BSG/Voyager Crossover
For 
bantha_fodder's BSG/Crossover ficathon.
Pairing:Janeway/Adama, Sr. or Janeway/Roslin
Prompt: Galactica stumbles into the Delta Quadrant and meet Voyager, Bill and Kathryn bond over the demands of keeping everyone safe. Or Kathryn and Laura bond over being women in charge. Or both.
Title: Flying Colours Part 2: Hot Rod!
Word Count: 2,914
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Refer to Part 1
Flying Colours - Part 2: Hot Rod
A male voice came over the speakers before the imagery burst onto the vid screen. "All right boys and girls, time's running out--speak to me here. We've got to get underway before those chrome-plated goons get close enough to start going at these guys like clay pigeons. Captain Janeway says they've ID'd our friends here as their enemy, so we need to hurry if we're going to keep fifty thousand people from getting seriously toasted--"
At that point Laura found herself looking a young man in a black uniform with red shoulders, over a grey turtleneck. He had unruly blonde hair and an air of amused concentration his kind face.
"Talk to me, Megan," he called as his hands raced over a control board that looked nothing like anything Laura had ever seen. A dark-haired young woman in a uniform with yellow shoulders sat behind him, concentrating over her own panel. "Have you been able to transfer enough power to the emergency systems of those ships so that they don’t go kaboom when you and Jenny warp out?"
"We’re almost through--we just need another five minutes," answered the young brunette whose face flashed up onto the screen. "But what's the harm in contacting them, Tom? I mean, they're bound to figure out something screwy happened here--"
"Oh, they'll figure out something went completely nuts all right," he said with a wry grin as Laura met Adama's eyes in disbelief as he joined her near the display. There was no other sound on the Galactica's bridge. "That can't be helped, Meg, but Captain Janeway is right--we have an obligation to clean up our mess. We're not supposed to be here, this isn't our society--albeit they're human--but the point is that our slipstream caused this. So will you be a sweetie and move it!"
"We're generating shields around them now--gods, these are unwieldy mothers," the young woman laughed.
"Tell me about it--"
"La Giaconda to Hot Rod," a new voice interrupted.
"I'm here, Nicoletti. How are you and the Red Baron doing, Giaconda?"
"Great," a young, black-haired woman replied enthusiastically; an undefinable blonde head was visible over her shoulder. "We've finished transferring energy to the last ships--it’s going to be a bitch maintaining separation though even with the wide-band tractor beams. The Delta Flyers are ready to lock tractors on the heavies. They’ll have minimal shields, but their heavier plated bulkheads ought to withstand any sort of jostling--"
"Well, we'll have to make sure none of those drone fighters get through," Tom Paris laughed. "Now hustle your butts into formation--how are you guys for fuel."
"I'm at 89%," Nicoletti replied.
"I'm at 92%," a male voice reported--the unseen pilot of Red Baron, Laura supposed. Not guardians, she mentally corrected Starbuck, they are the Lords of Kobol themselves!
"Voyager to Hot Rod," called another voice as a new face flashed on the screen. It was a singularly handsome face, with a tattoo over his left eye and he reminded Laura a little of Lieutenant Gaeta, or what she imagined he might look like older.
"Go ahead, Commander," Paris replied.
Like Paris, the commander wore a uniform with red shoulders.
"The Delta Flyer squad is heading out with the larger ships and Voyager will bring up the rear since she has the fifteen smaller ones in tow. Inertial compensators are holding, so we’ll go to warp one once we clear the gravity well."
Laura could see the flabbergasted expression of everyone's face--only Starbuck, who strolled into CIC with Dualla, looked insufferably smug.
"Understood, Chakotay," Paris replied. "We'll keep the heat off you."
"Remember the Captain's orders, Paris," he commanded solemnly. "We want as little loss of life as possible here--preferably none at all. We’re not sure of the full story here--"
"The Captain couldn't reason with them," Paris said with understanding.
"Let's put it this way, Tom," he chuckled. "They're complete boneheads and sadistic ones at that. They actually had the gall to try and slip a virus into our computer. Machine consciousness, gotta love ’em--all logic and no imagination. It’s as if they’ve never heard of a holding buffer or counter-virus before!"
"Ouch! Not a good idea. And the Captain doesn't want me to tear them a new ah--rectum?" Paris returned with sparkling eyes.
