Introduction: This story takes place no later than a sectar (month) after “War of the Gods”. And runs concurrent to the events that followed that story.

Dedication: Dedicated to Steve Gigantiello, who always encouraged me to keep writing in high school, and to Paul Anthony Stewart (“Casey” – Loving, “Danny” – Guiding Light) whose tremendous acting inspired the main character in the story.

Disclaimer: These works are fiction stories based on the series Battlestar Galactica and its characters created and owned by Glen A. Larson. These stories are not being sold for profit and no infringement of any copyright rights are intended. All unrecognized characters and plot lines are mine and copyright protection is claimed. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

Part 1 – Memories

The man walked through the halls of the ship, quietly going about his business. His maintenance jumpsuit and security clearance allowed him access to all areas. He was a model citizen, volunteering for maintenance duty when he came up with the other refugees from the planet Pisceria. Often, he was one of the first called when a crisis occurred. Captain Dugan considered him one of the most reliable people on this ship and was recommending him for a promotion.

He was more boy than man, really; about nineteen yahrens. Only he knew for sure, and he was not forthcoming with information. He was known on this ship, the Orion, merely as Trev. He had no close friends, only acquaintances with whom he sometimes shared a meal or a drink after his duty-shift was over. He had not been brave enough to seek out the attentions of a girl his own age, not yet anyway.

He pushed the small cart along the corridor until he reached the junction that was giving them so much trouble. Frowning, he took a small tool from the cart and used it to open the wall panel. He then began the meticulous task of checking each of the thousands of wires that were running through this particular area.

“This is Odan to Trev,” came a squawk on his comm-link. He touched a button on it quickly and continued his work. It was one of the newer, hands-free models so he could work while he talked.

“Trev here.”

“The power fluctuations are continuing and we’re now seeing some disruptions in the computers as well. We seem to have trouble getting accurate sensor readings from your area.”

“Understood. I’m working on it right now.”

“Check in when you know something. And thanks, Trev. I owe you one for this.”

“You owe me about fifty by now.”

The link was severed at Odan’s end and Trev continued his work. No, he had no real friends on the Orion, nor anywhere in the fleet for that matter. In his own mind, this was a good thing. He knew his life could never be like this if anyone knew the truth about him…

Patiently he tested each wire running through this junction. There was a good possibility that the problem was not here, and that he would have to keep backtracking until he reached the control center in the ship. These ships were simply not designed for the kind of strain they were being put under; supporting so many people due to the overcrowding, running at top speeds for days on end, and being punished in Cylon attacks.

Cylons… he hated them as much as the next person. They had ruined his life… destroyed his family…

‘No, no…’ he thought to himself. He tried to keep his mind on his work; off what his life had been before.

He had already tested close to a hundred wires and still had only made a small dent in the number that needed to be tested. If he found no problems, he would move back to the previous junction and begin this task over again. It was mundane, boring work. Often his mind tended to wander. In the last few sectons, he didn’t like where it had wandered to.

The Destruction had destroyed his life as he knew it, but he made the most of it. He came on board this ship and gave his name as “Trev”, knowing his true name would probably lead to his incarceration. It was not fair! He had done nothing.

‘Stop it! Stop it!’ he urged himself. ‘You’re dwelling on something you have no control over.’ He tried to put his mind back to
his work, but it didn’t stay there long.

So he was aboard the Orion; Trev of Pisceria. For the first few days he had stayed with the other refugees, but then he had volunteered his services. He had a good education on Pisceria, the best money could buy. Better to put it to good use.

But now he was lonely. His mother and sister had been at the house with her intended when the Destruction had occurred. Where was he? He had gone against his father’s orders and been on a hill overlooking the city with friends, drinking sweet ambrosa and saluting the newly-found peace. They had probably been the first to see the Cylon attack coming.

The night had been clear and crisp, though cool. Still, on the eve of a peace so historic, the five young men were sharing a moment they had thought would not come. The ambrosa was good, and they had a slight buzz on. Dawn would come in another two centars, and a day of celebration that their world had never seen would follow.

“A salute! To peace! To prosperity!” shouted one of the young men.

“To not having to serve in the military!” shouted another as he ripped up his conscription card and tossed it into the small fire that was burning. The young man, now known as Trev, was sitting on the other side of the fire, laughing heartily.

“And to your father, Loraio.”

