The Price We Pay Section 1 of 2

Part Four of V- The L.A. Chronicles.

by Jackie Newman

jacalynsue@zoominternet.net

"Wake up."

Martin tried to ignore the voice. Couldn't he sleep a minute longer? The voice demanded he fight his way though the haze surrounding his mind and Martin reluctantly cracked his eyes open to see Damian standing over him.

"Sorry to wake you, but I waited as long as I could."

Martin looked at his watch and saw it was past the time he had intended to get up. "It's been a long time since I slept through my alarm," he commented as he sat up slowly, still fighting the effects of too little sleep.

Damian made a sound of disgust in his throat. "It's also been a long time since we slept long enough."

Martin pulled on his boots, then retrieved his firearm and contact case from the floor by the cot before reluctantly getting to his feet. Damian handed him a rat he'd dispatched a few minutes previously, then left Martin alone to prepare for the day ahead.

* * * * 

Martin was surprised by the emptiness of the corridor when he opened the door to his room. He had expected for there to be more activity and wondered if most of the rebels were still sleeping. He heard a door close and saw Philip exiting Kim's room. "How is she?"

Philip shrugged slightly and walked down the hallway towards him. "As good as you can expect."

Martin nodded, debating for a moment about going in to see her before deciding against it. He turned away from the corridor leading to Kim's room and headed instead for the large conference room where they were supposed to meet.

The other columnists had already assembled and the human rebels were beginning to drift in. There was an undercurrent of tension in the room, but it appeared to Martin that everyone was focused on the task at hand. He expected no less from his own people, trained and experienced as they were, but he was pleased to see the professionalism in the humans as well. After giving the columnists a few last words of advice, Martin turned his attention to explaining the laser rifle settings to some of the rebels. Last evening's preparations had not included such details, but had focused instead on the logistics of the mission.

* * * * 

As the first streaks of sunlight illuminated the sky, Martin walked alone towards the shuttle. The others were still inside, giving him a few precious minutes alone. He started the engines and donned a helmet before turning on the radio, pleased to hear different units reporting in to the mothership from hiding places around the various airports in the region. He idly fingered the packet of antitoxin capsules hidden in a pocket of his uniform. It was doubtful he would live long enough to need another dose of antitoxin. Hearing the sound of approaching footsteps and voices, he busied himself with the shuttle controls so as not to be discovered indulging in a moment of self-pity.

"Let's do it!" Donovan said as he placed a hand on Martin's shoulder.

Some things never changed, Martin thought as he ignored the physical contact and checked the console to ensure the door was secure before piloting the shuttle towards the mothership.

The flight was brief, but the tension on the shuttle increased exponentially with each passing minute. The first challenge lay ahead, and had the potential for destroying all of their careful planning.

Martin adjusted the microphone attached to the helmet and activated the shuttle speakers so the others could hear both sides of the exchange. Then he opened a channel to the mothership, feeding them a story about needing to refuel before returning to the surface.

"You're not listed in our databases." The disembodied voice of the flight controller filled the shuttle. "And your tracking device is inoperative."

"I suggest you run the diagnostic program," Martin replied smoothly. "With as many problems as there have been with the computers lately, you shouldn't be surprised we aren't listed. I can bring you our flight logs so you can update the system. You'll find everything in order, I assure you."

"I suppose that's what we'll have to do," the controller said, sounding very unenthusiastic about the extra work the troubled computers were making for him. "I've cleared you for landing, but please bring me your logs immediately so we can get this straightened out."

Martin exchanged a look of relief with Mike as he closed the channel, then turned his attention to guiding the shuttle through the portal to the landing bay. Once the shuttle was parked, he shut down the engines and left the pilot's chair. "Drew," he said, nodding once to the columnist before keying the shuttle hatch open.

"How'd you know they were having computer problems?" Mike muttered to him quietly as they watched Drew head towards the controller's booth.

"It's my job to know," Martin answered, gazing over at the cause of those very difficulties. Damian smiled at him in reply but said nothing.

* * * * 

Drew approached the controller's booth with far more confidence in his posture than he really felt. So far, he'd avoided killing any of his own people. That was about to change and he resented Martin a bit for asking him to do this. Still, someone had to maintain the illusion that the shuttle bay was operating normally while at the same time preventing any more soldiers from entering the area. Silently, he handed an empty data pad to the flight controller, who took it and turned back to the console to speak to another pilot. He never saw Drew unholster his laser pistol, and his body slumped to the floor of the booth without a sound of protest.

The distasteful task done, Drew immediately closed the door to the booth and locked it. Shoving the body aside, he shut down all communication between the landing bay and Master Control and signaled to Anthony, who was watching from his post near the front of the shuttle. He didn't watch to see Anthony signal the others it was time for them to move to their assigned stations; he was too busy redirecting other incoming pilots to other landing bays and giving an outgoing pilot clearance to leave. No sooner had the small craft exited than Drew threw the switch to close the shuttle bay doors, making escape for anyone else impossible. He waved the columnists and rebels past, then likewise sealed the doors leading to the interior of the ship. It was only a matter of time before troops arrived and overrode the door locks, but for now, at least, it would keep people out. The loyalists didn't know it yet, but this cavernous chamber had become their tomb.

* * * * 

Caleb was standing immediately behind Martin, watching over his shoulder when Anthony signaled. "I hope this works," he murmured to the fifth columnist as he followed him down the ramp. They were followed by the other rebels, who dispersed themselves throughout the hanger. They waited until Drew sealed the doors, then began the assault. The battle was fierce, but mercifully brief. Caleb was unnerved by how quickly silence descended upon them.

He moved over to where Martin was standing, near the front of the shuttle. "That was too easy."

Martin turned grim eyes to him. "I agree. But we're not done yet." Martin directed some of the rebels to circle throughout the landing bay while assigning the rest of them to the gruesome task of dragging bodies into an empty shuttle.

"William!" Martin called, getting his attention. The Visitor and his human girlfriend trotted over to join them. "You and Caleb can start pumping the toxin," Martin told them. "I've got to get up to Master Control."

Caleb caught Martin's arm as he turned to leave. "Good luck."

"You, too."

William and Caleb exchanged a look, then immediately busied themselves hooking up the hoses to the shuttle's storage tanks. That accomplished, William threw the switch that sent the red dust on its journey through the air circulation system, spreading death in a swift and silent manner.

* * * *

Martin ducked into a service shaft as soon as he exited the shuttle bay, without waiting to make certain whether or not Drew resealed the doors behind him. He was far too recognizable to simply stroll through the ship's corridors, which was one reason why he was using the ladders in the maintenance shafts to work his way up to the main deck level. Cursing his fatigue, he forced himself to climb faster. Hopefully, Donovan's group would be able to meet Lorraine and reach Master Control without being detected. Then, assuming they were able to force their way inside...

He pulled his thoughts away from the inevitable conclusion and found himself wondering instead what Kim was doing at the moment. Were either of the twins awake yet? Did it really matter? Never in his life had he worked so hard for a goal so far out of reach. Kim had been correct when she'd said they'd succeeded just by surviving.

Martin was distracted from his musings when he heard troops moving in the corridor on the other side of an access panel. While they probably wouldn't hear him over the sound of their own feet pounding in the corridor, this was no time to take foolish risks and he stayed perfectly still. A glance at the label on the panel told him he had to climb up only one more level and use the cramped maintenance corridor to get closer to Master Control without being seen. Hopefully, Lorraine and the others would be there, too.

Finally, the sounds faded and he resumed his climb. Moving on the horizontal was less taxing and by the time he reached his intended exit from the protective cover of the maintenance corridor he was feeling less exhausted. Ever cautious, he listened for several moments before opening the access panel on this level and stepping into the corridor. No sign of Lorraine yet....

An alarm sounded, indicating Master Control had been sealed. Without the explosives Elias carried, there was nothing he could do.

As if hearing his thoughts, Lorraine and the three humans rounded the corner and hurried towards him. "They've sealed off Master Control," he told them, motioning for them to follow him. "Get your explosives ready, Elias. We'll need them as soon as we take out the guards."

There were four soldiers standing outside the main door to Master Control, and Martin ducked back around the corner to quietly assign each one of them to one of the humans. They nodded they were ready, and he dropped his hand. In a single, fluid motion, the rebels moved around the corner and fired. The guards fell almost instantly, though one of them hit Lorraine in the shoulder before succumbing to a second round from Martin's firearm.

With a cry of pain, Lorraine staggered against the bulkhead, trying not to drop the decoder she was carrying. Mike, reacting with greater speed than she had ever seen from a human, took the device from her faltering grasp before it could crash to the floor.

"I'm all right," she insisted, letting her left arm hang limply at her side. "It just grazed me, I think. We have to break through those doors."

Elias waved a small container of powerful explosives in the air, grinning as he strode forward. "Just give me and my magic box a minute to work our charms, and we'll be in."

Lorraine looked at Martin, asking him with her eyes if they had any chance at all. Not liking what she saw in his gaze, she turned away.

* * * * 

"Let's go!" Damian called to Drew as he dashed in front of the controller's booth on his way back from the bowels of the ship. "The troops are on their way! Right behind me!"

Drew keyed the atmospheric doors open before abandoning his post. He followed Damian towards the nearest shuttle. They were seeking protection for themselves which still allowed them to provide cover fire for other returning columnists. Keeping the doors closed was no longer practical, and probably not even possible. The human rebels added to the effort, some using laser rifles and others the noisier, Earth-derived guns as they all made their way towards the tanker that would take them home.

Megan dashed in next, diving to the floor in an attempt to avoid the shots coming from behind her. She skidded to a halt directly underneath the belly of the shuttle that was protecting Drew and felt fire shoot up her right leg. "I'm hit!" Knowing her own life was now forfeit, she unholstered her weapon and turned onto her side, firing at the troops who had injured her. "Head for our shuttle! I'll cover you!"

Damian shook his head and leaned over to shout at Drew. "Get her into the shuttle. We're not leaving her! I'll cover you!"

Drew nodded. He wasn't about to argue the defiance of fleet policy, since helping Megan meant he would reach the safety of their shuttle sooner than he had hoped for. He took hold of Megan from behind, one hand under each arm, and dragged her backwards until there was enough clearance to stand. Then he put one of her arms across his shoulders and dashed for the escape vehicle, ignoring her colorfully-worded protests.

Philip and Alan came in together, killing the soldiers who blocked their way before turning so they could run backwards and cover their own retreat. The red dust was thick in the air, but so many soldiers were arriving that there was always a fresh wave of gunfire. Even so, the bodies of suffocating troops were piling up inside the doorway.

Damian watched helplessly as Philip crumpled to the floor, apparently shot in the chest. Killing the soldier responsible was no comfort. And the arrival of yet another wave of soldiers made even Alan's survival seem unlikely. That made it all the more surprising when he saw Alan bend over and hook his fingers in Philip's collar, dragging him backwards with him as he inched towards the tanker. Defying fleet protocols seemed to be a contagious disease today, Damian thought grimly as he dashed out from his own position of relative safety to help. Anthony materialized out of nowhere and together, the three of them hauled Philip to safety.