"Just follow orders, Paris," he chastised. “Besides, Kathryn and my lovely wife are planning to sic a self-propagating fractal worm chock full of Borg algorithms on them. Keep them off our back and they’ll soon be too busy trying to keep it from spreading to the rest of their ship minds through those lovely interlink relays they think they’ve been so clever in hiding.”
"I will, Commander. What about Voyager's damage?" he asked with a shade of anxiousness for the first time.
"We'll worry about that when we're sure these people have their feet back under them," Chakotay replied soberly again. "B'Elanna and Annika estimate that it'll be another eight to twelve hours before the dampening from the slipstream dissipates and they can get their engines reinitialised. Once we've accomplished that, we'll find a nice safe place and try to effect what repairs we can--"
"Their technology may be sophisticated enough that we can get some manufactured components from them--could it hurt that much?" the younger man asked quietly.
"Believe me, Paris, it could hurt a lot," he answered. "But why don't you let the Captain worry about that, all right?"
"All right, Chakotay," he said. "My squad's assembled, so we'll cut out now. See you at the rendezvous point."
"See you at the rendezvous point," Chakotay replied with a brilliant smile. "And be careful."
"Will do," he replied with a grin. "After all, what can go wrong--they can't see us."
"Don't get cocky, Paris," he said with a chuckle. "Voyager out."
"All right, chickadees," Paris said as his grin took on a distinctly feral look. "We get to play kamikaze doctor with these guys while the other Cobras play tugboat. Let's put the fear of a certain Captain of the Federation Starship Voyager into them. But you heard what the man said, no casualties. So target the drones, weapon's ports, those humongous rail guns and their stardrives. I want to see the work of surgeons out there, so no hack and slash. Take your time--in normal space these guys are slower than molasses in winter."
"What if they get those drones off?" asked another young man who looked remarkably like Chakotay.
"Then plasma burn them, Ayala," he ordered harshly. "If those drones get through, then those people are toast--not to mention, Voyager can't take very much with the shape she's in. Copper Head, Giaconda, Zayan, Shaka, you're with me on point; we'll start with the lead ship and work our way back. Togo, Red Baron--you two are responsible for toasting any drones and missiles they get off, so hang back." There were acknowledgements all around before he looked up and smiled.
"We're coming up on the intercept point, so let's go for it and kick some cybernetic butt," Paris laughed as the Cylon basestar loomed on the screen. "Hot Rod out." His image vanished as the basestar drew closer at an impossible rate of speed.
"Is this real time?" Tigh croaked in disbelief.
"You bet, Colonel," Starbuck replied with the same smug smile. "Dee managed to get about two minutes recorded before we sent it up here to you," she continued as a missile battery came into sharp focus. Without warning, something neatly cut it away from its mount as the others gasped in disbelief.
"Yup, like a knife through butter," Starbuck laughed.
Suddenly something flitted across the basestar’s hull like a mad firefly.
"What was that?" Laura asked as the basestar's missile tubes came into view.
"Dualla, rewind--put that part up on the split screen and slow it down," Adama ordered as Laura looked on excitedly.
We have guardians, her mind whispered to her, and possibly allies of tremendous power and technological sophistication, if we play our cards right. They didn't want to interfere in Colonial society, but it was obvious their mothership, Voyager, had been damaged by whatever a slipstream was, so she was going to need help.
"Well, will you look at that," Starbuck said, giving a low whistle of admiration and Laura brought her attention back to the screen. "Admiral, what the frak is that?"
"That, Starbuck," William Adama said gazing in awe at the tiny ship, hovering like a nectarbird in front of the Cylon basestar. "That, I believe, is a Cobra."
Laura Roslin moved closer to Adama to study the ship. It was a sleek, impossible little craft with a disproportionately large, glowing pod mounted each short wing. It turned as it finished firing its tiny missiles at the basestar's missile tubes. The ship itself pivoted seemingly on a dime--to bring its weapons to bear on closing raiders.
Laura caught her breath as she looked into the clear cockpit of the tiny ship into the tranquil face of the one called Nicoletti. The young woman was obviously concentrated on her task, but there was a serenity on her face that reminded Laura painfully of her own mother. Behind her, another young, blond-haired woman pivoted easily in her seat seemingly tracking the raider; Laura realised now what she was seeing--each fighter had a pilot and a gunner.
"That thing's barely the size of a Viper!" Gaeta said in outrage.
