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Chapter Text

Battlestar Elementica – Main Causeway
0630 Military Standard Time
Day 1

The steady beat of flight boots hitting the deck cascaded through the main causeway, warning those accustomed to shipboard life to dodge out of the wearer’s path. A few shouting morning greetings to the bob-haired brunette; most continued with their tasks without comment. A larger group of men and women wearing civilian clothes, congregated in a narrow stretch of the corridor, failed to heed the advanced warning.

“Make a hole!” shouted Lieutenant Korra Raavansen of the Colonial Fleet. The group dodged out of the way at the last possible instant.

“Right,” continued the group’s guide, turning the opposite direction as Korra continued jogging down the corridor. “As I was saying, form follows function. Nowhere is this axiom of design more readily apparent than in the worlds-famous Battlestar Elementica. This ship, the last of her kind still in service, was constructed seventy years ago during the Cylon War. Now originally there were six battlestars, each representing one of the six colonies of Kobol, Elementica representing Republica…”

The guide’s voice had long-since faded behind her, but after a week aboard leading around one gaggle of reporters after another, Korra could just about recite his spiel for him. She tossed a quick salute to the LSO heading the other way and slowed to a jog beside the commander, a middle-aged woman with hair passing from black to storm-cloud gray. Twin scars ran up her right cheek. The commander was reading from an octagonal sheet of paper in her hand.

“The Cylon War is long over, but we must not forget the reasons why—”

“Good morning, sir,” Korra interrupted.

“Good morning, Avatar,” said the commander. “What do you hear?”

Korra smiled. “Nothing but the rain.”

“Grab your gun and bring in the cat-owl.”

“Boom, boom, boom,” Korra completed the marching jody, heading off down the corridor again. She passed a trio of deck-hands coming from fore-ship.

“Let’s go, guys,” said one, a young man with dark hair pushing the limits of regulation. “The Chief’s gonna have our ass.”

“Yeah, well you’re the one who was supposed to have that wrapped yesterday,” said another beside him, gesturing at the package in his hands.

“Shit, it’s the Old Lady,” said the first, rapidly passing it off to the third. The three came to attention before the commander.

“Too late,” said the commander. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much, sir, just another leak in that frakking window,” lied the long-haired deckhand, dropping his salute in unison with the other two. “Pardon me, sir. It’s supposed to be a battlestar, not a museum—sorry for saying so, sir.”

The commander smiled narrowly. “I couldn’t agree with you more. Be careful out there, alright?” She turned from the hall, through the hatch of the Combat Information Center.

“The Cylon War is long over—” she began again as the dim lights and muted conversation of the CIC enveloped her.

“Good morning, sir,” said another gray-haired officer, handing her a stack of octagonal computer print-outs. “Comm chatter from the mid-watch.”

“Hm. Anything interesting?”

“Mostly housekeeping. There was one odd message we were copied on, the one from Fleet Headquarters there, sir. Courier officer is overdue coming back from Armistice Station. They’ve asked for a full status report on all FTL-capable ships, just in case they need somebody to jump out there today to see if his ship has any mechanical problems.”

“I think we’re a little busy today, wouldn’t you say so, Lieutenant?" she replied, handing back the printout.

“Yes sir,” the Lieutenant smiled.

“I’m glad we agree.”

“And may I take this opportunity to say that it’s been both a pleasure and an honor to serve under you these past three years?”

“It’s been my honor, Lieutenant Gommu.” They exchanged salutes, and the lieutenant headed off with the stack of printouts into the hallway.

Korra was making another lap down the causeway. She and Gommu saluted to the Executive Officer in quick succession. The battlestar’s balding second-in-command returned the salutes and turned to enter the CIC, morning coffee in hand.

The group of reporters was finally arriving at the CIC. “You’ll see things here which look odd, or even antiquated to modern eyes,” said the guide, pausing to say hello to the XO. “Phones with cords. Awkward manual valves. Computers that, well, barely deserve the name. It was all designed to operate against an enemy which could infiltrate and disrupt even the most basic computer systems. Elementica is a reminder of a time when we were so frightened by our enemies that we literally looked backwards for protection.”

Republica City Spaceport
0745 Military Standard Time
1940 Republica City Time

“Dad, you’re just going to be gone overnight. Mom will be fine.”

“You won’t be the one facing her tomorrow,” replied Tenzin Gyatso, Quorum Representative for Aeolia. He placed his bag in the overhead compartment and settled into the spacious acceleration couch beside his daughter’s. “I just wish there were another way.”

“If Mom were coming with us, Ikki and Meelo would have to come too, and the last thing anyone wants to see is those two on a battlestar.”

“That’s not what I meant, Jinora. President Raiko could have sent anyone from the Quorum or cabinet to this. Someone who likes to hear the sound of his own voice would have been perfect for this, like Tarrlok or—”

“Nope, gonna stop you right there. It’s an election year, and that explains everything. Raiko doesn’t need Glacon’s vote, but he’s counting on Aeolians to carry him over the line. He can’t campaign there himself, but he can get you in the headlines, which is better.”

“You’ll make a good politician, some day.”

“Gods forbid.”

Before Tenzin could tell her his job wasn’t all bad, a bespectacled young man came rushing down the aisle. Checking his ticket, he quickly pushed his own bag into the overhead compartment and dropped into the couch opposite Tenzin’s.

“I so glad you could make it, Otaku,” Tenzin said to the boy. “I was wondering if we were going to have to leave without you.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Gyatso,” said the boy. “I got lost in the terminal.”

“You won’t be having that problem very long if you stick with this job,” said Tenzin. The young man blushed and looked as if he were about to defend himself, but was cut off by the intercom.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking. We’ve just finished final boarding, and will be heading to the pad in just a few moments. Our flight to the Battlestar Elementica today will take us just over four hours, so sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.”

Battlestar Elementica – Pilots Rec
0835

Cigar smoke and steam from cheap, military-issue coffee blended to make an altogether unpleasant aroma as Korra looked over her triad cards at her opponents. Gathered around the dented metal table was nearly the full range of seniority aboard the battlestar. To her left sat the XO, to her right a junior deckhand. Directly across from her sat the purple-haired captain who commanded the Air Group, and who had just made the terrible mistake of raising.

Korra tossed another fifty cubits into the pile.

“Uh oh,” said Specialist Skocinus, rifling through his hand.

“Here we go,” said Lieutenant Anthros to his right.

Korra pointed to Skocinus. “If you’re gonna play with the big dogs…”

“…no fear,” he said, and matched the wager.

“I’m in,” said Anthros, also matching. “Bets to you, CAG.”

Anthros turned to face Korra. “I’m not scared of you.”

“Oh, Rocky, when are you gonna learn,” asked Korra, looking back at him. “First you’re flying with rooks, and now you’re betting against Avatar.”

Rocky made a face back at her.

“Uh-vatar…,” said the CAG, “now there’s a callsign. Where’d you get that nickname, anyway? Was it before you almost washed out as a cadet for truancy, or after?”

Korra aborted a drag on her cigar. “After.”

“After, that’s right, it was, after.”

The CAG and XO both made their bets. Korra tossed in a few more cubits and locked eyes with the CAG. “How’s the girlfriend?”

There was a long pause, then Skocinus put down his cards. “Too early for that kind of money.”

“Hey,” said Rocky, trying to change the subject. “You hear about that pyramid game on Geanon?”

“What were you doing on Geanon?” asked Skocinus.

“There’s a girl there I know.”

“What girl don’t you know?”

The CAG spoke up. “The girlfriend is just fine.”

“Talk to her lately?”

“Bets to you, Lieutenant,” said the XO.

Korra took a swig of her coffee. “Alright. Thirty to me, and it looks like I’m going to bring this lovely little game to a close, because—” she set down her cards, face up “—full colors!”

Rocky groaned in disgust, the XO making not a sound. The CAG glared at Korra for a long moment. Just as she reached to pull in her winnings, the CAG stood and flipped the table.

Korra threw a punch at his face without hesitation. Before she could land a second blow, Skocinus and Rocky were pulling her away. The XO did the same with the CAG.

Skocinus made the mistake of letting Korra go after a moment. She made another lunge, but Rocky didn’t let her get far.

The XO aimed an arm at both of them, finger extended. “Lieutenant Raavansen, consider yourself under arrest, pending charges. Report to the brig. And you…” he shifted his glare to the CAG. “Captain Tahno, a thousand cubit fine, with citation, for disorderly and unprofessional conduct.”

Korra glowered back at both the XO and Tahno before retrieving her cigar from the deck. “Gentlemen,” she said, and left through the open hatchway of the rec.

Portside Hangar Deck
0930

Specialist Skocinus had just finished telling the other deckhands in his group about the fight when Commander Beifong arrived at the Portside Hangar Deck.

“Commander on deck!” called out Chief Petty Officer Asami Sato, and the deck crew came to attention.

“At ease,” said Beifong. “You said you had something to show me, Chief?”

“That’s right, sir,” said Chief Sato. To the deckhands, “Fall in!”

The deckhands assembled alongside an object draped in black cloth, a couple standing ready behind it. It was about two meters high, and several longer. Commander Beifong strode alongside, with Sato a step behind.

“We wanted to present this to you personally, Commander,” said the Chief.

She nodded, and the deckhands on the other side of it pulled back the cover. The black cloth billowed to the floor, revealing the sleek form a classic Mark II Viper.

“Mark II,” said Beifong. “Haven’t seen one looking this good in about thirty years.” She pointed with a chuckle nameplate under the space fighter’s cockpit, which read Aang ‘Appa’ Gyatso.

“If the Commander will take a closer look at the tail number…,” said Chief Sato. “Nebula Seven Two Four Two Constellation.”

“My gods,” said Beifong, voice going quiet. “Where did you find her?”

“Rusting out in a salvage yard on Geanon. We had hopes that the Commander would allow her to participate in the decommissioning ceremony before we send her out for the air show tour.”

“She’ll fly?” asked Beifong, eyebrows raised.

“Oh yes, sir,” said Sato. “We’ve restored the engines, patched the guidance system, replaced much of the flight controls. Fueled, armed, ready for launch.”

“I didn’t know this was the one you were fixing up!”

“We wanted to surprise you, sir,” said Chief Sato with a tight smile. She extended a thin wrapped package towards Beifong. “Commander.”

“What, more?” She took the package and began unwrapping it. “Someone’s bucking for a promotion.”

“I believe that would be Yin, sir,” said Sato, gesturing to the deckhand beside her. “He found this in the Fleet Archives, doing some research for the museum.”

Sato took the plain brown paper from the commander’s hand, leaving Beifong with just a framed picture. It showed her at a young age, her inseparable childhood friend by her side. They were both dressed in the oversize fatigues universal among children on military bases. Behind them stood her mother and his father; Aang Gyatso in his flight uniform, Toph Beifong in her blues. Toph was, as always, looking anywhere but the camera, the borderline-contraband holoband pushed up over her head like always when she wasn’t on duty. And behind them, the same Viper, engines probably still hot on the tarmac, as stood beside her on the flight deck this very moment.

Beifong took a deep breath. “Thank you. All of you. It’s an honor.”

“Fall out!” ordered the Chief, and deckhands scrambled back to their various duties. As they worked, Beifong continued to look at the photo for a long time.

Commanding Officer’s Quarters
1045

“Are you really going to press charges against Korra?” asked Lin as she dried her hair from the shower.

“For striking a superior office? Damn right I am,” said Saikhan. The battlestar's executive officer was sitting on the couch, looking at the picture Sato had given to the commander. “Where did you find this?”

“One of Sato’s deck gang scrounged it up. Did you know that’s the Viper they’re sending for the air show?

“That very one?”

“Yes.”

“Gods.”

Lin sat down and began pulling on her boots. “I heard Tahno started it.”

“He flipped the table, hence the citation. But her? She’s insubordinate, undisciplined…”

“Probably one of the best fighter pilots I’ve ever seen in my life. She’s better than I am. Twice as good as you.”

“Word on the deck is she’s frakking the Chief.”

“I thought it was her wingman.”

“I’ve heard it both ways.”

“Either way or neither, she’s a damn good spaceman.” Beifong finished buttoning the tunic of her gray dress uniform. “Now, listen, I’m not going to defend what she did, especially the cracks about the captain’s relationship problems. But he did flip the table. So how about we just drop the formal charges, throw her in the brig, and let her cool her heels until they’re both ready for their new assignments?”

“You always did have a soft spot for her, didn’t you?”

“What can I say, I’m just a crazy old lady.” Lin stood and headed for the closet. “Now where the hells is that ceremonial sash?”

Portside Landing Bay
1149

Jinora stood and stretched as the passengers of the spacecraft prepared to disembark. It hadn’t been a particularly long flight, and Colonial Heavy 798 was far from a cramped spaceliner. The in-flight information card, which like any good pilot/engineer she had read thoroughly, informed her that the Gan-Lan Supercruiser III was best-in-its-class for cabin arm-room, headspace, and walkability. Still, it was good to stand after a few hours in the acceleration couch, and no amount of marketing could convince her that moving during launch or docking was a good idea after four years at the Academy.

Against her better judgement, Jinora hadn’t slept. Instead, she’d flipped through the in-flight magazine, and then the political briefing that had knocked her father out cold for most of the trip. It wasn’t the most interesting reading, but she was going to be cooped up in an old-school warship for at least the next month. Any novelty counted, even if it was a detailed analysis of whether to extend the capital gains tax waiver for outer colonies by another five years.

When the captain called for their section, they retrieved their bags and made their way through the spaceliner’s cabin.

“My new assistant seems to like you,” said Tenzin in Old Aeolian as they passed through the docking collar into the battlestar proper.

Jinora hadn’t noticed. She’d paid no attention to him or any of the other passengers. He hadn’t said a word the whole time, besides asking for a cup of leechee juice when the steward had come by.

“Do you really think so?” Jinora replied, with as much disdain as that tongue could manage. “For his sake, I hope his thing isn’t pilots. They’ll chew him up and spit him out before he realizes what’s hit him.”

A public relations official wearing a hideous burgundy jacket was waiting at the bottom of the ladder down from the docking collar. He greeted the party in Colonial Common before Tenzin could say anything back.

“Ensign, Representative Gyatso, so glad to have you aboard. My name’s Kwong Li. If you’ll just come this way…”

Jinora cut in. “My orders are to report to the Air Group by noon. I’ll find you later, Dad.”

“Right, of course,” said Tenzin. He turned back to the PR official as Jinora set off.

She had never been on a battlestar before, but the signage was adequate—to her eye—to find the cluster of compartments dedicated to the Air Group with time to spare. They were, unsurprisingly, located quite close to the flight pods, in case the pilots ever had to scramble. Not that anyone had ever scrambled outside of drills since the Cylons left, back when her grandfather was still young.

The CAG reviewed her orders, assigned her a bunk in one of the Green Squadron duty lockers, and signed her note to the quartermaster for a flight suit and equipment. Within an hour, Jinora was suited up and lounging in the back row of the Ready Room as Captain Tahno prepared to brief the pilots.

“Good afternoon,” said Captain Tahno, Commander of the Air Group. All conversation immediately stopped.

“Good afternoon, sir,” echoed the pilots in unison.

“Alright. Today’s the main event. We have a formation demonstration, fly-by maneuvers in conjunction with the decommissioning ceremony. Now, we’ve had a few changes to the flight plan. Lieutenant Raavansen is being replaced in the slot by Lieutenant Namseong.” A thin smile as a few knowing giggles cascaded around the room, then the professional mask came down again. It was an odd contrast to the black eye he was sporting. “Also, we have a new pilot joining the group, Ensign Jinora Gyatso. Everyone, please welcome Ensign Gyatso.”

Jinora sat up straighter as the rest of the air group turned to take a good look. She spotted a pair of familiar faces towards the front, but before she could catch their eyes, Tahno began to speak again.

“Ensign, have you familiarized yourself with the flight plan for the day?”

Jinora’s eyes shifted from Tahno to the board beside him for a long moment, then back. “Yes, sir, I have.”

“Quick study. The powers that be would like for you to fly leader’s wingman for the ceremonial flyover. Captain Anthros here will be flying lead in the actual Viper your grandfather flew almost seventy years ago.”

Jinora blinked. “That’s, uh, that’s quite an honor…sir.”

“Yes, it is, Ensign. Personally, I can’t think of a more fitting way to send this ship into retirement.” Tahno pointed to the board beside him. “The ceremony begins at 1500, with flyover occurring at 1530. Everyone needs to be on the flight deck or in the tubes no later than 1430.

“Blue and Red Squadrons are departing to their next assignments following the ceremony. We will be flying our Vipers to Battlestar Concordia in low Republica orbit, departing at 1800 and arriving around 2230. Be sure to pack your overnight bag and leave your other possessions with the quartermaster prior to departure, for delivery on tomorrow’s milk run. Additionally, Captain Anthros, you will be departing at 0800 tomorrow to begin your air show tour.”

A few mostly-friendly jeers followed. Captain Anthros straightened up and said, “Yes, sir.”

Tahno flipped to a new page of notes. “Green Squadron, you’ll be receiving your replacement CAG later this week, with reassignment orders coming in the same timeframe. In the meantime, Beifong says the provisional flight leader is…Rocky. Huh, see how that goes. Otherwise, enjoy your downtime—assuming you can stay out of the brig.” More laughter. “Those departing tonight, make sure you’ve finished packing before the ceremony, because you probably won’t have time after. The rest of you have—” Tahno glanced at his watch “—seventy-eight minutes free, within reason. Dismissed.”

Most of the pilots filed out of the Ready Room. A handful, mostly from Green Squadron, stopped to introduce themselves to Jinora. Two, however, need no introduction.

“Gods, when did you get so big?” demanded Bolin. “You’ll be taller than me any day now!”

"I doubt it,” said Jinora once she’d extricated herself from Bolin’s bearhug. “I haven’t grown in three years.”

“Has it really been that long?”

“Academy keeps you busy.”

“Sure kept up busy,” said Mako, almost wistfully.

“Speaking of us,” said Jinora as they left the Ready Room, “where’s the third leg of the stool? And why isn’t she in the flyover?”

“She’s in the brig,” said Mako. “Fighting with the CAG.”

“What!?”

“It’s true,” said Bolin. “I was there.”

“What did she do?”

“Beat him at triad, and socked him in the face when he took it poorly. Where do you think he got that shiner? Skoochy and I had to hold her back ourselves.”

“Well, I see why Mako made captain first. Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thanks. I ought to thank your father before he departs. If he hadn’t sponsored us for the Academy, we never would have been here.”

“He ought to be in guest quarters, getting ready to represent the government.” Jinora made a face. “I suppose I should go see Korra in the brig.”

“Tell her we finished off the ice cream at lunch today.”

“Bolin, that’s just cruel!”

Chapter Text

Battlestar Elementica – Causeway C
1200

“Lin.”

“Tenzin.”

Kwong Li looked back and forth between the Representative and the Commander. “I thought you two knew each other…well?” he asked.

“You could say that,” said Lin. “Let’s get this over with.” She turned and headed down the corridor. Tenzin followed wordlessly.

Kwong Li tried to point out various features of the battlestar as they passed through the warship’s arching passageways, but Tenzin showed no particular interest in the quarters, workshops, laboratories, even the path to the CIC. Lin said nothing, intent on seeing Tenzin to visitors quarters as quickly as possible. Otaku asked questions at first, but after they turned off Causeway C towards the forward end of the ship, he disappeared.

“Here we are,” said Lin when they arrived. “There should be adequate information available from the console inside. The retirement ceremony is at 1500. I trust Mr. Li can get you there.”

“I can,” said Kwong Li, “though we were hoping to get some publicity shots in the Ward Room at 1330.”

Tenzin and Lin both sighed, and abruptly stopped upon noticing the other doing the same. “Very well,” said Lin. “Be on time.”

Once she’d departed, Kwong Li spoke. “A little blunt, I’ve found.”

“Indeed.”

“Was she always like that?”

Tenzin thought for a moment. “I suppose so.”

Crossway 23, Deck D
1209

It had only taken a seconds for Otaku to get lost.

He’d made the mistake of smiling back at a pretty Colonial officer going by in the hallway, and by the time he’d looked forward again, the rest of the party was out of sight.

Quite frankly, he had no idea where he was to begin with. The few signs were meaningless to him, and the corridors combined or diverged seemingly at random. He wasn’t even sure which deck he was on; the decks were connected by ladders in places, but half-flights of stairs in the middle of the arching corridors in others. They’d just come down one such flight when he’d lost sight of Representative Gyatso.

“Representative?” he called out, looking down one of side of the fork ahead. He didn’t see anyone. He started down the other fork. “Representative Gyatso?”

No joy. A passing officer looked at him a little funny but didn’t slow down. He took another turn and still didn’t see anyone he recognized.

Otaku was starting to panic. He turned a corner and found himself facing a hatch. Without thinking, he pulled it open.

It was a bathroom. Worse than that, it was a women’s bathroom. Even worse, the pretty Colonial who’d gotten him distracted in the first place was at the close end of the row of sinks, clearly in the process of a mid-day wash.

He didn’t realize he’d frozen up till another officer bumped him on the way out.

