Fanfic: On Starlit Wings 5/?
On Starlit Wings 5/?
Rating: Teen
Characters: Bill Adama, Ensemble
Summary: Captain William Adama and the crew of the dragon Galactica are to be posted to the Americas; Britain's Aerial Dragon Corps having little use for the aging dragon. But first there is the treacherous crossing of the Atlantic to be taken; tensions between the crews of ship and dragon and family, and why has the Lady Laura Roslin taken passage aboard a dragon transport ship? And then there are rumours of sightings of the ships and dragons of a group of pirates known only as the Cylons... A Battlestar Galactica/Temeraire crossover AU.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, I'm just borrowing them. Not my world, I'm just playing in it. They belong to RDM, Syfy etc. and Naomi Novik.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.
Notes: Continuing onwards, slowly slowly. My attention span and work ethic are appalling.
1805- Somewhere in the Atlantic.
Even if it did prove to be a fool’s errand, Adama was glad to feel the familiar lurch of Galactica’s wing beats and the wind against his face; the lights of the ship behind them growing smaller, until they were one small constellation amongst many, only marked out by their colour and fallen position.
It was a relief to be off the ship, and even as they were chasing down a foe he could feel the tension leave his body, as if he had left it all behind on the ship. Which meant that it would no doubt return when they would have to land, but for now he was determined to enjoy the respite. And it seemed that the crew was also, certainly their was a lightness in their chatter he had not heard for some weeks. This was in contrast with the dragon herself; with her neck stretched out he could feel her tension underfoot as she threw herself in pursuit of a prey that he had seen neither wing nor scale of, but she assured him that was there.
“I hear wing beats.” Her sudden alertness had roused him from an uneasy sleep as he rested against her forelimb; getting to his feet he closed the book that had fallen on to his lap with the place long lost and placed it to the side. Her outline was stark against the rapidly failing light of twilight as she reared up, staring at the sky.
Mutters from the rigging could be heard once heads had been craned in a futile search, mutters which soon turned to open jeering as he called the order to get the harness ready and for full crew to ready to board.
“Nothing up there but fucking sky.”
“We’re too far out for anything bigger than a courier, unless Frog dragons can turn invisible now.”
“But what about those ships that went missing?”
“Weren’t no dragons that caused that, that were ghost pirate ships, and no dragon could save us from such evil anyway.”
“Mr Tigh!” Adama growled out, ignoring them. “Send word to Captain Nagala that we will going aloft.” For even if his own senses were unable to observe any danger, he knew his dragon well enough to interpret the bristling of her spines and low growl barely audible as signs of a determined and focused anxiety, that would sooner or not burst into a frenzy of action. Far better to take a turn aloft than have her beat her wings against the masthead, and if the French were readying to attack, well then they would be ready to meet them.
“Yes sir! Boxey! Where in the hells are you, boy?”
As the lieutenant bawled at the youngest of the runners, Adama watched as his crew carried out their tasks with more enthusiasm than could be hoped for after such a long enforced recreation, even if Saul did have to bawl out Starbuck in the midst of the stream of orders. He ignored the observers who were keeping out of the way on the edge of the dragon deck; ever since that day Galactica had inserted herself into their conversation, rather than keep further away the Lady Laura and her attendants had taken to spending their time in the fresh air there rather than one of the many more suitable spots without risk of dragon interference. At least he had not had to put up with that fool Baltar’s presence since then.
Galactica paid no heed to sailors or passengers, nor even her crew climbing over her to attach the harness. She continued to stare upwards, her head occasionally twisting this way and that as she tracked what only she could hear.
Rising on to her hind legs to shake and declare “All lies well,” her desire to be aloft as soon as possible was obvious; before he knew it she had picked him up and placed him upon her back and people and ship and all were below and getting smaller with each wing beat.
“Contact sighted?”
He received a slew of negatives in response; even Dee, with her sharp eyes of Signal Ensign had not seen anything.
“I do hear wing beats!” Galactica’s neck spikes bristled at the imagined doubt, and he quickly placed a soothing hand on the expanse of scales in front of him.
“I know.”
“They are sneaking, not daring to show themselves and fight fairly, but I can still hear them.”
“Them?” Adama again looked to the sky, as if the knowledge of more than one would have made them easier to spot. “How many are there?”
“Perhaps a dozen. Hard to tell, they keep flitting about.” The muscles of her neck suddenly tensed and he and the rest of the crew swiftly took a hold of their straps as she roared out into the emptiness. “Cowards! Show yourselves! If you want to fight, fight properly!”
