Disclaimers
in Part One. Remember: REVIEWS equals MORE FANFIC!
For those wondering:
English dialogue is in “”.
Colonial dialogue is in bolded.
Italizied dialogue indicates voices coming over the wireless.
With
enormous (Basestar-sized) thanks to The Sidhe, who gave me one of the ideas appearing below. Check out “The
Consequences of Not Being Pilot” to see why.
That all said, back
to the Asteroid Belt…
THE
LONG ROAD HOME
Book
I: Promised Land
Part
Three
For ten years, humanity
dug and slowly uncovered what was buried.
It was ancient, yet
not. It was lettered in a language
almost familiar to some.
Inch by inch, system
by system, the ship gave up secrets that humanity easily grasped.
Humanity united,
finally, enough to begin to reach beyond its own skies.
Ten years later…
1145 Hours
GMT
Black Alpha
Patrol Sector
One minute
and five seconds since contact with Case ZULU
If not for the fact
she was witnessing it all herself, Starbuck would never have believed how
things played out next.
First she counted
six Raiders, no more and no less. Under
normal circumstances that alone would have had her expecting at least three
more Basestars jumping into sight; she’d doubted the
Toasters have even the vaguest concept of subtlety when it came to battle,
especially given how they’d never been stingy when it came to launching Raiders
and ordinance at a target.
But…just
six Raiders…none of which had even opened fire yet despite being in range for at least a full fifteen seconds? Downright bizarre.
What was even
stranger still was the Basestar itself, which
likewise had yet to fire a single shot or missile or do anything except just
hang there.
Not that Starbuck
had any intention of just hanging about herself. She’d already kicked her Viper 180-degrees
and was prepared to gun it for the ‘Belt in the likely vain hope she’d make it
there before any of the approaching
Raiders could get a lock on her. This
would take precious seconds as she’d shut her engines off cold once the Raptor
had jumped; she knew it was a wasted effort as at least one of them had to have
her in its sights by now.
So
why the frak didn’t they just fire? Her
lips were moving without her permission, silently
reciting the Prayer for the Dead, which abruptly ended when three of the
Raiders zoomed past her at close quarters.
Such close quarters in fact her Viper rolled a bit, buffeted by their engine exhausts.
This however wasn’t what caused her to go still in shock.
Rather, it was the
sight of the paint scheme all three were sporting: solid white, with red trim
stripes on both wings. The trio next
executed a simultaneous roll-over that put them in a classic trident
orientation as she’d used to teach Nuggets aboard the Galactica;
a Raider holding position at the twelve, four, and eight o’clock positions not
ten meters away from her. It was
designed expressly to corral a target and keep them from peeling off. Starbuck stole a glance back toward
Greyhound, who was at her own eleven o’clock and facing three Raiders of her
own.
She clicked her comms open to Olympus,
reporting “
The CO’s voice broke
in. “Stand by, Starbuck. We’re reading a broadband transmission from
the ZULU. The translation package is
chewing through it now.”
“Is it the same
transmission band as we monitored on the Raptor?”
“Yes.”
“Switching
to band 518.7, Sirs. Prepare to record.” Without waiting for permission, she reset her
on-board setting, and quite nearly gagged at the words she heard next.
“…peating message: we are an advance party of a refugee
fleet. We are not hostile and wish to open
communications. A scout ship we deployed
to this area…”
“No frakkin’ way,” Starbuck heard herself mutter, recognizing
the voice immediately. She shook her
head and opened her comms. “Hotdog? Is that you?!”
The voice on the
other end paused for several seconds. “No way.” It came out as a disbelieving whisper. “No godsbedamned way! Starbuck?!”
“The one and only.” She
couldn’t, literally couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Silence reigned for
several more seconds. “Er, which one are you in?”
This elicited a
bitter laugh from her. “Like I’m gonna tell you.
Convince me you’re not some skin job toaster first.” The Raider facing her twelve o’clock sudden
nudged itself forward, directly toward her Viper’s nose. It stopped itself barely three meters, then
rolled its own ‘nose’ upwards and gave Starbuck a clear view of what was
painted on the underside of its wings.
Χότ- under the left, Ντόγκ under the right.
“Stand by.”
Was all she said as she quickly switched back to her assigned wireless frequency. “
“We are.
What the hell are we looking at?”
“Colonial
alphabet, Sir. The
left translates to ‘hot’, the right to ‘dog’. Stand by,
“How?”
Gods help her but that one word nearly had her convinced all
by itself. It caught all the earnest
helplessness she’d always associated with Brendan Costanza. She nevertheless forced her voice to
work. “How’d you get your call sign?
