Fic: The Black Ships, Part X
Title: The Black Ships
Author: Major Fischer
Universe: Battlestar Galactica/The West Wing Crossover
Pairings: Roslin/Adama, with some Roslin/Zarek
Notes: Many thanks to melyanna for inspiring me with her excellent (and highly recommended) west_gate series. This is a Facebook for those of you unfamiliar with one side of the crossover. Also thanks to alesia027 for her help making this more coherent.
Chronology: This takes place in BSG's second season after Epiphanies but before Sacrefices, and in the West Wing's mid sixth season. Spoilers beyond that point are unlikely.
Summary: A few weeks before Christmas, late in the Bartlet Presidency, a fleet of interstellar refugees arrive at Earth and changed the world. But is it the end of the saga, or the beginning of a much more complicated one?
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI
Part VII
Part VIII
Part IX
CJ wondered vaguely when she had stepped into a British farce as she surveyed the situation room. Half the people not wearing a uniform were dressed in formal wear for the State dinner that was due to start within the hour. Yet they were all standing around staring at satellite photos. A Vera Wang gown seemed a tad over dressed for an international (or she supposed an interplanetary) crisis.
“An angry mob stormed a radio telescope in Indonesia run by Cornell University at 0900 local time. Two astronomers and five graduate students were dragged from the building and killed,” Nancy McNally explained.
“Why does Cornell run an observatory in Indonesia anyway? Don’t they have one in Puerto Rico?”
“They do, this one was built four years ago with a private SETI grant to survey stars in the southern hemisphere. They operate with the support of the Indonesian government, but the local clerics are convinced that the dish is a CIA operation.”
“Were any Americans involved?” There was a time when CJ wondered the nationalities of the victims always mattered so much. That was before she was responsible, directly or indirectly, for those lives.
“Two, one of the astronomers and one of the graduate students. Most of the rest were Dutch,” one of the military aides answered.
“This is the third attack on a telescope or scientific observatory in the past week, all in Southern Asia. The CIA believes that radical Islamic schools are inciting the riots. The crowds seem to be made up of mostly young men shouting a mix of anti-American slogans.”
CJ shook her head. “Wonderful.”
“State is issuing a travel warning to American students in the region and some of the major American Universities are beginning to organize evacuations of their people.”
“Let me know immediately if there is another incident.” CJ looked at her watch. “I need to get back to the well ordered chaos upstairs. The Colonial delegation will be arriving in half an hour.”
After McNally nodded, the White House Chief of Staff slipped out of the Situation Room, and walked back towards her office still a little lost in thought. CJ stopped when she saw Danny Concannon lurking in the nearly empty Communications Bullpen.
“Are you incapable of staying in designated areas? And why doesn’t the Secret Service stop you?”
“They like me more than you?” Danny flirted back.
“The Secret Service doesn’t like anyone. Toby is briefing, shouldn’t you be in there asking inane and yet strangely insightful questions?”
“Amusing as it is to listen to Toby recite the menu details and what kind of shoes the First Lady will be wearing, I had a question that I thought you might have better information about.”
CJ began to walk. “I have better information about a lot of things. That doesn’t mean I’ll give it to you.”
“When has that stopped me before?” He didn’t wait for her to answer his question. “I have sources telling me that there have been widespread attacks on scientific research facilities in Indonesia and they might be related to the Colonial’s arrival.”
“I wouldn’t characterize them as widespread. A few isolated incidents to this point.”
“I have sources that say it has a religious motivation. That local Madrasas and radical clerics have declared that the Colonials are demons who have taken on human form to take over the world.”
“I’m more inclined to trust Bethesda Naval Hospital. I think the key part of that sentence is radical.” She looked back at the bank of clocks as they walked past. “Go back to the press area Danny, I have to go meet with the demons for a lovely evening of dinner and dancing.”
CJ glanced back at Danny when the reporter stopped moving, instead just watching her walk. He smiled at her. “You look good, CJ. Tell Beelzebub hello for me.”
