1 - When Hera is born, her mother dies. At eight months, she says her first word. For her fourth birthday, aunt Kara gives her a tiny Viper toy, and tells Hera that one day, she'll fly the real thing. And when Hera is five, the man tries to steal her. He tries to trick her. "I knew your mother," he says, smiling down at her. His voice is funny, he doesn't sound like daddy, or aunt Kara, or anyone else Hera knows. "I knew her very well." And nobody talks about Hera's mother, no one at all. Hera knows she had a mother, and that she died, but nobody will tell her anything else. Daddy frowns when Hera asks, and his face crumples a little, and he goes very quiet, so she doesn't ask. Not any more. But this man knows. "Why don't you come with me?" He holds out his hand. "We can talk all about her. She was very beautiful, you know. She would have been so proud of you." She's about to take his hand and start asking questions – What did she look like? Why did she have to die? – when the man stops looking at Hera and looks to his side instead. Hera can't see anyone, but he looks like he's seeing someone else standing there, someone he has to listen hard to. He stands, and he stares, and he listens until he starts looking scared, really scared. He looks down at her again, smiling, but it's not the same smile. "Come along now." Daddy's told her all about people who might try to steal her, or make her their own. Because she's special. And she knows she is, because she's the only kid on Galactica; she special and the President comes and talks to her and tells Hera to call her Laura. The man steps closer, his smile gets bigger, and now he doesn't just look scared. He looks scary. Hera steps back, back, back, and screams. People come running. 2 - Hera is born in an isolated cabin in the mountains. The cabin is warm, dry, and has a solar-powered generator. They have hot water for the birth, and afterwards, when Hera is clean, dry, sleeping, Karl hands her to Sharon. He misses the weight of her in his arms almost immediately. "She's beautiful," Sharon says, her smile wide and tired. "So beautiful." Karl smoothes back the hair from Sharon's forehead – damp with sweat still, lank and stringy – and nods. "She takes after her mother." "Sweet talker," Sharon laughs. * Hera's almost a year old when Karl realizes that he can't live like this any longer. He makes the decision while Sharon is on yet another scavenging trip, this time gone for five days. When she comes back, she's laden with another improbable load of food and supplies. Sharon may have been easily tired while she was pregnant, but she's bounced back easily. Too easily, Karl thinks, as he unpacks the bags. There are cans of beans, fruit, meat, and they all test radiation-free. There are anti-radiation dosages and painkillers and water purification tablets. In the corner, Sharon is singing over Hera's cradle, almost tuneless, the rhythm repeated over and over. Karl concentrates on putting the supplies away. Sharon's brought back enough that they're good for another couple of weeks now. Eventually, Sharon comes to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, fitting herself against his body. She's so warm, so familiar, even if she smells like dust and damp and dirt from the trek. "I missed you, both of you," she says, the words humming against his chest. He closes his eyes, holds her for a moment, and then gently pushes her away. "I want to know what's going on." Her face crumples, just for an instant, and he knows he's right to be suspicious. "Helo –" "No. Sharon, you have to tell me." So she does. * Hours later, when the sun is starting to sink below the horizon, he finally speaks to her again. "The Cylons look like humans." "Some Cylons." Her expression is tight, and she doesn't meet his eyes. "And you're a Cylon." She nods. "Yes." He wants to kill her. He wants to wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze until she stops breathing. But he's not even sure if she needs to breath to live. Or if she's really alive. Hera starts crying, soft, breathy sounds that distract him. He turns to go to her, to pick her up, but Sharon gets there first. "Shh, shh," she says, stroking Hera's forehead, gathering her up. "Put her down." It's been months since they've seen a Cylon, but Karl still carries a gun with him everywhere. He pulls it out now, aiming at Sharon. "Put her down and step away." "Helo. She's my daughter. I'm not going to hurt her." "Put her the frak down!" He yells it, too loudly, and Hera's crying gets rougher, more urgent. Sharon scowls at him. "Great. That's just great. Make her cry even more." He wants to shoot so badly he can perfectly imagine it, the way the gun would recoil in his hand, the way Sharon would fall back with a wet thunk. Instead, he turns and walks out of the cabin. * She finds him, in the morning, of course. He doesn't go far. It doesn't feel like he can. "Are you leaving?" He shrugs, his body stiff from the cold ground. "Would I even be able to leave?" She looks away, and he knows her well enough by now to see she's miserable. "I might be able to help you get off-world." He closes