Washed by the Rain
Title: Washed by the Rain
Author: SabaceanBabe
Fandom: the new Battlestar Galactica
Rating: PG
Spoilers: part one of the mini and a little for 33
Characters: Helo, lots of Helo (and a little bit of Sharon)
Summary: What happened to Helo during those 6 days he was left alone on Caprica?
Word count: 7,154
Disclaimer: The Battlestar Galactica universe, and all that is in it, is not mine, but rather belongs to Ronald D. Moore, Glen Larson (in spirit), NBC/Universal, the Sci Fi Channel, SkyOne and everyone else who put up the brainpower or the cash to make it happen. This is a work of fiction based in that universe. No copyright infringement is intended. No money was made off this beast - please don’t sue.
Notes: A big thank you to my betas, simplystars and Lee in Limbo (poor guy hasn’t even see any of the show, and I still roped him in for this…) Crossposted on my LJ, bsg_creative, and bsg2003fics.
Karl Agathon tried to concentrate on the pain as he bandaged the gash in his thigh - caused by the same blast that had damaged the Raptor - but the Cylons kept distracting him. He looked up toward the horizon as yet another explosion ripped through the atmosphere, not close enough to be of immediate concern, but still too close for comfort. After all, he thought, watching a burgeoning mushroom cloud in the distance, why would the toasters use anything but dirty bombs? If he and Sharon got off Caprica alive, they’d both have to undergo weeks of treatment for radiation poisoning.
“That’s six…” He turned his attention to his pilot as he tucked the end of the makeshift bandage under one of its wraps, securing it as best he could. “How’re you coming on that fuel line, Boomer?”
Sharon Valerii didn’t take her eyes from the line she was reconnecting. “Almost there. We’ll be airborne pretty soon.” She slipped the line back into its niche, swiping at strands of dark hair that had escaped confinement and were now caught in the sweat that ran down her face and neck.
There was a sharp snick and she said, “Okay, that should do it.” She started to say something else, but Helo - nobody called him Karl - silenced her with a raised hand. They both held themselves perfectly still, not even breathing, just listening.
Something was moving in the distance, between Caprica City - about thirty klicks east and still festooned with angry smoke - and the clearing in which they had put down. Helo narrowed his eyes, trying to focus. Whatever it was, it was drawing nearer…
Maneuvering awkwardly to his feet, Helo steadied himself for a moment on a landing strut. The blood that rushed from his head seemed to go directly to his wound, which began to throb. The pain helped clear his vision when he limped out just past the Raptor for a better view of whatever was causing the new sound.
Frak!
“Boomer, grab your sidearm!” Heeding his own advice, Helo pulled his gun from its holster. The noise had become clearer as it came closer, punctuated by screams and underscored by a low rumble, akin to that of a freighter. Or a mob.
“Helo?” She sounded more puzzled than worried as she moved to stand next to him.
“Just stand your ground,” he replied. What had begun as a vague impression of movement near the horizon had resolved itself into a densely packed crowd of people running across the field toward the Raptor. As Helo and Sharon watched, a man at the leading edge tripped and fell. Before the panicked throng could trample him, he clawed his way back to his feet and continued to run, directly toward the ECO and his pilot.
Helo placed himself in front of the open hatch, wondering even as he did so what the hell he could do to stop them if they decided to rush him. He looked over at Sharon, indicating with a quick motion of his head that she should put herself up higher than the mob, which she did by jumping up onto the Raptor’s pilot-side wing.
The mob was almost on top of them when Sharon and Helo each fired a warning shot over their heads. Screams and shouts of anger and fear followed from the tide of humanity flowing toward them, but the headlong rush toward the Raptor stopped before the shuttle could be overrun.
“That’s as close as you get, people.” Helo’s voice was steady, calm, even though he was sick and dizzy and just as frightened as those standing before him. “Let’s just settle down and no one’ll get hurt.”
“Are you crazy?” a man shouted, apparently upset that the pair of Colonial officers would deny him sanctuary. “I’ve got to get on board! I’ll give you 50,000 jubals-”
Helo cut him off as a chorus of even higher offers came from others in the crowd. “We’re not… We’re not taking money! This isn’t a rescue ship! This is a military vessel and we’re not taking any money!” He was appalled. These people…they thought he and Sharon were here for them, that they were some kind of saviors. Helo took a second to survey the crowd - no way even a quarter of them could fit on the Raptor and still be able to get off the ground, given the amount of fuel they’d lost.
A woman shouted, “Please! Please, you’ve got to take my nephew!”
Between the unabashed pleading in the woman’s voice and the bewilderment in the boy’s eyes - he couldn’t have been more than twelve - the only response Helo could make was to shake his head. “We’re not taking money,” he repeated. How could they take a handful of these survivors with them and deny the rest?
Someone charged from the crowd. Before Helo could react, Sharon fired another warning shot. The man froze in his tracks and the crowd, which had been slowly advancing, backed off a little, but then someone else shouted, “What about my children?” Suddenly, they were all shouting. “Yeah, what about my wife?!” “What about the children?!”
He risked a brief glance toward Sharon, standing on the shuttle’s wing. She bit her lip, his own distress reflected in her dark eyes as she looked over the crowd. Helo didn’t know whether he wanted to kiss her or strangle her when she lowered her gun and shouted, “Alright! Children first! Children!” He closed his eyes for a moment in a silent prayer for the Lords of Kobol to get them through this. His head pounded in time with the throbbing in his leg. From his vantage on the ground, he had no clue how many kids there might be.
Half a dozen children separated themselves - or were separated by their parents - from the crowd of adults and walked or ran over to Helo. They varied in age from very young, perhaps three or four years old, to early teens. With the addition of the kids to the raptor’s load, Helo did a quick mental calculation of the weight-to-fuel ratio. It wasn’t good, but he thought they could still handle a few more refugees.
“Come on! There’s still more room!” a man shouted - Helo thought it was the same man who had offered them the jubals. He looked at the hopeful faces in the crowd and then back at Sharon and mouthed a number.
“We can take three more people,” she shouted. Helo watched as hand after hand went up in the crowd. It was no surprise that many more than three wanted to leave Caprica with them, but he and Sharon had no choice but to deny most of them entry. What surprised him was that only about a third of the adults remaining raised their hands. It seemed a few of the survivors were beginning to understand just how serious the situation was.
“That’s the maximum load if we’re going to break orbit,” Helo raised his voice to inform the crowd. Even that might be pushing it. Gods, how were they to decide? And how could they tell those who weren’t chosen that they had to stay here to die?
“Who chooses the three? You?” Mr. Jubals demanded, a sobering echo of Helo’s own doubts.
Sharon replied, “No,” too quietly at first for anyone but those closest to her to hear. Then, more forcefully, “No one chooses. No one! Lottery!” The crowd let out a collective groan, Helo included. A frakkin’ lottery? That’ll take hours! Helo risked a quick glance over his shoulder into the hazy distance, toward Caprica City as Sharon continued, undaunted. “Everyone gets a number. Put the numbers in a box. Take out three. That’s it! No argument, no appeal!”
“How can we trust you?” a man from the back of the crowd yelled, but others standing near him elbowed him to silence.
“You don’t have a choice,” Helo responded. “And I will shoot the first person who tries to board without a winning number!” he continued when Mr. Jubals made a move as though to charge the Raptor.
“Helo, get your flight manual and tear out the pages.” His flight manual, the bible of the electronic countermeasures officer and now their only source of paper for ballots. A glance at the crowd, at the barely reined-in panic on some of the faces, told him it wasn’t a good idea to leave Sharon alone for the few seconds it would take to retrieve the manual.
Instead, he called to a boy who appeared to be the oldest of the group of children who stood between him and Sharon. “Hey, kid.” The boy came closer, longish brown hair falling over his face to cover one eye. Helo pointed up the ramp. “Go to the front of the ship. You’ll see a helmet on the seat to the right. Under the seat, there’s a compartment where you’ll find my flight manual.”
“You want me to bring you the helmet and the book?” he asked.
“Exactly,” Helo said with relief. “Don’t touch anything else.” The boy nodded and dashed up the ramp while Helo remained where he was, guarding both the entrance to the small ship and Sharon.
***
It must have been a couple of hours later that Sharon pulled the third scrap of paper from Helo’s helmet. There were 58 adult survivors, and it had taken some time to prepare and distribute the ballots. There had been no new explosions since the last ballot had been accepted, but Helo was anxious to get this over with and back to Galactica, back into the fight. “Last one. Number forty-seven!” Sharon shouted. “Four seven!”
