A Battlestar Galactica/Babylon 5 Crossover.

Note: As should be obvious, but starts getting more obvious soon, this story is a fusion of the two, and therefore goes AU to both. (though this saga does start after Taking a Break... and right before B5:Chrysalis). However, the Cylons/the Five, and Earth are all quite different to BSG canon.


Previous Part
Part One

In this longish part, Sinclair sees the Fleet and meets Roslin and Co and delivers the bad news.




Sinclair sat in the back, next to Garibaldi, with Anders across from him, and Gaeta at the station in the back, while Costanza was in the pilot's seat.

As they lifted off and headed for the bay doors, he asked Anders, "You and Captain Thrace?"

Anders blushed and his gaze flicked away before returning, as he attempted a casual shrug. "We're married."

"Married?" Garibaldi demanded incredulously. "You left your wife as a hostage?"

Anders snorted. "Kara can take care of herself."

Gaeta made a noise of agreement in the back, which sounded a bit hostile to Sinclair, but he didn't ask about it, just filed it away.

"Are we ready?" Costanza asked. "We're clear."

"You have the coordinates, Hotdog, we're go," Gaeta confirmed.

"May I?" Sinclair asked eagerly, gesturing to the empty co-pilot's seat. "I won't touch anything, I just want to watch."

Garibaldi chuckled and rolled his eyes.

"Sure," Anders answered.

Sinclair moved up to the front. The Raptor's bubble window of the cockpit had a great view of his station and a few of the ships surrounding it.

"Strap in, sir," Hotdog suggested, and Sinclair reached for the straps. As soon as he was buckled in, Hotdog announced, "We are go for jump. Ready... jump."

There was a moment's disorientation and a bright light washing through the cockpit, then there were different stars through the cockpit window.

Sinclair stared, knowing at once that they'd shifted location far enough to change the starfield. In seconds. Without a trip in hyperspace.

"That is amazing," he explained. "How the hell do you do that without entering hyperspace?"

Hotdog chuckled. "I'm a pilot, sir. Lieutenant Gaeta could explain, maybe, but not me." Then the speaker crackled.

"Raptor, Showboat. Identify yourself."

Hotdog flicked a switch and answered, using obvious codes, "Showboat, Hotdog. Condition green. Status C-Bucs rule. Galactica, request landing clearance with two VIPs from the station."

A second male voice growled with authority, "Hotdog, Galactica Actual. Confirm two passengers."

"Sir, yes, sir. Confirmed, Commander of the station is aboard, seeks landing and meeting with command staff and President Roslin."

A different male voice answered, "Understood. Hotdog, you're cleared for landing."

The Raptor changed heading, and the fleet came into view. He caught himself leaning forward, trying to get a better view of the ships spread out against the glow of stars. There were many -- some industrial and blocky, some more obviously for passengers, and one hugely delicate-looking one with a spinning wheel.

It occurred to him that he was looking at the remnants of a once thriving world, and exactly what would have happened to Earth if the Minbari hadn't stopped a dozen years ago.

Anders hadn't been specific about what had attacked the colonies, but Sinclair knew one of his missions here was to find out who. To reduce an advanced world to this, their enemies had to be advanced as well, and they obviously posed a danger to Earth Alliance as well.

But then he frowned, recalling that the Colonies had been well within Vorlon space. The Vorlons had either done it themselves or allowed it to happen, since he doubted anything this significant happened in their territory happened without their knowledge.

The ship turned again, lining up on a ship that appeared to be much larger than the rest.

It was at least the size of a destroyer. He frowned seeing it, now doubting that the attack had been that much of a surprise. No one built a warship like this unless they had enemies already.

"There she is," Hotdog pointed to the ship, with a smile. "Galactica."

"Impressive," Sinclair responded, and meant it. He could see small fighter craft buzzing around it, as their ship cruised nearer, and battle damage in charred armor plates and long grooves in the hull.

