Elizabeth's POV
"I'm sorry—what?!"
Captain Elizabeth of the Ranger-class Missile Cruiser Dauntless shot an incredulous glare at the comms officer. Her voice was sharp, but laced with something else—unease.
The man flinched but didn't back down. He just jabbed a finger at the screen. "Ma'am, I—just look."
Elizabeth shoved past him, leaning over the console, her scowl deepening. The words blinked back at her in stark, sterile text.
COLONIAL MILITARY EMERGENCY BROADCAST
PRIORITY ONE
ALL COLONIAL FORCES: EMERGENCY DECLARATION
THE COLONIES ARE UNDER ATTACK. CYLON FORCES ENGAGED AT MULTIPLE LOCATIONS.
Her gut twisted.
The noise of the bridge faded, and for the first time in years, Elizabeth felt something close to panic creeping up her spine.
Frak me.
She swallowed, hard. This wasn't a joke. This wasn't some Colonial officer's desperate bluff. This was real.
"The hell is this?" she muttered.
One of her crew—a wiry gunner named Tye—shifted uncomfortably nearby. "Looks like the tin cans finally decided to finish the job." His voice lacked its usual dry humor.
Elizabeth exhaled sharply through her nose, forcing down the rising dread.
"Ma'am… orders?" someone asked, their voice tight.
Orders.
Right.
She was still captain of this rust bucket. Her crew was looking at her, waiting, and if there was one thing she couldn't afford, it was hesitation. Pirates didn't last long when they showed weakness.
She tore her eyes away from the broadcast and straightened, rolling her shoulders like she was shaking off a bad hand of Triad.
"First order: Nobody panics," she said, her voice snapping like a whip. "We're alive, and I like staying that way."
She turned toward the DRADIS station. "Jump us to Black Haven."
Her crew moved, though the tension on the bridge was thick enough to choke on.
Elizabeth didn't blame them.
Because the truth was, she wasn't sure which she'd rather do.
The Dauntless snapped out of FTL, and the familiar, jagged shape of Black Haven filled the viewport.
Elizabeth exhaled, rolling the tension from her shoulders. Still here. That's something, at least.
Black Haven was a patchwork of old war metal, barely holding together after decades of neglect. It had been a military outpost once, back in the First Cylon War—before the Colonies forgot about it, and before she claimed it as her own. The place was an armored shell with a rotten core, a maze of reinforced corridors and rusting bulkheads where only the strongest or the smartest survived.
It wasn't much.
But it was hers.
Her eyes flicked toward the Endeavor, her Adamant-class frigate, docked along one of the external arms. Still intact. No new battle scars, no signs of damage beyond what was already there.
Good.
"We got eyes on our ships?" she called out.
"Confirmed," her DRADIS officer replied. "Endeavor, and all docked freighters accounted for. No unknowns."
Elizabeth exhaled through her nose. That was the first good news she'd had all day.
"Patch me through to the station."
A burst of static filled the comms before a familiar voice crackled through.
"Dauntless, this is Black back, Cap."
Elizabeth leaned on the console. "Good to be back. Everything quiet?"
There was a pause. Too long of a pause.
"… Not exactly, Cap."
Her smirk faded. "Start talking."
"Something big jumped close to us. The Endeavor's sensors barely picked it up."
20 Minutes Later – Aboard BS Heart of Storm
The Raptor's cabin hummed around her as Elizabeth strapped herself in, fingers drumming against her thigh. The moment the hatch sealed, she felt it—the shift in her gut, the undeniable sensation of being inside something that wasn't hers.
She didn't like it.
Didn't like being locked inside someone else's ship. Didn't like trusting some Colonial pilot to fly her anywhere. And she sure as frak didn't like flying straight toward a Colonial battlestar with no backup.
The Raptor jolted as it broke through the last stretch of Black Haven's ragged debris field. Up ahead, the Heart of Storm loomed, battered and scarred but still standing.
Elizabeth exhaled sharply through her nose.
Big, ugly, and half-broken.
She could respect that.
The Raptor glided into the hangar, touching down with a soft thud. The deck crew barely reacted, too busy with their own fires to put on a show.
As the elevator lowered, she was already on her feet. The ramp dropped, and she strode forward with the confidence of someone who belonged—even though she didn't.
A handful of Colonial officers stood waiting, too stiff, too polished.
But the man in the center?
Admiral.
He had the look of someone who hadn't slept in days but could still tear through steel with a single glare.
Her kind of man.
Elizabeth stopped at the base of the ramp, her boots clicking against the deck. Her gaze swept the hangar, past the Vipers lined in perfect rows, past the worn battle markings on the bulkheads.