Helo scanned the crowd - nothing but dozens of hopeful faces. When the previous two numbers had been called, the response had been immediate, both the excited, relieved cries of the “winners” and the audible disappointment of those whose numbers weren’t called.
A man and woman toward the back of the crowd caught his attention. The man, about Helo’s own age, looked vaguely familiar. He was biting his lip and looked as though he might cry. The old woman next to him tugged at his sleeve and showed him her ballot, but the man looked away, searching the crowd. When he turned back toward her, the angle of his head or the weak sunlight as it struck his face must have been just right to jog Helo’s memory.
“Hey!” he called out, shading his eyes against the light that broke through the gathering clouds above, reflecting from the metal skin of the Raptor. “Aren’t you Dr. Gaius Baltar?”
The man looked first startled and then terrified, as though he were a child who had just been caught with his hand in his grandmother’s cookie jar. “Yeah, but I haven’t done anything!” he yelled back. Then he swallowed, hard enough for Helo to see it even twenty meters away, and took the scrap of paper from the old woman. All eyes were on Baltar as he said, “This lady has ticket number forty-seven. This… this lady here!” He gripped the slip of paper and held it above his head as though it were a lifeline.
Dr. Gaius Baltar… Helo surveyed the crowd, making eye contact with several people. He came to an abrupt decision. “Could you come up here, please?” He gestured them both forward.
Holding the old woman’s hand, Baltar nervously eyed the crowd. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry…” He began to push his way through the crowd, pulling the woman behind him, apologizing to those they jostled in passing.
Sharon leaped down from her perch on the Raptor’s wing and walked over to Helo. “What’re you doing?”
He turned away from her, toward the half dozen children and two adults waiting for someone to tell them what to do, eight pairs of bewildered, frightened eyes, all looking at him. He gestured for them to board the waiting shuttle before turning back to Boomer - he had to think of her as just another pilot, not as the friend he had come to know over the past few months, not as Sharon. “Just loading up our passengers, Boomer.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” She stopped right in front of him, in his face. “What’re you doing?”
Helo let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He carefully avoided her eyes as he said, “Giving up my seat.”
“Like hell!”
The outrage in her voice forced him to look at her. “A civilian should take my place.” He begged her with his eyes, willing her to understand.
The old woman moved slowly toward them, Dr. Gaius Baltar towing her along. She held the potentially life-saving number in her hand, but that meant that Baltar would remain here on Caprica to die, if not quickly at the hands of the Cylons, then slowly, a victim of radiation poisoning. Helo couldn’t let that happen.
“You’re going!” The tone of Sharon’s voice gave him the sudden impression of a child stamping her foot, trying to get her own way. He was reminded of how young she really was - out of flight school for only a handful of months and now this.
He shook his head slowly, unable to look away from her dark eyes, his attempt to distance himself from her gone the way of Caprica City. “Look at those clouds.” When she refused to look away from him, he repeated, “Sharon, look at those clouds! And tell me this isn’t the end of everything.”
“Helo, you can’t do this.” Tears welled in her eyes as Baltar and the woman arrived. Helo paid them no attention; his only focus the woman who had been his partner for the last three months.
“Whatever future’s left, it’s going to depend on whoever survives. Give me one reason why I’m a better choice than one of the greatest minds of our time.”
“Helo…” The tears glimmered in her beautiful eyes. “I need you!”
“You can do this without me. I know you can. You’ve proven it.” Searching her face, he thought of their last game of Pyramid on the Galactica, of the friends he would never see again.
Sharon gave him one last intense look and then turned to the bewildered pair of survivors, her expression hard and angry. “Get on board!” Baltar gaped at her for a full second, his mouth open as if to say something, but then he snapped it shut and pushed the old woman ahead of him, past Helo and into the Raptor.
Voices from the crowd swirled around them as the tone began to slip back toward that of a mob. “Hey!” “What?” “What?!” “Hey, wait a frakking minute!” “Look, take me!”
Pointing his gun into the crowd, Helo turned his head toward Sharon. “I think you’d better go!”
For a long moment, Sharon didn’t seem to hear him, but then she turned and reluctantly entered the Raptor, the hatch closing with a strange finality behind her.
More voices, angry, frightened. “Hey!” “You can’t do this!”
“Stay back! Stay back! It’s over! It’s over!” Helo repeated this mantra again and again as Sharon powered up the engines, throwing dust into the air. Once the people on the ground finally accepted that the Raptor was taking off without them - without one of its own crew - they began to disperse.
Helo reached down to retrieve a red plastic case - the Raptor’s medical and survival kit. While he was distracted, a man broke from the otherwise dwindling crowd and charged the Raptor, launching himself at it.
Not sure what the frak the man thought he was doing, Helo yelled, “Get back! Get back!” He raised his gun as the poor bastard reached toward the wing. He fired at the man, who fell back to the ground as the Raptor began to rise. It wasn’t clear to Helo if he had hit the man or if the guy had simply lost his balance with the ship’s movement.
Visible through the view port above the wing, Sharon raised a hand and put the flat of her palm against the glass, staring straight at Helo. He waved goodbye and watched as she waved goodbye in her turn. He continued to watch as the Raptor disappeared, even after it was gone and the only sounds he could hear came from those who had run to the aid of the man he had just shot.
***
Helo slowly drifted toward wakefulness, disoriented. The first thing he noticed was a cacophony of insect sounds. Gradually, he became aware of the cool breeze against his cheek and forehead, the damp feel of the grass against his ear, the crackle and pop of a fire, the scent of wood smoke and other things that he couldn’t identify but weren’t nearly so pleasant.
He opened his eyes. What the frak was he doing on the ground? He shifted and felt a stab of excruciating pain in his left thigh. Oh, Lords. It all came back to him - the Cylon attack, the decimation of the fleet, the destruction of the Colonies. He tried to sit up, doing his best to ignore the pain and the new bout of nausea its intensity caused, but strange hands pushed him back down.
“Hush, Lieutenant.” A man’s voice. Helo blinked back the tears that had sprung to his eyes from the pain and was finally able to focus. Seeing that he was more aware of his surroundings, the man backed off and turned toward the fire, allowing Helo to see his face.
“Who are you?” Helo was surprised at the weak sound of his own voice. Another soft breeze brushed past him and he shivered.
“Try to rest, Lieutenant, you have a fever.” The old man sat back hard, wincing at pain of his own. “I’m John Karik.”
Helo settled in more comfortably - if lying flat on hard ground, freezing your ass off could be called comfortable - and rolled his head to the side to see the old man better. “Where is everyone?” He could only assume Karik had been part of the crowd he and Sharon had dealt with earlier, since Helo hadn’t gone far from the clearing - a couple klicks at most. His leg hadn’t been able to support him.
Beyond Karik he saw his survival kit, the orange firelight reflecting off its smooth plastic cover. Not far past it were trees, leaves rustling in the breeze. The breeze, the insects - perfectly normal for an early summer night, but Helo suspected those insects would be dead before much longer. He hoped the survival kit held enough anti-radiation meds to keep himself and Karik going for at least a few days.
“I don’t know where they all went, Lieutenant,” Karik finally answered. “They’re… gone.”
“Helo. Call me Helo.”
“Helo?”
“It’s my call sign, but it’s been my nickname since I was a kid.”
Karik nodded and scrubbed a hand over the lower half of his face. “The Cylons came, rounded up the survivors. Some got away, others didn’t.” Karik closed his eyes and stopped talking. Helo could see the muscles working in his jaw.
“Are you alright, Mr. Karik?” He wasn’t sure the old guy was in any better shape than he was himself, although there were no obvious injuries. He shuddered as another breeze blew past, trailing icy fingers.
“I’m fine, Helo, just… tired.” Karik looked at him with a wry smile. “It’s been a long day.”
Helo had no memory of a Cylon ground attack. After the Raptor was long gone, he had taken up the survival kit and started limping toward the city. Even knowing it would probably take him several days to walk, he’d offered to lead the survivors to Caprica City, but they’d universally shied away from that idea. One woman had called him insane. She hadn’t listened when he’d explained that they would need something to combat radiation sickness, medication that could only be found in the city, or that they’d have a better chance of finding food or shelter there.
