The Final Circle

by Sufficient Velocity

This is a Babylon 5 centered tale. It explores a BSG style exodus due to the loss of the Earth Minbari war. It becomes a crossover with nBSG as of Interlude 1, and crosses with Firefly as of Interlude 2. Most B5 and BSG canon should remain unchanged, including EU. However, Firefly will mostly use series and film canon. Its EU began to expand after I had already merged the plots.

44. Chapter 41 - There's No Place I Can Be

Chapter 41 - There's No Place I Can Be

.

Miranda City, Miranda, Orbiting Burnham, Blue Sun System - June, 2250
Leaning against the elegant red granite balustrade which enclosed the second floor balcony wrapping around the Capitol Building's rotunda; Commodore John Sheridan silently watched the public hologram in the dome above over steepled hands. He was far from the only one. Many others…civilians, military, and visitors alike…weren't even making a pretense of going about their duties. Watching the hologram in varying levels of silence of their own. The exception of course was Laurel. The Lieutenant Commander hadn't ceased running herself and others ragged as she oversaw the repair teams returning the fleet to full combat capability. Or as close as could be managed under the circumstances. It was quite a job, and John felt tired just watching her go. And he felt guilty having forced her to come down to the surface to find him, so she could apprise him of current progress. Once again the need to promote her flitted briefly through his mind. It was something he kept meaning to do, but kept finding himself putting off to deal with whatever fresh disaster was emergent at the moment.

But even Laurel kept her report to a low murmur, so as not to disturb those taking this moment to observe a momentous occasion.

The hologram, easily twenty meters across and a miracle that it still worked after all those years of abandonment, showed a view out into the orbitals above. A view of four massive craft; each exceeding four kilometers in length and each visibly shot to pieces…at least if you looked closely enough. They were performing final maneuvers, their engines glowing erratically. A host of tugs were helping them through the evolution.

And then it was done. A gruff female voice, from aboard the leader of those vessels, crackled out over the speakers. "Task Force Independence One….parking orbit achieved." The room erupted into applause at Marshall Roberts's announcement. The final vessels from the Battle of Londinium had made it home…with a war prize like no other. There had been significant concern that the Alliance might take their final remaining supercarrier and assault the convoy of war prizes. Indeed, given the abysmal state of not only those vessels, but the Earth Force, Colonial, and Cylon fleets…such an assault might very well have been entirely successful. John wasn't sure he would have even considered attempting to intercede with what vessels he had capable of jumping to such a confrontation. They were already damaged and depleted, and the act might very well be considered throwing good money after bad. Suicide in the defense of honor. John well knew that discretion was the better part of valor. Still it would have been a hard call to make.

He was perfectly happy that he'd never had to. In the end, the Alliance simply hadn't had the temerity. Or perhaps they hadn't even had the competence and vision to even formulate such a tactic. Whatever it was, all surviving forces had made it back to Miranda unmolested. And in doing so, they had shifted the 'Verse into an entirely new paradigm.

Taking his eyes off of that magical hologram. John looked down into and across the rotunda. At people resuming their conversations and business. At a level of energy and enthusiasm and sheer optimism that would have been…unthinkable, just a few weeks ago. And just as optimistic as the people of the Earth Alliance, or the Colonials, or even the bemused looking Cylons just taking it all in…were their visitors. The new Independents. Word had spread, and Miranda was suddenly awash in visitors from a hundred worlds. Presidents and paupers. Soldiers and swashbucklers. Ranchers and robber barons. Capitalists galore. And likely more than a few slavers and human traffickers.

He'd already quietly let it be known that anyone peddling in such human misery…potentially up to and including entire planets…would not be under Earth Force or Colonial protection from either the Reavers or the Alliance. Roberts had objected vociferously, as had hundreds of the powerful and wealthy from across the 'Verse. He'd made it quite clear that no one amongst the Earth Force or the Colonials gave a damn about their objections. There was still more than a bit of grumbling. But in surprisingly short order a host of worlds had begun enforcing the antislavery statutes that were already on the books. John wasn't so naïve as to believe that he'd stamped out that particular iniquity. Much of it had simply moved underground. But it was a step in the right direction, and he'd keep pushing the issue until it was actually solved. Or until he died. Most likely the practice would outlast him, whatever efforts he made.

A whirlwind of motion caught his eye as it made its way across the central floor, and John's eyes narrowed as he realized upon whom it was centered. If anything, William Edgars had been even busier than Takashima, and the invisible web he was spinning now reached across the breadth of the 'Verse. Gossamer still, yet rapidly entangling itself throughout all the industry and economy of the 'Verse. At least, the non-Alliance parts of it. At first, Edgars had needed the contacts provided by Reynolds and Bourne and Roberts. But he'd spun those contacts into more and more. Visitors had begun coming to Miranda to meet with him. To trade in technology and industry and intellectual capital. The Battle of Londinium had acted as the perfect proof for the capabilities of Earth Alliance, Colonial, and Cylon technologies.

Those traveling to meet with Edgars had been just a trickle at first, but rapidly grew into an unstoppable torrent. With Edgars and his fellows at the center of it all. By this point, John was quite certain that the name Edgars was better known throughout the 'Verse than the likes of Roslin, or Adama, or even Sheridan.

So far as John could tell, Mr. Edgars was merely doing exactly what he had promised…laying the groundwork for an industrial and economic juggernaut that could withstand the Alliance and keep their cultures alive in perpetuity. But it was a fair bet that the man…somehow…was already wealthier and more influential than he had ever been back in the Earth Alliance. He would bear watching.

Withdrawing his mind from that particular unenviable task, John turned and headed for his next one. Taking a cross corridor that led deep into the north wing, John made his way towards the large meeting space and the ongoing talks taking place therein. Talks which rarely fell below a level that…if one were being charitable…could be described as a dull roar. Talks which quite frequently seemed on the verge of breaking out into fisticuffs. Assuming they didn't break out first into sword or gunplay.

Trotting down a marble staircase to the first floor, he crossed a hall just coming to life with a riot of flowers and shrubs imported all the way from Earth. One more side corridor, and he stepped into the massive stone room, echoing with ongoing argument. Taking in the attendees, his lips pursed in mild annoyance to see that Edgars and his following had somehow beat him there. Still, they were nominally on the same team, and John had to admit that the man and the horde of other former Earth Alliance magnates and moguls were getting things done. Looking further around, he spotted the pair of Earth Force blues he was looking for and crossed the room to sit down next to Colonel Garibaldi and Captain Sinclair. Along the way, he nodded affably to President Roslin, Admiral Adama, and Vice President Zarek seated nearby. Laura seemed more than a little annoyed by the whole goings on, which raised his estimation of her a small notch.

As he took his seat, he glanced up at the current speaker, a native of Jiangyin, if his memory served. The man was building up to a full head of fire and brimstone, and more than a few of the other attendees appeared less than happy at his words. Some nearly to the level of murderous mayhem, based on the rising shades of reds and purples in many faces. Leaning his head closer to Michael and Jeff, he whispered, "What's happening?"

Michael snorted. He didn't bother to whisper, but at least kept his voice down. "We've gotten as far as names. Apparently we have to name ourselves before we can actually do anything," he added with an eye roll.

"Someone offered up a name that included the word 'Alliance' and all hell broke loose," Jeff added. "Apparently the word is verboten. More than a few have asked, pretty close to outright demanded, that we drop the word from Earth Alliance."

"What, and just call ourselves Earth?" John asked, aghast.

"Apparently that's problematic as well. They wanted it established that each of their worlds were equally entitled to the name. But that we were fine to call ourselves 'Old Earth' or 'Earth that Was.'"

"I'd think the Marsies, amongst others, might have something to say about that," he mused. "It's a good thing Tessa Halloran wasn't here."

"I mentioned that, and tried to indicate that our name reflected the many peoples and former nations of Earth, along with her colonies, coming together as allies to solve humanity's mutual challenges. Apparently, that came too close to the forbidden word."

"I tried to distract them by suggesting the 'United Federation of Planets', or the 'Imperium of Man'," Michael added with a grin.

"Unsuccessfully," Jeff countered.

"Unsuccessfully," Michael agreed. "I guess there's no accounting for taste. Though that angry looking lady from Whitefall seemed to like the 'Imperium of Man.' We maybe ought to keep an eye on her. Patience, I think her name was. Though it seems to be a bit of a misnomer."

Roslin was speaking again, trying to get discussion back onto a productive track. John looked around, taking in all of the faces. Rubbing his chin in bemused contemplation. He hadn't been expecting…any of this. Not really. After Londinium, nearly every single one of the Border and Rim worlds had either thrown off their Alliance shackles or were in active bloody revolt against them. That included worlds which had remained neutral or even sided with the Alliance during the Unification War. Apparently, resentment had grown deep during the intervening decade. And in addition to their millionaires and billionaires, now thick as thieves with Edgars…a good thing, Sheridan reminded himself for the umpteenth time…they'd also sent along their representatives and ambassadors. This he'd expected. In order to properly withstand the Alliance they'd need to form…well…an alliance. Perhaps even something resembling a loose confederation. What he hadn't expected, given both the newness of their association and his admittedly limited understanding of the recent history of the 'Verse, was that a sizable portion of these attendees…though admittedly still a minority…would have drawn strong lessons from their defeat in the Unification War and the hardships of the years to follow. Lessons which informed them that alliances were limited, and confederations fell apart under pressure. Lessons which drove the belief that no confederacy was up to the job. Lessons which created outspoken proponents of the notion that only a strong, centralized, federated government had any hope of holding back the Alliance for more than a decade or so, at most. And this from individuals who had fought a bloody war against this very concept.

Shockingly, Sheridan found himself embroiled in something shaping up to be a system-wide congress. With shades of constitutional convention rolled in. And for the moment…he found himself against the idea. Unsurprisingly, both Roslin and the Cylon Council were all in. They would be minor powers any way you looked at it. Some form of constitutional government might very well solidify their individuality and status. But the remnants of the Earth Alliance were currently the big fish in this not-so-little pond. And he just couldn't see how moving down this road would lead to anything but a drain and possibly limitation on that standing. But both Jeff and Michael seemed to favor the idea, so for now he was keeping an open mind.

John was still mentally working his way through the ramifications of either path, when a silence descended over the hall so abruptly that it managed to shock him out of his reverie. Looking around, he found all eyes aimed directly at the main entry to the room. As low murmurs, carrying shades of both curiosity and anger, began winging their way around the room; John turned his own eyes in that direction.

Standing brazenly within the entryway was a trio of ornately dressed…officials. The mismatched clothing the three wore clearly weren't uniforms, and yet they were emblazoned with a number of ribbons, emblems, and other distinctive ornamentation. Well, two of the men were so endowed anyway, one thin and the other leaning towards portly. The third dressed far more shabbily, and appeared to be the sort of fellow Garibaldi would have locked up on sheer principle alone.

"Who are they?" John asked quietly. He needn't have bothered keeping his voice down. The low murmurs had evolved into a raucous cacophony of jeers, catcalls, and outright threats. Roslin, who had still been speaking upon their entrance, was now stridently calling out for order.

"Qīngwā cāo de liúmáng! That's a trio I wouldn'a thought t'see here. Or together, come t'think on it." It was Captain Reynolds, sliding up to their table at the side of Marshal Roberts, who answered John's question. "That's their utmost noblynesses Lord Warwick Harrow and Lord Atherton Wing." Reynolds and Roberts both pulled out chairs and sat.

"That sounds familiar," Jeff mused. "Wait, weren't they minor members of the Alliance's first negotiations team? On…Persephone?! Are we looking at Representatives from Persephone?!"

"The Core World?" John asked, intrigued.

