jpdt19 wrote:Ahhhhhh......so the lady in question would be 'Gianne'?
As in....Lee's girlfriend/fiancee back home, who died in canon. The one he panicked and ran from when he heard she was pregnant. Well bugger, that might be an interesting re-union. Assuming she wants to see him again.
Master Arminas, you do so excell at taking these little bits of canon and playing with them.
Play on SIR!!
I cannot take credit for the idea; I had actually forgotten about Gianne and her child completely. On Spacebattles, though, someone asked is there any possibility that she might be among the civilians that Scorpia saved? I liked the idea, so I'm running with it. But it wasn't mine to begin with. Credit where credit due, and all.
“But, Commander,” Doctor Sarris pleaded, “we have to stop at Kobol. We have scientists on board—we can discover the secrets of our past there.”
Mathias shook his head and sighed again. “For the last time, Doctor Sarris—NO; that is a complete non-starter. As Brother Cavil has informed us, Galactica destroyed one Basestar there, so the Cylons already know of the planet. It is perfect for replenishing our supplies with fresh fruits and vegetables and tubers and grains and air and clean water—and that is why we must avoid it.”
“While I do not believe in the superstitions that surrounded Kobol,” Cavil added, “I will note that both Galactica’s fleet and the Cylons paid a heavy cost in blood when they set foot there. Just as the Scrolls predicted. Could it be a coincidence? Yes. But it is all too likely that my brothers and sisters—or the Guardians—are observing that system just in case we or other survivors make our way there.”
“Besides, Doctor,” Mathias continued, “most of your scientists are astrophysicists—not archaeologists. And even if we had archaeologists onboard, we don’t have time for a dig.”
Sarris sighed and he sat back. “I understand,” he said sadly. “I just hate passing it by and not even making the attempt to set foot there.”
“If we are not using Kobol for that way-point, then where?” asked Jayne as they poured over the star charts. Charts that were present only due to Anders risking his life to get the data and his and Brother Cavil’s accessing of it from the Cylon device; it was now marked with systems where they Cylons had outposts, fuel processing stations, refueling points, and military facilities. And there were a great many of those outposts and installations—none large, few exceeded ten or fifteen thousand Cylons, most being far smaller. But there were a great many of them. “We got lucky on our assignment—our route bypassed the areas that the Cylons have explored—and garrison. But to get to Galactica, we are going to have to go through their territory.”
“We will find a way through,” Mathias said. “I’m more worried about why we haven’t seen so much as a single Cylon raider in the past five days,” he continued. “Gods knows it has given us a chance to complete all of our repairs—and Paul’s team is working on extracting the RVs as we speak—but where are they?”
“Could be that your decision to send Father Daniel back has worked—and that they are busy fighting the Guardians,” Cavil offered. “It was a cold decision—but one that I have to agree with. After considering it for a while,” he added with a smirk on his lips. And that was because at first, he had been in shock that someone had dared to kill Father Daniel. And he looked at Sam, and smiled. “Too bad, you couldn’t have gotten a Nav Computer—we could plot this in just a dozen FTL jumps.”
For Sam Anders, the reaction had been completely different—Mathias was all but certain that given the opportunity, Anders would have killed Daniel himself for what he had done to the original Samuel Anders; to him as he saw it.
Sam thought just nodded. “Too much damage to risk relaying on a Nav Computer exposed to the radiation, and you know it.” Cavil shrugged and then nodded. “As for why we haven’t seen them; frankly I care what the reason is, but if the toasters are killing other toasters, they aren’t trying to kill us,” he said stressing the last word. He had indeed recovered from the radiation poisoning, but Mathias didn’t like the haunted look in his eyes, or the bluish circles of exhaustion under them.
He made a mental note to ask Samantha Caldwell if he could borrow one of her shrinks—and he snorted. The SFM terrorists had two trained, licensed, and board-certified psych doctors working hand-in-glove with them on Charon, and he, the Commander of the Colonial Fleet Battlestar didn’t have even one mental health professional assigned to his ship. No ship did—the Fleet generally kept those specialists on stations or on the ground. And Mathias sighed again—another policy which now bites us square in the ass. But in a way, perhaps it was for the best; because the shrinks available weren’t military, maybe those Fleet personnel who needed counseling wouldn’t be quite as reluctant to go to them—after all, these doctors couldn’t put a red flag in their personnel files and kill their careers. In fact, he thought to himself, I need to see if one of them is willing to transfer aboard. The reality is finally starting to sink in—and some of my people are going to need professional help dealing with the issue real soon.
“We can only hope so, gentlemen,” Mathias said, as he rubbed his eyes. “KV-22734-DC-8 looks like a good candidate for waypoint twenty-four if we cannot—and we cannot—use Kobol. The notes in the Cylon database show it is barren—no water, no tylium, no habitable planets. Any objections?”