Human rebels were likewise falling victim to the advancing troops and he saw several bodies lying near the controller's booth, cut down before the small canisters of red dust they carried had time to act. Just as the Visitors were doing, the humans were collecting as many of the dead and wounded as possible as they retreated towards the tanker. William had thrown his weapon aside completely to carry Harmony's body to safety.

Damian let Alan and Anthony go up the ramp first, carrying Philip's limp form, while he stopped to confer with Caleb. "We've got to leave soon! Get inside!" Then he turned to provide cover fire for the last rebels who were approaching the tanker.

Caleb nodded, casting a wistful glance at the bodies they dared not retrieve before obeying. "Is that everyone?"

Damian glanced around the landing bay before following the last human up the ramp. He pushed the button that would close the door before answering Caleb. "Everyone who's still alive."

Caleb looked at the small group in silence as Drew piloted them away from the mothership. Of the roughly thirty or so individuals who had boarded the shuttle this morning, barely half of their number remained.

* * * * 

Despite his earlier comment about his magic box, Elias had to use two more explosive devices before the door to Master Control gave way. Even then, the doors didn't part easily. Martin and Mike had to apply their combined strength to the task, while Elias lay on his belly at their feet, ready to fire through the parting doors at anyone who tried to stop them from entering. Julie held the decoder, while Lorraine clutched a laser pistol in her good hand, ready to hold off an attack from the corridor.

"What the hell are these made of?" Mike grunted as his muscles protested. Tomorrow morning he was going to be stiff and sore all over... if there was a tomorrow.

"It's a special alloy," Martin replied curtly. "Be ready, Elias." With a final heave, the door slid back into the wall enough to allow them entry. He caught a fleeting glimpse of Diana scurrying for the emergency shuttles, dragging a child with her. Somehow, she managed to elude Elias's shots and the pair escaped unharmed.

Martin unholstered his own sidearm and cautiously stepped inside. The chamber was empty. "Let her go," he told Elias, who was heading for the exit hatch Diana had used. "And see if you can close those doors," he barked at the humans as he slid into the seat at the helm. His fingers flew over the controls in a blur as he started the additional engines needed to move the ship from its current position. "Lorraine?"

"It's armed. We have about four minutes, Earth time," she replied from where she stood, leaning over the decoding device she'd had Julie place next to the self-destruct mechanism.

"We'll never make it. We won't be able to get up enough power," Martin said grimly as he worked the controls.

"Try, damnit!" Donovan snapped at him, hauling angrily at the door panel Martin had forced back. How had the Visitor done it, when he and Elias together couldn't move it at all? He let loose with a stream of expletives and was surprised by the way the door slid back into place.

"Should have cursed at it sooner, I guess," Elias commented softly.

"Any luck?" Donovan asked as he moved to look over Martin's shoulder at the alien controls.

Martin shook his head. "Two engines have already failed. And the structural damage from moving though the atmosphere at this speed will likely rip us apart." As if in affirmation, the ship shuddered and bucked violently. He raised his voice so Lorraine could hear him. "Time?"

"About two minutes. The decoder's working on it, but nothing so far..." she replied grimly. Lorraine looked at Julie and directed the human's attention to the emergency hatch Diana had used. "There are shuttles through there, assuming there are some left. If we do get the ship far enough away... there's no sense in all of us dying."

"She's right," Martin added before muttering a curse under his breath as another engine went off-line. The ship groaned deeply in protest.

"Martin...." Mike said softly. There were so many things he wanted to say...

The Visitor never looked up from his task. "You're wasting time, Donovan."

"He's right. Let's go!" Elias coaxed from the hatchway.

Mike hesitated a moment more, then turned and dashed for the exit, followed by Julie. Even then, he had to stop and look back one last time. The last view he had of the bridge was of the two Visitors calmly working at their posts as they tried to produce a miracle from the failing ship.

* * * * 

The one-minute alarm sounded. Martin paused long enough to glance over his shoulder at Lorraine, and she shook her head at him.

As suddenly as it started, the alarm stopped. She spun back to the console and shook her head in confusion. "We've got another three minutes... and I have no idea why!"

"The decoder?" Martin suggested, as surprised as she by the sudden luck in their favor.

"Who knows? Just keep going-- that extra three minutes might be enough to get us away from the planet."

She checked everything twice, then three times. There was nothing in any of the readouts that offered an explanation. And the count was once again nearing the final minute. Frustrated, Lorraine stopped working and closed her eyes. There had to be a way to shut down the device. An insane idea flickered on the edges of her mind, refusing to go away. What did they have to lose? She grabbed a portable light from the console and turned it on before stuffing it into the front of her uniform. A brief struggle to remove an access panel tested the limits of her forbearance and she was relieved when it finally gave way. After a final glance at the countdown display, she slid inside the opening, gritting her teeth as her wounded shoulder scraped against the floor. The idea she had was insane... and they had absolutely nothing to lose by trying it.

Lorraine didn't have a religious faith to draw strength from, but a part of her soul uttered a silent prayer anyway as she selectively removed some of the circuitry from inside the console. The order in which she disconnected things was critical; the destruct device had been designed to circumvent such tampering and immediately detonate if anyone tried Lorraine's approach. But there was the nagging feeling in the back of her mind that something had been missed by the original engineers. If she did this just right, maybe...

The lights went out as the ship's power went off line, taking life support and gravity with it. She retrieved the hand-held lamp from her uniform and let it float free, illuminating the confined space she was working in. "Martin, take the keys out," she instructed. "Do you need a light?"

"No," he assured her as he retrieved one from the helm before floating over to where she was working. "Both at once or one at a time?"

Lorraine paused to consider his question. It didn't matter if both keys were inserted simultaneously to activate the self-destruct device, so maybe it wouldn't matter how they were removed either. "I don't think it matters, but I'm making this up as I go, so take your pick," she finally replied.

"Okay, they're out."

With that accomplished, she took the precaution of disconnecting the device from the rest of the console, then began sliding the pilfered circuitry back into place. "In a minute, we'll either be dead or have power back."

"Wait," he cautioned, "Let me shut down everything from the helm so we don't blow out the few engines that we've still got."

"Okay." She waited, listening to him flip switches and do everything he could from a powerless helm to shut down the ship's systems. Finally, he told her he was done and she finished her task.

The power stayed off.

The zero-gravity made it easy to slide out without putting further strain on her shoulder. Pushing off from the console she had just been inside, she floated over to join Martin at the helm, frowning slightly at the darkened panels. "We should have emergency power back by now."

He shook his head. "I overrode that, too. We're still moving away from the planet so the extra time until it comes on will put more distance between us."

Martin pulled the pair of keys from his uniform and opened his hand. They floated away in an eerie dance of zero-gravity, slowly moving beyond their hand-held lights. She pressed against him, wanting some contact while they waited through those last, agonizing minutes. He obliged her wish by placing his arm around her waist, being careful to avoid touching her wounded shoulder. He gripped the edge of the console with his other hand, anchoring them in place while turning them so they could see the self-destruct console.

"I hope this works," she said softly, looking askance at his human profile, made even more alien by the dim lighting. "How much longer?"

Before he could answer, the emergency lights came on and they squinted in the sudden brightness. The panel for the self-destruct device stayed dark while the two keys continued their waltz around the room.

"It looks like staying up all night to study the schematics of that thing was worth it after all," she said, unable to keep the fatigue and relief from her voice as she felt her muscles go limp.

"Meaning we traded one big problem for a multitude of smaller ones," Martin commented dryly as he released her and turned back to the helm. "But I'm not complaining."

* * * * 

Alan and Anthony put Philip on one of the bunks that had been folded down to accept casualties and moved further back to check on Megan. One glance at his chest confirmed what Damian had feared from the moment he saw Philip crumple to the floor; the wound was fatal. The only surprise was that Philip was still alive, though barely.

His pain-filled eyes looked at Damian pleadingly, willing him to understand what he couldn't put into words. From where Philip had been hit, Damian knew that even breathing was laborious, speaking impossible. He dropped to his knees next to the bunk and took Philip's hand, speaking softly so the others wouldn't overhear. "Don't worry about her. We won't leave her alone."

That seemed to satisfy him because Damian felt a slight increase in pressure against his hand before Philip's eyes lost their focus. It was over.

Reluctantly, Damian got to his feet. There would be time for grief later. Right now, he had a responsibility to tend to the living. "How is she?" he asked Anthony, who was examining Megan's unconscious form.

"Alive. But there's no way to save her foot."

Damian grasped his shoulder, forcing the conversion technician to turn and look at him. "Then keep her unconscious until we figure out how to help her." He waited until Anthony gave him a hesitant nod, then released him to do his work.

Who else was injured? He glanced around and noticed William cradling Harmony's body in his arms. Several bodies lay on the floor nearby, testament to the effectiveness of Visitor firearms. Everyone else seemed to be suffering only from the discomfort of minor cuts and bruises, or an occasional sprained ankle or wrist most likely obtained in the mad scramble to reach the shuttle. Megan was the only one suffering from laser-induced wounds, which were the most difficult to treat. After all, what could be done to repair scorched flesh?

As was always the case with such battles, there seemed to be no pattern to the casualties. Death was indiscriminate in choosing its victims, and today had been a feast. Still, if Martin and Lorraine didn't get the ship far enough away, or manage to deactivate the device, the lives lost so far were only an appetizer.

* * * * 

Elias and Julie sat in the back of the small fighter shuttle and peered out the rear windows. Mike was in the pilot's seat up front, doing his best to take them home. Julie watched the mothership pensively. Any minute now, it would explode and obscure her view of the rest of the fleet's retreat.

"Do you think they'll stop it?" Elias asked her quietly.

Julie shook her head, then glanced at her watch. "I don't know. From what Lorraine said about the time they had left, it should have already exploded."

Elias called over his shoulder, "Hey, Mike, why don't you try to radio them?"

"Because no one ever showed me how to use the radio in one of these things," the news cameraman replied sheepishly. "It's not like any of these labels are in English, either. Now, where is Diana's shuttle?"

"Forget it," Julie told him firmly. "She's probably already on board one of the other motherships right now. Let's just focus on getting home. If they do manage to stop the ship from exploding, we'll just have to wait for them to contact us."

* * * * 

"How bad is it?"

Martin shook his head at Lorraine's question. "Not good. There's major structural damage, though the hull-breach has been contained to one sector. All but one engine are completely non-functional and the one that is working has such low output it's pretty much worthless-- I took it offline.. Half of the computer systems aren't responding, and the ones that are don't appear to be very reliable." He moved to another console and flipped some switches. "We don't have enough battery power to restore gravity and maintain life support. The good news is that we still have life support, thanks to the backup systems."

"What about helm control?"

"It's sluggish, but I've got us headed back towards the planet. Any luck?"

Lorraine frowned at the console she was working at. "Not so far." She looked over her shoulder. "Do you think they know how to operate the radio?"

"I don't know. I never showed him specifically, but Donovan learned to pilot our shuttles just by watching me, so I'd expect he paid attention to everything else I did. Keep trying to reach them. We need the help." Martin sighed quietly and pushed himself away from the helm towards an emergency medical kit stored nearby. Retrieving it, he went next to Lorraine.

"Since it looks like we're going to live for the time being, we may as well make you more comfortable," he told her gently.

She flinched when he cut through her uniform and gently probed the edges of the wound. "How deep is it?"