"So now you know why everyone's fit to be tied," Roberts replied. "Persephone's not just part of the White Sun system, but is generally acknowledged by all to be a full fledged core world, with inextricable political and business ties to the heart of the Alliance. The fact that it just happened to be the capital of the Independent Planets that surrendered the war right out from underneath us is just the runny topping on this triple layer shit cake. What were they thinking, coming here?" Sheridan noted that her final question sounded far more curious than derisive.

"Who's the greasy little guy?" Michael cut right to the heart of his own interest.

"That's Badger," Mal replied. "A gorramn thief with delusions of mobsterhood. He's coming up in the 'Verse, if those other two will even consider associating with him."

"Just what we need," Garibaldi grumbled, "more organized crime getting embedded right into the foundation of…whatever it is we're building here."

After a tomato and the remains of a half-eaten egg salad sandwich had plastered themselves across his previously impeccable vest and sash, Lord Harrow had had enough. He stepped forward, raising his hands, and shouting back at the room. And doing a far better job quieting the tumult than Roslin had come close to doing. Apparently, their presence had engendered sufficient curiosity that most were willing to hear what they had to say. "Go ahead!" he shouted. "Heap your abuse, your curses, and even your lunches upon us! Is this kind of behavior what we have to look forward to? Is this the brave new world you're trying to build? I thought this gathering was about making a better life for you and yours. About getting out from under the thumb of the Alliance."

"You are the Alliance!" a faceless voice from the end of the room shouted back.

"You think Persephone hasn't been burdened under the weight of Alliance oversight and regulation? Do you think my own businesses and holdings haven't suffered? I have to engage smugglers and ne'er do wells just to move a few head of cattle."

"Awww shucks," Mal chuckled under his breath, drawing an odd look from Garibaldi.

"It was you people what surrendered to the Alliance!" another voice shouted.

"No," the Representative named Patience cut in, "it was worse than that. It was Persephone that started the resistance, formed the heart and capital of the Independent Planets, and convinced the Border and Rim worlds to stand up to the Alliance and fight. It was Persephone that surrendered us all to line their own pockets and get back in the Alliance's good graces…all's forgiven and right with the world!...while the rest of the 'Verse rotted. They set up and sold us out. Traitors, one and all."

A bedlam of threats and projectile comestibles inundated the trio at this declaration. Harrow attempted to calm things, shouting out assurances that it had not been them. That the traitors who sold out to the Alliance had long since emigrated to Londinium, leaving men like him behind to pick up the pieces. John doubted anyone heard him over the tumult. That fool Atherton Wing actually laid his hand on the hilt of his saber. Diplomat or not, some damn fool Marine was getting busted in rank for allowing him to pass with that on his hip.

Before the room could descend into darker violence than flying foodstuffs, Marshal Roberts took off one of her size eleven combat boots and, standing up, began hammering the heel violently on the table next to Sinclair, who quickly snatched his hand away. She bawled out, cutting through the cacophony in the strident tones of a battlefield commander. "Gentlemen! Ladies! Comport yourselves! You are the leaders and representative of the Earths of the 'Verse! I'll not put up with a pack of unruly children!"

When the noise died down a bit, attendees staring at her in shock, she continued. "As for the delegation from Persephone…it is true that the leaders of the Independent Planets resided there, and sold us all out. But you should all know that none of these men were amongst that pack of traitors. And while Persephone is a Core World, it orbits Lux, not Bai Hu. It is among the least of the Core Worlds, practically a border world itself. And for their combined punishment and reward for their actions during and ending the war, the Alliance keeps a firmer thumb on Persephone than any Rim or Border world. They are held up as an example to the other Core worlds…of what happens when you step out of line. I'm not at all surprised that they might want out from under that arrangement."

"Of course you'd stick up for them!" someone from the back of the room shouted. "You capitulated as well! We've all seen you working for the Alliance these last several years. Helping to solidify their control. You're just as much of a traitor as they are!"

The room erupted into argument once more, now between those defending the Marshal versus those condemning her, all based on a thousand different rumors. Roberts herself merely shrugged and quietly offered, "If that's what you choose to believe," before resuming her seat and pulling on her boot once more.

A new voice broke through the tumult, grabbing everyone's attention. John was surprised to see it was the greasy fellow. "You want to know how you can trust us?" Badger asked the room as a whole. "Well it's because of my own pretty little mug starin' back at'ya! There's not a man or woman amongst'ya who don't know me. Right proper businessman that I am." That last drew chuckles from around the room. "And you's all know that the Alliance wouldn' offer me a squirt 'o piss if me arse were on fire. If'n I'm here, this little party ain't goin' runnin' to the Alliance. Not without puttin' their own fine necks right in the noose."

The angry murmurs were replaced by thoughtful ones. And it was into that environment that Edgars brought out his silvered tongue. "We're at war, gentlemen. We need all of the resources we can get; and we can certainly make use of the industry, economy, and sheer population available from Persephone. What's more, it's a Core world. If we flip them to our side it sends the unequivocal message that we are winning, and the Alliance is losing. I fail to see any purpose to your hesitation."

After that statement, Edgars's allies and sycophants rapidly fell into line, browbeating or simply out shouting any remaining opposition. The men from Persephone moved to find a table and seats, revealing another elderly gentleman who had been hidden behind them. Looking somewhat befuddled, he'd actually found a paper name tag somewhere and written the name of his world in large, elegant script upon it. Now residing on his left breast, the entire room could read the name Pelorum…the other Core world orbiting Lux. After the tumult surrounding Persephone's delegation, he was able to seat himself with little more than some uncertain rumbling rippling across the room.

And just like that, whatever kind of alliance or even government they were forming here was joined by not one but two Core worlds. The poorest and weakest of the bunch, but Core worlds nonetheless. John merely scratched his chin thoughtfully, as the future of the 'Verse rippled and shifted around him.

---

.

The White Star Liner Atlantis, Orbiting Miranda, Burnham, The 'Verse - June, 2250

Bleary eyed and head pounding, aching all over, Stephen Franklin slowly swam up from the depths of unconsciousness. He squeezed shut his eyes as a bright light seemed to drive like a spike straight through his brain. Mouth parched, he tried to ask for water. It came out merely as a thready wheeze. Miraculously however, a straw was placed between his lips. Gratefully he sucked in a mouthful of cool, sweet water; holding it in place for a long moment to soak into the tissues of his mouth before he swallowed almost regretfully.

Somewhat refreshed, he made another attempt to open his eyes. He was all but alone in a small recovery room aboard the Atlantis. He'd organized the hospital himself, and had no trouble identifying it. The only other occupant of the room loomed above him, holding a sweating glass of water and looking down sternly, though perhaps with some small bit of compassion. Commodore John Sheridan. His boss.

"Well," Stephen noted, voice quiet and hoarse, yet coming through clearly, "I really made a hell of a mess this time, didn't I?"

"Understatement of the century," John replied mirthlessly.

"I…found a cure you know. For the Reaver transformation. We can actually cure them. One hundred percent."

John drew in a deep breath. "I know. And so do the Reavers. They're the ones who brought you in. Turned you over to us. They were not impressed. And since they have the only sample you produced, and they seized all of your data and records…"

"I can recreate it!" Stephen rushed to reassure him. "It's all up here," he added, tapping his forehead, then howling in pain at the act.

"Careful!" Sheridan snapped. "You came in with second degree burns across most of your face, scalp, shoulders, and chest. The skin replacement hasn't fully set yet."

"I…I think I fell into a fire."

"Well, you can thank the Reavers for pulling you out. And for not turning you into that damned Bloodshine that they seem to be producing everywhere now. And for taking the cure and your research to boot."

"I can recreate it," Franklin repeated.

"Before they find a cure for your cure? Or at least a vaccine to protect themselves from it? Because that's what they're working on, hammer and tongs, right this instant. They considered your cure a breach of our…partnership. Ghawran made clear the affront to his honor in no uncertain terms. But they've decided not to sever ties with us. To continue with their commitments, so long as we continue with ours."

"We're not going to give up on the cure?" Stephen asked in shock.

"No, but we're going to need to be more secretive about it. I've already got your subordinates pulling together what we could of your work. I'm assured that they're well on the way to recreating it. Whether it'll still be a cure when we finally decide to use it…that's the real question. But you don't need to worry about recreating the cure. Your people can handle it. We'll let you know if they can't. You just need to worry about healing up."

Franklin paused, hesitant. "Am…am I fired?" Listening to his own voice, Stephen wasn't sure if he sounded more nervous or hopeful.

John grimaced. "By all rights you should be. You fragged up beyond all belief. But you also delivered an impossible cure. And as incredibly talented as more than a dozen of your subordinates are…you're the best. You've delivered the impossible. You're also a friend… back to before the Fall. Before Project Exodus. No, you're not fired. I couldn't bring myself to do it."

Stephen felt emotions welling up, and rapidly blinked away bitter tears. He began speaking, then stopped, and tried three more times before he could get the words out. His voice was clearer than when he first awoke, but was gruff with emotion. "Maybe you've noticed, maybe you haven't, but I haven't been doing as good a job as I should have. Not for quite a while. I kept wanting to do more and I ended up doing less. It's ironic, you know? When I look in the mirror, I don't see me…I see the job…I was the job. Nothin' else mattered. I haven't taken Tessa on a date. I haven't, I haven't seen a vid. I-I-I haven't just sat and listened to music in…in I don't know how long."

"Stephen," John began, "I have…"

"Wait, wait, let me finish," Franklin cut him off. "Because, if I stop, I'm afraid I'm not gonna get through this."

"Alright."

"I've been taking stims, John. A lot of them. Too many. Because they…kept me busy. They...they...they kept me from lookin' in the mirror and realizing that I do not know who was looking back at me." He wiped a bit more moisture from his eyes. "Friends, colleagues…Lillian Hobbs and Sarah Chambers in particular…they tried to stop me. Warn me about what was happening…what I was doing. I was so focused on that cure, I just knew they had to be wrong. So I pulled my own blood samples. To show them. To prove that they didn't know what the hell they were talking about." Pausing to gather up a bit more courage, he continued. "The thing about medicine is that it all comes down to the numbers. X amount of something is safe, Y amount is dangerous. X amount of stims in your bloodstream proves that you're not addicted…Y amount proves that you are." He chuckled mirthlessly. "It's funny…how easy it is to just lose track. You don't realize how much you're doin'.

"But the numbers don't lie, do they?"

Stephen shook his head. "No they don't. I was so obsessed with fixing other people's problems because I was afraid to face my own. I don't think I have that luxury anymore. Now I can keep lying to myself…'til something goes wrong…somebody dies…or I can stop now. Leave the job before you are forced to take it away from me." Stephen paused, breaking eye contact and taking a deep breath. "So effective immediately, I am resigning as Chief Medical Officer of this Fleet…or whatever the hell it is we are now. I'm not sure what I'm gonna do. I guess I'll, uh, figure it out."

"Look, just…"

Stephen cut him off again. "I've got a lot to figure out, and it's time I got started."

Shockingly, Sheridan barked out in the cold, unmistakable tones of a Commanding Officer. "This isn't a democracy, Commander Franklin. And you aren't some civilian, serving at your own whim. Resignation is not an option."

Stephen made eye contact once more. "I'm no good to you as I am, Commodore. Please, let me go."

John stared deep into his eyes for a long moment, then nodded. "Commander, your request for a Leave of Absence is granted." He paused then held out his hand. "Good luck, Stephen."

Gingerly, Franklin shook his friend's hand, and then settled back and closed his eyes and Sheridan turned on his heel and departed.

---

.

Miranda City, Miranda, Orbiting Burnham, Blue Sun System - June, 2250
Michael Garibaldi bickered amicably with Kendra Shaw as they sat and waited for the other attendees to arrive. A large pair of windows dominated one side of the conference room, letting in the reddish light of the noonday sun. Max Eilerson was the next to step through the door, but he took one look at them and, grunting, grabbed a seat several places down the table. Kendra shot him a quizzical look and then asked Michael, "What's his problem?"

