Battlestar Galactica: Through the Eyes of a Child
Day 0; Heim, Aquaria
"Doran! Get your sister!" his father yelled.
Doran turned and raced to the back of the house. He took three long steps when a deafening roar ripped through their home and instinctively curled into a ball as the shock wave lifted him off his feet. He cried out as he bounced off the wall before landing hard on the floor. He held the sides of his head in a futile attempt to block the incessant ringing in his ears. Doran tried to take a breath but couldn't. He laid on the beige carpet, taking short breaths as he recovered from the fall. Something was pushing against his back. It was the door to his sister's room at the end of the hall. He looked down the hall, slowly grasping the fact that he had just been thrown four meters by the blast.
Slowly, almost subtly, the harsh acidic smell of smoke rolled over him. A moment later he felt the heat coming down the hall.
"Dad! Mom!" he yelled desperately. There was no response.
"Mom?!" he called again.
It was just then he realized the only sound he heard was the damned ringing. Slowly, he stood up and turned back down the hallway. One step at a time, he lurched unevenly back to his parents.
The first thing he saw was the smoke pouring from the far wall. Except, there was no wall anymore. There was just rubble and fire in what had been his parents' bedroom. He took a tentative step forward and looked fearfully into the burning pyre of sheetrock, carpet and wood.
"Mom?" he breathed quietly.
He took another step towards the room, but the heat was too intense. He moved to the left and stayed as close to their room as he could, cautiously scanning for any sign of his mom. Nothing.
The heat was getting to be too much. He backed away from the room, turning as he did. He looked at the debris from the collapsed room. Something caught his eye in the pile. He stepped towards it and kneeled.
"Frack!" he cried in shock. He fell backward, landing softly on the charred carpet. His eyes focused on his dad's watch, sticking awkwardly out of the bottom of the burning pile.
"Frack, frack, frack…"
The fire was spreading, he had to get out, but he was rooted to the floor.
The front door burst open with a hard slam.
"Errol! Marge?!"
It was Mark Willett, their next-door neighbor. He looked at Doran, his face was set in purpose.
"Doran! Where are your folks?"
Doran pointed meekly towards the fire.
"Oh..." Mark jogged towards the fire but was quickly repulsed by the heat.
Mark blanched as he looked at the burning pile. His mind, as if mired in thick mud struggled to find purchase.
"Right, uh…" he stammered impotently while staring at the rubble.
"Frack! Doran, come on! We have to get the hell out of here!"
He turned and grabbed Doran's shoulder, pulling him towards the front door.
"Sophie, wait!" Doran exclaimed. He shook loose from his neighbor's grip and sprinted down the hallway.
Mark passed him and Doran watched as his neighbor launched himself bodily through the weak interior door. Doran followed Mark into the room and came to a rushed stop as he crossed the threshold.
"Sophie?!" Doran cried out.
"Sophie!" he called forcefully.
Mark was at the dresser, which had landed meters from where it was supposed to be. It was on its side, the drawers were askew, and it had a jagged crack running through it.
Doran watched as Mark knelt, gently reaching towards something on the opposite side from him. He watched the expression on Mark's face fall.
"I'm sorry," Mark choked, tears streaming down his face.
It was at that moment that Doran saw Sophie's dainty bare foot pinned underneath.
"No!" he screamed. Blind with grief, he ran toward her.
Doran had taken two steps when Mark caught him, roughly lifting him over his shoulder.
"No! No! No!" he screamed. Doran kicked, clawed, flailed. He was desperate to get to his sister.
Mark held onto the child tightly, determinedly running to his truck, waiting outside.
Doran landed with a thud in the backseat. Dazed, his mind scattered, he couldn't think or feel anything. Numb with shock, he barely noticed as Mark pulled aggressively into the street.
"Seat belts," Mrs. Willett called out.
Doran reached back locking the restraint across his chest. The car came to a screeching stop as Mr. Willett pulled onto the highway. Cars and trucks were jammed together, blocking the road. Outside, he could hear the drivers angrily honking. Two men had even climbed out and were warily circling each other as if about to fight. A column of black smoke climbed into the sky beyond the next hill.
"Hold on, Winnie!" Mark yelled as he turned the car hard to the right and jumped the curb.
Winnie Willett, her name always made Doran chuckle. Not today though. Still, he wondered why she hadn't kept her maiden name.
Doran refocused as the truck surged ahead. A moment later the truck, and Doran with it, leaned dangerously to the left as Mark climbed a steep bank to avoid a trailer that had been left on the side of the road.
"Where are we going?" Winnie asked, pleading.
"Spaceport," he answered tersely.
Mr. Willett drove like a man possessed. He drove over banks, through culverts, he swerved around other cars, street signs, and light poles. Five minutes later they were passing the source of the smoke. The charred skeletal remains of tens of burned vehicles stretched hundreds of meters along the highway. The devastation was absolute. It wasn't the site of the cars and trucks, which were blackened, twisted, and melted that turned his stomach. It was the smell, a putrid acidic mix of chemicals and burned bodies that nearly caused him to wretch. Doran tried to focus on the few survivors instead, wandering aimlessly away from the carnage.