He’d started out on his own. If nothing else, he hoped to find a decent map so he could locate the nearest Colonial base without getting lost. There had to be survivors somewhere, survivors who could and would fight back against the damn toasters.
Helo had walked for perhaps an hour when his leg had given out on him. He remembered falling, his leg twisting under him, but nothing after that. He must have passed out.
“I followed you,” Karik continued. “When you fell, I dragged you into the trees a bit, so we’d at least have some shelter. We’d gone far enough from the others that, when the Cylons came, they didn’t bother us. Didn’t find us.” The firelight glittered in the man’s eyes as he spoke. It was as though he watched the attack over again, replaying it in his mind, and Helo was glad he didn’t remember it himself.
“Why’d you follow me, Mr. Karik?” He closed his eyes; Karik wasn’t the only one who was tired.
“Because you seemed to have a purpose, a plan. I thought I’d have a better chance at survival with you.” He looked up at the clouds, which blocked the light of the stars and Caprica’s moons. “You were right about needing medication against the radiation. The best place to find that is in one of the city hospitals.”
Helo heard a gritty crunching sound as Karik pushed himself to his feet. He opened his eyes at the gentle touch of the man’s hand against his forehead.
“You sleep now, Helo. Rest will help you heal. We’ll move on in the morning, if your leg and the fever allow.”
Knowing good advice when he heard it, Helo closed his eyes and slept.
***
A splash of water on his face awakened him the second time. He sat up, more cautiously than he had the night before, and looked around. The fire had gone out, apparently on its own as the rain that woke him was only just starting. From the look of the clouds, it wasn’t going to stop anytime soon.
He looked over at Karik, lying on his side next to the spent campfire, his back toward Helo. There was no sign of movement. “Mr. Karik?” No response. He pushed himself to his feet, careful not to jar his leg. He had to stop for a couple of seconds when he was struck by a bout of shivering so violent that it nearly knocked him over. “Mr. Karik?” he tried again, a little louder.
Nothing. Helo had the sinking suspicion that his companion had not been simply “tired” the night before. He limped over and cautiously lowered himself down next to him. Turning the man over, Helo saw that Karik had died during the night. The old man’s blue eyes stared sightlessly up at the clouds as the rain began to fall more heavily.
“I’m sorry,” Helo said, not knowing what exactly he felt sorry for. He looked around the small clearing, searching for rocks to build a cairn, but this area had only trees and grass or huge chunks of granite - nothing small enough that he could move, let alone stack. Right now, there was no way he could dig even a shallow grave.
His eyes caught on a vivid splash of red at the edge of the clearing - the corpse of a songbird, one bright wing at an odd angle as if it had broken on impact, falling out of the sky as it flew. Helo swallowed. “I guess I don’t have to worry much about animals…”
He didn’t have the energy at the moment to get back to his feet, so he just sat there for a while, staring at the songbird, washed by the rain.
***
After a time - a few minutes, a few hours - Helo again became aware of his surroundings. He still sat with Karik, the rain having soaked through his flight suit long since. He shivered.
Not knowing what else to do, he reached out and gently closed the man’s eyes. Once again ignoring the pain from his leg, Helo pushed himself up to one knee so he could more easily arrange the body. He couldn’t take the time for a proper funeral, but he could at least give him some small portion of dignity.
He didn’t know how long Karik had been dead, but rigor mortis had definitely set in. Helo forced his limbs to unbend - legs straight out, arms flat against his sides - apologizing again to the dead man when he had to break an elbow to straighten out his arm. In doing so, he pulled Karik’s jacket loose and a pocket flopped open, spilling out his wallet.
Helo picked up the octagonal bit of leather and fabric. He bounced the fat wallet in his hand and chewed at the inside of his cheek. With a glance at Karik’s slack, lifeless face, silvery hair plastered to his head by the rain, Helo opened the wallet. In addition to a few jubals and a couple of receipts, there were quite a few photographs. A smiling woman with green eyes and salt and pepper hair; a pair of boys, maybe six or seven years old, who looked like twins; another photo of the woman, this time more formal, seated in a chair in front of Karik, whose hand rested on her shoulder; a young man in Colonial uniform that must have been Karik’s son.
The young man’s eyes boring into him from the photograph, Helo decided that the Cylons may have taken everything else, but he couldn’t let them steal his humanity, as well. He was damned well going to deliver Karik’s soul to the gods, even if it meant delivering his own soul to the gods that much sooner, if the Cylons were still in the area, mopping up survivors.
Wracking his brain for the proper words to say at a funeral, Helo’s mind drifted back to his father’s burial. It had been a day just like this one, chilly for early summer and pouring rain as though it would never stop. Unlike today, there had been dozens of people - friends, family, business associates - to mourn. No one was around to mourn Karik except him.
Settling back onto the ground, he relaxed his leg. Bowing his head, he began, “Dear Lords, please accept the soul of John Karik, loving husband and father.” He paused, gnawing at his lower lip as he thought. “I only knew him for a short time, but in those few hours, he put himself out to help a stranger when he didn’t have to. Please watch over him and any of his family who’re still alive. And help me to be worthy of his trust and sacrifice. I commit his body to the earth from which we all came.”
For a time after Helo stopped speaking, the only sound to be heard was that of the falling rain.
***
He thought it must be mid-day when his stomach began to grumble about the lack of food and Helo realized it had been at least a full day since he had last eaten. He shot a quick glance at the dead songbird at the edge of the clearing, but then shook his head. He wasn’t that hungry. Still, he forced himself to his feet and limped over to the survival kit on the other side of the clearing. Whether he found food soon or not, he’d better take some of the anti-rad meds.
On the ground next to the kit was a canvas sack that must have belonged to Karik. Helo looked it over as he flipped open the case and removed a syringe. He pulled his left arm out of his sleeve, loaded up a dose of anti-rads, and closed his eyes, jamming the needle into his left bicep. “Why couldn’t they put this damn stuff into a pill?” he complained aloud.
He closed the kit - still enough doses for another week or so - and reached for the sack. Opening it, the first thing he saw was a demolitions license issued to one John Z. Karik, owner of Karik and Sons Construction. Chewing at the inside of his cheek again, wishing for a sucker, Helo reached into the sack and removed one of the heavy objects at the bottom. “Whoa…” An assembly of gray and yellow plastic and wires with a heart of plastic explosives. Peering into the bottom of the sack, he counted five more bundles. Another, smaller, package within the larger sack yielded half a dozen G-4 detonators and wireless triggers.
Looking up at the still-leaking sky, he carefully replaced the explosives and detonators in the pack, then hefted it to his shoulder and took a firm hold of the survival kit’s handle. With one last look at Karik, he saluted the man and turned, making his way toward Caprica City.
***
Hours later, Helo stumbled into another small clearing, this one backed up against a shallow overhang of granite. As shelter from the rain went, it wouldn’t be much, but it was better than trying to spend the night in a tree. Judging by the watery light, it was late afternoon, but he was too weak and hungry and frakking cold to go any further. He was beyond feeling any pain in his leg anymore and wasn’t sure if he should be worried or not.
He limped over to the shallow cave. He couldn’t stand upright, but he could maneuver under the rocky overhang enough to lie down and try to sleep. He hadn’t seen another living thing all day.
Setting the pack down carefully, he slung the survival kit next to it and then dropped down, exhausted, stretching his legs out in front of him. Where he sat, he was sheltered to his knees - the rain rinsed away the mud from his boots, leaving the rest of him pretty filthy, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The bandage wrapped around his thigh was a mess of blood and mud - he should do something about that.
The rain continued to fall, and Helo wondered if it would ever end or if he would die here, wet, muddy, and alone. “Why the frak did I give up my seat?”
The faint echo of his voice from behind startled him. Shifting, he reached for the kit. Once his cold fingers fumbled the catch open, he pulled out the light that came standard, hoping the batteries weren’t dead. Activating the switch, Helo was rewarded with a steady beam, which he directed into the low cave behind him.
The opening was narrow, but there was definitely more space beyond it. Raising an eyebrow and unconsciously sticking his tongue into his right cheek, Helo shone the light along the bottom edge of the entire overhang. He stopped when the light came to rest on a much larger opening, hidden behind brush. The ground around the opening was much smoother than where he sat.
He shoved himself back to his feet, angling away from the overhang - he didn’t need a concussion to go along with his bad leg. He left the pack and kit where they lay and limped over to the partially hidden entrance, supporting himself with one hand on the rocky outcropping.