"I've seen worse. I'm no expert, but I think you'll be okay once this heals." Martin covered the charred flesh and pseudoskin with a temporary bandage and bound her arm in a sling. His efforts fell far short of what she needed, he knew, but at least the measures would help control the pain that came from moving the wounded limb.

"Thank you."

"I wish I could do more," he told her. Until they had reinforcements to guard them from attack, he didn't dare risk the level of concentration needed to put her into a pain-controlling trance.

A loud noise made both of them turn toward the damaged doors, firearms ready.

"Do you have any of the toxin with you?" Lorraine asked him in a hushed voice. "It might help keep the corridor secure."

"Is anyone alive in there?" a voice called through the doors. The banging changed to a low, grating noise as strong arms worked to open the small crack between the door panels and grant entry to Master Control.

"Identify yourself!" Martin called, indicating with his hand where he wanted Lorraine to go. Cautiously, they moved into position on either side of the door while Martin reached inside his uniform for a packet of red dust.

"Private Laura, sir. We weren't able to transfer out so we figured you could probably use some help."

Martin and Lorraine exchanged a look of relief that went beyond words as Martin answered, "You figured correctly."

The doors parted at last, admitting Laura and four other fifth columnists, all of whom were nursing minor bruises obtained from fighting their way to Master Control. In addition, Laura's shoulder appeared to be dislocated.

"Sir," she said, smiling shyly at him. "It's good to see you."

"Likewise, believe me." None of the five were very high in rank but their initiative in coming to help more than made up for their youth and lack of experience. He turned his attention to the other columnists. "Do any of you feel qualified to fix that door?"

"Zachary and I are, sir." The woman paused, as if in awe of the leader of the fifth column. "I'm Valerie, sir."

"Good, because as you've already seen, it's somewhat of a problem." His gaze fell on the other two columnists he hadn't met before. "And you are?"

"Eileen and Isaac, sir," the woman responded. "I'm trained in cryogenics."

Isaac finally found his voice. "I'm in security... but I've been teaching myself about the computer systems."

Lorraine nodded knowingly and glanced at Martin. "Another refugee from the boredom of a career in security." Turning back to Isaac, she added, "You're about to get some hands-on experience, Isaac, because just about every system on this ship is having problems. You can work with me."

"First things first," Martin cut in. "Other than Laura, do any of you have injuries that need to be treated?" When they indicated no, he was relieved. "Okay. Go ahead and start on the door. Isaac, I want you to help brace Laura. Let's get that shoulder taken care of."

Laura's trusting look faltered a moment, giving way to apprehension. The pain she was in now was quite sufficient, and she had no desire to have it increased.

Martin saw her reaction and tried to reassure her. "I've done this before; trust me."

"Isaac, hold on to the edge of the bulkhead, there, and put your arm around her waist."

Martin waited for them to do as he had instructed, then took Laura's arm in his hand as he positioned himself. "This will hurt, but only for a moment. Ready?"

She nodded sharply once and closed her eyes.

Martin nodded to Isaac, then deftly moved her arm. The bone of her upper arm slipped back into the joint with a sickening pop.

Laura grimaced at the pain, then opened her eyes cautiously before flexing the fingers of her hand. "Thank you."

"Are you up to piloting a shuttle?" Martin pointed to the viewport when she just looked at him in surprise. "Donovan's out there somewhere, and it appears that he doesn't know how to use the shuttle's radio. Either that, or our own communications systems aren't working properly. But he'll recognize you and follow you back. We're going to need them to help coordinate what's going on down on the surface."

"I'll find him," Laura announced firmly as she propelled herself towards the exit that led to the emergency shuttles.

"Now for you," Martin said, as he turned his attention to Lorraine. She had already gone back to work, trying to ignore the effects of injury and fatigue. It didn't really surprise him; Lorraine had always been the type to put duty before personal concerns. He didn't think she'd object, though, to a bit of help with pain control.

* * * * 

Caleb leaned against the bulkhead and closed his eyes, trying to distance himself from the carnage around him. His efforts were hampered by the knowledge that his son Elias was still on board the mothership.... There was no way to know if Elias had survived the attempted takeover, or if the fifth column would be able to prevent the self-destruct device from being activated.

He sighed heavily. There were so many things he wished he'd done differently with his youngest son. Too many years had been wasted, too many words left unspoken. Caleb knew it wasn't really Elias's fault that his mother had died giving birth to him, but the loss of a beloved wife wasn't easily forgotten... and Caleb knew that, if he were honest with himself, the loss of his wife had always tinged his relationship with his son. He'd tried to move past the grief, and he'd done his best to raise both boys to be hard workers. Ben had exceeded all expectations and enrolled in medical school with the unspoken goal of preventing other women from meeting the same fate as his own mother. Ben's death in the earliest stages of the war had been devastating. The thought of losing Elias as well, only days after they had broken through the barriers that separated them, was more than he could bear. The fact that he was filled with pride at Elias's dedication to the war effort was little comfort.

"We need to start planning for when we get back."

Caleb shook off his reverie and turned to the source of the voice. He groped for a name and hoped he was correct in thinking this was Damian. A moment later, what the Visitor had said finally penetrated enough for him to protest. "I'm not in charge of anything. Julie and Mike are..." He let the sentence die away unfinished. The resistance leaders were on the mothership, leaving the remaining rebels without any leadership. Why hadn't any of them considered that during their planning?

"Martin said you were," Damian told him.

Caleb shook his head. "I'm no leader."

Damian persisted. "Martin thinks otherwise. For now, we need to assume that we'll be without the aid of Ham Tyler's group. Our top priorities are treating the wounded, keeping the base secure, and seeing that the bodies are tended to. From what I can tell, only Megan's injury could be life-threatening. Ham's group may also have casualties when --and if --they get back."

"Seems to me like you should be the one giving orders. I'm just a factory worker," Caleb protested.

Damian shook his head. "Your people will listen better to another human, and if you don't take charge, Ham Tyler might. He may know more, but Martin said you're the one who has everyone's respect, not Ham Tyler."

Caleb shrugged helplessly, silently impressed at Martin's quick assessment of both the mixed feelings Ham Tyler always evoked in the human rebels and the distrust many still had of the fifth columnists who claimed to be allies. "You've got me there." He sighed heavily and looked around the cabin, slowly shaking his head at the sight of so many dead. "We'll need to start digging graves. It's going to take some time doing it by hand, but we don't have much choice the way I see it."

He looked to Damian for an opinion, but the Visitor just looked back at him with a steady gaze, forcing him to assume the mantle of leadership and make at least one decision on his own. Caleb sighed again then straightened up, determined to do his best in the new role that had been thrust upon him without warning. "Julie's been our doctor, but she's obviously not here. You got anyone with you who has medical training? Or do we pass out bandages and hope for the best?" he asked Damian.

The Visitor indicated Anthony, who was still tending to Megan. "Anthony, but I think our best resource for treating your people will be Kim."

"Okay." Caleb looked sideways at the Visitor. "I'm counting on you to help me out." Damian smiled slightly and nodded, giving Caleb the feeling that somehow, things were going to be all right.

* * * * 

"There's another shuttle."

Elias's voice shattered the tense silence that had filled the shuttle for the last... how long had it been?... Julie glanced at her watch and realized it had been only been a fraction of a minute since she had last checked the time.

Elias looked intently at her, waiting for the resistance leader to once again guide them.

"Trust yourself as much as the rest of us trust you."

Julie closed her eyes, remembering Ruby's words to her months ago. Julie had been struggling to fix a leaking pipe in their underground hideaway and had succeeded only in getting herself soaked, smashing her knuckles, and aggravating her still-healing hip --injured when Caleb's son and Elias's brother Ben had been fatally wounded in a heist from a hospital laboratory.

Julie's fingers groped for the scar beneath the fabric of her Visitor uniform. The physical wound had healed long ago, but the burdens of command had been slowly corroding the fiber of her soul, much as rust nibbled at the hulls of sunken ships.... or old, leaking pipes.

Ruby had happened upon her just then, and given Julie a much needed hug while the young, blonde woman vented her frustrations. "I'm supposed to be a scientist. A doctor! Not a plumber or some kind of rebel. You all look at me like I know what to do!"

"And you're just as lost and scared as we are," Ruby had observed, patting her back. "I'll tell you why we all look to you. Because you're a natural. A natural leader."

Julie had pulled back, shaking her head in firm protest. "Oh, I don't feel that."

Ruby had smiled. "You don't have to. Just trust yourself as much as the rest of us trust you."

"And if I can't?"

Ruby had shrugged her shoulders and smiled sympathetically. "Fake it. We won't know the difference."

She'd relied on that advice many times since that day. They'd sustained her through Diana's torture, Ruby's untimely death, other raids, other battles... and finally, this V-day assault on the L.A. mothership.

Shrugging off her reverie, Julie peered at the approaching shuttle. Space was so disorienting. Distance, size, and relative direction were impossible to estimate without the reference points of Earth's terrain and gravity. The shuttle was coming towards them from an odd angle, and it was impossible to tell if it had originated from the L.A. mothership or from another vessel in the Visitor fleet. Were the occupants Martin and Lorraine, fleeing a doomed craft? Diana, seeking final revenge? Or perhaps a routine patrol out to collect refugees who had been delayed fleeing the planet?

"Should we let them catch up?" Elias prodded, waiting for her to make a command decision.

"Fake it. We won't know the difference."

Julie bit her lip. "Yes."

"You sure?" Donovan asked as he brought them to a stop.

No! Julie nodded her head silently, determined to keep faking confidence. "Yes."

Soon, she was able to see the pilot. A stranger. "Mike...." She started violently as Donovan's hand brushed her shoulder. She hadn't heard him leave the controls to join her and Elias in the rear of the craft.

"Laura!" Donovan waved to the fifth columnist and smiled down at Julie. "She's a friend," he added before looking back towards the Visitor.

A frustrating pantomime between the Visitor and the newsman ensued. Donovan tried to make Laura understand he didn't know how to operate the communications equipment while Laura tried to give him directions to open a channel. Julie's gaze darted between the two, her concentration intent. Laura kept tracing a pattern in the air. Julie could see her mouth moving, though her voice didn't carry across the vacuum of space. Comprehension dawned and Julie ducked past Mike and scanned the controls in the pilot's post. There was a button with a symbol matching the pattern Laura had patiently repeated. She pressed it and Laura's voice filled the shuttle. "Cross your arms in front of you when you can hear me," Laura kept repeating.

Mike did as she asked and nodded vehemently as his face broke in to a wide grin.

Julie heard Laura's sigh of relief and felt the tension drain from her own body when Laura announced that the self-destruct device had been deactivated. She closed her eyes and sank into the co-pilot's chair.

We won.

She heard the rustle of fabric as Mike sat down next to her and busied himself with following Laura's steady stream of directions. She tuned out the conversation, clinging instead to the two words that kept echoing in her mind: We won. We won.

Julie covered her face in her hands and sighed. Her soul carried her to a place that was beyond joy, beyond exhaustion… beyond feeling.