That’d be a start.”
“You gave it to me, Cap. First
day of flight school after you did your whole ‘Pilots call me Starbuck, you may
refer to me as God’ routine. Which was
pretty frakkin’ blasphemous of you.”
Starbuck bit her lip and tried again. “How long did you last in the last ‘dance’ we had?”
“Thirty seconds, after which you pounded me into the mat. I’m still pissed ‘caused I missed the
knock-down you and the Major had after that.”
It took all her willpower to keep her peace from that, and
instead asked “How about how I beat you
at the last Triad game we played?”
“You didn’t beat me, Cap. You
were holding two on a run, I was holding three.
The only reason you ‘won’ was because you bluffed me into folding early.” There was a trace of impatience to the
voice…to Hotdog’s voice now. “How
about you do some convincing yourself, huh?
Last anyone saw of you…stand by.”
The comms went dead and Starbuck
again looked to her wingman, who was holding his place
at her eleven. She didn’t doubt he’d
been listening to everything as closely as
“This is Commander
Saul Tigh, commanding officer of the Colonial Battlestar Nemesis. I am addressing the…person claiming to be
Kara Thrace, Colonial Fleet number 19800408-Kappa-Alpha-Theta-2003.” Starbuck felt her head go light, having completely lost the ability to
breath. The voice continued on, an
all-too familiar threat to it now. “You will identify yourself to my satisfaction or I will order my planes to blast you out of the frakking sky for soiling the memory of an officer I knew
and respected.”
The laugh was out
her throat and past her lips before she could stop it. “Since when did you ever ‘respect’ me, Colonel?
When you threw the card table at me after I slapped down full colors and
showed everyone what a lousy Triad player you were…or…or when you kicked me out
of a chair and told me I was, quote, ‘a malcontent and a cancer and you won’t
have me on your ship’ unquote?!” The
first was a scene that was almost legend within the Fleet, but the second? She'd thought that one up on the spot and
only three people had been present at the incident in question. It was therefore long odds anyone but those
two would know know it hadn’t been Tigh who had done or said any
of that.
The voice on the
other end let out a shaking breath that might have been a sob. “You
bitch! You know I didn’t say that…”
More words spilled
out of her, wholly independent of reason or good sense. “In fact, I want confirmation it’s really
you, Sir. Like I’m going to believe the Old Man would
put you in charge of anything more
important than a…a frakkin’ Triad game.”
“Is it really you?” It
was a question and whisper and prayer all in one.
Starbuck found
herself clasping her hands together, both shaking so hard she didn’t trust them
anywhere near her instruments. “If
you don’t believe me, go ahead and tell Constanza and
others to shoot me down right now. I’ll
fly back over the River
“Is it you?!” This
was shouted, with the sort of desperation she’d only heard once before. It was all the proof she needed. Her eyes stung now, fixed as they were on the
hovering bulk overhead.
“It’s me, Sir.” She couldn’t more than whisper
it. “It’s really me.” Her vision was getting cloudy now, leaving
her wondering if it wasn’t all a dream of some sort, or perhaps the Basestar would jump away any second. But it didn’t.
She tasted the tears
streaking her cheeks.
And she believed.
Her comms flashed red with a text message a moment later. Switch to secure band for Olympus Actual. Starbuck quickly sniffed and blinked her eyes clear, saying into her comms “Standby, Nemesis
Actual.” She then punched into a sliver of
the wireless band that only eight people in the entire Fleet could access. “
It was Admiral Rice
who responded. “What’s your analysis, Colonel?” he asked, the question needing no
elaboration.
“I’m…eighty-five percent
convinced, Sir.”
“Only that much?” She was lying and they both knew it; it was closer to
ninety-nine-point-nine-to-infinity. But
that high couldn’t be justified rationally, and she wouldn’t even try.
Aloud she said
“That’s as far as I’m willing to go until
I see them with my own eyes.” The hint
couldn’t have been heavier or dropped more clearly. The Admiral took a moment to chew it over
before responding.
“We’re prepping a mini-jump so we’re within
cannon-range. We’ve directed Greyhound
to take over for you there. I want you
back aboard before we make any further move.”
“Acknowledged. Sir? Permission to advise Nemesis
Actual to…behave.”
“Granted. We’ll continue to monitor your
communications.”
“Understood. Starbuck clear.” She
switched back reset to 518.7 and spoke in Colonial Standard. “Nemesis
Actual, Starbuck.”
Tigh’s voice responded immediately. “Go
ahead, Captain.”
