Title: Bright Eyes
Author: chaos_eternus
Word Count: 622
Date: 08/11/04
Rating: T
Category: Ansgt
Warnings: Well... angst
Summary: Adama is forced to reflect as the Children of the Orphan Ship stage a concert
Spoilers/Disclaimers: Not much unless you havent seen the mini...
For the record: I do not own, nor do I claim ownership of characters or concepts from Battlestar Galactica
Adama smiled wearily, chuckling at the few gaudy hand-made decorations as he was lead into the small amphitheatre, here aboard the luxury liner Swiftsure.
Today they were going to have a concert, for the first time since the destruction of the Colonies.
Appropriate really that it was aboard the one ship where children outnumbered the adults five to one, for Swiftsure had been chartered for a school outing when the cylons attacked and now she was home to the bulk of the unclaimed children, the waifs, strays and in far too many cases, children whose parents had given up on their own survival so their children could have a chance a life.
These children were their future, their hope.
For it was they who would be responsible for the first generation on a new world.
Adama sighed, schooling his face carefully. It would not be good to let his pessimism show, too many people watched him, looked to him for guidance, if they just got a hint that he knew Earth did not exist, there would be trouble.
The noise level dropped and Adama quickly settled into his seat as the lights dimmed, the show about to start.
Quickly, in ragged lines they walked into position on the small stage.
The Orphan Choir, a full 132 children made up this choir, all of them orphaned by the cylons, the youngest on stage was five, the oldest about fourteen, any older teenagers had already been conscripted into work of some form or another, they had no choice. They were still bright and agile enough to learn the vital trades of the refugee fleet with ease, becoming engineers, fitters, crew, pilots and warriors at accelerated rates.
And the survivors needed the next generation trained now, before the last died off, their knowledge lost to the fleet.
Adama grimaced, his mind was wondering again. He needed more sleep. He knew he wouldn't get it though.
A slow, mournful tune sounded and Adama straightened. His full concentration on the children in front of him as they began to sing.
“Is it a kind of dream floating out on the tide?
Following the river of death downstream
Oh is it a dream?”
Adama sighed in quiet, contemplative bliss, tears unashamedly rolling down his cheeks as the words flowed over him, quiet mournful yet in perfect chorus, an angelic sound as the young voices formed the words.
“There's a fog along the horizon
A strange glow in the dark
And nobody seems to know where you go
And what does it mean?
Oh oh, is it a dream?”
Adama smiled the first genuine smile in months as he heard the genuine longing in the children's voices. He wished he could go up to them, explain to them it was a dream, and that they would wake up soon and it would be all as they remembered.
But he couldn't.
So he smiled, because they felt.
So many of the adults just went through the motions, shattered by the destruction of all they knew.
These children didn't, they still felt, still yearned, still held emotions within their hearts other than apathy.
He smiled because it brought him hope.
“Bright eyes
Burning like fire
Bright eyes
How can you close and fail?
How can a light that burned so brightly
Suddenly burn so pale?
Bright eyes”
Bright eyes…
Adama sobbed, the words tearing through him.
The colonies, they were bright eyes, the jewels of the colonials.
What had killed them?
How had their light been extinguished?
How had their eyes been closed?
What had caused these children to sing so mournfully, so heartrendingly when they should be bright, happy free?
Where had their parents failed them?