The small Raptor headed toward the open landing bay and came to a neat landing in the cavernous space. Then the ship slowly lowered on a lift, through an airlock, and into a matching huge flight deck.

There were more Raptors parked, some undergoing maintenance, and farther off were the smaller fighter craft, which looked not too different from his own Starfuries, if configured more like an atmospheric Thunderbolt.

His fingers itched with the desire to fly one, until he wanted to laugh at himself. Diplomatic face, Jeff. No matter how much fun they look. Maybe they'd let him sit in one, at least.

Then he spied the growing crowd waiting outside on the deck - blue and black uniforms, and orange-jumpsuited deck crew - and knew he had no choice but put on his diplomat face.

"You ready, Commander?" Anders asked.

Sinclair unfastened his harness and stood. "Ready."

Gaeta was the first up and he opened the main hatch and went down to the floor. Anders followed, with Sinclair and Garibaldi after. At the open doorway, Garibaldi muttered, "That's a lot of guns. Not very trusting, are they?"

Sinclair didn't answer, just walked down the ramp careful of his footing, but Garibaldi had a point. There were people in black, with big guns and armored vests, guarding the officers in blue. He found it curious that their duty uniforms were blue, too.

One of the older officers had glasses and the other had a patch on one eye -- these people could jump through hyperspace in a ship the size of a shuttlecraft and yet still wore eyeglasses? It was an interesting choice of technological priorities.

Anders led the way directly to the senior officers. "Admiral Adama, Colonel Tigh, of the Battlestar Galactica. This is Commander Jeffrey Sinclair and Chief Michael Garibaldi of the Earth Station Babylon 5."

Adama put out his hand first, and Sinclair grasped it to shake it once. "Earth," Adama repeated in his gravelly voice. "You can't know how much it means to us to hear that word, Commander Sinclair. Welcome aboard."

"Thank you, Admiral. You and your people have my condolences for the losses you've suffered."

Adama nodded, and addressed Anders, "Starbuck?"

Anders explained, "She and Barolay remained on the station, until we return with the commander and Chief Garibaldi."

Garibaldi explained, "A little insurance. We've had experience with people who aren't what they claim to be."

Adama and Tigh exchanged a glance, layered with something, then the admiral addressed Anders, "President Roslin would like to speak with you and get your debrief before meeting with our new guests."

Anders nodded and said to Sinclair, "I'll see you later, I'm sure. You're in good hands."

"I'll make sure to tell your president how well you represented your people," Sinclair returned. "I wouldn't be here without you."

Anders flashed a quick smile. "Thanks." He headed out of the docking bay, and Gaeta and Costanza followed him after a gesture from Adama.

Sinclair hoisted his bag to his shoulder. "We could use a place to change out of our flightsuits."

"Certainly," Adama agreed. "This way." On the walk, he said, "I apologize for the limited reception. We're trying to keep this discovery quiet for now. The fleet's suffered disappointment in the past."

"I'm happier with limited formality, Admiral. Protocol can get in the way of conversation." He looked around curiously as they left the bay and entered a much narrower corridor. "What do you call those small craft near the Raptors? The ones with the single pilot seats?" he asked.

"Vipers. Why?"

Sinclair gave a little shrug. "Just curious. I used to be a pilot of a somewhat similar craft."

Garibaldi snorted, "'Used to be'? Commander, if you don't get in a Starfury once a week at least, you get cranky."

"Old habits die hard," he observed to Adama wryly, but not contending Garibaldi's statement.

"Took me years to let my pilots go, when I wanted to go out there with them," Adama agreed. He turned at a hatch, and ushered Sinclair and Garibaldi into the room. "I'll leave Captain Agathon outside," he said, indicating the taller, younger man at his other side, "to escort you to the conference room when it's time. Feel free to take advantage of the facilities."

They exchanged polite formalities and Sinclair and Garibaldi went inside. It was a small, bare cabin with a cots built into the side walls, a desk between them, and sink near the hatch.