They hadn't gotten far when the truck came to a sudden stop again.
"Oh frack," Mr. Willett exhaled quietly under his breath.
Doran felt the blood drain from his face as he looked out of the windshield.
'That had to be the biggest understatement he ever heard', he thought as continued to gawk at the horizon.
Two mushroom clouds, gray and angry reached into the sky not more than fifteen miles in front of them. They were he realized, exactly where the spaceport was. The three of them sat there, too stunned to move.
It was Winnie that spoke first. "What do we do now, Mark?"
Mr. Willett didn't say a word, he buried his head in his hands instead.
Doran pushed himself into the back of the seat silently thinking of his family. He thought of his mother first, then his sister, whom at eight years old he'd only just been starting to get to know. Last, he thought of his father, tough and often distant, but fiercely loyal.
"My dad's garage!" he called out suddenly.
"What about it?" Mr. Willett asked.
"He said that they had a couple FTL ships in the yard."
"Get us there," Mr. Willet said plainly.
"Right, uh, we have to turn around," Doran replied.
Mark turned the truck around and guided by a twelve-year-old Doran Inuk, the three carefully picked there way on and off-road to the repair yard his dad worked at.
To Doran's surprise, they found the gate to the shop gaping wide open. Mark sped through the entrance before bringing his truck to a skidding stop less than a meter in front of the main door. The three of them bolted out of the truck and sprinted towards the entrance.
"Surge!" Doran called out as he burst into the lobby. In the shop, behind the counter he could hear the mechanical shrill of wrenches and the rhythmic thumping of hammer drills.
A large bald man with a thick and matted gray beard turned and raised his rifle as he focused on the new arrivals.
"Doran!" he called out, quickly lowering the weapon as he recognized the boy. His expression changed to confusion as he looked at the strangers accompanying him.
"Who's this, where's your folks?" he asked apprehensively.
Doran looked at the ground briefly. "These are my neighbors, Mark and Winnie. My folks, they..."
He began to breathe heavily as his emotions surfaced. He tried to control himself, but the pain was too raw, he bent over at the waist and began sobbing.
He felt Mrs. Willett's hands squeeze his shoulders before she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into a tight embrace. Time stopped as he relived the attack on his house. His eyes closed shut and he held Mrs. Willett tight as he sobbed into her chest. Doran didn't know how long he had stayed there, sobbing into his neighbor, but when he was finally composed, he found Surge waiting, his hand covering his mouth, and his eyes filled with a mixture of rage and sympathy.
"Get over here, Doran," he called gently. He squatted down as the boy approached and quickly picked him up in a suffocating hug.
Doran pushed away as the giant man held him in the air. "Surge! Put me down! Can't breathe, you brute!" he cried out laughing as he did.
"That's my boy!" Surge responded, putting Doran down. Surge went to a knee so he could look the boy in the eye. "Okay Doran. I need you to head over to that Green-Liner and do whatever Thatch tells you too, okay."
"Yes, sir," he answered quickly.
Doran jogged to the sleek private space yacht parked in the far side of the hangar. He stopped ten meters in front of the craft and stared. Bold swatches of red and blue stripes raced diagonally down the length of its white hull. The twin main engines, large and powerful were seamlessly integrated into the aggressive delta wings that sprouted organically from the fuselage.
The ship was the definition of elegance, he thought. The plane was large enough to carry twelve, fast enough to outpace almost any civilian craft made, and had a jump drive that could take its pampered passengers anywhere in the twelve colonies in a single jump.
'How and why did this ship end up in his dad's run-down garage?' he wondered. It didn't matter.
He found Thatch at the aft end of the plane; half hidden by an open panel that gave her access to the artificial gravity system.
"Hey Ms. Dianne," he started.
The mechanic looked up as he called her name. She took a moment to glance over to Surge and saw that he was talking with a man and woman that she didn't know. She focused on Doran, noting his red eyes and puffy face. 'Better not to ask,' she thought.
"Hey Doran. You gonna stand there or give me a hand?" she asked with a lightness that she didn't feel.
"Right," he answered.
She waited for Doran to approach, and then glanced at the tool drawer behind her. "Grab a number six," she directed him.
"Okay, hold this bolt here," she told him as she pointed to one of the set screws.
Doran reached in beside her and attached the wrench to the mechanism.
"All right now don't let it move. I'm going to reattach these cables to the motivator," she explained.
Thatch reached into the gap between the mechanism and the bulkhead. Operating by feel she cursed quietly as she carefully snaked the conduit towards its receptacle at the backside of the component.
"Got it," she extolled as the cable locked into place with a loud click.
She grabbed a diagnostic reader and carefully hooked it up to the artificial gravity generator's interface. Thatch didn't dare look at the boy next to her while she waited for the computer to determine the fitness of the module. Instead, she gently rubbed and studied a scratch on her arm she received while repairing the ship.
The device beeped for attention within a minute. She looked over the results, her face remained emotionless despite the positive test results.
"Okay, Doran. Computer says it's fixed. I need you to get this buttoned up and I'll check out the portside rear landing claw."