No one said anything and Jayne marked it on the charts.
“That completes the first twenty percent of the route to where we know Galactica position was six days ago—and it will take the flotilla at least ten days to traverse this stage alone. We’ve been working on this for six hours, gentlemen—let’s call Stage One done, and get back to this tomorrow after we get a good night’s rest.” Mathias stood and then so did everyone else.
And the klaxons began to blare. “This is the Operations Officer,” the 1MC blared. “Sound General Quarters throughout the ship. Set Condition One in all compartments. Commander report to the CIC.”
Mathias strode into CIC trailed by Colonel Jayne. “Status!” he snapped as he walked across to the central console, glancing up at the DRADIS display which showed ten icons at the very limit of detection range—unmoving icons.
“Multiple unknown contacts have made an FTL jump into this system, Commander,” Major Tyche reported. “I’ve ordered all ships to spin up FTL for a jump to the emergency coordinates—contacts have not made any aggressive moves. No sign of Raiders—so far.”
“Rambler has CAP?” he asked Hope, who nodded affirmative.
The Commander picked up the phone. “Rambler, Scorpia Actual. What do you have?”
“Scorpia Actual, Rambler,” the wireless broadcast. “No jamming, no fighter launches, they aren’t moving,” he paused, “request permission to perform a fly-by.”
By which he meant a visual-range fly-by, Mathias thought. “Negative, Rambler. Hold the CAP at the inner perimeter for now—I might need you to make a combat landing.”
“Copy, Scorpia Actual.”
“Flight?”
“Twelve fighters in the tubes or on plus two,” Hope reported. “Arclight has two Raptors on the flight deck, ready to go.”
“Order him to launch, Digger. If we have to bug-out, the Raptors have our coordinates and we don’t have to wait on them.”
“Flight, CIC, launch the ready Raptors for visual-range pass,” she repeated.
“Captain Danis, hail them—all frequencies.”
“Commander,” Major Tyche reported, “all ships report FTL on-line and ready to jump.”
“Get them moving, Major. Inform Colonel Foeswan that Scorpia will remain behind—he is in command until our arrival.”
“Sir,” Joan Danis said from her console, and her voice was almost breathless, “I am getting a response—and Colonial transponders.”
“Confirm!” snapped Jayne and he left the central console to look over her readings. She looked up at Tom and nodded and then at Mathias. “Confirmed, Commander. They are broadcasting Colonial transponder codes.”
Mathias switched the wireless to the live circuit which Danis had transferred to him. “Unknown vessels, this is the Battlestar Scorpia—identify yourselves immediately or you will be fired upon.”
At first, only static emerged from the speaker; and then it crackled to life and a familiar voice emerged. “Scorpia, Sidewinder,” the speakers broadcast, “are we happy to see you.”
“Sidewinder, Scorpia Actual,” Mathias said into the stunned silence of the CIC. “Authenticate challenge Delta Tau Sigma Two Three Seven.”
Danis nodded even before Jayne snapped his fingers and she opened the challenge book and scrolled down with her finger and laid a straight edge to underline the proper response.
“Scorpia Actual, Sidewinder. Authenticated response is . . . Gold Seven One Four. Repeat, Gold Seven One Four.”
Danis nodded and she smiled; and then Jayne also nodded. Mathias lifted the phone again. “Sidewinder, Scorpia Actual; we confirm your response—hold your current position for a visual fly-by and confirmation.”
“Understood, Scorpia Actual. Will hold position awaiting visual fly-by.”
He looked at Hope and she nodded. “Rambler, Scorpia,” she broadcast. “Confirm with visual range fly-by—Raptors inbound for support.”
“Copy, Scorpia,” the CAG answered.
The seconds ticked off of the clock and then the wireless crackled again. “Scorpia, Rambler. Confirm ten Raptors, say again, ten Raptors—markings and shields indicate Battlestars Galactica and Pegasus, Scorpia.”
And a tremendous shout went up throughout CIC. “Sidewinder, Scorpia Actual,” Mathias broadcast as he felt a tremendous weight lift away from his shoulders. “Welcome home. And bring in your friends for landing. Rambler will escort.”
He racked the phone, and as Tom Jayne walked back over to the center torso the two men grabbed each other’s forearms and clapped each other on the shoulder.
“Tom,” he said, “I want Marines in the hanger bays just in case. If they are who they say they are, I want a Raptor on standby to let the rest of the flotilla know. We will jump when they have been recovered—and their identities confirmed, not before.”
“Aye, aye, Sir. You want to meet them on the hanger deck?”
“I think I do, Colonel,” Mathias replied.
“Aye, aye, Sir. I have the conn,” the XO said as he raised the phone and punched in the Marine barracks.