Through the opening, his light revealed a much larger cave. In the center was what appeared to be a bedroll next to the remains of a campfire. There was a cook pot and several unopened cans next to it, along with a small tree stump that looked like it had been dragged into the cave for use as a table. On top of it were a cracked mirror and a razor.
Someone must have been living here, or at least camping, at the time of the Cylon attack. There was no sign of anyone now, though. He shone the light around the walls of the cave, but saw nothing to indicate that it went any further than this chamber. There didn’t appear to be any other openings large enough to accommodate a human being.
“At least it’s dry.” He went to retrieve the things he’d left outside.
***
Helo stayed in the cave for four days while the rain continued to fall outside. He slept for most of that time, existing on canned beans and rainwater and his daily shot of anti-rads. His leg began to hurt again with a fiery pain that shot all the way up into his skull. The fever raged, and he thought he had been delirious at some point, because he remembered waking up to see a man and a woman standing over him.
He couldn’t see them clearly. Sunlight streamed into the cave from the long opening, and Helo didn’t hear the rain anymore - he thought it must have stopped. All he could see of the man and woman was a black silhouette, backlit by sunlight, a fiery corona around the woman’s head.
They spoke, but he couldn’t understand what they said. The man knelt down next to Helo, one knee on the ground beside his pallet and then he felt something sting his neck. Blackness stole his vision.
When next he woke, the sound of the rain was just as heavy as it had ever been. He levered himself up onto his elbows and looked around the cave. As far as he could see, there was no one else in the cave. He reached for the light, but he must have left it on, killing the batteries - when he flicked the switch, nothing happened.
Helo rolled himself onto his hands and knees and was pleasantly surprised when all he felt from his leg was a dull ache. As his eyes adjusted to the watery daylight that filtered in, he saw the silhouette of his packs and an open can of beans on the stump. He reached for the beans and began to eat, hungry again for the first time in days, scooping beans from the can with his fingers. He didn’t even care when he cut a finger on the edge of the can, although he did suck at the small wound to clean it of any lingering bean juice. He’d had enough of fevers and infections.
And he’d had enough of this smelly cave. His own stink was starting to get to him. It was time to move on, continue on into Caprica City, find that map, hopefully more survivors, make his way off this rock and try to find what was left of the fleet.
“Idiot.” Recognizing the pipe dream for what it was, Helo hoped that he’d at least be able to find something to eat other than beans.
***
According to his chrono, it was late during his fifth day on Caprica that the Cylons found him. He had made camp and settled down for the night when he’d heard something new slicing through the sound of the rain. Something mechanical, accompanied by a pounding vibration through the ground where he sat.
He grabbed the pack, into which he’d put the rest of his anti-rads, the few cans of beans that remained, and the shaving stuff, and ran. He prayed he was running away from the toasters and not right into them.
It was morning now, hours after he’d first heard the Cylon search party, and Helo was still running. And the clouds were still dumping rain on him. He was more than a little pissed, not to mention the fact that, even though the fever was gone and his leg was working a lot better than it had been, he was still wet and cold.
He didn’t know how many of the damn Cylons were tracking him, but tracking him they were. And he was sick of it.
At least for now, he couldn’t hear any signs of pursuit. He stopped and took stock of his surroundings. Still nothing but trees and rocks and more trees. Nearby, he spotted a rock large enough to provide a bit of cover. He ran to it, dropping his pack and pulling out the med kit to clear his way to the explosives.
Peeking around the boulder, he could see nothing but the trees and the rain. No glint of metal through the trees, yet. He took a bundle of explosives from the pack and attached a G-4 detonator. His eye caught on the med kit - it was time for another shot, but he was damn well going to take out a toaster or two before he did that.
Helo took his now-active bomb and ran back the way he had come. He dug a shallow trench in the middle of the path through the undergrowth and buried the mine. Finished, he heard the clank and whine of servos coming closer.
When he realized he had left the trigger with his pack, he cursed himself for being a frakking idiot. He checked over his shoulder for pursuit and began to run, back through the woods to the boulder and his pack and the trigger. He could hear the Cylons behind him and prayed that he’d make it before they reached the mine.
Just as he skidded around the boulder, he picked up the shine of chrome through the trees. The machines were almost on top of the explosives. Scrambling, Helo pressed the button as two Cylons reached the mine. A satisfying explosion ripped through the soggy trees.
“Yes!”
Helo drew his sidearm and ran back toward the tangle of machinery, intent on making sure the frakking things had been destroyed. As he drew closer, he saw that one of the toasters had bought it, but the other, sparks flying, was trying to get to its feet. It reached for him, red eye glowing balefully from the slit in its faceplate.
“Die, mother frakker.” He shot it. And then, when it still kept trying for him, he shot it again and then again. With a yell of rage and fear and frustration, he fired seven times, until that red eye finally faded to black.
And still the rain fell.
***
It felt like forever, but had been only a few minutes when Helo dropped back to the ground beside his pack. He was still breathing hard from all the running and the adrenaline rush. Loading up an anti-rad injection, he realized that he only had a couple days’ worth left.
He stared at the kit, biting his lower lip. A few more days and he’d be dead from radiation.
Frak it. What difference did it make, whether he died from radiation or the Cylons? Dead was dead. But, if he lived a little longer because of the meds, he’d at least have a chance to take out another Cylon or two… He rammed the needle into his shoulder, between his collarbone and neck.
Leaning back against the boulder, he closed his eyes. He imagined he could feel the meds flowing into his blood. He didn’t have to imagine the rain beating against his eyelids, his throat, trickling into his collar.
Suddenly certain he was being watched, Helo opened his eyes. Over his shoulder, just inside the trees, he saw a flash of white. A woman stood there, pale hair tangling around her neck, brushing her shoulders. She wore a white jacket that fell to her knees over black trousers, neither appropriate for a hike in the woods.
Helo scrambled to his feet and pulled his gun, aiming it at the figure in white. He stared at the woman, who stared at him. She never moved. Slowly, he became aware of a buzzing sound behind him. A Cylon stood less then a meter from his left shoulder. As he watched, the Cylon leveled its right arm at him and primed the weapon housed inside it. Helo turned back to the woman, who still hadn’t moved, and put his hands in the air.
***
He didn’t know if he had simply zoned out for a few minutes, or if he had actually lost consciousness. Helo came back to his surroundings to find that his wrists and ankles had been locked into shackles. A rough cloth bag covered his head. He was kneeling in the mud, washed by the ever-present rain.
Not long after his awareness returned, he felt gentle hands at his shoulders, a tug at the sack that covered his head. He was suddenly face to face with the blonde woman.
She studied him as though she had never seen a human before and asked, “Are you alive?”
He didn’t answer at first, his brain not working at top speed. Her blue eyes drilled into him and he finally responded, “Agathon, Karl C. Lieutenant, Junior Grade, Colonial Fleet, P.K.-” She cut him off as she removed the shackles, startling him. “7899…34...”
It was as if she had no fear that he would harm her when she leaned in, close enough that he could feel the heat that radiated from her. “I know who you are, Helo. It’s all right, I’m a friend.”
Helo didn’t know what to think. She was the first person he’d seen in days. She called herself his friend. She knew his name. But she was with the Cylons. His mind totally shut down for the space of several seconds as she reached for him, warm fingers caressing his jaw. Then she kissed him. He heard the sound of his own pulse, roaring in his ears. He couldn’t think why, but she tasted like death.
A loud crack woke him from his near-stupor. Gunshot. The woman slumped limply against his chest, one hand clutching at his collar. There was a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth. Looking over the fallen woman - why the hell had she kissed him? - he thought he saw Sharon standing in the trees, gun in hand, aimed toward where he sat. It couldn’t be Sharon, though. She had left him on the Raptor, what? Six days ago?
The vision in Colonial uniform took a step toward him.
“Sharon?”
She didn’t say a word as she ran over to him, holstering her firearm.
“What’re you doing here? I…” Helo had never felt more confused in his life.
She interrupted him. “Can you walk?” Her voice was urgent.
“Yeah. Y-yeah, I think so. What are you doing here? I thought-”
With a quick look around, she helped him to his feet. “Just move, mister.”
With Sharon - Gods! Sharon! - supporting him, her arm around his waist, they ran, away from the bits and pieces of Cylons, away from the blonde woman who had kissed him, who lay face down on the ground, blood soaking into the white jacket on her back.