“In or out?” asked the officer, barely looking at him.

“Excuse me?”

“Get in or get out. Shut the hatch.”

“Sorry.” Before Otaku could leave, an officer—a man, he realized—pushed past him and shut the hatch behind him.

“Where are you trying to be?” asked the woman.

“Visitors quarters,” said Otaku. “I’m a visitor.”

“Never would have guessed,” said the woman. She and the officer at the adjacent sink both laughed.

Otaku realized he was staring, and none of the other people—of either gender, in any state of undress—was staring at anyone else. He did his best to look away.

“Never been in a unisex head before?” asked the woman.

“Uh, no, not really,” he said.

She turned off the sink and grabbed a sweatshirt from a locker, pulling it over her head.

“There’s not much privacy on a warship,” she said. “First rule, is don’t get your panties in a twist about being seen. Second rule, don’t stare. Third rule, when you’re lost, ask for directions.”

“Can you tell me how to get to visitors quarters from here?”

“Certainly,” she said in a newly chipper tone, and started off.

He almost tripped on the threshold on his way out of the head, which did his dignity no favors. The officer smiled with amusement.

“So,” she asked as they headed down the corridor, “do you have a name?”

“Otaku,” he answered.

“Nice to meet you, Otaku. I’m Lieutenant Junior Grade Kina.”

“Hi, Lieutenant Junior Grade Kina.”

“Just Kina is fine.”

“Okay…Kina.”

They stepped through an open hatchway, this time without tripping. The battlestar still felt like a maze, but it wasn’t so bad following Kina around. As long as Representative Gyatso didn’t get mad at him, Otaku decided, he’d actually come out ahead from this little detour.

Brig
1319

Korra was doing pushups when Jinora entered the brig, saluted to the marine on duty, and came alongside the cell.

“This seems familiar,” said Jinora, resting her hands on the bars.

Korra stopped her pushups and rose to her feet.

“Jinora,” she said, still a bit breathless. “Sorry I wasn’t there to greet you with the rest of the squadron. Did you kiss Tahno’s ass to his satisfaction?”

“I hear he’s the reason you’re in here. Striking a superior officer? Really, Korra?”

“More like striking a superior asshole.”

“Ahh. I bet you’ve been waiting most of the day to say that one.”

“All afternoon, yeah.”

Jinora sighed.

“So, how long’s it been?” asked Korra. “You’re taller than last time.”

“Two years, and I’m not.”

“Two years? We must both be getting old. How are Ikki and Meelo?”

“Chomping at the bit to get in a cockpit. Meelo still thinks he can beat Ikki to her wings.”

“Fat chance. How’s your mom?”

“Pregnant again.”

“At her age?”

“It’s pretty common for Pyronnese women. A lifetime of low gravity will do it.”

“Well, good. You’ll need all the time you can get if you want to continue the family tradition.”

“I am not that old,” said Jinora. “I only turned twenty-two last week.”

“See? Practically retired. See if Mako and the Old Lady can get you a referral to a good nursing home.”

“I saw he made Captain. When did that happen?”

“Couple of weeks ago. They’re sending him on the air show circuit, the whole walking recruitment ad gig. Can’t have an ell-tee do that.”

“Jealous?”

“It’s a cush assignment. No CO, acrobatics all day, and star-struck girls and boys left, right, and center.”

“So, are you jealous of the girls and boys, or of Mako?”

“Who says I’m jealous at all?”

“Your tone, for one thing. You know, if you could behave yourself, the gig probably would have been yours. The Admiralty is doing another equality push.”

“Yes, of course, have a foul-mouthed girl from the ass end of Glacon Minor talk about sharing a shitter with a bunch of equally foul-mouthed men, I’m sure that would have gone over well.” Korra shook her head. “Mako’s the obvious choice. Besides, he’s the Old Lady’s golden boy.”

“I thought you said she likes you?”

“She does. I think. It’s hard to tell with her.”

“That bad?”

“There’s a reason your dad left her.”

“They broke up because she wanted to focus on her career and he had to have kids. You know, because of politics. I thought they were on good terms.”

“Is that why you’re talking to me instead of being shown around?”

“Orders; I came straight from the Ready Room. Bolin and Mako are probably giving him their regards. I heard you and Bo are sticking around.”

“For the time being, yeah. No new orders yet, at least.”

“Promise you won’t fight the new CAG, Korra?”

“I thought they were pressing charges.”

“Your record? You’ll get off light…this time. Next time might be a different story. You need to behave better, Korra! You’re an officer in the Colonial Fleet, for Gods’ sakes!”

“I will make no such promises.” Jinora blushed but refused to take the bait. “But Tahno has had it out for me, ever since that first semester at the Academy when we beat his ass at pyramid. The Gods must have a nasty sense of humor, making him my first CAG.”

“Maybe they have a reason. A lesson, a trial.”

“And maybe they just wanted to frak me over. It doesn’t matter. If I can keep flying, I’ll be happy enough.”

Jinora shook her head. “Same old Korra. Look, if you shape up, they might let you. But keep causing trouble and even a commander won’t be able to keep you from a court-martial.”

Korra looked back. “Same old Jinora. You haven’t changed either.”

Before Jinora could ask what that was supposed to mean, the phone buzzed on the wall. “Call for Ensign Gyatso.”

“I have to take this,” said Jinora. “We’ll talk, after the ceremony.”

“Right,” said Korra. She was already on the floor again before Jinora picked up the receiver.

“Ensign Gyatso.”

“Ensign, can you join us in the Ward Room at 1330 for a photograph with the commander and your father? Dress uniform, if you can.”

Jinora glanced at the wall clock. “Yeah, I think I can do that.”

Ward Room
1336

Jinora was a few minutes late to the Ward Room, having gotten turned around on her way from the duty locker. Bolin was just leaving. “Good luck in there,” he warned.

His words made a great deal of since once she stepped through the hatch and onto the thick blue carpet. The room was already packed with reporters and photographers. The PR rep had to ask—twice—for the gaggle of journalists to make a path for her to squeeze through. Even so, she had to adjust the ceremonial sash of her dress grays, which was caught on camera for live broadcast to roughly half a billion viewers.

 “If you’d like to stand up there,” said the PR rep, shaking her hand, “we’ll get a few shots with you and your father. Thanks.”

Jinora nodded, standing beside Tenzin. The photographers got off a few shots, and then at Kwong Li’s urging, Tenzin put his arm around Jinora for a few more.

“Great, perfect.”

Jinora stepped away, expecting to be excused, only to find herself shepherded into additional shots besides the Commander and Captain Anthros. For a moment she thought Kwong Li was about to ask Commander Beifong to throw an arm around Mako, but then he signaled the shoot was over.

“Okay, thank you very much,” he finally said, waving to the collected officers. “See you at the ceremony.” He turned to the journalists. “We’ll just be leaving out through this doorway and to our right.”

“That was brutal,” said Jinora as she and Mako made to follow them.

“Been like that—” he began, then stopped. Back in the Ward Room, both Tenzin and Beifong had begun to speak. The two pilots paused in the corridor to listen.

There was a moment of silence, and then her father began again. “It’s good to see you, Lin.”

“I’m sure.”

“I mean it. You’ve done very well for yourself.”

“Like hells. I only got this job as a bribe to my mother so she’d finally retire from the Admiralty. And now, here I am, about to be forced into an early retirement myself, and our parents’ ship turned into a godsdamned museum! There’s at least another twenty years of service in both of us!”

“Would you really have rather not been a battlestar commander, Lin?”

“I could have been a housewife raising the next generation, wondering if I could have earned an admiral’s pips, instead of managing the legacy of the last one. We’ll be afterthoughts, footnotes in history only the most dedicated scholars have any appreciation for. You’ve at least done your part rebuilding Aeolia. What have I done?”

Tenzin didn’t respond for a moment. “You might get another command assignment.”

“Not likely. You think they’ll hand over an Alligator-class to a has-been like me? They probably have the next five lined up for hot-shots still in Command School.”

“I’m not sure what to tell you, Lin.”

A long sigh. “Coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

“Still a teetotaler, I take it. Vegetarian, too?”

“We’ve got Aeolian crops growing in greenhouses down on Republica. Not that hard to stay off the meat when you’ve got that kind of spread.”

Beifong paused briefly before responding. “Let me visit, sometime?”

“Of course. Pema and I would love to have you stay again.”

“How about your kids?”

“I’m sure they’d love to see you, too.”

“That’s not—nevermind. I’ll think about it.” A pause as the phone buzzed. “I need to take this. Can you find your way back to visitors’ quarters?”

“I think so. But…think about it, Lin.”

“Alright. Beifong.”

The two pilots pushed off the wall and scurried around the corner, just before Tenzin swung the hatch opened and stepped into the corridor.

Visitors Quarters
1424

Tenzin had felt that being assigned quarters was a bit much when the plan wasn’t even for him to stay the night, but they did come with a private head, which was all the more appreciated when Otaku relayed, quite unnecessarily, the manner in which he had discovered just how coeducational the facilities in the Colonial Fleet really were. Tenzin knew that his daughter had been in that sort of environment for four years at the Academy, but didn’t particularly like to think about it—or the fact that his next two children wanted nothing more than to follow the same path.

As it was, Tenzin was in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie, when a knocking came from the hatch.

“It’s not time already?” Tenzin asked as he and Otaku both rushed to open it.

“No, we’ve still got half an hour,” his assistant answered, swinging open the hatch. But it wasn’t Kwong Li waiting for them.

“Lin,” said Tenzin. “Commander Beifong. We weren’t expecting you.”

“Never serves to be late for a party in your own honor, Tenzin, I’m sure your father taught you that much. In the meantime, would you care to join me in the Starboard Flight Pod? I haven’t actually seen the museum myself.”

“You haven’t?”

“Never saw the point. So,” a long pause, “shall we?”

“Certainly, let me just grab my jacket. Otaku, you can stay here, if you think you can find your way later.”

“Uh…I’d better come along.”

The trio made their way to the starboard flight pod, which had once housed two of the battlestar’s four Viper squadrons, and which now was a museum to commemorate a conflict that Lin and Tenzin both post-dated. At the far end, beneath the window which Lin informed Tenzin had given the deckhands no end of trouble, stood a temporary podium and dais, before which several hundred folding chairs had been set out. Crew-members and civilian guests wandered in, taking their seats or perusing the exhibits.

There was an old Cylon Centurion disabled in the Third Battle of Geanon, an antique Viper flight suit with its oversized mantle, photographs of old Raiders and baseships. Tenzin paused for a long time before a haunting series of images from the destruction of Aeolia before finally moving on. The next alcove held a life-sized picture of his father and Lin’s mother during their time as Commander and Executive Officer of Elementica. Neither of them noticed when a photographer snapped a shot of the two of them looking at it, side-by-side.

Between the alcoves jutted out old Mark II Vipers, which a plaque informed them came from the battlestar’s crack squadron, nicknamed the Flying Circus. The squadron was notable for not losing a single pilot, the plaque relayed, during the intense final battle over Republica, when Rear Admiral Gyatso had brought the entire system’s collection of surviving Colonial spaceborne units to bear in a concentrated attack that forced the Cylons’ hand into signing the Armistice.

Tenzin had wanted to read more of the details, though he knew most of the story by heart. The ceremony was beginning, however, so he and Lin strode to their places in the front row, ready to do their little duty in the shadow of giants.

Viper 224
1529

Half an hour later, Jinora hung in space a few meters to Mako’s portside, waiting to begin the ceremonial flyover. The decommissioning ceremony was piped through the wireless to the Air Wing’s audio channel.

Her father spoke first, about the stories of a grandfather she only sort of remembered, who had lost his homeworld in the first days of the Cylon War, but had never given up hope to see Aeolia reborn during his years of service aboard Elementica. Tenzin recounted the glowing praise that Aang had sung of Elementica and her crew, from his beginning as an irregular rook pilot all the way to commanding her during the final defensive of the war.

A priest gave a prayer, and then the CAG’s voice cut into the channel. “Go time, boys and girls. On my mark…mark!”

The stirring instrumentals of the Colonial Anthem rang in her earpiece as Jinora and Mako dove towards the glass expanse that once had been the forward end of the starboard landing bay. She broke off, flying along the outside of the flight pod, while Mako flew in close over the giant window. They linked up again afterwards, killing their velocity and idling in parallel as the ceremony continued.

Battlestar Elementica – Brig
1530

“Thank you very much,” Beifong’s voice echoed over the PA after Kwong Li’s introduction. Korra sat on the deck, back to wall, as she listening to the audio from the retirement ceremony. It was hard not to be angry. She should have been out there flying those maneuvers, not sitting in a cell because the CAG couldn’t hedge his bets. It was a hell of a way to spend Elementica’s last day in the service.

“The Cylon war is long over, yet we must not forget the reasons why so many sacrificed so much in the cause of freedom. The cost of wearing the uniform can be high, but…”

The was a long pause. When Beifong’s voice came through again, it sounded different.

“Sometimes, it’s too high. You know, when our parents fought the Cylons, they did it to save themselves from extinction. They never answered the question, ‘why? Why are we, as a people, worth saving?’

“No one who fought in the war asked it, not while the battles were still raging. Morality meant survival, just as it did back when we were still apes on Kobol. The more sophisticated questions were left to our generation.

“What makes humanity worthy of survival? We still commit murder, we still lie, we still steal. We still visit all of our sins upon our children. We refuse to accept responsibility for anything that we’ve done, like we did with the Cylons. We decided to play God, create life, and when that life turned against us—we comforted ourselves in the knowledge that it wasn’t our fault, not really. But you cannot play God and then wash your hands of the things that you’ve created. Sooner or later, the day comes, when you can’t hide from the things that you’ve done anymore.”

Starboard Landing Bay
1533

Tenzin didn’t realize Lin was done speaking until she started to leave the podium. Before the silence could grow uncomfortable, he began to clap. The other attendees faltered into a proper applause, albeit a short one.

On the other side of the aisle, Lin dropped into her seat beside her XO. The balding Colonel leaned over and said something to her. Tenzin couldn’t quite make it out, but Lin only gave the Colonel a look and left it at that.

Chapter Text

Battlestar Elementica – Portside Hangar Deck
1629

“Last bird is down, Chief!” Specialist Skocinus called from across the hangar deck.

“About damn time,” muttered Asami. “Okay, folks, let’s get the birds stowed and the export manifest on the lifts! The liner leaves in less than an hour, so let’s get it loaded. Skoochy, Tuyen, you’re on point!”

“We’re always on point.”

“Because you’re good at what you do. Step on it or I’ll give you a bad final review.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Those transformer coils aren’t about to move themselves.”

“Right away, Chief.”

“What are those, Chief?” asked a voice she couldn’t place at first.

Asami turned to look. It was the new pilot, the one Mako and Bolin and Korra knew. The politician’s kid.

“Ensign Gyatso,” said the pilot, extending her hand.

Asami took it. “Chief Sato. You have a callsign yet?”

“Not yet. You can call me Jinora, if you’d like.”

“Alright, Jinora. We’re loading up transformer coils onto the spaceliner. We did a hull polarization test a few weeks ago—trying to see if running a current through the hull would kill incoming ordnance. Hurt our comms but didn’t do anything to the missiles. They’re still perfectly good radiation shield generators, so we’re shipping them back to Republica, along with some of the other hardware that’s already decommissioned.”

“Is your auto-landing system down already?” asked Jinora. “I was hands-on for my whole approach.”

“They’re all hands-on here, ensign. No auto-landings on Elementica. Commander Beifong’s orders.”

Asami spotted Mako about to leave the flight deck. Most of the other pilots had left, but he’d insisted on going over the antique Viper alongside the deckhands.

“Excuse me, Ensign,” she said, and hailed him down.

“Chief,” he said when she’d caught up. “Everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine, Mako. I just wanted to catch you before you left tomorrow.”

“I’m sure you’ll see me before I launch.”

“You know that’s not what I meant. It’s just that, well…”

“I know,” said Mako. “If things were a little different…”

They walked along the corridor in silence for a moment.

“Have you gotten your new assignment, yet?” asked Asami after a moment.

“Not yet. I’m hoping they won’t break Bo and I up, but even odds they will. I’m betting the Representative pulled strings to keep all of us together as long as we have been.”

“I met his daughter. You know her, right?”

“Ever since the Representative got us off the streets, yeah. I know it’s a political stunt, sending her here as the last pilot assignment. Still, Jinora’s a good kid. She helped me check-out the Viper, even though she didn’t have to.”

“Better than some pilots I could name.”

They shared a laugh.

“Listen, Mako, when you get your assignment, let me know. I’ll tell you mine when I get it. We should catch up if we’re ever on the same planet.”

“I will.”

It was just a reality of being in the Fleet. Every assignment was temporary, every relationship could be cut short at the whim of the Admiralty staff. The crew of Elementica was lucky: they’d known it was coming for a long time. That didn’t make it hurt any less.

Asami knew Mako had a lot to do before the next morning. They couldn’t walk together forever. They were almost to his duty locker already.

Before she knew what she was doing, she’d pulled him into a tight hug.

“I’m going to miss you guys,” she said.

“Me, too.” Mako was silent for a moment. “You were a damn good deck chief.”

“You weren’t a terrible pilot.”

He laughed against her hair. They stayed together a moment longer, before pulling apart.

“In case I don’t see you again before morning,” Asami began, then kissed him briefly. “Goodbye, Mako.”

“Goodbye, Asami,” he said quietly as she turned and began the walk back to the hangar deck.

Portside Flight Pod
1723

“You’ll be sure to write often?” asked Tenzin. He and his daughter stood at the hatch to the departing spaceliner which would carry the civilian representatives back to Republica.

“Of course, Dad. A letter a week, rotating between you, Mom, Ikki, and Meelo.”

Tenzin sighed. “I see you’ve figured this all out. Be careful, dear.”

“I will, as much as I can. I am a Viper pilot in the Colonial Fleet.”

“All the more reason to be careful.”

“Mr. Gyatso,” Otaku cut in. “We really do need to be boarding.”

Tenzin gave Jinora one last hug, then stepped through the hatchway. Jinora watched as the hatch safed, the docking collar retracted, and the spaceliner lifted off from the deck. It slid silently through the forward aperture and began its flight back to Republica.

Once it was out of sight, Jinora turned away and returned to the duty locker. She hung up her flight suit, switched to a less-sweaty pair of pants and tanks, and headed for the Pilots Rec. Bolin had let slip that there might be a triad game, and without Korra around she wanted to see how Green Squadron stacked up.

Causeway B
1749

Mako was leaving the Quartermaster’s office when he spotted Commander Beifong just down the corridor. “Commander. A moment, please.”

“Certainly, Captain,” said Beifong. “All ready for your next assignment?”

“Not quite, sir,” he replied. “I just squared things away with the Quartermaster, but there’s still a good deal of packing and paperwork to do. Besides that, though, I just wanted to say, it’s been an honor serving under you these last few years.”

“It’s been my honor, Captain Anthros. I’m proud of the role I played shaping you into the officer you are today.”

“That’s…quite a compliment, sir.”

“I mean it. A good commanding officer shouldn’t play favorites. Remember that, when you have your own Air Group in a few years.”

“Do you think I’ll make CAG that soon, sir?”

“Possibly sooner. You’re a good squadron lead and a good pilot.”

“Don’t get all mushy on me, sir.”

“Gods forbid.” Mako chuckled, and the corners of Beifong’s eyes turned up ever so slightly.

They were coming up to the intersection with the main causeway. They stopped and Mako saluted. “Thank you, Commander.”

Beifong returned the salute. “Thank you, Captain Anthros. The best of luck on your next assignment.”

Combat Information Center
1815

“Wolfbat reports Blue and Red Squadrons have formed up and begun their flight to Battlestar Cordordia. DRADIS confirms, sir,” said Lieutenant Gommu.

“Understood.” Lin looked down at the sheaf of octagonal printouts in front of her. There was a lot of work to do before the ship could truly be considered decommissioned, no matter what the official listings said. Until then, she was still in command. Sending the Viper wing to another battlestar was just one of hundreds of items on her list.

She turned across the information table. “Mr. Toza, where are we on shutting down the main drive?”

“I’ll begin quenching the reactor tonight,” reported the battlestar’s grizzled chief engineer, “and once that’s done, we can safely begin dismantling the FTL drive. I don’t want to send anyone into the spinner till the radiation is within norms. The book says that will take three days, but we’ve been running a little hot the last few years, so it might take a bit longer, sir.”

“Take as long as you need to, Major. I haven’t had a fatality as commander, and I don’t intend to start now. Dismissed.”

Toza came to attention and saluted, and left the CIC. Lin picked up the phone, tapped a few keys, and put the battered metal receiver to her ear.

“Magazine,” came the response.

“This is the commander. Where are you on getting the munitions secured for ship-out?”

“Almost finished, sir. We shipped out the last shells for the main guns and dorsal battery on the milk run yesterday, and we’ll ship out the last pallet of barrage munitions in a day or two. I’ve got a few drones on hand, which we’ll send out with the Raptors, and then it’s just the Viper and small-arms munitions. That will take a few weeks to finish off, with full checks. Three weeks, tops, sir.”

