance. Not after what they done."
"Isn't that why we did it, though?" Laurel asked. "To shed light on the conspiracy? To expose those responsible to the consequences of their action? Maybe even instigate their replacement and some actual reform?"
"Even if they do get replaced, and I ain't sayin' they will be…those what follow will be just as bad. That's what government is…a pool that allows the thickest corruption to float to the top. And any reforms won't do more than provide the mental exercise necessary to figure out how to get around them. Most likely those work arounds will be built in from the start. Only a fool'd trust the Alliance to not act like the Alliance.
Our primary responsibility is to our people," she noted. "So we'll do what's necessary to ensure their safety. And right now getting caught between the Reavers and the Alliance would seem to be the biggest threat to their continued survival. Followed closely by any conflict with the Alliance. The Reavers we can handle. The Alliance has the numbers and resources to hurt us, wear us down…and eventually bury us. We need to find a way to avoid that possibility."
Reynolds nodded. "That's why the Independents lost. Superior numbers. Still, with the technology and fleet I've seen in the last few days, I can't imagine it would take much in the way of support to keep you out from under the Alliance's thumb."
"Well the Reavers aren't exactly the supporting type, and your Independent Faction isn't around anymore. If I understand correctly, the Alliance has subsumed everyone else. Even your Mr. Universe seems to have gone off the airwaves. So unless you have any other ideas, we have to deal with the reality that's in front of us, and that's finding a way to appease the Alliance."
Captain Reynolds considered her for a long moment, clearly mulling his next words over carefully. "Might be I know some folks you could speak with. Folks who might have what you need."
"Really?"
"Might be the Independents could rise again."
Major Shaw took a step forward, head canted to one side and staring hard at the Captain. Laurel felt a shiver run up her spine at the sound of certainty and ill-gained knowledge when Kendra finally spoke. "I won't call you a liar, Captain Reynolds, but you're stretching the truth awfully far. You don't actually know any of the power brokers of the Independent Faction, and you think most of them are gone anyway. You have no basis for assuming a resurgent Independence movement other than your own hopes and fears. And the loose network of…smugglers and black marketeers you are connected to could never hope to support this fleet."
Reynolds spent another brief moment staring at Shaw. "You speak the truth. I was just a lowly Sergeant during the war, with no connections to the high up muckety mucks. My promotion to Captain came at the end of the war. But I do know people who might know the names or even whereabouts of the people you'd need to talk to…assuming they exist. There's still a desire for freedom. For an end to Alliance tyranny. Even among those with the power to do something about it. Most of the old High Command are dead or disappeared. But their networks still must exist. There's power and the anger to use it out there, if you can find the right connection. The former High Council are scattered, but still around. But I'd advise you to steer clear of those snakes. It's them that sold us out to the Alliance. Decided the war was too hard and the Alliance bribery too juicy, and left us to rot that was fightin' and diein'. But that's government for you."
Laurel did her best to cut to the heart of his statement. "So...you might know people who might know people who just might have the ability to help us. That's a hell of a thin hope you're handing us, but I'll pass it on to the Commodore." Shaw nodded as well, indicating that at least one of the Adamas would be hearing about the Captain's offer. "But," she continued, "the way you talk about government, you sound almost like an anarchist. So, I have to ask…you do realize that the Earth Alliance and Colonial people will be setting up at least one…and possibly more governments?"
"Well," he replied bluffly, "nobody's perfect."
Black Omega Squadron, Edge of the Ion Cloud, The Verse - January, 2250
"Easy people. Let's edge back just a little. Don't want to get spotted." Commander Alfred Bester wasn't a huge fan of this mission, not that he allowed his subordinates to know that, but he was certainly enjoying a chance to get back behind the stick. His duties to Commodore Sheridan and amongst the command staff had lately afforded him precious few opportunities to do so. Still, playing babysitter for a civilian vessel wasn't exactly his idea of a great time. Even if that vessel was one of the fleet's more valuable assets.