Loraio (Trev) smiled with embarrassment, then finished the rest of his ambrosa. “I seem to be ambrosa-deficient here,” and walked to where the cask sat on the ground to refill. As he did this, he saw shooting stars in the distance. “That’s odd… I didn’t hear anything about a meteor shower tonight.”

The other young men turned their heads so they could see what he was looking at. They had a clear view of what seemed like hundreds of shooting stars across the sky opposite them.

“It’s probably not meteors. The armistice has probably been signed and those are vipers doing a fly-over,” Zoyal declared. He was Loraio’s best friend. The two had been together since they were six yahrens old in school. “Put out the fire. If it is a military fly-over, we could get in trouble for it.”

One of the other young men quickly doused the flames. Eagerly, they watched and waited for the vipers to arrive.

Broder, another of the young men who was in the Piscean Military Academy, was the first to notice something wrong. “That’s not a viper formation… those are Cylons!”

Confusion hit the young men. “The Cylons are doing a fly-over?” Zoyal asked, confused.

“No,” Broder declared as he broke out in a run down the side of the hill. “They’re attacking!”

The other two boys began to run after him, but Loraio grabbed Zoyal’s arm and held him back. “Stay here! It’s safer. The warriors will come soon.”

But the warriors didn’t come. Loraio and Zoyal had a clear view as they watched the Cylons bombard the city. Wave after wave of Cylons hit, with no defense. Finally, someone began firing from an ion cannon somewhere in the city. Neither of the young men could see where the pulses were coming from through the thick smoke that now blanketed the city.

Apparently, though, the Cylons could tell. The next wave concentrated their firing on one area, and the ion cannon fired no
more.

As the Cylons finished each wave, they pulled off of the attack run over the hill where Loraio and Zoyal were hiding. The ground would shake as they fired into the hillside, then they would pull up. The two men were so close, it seemed as if they could reach up and touch the bottom of the raiders. They felt the wind from the raiders, and the heat from their exhaust.

“Come on, Loraio. Don’t you want to help your family?”

Loraio let Zoyal lead him slowly down the hillside. They could still hear a scant few raiders still firing on the city, though they
could not see them through the thick smoke and haze. ‘Father, how could you let this happen?’ Loraio thought in shock. The few houses that had once sat on the hillside had been easy targets for the Cylon raiders and were completely destroyed as their occupants slept. The two young men saw no survivors there.

Near the base of the hill, they found the remains of their three friends. They had been burned beyond recognition. The only reason Loraio and Zoyal knew it was them was that Broder’s head had been blown off and was laying nearby.

Tears began to stream down the young men’s faces. Loraio hesitated a moment.

“Come on, let’s go to your house first,” Zoyal urged. “It’s closer.”

“But… but… shouldn’t we bury them or something?” Loraio said as he fell to his knees.

Zoyal pulled him back to his feet. He could tell his friend was going into shock. “There’ll be time for that later. Let’s go.”

At the edge of the city, they first began to see signs that some people had survived. They also knew there was a daunting task ahead of them. Fires burned out of control, and they could not see more than a few metrons in front of their faces due to the smoke. The city they had known their way around so well became a maze to them.

“Help me! Help me!” people screamed as the two able-bodied men walked through. Whether or not they actually saw the two of them walking was debatable. More than likely, they were just screaming for help in general. Still, it was a sound that would haunt Loraio forever.

They became lost in the maze that was their own city and had to double back, causing them to come across Zoyal’s home first instead. It was not completely destroyed but had only collapsed on one side.

“Come on!” he shouted at Loraio as he made his way through the debris and began to climb into the un-collapsed side of the house.

Loraio followed him obediently, then he heard a baby crying. The two men looked at each other. “Your sister?” Loraio asked.

“By the Lords, I hope so!”

Explosions of other houses were heard around them. Loraio couldn’t imagine what was causing it, until he smelled the distinct smell of the fuel that warmed their homes. And it was coming from Zoyal’s house!

“Come on, man. We may not have that much time!”

“I know, I know!” Apparently Zoyal had already smelled it. They pulled themselves up through a hole to the second floor where the nursery was. Zoyal’s sister, Lira, lay in her cradle, unharmed.

“Oh, thank the Lords!” Zoyal praised as he picked up his eight sectar-old sister. Immediately her crying ceased.

“Zoyal! Is that you?” Came a cry from another part of the house.

“Mother!” Zoyal cried and started going in that direction.