“See if you can get it done in two. Thank you.” She tapped one button to end the call, then a few others to be connected with the flight deck. There was a longer pause before answering.

“Chief Sato here.”

“Chief, this is the CO. How long will it take you to finish off those last Vipers?”

“Whitefall did a real number on Viper 493’s undercarriage last week, that will take at least four days to clear up. Besides that, we’ve got two out for reactor checks, two for firmware overhauls, and one for a crack in the canopy. Call it ten days put together, sir.”

“Can you do it in eight?”

“Not without undue risk, sir. The reactor checks are the main hold up.”

“Then ten it is. Keep me updated.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lin set the receiver back in its cradle and ticked off a couple of boxes from the checklist before her, a single page removed from a thick three-ring binder that held the decommissioning procedure in full. The binder was spread out on the information table at the center of the CIC. As she made a note in the margin, the communications officer spoke up.

“Sir, I can route any calls for you that you would like. No need to dial yourself.”

“I know that, Kina,” she replied. “But there’s a certain tactile pleasure to it, don’t you think? Every modern warship is touchscreens and holos from wall to wall. This ship is the last of her kind, and there will never be another one like her. All of you, try to savor your last days and hours here.”

A quiet murmur of assent went around the CIC, and Lin allowed herself the thinnest of visible smiles before picking up the receiver again.

“Major? This is the CO. I wanted to know about the status of off-shipping the marine contingent…”

Pilots Mess
1904

“Slow down there with the pepper, ensign,” said one of the experienced pilots as Jinora poured seasoning onto her dinner. “Save some for the rest of us.”

“Battlestar food is worse than the Academy. I didn’t think that was possible.” She took an experimental bite, grimaced, and reached for the salt. “What in the worlds is this steak cultured from?”

“It’s not cultured. It’s fake meat.”

“That explains approximately five percent of the problem.”

“Fake as in algae.”

Jinora took another bite. Passable. “I didn’t think there were any algae synths left in service.”

“Elementica’s is the last,” Mako informed her, barely looking up from the pile of paperwork in front of him. He didn’t seem to be enjoying his second-to-last meal on the battlestar very much, either—but that seemed to stem more from stress than anything else.

“Real shame, too,” said one of the cook staff, who emerged to join them. “Reliable as all hells, even if the taste isn’t great. They can keep going like nobody’s business with barely any maintenance.”

Jinora took another bite, shuddered, and reached for the salt again. “Can’t you do anything about the flavor? My aunt makes the best desserts from seaweeds on Glacon.”

“The fancy seasonings ran dry a few weeks ago, and the QM said we’d just have to do without. They’ll have proper meat up here, bones and all, for the kiddies once the museum is up and running.”

Jinora blanched and changed the subject lest she experience a reversal of her minimal fortunes thus far. Gesturing at a couple of apparently-real flowers at the centerpiece, she asked, “Those for the museum, too?”

“Oh, no, one of the deckhands grows them. She’s got a whole hydroponics rig in one of the supply closets.”

“Huh. I’ll have to look her up and see if we can do something about your seasoning problem.”

“What do you have in mind?” asked Bolin.

“Well, let’s say we get a few more spices here, and a bit of grease from the cookers—”

Mako straightened up. “I need to run these up to the CIC. Ensign, Lieutenants, Specialist—try not to cook up too much trouble while I’m gone.” He rose and left the mess, a pile of printouts and forms under his arm.

Jinora continued once he had left the mess. “Okay, now, what would it take to get a bottle of mayonnaise around here? Practically, that is.”

“I don’t think that’s technically contraband,” said the cook, “though that might actually make it harder to get ahold of…”

Combat Information Center
1921

Commander Beifong had retired for the night when Mako arrived at the CIC, and Gommu was the officer of the watch. The tactical officer was taking his report when a light began to flash at the communications officer’s panel. “Sir, I’m getting a priority one message.”

Gommu strode over to the comms station, Mako trailing behind. “What is it?”

Kina just handed him a computer printout. Gommu took it, read for a moment, then handed it to Mako. “What should we do, sir?”

Mako read for a moment, eyes growing wide. He looked back up, swallowed, then said, “Tell the CO.”

“Right,” said Gommu, reaching for the phone. “CIC to Commanding Officer.”

“Go ahead,” Beifong answered after a moment.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir,” said Gommu, “but we have a priority one alert message from Fleet Headquarters. It was…transmitted in the clear.”

“In the clear?” Beifong’s voice came over the line. “What does it say?”

“’Attention all Colonial units: Cylon attack underway. This is no drill.’”

Beifong’s voice carried the weight of seventy years of waiting. “I’ll be right there,” she said, but it was a long time before Gommu heard the click of the receiver going back in its cradle.

Chapter Text

In the decades since the Armistice Treaty was signed, ending the existential war between the Cylons and the Six Colonies of Kobol, the Quorum and People's Council had allocated funding for the Colonial Fleet with the order to maintain ten active battlestars for each major inhabited world. This, their advisors told them, would most likely be sufficient to head off a Cylon attack. After all, the Colonies had managed to win the Cylon War with only six first-generation battlestars. The modern fleet had over sixty, to say nothing of the smaller warships, support vessels, larger air wings, and surface-based forces. Given the technological advances in the intervening period, the budget planners and military strategists concluded the Colonial Fleet would be more than able to deal with the projected number of baseships and fighters the Cylons could bring to bear. A Cylon victory, they assured the politicians, was not even a theoretical possibility.

The Cylons developed other theories.

Over forty Cylon baseships arrived in the initial attack at Pyron alone. The orbital shipyards, where more than a dozen battlestars were docked for maintenance or shore leave, was a radioactive wreck within ten minutes.

No ships escaped the carnage, despite the desperate, independent initiative of hundreds of Colonial officers. Viper pilots launched without authorization, only to find their fighters useless against the onslaught. Those battlestars which survived the initial assault were destroyed by a second wave of nuclear detonations before they could push off from the shipyards. The commander of the battlestar Tianma ordered her crew to cut all connections to the station and, discovering the guidance computers were still offline, prepared for a blind jump away from combat. A pair of thermonuclear missiles punctured the hull before the drive could spool up, splitting the great warship in two. Most of the Colonials onboard died in the blast, with the rest following soon after as the crippled hulk vented air and propellant into space.

The explosions were visible from Caldera, where a photographer captured the sight of his friend collapsing in horror on the roof of the capitol building just as Cylon Raiders began to ravage the city.

Chaos reigned in the Fleet Academy a few kilometers away. Students, cadets, and instructors alike took to the air in whatever aircraft were available, disregarding fuel levels, munitions, or even armaments. The sky warmed with aircraft—a few human, the rest Cylon. With so many Raiders raining fire upon the city, no one thought twice about the risks.

Black-haired twins from one of Geanon's most prominent families took off in training Vipers to join the fray, The trainers were equipped only with blanks; the two boys were semi-consciously aware that their only possible value in the fight would be as decoys or kamikazes.

Neither option presented itself before the Vipers lost power. They crashed into a suburban neighborhood, destroying a dozen houses and killing their occupants, a few minutes before a thermonuclear warhead wiped the area from the map.

At Fleet Headquarters, a communications officer managed to send out a top-priority message, unencrypted, without any actual orders, before the hydrogen bomb flattened the city. The message was picked up by military relay satellites in orbit. Each repeated the broadcast. A few launched drones to the other Colonies, warning of the attack.

In Republica city, a famed computer scientists, who had earned over a million cubits from the Colonial government over the preceding three years for his services rewriting the Fleet's common navigational software, died in his sleep as a Cylon snapped his neck. Two minutes later, the air raid sirens began to scream.

The battlestars positioned around the Colonies launched their Viper wings and prepared for battle as Cylon baseships arrived in orbit. Above Republica, the commanders of battlestars Concordia and Yashuman watched the Cylons approach. Battlestar Universal was closer, but the commander of Universal reported no bogies on his DRADIS.

The seconds ticked down while the CIC crew scrambled. The commander of Yashuman pleaded for his old friend to open fire. The commander of Universal insisted they needed a moment to deal with the malfunctions. The commander of Yashuman could see the other battlestar didn’t have a moment. Just as the Cylon force engaged the battlestar group, Universal began to drift out of control. The crew of Yashuman could only watch as Raiders bore down upon the Viper wings and destroyed them with hardly any resistance.

Three minutes later, the Cylon strike force came within weapons range of Yashuman’s position—and DRADIS went dead.

Automated civil defense systems in major cities around the six colonies caught the spike in unauthorized DRADIS contacts as squadrons of Cylon Raiders screamed into the atmosphere. Pilots at military bases scrambled to their cockpits amid the din of anti-aircraft gunfire. They tended to see more success than the fighters at the Fleet Academy or in orbit, but universally failed to turn back the Cylon tsunami. The only survivors were aircraft that crashed outside of cities, and Vipers which climbed into space. For both groups, it was only a temporary reprieve.

Panic was the most common point throughout the Colonies. People ran for basements, for closets, for windowless bathrooms. There were stampedes to get into the public fallout shelters, regardless of local weather and time of day. In Geanon’s giant capital, over a million died in the crush before a rosette of space-to-ground missiles broke through the defense barrage and put the great city out of its misery.

In Republica City, the President of the Colonies and a small fraction of his staff managed to make it to a deep shelter beneath the capitol complex. Cut off from his ministers, the Quorum, the Council, and most of the military, he tried through the handful of lines still open to him to coordinate defense efforts. Out of sheer desperation, he violated his oath of office and broadcast an offer of complete, unconditional surrender to the Cylons if they would only stop the killing. A bunker-buster nuke was all he received for his efforts, less than half an hour after the first attacks began.

Within an hour, the Cylons began landing ground forces. They fired upon soldiers and civilians alike, taking no prisoners and leaving no survivors. Marines, police officers, reservists, and private gun owners fought back singly and in disorganized bands, barely slowing down the advance. Fewer than a thousand Centurions fell from human countermeasures during the entire invasion. The nascent resistance posed no real threat to the Cylons’ superior numbers, and most the Colonials were coming down with acute radiation sickness as they fought. The Centurions, unbothered in their thick armor, killed the ailing resisters with the same antipathy as they killed every other human they had come across.

On a small island outside Republica City, the Aeolian enclave was awoken by the sound of air raid sirens.

Meelo was the first one up, a miracle to anyone who knew the teenage boy to any degree, and within sixty seconds had pulled his mother and sister from their beds. They stumbled, barely conscious, as he dragged them both towards the fallout shelter in the basement.

Pema doubled over as they were climbing down the stairs. “Oh, Gods,” she cried. “Not now.”

Ikki opened her mouth to speak, but never got to ask what her mother meant. Two seconds later, the black shadow of her head against the radiation-bleached cinderblock stairwell was the only evidence that any of them had ever existed.

Chapter Text

Battlestar Elementica – Pilots Mess
1933

The conversation in the pilot’s mess had moved on, to stories of happier days, when the ship had had better food and better condiments. One of the more senior pilots in Green Squadron was regaling the rest with the story of an unsanctioned duty locker party at the battlestar’s last stint in dry dock.

“So I’m sitting there, barbecue sauce on my titties,” the pilot was saying to general laughter, “when in walked the Old Lady! She takes one look, turns around and says—”

The assembled pilots never got to find out what the Old Lady had said, because at that very second alarms started blaring throughout the ship.

“Everyone, get to the ready room!” Bolin ordered as the pilots swarmed to their feet. “I’m going to the CIC to find out what’s going on.” He threw his uniform’s jacket over his shoulders and tore out of the room.

Portside Hangar Deck

Asami Sato was in the storage closet that doubled as the deck chief’s office when it began. She sprang to her feet as the PA crackled to life.

“Actions stations, action stations. Set Condition One throughout the ship. This is not a drill. Repeat, action stations, action stations. Set Condition One throughout the ship. This is not a drill.”

The third repetition was just finishing when she arrived on the flight deck proper, still fastening the straps of her overalls. Skoochy and Tuyen were rushing towards the storage closet, cleaning equipment in hand.

“Not a drill? They can’t be serious!” said Skoochy.

“Sounds like it to me!” Tuyen shot back.

“What are we going to shoot with? The ship’s got no ammunition.”

Asami wondered the same thing herself, but put the thought aside as she began to bark orders.

“Alright, people, let’s go! Let’s get this hangar deck ready for possible incoming!”

Combat Information Center
1937

Bolin threw a quick salute to the marine guard at the hatch as he entered the Combat Information Center and strode towards Mako. His brother was poring over papers and books at the other end of the information table from Beifong and Saikhan. All around the CIC officers and enlistees alike were taking messages, passing orders, and activating systems under the general din of the Action Stations alarm.

“What’ve we got? Shipping accident?” asked Bolin. Mako simply handed him a sheaf of computer printouts.

While Bolin read, Gommu answered the phone. “Combat…understood.” He hung up the receiver and turned to Beifong. “Condition One is set. All decks report ready for action, sir.”

“Very well,” said Beifong.

Bolin looked up from the papers to his superior officers. “This is a joke,” he said. “The fleet’s playing a joke on the Old Lady. It’s a retirement prank! C’mon!”

“I don’t think so,” said Mako, no trace of humor in his voice.

Beifong tapped several buttons at the phone console, then raised the speaker to her mouth. The warble of the ship-wide PA came through the speakers and the chatter around the CIC mostly fell away.

“This is the commander,” she said. “Moments ago, this ship received word that a Cylon attack against our home worlds is underway. We do not know the size or the disposition or the strength of the enemy forces, but all indications point to a massive assault against Colonial defenses. Admiral Iroh has taken personal command of the fleet aboard the battlestar Mo Ce, following the complete destruction of Pyron fleet headquarters in the first wave of the attacks. ‘How?’ and ‘Why?’, don’t really matter now. What does matter, is that as of this moment, we are at war. You’ve trained for this; you’re ready for this. Stand to your duties, trust your fellow shipmates, and we’ll all get through this. Further updates as we get them. Thank you.”

Portside Hangar Deck
1938

Skoochy’s voice was barely audible, but in the silence following Beifong’s announcement it carried to half the hangar deck. “War with the Cylons.” It was somewhere between a question and a statement.

He and Tuyen shared a look, cut short by the Chief’s voice.

“Alright, people, this is what we do. We’re the best,” Asami shouted, “so let’s get the old girl ready to roll, and kick some Cylon ass! C’mon, let’s go, move!”

Asami watched as the deckhands sprung back into motion. “This better be for real,” she said softly to herself.

Combat Information Center
1939

“Tactical.”

“Sir?”

“Begin a plot of all units in this solar system, friendly or otherwise.”

“Yes sir.”

“XO.”

“Sir?”

“We’re in a shooting war. We need something to shoot.”

“I’ll start checking munitions depots.”

“Comms, contact our fighter squadron. I want positions and tactical status immediately.”

“Yes sir.”

“Helm.”

“Sir?”

“Tell Major Toza to cancel the reactor quench, and get us up to full power ASAP.”

“Yes sir.”

“Captain Anthros.”

“Sir?”

“How long would it take to refuel and arm Viper 7242?”

“Chief said it was older and clunkier than the modern models. Maybe twenty minutes, sir.”

“Get down to the flight deck and get started. I want you launched and en route to rendezvous with our flight squadron within thirty minutes.”

“Sir?”

“The Admiral’s order said to commit every available unit to the fight at the earliest possibility. Chief Sato tells me that Viper is fully functional. Is she wrong?”

“Uh, no, sir—it’s just that that Viper is seventy years old. It wouldn’t stand a chance out there.”

“It kept Aang alive through the Battle of the Eclipse; if you’re a third the pilot he was, it’ll keep you alive through this. Bring it and yourself back in one piece; that’s also an order.”

“Yes, sir.” Mako turned and left the CIC.

Beifong turned to Bolin. “Lieutenant Anthros.”

“Sir?”

“You’re relieved as Flight Leader. Get Lieutenant Raavansen out of the brig and inform her of the situation. She’s Flight Leader until our Vipers get back.”

“Yes sir!”

Portside Hangar Deck
1944

Asami was still getting the deck crew organized when she found Mako standing before her in his full flight suit, helmet in hand. She was about to ask if he had any word on the situation but he spoke before she got the chance.

“Chief, I need Viper 7242 in the tubes ASAP. Can you make it happen?”

“Sure, sir,” Asami answered, dropping back into duty parlance. “But that Viper’s seventy years old. Are you sure you want to fly it?”

“I don’t,” said Mako as they strode across the hangar deck. “But Beifong wants me in it. Admiral Iroh has ordered everything into the air and that Viper counts. I’m going to rendezvous with Wolfbat and the rest.”

“Alright,” said Asami. “Skoochy, get me some Viper rounds! Tuyen, fueling cart, now!”

“Yin, call the LSO and let him know what we’re doing,” ordered Mako as they came alongside the space fighter. “Is the launch officer on deck?”

Asami pulled the remove-before-flight tags from the portside gun and looked around. “Where the frak did I leave your pre-flight checklists?”

Ready Room
1949

Jinora and the other pilots were in various stages of dress as they milled about the Ready Room, ranging from tanks and shorts to full flight suit. There was no word yet, no information beyond what Beifong had told them and the probably-wrong rumors already spreading through the halls. Speculation had grown to a feverish pitch, an attempt to fill the emptiness of a briefing room with far too few occupants, by the time Korra and Bolin came through the hatch.

To Jinora’s surprise, it was Korra who went to the podium and Bolin who dropped into a front-row chair. Most of the other pilots took a seat, though a few still stood. Jinora sat on the arm of an aisle chair, her leg bouncing at a furious pace beyond her conscious attention.

“Alright, listen up. It’s going to be at least…call it four hours before Wolfbat’s back, maybe more depending on what he runs into, and Rocky tells me the Old Lady put me in charge until then because she’s got Sparks flying some suicide mission. You all probably know more about the sitrep than I do at this point, but let’s go over the basics. We’ve got exactly eleven birds right now: six Raptors and five Vipers, all of which are out for repairs. It’ll probably be at least morning before Chief can get any of the Vipers flightworthy, but we’ll be doing everything we can to get every plane in the air as soon as possible. Once Wolfbat returns, there’ll be a few more Vipers to go around, but till then we’ve got to sit tight. Any questions?”

The room practically exploded.

Korra did her best, Jinora thought, to appease the assembled pilots. No, she didn’t know what the broader battle plan was, beside engage the enemy at the earliest opportunity with whatever units were available. She didn’t know if there were any plans for a counterattack, or for providing additional units to Elementica. She didn’t know the status of Blue and Red Squadrons; Bolin helpfully explained that he'd left the CIC before Beifong had received that information.

Korra was relieved from the barrage when Flight Leader to CIC came over the PA. Korra ordered the other pilots to head for the flight deck and put themselves at Chief Sato’s disposal, and headed towards the CIC herself.

Combat Information Center
2000

The astrodynamics officer leaned over the table, marking the system chart with a wax pencil as he spoke. “That would put our squadron about here. Now, it looks like the main fight in this system is shaping up over here, near Geanon’s orbit, but even at top speed that’s over two hours away.”

“Any word from Toza on the engines?”

“Negative, sir.”

“Plot a course along this axis,” said Lin, pointing. “If we can keep Geanon between us and the battle, we might be able to get close before the Cylons are even aware.”

“Commander,” said Korra, coming to attention. “Ready for duty, sir.”

“Good.”

“Where the hells did the Cylons come from?”

Lin responded without looking up from the charts. “All we know for sure is that they achieved complete surprise and we’re taking heavy losses. We lost fifteen battlestars in the opening attack.”

“That’s a quarter of the fleet,” Korra said, both a statement and a protest.

“I need pilots and I need fighters.”

“Pilots you’ve got. There’s forty of us climbing the walls down in the Ready Room. But fighters…”

Lin turned to look at her. “I seem to remember seeing an entire squadron of fighters down in the Starboard Landing Bay today.”

Korra half-scoffed for a fraction of a second, then realized what Lin was getting at. “Yes sir,” she said, saluting, and jogged out of the CIC.

Lin turned back to the plot, then looked up again. “Saikhan!” she called. “See if there’s anything else we can salvage from the museum!”

Portside Hangar Deck
2003

They’d done it in seventeen minutes. Viper 7242 was refueled, armed, and ready for flight. Mako checked the indicators one last time and signaled the deck crew to get him in the tubes.

Asami handed up his helmet. “Good hunting, Sparks.”

“See you soon,” he replied, and pulled it over his head.

Asami checked the seal, then climbed down the ladder and pulled it away. Mako swung the Viper’s canopy closed and deckhands pushed the Viper into the launch tube.

“Elementica, Sparks, wireless check.”

“Sparks, Elementica, coming through clear,” replied the launch officer. “Give them hell for us, Captain.”

“Copy that,” said Mako, but in his stomach he felt nothing but cold terror. They ran through the rapid launch procedure, and then he was out, flying solo through the high vacuum, in search of a myriad enemy with no trace of fear or pain or mercy.

Chapter Text

Battlestar Elementica – Starboard Landing Bay
2017

The clatter of stanchions hitting the deck echoed through the Starboard Landing Bay as Korra and Asami led the pilots and deckhands towards the antique Vipers.

