#vague as hell here about how exactly the cylons translate here bc that is easily three times as long

[aurore-parle-de-ses-idees]

au roulette 2024 #2- post-apocalypse

(or, the lost company battlestar galactica au)

They jump when the bombs go off, leaping blind from the shipyard into unknown space. 

They don’t land inside a star, thank the gods, but they are well beyond the iron line and deep in enemy space with less than half a battlestar’s proper crew complement, barely supplied, hangar deck a burning mess, and half a dozen jumps from civilization. They return cautiously to Colonial space and find the airwaves full of panic and desperate pleas- where they aren’t ominously silent instead.

Golodir orders another jump when they’re nearly shattered by the sudden arrival of three basestars. Defeated, they jump.

-

“You’re sure you’re alright with this?” Lorniel asks again, braced against the humming upper panels of the Raptor. Corunir laughs, short and mirthless.

“Alright is a strong word, but I can do this.” It wasn’t even properly an order, but someone has to go. He knows this as well now as he did when Golodir had called every qualified Raptor pilot to his quarters. “Besides,” he adds, tapping the new patch on Lorniel’s flight suit. “You’ll have plenty to worry about back here, CAG.” Lorniel rolls her eyes and shoves him lightly.

“Just make sure you come back,” she mutters.

-

Basestars orbit whatever remains of the Colonies. The debris of ships of every class lingers, some of it floating even this far out, clattering harmlessly off the armor of Corunir’s Raptor.

Vardamar is the nearest. He shuts off all the power he can in the Raptor and lets himself drift, hoping he is small enough and far enough to go unnoticed. The long-range scanners of the recon ship hum for hours, but all they hear is silence. Nothing on the public channels, nothing on the Fleet’s. 

Reluctantly, he inputs the rendezvous coordinates and jumps- straight into the debris of battle.

-

“He knows all the rendezvous points,” Elegys says, hauling Golodir to his feet, hiding a wince at his fantastic bruising. The impact of the warheads was bad enough without a hull breach. “He’ll find us.”

“If they don’t find him first,” Golodir mutters, rubbing away half-dried blood. Elegys sighs through her nose.

She watches Lorniel pace, later, and wonders if she should have gone herself. She hasn’t been needed in the CIC since they absorbed Laerdan and his crew, and she’s been flying Raptors longer than Corunir has been alive. At the least, he wouldn’t have had to go alone.

-

They rename the battlestar Avenger- Dúnachar in the language of the old Lords- and they leave the Colonies behind. There can be no going back, not now, not with only one ship, not even with the crew absorbed from the scattered, isolated ships they wander across, as frightened as they and far less accustomed to war. Occupied or laid waste entirely, there will be no return for them. They turn then to the one thing they’re well-trained to do, jumping, striking, and jumping again, leaving shredded metal and the flesh-like insides of the enemy’s half-organic raiders floating in the void.