Fic: Edge 8/30
Author: Lurker2209
Spoilers: Through Razor, a few references to S4. Nothing for 4.5
Characters/pairing: OC heavy, ultimately K/L
Warnings: Overall it's rated R, for mature themes, violence, profanity, etc
Disclaimer: The show belongs to Ron and Sci-fi, et al. But Petra is all mine!
Summary: What if rough patches are all you’ve ever known? For more a decade the fleet has wandered the wilderness of stars. The hope of promised Earth dims. Destruction seems inevitable, either by the overwhelming force of the cylon armada, or the ravage of cold space. Humanity grows desperate, none so desperate as young Petra Thrace. Survival is a game she knows well, even if it is always rigged against her. “If you wanna to survive here, you gotta always remember one thing: Nobody gives a frak.”
Cross-posted: to
beyond_insane and bsg2003fics
A/N: Sorry it's been so long. I rewrote this chapter like five times, before realizing that the original was actually better than most of the rewrites. Stupid obsessive perfectionism! I do edit chapters from my massive rough draft as a whole, and then post them in segments for length, so the other two parts of this chapter are ready to go. Which means regular updates for the next two weeks.
Thanks goes toartemis90 and uberscribbler for being awesome beta's. Also for everyone who has ever commented on the story. You are all awesome!
Chapter 3: Fugitives
There is a strength in the union even of very sorry men.
Homer, The Iliad
Part A
Simon and I were both starving. It was at least lunchtime and I hadn’t even given breakfast a thought this morning. We were going to have to get off this ship soon and get our bags on the Zeusuda, but we agreed it would be smart plan and eat at the same time.
“We need money, fast,” I pointed out. We had two return tickets to the Zeusuda from the Star, worthless now. Lane had taken my school uniform, but we might be able to sell Simon’s. But I didn’t think anyone would buy it here; there were no fancy schools for rich kids on the Gideon.
“I broke into a desk in that office and took the petty cash,” Simon said. “It should be enough to get us out of here.” He pressed a few bills and coins into my hand, “In case we get split up for a little while.”
The Gideon was swarming with people. A couple of sections were still closed off since the cylon attack last week, and with the extra hundred or so people FleetSec had brought over, the ship was packed. As far as I was concerned, that was a good thing. The more people, the easier it was to hide. We found the nearest cafeteria and stood in the long line. A wireless broadcast played over the loudspeakers.
“…survey team from the planet Hoddholt reports the magnetic storm is beginning to wane,” the announcer reported, “Sources suggest that Admiral Adama will direct the Fleet to jump back into Hoddholt’s orbit sometime in the next three or four days…”
Everyone in the cafeteria cheered at that news. The cylons couldn’t attack once entered a low orbit around the gas giant. The radiation would destroy them. Hoddholt had proved a safe place to hide for years.
“They never talk about how the storms are getting longer,” Simon observed.
“Yeah, I guess they are.” I hadn’t really thought about it, but he was right. “When I was a kid, they lasted maybe a week. This one lasted more than three.”
“They’re getting closer together too,” he said.
“That sucks, we gotta spend more and more time out here where the cylons can find us. .”
“It’s more than that. What if they get so long and so close together that there are storms all the time. What if we can’t hide at Hoddholt anymore?”
“I dunno. The Old Man will figure out something. We can’t be the first people to figure this out.”
“No, they’ve got to know it’s coming. But if they had a place to go, a safe place, why not go there now? They don’t need the whole fleet for water-mining.”
He was right. The Gideon had taken a bit of damage, and the damage to Kimba Huta and Greenleaf a few weeks ago was still the talk of the wireless.
“Nothing we can do about it,” I said.
Someone shoved against us; I spun, fists raised, but it was only a small man, who had tripped. He caught his balance and hurried along without a word. No big deal, but it easily could have been.
“So, uh, what are the odds that the Aretids will remember you and still hold a grudge?” I asked Simon. We had way too many people after us.
“Let’s not stick around long enough to find out,” Simon said.
The only options for lunch were algae and rice casserole or rice-bread and cheese sandwiches. Simon and I both opted for a sandwich and got in the line for juice. ‘Juice’ was mostly water and vitamins, with a hint of very diluted berry flavor, but vitamins were important.
I glanced at the door and caught a glimpse of a familiar grey uniform. Shit.
I ducked down and tried to catch a view of the cop out of the corner of my eye. Yep, that blonde hair was definitely Lane’s.
“We gotta go. Lane’s here. Your four o’clock,” I whispered to Simon, as I slipped the sandwich into my jacket pocket.