"Yes, ma'am," he answered evenly.
Doran was double checking connections and bolts the moment the mechanic ducked out of the way. Satisfied that all the parts were in place Doran gently folded the interface panel into the compartment.
His task complete, Doran found Thatch and a young man he didn't know locking the rear landing claw on the port side of the ship.
"This is Johnny. Johnny this's Doran," Thatch introduced the two assistants.
"Uh, hey," Doran stammered, extending his hand towards the ginger haired man.
"Yeah, I'm Nancy's boyfriend," he responded awkwardly.
Doran turned his attention to the landing claw and noticed a crack which ran the length of a weight-bearing strut. A quick survey revealed an adjacent panel that bore signs from the rough landing caused by the faulty artificial gravity generator. The panel was scuffed and scraped, but otherwise intact.
"Help me get this off," Thatch directed them towards the damaged strut.
The three of them worked silently. It took them twenty minutes to replace and set the new landing gear.
"Thanks guys," Thatch said. "Johnny," she turned Nancy's boyfriend. "Take that cart over to Surge."
Doran watched as Johnny pushed the cart to a refrigerator transport that Surge, Mr. Davey, and Mr. Willett were working on.
"Doran, come with me and we'll do a final checkout," Thatch told him.
Doran paused as he watched Ms. Dianne staring intensely at the garage entrance. Mrs. Willett was huddled in the corner talking quietly with Mrs. Ryba and his daughter Nancy. But Mr. Thatcher and their son weren't there.
Thatch caught Doran watching her. "They're on their way," she growled.
"Yes, ma'am," he answered a moment later.
Doran followed the mechanic to the front of the craft and then up the short stairwell. He gaped in wonder as he crossed the airlock and entered what could only be described as a Foyer. He took a step inside, stopping at the sound of his feet clicking against the cream tiled floor. He looked down in amazement, he'd helped his dad on plenty of charter craft, and they always had the same cheap shoddy carpet lining the floor; not tile. The foyer had a small seating area, probably for the staff he thought, fine art hanging on the walls, and a cabin filter disguised as a potted plant. He turned to the right, towards the aft end of the ship. The foyer opened into an equally opulent entertainment room. The largest vid screen he had ever seen was centered on the bulkhead across from two leather couches, two massaging armchairs, and a gorgeous sandalwood coffee table. A matching sandalwood wet bar sat in the corner of the compartment, complete with three bar stools.
"Holy shit," he uttered in disbelief.
"Pretty nice, huh kid," an unfamiliar voice called out.
Doran turned and found a blonde-haired man with a weathered face sitting in the cockpit.
"Yeah, it's something," he agreed.
"Michael Snanam, folks call me 'Wash'. I'm the pilot of this ship."
Doran poked his head into the compartment. Compact and efficient, the cockpit had seats for a pilot and co-pilot. He watched as Thatch climbed into the co-pilot's seat. With nowhere to sit, he stood half in and half out of the cockpit.
Doran watched as Thatch and Wash began checking the multiple systems the ship needed to fly. One by one the pilot and mechanic began testing every system in the ship. They directed him first to the engineering station, then helm, navigation, and so on. Every so often Thatch or Wash would ask him to check a screen or make an adjustment to one of the relays in the overhead board. He watched them as they made minor corrections at their stations.
"All right were good," Wash announced quietly after thirty minutes of poking and prodding through the ship's computers.
Doran followed Ms. Dianne and Wash out of the plane towards the refrigerator transport that Surge and the others were working on.
Thatch came to a stop with her hands on her hips in front of the partially disassembled ship that Surge was working on. "Green-Liner's ready to fly, Boss," Thatch announced stoically.
"Good," Surge replied. He looked to the pilot, "Wash, I need you to begin preflight.
Thatch stood fast; Doran could feel her anxiety as she scanned the repair bay for her family.
Surge waited for Wash to head for the Green-Liner before he gingerly approached Thatch.
"This tub has repairs I could use your help with," Surge started. "I promise we won't leave without them," he assured her.
"Thanks, I appreciate it," she answered sadly.
"Keep your head up, kid. Bill will get here, he's too big of a pain in your ass to not show up."
"Yeah, you're probably right," Thatch answered smiling.
"Come on, I need you to replace the condenser on the freezer's chiller; and take Doran."
Thatch looked at Surge with a confounded expression.
"Why we worry'n about the freezer, Boss?"
The crew is on their way, they grabbed a delivery truck full of Tuna steaks with them," he answered her with a sloppy grin.
"Whatever," she replied dismissively.
She turned to the cargo ship and made her way to the freezer unit amidships. She found the paneling already removed, leaving the internal machinery exposed and waiting for service.
"Grab a dolly and let's get the old unit out," she directed Doran.
The two worked quietly, both methodically removing cables and fasteners that connected the unit to the ship.
Doran turned from his work as he heard Surge and Mr. Davey call out suddenly.
"Bill! Sean! Oh, thank the gods!" Ms. Dianne yelled as she sprinted across the hangar towards her husband and child
Pangs of grief and jealousy threatened to overwhelm him as Doran watched Thatch desperately hug her child and husband.
