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Re-Entry 13: Spam/Audio
((Backdated to the last day of port.))
Felix Gaeta doesn't know this beach.
Well, he might. It could be Picon. For all that he grew up by the sea, for all that he can swim as well as any fisherman, he's never exactly been much of a beachgoer. But no, he thinks there's another reason he doesn't know this beach. He's never stood under this misty sky. He's never stood on this white, gauzy shore.
Because he never got off the ship, and he never set foot on--
All of this has happened before, something whispers into the air. He turns and looks at the wreckage extending out to both sides. Ahead, the view is empty. Featureless. Nothing but sea and sky, muddled together at the horizon. To the sides, though...
Each ship is as big as a town. He's dwarfed beneath their massive carcasses. Some are still smoldering, their names still picked out on their sides like bones: the Galactica, the Zephyr, the Hitei Kan, the Inchon Velle. Others, in the distance, are older, long dead. The Pegasus, the Atlantia... even a Pan Galactic freight liner from Caprica. If he squints, he can make out one of his father's ships.
This is the graveyard of the Twelve Colonies. Of his people. It's just twenty billion bodies and him.
Not just him. Not anymore. He opens his mouth to speak as Racetrack comes up beside him, but something prevents him.
All of this has happened before.
Everyone knows how the proverb, the prophecy finishes -- all of it will happen again -- but that's not what's happening this time. He turns around again, twists, looking for some hint in the wreckage, and what he sees instead, at the same time she does, is the sapling. One tiny green shoot, barely visible against the hulking, elephantine mass of Galactica's corpse.
They approach it together. They kneel and lay hands on it together. And as it starts to grow, he--
[Audio for Racetrack]
[--wakes up from a two-week coma and groans, burying his head beneath his pillow. He's on the comm to her a second later, though, sounding bleary but annoyed.] Tell me you didn't see that.
[Frakking visions.]
[ETA: Lazylog spam for Dean, towards the end of port]
And now there's another beach. A real beach, an Earth beach, in this city with the strange name. There's a part of him, in the back of his mind, that's still marveling at the fact that he's actually standing on real Earth earth -- or sand, at the moment -- and standing on a beach at all, for that matter, after all these years. But more than that, he's caught up by the coincidence of it all. The dream, only hours ago, and now this...
Not that this beach is a great deal like the one from the dream. It's a bright, sunny day, hot enough that he's stripped down to his undershirt and bare feet. He's found a quieter section of the shore, but there are still people everywhere, and no wrecks in sight. But the sand is the same shade of white, and the horizon looks even more the same than any other horizon would, and he just can't help but want to know what else might be here.
Not that he's taking any heed of the dream. Obviously not. It's just curiosity. He's here to see the beach, and... enjoy the sea and the salt smell and the many attractive half-dressed people milling around. And maybe he'll get an ice cream cone. It has nothing to do with anything else. There was no ice cream in his vision.
He's just turning to approach the food stands when he spots a certain and particularly enjoyable -- and particularly attractive, even when not half-dressed -- sight coming up the beach towards him. He brightens, flashing a smile. "Hey."
Felix Gaeta doesn't know this beach.
Well, he might. It could be Picon. For all that he grew up by the sea, for all that he can swim as well as any fisherman, he's never exactly been much of a beachgoer. But no, he thinks there's another reason he doesn't know this beach. He's never stood under this misty sky. He's never stood on this white, gauzy shore.
Because he never got off the ship, and he never set foot on--
All of this has happened before, something whispers into the air. He turns and looks at the wreckage extending out to both sides. Ahead, the view is empty. Featureless. Nothing but sea and sky, muddled together at the horizon. To the sides, though...
Each ship is as big as a town. He's dwarfed beneath their massive carcasses. Some are still smoldering, their names still picked out on their sides like bones: the Galactica, the Zephyr, the Hitei Kan, the Inchon Velle. Others, in the distance, are older, long dead. The Pegasus, the Atlantia... even a Pan Galactic freight liner from Caprica. If he squints, he can make out one of his father's ships.
This is the graveyard of the Twelve Colonies. Of his people. It's just twenty billion bodies and him.
Not just him. Not anymore. He opens his mouth to speak as Racetrack comes up beside him, but something prevents him.
All of this has happened before.
Everyone knows how the proverb, the prophecy finishes -- all of it will happen again -- but that's not what's happening this time. He turns around again, twists, looking for some hint in the wreckage, and what he sees instead, at the same time she does, is the sapling. One tiny green shoot, barely visible against the hulking, elephantine mass of Galactica's corpse.
They approach it together. They kneel and lay hands on it together. And as it starts to grow, he--
[Audio for Racetrack]
[--wakes up from a two-week coma and groans, burying his head beneath his pillow. He's on the comm to her a second later, though, sounding bleary but annoyed.] Tell me you didn't see that.
[Frakking visions.]
[ETA: Lazylog spam for Dean, towards the end of port]
And now there's another beach. A real beach, an Earth beach, in this city with the strange name. There's a part of him, in the back of his mind, that's still marveling at the fact that he's actually standing on real Earth earth -- or sand, at the moment -- and standing on a beach at all, for that matter, after all these years. But more than that, he's caught up by the coincidence of it all. The dream, only hours ago, and now this...
Not that this beach is a great deal like the one from the dream. It's a bright, sunny day, hot enough that he's stripped down to his undershirt and bare feet. He's found a quieter section of the shore, but there are still people everywhere, and no wrecks in sight. But the sand is the same shade of white, and the horizon looks even more the same than any other horizon would, and he just can't help but want to know what else might be here.
Not that he's taking any heed of the dream. Obviously not. It's just curiosity. He's here to see the beach, and... enjoy the sea and the salt smell and the many attractive half-dressed people milling around. And maybe he'll get an ice cream cone. It has nothing to do with anything else. There was no ice cream in his vision.
He's just turning to approach the food stands when he spots a certain and particularly enjoyable -- and particularly attractive, even when not half-dressed -- sight coming up the beach towards him. He brightens, flashing a smile. "Hey."
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Not that he has any room to talk.]
I'm not even sure I...
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I do good with numbers. - Most of the time. Which means I'm a hell of a person to put in charge of a cultural legacy.
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And there's the other problem. Two other problems, actually. He clears his throat, his voice very quiet, and tries again to say what he failed to say a moment ago.] I'm not sure I see the point.
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He sighs, rubbing his hands against his knees, looking down.] Look, maybe it'd be one thing if there were more of us, but...
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[He sighs and stands, now, going to the door, taking the communicator with him. He needs a shower, he thinks, and depending on the time of day either breakfast or a drink and a smoke, and then he needs to get back to the engine room or the lab or another place he can indulge in science rather than memory.
He pauses in the hallway, though, glancing around.] Where is everyone? [He lives on level one; it's usually busy.]
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[ She's been paging back while talking to him. ]
Felix there is a port and we are going, get some clothes on.
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Any idea what kind of port?
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[ The sound of something crashing to the floor, and Racetrack cursing as she fumbles on real clothes. ]
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As in... Earth?
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Since when is the Barge that good?]
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