Pride.
That's what this place reeked of.
Broken pride.
Her lips twitched.
Interesting.
BS Heart of Storm – Hangar Deck
"Welcome aboard the Heart of Storm, miss…?"
The man's voice was calm, edged with curiosity.
Elizabeth's gaze flicked to him. Tall, sharp-eyed, carrying the weight of command like a second skin.
She let the silence stretch, just long enough to assert control.
"Elizabeth," she said finally, her tone clipped.
Sarata gave a small nod and extended his hand. A test.
She hesitated—just a fraction—then clasped his hand firmly.
Strong grip. Controlled. Not looking to intimidate, but not backing down, either.
Careful man.
The kind that could decide to shoot her or shake her hand depending on what she said next.
She liked him already.
Admiral Sarata's POV
FUUUUUUCK.
I'm shaking hands with a pirate.
Okay. Don't panic.
She doesn't know I'm panicking. Keep it together.
I keep my grip steady, my expression unreadable, and—thank the gods—it looks like she bought my act.
Elizabeth. No last name.
She's shorter than I expected, but there's nothing small about her presence. Sharp eyes, confident stance, the kind of smirk that says she's always two steps ahead.
And frak me, she looks way too comfortable standing on my deck.
I release her hand, shoving down the instinct to wipe mine on my uniform. Not the time.
Instead, I gesture toward the corridor. "Shall we?"
She tilts her head, amusement flickering in her gaze—like she knows exactly what I'm thinking.
Great. Just great.
I turn and lead her toward the briefing room, my mind racing.
Two freighters. Two warships. An Adamant and a Ranger.
I exhaled sharply. Let's hope those freighters are carrying something useful.
Even if their cargo was worthless, more ships meant more options.
I rubbed a hand over my face, forcing my thoughts into order.
Step one: Patch up the Heart of Storm.
Step two: Secure supplies.
Step three: Figure out how the frak to get to Adama.
I reached the briefing room and stepped inside, my thoughts already miles away.
I moved toward the table, but my gaze caught on the star map on thefar wall.
My stomach twisted.
Frak.
I dragged a hand down my face, the weight of realization hitting me like a punch.
The fleet at Picon.
How the hell had I forgotten?
That had to be why the Cylons were jumping away. It was over. Picon's fleet, the last real Colonial defense—gone.
Could I have done something?
The thought hit hard, sharp and useless.
No.
Even if I'd gotten there in time, what would have changed? It's not like I could've magically turned off the CPN.
The Cylons had planned this for years. By the time I arrived, the battle would've been long lost, the fleet nothing but debris and dying signals.
And if we jumped in now?
We'd land in the middle of a Cylon slaughterhouse.
I let out a slow breath, forcing the thought away.
I couldn't afford to dwell on ghosts.
Shaking my head one last time, I turned toward the table and lowered myself into a chair.
"Have a seat, Miss Elizabeth."
She didn't move.
"Captain Elizabeth," she corrected smoothly.
I nodded once. Fine.
"Do you know what's happening, Captain?" I asked, keeping my voice measured. Before she could respond, I continued, my tone hardening.
"Genocide. That's what's happening. Our worlds are cities wiped out. Billions dead. And our fleets? Gone. The Cylons had a backdoor into CPN. We never saw it coming."
I leaned forward slightly, locking eyes with her.
"There's a high chance we're the only ships still alive."
Elizabeth's POV
…What?
No. That can't be true.
The Colonies couldn't be gone—just like that.
He had to be lying. Had to be.
But… why?
What did he gain from it? What kind of game was he playing?
Her mind scrambled for a reason, some angle that made sense. A trick, a bluff—something.
But deep down, in the part of her that she didn't want to listen to—
She knew.
He was telling the truth.
She cleared her throat
"So what then Admiral?"
Admiral Sarata's POV
"Join me. Simple as that."
I kept my voice measured, my expression unreadable.
"I need ships, hulls, and people to survive this. And you? You need a Battlestar's protection."
I leaned back slightly, watching her.
"From what we've managed to gather, the Cylons are only deploying heavy Basestars. No escorts. No small warships. That means all it takes is one Heavy Raider scouting your base—and a Basestar will jump in right on top of you."
I let the words settle.
She was smart. She'd already done the math. Black Haven wouldn't last.
It didn't matter how many hulls she had, how many guns were bolted to that station. If the Cylons found them, it was over.
Still, she didn't flinch. Didn't react.
Rescue at Caprica was… what?
200 days after the fall?
I exhaled slowly, forcing myself not to dwell on it.
I just needed to hold on.
200 days.
Loot some wrecks, rescue a ship or two—stay alive.
And then?
Galactica