“Zoyal, there’s no time! This house could blow at any micron!” Loraio said as he grabbed Zoyal by the back of his shirt.

“Here,” Zoyal said as he handed his sister over to Loraio. “Take her and get out of here.”

“But-“

“I’ll be along in a few centons. Just let me help my mother.”

Loraio did not want to leave his friend, but he tucked the little girl against him and made his way down the hole he had come up.

Satisfied that his sister was safe, Zoyal began to make his way through the debris. As he pulled aside a stone that he had not noticed was bracing the ceiling, it came crashing down. He jumped aside and was unhurt, but whatever he had done caused the odor from the fuel to grow stronger.

“Zoyal! Get out of here!” came his mother’s weak cry.

Zoyal ignored her. “I’m coming mother. Don’t worry, Lira is safe. Loraio took her outside. Where’s father? Where’s Dina?” he
asked, referring to his other sister.

“I don’t know. We were asleep. Your father and I got up… I went to get Lira and he went for Dina…” His mother was wracked with a fit of coughs.

Finally he came to where she was. Battered and bruised, she was actually standing up a floor down, in what had been the dining area with the remains of that entire section of the house surrounding her. Only her head stuck out of the debris. Zoyal climbed down and began to help, trying to dig her out. The sky was smoky above them, though it seemed to be brightening as dawn arrived.

“Zoyal, get out of here,” his mother ordered as the smell of the fuel grew stronger. Nearby, there was another series of explosions.

“No! I’m not going to-“

Loraio had watched from the street outside of the hose, waiting for Zoyal to come out with his mother. Suddenly there was a brilliant flash. Instinctively, he shielded his eyes and held the baby tighter against him. At almost the same time, it felt like a warm hand picked him up and pushed him through the air. As he hit the ground, he blacked out.

Trev was kneeling on the floor, his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. He hated these times; when the memories would come back so strong. Slowly he regained his composure. Luckily, he had not lost his place, otherwise he would have been starting all over again. He was more than two-thirds of the way through this particular junction. The anxiety of the memories made his dark brown hair become damp with sweat. He took a rag from the cart to wipe himself off and noticed his hands shaking.

The tremors were bad this time. Sometimes, during the night, he’d wake up from the nightmare and stumble into the turbowash. There were no private quarters; he bunked military-style with the rest of the maintenance crew from the ship. Nightmares were not uncommon in their group nor the general population, so it surprised no one when someone woke up screaming. After a particularly bad nightmare less than a sectar after the Destruction, Trev had first noticed the tremors. He was in the turbowash, washing down his face, trying to get himself to calm down. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked in the looking glass, his hands shaking terribly. For a long time, he simply stared at them, frightened of this latest manifestation of the horror of the Destruction.

Now he was in the hallway, in the early centars of this cycle, by himself. He closed his dark brown eyes and willed himself to regain his composure. ‘At least finish your job,’ he said to himself. ‘You can have a breakdown later.’

When had he become such a conscientious worker? When he found that it passed the time and kept the memories away. Now the horrors were catching up to him, even here. And it was all his father’s fault…

When Loraio opened his eyes, he was lying on the ground, staring at the sky. At least, he was staring where the sky should be. In its place was still the grey smoke, not letting a drop of light from the sun shine through.

“Zoyal!” he shouted as the memories came back to him. As he sat up, he got his first sight of the smoldering ruins of what had been his best friend’s house. The rubble that had been there when they first arrived was now no more than blackened ash. So were Zoyal and his mother, somewhere in there.

Lira was still against his chest. Thankfully, she was not of an age where she had learned to walk yet. The baby had stayed against him as he sailed through the air from the force of the blast. Somehow, he had managed to hold on to her. She was alive, and all that was left of his best friend’s family. He looked at the face with the big blue eyes staring out at him.

“I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry I couldn’t save them…” Tears fell down his face. Lira looked up at him with big blue eyes. He was a familiar face to her, having spent so much time with her brother. No one had come to put out the fire; no one had come to see if there were any survivors. If he had any doubts before, he now knew that life as he knew it had ceased to exist.

He gathered the little girl up in his arms. All he has was the blanket that had been in the cradle with her and the onesie she was wearing. The smoke was still thick everywhere as Loraio set off with Lira towards his own home.