“What?” He whipped his head around. “Where?”
“Don’t do that; he’ll see us.” What kind of person didn’t understand ‘on your four o’clock’? I risked another sideways glance to see if Lane had noticed. He hadn’t, but it was only a matter of time.
“Kitchen entrance,” I said.
Simon nodded and slipped out of line and walked casually towards it. I followed after a few seconds, on a slightly different angle. It was crowded enough that we just might slip away. Simon stopped on one side of the doorway, next to a few people waiting for clean plates. Lane was still standing near the main door, looking at all the people sitting at the tables. With a gush of warm air, the kitchen door opened to admit a man carrying a stack of plates. The people waiting hurried forward to grab one, and Simon nodded at me. Together we stepped around the cafeteria worker and into the kitchen.
“Hey, you can’t go in there. Stop it. Hey! You! Stop!”
We pushed our way into the hot kitchen, dodging cooks and hot stoves. I grabbed the handle of the first door I came to. It was a cold storage room, damn. I slammed it shut and kept running. Simon jerked open another door - broom closet.
“Hey, stop them, they’re terrorists!” Lane was in the kitchen. I didn’t turn around to look to see how close he was. The last door was the service entrance, thank the Lords. We rushed out into another crowded corridor.
“Split up!” I hissed. “We meet up…” I tried to think of something quickly.
“Where we first met.” Simon supplied. At the next intersection, he turned left; I spun right.
Ahead of me the corridor opened into a market. I slowed up, dodged around a few stalls, walking quickly, but trying not to draw attention. In one crowded spot, I turned to look for any sign of Lane. A moment later, he rushed in and started looking around. I slipped around another corner. Calm down, Petra. Panic now would just get me put in handcuffs again.
The shaft where I’d met Simon was two decks below the hangar level, aft starboard. I was about five decks up, bow starboard. The market was part of a larger cargo bay that had been mostly divided into living spaces. The freight elevators should be somewhere to my right. I turned slowly, looking for them while also watching Lane’s progress.
Bingo! Right across from me were the elevators; now dysfunctional, but the stairwell ought to be between them. Lane moved down another row of stalls. He was systematic, thorough, but also predictable. I’d have to cross his neat search pattern to get to the stairs, but if I timed it right, he’d never see me.
I watched down a row as he crossed, right to left. A few minutes later, he appeared on the left, one row closer to my hiding spot. I ducked behind a passing shopper and counted to five before walking quickly towards the stairs. As long as Lane didn’t turn around and look behind him, this would work.
I held my breath as I crossed the row he was searching, and I made myself keep my eyes ahead of me. When I was across I released the breath. Almost to the stairs, just a few more steps. Yes! Once again, I’d lost him.
I counted flights of stairs until I got to the one I wanted. I emerged in a section of the ship that was even more sketchy than the one above. Drugs were hawked in the open, women walked around whose clothing left no doubt of their profession. I walked quickly, eager to be away. As I passed a group of people in a corridor, I heard someone ahead say something that grabbed my attention.
“Have you seen my Simon?” asked a woman in a flashy, low cut dress. “ Have you seen my boy? My Simon? I need to find him.” The woman looked old, in that sad worn out way, but the resemblance was there, though her dark hair was streaked with grey and her familiar features were wrinkled. I wondered how she’d known to come looking here. Maybe someone had passed the word through some kind of pimp grapevine that he’d been here a few days ago?
As I walked towards her, I knew I should say something. I should tell her to come with me. I should help her out, introduce Simon back to his mother. He thought she didn’t care, but she was looking for him.
Instead, I looked away as she walked past.
Simon had never said he wanted to find her, after all. The way he talked, she wasn’t a very good mom. And if I said anything, if I told her where to find him, if he went with her and she got the little kids back, what would happen to me then? I didn’t have Kasey. I didn’t have Galactica. I didn’t have anything but Simon.
And besides, I wasn’t sure she was the right person. It could have been another Simon. Not that Simon was exactly a common name these days, but in 50,000 people there was probably more than one person with that name. There had to be. I resolved to forget it ever happened and hurried along.
The section of the ship I was headed for was still being repaired in places. I dodged a few work crews welding sheets of metal into place. In other areas people had already moved back into some of the damaged rooms. If the bent walls didn’t threaten the structure of the ship, they’d be left alone. I found the hatch to our hiding place and opened it cautiously. It was quite possible someone else had used it in our absence.
“Petra?” Someone whispered.
“Yeah, it’s me.” I jumped over the ladder shaft and walked back into the tiny space where Simon waited.