He felt a comforting hand on his shoulder a moment later. Mr. Willett was standing next him.
"Okay, what's next?" his neighbor asked quietly.
"Uh, we need to finish getting this out. There are only a few bolts left. Then we we'll hook it to that cart, and slide it out," Doran began. He took a moment to look around the garage for the new condenser. "Mrs. Thatcher or one of the other mechanics will have to install the new one," he said, pointing to a wooden crate sitting on a different wagon.
Doran and Mr. Willett made quick work disconnecting the few remaining bolts. Working deliberately, they carefully slid the old condenser out and hooked it to the lift. Doran looked over the condenser one more time, confirming that it was no longer connected to the support cable.
"I'm gonna lift it out now," he said plainly.
Working together the two gently swung the heavy component out of its cradle and over the cart before carefully lowering it on top of it.
Surge arrived at their side with Davey and the new condenser. He hummed quietly as he looked over the chassis that would house the new module.
He turned quickly on his heel and faced Mr. Willett.
"Mark, we've got some supplies on that trolley over there," he paused, pointing towards the electric buggy. "Would you mind stowing the gear on it in the Green-Liner?"
"Yeah, of course," Mark answered.
"Thanks, and grab Johnny. The pilot, uh, Wash, will show you where things go," Surge added.
"Hey Doran, come on and help me get this freezer working."
Doran followed Surge to the ship and together the two of them began installing the new component. Focused on the task, Doran didn't notice how much time passed, nor did he focus on his family; killed earlier in the day. One final squeeze with the screw-gun and Doran sealed the access panel closed. Not sure what to do, he gently set the drill down and looked to Surge for guidance.
Surge reached to him, rubbing his shaggy hair. "Good job, kid. Now get to that Green-Liner and help those guys finish loading it up." He didn't add that if they didn't escape soon, they might not at all.
Ten minutes later, Doran watched as Surge climbed into the ship, sealing the hatch behind him.
Settled into the co-pilot's seat, Surge grabbed the intercom. "Everyone, find a seat and strap in. This may get a bit rough," he ordered.
Mrs. Willett grabbed Doran's arm and led him to a seat. He grabbed the restraints and quickly adjusted them to his small frame. The ship was already taxiing out of the hangar. He looked out of the porthole and watched as the freezer transport was moving as well.
"What about the owner of this ship?" Doran asked Mr. Willett.
"Pilot said he was on Picon," Mr. Willett answered tersely.
"Is that where we're going?" Doran asked.
Mr. Willett just looked at him. Either unable or unwilling to answer.
"Don't you worry about that Doran," Mrs. Willett chimed in. "Don't you…" she repeated quietly, there were tears streaming down her cheeks.
Without warning, Doran was pushed hard into the back of his seat as the ship jumped into the atmosphere. Looking out of the window he watched as the buildings and roads shrunk to pinpoints.
"Prepare for jump," the pilot called.
Mrs. Willett cried out as the ship slipped though the fabric of space-time.
Doran breathed out in relief as the ship emerged from the hyperspace jump. A moment later he looked out of the window, the black of the void surrounded them.
156 Days after the fall; Argentum Bay
The phone in Rebecca's cabin rang for her attention.
"Davenport," she announced gruffly.
"Captain, I have a call from Winnie Willett on the Bill Thurston-12," the Communication officer informed her.
"Put her through," Rebecca responded.
Rebecca stood uneasily as she waited for the line to switch over.
"Hey Winnie, how's it going?" she asked in a forced positive tone. Her concerns grew as she noted the hesitation from the caller.
"Well, it's all right, I guess," her friend began. "Doran's gotten in some trouble. Some of the kids have been giving him a hard time, and he's been, well, angry a lot."
Rebecca knew where Winnie was taking her, and to be honest, she was okay with what her friend was going to ask her. 'Better to get in front of it', she thought.
"Sounds like Doran needs his Aunt Becky to screw his head back on straight," Rebecca offered lightly.
"Oh, would you? He won't admit it, but he misses you," she said gratefully.
"Of course," Rebecca confirmed. "All three of you should spend a few days here. I'll have a cabin set up for you."
"Well, I'm sure Mark has to work," Winnie responded. "But Doran and I will take you up on that," she said. "If you don't think we'll be in the way, of course," Winnie added quietly.
"No, that'll be great. And I'll make sure Doran stays busy," Rebecca added. "He will love the machine shops we have on board."
Rebecca ended the call a few minutes later. Sitting down, she silently relived her introduction to the boy just a few months before.
When Rebecca met the young man, he was still in shock. Orphaned in the attack, he and his neighbors, who were now his foster parents, had managed to just escape the holocaust on Aquaria.
He reminded Rebecca of her brother and herself. Doran was quiet and had a chip on his shoulder that some saw as arrogance. Doran, like her family, was a product of the working poor who had labored and scrapped for everything. And while his family struggled, he watched as the off-worlders, and the elite were handed money, houses, and opportunities that he could only dream of. No, he wasn't arrogant, or even bitter; he was hardened.