his eyes, because even if left, where would he go? He wouldn't be able to find the Galactica. And he doubts Sharon would let him take Hera with him. It was all too convenient, some part of him had known from the start. The cabin, the electricity, the caches of food and supplies. "What was even the point, huh Sharon? Just play with the human, get him to love you? See how long he can live in denial?" She's silent for a long time before she says, "Hera was the point." Of course. He knew that too. Sharon sits down beside him, and slowly, hesitantly, leans towards him, against him. "I love you, you know." He doesn't, though. "I wasn't supposed to, but I do. And I love her. And I want us to be together. For as long as we can be." The problem is, Karl wants that too. It makes him feel sick. 3 - "Frakking toaster," the boy mutters as he brushes past her, pushing her against the bulkhead. Hera's just about had enough. It was a mistake to ask to visit with people her own age, people who aren't in the military, who aren't pilots and Admirals and presidential aides. The Fleet knows about her, they have for years, and she'd thought, hoped, that maybe she could have friends. Friends her own age. Everyone had hoped so. "People need to see her," Admiral Adama had said, when her father had objected, and when Galen had said no, absolutely not, no. "Otherwise, she'll always be a thing to fear." But this place – where teenagers from the Fleet gather once a week – was a mistake. Everyone here already knows each other, and within half an hour of her arrival, the whispers had started. Carefully, she rights herself, ignoring the jarring pain in her shoulder. "Excuse me?" "You heard me," the boy sneers. "Toaster. Cylon. Good for spacing and nothing else." Half-Cylon maybe, but that doesn't make her a killer. That doesn't make her a destroyer of worlds. "And you have a problem with that?" "Yeah, I've got a problem. It's called genocide. You know that word?" Hera knows. She's had it drilled in to her head, repeatedly. She knows what the Cylons did, what they continue to try to do. "It wasn't me." "Might as well have been." Hera's sixteen years old, and she knows what her people did. She sees the evidence of it every day – the way the ships are worn and tired looking, the way clothing, medicine, food and even water are tightly rationed and controlled. She sees how her father works harder and harder to train new ECOs, teaching them how to work with impulsive pilots. She knows how much more time Galen has to spend to keep the Vipers flying. And she knows that she would never have done this to these people, no matter what their sins may have been. "Scum," the boy says, his face twisted with hate and ignorance, "they should've tossed you out the airlock the minute your traitor mother birthed you." Hera is sixteen years old, and she spends a lot of her free time – too much, Galen sometimes says, wry and laughing – with Starbuck. Starbuck, who taught Hera how to land a decent punch. Hera decks the boy, watches him fall to the ground, clutching his bleeding nose. She grins. "Not a Cylon, frakhead, but I don't like you. And you never knew my mother." Neither did Hera, but that's besides the point. Her father and Galen have told her enough – Hera would have loved her mother, she would have admired her strength. There's a brief silence around her, the other teenagers hushed and shocked. And then they jump her. Her guards – surreptitious, lurking in the corners of the room – come running, but they're not quite fast enough. * As soon as he returns from the latest training flight, her father visits her in Galactica's infirmary. She got away lightly – nothing broken, just bruises and cuts, but the doctors want her to stay overnight anyway. "What were we thinking?" He frowns down at her, exhausted and worried. "No more off-ship visits." She doesn't want them anyway. "All right." His mouth quirks slightly. "So you're agreeable now? That's all it took? A few kids getting angry and trying to kill you?" She grins at him, pretending it doesn't hurt her jaw. "Guess so. Magic." "You have got to stop spending so much time with Starbuck." But his eyes are crinkling up the way they do when he's happy, relieved. "I hear you did pretty well for yourself." He sits with her until Galen comes too. It doesn't take long. "Hera. I don't even know what to say." His hands are greasy, and he's still wiping at them with an old rag. "Hi." Galen looks at her father and rolls his eyes. "Hi. She says 'hi' to me. Where does this even come from? Didn't we raise her better than this?" Her father shrugs. "She didn't get it from me." Galen closes his eyes, just briefly. "Hera, try not to get into fights and scare the frak out of us. OK? Is that a deal?" She pretends to think it over, eventually saying, "OK. But I still get to visit with Starbuck." "You drive a hard bargain," her father says, shaking his head. "And apparently she has an amazing right hook." Galen looks exasperated and proud. Hera feels loved. 