Onboard Raptor 716, Lee Adama turned to face his command pilot, and through the visor of the helmet that he wore, Sidewinder could see the broad grin on his face. “You know, Kara is never going to let you forget that it was her initial plot that allowed you to make contact on Jump Eight—before we started the search pattern and without needing one drop of that spare tylium.”
“Thanks for reminding me about that,” said Sidewinder in an aggrieved tone. “But you know what, Apollo?”
“What?”
“On this particular occasion, I won’t object if she wants to mock me. I’m actually quite happy that we didn’t need that fuel after all.”
“Oh, she’ll mock you. From now until she enters Perdition’s flames, she’ll mock you—and she will never let you forget this.”
“Thank the gods, I’m stationed on a different Battlestar,” Sidewinder said.
“Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you a question that Colonel Tigh wanted me to broach. Would you be willing to consider a trans-. . .,” Lee smiled as Sidewinder cut him off.
“No. No. Really, but no.”
“Figured, but I had to ask,” laughed Lee. And he sat back in the seat. “The Gods on Mount Olympus, is that a . . .,”
“Mark VI? That’s what we had when we left the colonies two years ago, Apollo.”
“Those are sweet birds, I kind of miss them.”
Sidewinder checked the cabin pressure, and he removed his helmet as Rambler settled down on his wing, and the CAG gave him a thumbs up. He then put his helmet back on, just in time to hear the wireless broadcast.
“Sidewinder, Scorpia. You are cleared for approach and landing on the starboard flight pod; Rambler will escort.”
“Copy Scorpia,” he broadcast, and then he changed channels. “All Raptors, this is Sidewinder. Follow me in—don’t make them shoot at you, people. It would really suck losing someone this late in the game.”
Sidewinder suddenly cursed as the elevator started to descend. Apollo turned to him and stared, but the pilot thumbed his radio. “Flight, Sidewinder. I need to speak with Scorpia Actual immediately.”
“Hold one, Sidewinder,” the wireless replied.
“What’s wrong,” whispered Lee.
“I almost forgot—Athena is a Cylon. It would be good to tell them before we crack the hatch, Apollo. I hate to do it, but she is going to have to surrender her sidearm.”
Lee nodded and he unbuckled his straps. “I’ll handle it,” he said as he moved back.
“Sidewinder, Scorpia Actual,” the wireless in the helmet crackled. “You can’t wait thirty seconds?”
“Sir. We have a Cylon on board—a trusted Cylon," he added very quickly, "who defected to the Galactica’s Fleet and has assisted Admiral Adama. She is the reason we were able to make contact with you—I have a full report prepared for you, but this is something you need to know. Admiral Adama,” he stressed that word again, “would be very upset if she were shot, for example, on the hanger deck.”
Silence hung in the air as the elevator slid into its well and locked into place on the hanger deck. “Are you sure, Sidewinder?”
“Positive, Sir. I will vouch for her.”
“Very well, I am informing the Marines—I’ll signal you when it is okay to open the hatch.”
Sidewinder turned his head. “Keep it buttoned for now, Kaboose!” he yelled as he pulled off his helmet and gloves, placing the later inside the former, and then unstrapped from the pilots seat and worked his back to the troop bay.
Lee already had Sharon’s gun in his own helmet—and she was smiling. “Pay up,” she told Kaboose.
“Man,” the ECO whined as he handed over a fistful of cubits. “I didn’t figure you’d take her weapon, Sidewinder.”
masterarminas wrote:
Lee already had Sharon’s gun in his own helmet—and she was smiling. “Pay up,” she told Kaboose.
“Man,” the ECO whined as he handed over a fistful of cubits. “I didn’t figure you’d take her weapon, Sidewinder.”
Heh. Kaboose should have known better than that... that was a sucker bet.
And I have a feeling that Sharon is going to fit in with Scorpia's crew far better than she ever did with Galactica's. That does leave the issue of Karl to be considered... can't wait to see how that one falls out.
Athena did prove herself to Galactica's pilots, if not to others onboard. I wonder what will happen with Hera, however.
Nitram, slightly high on cough syrup: Do you know you're beautiful?
Me: Nope, that's why I have you around to tell me.
Nitram: You -are- beautiful. Anyone tries to tell you otherwise kill them.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" -- Leonard Nimoy, last Tweet
Sidewinder peered out of the hatch and he saw Commander Lorne speaking to the Marines and to Chief Sinclair; both nodded and began barking quick orders to their people, as well as the line of pilots present; and then Commander Lorne gave the signal to open her up. All ten of the remaining Raptors had already unsealed and their crews had gotten out—Sidewinder could see that some were getting nervous at the delay.
He cracked the hatch open and swung it up. And he stepped down onto the wing and then to the deck, followed by Lee, then Sharon—and thank all the Lords of Kobol, no one reacted—followed by Kaboose.
“Attention on deck!” barked Chief Sinclair, and the pilots, Marines, and deck hands all snapped to attention. Sidewinder walked forward to stand directly in front of Commander Lorne.
