The air stung with the excitement of it all – every molecule pulsating in the deep rumble where the engines consumed and exhaled. Adama browsed to the edge of the crowd, venturing in far enough to stand and tilt his head upwards. The underside of the ship drew closer, no longer capturing stray glances of sunlight. Now it was black, with nothing to reflect. The friendly exterior Adama had spent many months stealing looks at from his window seemed dead, utterly and completely hostile. Mutinous in its every curve.

“Fool.” he found himself uttering to no-one in particular, now feeling the downward draft push cold air on his face.

The Admiral closed his eyes as the dark shadow fell over him – so close now, like every Admiral he could feel the presence of a ship. Not just the physical roar, but the subtle mood that surrounded it – like a living thing.

And this ship was mournful. Dangerous where its internal wounds bled.

Feeling eyes upon him, Bill turned to his right to find the Colonel not far away – watching him stoically. His gaze was intense, he knew as well as the Admiral that this could mean nothing but trouble.

But they were alone.

As the ship made its final contact with the earth the crowd let out cheers. Smiles and the occasional tear. When the President emerged and made his way down the stairs toward them the crowd raised in elation – this made it real, all of it. If parliament had come to the soil of New Caprica then everything finally became home. The deal was signed, this was it.

Baltar, to the Admiral’s disgust, made his way along the lines of people, shaking their hands and lifting some of the many newborns to his shoulder. Having had enough, the Admiral made his way back to Roslin’s tent where he knew the Colonel and Kara would follow.

*~*

Laura dug through the hardened soil of New Caprica, piling the excavated material where she had pulled the flooring of her tent up. Sliding down nearly a foot, her fingers met with coldness. It clung to the soil which dirtied her cream skin, it was never really summer – only the appearance of it. Like everything else in this time.

Soon enough she found what she was after – an envelope wrapped inside a plastic bag. Removing it from the hole, Laura retreated back toward the centre of the tent – first throwing a blanket to cover the space.

She dimmed the tent by quieting the fire. Slowly and carefully she pealed back the plastic, withdrawing the contents.

There was no address on the letter – no markings of any kind.

*~*

Bill entered the tent expecting to find the fire burning quietly in isolation – instead he found Laura, seated and dressed in full suit. Unconsciously his eyes slid over the curve of her calf and up to where it met with the dark navy – momentarily faltering at the sudden contrast.

She didn’t say anything at his entrance, Laura had been expecting it – in fact, she had planned towards this moment. The Admiral summoned control over himself, attention moving to the letter laying beneath her protective clasp.

“Admiral.”

The world moved for him – and he said nothing.

Colonel Tigh brushed past Adama and advanced into the room toward Laura without surprise or hesitation. She stood to meet him and he outstretched his hand. “Madame President.”

From behind, Kara saluted – both the Colonel and she producing letters similar to Roslin’s.

It was then that the Admiral knew -

he reached beneath his coat where his fingers curled over a parchment surface.

The President had returned, and it wasn’t the man drowning himself in Ambrosia away from the cheering crowd.

It was the woman moving towards him, outstretching her hand. He didn’t know what had changed her mind – and he didn’t care. He had his answer, the rebellion lived.

Hope lived.

The President, Laura Roslin, lived.

The air stung with the excitement of it all – every molecule pulsating in the deep rumble where the engines consumed and exhaled. Adama browsed to the edge of the crowd, venturing in far enough to stand and tilt his head upwards. The underside of the ship drew closer, no longer capturing stray glances of sunlight. Now it was black, with nothing to reflect. The friendly exterior Adama had spent many months stealing looks at from his window seemed dead, utterly and completely hostile. Mutinous in its every curve.

“Fool.” he found himself uttering to no-one in particular, now feeling the downward draft push cold air on his face.

The Admiral closed his eyes as the dark shadow fell over him – so close now, like every Admiral he could feel the presence of a ship. Not just the physical roar, but the subtle mood that surrounded it – like a living thing.

And this ship was mournful. Dangerous where its internal wounds bled.

Feeling eyes upon him, Bill turned to his right to find the Colonel not far away – watching him stoically. His gaze was intense, he knew as well as the Admiral that this could mean nothing but trouble.

But they were alone.

As the ship made its final contact with the earth the crowd let out cheers. Smiles and the occasional tear. When the President emerged and made his way down the stairs toward them the crowd raised in elation – this made it real, all of it. If parliament had come to the soil of New Caprica then everything finally became home. The deal was signed, this was it.

Baltar, to the Admiral’s disgust, made his way along the lines of people, shaking their hands and lifting some of the many newborns to his shoulder. Having had enough, the Admiral made his way back to Roslin’s tent where he knew the Colonel and Kara would follow.

*~*

Laura dug through the hardened soil of New Caprica, piling the excavated material where she had pulled the flooring of her tent up. Sliding down nearly a foot, her fingers met with coldness. It clung to the soil which dirtied her cream skin, it was never really summer – only the appearance of it. Like everything else in this time.

Soon enough she found what she was after – an envelope wrapped inside a plastic bag. Removing it from the hole, Laura retreated back toward the centre of the tent – first throwing a blanket to cover the space.

She dimmed the tent by quieting the fire. Slowly and carefully she pealed back the plastic, withdrawing the contents.

There was no address on the letter – no markings of any kind.

*~*

Bill entered the tent expecting to find the fire burning quietly in isolation – instead he found Laura, seated and dressed in full suit. Unconsciously his eyes slid over the curve of her calf and up to where it met with the dark navy – momentarily faltering at the sudden contrast.

She didn’t say anything at his entrance, Laura had been expecting it – in fact, she had planned towards this moment. The Admiral summoned control over himself, attention moving to the letter laying beneath her protective clasp.

“Admiral.”

The world moved for him – and he said nothing.

Colonel Tigh brushed past Adama and advanced into the room toward Laura without surprise or hesitation. She stood to meet him and he outstretched his hand. “Madame President.”

From behind, Kara saluted – both the Colonel and she producing letters similar to Roslin’s.

It was then that the Admiral knew -

he reached beneath his coat where his fingers curled over a parchment surface.

The President had returned, and it wasn’t the man drowning himself in Ambrosia away from the cheering crowd.

It was the woman moving towards him, outstretching her hand. He didn’t know what had changed her mind – and he didn’t care. He had his answer, the rebellion lived.

Hope lived.

The President, Laura Roslin, lived.

As she drew closer it became apparent that she more than lived, she burned and Adama wanted nothing more than to stand in front of her and feel the warmth.

Kara and Tigh retreated further to the edges of the light inside the tent and engaged in a hushed dialogue – Kara occasionally lowering her eyes to the envelope in hand -the Colonel distractedly watching the Admiral falter over the President – amused that it had been a long time since he’d seen that man act like this around a woman. He sent himself a mental note to give the Admiral hell about it later. That’s what comrades were for after all.

Kara caught Tigh grinning, the Colonel recovering by inquiring after her husband.

Laura rested opposite Bill, the Admiral still transfixed by her. The flow of her hair, the line her silken shirt made with the delicate skin beneath her neck.

