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You’re already moving when the hatch pops open. Armed with a first aid kit, a compact fire extinguisher and a small plasma torch, you wrench the cockpit open and squeeze through the connection with a controlled, but desperate speed. A moment of disorienting nausea passes before you right yourself and think “sideways” as you slither into Gully’s cockpit.
But you stop, momentarily taken aback by the sight that greets you. “What the heck?”
The interior of the Caprica is spacious, as one might expect of a PUEXO originally designed for space. Not enough for two, but plenty of wiggle room for your unique entrance. Most of the systems are the same, down to the orientation of the pedals and the joystick. There are, of course, generational idiosyncrasies unique to each PUEXO-class, but you can see yourself easily piloting this without too much trouble.
Gully herself is slumped against the side of her chair, unresponsive and dead to the world. There doesn’t seem to be too much blood, and you can hear the faint sound of her breathing. A brief inspection reveals no broken limbs or other visual injuries. Same as you, she took a bad hit on the way down.
What’s stopped you are the photos that line the cockpit. Instant photos of places, people, objects and things, all placed in areas that wouldn’t otherwise obstruct or hinder Gully’s controls or monitors. You couldn’t count them all, but you estimate that there’s at least a dozen…no, two dozen photos placed all over the place.
You spot a younger version of Captain Elishani and Lt. Commander Geary, twenty years younger and arm-in-arm, smiling in the uniforms of the Megiddan Empire Navy. Here’s another of the Caprica out of the water, arraigned in drydock and swarming with mechanics. A small tabby cat picks food out of a child’s hand, and a fish swims just outside of the glass of a PUEXO viewport. Photos of crewmembers, photos of PUEXO pilots…some candid, others taken without subterfuge or surprise.
These photos run the gamut from being years old, to being recent, as fresh as a week old. You have to squint to read them, but there are dates and accompanying text on the underside of each one of them. Interestingly enough, for all of the photos, Gully herself isn’t a subject in one of them.
No, you correct yourself, up towards the hatch. There’s a photo of a younger Gully, maybe a few years younger, standing alongside her father in front of the Caprica. The certificate in her hands marks her as a fresh and official PUEXO Pilot of Babylonia. Her face is neutral, but the captain sports a rare, proud smile.
“…you picked one hell of a spot for a photo collage,” you mutter, tearing your eyes away from the sight, then towards the unconscious pilot. You reach your arm, grab her by the shoulder, and shake her. “Gully. Gully, it’s me, Sinleq. Wake up!”
She stirs, groaning. You shake her harder, and this time, you get a more coherent response: “…daddy?”
(cont.)