* * * * 

"I'll never leave you," Kim lied to the child who lay sleeping in her arms. She knew that she'd leave her children in an instant if it meant protecting them from harm. Her mind drifted back to a time when she'd heard one of the so-called Schindler Jews speak of his experiences during the Holocaust. He'd told how his mother had smuggled him into a concentration camp, to buy him one more day of life. That was how success was measured then, by days. Another day of life meant a day of success. The future--tomorrow--was abstract, something they dared not think of. Kim had listened to that, trying to fathom what it was like to truly live one day at a time, knowing that at any moment, your life could be ruthlessly cut short without warning… and without cause. She'd hoped she'd never be able to understand what that felt like, but now she understood only too well. She would do anything--anything--to buy her children one more day of life in this war-torn reality they now lived in.

What would the end be like? Would there be a blinding flash of light as the mothership exploded, followed in a micro-second by oblivion? Would there be any warning at all? Or would the world keep turning, forcing her to plod onward, struggling towards a future she dared not contemplate?

What she hadn't anticipated, or even considered when listening to the Holocaust survivor speak of his experiences, was how emotionally exhausting it was to wait. Rather than living in terror, with adrenaline pumping through her circulatory system, she lived in detached fear. It was the waiting that was making her feel old. To act was to feel empowered, to at least have the illusion of control over her fate. Waiting only made her feel helpless… and tired.

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall, shifting her weight on the bed so she could draw the rumpled blankets up over her legs. Waiting made her feel cold, too. Maybe it was the chill of inactivity, or maybe the psychological chill of looming death. Regardless, she was cold.

"Kim?" Jackie's voice followed the knock at the door.

"Come in," Kim called softly, not wanting to wake the babies.

Jackie opened the door gently and leaned in, holding on to the door jamb for support. Her face was drawn, and the worried resignation in her eyes made the temperature in the room drop ten degrees.

Their eyes locked, one asking, the other avoiding the question. Finally, Jackie sighed and looked at the floor, chewing on her lower lip for a moment before finally speaking. "The shuttle's back."

She raised her eyes to look at Kim again. "I mean, it should be down by now. Sam just spotted it a minute ago, and it won't take it long to get here."

They were empty words that only served to fill the silence while avoiding the real issue: who had survived. It didn't matter which of the sentries on duty had first seen the shuttle, or that it was in the process of landing instead of being already at rest on the ground outside. What mattered was that some of their friends had certainly died… and the grieving would begin.

Kim concluded that all of the oxygen must have left the room, because she couldn't breathe.

Jackie gestured towards the sleeping infants. "Sarah can stay with them while we go outside," she suggested. Sarah was one of the teenagers at the compound and a very likable young woman. She'd shown a maturity beyond her years, in Jackie's opinion, in the way she had set aside her own angst to help keep the young children comforted and occupied while their parents went to war.

Kim laid Katherine on the bed and slowly got up. Everything seemed surreal. She shuddered and hugged herself tightly, trying to get warm. Slowly, she placed her hand in Jackie's outstretched fingers. The contact felt good. It anchored her, reassured her. With a wan smile, Kim nodded at her friend, and together, they headed outside.

* * * * 

"We're almost down," Alan said softly as he watched Anthony check Megan's breathing one more time.

Anthony glanced up and nodded as he reached for the latches holding the bunk in place. "Let's take her out first." Raising his voice, he called, "Damian?"

Damian quickly joined them. Once Anthony saw that Alan and Damian had a firm hold of Megan's bunk, he released the final catch. Carefully, the men maneuvered her bunk-become-stretcher to the exit ramp and waited impatiently for it to open.

"Has there been any word from the mothership?" Anthony asked. He'd been so focused on Megan that he had tuned out all extraneous conversation.

Damian shook his head. "Drew said there has been no transmission of any kind." He sighed. "We should have heard something by now."

"So what happens to us now?" Alan asked, switching to Sirian and lowering his voice so he could give free voice to his concerns.

"We're going to have a lot of clean-up work to do. After that…" Damian shrugged. "We'll just have to see how things go." When he saw how little his words did to comfort Alan, he added, "Don't discount Kim, though. Jackie, too."

As the ramp opened, they were able to see the growing crowd gathering outside the shuttle. Hanging back from the others, Kim and Jackie were standing by the door to the main building, watching anxiously. "Are you going to tell them?" Anthony asked, switching to English again.

Damian didn't have to ask what Anthony was talking about. Philip's death was difficult for all of them and the friendship the slain columnist had shared with Kim and Jackie was obvious. He sighed humanly and nodded, taking a firmer hold of Megan's stretcher. "Later. Our first responsibility is to the living."

* * * * 

The relief Kim felt upon seeing familiar faces exiting the shuttle quickly turned to concern when she noticed the stretcher they carried between them. "Megan!" she whispered under her breath. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for bad news. She'd known this could happen. Fighting her natural reactions, Kim closed her eyes and took another deep breath. Think! The fact that Megan was being unloaded first indicated she was wounded, not dead. Response? Her mind struggled with the options. Treatment. She touched Jackie's arm. "Time to pretend we're doctors," she said before ducking inside.

The makeshift infirmary helped to ground her in the present. This was a laboratory, as familiar to her as her own bedroom. Yes, it was a laboratory with patients posing as experiments and medicines for reagents, but it was a laboratory nonetheless. All she had to do was follow the proper protocols and she'd be fine.

Sterility. She went to the sink and adjusted the water so it was as hot as she could tolerate. "Let's split the room in two. That half for humans, this half for Visitors," Kim said. "When Ham's group gets back, we'll need more room over there, but for now…"

"Sounds good," Jackie agreed, trying to hide her unease behind a front of confidence. This was absurd! First an emergency Cesarean, now… emergency room first aid. "Just tell me how you want me to help."

"Put her over there." Kim indicated the cot with a tilt of her head when the fifth columnists entered with Megan's stretcher as she accepted paper towels from Jackie. Procedure. She forced herself to slow down and thoroughly remove all of the moisture from her skin. As frustrating as the delay was, long experience had taught Kim that it was impossible to don protective gloves while her hands were wet. True, she could get them on, but they never felt right. The fingers tended to catch on the moisture and stretch uncomfortably and she'd invariably strip them off again. It was a waste of perfectly good gloves, so she forced herself to dry her hands, even when time was short.

The wrist of the second glove gave a satisfying snap as she pulled it into place. She flexed her fingers, testing the fit and taking comfort in the familiar feeling. It was likely that it was the only thing in her entire day that would be normal, familiar, or even remotely routine.

"Any other casualties?" Jackie asked softly.

"Nothing immediately urgent." Anthony worded his answer carefully. He knew Jackie was inquiring about injuries that might need immediate treatment… not fatalities. He glanced at Damian, who met his gaze. There was silent agreement at their relief for the brief delay in sharing the news of Philip's death.

"What happened?" Kim asked quietly as she began to cut away the leg of Megan's uniform with a pair of scissors. She was working on the fabric that covered Megan's thigh. Below her knee, Megan's leg was encased in melted fabric and a charred boot that hinted at the extreme damage inflicted on the fragile tissues they hid beneath them. She had no idea how she was supposed to treat such a serious injury.

"Laser rifle," was Damian's terse reply. "Just as she was getting ready to board."

"Did anyone get a chance to grab a better medical kit?" Kim asked before chewing her lip. She was not at all qualified to properly deal with Megan's injury, but she knew that the responsibility still rested on her shoulders.

"Right here," Drew said, holding it up as he entered the room.

Jackie put a cart near Megan's gurney and indicated to Drew that he should set the case on it. He did so, then quickly tripped the catch and opened the lid.

Anthony spoke quietly. "I've been keeping her unconscious until we figure out what to do, if anything."

"What do you mean, if anything?" Kim queried sharply, looking up from her work to glance from one worried face to another.

"What can be done?" Anthony asked softly.

Kim was still confused, and she looked at each of them intently, shaking her head slightly.

Damian finally spoke. His voice was low, but contrasted sharply with the long, painful silence that had filled the room with tension. "Normally, euthanasia would be performed."

"Euthanasia?!" Jackie stammered. "That's hardly a mortal wound!" She turned to Kim, who had grown even more pale than normal.

"Of course," Kim whispered, closing her eyes and turning away for a moment, her head bowed. "I should have realized."

"Realized what?" Jackie waited impatiently for an explanation. "Kim!"

Kim reluctantly raised her eyes to look at Jackie. "We can't save her foot. Why treat someone who won't make a full recovery? It's a waste of resources."

"A waste of resources!? Have you lost your mind?" Jackie demanded. "Haven't you guys ever heard of prosthetics? My God, losing a foot hardly signifies the end of a productive life," Jackie ranted, outraged that anyone would even consider letting Megan follow the "honorable" path.

"No. But it means that when Megan wakes up and realizes her foot has been amputated- which is the only course of action I see- she's going to feel compelled to do the honorable thing… and we need to be prepared for that."

"So we deal with it," Jackie was matter-of-fact.

"There's more," Kim warned.

Jackie's look was incredulous. How could there possibly be more to consider? Her gaze became stern, questioning, as she waited for Kim to explain.

"She can never go home."

"What were the odds anyway?" Jackie countered, ignoring Drew's downcast expression.

"But now, even the possibility will be lost, and that's no small thing," Kim said quietly. She hated war; she hated what it did to people. And most of all, she hated how it forced her to make decisions for another that she should never be asked to make. "We'll deal with that later."

Anthony stood across the table from her, waiting for directions. Why did everyone always defer to her, Kim wondered with the least-occupied part of her mind. "Keep her under the anesthesia. Do you have enough of a supply to do that?"

Anthony nodded.

"What about pain management? Do we have enough of what we need to get her through the first couple of weeks of recovery?"

Again the reluctant nod. Kim knew his hesitation was due to inexperience with field surgery, and not the belief that Megan should be put to death. "Okay." Kim motioned for Jackie to wheel the cart bearing a tray of surgical instruments over to the bed. "Anthony, I want you to keep a close watch on her vital signs. Let me know if anything changes."

She straightened up and turned to the columnists who were waiting anxiously by the door. "The rest of you should leave. There's no need for you to watch. We'll deal with the rest of the injuries as soon as we're done here."

She didn't wait for them to answer or obey. Megan needed treatment, and they'd wasted enough time already. "Jackie, for now, I want you to help me get these layers of uniform and pseudoskin off and then hand me instruments as I call for them. The first thing we need to do is get down to her skin and determine exactly where healthy tissue is located. We'll wing it from there."

Jackie shrugged in acquiescence. "You're the doctor."

"That's not funny," Kim said sharply, looking up with a piercing gaze.

"I wasn't joking."

They worked in silence for several minutes as Kim slowly manipulated her way through layers of burnt fabric and flesh. For the soft tissue dissection, she relied primarily on the scalpels Julie had stolen from a hospital during one of their equipment raids. When it came time to sever the destroyed bones, however, Kim was thankful she had the Visitor medical kit to turn to rather than resorting to the tried-and-true saw. Jackie closed her eyes for that part, and even Anthony looked away, leaving Kim as the sole witness to the moment that symbolically changed Megan's life forever.