When the hatch closed behind them, Garibaldi automatically tried to open it. He found out it wasn't locked but there were guards outside.

"Yes?" Agathon asked.

"Nothing, just checking," Garibaldi said and shut the hatch again.

Sinclair put his bag on the table and looked around. There was a telephone on the wall above the desk, tied in by an electrical cord. He only recognized it because he'd seen one in the museum of technology.

"What do you think?" he asked Garibaldi.

"I have no idea who their enemy is, which is a problem, but they're acting like they still expect to be attacked. It makes me nervous," Michael said, starting to undo the fasteners on his flight suit. "If they pull us into their war..."

Which was all too possible, if the race who had attacked them were still around, Sinclair realized. He was going to have to get a lot more information on the enemy, if they were a current, instead of a past, threat to this fleet as well as Earth Alliance. "And yet, what choice do we have?" Sinclair countered. "They're human. They're refugees. We have to offer them settlement."

Garibaldi chuckled. "Not if Londo gets to them first with an offer from their long-lost cousins of the Great Centauri Empire."

Shaking his head, Sinclair finished changing into his uniform and they waited for the meeting to start.

* * *

Sam entered the conference room where Roslin and Tory were already waiting. Adama and Tigh followed with Gaeta and Costanza, and Apollo came at their heels.

Sam tried not to glare at Lee, reminding himself that Lee hadn't acted alone, and if he wasn't holding it against Kara, it wasn't fair to hold it against Lee either. But it still rankled -- even if she'd offered, Lee hadn't had to accept.

Luckily Roslin's enthusiasm meant he didn't have to greet Apollo, as she came toward him with a wid smile. "You did it! Beyond my wildest expectations, Sam -- you brought the station commander here, ready to negotiate with us. It's a dream come true. Sit down, and tell us all about what you saw. Everything."

He took a chair and started, with Gaeta and Hotdog chiming in, telling everything they'd seen and everyone they talked to. He didn't sugar-coat the revelation that there was a big, scary galaxy out there, full of aliens, including one race who had apparently been shielding them for quite a long time.

Roslin's excitement faded and she grew more thoughtful. "Vorlons. And you saw one of these?"

"No, only a picture of its suit. The computer claimed no one had ever seen one. They're very secretive. And kind of creepy," he added. "The commander can talk about them more, I'm sure. But I suspect the Vorlons brought us from Earth to Kobol."

"Are you saying the Vorlons were Lords of Kobol?" Roslin asked, leaning forward and frowning at him.

He knew how important her faith was to her, but decided he had to be honest. He nodded, "Very possibly, yes. They sound very advanced - and they're definitely far more powerful than us. And, the fact is, they've kept us deep inside their territory, isolated from the rest of the galaxy for thousands of years."

"Why?" Lee asked.

Sam bit his tongue on a sarcastic answer and shrugged. "No idea."

"Keeping us safe maybe?" Costanza suggested. "To have a colony of humans somewhere other than Earth, in case something happened there?"

"Lab rats," Gaeta said, less optimistically. "They certainly don't seem to care about us all that much. They let Kobol and the Colonies both be destroyed, while we wander around with the Cylons on our tails."

"The algae planet's star went nova for no particular reason," Sam reminded them. "It wasn't that old. Maybe that was their doing."

Silence fell after that, and Roslin exchanged a disturbed glance with Adama. "They can make a star explode? Strange, I felt it was a miracle of the gods, and yet it unnerves me to think of any beings having that sort of power at their disposal. But," she drew a deep breath, "we're out of it now, so I guess it doesn't matter anymore. Back to the issue at hand: Earth. Let's run a simple test and see if our visitors have seen Cylons before. Bring in Lieutenant Agathon, and let's see how they react."

Adama nodded. "Mister Gaeta, call Athena here."

While he did that, Roslin addressed Sam again, "And the commander? What are your impressions?"