She didn’t bother to
correct her rank. There was something
perversely reassuring at such casual disrespect coming from Tigh’s
voice. “Be advised I have been ordered by my commanding officer to return to
my ship. My squadron is being reinforced
and will keep you in sight, with orders to respond with maximum intensity to
any provocation. You’d best pull your
planes back and keep your powder dry.”
“We’ll take it
under advisement, Captain.”
“Continue to monitor this band setting for further
communications. Starbuck
clear.”
“Acknowledged. Nemesis Actual, clear.”
Kara retook her
instruments, waiting until Hotdog and his two wingmen pulled away before firing
her engines fully. She spared a last look upwards confirmed the Raiders trio that had been
facing off Greyhound had likewise pulled away and her wingman was
linking up with the rest of Black Wing.
Greyhound in fact went so far as to 'wiggle' his wings towards her in
the now traditional manner of non-broadcast farewells between pilots as he reoriented his plane to face the Nemesis.
Starbuck refused to
allow herself to dwell further on what she might be leaving her squadron to,
concentrating instead on keeping her Viper's course steady enough as she
plunged through the 'Belt and followed the transponder signal that would lead
her back to Olympus. Needless to
say, it was an uphill struggle from start to finish.
<><><>
1155 Hours
GMT
Eleven
minutes since contact with Case ZULU
Starbuck, still in flight suit, marched into the CIC flanked by three Marines in full armor with Colonel Olympias Callisto in the lead. Callisto was the ship's XO and had been given expressed orders from Rice to escort the CCAW from her Viper and ensure nothing and no-one was to get within a dozen feet of her. The XO had on that score effectively ordered the corridor from the landing deck clear through to CIC cleared and sealed, and all the Marines were all carrying live rounds. Not that anyone seriously thought Starbuck was in any danger aboard the Battlestar itself, her reputation alone was usually deterrent enough. With Case ZULU still sounding however, her position was suddenly was suddenly elevated to the level of “irreplaceable”.
The Bridge was still lit in red and staffed as fully as she'd ever seen it. It gave her a strange sense of deja vu, reminding her vaguely of her being fetched out of hack and brought before the Old Man to learn the Cylons were attacking. The fact her longtime headache of an XO was nowhere in sight right then didn't diminish the surreal state of everything right then. Both the Admiral and CO were standing by the central desk, the former's eyes still on the main AEGIS display and the other nodding and holding a wireless headset close to his ear.
“Sirs?” she asked, standing at 'parade rest' so they wouldn't see how unsteady her hands still were.
“Colonel,” the Admiral nodded, still staring at the AEGIS.
Starbuck turned to the Commander for a moment. “Sir? Lieutenant Mahn?”
Commander Avery-Hunter set down the wireless. “She relocated to Able as soon as we went to General Quarters.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
The CO nodded and motioned her to approach the central desk just as the Admiral turned from the overhead displays. Both Starbuck and the XO did so, allowing the four of them to face one another.
“Colonel
“They didn't shoot at Greyhound or me, and the ones I spoke with over the wireless...they knew things that...”
“But you remain unconvinced?” asked the XO, to which Starbuck could only shrug.
“Until I see them with my own eyes? Not sure I'd believe it if the Old Man himself recounted every conversation we'd ever had.”
“Well we can't keep sitting here under the 'Belt and pray Black, Red and Gold Wings will be enough to keep this...thing...at bay.” The CO sounded frustrated, an image reinforced by his rubbing the back of his neck, hard.
“Admiral?” Starbuck asked. “I'd advise that at the very least we contact the Nemesis and consider sending a contact team over.” She took another breath and pressed on. “It has been over ten minutes since our last communication. If it is Saul Tigh out there, he's got to be getting nervous by now.”
“Which means?”
“At the very least? He'll start programming firing solutions into his ship's cannons and warm up more planes to secure his sky.”
“Will he launch an attack of any sort?”
“Not unless directly provoked for the moment. But we leave it much longer and he may just itch his trigger finger, just on principle.”
The Admiral observed this short exchange carefully, and then asked,
“Colonel
“I...that's your call, Sir. But whoever it is, they should have a command of Colonial Standard to be able to communicate clearly and have sufficient authority to reassure him we aren't hostile ourselves.”
The XO sniffed. “Makes for a pretty short list, Colonel.”
Starbuck could only shrug. “No argument there.”
The Admiral signed over to the main comms
station. “Mr. Samson, open a secure line
to Case ZULU on the established band and patch it through to the desk
here. Make sure the translation package
and recorders are running.” He picked up
the handset nearest him and nodded for the others to do the same. “Colonel
“That should be your privilege, Sir.”
“This isn't about privilege,
“Understood, Sir. I'll do my best to avoid...provoking him.”