"Who knows? General antisociability?"

Eilerson seemed about to respond to the jibe when the door opened again, admitting Inara Sera and River Tam. River's eyes went immediately to Kendra, and she made a beeline over to grab a seat right next to the Major. "Sorry to interrupt," she offered affably.

"I can't imagine what you'd be interrupting," Kendra replied with a smile. "We're just sitting around, waiting for the meeting to begin."

"Sure you are," River came back with a mischievous smile. "I can see the future, you know."

"What are you doing here, kiddo?" Michael asked, preferring to avoid wherever that line of conversation was headed.

"I can also melt your brain," River replied, deadpan.

"She was helping me work through the data you shared from the Londinium haul," Inara cut in. "Given my former role, no one objected to me representing the 'Verse in this meeting. Or at least what passes as a new Independence movement. I'm the closest thing available to a cultural and historical expert on the 'Verse. But the knowledge in River's head, and her ability to digest and use information is…well, even the Cylons were impressed. And she was also able to ferret out some information that may be relevant to her own personal situation."

It was at that moment, before Michael could ask any further questions, that the door opened once again, revealing Captain Sinclair. He was followed a couple of minutes later by Tessa Halloran. Jeff, having seated himself, cut his eyes towards the Deputy, then quirked an eyebrow at Michael. "Deputy Halloran assisted in my analysis of the documents," Garibaldi quickly explained. "I also asked her here in case her impressive knowledge of and historical ties to Mars became relevant to the discussion."

"Will they?" Jeff asked in surprise.

As the door opened again, Michael merely shrugged and offered, "You never know."

It was a Cylon Model Six stepping through in a leggy green dress which he found quite appealing. Unless he missed his guess, that was Caprica, rather than Natalie, who had attended the last meeting of this nature. Caprica was joined by an Eight he believed to be Boomer. He was finding it easier and easier to identify the individuals of the various models…at least the ones he had gotten to know. The pair of Cylons also had Lyta Alexander in tow, sharp in her Cadet Lieutenant uniform. Unsurprising, as Lyta had been assigned as liaison to the Cylon council in general, and Caprica and Boomer more specifically, though for alternate reasons.

That merely left a single party to arrive…the official representative of the Colonial government. After her clear interest in the prior meeting, Michael was not at all surprised when once again Laura Roslin arrived for the briefing. He was somewhat surprised to see Lieutenant Susan Ivanova follow her in. As the President walked through the door, every military officer present stood and offered a salute, Michael included. "As you were," Laura acknowledged, offering a generalized nod to the entire room.

"Madame President," Sinclair replied. "Lieutenant," he added, acknowledging Ivanova.

"As our exchange officer and representative, I asked the Lieutenant to join us in case I think of any culturally relevant questions after the meeting has ended. She's been very helpful in understanding the book you gave me at our last meeting." Roslin motioned for Ivanova to sit, and then did the same. "I have been very much looking forward to this meeting. I love a good mystery."

"I suppose that's why we're all here," Jeff agreed. "To figure out where exactly people of the 'Verse came from, and how they're related to the rest of us. To that end, Colonel, I understand you've had some success." He nodded for Garibaldi to begin the briefing.

"Maybe," Michael prevaricated. "And maybe not. I'm not really satisfied with what we found."

"You're never satisfied, boss," Tessa snarked at him. "It seems pretty open and shut to me."

Michael was about to rib back, when his brain finally took stock of the people in the room. Or at least the special people in the room. Tessa, Susan, Lyta, Caprica, Boomer, and Kendra…and maybe he should add River to that list. This was a significant gathering of people whose abilities were quite poorly understood. It was probably coincidental, but he hadn't survived as long as he had by believing in coincidences. He wondered if he should be concerned.

"You should always be concerned," River uttered enigmatically, to no one in particular. Her statement drew odd looks from the other attendees.

Michael was preparing to snap at her to get out of his head, with only a minor amelioration in deference to her age, when Sinclair cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should provide a brief recap of our previous findings, for those who weren't at the prior meeting."

Max Eilerson, unsurprisingly, leapt at any opportunity to hear his own voice. "Previously we established that Earth-that-was definitively could not be the Cylon Earth. This left the major question of whether or not it was the Earth of the Earth Alliance. And while we had pulled in a great deal of information, telling a very compelling story, the results were…mixed."

"I'd use the word cockamamie," Michael proffered.

"Mostly because that's the longest word you know.," Max replied. "You're actually supposed to advance your word of the day calendar each morning."

"Gentlemen," Sinclair admonished.

"Basically," Max continued, "the written histories of both the Earth Alliance and Earth-that-was perfectly mirror each other right through to the early 21st century…right down to names, dates, and places. Including a growing series of ecological disasters and political and military turmoil. But at that point there seems to be a significant divergence…the discovery and emergence of telepaths on Earth, that is not similarly reflected in the written histories of Earth-that-was. However, even after that discrepancy, most of the history still remains utterly identical for more than a century. Only after that time do we see a trio of interconnected major discrepancies. Firstly, the scientists of Earth-that-was cracked gravity manipulation. Secondly, their world environment wasn't just in trouble, it was unsalvageable. And finally, they discovered the existence of the 'Verse, and a slew of potentially habitable worlds. Cumulatively, these three factors led to the decision that the project which was, in the history of the Earth Alliance, a grand adventure of exploration, to instead be an Exodus. A retreat from a dying world which wouldn't even wait for the end, choosing instead to suicide itself in the fires of nuclear holocaust. At least, that's the story."

"I take it the information you've recently acquired sheds new light on that story?" Laura prompted.

"And how!" Garibaldi replied. "Maybe just a bit too much light. It seems too easy…too detailed. Which fails to cover for the fact that there are still giant gaping holes in the story…new ones, in fact. I don't like it. And I don't just mean because what the recovered records spell out is absolutely horrifying."

"Mike," Sinclair chided, "I think you're getting a bit ahead of yourself. Why don't you detail what you learned from Londinium before you go blowing holes in it."

"I'll do it," River suddenly piped in, much to everyone's surprise, particularly Garibaldi's. "I love a good story, and this more than qualifies. And I know exactly why Colonel Mike is so upset. Both reasons."

Jeff shot an enquiring look at Garibaldi, who merely shrugged and said, "Might as well let her give her take. I'll correct any mistakes."

"I don't make mistakes," River noted. When Garibaldi's only reply was a barely muted snort, she added, "Brain…melted."

"I'd prefer to avoid any brain melting," Caprica reprimanded, "but it would be nice if someone would start this briefing.

The corners of River's mouth quirked up just slightly, and then she began. "You should all know how we acquired this information. A covert raid on a Londinium military base. An infiltration by a former Psi-Cop and the Three known as D'Anna allowed them to access a backdoor connection into the deepest, darkest servers of the Parliament. We pulled out information never meant to see the light of day. It proved very…illuminating. Before, we knew in broad strokes that the histories of Earth-that-was and the Earth Alliance appeared to be more or less identical. Now we know that, aside from the aforementioned differences, which I will get to, they are identical in every regard. The predecessors of the Parliament…the leaders of that original exodus fleet…brought very detailed records of their world and their history with them. And we know that the Earth Alliance tried to preserve as much as possible. So we have access to the kinds of records that completely overshadow what we had before. Government budgets, entire family genealogies, the United States Library of Congress…the list goes on and on. All entirely identical.

"We even know, from records of a government institution called NASA and their data intake from over a century of more and more advanced telescopes and other sensor systems, exactly where within the greater galaxy Earth-that-was resided. This is easily determined by triangulating against a number of major stars which serve as galactic way-points. And according to all of these records, Earth-that-was and the Earth Alliance Earth were in the exact same place. Those details were all entirely identical, from one to the other."

"So they are one and the same?" President Roslin asked, to ensure there was no misunderstanding.

"But what about those major historical discrepancies?" Tessa asked.

"That's what makes it such a great story!" River exclaimed. "Once upon a time, on a planet far far away, a new economic system was formed. Feudalism was dying. The world no longer revolved around a bunch of spoiled lordlings with delusions of grandeur. Or at least less so. But now the world seemed split on whether or not life, the universe, and everything should revolve around the community or society, or if it should be the individual who is the center of the individual's own universe. Seems like a stupid question to me, but I guess a lot of people wasted a lot of lives arguing about it. Anyway, the social group called themselves socialists. And the misanthropic types called themselves individualists. They probably all had bad breath, which is what I would have said, but apparently their enemies thought it would be better to mock them by calling them capitalists.

"It was the best of systems, it was the worst of systems. Capitalism raised billions out of poverty, helped to defend freedom and democracy, and more than doubled human life expectancy. And it also concentrated wealth and power into the hands of a few individuals. Wealth beyond the dreams of avarice. Power to shake or mold governments to their liking. They had more of both than the old kings, counts, and emperors could even dream of. It was their shortsighted pursuit of more and more wealth…or perhaps it was just the process of raising the masses out of starvation, ignorance, and poverty…that led to that rolling series of ecological and environmental calamities that befell the entire world, century after century. But, whether or not they had caused the problem, it eventually became apparent that their collection of wealth and power meant that they were entirely key to the solution."

"Is this going somewhere?" Major Shaw asked. "I had a hard enough time with Colonial history. Economics is entirely over my head."

"Don't interrupt," River glared, "or no supper for you!"

"Please continue, Miss Tam," Sinclair appeased.

"So, while the governments dithered about whether or not it was possible to fix the environment, or even reign in the excesses which were destroying it, those of means were looking for their own solutions. They had their hands in every government, every research institution, every industry. And every bit as much as the old nobles and royals, they saw themselves as separate from the masses. Better than. Smarter. More worthy. The hard men needed to make the hard decisions. Fix the problem, or distract the masses with bread and circuses…why not do both? They stalled all legislative efforts that would restrict their industry while simultaneously massively funding research in secret labs into things like space travel and environmental adjustment on a massive scale. There was no official conspiracy, at least not yet. But the interests of a small group of well-connected global elites most definitely converged. When many realized they were working in parallel, they began working together."

"Wait," Roslin interrupted. "Which history is this from? Earth-that-was or the Earth Alliance?"

"Both," River replied. She decided not to threaten the President's dinner. "And because they were pouring so much money into such a massive effort, their hidden labs made two major breakthroughs. Which they kept just as hidden. Massive environmental manipulation…terra- or kobol-forming, you would call it. And gravity manipulation."

"What!?" Jeff leapt to his feet. "That's not possible! I can guarantee that Earth never cracked gravity manipulation…or that level of terraforming!"

"This is where the records from Londinium and those you brought with your fleet diverge. Diverge in that you have no records of what went on in those labs. But the existence of those labs…the same owners and managers, the same scientists and technicians, the same employees on the same payroll…that you do have record of. At least some. That level of detail gets a little sketchy in both sets of records. Nobody really felt the need to record shoe sizes so that posterity could match up the histories of two maybe-the-same-maybe-different worlds. And the laws of the time allowed for a great deal to be kept secret. But what you do have on file allowed me to double check these conclusions a dozen different ways."

"And it could all be faked," Garibaldi chimed in.

"Can I just finish my story?" River whined.

"Please, go ahead my dear," Laura cut in.

"They knew that they were sitting on two things, either of which could answer their problems…or at least kick the urgency-can down the road. But they realized that, despite largely controlling most of the world's governments, they didn't really trust those governments. Certainly they didn't trust the lower classes. And most of all, they didn't trust each other. And perhaps with good reason. After all, the wealthy were not a unified, uniform block. They existed across multiple cultures, nationalities, and personal interests. There were those who worried about the planet, or the people, or the future, or just their own skins. And then there were those for whom such issues were 'other peoples' problems.' Other peoples' responsibilities. Or even refused to acknowledge those concerns even existed at all. Additionally, they had witnessed centuries of history of the world's governments and peoples barely rising to the challenge of one political, economic, and especially environmental disaster, while simultaneously sowing the seeds of generations of future ones. And each time a problem was solved, bumbling bureaucrats created a new one which was larger, more challenging, and more likely to lead to the collapse of civilization. Or even the ecosphere as a whole. In their eyes, most people and governments simply weren't fit to deal with such issues, to make decisions that momentous. They knew that whatever solutions or technologies they handed over, no matter how grandiose or perfect, would simply be squandered. Misused so as to contribute to whatever disaster came next. Terraform the planet back into pristine shape? The same old actors would just break it harder the next time.