Once the cutting was complete, Kim found it easier to continue. She was meticulous in her effort to smooth all of the rough edges from the truncated bone and tie off the larger blood vessels that had temporarily been sealed with clamps. After that, it was just a matter of arranging the remaining flaps of muscle and skin so they formed a smooth, rounded stump and stitching them into place. Kim knew that in all probability, Megan would need to undergo a second round of surgery to prepare her body for a prosthesis, but high-quality work now would minimize the efforts needed later.

* * * * 

"What now?" Jackie asked as Kim put the last bandage in place and fought back a yawn.

"We keep her comfortable and get ready for the next wave of casualties," Kim answered, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Ham's group should be back soon."

"What do we do with that?" Jackie gestured uncomfortably at the charred appendage Kim had set aside and covered with a cloth. "We can't just throw it out…. it doesn't seem right."

Kim nodded and looked at the floor, peeling off her gloves as an after-thought. "We're going to have plenty of fatalities today. I vote for adding that to the mass grave we'll have to dig later today or tomorrow." Her voice was quiet and grew even softer when she tossed her inside-out gloves into the biohazardous waste bin, then she looked up at Anthony. "You can tell me now."

He didn't pretend to misunderstand. Kim was far too perceptive to not have noticed they were avoiding telling her something. "Philip."

"Damn it!" Kim swore under her breath. She closed her eyes and gasped for air, leaning on Megan's bed for support as she fought for control over her reaction. She'd known. Either that, or the fear had been so great it had guised itself as a premonition. Either way…Anthony's statement only confirmed what her heart had known all morning. Either way, it hurt.

"Come sit down."

Jackie's tearful voice barely registered, but the tug on her arm was unyielding. Kim allowed herself to be led to an old, battered couch and felt her legs give out as she reached it. She felt Jackie pull her close and she closed her eyes, letting Jackie hold her to her chest as she would a child. Jackie stroked her hair and murmured reassurance in a grief-stricken voice while rocking her gently, encouraging the healing flood of tears to begin.

* * * * 

Martin closed his eyes and let himself relax for a moment. It would be so easy to simply drift off to sleep as he hung suspended in front of the security console. They still didn't have the engines repaired, and the battery power was too precious to waste on generating a synthetic gravitational force. Unfortunately, given his current state of exhaustion, he found the weightless sensation very conducive to sleep.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to open his eyes and focus on the task at hand. "What have you found so far?" he asked Lorraine.

"The computers are very slow. I've had to redirect power to them."

"From where?" The inquiry stemmed more out of curiosity than concern. He trusted Lorraine's judgement.

"Everything I thought we could spare: heating, ventilation, navigation, to name a few. We're far enough out we can afford to drift for a time. We weren't moving that fast when I shut it down."

"How low will the temperature drop?"

"Low enough to put most of the crew into hibernation." She gave him a tired half-smile. "They'll cause less trouble that way. But we'll need the vests soon. I've already checked, and we have enough here for all of us and the humans, assuming Laura can find them."

He nodded acknowledgement and glanced at Isaac. The young crew member seemed visibly tense and Martin forced gentleness into his tone when he spoke to him. "Have you made any progress with the diagnostics?"

"I can't make sense of it. It's almost like the computers were sabotaged. Whenever I try to cross-reference data, all I get is gibberish." He lowered his gaze, unable to look the fifth column leader in the eye. "Maybe you should have someone else do this."

"Absolutely not," Martin scolded. "Don't chastise yourself. We were all inexperienced at one time, even Lorraine."

Lorraine glanced warily at him, stunned at Martin's display of gentle humor. Though she'd glimpsed that side of him on rare occasions, it had always been when they were alone. She'd never seen him act like that in front of his crew. And the quick look he gave her before turning back to Isaac indicated he knew exactly why she was surprised.

"The computers were sabotaged," Martin continued. "but only non-essential systems should be affected. For now, just concentrate on determining what went wrong with the communications systems. Damage there should be related to the abuse the ship took pulling away from Earth. If we're lucky, repairs will be straightforward. At the very least, we need to get internal communications back on line as soon as possible." He sighed and closed his eyes. "I think things would have been easier if the ship had blown up."

Martin's muttered comment wasn't meant for anyone else's ears, but Lorraine heard him anyway. Concerned, she glided over to him and steadied herself by holding onto the lip of the security console. "Are you all right?" she murmured.

"Are any of us?" He sighed and rubbed his eyes in tired frustration. "I'm just tired."

"It's more than that," Lorraine persisted, keeping her voice low. "You've changed since you've been on the surface."

"For the better, I hope." He smiled gently at her and cupped her cheek in his hand. "A lot has happened. How's the arm?"

"Sore. I'd get more done if I could use it," she said wistfully. "The zero-g helps, though. I'm too nauseated to think about being in pain."

"Better leave it in the sling for now… at least until you get proper treatment."

"I think I'm going to be sick." Donovan's voice filled the room. Martin watched bemused as Donovan cautiously launched himself forward from the still-in-repair door and clumsily caught hold of the helm's chair to stop.

"The sooner we get the engines repaired, the sooner we'll get the gravity back on," Lorraine told him, setting aside her concern for Martin as she returned to the tasks at hand.

"How bad off are we?" Elias asked at the very moment Julie inquired about the location of the first-aid supplies.

"Bad and over there on the wall," Martin answered and pointed out the panel to Julie. Unlike Mike, the sensation of free-fall didn't seem to be making her or Elias ill, but Martin wasn't sure he was really able to judge that very accurately; human expressions were still a mystery on occasion.

"What's the trick to sticking to the floor?" Elias asked, noting that Lorraine and several of the others had their feet firmly planted, despite the sensation of weightlessness. Martin, however, appeared content to float free, moving from console to console with practiced ease.

"Magnetic soles," Martin explained, then launched himself towards the cabinet that contained extra pairs. He sent a pair floating towards Elias, then did the same for Julie and Mike before retrieving some vests from a separate compartment in the wall and sending them to their recipients in the same manner as the magnets.. "You'll want these soon, too. It's going to get VERY cold in here." He then took his own advice and donned one over the top of his uniform.

Elias shrugged. "Seems okay to me." He was far more interested in strapping the magnetic plates to his boots and experimenting with walking on the walls and ceiling than discussion of a coming chill. He was also sweating mightily beneath the heavy fabric of the uniform he wore and couldn't imagine being cold anytime soon.

"Back to business," Mike said, swallowing with effort. He closed his eyes and concentrated on not getting sick. "Is anything on this rust bucket still working?"

"The emergency power supply, for now, and it won't last more than a few hours," Martin supplied grimly. "All of the engines are off-line and damaged to some extent- I won't know how much until I get down there. Internal communications between the different systems are off-line, too. There's certain to be major structural damage from our rapid departure, but again, I don't know how extensive it is yet."

"How many engines do we need for things to function normally?" Julie inquired quietly. In her hands, she held some strips of cloth bandages that she was carefully working into knots the size of walnuts.

"Two minimum," Martin answered automatically as he moved to yet another console and flipped more switches.

"Don't you have any redundancy built into these things?" Elias chipped in from the ceiling where he was currently strolling.

"Of course we do!" Lorraine snapped. "But every time one failed, we had to rely on the next in line to get us away from your planet, so all eight were damaged."

"What's the plan?" Donovan asked quietly, his eyes still closed. Damn the nausea!

"I need to get down there and inspect them manually while they keep working on repairs up here. We'll know better where we stand, and how to best approach this, once we know if there is a chance of getting them repaired before we lose power altogether. Think you're up to the trip?"

"I'm in. We won't be any help up here, but I'd think we're qualified to cover your back while you work. --What's this, a new fashion statement?" Mike's tone changed as Julie tied the knotted bandages around his wrists, making them snug enough so the knot of each bandage dug into his inner wrist.

"It may help with the nausea," she explained before turning her attention to Martin. "How much resistance do you expect we'll encounter on the way?"

Martin shook his head. "I have no idea how far the red dust infiltrated into the systems. Add to that the loss of communications, the potential for the crew to be confused and panicked…."

"We could be fighting all the way," Donovan interjected, "or never see a live body outside this room."

"The former is far more likely," Martin warned. "And a party of four is hardly enough for this venture, but all we can spare."

"We made it this far. Maybe the worst is behind us." Donovan forced optimism into his voice as he donned the vest Martin had given him. "Elias, the man said you'd want that vest, and I think you'd do well to trust his advice." He fingered some buttons that were buried in the hem. "What's this?"

"Temperature controls. You may not need it, but the vests are self-heating when activated." Martin floated over to Donovan and showed him the settings. "On, off, warmer, colder. We've already dropped the temperature outside of master control to save power, and the ship's climate is going to quickly approach the freezing point of water."

"Not below? Space is colder than that, isn't it?"

Martin nodded, glad that Donovan was taking his warnings of what they faced seriously. "As long as we can spare the power, we'll keep it above freezing. I'd rather not kill the entire crew if we can avoid it."

Mike's expression brightened, as realization of Martin's other motive dawned, "But it will still be cold enough for them to drop into hibernation, right?"

Julie wasn't so optimistic. "If we can have vests, then so can they. Just like crew members may be using respirators to avoid inhaling the red dust."

Martin nodded at both of them. "Still, we'll cut down on their numbers significantly. The downside will be that their metabolisms will slow as well, so someone near hibernation may not succumb as quickly to the toxin's effects."

"Making them doubly dangerous. I hear you," Mike fired back, anxious to do something rather than just stand back and watch helplessly. "Lead on."

"Lorraine, you're in charge," Martin said as he forced open the door. Zachary and Valerie had finished doing what they could with their limited resources and had it functioning somewhat normally, though with extra effort required. He pulled a hand-held communicator out of his vest. "I'll check in periodically. Use the second secure channel." Seeing Lorraine's nod of acknowledgment, he took a deep breath and launched himself into the corridor, heading towards the access to the same service tunnels he'd used earlier. How much longer could their luck continue to hold?

* * * * 

Anthony went outside and looked around for a moment before spotting Caleb and Damian. The two men were standing a short distance from the main building and splitting their attention between keeping watch over the main road into the base and talking with each other. The breeze was blowing the wrong way for Anthony to make out what they were saying. In the distance, Anthony could see the grave-digging crew hard at work. So far, the group was comprised of Alan and three humans who had escaped the assault on the mothership unscathed. Once Ham's group returned, they'd take a rest and allow a second crew to take a turn digging up the rocky soil. Drew was still in the shuttle, Anthony knew, monitoring the radio for any word from the mothership. In one of the secondary buildings, he heard the sound of a circular saw, though he didn't know what it was. Some of the older teens were helping a couple of adults turn wood scraps into makeshift coffins. It remained to be seen if the wood supply would hold out, but for now, the intent was to give the dead as dignified a burial as possible.

"How is she?" Caleb's dark brow was furrowed with genuine concern as he turned towards the approaching Visitor.

"We had to amputate." Anthony glanced at Damian, knowing he'd understand. "It's up to Megan now."

Damian nodded and sighed, knowing the time had come for him to break the dreaded news of Philip's death. "I'd better go tell Kim."

"She already knows- she figured out something was wrong and I had to tell her. Jackie's with her," he assured Damian before changing the subject. "Any word from the mothership?"