"That thing's killing a basestar!" Tigh laughed as another railgun separated neatly from its mount and floated past the tiny ship. "By the Lords of Kobol, who are these people?"
"Today, it appears that they're our saviours, Colonel," Laura replied. "They're our gift from the Gods and perhaps willing to be friends also. Admiral Adama, I have an idea," she said softly as he looked into her eyes and nodded. She proceeded to lay out her idea before him.
#
For the next hour and a half, they watched these extraordinary little ships perform even more extraordinary feats, working with a curious harmony but even more curiously, in complete radio silence.
Laura had seen the very fabric of space catch fire in a holocaust of seething energy--Paris' plasma burn, no doubt. The spectacular explosions of the Cylon raiders by the torpedoes Laura could see had paled in comparison as most of them simply vaporised in the plasma burn.
Adama and his people worked frantically around her, trying to get as many of their systems on line as possible, but their attention never far from the extraordinary images on the screen until finally, the Cylon ships were drifting--toothless--in the void between the stars. The voices of the Cobra pilots startled her as they came over the speakers again.
"I think they've seen the light!" sang Nicoletti’s joyful voice.
"I do believe a number of them have found their almighty God," drawled Paris as his image flickered onto the screen. "And I hope the rest of them made it to the head!"
Laura couldn't help giggling at the joke--juvenile, but so funny in the non-soto voice it was delivered, and most of the bridge crew had thought likewise.
"All right, boys and girls, head for the nest; the others will probably need us to relieve them soon so let's burn rubber--warp 8." As the stars raced by, Paris called, "Hot Rod to Voyager, mission accomplished."
A new image came up on the split screen--a slim, auburn-haired, middle-aged woman in a red shouldered uniform. She sat in the middle of her command centre and Laura knew undoubtedly that this was Captain Janeway.
"Excellent work, Cobras," Janeway said in a rather pleasantly low and husky voice. "What's your ETA, Mr. Paris?"
"About five minutes, Captain," Paris replied with a grin. "We've put the pedal to the metal and we all have over 75% in reserve--how is the rest of the squad doing."
"Tuvok?" Janeway asked turning to the black-skinned man behind her; his uniform had yellow shoulders.
"The other Cobras do require refuelling," Tuvok replied in a precise voice, looking up from his console. He had strangely pointed ears and slanted eyebrows. "Three are below 35% in plasma reserves; however, cutting power to twenty-five percent in the shields they are presently generating to protect the ships they are towing, would represent a significant reduction in consumption."
"Order them to cut shield power to twenty-five," Janeway ordered and returned her attention to Paris. "All right Tom, I suggest you expedite your return," she said with a rueful smile. "We'll be entering the rendezvous system in another hour and sensors indicate that it's uninhabited. The slipstream’s radiation in the last system was probably enough to scramble any signal the artificial intelligences might have tried to get off, but we’ve spiked their communications systems just to be safe--it should buy us some time. Once in-system, we'll rest and make sure our charges have brought their systems on-line before we leave."
"Aye, Captain," Paris replied. "How have they been?"
"Docile," Janeway said with a smile and Laura chuckled. "They're all probably still wondering what the hell is going on, but without their comm systems out of commission, there isn't much they can do. There hasn't been any structural damage as far as we can determine and the slipstream dampening is dissipating, but it'll be a few hours before they can get in touch with each other. They've all, except some of the smaller ships, been scanning frantically, so the warship commanders have to know that they're safe. My question is how in the world they’ve survived these Cylons with the ancient computer technology they seem to have?"
"Hey Captain," Paris returned softly with a grin. "How did we survive the Borg? You fight with what you have or you die."
"Touché, Mr. Paris," Janeway replied with a courteous bow as Laura smiled ruefully at Adama.
"Admiral Adama, you're on Paris’ carrier wave and I think that he’s close enough now that they should receive us without any time delay," Dee reported as she relieved her replacement. "Just look into the camera and speak, sir."
Adama took a deep breath and began; it was strange not to be using the phone, but Laura was right. Janeway and Voyager's people seemed to prefer visual communication and they wanted to start out on the right foot if they were to build a friendship with these people. And although no one had said it, one thought floated in a miasma of hope throughout CIC--Earth, these people might be from Earth.
"This is Admiral William Adama of Colonial Fleet Battlestar Galactica to Tom Paris of Voyager's Cobra Squadron, please acknowledge," he called as Paris registered shock and Janeway vaulted from her chair.