“They won’t respond to that if they are cowards,” Tigh muttered wryly, and Adama shot him a look.
“Mr Tigh, I think it is dark enough for some flares to be able to do some good.”
“Aye sir!” There was the sharp smell of powder as Gunner Costanza set the first up into the air; the light revealing the roof of cloud above their heads and very little else, but as the light died away there was a voice rang out from the starboard side that then cut off.
“I thought I saw something, sir, but it was impossibly quick,” Dee admitted when pressed, the ensign normally so reliable that Adama was inclined to believe her.
“They are cowards.”
“What size was it?” Adama asked, ignoring Galactica. “Can’t even be a middle-weight to be so quick.”
“No sir, I’d say courier.”
“How could something courier sized get so far out without a boat?” Tigh said. “And if it’s the Frogs, no doubt they are leading us right into the sights of their ship.”
“It’s not them,” Galactica said. “It doesn’t sound like them. And I told you, there are a dozen at least.”
There was the slightest hesitation in her voice, and Adama seized upon it. “Even so, even a dozen courier sized beasts would be out matched by you,” he said softly. “Not a fair fight.”
“No-o.” Her heedless speed slowed as her wing beats became ever so slightly hesitant. “But they are up to no good, I know it. And why don’t they show themselves if they are not? No, no they must be chased off!”
“Worth a shot,” Tigh said to him under his breath.
But at least with her headlong rush checked they could worry less about keeping their footing, and instead focus on the fleeting glimpses throughout the crew as periodically a flare was sent up; the descriptions so vague that, a flash of a talon, a shadowy flutter of a wing, Adama was willing to put them down to tricks of the light being embellished by each crewman in their telling, until he though he spotted something himself.
He shook his head; either it was something or the atmosphere was getting to him as well and that would not do him or his crew any good. “We need to entertain the idea that if we are indeed in pursuit of an earthly foe and not an illusion, that we are deliberately being led away.”
Galactica heard that, he could tell by the pause to her down stroke, but before he could take the issue with her further there was a fluttering shadow beyond her head that was there and gone just as quickly; in response to this provocation her spines bristled and she let out a roar deafening even to those familiar to the angry sounds of dragon warfare. He expected her to begin her unchecked chase once again, but while she grumbled and beat the air with furious force she continued to keep at her level pace.
“Good girl. I know it’s not easy-”
“No, it’s not. They are deserving of a thorough beating, but I am not going to keep chasing them if that is what they want me to do. Cowardly little bats!”
“We should go back to the ship. Let them feel the pepper guns if they insist on following us back.”
“I don’t need pepper guns to take care of my battles!”
“Of course you don’t.”
“Would serve them right if they did get hit in the face with a pepper ball, maybe they’d learn to fight like decent dragons,” she muttered under her breath, and so the whole crew could hear. “I don’t know what their captains are thinking, letting them behave so.”
As if sensing her flight had become more controlled, the stranger dragons became more bold, appearing out of the shadows for longer periods of time while still not engaging directly. They were of not breed Adama had ever seen; sleek and dark, perhaps black in the gloom, but smaller even than a Greyling, with gleaming talons and a look of pointed yet inhuman intelligence in their faces, but what was of most interest was the lack of a captain upon them. They did not appear to have even a scrap of harness between them.
“Ferals in the middle of the ocean? That’s not right.” Tigh gave voice to Adama’s own thoughts. “Next thing you know, sea serpents will have grown wings.”
“We should turn back,” Adama said, unable to ignore the slow dread creeping upon him, and thankfully Galactica was now of a mind to pay him heed. Continuing to keep a close watch of the strange beasts, who in turn were continuing to allow themselves to be seen as they wheeled amongst one another out of reach her claws, she snorted at their antics as she began her own manoeuvres to turn around.
“Since they are not afraid to make themselves targets anymore, a round of riffle shot should see to them,” Tigh said. Adama looked at him for a long moment, then gave a nod of his head.
The ferals moved together with all the grace of a flock of birds, watching as riffles were raised with open eyed curiosity and no evidence of understanding to such an extent Adama held off on giving the order to fire for a moment. The rumble of gunfire that then split the air was too distant and too deep to have been the result of one of them men getting ahead of themselves; looking down the line he saw the same expression of surprise on each face that was likely on his own. An expression quickly replaced with grim realisation.
“Back to the ship!” he roared.