"You heard the man," came Lieutenant Costanza's voice, "back it up!" Today Hotdog was commanding Black Omega's second wing. It felt odd having a non-telepath in that role…but then Costanza was just odd in general. Still, Bester found himself liking the kid.
The Arecibo was a member of the IPX fleet which had been drafted into the exodus. Less specialized than the Hubble, it was a multispectrum observatory used by IPX to review planets and even systems at long range for any signs of current or former habitation. Capable of picking up everything from deep radio waves to high end gamma, the vessel even swept for tachyon emissions. It wasn't as specialized or deep ranging as the Hubble, but it's broad range of capabilities made it useful in an entirely different way. They also made it perfect for being shanghaied into the role of espionage and observation via signals intel.
That's what they were doing here. Having located a nearby knot of Reaver vessels, the orders had come down: the fleet needed to know as much about their current adversaries as possible, and it was their job to get it. They'd gathered a small force to escort the vessel and then crept in close under cover of the nebular gasses in the area. At this range, even using passive sensors only, the Arecibo was able to give them rather intricate detail of both the exteriors and interiors of the nearby Reaver vessels.
"If we pull back any farther, the gasses are going to interfere with our scans," the civilian Captain of the IPX vessel commed back.
A moment later, the point became moot, as the small gathering of Reaver vessels broke up, heading out in a half dozen different directions. One of them would pass not too far from where the Earth Force vessels were sheltering. "Step down to minimal power!" Bester ordered sharply. "Time to be a hole in space. But be ready!"
They waited and watched as the bizarre looking vessel grew from a speck to a fully detailed ship as it closed the distance. Then it was at the point of closest approach, and passing through. Al breathed a sigh of relief, cut off in mid-exhalation, as fighters began peeling off randomly from where they'd hung on the ship like scabrous growths, while the ship itself began a hard bank. They all headed directly for the Arecibo, weapons heating up.
"They made us!" he blurted. "All fighters, defensive cordon. Weapons hot! Arecibo, get the frag out of here!"
And then the Reaver fighters were upon them. The Auroras were better armed and more maneuverable to boot, but they'd been sitting there cold, and the Reavers had both greater numbers and a built up head of steam. Rockets began flying in, and the Starfury pilots, Bester included, were forced to focus their initial fire on the inbound munitions rather than the bogies which had fired them.
They managed to blow most of the missiles out of space, though one got through and detonated against an Aurora's wing. It turned out to be Hotdog's wingman, but the well built Starfury, badly damaged and mission killed, nonetheless held together. A moment later the Reaver vessels flashed right through their formation, giving chase to the Arecibo. Only a few of them were caught and shattered by the Starfury pulse cannons on their way through. Bester came about hard, the rest of Black Omega following suit, and kicked his engines up to full burn, giving chase.
From this angle, it was like shooting fish in a barrel, and they cut the Reaver compliment in half in a handful of moments. Unfortunately, the same was apparently true for the Reaver Frigate still charging up from the rear. After a couple of energy pulses went wild, some kind of beam came streaking up and obliterated Black Omega 5.
The rest of the enemy fighters, their attrition passing the point they would accept, were forced to abandon the chase. They came about to attack their pursuers, and Black Omega blossomed out, maneuvering for advantage in the oncoming furball. With all the fighters tied up, Bester hoped that the Arecibo would make good her escape, but that wasn't in the cards. No longer having an easy shot at the Starfuries , the Frigate fired a harpoon, cable trailing loosely, and speared it directly into the Arecibo's stern. With a snap the cable came taut, and the Arecibo was dragged to a halt, engines straining against the confinement.
The Reaver vessel fires a second harpoon into the IPX ship, and then slowly began to reel it in. Al knew the fate in store for the crew if the Reaver's managed to board them, but he wasn't about to allow that. Gunning his dorsal and ventral engines in opposite directions, he whipped his Starfury about and pulverized the Reaver fighter which had been on his six a heartbeat before. Continuing the hard rotation until he'd come about a full three-sixty, he kicked in maximum acceleration and dove to the Arecibo's rescue.
