New Fic Post: Edge 5/?
Author: Lurker2209
Spoilers: Through S3 and some oblique references to Razor
Rating: PG-13, for now.
Characters/pairings: Lots of OC’s, L/K (be patient, very patient!)
Timeline: About 13 years after the Second Exodus; this goes AU somewhere after Rapture, although the rest of S3 did or will happen, just differently.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Ron who generously lets us play in his universe.
Summary: For years the fleet has wandered in the wilderness,while Petra has wandered from place to place.
A/N: I know, I know. You thought this was another abandoned story. But after a lot of setbacks and a few minor breakthroughs my grad school project is back on track. So I can post this with the reasonable expectation that I'll be able to post the next part in a week or two. Thanks to all three of my wonderful Beta's.
Chapter 1: Orphans-- A, B, C
Chapter 2: Sharps-- A
Sharps Part B
Simon and I settled at a table in the corner of the park, a pair of mostly anonymous loners. Simon had found some discarded flyers for a birthday party in the ship’s bowling alley and was doodling ideas for his comic on the back of one. I looked around at the other kids, hoping we fit in well enough to be ignored. Most of the attention was focused on three girls about my age, who pretended not to notice that everyone wanted to be them.
“Daddy got me three tickets to the new Twilight Cruise Premiere!” One girl with light brown skin and black hair handed off the treasured slips of cardstock to her friends.
“O my gods, Josie, that’s terrific!" The blonde one was nearly jumping up and down.
"We're going to have have to find something to wear!" The third girl-tall and brunette-squealed.
Every few months Robert Wilson, who’d given up reporting for film, released twenty more minutes of his serial to entertain the fleet. Eventually, even I would see it 10 or 20 times-there was nothing else to do-but the premier was a big deal. I tuned out the excited squealing of the chosen friends and the jealous looks of the hangers-on.
Simon was staring at the movie poster that hung above the excited kids. People said Helen Astraea was pretty, but I didn’t see it. Even real makeup wasn’t enough to make someone pretty when they had giant caves under their cheekbones.
“Why would anyone that rich be that skinny?” I said. Simon turned to look at me. “I mean, if you can buy all the real food you want, food that actually tastes good, why starve yourself?”
“She eats sweets like crazy,” Simon said, with a weird air of authority.
“How would you know?”
“She used to babysit me, before Paya was ‘Helen Astraea,’ film star. My mother and hers…” he cut off. “Anyways she’s not well.”
“Her? If anyone can afford doctors and medicine it’s a movie star.”
“Yeah, but she doesn’t take the medicine, ‘cause it makes her fat. She’s going to wreck her kidneys.”
“What’s wrong with being fat? Sounds like she’s more crazy than sick.”
“More or less.” Simon sighed, and I realized he really cared about her. Although, obviously she’d forgotten him. He turned back to his drawing, done talking. It was weird to think of rich, famous people having problems too.
I grabbed a piece of Simon’s scrap paper and the end of a pencil from my pocket. The Admiral had owned a beautiful illustrated copy of Kynthia’s Of the Gods and Men On Earth, classical scenes by the Masters on its many color plates. I had once spent hours flipping through it in his office, when I played hooky from daycare while he did paperwork. Rumor had it the Old Man and his son had made up, so he probably had his own grandkids to spoil now.
It didn’t matter, those colorful pages had been burned into my head. In one of my favorite scenes, Calypso was perched on a rock, mournfully watching Odysseus build his raft. I slowly penciled the shape of a woman, the drape of her dress, the pile of curls adorned with water droplets and a sea star. And I remembered the last time I’d drawn a nymph.
Hera had determined I was the better artist and commissioned the crude childish drawing for our tiny shrine. Did she still believe in Arethusa, Creusa, and Drosera, the naiad sisters who lived in the water tanks of Galactica? Did she still leave ends of candles and pretty bits of broken glass by the sinks to tempt them into showing themselves? I had never been quiet enough, hiding in the stalls of the head, always fidgeting, or giggling with excitement. But I had believed her. I had been willing to tussle with anyone who made fun of her fancies of nymphs and satyrs. I’d wanted to see the things Hera saw-that secret world to which she was the guide. It was magical, more fun than catechism with the priest, but less frightening than an oracle. But Hera had probably long outgrown it or found someone else to listen to fairy stories.
I finished the sketch of Calypso and started to draw the ocean. I tried to remember the films and pictures I’d seen, but there seemed to be something wrong with my horizon, something about the perspective that eluded me. I tried to fix it by adding clouds, but they only made the drawing look sillier. Maybe real clouds were silly things to look at or maybe you had to see them to get them right.