“You’re sure they’ll fly?” Korra asked as she and the Chief approached the nearest fighter.

“Well, the reactor’s still hot, and we didn’t touch the avionics,” said Asami as they came alongside. “So all we have to do is pull the rad buffers from the engine, refuel it, load the ordnance, and you’re ready to go. The biggest problem’s getting them to the port launch bay.”

“Why can’t we use the starboard launch?”

“It’s a gift shop now.”

“Frak me.”

Asami raised her voice. “Okay, people, let’s go. Everybody, pick a bird; we’re going to the port launch bay!”

The Vipers were not exactly obstinate, but the deckhands had put a good deal of effort into securing them, and even a small warship is no meager mass. It took the better part of an hour to get all forty Vipers off the blocks and onto dollies for the trip across the battlestar. Korra ordered two mustachioed MPs who happened to be passing to clear the causeway in their advance, and one by one the Vipers made their way towards Elementica’s functioning flight pod.

As Asami and Korra man-handled a Viper which had once belonged to a pilot with the callsign “Duke”, the lieutenant asked the Chief about Mako’s special mission.

“He didn’t really say anything,” said Asami. “Just told me Beifong wanted Aang’s old Viper up in the air and that he was going to join up with the other squadrons. Something about Admiral Iroh’s general order.”

“I wonder what his plan is. Gods, he’s awful young to be in charge of the whole fleet.”

“Do you think he can handle it?”

“If anyone can pull it off, it’s him. The man exudes strategic insight. I passed out during his annual lecture at the Academy, and still doubled my win rate in war games the next cycle. Skoochy, pivot!”

Once they’d navigated one of the tighter turns, Korra spoke again. “Mako’s in Aang’s bird, and we’ll be in the Flying Circus’s—the Old Lady’s got the whole squadron flying antiques.”

“The damn ship’s an antique. I’m just glad we have tylium and Viper ammunition on hand. We already shipped out almost everything for the ship’s guns.”

“Frak,” said Korra. “We’re going to be the ship’s point defense till we get more ordnance, aren’t we?”

“How long do you think that’ll be?”

“Damfino. That’s the XO’s problem.”

Viper 7242 – High Republica Orbit
2031

“Lords of Kobol, hear my prayer…”

Mako was in open space. Elementica was far behind him, and there were no other spacecraft within visual range, only the blue-green orb of Republica hanging motionless in the distance as the Viper sped through the high vacuum. DRADIS, however, was littered with contacts. A shrinking share had Colonial transponder IDs attached, either military units or civilian ships caught off-world, breaking off from the Victor spaceways and forming up into parking orbits. A larger number by far had no transponder tags, indicating Cylon formations or debris.

“…take into your hands this faithless soul…”

Mako fixed his eyes on the cluster of DRADIS contacts almost directly ahead corresponding to Elementica’s Viper wing. It would be over an hour till he could tag up with the Blue and Red Squadrons. Until then, he was alone.

“…protect me from my enemies…”

At the edge of the DRADIS screen, the words BATTLESTAR TIENHAI were replaced with DEBRIS.

“…and deliver the souls of those lost today to the Elysian Fields…”

Viper 445 – High Republica Orbit
2044

Captain Tahno and the rest of Elementica’s Vipers dove through space on a long orbit. Their original flight plan would have, under continuous thrust, brought them to the position of the battlestar Concordia in low orbit around Republica. But Concordia was at the center of a cluster of hostile contacts now, Vipers and Cylon Raiders merging and unmerging at the limits of the DRADIS reporting precision. The battle was moving further away, and a swarm of contacts lay between it and the two squadrons.

“Ming, Wolfbat. Inform Elementica that we have detected a formation of Cylon fighters directly ahead of us and I intend to engage. Ming, do you copy?”

“Copy that, Wolfbat” came the response from their support Raptor. “Informing Elementica that we’ll be engaging soon. Standby.”

The ECO’s voice came over the common audio loop. “I show thirty—no, no, make that twenty—Cylon Raiders on course three two four carom one one zero. Speed…seven point one. Time to intercept…seven minutes.”

“You don’t sound too sure,” said Tahno.

“Lot of jamming going on. Cylons are using a lot of sensor decoys. I’m sorting through them, but—”

“Understood. Just take your time, guide us in, and we’ll do the rest.”

Battlestar Elementica – Combat Information Center
2050

“What’s the latest, Kina?” Gommu asked the communications officer as another batch of status reports printed out from the communications terminal.

“A lot of confusion,” said Lieutenant Kina. “I keep getting these weird reports about equipment malfunctions.”

“Why’s that weird?”

“It’s the number of malfunctions.” Kina turned over the sheet to read the rest of the report. “One report said an entire battlestar lost power just before it came into contact with the enemy. They said it was like someone just turned off a switch…”

Viper 445 – High Republica Orbit
2051

“Cylon formation ahead,” said the ECO. “We’re down to four confirmed Cylons now, approaching visual range.”

“Okay, Ming, we’ll take it from here. You back way off.”

“Roger that,” said Ming. “Backing off.”

“All right, boys and girls, you break into attack formation. There might only be four of them, but I want you to stick with your wingman and do not get overconfident.”

“Anybody know what these things look like?” asked one pilot.

“Pictures I’ve seen of the old Cylon fighters looked like a big flying wing,” said another.

“Those pictures are seventy years old,” said a third.

“Okay, keep the chatter down,” Tahno cut in. His DRADIS chirped. The Cylons were within weapons range. “All Vipers, weapons free. Let’s go get them.”

The Viper pilots hit their throttles and advanced towards the quartet of Raiders. By the accidents of orbital mechanics, the formations approached one another along the sun axis. Tahno squinted as his helmet visor adjusted to the light. In the distance, four winged shapes emerged from the halo.

Before he could lock on to any of them, his targeting display blanked out.

Tahno reached to restart it, only to see that his DRADIS screen and other indicators had also gone blank.

“What the—?” he began as the wireless loop went to static, then silence.

“I’ve lost power,” he said, slamming the transmit button. “Whitefall—. Whitefall, take over! Whitefall, can you read me?"

To his horror, his wingman’s Viper slid into view, cockpit unlit. The two Colonial fighters grazed one another, spinning about their respective centers of mass. Under the canopy, Whitefall’s face stared back at Tahno’s in horror. Another Viper spun some distance away.

“Ming, this CAG,” Tahno spoke again. “If you can hear me, they must’ve done something to our computer system, some sort of electronic jamming. I’ve never seen anything like this…”

The four Cylon Raiders were closing in. Their shape was clearly discernible now, a thin center body and two large curved wings reaching forwards.

“There’s no cockpits,” Tahno reported to anyone who might be able to hear. “There’s no one flying these things.”

Just then, the Raiders launched a slew of missiles, each taking a target among the assembled Vipers. Tahno watched as one bore down on his Viper. “Oh my gods,” he said. Those were the last words he spoke before his Viper ceased to exist.

The Cylon Raiders broke away, eighty-two debris clouds merging in their wake.

Viper 7242 – High Republica Orbit
2055

Mako watched helplessly as the Viper squadron IDs disappeared from DRADIS and were replaced with a cloud of DEBRIS.

“What the frak do I do now?” he asked aloud.

His orbit was taking him closer and closer to Republica, growing larger in the Viper’s old-fashioned rectangular canopy. The familiar outlines of the continents were beginning to resolve, though weather systems made a mess of the clear lines that cartographers drew on their maps. An entire unit in orbital space navigation was devoted to determining ground-track position from incomplete data using only chaotic surface shots and the stars.

There seemed to be thunderstorms covering the whole planet, even extending into the daylight side. That was odd; Republica had notoriously bland weather, with its low axial tilt and shallow oceans. It took several minutes for Mako to realize what he was actually seeing.

He turned back to DRADIS, hoping to find any new information. More debris, fewer Colonial units, and about as many Cylons as before. A number of civilian ships were clustered ahead in a high parking orbit, and Elementica was a long way behind.

He tapped a few buttons on the comms panel. “Elementica, this is Sparks. Elementica, please come in, Elementica. Request instruction, over.”

“Sparks, Elementica, reading you loud and clear,” came Kina’s voice through his earpiece.

“Elementica, I’m at—” Mako read off his coordinates “—and DRADIS shows our Viper wings destroyed. Request instruction, over.”

“Sparks, we lost contact with the Viper wing three minutes ago. DRADIS also shows destruction. Elementica Actual requests you visually confirm destruction and await commands. Over.”

“Copy that, Elementica,” Mako groused. “Will continue to Viper wing’s last known position and report. Elementica, I have a group of civilian ships at my 1 o’clock, range about ten thousand klicks. Shall I make contact, over?”

“Stand by, Sparks.”

Mako continued along his trajectory through the high vacuum for several minutes before instruction came. “Sparks, this is Elementica Actual,” Beifong’s voice came at last. “Have requested instruction from acting Fleet Command. For now, confirm destruction of Blue and Red Squadrons and meet up with civilian cluster. The Cylons seem to be picking off everything military at that altitude, and the civvies might provide you some cover. Over.”

“Actual, are you suggesting I use…human shields?” A pause. “Over.”

“Negative, Sparks. If the Cylons want something from us, they’ll avoid collateral damage. Over.”

Mako looked at the continuing flashes on Republica. “I’m not sure they do, Actual.”

Colonial Heavy 798
2119

Tenzin knocked on the door to the cockpit of the spaceliner. An hour ago, the captain had announced over the intercom that space traffic control had diverted their flight and that they would not be arriving at the Republica City Spaceport until some undefined time in the future. Now, passengers were hearing conflicting reports over the wireless, and a few individuals were beginning to panic over the possible implications.

“Excuse me,” Tenzin said when the captain opened the door. “May I come in?”

The captain nodded, closing the door behind them.

“One of the passengers has a wireless. They heard that Republica had been nuked.” The captain said nothing. “It has, hasn’t it?”

The captain nodded stiffly, looking at a printout. “Republica, and three other worlds.”

Tenzin took the printout from the man’s shaking hand and read. The captain looked around for a moment, then stilled his hand on the back of his chair. “I guess…I guess I need to go out there. Make an announcement.”

“I’ll do it,” said Tenzin. “I’m a member of the Quorum. It’s…it’s my responsibility. While I’m doing that—see if you can contact anyone in the government. See if there’s anything we can do to help.”

The captain nodded again, and Tenzin left the cabin with the printout. He entered the main passenger cabin and cleared his throat loudly for attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have some bad news,” he said. “I’ve spoken with the captain, and he confirmed for me that there has indeed been a Cylon attack. Furthermore,” the group of passengers began to stir, “there are confirmed reports of nuclear detonations on the planets Republica, Geanon, Pyron, and Glacon Major. I am trying—” the crowd erupted with questions.

“I’m afraid that’s all we know,” he finally managed to communicate. “I’m trying to contact the government; in the meantime, we may be on this ship for some time. I’d like volunteers to take stock of our emergency supplies, and to get a headcount of people onboard and their useful skills.”

“Wait a minute,” said one man in a bright blue shirt, rising from his seat. “Who put you in charge?”

“That’s a very good question,” said Tenzin, drawing to his full height before the man. “The answer is no one. But this is a government vessel, and I am the senior-most government official onboard, which puts me in charge. Now, why don’t you go down to the cargo hold, and see about converting it into a living space?”

The man grumbled, but went.

A quarter hour of responsibility-delegation and question-answering later, Tenzin finally escaped to the cockpit again. “Is there any further word?” he asked the captain.

“I’m afraid not,” said the captain. The copilot nodded. “We haven’t been able to contact anyone in the government. Space traffic control has gone completely quiet, just a repeater broadcast telling all ships to stay in deep space and avoid Cylon units. It doesn’t look like they’re sparing civilian ships.”

Tenzin let out a deep breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “How bad is it?”

“We checked on the navigational telescope. Republica’s lit up like a solstice tree. The nukes don’t stop coming. I…I don’t think they’re willing to accept any sort of surrender.”

Tenzin stood for a moment before speaking. He wondered if the fallout shelter on the island would do any good. His father had had it built, but when was the last time they’d refreshed the stock? And that was assuming the Cylons didn’t bomb a strategically-meaningless population subcenter…

“I think we should heed the broadcast’s instructions,” he said at last. “Can we get in touch with other ships, and get into interplanetary space?”

“We can,” said the pilot, “but if the Cylons pick up our exhaust…”

“Can we travel on low throttle?”

“We can. I don’t know about any other ships.”

“Well, see what we can do. I’m going to let the other passengers know. Please keep me informed if you hear anything new.”

The captain nodded, and Tenzin excuse himself. In the hallway, he pulled a few pictures from his pocket. Three he could barely bring himself to look at. Staring at the final one, he began to speak.

“Lords of Kobol, hear my prayer…”

Chapter Text

Viper 7242 – High Republica Orbit
2134

“Elementica, this is Sparks. Have rendezvoused with Blue and Red Squadrons’ last known trajectories, nothing here but debris. Will continue to civilian formation, ETA twenty minutes.”

“Copy that, Sparks. Blue and Red Squadrons destroyed, meeting civilians within twenty minutes. Over.”

“Correct, Elementica. Sparks out.”

Mako broke off and avoided the Viper-shredding field of debris which had once been his comrades. Once he was safely away, he toggled the awkward manual controls for the wireless, dialing to civilian frequencies. There was a lot of static, plus a few garbled or frantic voices. The signal-finder wobbled a bit before locking onto the cluster of civilian ships ahead of him.

“Civilian vessels, this is Colonial Fleet Viper 7242, please respond.”

Nothing.

“Civilian vessels, this is Colonial Viper 7242, please respond, over.”

“—iper 7242,” broke through the static. “This is Colonial Heavy 798. Gods, am I glad to hear your voice.”

“Colonial Heavy 798, glad to make contact. This is Captain Mako Anthros speaking, callsign ‘Sparks,” and I’ll be your escort for the time being. Over.”

“Sparks, do you know if there’s a space traffic control plan in the works? When and where will we land? Over.”

“798, Sparks, that’s a negative. The tactical situation is a bit of a mess, and all I’m picking up is a lot of confusing chatter. My squadron was in flight when the attack came and was destroyed before I could tag up. I’m here on my commander’s authority until the fleet gives my battlestar an assignment. Over.”

“Copy that, Sparks. Until then, we’re glad you’re sticking around. Makes me feel better just knowing you’re out there. Over.”

“Well, don’t get too comfortable. This old junker I’m in was meant for show, not combat. If we run into a problem, well, I’ll do what I can to protect you, but the first sign of trouble, you pour on the speed and you run. Do you copy that? Over.”

“Don’t you worry about that, Captain. I’ve got my hand on the throttle and it hasn’t left since I got that first message. Colonial Heavy 798, out.”

Battlestar Elementica – Portside Hangar Deck
2145

“That’s the last rad buffer,” said Skoochy from his position under the tail of Viper 8547, voice muffled by his respirator. He extricated himself and the white block of high-absorbance synthetic, which he immediately but gingerly placed in a waiting container. Another deckhand waved him over with a rad-counter and gave him a thumbs up. Skoochy doffed the respirator and his gloves into the bin. Two deckhands sealed the container and carried it off.

From the other end of the hangar deck, Asami’s voice cut through the chatter. “First hour’s up. Anti-radiation doses, everyone!”

The regular noise stopped and was instantly replaced by the metallic clang of a hundred medkits opening simultaneously, along with a decent amount of cursing.

“Frak,” said Korra as she sunk the syringe deep into her upper arm, then pulled it free and tossed the cartridge into a regular waste bin. She reached for the pre-flight checklist. Asami had distributed copies of the updated procedures she’d worked up for Mako’s air show tour to the Viper wing, which had further modified it for recommissioning. Korra crossed off a hand-written line about removing the rad buffers. “Okay, next up, we need to get the reactor controls running again.”

Skoochy had already climbed in the cockpit and begun fiddling with the switches. “We’re at 80% power already, thermal efficiency not great but climbing. 30% right now.”

“Got it,” said Korra, making a note. “It’ll be higher once we get the tylium loaded to act as coolant.” She looked up. Tuyen was about halfway down the hangar deck, currently filling up the Viper that Jinora had brought over. It would be a while before she made it down to Korra’s section. “Okay, leave it at that, but don’t let me forget to come back. Let’s see about getting the DRADIS warmed up. Do these computers still use tubes?”

“I don’t think—” Skoochy began, but was cut off by the PA system crackling to life.

“This is the Commander,” Beifong’s voice echoed through the hangar deck. “We have updates on the tactical situation. Admiral Iroh has assembled a group of battlestars defending against the main Cylon battle group near Geanon, which we intend to join within five hours. The fleet is taking heavy losses, including at least ten additional battlestars over the last two hours. The Colonies cannot spare us, and we will not let them down. The Cylons are waging total war. Preliminary reports indicate that a thermonuclear device in the fifty-megaton range was detonated over Republica City ninety minutes ago. Nuclear detonations have also been reported on the planets Pyron, Geanon, Helion, and Glacon Major. No reports on casualties, but they will be high. Mourn the dead later. Right now, the best thing we can do is get this ship into the fight.” A long pause. “That is all.”

Korra and Skoochy sat still for a moment. “How many people in Republica City alone?” he asked.

“Seventeen million,” Korra answered quietly. She gathered herself, then raised her voice. “You heard the Old Lady, people! Back to work! Let’s show the toasters we’re not gonna take this lying down!”

“Yes, sir!”

Combat Information Center
2201

“We still haven’t received definite orders from the fleet, but the main fight seems to be backing away from Geanon and into open space,” said Saikhan. The commander and XO were hunched over the CIC information table. A specialist handed off a printout, which the Colonel glanced at before reaching for a wax pencil. He marked a spot between the plotted positions of Geanon and Republica. “The general trajectory seems to be moving in roughly our direction, though it’s not clear that that’s a tactical victory for our side. The Cylons have greater maneuverability than we do, so pulling us out of the gravity well is a bigger cost to us than for them.”

“It brings the fight closer to us,” said Lin. She tapped a point in space. “From what Toza says, we ought to be able to fire up in about three hours, which would put our approximate intercept point here.”

“A whole lot of toasters between here and there,” said Saikhan. “No baseships, but plenty of Raiders. But that doesn’t address our bigger problem. The orbital munitions dumps were all hit or depleted right after the initial attacks. I checked the dumps on Republica’s moons, and no joy there, either.”

“Anything further afield?”

“Lin, be serious! It’d take us at least a day to reach any planet besides Geanon at full thrust, and the Cylons would see our exhaust trail and jump on top of us at any point along the way. We’re sitting turtle-ducks as it is.”

“How bad is it?”

Saikhan sorted through the growing pile of printouts, laminated pages pulled from binders, and hand-written notes till he found the sheet he wanted. “Quartermaster reports that we have one pallet of barrage munitions, which will run us less than thirty seconds of sustained broadside firing. Only ten if we need to protect against a full sphere. Fifteen decoy drones and thirty comms pods, five with FTL capability. There’s chaff and flare cannisters for our Raptors, enough for…oh, call it six or seven engagements. Viper munitions we have on hand, about twenty pallets’ worth. Toza tells me we have enough feedstock for the fabbers to turn out those more-or-less indefinitely, thanks to the museum renovations. That about does it.”

“What came up from the museum?”

Saikhan looked up and down the sheet in consternation, before flipping it over to find a hand-written addendum. He let out a pained laugh. “You’re really going to like this: we have exactly one live round for the main gun.”

“We’d better make it count, then. Could we fab more?”

“I doubt it, too many electronics in the detonator to do it quick enough. The exhibit for the museum hadn’t been safed yet, so it’s still usable. QM already had it loaded. In addition, we got lucky with a few old-school drones and a couple of rounds for the dorsal guns. Thank the gods for inter-generation inter-operability standards.”

Lin didn’t tell Saikhan that her mother had been adamant about that during her years flying a desk. Instead, she asked, “How many rounds can we get off?”

“I think it’s shots, not salvos. Assuming none of these are duds, we can fire seven shots.”

“What about the railguns?”

“We’ve got about a dozen shots for those, but fabbing more is a piece of cake. Toza already put crews on it. The real problem is that those guns were already being dismounted, so we only have a limited range of fire. They’ll help with any Raiders that show up in the fields of view, but I don’t know if we can put enough rounds in the air to stand up against a baseship.”

“Get crews on it.”

“Lin, we’re over a thousand men short as it is. I’ve got marines and MPs doing everything they can, but we need skilled hands for that and the engineering crews are all tied up with the Viper overhauls or getting the engines back up. Everything has to be checked, if the malfunction reports are correct.”

“Frak,” said Lin. Her mask was slipping, and she knew it. “Saul, double check the munitions depots. We need ordnance, dammit!” She thought for a moment. “How many nuclear warheads do we have left?”

“I already had the same idea. We have twelve warheads, with delivery systems for ten more.”

“I doubt we’ll find any. Top-secured munition dumps are prime targets, and the Admiral gave full release for nuclear missions over an hour ago.”

“Can he do that without Presidential approval?”

“I’m not sure there’s a President left to answer to. Double check the munitions depots. Make sure our nukes are ready to go, and get all the other ordnance we have loaded. Report back as soon as you can.”