"And so now a conspiracy…a cabal…truly did form. Of those in the know. Of those who saw and wanted to resolve the problems they saw. Of those who knew they and only they were best suited to save humanity. And so they sat on their world saving technologies, letting the planet and the people stew, while they continued to 'study the problem.'"

"That's insane," Boomer argued.

"Yeah," Kendra agreed. "As conspiracies go, it's nearly as crazy as infiltrating a society and government, neutering their military, and nuking a dozen worlds from orbit, all to work out some mommy and daddy issues."

"Major," Roslin snapped, "this is neither the time nor the place."

"Yes, Ma'am," Shaw replied. "You let me know when and where."

"Maybe just keep going River," Inara advised.

"Well, their ongoing studies and research led to another major discovery, which again they sat on. Their telescopes found a system not too far away. One which almost certainly contained habitable worlds, or those which could be made habitable. The histories don't say exactly who came up with the crazy idea, but with grav-tech, terraforming, and an open new system all available, the pieces were all in place for the 'solution' they had been looking for."

"What solution?" Roslin asked, though she thought she could already see where this was going. She hoped that she was wrong.

"The real problem," River said, without a trace of emotion on her face, "wasn't the ecological disasters or the political strife and turmoil. Those were just symptoms. And of course it wasn't them. They were, in their own minds, representations of how people should be. No, the real cancer threatening the human race was the world society which controlled it. It was flawed. Self destructive. Broken. It needed to be removed. Or, at least, they needed to remove themselves and the 'right people' from it.

"And so a plan came together. Through a combination of lobbying and donations and influence, the major world governments were convinced to pool their resources into an international joint venture. The grand adventure of interstellar flight would be the story sold to the public. Behind the scenes they would be working on producing advanced geoforming technologies to fix the environment. The public would be kept docile, distracted from the climate issues by the ongoing drama of space exploration. This would provide cover for the real work of developing a real cure for the climate. If the latter effort succeeded, the politicians could take credit for literally saving the world and everyone in it, enshrining their legacies and ensuring reelection. And if it failed, the public would be none the wiser, and the politicians could still run for reelection based on their support of the interstellar exploration project. Treaties were drawn up. Resources allocated. To facilitate cooperation between the major powers of China and the United States, the project was based out of San Diego, with special rules and regulations enacted to accommodate this.

"But it was all lies wrapped in misdirection. The cabal made certain that contracts went to the right people, the right corporations. And because this group spanned the globe, with international personnel and supplies coming and going, there was a need to segregate the city from the rest of the nation in which it resided. This was further exacerbated by the fact that the rockets they would allegedly be building contained some of the most powerful nuclear reactors…nuclear salt-water rockets…ever imagined. The potential for bad actors to utilize such materials to build a bomb was self-evident. Even greater security was required. But again, as this was an international project, the security apparatus could not be seen to come from any one of the member nations, many of whom were normally cutthroat rivals. And so, as planned, the consortium of participating corporations were handed the authority to provide for their own security. The old naval base in the city was turned over to the project, to act as a base or center of operations. Almost overnight, San Diego became a veritable city-state, with a truly international population."

"That's…not inconsistent with what I know of the history of that era," Sinclair mused, having returned to his seat sometime during her tale. "Well, except for the entire shadow conspiracy you say was operating in the background. As far as I've ever heard, the whole thing was just a massive project to build a fleet of the world's first…and last…interstellar slowboats. I'm…not sure it would be possible to hide a conspiracy of that size."

"Best way to hide a secret project is to bury it under a public one," Garibaldi opined.

"I thought you were skeptical of this whole thing?"

"Sure. But not for that reason." When he saw River glaring at him, he addressed her directly, "That's ok, I already had supper."

"Anyway," she continued with an icy stare, "the conspirators implemented ubiquitous and Orwellian levels of security citywide. And things in the city changed almost overnight. Anyone they didn't want in was pushed out…nuclear security. The homeless population was immediately relocated. As were any public dissenters. Telepaths were outlawed entirely. The various corporations brought in their own people…and their families, by the tens of thousands. In some cases hundreds of thousands. Housing prices skyrocketed, and the project personnel were given stipends to meet this economic reality. So the locals couldn't keep up, and even those who weren't forced out for 'security concerns' often had to move simply because they couldn't afford the new rents, home prices, or property taxes. A bizarre and wholly planned form of gentrification swept the city. Any locals who wanted to stay, or were deemed essential workers, were essentially forced to begin working for the program, simply to be able to afford to live. There were very few holdouts.

"And so, month by month, year by year, the project continued, and a fleet of starships began to take shape. Of course, the various national governments who were nominally in charge sent inspectors periodically. They were shown around, shown security operations and the construction operations, and everything else they wanted to see. And when they wanted to see the ships under construction, they were always taken to either the first or second laid down. Nominally because they were the farthest along, but in reality because only these two were exactly what they were supposed to be: three stage interstellar chemical and nuclear rockets with a crew space that was a percent of a percent the overall vessel size, and relying on newly developed cryogenic tubes to keep the astronauts alive for their decades long trip.

"The latter ships, while being visually identical from the outside, were actually propelled by the new gravitic engines. On these, over ninety percent of the volume was usable cargo space. Cargo space slowly and surreptitiously filled with masses of cryogenic tubes, newly developed terraforming gear, and all of the other requisites for a successful colonization program."

"That…materials in those quantities…that seems like it would be really difficult to hide," Shaw noted skeptically.

"They were running their own logistics," Michael replied. "Pulling from hundreds of companies across dozens of nations. Anything suspicious could be diluted, procured from multiple sources so as to not appear as suspicious. And, remember, they were running an entire city. A whole herd of cows could be brought in and simply be attributed to the dietary needs of some particular participant nationality. All kinds of technologies could be procured and 'lost' under the umbrella of their testing and development of both the ships and the 'hidden' terraforming program. And due to their political influence amongst the involved nations, no one was really watching too closely anyway. It should also be noted that all development and construction was compartmentalized, keeping as few people in the know as possible."

"I thought you didn't buy into this?"

"I don't, but again, not for that reason."

River glared at them in exasperation. "Do you want to do this?" Michael merely raised his hands in surrender, allowing her to continue. "Well, regardless of how, eventually construction was finished. The first two vessels were launched, one after the other, to global fanfare. The crews of those vessels were celebrities, sharing their final words via radio as they entered their cryo tubes and headed out of the system.

"There were talks with the various governments ongoing to set up the third launch and subsequent launches. But it was yet another ruse. In order to cover the flurry of final preparations, the Cabal used the latest international conflicts and instabilities of the day to fabricate a nuclear threat by terrorists to attempt to 'stop the launches.' A city wide emergency was declared, all exits to the city were locked down, and people were told about the nuclear threat. All employees and citizens were urged to head for shelter, directed there by police and security forces who did their best to sweep the city clean. As it turned out, those 'shelters' were actually the newly constructed ships, where the citizens and employees were packed in like sardines.

"As soon as the ships were full, the Cabal notified the global authorities, still clueless as to what was happening, that the 'terrorist's' nuke had been located and detonation was imminent. They advised that they would be immediately launching all ships, to prevent their destruction. Which is exactly what they did, much to the surprise of most of the millions who had been hustled aboard."

Michael nudged Kendra. "Pay attention. This is the good part."

Choosing to ignore Garibaldi, River went on. "The cabal knew…or at least assumed…if the world authorities ever figured out what had happened, which assuredly they would, given the disappearance of an entire city's population, that they would never stop investigating until they had found out the truth. In the conspirator's eyes, the disease afflicting humanity would follow them to the stars. So they had to bury the evidence. Prevent any such investigation.

"You see, they'd been given all of the materials for dozens of massive nuclear saltwater rockets, but they'd only built two. Which left plenty of material remaining to produce a massive nuclear device. They hadn't been lying about the terrorist threat to nuke the city. It's just that the Cabal were the terrorists.

"The fleet of gravitically driven ships had barely left atmosphere before an enormous nuclear explosion erupted. The greater San Diego area, as well as all of Tijuana across the Mexican border, was simply wiped off the map, without a single survivor anywhere within 40 kilometers of the epicenter. As they were accelerating away, the Cabal radioed in reports of seeing missiles flying, in the hopes that this plus the detonation would lead to a general nuclear exchange. They reasoned that all of humanity left on Earth-that-was were fated for extinction anyway. Best to get it over with, before they had a chance to re-infect those escaping. But at this they were only partially successful. Nuclear weapons did fly, planet wide. But the war was curtailed, never devolving into a true nuclear armageddon. The people of Earth survived. However, the best and brightest and much of the wealth of the planet had vanished, either blasted off into space or blown up in the short nuclear exchange. And the ecological effects of those nukes further exacerbated the ongoing climate crises. The world economy went into a massive depression, and multiple industries crashed entirely. Famine struck in numerous locations. But the Earth finally unified itself, and began tackling their problems in earnest. Never knowing, of course, that many of the solutions and necessary technologies had already been found, covered up, and taken away with many other hopes aboard a fleet of interstellar ships. It's hard to say if Earth-that-was would have finally overcome their problems, or succumbed to them. Because one of the two real nuclear rockets, with real crews kept in the dark and committed to the cause of exploration, ran into the Centauri. Who then introduced themselves to humanity along with a heaping of technological cure-alls.

"Of course, the Cabal realized that their genocide attempt had failed. Disappointing, but at least the nuke would have covered up all evidence of what had happened. Their true destination hadn't been in any of the records left behind, and anyway they felt confident there was no possibility that humanity on Earth would last long enough to send out any further exploration fleets, much less find and regain contact with them. So they simply told their cargo holds full of terrified and traumatized passengers that there had been a global nuclear holocaust. Afterall, some of them had seen the flashes. Felt the ships rock as superheated atmosphere rushed up from below them. The Cabal assured them of how lucky they were to have been rescued from the planet. And then quietly ushered them into cryo tubes, of which there just happened to be enough.

"And so they made their way to the 'Verse, and began colonization. It turned out that while the Cabal all agreed on the need to skip town and the idea that only they could lead humanity into the future…they hadn't really worked out what that would mean once they arrived at their destination. They all had differing views of the society they wanted to create. Really they only agreed on a few things. Firstly, of course, was that they themselves should remain in charge. They were used to manipulation from the shadows, so they stuck with that as their chosen means of expressing power. Secondly, they all agreed that violence and especially war were a plague on humanity. They'd made certain not to bring along any weapons more potent than small arms, and had purged their databases of any and all details on such weaponry. Even many of the technologies which underpinned those systems. The 'settlers' had been systematically stripped of any weapons as they boarded their ships. They'd only allowed a few personal 'museum' pieces along…aside from the small arms of their security forces. Because they definitely all agreed that if violence was necessary, they wanted to have the monopoly on it. So most of the weapons systems and industries of the 'Verse were built much later from scratch, or cobbled together in a boutique fashion, usually based on half-remembered details from Earth-that-was.

"Another point of agreement was on the need to limit environmental damage…even though they now had the means at their disposal to largely resolve these problems. Anything that was seen as polluting was outlawed, or at least heavily fined. Things like internal combustion engines were entirely restricted. You can see this reflected even today, when communities that don't have access to fusion power are forced to rely on solar or wind…or even human or animal based power. And wood burning of course, when the authorities aren't around to stop it.