It was then that the ferals attacked.
Rating: Teen
Characters: Bill Adama, Ensemble
Summary: Captain William Adama and the crew of the dragon Galactica are to be posted to the Americas; Britain's Aerial Dragon Corps having little use for the aging dragon. But first there is the treacherous crossing of the Atlantic to be taken; tensions between the crews of ship and dragon and family, and why has the Lady Laura Roslin taken passage aboard a dragon transport ship? And then there are rumours of sightings of the ships and dragons of a group of pirates known only as the Cylons... A Battlestar Galactica/Temeraire crossover AU.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, I'm just borrowing them. Not my world, I'm just playing in it. They belong to RDM, Syfy etc. and Naomi Novik.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.
Notes: Continuing onwards, slowly slowly. My attention span and work ethic are appalling.
1805- Somewhere in the Atlantic.
Even if it did prove to be a fool’s errand, Adama was glad to feel the familiar lurch of Galactica’s wing beats and the wind against his face; the lights of the ship behind them growing smaller, until they were one small constellation amongst many, only marked out by their colour and fallen position.
It was a relief to be off the ship, and even as they were chasing down a foe he could feel the tension leave his body, as if he had left it all behind on the ship. Which meant that it would no doubt return when they would have to land, but for now he was determined to enjoy the respite. And it seemed that the crew was also, certainly their was a lightness in their chatter he had not heard for some weeks. This was in contrast with the dragon herself; with her neck stretched out he could feel her tension underfoot as she threw herself in pursuit of a prey that he had seen neither wing nor scale of, but she assured him that was there.
“I hear wing beats.” Her sudden alertness had roused him from an uneasy sleep as he rested against her forelimb; getting to his feet he closed the book that had fallen on to his lap with the place long lost and placed it to the side. Her outline was stark against the rapidly failing light of twilight as she reared up, staring at the sky.
Mutters from the rigging could be heard once heads had been craned in a futile search, mutters which soon turned to open jeering as he called the order to get the harness ready and for full crew to ready to board.
“Nothing up there but fucking sky.”
“We’re too far out for anything bigger than a courier, unless Frog dragons can turn invisible now.”
“But what about those ships that went missing?”
“Weren’t no dragons that caused that, that were ghost pirate ships, and no dragon could save us from such evil anyway.”
“Mr Tigh!” Adama growled out, ignoring them. “Send word to Captain Nagala that we will going aloft.” For even if his own senses were unable to observe any danger, he knew his dragon well enough to interpret the bristling of her spines and low growl barely audible as signs of a determined and focused anxiety, that would sooner or not burst into a frenzy of action. Far better to take a turn aloft than have her beat her wings against the masthead, and if the French were readying to attack, well then they would be ready to meet them.
“Yes sir! Boxey! Where in the hells are you, boy?”
As the lieutenant bawled at the youngest of the runners, Adama watched as his crew carried out their tasks with more enthusiasm than could be hoped for after such a long enforced recreation, even if Saul did have to bawl out Starbuck in the midst of the stream of orders. He ignored the observers who were keeping out of the way on the edge of the dragon deck; ever since that day Galactica had inserted herself into their conversation, rather than keep further away the Lady Laura and her attendants had taken to spending their time in the fresh air there rather than one of the many more suitable spots without risk of dragon interference. At least he had not had to put up with that fool Baltar’s presence since then.
Galactica paid no heed to sailors or passengers, nor even her crew climbing over her to attach the harness. She continued to stare upwards, her head occasionally twisting this way and that as she tracked what only she could hear.
Rising on to her hind legs to shake and declare “All lies well,” her desire to be aloft as soon as possible was obvious; before he knew it she had picked him up and placed him upon her back and people and ship and all were below and getting smaller with each wing beat.
“Contact sighted?”
He received a slew of negatives in response; even Dee, with her sharp eyes of Signal Ensign had not seen anything.
“I do hear wing beats!” Galactica’s neck spikes bristled at the imagined doubt, and he quickly placed a soothing hand on the expanse of scales in front of him.
“I know.”
“They are sneaking, not daring to show themselves and fight fairly, but I can still hear them.”
“Them?” Adama again looked to the sky, as if the knowledge of more than one would have made them easier to spot. “How many are there?”
“Perhaps a dozen. Hard to tell, they keep flitting about.” The muscles of her neck suddenly tensed and he and the rest of the crew swiftly took a hold of their straps as she roared out into the emptiness. “Cowards! Show yourselves! If you want to fight, fight properly!”