“Yes, sir,” said Saikhan, picking up a few sheets and heading towards the weapons control station.

Lin remained, reviewing the situation. The picture that had come together before her wasn’t good, and getting worse every moment. A specialist passed another fleet report. Three more battlestars destroyed. She pulled over the command chart and crossed three more names off the list, including the rear admiral commanding the battlestar Agni. The list of flag officers was getting awfully thin.

“Gods, they took out over half the fleet in three hours,” Lin realized aloud.

She reached for the phone and called the flight deck. “CO to flight leader.”

A pause before a response. “Flight leader speaking.”

“Lieutenant, how much longer till your birds are in the air?”

“I think we can have the first one out in around thirty minutes, sir, but the whole wing will take at least two more hours.”

“We might not have two hours, Lieutenant. I need the whole wing to fly point defense till the XO finds us some munitions.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible, sir. Maybe with more hands…”

“That’s the phrase of the night, Lieutenant. Do your best.”

“Yes, sir!” The line went dead.

Lin looked back at the board. Closing her eyes and rubbing the bridge of her nose, she wondered when, if ever, she would get to go to bed. Odds weren’t great for surviving the night, let alone getting a good night’s sleep.

“I’m not sure our best is going to be good enough,” she murmured, and turned to give another spate of orders.

Colonial Heavy 798 – High Republica Orbit
2227

“Mr. Gyatso?” a flight attendant asked as Tenzin went over the list of emergency supplies the passengers had collected. “The captain would like to speak with you.”

“Get these secured,” Tenzin told one of the passengers, and went to follow the attendant. They passed through a lounge filled with confused faces, and then into the flight compartment.

“We’ve picked up a new transmission,” the captain explained once the cockpit door was closed. “We thought you might know what it means.”

“Let’s hear it,” said Tenzin.

The captain handed Tenzin a headset. Tenzin put it on.

“—cial Colonial Government Broadcast,” a pre-recorded voice came though. “All ministers and officials should now go to Case Orange. Repeat: This is an official Colonial Government Broadcast. All ministers and officials should now go to Case Orange. Repeat: This is…”

Tenzin removed the headset and handed it back to the pilot. “It’s an automated message.” He took a deep breath. “It’s intended to go out if the President, Vice President, and most of the cabinet are dead or incapacitated. I need you to send back my code on the exact same frequency.”

“Just a moment,” said the pilot. He settled back into his chair and tapped at the controls. “Okay, ready.”

Tenzin listed out his alphanumeric code from memory. “It’ll take a few hours to collate the results. Until we receive a response, you need to continue monitoring the broadcast.”

“We can do that,” said the captain. The co-pilot nodded.

“While I’m here,” asked Tenzin, “where are we on preparing for rescue operations?”

“We’ve contacted four other ships outside our cluster, which we’ll be meeting up with in about an hour. The Viper I told you about is still with us, no new orders. He says things are…pretty bad.”

“I understand. We’ll be ready for onboarding before we meet up. Have we heard anything from the other planets?”

“A couple of ships jumped from Beta. They’ve grouped up in deep space. I’d like to meet up with them if we can. I haven’t caught much from Geanon or Kyoshi. I don’t imagine many vessels can get through the fighting, except—”

“We need to evacuate the non-FTL ships,” said Tenzin abruptly.

“Mr. Gyatso?” the co-pilot said.

“Look, we’re vulnerable out here. We have a single Viper my father could have flown, and that’s the sum total of our defenses. The Cylons are ravaging the fleet, and we don’t know how long it will be before they turn on us. We need to get everyone out of here as quickly as possible, and find somewhere to hide.”

“Hide?”

“Yes, hide. Unless you have a better idea?”

“Uh, no, sir,” said the co-pilot.

“We’ll signal the sublights and let them know, sir.”

“Establish a rendezvous point in deep space,” ordered Tenzin, “as far away from the Geanon and Republica as we practically can. We don’t want to attract the Cylons just from proximity.”

“No sir!”

Battlestar Elementica – Portside Hangar Deck
2239

“First Vipers in the tubes!” Korra announced to the crews on the hangar deck to general cheers. “Rocky, Gonzo, you’re flying support on the first CAP! Get out there ASAP, but double-check your avionics and propulsion before launch.”

“Yes, sir!” Bolin and his ECO shouted back. Asami put a few deckhands on getting the Raptor to the lift, and the remainder turned back to work on the Vipers. Korra’s had a faulty sensor in the engine, or else engine problems itself. The main turbine would catch nicely during warm-up tests, but the bleed off that ran the fuel pump was consistently coughing. She hoped it was just an issue with the propellant flow that would disappear once the throttle was on full, but until her Viper was ready to go in the launch tube itself, there wasn’t much she could do about it.

“Skoochy, can you check the aux fuel line connectors?” she asked as she climbed up into the cockpit. “If this pump starts coughing in flight, I’m going to need WEP to keep flying.”

“You got it, sir,” the deckhand answered, opening an access panel on the back compartment. “Gods, it’s like a Cylon took a shit in here.”

“How’s that?” Korra said absent-mindedly, flipping to the next page in the checklist. There were a lot of thrust and attitude control actuators to warm up and check.

“Lines everywhere, no sense of organization. What kind of connectors does the aux line use?”

“Should be standard hex-tights. Do what you can in there. Is there a constrictor at one end?”

“Uh…I think so.”

“Make sure it’s got enough power to form the Venturi. Frak, there’s a lot of jets, aren’t there?”

“Damn thing’s crawling with them. Why can’t the Mark II use wheels like a normal spacecraft?”

“Greater redundancy. The Mark II has wheels, but they’re for controlling rates, not pointing.”

There was the sound of flesh hitting metal and Skoochy swore. “This thing uses manual control?”

“The manual says it’s manual.”

“I hate you, Lieutenant.”

“Just doing my job.” Korra looked at her watch. “Frak, another hour’s up. Get out of there and take your rad dose.”

Skoochy dutifully injected himself and handed up a fresh syringe. “How long till it’s not hot in here?”

“At least a couple of hours, assuming we don’t have to open any of the reactors up. At least the activation products have short half-lives. We could be dealing with something long-lived. Still, the Doc will probably have us on the pills for the next month at least.”

“I think I’d rather take the radiation. At least if I’m shitting myself every five minutes there’d be a good reason.”

“I’ll take the pills,” said Korra, “for the times when I’m not shitting myself.”

Combat Information Center
2303

“Sir, I have your hourly report from Captain Anthros.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gommu,” said Lin, taking the printout. Mako was still alive, by the looks of it, and coordinating with the civilian ships on…rescue efforts? Lin put it out of her mind; until she had orders, that was good enough. Aang’s old Mark II couldn’t make it back to Elementica in time to rendezvous before departure, anyway.

Gommu was still standing there where she looked back up. “Was there something else?”

“Sir, I’ve noticed Cylon formations, either splitting off from the main engagements or jumping in, which seem to be patrolling space more generally. I think they might be on search and destroy runs.”

“It’s possible. Thank you for informing me.” Lin reached for the phone and dialed the engine room. “Mr. Toza, where are we at on propulsion?”

“We’ll be up for full circum-planetary maneuverability in thirty minutes, sir,” reported the battlestar’s chief engineer. “Give us another hour at least before we can break Republica orbit and make any kind of time.”

“Understood. Thank you, Major.” She hung up the receiver. “Helmsman! Prepare for possible evasive maneuvers. Mr. Gommu! Keep any eye out for any Cylon formations heading our way, and let me know immediately.” She paused for a moment, looking up at the DRADIS console. “And tell Lieutenant Raavansen to get me some more birds in the air!”

Chapter Text

Battlestar Elementica – Combat Information Center
2331

“Sir, we’ve picked up a new formation of Cylons approaching our general vicinity,” Lieutenant Gommu informed Commander Beifong. “There appear to be several thrusts. I think one is heading towards us. ETA twenty minutes.”

“Inform the Flight Leader and put the CAP on alert.”

Long minutes dragged by as Lin watched the DRADIS console. The unidentified formation bore on Elementica. No civilian or military ship would approach continuously without slowing or hailing, not like this. It had to be the Cylons, and by now there could be no doubt that they had picked up the battlestar for what it was: a high-value target.

She just wondered what the rest of the Cylons were up to.

Viper 7242 – High Republica Orbit
2340

“Zaofu Voyager, this is Colonial Heavy 798. Say again the status of your FTL drive? Over.”

Mako listened as the spaceliner’s captain coordinated with the other civilian vessels parked around Republica. There was relatively little he could do, less familiar as he was with the civilian space traffic rules. Instead, he focused on the DRADIS screen. He didn’t like what he saw.

“Colonial Heavy 798, this is Zaofu Voyager. FTL drive fueled and operational. Can accept up to five hundred additional passengers, if that’s where you’re going with this. Over.”

“Affirmative, Zaofu Voyager. We’ve got a pair of sublights en route from Geanon which should have trajectory-matching solutions for you. Can you confirm, over?”

Mako spotted the two sublights amid the mess of contacts. They would begin their braking burns in an hour or so. There was something a lot closer that caught his attention. Mako reached for the throttle.

“Confirmed, Colonial Heavy 798. Beginning approach burn now. Uh, Colonial Heavy, we’ve got a new bogey approaching your approximate position. Can you get a transponder reading? Over.”

“Reading new bogey, Zaofu Voyager. No ID at this end either.”

The civvies had spotted it, too. Good.

A new voice came on the line, the spaceliner’s copilot. “Got to be a Cylon.”

“Uh, right.” It didn’t sound like the captain knew what to do. Mako didn’t really blame him; a simple glance at the DRADIS screen was enough to show that running would do no good. The Cylon would match long before spaceliner could accelerate away.

There! Right at the edge of visual range! Mako thumbed over the weapons release.

“Where the hells did our escort go?”

Mako saw the incoming Cylon drop a missile, and training took over.

The Cylon sped off towards a cluster of communications satellites with little to no tactical value. Just as well. Mako would have enough trouble stopping just the one missile.

The Viper’s actuators screamed as he spun the ship around all three axes and hit the throttle, the three main engines roaring to life behind him. A Viper carries relatively little fuel in the vacuum of space, but the radiation of the reactor superheated the tylium, driving it to tremendous exhaust velocities even before ionization caused it to decay into its component atoms. The Viper pulled about eight gravities in linear acceleration as Mako tried to cross paths with the missile.

He achieved the intercept, only to see that his firing solution would put rounds right through the unarmored civilian vessels.

“Guess we’re doing this the hard way,” he muttered, and jammed the button for War Emergency Power.

The reactor pulled the last control rod all the way out, turbopumps screeching as they tried to provide enough tylium to avoid melting the main heat exchanger. No joy, the designers had known it was impossible. The Mark II could provide that kind of power for only a few minutes before the thrust chambers would vaporize, and the entire Viper with them.

A few minutes was all he needed.

The Viper broke past the missile, painting the biggest infrared target Mako could imagine right on his back. He bore down along its original trajectory, Colonial Heavy 798 and the rest growing from pinpricks to visible bodies in real time. As he began to make out surface features, he jammed the stick to the side, the Viper’s structure groaning as he tore off in a new direction.

For a few eternal seconds, he watched the DRADIS screen to see if the missile followed.

It did. Mako yawed the Viper a full pi, killed the throttle, and tapped the weapons release. The missile was still bearing directly down on him and closing fast, but now had a minefield of 30mm shells to navigate through.

It almost made it. Mako could see the target against the stars when it erupted into a blinding fireball. Debris whacked the nose of the Viper, tossing it end over end.

Tylium slosh indicators pinned at the high values and the Viper shook as the reactor control circuits slammed the rods back into place. Voltage and wattage plummeted. The main flight computer readout sputtered and died, several auxiliary systems flickering or following suit.

Mako pressed the transit button. “Krypter, krypter, krypter. This is Sparks to Colonial Heavy 798. I am declaring an emergency. Flight systems offline. Request assistance.”

Battlestar Elementica – Combat Information Center
2344

The Cylon formation was getting close, and still hadn’t broken off. Ready or not, the battlestar was about to see action.

“Saul,” said Lin, “let the crew know what we’re dealing with.”

Colonel Saikhan picked up the receiver and dialed for a ship-wide address. “Attention. Inbound DRADIS contact, rated highly-probable enemy fighters. All hands, stand by for combat maneuvers.”

A few more seconds dragged by before Lin spoke again. “Launch Vipers.”

“Vipers, clear to launch,” said Kina from the comms station.

Portside Launch Bay
2346

Jinora counted her heartbeats as the Viper, which had once belonged to a pilot with the callsign “Pipsqueak", slid into the launch bay. The number she got seemed too high, so she began counting again. Before the minute was up, the launch officer interrupted.

“Ensign, this is shooter. I have control. Stand by.”

The launch tube door slammed shut, and the pumps vented most of the air. Only the vibrations of the launch catapult provided any external noise besides the systems of the fighter itself, and the comms channels in her ear. For the moment, only the launch officer’s channel was open.

“Viper 1104 cleared forward,” said the officer. Jinora glanced down at the Viper’s control panel, following along with the abbreviated pre-flight checklist. “Nav-con green. Interval check.” Jinora gave a thumbs up. “Mag-cat ready. Tube door open.” The Viper began to shake as the engines heated up. “Thrust positive, and good luck.”

Acceleration slammed Jinora’s body back into the seat. The long launch tube flew by the cockpit windows, and then she was out in open space. The stars were deceptively still, but she knew that she was hurtling away from Elementica at hundreds of meters per second.

She took a few experimental maneuvers. The Mark II handled about the same as the Mark VII, but it wasn’t exactly the same. More like the trainers at the Fleet Academy, if she had to say. That would make things easier for her, but possibly harder for the other pilots.

Aside from the throttle and stick, the controls were wildly different. There was no mistaking the DRADIS screen or targeting sight, but she had to hunt for a few indicators. Worst of all, the Mark II lacked lidar proximity sensors to let her know if there were objects beneath or behind the Viper. Instead, the pilot was expected to rely on mirrors mounted at the edge of the canopy to increase the field of view. It was better than nothing, but the underside and aft still presented large blind-spots which could kill in a complex fight.

There were only five Raiders on DRADIS, closing fast. Lords willing, it would not prove to be a complex fight.

“Interval…check.”

Korra gave a thumbs up to the launch officer, confirming that her instruments showed acceptable oscillation frequencies in the propulsion system. She chewed her lips waiting for the procedure to finish and the acceleration to hit.

“Thrust positive. Stand by.” A pause. “Thrusters fluctuating. Abort takeoff.”

“Elementica, Viper 8547, copy that. Throttle down, tube safe.”

“Roger, Viper.”

Abort procedure complete, Korra turned to look through three panes of glass. “Frak!” she yelled to no one in particular. “Get me out of here!”

As soon as the tube door opened, Asami was yelling at deckhands to get the Viper out where they could work on it. “Let’s get the bird out! Tuyen, Skoochy, get the nose. Next two, wing push. Last two, guides.”

The Viper pulled back out on the main hangar floor. Asami strode around the nose towards the portside access panel. If there were thrust fluctuations, that was probably the side to check. Deckhands were already on it.

Korra threw forward the canopy, pulled off her helmet. “Three frakking aborts, Chief?”

“We’re on it, sir,” said Asami. She wanted to say something else entirely, but Skocinus called from his place on the Viper’s wing.

“It’s the pressure reg valve again.”

“We should pull it,” said Tuyen.

“We can’t, we don’t have a spare.”

The deck trembled as the battlestar began evasive maneuvers. Over the intercom, Gommu read out direction and range of the incoming Raiders.

“Let’s go!” shouted Korra from the cockpit.

“Come on, let’s go,” Asami encouraged the deck hands. Skocinus and Tuyen were still arguing about the pressure regulator valve.

“We should pull the valve and bypass the whole system,” said Tuyen.

“The relay’ll blow!” protested Skocinus.

“It’ll hold long enough!”

“Just pull the valve!” Asami ordered.

Viper 1104
2349

Jinora and her wingman closed on the pair of Cylon fighters approaching the bow of the battlestar. The ship itself was over ten kilometers aft, still visible clearly in the mirrors at the right angles. Another pair of Vipers was also visible, but wouldn’t close until after she was forced to engage the Cylons.

“This is Gyatso. Engaging first Raider.”

“Engaging second,” her wingman echoed.

Jinora opened fire, jiggling the stick and throttle to keep the Raider in her targeting indicator. The Cylon was…well, the Cylon was good. She’d expected a machine to perform well, but not like this. She must have run off a thousand rounds already and seemed no closer to hitting it. Oddly enough, it hadn’t fired a single round at her yet. It had to see her, the way it was weaving in and out of her tracers, but she couldn’t quite see how.

Then, all of a sudden, she could.

The Cylon opened a visor, a red eyeband sweeping back and forth the same way she had seen in the old ground battle footage at the Academy. There wasn’t a Centurion inside the Raider; the Centurion was the Raider.

In her peripheral vision, the rad counter picked up slightly, though the indicator light said it was at the wrong end of the spectrum. Aside from that, the Viper seemed…fine.

“Elementica, this is Gyatso. He’s irradiating some sort of weapon at me, but it doesn’t seem to have any effect.” She jammed the weapons release again, aiming right for the red eye. Her shells found their mark, and the Raider exploded. “All Vipers, systems are go!”

Wingman following in the wake, they turned to join up with the rest of the squadron. There were still three more Raiders to destroy.

Portside Hangar Deck
2350

Korra listened to the other pilots’ transmissions, fidgeting in the cockpit seat as deckhands rushed around. It wasn’t going great out there. At least one Viper hit, through Hardtack was still speaking, so it couldn’t have been too catastrophic. Still, Korra felt helpless sitting on the hangar deck.

“Come on!” she shouted again.

“Ready, ready!” came Tuyen’s voice after an eternal moment.

“All right, clear the tube!” Asami called out. “Let’s go. Get her in! Move, move!”

Thirty seconds later, Korra was barreling down the launch tube towards empty space. The Cylon-Viper dogfight was now well behind the battlestar, which was doing its best to outrun the Raiders. Korra banked port and laid on the throttle, rapidly closing the distance.

The Cylons were playing cat-owl and sparrow-mouse with the Vipers. No machine would run from a fight, especially not one which could dodge around the trails of tracers like that. No, the Cylons had to be toying with her pilots, wearing them out and testing their defenses.

As Korra reached the engagement zone, she picked out one Raider—keeping the rest located in her mind—and bore down on it.

“Catowl, Avatar. Corner bandit with Plinker. Coming in from north!”

“Avatar, Catowl, copy that!”

Between the three Vipers, they covered the three dimensions, and the Raider exploded. Korra watched a piece of debris carve a new scratch in the Viper’s well-worn nose. “Regroup for the last two. Form up stern and aft.” A Viper exploded to her left. “Hold it together, guys!”

The Vipers began to form up, but the Cylons had other ideas. One dove straight for main formation, forcing them to scatter. Korra took a hit on her wing, but none of the main systems indicators turned red.

“I’m alright,” she cried, already flipping over. In the mirror, she saw one of her crewmates wasn’t so lucky.

The other Raider broke off and began accelerating straight for the battlestar. Korra pitched her Viper and jammed the throttle, determined to put herself between the two ships.

Combat Information Center
2353

A new type of beeping joined the chorus in the CIC. Lieutenant Gommu identified it for those unfamiliar. “Radiological alarm.”

“He’s got nukes,” said Saikhan, more to himself than anyone else. He picked up the phone for a ship-wide PA.

Viper 8547

The Cylon Raider launched three missiles just seconds after Korra overtook it. She flipped again and lit up the guns.

Two missiles exploded, and the Raider itself was caught in the crossfire. Korra didn’t feel like celebrating; the third missile slipped past her and was already out of targeting range toward Elementica by the time she was turned towards it.

“Elementica, you’ve got an inbound nuke. All Vipers, break break break!”

Combat Information Center

“Brace for contact, my friend,” Lin said quietly as the final seconds ticked down.

“Haven’t heard that in a long time,” said Saikhan, eyes likewise glued to the DRADIS console.

One of the officers on deck was praying quietly. Lin wondered if she ought to be doing the same.

Chapter Text

Viper 8547
0003, Day 2

“Elementica, Avatar. The forward section of the port flight pod has sustained heavy damage. Elementica, you’ve got violent decompressions all along the port flight pod. Do you read me? Elementica?”

Korra watched from her Viper as fires in exposed compartments trailed off into the vacuum. The comms channel was still mostly static, but the battlestar’s far-more-sensitive antenna arrays might be able to pick up her report. The radiation levels were already falling as the remaining cloud of energetic particles that hadn’t instantly taken off for the cosmic background began to make their own, individual orbits about Republica. The old-fashioned needles of the Mark II’s radiation indicators were finally edging out of the red. Korra had made three passes before they had unpinned from the far values.

She took another look at the battlestar’s remaining operational flight pod and broke away, back towards the merely dangerous environment of high orbit. She and the rest of the squadron might be staying in space for some time.

Colonial Heavy 798
0005

“Easy, easy does it…there!” Mako told the co-pilot of the government-chartered spaceliner as he aimed its cargo airlock towards the crippled Viper. “Hold that attitude, and move in the positive zee bee direction. Got it?”