It never even occurred to him to wonder what had happened to the third Cylon…
Author: SabaceanBabe
Fandom: the new Battlestar Galactica
Rating: PG
Spoilers: part one of the mini and a little for 33
Characters: Helo, lots of Helo (and a little bit of Sharon)
Summary: What happened to Helo during those 6 days he was left alone on Caprica?
Word count: 7,154
Disclaimer: The Battlestar Galactica universe, and all that is in it, is not mine, but rather belongs to Ronald D. Moore, Glen Larson (in spirit), NBC/Universal, the Sci Fi Channel, SkyOne and everyone else who put up the brainpower or the cash to make it happen. This is a work of fiction based in that universe. No copyright infringement is intended. No money was made off this beast - please don’t sue.
Notes: A big thank you to my betas, simplystars and Lee in Limbo (poor guy hasn’t even see any of the show, and I still roped him in for this…) Crossposted on my LJ, bsg_creative, and bsg2003fics.
Karl Agathon tried to concentrate on the pain as he bandaged the gash in his thigh - caused by the same blast that had damaged the Raptor - but the Cylons kept distracting him. He looked up toward the horizon as yet another explosion ripped through the atmosphere, not close enough to be of immediate concern, but still too close for comfort. After all, he thought, watching a burgeoning mushroom cloud in the distance, why would the toasters use anything but dirty bombs? If he and Sharon got off Caprica alive, they’d both have to undergo weeks of treatment for radiation poisoning.
“That’s six…” He turned his attention to his pilot as he tucked the end of the makeshift bandage under one of its wraps, securing it as best he could. “How’re you coming on that fuel line, Boomer?”
Sharon Valerii didn’t take her eyes from the line she was reconnecting. “Almost there. We’ll be airborne pretty soon.” She slipped the line back into its niche, swiping at strands of dark hair that had escaped confinement and were now caught in the sweat that ran down her face and neck.
There was a sharp snick and she said, “Okay, that should do it.” She started to say something else, but Helo - nobody called him Karl - silenced her with a raised hand. They both held themselves perfectly still, not even breathing, just listening.
Something was moving in the distance, between Caprica City - about thirty klicks east and still festooned with angry smoke - and the clearing in which they had put down. Helo narrowed his eyes, trying to focus. Whatever it was, it was drawing nearer…
Maneuvering awkwardly to his feet, Helo steadied himself for a moment on a landing strut. The blood that rushed from his head seemed to go directly to his wound, which began to throb. The pain helped clear his vision when he limped out just past the Raptor for a better view of whatever was causing the new sound.
Frak!
“Boomer, grab your sidearm!” Heeding his own advice, Helo pulled his gun from its holster. The noise had become clearer as it came closer, punctuated by screams and underscored by a low rumble, akin to that of a freighter. Or a mob.
“Helo?” She sounded more puzzled than worried as she moved to stand next to him.
“Just stand your ground,” he replied. What had begun as a vague impression of movement near the horizon had resolved itself into a densely packed crowd of people running across the field toward the Raptor. As Helo and Sharon watched, a man at the leading edge tripped and fell. Before the panicked throng could trample him, he clawed his way back to his feet and continued to run, directly toward the ECO and his pilot.
Helo placed himself in front of the open hatch, wondering even as he did so what the hell he could do to stop them if they decided to rush him. He looked over at Sharon, indicating with a quick motion of his head that she should put herself up higher than the mob, which she did by jumping up onto the Raptor’s pilot-side wing.
The mob was almost on top of them when Sharon and Helo each fired a warning shot over their heads. Screams and shouts of anger and fear followed from the tide of humanity flowing toward them, but the headlong rush toward the Raptor stopped before the shuttle could be overrun.
“That’s as close as you get, people.” Helo’s voice was steady, calm, even though he was sick and dizzy and just as frightened as those standing before him. “Let’s just settle down and no one’ll get hurt.”
“Are you crazy?” a man shouted, apparently upset that the pair of Colonial officers would deny him sanctuary. “I’ve got to get on board! I’ll give you 50,000 jubals-”
Helo cut him off as a chorus of even higher offers came from others in the crowd. “We’re not… We’re not taking money! This isn’t a rescue ship! This is a military vessel and we’re not taking any money!” He was appalled. These people…they thought he and Sharon were here for them, that they were some kind of saviors. Helo took a second to survey the crowd - no way even a quarter of them could fit on the Raptor and still be able to get off the ground, given the amount of fuel they’d lost.
A woman shouted, “Please! Please, you’ve got to take my nephew!”
Between the unabashed pleading in the woman’s voice and the bewilderment in the boy’s eyes - he couldn’t have been more than twelve - the only response Helo could make was to shake his head. “We’re not taking money,” he repeated. How could they take a handful of these survivors with them and deny the rest?
Someone charged from the crowd. Before Helo could react, Sharon fired another warning shot. The man froze in his tracks and the crowd, which had been slowly advancing, backed off a little, but then someone else shouted, “What about my children?” Suddenly, they were all shouting. “Yeah, what about my wife?!” “What about the children?!”
He risked a brief glance toward Sharon, standing on the shuttle’s wing. She bit her lip, his own distress reflected in her dark eyes as she looked over the crowd. Helo didn’t know whether he wanted to kiss her or strangle her when she lowered her gun and shouted, “Alright! Children first! Children!” He closed his eyes for a moment in a silent prayer for the Lords of Kobol to get them through this. His head pounded in time with the throbbing in his leg. From his vantage on the ground, he had no clue how many kids there might be.
Half a dozen children separated themselves - or were separated by their parents - from the crowd of adults and walked or ran over to Helo. They varied in age from very young, perhaps three or four years old, to early teens. With the addition of the kids to the raptor’s load, Helo did a quick mental calculation of the weight-to-fuel ratio. It wasn’t good, but he thought they could still handle a few more refugees.
“Come on! There’s still more room!” a man shouted - Helo thought it was the same man who had offered them the jubals. He looked at the hopeful faces in the crowd and then back at Sharon and mouthed a number.
“We can take three more people,” she shouted. Helo watched as hand after hand went up in the crowd. It was no surprise that many more than three wanted to leave Caprica with them, but he and Sharon had no choice but to deny most of them entry. What surprised him was that only about a third of the adults remaining raised their hands. It seemed a few of the survivors were beginning to understand just how serious the situation was.
“That’s the maximum load if we’re going to break orbit,” Helo raised his voice to inform the crowd. Even that might be pushing it. Gods, how were they to decide? And how could they tell those who weren’t chosen that they had to stay here to die?
“Who chooses the three? You?” Mr. Jubals demanded, a sobering echo of Helo’s own doubts.
Sharon replied, “No,” too quietly at first for anyone but those closest to her to hear. Then, more forcefully, “No one chooses. No one! Lottery!” The crowd let out a collective groan, Helo included. A frakkin’ lottery? That’ll take hours! Helo risked a quick glance over his shoulder into the hazy distance, toward Caprica City as Sharon continued, undaunted. “Everyone gets a number. Put the numbers in a box. Take out three. That’s it! No argument, no appeal!”
“How can we trust you?” a man from the back of the crowd yelled, but others standing near him elbowed him to silence.
“You don’t have a choice,” Helo responded. “And I will shoot the first person who tries to board without a winning number!” he continued when Mr. Jubals made a move as though to charge the Raptor.
“Helo, get your flight manual and tear out the pages.” His flight manual, the bible of the electronic countermeasures officer and now their only source of paper for ballots. A glance at the crowd, at the barely reined-in panic on some of the faces, told him it wasn’t a good idea to leave Sharon alone for the few seconds it would take to retrieve the manual.
Instead, he called to a boy who appeared to be the oldest of the group of children who stood between him and Sharon. “Hey, kid.” The boy came closer, longish brown hair falling over his face to cover one eye. Helo pointed up the ramp. “Go to the front of the ship. You’ll see a helmet on the seat to the right. Under the seat, there’s a compartment where you’ll find my flight manual.”
“You want me to bring you the helmet and the book?” he asked.
“Exactly,” Helo said with relief. “Don’t touch anything else.” The boy nodded and dashed up the ramp while Helo remained where he was, guarding both the entrance to the small ship and Sharon.
***
It must have been a couple of hours later that Sharon pulled the third scrap of paper from Helo’s helmet. There were 58 adult survivors, and it had taken some time to prepare and distribute the ballots. There had been no new explosions since the last ballot had been accepted, but Helo was anxious to get this over with and back to Galactica, back into the fight. “Last one. Number forty-seven!” Sharon shouted. “Four seven!”