Dropping in between the two craft, he severed the cables joining them with a single shot each from his pulse cannons. He then came stationary, guarding the observatory vessel's rear, and staring down the oncoming Frigate. He saw their beam weapon heating up, and prayed that, rather than a laser, it was some form of plasma stream or particle beam or some other thing his interceptor fire could disrupt. Otherwise he'd quickly find himself very very dead.
His eyes were dazzled by the flash of laser light…and the flare of the exploding Frigate, as a moderately powerful spear of energy struck it directly amidships. The familiar voice of Lieutenant Commander Nick Locarno, ensconced aboard his Tethys class Cutter, filled his headset. "You're all clear, Commander. Now let's get the Frag out of here! The rest of those Reaver vessels are headed this way fast."
Looking around to take stock, Bester saw that indeed, the last of the Reaver fighters had been shattered by Black Omega. But they'd suffered the total loss of one Starfury and her pilot, along with another mission killed, for this attempt at simple recon. Who knew how much damage the Arecibo might have taken? "Alright people, back to the barn. Post haste." We're going to have to find a better way to deal with the Reavers.
Dreadnought Nova, Ion Cloud, The Verse - January, 2250
"We need to come up with a better plan for dealing with the Reavers!" Adama barked. "Even if we have them overmatched militarily, at the aggression levels they're showing, sooner or later we're going to have some serious casualties. Heavens help us if they manage to get past us and amongst the civilians. They don't seem to have any other mindset than slaughter!"
The senior leadership had gathered to meet aboard the Nova. Sheridan and Sinclair were both in attendance, along with Admiral Adama and Colonel Tigh. Given the Cylons were beginning to defer more and more to the man, Sheridan considered suggesting to the Admiral that it might be time to promote his XO. Doctors Franklin and Cottle had both been brought in, and they and their teams had each treated victims of the Reavers.
"We've already caused them major casualties, without any significant harm in return," Sinclair noted.
"Tell that to the Marines who've had half their godsdamned faces eaten off!" snapped Tigh.
"But that's my point," Jeff came back. "With as much as we've hurt them, and as many casualties as they took in the battle over Mr. Universe's planet…and really, does that place not have its own name?...but by now they should be a bit gun shy. Or at least showing a little extra caution. But they're as aggressive as ever. It's as if they're immune to fear or even self preservation. Their only goals seem to be to feed and to inflict suffering."
"I've treated a lot of injured people in my time," Doc Cottle noted. Shadows haunted the man's eyes, and he quickly lit a cigarette, ignoring the frowns of the Earth Force officers and his fellow doctor. "I've seen everything from industrial accidents to wasting diseases to Cylon experiments and dissections on human prisoners. But I've never seen anything like what those animals do to people. It's worse than torture. Torture at least has a purpose…a goal it's trying to extract. What the Reavers do is just…cruelty and mutilation for the gods' awful fun of it."
Silence reigned for a moment, before Sheridan quietly said, "We may have to put an end to it."
"You mean put an end to them," Adama clarified. After a short pause, Sheridan nodded in confirmation.
"Wait…you can't be serious," Franklin objected. "You're talking about genocide. About wiping out an entire people!"
"No," John replied coldly, but not unkindly. "I'm talking about ending an existential threat to these fleets. A threat we can't afford to have at our backs when the Alliance might come after us at any time. You've seen what the Reavers do. How they behave. There's no humanity there. No civilization. We'd be putting down a pack of rabid dogs…and doing the whole 'Verse a favor in the process."
Franklin's mind shied from the very concept for the moment, and so he latched onto something else in his friend's statement in order to buy time. "What makes you so certain the Alliance is coming for us? That we have to deal with both threats? We've never even had direct contact with them. Why would they even know we're here?"