As he walked, he tried to block out the moans and cries for help of the other survivors, fearing that if he tried to save anyone, he would end up with the same fate at Zoyal. It was not cowardice that had taken over, it was his instinct to survive and to protect the young child who was all that was left of his best friend’s family.

‘Mother will know what to do… Mother will know how to take care of her…’ he kept reasoning to himself as he walked. The smoke still was not dissipating in the least as he walked. Every now and then he would stop for a few centons to catch his breath, shift the baby’s weight around, or just try to get a grip on himself. A few times he was racked with a series of almost uncontrollable coughs and had to put Lira on the ground for a few microns.

Finally, he turned down his own street. The haze seemed to have cleared here a little bit, but he stopped immediately when he came to a place where he could view his own house.

Rather, view where his house should have been. He lived in a very well-to-do section of the city, and the houses were on enormous pieces of land surrounded by trees. Normally, one could not view his house from anywhere on the street, never mind from down the block.

“By the Lords,” he said aloud, letting the shock wash over him. It was only by some deeply imbedded instinct that he did not drop Lira.

Where his house, and his neighbor’s houses on either side, had been, there was only a huge blackened crater. There was no debris, no remains, no signs that life had ever existed in those spots. The Cylons’ pulses of energy had completely wiped away everyone he knew.

Still in shock, and confused, he sat down across the street from where his house should have been. He let Lira slide to the ground and lay on her blanket. She smiled and laughed, as if nothing had changed. Now his grief surfaced in body-wracking sobs. Gone was his mother, his sister, and the man she would have married. They had all been at home, where his father had told them to be, when the Cylons had attacked.

His father! “By the Lords, if I ever see you again, I’ll kill you! How could you let this happen to us?” he swore aloud. “Where was the fleet? Where were the warriors?” he wailed.

“Who’s there?”

Loraio nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice coming from behind him. He had seen few people alive up until this point. The house behind him had been completely destroyed, probably from the effects of the impact that had incinerated his own house.

“Lor- Loraio.”

“Loriao? By Gods! It’s Mazer. Come here! You’ve got to help me kid.”

Mazer had lived across the street from them. Very old, he had lived with his daughter and her family. Once upon a time, he had been a warrior himself. Loraio picked through the debris towards the direction he had heard the weak voice.

“Where are you?”

“I’m right here.”

It sounded like he was almost standing on top of him, but that couldn’t be because… Then, he saw him. Or what was left of him.

“I- I ran outside when the attack began. By the Lords, I wasn’t going to let those Cylons lick us!” He stopped for a centon as his head rolled around a little. “I’m sorry, son. I was standing outside when your house was hit.”

He was not exactly burned. All of his body from his waist down was gone. It was not even mangled, just gone. Apparently, he had been seared at the point where his body was gone, for Loraio saw no blood emanating from him. How was he alive even? The man’s head and arms seemed to work fine. In fact, they hardly seemed damaged. It was almost as if you had drawn a picture of the man, then erased the bottom half of his body and this was what was left.

“I’m- I’m not a med-tech sir. I’m not even trained in aid! I don’t-“

“Stop it, son. There’s nothing you could do for me to make me better. Even if there was, I don’t want to live. My family’s gone and I would be trapped in this body.”

“So what…” Loraio trailed off, as he got an idea of what the man was about to ask.

“I had my old service blaster with me when I was outside. It must have fallen somewhere around here. I’ll not ask you to do it, but if you could just find it and give it to me. I’ll overload it myself and then I can be at peace with my family.”

Loraio said nothing, but he began to scavenge the ground, looking for the blaster. Mazer did not moan, or show any other signs that he was in pain. He was a crusty veteran, who had seen more battles in his lifetime than Loraio had the capability (or interest) in learning about. Finally, almost back out into the street, Loraio came upon the blaster. The old man must have dropped it when the houses had been hit.

“Thank you boy,” Mazer said, with neither gratitude nor scorn in his voice. He set the blaster to overload, then stopped. “Do yourself a favor, son.”

Loraio knew this was Mazer’s way of wanting him to come closer, and he leaned down to the man.

“When you find other survivors, and there will be other survivors, change your name. And for the Lords’ sake, do not tell them who your father was.”

Loraio was surprised by this information. He was also surprised by the man’s assumption that his father was dead.

“But what… Why… How can you be so sure he’s not alive?” He could not bring himself to say the word “dead”. That would be
admitting that he had no family left.