"Who the hell?" Paris shouted in disbelief as he worked frantically at his boards. "Oh no!" he breathed, shaking his head in dismay. "Captain, my comm system has been compromised for God knows how long--it must have been that subspace relay--it took a hit from a Dii'Qorcho disrupter. Their techs must have stumbled across our comm-signal on the lower EM-band bleeds, I'm getting a piggyback signal from one of the warships--it’s the one Kaplan’s Flyer is handling. I'm cutting the comm--"
"Captain Janeway, Mr. Paris, please don't cut communications!" Laura pleaded frantically, not taking her eyes from Janeway's stricken face. "Please, we know what happened and that you attempted to aid us anonymously because you feel responsible for the accident that disabled our ships. We also know that you do not wish to interfere in our society and we respect that, thank you. However, we do wish to express our thanks to you and we hope you will allow us to. You were wondering how we escaped the Cylons. Well, many of us didn’t. We’re all that’s left, Captain Janeway, of twelve vibrant, flourishing colonies of over forty billion human beings. Less than fifty thousand out of forty billion, Captain. We’re refugees looking for a thirteenth colony that struck out on its own over two thousand years ago according to our sacred scrolls. A colony called Earth.”
Laura stared at the shocked Janeway; her command crew seemed just as flabbergasted. Chakotay leaned in and whispered something in her ear.
“May I ask who I’m speaking to?” Janeway asked hoarsely.
“My name is Laura Roslin, Captain Janeway,” she replied. “And I guess you could say that I’m the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol--what’s left of them.”
“And you’re looking for … Earth,” she said slowly, “which you believe to be a lost colony from your world?”
“Yes,” Laura said as Adama nodded for her to continue. “Well, Earth was a colony that started out from Kobol, the homeworld of humanity and the Lords of Kobol. We’ve been searching for it since the Cylons attacked. We found Kobol a while ago and retrieved directions to Earth. Do you know of it?”
Janeway’s lips tugged into a crooked smile. “Know of it?” she said ruefully. “Yes, I suppose you can say that, President Roslin. I was born on Earth--”
There was dead silence on the bridge of Galactica as they stared at the strange woman in awe.
“My mother and sister still live there--a little place called Indiana actually,” she chuckled.
#
To Part 3
bantha_fodder's BSG/Crossover ficathon.
Pairing:Janeway/Adama, Sr. or Janeway/Roslin
Prompt: Galactica stumbles into the Delta Quadrant and meet Voyager, Bill and Kathryn bond over the demands of keeping everyone safe. Or Kathryn and Laura bond over being women in charge. Or both.
Title: Flying Colours Part 2: Hot Rod!
Word Count: 2,914
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Refer to Part 1
Flying Colours - Part 2: Hot Rod
A male voice came over the speakers before the imagery burst onto the vid screen. "All right boys and girls, time's running out--speak to me here. We've got to get underway before those chrome-plated goons get close enough to start going at these guys like clay pigeons. Captain Janeway says they've ID'd our friends here as their enemy, so we need to hurry if we're going to keep fifty thousand people from getting seriously toasted--"
At that point Laura found herself looking a young man in a black uniform with red shoulders, over a grey turtleneck. He had unruly blonde hair and an air of amused concentration his kind face.
"Talk to me, Megan," he called as his hands raced over a control board that looked nothing like anything Laura had ever seen. A dark-haired young woman in a uniform with yellow shoulders sat behind him, concentrating over her own panel. "Have you been able to transfer enough power to the emergency systems of those ships so that they don’t go kaboom when you and Jenny warp out?"
"We’re almost through--we just need another five minutes," answered the young brunette whose face flashed up onto the screen. "But what's the harm in contacting them, Tom? I mean, they're bound to figure out something screwy happened here--"
"Oh, they'll figure out something went completely nuts all right," he said with a wry grin as Laura met Adama's eyes in disbelief as he joined her near the display. There was no other sound on the Galactica's bridge. "That can't be helped, Meg, but Captain Janeway is right--we have an obligation to clean up our mess. We're not supposed to be here, this isn't our society--albeit they're human--but the point is that our slipstream caused this. So will you be a sweetie and move it!"
"We're generating shields around them now--gods, these are unwieldy mothers," the young woman laughed.
"Tell me about it--"
"La Giaconda to Hot Rod," a new voice interrupted.
"I'm here, Nicoletti. How are you and the Red Baron doing, Giaconda?"