She also realized that he was smart, a hard worker, and mechanically inclined. On the BT-12, she had taken him under her wing. She made sure he spent time with the engineers, learning to maintain the various systems that kept her ship sailing. And then she left, she thought guiltily.
She shook her head in a vain attempt to assuage her guilt. Looking at the chronometer, she decided to head to the bridge. She would talk to Abel about showing Doran around.
Day 0; LaGrange Point 2, Canceron
It had been two hours since they had jumped outside of Canceron. Doran was still strapped in the seat, feeling less than useless as he watched Surge and the pilot bicker about what to do next. Surge had tried to shoo Mr. Willett away earlier, but he refused. He stood just behind them, silently listening as the two quietly argued.
Mr. Willet returned a few minutes later.
"Well?" Mrs. Willett asked, she had remained at Doran's side, sheet white and silent.
"Yeah, well," Mr. Willett started uncertainly. "Nothing good. Cylons are everywhere, they're no transmissions from the planet, and there's a bunch of wrecked ships that Wash says are Colonial."
"Oh Gods. What are we gonna do?" Mrs. Willett asked.
"We're going to wait here another hour. Hopefully they'll be something from the government or a counter attack," Mr. Willett answered tentatively.
"What if the Cylons find us?" Doran asked.
Mr. Willett shook his head dismissively. "They won't find us out here. Even if they look, we're running on batteries only, completely dark," he assured them.
"But if they find us anyway?" Doran asked again.
The pilot already has jump coordinates programmed in," Mark answered calmly.
Knowing that was the only answer that he was going to get, Doran picked up the glossy sports magazine that he had already read three times.
Raptor 312, Day 0; Helios Delta system
"I say again, this is Colonial Raptor 312 to any ship. Please respond on this frequency." Lieutenant Sharon Valerii called out into the void.
She turned to face the ECO officer sitting in the back.
"Anything?" she asked.
She watched as her back-seater, a survivor from the Battlestar Triton, worked his instruments.
"Maybe," he answered slowly. "Mass-Gravity anomaly detectors say there is something at 74 karom 120, range 50,000."
"But" Sharon added.
The radiation detectors show nothing, no wireless activity. Maybe it's a wreck?" he offered hesitantly.
He studied his screens carefully, pouring over the limited data his sensors could pull in passive mode.
"It's real close to the LaGrange Point, it could be an artifact," he added.
Sharon opened the sensor returns on one of her auxiliary screens. Her faced screwed up as she studied an annotated copy of what her Electronics Officer was looking at.
"Or it could be someone hiding," she countered. "Setting an intercept course. Make sure you're ready with the jump drive, in case I'm wrong." Sharon pushed the throttle and the small scout craft shot towards their unknown target.
Definitely something there," the ECO with the unfortunate call sign Crashdown reported as they closed the distance. "Make that two somethings," he said more confidently.
Care to be more specific. We're going to be on top of them in thirty seconds," she bit back.
Crashdown manipulated his sensors, desperately trying to get a better fix on their target.
"Definitely civilian. Target alpha is a private yacht, Bravo is a small transport. No wireless identifiers from either."
"Okay, I see them." She said deliberately.
LeGrange Point 2, Canceron, Civilian Green-Liner
Wash and listened to the transmission from the ship claiming to be a Fleet Raptor.
"Well, what do you think?" he asked the mechanic.
Surge wiped his hand over his face in exasperation as he tried to work out his answer. "I think were fracked no matter what we do," he sighed.
"That's not an answer," the pilot griped.
Surge was about to snap at the insolent pilot but stopped when he was suddenly squinting from a spotlight shining directly into the cockpit from outside.
"What the frack?!" he cursed as he quickly stuck his hand out to block the glaring light.
"I guess they found us," Wash answered unnecessarily.
"Well, they're not shooting, I guess that's something," Surge responded sourly. He sat down in the co-pilot seat to query the DRADIS scanner.
"Raptor 312 to the two civilian ships right in front of me." A woman's voice spat out of the cockpit speaker. "Identify yourself and your current status."
Wash looked at Surge and shrugged before reaching forward and activating the communications system.
"Raptor 312, my registry is Golf Papa Sierra 1 Charlie dash Zulu X-ray 7 Alpha 4. I have thirteen souls aboard, and I would say that our status is absolutely fracked. Over," Wash responded bluntly.
"Raptor 312 this is Alpha Charlie Foxtrot Tango 1 Bravo dash 298 Hotel 7. We are fully operational and are currently fully loaded with two crew members and a freezer full of Aquaria's finest."
There was a long pause as the Raptor's crew logged their transmission.
"Gemenon Shuttle, my call-sign is Boomer. Is your FTL operational?"
"Yes, ma'am. Hoping that you have a place for us to go," Wash answered dubiously.
Sharon shook her head at the pilot's forced cavalier attitude. "Civilian ships prepare to receive wired transmission," Boomer directed the two ships.
"You think that old transport has a connection for this?" Crash-down asked.
"Well, we can't exactly transmit the coordinates over the wireless can we," she answered.
"Let me guess who gets to go for a walk if they don't," he groused.
Sharon smiled at her ECO's comment. It was definitely better to be the pilot she thought smugly. She looked at her board and after confirming that the civilian ships were ready, she released the two communication cables from her ship.