"And finally they all agreed that none of this information should ever see the light of day. As far as the new settlers of the 'Verse and their descendants would be concerned, Earth-that-was destroyed itself in nuclear fire. A plagued world that gave birth to humanity but ultimately destroyed itself due to their shortsightedness. A place best thought of in the same vein as myths and legends. No looking back. As far as humanity should be concerned, it was only the original leaders of settlement that had the foresight to lead humanity into the future. Into the 'Verse. We still have holidays in some of their names. However, these people were control freaks, so of course they kept their own detailed records of their black deeds.

"But, that being about the last thing they could agree on, they found it difficult to share cities, continents, or even worlds with each other. Or run a cohesive government. So terraformers were unleashed unto the larger 'Verse, transforming worlds at a breakneck pace. Often moving on before the job was fully completed. Generally, at least in the early days around the Core Worlds, so that these egocentric and narcissistic men could each have their own personal sandbox worlds to play in and with. It was only many generations later that their descendants began to combine into a single polity, the better to control an exponentially expanding populace. Of course, they never quite broke the habit of skimping on terraforming, the better to quickly move on to another world. Additionally, given they had ensured no telepaths were brought along on the journey, the gene didn't reappear in the population of the 'Verse. At least, not in sufficient quantity to be recognized. The very memory of teeps," she said, trying out the Earth Alliance slang, "devolved to myth and legends of 'witches.' And that pretty much brings us up to today."

"Any questions?" Garibaldi quipped, teasing at taking credit for River's presentation. This earned him a glare, but no further threats against his next meal.

"Just one," Sinclair offered in a cold voice. Garibaldi braced for what was coming next, having watched the sharpening of Jeff's gaze and the clenching of his jaw throughout the latter part of the discussion. "Are you telling me that, by the time we went to war with the Minbari, we could…no, we should have had full gravity manipulation tech? The resources of dozens of largely terraformed colonies? Maybe billions more citizens?" Sinclair slowly stood again, knuckles white from squeezing the table before him, voice growing in intensity as he turned the idea over and over in his own mind. "That those bastards not only tried to wipe out all life on Earth, but may be just as responsible for the Minbari running roughshod over all of the Earth Alliance? For the threat of extinction we're all currently sitting under? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Lot more than one question there," Michael quipped, attempting to lighten the air, but earning only a glare from the Captain in response. "But yes, to all of those questions. That would seem to be the picture painted here. If you believe it, that is."

"But you don't?" Roslin enquired.

"Nope. It's too perfect. Too detailed."

"What do you mean?" Laura asked as Jeff, deflating, resumed his seat.

Garibaldi shrugged. "We didn't find any real discrepancies in the historical documents to make us question the story. Corroborating information all over the place. Did you know," he asked, looking around at his fellow Earth Alliance refugees, "that IPX was headquartered in San Diego during this era? That they were allegedly a core part of this conspiracy, and that our IPX was built back up from the out of town branches and remnants of the company after San Diego popped? Well, since IPX brought their entire database with them, River started comparing their records against the Parliament's secret records. Stuff too boring and useless for the Cabal to hide it. She was able to confirm matching records on information as pedestrian as what snacks were stocked in the damn vending machines!"

"And…that's a bad thing?"

"Too perfect. That level of detail doesn't happen naturally. To me, the whole thing smacks of some kind of disinformation campaign. Obscure reality by wrapping it in a carefully constructed and detailed lie, that was itself buried under layers of secrecy. That's basic espionage tradecraft."

"But how would someone even pull that off?" Caprica asked. "You're talking about obscure records, ancient and secure, from both the 'Verse and the Earth Alliance.

"I dunno," Michael shrugged. "Seems pretty impossible. I didn't say I had proof this was a disinformation job. That's just how it feels to me."

"So other than your gut," Kendra asked in bewilderment, "this is pretty much a solved mystery? The answers we found solve all the mysteries?"

Michael snorted, but it was Max Eilerson who piped up. "Not even close. There are tons of holes, just not in the historical records, hidden or otherwise. The problems are on a…larger scale. Much larger. Namely, time and space."

"What the hell does that mean?" Susan demanded.

"Where to begin? Well, remember how long it took us to get here? How far we had to travel? We are thousands of light years from Earth. The system the proto-cabal discovered, back at the very beginning of all of this, was only a few dozen light years from Earth. The ships that traveled to the 'Verse recorded traversing only that limited distance. And yet spectral classification and stellar cartography prove beyond any shadow of a doubt that it is the same system. And that's not even getting into the fact that this system is surrounded by nebular gasses, which made it a miracle for us to identify a habitable world, even with a much closer position and more advanced technology. Oh, and there is no multistellar system at the location their charts indicate the 'Verse should be. Frankly, this should all be impossible."

"And is that it?" Roslin asked when he paused.

"No, that's just the space bit. Time is just as problematic. Again, we're thousands of light years away. The fleet in question left Earth over a century ago, but at sublight speeds they should still be in transit, even if the system was only the few dozen light years away their observatories indicated. At the distance we see today, they shouldn't arrive for several more millenia. And yet, the history of the 'Verse indicates that settlement began here roughly a thousand years ago. Frankly, there's no should about it. This whole thing is impossible."

"Could…could they maybe have fallen through a wormhole?" Boomer asked.

"And just not noticed?" Max scoffed. "Besides, wormholes are still entirely theoretical. No such phenomenon has ever been observed, and we've done a lot of looking. I'm exposed to enough science fiction from Garibaldi's bad habits. I'd rather not countenance it in the real world."

Inara smirked. "You live and work on a spaceship, surrounded by telepaths and organic thinking machines," she noted.

"So?" Max asked, looking confused.

"Sooo….," Jeff cut in, reigning in his anger to summarize, "we've got two options, both impossible. Either we're dealing with someone…some thing, as Colonel Garibaldi seems to believe, that is capable of invading and altering records and sensor readings…and perhaps even human perceptions and memory…across interstellar distances and a broad swath of history; or we're dealing with a power capable of altering both time and space directly." He shrugged. "Which is scarier? Who's capable of such feats?"

"Hell if I know," Michael replied. "Spacegods?"

Jeff shrugged. "Well, we did make our own."

"Lords of Kobol," Laura grumbled, "let's try to keep religion out of this." She turned back to River. "Were there any other items of importance in the data? I'm certain there was plenty of useful information that will come in handy for quite some time. But anything those of us here should know now?"

River shrugged. "There seems to be a direct line of succession, either familial or just in terms of transfer of wealth and power, from that ancient Cabal straight through to the one we're still dealing with today. Oh, yeah, we have all of their identities now. That's probably important, right?"

"I would prefer the sins of the father not be laid upon the children," Sinclair replied. "Certainly fifty generations removed."

"Oh, the current batch have plenty of sins of their own to account for," Inara spoke up again. "Tell them the last bit, River."

River looked around as all eyes once more focused on her. "Most of you know already. The Parliament records also contained the current whereabouts of the project that…made me what I am. It's been relocated to a remote Cortex Relay Station….like Mr. Universe's planet, but containing an Alliance military base. If there's any hope for understanding what I went through…for maybe fixing it…it's there. And who knows how many other people…other children…are being put through the same torture right now. So I'm going."

Sinclair folded his hands thoughtfully, searching her eyes. "That seems…awfully dangerous," he noted.

"Actually," Roslin piped up, "Commodore Sheridan has already spoken with me on this matter." She glanced around the room, and Michael noted she made eye contact with each of the special individuals that he had worried about earlier. "Certain personnel have requested…and been granted…approval to accompany Ms. Tam on this mission. If nothing else, there is important intel to be gained on the Alliance's current capabilities in this arena." She stood, and the others present mirrored her action. "Since that seems to conclude this presentation, I want to thank you all for your participation. Particularly you, River. But it seems our investigations will have to continue."

Sinclair offered her a sharp salute, the other officers in the room, both Colonial and Earth Force, belatedly following suit.

They filed out, one by one, until only Inara and River remained aside from Michael, who made a show of cleaning up, so as to provide the illusion of privacy. Inara turned a supportive glance on her young friend. "What now, River?"

The young woman shrugged. "I'm gonna need a ride."

---

.

Miranda City Starport, Miranda, Orbiting Burnham, Blue Sun System - June, 2250
As an early autumn shower pattered upon the ground, muting the reddish light of Burnham's sunset hues, Mal strode around Serenity, overseeing the last of the latest round of repairs. The past few months had been hard on the old girl, and it seemed like they were getting quite a lot of practice patching bullet holes and building her up from near scrap. Picking up some loose tools the Earth Force workmen had left lying around, Mal made his way aboard to stow them. The end of a long day, he did a final patrol of the vessel to ensure everything was stowed and secure, ending on the bridge. Taking his seat, he leaned back and sighed contentedly, finally relaxing.

"I'm gonna need a ride."

Having already noted River sitting in the copilot's nest, quiet as a church mouse, Mal let his lips curl into the smallest of grins. "Oh yeah? And where are we off to?"

"Cortex Relay Station Eight. There's a hidden facility and military base there that needs raiding."

His grin fading just slightly, Mal replied, "And when exactly did you become a daring pirate?"

"Sometime between today and the day Simon brought me on board. Really, it's a small step from brazen criminal. Call it the family business."

Mal finally opened his eyes, leaning forward to study her intently for a long moment. "You're serious," he finally said. "So…you gonna ride shotgun with Wash? Help him fly?"

"That's not the plan. Wash won't be going. It's too dangerous, and I can't bring my family along on something this risky. Not all of them anyway. Maybe just one. Well…three."

"I suppose Simon's your true blood. But I wouldn' bet overmuch on his capabilities in a situation you seem to find too dangerous for the rest of us. Who're the others? Kaylee, I suppose?"

River nodded. "And Inara. They insisted, and it's hard to argue with your sisters."

"But no Zoë?"

"She's more your sister, Mal."

He snorted in amusement, though all traces of his former grin washed off his face. He studied her even more closely this time. "You are serious," he said in some disbelief. "Well it's nice to see you chose to take the three people least capable of handling themselves if things get nasty for your strike team. And what exactly makes you think I'd let you take my ship on any kind of mission that you consider so dangerous, much less take it without me."

"Because I need you to. And you know I wouldn't ask if the need wasn't real. I was going to ask you to go. I didn't think you'd be willing to let go. But it turns out you're going to be needed here."

"What does that mean?"

"You'll see. Very soon. Destiny is calling."

"I ever meet destiny, I'll kick that go tsao de mǔgǒu right betwixt the legs as hard as I'm able, and run the other direction 'till I'm long over the horizon. That's a lesson you might want to learn."

"Unfortunately, mine is calling as well. But don't worry about me. Or Kaylee or Inara. We'll have plenty of muscle and mind along. And some of the best pilots in the 'Verse."

Mal's mind whirled hard at that statement, going back over all of their interactions over the last few months. "You mean those witches. The ones you been studyin' with. Seems they've taken a powerful shine to you."

River nodded. "And I to them."

"That don't mean…" he started to argue.

She cut him off. "Please Mal. For me. For family." She locked gazes with him, baring her soul."

After a long moment, he gave the smallest of nods. "I don't care what pilots you're bringing aboard. I don't trust 'em. I trust you. Think you can fly this bucket?"

"That's the plan. You've seen me practicing with Wash."

"Ok, and you've clearly got some aptitude for…" he waved his hands in the general direction of the flight controls. "But it ain't all buttons and charts little albatross. You know what the first rule of flying is?"

"You know I do. I already know what you're about to say."

"You do," he agreed. "But I'd like to hear you say it anyway."

"Love," she said somberly. The rattle of the rain against the hull and canopy filled the stretching silence after that word. Taking a deep breath, she resumed. "You can learn all the math in the 'Verse, but you take a boat in the air that you don't love, and she'll shake you off just as sure as the turn of the worlds." She smiled. "Love keeps her in the air when she ought to fall down. Tells you she's hurtin' before she keens. Makes her a home."