Her very presence undid him – there was a power emanating from her, one that had lurked – suppressed. It had been so long that he had forgotten the feeling of being physically afraid of her.

A chilled river spread from where her eyes met his and twisted down his spine sending hair creeping upward across the back of his neck. Bill’s feet had grown roots – the lump in the back of his throat suddenly rendering him mute. Yet the Admiral had to admit – it was a good feeling. One that he had missed since those first moments she had stepped onto his ship and slinked through the corridors of his mind. The essence of her clinging like foreign incense.

A dangerous thing, fire.

“Are you sure about this Madame President?” Starbuck turned to her in the undertone light. “This,” she brandished the letter, “can’t be undone.”

“I realise that. Please be patient for a few more minutes, we’re still waiting for everyone to arrive.”

Kara and Adama seemed at a loss, Thrace muttering something along the lines of, ‘we are?’ but Tigh clasped his hands behind his back casually, “Regretfully,” he interjected, “he may not make this-”

“Apologies Madame President – Captain, Colonel – Admiral.”

Lee quietly slipped past his father and into the meeting – withdrawing yet another letter from his dress uniform.

“Lee?” something, maybe it was pride, snuck under the folds of the Admiral’s uniform. Lee had run off the rails a little since New Caprica. Losing Starbuck to the mainland hadn’t been good for him – neither had Dualla.

Dualla, one of the few people Laura was yet to forgive.

“I know I’m late but Baltar instructed three more civilian ships to land today. I tried to talk them down but – “

“but,” finished the Admiral, “whether we like it or not, he is the President.”

“It’s the wrong choice” the words snuck in, they had haunted Laura’s thoughts, “Yes it is.” she averted her eyes from the Admiral’s momentarily as she shook the past. It could not be undone, and they had to live with that – for better or for worse. Something told her that perhaps being a criminal might not have been so bad after all.

“Good, we’re all here then.” She managed.

Starbuck prodded Apollo in a playful manner, punishing him for being such a pain in the ass.

Lee rubbed the spot.

Laura pretended not to notice.

“Is everything in order? – Admiral?”

“Yes, Madame President.” the others followed in agreement.

“Then let’s do it.”

Laura took the envelope in front of her and led the way out of the tent – she was heading for the Quorum of 12 – well, those that remained. Kara broke off to the left – out toward the worker’s colony, her journey taking her high up into the hills. Tigh backtracked around the tent, his duty to track down the executive staff that had settled the planet’s surface.

Lee headed toward his waiting shuttle, destined to return to the cool of space – his message wandering between the ships that orbited there.

And Adama – he veered – his trajectory before him – the dusty grey hull of Colonial One managing a sparkle in the early morning sun.

*~*

The Letter slid over the surface toward Baltar.

“Mr. President.” and then the Admiral was gone.

Baltar eyed his retreat with suspicion, waiting until he had vanished from sight before retrieving the letter on his desk and opening it. A single card fell out, missing his grasping hand.

Baltar looked down at it, there was nothing written upon roughed surface. It was only then that Roslin’s words found meaning – and his heart began to panic.

“Only the worthy may see.”

*~*

Somewhere nearby, another letter opened. The reader brushing his eyes over the contents.

Eleven-Nine-Nine-Hermes.

Tyrol smiled, finally – the President’s time was at its end.

More than half a year had spun past – yet still the events of the first minutes of his presidency haunted Baltar in everything he did. He remembered vividly the tragic sequences that had led to the low vibrating thunder beneath his feet as Cloud Nine – and the woman he thought he loved, ended their existence.

No, that was wrong; despite even now knowing that she had planned this end from the first moments, Baltar still loved her. It was irrational, mind boggingly stupid – yet there it was. She may not have been his Six, but gods, she could have fooled him. And what a sucker he had been. It’s not everyday you get manipulated into destroying the human race – Baltar had done it twice – and with the same woman none the less. He just hoped and prayed that he wasn’t repeating events all over again for a third time. If that happened, he’d hand the presidency back to Laura himself – assuming there was still something to be president of.

But perhaps he was over reacting – things were better these days – especially here on the planet. It was a hundred times better having solid ground beneath your feet then constantly worrying whether the hull would breech or your ship would be destroyed with little chance to escape. On New Caprica you regained some control over your life, that’s why the people voted for him and he delivered on his promise. It is, perhaps, a tad unfortunate that the souls of Cloud Nine were not able to join in the freedom. All clouds, it seems, must dissipate eventually.

Being the emotional wreck that he was, Baltar had lured himself into the growing underworld of ‘comforters’. People who make other people’s desperate loss and need into a profitable business. They entwine themselves into all walks of life, from the poorest citizen looking to spend one night in another’s company right up to the President of the Colonies looking to drown his sorrows of love lost over a toaster. The world, seeming sweet – more pathetic and sad then anyone will allow themselves to believe.

Baltar knew that to survive, he had to find some truth in what was originally only a political ploy. It seemed, he had finally found the truly dark side of politics.

Winning. And then making all the bullshit you spouted actually work.

‘Oh frak all of it.’ Baltar fell back, burdened under the weight of full bottle of Ambrosia, the sweet nectar of the gods turning sour on his lips. ‘What are you up to Laura? Or should I say, Madame President?’

*~*

Roslin bit her lip in the after mouth of an all too bittersweet encounter. She had received confirmation that word of her return had spread around the Colony. Insurgency mingled with the general population, luring them into packed tents rife with dangerous discussion.

“’scuse me Ma’am – will you tell us anotha’ story?”

“Please!” beckoned the group of children sitting around her. Laura shook her head, she had been lost in thought yet again.

“Of course.” She smiled back. “This time I think we might hear a story of cunning, the birth of Athena.” The children’s eyes lit up – they loved to hear tales of their gods, it seemed to bring them closer, make them feel less forgotten. “She was wise – but dangerous, daughter of the great god Zeus himself.

Shrouded in the pale August veil, soft pinks and hushed violet provided a muted backdrop for the constant shower of falling leaves. Burnt and crisp, their violent exteriors braced fleeting winds to trail across the sky, settling at last in New Caprica’s soil. The last of August settling – dry and dead on a world about to freeze. The sky fought back as sun slipped further in its shorter path around their home. Eventually all the colour drained – winds picked the leaves up and carried the colour elsewhere. Night – and another month, fell heavily onto New Caprica.

*~*

Laura struggled back in the dark cool of her tent. It was two hours until the new day though you could scarce believe it from the world outside. Winter, it seemed, was teething the edges of their world, the cold skipping seasons without care – thrusting the last of the human race into weak ice drifts. The tents they stayed in barely kept this cold out – it would be much better to be caged up in one of the few ships left in orbit. You didn’t dare say that out loud though, it all but accounted for mutiny these days.

These days… Laura half laughed to herself. So this was the time they lived in. Today was the day, a mark in the new history – where they had officially been on the surface of New Caprica longer than they had run from the Cylons in space. And three months from now would be Baltar’s one year anniversary as President of the Colonies. The people would celebrate – they had already begun to make preparations for the event. Kobol knows why. Funny though, a lot can happen in three months.

Laura, for one, certainly wasn’t holding her breath for stability.