Surge watched, waiting impatiently as Wash entered the FTL coordinates into the jump computer. The Raptor was already moving to a safe distance for the FTL Transit. He just hoped that the rendezvous location was safe. Finally, Wash with his task complete, turned to face the grizzled mechanic.
"Well?" Surge asked.
Wash met his gaze stoically. "Coordinates set, it'll take a couple minutes to power up the FTL."
Surge nearly growled in frustration.
Doran watched as the stubby Colonial Raptor continued to move away, finally disappearing into the void.
"Everyone, make sure you're strapped in. We'll be jumping out of here momentarily to meet up with that Raptor's friends," Surge announced over the intercom.
Doran could feel the shuttle powering up. A moment later, he felt the universe collapse around him as the ship squeezed through the distortion caused by the Faster-Than-Light jump.
Doran gasped as they emerged from the hyperspace transit. He was still recovering from the jump when he heard the other passengers calling out in alarm.
Leaning forward, he looked out of the porthole to his left. He gasped again as he looked into the void around them.
"My gods, look at them all," someone said in awe.
They were surrounded by ships of all types and sizes. He'd never seen so many ships. There were tankers, cruise ships, cargo ships, pleasure yachts, liners, Raptors. There were funny looking ships with huge cranes, tiny ships, massive ships, and there was even a ship that looked like an industrial plant with engines.
"Where are we?" he breathed out in awe.
"Don't know, but I guess it's the right spot," Mr. Willett answered dubiously.
Day 157; Argentum Bay
Rebecca waited impatiently in the hangar deck as her crew finished the post-flight checklist on shuttle from the BT-12. The side door opened, and a small staircase unfolded from the cabin to the deck. Tony, the lead small craft pilot on the BT-12, emerged first and was quickly followed by Winnie, Doran, and two deck hands.
Rebecca waited as Tony led the small group across the hangar towards her; all except Doran, who remained standing by the shuttle, his mouth agape as he slowly took in every detail of 'her' ship's expansive hangar.
"Doran," she called out. "Stop gawking and get over here!" she called out happily.
Doran turned and jogged to his "Aunt Becky". He was glad to see her, the engineers on the BT-12 had kept him busy, but it wasn't the same since the captain had moved to her new ship. That and some of the kids had been real dicks' to him the last couple weeks. He was happy to take a break from the usual routine.
Rebecca pulled him in a quick hug. "Missed you, buddy."
"Same," he said quietly.
"Well, hope you're ready to get to work. Those Vipers aren't gonna fix themselves," she said easily.
"Vipers?" he said surprised. His attention now fully focused on the captain.
"Mm-hmm," she replied. "Galactica's got more than they can fix. These ones need specialized components that we build here in house."
"Cool," he said eagerly.
Rebecca turned to Winnie and returned the smile on her face.
She turned back to Doran. "I'll introduce you to Chief Persea in a bit. He'll show you the ropes."
Winnie stepped forward and gently grasped Rebecca's arm. "Thank you," she said earnestly.
"Come on, let's get you guys squared away, and then I'll give you the cubit tour," Rebecca said, leading them out of the hangar.
Green-Liner Shuttle, Day 0; Helios Delta system
Hiding in the void, the number of refugee starships gathering at their secret conclave had grown in spurts of threes and fives over the last three hours. Sprinting from port to starboard, Doran had tried to count every FTL emergence in a futile attempt to inventory all the ships joining their flock. But there were too many, and there were also non-FTL capable ships quietly slipping into their ranks to make
"Hey Surge," he started. "Any news?"
The bearded mechanic shared a dark look with the pilot and then turned back to his instruments.
"That flash was from a Cylon, wasn't it," he asked nervously.
Wash's face fell. "No, kid," he began his lie. "That was, uh…"
Surge shook his head in defeat.
"Yeah, they found us," he answered somberly.
Doran fell back into the bulkhead and slid down to the deck.
"Better get strapped in. We'll be jumping out soon," the grizzled mechanic whispered despondently.
Doran reluctantly made his way back to the lounge. He nodded to the Willetts as he sat down, but he left the restraints untouched. Instead, he turned to the porthole and gazed into the black, wondering why the gods had forsaken them. He didn't know how long he stared out that window, but at some point, the void seemed to sparkle with the flashes from FTL emergences.
He heard Wash curse. The wireless erupted with confused and panicked calls.
"Get us out of here!" Surge called out desperately.
The ship came to life around them and Doran was pushed back into his seat as Wash slammed the throttle to full burn.
Mrs. Willett grabbed Doran's hand and squeezed it tightly. A young woman began to wail behind him.
"Jumping now!" Wash growled through the intercom.
A moment later, it was over. Doran breathed out in relief as the ship powered down to idle. He turned to the porthole and looked into the void. There were other ships here, and more were arriving every few seconds. But, he realized, there were far fewer ships now than there were just a few minutes ago. His head dropped as he realized that only the FTL capable ships had escaped.