"He volunteered to come here," Sam said, "which I didn't expect. He was honest with me. We weren't there that long, but my impression of the station was that it seemed busy and prosperous."

She exchanged a glance with Adama, who nodded thoughtfully and said, "He's a risk-taker, a pilot. He keeps current on their version of the Viper from what he told me. He's not a bureaucrat."

"I'm sure we'll have to deal with them eventually," Roslin said, "but for now that should help us. I think we're ready."

Adama nodded to Gaeta to send the word to Helo.

***

With Garibaldi at his heels, Sinclair followed Captain Agathon through the guarded corridors. This ship was an odd mixture of technologically primitive and advanced, and it all looked worn, with paint peeling from signage and deep scratches on the bulkheads.

It was unsettling to realize their signage was readable, in the Latin alphabet in Standard. He hadn't considered the fact that they spoke Standard all that strange, but seeing it written with only a few stylistic and spelling changes made him realize how impossible it should be. Either these people hadn't been away from Earth as long as they claimed, or someone had tampered with their language and culture a lot more than they believed.

Which added up to the Vorlons, either way. But why the hell would the Vorlons care about the Colonies being able to talk to Earth at all?

They entered a narrower, but less travelled corridor and he was not at all surprised to see 'Commander Quarters' on the placard beside the hatch, or the two marines guarding it.

"Sir," they greeted Agathon and then one spun the wheel and pushed it open. "You can go right in."

"This way," Agathon gestured and stepped aside.

The room on the other side of the hatch had a few new people in it. He recognized Anders, the Admiral, and Tigh. They'd added a younger man in uniform, and a few women civilians. He presumed the older one with the business suit was President Roslin. His theory was confirmed when she approached beside the Admiral, smiling.

"Commander, this is the President of the Twelve Colonies, Laura Roslin," Adama introduced.

"Jeffrey Sinclair," Sinclair introduced himself and held out a hand. She took it, and then held his hand between both hers.

"Commander," she looked into his face warmly. "It's... a miracle that we came across your station. Thank you very much for agreeing to meet with us. It means a great deal to me and the Fleet."

"Of course. As I told Mister Anders, I'm here to see what I can facilitate for your resettlement. This is our station security Chief Michael Garibaldi."

She shook his hand and then introduced, "My aide, Tory Foster."

"Ms Foster."

She was more reserved than Roslin, but still smiled eagerly. "You're actually from Earth?"

"Not from there, no. But I did attend school and flight training there. It's real, I assure you," he told her with an understanding smile.

The admiral next introduced the handome young officer with the bright blue eyes, "The CAG, and my son, Major Lee Adama." Sinclair shook hands with him.

"Commander, it's an honor," he said.

"Always a pleasure to meet a fellow pilot, Major," Sinclair said. "I look forward to getting a chance to look at your birds."

"I'd be happy to show you, sir. We have simulators as well, if you'd like to see how they fly," Lee offered.

"You'll never get him out," Garibaldi warned, and the pilots and former pilots chuckled.

"There's another you should meet," Roslin directed Sinclair's attention to the young woman officer standing nearby.

"Lieutenant Sharon Agathon," Admiral Adama introduced.

There was something in the room suddenly - the admiral was so very stolid, but it was as if everyone was holding their breath. Sinclair wondered what it was. Because she was of Asian descent? He hadn't seen any others on the ship so far, so perhaps it was unusual in the Colonies. He held out his hand to shake hers. "Lieutenant." Then he thought it might be simpler than that, and glanced at Captain Agathon then to her. "Agathon?" he repeated quizzically.

"My husband," she answered with a brief smile.

"Ah. I see." He thought about Catherine and hoped she'd be back soon. "You're very lucky to work together."

"Yes, we are," she agreed, with a little more weight to her words than he understood.

He bet it was only because of the extraordinary and tragic circumstance they all found themselves in that it was allowed at all - husband-wife and father-son serving on the same ship was not permitted in EarthForce and he presumed the same here. It was another glimpse of what their lives had become, after their homeworld had been destroyed, sending them on the run.