Mal nodded, breaking eye contact to look out the canopy. And if his eyes appeared a bit misty, it could easily have been a trick of the rain dappled light. "Storm's gettin' worse," he noted.

"It'll pass soon enough," she replied, standing just a moment before a knock came at the hatch.

"Wonder who that is," Mal muttered, turning in his seat to stand himself.

"It's destiny," River noted, opening the hatch to reveal the grizzled form of Marshall Roberts in full uniform, her cap tucked under her arm. Nodding to the large woman, River merely said, "He's all yours," before ducking through the hatch and around her imposing form. Then, from behind the Marshall, she turned and added, "I'll bring her back in one piece, Mal. I promise."

"You bring yourself back in one piece, little albatross. Promise me that." River's smile dimpled and beamed, and then she spun and disappeared down the corridor beyond.

"Permission to come aboard, Captain?" Roberts asked, choosing to ignore the whole interaction.

"You're already aboard. You had to walk up multiple decks and most'a the length of the ship to get here. It'd be tough to get much more aboard than you are right now."

"Are you always such a smart-ass?"

"It'd be a bit of a habit. I'll make a note to work on it. We keep a long spool of paper in the head for just such occasions."

Roberts sighed, then walked to the seat Zoë usually filled and sat down. "You're not making this particularly easy," she noted.

"Life tends not to be. Is there a reason you're on my ship again, Marshall?"

"I need you."

"Well, I've been propositioned by a fair few women, but you're the first that's been quite so…militant."

"Fuck."

"Scared to."

"Don't be an ass. Smart or otherwise. I need you to do something for me."

"Lot of that goin' around. Just so's you know, I just agreed to the biggest damn request I've had in a very long time. Not really in the mood to be givin' much more."

"It's not a favor for me, boy. It's for the good of the 'Verse." Mal started to open his mouth again, but she ran roughshod over him. "Just shut up and listen!" His mouth closing with an audible clop, she continued. "You were there when Lords Harrow and Wing arrived."

"And Badger."

"Yes. And the gentleman from Pelorum as well. What you might not be aware of is the fact that this morning delegates arrived from Santo."

"The planet orbiting Qin Shi Huang? Makes sense. If there are any core worlds treated like second class citizens, it's the ones orbiting the Protostars. I bet that caused a stir," he added, a gleam in his eye.

"What really caused a stir was the fact that they brought delegates from Tethys and New Luxor, as well as Hades, Renao, and Kaleidoscope. All demanding seats."

"The moons?" Mal did something he almost never did…swore in English. "Goddamn! Those bastards are gonna try and crowd us out from the inside. We were nice and foolish enough to seat a couple of planets with ties to the Independent Planets of old, and now they think they can start throwing their weight around!"

"And they have weight. In resources, industry, and population. It's hard to argue the moons shouldn't get a vote, when they have as much population as many of the Rim worlds we have seated here."

"Hades doesn't even have a population!" Mal objected. "Only the grav terraforming really took. Otherwise it's damn near uninhabitable!"

"Well, apparently there's been some new mining initiatives in the last couple of months. With towns set up for the workers' wives and children. Several tens of thousands of them. They insist it counts."

Mal swore again, but then brightened up. "I bet that lit a powder keg under the talks."

"The Convention," she corrected. "They're now calling it the Convention. And naming themselves is about the only progress they've really made. But you're right. Many of the delegates have come to the same conclusions you have, and are vowing to stop these 'upstart Alliance wannabes'."

Mal grinned. "Well about damned time. Throw every last fèifèi de pìyǎn one of them off the gorram planet."

"And many agree with you. But they're leaping to the wrong conclusions. Even more than you. There's an entire faction coalescing around the idea that not only shouldn't we form a unified government of any kind, we shouldn't even be properly allied. Seems they don't care for the word. They just want to establish some level of coordination of our efforts against the Alliance. But they want every world to stand on its own. No unification of industry, economy, or military."

"That's interesting. Can't says I don't see the reasoning."

"It's certifiable, is what it is! You can't fight a war that way. You can't even run a proper resistance that way. We'd be better off surrendering to the Alliance."

"We got the Alliance on the back foot."

"And those idiots want to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory! Make no mistake, despite recent reversals and defections, the bulk of the population, industry, and wealth of the 'Verse still resides with the Alliance. Not to mention the logistics. And if we go under this time, the Alliance will make certain we won't be able to muster a third resistance for a thousand years. You think this post-war period was bad, just wait for the next one."

"I'd rather not."

"Good! But that pack of fools who share some of your sensibilities are gaining the upper hand out there. And they will, without a doubt, lead us all to ruin. Hell, those idiots don't even want a unified currency. They'd force us to trade and barter currencies and goods, each planet its own little kingdom!"

"Hmmm," Mal grunted, a glint in his eye. "That would have…interesting…effects on interplanetary thievery. Lot of goods and hard currencies flyin' 'round betwixt the stars."

"Really boy?" The glower of disapprobation she speared him with stung far more than her barbed words. "Petty crime isn't ambitious enough for you? Looking to set your sights on piracy?"

"It's good to have a fallback plan," he snarked defensively. "Besides, should that come to pass, we'd only pirate the Alliance. It's not like their navy is in any state to stop us, at this particular moment."

"Moments pass," she snapped. "That's an Alliance that sure as shittin' ain't standin' still! Right now they're wising up to their own grim realities. Sooner or later, they're going to start making smart decisions. And if the pack of idiots screaming 'don't tread on me' get their way, that navy you just dismissed will roll us up, one planet at a time."

"Sheridan would never let that happen."

"Earth Force? They're just trying to survive, like the rest of us. He won't let that pack of yahoos be an anchor around his neck."

"They're already at war with the Alliance!"

"Wars end. Loyalties shift. A kinder, wiser Alliance provides everything Sheridan is looking for from the 'Verse. They make the right offer, and he'll switch sides. Especially if ours throws him nothing but headaches. That pack of idiots in there has already tried to force him to change the name of their navy and their government!"

"So do something about it."

"I've tried. But you saw what happened when I spoke up for the Persephone delegation. The faction coming out on top has neither love nor trust for me. What little of my reputation wasn't destroyed by the war, the Alliance did a skillful job undermining in the interim. I have only a few long-term friends and allies and the network I put together over the years supporting me, and it's simply not enough."

Mal sighed, crossing his arms, and leaning his shoulder against the nearest bulkhead. "So what do you want from me?"

"I need you to help me find someone."

"That I can do. Who do you want to find?"

Taking a deep breath, Marshall Leanne Roberts finally dove into the reason for her visit. "I need an ally. A friend. Someone who can stand at the head of my faction and represent it better than I can. It needs to be a veteran of the previous war, and one who fought on our side, obviously, but not someone who was sullied by it or the intervening years. Someone people can look up to. I need someone with a proven record of dealing with people straight, doing the right thing, but who can be ruthlessly practical and driven in the face of adversity. Someone who's known for fighting for a better 'Verse, but sees that in terms of what benefits individuals most rather than being married to some dogmatic philosophy. Someone all sides can respect."

Mal gave a low whistle. "You don't aim small, do you? Where exactly do you propose we'll find this particular paragon?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm looking at him."

"Hold on now," Mal protested, bolting upright, "I ain't none of those things!"

"Of course you are. Your credentials from the war are well known. You managed the surrender at Serenity Valley when your officers cracked or deserted from shame. Those that weren't dead, that is. It was you that revealed the secret of Miranda. You that brought the Colonials and the Cylons and, most importantly, the Earth Force to our door. You that lead a raid onto Londinium itself to snatch secrets and data right out from under the noses of the Parliament, and revealed the Cabal that has been pulling all the strings. Oh, the fireworks that everyone dreams about were with Sheridan, blasting away in the stars, but your dirty work was every bit as important. The 'Verse needs someone who can get down in the mud, but at the end of the day stand proud and clean upon his values. That, my dear Captain, is you. And whether you've noticed or not, people have taken notice. You're gaining popularity amongst the citizenry and politicians both. I need you to take over as the lead of my faction, and bring on more allies. To stop idiots from throwing away all the gains we've made, and all the future ones we are just on the cusp of achieving. You."

Mal stared at her, slack jawed for a moment. "Huh," he finally grunted, then shook himself, rallying for some objection. "I ain't no fancy pants politician! You're a Marshall! I was just a Sergeant during the war."

"And you've been a Captain ever since. And you've spent the last months hobnobbing with Generals and Commanders and Admirals and Commodores. And one particularly cranky Marshall. You've got what it takes. Believe me. And you won't be doing it alone. You'll take a promotion to Marshall, and I'll take a demotion to General. I can be your advisor or adjutant, or however you want to frame it, but I can show you what needs to be done. Teach you the politics. Pick out the traps and pitfalls so you don't fall into them."

Mal jerked back, suspicion flaring. "I ain't no tail t' be wagged. Got me better things t' do than be a puppet or figurehead."

"I'm not looking to make you a Manchurian candidate, Mal. Maybe you've noticed, but I'm old. I need a successor, not a servant. And those folks out there, even the fools, will see right through that kind of ruse. If you agree to this, you'll call the shots, and I'll advise. And maybe box your fool ears when you do something dumb enough. But I'm asking you to well and truly take up the reins. It's the only way to make this work."

"Huh." Mal said again. "I'd…I'd be a politician. In government. Supporting government. I alway said a government was a collection of people, usually notably ungoverned. How can I become a part of that?"

Leanne finally snapped in exasperation. "By growing up, you damned pup! You've got a decision to make. You can spend the rest of your life, short as it's likely to be, flitting between the worlds, playing the brigand Captain Mal-oderous. Or you can rise to the occasion, and grow into Marshall Malcolm Reynolds, Founding Father of the new 'Verse. What's it gonna be, boy? What's it gonna be?

---

.

Mal didn't take long gathering the things he needed from his cabin, so it was barely a quarter of an hour after Roberts had left the ship that he found himself descending the staircase into the main cargo hold, on his way to the primary airlock. He paused at the top of the stairs, surprised to hear voices. Looking around, he spotted a quartet of ladies standing beneath the stairs, each carrying rucksacks and apparently looking for somewhere to stow them.

"Captain," Starbuck called up to him, "you don't mind if we make use of your cargo space, do you?" The question was clearly rhetorical as Russki, Lieutenant Ivanova he corrected himself internally, was already doing just that. The glare Major Shaw shot his way clearly warned that his answer had better be no. That left only a single member of the group he hadn't met officially, though he knew who she was. He made an effort to stay aware of the local constabulary.

Finishing his descent, he whipped around the base of the stairs and strode up to the group, offering his hand directly to the tall, statuesque blonde in the middle. "Captain Malcolm Reynolds," he offered with his best insouciant grin. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure."

She glanced down at his hand, but made no move to take it. He doubted ice would have melted on the look she gave him. "Deputy Tessa Halloran. And I know who you are, Captain. I'm sure we're all very grateful for your hospitality, but we have work to do, so if you'll excuse us."

Nonplussed, and more than a little grumpy at being spoken to in such a way aboard his own ship, Mal nevertheless bit back a sharp retort and nodded to the group. "I'll leave you to it then. Ladies." Turning on his heel, he strode through the open airlock and down the cargo ramp.

Only to nearly stumble over River. She was having a rapid fire conversation with one of the tall blonde Cylons and one of the shorter, darker skinned brunette ones, as well as another woman wearing a flight suit, whom he didn't recognize at all. Though based on whom he'd already run into, he'd guess he was looking at the Cylon Councilors Caprica and Boomer, and the mysterious Cylon known as Allison. Mal made an effort to keep his ear to the ground almost as much as the redoubtable Colonel Garibaldi. None of the three visitors carried baggage of any sort, which meant it was likely already aboard Serenity.