“Copy that, Sparks. Maneuvering along the positive body vertical axis on my mark…mark.”

The cargo airlock doors descended around the Viper, which still had a slight roll that Mako had not been able to cancel out. The airlock doors closed.

“Okay, hold it, how much lead do you need before turning on the mag and grav?”

“Call it two seconds.”

“Alright, I’ll signal when the Viper is upright,” Mako replied. “Okay, okay, okay, now!”

The right aft landing leg hit first, but the Viper settled on its suspension in what appeared to be one piece. Gravity followed a moment later, and Mako sagged into his seat. It was well past usual taps, and coupled with the after-effects of adrenaline he could easily drop off right there. No time for that, though: there was a war to fight.

The airlock pressurized and a couple of deckhands came forward to guide the Viper out of the bay. Mako opened the canopy and hopped out, landing with a loud clang on the metal plating. Together, the three got the Viper tucked away in the cargo hold.

He had just finished safing the engine when a man he recognized as a photographer from the retirement ceremony came clattering down the ladder from the passenger decks.

“Captain, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” said Mako. He handed off his helmet collar to one of the deckhands and started off in the other direction down the hold. There were a pair of cylindrical machines just past the Viper, which he recognized from his brief stint as Chief Sato’s division officer.

The man behind was still talking, trying to establish a personal connection, but gave it up when Mako came alongside the equipment. “What are those things?”

“Electric field generators from Elementica,” Mako answered. He tapped the control panel, and it came to life. “Still operational, too.”

“Really? That’s very interesting,” the photographer said, clearly not interested at all. “Captain, I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Well, first thing, I’d feel a lot better if someone qualified were in charge around here.”

“Is there something wrong with your pilot?”

“No, it’s just that he’s not the one giving orders.”

Mako took another look at the far-more-interesting coils, then turned back towards the ladder.

“This is…it’s a bad situation, isn’t it, Captain?”

“Yes, it is,” Mako stressed, wasting no time. They climbed the ladder to the passenger decks, and the photographer led him to a lounge compartment that was beginning to look like an office. Someone had set up a coffee table of sorts, which was littered with printouts, checklists, and a few spaceliner paper cups, clearly drained. Three people were sitting in acceleration couches, which had been rearranged around the table.

The boy with round glasses taking notes was clearly some sort of assistant. He looked vaguely familiar, probably also from the retirement ceremony. The spaceliner’s captain was instantly recognizable from his uniform. The final person was Tenzin Gyatso. The Representative was sitting there in his shirt sleeves, tie loose, describing a way to re-arrange the cargo space for some purpose Mako had clearly missed.

“Mr. Gyatso,” said Mako as they entered the room.

“Mako,” said Tenzin, rising in greeting. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

“Likewise, sir. Captain, my thanks to your copilot and deck crew for getting me secured.”

“Of course,” said the spaceliner’s captain. “You saved our lives, it’s the least we could do.”

“If I could ask one more favor, I’m overdue for my hourly report to Elementica. Could I borrow your transmitter for that purpose?”

“I suppose, Captain, but I’m not sure what good that would do. We observed a nuclear detonation at the battlestar’s last known position about fifteen minutes ago.” He handed Mako a printout.

“Right,” said Mako, taking the sheet. He read the description generated by the navigation computer. “Based on this apparent magnitude and distance, I would estimate the blast was in the…fifty kiloton range, most likely. So, can you bring me up to speed on the situation here?”

Tenzin blinked, staring at Mako as if he were a stranger, not one of the protégés he had mentored off the streets of Republica City and into a career of public service. Finally, the Representative shook his head and spoke, clear and level. “We’re preparing for rescue operations. Captain, start the cargo transfer and prep bay three for survivors.”

“Yes, sir,” said the spaceliner captain, and left the compartment.

“I’m sorry,” said Mako. “Which survivors?”

“As soon as the attacks began, the government ordered a full stop on civilian vessels, so we’ve got hundreds of stranded ships in this solar system. Some are lost, some are damaged, some are losing power. We have room on this ship for five hundred people, and we’re going to need every bit of it.”

The photographer, whom Mako had forgotten about, spoke up. “But we don’t even know what the tactical situation is out there!” he protested.

“The tactical situation is that we’re losing, right, Captain?”

Mako hated to admit it, but there was no denying the facts. “Right.”

“So we pick up as many people as we can,” Tenzin continued, “We try to find a safe haven to put down. Mako, I’d like to you look over the navigation charts for a likely place to hide from the Cylons. Can you do that?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“That’s all for now.” Tenzin picked up his suit jacket and left the cabin.

“You two know each other?” the photographer demanded.

“Representative Gyatso sponsored me at the Fleet Academy,” Mako replied. “What did you think that photo op was about?”

“Um…”

Mako’s face contorted into a smile, the first in many hours. “The Representative’s in charge.”

Tenzin had no destination in mind when he left the compartment, other than to get away from…what? He wasn’t sure. The reality of it wasn’t going anywhere.

He found himself locked in the cramped spaceliner bathroom, taking long shuddering breaths. If the battlestar had been nuked, if Mako confirmed it, if Elementica had been destroyed, then, then…

“I’m sorry, Dad,” he said quietly. “I tried to keep them all safe. I really did.”

He pulled from the pocket of his cloak the picture of his children, and cried quietly for a long time.

Battlestar Elementica – Combat Information Center
0009

“Radiation levels have dropped to within norms,” said Lin. “The hull plating kept out most of the hard stuff.”

The CIC was still a mess, but order was beginning to re-emerge. No one had needed a trip to sick bay, which was just as well. A medic was patching up the last of the superficial injuries. Those who had made it out relatively-unscathed and those already treated were doing their best to put out the fires, both literal and figurative, around the ship. Lin counter herself in the former category, but knew she would have dark bruises later from where she’d hit the information table during the blast.

A new set of diagrams and printouts covered the table, mostly regarding the state of the battlestar itself. The outside was no longer a concern for the time being; every man and woman was needed for the job of saving the ship.

“Sir, port stern thrusters are locked open,” Gommu reported from the aft tactical station. “All bow thrusters nonresponsive. We’re in an uncontrolled lateral counterclockwise spin.”

“Send a DC party up to Aux Control and have them clamp the fuel line to the stern thrusters,” ordered Lin.

Saikhan was reviewing the structural damage, taking new reports from specialists every minute. “Okay, we have got buckled supports along the port flight pod, and chain reaction decompressions occurring everywhere forward of frame two—” he paused to consult a printout “—two fifty.”

“That’s a problem,” said Lin. “Saul, I need you to take personal command of the DC units. Get those fires put out.”

“Right away, sir,” said Saikhan.

Portside Flight Pod
0011

Asami could barely see through the smoke and flame as the damage control crews struggled to put out the fires in the forward section of the flight pod, and it sure didn’t help that the respirator mask kept fogging up.

“Keep a move on it!” she yelled through the din. “Team Alpha, get those flames out. Team Bravo, grab any survivors. Team Constellation, I need these hatches sealed as soon as Bravo is out!”

Deckhands jumped to her command. Most were wearing full fire and decompression gear, too many were only prepped for fire, and a handful weren’t ready for either. Whenever she caught one, she ordered him or her back immediately, their protests be damned.

“They’re going to vent this section in a few minutes if we don’t get that fire down!” she screamed at one rook, who couldn’t have been more that few weeks over eighteen. “Get your ass in gear and get back there now!” She man-handled the suppressor hose he’d been carrying around the corner and hoped the kid made it back to safety.

The minutes wore on, but it seemed the fire was winning the war to reach the main section of the flight pod, where tylium fuel lines were just waiting to ignite. When the order came over the intercom to seal of anything forward of Bulkhead 40, she knew what to expect.

“Brace for decompression!” she shouted, loud enough to make her throat raw. She just hoped her knuckle-draggers appreciated what was coming.

Combat Information Center
0012

Colonel Saikhan and the damage control officers watched as the fire indicators blinked out. In unison, the lights on the damage control panel representing the portside flight pod fire sensors blinked from red to amber to green.

“Venting complete,” said the senior damage control officer. “Fires out.”

It was no secret what the damage control team was thinking. It was practically written on their faces. They’d blown the fire’s oxygen out into space—and dozens of crew-members with it.

“If they remembered their training,” said Saikhan slowly, “they had their suits on. They were braced for possible vent action.”

“A lot of rooks down there.”

“No one’s a rook anymore,” said Saikhan, quiet but firm.

Chapter Text

Colonial Heavy 798
0035

“Could we rendezvous at Alpha V?” the spaceliner captain asked. He and Mako were pouring over navigational charts on one of the small tables in the spaceliner’s galley. The two had left the confines of the cockpit once it had become clear they would not be getting any useful work achieved in there. Still cramped, the galley offered just enough room to make progress.

“No, too close,” Mako insisted. “The Cylons have forces at Republica, Geanon, and Glacon Major. The last one they would probably jump from since we’re at opposition, but they could point and push from either other world. It’s a bad choice precisely because we’d want to go there.”

“How about the other system?”

Mako flipped the celestial atlas to the other star which formed the system containing the colonies of Kobol. “Hmm. The reports are pretty sparse, but Pyron or Glacon Minor are going to be up in flames by now. I almost wonder if we should try putting down on Aeolia. Does the book say what the radiation levels should be?”

“Hmm…there’s a note here saying the average value is about 2 Grays per day, surface ambient.”

“How old is the book?”

“Two years.”

“Frak, no, Aeolia won’t work, that’ll kill us in a week, easy. Helion is tempting, but too close to Pyron.” He flipped back from Beta to Alpha, and took another look. “There’s some moons out in the gas giants, but I think we might do better jumping to another system entirely.”

“That would be awfully dangerous. Most of us aren’t used to more than puddle-jump runs.”

“Well, we could take it slow, a few light-weeks at a time. Even just grouping up in deep space would be a safer bet than staying here, though. It’s a big universe and the Cylons might not find us.”

“We’d be stuck until we can evacuate the sublights.”

“We'll have to evacuate them regardless. The Cylons will pick up the exhaust, and they’re faster than most civilian ships even if they play fair. And from what I’m hearing, they don’t.”

“We should let Mr. Gyatso know what we’re planning. Steward!”

The two captains were still debating which star system would be a better target when Tenzin arrived. “Gentlemen, have you found somewhere to hide?”

“Not exactly,” said Mako. “There aren’t many good places to hide in either the Alpha or Beta system. The Cylons have vastly superior numbers, so they can stake out the most attractive refuge spots. This includes nearby star systems. I think our best bet is to head out into the void between stars and wait out the war there.”

“I thought we were losing the war,” said Tenzin.

“We are.”

“Then where do we go?”

“We can send landable ships into nearby systems to scavenge for what resources we need,” the spaceliner captain cut in. “We’ve got a fully-equipped botanical cruiser coming in from Geanon, so there’s no immediate concern about food. And a couple of mining ships.”

“What about fuel?”

“That’s still a problem,” said Mako. “But if we limit ourselves to strictly necessary jumps, we can stretch what we’ve got in the tanks a long way. We can offload tylium and equipment from the sublights, really strip them down, before we go. We need to be fast, though. The fleet is getting ravaged out there, and the Cylons are going to start putting more effort into mopping up.”

“Then we’d best get to it. Captain Anthros, have you heard anything from the military recently?”

“We picked up a pair of Raptors from battlestar Tienhai, and they’ve been jumping to pick up FTL-capable ships. One did a comms sweep in the Beta system, and it seems like the situation is even worse over there, since the Cylons took out Fleet Headquarters right away. I don’t know if there are many sublights still in the air on that side.”

“Make sure the Raptors know the rendezvous points before they leave next. We’ll try to finish rescue operations within a few hours and be ready to jump.”

“Yes, sir,” said the two captains together.

Battlestar Elementica – Combat Information Center
0100

“Thank you, Chief,” said Saikhan into the phone, then hung up the receiver.

“How bad was it?” snapped Lin.

“Eighty-five walked out, twenty-six didn’t.”

“You knew the risks, Saul. I would have done the same thing.”

“The numbers might’ve been reversed if Sato hadn’t been down there.”

“She’s a good deck chief. Did she have an ETA on landing our birds?”

“They’ll be ready for the first few in the next ten minutes. Lieutenant Raavansen took the first CAP and doubled the numbers, just in case. Major Shinobi is planning to stagger the landings over the next few hours to avoid bottlenecking. Damage Control hasn’t had enough time to give the forward elevators a structural inspection.”

“That will have to do. Were there any more casualties?”

“A few broken bones, from what Doc tells me, but nothing fatal. He expects everyone still breathing to pull through. No cases of radiation sickness reported so far.”

“Good. Look, we can’t take another beating like that, not yet. Have you found anything on the munitions side?”

“There’s a munitions depot at Xie Bao Anchorage—”

“Boy, it’s a super-bitch to anchor a ship there.”

“There’s a reason the Fleet never bothered to close it. The book says there are still fifty pallets of Class D warheads in storage there. It should also have all the missiles and small arms munitions we need.”

“Go verify that.”

“Yes sir.”

Colonial Heavy 798
0108

Tenzin was going over a list of passengers from nearby ships when the spaceliner’s captain approached him. Tenzin was mildly annoyed; it said on the list that they had a worlds-class computer scientist aboard—which ship was it? But his annoyance vanished when he saw the look on the captain’s face.

He was carrying a single computer printout—that itself becoming a rarity, in these hectic hours—which he extended to Tenzin without a word. CASE ORANGE was printed in big letters across the top.

Tenzin took it and read. It didn’t say very much, but was it did say was clear. He looked up at the captain. “We’ll need a priest. It said on the manifest we had one aboard.”

The captain nodded and headed aft. Tenzin sat, trying and failing to cherish this one moment before everyone knew the truth. He found it was impossible.

Dead. President Raiko was dead. The Vice President was dead. Every cabinet member was dead. The other Quorum members were dead, as well as the leadership of the People’s Council. There might not be a single member of the People’s Council left.

He tried to picture their faces. All of them, he thought, would be better at this than him, even his old opponent Tarrlok. Why had the gods chosen to spare him, to let this responsibility fall on his shoulders? Surely, he couldn’t be the best possible choice…

Gathering himself and rising to his feet, he headed towards the other end of the spaceliner. Regardless of the reason, the facts remained. The Cylons had killed all twenty-two people ahead of him in the line of succession, and that made leading the Colonies his responsibility.

“I hope I don’t let you all down,” he murmured aloud.

“Please raise your right hand and repeat after me.”

It was crowded in the spaceliner compartment. Mako and Otaku stood at Tenzin’s side, a priest before him, and the remaining area was mostly filled with journalists from the retirement ceremony. What standing room remained went to the other passengers wishing to witness this historic moment.

Tenzin did as the priest asked and raised his right hand.

“I, Tenzin Gyatso…”

“…I, Tenzin Gyatso,”

“…do now avow and affirm…”

“…do now avow and affirm,”

“…that I take the office of the President of the Six Colonies of Kobol…”

“…that I accept the office—“ Tenzin paused, realizing he had stumbled, then decided to continue on, “—of the President of the Six Colonies of Kobol,”

“…without any moral reservation or mental evasion…”

“…without any moral reservation or mental evasion,”

“…and that I will protect and defend the Articles of Colonization…”

“…and that I will protect and defend the Articles of Colonization,”

“…and the sovereignty of the Colonies…”

“…and the sovereignty of the Colonies,”

“…with every fiber of my being.”

“…with every fiber of my being.”

No one said anything for a long moment. Normally, the swearing-in was an exciting, happy occasion for those present. Not today.

Finally, Mako spoke up. “Mr. President, when you’re ready, I have the resource lists you requested.”

Tenzin looked at Mako. “Thank you, Captain Anthros.”

Chapter Text

Battlestar Elementica – Combat Information Center
0118

“Munitions depot confirmed, but we have three problems,” said Saikhan, returning to the information table. “One, Xie Bao is at least three days away at best speed. Two, the bulk of the Cylon fleet is between here and there. Three—”

“—even if it weren’t, our exhaust trail would paint a megascale target on us,” Lin finished for him. “Is there really nothing closer?”

“Nothing I can confirm, Lin.”

Lin thought for a long moment. When she spoke again, it wasn’t to her XO. “Specialist.”

“Sir?”

“Bring me our position.”

“Yes, sir.”

Saikhan watched as the specialist brought over the current navigation plot and Lin began to study it. She marked off a few Colonial units that had been destroyed in the hour and a half since the battle with the Raiders had begun. She was noting the nearby gravity wells when Saikhan spoke up.

“You don’t want to do this.”

“I know I don’t.”

“Because any sane person wouldn’t,” Saikhan continued. “It’s been what, twenty, twenty-two years?”

“We trained for this.”

“Training is one thing, but it we’re off in our calculations by even a few degrees, we could end up in the middle of a Sun!”

“No choice,” said Lin. “Colonel Saikhan, please plot a faster than light jump from our position to the orbit of Xie Bao.”

Saikhan nodded in acceptance. Lin Beifong might be his friend, but she was also his superior officer. “Yes, sir.”

The Colonel went to the main control station and reach for the phone. “Engineering, spin up FTL drives one and two.” He turned to the tactical officer. “Mr. Gommu, break out the FTL tables and warm up the computers.” To the CIC as a whole, “We are making a jump, and I want it to be a success!”

Viper 1104
0122

Jinora eased into the portside landing bay, parking her Viper on one of the five elevator/airlocks that were still operational. She barely felt the magnetic clamps latch on. The pilot in front of her hadn’t been so graceful, and slammed hard into the deck when the magnets engaged.

The elevator began to descend, and a few moments later she emerged into the bright lights of the main hangar deck. A brown-haired deck hand—she thought Korra had called him “Skoochy”—guided the Viper into its designated maintenance slot.

“What’s the damage?” he asked, once the canopy was open and her helmet off, handing over the post-flight checklist.

“Nothing, I think,” she said. “Maybe a few scratches on the paint.”

“Can we get a few more from where you came from? Most of these birds are barely landing in one piece.”

“I don’t think so,” said Jinora. “My family was in Republica City.”

“Oh,” said the specialist. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” What else was there to say? What else was there to do? Jinora turned to the post-flight checklist. At least she could keep the Viper spaceworthy. She had a job to do, and even if was the end of the worlds, she was going to do it. But the words seemed meaningless, disconnected from reality for a moment as the scale of the holocaust began to hit her.

“How many did we lose shipside?” she asked.

“Thirty-seven at last count, excluding the Vipers lost. Another couple dozen seriously injured. Innumerable walking wounded.” Skoochy himself sported a large bandage on his forehead, but seemed to think nothing of it.

“Right.” A deep breath. “Well, we need to get this bird tied down. Can you check the exhaust ports and get the guns closed up while I shut down the computers?”

“Aye, sir.”

Colonial Heavy 798
0127

Fifteen minutes into his Presidency, Tenzin was already beginning to feel the weight of the office and all its responsibilities.

It didn’t help, of course, that his administration was practically nonexistent. President Raiko had submitted his entire cabinet to the Quorum for approval over a week before swearing-in. Tenzin had no cabinet at all, and his staff consisted of his assistant and the crew of the spaceliner. A wartime President, his contact with the military was limited to a captain and a few lieutenants. The military assets at his disposal consisted of a disabled antique fighter and a few support craft, with no warships or fighter wings to support.

Tenzin rubbed his face, looked over the list in front of him, and handed it to the spaceliner’s head attendant. “Get these people onboard as soon as possible. I’m especially interested in the doctor; I need a scientific advisor. And we need to contact the Fleet, see if we can coordinate relief efforts with the military.”

Once the attendant had left, Otaku spoke up. “Mr. Gyatso, do you think the military is going to care that you’re the President now?”

“Not really, but they’ll follow orders if push comes to shove. For now, I just want to see what we can do to support each other, if anything. Keeping the Cylons engaged is about all I could ask of them right now. No need to step on any of their toes.”

“I suppose not. You should probably tell them that yourself, though. Uh, sir.”

“Don’t worry about the formalities. I’ll do it.”

Tenzin got to his feet and headed towards the cockpit.

Battlestar Elementica – Combat Information Center
0131

“How are we doing, Mr. Gommu?” Lin asked the lieutenant, who was currently plotting the jump.

“FTL computer is almost done warming up, and I’ll be running the diagnostic scenarios starting in a few minutes. I think I have the jump plotted, but I want to check myself with the diagnostics.”

“How long till we can jump?”

Saikhan cut in. “Major Toza is having some trouble with the number two spinner. He says it’ll be at least an hour, maybe two.”

“Alright. How about planning?”

“Probably less than that, sir,” said Gommu. “We already validated the outputs from the auxiliary navigation computer, and it’ll have enough telescope data to pin down Xie Bao’s position in—” Gommu glanced at the clock “—seven minutes. We should have the relevant moons sorted in another half hour after that. We can feed the data to the FTL computer as we get it and be ready to go not long thereafter, assuming the drive is up and running.”

“Very well. Keep me appraised.”