Caleb shook his head. "Not yet. And we're still waiting…What the blazes?" he exclaimed as they watched a pickup truck careen down the road towards them, leading a caravan of battered vehicles full of rowdy, smiling resistance members. Many of them were waving dripping bottles of champagne. Others had to settle for brandishing their firearms as they whooped and hollered. Piled amongst them were those that were either too drunk or too seriously wounded to participate in the victory dance.

The lead truck turned sharply and jerked to a stop, almost dumping two of the occupants over the tailgate in the process. That set off a chain of foul-mouthed comments between the occupants and the driver, followed by merciless teasing by the passengers in the next vehicle in line.

Caleb shook his head in dismay. "Now that's just what we need," he growled. "How the hell are we supposed to get anything done when they're too smashed to stand on their own two feet? They don't need a leader, they need a babysitter!" Raising his voice, he hollered over the din. "Do you folks think you might stop partying long enough to tend to the dead and dying?"

A hush fell over the crowd, though a few giggled and elbowed each other like kindergartners in trouble for cutting in line. "That's more like it!" he said, lowering his voice somewhat. "Now, I want you to park the booze by that tree over there and get your butts inside for a meeting. We've got a lot to talk about, and no time for this nonsense. Those seriously wounded get taken to the infirmary. Those of you who can wait, I know you're hurting, but we'll get to you as soon as we can. Plant yourselves in the hallway and we'll do what we can to keep you comfortable."

Caleb waited for them to do as they'd been told, but they seemed frozen in place. "MOVE!" he bellowed.

The rebels jumped to obey, and most had the good sense to look contrite. He heard a couple of requests for a stretcher and turned to ask Damian about using the bunks from the shuttle. He found empty air beside him and saw that Damian and Anthony were already in the process of handing bunks out of the shuttle hatch.

"You might make it in this business after all," a voice said to his left. Caleb spun on his heel and saw Ham Tyler looking at him with a fleeting half-smirk that was Ham's version of a smile. Tyler jerked a thumb in the direction of the Visitors. "But I wouldn't let any lizards carry the wounded --might make 'em hungry."

"Keep talking like that and you'll BE one of the wounded if you aren't careful."

"Me in danger from this group?" Ham snorted at the thought. "They can barely stand up." Not wanting to joust with Caleb any longer, he changed the subject. "Any word from the ship?"

Caleb shook his head. "To be honest, I don't think we're going to hear from them." He sighed, pushing thoughts of Elias to the side. "So what do we do now?"

"What you've been doing," Ham shrugged. "Better not plan on going home any time soon. Downtown L.A.'s a mess. With their puppet strings cut, the LAPD's brass is worthless. Any officer worth his badge has enough sense to know they need organization to stop the riots."

"Riots?"

Ham's eyebrow went up at Caleb's apparent surprise. "What'd you expect? A parade? Martial law was just replaced by NO law." He glanced over at the subdued by happy resistance fighters. "Even if they were sober, there aren't enough of them to do anything about it. Best to sit tight here until the rioters drink themselves into a stupor or kill each other off. Chris and I will take the guard posts out front. If any trouble heads this way, we'll convince them to go somewhere else."

Caleb watched Ham motion to his partner and saunter towards the driveway leading into the resistance headquarters. It didn't take much imagination to figure out exactly what methods Ham would use to "convince" trespassers they'd be smart to go elsewhere. But if what Ham said about downtown L.A. was true -- and Caleb didn't doubt that it was --then Ham and Chris were right to take precautions. The fact that it would keep them away from the fifth columnists was a bonus.

* * * * 

"Where's my son? Need to see him," the man being carried into the infirmary managed to gasp.

Kim averted her eyes momentarily from his charred abdomen. How he had managed to stay alive this long was a mystery in itself. "Is anyone getting his son?" she asked. The men carrying the mortally wounded man looked at her blankly, as if the thought of really bringing the youth in to see his father had never occurred to them. Exasperated, Kim took the man's hand in her own. "What's his name?"

"Kevin…" he shuddered violently. "Kevin Fox."

"I need blankets over here! Bring an IV, morphine," Kim snapped over her shoulder before turning back to her latest charge. "What's your name?"

"George."

"You." Kim's eyes landed on one of the stretcher-bearers who hadn't moved quickly enough to escape her attention. "Fetch his son. Get him up here as fast as you can." When she saw hesitation in his face, she felt her temper rising. "Now! I take responsibility. Go!"

Kim turned back to George while Jackie put warm blankets over his legs. Kim shook her head and pulled them up over George's chest. There was nothing she could do for this man other than honor his dying request to see his son, and try to keep him comfortable until the end.

George grabbed her hand and pulled her closer. "What's going to happen to him? Who's going to take care of my boy?"

"His mother?" Kim whispered, realizing as she spoke that Kevin's mother was dead.

"Dead --four months now." George closed his eyes, saving his strength. "No other family... He's going to be all alone."

The pain of George's quandary pierced through the carefully erected shell containing her own shattered emotions as if it didn't exist. Before she even realized what she was saying, the words were out of her mouth. "He has me. I'll take care of him. I promise you, I'll take care of him. He'll be okay." With her free hand, she wiped the tears from her cheeks. "He's going to grow up in a world you helped make safe. I won't let him forget you, I promise. Just rest, now. Kevin will be here soon."

After extricating herself from George's grasp, Kim straightened up and tried to regain some vestige of control over her emotions. Anxiously, she kept one eye on the clock as she moved to the bedside of her next patient. They had to bring Kevin soon because it was clear that George wasn't going to last much longer.

* * * * 

Kim and Jackie had just begun to examine laser burns to a woman's arm when Kevin came tearing into the room. All of the conscious adults watched as the six year old threw himself on his father's chest, pleading, "Papa, don't die!" between wracking sobs.

"I don't have much of a choice, Kevin," George had whispered, using the last of his strength to gently rub his son's back. "I'll always love you. Remember that. These people will take care of you, but I'll always love you."

They all waited for George to say something more, but he remained silent. The hand that had hugged his son fell limply away.

"PAPA!" Kevin screamed the name. The adult who had escorted him in approached the bed, intending to take the child away from the horrific scene.

Jackie stepped between them, her role with patient treatment forgotten. "Leave him alone. He needs to be here."

Questioning eyes looked at Kim, who simply nodded her agreement before turning back to her work, leaving Jackie in charge of the boy. Let the other adults shrug their shoulders or gaze with disapproving expressions. Kevin was going to be allowed this time with his father; he deserved that much. She locked eyes with Kim for a moment, but that short look communicated all of the grief and frustration they both felt… as well as their mutual determination to allow Kevin this time.

Jackie gently touched the boy's back, but made no attempt to move him away. "Go ahead and cry, Kevin. Cry all you want to," she whispered through her own tears.

Sometimes, the price of freedom seemed too high.

* * * * 

"Is this connected to the ventilation system?" Mike asked softly as they followed Martin through the crippled mothership's labyrinthine infrastructure to the lower levels of the ship.

Julie trailed behind with Elias brining up the rear. Elias was facing backwards, allowing Julie to pull him along by his vest so he could focus entirely on protecting them from a rear-assault. There were advantages to weightlessness, and Julie's ability to "carry him" was one such advantage. Up and down had no meaning, and they hauled themselves along using the ladder as a handhold.

Martin shook his head silently and held his hand up for silence. He paused, listening carefully, then turned back to Mike. Donovan raised his eyebrows, silently asking what the visitor had heard. Moving closer to the human, Martin whispered, "Tapping."

"How far?" Mike whispered back.

Martin shrugged, uncertain. "Tell them," he directed before turning around and once again led them towards the disabled engines.

They went only a short distance before the humans were able to hear the sounds also. They turned at a juncture and soon found the way blocked. The tapping was louder.

Mike touched Martin's back to get his attention, then mouthed "Now what?" when the Visitor turned towards him.

Martin waved for them to retreat back to the juncture, where they could break out of their single file formation and confer.

"How many explosives do you have left?" Martin asked Elias.

"Three. But the door to master control took more than one, so we've probably only got enough to break through one panel."

Martin nodded, calculating the risks of their different options as he tuned his communicator to send rather than simply receive. "Lorraine?"

"Where are you?" Lorraine's voice emanated quietly from the unit in Martin's hand.

"Just outside the power supply sector. Any luck getting the computer systems back up?"

"Not yet."

"We can hear tapping. I was hoping you'd be able to determine who was there before we forced our way in."

"Sorry."

"I'll let you know when we're through."

"Understood."

Martin considered for a long moment and then looked to Julie. "Do you have more antitoxin with you?"

She nodded. "But we can't get it to them without exposing them first, so it won't do them any good."

"Not immediately, no. But there are options…." Without explaining further, he turned and went back to the barrier. He removed his sidearm from its holster and used the butt to tap in code on the panel. How many are there?

"You sure this is a good idea?" Mike asked, realizing that Martin was attempting communication. They had just relinquished the element of surprise.

"No." Martin spared him a glance. "But I'd rather put them to work than kill them at this point. And given the sector they're in, there 's a chance they can assist in repairs. A dose of antitoxin can be their reward."

Two The tapping was hesitant, but audible.

"Two of them." Martin relayed as he tapped another question. Injuries?

No

"And they claim not to have any injuries…" He tapped again and waited for a reply. "Or respirators. And they want to know why they need them," he added wryly, considering what he should tell them.

"Why didn't they leave with the rest of the crew?"

"Most of the crew is still on board," Martin answered, confused that Mike would think otherwise. He settled on telling the truth, and began to tap out instructions for surviving the initial toxin exposure once the barrier was breached.

"Wouldn't they have tried to escape when the self-destruct device was activated?"

Martin paused, partly distracted from his task by Mike's questions. He regained his focus and continued to give directions while explaining to Mike. "They didn't know it was activated. There was no ship-wide notification." He listened to the reply then holstered his weapon, giving Donovan and the other humans his full attention. "We're dealing with a lot of confused and frightened people. Last they knew, John was in charge and they were under attack, stationed over Los Angeles. Now, they're no longer in orbit, there's a mysterious toxin killing some of them, and the communications systems are non-functional. There are barriers all over the ship, preventing movement from sector to sector, and anyone who managed to breach those barriers ended up dead in a matter of minutes, unless they were quick-thinking and used a respirator." He waved Elias closer, indicating he should set the first explosive charge in place and continued, "Most of the crew has no idea what the real mission was about, or that humans are sentient. On top of that, until very recently, they've been under the command of Diana, who is well known for her temper and her… shall we say unorthodox means of maintaining discipline."

"What about the fifth columnists that were still here. Are they still on board, too?"

Martin nodded. "A few. Some requested transfers to other ships in recent days, but that has the potential to attract attention, so wasn't a popular option. There were alternate plans for getting them relocated, but until we secure the ship and restore communication, we won't know how many of them succeeded."

"What kind of alternate plans?" Julie asked, intrigued by the conversation. She and Mike followed Martin back to the bend in the ductwork, clearing the way for Elias to join them once the charge was set. It would probably be less risky, she knew, if they moved into the ship's corridors and abandoned the access tunnels, but that left them vulnerable from attacks by loyal troops. Here, at least, they were hidden from sight, though vulnerable to the force of the blast and any shrapnel that hurtled their way.