Searching for something to break the ice, Sinclair went to the decorations on the desk. It was an odd mish-mash of cultural artifacts - all human but from all over Earth. On the wall was a large painting, surely of significance to the Admiral -- a depiction of the aftermath of a battle, with soldiers on the field, a ruined building, and flags flapping in the wind above it all. He took a step closer, frowning, realizing that not all the helmets were the same -- there was one in prominence on top of the rock, with a different heavier helmet with eye slits, and that death seemed to be coded as symbolic with a large spear or bayonet through the body.

He nodded to himself. That was their enemy -- the one that had caused this war ship to be built, and the one who had destroyed their world. He'd bet real money on it, except Garibaldi knew better than to bet against a sure thing. Now to wait until they told him about it.

He turned back toward the gathering. "You have very interesting things, Admiral. Some of these," he gestured to some of his decorative pieces and the book ends, "look as though they could come from Earth."

"They come from the Colonies," Adama said, a little stiffly.

"Oh, I believe you," Sinclair reassured him. "But this kind of cultural cross-pollination can't happen in a vacuum. You were isolated from Earth, but it seems not entirely."

"Sam mentioned them -- these beings called Vorlons?" Roslin said, and looked troubled. "But please, have a seat," Roslin invited, gesturing to the long table. "We have some refreshments. I had hoped for us to talk about where we go from here."

He took a seat with Garibaldi on his right and Anders to his left, Roslin directly across from him, with the Adamas to one side of her, the colonel and Foster on the other, and the Agathons split up, so Helo was next to Garibaldi and Sharon was on Anders' other side.

A young man came through to pour drinks as another steward brought in crackers and deposited an apple, cut into tiny slices and presented in a flower formation, with a flourish.

That was all the food they brought. The group passed the snacks around the table. Anders took one apple slice but put it on Sharon's plate, saying, "I ate on the station. Give my piece to Hera."

She glanced at him, smiling, and touched his hand in gratitude.

Sinclair watched, nibbled on his cracker and tasted pressed algae. These people had no food. That was certainly something he could help with -- even if Earth Alliance declined immediate aid, he could speak to Brother Theo on the station about getting together a relief operation.

He took the tiniest slice of apple he could for politeness' sake, and passed the plate to Garibaldi, who passed it to Tigh without taking any.

"Where we go from here..." Sinclair said to draw attention away from their meager offerings, not wanting to embarrass them. "Well, first, you should know I do not have final authority regarding your resettlement; I'm only a preliminary negotiator to gather information. Approval will have to come directly from the Earth Alliance President Luis Santiago."

"I understand," Roslin said. "What can we do to speed the process up? Our people have been on these ships seeking a new world for almost three years now."

"You have my sympathies," Sinclair told her, "both for that and the loss of your homeworlds. We came close to that ourselves, and so I can imagine the horror... a little too well." He blinked back the memories of the Line, not wanting to get stuck there again. "But to answer your question -- normally, you might have to wait quite awhile for Earthdome's attention. But luckily you have something that will help you immensely." He leaned back in his chair to explain to the whole table, "Your technology appears to have developed along a different path from ours. Being able to jump to hypersparce in a ship as small as your Raptor is unknown to our region of the galaxy. That, without any overstatement, is a very valuable commodity to everyone, not just Earth Alliance."

Shrewdly she looked at him for a moment, without speaking, then said, "I'm surprised you would tell us the value, and not make our gift of them a requirement of settlement."

"That may yet happen," he pointed out, "I'm a station commander, not a policy maker. But I'd prefer you negotiate knowing the truth. However," he sipped on his drink remembering Death Walker's intent to make eternal life into a feeding frenzy, "its value also means that other people, not Earth humans, are going to be interested in it. They'll want it for themselves and they won't want their enemies to have it. You may receive some extravagant offers for your people, in exchange for your jump drives."