She smiled and shook her head, walking back towards her office.
Opening the hallway door, she began speaking, “Margaret I need…” CJ stopped dead in her tracks and stared with a mix of horror and disbelief at a shirtless Tom Zarek standing in the middle of her office. He smiled at her and looked slightly embarrassed but didn’t say anything. The Chief of Staff held up a finger. “I’m sorry, excuse me.”
Closing the door quietly she turned. “Margaret…!”
Within a moment, her quirky red headed assistant met her at the door. “Don’t go into your office…”
“About a minute too late. Why is there a half-naked alien in my office?”
“I didn’t think we were calling them aliens…”
CJ’s voice picked up a bit in speed, “I’m sure we can still agree that he is half-naked though?”
Margaret nodded. “Donna took his shirt and jacket and is trying to find him some clothes.”
“Donna mugged a Colonial dignitary?”
“Not exactly.”
“Explain, please.”
Margaret inhaled, never a good sign. “Apparently someone in the crowd outside Blair House threw a balloon at President Roslin as their party was leaving to cross the street. The Secret Service arrested him. What does one get charged with for throwing paint filled water balloons?”
“Paint filled?” CJ asked exasperated.
“Red paint, yes. Apparently Mr. Zarek threw himself in front of her and his tux was ruined.”
“And you two decided to stick him in my office? Why not stick him in the Oval?”
“Well, there are so many windows and doors…” Margaret was never good with sarcasm.
CJ waved her hands. “Okay, stop.”
Just than Donna came running in at a full tilt, not an easy feat given that she was wearing a stunning pink off the shoulder gown with a low back and what had to be four-inch heels. Sliding to a stop, a garment bag in her hand, she said, “CJ, don’t go into your office.”
Margaret shook her head at her, as if to say it was too late.
“Oh.” Donna smiled, and slipped into CJ’s office without another word.
**~**~**
President Bartlet was standing at the top of the stairs while Abbey fixed his tie when he saw another group approaching. Laura Roslin had gone shopping with Donna Moss that afternoon along with half the Diplomatic Security Bureau of the State Department, and their efforts had gained them a dark blue gown with a bit of lace embroidery. She had come in on the arm of a distinguished-looking gentleman in a gray military uniform.
“They look like a cute couple,” Abbey commented before they were in earshot. “I wonder if they are together.”
“Oh, stop that, Abbey! You have an entire planet of people to match make for before you leave orbit. Besides, it would be like me dating General Alexander.”
“I think you’d look cute together too.”
He chuckled, and reached out to offer his hand. “It’s good to see you again, President Roslin. I see shopping agreed with you.”
“It certainly did,” her escort put in.
She just smiled, and nodded to him. “President Bartlet, may I present Admiral William Adama of the Colonial Fleet.”
The other man smiled and shook his hand firmly. “An honor, Admiral.”
“The honor is mine.” Abbey caught the other woman’s eye as the men exchanged pleasantries. The Admiral certainly did give Tom Zarek a run for his money in the charms department.
Jed waved his hand. “We have to do this thing for the cameras, it shouldn’t take too long, and than we can get onto the food and dancing.”
Roslin nodded. “I have gone to a few of these sorts of events before. As long as there isn’t a need for a food taster it will be fun.”
“I believe we keep the food tasters in the kitchen.”
“Well, out of sight, out of mind.”
The four of them started down the stairs to the strains of “Hail to the Chief” ”. When they got to the foot of the stairs a Marine sergeant bellowed, “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States and Mrs. Bartlet with the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, and her escort!”
The Admiral leaned into President Roslin just a bit, Jed could hear him say, “I don’t think I’ve ever been described quiet like that before.”
She laughed, and the Marine Band began to play the strains of the music that the Colonial delegation had given them with a crash of cymbals and trumpets.