“I didn’t see Lane after we split up, you?”
“He followed me. I lost him.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” I insisted. Of course I was sure. Was he suspicious? Did he know I was leaving something out? “We’ve got to get out of here. I don’t want to run into Lane again.” Lane for one, the weird lady - who might not be Simon’s mother - for another.
“We can’t just get on a shuttle. They’ll have a checkpoint set up by now. But last time I was here, there rumors, about this guy named Eric who runs the crew that loads and unloads the fuel ships.”
We made our way to the section just below the hangar deck. A number of people passed by hauling cargo. I saw a small girl and stopped her.
“We’re looking for Eric.”
“In there.” She pointed to a door that opened to a small office where several young men were playing dice.
One of the boys stood slowly and appraised us.
“You’re Eric?” Simon asked.
He nodded.
“You can get us off this ship, past the checkpoint?” I asked.
“I’ve got some contacts. You’re kind of little to be hiding from the cops,” he sneered.
“That’s our business,” Simon insisted. “You want our cash?.”
“I’ve got a shuttle landing in an hour that will depart for the Prometheus. You should be able to go wherever you want from there. Come with me, we’ll talk prices,” Eric led us to the back of the tiny room, where there was a desk cluttered with glasses and cigarette butts. There was one stack of loose papers on the floor, but Eric didn’t seem to use the office for office work. His first price was outrageous, but we haggled down to something a bit more reasonable. Still, the trip wiped out most of our money. Between the two of us we had maybe 500 cubits left over. But if FleetSec hadn’t tightened security on the Zuesuda, we could buy regular tickets to any good hiding place once we had our bags. After about forty minutes Eric told us to follow him up to the hangar deck, but first he stopped us at the bathrooms.
“You two had better pee now. I’ll explain later.”
I shared a quizzical look with Simon, but followed his instructions. When we were finished we Eric opened the door to a large storage room. Inside were the many, many barrels of tyllium fuel, some full, and some empty. This must be the Gideon’s main supply.
He opened the lids of two barrels, “Get in.”
I paused, looked a Simon. Was he serious?
He laughed. “They’re clean, okay. I keep a few of them nice and tidy for bonus cargo. You two kids are the first people I’ve put in them, but you’ll fit. We’ll even punch a few holes so you don’t suffocate.”
Well, alright then. I climbed into one barrel. I wasn’t too squished once I pulled my legs up to my chest. A grown-up person would have found it way too tight, but I could manage. And Eric assured us the flight wouldn’t take too long.
“The crew will start loading in a few minutes,” Eric said as he punched tiny holes with a hammer and nail. “I’ll have my guys load your crates gently, but you gotta keep quiet whatever happens. Understand?”
“And when we get there?” Simon asked.
“The Captain’ll let you out. You give her the rest of the fee.”
I nodded and he fastened the lid down on the barrel. Everything went dark.
The trip was long, boring and uncomfortable. It was impossible not to feel as though the entire process was taking an excruciatingly long amount of time. Finally, I fell asleep. I hadn’t slept much the night before. I woke to a bright light that streamed in once the lid was opened. When I could see, I noticed a woman opening Simon’s barrel. I grabbed the rim and slowly pulled myself into a standing position. Everything ached, and the pins and needles filled my legs as the blood started flowing to them again. We were in another large storage room full of barrels.
“How long were we in there?” I asked.
“I guess about three hours,” the woman answered. It had felt like much, much longer. We handed over the rest of the cash as we jogged in place to restore the sensation in our feet.
“Head out that door, take a right, and then the second door on the left is stairs. Three levels up is the main hangar deck, if you want to catch another shuttle. Nice doing business with you.”
We nodded and followed the directions. The Prometheus was a good place to avoid FleetSec, but a bad place for two kids to be alone. No way were we going to try to pick a pocket here; we’d probably get shot for it. I kept my eyes open and my hand in my pocket holding my knife. I wanted to hold it out in front of me, but scary criminal grown-ups like the ones on the Prometheus would regard a kid brandishing a knife as a nice chance to mess with someone for the fun of it. Simon shared my unease, he kept looking around furtively as if someone would pop out of a wall and attack us. I wondered if he’d ever been here before with his mom.
We walked past a group of tough-looking men, heads down. I relaxed when we made it a few steps past them.
“Stop.”
I almost ran, but the I heard the click of a pistol being cocked.
“I’ve been looking for you, you little brat.”
Simon and I turned around. It certainly wasn’t Lane. It wasn’t anyone I’d ever seen before. But he was huge.
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