"They certainly got a good look at the Pegasus, when we pulled the Serenity out of that battle," the Admiral answered instead. "The Alliance is almost certainly going to be smart enough to understand what her appearance and disappearance means. That there's a heavily armed and FTL capable warship out here. And that recording of the final days of Miranda we broadcast to the whole damned 'Verse will appear to have come out of nowhere. Their ships don't have that kind of broadcast capability, and there's no local infrastructure anywhere near the origin point of that broadcast. No, they know we're out here. And based on what little we know of them, they're going to see us as a threat. A threat they'll be thinking of putting down, the same way we're thinking of putting down the Reavers."
"But…but what if the broadcast works? What if it leads to change and reform?"
"Hope for the best…" Saul advised, "but plan for the worst. These are the last of our people we're protecting here. All of our peoples. We can't afford to roll the dice on this."
Stephen's mind was spinning. He knew this was wrong. He couldn't be a part of it. It was the Minbari bioweapon dilemma all over again. He'd made the right choice then, and he would again. But it was different here. They didn't need him to enact their genocide. If he objected, they'd just go ahead anyway. But what could he do? Calmly Stephen. Just focus. Focus on what's right. Focus on what you know. Be a doctor. Be a doctor. Of course. That was it.
He cleared his throat, drawing all eyes. "What if…what if there were another option?"
After a brief pause, Sheridan simply said, "We're listening."
"There's something that I think is being forgotten in this conversation. The Reavers…they're humans. They're what's left of the Mirandans…and they're the victims here. Victims of the Alliance. And anyone the Reavers ended up hurting…that falls on the Alliance too. Not on them. The Reavers are humans, and just like us, they're the last of their people. They need our help, not our extermination."
"While that may make the problem tragic, Doctor Franklin," Admiral Adama replied, "it doesn't really change anything about the basic situation."
"But what if it does, Sir? The Reavers aren't evil. They are suffering the unforeseen side effects of a drug. G-23 Paxilon Hydrochlorate. But side effects have treatments, and drugs have counter agents. What if…what if we could cure the Reavers…the Mirandans? Give them back their lucidity and self control?"
"Would they even want that?" Sinclair queried. "Wouldn't they come back with the memories of everything they had done since being infected? All the raping and slaughter and cannibalism? Would they want that kind of knowledge and burden?"
"I couldn't say," Franklin replied honestly. "But it's got to be better than genocide."
"And you really think you can do this?" Adama pressed.
"I can't make any promises, Sir. But remember I cured your President of cancer in a day. Earth Alliance medicine is pretty advanced, and this fleet carries many of the top medical professionals Earth had. I personally have studied the medical practices of a dozen different species, and convinced the Drazi to give me their entire medical database while we were staying with them. On top of that, we have access to whatever knowledge and expertise you managed to bring from the Colonies. And let's not forget the Cylons, including the Final Five. Between the experiments Doctor Cottle mentioned, and the ability to manufacture nine entirely new models of human…they've got to have some fairly impressive knowledge and capabilities."
"What do you think?" Adama asked, turning to Sheridan.
"It's a risk. It might not work out, and even if it does, it's going to take time we might not have. Still...it seems like the right thing to do."
The Admiral nodded. "Then go with your gut."
"Alright doctor," John said after another long moment's thought. "You're approved. But you're on a time limit. We'll give you a month. No more. If you don't have something by then…we proceed with removing the Reavers. Once and for all. What do you need from us?"
Stephen blanched. One month was not a lot of time. "Given those time constraints, Commodore, I'm going to need all the help I can get. I'm assuming you won't restrict me from accessing all of the Earth Alliance medical professionals within the fleet, but I'm going to need anything the Cylons and Colonials are willing to give as well."
"Ellen's gotten most of her memories back," Saul advised. "They're a lot fuzzier for the rest of us. I'll ask her to help you. Once she's on board, the rest of the Cylons will be falling all over themselves to give you whatever you need."
"Doc," Adama asked, turning to Cottle, "you willing to lend a hand?"
