Chapter 20, "Between Life and Death"
Chapter 20, "Between Life and Death"
Word Count: ~2,900
Rating: PG
A/N: Whew. It's a relief to publish this. This chapter explains a lot, I think. Kurt Vonnegut says good fiction doesn't require suspense, just characters you like. I think I might have been keeping too many secrets from y'all! So here are some. Enjoy 'em.
"Looks like the medical ward's ready." Here, what might be days or hours before invasion, Sharon's objections to assaulting the civilian colony had been so thoroughly overruled that she'd been relegated to oversight of the medical division, kept as far away from the control room and front line strategy as possible.
"Ready as it can be," Doc Cottle blew out the words with a puff of cigar smoke.
"I wish I could be as resigned as you are."
The doc raised a thick eyebrow. "Sweetheart, this isn't my first damn fool war. Just my first one in a long time." He scanned a piece of paper that a nearby medic, bustling by, shoved into his hands, scrawled a hasty signature on it, and then turned back to Athena. "How long before it's zero hour?"
She shrugged. "High command's not saying. Two days at the outside before we move, I'd guess. Then it's just the march down. They'll want us to sneak up, surprise them. So maybe a week until all hell breaks loose."
Cottle sighed, then nodded. "War," he shook his head. "Just an addiction like any other."
"What's the cure?"
"Same cure as for all of our worst instincts." The cigar was between his teeth now. "Babies."
Sharon thought of Hera, of the explanations that she'd been having to make lately about what they were doing and why, of how easily, actually, Hera seemed to accept it. "Yeah, well, I don't think we can get enough of those in time."
"No," said the doc, "don't suppose we can. I've been working on bandages and anesthesia instead. If you'll excuse me," he patted her shoulder, "I'll get back to it."
Left alone with gurneys, Sharon resisted her urge to throw herself down on one of them and pound it into submission. She'd thought they were escaping; she'd believed it when they'd gotten aboard the Hitei Kan, that they'd be starting again, doing it right this time.
She should have figured out by now that there was no such frakking thing as a fresh start. Just one war after another, that was all they were good for, now.
"Mr. Adama, I'll ask you one more time. By your own admission, you'd voluntarily retired from the armed services well before the day that you kidnapped the president-"
"She wasn't the president at the time."
"-while your son was losing an election to her. You had no military directive, as you weren't part of the military in any official capacity. So what exactly was your position?"
Bill Adama sighed. Perhaps it was time to make a show of cooperating, stop answering sarcastically. He had the bad feeling, though, that the moment he began taking this show trial seriously, would be the moment they wrapped it up, found him guilty, and hanged him. So be it. He spoke to the judge asking the question, who was sitting in the same spot that Bill himself had sat in, when they'd tried Gaius Baltar for treason. He didn't have his son's whole-body conscience here to remind everyone of their humanity. All he had was bluntness and the poor virtues he'd cultivated in decades of military life.
"I acted in my capacity as a civilian. My intention was to prevent Ms. Porter," he elected not to use her title as the people trying him hadn't seen fit to use his, "from immediately rounding up all the Cylon citizens and ordering them to undergo what she was calling memory therapy. I believed that that order would lead to civil war, which might be prevented if we had more time for negotiation." It had turned out that it didn't even take the order-just the sure knowledge that one was coming, but Bill Adama let his silence say that part. "My experience has left me with a sense of duty, I'm afraid. I've seen zealotry lead to war before."
"So you weren't attempting a coup on your son's behalf?"
"Lee would never accept a presidency that he thought had been obtained by thwarting the popular will. Even if his democratically elected president had a blood grudge against a large chunk of the populace. He's not made that way."
"But you admit that you helped your son escape."
"People have a right to a government that represents and protects them."
"Governments have a right to prosecute criminals, and your son-"
Bill turned to his state-provided attorney, a man named Chase Goering, and asked-not for the first time in this mockery of a trial-"Are you going to object that this proceeding is prosecuting my son in absentia? No? Alright, carry on, then."
The prosecutor flushed, but he carried on.
Bill went back to answering with half his brain, the angry half. The rest of him was reaching for the note in his pocket, the one that had come through the air vent in his cell the very day he'd been transferred to Galactica. Written in an old code from the First Cylon War, in a distinctive scrawl he'd know anywhere as belonging to Saul Tigh. We're here with Kara / must move each day to maintain our cover / we'll get you out / our girl's working on a plan / hold on, old man, we have your six.
He hadn't come to terms with how much hope he'd been holding onto until the tears had come to his eyes, on seeing it. Hold on, Laura. Looks like I'm not coming to you just yet.