Day 0, Approaching Ragnar Anchorage
Doran had thought that Wash was being dramatic at his initial refusal to follow the Raptor into the atmosphere of the jade-colored gas giant. Now, just over halfway through their journey, Doran agreed with the pilot. Gravity waves had tossed the small ship repeatedly and lightning strikes threatened to annihilate them in a fit of rage at any moment. The trek through the atmosphere had been absolutely terrifying, and he had a discarded air sickness bag to prove it. He looked around the cabin, everyone was scared, even Surge. Poor Mrs. Willett hid as best she could in the seat next to him, whimpering quietly as the shuttle was battered by the chaotic storms in the upper atmosphere. At some point, they made it to the station and the crew cheered in relief as Wash powered down the shuttle now safely tucked into one of the massive hangar bays on the station.
Day 8; Bill Thurston-12, Civilian Barracks Bay-3
Exhausted by the unrelenting Cylon attacks over the last five days, the haggard refugees trudged through the austere causeway of the massive freighter towards their berthing area. The crowd slowed as they approached the massive hatch and were slowly funneled through the threshold. Squeezed from all sides Doran focused on the spot between Mr. Willett's shoulder blades as he was gently pushed into the compartment.
"This way," Mr. Willett called quietly to Mrs. Willett and Doran.
Mrs. Willett took the sleeve of Doran's coat in her hand and quickly pulled him through the throng of people towards the other side of the cargo bay. Led by her steady grip, Doran stared at the deck, wearily watching his feet shuffle forward while he dragged a small duffel filled with his few possessions behind him.
Doran looked up as they came to a stop in front of an army issued field tent. Centered on the tent door was a laminated placard that read "C-45". Confused, he looked around and saw that the compartment was filled with rows of the utilitarian drab olive and brown camouflaged tents. They looked utterly ridiculous, he thought.
Mr. Willett grimaced as he opened the fabric door, "Well, here we are," he announced despondently.
Doran stepped inside and sighed in discontent. Four cots were set in the far corners, framing the back of the tent. He spun slowly back to the front and quickly took in the small dinner sized table with four chairs that was set to the left of the 'door' and a small living area to the right; a small desk with a lamp and a cushioned armchair.
"Right," Mrs. Willett began. Her mouth opened and closed slowly as she tried to put words to their living quarters. Stepping forward, she grabbed one of the two plastic containers that was stuffed under a cot. "Let's put our stuff up, at least."
Doran grabbed one of the bins and flipped it unceremoniously on his cot next to the contents of his bag which laid in a pile on his bed. He nearly cried right there. All of his possessions; three pairs of socks, two shirts, a pair of shorts, some underwear, a second pair of jeans, the sports magazine from the Green-Liner, his father's watch, and a toy dinosaur that Wash had given to him all easily fit into one of the two containers. Frustrated, he shoved the box under his cot and sat down heavily. He looked over to Mr. and Mrs. Willett. They had pushed two of the cots together in a sad attempt to make a double bed. Mrs. Willett was sobbing, her face buried in Mr. Willett's chest. Mr. Willett sat stoically, his eyes squeezed shut and tears streaming down his face.
With nothing else to do, Doran grabbed the pillow from the head of the bed and laid down. He closed his eyes and let his emotions wash over him. He missed the Green-Liner. He hadn't had any privacy, or even a bed, but the seats had been comfortable enough.
Unfortunately, the little shuttle couldn't handle jumping every thirty-five minutes for days on end. It was after lunch on the third day of the blitz when the FTL finally gave out. The civilian ships were fleeing as the Cylons closed in on them. Out of options, Wash flew towards the Battlestar which was already under heavy fire and made a desperate landing. They stayed there for three days before being sent to the freighter Bill Thurston-12.
Rolling on his belly, he cried quietly into the pillow. Fatigue set in, slowly smothering his tears as he fell into a deep slumber.
Day 25; Bill Thurston-12, Civilian Barracks Bay-3
Rebecca stopped as she entered the converted cargo-bay and scowled in disgust. Hands on her hips, she tried to ignore the stench of body odor as she looked up at the overworked HVAC intakes on the ceiling. Something had to change she thought, people couldn't live like this. She pulled the radio off of her hip.
"Reese, what's your 20?" she asked. She waited impatiently for her Chief Engineer to respond.
"This is Reese. I'm in my rack, off duty," he responded casually.
Rebecca glowered at her radio. "There is no off-duty anymore. Meet me in Cargo Bay-3."
"Copy that. I'll be there in ten," he answered reluctantly.
Rebecca tried to fade into the bulkhead while she waited for the engineer to arrive. She was found by one of the refugees within five minutes.
"You're the Captain, aren't yah?" Doran asked the short and stout woman.
Rebecca turned at the voice, and her heart sank as she watched the child approaching her. 'This was no place for a kid,' she thought. 'Well, it shouldn't be,' she corrected herself.
"Captain Davenport, at your service," she answered in a forced optimistic tone.
The kid rolled his eyes and turned away from her.
"Hey kid, wait," she called after him.
Doran paused, 'Try not to be rude," Mrs. Willett's request sang through his head.
"Uh, sure," he answered hesitantly.
"What's your name?" Rebecca asked.