Sherman shook his head. "This is way too far outside of my expertise. We do have someone who could help though. Dr. Michael Robert is with the fleet. He's got quite a bit of expertise with chemical interactions with the mind and body. You might also try that annoying little weasel."
Adama grunted. "No, Baltar already has several full plates with weapons, energy generation, and materials projects. Not to mention analysis of the technologies we'll be running up against in this system. Sorry, he can't spare the time."
"Doctor Robert will have to do then," Sheridan cut in. "Thank you. What else do you need, Doctor?" he asked, turning back to Stephen.
"With only a month to work with…well, either way, I'm going to need a sample."
It was Sinclair who replied. "I'm afraid you're out of luck then, Doc. We haven't found even the slightest hint of the Pax. Even the recording pulled off Miranda said that there were no traces left…and that was years ago."
"Sorry, I wasn't very clear. I'm going to need a live sample."
The remark was met with a moment of silence. Finally, Sheridan asked, "You want us to get you…to capture…a live Reaver?"
"How hard could it be?"
"I'm going to remind you that you said that. Right after you get back from capturing one. Because you are definitely going to be accompanying that mission.
Battlestar Pegasus, Ion Cloud, The Verse - January, 2250
"How hard could it be?"
"Hard part ain't the mission," Captain Malcolm Reynolds, otherwise known as Mal, replied to Major Shaw. "Part I'm havin' a hard time wrappin' my head around is the part where you want me to leave half my crew behind. Settin' aside of course the fact that you have yet to offer terms of payment."
"We need Dr. Tam's expertise for a project we're working on. One he seems quite excited about. And his sister's not going anywhere without him."
"That'd be your Reaver project? Can't say I'm overly optimistic about your chances there. They've long since left bein' human in the past."
"Well, since the other option seems to be extermination, we'd like to give this a try."
"And you think you could do that? Wipe out the Reavers as easy as snappin' your fingers?"
"No one said it would be easy, Captain. But the military capabilities of this fleet are quite impressive. I have no doubt we are equal to the task."
"And Kaylee? I don't fancy flyin' without a mechanic. Somethin' breaks, we're liable to be stranded, tryin' awful hard to breath vacuum."
"We need to borrow Kaylee..with your permission and hers, of course. We need to build up an understanding of your technology and engineering, and she's the closest thing on hand to an expert. But we're not sending you out with half a crew. We've arranged for suitable and highly skilled replacements. Here comes one now," she said, indicating a young woman walking toward the ship. Dressed in a well worn set of coveralls and covered in more than a few grease stains, the girl was carting a large bag of tools in her left hand, with an even larger rucksack tossed over her shoulder in her right. When she got to the base of the ramp, she attempted to come to some approximation of attention, without laying down either of her burdens.
Kendra conveyed her 'at ease' order with a simple wave. "May I present Petty Officer Callandra Henderson, off of the Galactica. She's one of our top deckhands and a hell of a mechanic. She was specially tasked to assist in patching up the Serenity while you were…otherwise detained."
"Just plain detained," Mal grumped.
"Well, she got to know your ship better than just about any of our people, save Chief Tyrol, and he's unavailable for this flight."
Shrugging in concession, Mal nodded to the newcomer. "Miss Callandra."
"Captain," she nodded back with a somewhat shy smile. "And it's just Cally." So saying, she tramped past them up the ramp and into the ship.
Once the young woman was out of earshot, Mal turned back to Shaw. "When you said you were replacing the crew you were borrowing, I didn't think you meant literally," he noted with some amusement.
"What do you mean?"
"Really? That might as well have been Kaylee that just walked past." At Kendra's confused look he elaborated. "Come on. Same height, same build, same age…approximately anyway. Both mechanics." When she didn't respond, he held out his left hand, palm up. "Kaylee…" He then extended his right hand similarly. "Cally. Are you gonna tell me that's all just a coincidence?"
Shaw stared at him for a moment then shrugged. "Cally's a brunette, not a redhead. Completely different people."