Martin shrugged, making light of his answer in an effort to deflect attention to his reluctance to share the details. "Nothing that hasn't been done before, in similar circumstances where the need arose," he explained casually, thinking once more of Kim's and Philip's daring infiltration of the fleet. He was saved from further discussion by Elias, who was pulling himself along as fast as he could, putting distance between his fragile flesh and the explosive he had just activated.

"Three… two… one" Elias counted from between gritted teeth. War wasn't what the movies made it out to be. In reality, it was a lot more work, and a lot harder work, than he'd ever imagined. He wondered, fleetingly, if his father had survived the initial raid on the mothership. It would be tragic if Pop had died so soon after the two had finally reconciled their differences.

Smoke and a forceful blast swept over the group, bringing internal musings to an end.

"Do we need another charge?" Donovan asked, waving his hand in front of his face in a futile effort to clear the air. Martin was trying to force the panel open and didn't seem to be making any progress.

Martin shook his head once as he continued to hammer at the damaged panel with his foot, bracing himself by holding on to a small ledge in the passageway. He could feel the metal begin to give way, and it finally broke free of the frame on one side. A few more solid kicks bent it back enough that they were able to squeeze past. "Be ready for anything," he warned.

"Where'd our friends go?" Elias asked, surprised that no one was waiting on the other side.

"They're probably in the corridor itself, not the service duct." Martin answered softly as he opened the access panel that would allow them to exit the cramped conduit. "And they likely went to get respirators. The first engine I want to check is in there." he pointed, then launched himself towards the closed panel with the practiced ease of one accustomed to zero-g.

* * * * 

"I need a break," Caleb heard the teen mutter as he passed his shovel to someone else and collapsed on the ground next to Alan, who was also taking a break.

"Help yourself," Caleb held up four six-packs of cola as he neared the grave-digging crew. The numbers had expanded soon after Ham's group returned from their mission, due in no small part to the half-dozen teenagers who had volunteered to help.

"Where'd you get that?" A slender fifteen year-old girl asked as she took off her ball cap, swiped her forearm across her forehead and put the hat back on before reaching for a can.

"Teresa?" Caleb asked, not trusting his memory. At her nod, he continued to pass out drinks. "Ham Tyler got them. I didn't ask questions."

"Probably robbed a store then."

"Why don't you tell him ask him, Cole?"

"You kidding me, Teresa? You ask him."

"It doesn't matter." Caleb intervened before the verbal jousting got out of hand. He sat down next to Alan as he studied the hole and the mound of dirt alongside it. They only had three shovels, but with frequent rotations, were making rapid progress. He estimated that the hole was currently three feet deep, but wide and long enough for eight coffins, maybe more if they jammed them in tightly.

Caleb had debated with the wisdom of calling on the youth for help, but decided that it was an exercise in futility to try to shield them from the realities of the day. It would be far better to let those teens that were willing help out and feel like they were part of the process.

He opened a can of cola and paused, waving it in the general direction of the ever-deepening hole. "Looks like you're making progress."

Alan nodded once, absorbed in his own thoughts. "How's Megan?"

"Still alive but still unconscious. They couldn't save her foot, though." Caleb sighed. "She's got a tough road ahead of her. We all do, I'm afraid," he added before half-draining a can in one long draught.

"I wish I could disagree with you." Alan said softly, shifting so he was leaning back on his elbows. His uniform was already filthy, so a bit more dirt on it wasn't going to matter.

"At least we're still here. That's more than Martin and I predicted last night." Caleb waved his hand at the compound. His gesture encompassed the graves, the group of small children playing ball, and the adults busy with the tasks of day-to-day life. He looked back at the gravesite. "The road ahead of us may be rough, but I'm not ready to call them the lucky ones."

"We gonna have a funeral later?" Teresa asked, plopping down on Caleb's right side.

He nodded gravely. "I think we should, don't you?"

"Who's gonna officiate? Father Andrew left," one of the other boys said, coming over to join them.

"I'll do it," Caleb assured them, belatedly realizing he was going to have to plan something for the impromptu service. "But I think we should leave it open to anyone who wants to say something."

Teresa looked at Alan with a curious gaze. "What are funerals like on Sirius?"

Alan stared at the growing hole in the ground, lost in memories. "Cremation, then the ashes are scattered. Usually in the desert by the family, but off world, it's up to the ship's commander."

"Isn't there a ceremony or something?"

Alan's head moved slowly from side to side, his eyes fixed on a distant time and place. "Just the usual speeches about duty, honor, and the Leader's glorious cause."

Caleb sighed. "Much as I'd like to honor your traditions, I'm afraid cremation isn't going to be an option for Philip or the others who may have preferred that to burial."

"It doesn't matter." The fifth columnist's voice was flat.

"It matters to me. They gave everything they had--their very lives--for something they believed in. The least we can do is say goodbye in a decent fashion." Caleb leaned towards Alan slightly. "We'll skip the bit about the Leader's glorious cause."

He stood up and brushed off his jeans. "Teresa, I'm putting you in charge of coming up with some kind of marker. It doesn't have to be fancy, but we need something to indicate this is hallowed ground."

At her nod, Caleb headed back towards the main building. So much to do… and none of it pleasant. The weight of responsibility was a hefty burden in times of peace. In times of war… it was crushing.

* * * * 

"You need to go rest."

Kim shook her head, brushing off Jackie's concern as she moved from patient to patient, keeping up the pretense of being busy by checking them to see what else she could do to make them comfortable. "Not right now." She bit back the retort she wished to add, forbidding a sharp-toned plea for solitude to pass her lips. Jackie's concern was genuine and Kim didn't wish to belittle the gesture.

"When?" Jackie persisted.

Kim's eyes closed as she turned her attention inward in an attempt to call up some measure of strength from her already depleted reserves. "When the pain of exhaustion is greater than the pain of dreams." Finished with her task for the moment, Kim moved to the sink and washed her hands.

Jackie moved up behind Kim, putting a hand on her back. "I miss Philip, too. But we have to go on living. That's all we can do."

Kim's voice was muted. "I'm not talking about just Philip. Have you forgotten about the others? Your sister?"

"Of course I haven't forgotten! But it's too soon to give up hope."

"You're wrong. It's too late to have any." Kim turned her head just enough that Jackie could see her profile. "Do you have any idea how slim the chances were for them to come back? It's a miracle the shuttle had time to escape. I have no doubt that Diana activated the self-destruct device. The only question is how far away they were able to get before the ship exploded."

"We would have seen something, or at the very least heard something,." Jackie argued.

Kim's head turned in a fluid half-shake. Her eyes closed. "You forget the Earth's rotation. And you know as well as I do that sound doesn't travel in space. The explosion would have been silent, maybe over the horizon…. Depending on their trajectory, the moon could have been between us…. or destroyed along with them. Although I guess we can pretty much rule that out since we're not being pummeled by debris…."

"Are you giving up on us, too?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you still think Earth is going to be destroyed?"

Kim shook her head. "Not today, at least. Maybe when the Leader attacks again, but not now. For the time being, I think we're all right." She put her hands on the porcelain basin and leaned heavily on them. "Twice widowed, thrice adored, but all right just the same." The words spilled unbidden from her lips like so many shards of glass.

Jackie's brow furrowed in confusion. Twice widowed? Kim had never been married, and only engaged once. It was time to push for answers. Clearly, Kim needed to talk. She was turning inward and visibly withdrawing from the world around her in a response to deeply felt pain. Jackie knew that forcing the matter would risk their already war-strained friendship. Kim was in a very fragile place and might lash out if she felt cornered. Look at the lengths Kim had gone to when Andrew was endangered! On the other hand, if Jackie didn't try to reach her now…. Jackie shook her head, discarding the thought. It was better not to even go there.

Resolved, she slid her hand from Kim's back to encircle her shoulders while taking hold of the arm closest to her. The pressure she applied was silent but unyielding. Jackie was relieved that after a moment's resistance, Kim yielded to the directive and accompanied her from the room.

It was with some measure of surprise that Kim allowed Jackie to guide her to a chair in the tiny kitchen housed in the main building. She had expected to be taken someplace very private, so that Jackie could fuss over her at length, insisting she lie down and rest while she assumed the unofficial mantle of head nurse for the duration of Kim's indisposition. She was further confused by Jackie's silence as she set a kettle of water on the stove to heat, retrieved mugs and teabags from a cupboard, and laid out a small plate of crackers and cheese in hopes that Kim would snack. It was only when they both sat sipping their drinks that Jackie broke the silence.

"'Twice widowed, thrice adored.' It's easy enough to figure out your reference to Marc. Philip was fond of you and I know you cared for him. I can venture a guess he's the second you're thinking of. However…" Jackie paused, tracing her finger along the rim of her mug. "Damian's alive and I doubt is fodder for something more permanent than…" Jackie groped for words. "Than what you already share."

She paused, hoping that Kim would break the silence and confide in her. She didn't. Jackie felt like their last chance to mend the growing gap between them was slipping away. She changed her tactics. "Kim, we've never really talked about it, I know…. But I've never forgotten how you stood by me after Ham left. No matter how many times I verbally ripped him to shreds, you never said a word against him. And you never berated me for the mistakes I made in that relationship. Not once did you chastise me. You did the same thing when my marriage fell apart."

She got up and started to pace beside the small table. "I know I've been difficult these last few months, and I can't make excuses for it. I've had problems with your decisions, but I had no right to impose my views on you. I was wrong to do that, especially since I never gave you a chance to explain so that I might understand."

She stopped her pacing and put her hand against Kim's back. Her head was bowed, and Jackie suspected she was crying, though she couldn't see her face and be sure. At least she was listening.

Determined, she forged ahead. "You're my best friend and I love you. You don't have to tell me anything. I promise I'll bite back my curiosity and respect your silence. But you're hurting and I want to help." She brushed Kim's hair back from her eyes and tucked the errant strands behind her ear. "Just tell me how to help."

Kim threw her arms around her waist, knocking her off balance. She quickly rallied and began to stroke Kim's hair, trying to soothe the pain manifesting itself in heart-wrenching sobs. Outwardly calm and comforting, Jackie's mind raced as she tried to wrap her mind around the implications of the single word Kim had managed to speak coherently.

Martin.

* * * * 

"Just do the best you can," Martin told the two frightened crewmembers who had returned to the area after securing respirators. Timid but cooperative, they had assisted Martin in surveying the remaining engines for damage and determining the best way of proceeding with repairs. As had been the case with the fifth columnists that had come to their aid in Master Control, these Visitors were low in rank and experience. Still, they seemed willing to help and had given no indication of hostility towards the humans or the fifth columnist commanding them. They were too fearful to be hostile.

Martin left the pair to their work and joined Julie, Elias, and Mike in the corridor where they had been keeping watch over the sector. There had been no other signs of life in this part of the ship, but they couldn't afford to be complacent.

"How bad off are we?" Mike asked, keeping his voice low.

"It could be worse." Martin sighed, digging continually deeper for the strength he needed to stay awake and focused. He relaxed his posture and closed his eyes savoring the brief reprieve from long hours of scrutinizing circuitry and readouts. "If we can get enough of a crew together to make the repairs, we can move back towards Earth. We'll have to stay in orbit since we won't have the power to hold a single position over the city, but it will put us in a more workable shuttle range.