Garibaldi snorted. "'May'? C'mon, remember how Alisa was offered wealth for life? And that was one telepath. The Narn will probably offer you a planet of gold for a way to get their Frazi-class fighters able to jump themselves."

"I would advise you look very closely at all the offers," Sinclair told them, dryly, "and the people making them."

"We're only interested in Earth," Roslin said.

Sinclair exchanged a glance with Garibaldi and then decided to give them the bad news. "Yes, well, that may not be possible. Earth is a very overcrowded place, and a single settlement of over 40,000 people is not going to happen there. You'll most likely have to be dispersed. Some perhaps to Earth, but there are also numerous Earth Alliance colonies looking for settlers. And I should mention there's a possibility none of you will be able to settle on Earth."

"Even with our jump drives?" Adama asked.

Sinclair was about to answer, but Roslin held up a hand. "Wait. None at all? I can understand why overcrowding would prevent all of us, but why none?"

"This is merely my own speculation," Sinclair cautioned. Roslin nodded her understanding, and he went on, "Twelve years ago, the Minbari-- another space-faring race - attacked Earth. They came very close to annihilating Earth itself, and killed thousands of people in the war. This experience has made many on Earth wary about not just Minbari, but any alien races."

"But we're human, not alien," Sam objected.

"You're a lost colony buried within the Vorlon empire. And anyone who knows anything about Vorlons finds that downright bizarre at best, and suspicious at worst. People go into Vorlon space and they don't come out. Ever. Except for you. That's going to worry people, and fearful people aren't the most rational."

"Oh, we know that," Captain Agathon said with wry, almost bitter understanding. "We definitely know that."

"Perhaps I'm overstating," Sinclair said, though he didn't think he was. Earth had turned more xenophobic since the Earth-Minbari war, and Narn expansionism had made it worse. Add Mars unrest and Santiago's platform moving more isolationist in the last election, and it wasn't a great time to try moving forty thousand new human refugees anywhere near Earth. "But so you understand that some of your human cousins aren't going to be embracing your arrival with open arms. You may seem... well, tainted by association, even if you're all human."

"So what are these Vorlons?" Foster asked. "Sam mentioned them but didn't know a lot."

"Nobody knows a lot," he answered. "They're very private. Mysterious. But very powerful. They act a bit like the shepherds of the younger races."

"When they're not being vague on purpose," Garibaldi added. "Personally, I think they enjoy being cryptic, so they can feel superior. The fact that they are superior is just annoying icing on the irritating cake."

Sinclair chuckled. "Kosh isn't that bad."

"Only you would think that, Commander," Garibaldi retorted.

Sinclair let htat be and went on, explaining, "They wear encounter suits, supposedly because they use a different atmosphere. Their ships are organic technology, far in advance of anything Earth Alliance can do."

They all twitched at that, and Roslin exchanged an uneasy glance with Adama and then at Lieutenant Agathon, who frowned.

He felt Garibaldi shift next to him, and knew he'd seen it, too. So Sinclair started probing, "You've encountered Vorlons, after all?"

"Organic technology is something we've run into before," Adama said, with a reproving glare at his officers to keep them quiet.

Next to Sinclair, Anders stirred to object, "Admiral -- "

"Not now," Roslin said. Then with a transparent effort to get him and Garibaldi out of there, she said with a forced smile, "I'm sure you'd like to take a look at the Galactica. Meanwhile I can have Tory get you the breakdown of our population, since I'm sure you'll need those."

She stood up, leaving everyone else no choice but stand, too.

"Helo," the admiral addressed Captain Agathon, "Escort our guests on a tour of the ship. The commander expressed an interest in our Vipers, make sure he gets to see one up close."

After a few polite expressions of meeting again later, Sinclair and Garibaldi followed Agathon out, and Sinclair hoped they decided to tell him the rest.






Part Seven here
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