“From what you've told us? That'll be a first.” There was no rancor or criticism in the Admiral's words. It even drew a dry chuckle from the normally humorless XO.
Lieutenant Samson called over, “Line open and live, Admiral.”
Rice nodded to Starbuck, who cleared her throat and raised
her handset to her lips. “Nemesis Actual,
Starbuck. Repeat: Nemesis Actual,
this is Colonel Kara Thrace. Please
respond.”
A moment of silence stretched into eternity, but the moment ended.
“Starbuck, Nemesis
Actual. We read you, Captain.”
“I am aboard my ship
and with my commanding officers.”
The Admiral nodded, silently instructing Starbuck to pause,
who acknowledged with a nod of her own.
The Admiral then spoke himself in his passable Colonial. “This
is Admiral Theodore Rice of the Terran Defense
Fleet. Who am I speaking to?”
“This is Commander
Saul Tigh, commanding officer of the Colonial Battlestar Nemesis.
Is Captain
“Colonel
“I apologize,
Admiral. Cap...Colonel
“We are. Enough said there, eh?”
“Exactly.. May I ask what your
intentions towards us are?”
“That would our
question to you.”
“Has...Colonel
Starbuck spoke up almost immediately. “I have provided a general picture to them...”
Only to have the Admiral override her a second later. “She has explained in as much detail as she was able. I give you my word she has at no time been under any manner of duress nor has she compromised your fleet's operational security.” A meaningful look silenced an impending interruption from the officer under discussion.
“You are therefore
aware we are refugees seeking safe haven, correct?”
“We are. May I suggest this is a conversation better
conducted face-to-face?”
“I was about to
suggest precisely that.”
“Acknowledged. Please stand by while I discuss this with my command staff.” The Admiral lowered his handset and waited until the CO, XO and CCAW did the same. He signaled for Samson to mute the connection and gave it another few seconds before speaking. “Colonel?”
Starbuck had to take a few extra breaths herself before trying to answer. “If it is Tigh, he's a damn slight more mellow than I remember him.”
“Still reserving judgment?”
“Absolutely.”
“Fair enough,” the Admiral nodded. “Commander?”
“Sir?”
“Have one of the Sirkorskis prepped. I want it outfitted for Case MOSES.”
“External containment and chromatographs?”
“The works,” the Admiral nodded.
“How many aboard?” asked the XO.
“Five. Myself, Major Taylor, two of his men.” He paused for a breath, and then concluded “And Colonel
“Is that wise, Sir?” the XO asked after a short breath of
her own. “If we're still at ZULU, shouldn't
Colonel
“I agree, Admiral,” stated the CO.
“And normally I'd agree, but as we're facing something...different...” He paused and looked Starbuck straight in the eye. “If this is some trick by the toasters, you're likely the only one who'll catch it. Otherwise I'd have you in Able right now.”
“Understood, Sir.” Her tone was the cool, professional sort she reserved for orders and directives she would fight against to the end of time. The others gave this a pass and concentrated on other matters. The Admiral signed to Samson to re-open the comms.
“Nemesis Actual,
Admiral Rice.”
“Go ahead,
Admiral.”
“We will be
dispatching a contact team to your ship shortly. Please be advised...one moment please. Colonel
Starbuck spoke into her own handset. “Yes, Sir. Nemesis Actual, be advised the Terrans had suffered through a global pandemic approximately fifty years ago. They...we...will be coming aboard outfitted to attempt to minimize the possibility of infection of any sort.” There was a short span of silence at this news, though whether it was of the pandemic or her tacit admission she herself would be coming over was impossible to say.
“Understood,
Colonel. Will any...special facilities be required?”
“Negative,
Commander. We're rather hoping this will
prove a non-issue. The best thing you
can do is provide us an isolated hanger bay to land in. We can take it from there.”
“Understood,
Colonel. Contact us once you are underway. Nemesis clear.”
“Rice clear.” The Admiral settled the handset back unto its cradle and asked the CO “What's our clock?”
The Commander was quickly muttering into his own handset, nodding as he spoke, evidentially bringing his conversation to a quick end. “Owl 71 will be outfitted and prepped for flight in twenty,” he reports.
The XO put down her own handset and added, “Major Taylor and his troops will be waiting for you in Quarantine One. We'll have the route to Launch Four clean by then.”
“Let's be about this, officers. Colonel
“Sir.” Starbuck gave them a salute wholly on autopilot, overly sharp and entirely lacking her usual undercurrent. She trailed after the Admiral as he quit the CIC, her steps likewise moving wholly without any hint of swagger.