Another jolt of wind pushed inward on the tent. The darkness was well into ‘deep’ by now, unlike summer where night scarcely got a look in. The few candles in the corner lit the air enough for her to glance at her watch. No fire tonight – the hour was late and she didn’t want to draw any extra attention to her tent.

Ten past – he was late.

Their last meeting had been full of promise, if not surprise. Her official status in the Colony remained simply as Laura Roslin, Teacher of the children. Unofficially, people whispered her old title as she passed by – dared to call her ‘Ma’am’ when she purchased goods from the market, and watched carefully over her wherever she went in case word of her new rise to power inside the Colony should reach Baltar. The Admiral – Bill, had seemed pleased with this development, though perhaps that is too softer word for it. The Admiral was invigorated – drawing from her resurrection strength of his own. It was something unique to start anew – all the pent up strength that had grown under the suppression of Baltar’s reign – so why wasn’t he here already? They had so much to discuss, and, unless she was very much mistaken – they had grown closer in these past months. She wanted to see if for no other reason than to simply, see him.

Twenty past… This was late – even for him. If something had happened to his transport ship – then she would have known already. The night sky over New Caprica would have lit up like a beacon in the dark – and the settlement broken out into chaos. The still and the cold told her that this had not come to pass.

Someone’s fingertips brushed the outer material of her tent, their feet sinking slightly into the freshly made mud. Laura felt her breath skip slightly, the movement of the person outside not that of the Admiral. She knew his walk too well – the way he rested his hand over the zipper just long enough to breathe in the free air he fought for but so rarely got to taste.

No – this person was not William Adama.

Two days after they had settled the surface of this gods-forsaken planet, Tigh had come to see her, make sure she had settled in. On this trip he had slipped a weapon under her pile of blankets, and though she protested he would not retrieve it.

“I am under orders from the top – you will thank me one day Madame President.”

She was thankful now that she had left it there. Sliding over as quietly as she could, she pushed her hand under the pile of course haired quilts, her fingers curling around the edge of a Colonial Standard issue firearm as the figure outside her tent reached the entrance, kneeling slightly to find the zipper at the base.

This was always a possibility, after the events they had set into motion last month she had prepared herself for visitors, but she had relaxed after three weeks. Underestimating Baltar’s skill – it seemed.

Devastatingly slowly the zipper undid itself. Laura slid the metal out from under the pile – a sharp ‘click’ as she released the safety, the only evidence of her existence. Hands shaking, she raised the weapon at the entrance, preparing herself to brandish the gods-awful thing, and, if necessary, fire its death into the poor soul. Something she distantly remembers swearing never to do.

But times change. And they had.

The clarity of night, but not the identity of the intruder peered through the opening, their figure still hidden behind the fragile material. Laura steadied the glock, desperate to stop it trembling in her hands.

“Madame President?”

She gripped the base of the weapon tighter. A trap?

“Laura – are you in there?”

The voice lowered, a hesitant whisper – vaguely anxious in delivery. Its owner somewhat familiar.

Around the edge of the opening, Commander Adama, the younger, carefully ducked inside the ex-president’s tent – checking the area outside for Baltar’s spies before zipping it closed in one swift movement. Turning, he found the cold of Laura’s weapon trained squarely on his face. He had never seen Laura this way – her eyes completely frozen and unwavering.

“Laura – for frak’s sake, put that down.” Lee reached forward, gently altering its aim with his hand, repeating his request.

“Oh – I’m sorry. I thought – ” She lowered the weapon and switched the safety back on. “It’s just – “

“No need to explain ma’am. These are dangerous times for all of us.” He smiled reassuringly at her, there was something comforting in knowing that she was back, and that she was ready to fight.

“Is everything alright? I was expecting your father but he hasn’t shown yet.”

“He’s not coming, not tonight. Baltar’s having him followed at the moment. He’s damn lucky, after delivering that letter of yours the rumour was that Baltar was going to have him stripped of his title.”

“It would never stand – Baltar may be President, but Bill will always be the Admiral – he’s nothing short of a god to the Colony.”

“Baltar knows this – he doesn’t want to get into a power struggle with Dad, especially when he can’t be sure of victory.” Lee paused. “The Admiral sent me here to make sure you were okay, he knew you’d be waiting for him. He has not forgotten you.” Lee added the last part, though he wasn’t exactly sure why. Something had changed between his father and Ms. Roslin, not since their decent to New Caprica – long before that. After her miraculous recovery things had been different – he wouldn’t be half surprised if they were…

“Thank you Lee. I admit I was a little concerned.”

“The gun to my head was a hint Madame President.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be – it’s a good sign. You’ve come a long way since the end of the world.”

“Haven’t we all.” Haven’t we all she repeated to herself, briefly reminiscing over the lives that they had all left.

To her surprise, she and Lee talked well into the next day. It had been a while since either of them had sat down and had a good conversation about their respective lives – to anyone. Lee talked about Dee – apparently the Viper Jockey needed some motherly advice after all, and Laura, keenly mourning the loss of her dear Billy, needed to mother someone. By the end of it, they had bridged just about every topic they could find and found a deeper sense of friendship with each other. It was strangely surreal, almost a reminiscence of her first few months drifting through space.

“I have to go.” he said finally, as they finished another bout of quiet laughter over some trivial event. “I only took leave for three hours, it is well beyond that now.”

“Oh frak – I have to get the classes ready for tomorrow, oh, today…”

Lee grinned. “You know, there was a time when you would never take a word in vain.”

“That was the time I became President of the last humans left alive in the galaxy – let’s just say I changed my speech habits a little.”

“Ah.” They both held their faces serious – for a moment anyway, before breaking out into smirks quickly followed by deep laughter.

*~*

Sweeping the outmost layers of atmosphere of New Caprica, Bill stood on the observation deck. Cusps of clouds edged forth from the planet’s surface and stretched as far as they could into the darkness of space. He could almost feel the ice they held laden and heavy in their form. Snow encroached from the upper pole, creeping through the deep gashes of valleys and trailing the higher mountain ranges down toward the settlement. They had not experienced true winter – not yet.

The year threatened to come full circle shortly, everything happening again as it had done a thousand times before. The world, existence, tumbling through in frustratingly infinite circles. And he was up here, removed – isolated. Finding himself cut off from the one thing he wanted most in what was left of this life. They say a man goes down with his ship, well then, Bill resigned himself to be a child. He didn’t want to go down – not yet, with or without his ship.

Galactica’s tired hull groaned under the pull of yet another turn about the world. What were they fighting for now? Sometimes Bill didn’t even know. He was so tired of fighting. He wanted to rest – relax and live out the remainder of his life with the woman he had come to love. But destiny wouldn’t let him do that – not yet. He could feel the approaching storm below – he could feel it all around him.

Strips of torn fabric decorated the main street at the heart of the Colony. Tents trailed off in all directions, the narrow, muddied paths between them feeding in to merge with the main stream. Each alley brought scores of New Capricans converging onto the markets that flourished with the ‘almost’ warmth of the day. Laura Roslin, just one of the hundreds of souls picking their way through the array of produce on display. This was the last harvest market of the season and without refrigeration or large storage facilities, it was the final chance to taste fresh food for at least four months. The atmosphere seemed positive enough, but underneath – behind the fabric of their tents, they were all thinking, there’s not enough food…

The military had already been here, securing large amounts of grain and salted meat for the fleet’s dwindling pilots. No-one might be interested in manning the flight decks of space at the moment, but give them a few months of nothing but weevil infested bread and rotten meat and they might change their minds. The boredom was worth it for the food alone.

