Musings

It’s not enough to survive, you have to be worthy of survival…..Laura stared at the words she’d just written on the pad in front of her. Survival. That seemed to be all they’d been focused on for so long, every action, reaction…goal, all centered around surviving the next moment, hour, and day. With a sigh, she dropped the pen next to the pad and stared at the words again.

Be worthy of survival…

What made this group of humans the ones that were worthy of survival…what tempestuous hand of fate had let the Astral Queen survive, when hundreds of ships with families…children had been left behind, destroyed only because they hadn’t had a functioning FTL drive. She shook her head. She hadn’t even really realized what a valuable resource a functioning FTL drive had been, until the attacks…she’d believed FTL drives either a luxury so that one could get from one place to another faster, or a necessary evil, when business required a quicker transport.

“So.” She murmured to herself. “What makes one worthy of survival?” Was it the contributions they could make to the society as a whole? Or was it enough to be able to contribute to an individual, to be part of the society as a whole. Good deeds, or actions that would be misconstrued as cold and heartless, while in actuality were required to further their voyage, their quest for a new home…

When she’d taken Hera and hidden her…she knew it wasn’t a good solution…it was instead a solution that would most likely come back to haunt her. However, with all the lives she’d been responsible for losing, this was one she should lose, but couldn’t. She could save her, and give her the chance that the rest of them didn’t have. She was more than a hybrid infant, the first of her kind, and as far as Laura knew, the only of her kind. She was an innocent child. How many times had Laura fought for the children that others wanted to write off as hopeless, due to their surroundings. She’d believed children were children, and needed love, and nurturing…and support. Not to be condemned or praised merely because of where they lived, or who their parents were. Hera would be watched, she and Cottle would have made sure of it, as well as Tory, who’s sometimes blind devotion to Laura had been at times almost overwhelming, but now seemed to be waning.

So, Hera would have been watched, and the parents she’d chosen, she’d chosen with great care, she would have been loved, as if she’d been their own birthchild. Yes, she regretted what she’d had to do to Helo, and even to an extent, the Cylon. More so now that she realized how close Sharon and Bill had become…both of them feeling lost and outcast…she let out a soft ironic chuckle. Much as she had felt as well. The feelings making strange choices of companions for all of them. While she knew she’d never feel completely comfortable with Sharon, she remembered seeing the other incarnation, Boomer, before she’d shot Bill, and being slightly envious of the exuberance and life she’d exuded.

After Bill had been shot, well…she stood and crossed to the small cart that held a pitcher of water and poured some for herself, sipping as she gazed across the room unseeingly. After Bill had been shot, she really didn’t have many memories…recollections of surviving an attack, seeing Bill unconscious and feeling as though half of herself had been pulled out…and not understanding that at all, until later. Then when Helo and Starbuck had returned with Sharon. She shuddered slightly, remembering the altercation and her almost gleeful vindication in being able to airlock the thing that had shot Bill…but she hadn’t. And Sharon had been pregnant. And Hera had saved her life. “All this has happened before…” she murmured, moving toward the desk and changing her mind halfway there, sinking down instead into one of the leather sectionals and tucking her legs up underneath her.

So, she’d been saved by the child of the Cylon she’d almost airlocked. Irony. But, for the same reason that the details of the treatment that had saved her had been kept secret…and for the life of her, she couldn’t imagine why Baltar and Zarek hadn’t laid that little bomb at the people’s feet, a President with Cylon blood in her? She snorted softly. The people wouldn’t have been able to vote her out fast enough. And she was sure they wouldn’t have stopped there, she would have been lucky to survive, even with the security and safety that Bill would have given her on Galactica.

But for that same reason, they would have come after Hera. The mayhem and fear and hatred that had been outright when it was discovered that Sharon was pregnant was proof enough. Hera wouldn’t have survived, and if she had, it would have been in a cell. And once the Cylons would have found out she’d been born, they would have come after them, after the child, with a vengeance that would have rivaled what she’d survived on New Caprica. And, now, full circle, she was with her parents after all. And indeed, Laura’s fears had been valid.

So. What made one child worthy of survival? What made anyone worthy of survival? Again, what had made this random, ragtag of a fleet, mélange of a people those deemed worthy by the gods to carry on the human race? Absently, she swirled the water in her glass for a long moment before taking a swallow, her eyes moving around the room until they lit upon a picture on the far wall. Standing, she moved to gaze at it, a formal portrait of sorts that the press had insisted upon, of herself, the President, and Bill, the Admiral. Reaching up, she touched the glass, tracing around the outlines of their bodies, a smile touching her lips as she heard the hatch open beside her, and Bill stepped in, swinging the hatch back and securing it before he realized she was standing there, the expression in his face bringing her the answer she sought.

What made anyone worthy of survival?

Hope. And, love.