Mazer chuffed slightly. “If there was any of the fleet remaining, son, this would not have happened. Those warriors would sooner perish themselves than let this happen.” The old man shook his head. “It’s all over. I don’t know what’s to become of you, or the other survivors, but I don’t want to be among them. Now stand back, son. I don’t want this to hurt you.”

Loraio walked away from the old man and picked up Lira. He did not look back, not even after he heard the blaster overload. For a few centons he stood there, staring at the blackened crater where his house had been. Finally, with Lira snuggled against him, he began to walk.

Lira would not be this good for long. Soon she would be hungry, or thirsty, or need to be changed. Loraio decided to head to the Spacedrome. If there were any survivors from the fleet, he was sure that this would be the first place they would come. However, he planned to stay out of sight until he was sure, just to make sure it was not Cylons he encountered first.

Trev had finished that particular junction. He decided to take a break, before proceeding. Odan would not mind if he said he wanted to get refreshment before continuing. He touched a button on the comm-link and waited for Odan to respond.

“Odan here.”

“Odan, it’s Trev.”

“How’s it coming?”

“Not so good. I’ll have to go back one box and try again. Is it all right if I get some refreshment before I do it? I could really use a break.”

Odan liked Trev, a lot. He was his most reliable man on the job, and never tried to talk his way out of work. Odan knew Trev was plagued by nightmares. There was hardly a survivor that didn’t have them at some time, but Trev’s seemed particularly bad. Odan knew how a person’s mind could wander while they did such mundane work.

“Sure, Trev. Anything the matter?”

“No,” he lied. Odan knew he was lying but would not call him on it. If Trev felt the need, Odan would arrange for him to be seen by a psych-tech, but unless it interfered with his work, Odan would not press it.

“All right. Let me know when you are back at work. Maybe I can get someone to start on the other end and meet you in the middle.”

“Good luck,” he said sarcastically. Odan knew as well as he did that no one else would do this tedious work. Slowly he made his way to the Crew’s Mess, dragging the tool-cart to a nearby maintenance closet and locking it up first.

He got himself a cup of kaffe and sat down to take a brief break. Thankfully, his hands had stopped trembling. It was way too early in the cycle for anyone but a skeleton crew to be awake, so he had the room all to himself.

Loraio made his way through the remains of his city, taking breaks when he needed to. The smoke was beginning to blow away, and the sun shined through in spots. It still created an eerie shadow; the sunshine coming through the smoke.

Lira finished the rest of her night’s sleep on his shoulder. At eight sectars old, she was still fairly light, but carrying around that dead weight clear across the city still tired him. He did not want to shift her for fear of waking her up. When she woke up, she would be hungry and thirsty, and he had no supplies for her.

As he grew closer to the Spacedrome, he saw more survivors headed that way, apparently with the same thoughts as him. Most of the ones he could see were in worse shape than him; they were injured and bleeding. He also noticed that most of them seemed to be by themselves. It appeared that families were not surviving this intact.

As he rounded the corner to go out onto the tarmac of the Spacedrome, he saw two huge cargo ships land, followed by several smaller shuttles. They were not from the fleet, but neither were they Cylon. It was all civilian craft.

He gathered on the tarmac with the other survivors who had come here. Lira was still pressed tightly against his chest, though she was beginning to move around more. Soon she would awaken. ‘Please let them have some food,’ he thought to himself. ‘Supplies… water… anything!’

A man stepped out of the first ship. He was a colonial warrior. People began to scream questions at him, and he stepped back inside the craft to bring out a portable sound system.

“My fellow colonials,” he began. A shiver went up Loraio’s spine. Up until now, he had thought that only Pisceria had been attacked and that the survivors would refugee to another colony. “The destruction you see around you has been repeated on all of the eleven other colonies. Our fleet was ambushed and has been completely destroyed…”

Gasps went up from the crowd, and a few wails of sorrow, too. How many of these people had just been informed that their loved ones in the military were now dead, in addition to their loved ones here on Pisceria?

“If I can please have your attention!” he shouted, barely audible over the crowd. “One battlestar, the Galactica has survived. There is nothing left for us on these planets. The Cylon raids have poisoned the air, the water, and the ground. We have no way of defending ourselves against future Cylon attacks, or the inevitable invasion force we believe is about to come.”

“Then we’re doomed,” went up a cry from the crowd. People began to murmur again. It appeared that the warrior was about to lose control of the crowd.