Laura fought the crowds around one stall, eventually making her way far enough in to glimpse the table on offer. There wasn’t much left – a dozen or so bags of grain, one with a worn edge leaking precious seeds to the ground.

“Yes ma’am?” the woman who was once young had aged terribly from the task of attending her fields.

“Ah, two bags.” Laura held up the number on her hands as well in case she wasn’t heard over the noise of desperate haggling. She would have bought all of them but she had precious little to bargain with – and she wasn’t ready to part with the beautiful stone around her neck – not yet. It remained the only gift the Admiral had given to her and she would rather starve than lose it.

The woman went to pick up the leaking bag but Laura shook her head. “Not that one.” She shot Laura a ‘beggars shouldn’t be choosers’ look before reluctantly picking the bag next to it and placing them both on the table. Laura passed her a container of pain killers with nine tablets left inside. The woman counted them, then nodded. A fair trade was passed.

The bags of grain were heavy for their size and Laura struggled to pull them off the table. Food was so frakking heavy. But she needed it – the young child was spending more and more time in her care with her mother struggling to secure enough of a life for the both of them.

Laura had one more stop to make, Tyrol said he had a little yeast to part with in return for one of her pain killers. Cally needed them, her pregnancy had set off horrendous back pain and as the time grew closer – and the cold worse, the pain was becoming too much to bare. Laura knew a lot about pain – she knew that if there was something she could do to take it away from another, then she would.

The thing she hated most about market day was that it turned the ordered streets into an absolute mess. She knew roughly where she was going, but it was hard to tell exactly because all the tents looked the same. The only difference coming from their varying states of decay.

‘Down from the square – turn left, no – right and fourteenth on the left.’ Laura stopped again, resting the heavy grain bags on the ground, taking a moment to secure her shoulder bag as well.

Walking along what could be the equivalent of Bia Street, Laura counted the tents carefully until she came to number fourteen. Counting manually was a pain and she often wondered why they hadn’t at least tried to instate some kind of primitive street names.

Number Fourteen was a largish tent – larger than she would have expected. Its Kiekie shell spanned the better part of five meters which made it about ten meters deep. It certainly wasn’t a family tent, but then again, Tyrol had never said he would be at home. More than likely he was finishing up another Union meeting and just wanted her to stop by there.

It didn’t matter – she was tired and just wanted to go home and prepare lunch before the child and her mother arrived.

It was a mistake – from the moment she walked in. Everything screamed at her and she knew -

This was the wrong tent.

She could feel it as she entered the diminished light filtering in from several gashes in the ‘ceiling’. A group of thirty or so packed into the space around a make shift stage that was really just a sheet of metal bridging the gap between two stones. The air smelt of cigars and ambrosia, rancid garbage left to decay at its edges where three or four elderly people slumped against the tent walls – muttering to themselves in intoxicated hallucinations. Whispering broke out from those next to her and spread through the room, people shifting to face her, anger and disgust rising from within them.

Panic rooted her to the ground, this was not the Union tent. Behind the table hung one of the old election posters, the one with her and Baltar standing side by side. She remembered that day vividly, it was way back in the time she thought she was going to win. Baltar’s image was exactly how she remembered it being, his greasy hair glistening from the poster’s surface. Her picture though, was torn slightly at the edges – mud from outside smeared over her suit and, to her horror, an assortment of sharp objects jutted out. Knives that had embedded themselves in the board.

This tent belonged to those still loyal to Baltar, but worse, this was the extremist movement and they hated her for trying to steal the election from him. They blamed her for their hardship in space, and for the oppression of the military. Word was, they wanted her out of the picture – in the permanent sense. She hadn’t believed the rumours, until now.

Oh frak.

“Looky what the cold dragged in.” Leered one of the more tortured faces. His clothing was covered in mud, streaks of it also hiding the various gashes and sores that had only stopped bleeding recently.

“Well I’ll be frakked if it isn’t the bitch herself.” This time, the room parted and Laura noticed that the stage was empty, the man who had been occupying it making his way through a crowd restless with anticipation. They were waiting to see what their leader would do with the arrival of their greatest enemy.

“Look everyone,” he continued, “It’s our very own, President” the man gave a little bow, rising to meet Laura. He moved so that he came uncomfortably close to her, his smell particularly strong. She wondered if he had ever been sober. “What brings you here ma’am?”

The crowd laughed maliciously, this was the most interesting thing that had happened to them in months. For the first time Laura Roslin was not surrounded by her usual entourage of protectors. This was their world, and she had entered all on her own – what happened next, well, that wasn’t their fault now was it?

“My apologies, I was – ” she searched for a valid excuse, trying not to meet their eyes, “looking for someone. But – obviously they’re not here so I’ll just be – “

“Going?”

“Yes.”

“Oh no, I don’t think so. What sort of hosts would we be if we didn’t give our ex-president and one true prophet the welcome she deserves.” Laura really didn’t like the way he was smiling at her – or the way the crowd was gradually inching closer.

“That’s very kind of you but I really should be – “

“Ah, you’ve been shopping I see – stocking up for the long winter?”

“The same as everyone else.” Maybe she could talk herself out of this.

“Those bags must be heavy.”

“Nothing I can’t manage.” She could smell every detail of him as he leant down closer.

“Here, let me help.” And he took the bags from her, smiling before passing them back behind him where they disappeared into the crowd. There was nothing she could do.

The bastard.

The crowd broke into applause and the man backed off, hands raised in the air. Things could have been worse, if he was satisfied with two bags of grain, then she was lucky. Laura tested a step backward, the man seeming to show no interest. It looked as if he was going to let her go until he caught a glimpse of the precious stone around her neck. Laura tried to take another step back but he was too fast – grabbing her arm, preventing her retreat. “What’s this then?”

“None of your business.” she cut quickly, attempting but failing another retreat.

“It’s mighty pretty ma’am, why, worth enough to feed the entire room. What do you say we propose a trade, your life for this fine jewel of yours?”

Laura pulled her arm away. “Frak you.”

“If only darlin’”

The way he looked at her made Laura feel sick.

“Now hand over that pretty necklace of yours and you can be on your way.”

“No.”

“Have it your way.”

For a brief second she wondered what that meant. Then, without warning three or four of the crowd leapt upon her. “No! Get your hands off me!” She struggled against them, yelling as loudly as she could but she already felt their hands moving to where the stone sat around her neck. Despite her efforts Laura knew she was losing, someone had hold of the leather band and was pulling without consideration for her neck.

“Frakking animals! Let her go!”

The room paused at the bellowing voice of the Vice President standing on the stage. They were all quiet for a moment, not sure what to do. “I said let her go – NOW!”