Helo scanned the crowd - nothing but dozens of hopeful faces. When the previous two numbers had been called, the response had been immediate, both the excited, relieved cries of the “winners” and the audible disappointment of those whose numbers weren’t called.
A man and woman toward the back of the crowd caught his attention. The man, about Helo’s own age, looked vaguely familiar. He was biting his lip and looked as though he might cry. The old woman next to him tugged at his sleeve and showed him her ballot, but the man looked away, searching the crowd. When he turned back toward her, the angle of his head or the weak sunlight as it struck his face must have been just right to jog Helo’s memory.
“Hey!” he called out, shading his eyes against the light that broke through the gathering clouds above, reflecting from the metal skin of the Raptor. “Aren’t you Dr. Gaius Baltar?”
The man looked first startled and then terrified, as though he were a child who had just been caught with his hand in his grandmother’s cookie jar. “Yeah, but I haven’t done anything!” he yelled back. Then he swallowed, hard enough for Helo to see it even twenty meters away, and took the scrap of paper from the old woman. All eyes were on Baltar as he said, “This lady has ticket number forty-seven. This… this lady here!” He gripped the slip of paper and held it above his head as though it were a lifeline.
Dr. Gaius Baltar… Helo surveyed the crowd, making eye contact with several people. He came to an abrupt decision. “Could you come up here, please?” He gestured them both forward.
Holding the old woman’s hand, Baltar nervously eyed the crowd. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry…” He began to push his way through the crowd, pulling the woman behind him, apologizing to those they jostled in passing.
Sharon leaped down from her perch on the Raptor’s wing and walked over to Helo. “What’re you doing?”
He turned away from her, toward the half dozen children and two adults waiting for someone to tell them what to do, eight pairs of bewildered, frightened eyes, all looking at him. He gestured for them to board the waiting shuttle before turning back to Boomer - he had to think of her as just another pilot, not as the friend he had come to know over the past few months, not as Sharon. “Just loading up our passengers, Boomer.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” She stopped right in front of him, in his face. “What’re you doing?”
Helo let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He carefully avoided her eyes as he said, “Giving up my seat.”
“Like hell!”
The outrage in her voice forced him to look at her. “A civilian should take my place.” He begged her with his eyes, willing her to understand.
The old woman moved slowly toward them, Dr. Gaius Baltar towing her along. She held the potentially life-saving number in her hand, but that meant that Baltar would remain here on Caprica to die, if not quickly at the hands of the Cylons, then slowly, a victim of radiation poisoning. Helo couldn’t let that happen.
“You’re going!” The tone of Sharon’s voice gave him the sudden impression of a child stamping her foot, trying to get her own way. He was reminded of how young she really was - out of flight school for only a handful of months and now this.
He shook his head slowly, unable to look away from her dark eyes, his attempt to distance himself from her gone the way of Caprica City. “Look at those clouds.” When she refused to look away from him, he repeated, “Sharon, look at those clouds! And tell me this isn’t the end of everything.”
“Helo, you can’t do this.” Tears welled in her eyes as Baltar and the woman arrived. Helo paid them no attention; his only focus the woman who had been his partner for the last three months.
“Whatever future’s left, it’s going to depend on whoever survives. Give me one reason why I’m a better choice than one of the greatest minds of our time.”
“Helo…” The tears glimmered in her beautiful eyes. “I need you!”
“You can do this without me. I know you can. You’ve proven it.” Searching her face, he thought of their last game of Pyramid on the Galactica, of the friends he would never see again.
Sharon gave him one last intense look and then turned to the bewildered pair of survivors, her expression hard and angry. “Get on board!” Baltar gaped at her for a full second, his mouth open as if to say something, but then he snapped it shut and pushed the old woman ahead of him, past Helo and into the Raptor.
Voices from the crowd swirled around them as the tone began to slip back toward that of a mob. “Hey!” “What?” “What?!” “Hey, wait a frakking minute!” “Look, take me!”
Pointing his gun into the crowd, Helo turned his head toward Sharon. “I think you’d better go!”
For a long moment, Sharon didn’t seem to hear him, but then she turned and reluctantly entered the Raptor, the hatch closing with a strange finality behind her.
More voices, angry, frightened. “Hey!” “You can’t do this!”
“Stay back! Stay back! It’s over! It’s over!” Helo repeated this mantra again and again as Sharon powered up the engines, throwing dust into the air. Once the people on the ground finally accepted that the Raptor was taking off without them - without one of its own crew - they began to disperse.
Helo reached down to retrieve a red plastic case - the Raptor’s medical and survival kit. While he was distracted, a man broke from the otherwise dwindling crowd and charged the Raptor, launching himself at it.
Not sure what the frak the man thought he was doing, Helo yelled, “Get back! Get back!” He raised his gun as the poor bastard reached toward the wing. He fired at the man, who fell back to the ground as the Raptor began to rise. It wasn’t clear to Helo if he had hit the man or if the guy had simply lost his balance with the ship’s movement.
Visible through the view port above the wing, Sharon raised a hand and put the flat of her palm against the glass, staring straight at Helo. He waved goodbye and watched as she waved goodbye in her turn. He continued to watch as the Raptor disappeared, even after it was gone and the only sounds he could hear came from those who had run to the aid of the man he had just shot.
***
Helo slowly drifted toward wakefulness, disoriented. The first thing he noticed was a cacophony of insect sounds. Gradually, he became aware of the cool breeze against his cheek and forehead, the damp feel of the grass against his ear, the crackle and pop of a fire, the scent of wood smoke and other things that he couldn’t identify but weren’t nearly so pleasant.
He opened his eyes. What the frak was he doing on the ground? He shifted and felt a stab of excruciating pain in his left thigh. Oh, Lords. It all came back to him - the Cylon attack, the decimation of the fleet, the destruction of the Colonies. He tried to sit up, doing his best to ignore the pain and the new bout of nausea its intensity caused, but strange hands pushed him back down.
“Hush, Lieutenant.” A man’s voice. Helo blinked back the tears that had sprung to his eyes from the pain and was finally able to focus. Seeing that he was more aware of his surroundings, the man backed off and turned toward the fire, allowing Helo to see his face.
“Who are you?” Helo was surprised at the weak sound of his own voice. Another soft breeze brushed past him and he shivered.
“Try to rest, Lieutenant, you have a fever.” The old man sat back hard, wincing at pain of his own. “I’m John Karik.”
Helo settled in more comfortably - if lying flat on hard ground, freezing your ass off could be called comfortable - and rolled his head to the side to see the old man better. “Where is everyone?” He could only assume Karik had been part of the crowd he and Sharon had dealt with earlier, since Helo hadn’t gone far from the clearing - a couple klicks at most. His leg hadn’t been able to support him.
Beyond Karik he saw his survival kit, the orange firelight reflecting off its smooth plastic cover. Not far past it were trees, leaves rustling in the breeze. The breeze, the insects - perfectly normal for an early summer night, but Helo suspected those insects would be dead before much longer. He hoped the survival kit held enough anti-radiation meds to keep himself and Karik going for at least a few days.
“I don’t know where they all went, Lieutenant,” Karik finally answered. “They’re… gone.”
“Helo. Call me Helo.”
“Helo?”
“It’s my call sign, but it’s been my nickname since I was a kid.”
Karik nodded and scrubbed a hand over the lower half of his face. “The Cylons came, rounded up the survivors. Some got away, others didn’t.” Karik closed his eyes and stopped talking. Helo could see the muscles working in his jaw.
“Are you alright, Mr. Karik?” He wasn’t sure the old guy was in any better shape than he was himself, although there were no obvious injuries. He shuddered as another breeze blew past, trailing icy fingers.
“I’m fine, Helo, just… tired.” Karik looked at him with a wry smile. “It’s been a long day.”
Helo had no memory of a Cylon ground attack. After the Raptor was long gone, he had taken up the survival kit and started limping toward the city. Even knowing it would probably take him several days to walk, he’d offered to lead the survivors to Caprica City, but they’d universally shied away from that idea. One woman had called him insane. She hadn’t listened when he’d explained that they would need something to combat radiation sickness, medication that could only be found in the city, or that they’d have a better chance of finding food or shelter there.