Ernest, the janitor who Simon promised could get us into the Department of Education office, was a short stocky man with a stooped back. He entered the park to empty its trash bins, practically invisible to the uniformed children around us. He was just another part of the scenery who carefully sorted the waste for reuse and recycle. Simon’s hand on my arm held me back until he was finished.
“Let me talk to him alone. He knows me.”
I nodded, folded my drawing in half, and waited. A few minutes later Simon waved me back into the hall. Ernest was gone.
“I gave him half the cash, what I had on me. We’ll give him the rest when we meet at midnight.”
“Ok, let’s find someplace more out of the way to lay low until then. These kids are starting to head home for dinner.”
* * *
When we met Ernest at midnight, he eyed me nervously.
“Hi I’m…”
“Don’t want t’ know, lass.” He cut me off before asking, “You got the rest o’ the cash?”
“When you open the door,” Simon replied and we walked towards the office.
“You just looking through records, not taking anything,” Ernest confirmed and I wondered just how close he came to taking the first payment and not showing up tonight.
Finally we found the right office and Ernest fumbled with the keys. I cringed at the sound, then realized that the rattling of a janitor’s keys was perfectly normal this time of night. Door open, I handed him the rest of the crumpled bills.
“I’ve gotta sweep an’ mop on this whole ‘all. Takes about four ‘ours. By the time I get back to this end, you two ‘ad better be gone.”
We nodded and slipped inside. It was colder here than in the hallways. I wished for my coat, but it had been far too tattered to bring to the Rising Star. The light of the hall shone dimly through the small pane of glass in the door.
“Don’t turn on the overhead lights,” Simon cautioned. “Someone might walk by.”
I nodded, and pulled one of the desks lamps to the floor, switching it on where it was less likely to be noticed. There were filing cabinets everywhere and we started on opposite ends of the room, looking for records.
The first drawer I opened was full of memos on math curriculum. Bo-ring! I mean, it was math; it never changed. History changed. Literature changed. Even religion changed, if slowly. But, math didn’t. The other drawers in that cabinet were all the same. I skimmed the contents, looking for the answers to the yearly exams. That would be a valuable score.
The bottom drawer held no exam keys, but something better: office supplies. Score. I grabbed a fistful of pencils and four wondrous permanent markers, bundled them up with a rubber band and shoved them in my pocket. Ernest would never have to know.
“Back here.” Simon, more focused than I, found the drawers of records-five cabinets full-in the back office. I shut off the light in the front room, replaced it on the desk and moved into the smaller room.
“What’s Kasey’s last name, anyways?” Simon asked, grabbing a stack of file folders and handing me another.
“Byrne.” I answered. “Lily and Linus are the same as yours?”
“Yeah. That’s convenient, A’s and B’s.”
We started combing through the lists, trying to start with the most recent, but the organization left some to be desired. I reminded myself that this was far better than the Placement System, where I no doubt had ended up with at least two files. Their files were so crazy even one of my caseworkers had never been able to find my records. She’d just made a new one and let the missing year go blank, as if the entire period of my life from nine to ten years had disappeared. If only it were so easy. I made myself focus, tracing a finger along one list of names after another.
After an hour and a half of staring at the pages, I almost missed it.
School EC-25, Persephone, Lily Abdera, with a K after her name for Kindergarten.
“I found Lily.” I told Simon, and he rushed over.
“Really? When?”
I looked down; the list was six months old. My face fell. I’d never stayed in any placement more than six months. Odds were she’d moved and there might never be an indication of where. I found the list for the next two weeks, and the next, and the next, stacked neatly below. And then I finally breathed a sigh of relief.
“This is from just last week. She’s still there.”
“That’s good.” He took the file from my hands, just to be sure. And then, with impeccable penmanship, he wrote the name of the ship and the school down. As if he could ever forget.
“Now we just have to find Linus and Kasey.”
After three hours we still hadn’t found either. My eyes were dry from poor light and smudgy printing. The homemade ink smeared easily. I wasn’t sure which of the blurs were on the page and which were just my eyes playing tricks.
And then-then I saw it, School EC-74, Amduatey, Kasey Byrne. The list was a year old. I skimmed through the other lists for EC-74. Updated every two weeks, her name still there between Bryant and Callen. But, but then I reached the end of the stack. The last list. At the bottom there was a handwritten note.
Fire on Amduatey destroyed three sections. Surviving students sent to EC-31 and EC-65.
No, it couldn’t be. Please Lords! Not Kasey. Not after everything else.
I fumbled through drawers for EC-31. EC-28, EC-29, EC-30… There it was. I flipped through the sheets, looking for nine months back. They slipped out of my hands, spread on the floor in disarray. I grabbed sheets at random until I found the right date. The list jumped from 40 students to 50, but Kasey’s name was not there.