The formerly dominant male released his grip on her arm. “Frak this shit.” And then he left the tent, the fun seemingly over. Once he released her, the others seemed to follow begrudgingly.

Zarek remained on stage long enough to quite the crowd before moving towards Laura. He came up to her, whispering quietly. “Are you okay?” she nodded. “We have to leave.” Laura didn’t protest, letting him lead her out of the tent gently by the arm.

Once outside and a safe distance he pulled her aside into one of the smaller streets. “Laura, are you insane? It’s not safe, you could have been – they could have – you’re damn frakking lucky! Laura?” Tom stopped, faltering when he realised Laura was close to tears. Sometimes he forgot that she was a person, she always gave the illusion of some untouchable creature, whether it be prophet or president. It would take Zarek a while to get used to the fact that he would have to be gentle with ‘Laura’. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, regaining her composure, her hand feeling the tender skin around her neck. “That was very good of you.”

“Did they hurt you?”

“No.” she said as convincingly as possible.

“Thank the gods.”

“I thought you hated me?” Laura was a little taken aback by his earnest response.

“I don’t hate you Laura, besides, could you imagine what the Admiral would do if anything happened to you?” He smiled, “It was as much about saving my own skin as it was yours. See,” he said as Laura returned the smile, “there – I’m back to being the selfish terrorist we all know and hate.”

“I don’t hate you either.” She laughed a little, it was strange, they had spent so long ‘hating’ each other they hadn’t realised that they were all in this mess together. Just because she disagreed with him on politics didn’t mean there wasn’t still a good person in there somewhere.

He loosened his grip on her arm, holding it only tight enough to make sure she didn’t fall over. “You should hate me Laura – I know I do. It was my idea, New Caprica – I wanted to beat you so badly and for what?”

“Politician.” she quipped.

“Terrorist.” he corrected. “Even when it became obvious you had rigged the election, Baltar wouldn’t hear of it – he believed so strongly in your goodness.”

“You disappointed?”

“No – impressed.” They were silent for a minute, it was surreal, talking to each other like this. Maybe it was true, old friends and old enemies became one and the same.

“Oh frak.”

“What?”

“They took my food!” Laura broke away from Zarek, “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Leave that to me, you just get yourself home.” Zarek looked at her seriously, “And ma’am, try not to wander into any more tents on the way.”

“What about Cally?”

“What?”

“I was supposed to trade this for yeast.” She retrieved the small bottle.

“Leave that to me as well.” Habit – she hesitated. “If I was going to steal from you Laura, I would have done so already.”

New Caprica
26:00
Οκτώβρης (Oktobris) – month ten of occupation

Laura fiddled with the fire in her tent. Frak the lot of them, she was cold and she wanted a fire so she was going to have one. Besides, she couldn’t let the tent get too cold with the little one – medicine was so scarce that a cold could be the undoing of a child. Thankfully, the child in question was sleeping peacefully over in the crib in the corner – her mother having dropped her off early in the afternoon. It had taken her hours to quiet her, she was hungry and Laura had nothing to feed her. It almost broke her that children were starving because of their – her mistakes.

There had been no word from the Admiral, and after the last chat she had with Lee – she had no reason to believe that he would be coming.

Laura knelt on the ground – not another month, another month by herself. She didn’t know if she could keep this up much longer. She was strong – she was a leader, but she couldn’t do all of it on her own.

The heavy thud of several objects hitting the floor behind her startled Laura. She didn’t move for a minute – not sure what to think or do. The events of the day past made her slow to trust unknown sounds.

It was then that she heard it, the voice she had longed to hear for so many weeks now.

“Miss me?”

Behind her, Laura found the Admiral, two sizable bags of grain and another of smaller bag at his feet, a large smile spreading across his weathered features. At once she forgot the sorry state she had been in, choosing to ignore the damp skin below her eyes and instead fix them on him. Taking in every feature she had taken pains to catalog.

She wasn’t sure how long they were there for before Bill offered his hand and she took it, the movement pulling upwards and straight into his arms which encircled her – holding her tightly. She couldn’t see the layer of moisture build up around his sight as he held her. Laura drew him as close as she could.

Judging by his gift of food – Zarek had confessed everything to him. The honest bastard.

“I thought you were confined to your ship.” she managed, finally bringing her head up to rest above his shoulder, neither letting go yet.

“I am.” Was that a mutinous grin? “I should never have left you here.” he confessed into her hair, bringing her closer again, feeling the fragile bone structure beneath her jumper. The Admiral surprised that the action didn’t break her.

The news of Laura’s encounter had first reached him with the returning supply ship. An unexpected phone call disturbed him from his daily watch over the planet, and who was he to find on the other end of the line but that lousy traitor and terrorist – Vice President Tom Zarek. A man who had just moved up a few thousand places in his book.

He finished his duties as always, then dismissed the officer posted outside his cabin. Waited half an hour and then boarded one of the transport ships on its last run back to the Colony. No-one knew he was gone except for Tigh, Lee and perhaps Zarek if he put two and three together.

The fact that Laura had not just fallen, but collapsed against his shoulder told him that Zarek hadn’t been exaggerating the situation.

Bill, sensing she was strong enough, moved her back so that he could examine her. The beginnings of bruises circled her wrists, and, where the Admiral pushed up the fabric, were also present on her arms. They were angry marks – and Bill was going to make sure those sorry son’s of bitches paid.

“I’m fine. Really.”

“Laura, it is my experience that we humans are many things – ‘fine’ is not one of them.”

It was too much emotion to deal with. He was so close, and they needed each other, but for some reason she couldn’t deal with it right now. So she changed the subject.

“What’s all this?” she said, escaping from his grip, bending down to the objects he had left on her floor.

“Someone said you were hungry.”

“These wouldn’t be from Galactica’s supply now would they Admiral?”

“Ah – no…”

“Liar.”

They both forgot about everything for a moment and laughed. Only stopping when they heard noise coming from the corner. The little girl stirred.

“Have you adopted her yet?” asked Bill, Laura already lifting the bundle into her arms.

“You’d think so wouldn’t you?”

There was something about the site of the infant in Laura’s arms that filled Bill with a feeling he couldn’t quite describe.

“She’s hungry, I didn’t have anything to feed her with today.”

“Here, give her to me – we’ve got food now and if I’m not very much mistaken, she’s not the only one in need of feeding.”

She smiled, passing the little girl into Bill’s confident hold. The action quieting her crying almost at once.

“There’s no doubt about it – she likes you.”

“It’s the moustache – woman love them.”

“I wouldn’t be so confident if I were you.”

New Caprica
02:00
Dekembris – month twelve of occupation
One Year Anniversary of the Colonies

Streamers filled the air – raining down in a blizzard of gold, white and crimson. They curled on the mud resting next to scratched and worn shoes – the carcasses of autumn’s leaves and a gentle grey darkness that persisted to cling to the land. Smoke rising from last nights bonfire passed casually in front of the sun as the door to Colonial One opened and President Baltar stepped out into the winter air. A sheet of ice slipped from the door and hit the mud with a sickening thud. No one seemed to notice its fall as the crowd found their voices and lifted up in a cheer for the President of the Colonies. He raised his hands at their faces – some of them smiling, others crying. Their mass hid those that lurked amongst the crowd staring in silent protest. Baltar saw only what he willed himself to believe – that the people were happy. That New Caprica was humanity’s home. That he had made the right decision.

