Jun 04, 2007 20:30
Her hands are trembling, she notes, and when she looks in the mirror Roslin sees that her face is drawn. "I look like--"
A dying woman. She stops that train of thought quickly.
"--a crone."
They've just finished the two hundred and fifteenth jump and restarted the countdown clock. She'd made an excuse to Billy and stepped into the privacy of her quarters for a few minutes, to splash some water on her face in an attempt to wake herself up.
It's been days on end, and the Cylons just keep coming. Every thirty-three minutes, like clockwork. Like the machines they are.
Of course, machines don't need sleep.
Roslin sighs and goes to her closet to get out a change of clothes. What she doesn't yet know as she reaches for the door is that the constant, rapid FTL jumps have combined with an undetected instability left as a lingering side effect from the pseudo-explosion that Apollo had triggered to open a small pocket in the fabric of space and time.
Give that she's just opened her closet door on a bar instead of her second dress suit, however, it may not take her too long to figure that out.
raven,
bill adama,
george luz,
laura roslin