She had to be on the other one. She just had to be. I turned back to the cabinet. EC-63, EC-64, EC-66, EC67, EC-69. Where was it? Finally I found EC-65 misfiled in the 50’s and fumbled for the right date. That list jumped from Booker to Carins.
I collapsed into a chair.
Simon came over and slowly sorted through the papers I’d scattered. I watched his face fall.
“Look, if her foster family lost everything in the fire, maybe they sent her back to a home. It could just be a dead end, uh, I mean…”
“Just shut the frack up.” I bit out. I would not cry in front of him. I would not.
“Petra, we have to keep looking; we’re on a deadline here.” He dropped another stack of files in my arms with an encouraging look.
So I went back to scanning lists. A’s: Allen, Andrews... But I knew I wasn’t going to find anything. …Appleton, Azur... My mother was dead. Julia was dead. …Bandera, Bowdin… Why should I expect Kasey to be anything but lying somewhere in space, her pretty burnt face now frozen? Why had I ever expected anything else?
“Petra. The light.” Simon hissed. I could hear the sound of a key in the lock and reached for the switch. Too late. A man opened the door as I ducked behind a desk. Maybe janitor or watchman was drunk or high. Of course I already knew the fates were against me today.
“I saw you. Get out here!”
I exchanged a glance at Simon, and waved him back. Ratting him out too wasn’t going to help me any. Then I scrambled to my feet and slipped through the door.
“You’re not supposed to be in here.”
From the look of it, he was here to fix something. Maybe the heating, judging from the tools he carried. I was starting to regret cursing the cold.
“I’m-looking for the answers to next week’s History test. If I fail it I’ll never get the internship I want.” The truth was simply to strange for him to believe, so I tried a lie that might suit the way I was dressed. Wasn’t that what rich kids worried about, grades and tests and getting good government jobs where you didn’t have to break your back fixing some sort of machinery?
“Please, you can’t tell anyone. I’ll be in so much trouble.” His eyes lit up and I realized he could be bought then. If only I had any money. Simon and I were broke until we sold back the clothes.
“Well, little missy, if I help you, you have to help me.”
“Ok, um..” I reached into the small bag I carried, hoping for some money or valuable trinket I’d forgotten I’d owned, but mostly stalling. I had the markers, but the only person who could be bribed with those was probably me. Then I felt a small foil-wrapped packet. A needle. I had swiped five of them from the emergency med station where I’d found Simon a week ago. I plucked out the other four and held them out.
“This ok?”
His eyes lit up. Clean needles were pretty valuable, if you knew the right sort of people.
“Sure. Good luck with that test.”
I ducked into the back room.
“He’s gone.”
“What did you give him?”
“Needles, from the med station. I forgot I even had them.”
“You did what?”
“I bribed him with a few needles. Clean ones, worth a lot. Would you stop looking at me like I got down on my knees or something?”
“But Petra, you-you stole needles from a hospital to bribe some guy who will sell them to a junkie.”
“That’s how we get by Simon, we steal stuff. What is your problem?”
“What’s my problem? Some addict is going to be shooting up tonight because of what you did.”
“You know what. I don’t have to deal with you. I mean, what am I even here for?” Kasey was dead, what was the frakking point?! “Find your brother and sister, preach at them. I’m done with this.”
I stormed down the corridor, ignoring Ernest mopping in one of the other rooms. Unbelievable. Just when you thought you could trust someone they pulled some weird shit on you. Hah! I’d been here with way too many foster parents to put up with this from Simon. Well, frak him. I didn’t need him. I didn’t need anyone.
I got to the hanger bay but just missed the return shuttle. Of course. The next one would be in four hours. If I was lucky, Simon would still be searching for his precious kid brother and we wouldn’t run into each other. I needed the time anyways, to figure out what next: back to the Zeusuda to get my bag first, then sell these clothes. I could leave the key with the slumlord so Simon could get his things-not that the frakking idiot deserved it.
I turned the corner to enter the waiting room and saw the Old Man.
Admiral Adama was on a recruiting poster hanging on the wall. He looked old. Much older than I remembered. But then it had been five years since I’d seen him. His hand rested on the shoulder of a young ensign, almost as if he needed the young man to stand straight.
Defend Your Fleet
I read the words at the bottom of the poster, again and again. Defend Your Fleet
I fingered the ID card I still had in my pocket. It said I was sixteen, and the FleetSec officers had bought it.
Defend Your Fleet. I could do that.
I was the great Starbuck’s kid. Of course I could.