He'd agreed to River's request, but still, given their advanced state, these preparations had likely already been underway before she'd even spoken with him. He looked down at River in both irritation and affection. "I see your takeover is well underway. Was the decision ever even mine?"

"Just keep walkin' Captain-man," she deadpanned, but then turned and offered him one of her effervescent grins, gratitude evident in her gaze. Mal sighed and kept walking down the ramp. He spotted Inara and Kaylee coming the other way, escorting the first two men Mal had seen amongst the group. Well, Simon didn't really need an escort, being crew, but a swinging dick was starting to be notable, amongst this group. Mal immediately recognized their dark skinned companion, having been under the man's scope previously. Doctor Stephen Franklin was carrying a large rucksack and wheeling a large medical kit behind him. His presence disturbed Mal. Simon was a pretty good sawbones. Well, brilliant actually. So just how dangerous was this mission, that they'd need another top tier surgeon for such a small group. For that matter, Franklin was the Chief Medical Officer for all of Earth Force. Well…technically just of their Exodus fleet, but that was a distinction without a difference. And right here in this one little mission was the Colonial CAG, the XO of the Pegasus, and not one but two Cylon Councilors. And while Halloran might just call herself a Deputy, he knew for a fact that she was unofficially in charge of all of the Earth Force and Colonial civilian law enforcement, reporting directly to Garibaldi himself. And that was aside from all of the…witchy…capabilities most of this group boasted. To gather all of that into one mission…well, Mal wasn't certain whether to be relieved that River would have such people watching her back…or concerned that she would be associating with people who were almost certainly trouble magnets. River didn't need no help in that department.

Exceptional individuals or no, Mal knew whom he chose to put his faith in. He gathered Simon, Inara, and Kaylee with his eyes, but spoke first to Simon. "You take care of our girl now."

"Of course," Simon agreed somberly. "This may be our last, and best, chance to really help her. If anyone can undo what was done to her, it's got to be the folks that did it in the first place. I don't know how they pulled it off, but they must have records, or at least the machines and tools that did the job. That should facilitate a means of treatment."

With a nod, Mal turned to Kaylee. "You sure you need to do this? Seems like t' be dangerous. Powerful dangerous. You're hardly but a slip yourself. Plenty of mechanics to be found. Nothin' else, there's a trio of Cylons aboard."

"That's great, Captain," Kaylee replied, "if we had fancy computers needed fixin'. Serenity ain't got those. And I don't need another mechanic kludging up my ship!"

"Some'd say that's her natural state."

"Fine, so she runs on baling wire and chewing gum, and a host of customized analogue hardware. I got her working just how I want, just how we need. Ain't no one else can make Serenity fly like I can. And we might just need her to fly harder than she ever has."

"Sounds ominous. You thinkin' this through?"

"Quit trying to stop me! Besides, it's me." She raised both arms in the air, fists balled as though in victory. "No power in the 'Verse can stop me!"

Mal shocked them all, especially himself, when he bent down and wrapped Kaylee in a quick hug. "You be careful and you be safe!" Letting go almost reluctantly, he finally turned to Inara. "Thank you for watching them. This group needs a steady head. But all this runnin' about and carryin' on…it must be wearing on you. You don't have to do this, you know."

"Really, Mal? Of course I do."

"Well, after the mission then. You ready to get off this heap, back to civilized life?"

Inara hesitated. "I, uh…I don't know."

Mal grinned broadly. "Good answer."

He was about to say more, when an angry voice snapped out from behind them. "What the hell do you think you're doing here?!"

Mal turned, recognizing the voice, and preparing to assert that it was indeed his ship, and he could be here if he wanted. But the form of Tessa Halloran storming down the ramp wasn't coming for him. Mal did his best to hide his relief.

Grabbing Franklin by the arm, Tessa bodily dragged Franklin to the other side of the ramp, and lowered her voice. Not enough that Mal and his compatriots couldn't hear every word she was saying, but enough to allow her to ignore them and focus on her victim. "You better have one hell of a good…"

"I'm sorry, Tessa," Stephen cut her off. "You have every right to be upset. I was an ass, and not only did I take you for granted, but I neglected you. I focused on my own needs, work, priorities, and I left no room for you. All I can do is apologize."

"So a quick apology? That's it? You all but ghost me for months. I find out the hard way you were addicted to stims, and falling apart….that you nearly died from your own stupidity…and you think an apology makes it all better? That you can just insinuate yourself into my mission? Thought it'd be fun to tag along with your girlfriend? Ex, that is."

"Actually," Simon interrupted tentatively, raising his hand, much to the wide-eyed horror of Kaylee and Inara and even Mal, who knew little enough about women, but at least knew you shouldn't interrupt them when they were deep into an angry tirade about relationships and emotions. "Actually, I invited him along. I discovered he was…currently without medical commitments…and his skills will be invaluable in figuring out how to help River."

Tessa turned her murderous gaze on Simon, and he seemed to shrivel under the weight of it. Still, he found the wherewithal to carry on. The boy had courage, Mal had to give him that. Still, not a lick of sense. "I can see what they did to River, but I don't understand it. Much less know how to reverse it. Doctor Franklin is the best. No one knows more than him in this area."

Tessa's eyes had softened, perhaps a fraction of an inch, but she was still clearly preparing to flay both Stephen and Simon alive. Fortunately for them, another voice chimed in, distracting her yet again.

"Excuse me," came a smarmy voice, "but I am the foremost authority on…well…just about everything scientific. I'm really not sure why you'd need anyone but me." Gaius Baltar stepped forward. Of course, he wasn't carrying his own bags. The cute blonde escorting him was carrying both of theirs. "Besides, his presence breaks the…congruity…of our little group."

"How's that, exactly?" Mal found himself bristling, having always disliked the man throughout their few and limited prior encounters. "You're just as male as he. Least, I think that's a man in there, hidin' under all that fineness and frippery. Lackin' a certain amount of height and muscle, perhaps, but still male. So what makes your presence any more fēngshuǐ?"

River's voice called out from the top of the ramp. "It's because he's the only male witch in this oddball coven. The deviant thinks he balances out the rest of the harpies. Talia," she reprimanded, "you were supposed to be keeping an eye on him."

"Lucky me," the blonde next to Baltar deadpanned. Despite carrying both of their baggage, she managed to hook one of her arms through his and literally begin dragging him up the ramp. "Come along, Gaius. Quit interrupting the love birds." Tessa snorted and glared at that, but Talia returned that glare with an enormous grin, though just a touch of sadness hid behind her eyes. "Caprica must be inside. I'm turning you over, and then you're her problem!" Without a backward glance, but trailing a muddle of Baltar's insulted objections, Winters simply manhandled Baltar up the ramp and into the ship.

"I respect your scientific acumen, I was just hoping for someone with an in-depth medical background," Simon called out lamely to Baltar's retreating back.

"Look, Tessa," Stephen offered, stepping forward with raised hand as though to touch her hair. He immediately dropped it when she speared him once more with an angry glower. "This…isn't about us. I have no right to ask for you back. But I can't be…what I was…right now. I can't be in charge of the medical needs of the fleet, or the colony. I can't be in charge of a million things. I need to work on getting myself back in order. But part of that is doing something meaningful. Something…not here. And this mission is just what the doctor ordered." He tried a small chuckle, but immediately snuffed it at her icy gaze. "If you really don't want me here, I'll turn around and leave." Mal noticed Simon start to object to this statement, but fortunately Inara jabbed him sharply in the ribs, Kaylee coughing loudly to cover the move. Mal smiled at how well they all knew each other, but then focused in as Doctor Franklin continued. "I think I might be able to help River, I really do. And it's a different kind of problem; tricky, but with just a single patient. It's the kind that lets me really be…me. But, if I'm being honest, I have to admit that the prospect of seeing you again was a large part of the selling point. Even if it was just to get a chance to apologize. If you'll allow it, I'll stay out of your way…give you as much space as you want."

Tessa continued to stare darkly at him for what seemed an eternity. Finally, her shoulders unclenched. She sighed. "Fine. You can come." Stephen seemed about to speak, but she thrust a finger up sternly in his face. "But no sex!" Then she spun on her heel and marched up the ramp. Bemused, Franklin hesitated for several moments, then followed. He was clearly somewhat nonplussed by the whole exchange, as he left his large medical bag forgotten behind him. Simon quickly grabbed it up and hustled after, offering a final nod to Mal.

Turning back to Inara and Kaylee, Mal huffed. "Those two got problems. Why would anyone want to be in a relationship with so much angst?" He was a little taken aback at the exasperated glance they spared each other. "What?"

"Nothing, Mal," Kaylee sighed, then squeezed him in a quick bearhug and darted aboard.

Which just left Inara. He nodded awkwardly to her. "You be careful. Come back safe."

"Really Mal? We just have to deal with murderers, military, and mad scientists. From what River told me, you're going to have to deal with politicians. They're masters at stabbing people in the back. I doubt your life of hardened crime has adequately prepared you. So, you watch your back."

After that, there wasn't much left to say. Inara went aboard, and the airlock sealed, the ramp rising into its flight configuration. Just a few minutes later, Mal watched his beloved ship rise up and dart away into the sky, leaving him behind.

---

.

Miranda City, Miranda, Orbiting Burnham, Blue Sun System - July, 2250
President Laura Roslin herself served tea to the group gathering in her new office in the heart of Miranda city. Dusty cobwebs still clung in the high corners of this recently reclaimed office suite. It would be a long while before they had people to spare on something so trivial.

Setting down the tea service on a side table, she resumed her seat behind the worn desk she'd had transferred from her office aboard Colonial One. "Thank you all for coming," she offered, making eye contact with each of them. This group, more than any other, were the true power brokers within the 'Verse. At least, the ones allied with her. A couple of months ago, that statement would only really have applied to John Sheridan. Anyone else aspiring to power would have to find it as one of his advisors, allies, or confidants. If he had made a decision, you'd either accept it or be left out in the cold. Fortunately, he'd been and continued to be a fair man, thoughtful and solicitous of advice.

These days, however, power balances had shifted greatly. John likely still sat atop the heap. But the man sitting across from him, William Edgars, probably wielded nearly as much influence, in the forms of wealth, industry, and contacts. Laura could deal with such men. Indeed, doing so had become the lion's share of her job. But it was the other man, seated between the two of them, that inspired an itch of annoyance behind her eyes. Made her occasionally desire to beat her head repeatedly against her desktop.

Marshall Malcolm Reynolds reclined in his own chair, his dirty boots actually propped up on her desk! Laura spared an irritated glance for now-General Leanne Roberts, seated close enough behind Mal to occasionally lean forward and whisper in his ear. What had that fool woman been thinking?! Roslin couldn't think of anyone less suited for such an important role. Hells, Laura's spy network had reported that Roberts had his uniforms steamed, starched, and pressed every morning, and yet somehow he still managed to present as wrinkled and worn from not having changed or bathed in multiple days. And he'd even changed the official uniform. The sharp browns and reds of the Marshall's official Service Dress Uniform were now largely covered by his same old battered leather coat. And he'd made that an official part of every variation of the uniform of the military he was building. Well, she hoped that General Roberts was really the one building it, but the orders came through Reynolds. Worse, the marshall's five-pointed gold star-in-circle that had adorned each of Marshall Roberts's shoulder boards had instead been moved to a single place on that stupid duster's left breast. He looked like some disreputable backwoods lawman. Which was irritatingly ironic, now that she thought about it.

She felt a warm breath in her ear as Bill, seated behind her in much the same advisory capacity as Roberts allegedly filled for Marshall Mal, leaned forward and whispered, "Unclench, Madame President. You don't have to like it, but he is one of our most important allies now." Laura bit back the need to snap at the Admiral, instead willing herself to relax.