Laura stood behind Tigh, her whole body shaking with the cold of the weather and of what today might bring. Underneath her full length overcoat was a suit of promise and hope for a better future. She shifted with the crowd as its voice grew louder, scaling past the cheers and into a repressive cry of determination. Today they were going to set these people free, they were going home.

Baltar called for quiet, streaks of red and gold falling across him. He raised his hands higher, “Please – please.”

‘Chara! Chara!’ They shouted. It was an old war cry that had bled into tradition and become a sound of hope. The crowd shouted it, again and again. Their feet broke up the ice in the ground and the gold and red vanished with the white until all that remained was the ever-present grey that had come to express their lives. Again they shouted, and the smoke thickened around the sun.

Finally, they quietened. Baltar moved forward to speak.

“Today,” he started, a streak of red slipping off his arm and falling to join the ice on the ground, “today I look at all of us, all of you and I am moved. It has been one year since the Cylons attacked, a year of freedom – of peace.”

Again the crowd called. Peace made them louder.

Laura closed her eyes, peace. Peace was drifting far off somewhere in distant fantasies that were closer a year ago then they are today.

“There is solid ground beneath your feet, houses built by you sheltering your family. The burdens of the war are finally falling back into the past – only to be seen in the darkest of dreams. New Caprica is finally home.”

The darkest of dreams still haunted Laura even when she wasn’t sleeping. Struggle, oppression, death – they weren’t a figment of fantasies, they were all around her – spilling into the crowd. The vision of war echoed above Baltar’s empty words and lifted – louder and louder with the crowds cheers.

“We have been on this planet longer then the Cylons chased us – they failed. They have failed! We are not dead, and neither will we die. By the gods we shall go forth and build a race to rival that of the Cylons, and one day – one day we will fight.”

‘Chara, chara!’ They called from the battlefields of the distant past.

“But not today – not today. Today we celebrate our freedom.”

Battlestar Galactica
One day before the One Year Anniversary

“And Bill,” Tigh stopped short of the Admiral’s door, a strange kind of silence disturbing the room. Tigh didn’t say anything else, only letting eyes wander back to the Admiral.

“Was there something else Saul?”

“Only that, Bill – I’ve known you for longer than I care to remember. Are you sure?” He stopped and took a step closer to Bill, “This doesn’t have to be a war. There’s still time.”

Adama sighed, “Saul, we are fighting for our very survival. I can not sit back and watch humanity crumble while there is still a chance to save it. The world ended a long time ago, but not this – not life. All we can do is fight – fight until we can’t.”

Tigh nodded, satisfied that the Admiral’s will was strong. “I’ve been waiting too long to hear you say that.”

“So have I, believe me. That’ll be all Colonel.”

New Caprica
Two days before the One Year Anniversary

Laura packed up the things in her tent into three left over grain bags, threading a length of nylon rope through some roughly made holes in their tops before pulling them tight. Admittedly she did not have much left now, not that she had much to begin with…

Deliberately not packed was her best suit that hung from a hook at the side of her tent. Laura looked at how its lifeless fabric fell from the metal frame. They had all placed so much hope in such a simple item. It was like a uniform, or the stars and wings on that uniform. They stood for something that mattered and that was respected. Hope – freedom – humanity.

Someone ducked inside Laura’s tent. She startled and turned to see Kara Thrace peering back under the flap – checking to make sure no one was following her. “Hi,” she finally said, confident they were safe, “I’m here to pick up your gear.”

“Oh yes.” Said Laura, remembering the three bags piled in the corner.

“When this goes down, we don’t want to be thinking about baggage – in any sense of the word.” Kara grinned and picked up the sacks, “Madame President.” She nodded, exiting the tent.

Apparently there was no time for idle chat anymore.

New Caprica
Six days before the One Year Anniversary

“We’re waiting for your word Mr. Vice President.” Said Admiral Adama as he watched the other man pace around his tent. Lee’s hand twitched in the direction of his weapon. He’d been aching to use on someone the day Baltar took office and if Zarek so much as looked in the wrong direction Lee was willing to give it a go.

Laura took a step closer. “Tom…” she said, hoping that a more human approach might work after the Admiral’s semi-ordering failed to coax Zarek into agreement. She had to hand it to him, he’d been very helpful to them so far but they needed him to go all the way on this one.

Zarek spoke, but didn’t stop pacing, “If I do this,” “- they’ll turn, you know that don’t you?” He stopped, facing the Admiral, “Not everyone is going to follow you. It’ll be risky, especially for you.” he diverted his gaze in Laura’s direction, “Laura, I know people who would like nothing better than to ship you back to Caprica and let you die slowly.”

“Zarek.” Warned the Admiral – Tom ignored him.

“The point is, even if this works – and even if the people are prepared to dissolve Baltar’s government, they won’t take too kindly to me appointing you as Vice President and then stepping down the very next day. It looks engineered and it reeks of trouble. The Quorum would never stand for it.”

“Come on Tom – you hold power over the only group of people in a position to cause trouble. Use your talent,” pleaded Laura, “convince them that Baltar must go.”

Zarek buried his face deep within his hands. If only hadn’t spent so much time destroying Roslin’s government. They were all going to die for this, one way or another. It just amounted to when.

Despite what people thought, Zarek was still a man of principle. Besides, it wasn’t like him to flee death when a moral victory was at stake. “Alright.” He said. “I’ll do what I can.”

Laura thanked him then hurried out of the tent, Maya and the little girl were waiting at the edge of the colony to say goodbye to her before Tigh secured them in an underground bunker. It was a precaution – in case the coup dissolved into civil war.

Galactica
Nine days before the One Year Anniversary

Laura cooled her heels in Galactica’s corridors after a rather nasty run in with President Baltar. They’d gotten into a screaming match over the Quorum’s obsession with finding Earth. Laura said that as she was neither President nor a member of the Quorum and that there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. Not that she would if she could…

At about that point he’d thrown a bottle of Ambrosia at the wall screaming, ‘you’re the frakking prophet you deal with it!’ The bottle shattered everywhere leaving a green stain dripping onto the floor. Laura remembered staring at it, feeling sorry for the poor room having to accommodate Baltar.

Laura gave back as good as she got. A highlight of the meeting being an enraged, ‘get your motherfrakkin’ face out of my way and for frak’s sake wash your hair’ when Baltar tried to encroach upon her personal space.

“Feel better?”

Laura whipped around in fright – relaxing when she saw Bill leaning against the wall next to her. “Oh…”

“You look -” he started, eyeing the way her shoulders stood rigidly perpendicular, her arms folded across her chest and her eyes narrowed at nothing in particular, “tense….”

“I’m not tense,” she snapped, “I’m furious. This is what I look like when I’m furious.”

Which is frakking hot, thought Adama, but didn’t say it, instead settling for, “You look like you need a drink.”

Laura looked up at him as if she wanted to say yes, “I can’t – I have to get back to New Caprica. There’s too much going on at the moment. I’m sorry.”