“They won’t respond to that if they are cowards,” Tigh muttered wryly, and Adama shot him a look.
“Mr Tigh, I think it is dark enough for some flares to be able to do some good.”
“Aye sir!” There was the sharp smell of powder as Gunner Costanza set the first up into the air; the light revealing the roof of cloud above their heads and very little else, but as the light died away there was a voice rang out from the starboard side that then cut off.
“I thought I saw something, sir, but it was impossibly quick,” Dee admitted when pressed, the ensign normally so reliable that Adama was inclined to believe her.
“They are cowards.”
“What size was it?” Adama asked, ignoring Galactica. “Can’t even be a middle-weight to be so quick.”
“No sir, I’d say courier.”
“How could something courier sized get so far out without a boat?” Tigh said. “And if it’s the Frogs, no doubt they are leading us right into the sights of their ship.”
“It’s not them,” Galactica said. “It doesn’t sound like them. And I told you, there are a dozen at least.”
There was the slightest hesitation in her voice, and Adama seized upon it. “Even so, even a dozen courier sized beasts would be out matched by you,” he said softly. “Not a fair fight.”
“No-o.” Her heedless speed slowed as her wing beats became ever so slightly hesitant. “But they are up to no good, I know it. And why don’t they show themselves if they are not? No, no they must be chased off!”
“Worth a shot,” Tigh said to him under his breath.
But at least with her headlong rush checked they could worry less about keeping their footing, and instead focus on the fleeting glimpses throughout the crew as periodically a flare was sent up; the descriptions so vague that, a flash of a talon, a shadowy flutter of a wing, Adama was willing to put them down to tricks of the light being embellished by each crewman in their telling, until he though he spotted something himself.
He shook his head; either it was something or the atmosphere was getting to him as well and that would not do him or his crew any good. “We need to entertain the idea that if we are indeed in pursuit of an earthly foe and not an illusion, that we are deliberately being led away.”
Galactica heard that, he could tell by the pause to her down stroke, but before he could take the issue with her further there was a fluttering shadow beyond her head that was there and gone just as quickly; in response to this provocation her spines bristled and she let out a roar deafening even to those familiar to the angry sounds of dragon warfare. He expected her to begin her unchecked chase once again, but while she grumbled and beat the air with furious force she continued to keep at her level pace.
“Good girl. I know it’s not easy-”
“No, it’s not. They are deserving of a thorough beating, but I am not going to keep chasing them if that is what they want me to do. Cowardly little bats!”
“We should go back to the ship. Let them feel the pepper guns if they insist on following us back.”
“I don’t need pepper guns to take care of my battles!”
“Of course you don’t.”
“Would serve them right if they did get hit in the face with a pepper ball, maybe they’d learn to fight like decent dragons,” she muttered under her breath, and so the whole crew could hear. “I don’t know what their captains are thinking, letting them behave so.”
As if sensing her flight had become more controlled, the stranger dragons became more bold, appearing out of the shadows for longer periods of time while still not engaging directly. They were of not breed Adama had ever seen; sleek and dark, perhaps black in the gloom, but smaller even than a Greyling, with gleaming talons and a look of pointed yet inhuman intelligence in their faces, but what was of most interest was the lack of a captain upon them. They did not appear to have even a scrap of harness between them.
“Ferals in the middle of the ocean? That’s not right.” Tigh gave voice to Adama’s own thoughts. “Next thing you know, sea serpents will have grown wings.”
“We should turn back,” Adama said, unable to ignore the slow dread creeping upon him, and thankfully Galactica was now of a mind to pay him heed. Continuing to keep a close watch of the strange beasts, who in turn were continuing to allow themselves to be seen as they wheeled amongst one another out of reach her claws, she snorted at their antics as she began her own manoeuvres to turn around.
“Since they are not afraid to make themselves targets anymore, a round of riffle shot should see to them,” Tigh said. Adama looked at him for a long moment, then gave a nod of his head.
The ferals moved together with all the grace of a flock of birds, watching as riffles were raised with open eyed curiosity and no evidence of understanding to such an extent Adama held off on giving the order to fire for a moment. The rumble of gunfire that then split the air was too distant and too deep to have been the result of one of them men getting ahead of themselves; looking down the line he saw the same expression of surprise on each face that was likely on his own. An expression quickly replaced with grim realisation.
“Back to the ship!” he roared.
It was then that the ferals attacked.