Lin left the navigation station, stopping to check the DRADIS console before heading towards the damage control station. The DC teams were still patching issues around the ship, and one by one the lights were winking from red to yellow to blue or green. There were no nearby Cylon formations, so it just might be possible to get back into some semblance of fighting trim before the next engagement.

“Have all jump-critical systems been repaired?” she asked the officer on duty.

“Almost done, sir. DC 3 is checking the flight pod retraction mechanisms for serious damage now. That’s all that’s left to do.”

“Good. Carry on.”

She moved to the next station. Tactical was planning out possible courses once they left Xie Bao, and preparing a wish-list for the deck crew to retrieve once they docked at the station.

“Make sure we grab any fabrication feedstocks,” she told them.

“Yes, sir.”

She had returned to the information table and was listening to Gommu and Saikhan coordinate on the jump planning when Kina brought over a printout. To her surprise, Lin realized the communications officer was crying.

She took the printout and read. Gommu kept talking in the background. “We’ll need to make sure the injection angle is just steep enough to hit the eye of the storm, without slamming into the—”

“Admiral Iroh is dead!” Lin announced to the CIC.

Silence fell.

“The battlestar Mo Ce has been destroyed,” she went on. “So has the Si Wong, Hei Bai, Cresentia...the list goes on.”

“Who’s the senior officer?” asked Saikhan. “Who’s in command?”

Lin looked down at the information table. Her list of surviving units had emerged to a top layer among the mess. She mentally crossed off the names and spacecraft that had been listed in the report. The remaining set of names was awfully scarce—and entirely below hers.

“Kina,” she said. “Send a message to all Colonial military units, use priority channel one. Message begins, Am taking command of fleet…”

Colonial Heavy 798
0134

“Geanon Liner 1701, this is Colonial Heavy 798,” said the spaceliner’s captain as they made their approach. He looked at Tenzin, leaning forward between the seats, then continued. “No, strike that, this is Colonial One.”

“Go ahead, Colonial One.”

“We have you in sight. We’ll approach your starboard docking hatch. Over.”

“Copy that, Colonial One. Thank the Lords of Kobol you’re here. We’ve been without main power or propulsion for over two hours. Over.”

Mako could see as much from where he stood behind the copilot. The other spaceliner, considerably larger than Colonial One, was drifting in space, rolling slowly about its longitudinal axis. Rendezvous and docking would be hellish, which was why Tenzin and the spaceliner’s captain had insisted he be here.

Another transmission came in on the auto-receiver. Mako pulled off the printout almost without thinking, initially giving more attention to the question of when they would run out of paper than what it said.

Tenzin noticed and turned towards Mako. “What is it?”

“’To all Colonial units,’” Mako read aloud, “’am taking command of fleet. All units ordered to rendezvous at Xie Bao Anchorage for regroup and counterattack. Acknowledge by same encryption protocol—Beifong.’”

Tenzin took the printout and read it himself.

“Well,” he said at last, “that answers our question about who’s in charge. Captain Anthros, please contact Commander Beifong and inform her that we are conducting rescue operations. We request her assistance if at all possible and require instruction on avoiding Cylon attacks.”

Battlestar Elementica – Combat Information Center
0140

“Is this verified?” Lin asked no one in particular as she read the report in her hand.

“Yes, sir,” said Kina. “That’s Captain Anthros’s authentication code and it comes on the government encrypted channel we specified.”

“Are they within voice range?”

“Yes, sir.”

The lieutenant dialed the call. “Colonial One, this is Elementica. Elementica Actual wishes to speak with Sparks.” A short delay before the comms officer handed Beifong the headset.

“This is Elementica Actual,” she began. “Are you—is your ship alright?”

A tiny light-speed delay, and then Mako’s voice came through the headset. “We’re both fine, thanks for asking.”

“Is your ship’s FTL functioning?”

A longer pause. “That’s affirmative.”

“Then you’re ordered to bring yourself and your Viper to the rendezvous point. Bring your passengers as well, I suppose. Acknowledge.”

Another long pause. “Acknowledge…receipt of message.”

“What the hells does that mean?”

“It means I heard you.”

“You’re going to have to do a lot better than that, Captain!”

“We are engaged in rescue operations, sir. The President has given me a direct order to assist in evacuating every sublight vessel we can find. Once that objective is complete, then we can join you at the rendezvous point.”

“In case you didn’t notice, Captain, we’re in the middle of a war!”

“Exactly, sir. The President has ordered us to evacuate civilians from the war zone immediately. Can you assist in that?”

“Can I—godsdammit, Captain! You’re taking orders from that pretentious—”

“Stand by, Elementica.” The line went dead.

Lin tore off the headphone. Surely she hadn’t been this much trouble as a chil—pilot.

Colonial One

“We’ve got trouble,” said the spaceliner’s captain as an alarm began to beep.

“Stand by, Elementica,” said Mako, releasing the transmit button. “What?”

“Inbound Cylon fighters,” the captain said, pointing to the DRADIS.

“How long till they get here?” asked Tenzin.

“Maybe three minutes.”

“Can we jump away?”

The captain was frantically flipping switches. “Not enough time. Spinner’s gone cold.”

“Captain Anth—” Tenzin began, but Mako had already risen from his seat and bolted right past Tenzin out the cockpit door.

Battlestar Elementica – Combat Information Center

“Sir,” Lieutenant Gommu said from the DRADIS station. “We have a remote sensor telemetry at Captain Anthros’s location. Two enemy fighters closing in on his coordinates.

Lin pulled back on the headphones. “Colonial One, this is Elementica. Sparks, you have inbound enemy fighters coming towards you. Get out of there, Sparks!”

Colonial One – Cargo Bay 1

Mako sped down the stairs and ladders to the cargo bay. He ran straight past the Viper—no time to launch it now. Instead, he came to a halt directly before the electric pulse generators from Elementica.

He hit the activation buttons and began dialing the controls. If he was even a little bit off…

Battlestar Elementica – Combat Information Center

“Sparks, get out of there! Sparks! Mako, get—Mako!”

A fuzzy circle blossomed on the DRADIS console. The transponder IDs for the Cylons, Colonial One, and the other civilian vessels all blinked out.

Lin watched the circle fill the screen and fizzle out. She pulled off the headphones, dropping them on the information table.

“Fifty kiloton thermonuclear detonation, sir,” said Lieutenant Gommu. “Cylons…moving off…sir.”

Chapter Text

Battlestar Elementica – Combat Information Center
0144

Lin wasn’t sure how long she stood there. Saikhan put his hand on her shoulder. At some point the sounds of the shocked CIC began to filter in again. She saw the pile of printouts and navigational charts before her on the information table: distant, but as urgent and important as ever.

“Resume…jump…prep.” The words of command were slow to utter, torturous in her throat.

Saikhan mercifully took over the call. “Resume jump prep!” he ordered.

Gommu reached for the intercom phone. “Attention all hands, jump prep underway. Set Condition Two throughout the ship.”

Lin stood at the information table and said nothing for a long time.

Portside Hangar Deck
0155

Jinora flipped the page of the post-flight checklist and found herself looking at the worn surface of the clipboard. She checked to make sure she hadn’t missed or lost a page.

“I think that does it,” she said once she was satisfied. “Specialist, do you confirm?”

“I confirm, sir. Viper 1104 flight complete.”

Jinora stood up in the cockpit, began to stretch, almost lost her balance, and thought better of it. By Republica City time, she had been up almost 32 hours. She climbed down the ladder and handed the checklist off to Skoochy for his signature. The last of the Vipers were being wheeled in, with the rest in various states of checking out or repair.

“Anything else I need to do for you, Specialist?”

“I don’t think so, sir,” said Skoochy. “Rooks usually like to hit the showers.”

“And do non-rooks do something else? If you’re trying to get me in hot water, I’ll tell Kor—Lieutenant Raavansen, and she’ll ride your ass for it.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, sir. We’d appreciate another hand on the Vipers, but there’s no standing order at this time.”

“I’ll be back in thirty, then.”

Jinora left the hangar deck and headed towards the junior pilots duty locker she’d been assigned to. Most of the wing was still occupied with repairs or checkout. The duty locker was deserted. Just as well. Jinora wasn’t sure she could handle the usual celebratory bloviating after a successful run. Especially not when she noticed the bunk opposite hers belonged to one of the pilots who hadn’t made it, whose story about the Old Lady had been interrupted by the call to Action Stations. It seemed like a small thing to care about.

Jinora hung up her flight suit, then dug through her personal bag. Down at the bottom, she found a candle and matches. She knelt on the hard deck of the duty locker, lit match and with it the candle. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and began to pray for the souls of those lost during the battle.

Once she was done, she quickly blew out the candle and tucked it away in her bag. She only had the one, and it might be a long time before she could get another one. Assuming there would be time for such things, ever again.

On that cheerful thought, she doffed her sweat-soaked tanks and headed towards the nearest lavatory.

Colonial One
0200

The first thing Tenzin realized was that he was laying, face down, on the floor. He wondered if he was dead, or failing that, in some sort of Cylon prison. Perhaps they were willing to negotiate. Maybe an unconditional surrender could convince them to stop plastering the colonies, and allow the evacuation of the survivors to the more remote outpost worlds.

That admittedly optimistic line of thought was brought to an end by some very human groans and the whirr of a DRADIS console warming up.

“What happened?” the spaceliner captain asked.

Tenzin pulled himself to his feet, steadying himself on the co-pilot’s chair. “I don’t know,” he said, “but I’d like to find out.”

They found Mako on the deck of the cargo hold, passed out on his back beside some equipment.

“Captain, are you alright?” asked Tenzin as they reached him, setting the cockpit med-kit down next to him. The Viper pilot was externally unharmed, but that could mean anything in practice.

Mako blinked his eyes open, coming to his senses.

“That was fun,” he said. “I think it worked.”

Tenzin helped Mako to his feet. “What exactly did you do?”

“I basically used the FTL spool-up to manipulate the energy coils. Put out a big pulse of electromag—magnetic energy that must’ve disabled the warheads.” Mako stumbled and would have fallen if not for Tenzin reaching out to catch him. “I’m—I’m hoping that it looked like a nuclear explosion.”

“So that’s what that was.” Mako nodded. “Did it fool the Cylons?”

“I don’t know, but if, if they weren’t fooled, they’d be on top of us right now.”

“Does the rest of the fleet know about this trick?” asked the spaceliner captain.

“I doubt it,” Mako replied. “It was just an idea we toyed with at War College, but it never used to work during war games, the Cylons would see right through it and destroy the targets anyway.”

“The lesson here,” said Tenzin, “is not to ask follow-up questions, but simply to say ‘Thank you, Captain, for saving our lives.’”

“You’re welcome,” said Mako as they began to head back towards the ladder. “Now, if I could suggest we—”

“Evacuate the passenger liner and get the hells out of here before the Cylons realize their mistake,” said Tenzin, “then I am right with you, Captain.”

Battlestar Elementica – Combat Information Center
0227

“FTL calculations have been checked and validated, sir,” Lieutenant Gommu reported. “We’re ready to go at my end.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gommu,” said Lin. She turned to Saikhan. “Where are we at on the drives?”

“Major Toza says we’ll be ready to begin spooling in about half an hour. Call it forty-five minutes until we can jump.”

Lin looked at the DRADIS console. “I’d sure like it to be less.”

“Chief Sato reported personally to me that the last of the non-CAP birds have landed, and that we have a few ready to go in the tubes again. There’re enough pilots on the deck for post-flight that we can scramble again if we need to.”

Lin nodded. They could scramble, and the pilots would be better after their first real fight. Still, another engagement, so soon after the last one, would be hellish to recover from.

“How’s the Chief holding up?” she asked.

“Rather well, all things considered. She wanted to know about casualties. I think she thought it was her fault we vented.”

“You made the right call. Not her fault. We couldn’t have fought that fire with hand-held gear and won.”

“I told her as much.”

“Good. As much as the crew needs to hate the XO, some praise goes a long way.”

Saikhan smiled grimly. “And that’s why you’re the Commander.”

“One reason.”

Viper 8547
0249

“Frak! What the hells was that!”

“Say again, Avatar?” came Shiro Shinobi’s voice over the comms channel.

“I just felt a large ‘thunk’ and now the Viper’s handling significantly worse. Limited roll and yaw authority, pitch seems okay but I haven’t touched—frak!—touched it much. I may have to land early.”

“Flight leader, proceed to portside landing bay. CAP recall is in less than ten minutes, we’re almost ready to jump.”

“Copy that, LSO. Proceeding to the trap.”

Korra fought to orient the Viper, opting for an unconventional forward-end landing rather than try to perform a sharp curve.

“Mag-lock secure,” Shinobi said several minutes later.

“Thank the gods,” said Korra. “Rocky, you have flight lead. Avatar, out.”

Korra flipped off the Viper-to-Viper comms loop and began taking stock of the ship’s systems. She had a feeling she wasn’t going to be leaving the hangar deck any time soon, so every second she could shave off now brought her that much closer to getting in the showers.

A deckhand passed up the post-flight checklist while the Viper was still wheeling towards its slot. Korra checked and signed half the boxes and handed it back as soon as the ladder came alongside. Before she could even make it onto the deck, she was accosted by Chief Sato herself.

“Lieutenant!” Asami demanded. “What did you do to my Viper?”

Korra sauntered towards the aft, legs stiff from weightless hours in the cockpit. The interface between the fuselage and vertical aerodynamic stabilizer was a mess of torn metal and smoking black wires, right where a cluster of attitude control thrusters should have been.

“Huh,” she said. “I wondered why yaw control gave out.”

“We’re going to have to pull the whole mounting,” said Asami. “Get the high lift.” She came alongside Korra, who was still looking at the damage as she began to shed her flight suit. “I don’t know how you managed to fly this thing, much less land it.”

“It’s not something I want to think about right now. Where’s Yin? He’s gonna get that frakking gimbal unlocked or I’ll have his ass.”

Asami’s voice took a different tone. “He’s dead, sir. He died in the fire.”

Korra asked, “How many did we lose?” The anger was gone from her voice.

“Thirty-seven.”

“Right.”

Korra began to head off to take care of her share of the Viper repair, but Asami stopped her. “Lieutenant.”

She turned back to look at the deck chief. “I don’t know if you heard about Sparks, but—” Asami began.

“Heard what?”

Asami said nothing, and just turned down towards the checklist.

Something tightened in Korra’s throat. “Right,” she said, a little tenser this time.

Combat Information Center
0303

“Flight pods secure,” said Colonel Saikhan. “The board is green. Ship reports read to jump, sir.”

“Then take us to Xie Bao, Colonel.”

“Lieutenant Gommu, execute the jump.”

“Yes, sir.” The lieutenant headed to his station and picked up the intercom. “All decks, prepare for immediate FTL jump.” He inserted the crystalline command key and turned it. “Clock is running. Ten, nine, eight, seven…”

Portside Hangar Deck

“…six, five, four…”

Tuyen sat down on a crate next to Viper 1202. She looked over at Skoochy and grimaced. “I hate this part.”

Combat Information Center

“…two, one, jumping!”

Lin felt her body turn inside out, without changing shape at all, and then everything was back to normal. A few hands looked queasy; a smaller number looked ecstatic. Both camps mystified her, but neither reaction was relevant to the current situation.

“Report,” she ordered.

Lieutenant Gommu joined the helmsman at his station. “Taking a bearing now…we appear to be in a polar orbit of Xie Bao…on a course directly towards the Xie Bao Anchorage!”

Clapping and cheers broke out, officers shaking hands and slapping one another on the back. Lin waited patiently for it die down.

“Congratulations, ladies and gentlemen, on your first combat jump,” said Lin. “I’ll be sure to put in for everyone’s silver wings. Now, Colonel Saikhan?”

“Sir?”

Lin turned back towards the information table. “Let’s update your chart for a course right down into the eye of the storm.”

“Aye, sir.”

Senior Pilots Duty Locker
0309

Korra had gone straight to the head as was standard at the end of patrols, and not a moment too soon. Once she’d finished, she went to the duty locker to hang up her flight suit.

She had intended to head straight down to the hangar deck again, without even changing tanks—they were going to get filthy with sweat and engine grease either way—but stopped as she began to close her locker. She took a long look at one of the pictures she’d pinned to the door, of her with Bolin and Mako, the three of them smiling and waving to the crowd after winning the pyramid championship at the Academy.

It had been a long time since the three of them had played pyramid, but it was still one of her favorite memories. She had hoped to get them back on the court someday, maybe even against some of their old opponents from the Academy. But that…that wasn’t going to happen now.

Mako was dead. Countless billions of others were dead, too, but for that moment, she could barely think about anyone else.

“Lords of Kobol,” she began, “hear my prayer. Take the souls of your sons and daughters lost this day, especially that of Mako Anthros, into your hands…”

Chapter Text

Battlestar Elementica – Combat Information Center
0328

“In a way, we’ve gotten lucky here,” said Lin.

“Sir?” Lieutenant Gommu looked up from where he was marking projected positions on a navigational chart.

“Xie Bao is nearly at solstice, so the polar storm is at its most complex. At equinox, it would be colder, and we’d have a straight line down to the Anchorage.” Then again, Lin thought to herself, the Admiralty was just waiting for Xie Bao to reach equinox again to finally decommission the station at a minimal cost.

“Wouldn’t that be easier to navigate through, sir? Quicker, too.”

“It would. It would also give the Cylons a perfect view of us at the bottom. As it is, they’ll have to come down the eye after us, and we’ll have the superior firing position.”

“Do you expect the Cylons to know where we are?”

“They seem to be having all the strategic success tonight. They’ve probably broken Colonial encryption protocols and know exactly where we’re going. Come to think of it, they might be waiting for us. Saikhan!”

“Sir?”

“When we approach Xie Bao, have the alert fighters ready to launch in case the Cylons beat us to it. And let’s pray the to the Gods that we can line up a good shot with the main gun if they have any capital ships down there.”

“Yes, sir,” said Saikhan, and headed off.

“Now, Lieutenant, how long until we reach the station?”

“We’ll be hitting the atmosphere in about…call it fifteen minutes, sir. According to the almanac, there should be eight turns at this time of year, each about twenty-five klicks apart. The eye itself is about ten klicks in diameter, though it can narrow to less than one at turns. Those are going to be precarious.”

“Very.”

“I’d say we can do a controllable speed of around two hundred meters per second, maybe a little more. That would put us at the Anchorage around, say, oh four forty, sir.”

“I’d hate to attempt this in an Alligator class. Thank you, Lieutenant.” Gommu saluted and returned to his station. Lin looked around. Ah, good, the Marine commander had reported.

“Major, thank you for coming. I’m hoping that you can assist Chief Sato in loading munitions from the Anchorage. The magazine officers have drawn up a list of materiel to locate on-station. Do you see any omissions?”

The major took the list and looked it over. “This seems satisfactory, Commander. Is there a reason, though, to prioritize armor-piercing rounds over regular?”

“The truth is, we have no idea when or if we’ll be dealing with Centurions again, and I have no idea if our standard munitions are satisfactory. They got the job done in my mother’s days, but who knows what’s out there now. And major? I think it’s possible that the Cylons could stage an ambush for us at Xie Bao. The most likely approach is to simply fight us ship-to-ship, but if there are Centurions aboard, I want your marines ready to take them out. Report to the starboard airlock with Sato’s deck crew in time to dock, and make sure they make it back with the shells and missiles we need.”

The major smiled grimly. “Yes, commander.”

Colonial One
0341

The cargo hold was beginning to look awfully cramped. Many of the passengers had already made room in bays three and four, but bay one was still the airlock offloading zone. In addition to the electromagnetic field generators and Aang’s old Viper, there was now a Raptor offloading civilians from other transports.

“I don’t know how you got that thing through the airlock, Lieutenant, but excellent work,” Mako told the Raptor’s pilot. “Listen, the President has a new assignment. We need you to jump over to the Beta system and do a final check for ships. If I had to guess, there might be some in the outer shipping lanes. Coordinate with any FTL ships to evacuate sublights, tell them the President himself ordered it, hells, tell them the remaining military commander ordered the rendezvous and all ships have been pressed into service if you have to. But I doubt it will come to that.”

“Alright, Captain,” said the lieutenant, whose flight suit identified her as assigned to the battlestar Cresentia. “But I want you to know this is going to risky. I used up all my chaff and flare just getting out of the firefight over Kyoshi. I’ve got two communications pods left, sir, but that’s it. No jiggers, no drones, no markers, nothing.”

“Well, at least you’ve still got your electronics sweep.” Mako gestured towards the Viper. “That old crate of mine can barely navigate from A to B.”

“That old crate may have saved your life, sir.”

“How’s that?”

“The Viper Mark VIIs? The Cylons shut them down like they threw a switch or something. And I’ve been hearing reports like that from all over, sir. The only fighters that are having any success at all are either old, or in need of a major overhaul.”

“That being the case, keep your distance from the Cylons, keep your FTL spooled up, and jump out at the first sign of danger. If we’re not here when you jump back, proceed to Xie Bao per the commander’s orders.”

“Yes, sir. And sir? Commander Beifong—does she have a plan?”

“I haven’t spoken to her about that, but I’ve served under her for years. I’d be surprised if she has just one. Good hunting.”