**~**~**
After dinner and before the dancing began was the time when toasts were made, carefully worded, mostly dreadfully boring. Never spontaneous tributes and threats coached in flowery protocol. Earlier in the evening Roslin had pulled Starbuck aside and asked her to be the one to give the Colonies’ toast to their hosts. Now Kara was standing holding up her glass and trying to dismiss the nervous laughter that wanted to well up. A room full of diplomats was not exactly the setting that Kara Thrace did most of her drinking.
“The Lords of Kobol look down upon us and upon our meetings today and in the coming weeks. May Athena, goddess of war, wisdom, and civilization, guide us to peace. May Apollo, god of light bring us messages of understanding. May Hera, mother of gods and sister of the Lord of Lords Zeus remind us that we are all humans, and settle our differences like a large and far-flung family. So say we all!”
Among the Colonials in the room they each muttered, “So say we all,” as did a few of the people among the Bartlet Administration, but from his seat in the corner Toby Ziegler was watching something else. He was watching the Speaker of the House and the Senate Majority leader shift uncomfortably.
“That’s not going to play well on Fox News…” he said quietly
**~**~**
Two hours into the party, Laura Roslin had danced not once but twice with an exceedingly charming but very drunk ambassador, and was going to get herself a glass of wine when she saw someone coming up her peripheral vision with two glasses of wine.
“Have I told you that you look amazing tonight, Laura?”
She smiled, but it was her practiced smile. “Not recently Tom, but thank you.” She graciously took the wine from him. “You are looking better yourself.”
He looked down at the replacement tuxedo. “I look better in red than you do.”
That brought a real chuckle from her.
“Would you mind dancing?”
“With you?”
“I don’t mean with Adama.”
She shook her head but set down her wine glass on a passing waiter’s tray and took the former terrorist’s offered hand. “I don’t suppose it would hurt too much.”
“I’ll have you know the last woman’s toes I stepped on was my thirteen year old sister.” She laughed again, and they danced together slowly.
At a table across the room, William Adama frowned.
... to be continued ...
Next Chapter: Part XI
Author: Major Fischer
Universe: Battlestar Galactica/The West Wing Crossover
Pairings: Roslin/Adama, with some Roslin/Zarek
Notes: Many thanks to melyanna for inspiring me with her excellent (and highly recommended) west_gate series. This is a Facebook for those of you unfamiliar with one side of the crossover. Also thanks to alesia027 for her help making this more coherent.
Chronology: This takes place in BSG's second season after Epiphanies but before Sacrefices, and in the West Wing's mid sixth season. Spoilers beyond that point are unlikely.
Summary: A few weeks before Christmas, late in the Bartlet Presidency, a fleet of interstellar refugees arrive at Earth and changed the world. But is it the end of the saga, or the beginning of a much more complicated one?
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI
Part VII
Part VIII
Part IX
CJ wondered vaguely when she had stepped into a British farce as she surveyed the situation room. Half the people not wearing a uniform were dressed in formal wear for the State dinner that was due to start within the hour. Yet they were all standing around staring at satellite photos. A Vera Wang gown seemed a tad over dressed for an international (or she supposed an interplanetary) crisis.
“An angry mob stormed a radio telescope in Indonesia run by Cornell University at 0900 local time. Two astronomers and five graduate students were dragged from the building and killed,” Nancy McNally explained.
“Why does Cornell run an observatory in Indonesia anyway? Don’t they have one in Puerto Rico?”
“They do, this one was built four years ago with a private SETI grant to survey stars in the southern hemisphere. They operate with the support of the Indonesian government, but the local clerics are convinced that the dish is a CIA operation.”
“Were any Americans involved?” There was a time when CJ wondered the nationalities of the victims always mattered so much. That was before she was responsible, directly or indirectly, for those lives.
“Two, one of the astronomers and one of the graduate students. Most of the rest were Dutch,” one of the military aides answered.