“Five minutes won’t kill you unless you choose Nectar – which I may or may not have in my possession.” Bill grinned when she ran out of reasons to put up a fight.

“Five minutes only Bill. I mean it.”

He nodded, leading her off down the corridor.

Colonial One
Ten days before the One Year Anniversary

“You’re really going to do that sir?”

“Is there a problem Gaeta?” growled a semi intoxicated Baltar back at his subordinate.

“No – I just…”

“Get Laura Roslin or get off my ship. Hell – get the frak off my planet and go hang in space with the rest of the terrorists.”

Gaeta nodded back at Baltar, “I’ll get her now.” And exited the room.

New Caprica
Four and a Half hours before the One Year Anniversary

“What do you hear Starbuck?”

Kara rolled her eyes at Adama. “Do we have to do this every time the world is about to end?”

“Absolutely.” “Come on, what do you hear?”

Starbuck prodded Bill, “Nothin’ but the rain.”

Adama grinned, “Then grab your gun and bring the cat in.”

Starbuck tightened the silencer on the sniper rifle, “Yes sir.”

New Caprica
Three hours before the One Year Anniversary

Laura hugged her legs to her chest and rocked gently back and forwards on the floor. This was so frakking insane. In three hours President Baltar would be dead – Zarek would take office and then she would be sworn in as the new president. Then they were packing up and heading for space – and they hadn’t told the people yet. Laura was mainly terrified that sentiments hadn’t changed since the elections… What if the people didn’t want to go – or worse, what if it all went to hell and her, Bill, Lee, Tigh, Kara and Tom were executed as terrorists and traitors? She in-took her breath sharply, rocking faster.

“Laura, are you in here?” It was still early morning and the world outside was dark. The winter sun was lazy and never rose until the last moment before seven.

“What are you doing here Bill? You’re supposed to be on your ship.”

“Oh that.” He said, getting caught out immediately. If this went down badly, he wanted to take the opportunity to say goodbye to the people he cared about most the way he’d been denied back when the world ended. He’d seen Lee and Kara already, they prepping with Tigh. But Laura, she was all alone in her tent – like she too often was. “I just came to say -”

“Goodbye?” She looked up at him, almost in tears. “Because that’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? That a lot of people are going to die today and either or both of us could be among them.”

He didn’t speak, instead he knelt down in front of her and placed a hand on her shoulder – before moving it up to her neck – finally cupping her cheek. Laura looked back at him, confused for a moment until he leant in and kissed her soundly; deepening as she parted her lips for him. Laura bit back the tears threatening to breach as she returned the sudden affection. If they were going to die, at least they had this and as Bill’s hand slid down to cup her breast she forgot about what was coming. The pair teetered backwards, still joined in an intimate embrace. Laura wrapped her arm around Bill’s neck and tangled her fingers in his hair. She gasped, breaking the kiss as Bill’s hands found bare skin.

“We can’t -” she protested.

Bill undid the last of Laura’s shirt buttons, slowly sliding the fabric off her shoulders, “Why not?” When he received no answer the pair gave in. Laura wrapped her legs around him and the darkness outside did its best to hide her screams.

New Caprica
02:12
Dekembris – month twelve of occupation

“Freedom.” Repeated Baltar, lulling the words over as if the taste lingered upon his lips. Laura cursed under her breathe, what did Baltar know of oppression to want freedom so much.

Except, Baltar did know what it meant to be trapped, and perhaps his prison was the worst of all. His own mind, in the form of a red dressed beauty, had him firmly planted beneath her long fingers. Sometimes Baltar wondered if she was a metaphor for the guilt he knew he should feel for the destruction of the entire human race or just a fantasy he created to preserve outward sanity. Either way, she was a prison watching his every thought.

Tigh bent down to talk to his wrist – an odd thing Laura might have thought except she could see the black plastic transmitter strapped there. After a few minutes he pulled his sleeve down to cover it and leant over to whisper in Laura’s ear. “Commander Apollo says the snipers are in position, we’re a go. Should I give the order?”

Laura looked up at Baltar, “No.” She said, “Let him finish the speech – it’s the last thing he’ll ever say.”

Tigh would rather blow him away mid sentence but Adama gave him firm orders to obey Laura as if she were still the president. He was only following those orders because they old man would crush his nuts if he didn’t so he nodded and relayed the message.

Behind them, a small child picked up one of the red streamers that had fallen and wiped the mud off it so that it shon with its original brilliance. The little girl smiled, tugging on Laura’s coat and holding it up to her.

Laura caught her coat as it slid, briefly revealing the dusty pink of her shirt and dark silk suit jacket beneath. She found the cause standing next to her – a child she had never seen before smiling gleefully up at her. Laura bent down and smiled, taking the streamer offered. The little girl grinned and ran back into the crowd.

Baltar continued to speak, the Vice President appearing from inside Colonial One to stand behind him, leaning against the ship – hands clutched in front. That was the sign, the go ahead. Hands behind – forget it, the whole thing’s off – suicide. Hands in front though, they were good to go. Tigh again relayed the signal back to the snipers where Starbuck lay on the deck of one of the grounded civilian ships. It was the only place they could get enough height to shoot at him and get away with it.

“And that, Ladies and Gentlemen of New Caprica, is what we fight for.” Baltar raised his hands once again, applauding the crowd – and they copied.

Laura braced herself – Baltar had moments to live.

She waited. A second – a minute. She couldn’t see Kara’s finger tightening on the trigger, waiting for Baltar to turn just that little bit towards her. And then -

and then the piercing sound of a Cylon raider broke through the freezing air.

The crowd ducked.

Grasping her head, Laura fell to the mud, disappearing beneath the crouching figures around her. A man beside her stumbled and desperately grasped at her. His hand pushed the cloak from her shoulder as they fell to cold ground together, revealing a hint of the silken Presidential suit.

An angry buzz filled the air as Cylon Raiders descended on New Caprica. They passed over, three at a time, licking the edges of the low lying smoke with their wings.

* * *

Baltar swung his right arm over his head as he fell to the side in fright. His security detail cocked their weapons and aimed them at the objects darting across the afternoon sky. Ice shattered all around the President as he rolled over on the deck of Colonial One, dislodged from the smooth surface of the ship by the deep, rumbling waves of Cylon engines.

“Up you get, Mr. President.”

Thomas Zarek was faster on his feet than people gave him credit for. He gripped onto Baltar’s collar and pulled him over the deck and straight inside Colonial One. The bulk head slammed shut behind them, dulling everything but the vibrations running through the ship.

The President rolled over, his hands perched in mid air – half defensive.

“What…” he looked up at Zarek in confusion, “happened?’

“Something very bad. Excuse me for a minute.”

Baltar tried to protest as the Vice President withdrew a sleek pistol from his waist band and unlatched the door. Something exploded on the horizon sending a flash of light into the sky as Zarek stepped calmly back out onto the balcony overlooking the frightened people.

* * *

“I’m –” the man stuttered, scrambling off Laura. He crouched onto his knees, letting them sink slightly into the mud. “Please forgive me,” he repeated over and over, trying to pull the woman out of the crowd.