He’d started out on his own. If nothing else, he hoped to find a decent map so he could locate the nearest Colonial base without getting lost. There had to be survivors somewhere, survivors who could and would fight back against the damn toasters.
Helo had walked for perhaps an hour when his leg had given out on him. He remembered falling, his leg twisting under him, but nothing after that. He must have passed out.
“I followed you,” Karik continued. “When you fell, I dragged you into the trees a bit, so we’d at least have some shelter. We’d gone far enough from the others that, when the Cylons came, they didn’t bother us. Didn’t find us.” The firelight glittered in the man’s eyes as he spoke. It was as though he watched the attack over again, replaying it in his mind, and Helo was glad he didn’t remember it himself.
“Why’d you follow me, Mr. Karik?” He closed his eyes; Karik wasn’t the only one who was tired.
“Because you seemed to have a purpose, a plan. I thought I’d have a better chance at survival with you.” He looked up at the clouds, which blocked the light of the stars and Caprica’s moons. “You were right about needing medication against the radiation. The best place to find that is in one of the city hospitals.”
Helo heard a gritty crunching sound as Karik pushed himself to his feet. He opened his eyes at the gentle touch of the man’s hand against his forehead.
“You sleep now, Helo. Rest will help you heal. We’ll move on in the morning, if your leg and the fever allow.”
Knowing good advice when he heard it, Helo closed his eyes and slept.
***
A splash of water on his face awakened him the second time. He sat up, more cautiously than he had the night before, and looked around. The fire had gone out, apparently on its own as the rain that woke him was only just starting. From the look of the clouds, it wasn’t going to stop anytime soon.
He looked over at Karik, lying on his side next to the spent campfire, his back toward Helo. There was no sign of movement. “Mr. Karik?” No response. He pushed himself to his feet, careful not to jar his leg. He had to stop for a couple of seconds when he was struck by a bout of shivering so violent that it nearly knocked him over. “Mr. Karik?” he tried again, a little louder.
Nothing. Helo had the sinking suspicion that his companion had not been simply “tired” the night before. He limped over and cautiously lowered himself down next to him. Turning the man over, Helo saw that Karik had died during the night. The old man’s blue eyes stared sightlessly up at the clouds as the rain began to fall more heavily.
“I’m sorry,” Helo said, not knowing what exactly he felt sorry for. He looked around the small clearing, searching for rocks to build a cairn, but this area had only trees and grass or huge chunks of granite - nothing small enough that he could move, let alone stack. Right now, there was no way he could dig even a shallow grave.
His eyes caught on a vivid splash of red at the edge of the clearing - the corpse of a songbird, one bright wing at an odd angle as if it had broken on impact, falling out of the sky as it flew. Helo swallowed. “I guess I don’t have to worry much about animals…”
He didn’t have the energy at the moment to get back to his feet, so he just sat there for a while, staring at the songbird, washed by the rain.
***
After a time - a few minutes, a few hours - Helo again became aware of his surroundings. He still sat with Karik, the rain having soaked through his flight suit long since. He shivered.
Not knowing what else to do, he reached out and gently closed the man’s eyes. Once again ignoring the pain from his leg, Helo pushed himself up to one knee so he could more easily arrange the body. He couldn’t take the time for a proper funeral, but he could at least give him some small portion of dignity.
He didn’t know how long Karik had been dead, but rigor mortis had definitely set in. Helo forced his limbs to unbend - legs straight out, arms flat against his sides - apologizing again to the dead man when he had to break an elbow to straighten out his arm. In doing so, he pulled Karik’s jacket loose and a pocket flopped open, spilling out his wallet.
Helo picked up the octagonal bit of leather and fabric. He bounced the fat wallet in his hand and chewed at the inside of his cheek. With a glance at Karik’s slack, lifeless face, silvery hair plastered to his head by the rain, Helo opened the wallet. In addition to a few jubals and a couple of receipts, there were quite a few photographs. A smiling woman with green eyes and salt and pepper hair; a pair of boys, maybe six or seven years old, who looked like twins; another photo of the woman, this time more formal, seated in a chair in front of Karik, whose hand rested on her shoulder; a young man in Colonial uniform that must have been Karik’s son.
The young man’s eyes boring into him from the photograph, Helo decided that the Cylons may have taken everything else, but he couldn’t let them steal his humanity, as well. He was damned well going to deliver Karik’s soul to the gods, even if it meant delivering his own soul to the gods that much sooner, if the Cylons were still in the area, mopping up survivors.
Wracking his brain for the proper words to say at a funeral, Helo’s mind drifted back to his father’s burial. It had been a day just like this one, chilly for early summer and pouring rain as though it would never stop. Unlike today, there had been dozens of people - friends, family, business associates - to mourn. No one was around to mourn Karik except him.
Settling back onto the ground, he relaxed his leg. Bowing his head, he began, “Dear Lords, please accept the soul of John Karik, loving husband and father.” He paused, gnawing at his lower lip as he thought. “I only knew him for a short time, but in those few hours, he put himself out to help a stranger when he didn’t have to. Please watch over him and any of his family who’re still alive. And help me to be worthy of his trust and sacrifice. I commit his body to the earth from which we all came.”
For a time after Helo stopped speaking, the only sound to be heard was that of the falling rain.
***
He thought it must be mid-day when his stomach began to grumble about the lack of food and Helo realized it had been at least a full day since he had last eaten. He shot a quick glance at the dead songbird at the edge of the clearing, but then shook his head. He wasn’t that hungry. Still, he forced himself to his feet and limped over to the survival kit on the other side of the clearing. Whether he found food soon or not, he’d better take some of the anti-rad meds.
On the ground next to the kit was a canvas sack that must have belonged to Karik. Helo looked it over as he flipped open the case and removed a syringe. He pulled his left arm out of his sleeve, loaded up a dose of anti-rads, and closed his eyes, jamming the needle into his left bicep. “Why couldn’t they put this damn stuff into a pill?” he complained aloud.
He closed the kit - still enough doses for another week or so - and reached for the sack. Opening it, the first thing he saw was a demolitions license issued to one John Z. Karik, owner of Karik and Sons Construction. Chewing at the inside of his cheek again, wishing for a sucker, Helo reached into the sack and removed one of the heavy objects at the bottom. “Whoa…” An assembly of gray and yellow plastic and wires with a heart of plastic explosives. Peering into the bottom of the sack, he counted five more bundles. Another, smaller, package within the larger sack yielded half a dozen G-4 detonators and wireless triggers.
Looking up at the still-leaking sky, he carefully replaced the explosives and detonators in the pack, then hefted it to his shoulder and took a firm hold of the survival kit’s handle. With one last look at Karik, he saluted the man and turned, making his way toward Caprica City.
***
Hours later, Helo stumbled into another small clearing, this one backed up against a shallow overhang of granite. As shelter from the rain went, it wouldn’t be much, but it was better than trying to spend the night in a tree. Judging by the watery light, it was late afternoon, but he was too weak and hungry and frakking cold to go any further. He was beyond feeling any pain in his leg anymore and wasn’t sure if he should be worried or not.
He limped over to the shallow cave. He couldn’t stand upright, but he could maneuver under the rocky overhang enough to lie down and try to sleep. He hadn’t seen another living thing all day.
Setting the pack down carefully, he slung the survival kit next to it and then dropped down, exhausted, stretching his legs out in front of him. Where he sat, he was sheltered to his knees - the rain rinsed away the mud from his boots, leaving the rest of him pretty filthy, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The bandage wrapped around his thigh was a mess of blood and mud - he should do something about that.
The rain continued to fall, and Helo wondered if it would ever end or if he would die here, wet, muddy, and alone. “Why the frak did I give up my seat?”
The faint echo of his voice from behind startled him. Shifting, he reached for the kit. Once his cold fingers fumbled the catch open, he pulled out the light that came standard, hoping the batteries weren’t dead. Activating the switch, Helo was rewarded with a steady beam, which he directed into the low cave behind him.
The opening was narrow, but there was definitely more space beyond it. Raising an eyebrow and unconsciously sticking his tongue into his right cheek, Helo shone the light along the bottom edge of the entire overhang. He stopped when the light came to rest on a much larger opening, hidden behind brush. The ground around the opening was much smoother than where he sat.
He shoved himself back to his feet, angling away from the overhang - he didn’t need a concussion to go along with his bad leg. He left the pack and kit where they lay and limped over to the partially hidden entrance, supporting himself with one hand on the rocky outcropping.