Mal snorted, but then turned as another woman had entered the hangar and was approaching the Serenity. She, too, was carrying a large rucksack and bag…though these had clearly been issued by an entirely different service. Her uniform indicated the same. Less formal, the woman walked up to Mal and extended her hand. "Captain. It's a pleasure to be here."
"This is Dr. Lillian Hobbs of Earth Force. She's a member of Dr. Franklin's team. Don't let her age fool you. I'm told she's one of the best physicians in the fleet."
"Pleasure's all mine, miss," Mal said, shaking her hand. "Why don't you head aboard and stow your gear." After Hobbs had gone past, he once again turned to Shaw. "So you replace one earnest, brilliant young doctor with another. Hopefully this one's less aggravating. I can't wait to see who you got to take River's spot.
"I wasn't aware that River was actually a member of the crew. She seemed more like a passenger. Just along because she was Dr. Tam's sister. And because of her…medical trauma. Is that not correct?"
"River done plenty for this crew. Believe you me, when things got tight, she pitched in. Saved our bacon, more'n once."
"Well then, I suppose this gentleman will have to do to take her place," she said, indicating the next person now approaching the ship. "I doubt you'll find any similarities though." The man approaching was quite well dressed, and carrying only a pair of modestly sized bags. He was also clearly civilian. "And here we have Dr. Maximilian Eilerson."
"Mister will do fine. Or just Max. Saves on the confusion. I don't enjoy being asked for cold medicine or to look at moles. I specialize in transcultural and xeno archeological and anthropological studies, with a specialization in utilitarian informatics and techno-artifact recovery."
Mal stared at him blankly for a moment. "So…you know a lot about people? That could be useful. It would partially cover what River did for us anyway."
"No, Captain. I study civilizations and their science and technology. I find what's useful and figure out how it works."
"Got it. Big brain type. There ain't much call for that type of profession aboard this ship."
"The term is 'prodigy.' Seven letters, three syllables. I can see why it might give you problems. But don't worry. This 'big brain' will be wrapping itself around your civilization, not your tedious shipboard duties," Max offered smarmily.
"He's not here to replace any crew member, Captain," Shaw cut in quickly before Mal could respond to the man…possibly by shooting or clubbing him with his newly returned sidearm. He's part of the mission." Turning back to Max she said, "Stow your gear, Mr. Eilerson."
After Max strolled smugly past, Reynolds transferred his glare back to her. "Condescending and creepifying, all in one package. He'll fit right in, assuming Jayne doesn't toss him out an airlock."
"I'm afraid he's necessary. We aren't just going out to meet your contacts. We also need to evaluate the relative societal and technological strengths and weaknesses of the Alliance. And just as importantly, figure out how our societies relate to one another. How your Earth-That-Was relates to our own civilizations. Neither Ellen Tigh nor any of the rest of the Final Five Cylons can recall anything about an ecological collapse leading up to the nuclear war which destroyed their Earth." At Reynold's confused look, she waved away the point. "Let's just say that we'd like very much to know exactly how our people and yours are related. And whatever else he is, Eilerson is good at his job."
"Well, he's not a very good replacement for little River. Aside from the creepifyin' part."
"What exactly did River do for the ship?" Shaw asked curiously.
"Girl could do just about anything…at least in her more lucid moments. But her real gift….the girl knew things. Things she couldn't know. Thoughts no one said aloud. Girl's a seer."
Mal clearly expected her to laugh at the notion, or even mock him for it. Instead, she cautiously offered, "If that's a need, I might be able to help you with it. Turns out, I now have some talent in that area. I'm coming along on the mission as well, in case that wasn't clear."
Reynolds stared at her for a long moment. "Huh." After another moment's thought he said, "So long as you understand that, aboard my boat, I'm the Captain."
"Of course, Captain. That won't be a problem at all. Mind you, in the Colonies, Major outranks Captain." At his glare she held up her hands in appeasement. "Don't worry. We'll follow the chain of command. Just remember that I'm a passenger, and not a member of your crew."