Laura grabbed blindly, unable to see for the people huddling above her. She could feel someone reach for her, pulling her body back through the gasping breaths. Finally her fingers locked tightly around the stranger’s, and she emerged.

Laura wiped a hand across her face, the realized that it was thick with New Caprican earth.

“Thank you,” she managed, as a Raider clipped the water tower above the settlement.

Something metal screeched.

Laura and the stranger turned in horror as Cylon metal ground against ailing steel – too fat and heavy to resist. The Raider’s wing sparked as it dragged against the cylindrical body of the water tower carving out a gash. Almost in slow motion, water spurt forth and the Raider faltered. They swerved, drawn together like lovers as they fell toward the ground. Finally, the water tower’s legs groaned, collapsing on one side forcing it into the Raider which ignited in a ball of flame.

“Time to go Madame President.”

* * *

“No…” Zarek watched as water started to fall in trickles out of the top of the tower. The Raider and the Tower were locked in an embrace with a crowd of people freezing and panicked beneath them. With a planet as miserable as this, they would all die if submerged, even for a moment.

Zarek scanned the crowd, quickly spotting a blond haired ex-Vipor Pilot pulling a cloaked figure from the crowd. A mass of red hair caught what little light was left of the sky as a fraction of hope crossed Zarek’s mind.

“Run, Madame President,” he pleaded, clutching onto the railing as gunshots filled the air around him and the metal of the tower began to snap.

* * *
Battlestar Galactica
02:23

“Spin up those FTL drives!” Helo screamed at the CIC. Lights filled every dashboard while alarms screamed feverishly. He snapped the comm. device in his hands, “Set Condition One throughout the ship repeat: This not a drill. Repeat, Set Condition One throughout the ship.”

“Admiral Adama to the CIC,” an electronic ‘beep’ tripped over the end of Helo’s address.

* * *

Admiral Adama found himself flattened against the corridor wall as a troop of officers rushed past him. The corridor lights flicked to red, then back onto a brighter setting signaling an emergency.

He pushed himself off the wall and took the corridor at a run, grabbing the edge of the doorway as he ploughed into the CIC.

The green arm of the radar flashed around the screen, illuminating multiple DRADIS contacts.

“Base Stars!” exclaimed Dee, seated below the screen. She shook her head in disbelief as the dots multiplied to absurdity. “It’s the Cylon Fleet Sir, they’ve found us.”

“Impossible,” growled the Admiral.

“They’re launching Raiders on the planet, all are inbound over the settlement.”

“Launch the Alert Vipers.” The Admiral pointed at Helo who shook his head in response.

“There are not enough to make a difference. My pilots are either on the planet or too unfit to fly.”

“Sir…” pleaded Dee, watching an arsenal approach the remainder of the air born fleet.

“Order the fleet to jump,” commanded the Admiral. “They’re no match for a dozen Base Stars.”

Suddenly, the room was jerked sideways. A large explosion set the Galactica in a clockwise spin which the ship’s senses immediately halted, throwing the room back again. Everybody that had been on a chair was now on the floor, some still attached to their head sets as they listened to panicked pilots swear into the comms..

“Neither are we,” replied Helo, scrambling the handset from the table. One of the glass panels tipped and shattered over the room as another blast breached the hull on the level below. “Awaiting your orders, sir.”

The Admiral’s eyes widened. “Absolutely not…”

“You have to give the order. They’ll be on us!”

“Then we’ll fight,” Adama growled, leaning forward across the battle table.

All around the CIC, desperate faces stared back at the Admiral. Half of everyone’s soul was on that damn planet. Bill didn’t have to look at their faces to know that because he could feel it inside of him, a frantic voice crying, No! as the realization dawned.

“We’re no good to anyone dead.”

Bill clenched his fists tight and slammed them on the table’s surface. “Frak!”

The Battlestar Galactica was the last barge of metal to blink out of the sky as a front of flustered dots approached. They plunged themselves at the space where the ship had been, angrily flipping over before returning to their stars.

* * *
New Caprica
02:27

Laura and Kara ran through the alleys of New Caprica. Where once their maze like tracks had been an inconvenience, they were now fully fledged networks of confusion, feeding the fleeing populous back into the heart of the settlement.

Several tents had caught fire from the falling debris. The flames evaporated the cloth then twisted up the metal poles as they fell against each other. The heat blurred the streets, melting the snow fall from earlier. Kara miss-stepped, sliding on a sheet of ice.

“Gods damn!” She crawled forward with lingering momentum. Laura stopped, colliding with several people.

“Come on,” said Laura, running back to Kara. “It’s this way.”

Kara shook her head and stood firm, bringing them to a stop. “We’re not going to the bunker, Laura. If it’s all we have left, then we’re not going to lead those bastards straight to it. I’m getting you out of this place.”

Laura nodded and helped Kara to her feet.

* * *

The sound of their feet sliding in the shallow swamp behind the village gradually began to overpower the screams behind them. The smoke of the winter fires was now joined by that of raging fires catching hold of the tents. Some of the civilian ships were attempting to leave the planet. Laura could hear their heavy hulls slowly lifting off the ground while Raiders targeted their defenseless engines. She wondered where the Vipers were. Surely they were hunting the skies.

“You go on from here,” said Kara, breathlessly, as they reached scrub line. “I have to go back – I can’t just leave them.”

“I can’t do this,” pleaded Laura, watching the settlement burn.

Kara pushed Laura away, “They’ll kill you. The people need hope, and you’re it.”

* * *

Battlestar Galactica
Alpha Jump site
Deep Space
02:28

“Report on fleet.”

“A little under half,” said Dee, her voice hitching as one of the dots flickered and vanished.

Admiral Adama turned away from the room.

New Caprica
03:56

The light struggled to last out the hour. Even the sun had surrendered into a miserable smear beneath the smoke. The air smelt like ash and fuel as the cold air crushed the stench back toward the earth.

Laura clenched her coat as she stumbled up the side of the hill. The battle for the settlement was over. The only sounds filling the air now were the descending shuttles of Cylons and the screams as people were rounded up.

She made it to the crest at the moment when dusk became night. The pale orange on the horizon faded and was replaced by the fireglow from the settlement. Above, the evening sky was filled with foreign stars. They were imposters on the night – great hunks of metal shining like jewels. They were Base Stars. Dozens of them.

”Frak. Godz damn no!” She shouted to the sky. All they had worked for, the people that had died, the things they had lost – it had been for nothing if were to end, now, here on this miserable planet. They were stuck between their past and a myth. If couldn’t end like this. Laura refused to let this be the way humanity snuffed out of this life.

There was a safe house five miles from this point. It was designed as a relay point if ever things were to go to hell. From there, she hoped to make contact with the Galactica if it was still standing.

Laura took her last look at the settlement, and then began to cross the flat top of the hill. Along its edge real stars began to peak through amongst the Base Stars. A tear slipped from her eye as one light moved across the night. Perhaps that was the Galactica, dashing bravely between her enemies.

She took comfort in the thought of it up there. The Admiral would never desert them. Bill would not leave them behind. That kept her going as the darkness hurried an uncertain dawn.

Chapter: Break of Dawn