Through the opening, his light revealed a much larger cave. In the center was what appeared to be a bedroll next to the remains of a campfire. There was a cook pot and several unopened cans next to it, along with a small tree stump that looked like it had been dragged into the cave for use as a table. On top of it were a cracked mirror and a razor.
Someone must have been living here, or at least camping, at the time of the Cylon attack. There was no sign of anyone now, though. He shone the light around the walls of the cave, but saw nothing to indicate that it went any further than this chamber. There didn’t appear to be any other openings large enough to accommodate a human being.
“At least it’s dry.” He went to retrieve the things he’d left outside.
***
Helo stayed in the cave for four days while the rain continued to fall outside. He slept for most of that time, existing on canned beans and rainwater and his daily shot of anti-rads. His leg began to hurt again with a fiery pain that shot all the way up into his skull. The fever raged, and he thought he had been delirious at some point, because he remembered waking up to see a man and a woman standing over him.
He couldn’t see them clearly. Sunlight streamed into the cave from the long opening, and Helo didn’t hear the rain anymore - he thought it must have stopped. All he could see of the man and woman was a black silhouette, backlit by sunlight, a fiery corona around the woman’s head.
They spoke, but he couldn’t understand what they said. The man knelt down next to Helo, one knee on the ground beside his pallet and then he felt something sting his neck. Blackness stole his vision.
When next he woke, the sound of the rain was just as heavy as it had ever been. He levered himself up onto his elbows and looked around the cave. As far as he could see, there was no one else in the cave. He reached for the light, but he must have left it on, killing the batteries - when he flicked the switch, nothing happened.
Helo rolled himself onto his hands and knees and was pleasantly surprised when all he felt from his leg was a dull ache. As his eyes adjusted to the watery daylight that filtered in, he saw the silhouette of his packs and an open can of beans on the stump. He reached for the beans and began to eat, hungry again for the first time in days, scooping beans from the can with his fingers. He didn’t even care when he cut a finger on the edge of the can, although he did suck at the small wound to clean it of any lingering bean juice. He’d had enough of fevers and infections.
And he’d had enough of this smelly cave. His own stink was starting to get to him. It was time to move on, continue on into Caprica City, find that map, hopefully more survivors, make his way off this rock and try to find what was left of the fleet.
“Idiot.” Recognizing the pipe dream for what it was, Helo hoped that he’d at least be able to find something to eat other than beans.
***
According to his chrono, it was late during his fifth day on Caprica that the Cylons found him. He had made camp and settled down for the night when he’d heard something new slicing through the sound of the rain. Something mechanical, accompanied by a pounding vibration through the ground where he sat.
He grabbed the pack, into which he’d put the rest of his anti-rads, the few cans of beans that remained, and the shaving stuff, and ran. He prayed he was running away from the toasters and not right into them.
It was morning now, hours after he’d first heard the Cylon search party, and Helo was still running. And the clouds were still dumping rain on him. He was more than a little pissed, not to mention the fact that, even though the fever was gone and his leg was working a lot better than it had been, he was still wet and cold.
He didn’t know how many of the damn Cylons were tracking him, but tracking him they were. And he was sick of it.
At least for now, he couldn’t hear any signs of pursuit. He stopped and took stock of his surroundings. Still nothing but trees and rocks and more trees. Nearby, he spotted a rock large enough to provide a bit of cover. He ran to it, dropping his pack and pulling out the med kit to clear his way to the explosives.
Peeking around the boulder, he could see nothing but the trees and the rain. No glint of metal through the trees, yet. He took a bundle of explosives from the pack and attached a G-4 detonator. His eye caught on the med kit - it was time for another shot, but he was damn well going to take out a toaster or two before he did that.
Helo took his now-active bomb and ran back the way he had come. He dug a shallow trench in the middle of the path through the undergrowth and buried the mine. Finished, he heard the clank and whine of servos coming closer.
When he realized he had left the trigger with his pack, he cursed himself for being a frakking idiot. He checked over his shoulder for pursuit and began to run, back through the woods to the boulder and his pack and the trigger. He could hear the Cylons behind him and prayed that he’d make it before they reached the mine.
Just as he skidded around the boulder, he picked up the shine of chrome through the trees. The machines were almost on top of the explosives. Scrambling, Helo pressed the button as two Cylons reached the mine. A satisfying explosion ripped through the soggy trees.
“Yes!”
Helo drew his sidearm and ran back toward the tangle of machinery, intent on making sure the frakking things had been destroyed. As he drew closer, he saw that one of the toasters had bought it, but the other, sparks flying, was trying to get to its feet. It reached for him, red eye glowing balefully from the slit in its faceplate.
“Die, mother frakker.” He shot it. And then, when it still kept trying for him, he shot it again and then again. With a yell of rage and fear and frustration, he fired seven times, until that red eye finally faded to black.
And still the rain fell.
***
It felt like forever, but had been only a few minutes when Helo dropped back to the ground beside his pack. He was still breathing hard from all the running and the adrenaline rush. Loading up an anti-rad injection, he realized that he only had a couple days’ worth left.
He stared at the kit, biting his lower lip. A few more days and he’d be dead from radiation.
Frak it. What difference did it make, whether he died from radiation or the Cylons? Dead was dead. But, if he lived a little longer because of the meds, he’d at least have a chance to take out another Cylon or two… He rammed the needle into his shoulder, between his collarbone and neck.
Leaning back against the boulder, he closed his eyes. He imagined he could feel the meds flowing into his blood. He didn’t have to imagine the rain beating against his eyelids, his throat, trickling into his collar.
Suddenly certain he was being watched, Helo opened his eyes. Over his shoulder, just inside the trees, he saw a flash of white. A woman stood there, pale hair tangling around her neck, brushing her shoulders. She wore a white jacket that fell to her knees over black trousers, neither appropriate for a hike in the woods.
Helo scrambled to his feet and pulled his gun, aiming it at the figure in white. He stared at the woman, who stared at him. She never moved. Slowly, he became aware of a buzzing sound behind him. A Cylon stood less then a meter from his left shoulder. As he watched, the Cylon leveled its right arm at him and primed the weapon housed inside it. Helo turned back to the woman, who still hadn’t moved, and put his hands in the air.
***
He didn’t know if he had simply zoned out for a few minutes, or if he had actually lost consciousness. Helo came back to his surroundings to find that his wrists and ankles had been locked into shackles. A rough cloth bag covered his head. He was kneeling in the mud, washed by the ever-present rain.
Not long after his awareness returned, he felt gentle hands at his shoulders, a tug at the sack that covered his head. He was suddenly face to face with the blonde woman.
She studied him as though she had never seen a human before and asked, “Are you alive?”
He didn’t answer at first, his brain not working at top speed. Her blue eyes drilled into him and he finally responded, “Agathon, Karl C. Lieutenant, Junior Grade, Colonial Fleet, P.K.-” She cut him off as she removed the shackles, startling him. “7899…34...”
It was as if she had no fear that he would harm her when she leaned in, close enough that he could feel the heat that radiated from her. “I know who you are, Helo. It’s all right, I’m a friend.”
Helo didn’t know what to think. She was the first person he’d seen in days. She called herself his friend. She knew his name. But she was with the Cylons. His mind totally shut down for the space of several seconds as she reached for him, warm fingers caressing his jaw. Then she kissed him. He heard the sound of his own pulse, roaring in his ears. He couldn’t think why, but she tasted like death.
A loud crack woke him from his near-stupor. Gunshot. The woman slumped limply against his chest, one hand clutching at his collar. There was a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth. Looking over the fallen woman - why the hell had she kissed him? - he thought he saw Sharon standing in the trees, gun in hand, aimed toward where he sat. It couldn’t be Sharon, though. She had left him on the Raptor, what? Six days ago?
The vision in Colonial uniform took a step toward him.
“Sharon?”
She didn’t say a word as she ran over to him, holstering her firearm.
“What’re you doing here? I…” Helo had never felt more confused in his life.
She interrupted him. “Can you walk?” Her voice was urgent.
“Yeah. Y-yeah, I think so. What are you doing here? I thought-”
With a quick look around, she helped him to his feet. “Just move, mister.”
With Sharon - Gods! Sharon! - supporting him, her arm around his waist, they ran, away from the bits and pieces of Cylons, away from the blonde woman who had kissed him, who lay face down on the ground, blood soaking into the white jacket on her back.
It never even occurred to him to wonder what had happened to the third Cylon…