“This is the third attack on a telescope or scientific observatory in the past week, all in Southern Asia. The CIA believes that radical Islamic schools are inciting the riots. The crowds seem to be made up of mostly young men shouting a mix of anti-American slogans.”
CJ shook her head. “Wonderful.”
“State is issuing a travel warning to American students in the region and some of the major American Universities are beginning to organize evacuations of their people.”
“Let me know immediately if there is another incident.” CJ looked at her watch. “I need to get back to the well ordered chaos upstairs. The Colonial delegation will be arriving in half an hour.”
After McNally nodded, the White House Chief of Staff slipped out of the Situation Room, and walked back towards her office still a little lost in thought. CJ stopped when she saw Danny Concannon lurking in the nearly empty Communications Bullpen.
“Are you incapable of staying in designated areas? And why doesn’t the Secret Service stop you?”
“They like me more than you?” Danny flirted back.
“The Secret Service doesn’t like anyone. Toby is briefing, shouldn’t you be in there asking inane and yet strangely insightful questions?”
“Amusing as it is to listen to Toby recite the menu details and what kind of shoes the First Lady will be wearing, I had a question that I thought you might have better information about.”
CJ began to walk. “I have better information about a lot of things. That doesn’t mean I’ll give it to you.”
“When has that stopped me before?” He didn’t wait for her to answer his question. “I have sources telling me that there have been widespread attacks on scientific research facilities in Indonesia and they might be related to the Colonial’s arrival.”
“I wouldn’t characterize them as widespread. A few isolated incidents to this point.”
“I have sources that say it has a religious motivation. That local Madrasas and radical clerics have declared that the Colonials are demons who have taken on human form to take over the world.”
“I’m more inclined to trust Bethesda Naval Hospital. I think the key part of that sentence is radical.” She looked back at the bank of clocks as they walked past. “Go back to the press area Danny, I have to go meet with the demons for a lovely evening of dinner and dancing.”
CJ glanced back at Danny when the reporter stopped moving, instead just watching her walk. He smiled at her. “You look good, CJ. Tell Beelzebub hello for me.”
She smiled and shook her head, walking back towards her office.
Opening the hallway door, she began speaking, “Margaret I need…” CJ stopped dead in her tracks and stared with a mix of horror and disbelief at a shirtless Tom Zarek standing in the middle of her office. He smiled at her and looked slightly embarrassed but didn’t say anything. The Chief of Staff held up a finger. “I’m sorry, excuse me.”
Closing the door quietly she turned. “Margaret…!”
Within a moment, her quirky red headed assistant met her at the door. “Don’t go into your office…”
“About a minute too late. Why is there a half-naked alien in my office?”
“I didn’t think we were calling them aliens…”
CJ’s voice picked up a bit in speed, “I’m sure we can still agree that he is half-naked though?”
Margaret nodded. “Donna took his shirt and jacket and is trying to find him some clothes.”
“Donna mugged a Colonial dignitary?”
“Not exactly.”
“Explain, please.”
Margaret inhaled, never a good sign. “Apparently someone in the crowd outside Blair House threw a balloon at President Roslin as their party was leaving to cross the street. The Secret Service arrested him. What does one get charged with for throwing paint filled water balloons?”
“Paint filled?” CJ asked exasperated.
“Red paint, yes. Apparently Mr. Zarek threw himself in front of her and his tux was ruined.”
“And you two decided to stick him in my office? Why not stick him in the Oval?”
“Well, there are so many windows and doors…” Margaret was never good with sarcasm.
CJ waved her hands. “Okay, stop.”
Just than Donna came running in at a full tilt, not an easy feat given that she was wearing a stunning pink off the shoulder gown with a low back and what had to be four-inch heels. Sliding to a stop, a garment bag in her hand, she said, “CJ, don’t go into your office.”
Margaret shook her head at her, as if to say it was too late.
“Oh.” Donna smiled, and slipped into CJ’s office without another word.