4 - Hera grows up in a cage. She can walk around it, and there are windows to look out of. There are beds, and toys, and her mother, but Hera's not dumb. It's a cage. Hera grows up in the brig, her mother telling her stories about humans and Cylons and God, and how exactly she met Hera's father. The stories about her father are Hera's favourite of all. Hera sees her father once a day. As soon as he walks through the door, he always picks her up and spins her around in circles until she's laughing so hard she hiccups. He tells her she's growing up beautiful like her mother, and he smiles as he says it. Afterwards, her mother and father talk quietly, watching while Hera plays or draws. He's always sad when he has to go back to the outside of the cage. Sometimes, after her father leaves, her mother cries and cries. Sometimes she stares at the wall, her face blank and hard. And sometimes she tells Hera stories about humans and how the Cylons – Cylons just like Hera – almost killed them all. "And one day," she whispers, "you and I will finish the job." Then she smiles, the secret smile that means that Hera's not to tell any one else about this story. Hera smiles back. "But not daddy." "No," her mother says gently. Her eyes go soft, like she's looking at something really far away. She always looks like that when she's talking about daddy, or thinking about him. "Not your father. We'll save him." Hera can't wait for that day. Because whatever's outside, it must be bad, bad, if her daddy is so sad to go back every day. She loves him, and she wants to save him. 5 - Once upon a time, Hera was a little girl called Isis. She was picked up, cradled, cuddled, loved. Her mother sang to her, kissed her forehead, and told her she was the most beautiful baby in the world. And then the Cylons came. Isis's mother died, and Laura took Isis, handed her to Kara. Kara took her to a Raptor, a Raptor Galen had kept working, and they flew and flew until they found the Galactica. Hera doesn't remember any of this, but she's been told the story many times by many people. She knows all about Kara barely making the landing, the Raptor half-destroyed by Cylon weapons. Cally's told her about everyone stumbling out of the smoke-filled Raptor, gasping for air, and how Isis – Hera – had been so good, so quiet, while they flew. She's heard about Admiral Adama telling the truth to Hera's parents – how the baby is theirs, hidden away for safety. Now, Hera is eight years old, and she isn't Isis any more. She's Hera, and she lives with her mother – a Cylon, but not like the bad ones – and her father, the XO of the Galactica. "Hi, sweetheart," her father says, when he finds her lurking around the corner of the door to the CIC. This is where her father works. She's not supposed to be here, but it's quiet today, and nobody minds. "What is it?" It's nothing. She's just bored. Kara is gone, outside, flying a Viper and keeping patrol. Galen is working, and Cally's new baby is sleeping. "Lonely," she says. "Where's your mother?" "Can't find her." Her father sighs. Hera's mother is like this sometimes. Most days, she smiles and sings and teaches Hera about flying and the Galactica and God. She tells stories – like the story about how, even before Hera was born, she saved President Laura from dying. Hera wishes she could remember Laura. They play together, and visit with Galen, or Cally, or Kara. Sometimes they even go to the Pegasus, which is big like the Galactica, but not as old. But there are days when Hera's mother hides away from everyone. She goes quiet, she hides away, and when she comes back, she's sad, or angry. Today is one of those days. Hera's been looking for her mother for hours, checking the small spaces she can remember. Her father smiles at her, and holds out his hand. "Come on. Let's go see if we can find her together." Hera grins. This is exactly what she wanted. Hera's mother can't hide from both of them. After a day like today, Hera sometimes listens to her parents talking, late into the night. Her mother talks about sun, and planets, and always running. Her father tells her its not safe, it never will be. It's no different today. They find her mother, they eat dinner, and then Hera is sent to bed. She lies as quietly as possible, behind a half-closed door, and listens to her parents. They talk and talk, it feels like for hours. But after a long time, they stop talking, and Hera knows what that means. They've fallen asleep, leaning against each other. They're probably still in their daytime clothes. Sometimes, after they've fallen asleep, Hera moves quietly until she's standing in front of them, watching them sleep. She wonders what it would be like if she was still Isis, down on the planet that the Cylons took away from her, from Kara, from Galen and Cally and their babies. Once upon a time, baby Isis had sunshine, and trees and weather. These are all things that Hera's never seen except in pictures. But baby Isis didn't have this, a mother and father curled up around each other. And Hera thinks Isis must have been very, very sad. |
| Characters:
Hera, Sharon, Helo, Starbuck, Tyrol, Baltar, Roslin Rating: PG Summary: How might Hera grow up? AU snapshots. Notes: Spoilers for up to 2.20. Title from a quote by EM Forster. |