"Passengers pay fare. And we still ain't spoke about payment."
"I seem to recall repairing a very damaged ship for no charge. As well as assisting you in completing a certain transmission…at great risk to our fleet, I might add."
"And I seem to recall being abducted mid-atmosphere while on the cusp of completing that mission. Not to mention spending a good deal of time locked up in your brig and being grilled by interrogators."
"This mission was your idea. And if this crazy idea works, I imagine you stand to benefit as much from it as we do."
"The part I suggested was meeting some contacts who might know some people. You tacked on all this searchin' of records and explorin' of history. Which'll take us to places that'll add more than a might 'o risk.
Kendra shrugged in acquiescence. "We don't have any of your currency. But we can offer you a safe port and free resupply on consumables and any of your parts we are capable of fabricating. When we figure out how to replicate the fuel Serenity uses, which hopefully won't be long, we can give that to you at cost. But it'll be expensive stuff, so no free giveaway there."
Mal pursed his lips as though in deep thought, then broke into a broad grin. "I can work with that. You've got yourself a deal. Now, you got any more passengers you wanna tell me about?"
"Just one. Colonel Garibaldi, who is uncharacteristically late, will be joining us as well. He'll be there to assess the security concerns posed by various potential threats within the 'Verse."
"No doubt he'll also be looking at settin' up some sort of covert information network." When Kendra looked at him in surprise, he added, "Governments are governments and militaries are militaries. And they like to all store their noses in other people's business...you know…for safe keepin'."
"Yes, well, it'll be a while before we have anything like a reliable or extensive intelligence network established…but you have to start somewhere."
At that moment Garibaldi strolled into the hangar, carrying a large canvas bag rather than a standard issue rucksack. But that wasn't what drew their attention, nor caused Kendra's eyes to nearly pop out of her head.
The Colonel clomped across the deck in pale green synthetic snakeskin cowboy boots, with close fitting, dark red corduroy pants tucked down in the shafts of those boots. At his hips, those pants met a broad leather gunbelt, tooled and bejeweled, with a large silver buckle and supporting a very distinctive pearl handled revolver on the right side. Above the belt, he wore a powder blue, pearl snapped shirt, with more pearl snaps and leather fringe running across the chest and down the sleeves. A bright red wild rag encased his neck, tied off in a bow on his left side. And topping it all off was a white felt 10 gallon hat, with a hat band nicely matching his boots, perched at a jaunty angle.
"What the hells are you wearing?" she blurted as he reached the bottom of the ramp.
"What the Serenity crew wears," Garibaldi replied inscrutably. "Isn't it obvious? Cowboys in space. Gotta blend in. Can't have anyone figuring out who we are."
"Well," Mal drawled, taking a long moment to look Michael up and down, "I can rightly say that no one seein' you would assume you're from Earth. Not with that…very fine hat."
"Thank you, Captain," Michael replied, tipping his hat to each of them before walking past them, up the ramp, and through the hatch into the ship.
Shaw and Reynolds looked at each other seriously until Garibaldi's boot steps faded from ear shot, the simultaneously burst out laughing. "I am not dressing up like that," Kendra insisted.
"Well that's good, 'cause this ship couldn't take more than one of you. I'm not sure Wash's ego will stand havin' someone on board dressed brighter'n he is."
It wasn't more than an hour later before all of the final preparations had been made, and the new crew and passengers settled aboard. The Tams and Kaylee had stopped by to gather their things and wish good luck to the crew, but they too had finally departed. As Captain Malcolm Reynolds closed up the cargo ramp and airlock, he grabbed up the nearby intercom handset to contact the bridge. "Wash, we're all sealed up down here. Get us sky bound. We got payin' work." And with that, the freshly repaired Firefly class vessel known as Serenity departed the Pegasus, taking a mixed crew of Earth Alliance and Colonial personnel for their first foray into the wider 'Verse.