Here he was, wondering what the frak was taking Saul and Kara so long, imagining every creak of the ship was them scuttling around in the hidden vents and back chambers, hoping that this mockery of a trial wouldn't end in a sudden bullet to his brain against the hull of Galactica before they could come to him, before Starbuck's insane miraculous strategy, whatever it was, could have its day.
For the first time in a while, Bill Adama realized that he very much wanted to live.
Olivia wasn't surprised that Galen broke like an egg against a metal bowl. When he, Helo, and Olivia first set foot inside Petra, the Chief had barely taken a step before stumbling to the ground, as if in pain. "Oh, God," he whispered, "God. Oh, God." He clutched his temple, and Olivia figured it was probably the memories. She was embarrassed for him; he had so much pride. This wasn't the time.
The thirty-eight pale faces that hadn't seen the sun in two decades-and some of them weren't that old, had only ever been exposed to their UV lamps-had swarmed in on them. Some of them were crying, holding each other. Some of them just stared, looking fragile, as breakable as the Chief. Two of the Sevens blanched at the sight of her. She supposed they hadn't seen an Eight since one had killed off a couple of them twenty years ago. She tried to look comforting, but it had never been one of her strengths.
Olivia looked at Helo, saw him fighting back his own tears, to see these poor people. So it would have to be her. "Hello," she said gently; she was trying to be gentle, anyway. "We're the people you've been talking to for the last few days. We've come to take you to the surface. And then to take you home, to Earth."
Then one of the Sevens walked over to her. "Swear that you mean us no harm," he demanded.
She didn't hesitate, had never meant anything more: "I've done harm in my life. I regret it all. I mean you no harm, I swear it."
He nodded. Then he knelt down beside the Chief, put an arm over his shoulder. "Dr. Tyrol," he said in a low voice, "you made it back, after all."
Galen Tyrol drew in a choky breath. "I guess I did, Gabriel."
"Wait until I show you some of the things I built… you'll be so proud." Galen's head hung low, at that, stayed low as he pulled him to his feet.
"I can't wait," he said, and pulled an arm around Gabriel, hard, letting his head fall to the other man's shoulder for a moment.
"One of them's my daughter," Gabriel said easily.
There was a woman in the corner, standing with a child of about eleven. Olivia let out a gasp. Another hybrid. Hera wasn't alone.
The woman squeezed the child's shoulder. "We're going to go up to the surface, Charlie," she said, "see the sun and the wind you're always projecting off to. But this time, for real." The girl buried her face in her mother's shoulder, for a moment, as if trying to make it dark enough to get there, right now, in her mind.
The Chief swallowed, looking at them. "We'll need a few days to transfer all of your equipment up to the Greenleaf," he said finally. "Everyone can come up to the surface to-to see it. But it's safest to sleep down here, protected from the radiation."
Gabriel let out a breath. "Just a few more days in prison. Funny, how unbearable that seems now that it's so close to being over." He looked at the shaft they'd dug down, for the elevator they'd built, which the Centurions would use to pull them up and down. "Any word from Daniel?"
The Chief raised an eyebrow, and Sharon felt a chill shoot down her spine. "When was the last you heard from him?" the Chief asked.
"When?" Gabriel laughed. "With Daniel, that's always the hardest thing to figure. Every once in a while, our memories shift, and we realize he's downloaded to a new body again. But he always does it at the same moment, about two years ago."
"What… what are you saying?" the Chief asked. "How many times has it happened?"
Gabriel looked at one of his fellow Sevens. "What would you say, Zeke?"
"In excess of seventy-five hundred times," Zeke said flatly.
"What the frak has he been doing?" Helo breathed.
"He's been running time experiments. Different ones, over and over. Trying to find a way to save you all. Stop the Cylon genocide. When that didn't work, get all of you-Kara and all of you final five onto Galactica-and then find a way for you all to find Earth."
The Chief let out a bark of laughter. "Daniel. God. Of course he has." He shook his head. He shook his head. "Why didn't he come back for you?"
Gabriel shrugged. "He has. Many times." He lowered his voice. "It's worse for us-for the Sevens-because we remember all of it. For the others… they forget when Daniel abandons a particular time stream…" He sighed. "It always ended in disaster, before, and Daniel gave up; God didn't want him to save us, he decided. But we've never seen you, so maybe this time…"
"But you have seen Lee, and Kara?"
Gabriel's face dimmed at the mention of his sister. "Yes, but there's something strange about it, Galen. Something I can't quite remember, somehow…" He looked at Zeke for guidance.