The lieutenant saluted and climbed back into the Raptor. Mako turned to the civilians, who were still milling around. “Alright, let’s make some room, people! Lieutenant Tzu needs space to maneuver! If you’ll just head up the ladder here…”

He’d just followed them up the ladder and dogged the hatch when a woman with a thick Geanonian accent turned to him. “Excuse me, my husband, he’s in the Colonial Fleet. At Helion.”

“The Colonial Fleet at Helion. Okay. I’ll see what I can do,” said Mako, with as much sincerity as he could muster. There weren’t good odds regardless of who her husband was or where he’d been, Fleet or civvy. He attempted again to corral the group, this time assisted by a pair of flight attendants.

“Have you heard anything of Helion?” the woman asked one of them.

“Come on,” said Mako, “Up the next flight. The President wants to meet several of you. Is there a Dr. Varrick here? The President wants to speak with him first.”

“Yes, I’m Dr. Varrick,” said a tall, well-dressed man. “President Raiko is alive?”

“No,” said Mako, “I’m afraid Raiko is dead. President Tenzin Gyatso was sworn in a few hours ago.”

“Oh,” said Varrick. “Who?”

Mako just tilted his head and gave a pained smile. “If you’ll come right this way…”

Mako introduced Varrick to Tenzin and was about to head below again when the President stopped him. “Captain Anthros, do you have any hypotheses as to why the Cylons have had such success in their attacks?”

Mako turned back. “I’ve heard that there have been issues with avionics and controls. Lieutenant Tzu from Cresentia just told me that the modern Vipers have been basically useless against the Cylons, and I would guess that applies to other vessels as well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, sir, when Elementica’s Viper squadron was about to engage, they simply vanished from the comms loop. Complete silence, all at once, no reports of impacts. If the Cylons are interfering with our communications systems, all bets are off.”

“Could they be hacking in?” asked Varrick.

“It’s not supposed to be possible,” said Mako. “The systems are designed against that, and there’s a high degree of isolation. Not as much as in the older designs, admittedly, but still a great deal.”

“Hmm,” said Varrick. He turned to a short woman next to him with large glasses and mousy brown hair. “Zhu Li, are you getting all this written down?”

“Yes, sir,” said the woman without looking up from her notepad.

“Captain, was there anything else that the Cylons could be doing to our ships? Anything…nefarious?”

“Besides shooting them? I don’t think so.”

“Then let’s stick with the hacking hypothesis. Now suppose the Cylons could get in, what would they do?”

“A spacecraft is useless without power and propulsion. Kill those and it’s a sitting turtle-duck.”

“Exactly! They’re probably exploiting some vulnerability in your software. Now, if they were doing that, how would they go about it?”

“I can’t really tell you, doctor. The Fleet is always testing its software for vulnerabilities and updating to patch even potential exploits. In fact, they’ve been rolling out a whole new common navigation program to ensure security and interoperability across the entire fleet.”

“Interoperability, huh? Do you think I could review a copy of this program?”

“I don’t know. The old Viper down below doesn’t have it, of course. You might be able to get a copy from one of the Raptors, depending on whether they have it.”

“I’ll start with the Viper, to get a baseline. Zhu Li, let’s uh, do the thing.”

Battlestar Elementica – Starboard Main Airlock
0433

Reluctantly, Asami had left Korra in charge of Viper repairs on the flight deck, and taken a number of knuckle-draggers to the starboard main airlock. They were met by a quartet of magazine safety officers and a small contingent of marines.

“Commander Beifong’s orders,” said their commanding officer. “Just in case there’s some Cylons in there.”

“What would Cylons be doing at Xie Bao?”

“Commander Beifong thinks they may have cracked our encryption protocols.”

“That would explain why they’re winning.”

“Possibly. If they haven’t, my men and women will assist in ordnance unloading,”

“Thank you, major. We’ve got a lot of move as quickly as possible, and every pair of hands will make it go faster.”

The ship trembled; the artificial gravity field not quite able to counteract a disturbance from the storm. As the pressure mounted, even a ship as large as a battlestar was subject to the wind—and had far less margin for error.

“Approaching station…docking in five, four, three…”

The ship shuddered when the count reached zero, harder than before, with a loud clang to accentuate it. Asami picked up the receiver from the wall-mounted phone and dialed the CIC.

Another loud clang. “Preparing for hard seal…and hard seal,” said Gommu over the line.

Tuyen looked at the pressure indicator by the airlock door. “Hard seal secured, sir,” she told Asami.

“Copy that,” Asami replied. “Sir, we show hard seal as well.”

Beifong’s voice came over the phone. “Go find me some bullets, Chief.”

“Copy that, sir.” Asami hung up the phone as a marine swung open the hatch. “Alright, everyone, get your gear. Let’s move out.”

The group passed through Elementica’s airlock, and then into the station’s airlock as well. The battlestar had docked on the station’s out ring, and the Colonials advanced down the long corridor of one of the spokes towards the hub. The planet’s gravity was a bit different from the battlestar’s, and a few people stumbled as they got their surface legs again.

“Alright people, let’s be quick about this,” called Asami once they’d arrived in the central chamber. “Tuyen, find the genny, get some lights on in here.”

“Yes, Chief.”

“Let’s find out where the lift is, get it fired up.”

The chamber itself was dark and a bit dank, the bulkhead showing their decades of neglect. The air itself smelled a bit off, probably gasses from Xie Bao’s atmosphere seeping in. The room was littered with various crates and pieces of equipment, clearly not organized by the last party to offload freight. Going by the dates stamped on the packaging labels, they’d been sitting there longer than she’d been alive. Some of the dust looked fresh, though.

One of the deckhands shouted beside her in surprise, and Asami spun to face the noise. She found herself facing a man with long dark hair and deep bags under his eyes, trembling and pointing a large gun directly at her.

The Cylons may not have arrived at Xie Bao Anchorage, but someone else had.

“Everybody hold fast!” the marine commander ordered. The man wasn’t shooting, but kept his weapon trained on the Colonials. Several marines had their rifles trained on him in turn.

“I don’t want any trouble,” he said. His hand was shaking, and his skin was pale and drenched in sweat. Asami was wearing heavier gear than his short-sleeved shirt and vest, and she found the station on the cold side. Strange.

The man continued. “I don’t want any trouble, but I’m not going to jail.”

“What?” said Asami.

“You understand me? I’m not going to jail.”

“Nobody’s taking you to jail. Just calm down.”

“Frakking right you’re not.”

“We’re not the police,” the marine commander began. “We’re not here to arrest you. Now put your gun down.”

“Yeah, maybe,” said the man, not lowering his weapon. “So who the hells are you, then?”

“We’re from the Colonial Fleet,” said Asami. “We came to get some equipment from the station, to get back in the fight—”

“What fight?”

Asami paused and glanced at the marine commander. “You don’t know,” she said.

“Know what?”

“There’s a war going on. Give me your weapon.”

“You think I’m stupid or something? Is that it? You think I’m that stupid? You expect me to believe that? I want passage out of here! On a safe transport ship! With an untraceable—” the man’s voice fell to a reasonable volume again “—jump drive. Okay? Now!”

Asami was beginning to lose her patience, and she didn’t need a psychologist to tell her some of the marines were getting itchy fingers. An ammo dump was no place for a firefight—but maybe she could use that to her advantage. “Look, I don’t have time to argue with you, so here’s the deal. You can try to kill us, and risk blowing yourself up in the process. Either way, we’ve got over two thousand people on that ship. If you think you can shoot every last one of us, fine. But if not, get the hells out of our way!”

“Okay,” the man acquiesced, but barely lowered his gun.

“Now!” the marine commander ordered. The man pointed away from the marines and deckhands. One of the marines rushed over to take his weapon, and another held him against a structural column.

Asami turned to the marine commander. “Major, we should let the commander know we have an intruder on the station, but of the human variety. If he moves, shoot him.”

“Certainly, Chief.”

Combat Information Center
0451

“A single person?” Lin asked over the phone, a bit incredulous.

“Just the one, from what we can tell. He didn’t know the Cylons had attacked, and thought we were the police. He’s disarmed and under guard, sir.”

“I want to see him myself. I’ll be down to question him and oversee the loading.” Lin hung up the phone. “Colonel, you have the conn.”

“I have the conn,” Saikhan acknowledged.

Lin gulped down the lukewarm remainder of a cup of coffee—her fifth since the war had begun—then left the CIC for the main starboard airlock.

The first pallets were coming onboard when she arrived. “Flak shells, sir,” a deckhand informed her, and she nodded approvingly. She squeezed alongside the pallets through the long spoke of the station and finally came up in the main hub, waving off a “commander on deck.”

“What have we got, Chief?” she demanded.

“We’ve got flak shells and anti-missile missiles in the main hub and the adjacent chambers, sir,” she reported. “The main gun shells are in the magazine in the lower spindle, but we’ve got crews bringing those onto the elevator already. The dorsal gun munitions are mostly on the lofts,” Sato gestured, “and the lift is bringing those pallets down now.”

“I hear you have a prisoner. I’d like to see him.”

“The major has him over there, sir. Hey, put that pallet down there! You’re too close to the other ones!”

“I’ll leave you to it, Chief.” Lin walked over to where the major and a pair of marines were flanking the man. Lin sized him up. Tall, with long black hair. Sweating despite the low temperature. Unusually pale, even for a Pyronnese—and he was Geanonnian if Lin had to guess. He looked far more tired than any of the battlestar’s crew, who had mostly worked straight through the night, yet supposedly he hadn’t even known the Cylons were back. Why keep an odd schedule in peacetime? Planetary prejudice, perhaps?

“You,” she demanded. “What’s your name?”

“Conoy,” the man responded. “Ghazan Conoy.”

“My name is Lin Beifong. I’m commander of the battlestar Elementica. As you may have noticed, we’re here for the munitions.”

“So you’ll let me go?”

“I didn’t say that. The fact you think we’re here to arrest you makes me think you’re not here legally, but we’ll get to that later. Right now, there probably isn’t a force particular concerned with trespassers on government property. Or a prison left to throw you in, come to think of it.”

“None at all?”

“The Cylons are plastering the Colonies pretty hard, Mr. Conoy. This is about survival at this point. It makes the Cylon War—the First Cylon War, I suppose—look like a cakewalk.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse.” Lin began to walk. Ghazan followed her, the marines falling in behind them. Sato shouted at some of the deck crew to slow down. Lin continued, “We’ve lost most of the capital ships and flag officers already, and the war hasn’t been on twelve hours yet.”

“If the war is going so bad, what are you doing out here?” Ghazan asked.

“Elementica was on the verge of retirement, and had virtually no munitions onboard. We’re here to strip down the station for just about anything we can fire.” Ghazan’s face twisted slightly at that.

“And then what?”

“Then, it’s back into the fight. It’s just imperative that we get our equipment and get out of here.” Lin pointed towards a hatch they were passing, which should correspond roughly to another spoke of the wheel-like station. “What’s in there?”

“Stuff,” said Ghazan.

Lin paused, and pulled open the hatch. One of the marines handed her a flashlight. “Where’s your spaceship?” Lin asked as she peered inside.

“Docked at the bottom of the station,” Ghazan answered. In the background, Asami yelled at a deckhand for stacking crates too high. Ghazan looked over at the pile and smiled. “Okay, look, those warheads over there—here’s the deal—they would have brought a nice price on the open market.”

“So you’re an arms dealer, huh?” Lin made no effort to disguise her disgust. Half her career had been spent chasing down pirates, smugglers, and renegades.

“People have a right to protect themselves. I just supply the means.”

Lin was about to correct him that the taxpayers provided those particular means, but Sato’s voice suddenly got a lot more insistent. “Hey! Be careful with that! Look out!”

A few meters away, a deckhand lost control of a dolly and the entire stack of crated warheads went tumbling to the deck. Colonials scurried away as one warhead rolled out of the pile across the metal plates. Sato shouted, louder than before, for everyone to take cover.

Lin practically tackled Ghazan as she dove through the hatch. The warhead exploded, and the hatch slammed shut, trapping the two in darkness.

Chapter Text

Xie Bao Anchorage
0502

It wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

The warhead had thrown up a lot of smoke and started a few dust fires, but it hadn’t set off a chain reaction, and nobody was screaming in agony. Nobody was hurt—probably.

Asami ran towards the hatch where she’d last seen Commander Beifong. It was closed and badly dented.

“Commander? Commander Beifong?!” Tuyen called beside her.

“Stay back!” Asami ordered as deckhands and marines began to crowd around. “It’s hot! It’s unstable!”

“Commander!”

“What do we need, Chief?” the marine commander asked.

“Send someone back to the ship, we need hand lifts, fire equipment, a plasma torch, and—”

“Wait!” Tuyen grabbed Asami’s arm. “Chief, listen!”

It was faint, but Asami could just hear the sounds of human voices through the hatch.

“Commander, are you alright? Commander Beifong?”

“Yeah?” came Beifong’s voice faintly after a pause. “Anybody hurt out there?”

“No, I don’t think so, sir! We’ve got some equipment coming, sir. We’re going to get you out of there right away!”

“No! No, get all the munitions and equipment back into the ship. Don’t waste anybody on anything else.” There was a pause where Asami couldn’t make out what was being said on the other side. “Listen, we’re going to go out another way.”

“Sir, I don’t think that’s a good idea!”

“You have your orders. Tell Colonel Saikhan he’s in charge until I return.”

“Yes, sir!”

Asami looked at Tuyen, then pointed at a marine. “You, go back to the ship. Tell the Colonel what happened, and that he’s in charge till the commander comes back. She’s taking a different route. You got it?”

“Yes, Chief,” said the marine, and took off.

Lin pointed with the flashlight down the corridor towards the rim. “Let’s go.”

Ghazan looked at her for a long moment, then turned and began to walk.

Colonial One
0511

“Have you made any progress?” Mako asked, approaching the spot where Dr. Varrick and his assistant had set up shop. They have covered one of the ottomans with printouts, notepads, and…was that a hand-held computer? Mako had thought only flag officers rated those, and no one in the civilian world.

The Doctor must have noticed his staring. “A beauty, isn’t she? Got her in a close-out sale on Geanon—I’m never one to pass up a good deal! The government tried to make me turn it over, but eventually I made them see reason.”

“The program, Doctor,” said Mako before Varrick could say anything truly incriminating. Absently, Mako wondered if there were any jails left in existence.

“We took a look at the common navigation program copy your Raptor pilots sent up to us, to see if there were any vulnerabilities. Gaps, known exploits, back doors, that sort of thing. We’re mostly relying on memory, of course, can’t check any centralized databases with the way things are going. Not that it matters! There was a backdoor in the program, alright, but it’s so wide it’s practically a front door! Any kid with a console could have taken over a battlestar with that. If you just look at this code block here…”

Mako took the printout Varrick was offering. “Tell me what I’m looking at, Doctor.”

“Nothing! That’s just it! There’s an access port here, with no safety mechanisms to speak of. See that bit about authentication codes starting on line forty-two?”

“Uh, hold on, ‘return one’!?”

“Exactly. How this got by your software safety officers, I simply cannot imagine.”

“Neither can I,” said Mako. “I didn’t really hear about the design process—not my specialty—so we’ll have to ask around and see if anybody knows.”

“That could be a tall order, depending on who’s left.”

“Damn, that’s true.” Mako looked at the printout again. “Are you absolutely certain of this?”

“Absolutely,” Varrick’s assistant said. “We went over the entire code three times. Both copies had the same vulnerability, even though those Raptors are from different battlestars and production runs.”

“Great work,” said Mako. “I’m going to tell the Raptor pilots to scrub this bit of code, and transmit a warning to any surviving units.”

Mako was in the cockpit, relaying the message, when Lieutenant Tzu jumped back.

“Colonial One, Raptor 312, I’m back and I brought a friend. Over.

“Welcome back, Zoomer,” said the co-pilot. “Who’d you pick up? Over.”

“Daru Mozu, tylium refinery ship. They were en route to unload when the attacks began. Over.”

“We’ve got a lot of thirsty ships here who’ll be eager to make your friend’s acquaintance. Did you pick up any other contacts out there? Over.”

“Negative. There’s no one left. Over.”

Mako’s heart fell. They didn’t even have a hundred ships assembled, and fewer than seventy had FTL. At least the sublights were mostly evacuated.

Mako cursed himself for the thought when the DRADIS chirped an instant later. “Got a visitor!” Lieutenant Tzu announced over the wireless.

Mako glanced out the window. That was a Cylon Raider, all right.

“We see him! Can you jam his signals?”

“Trying…frak, he jumped away.”

“Spool up the FTL,” said Mako to the co-pilot, “and order everyone else to do the same. Where’s the captain? And where’s the President?”

“It definitely scanned up before it jumped,” said the pilot to the assembled group in the first-class passengers’ lounge.

“We have to go, now,” said Mako. “The Cylons will be here any minute.”

“Will they be able to track us through a jump?” asked Tenzin.

“No, sir. It’s impossible.”

“Theoretically impossible.”

“Theoretically, yes, sir.”

“Otaku, how many people are still on sublight ships?”

The President’s assistant started to dig through a sheaf of notes pulled from his jacket pocket. “Not many, sir. Twenty-five hundred or so, maybe three thousand at most.”

“Can we finish evacuating?”

“No time,” Mako insisted. “The Cylons can jump in and wipe us out with a few nukes in seconds. We need to land the transports and go, now.”

“We can’t just leave them behind,” the spaceliner’s captain urged. “You’ll be sacrificing thousands of people.”

“But we’ll be saving tens of thousands. I’m sorry to make it a numbers game, but we’re talking about the survival of our species here, and we don’t have the luxury of taking risks and hoping for the best, because if we lose, we lose everything.” Mako turned to Tenzin. “And Mr. President, this is a decision which needs to be made right now.”

Tenzin thought for a painfully-long moment, then spoke. “Order the fleet to jump to Xie Bao immediately.”

Mako nodded and followed the captain back to the cockpit.

It was one of the worse hells, preparing for the jump. Mako and the spaceliner’s captain transmitted the coordinates to the other FTL-capable ships and finished spooling Colonial One’s drive. There was no disguising what was happening from the sublight ships. There was no choice but to ignore the desperate pleas from those realizing they were to about be left behind.

Not all of the FTL captains seemed to agree. Mako said nothing to them. As long as they jumped with, they could curse him all they pleased.

“At least tell us where you’re going,” one ship’s captain begged over the wireless. “We’ll follow at sublight.”

Colonial One’s captain reached for the controls as if to answer.

“No,” said Mako. “If they’re captured, then the Cylons know, too.”

The captain’s face and voice betrayed his hatred of what he was doing, but he followed the order. “Spinning up FTL drive now.”

Mako took a deep breath. “All ships, prepare to jump on our mark. Five.”

“Colonial One, please respond.”

“Four.”

“May the Lords of Kobol protect those souls we leave behind.”

“Three.”

“I’ve got DRADIS contacts!”

“Two.”

“I see them too! Are they Colonial?”

“One.”

“Oh my Gods, they’re Cylons!”

“Mark.”

“I hope you rot in Tartarus for this!”

Through the windows, Mako could see the Cylon Raiders launch missiles. Then he felt himself turn inside out and back normal again.

He checked DRADIS. No Cylons. Just Colonial One and sixty-six other ships, all in polar orbit of Xie Bao.

A deep breath. There would be time to pray for the souls of dead later, if he managed this right.

“Colonial One to all vessels, report prop status in order by name. Daru Mozu, prepare for fueling operations. We’ll be hitting the insertion spot for descending to the Anchorage in about fifteen minutes…”

Xie Bao Anchorage
0558

Lin and Ghazan had made it, according to the signs, to the main rim of the station, and were starting their way around towards another spoke, when Ghazan stopped and groaned.

“You alright?” Lin asked. “You don’t look so good.”

“Ah, I’m fine,” said Ghazan. “It’s just something about this place.”

“What about this place?”

“Yeah, ever since I got here, something in the air affects my allergies.” Ghazan began to walk again. He suddenly changed the subject. “You always keep me in front of you—military training, right? Never turn your back on a stranger, that kind of thing? Suspicion and distrust, that’s, that’s the military life, right?”

“So you’re a gun dealer philosopher, I take it then?”

Ghazan stopped again, leading against the wall, and laughed. “I’m an observer of human nature. When you get right down to it, humanity is not a pretty species. I mean, we’re only one step away from beating each other with clubs like savages, fighting over scraps of meat.”

“Human beings will do what they have to, to survive, same as any other animal,” said Lin. “So what?”

“But humans aren’t just another animal, are they? Animals act on instinct. Humans know it’s wrong to steal and kill, but do it anyway.”

“And?”

“Maybe the Cylons are God’s retributions for our many sins.” Ghazan looked Lin right in the eyes. “What if, God decided he made a mistake, and he decided to give souls to another creature, like the Cylons?”

“God didn’t create the Cylons,” said Lin. “Man did. And I’m pretty sure we didn’t include a soul in the programming.”

Ghazan wasn’t moving. “Let’s go,” said Lin.

“How about you go first for a while?”

Lin looked at Ghazan, then at the hallway ahead. Slowly she walked through the next open hatch. The strange man’s footsteps followed right behind her.