Doran looked her over, sizing her up. "Doran Inuk," he said plainly.
The name was familiar for some reason. It took her a moment to place it.
"You're the kid from the Green-Liner. My Chief says you've been helping with repairs on it."
Doran stopped at that. He hadn't expected the ship's Captain to know about his activities, much less his name.
"Yeah, were trying, but the primary coil is completely used up. We need to replace it, so…" he drifted off.
Rebecca scratched her chin in thought. "There are two satellite tenders in the fleet. One of them should be able to fabricate a new coil."
"Is that possible?" he asked incredulously.
"I don't see why not. I'll put in a call, can't hurt, right?"
"Yeah, thanks," he answered. His mood lifted as he thought of moving back to the plush seats and giant vid screen on the shuttle.
"So, how do you know so much about fixing ships?" she asked.
"My dad was a mechanic; I spent a lot of time at the shop helping out."
Rebecca nodded her head in understanding. "Hang out a minute, alright." She said casually.
Doran looked at her with a curious expression. "Sure," he said easily.
The two talked for a few minutes, mainly Doran telling the Captain about the Green-Liner and his home on Aquaria.
"What's up, boss?" a man's voice called out.
Doran watched as an average sized man in a ship's navy blue uniform approached the captain.
"Take a whiff, Reese," she answered shortly.
He stopped, slightly confused. "Yeah, I know it stinks."
"Needs to be fixed," she answered curtly.
"Skipper, the environmental systems were never designed for this. I wouldn't know where to begin," he griped.
Rebecca wheeled on the engineer. "Reese, this here is Doran Inuk."
The engineer turned to face the boy. "Hi, nice to meet you," he said unevenly.
"Shut it, Reese!" Captain Davenport quipped. She looked down at the boy and then back to the engineer.
"Doran here, and everyone else in this compartment has to breathe, this…" she waved her hands indicating the dank, humid air. "Every minute of every day," she lamented. "We can do better, we have too," she admonished the officer.
"Yes ma'am. I'll get on it first thing," he answered.
"Great, and take the kid with you, okay."
The engineer stopped at the captain's request. "Uh, Skipper, did I hear that right?"
Rebecca smiled at Doran before turning to Reese. "The kid's dad was a small ship mechanic. Probably time he got to climb around a real starship."
"Sure thing, Boss." Reese answered, clearly not convinced.
"What ya' think kid?" she asked.
Doran's grin was so tight that it threatened to split his face into two pieces. "Yes ma'am, that sounds awesome," he answered enthusiastically.
"Great," she replied. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm supposed to meet with a Ms. Leta Johnson. You know her?"
"No ma'am, sorry." Doran answered.
"No worries." The captain turned to the officer. "Night, Chief," she said.
Doran watched as she turned away and began to make her way to the center of the compartment.
"Doran, right?" the officer broke the uneasy silence that had fallen between the two. "I'll find you in the morning, oh-eight hundred."
"Yes, sir. Thanks!" Doran responded eagerly.
They shook hands briefly. Doran watched as the engineer turned and made his way out of the compartment.
Morning, Day 158; Argentum Bay
Rebecca held the hatch open for Doran as she led him into one of the larger maintenance bays on the ventral flight-pod.
She smiled as Doran went straight to one of the three Mark-2 Vipers assigned to this compartment. He stopped a half meter in front of it, his eyes focused as he took in every detail.
"Well, go on, have a good look." Abel called out, encouraging him.
Doran stopped and turned, watching the stocky man approaching him. "Can I," he started to ask.
"How 'ya gonna learn if you don't," Abel confirmed.
Doran hesitated and looked to both Rebecca and this new guy. He watched Rebecca nod her head in assent before he eagerly climbed up the ladder and into the cockpit.
There was a twinkle in Abel's eyes as he stood, his arms crossed his chest and a broad smiled stretched across his face as he watched the boy examine the old fighter. "Kids, there the most important thing," he said with a twinge of regret.
"Yeah, they are," Rebecca affirmed. She looked at him carefully. "You okay with this?"
He turned to her, and quickly wiped a tear from his eye. "Yeah, yeah," he answered quietly. "It's funny ya know, I lost my kids, and this one lost his folks."
"He lost his sister too," Rebecca added.
Abel schooled his expression, "Frackin' Cylons."
The two officers stood silently as they watched the boy climb over the fighter.
Doran turned to the pair. "Can you show me the engines?" he asked hopefully.
Abel nodded his head. "Got to, if we're gonna get this bird out the nest!" he responded.
Abel walked to the boy, spanner in hand. "Name's Chief Persea. You must be Doran Inuk. Captain's tole' me good things about 'ya."
Doran slid off the wing of the old Viper and made his way to the man. "Nice to meet you, Chief," he said as he took the stocky man's hand.
"And you too," he responded. "Now, bring me that' wagon over there and we'll get started."
Rebecca watched as the two began removing the cowling from the port engine. She didn't dare stay long, Doran looked happier than she'd ever seen him, and she was on the verge of tearing up. No way in hades was she going to let Abel see her emotional. She stayed just a few more minutes before turning away and quietly slipping down the corridor.
The End