Loraio knew there had to be more to it than what he was saying. Why were there two cargo ships here and about five civilian shuttles? Instinctively, he began to back out of the crowd and move towards one of the shuttle-craft.

“People! People! Please!” he bellowed. Some quiet settled back over the crowd. “Commander Adama, the last remaining Councillor and the Commander of the Galactica has decided that we should leave these worlds and seek out our brothers and sisters who settled elsewhere in the galaxy. He wants to seek out the mythical thirteenth tribe…”

More murmurs and discussion from the crowd. Loraio had arrived at the entrance to one of the shuttles. Slowly it opened and the gangplank came down.

“Oh, so there’s someone here with some smarts,” said the warrior who was stationed at its entrance. “C’mon, kid. Get on quick before there’s a rush. We’ll probably be pushing people off of this as we take off!”

Loraio went up the short staircase.

“A baby?”

“She’s… she’s not mine. She was my best friend’s baby sister. Come on, I can’t leave her behind! She’s all that’s left of his family, and-“

“Hold on, kid. I was just surprised, that’s all. No problem.”

Behind them, the other warrior had continued talking. “We are gathering every ship that is capable of flying. If you, or anyone you may know, has a ship that is capable of flying, please go to it now and bring it here. We will begin boarding the cargo ships first. When they are full, we will begin boarding the shuttles. The shuttles will take people to other ships already with the Galactica. Please stay calm and orderly!”

“Yeah, right,” the warrior who had let Loraio board said sarcastically.

Loraio looked at his name plate. “Thank you, Ortega.”

“Don’t mention it. Now, get back there before this shuttle is rushed.”

Loraio stayed in the shuttle with Lira on his lap. In a short time, both of the cargo ships had been filled and people were crowding the shuttle. Ortega eventually did have to beat people off the gangplank so the shuttle would not be overweight and would be able to take off. In less than twelve centars, his life on the planet Pisceria was at an end.

Trev had gone back to work shortly after finishing his cup of kaffe. It was now mid-cycle, and he had finally found the circuit that was causing the problems. It took him virtually no time to repair it. He tapped his comm-link.

“Odan here.”

“It’s Trev. Run a diagnostic now and see what pops up.”

“Stand by there.”

Trev waited by the junction, waiting to see if the circuit burned out, but nothing happened. “Looks good, Trev. Thanks.”

“No problem.” He began to put the cover back on the junction.

“Why don’t you go get some rest? This was above-and-beyond.”

“Thanks Odan. I think I’ll go see Lira, though.”

“So you’ll be in Childcare if I need you?”

“Right-O. From there I’ll probably bunk in. Buzz me on the comm-link if you need me. I’ll answer.”

“Thanks Trev. There’ll be a nice bonus in your account at the end of this secton.”

Trev did none of the extra work for the extra cubits, though Odan seemed more than generous when it came to taking care of his workers. It gave Trev something to do, and it was a safe way to help out the fleet, without someone questioning his identity.

The shuttle Loraio was on landed on the Orion, a ship that was part of the military fleet, but had functioned as more of a troop transport than anything else. It was not designed to be in battle but was designed to hold quite a few personnel. There had been quite a few ships like this, which kept the fleet very agile in terms of troop movement.

at first, everyone was simply herded into areas and given a place to sleep. Loraio kept Lira with him. By now the child had awoken, and was looking for food and drink, as well as needing to be changed. However, whenever he asked for provisions from any of the warriors who appeared to be running the show, he was told that they were “aware of the situation”, whatever that meant.

The place he was sleeping was a small cubicle with room to lay down and a few shelves upon which the troops being transported would stow their gear. Loraio had no gear, and he was frightened that if he put Lira on one of these shelves she would roll off. He tucked her in next to him, but the child did not want to sleep. She was hungry and thirsty, and she began to cry.

Loraio tried everything to comfort her, but she would not be silenced. Most of the people around him did not seem to care. Many were injured, so there was already quite a bit of noise from their moans and groans. He could also hear other babies crying, though none seemed to be near to his location. He held her close and tried to settle her down.

“Having a bit of trouble with her, young man?”

He looked up to see a blond woman, maybe around thirty yahrens old, approaching him. She reached out her hands to take Lira from him.

“I can help you, if you want.”

“What do you mean?” Loraio asked.

She sighed, a melancholy sound. “My baby died today. Your baby is hungry, isn’t she?”

“Yes…”

“I can nurse her for you.”