"Great," a young, black-haired woman replied enthusiastically; an undefinable blonde head was visible over her shoulder. "We've finished transferring energy to the last ships--it’s going to be a bitch maintaining separation though even with the wide-band tractor beams. The Delta Flyers are ready to lock tractors on the heavies. They’ll have minimal shields, but their heavier plated bulkheads ought to withstand any sort of jostling--"
"Well, we'll have to make sure none of those drone fighters get through," Tom Paris laughed. "Now hustle your butts into formation--how are you guys for fuel."
"I'm at 89%," Nicoletti replied.
"I'm at 92%," a male voice reported--the unseen pilot of Red Baron, Laura supposed. Not guardians, she mentally corrected Starbuck, they are the Lords of Kobol themselves!
"Voyager to Hot Rod," called another voice as a new face flashed on the screen. It was a singularly handsome face, with a tattoo over his left eye and he reminded Laura a little of Lieutenant Gaeta, or what she imagined he might look like older.
"Go ahead, Commander," Paris replied.
Like Paris, the commander wore a uniform with red shoulders.
"The Delta Flyer squad is heading out with the larger ships and Voyager will bring up the rear since she has the fifteen smaller ones in tow. Inertial compensators are holding, so we’ll go to warp one once we clear the gravity well."
Laura could see the flabbergasted expression of everyone's face--only Starbuck, who strolled into CIC with Dualla, looked insufferably smug.
"Understood, Chakotay," Paris replied. "We'll keep the heat off you."
"Remember the Captain's orders, Paris," he commanded solemnly. "We want as little loss of life as possible here--preferably none at all. We’re not sure of the full story here--"
"The Captain couldn't reason with them," Paris said with understanding.
"Let's put it this way, Tom," he chuckled. "They're complete boneheads and sadistic ones at that. They actually had the gall to try and slip a virus into our computer. Machine consciousness, gotta love ’em--all logic and no imagination. It’s as if they’ve never heard of a holding buffer or counter-virus before!"
"Ouch! Not a good idea. And the Captain doesn't want me to tear them a new ah--rectum?" Paris returned with sparkling eyes.
"Just follow orders, Paris," he chastised. “Besides, Kathryn and my lovely wife are planning to sic a self-propagating fractal worm chock full of Borg algorithms on them. Keep them off our back and they’ll soon be too busy trying to keep it from spreading to the rest of their ship minds through those lovely interlink relays they think they’ve been so clever in hiding.”
"I will, Commander. What about Voyager's damage?" he asked with a shade of anxiousness for the first time.
"We'll worry about that when we're sure these people have their feet back under them," Chakotay replied soberly again. "B'Elanna and Annika estimate that it'll be another eight to twelve hours before the dampening from the slipstream dissipates and they can get their engines reinitialised. Once we've accomplished that, we'll find a nice safe place and try to effect what repairs we can--"
"Their technology may be sophisticated enough that we can get some manufactured components from them--could it hurt that much?" the younger man asked quietly.
"Believe me, Paris, it could hurt a lot," he answered. "But why don't you let the Captain worry about that, all right?"
"All right, Chakotay," he said. "My squad's assembled, so we'll cut out now. See you at the rendezvous point."
"See you at the rendezvous point," Chakotay replied with a brilliant smile. "And be careful."
"Will do," he replied with a grin. "After all, what can go wrong--they can't see us."
"Don't get cocky, Paris," he said with a chuckle. "Voyager out."
"All right, chickadees," Paris said as his grin took on a distinctly feral look. "We get to play kamikaze doctor with these guys while the other Cobras play tugboat. Let's put the fear of a certain Captain of the Federation Starship Voyager into them. But you heard what the man said, no casualties. So target the drones, weapon's ports, those humongous rail guns and their stardrives. I want to see the work of surgeons out there, so no hack and slash. Take your time--in normal space these guys are slower than molasses in winter."
"What if they get those drones off?" asked another young man who looked remarkably like Chakotay.
"Then plasma burn them, Ayala," he ordered harshly. "If those drones get through, then those people are toast--not to mention, Voyager can't take very much with the shape she's in. Copper Head, Giaconda, Zayan, Shaka, you're with me on point; we'll start with the lead ship and work our way back. Togo, Red Baron--you two are responsible for toasting any drones and missiles they get off, so hang back." There were acknowledgements all around before he looked up and smiled.