"It was a year ago for us, but Lee hasn't been here yet," Zeke said flatly. "It's interfering with our memories. He might not make it back from the maelstrom. The things which have happened might yet not happen."
"That's impossible-it's the most elementary kind of paradox. It's the reason we abandoned the time travel experiments in the first place," the Chief spluttered. "It would tear the fabric of the universe."
"The fabric's already torn," Zeke said. He'd never been one for blunting hard facts. "That's how this is possible. It's where Lee is going."
Gabriel looked at his wife, whose eyes met his over their daughter's head with the psychic speed of long familiarity. "Godspeed," she murmured.
Olivia let go of the bravado she'd been holding onto. "Godspeed," she echoed, and no one but Gabriel heard it. He smiled.
It hadn't taken Lee long to get back to the site of the storm-what they'd thought was a storm-that had swallowed Kara whole, two years before. He'd been sitting here, eyeing it broodingly for almost as long as he'd been in flight from Caprica. He could hear Kara's voice in his head, mocking his hesitation. That was part of the problem.
Kara had died, here. Hadn't she? It wasn't that Lee was afraid to die, here, too, exactly. It was just that his theology was wrestling with the implications of death. Would he see Kara again, or ought he have written her some kind of note, back on Caprica? There was nothing he could leave here, nothing that anyone would ever find. Maybe he ought to go back to Earth, carve her a note in the wall of their house… Was anyone on the other side? Would Zak be there? Gianne, his child? All his friends from home? His father, whom he'd abandoned to an inevitable mockery of a trial that would surely end in execution, probably already had? Was Dee there? His mother? Was there anything there?
OK, so he was afraid.
You've been here before, Apollo. The only thing that stopped you from following her that time was your dad. Now he's gone, too. Nothing left to lose.
Except his life. Except his last hopes of getting back home, of having the bright frakking shiny future he'd scorned for as long as he ever bothered to remember, anymore. Except his million questions about what a godsdamned hunk of horn-shaped metal was going to do in that storm that Starbuck's Viper couldn't do. How would it stop him from exploding, burning up in outer space, staying here forever?
He took a breath. He was bored with indecision. He had nowhere else to look to find home, anyway. This was where she'd disappeared, where the people in Petra had told him to find her.
No, Dad. It's no use. Her ship's in pieces. Her ship's in pieces. No chute. We lost her…
Just let me go, Lee. They're waiting for me… I'll see you on the other side.
The other side. Lee grabbed the stick and turned the Raptor around, let his eyes trace the maelstrom's swirl.
It was now or never. He'd see her there or he wouldn't.
Lee filled the cabin of the Raptor with oxygen so that he could take off his helmet. He activated his thrusters, aimed toward the vital, swirling center of a storm that hadn't dissipated in years, probably wouldn't for millennia, judging by its size. He grabbed the controls with one arm, and dove, lifting the Horn of Cronus to his mouth as the pressure built and built past what he thought he could bear. The sound of pressure building was so loud, on the brink of explosion, that he didn't hear the Horn as he poured all the air left in his lungs into it.
He hadn't practiced, was sure this was the sort of instrument with which you really shouldn't practice.
When he blew the Horn, there wasn't so much as a ripple, but Lee was suddenly standing in a room-a familiar room, a room on Caprica. The smoothest landing of his life, and he was renowned for his landings.
He drew in a breath. He knew where he was. He spun for the door. He couldn't be here-in his old apartment in C City, in a part of town he knew was now rubble? With the light and the electricity and the smell all telling him the worlds hadn't ended yet, that there was still time, here.
And there was someone else here who couldn't be here, but was.
"Laura," he breathed. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Oh, Lee." Laura Roslin's eyes were full; she looked like she was brimming over with pride as she reached out to touch his cheek. "You made it.
"Where are we?"
"We're in the doorway, Lee." She smiled, almost beaming. "Between life and death."
"Frak," he breathed. "Kara told me about this-Leoben took her to see her mother…" He frowned. "You're… you're my Leoben."
"Not how I would put it, Major. But yes, I volunteered to be your guide here." She smiled. "Now do what Kara didn't do. The thing you're good at." She raised a brow. "Ask the right question."
He squared his jaw. "Whose life? Whose death?"
She smiled again. "Not yours, Lee. Just like Kara was never trapped in hers, but in between the life and death of Socrata Thrace." She shuddered lightly, one mother horrified by the parenting of another.
"And me?"
"Whose do you think?" Lee squeezed his eyes shut. He'd left so many people for dead, but he knew. "Zak," he whispered. He opened his eyes.
"Hey, bro," said his brother from the couch. "We watching the game or what?"
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