Loraio was speechless. He didn’t know what to say, but he let the woman take Lira from his arms. She climbed up in the bunk next to him and closed over the curtain.

“Lira had been eating regular food.”

“Lira… what a pretty name. Yes, I’d imagine she would be. She’s a big girl. Did her momma still nurse her at all?”

“I… I… I don’t really know.” He could see the confusion on the woman’s face. “I mean, she’s not mine. She was my best friend’s younger sister. She’s used to me and all, but I don’t know some stuff, I guess.”

The woman smiled as she let the baby latch on to her. Immediately, Lira quieted down. “So this is going to be all new to
you?”

“I… I guess so.”

“My name is Daria,” she said.

“My name…” he trailed of, remembering Mazer’s words of warning to him. ‘Why?’ he wondered. “My name is Trev,” he said, choosing a name that was fairly common back on Pisceria.

“Okay, Trev. Why don’t you see if you can find some scraps of material somewhere so we can change her? You’ll have to figure out how to wash these out and wrap her up again. It doesn’t look like we’re going to have the provisions we need.”

Trev asked a few people he saw, and finally he got some scraps of clothing that he could use to wrap her in, at least until he was able to figure out some kind of more permanent solution. Daria had finished nursing Lira by the time he returned, and was playing with the delighted baby. It was good that she seemed to adjust so easily and had yet to miss her mother.

Loraio, now Trev, smarted at that thought. Zoyal was dead, his mother was dead, and Trev would lay odds that his father and other sister had also been in the house. He was all that was left to care for Lira.

‘What’s wrong?” Daria asked him.

Trev shook his head. “I guess some of it just is hitting me… how her whole family is gone; how she’ll never know them, never remember them…”

Daria laid the baby down and began to change her, showing Trev how to do it while she talked. “Trev, you knew her family. You will have to keep them alive for her. You will have to give her the memories that she can’t have any other way.”

“Me? I’m only nineteen yahrens. I’m too young to be a father. I’m supposed to be out being irresponsible.”

Daria handed the baby to him. “I have a feeling that you are going to grow up fast. I’ll be back in a few centars, if you need me. Right now, I’d like to get some rest.”

Rest sounded like a good idea to Trev, also. Lira, however, was wide awake and wanted to be entertained. He took her up in the bunk and laid down, sitting her against the wall so she wouldn’t roll out. He sang softly to her and did some finger-play games that he could remember. Her onesie was still the same one she had been wearing in the cradle, and was dirty in spots with a smoky smell emanating from it.

For the first time, he felt the ship’s engines kick in. ‘We must be full,’ he thought to himself. Tears fell down his face. He was leaving his planet, his home, forever.

The women at the Childcare Center knew Trev very well, or at least thought they did. Since Lira could not stay with him in the maintenance crew’s bunks, she stayed in the childcare center, under watchful eyes. For a centon or two, he stood there watching her play with the other children, some of whom were orphans. As soon as she saw him, though, she stopped her playing and toddled over to him.

In the sectars following the Destruction, she had grown and changed as any other ordinary baby would. She now walked, and said a few words. Her arms reached up to him. He picked her up and held her close.

“My Trev…” she said. This was what she called him, and what he loved hearing.

“Yeah, it’s your Trev,” he replied, taking her over to the play area and sitting on the floor with her.

This was where he spent most of his “down time”. He didn’t spend it with friends, for he had not really made any yet. He didn’t spend it drinking in the Lounge, for he was afraid that after too many drinks his tongue would grow loose and his secret would be out. He didn’t want to spend it alone, for that was when the memories and the nightmares and the guilt were at their worst. No, he found his solace in this little girl.

Though she was truly an orphan, he was considered her caretaker. It was a role he had needed time to adjust to, but he had done it for the loyalty of his friend. In fact, that had been the reason he had volunteered to join the maintenance crew. It would enable Lira to be taken care of better, both by him and in the childcare center.

That was where he had found his niche in this new life; as a quiet but dedicated maintenance worker on the Orion. No one seemed to question him or his identity. He always had his eyes out for anyone who might recognize him from his previous life, and he thanked the Lords every day that his father had not let his family be used in publicity shots.

His father… He tried not to think of him often anymore, but it was hard. Mazer had been right, and this realization had come about in the first few days after the Destruction when he had heard his father’s name being spoken with scorn and disgust.

His father was Baltar.

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