"We're coming up on the intercept point, so let's go for it and kick some cybernetic butt," Paris laughed as the Cylon basestar loomed on the screen. "Hot Rod out." His image vanished as the basestar drew closer at an impossible rate of speed.
"Is this real time?" Tigh croaked in disbelief.
"You bet, Colonel," Starbuck replied with the same smug smile. "Dee managed to get about two minutes recorded before we sent it up here to you," she continued as a missile battery came into sharp focus. Without warning, something neatly cut it away from its mount as the others gasped in disbelief.
"Yup, like a knife through butter," Starbuck laughed.
Suddenly something flitted across the basestar’s hull like a mad firefly.
"What was that?" Laura asked as the basestar's missile tubes came into view.
"Dualla, rewind--put that part up on the split screen and slow it down," Adama ordered as Laura looked on excitedly.
We have guardians, her mind whispered to her, and possibly allies of tremendous power and technological sophistication, if we play our cards right. They didn't want to interfere in Colonial society, but it was obvious their mothership, Voyager, had been damaged by whatever a slipstream was, so she was going to need help.
"Well, will you look at that," Starbuck said, giving a low whistle of admiration and Laura brought her attention back to the screen. "Admiral, what the frak is that?"
"That, Starbuck," William Adama said gazing in awe at the tiny ship, hovering like a nectarbird in front of the Cylon basestar. "That, I believe, is a Cobra."
Laura Roslin moved closer to Adama to study the ship. It was a sleek, impossible little craft with a disproportionately large, glowing pod mounted each short wing. It turned as it finished firing its tiny missiles at the basestar's missile tubes. The ship itself pivoted seemingly on a dime--to bring its weapons to bear on closing raiders.
Laura caught her breath as she looked into the clear cockpit of the tiny ship into the tranquil face of the one called Nicoletti. The young woman was obviously concentrated on her task, but there was a serenity on her face that reminded Laura painfully of her own mother. Behind her, another young, blond-haired woman pivoted easily in her seat seemingly tracking the raider; Laura realised now what she was seeing--each fighter had a pilot and a gunner.
"That thing's barely the size of a Viper!" Gaeta said in outrage.
"That thing's killing a basestar!" Tigh laughed as another railgun separated neatly from its mount and floated past the tiny ship. "By the Lords of Kobol, who are these people?"
"Today, it appears that they're our saviours, Colonel," Laura replied. "They're our gift from the Gods and perhaps willing to be friends also. Admiral Adama, I have an idea," she said softly as he looked into her eyes and nodded. She proceeded to lay out her idea before him.
#
For the next hour and a half, they watched these extraordinary little ships perform even more extraordinary feats, working with a curious harmony but even more curiously, in complete radio silence.
Laura had seen the very fabric of space catch fire in a holocaust of seething energy--Paris' plasma burn, no doubt. The spectacular explosions of the Cylon raiders by the torpedoes Laura could see had paled in comparison as most of them simply vaporised in the plasma burn.
Adama and his people worked frantically around her, trying to get as many of their systems on line as possible, but their attention never far from the extraordinary images on the screen until finally, the Cylon ships were drifting--toothless--in the void between the stars. The voices of the Cobra pilots startled her as they came over the speakers again.
"I think they've seen the light!" sang Nicoletti’s joyful voice.
"I do believe a number of them have found their almighty God," drawled Paris as his image flickered onto the screen. "And I hope the rest of them made it to the head!"
Laura couldn't help giggling at the joke--juvenile, but so funny in the non-soto voice it was delivered, and most of the bridge crew had thought likewise.
"All right, boys and girls, head for the nest; the others will probably need us to relieve them soon so let's burn rubber--warp 8." As the stars raced by, Paris called, "Hot Rod to Voyager, mission accomplished."
A new image came up on the split screen--a slim, auburn-haired, middle-aged woman in a red shouldered uniform. She sat in the middle of her command centre and Laura knew undoubtedly that this was Captain Janeway.
"Excellent work, Cobras," Janeway said in a rather pleasantly low and husky voice. "What's your ETA, Mr. Paris?"
"About five minutes, Captain," Paris replied with a grin. "We've put the pedal to the metal and we all have over 75% in reserve--how is the rest of the squad doing."
"Tuvok?" Janeway asked turning to the black-skinned man behind her; his uniform had yellow shoulders.