"Happy to be here, Madame President," Sheridan replied to her earlier statement. He was reviewing at datapad that Colonel Garibaldi, seated to his immediate left, had just passed him. At the same time, he was having an under-the-breath conversation with Captain Sinclair, seated immediately to his right. No need for dominance games from him, with subordinate advisors in inferior seats used as displays of importance and power. The Commodore could afford to provide his people the illusion of equality. Which just went to prove he continued to be the most important person in the room.

"So say we all," William Edgars added brazenly, appropriating an expression from her culture in an attempt to ingratiate himself and his faction with her own. Always grasping at power, that one. Clutching it to himself like some gluttonous spider. Of course, he had no idea of the context in which the phrase should be used. She felt Adama stiffen behind her, mirroring her own indignation. Of course, it was unacceptable to show such emotion in this company, so she merely nodded to the industrialist as though there was nothing at all untoward about his verbal foray.

Nodding she began the meeting, forcing herself to address Reynolds first. "Any new developments with the Convention, Cap…Marshall Reynolds?"

"We're behind closed doors," he replied, not bothering to remove his boots from her desk. "Call me Mal." As he was speaking, his Aide and former first officer, Zoë Washburne, now wearing the uniform of a full bird Colonel and standing against the wall behind General Reynolds, dropped her pen. It bounced off of her boots and rolled forward across the floor, ending up just in front of Laura's desk. Calmly and silently walking forward to retrieve it, she bent down to pick it up, her hip knocking, Reynolds's feet to the floor in the process. "Hey!" he objected.

"Apologies, Marshall," she replied drolly. "I didn't notice your smelly boots up in the air. It won't happen again," she added walking back to her place against the wall. And if that last bit sounded vaguely like a threat, no one seemed to object. Mal, at the least, sat up a little straighter and vainly tried to smooth out some of the wrinkles in his uniform. Laura's opinion of the woman went up several notches.

Clearing his throat, Mal answered her question, though an air of annoyance had entered his voice. "I've managed to convert or gather enough representatives that dissolution and separate independence for each world is no longer on the table. Assuming nothing changes, of course. These politician types are slipperier than snot on a brass door knob."

"That's good," Sinclair replied, Sheridan still apparently buried in Garibaldi's notes. "Was there any trouble seating the representatives from Dukkha and Ra Amiren?"

"More than a little," Mal answered. "And more than a little understandable. I was of a mind to object my own self. Taking in Persephone and the other protostar worlds…even their moons…is one thing. Taking in proper White Sun worlds is a whole other."

"They're both dwarf planets, my dear Marshall," Edgars cut in. "Small populations and treated as second class territories within the Alliance. No real representation in the Parliament. It's no wonder at all that they would come to us, looking for a seat at the table."

"Well, I got them one," Mal responded in irritation. "But it took more than a bit of dickering. And agreements needed workin' out. Had to make it clear to both sides that there'd be no nonsense about the moons o' dwarf planets getting their own representation. Particularly given that those moons are uninhabitable and contain little more than outposts and mining operations."

"Yes, yes," Edgars waved away such concerns. "Perfectly reasonable. I never doubted you, Marshall. And it sets the stage for the next delegation we must seat."

"Next one?" Mal glowered. "Nobody said nothin' about no next one!"

"But of course, Marshall! We're building the future here! A nation that can stand up to the Alliance and not be overwhelmed in a generation or two. The more worlds we gather to our cause, the stronger we become and the weaker they remain. And this is a good one!" Turning in his seat, he made eye contact with each of the major players in the meeting, though he didn't bother with the two advisors he had brought. Apparently he now considered them little more than lackeys. That might be true for the Industrialist from Athens, but Laura had a feeling that he was deeply underestimating Lord Warwick Harrow. Edgars's oily smile broadened considerably. "Through my various contacts, I have convinced the planet Bellerophon to dispatch a delegation to us! Can you imagine it? The world is likely the third wealthiest in the entire 'Verse! Behind only Londinium and Sihnon themselves! Well, Osiris and possibly Ariel may technically also surpass it, given how hidden much of the wealth on Bellerophon is, but that hardly seems likely."

"Like hell!" Mal spat.

"No, I assure you," Edgars replied. "There is a great deal of wealth on Bellerophon that is kept strictly off the books. Many of the wealthiest citizens of the 'Verse use it as a tax shelter as well as playground and retreat."

"No," Mal hissed, "I mean 'like hell' is there any way we're gonna seat any of those snakes!"

"What!? Marshall, I expended a great deal of effort and capital, both literal and reputational, in getting that delegation here! We have to seat them!"

Mal seemed to be doing his best to restrain himself from getting up and shaking the industrialist, but he leaned forward dangerously and drew in a deep breath in order to read the fool the riot act. Sheridan, finally, looking up from his data pad, spoke first. "What precisely is your objection, Mal?"

"My objection?! I object to clutching a bunch of vipers to our chest! I object to slowly ceding more and more power and influence to the Core Worlds, when the whole bloody point of this mess was to stop them from running roughshod over all our lives! My objection is that this gives an out to many of the worst of our enemies! You're right. That world is second only to the Capital worlds when it comes to wealth and influence. The trillionaires who fund much of the work of the Alliance. Who bend the ears of every member of Parliament, more than any common citizen of those allegedly democratic worlds. While they laze about on their flyin' islands, their hands are stained red with the blood of Miranda and Beaumonde and every world that fought for independence; every bit as much as the members of that Cabal you've all been so worried about," he added, looking around to make eye contact with everyone else. "A bit ironic, that, given this particular group is startin' to look sorta cabalish itself."

Edgars, more than most, took offense to his words. "I didn't expect such foolish thoughts from the man who is almost single handedly unifying the Independent worlds. Would you throw away a brighter future for everyone here…for everyone in the 'Verse…out of some misplaced sense of fairness? We are on the path to truly being able to gain and maintain full independence from the Alliance. In perpetuity. But there's nothing preordained about it. Foolish actions can and will reverse every gain that we've made. You'd put us right back under the Alliances' thumb, and for what? So that certain wealthy people…whom we need!...don't get off without the repercussions you feel they need? When did you become judge, jury, and executioner? I guarantee you, if we lose to the Alliance, they'll do more than get off scot free. They'll just as happily grow their fortunes on the blood and suffering of those you've thrown under the bus for this bizarre morality you've suddenly grown. Money equals evil? Is that the simplistic calculation you're making, Marshall? It's ironic. Of all the people in this room I thought might get squeamish over morality, to refuse to get themselves a little bit dirty for the good of the 'Verse, you were last on my list."

"I'm just chock full o' surprises," Mal replied coldly. "And why would we accept such a clear threat in our midst? You just flat out admitted that they'd be happy to go on workin' with the Alliance! How can you possibly trust that?"

"Trust? Who said anything about trust? I don't trust them, Mal," Edgars offered condescendingly, almost earning himself a punch from Reynolds, if Roberts hadn't surreptitiously kicked the new Marshall to head off the possibility. "Well, that's not entirely true. I trust them to follow their own self interests. I trust them to do everything in their power to grow that power and the wealth that enables it. In short, I trust them to behave as I would. We're currently a threat to that wealth and power. But if they have a seat at our table, then they can continue on with their privileged lives, regardless of how this war turns out. If they have a seat at our table, then they can multiply their wealth selling us their products and technologies, while gaining access to produce ours. If they have a seat at our table, then I can bind them in ties of wealth and logistics and supply chains that prevent them from ever breaking away. That draw out their full support and wealth to our cause. And through them, the bulk of their interest on other Core worlds. Those plans are already well advanced." He stood up, his excitement getting the best of him, as he looked around at the few people he considered might be anything like peers. "I assure you, seat the Bellerophon delegation and the other Core Worlds will join us, one by one. Within nine months, twelve at the outside, the only worlds still part of the Alliance will be Londinium and Sihnon themselves!"

"You want to bring on the rest of the Core Worlds?" Mal spat, leaping to his feet as well, fists clenched. "Are you mad? They'll use their wealth and population to take over the whole Convention and whatever comes next! You're just letting them rebuild the Alliance, and surrendering us all to them without a shot fired!"

"Don't be preposterous! We're tearing apart the Alliance, not building it up. This is how we win. The only way we win, and I'm handing it to you on a silver platter! And possibly without, as you say, any more shots fired. If you're worried about them wielding too much power, or how the wealthy will behave in the new nation you're building, then build the rules to constrain them. Isn't that your job? You're the one with all the clout, all of the sudden. Put it to use rather than mewling like a child!"

Witnesses or not, Mal clearly would have knocked the fool to the floor if he hadn't been distracted by a sudden, harsh knock on the office door. Without awaiting greeting or permission, the door burst open and Vice President Tom Zarek let himself into the room. "Madame President," he offered, making eye contact with Laura first before scanning the others, "ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for the interruption. But a new ambassadorial delegation has arrived, and I felt it was of the utmost importance to bring you this information immediately."

"That's alright, Tom," Roslin replied, "but we already know all about the party from Bellerophon."

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied. "Or rather, no, Ma'am. I'm aware of the Bellerophon delegation as well. But that's not who I'm referring to. A party just arrived, Hands of Blue, representing the Alliance Parliament. They are offering to discuss terms for a negotiated surrender."

"The nerve of those people," Adama snorted. "Three, maybe even two months ago and we might have dealt with them. But they think they can force us to surrender now, after all we've been through? The gains we've made? I can't imagine the terms that would convince us to accept that."

"I'm afraid you have it backwards, Admiral," Zarek replied after only a moment's hesitation. "The Alliance isn't asking to negotiate our surrender. They're looking for sufficiently favorable terms to offer theirs."

Mal spun, eyes shining, and blurted, "Serenity Valley! You tell them, they want to negotiate a surrender with us, limited or otherwise, and they need to meet us in Serenity Valley! Set up a time!"

Zarek glanced uncertainly at his boss. Laura shook her head. "It sounds like another trap," she stated. "At the very least, it's a ploy to buy time and slow our progress. To make us appear weaker than we are. To slow down their bleeding. It'll make any more Core worlds thinking of joining us hesitate. And if we continue down our current path, it'll put us in a position to eventually dictate whatever terms we want. Perhaps even demand an unconditional surrender, or at least just wall off the remains of the Alliance into irrelevance. Striking an accord with them now endangers that. I'm against the idea." Of course, Roslin still had to bow to political realities. Galling as it was, grandiose title or not, she was currently head of the least powerful and influential party to this meeting. So she turned to the most powerful man in the room. "Commodore? What are your thoughts?"

Sheridan pursed his lips thoughtfully, then rested his chin on interlaced fingers. "I'm a bit ambivalent, actually. Everything you just said is true. But then again, the Marshall's concerns are just as relevant to the situation. Do we really want to continue down our current path? To incorporate Core Worlds which may eventually turn against us?" Straightening just a bit, he turned to the industrialist. "What are your thoughts, Mr. Edgars?"

Proffering an unctuous smile, Edgars turned to Mal once more. "Perhaps I might strike a conciliatory approach. I share many of President Roslin's thoughts. But I also see your viewpoint, Marshall. But it probably wouldn't hurt to at least hear the Alliance out. If I support your desire to meet with the Alliance's surrender delegation in Serenity Valley, will you move the necessary levers to get Bellerophon seated in the Convention?"

"If the Alliance surrenders, there'd be no point to seating Bellerophon," Mal objected.

"Then how can it hurt?" Edgars countered. "A bit of effort on your part, some political capital that you don't really even care about. And then you can hear the Alliance out, in the place you most want to hear their words of surrender. We take both paths, and decide later which leads us to the brighter future." He extended his hand to Mal, offering to seal the agreement.

Mal spared a glance towards Sheridan, who merely looked back and shrugged, accepting the potential compromise. Mal turned back and stared thoughtfully at Edgars, his gaze wandering between the proffered hand and the disingenuous smile. Finally, he straightened, decision made. "You've got yourself a deal," he said, ignoring the outstretched hand. Then he simply spun on his heel and marched out, General Roberts and Colonel Washburne hastening along behind.