**~**~**
President Bartlet was standing at the top of the stairs while Abbey fixed his tie when he saw another group approaching. Laura Roslin had gone shopping with Donna Moss that afternoon along with half the Diplomatic Security Bureau of the State Department, and their efforts had gained them a dark blue gown with a bit of lace embroidery. She had come in on the arm of a distinguished-looking gentleman in a gray military uniform.
“They look like a cute couple,” Abbey commented before they were in earshot. “I wonder if they are together.”
“Oh, stop that, Abbey! You have an entire planet of people to match make for before you leave orbit. Besides, it would be like me dating General Alexander.”
“I think you’d look cute together too.”
He chuckled, and reached out to offer his hand. “It’s good to see you again, President Roslin. I see shopping agreed with you.”
“It certainly did,” her escort put in.
She just smiled, and nodded to him. “President Bartlet, may I present Admiral William Adama of the Colonial Fleet.”
The other man smiled and shook his hand firmly. “An honor, Admiral.”
“The honor is mine.” Abbey caught the other woman’s eye as the men exchanged pleasantries. The Admiral certainly did give Tom Zarek a run for his money in the charms department.
Jed waved his hand. “We have to do this thing for the cameras, it shouldn’t take too long, and than we can get onto the food and dancing.”
Roslin nodded. “I have gone to a few of these sorts of events before. As long as there isn’t a need for a food taster it will be fun.”
“I believe we keep the food tasters in the kitchen.”
“Well, out of sight, out of mind.”
The four of them started down the stairs to the strains of “Hail to the Chief” ”. When they got to the foot of the stairs a Marine sergeant bellowed, “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States and Mrs. Bartlet with the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, and her escort!”
The Admiral leaned into President Roslin just a bit, Jed could hear him say, “I don’t think I’ve ever been described quiet like that before.”
She laughed, and the Marine Band began to play the strains of the music that the Colonial delegation had given them with a crash of cymbals and trumpets.
**~**~**
After dinner and before the dancing began was the time when toasts were made, carefully worded, mostly dreadfully boring. Never spontaneous tributes and threats coached in flowery protocol. Earlier in the evening Roslin had pulled Starbuck aside and asked her to be the one to give the Colonies’ toast to their hosts. Now Kara was standing holding up her glass and trying to dismiss the nervous laughter that wanted to well up. A room full of diplomats was not exactly the setting that Kara Thrace did most of her drinking.
“The Lords of Kobol look down upon us and upon our meetings today and in the coming weeks. May Athena, goddess of war, wisdom, and civilization, guide us to peace. May Apollo, god of light bring us messages of understanding. May Hera, mother of gods and sister of the Lord of Lords Zeus remind us that we are all humans, and settle our differences like a large and far-flung family. So say we all!”
Among the Colonials in the room they each muttered, “So say we all,” as did a few of the people among the Bartlet Administration, but from his seat in the corner Toby Ziegler was watching something else. He was watching the Speaker of the House and the Senate Majority leader shift uncomfortably.
“That’s not going to play well on Fox News…” he said quietly
**~**~**
Two hours into the party, Laura Roslin had danced not once but twice with an exceedingly charming but very drunk ambassador, and was going to get herself a glass of wine when she saw someone coming up her peripheral vision with two glasses of wine.
“Have I told you that you look amazing tonight, Laura?”
She smiled, but it was her practiced smile. “Not recently Tom, but thank you.” She graciously took the wine from him. “You are looking better yourself.”
He looked down at the replacement tuxedo. “I look better in red than you do.”
That brought a real chuckle from her.
“Would you mind dancing?”
“With you?”
“I don’t mean with Adama.”
She shook her head but set down her wine glass on a passing waiter’s tray and took the former terrorist’s offered hand. “I don’t suppose it would hurt too much.”
“I’ll have you know the last woman’s toes I stepped on was my thirteen year old sister.” She laughed again, and they danced together slowly.
At a table across the room, William Adama frowned.
... to be continued ...
Next Chapter: Part XI