"The other Cobras do require refuelling," Tuvok replied in a precise voice, looking up from his console. He had strangely pointed ears and slanted eyebrows. "Three are below 35% in plasma reserves; however, cutting power to twenty-five percent in the shields they are presently generating to protect the ships they are towing, would represent a significant reduction in consumption."
"Order them to cut shield power to twenty-five," Janeway ordered and returned her attention to Paris. "All right Tom, I suggest you expedite your return," she said with a rueful smile. "We'll be entering the rendezvous system in another hour and sensors indicate that it's uninhabited. The slipstream’s radiation in the last system was probably enough to scramble any signal the artificial intelligences might have tried to get off, but we’ve spiked their communications systems just to be safe--it should buy us some time. Once in-system, we'll rest and make sure our charges have brought their systems on-line before we leave."
"Aye, Captain," Paris replied. "How have they been?"
"Docile," Janeway said with a smile and Laura chuckled. "They're all probably still wondering what the hell is going on, but without their comm systems out of commission, there isn't much they can do. There hasn't been any structural damage as far as we can determine and the slipstream dampening is dissipating, but it'll be a few hours before they can get in touch with each other. They've all, except some of the smaller ships, been scanning frantically, so the warship commanders have to know that they're safe. My question is how in the world they’ve survived these Cylons with the ancient computer technology they seem to have?"
"Hey Captain," Paris returned softly with a grin. "How did we survive the Borg? You fight with what you have or you die."
"Touché, Mr. Paris," Janeway replied with a courteous bow as Laura smiled ruefully at Adama.
"Admiral Adama, you're on Paris’ carrier wave and I think that he’s close enough now that they should receive us without any time delay," Dee reported as she relieved her replacement. "Just look into the camera and speak, sir."
Adama took a deep breath and began; it was strange not to be using the phone, but Laura was right. Janeway and Voyager's people seemed to prefer visual communication and they wanted to start out on the right foot if they were to build a friendship with these people. And although no one had said it, one thought floated in a miasma of hope throughout CIC--Earth, these people might be from Earth.
"This is Admiral William Adama of Colonial Fleet Battlestar Galactica to Tom Paris of Voyager's Cobra Squadron, please acknowledge," he called as Paris registered shock and Janeway vaulted from her chair.
"Who the hell?" Paris shouted in disbelief as he worked frantically at his boards. "Oh no!" he breathed, shaking his head in dismay. "Captain, my comm system has been compromised for God knows how long--it must have been that subspace relay--it took a hit from a Dii'Qorcho disrupter. Their techs must have stumbled across our comm-signal on the lower EM-band bleeds, I'm getting a piggyback signal from one of the warships--it’s the one Kaplan’s Flyer is handling. I'm cutting the comm--"
"Captain Janeway, Mr. Paris, please don't cut communications!" Laura pleaded frantically, not taking her eyes from Janeway's stricken face. "Please, we know what happened and that you attempted to aid us anonymously because you feel responsible for the accident that disabled our ships. We also know that you do not wish to interfere in our society and we respect that, thank you. However, we do wish to express our thanks to you and we hope you will allow us to. You were wondering how we escaped the Cylons. Well, many of us didn’t. We’re all that’s left, Captain Janeway, of twelve vibrant, flourishing colonies of over forty billion human beings. Less than fifty thousand out of forty billion, Captain. We’re refugees looking for a thirteenth colony that struck out on its own over two thousand years ago according to our sacred scrolls. A colony called Earth.”
Laura stared at the shocked Janeway; her command crew seemed just as flabbergasted. Chakotay leaned in and whispered something in her ear.
“May I ask who I’m speaking to?” Janeway asked hoarsely.
“My name is Laura Roslin, Captain Janeway,” she replied. “And I guess you could say that I’m the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol--what’s left of them.”
“And you’re looking for … Earth,” she said slowly, “which you believe to be a lost colony from your world?”
“Yes,” Laura said as Adama nodded for her to continue. “Well, Earth was a colony that started out from Kobol, the homeworld of humanity and the Lords of Kobol. We’ve been searching for it since the Cylons attacked. We found Kobol a while ago and retrieved directions to Earth. Do you know of it?”
Janeway’s lips tugged into a crooked smile. “Know of it?” she said ruefully. “Yes, I suppose you can say that, President Roslin. I was born on Earth--”
There was dead silence on the bridge of Galactica as they stared at the strange woman in awe.
“My mother and sister still live there--a little place called Indiana actually,” she chuckled.
#
To Part 3