“Man, is she spooked,” the XO breathed quietly as the CCAW departed.
The CO nodded. “What do you expect? She likely wrote off any chance of a reunion the day after she woke up at Nellis.” He looked to the main AEGIS display. “Have Silver Wing loaded into tubes for escort.”
“Aye-aye, Sir.”
<><><>
1247 Hours
GMT
Terran Scout Owl 71, en route to Case ZULU
Fifty-two
minutes since first contact
Starbuck sat the controls of the scout shuttle, feeling less
than agile in her Level 4 Biohazard gear.
She knew intellectually there shouldn't have been any reason for this,
given the sealed and self-contained one-piece suit wasn't that much different
from her normal flight suit. It was more
what it symbolized, she supposed, though more complicated than simple fear of
past mistakes.
There were times when she found the irony of her present circumstances overwhelming. Here she was, an unwitting ambassador to her people’s nominal cousins, yet often all she’d seemed to bring them was panic and fear of the very stars they were trying so hard to reach. She was privately grateful for the multitude of work and responsibilities the Terrans had seen fit to provide her. It kept her focused on familiar things rather than try duties for which she had no skill set whatsoever. Kara Thrace was a lot of things, but a diplomat and Senior Brass? That was a laugh.
So here she was, piloting a small shuttle with her commanding Flag officer and three Marines, straight into the mouth of the closest equivalent to Tartarus’s Forge to be found this side of the River Styx. She wasn’t sure which was more surprising to her, how steady her hands were, or how calm she felt through all this. True, she’d only heard two familiar voices so far which had said all the right things. This in itself couldn’t prove anything other than that both Costanza and Tigh might have been skin jobs and were back with their own people now.
Except she knew that wasn’t the case. Knew it as surely as if Apollo and Artemis themselves had stepped forward and offered the knowledge.
She kept the shuttle’s course steady as it broke up through the ‘Belt, the six Vipers of Silver Wing matching speed and surrounding them in escort, the slow rotating form of Nemesis immediately coming into view. It was strange, she thought, to look upon something she’d only ever associated with death and destruction and yet feel no fear. If anything, Starbuck found herself having to consciously restrain herself from pushing the shuttle’s thrusters to full burn and get this over with all the faster.
The comms board lit up a moment
later, prompting her to open the channel.
An unfamiliar voice echoed in her helmet saying “Approaching shuttle, Nemesis Aerospace Control.”
“Nemesis Control, Starbuck.
Go ahead.”
“Continue on your present heading and speed.
“Acknowledged,
Nemesis Control. I
may need some directions as I am unfamiliar with your internal configuration.”
“Understood, Colonel. Will advise course and
heading correction as needed.”
“Thank you.” Starbuck turned around and gave a thumbs-up to the Admiral and Major Taylor, who like herself were in Level 4 gear. The Admiral nodded to this but said nothing further.
The rest of the short journey passed in comparative silence, Nemesis Control providing only occasional and small corrections to their heading. Soon the Basestar loomed large before them, its main launch bay doors visibly opening to admit them into the massive spoke upon which the ship rotated. She made it a point to ignore the quintet of white-painted Raiders that were holding station around them.
“Cut speed by one-point-five and adjust heading angle by 20 degrees
below plane.”
“Acknowledged,
Nemesis Control: cutting speed and
adjusting angle.” Starbuck
managed not to start when she felt the Admiral’s hand on her shoulder. She saw him out of the corner of her eye,
leaning forward and watching their approach attentively. The bay doors were now fully open, revealing multiple
ramps leading into the ship. “Do I have to guess which ramp to take, Nemesis Control?”
“Stand by, Colonel.” The
running lights set into the lowest of the group suddenly sparked to life. “Follow the lit ramp and cut engines at
fifty meters.”
“Fifty meters and cut
engines, understood. Starbuck
clear.” She quickly cut the
connection and reset the wireless to the
“Reading you, Colonel,” Commander Avery-Hunter replied.
“We are being guided into Nemesis. Will keep this line open and attempt contact as soon as we’ve landed.”
“Understood,
Colonel. Be safe.”
Starbuck could only chuck cynically at this as she guided the shuttle forward. The bay doors remained open behind them. Even so, there were no lights beyond those on the ramp underneath them, quickly leaving them to be swallowed by the darkness within.
When the shuttle was fully within the landing bay, only then did the bay doors close behind them, rattling shut silently in the vacuum of space.
TBC….
Note: the words Χότ-Ντόγκ (pronounced roughly as Hoot-Stoyok) is Modern Greek for “hotdog”, as translated at http://www.ectaco.co.uk/English-Greek-Dictionary