"The bad news is that this ship is little more than scrap metal. At home, we'd probably be able to make the necessary repairs, but not here," he straightened slightly and opened his eyes, idly fingering the seam marking the juncture of two wall panels. Such a big ship, reflective of hundreds of thousands of hours of labor, and now almost worthless.

"Without those repairs, we can't get it home. We'll be doing well to maintain hull integrity and life support long enough to unload the humans in storage." He sighed again, thinking about the long-term loss. "One mothership isn't enough to take on the rest of the fleet, but it would have been a good start."

"What do the engines have to do with hull integrity?" Julie asked, puzzled by Martin's off-handed comment.

"Nothing. But when we pulled away from your planet at such a high speed and without a full crew, we did a lot of damage. I've been checking on a lot more than just the engines -- there's a lot of information that gets fed to the personnel here. It gets relayed to displays and entered into databases. I'll spare you the details of how I got it out of computers that are shut down, but suffice it to say we're lucky to still be alive. Some sectors are totally decompressed. At least death was almost instantaneous for any crew there."

"So what do we do now?" Mike asked softly.

"One of you should stay here and keep an eye on them." He nodded in the direction of the young Visitors. "I don't think they'll try anything but we also can't afford blind trust. We need to see if we can find any more of the crew from this sector so we can get the engines working before the backup systems give out."

"I'll stay here," Elias volunteered. He wasn't eager to leave the relative safety of the engine rooms, despite the boredom being there entailed.

Martin nodded in acknowledgement, then pushed away from the bulkhead, leading Julie and Mike towards the unknown.

* * * * 

Jackie closed the door to Kim's room and leaned wearily against it. Kim's breakdown had been followed by one confession after another. At times, the narrative had been too disjointed for Jackie to follow, but she kept her word and didn't press for explanations. There would be time for clarification later; for now it was enough that Kim was divesting herself of the burdens she had carried alone for so long.

Jackie knew that pressing Kim to the edge had been risky; she just hadn't known what else to try. Now, she was deeply thankful that Kim had reciprocated with a desperate grasp for help across the chasm that had separated them for most of the war. Exhausting as the last hours had been, the catharsis had been badly needed by them both.

There were still things Kim was holding back. The events surrounding Andrew's death had never come up, and Jackie suspected that they never would. Some wounds went too deep for words. It didn't matter in the larger scheme of things. Now that she knew more of what Kim's experience had been since they parted ways in the hidden laboratory early in the war, Jackie could only marvel at Kim's endurance. It was easier now to see why Philip had meant so much to her, easier to accept that she'd pursued a short-term relationship with Damian, and easier to comprehend her distress when the mothership didn't contact them.

Martin. Jackie shook her head. She never would have guessed how Kim felt about him, much less how Kim believed he felt about her. She wasn't going to examine the latter too deeply; if Martin never returned, it would be best to allow Kim whatever perceptions and memories she chose to harbor. If he did survive the war… the truth would come out eventually. It always did.

* * * * 

As the sun sank low in the sky, Anthony and Damian found themselves standing outside the main building of the compound, waiting. The grave digging was almost complete and the frantic activity ensuing from arriving casualties had long given way to tense foreboding. Anthony nodded towards the shuttle, where Drew had stayed all day. "How long should we let him sit there?"

Damian tilted his head, questioning the need for the query. "As long as he wants. Don't forget that he's also monitoring the radio."

Anthony's mood turned dark. "No one is going to call. We'd have heard from them by now. You know it, I know it, and I bet he knows it, too."

"Maybe, but he hasn't accepted it yet. Give him time. He never wanted to get involved in the first place."

"Then how…."

"Megan. She got caught and he was guilty by association. To his credit, he's had opportunities to betray us and go back, but he didn't. He doesn't support the Leader, but he never planned to turn Fifth Column, much less stay on Earth."

"I can't say the latter was in my plans, either, but we're here and there isn't much we can do about it now."

Damian smiled, not able to share Anthony's depression at what the future held. "I think it's going to be interesting. Hard at times, sure, but interesting."

* * * * 

It was a small and somber group that gathered near the graves to bid their fallen comrades a final goodbye. Most of the young children had been put to bed, though a few had been brought to the small funeral as a way of helping the youths cope with the realities of the day.

Two bonfires drove back the evening chill and provided flickering light by which the pallbearers carefully lowered the coffins into the wounded earth. No one spoke. Occasionally, someone could be heard sniffing or comforting an impatient child. The scraps of lumber that fed the flames crackled and snapped as they burned.

"I want to roast a hot dog, Mommy."

The three-year-old's innocent comment broke the tension and a rumble of quickly stifled laughter swept over the assembly.

"But I'm hungry."

"I said no!" an adult voice hissed in the darkness.

Kim hugged Kevin more tightly then sat back on her heels while he stood in front of her. Her knees ached from kneeling in the grass, but she wanted to be down at Kevin's level. He had spent most of the afternoon in Maggie's care, and had seemed quite reluctant to leave his small room after eating a light supper. Kim had coaxed and pleaded, and finally he had agreed to accompany her first to the site where the casket lids were being nailed on, and then finally to the grave site to sit warming by the fire while they waited.

As difficult as it had been to view the bodies, Kim believed it was necessary. She didn't want Kevin to look back with regret in the future, or wonder for the rest of his life where exactly his father had gone. If she'd had a camera available, she would have taken pictures for him to refer to in the coming years. It helped make it real, and she never wanted Kevin to worry that his father had been buried alive, or kidnapped, or victim to any other scenario an overactive imagination could dream up.

She'd steeled herself and guided little Kevin through the process of death, explaining what would happen with as little or as much detail as he requested. She'd said her own tearful farewell to Philip, and even leaned over to kiss his brow one last time. Then she'd taken Kevin by the hand once more and encouraged him to say goodbye to the father he would soon forget. A father who would forever be a phantom memory, endowed with superhero status and embellishments to his character only a child could dream up. Kim ached for what this little boy had lost, and vowed to learn as much about his parents as she possibly could. Though his memories would fade, he would never grow up thinking they had not loved him desperately.

The last casket was lowered into place and the pallbearers scrambled up out of the hole they had labored so long to dig. Caleb cleared his throat and asked for their attention.

"A lot of good people died today. Some are being laid to rest here, others we can only bury in our hearts. We may never know all their names. All we can do is make sure we never forget what they fought and died for. And never forget that it could just as easily be you lying there as one of them. War isn't fair and it isn't kind. And losing people we care about hurts. It hurts a lot, and it hurts for a damn long time. We just have to go on as best we can and make sure we live our lives in a way that gives their sacrifice meaning."

Caleb unfolded the well-worn paper he held in his hands and began to read the list of names. "Harmony Moore, George Fox, Sean Donovan, Ralph Smith, Eleanor Dupres, Frank Monroe, Bethany Jones, Philip…"

Kim continued to hug Kevin from behind and let her mind drift. There were too many individuals to grieve for. Too many lives had been cut short. Too many relationships had been shattered; she didn't want to think about it. Nor did she want to dwell on what names belonged on Caleb's list, but had not yet been added. By unspoken agreement, everyone on the mothership was considered to be missing in action. Until they could be absolutely certain they had perished, they would be relegated to limbo. Missed, but not grieved for. Lost, but not gone. Giving them M.I.A. status was a gesture of defiance on a day filled with death. Death would be granted no more lives on this day… even if the victory was a technicality.

* * * * 

Kim checked Megan one last time before retiring for the night. The fact that Megan had not yet wakened had her somewhat concerned. On the other hand, they were all exhausted and that alone could account for her continued slumber. How much was due to the drugs compared to the contributions of a different physiology and the trauma of major surgery? There was no way to judge.

She yawned and rubbed at her eyes. How much longer could any of them continue this way? Sleep-deprived, fearful, always on guard to attacks that came without warning… Weekends and holidays were a distant memory. Vacation? A foreign concept. Peace was just a meaningless word in the dictionary.

"How is she?" Jackie asked quietly from the doorway.

"The same," Kim murmured back. "I didn't realize she'd been left alone."

"Limited resources." Jackie shrugged. "She's better off alone than with an unsympathetic rebel. Unfortunately, that's about all you'll find around here as a general rule. Or drunkards," she added, thinking of the motley group that had returned from the attack on security headquarters. Caleb's reprimand and meeting had dampened the celebrating only temporarily. As the day had worn on, more and more of the resistance had given in to the temptations of carefree relaxation. Jackie shook off her critical mood. It was hard to begrudge anyone a few hours of fun. "Anthony has been with her most of the evening. He went to check on William."

"Harmony's death was hard on him," Kim commented.

"Yes, it was," Jackie agreed. "From what I understand, they were good friends."

Kim didn't bother to correct the assessment, but felt a great deal of empathy for the quiet Visitor she barely knew… and who's grief she understood all too well.

"I'll stay with her. Why don't you go to bed? Sarah had both the kids fed and sleeping when I checked on them. You can probably count on a few unbroken hours, at least."

Kim nodded her agreement and started to shuffle towards the doorway where Jackie leaned on the frame. She was simply too tired, too far beyond fatigue to worry much about Jackie's own need for rest. She'd manage somehow, or ask one of the other Visitors to check on Megan later. "G'night." Kim paused, looking for the right words.

"If we hear anything, you'll be the first to know," Jackie assured her, anticipating Kim's request.

Kim nodded thankfully and headed down the hallway towards her room.

* * * * 

"All right!" Mike Donovan couldn't contain his excitement when the panels monitoring the engine flickered once, then stayed on. Twinkling lights and scrolling readouts of an alien language meant that the engine was once again functioning. The two crewmembers who had tapped messages through the bulkhead had been joined by three more experienced recruits discovered during the subsequent search for survivors. Under Martin's guidance, the five Visitors had worked earnestly and succeeded in repairing the engine Martin had deemed least damaged in his survey. While Martin and the rebels didn't trust them completely, they had given every indication of being sincere in their efforts. The fact that the engine was once more generating power for the crippled ship was testament to their willingness to help. At least for now.

Martin stole a moment from his task and smiled broadly at the human, sharing the sentiment though the facial expression was an assumed mannerism. He activated his portable communicator and called Lorraine. "How are your repairs progressing?"

"Slowly. We did get one set of data relays working and have access to your readouts. Congratulations on getting some power back. I'm going to see if we have enough to divert back to navigation. After that, ventilation will be next, as well as some additional heat in key areas."

"Agreed," Martin told her, pleased with the progress that had been made.

"What about turning the gravity back on?" Mike chimed in, still feeling quite ill. He watched his breath condense in the frosty air. True to Martin's warnings, the temperature had dropped significantly in the last few hours, only adding to his discomfort. The knotted cloths around his wrists helped combat the nausea some, but he still longed to regain a sense of "up" and "down."

Martin smiled again, empathizing with Mike's sense of urgency. While he himself had only rarely experienced the nausea and disorientation so many felt when in free fall, he was not without compassion for those who didn't fare as well. His brother, for example, never failed to get sick in the same conditions Mike was bemoaning.

"Soon, Mike," Martin assured him. "But if we smash into your planet because we put gravity over navigation control…"

"I hear you," the newsman conceded, disappointed nonetheless.

Martin turned his attention back to the com unit he was holding. "Lorraine, do you agree the situation is stable enough to warrant dividing into shifts