“Sir!” he snapped out with a salute, and then he smiled. “They followed my home—can I keep them?”
Mathias snorted and then his face blanked. “Welcome home, Captain Greene. We had a very nice funeral for you and Kaboose—and the others we lost that day,” and a momentary expression of sadness passed over his face. “Who are our guests, Sidewinder?”
“Commander Lorne, may I present Commander Lee Adama, son of Admiral William Adama, and formerly the CAG of Galactica before he was appointed by President Roslin as Commander of the Battlestar Pegasus in the wake of the murder of Admiral Cain,” he said in a loud voice that carried to all the ranks.
Mathias’s lips twitched at the convoluted introduction and he stepped forward and exchanged salutes with Lee.
“Permission to come aboard, Commander?” Lee formally asked.
“Permission granted, Commander,” Mathias answered. And then he held out his hand—which Lee took and then shook.
“I have dispatches for you—personal messages—from Admiral Adama and President Roslin, Commander,” Lee said briskly as they shook and then stood back. “I also have messages from all twelve members of the Quorum, including Vice-President Baltar.”
“Thank you, Commander Adama,” Mathias said. “We will talk about that later,” and he turned his attention to Sharon.
“Commander, may I introduce Lieutenant Sharon Agathon of the Battlestar Galactica.”
“Lieutenant,” he said simply as he returned her salute, and then he noticed her left hand and the single gold band upon her finger. “Agathon? Would that be the Karl Agathon that Sidewinder speaks of being the best ECO in the Fleet?”
“That would my husband, Commander. I left my people because what they did was wrong—and I fell in love in Karl Agathon. And I bore his child.”
Now Mathias’s eyebrow raised in response to that, but he extended his hand and shook hers.
And then he and Sidewinder and Lee walked down the line of the remainder of the pilots and ECOs, each one being introduced and the Commander taking a moment to speak with each of them—if only briefly.
Finally there was only one officer left. “Lieutenant Margaret Edmondson,” Sidewinder said and then he noticed the expression on both of their faces.
Mathias stopped in his tracks and the blood drained from his face; Racetrack’s jaw dropped as well and her eyes grew wide and round.
“Maggie? Little Maggie,” Mathias whispered. “My Gods, the last time I saw you, your father was rather upset at the dress you decided to wear for your freshman dance—your mother thought that you were absolutely gorgeous though, and so did Emily and I. Sara would be so proud of her little girl, all grown up and a Fleet pilot just like her mother was.”
“Uncle Mat?” Racetrack gasped. “I didn’t know you . . . ,” she swayed, and then began to cry. “I thought you were dead! After Mom died from cancer, Dad never said anything about you and Aunt Emily—not after we moved to Caprica. I thought you wanted to go back to Scorpia when Josie was born—leave the Fleet. I never thought . . .,” her voice trailed off.
“Twelve years is a long time—and your father always hated me because of the uniform I wore. I was surprised when Sara married him, as vehement as he was against the Fleet,” Mathias said in a soft voice. “But Sara loved him and he loved her—and they both loved you very much.” His quiet voice got even quieter. “Emily and I shared that love of you with them both, Maggie. We didn’t stay away because of you—we stayed because Alex didn’t want us in your life, after Sara died. And he was your father—more important than an Aunt and Uncle. But we never stopped loving you, girl.”
Racetrack’s face was wet and she nodded. “Did Aunt Emily and Jos- . . .,” but her voice trailed off at the look on Mathias’s face.
And a tear leaked out of the corner of Mathias’s eye. And then Racetrack was in his arms and Mathias Lorne rocked his niece and held her tight.
Lee leaned over and whispered to Sidewinder. “I’ll let you tell him why you cracked down on her in the berthing compartment, Captain Greene. Rank does have its privileges.”
“Gee, thanks, Apollo. And here I thought you had my back,” Sidewinder whispered back.
And Lee laughed. “In this case . . . absolutely not. My father didn’t raise a fool.”
Lee parted the curtains and he looked down at Gianne Val. She was sleeping—she was an angel that he had thought he would never again see. And he walked in and started to sit down in the chair beside her bed—when he saw the crib. The crib that held the incredibly tiny child covered in blankets, her eyes tightly closed as her chest rose and fell as she slept.
My daughter, Lee thought in awe as he stood there. My daughter.
He had no idea of how long he stood there, jusk looking at her, afraid to touch her lest she wake. Until a soft voice made him turn arond. “I thought you were supposed to be dead,” Anne said.
Lee smiled at her; he rushed over and he sat down next to the bed. “I am so sorry for how I reacted, Anne. I, I was surprised, scared, and I had to think,” he tried to explain. “I had an assignment, and when I left, I went t0 the spaceport for the decomissioning ceremony. I flew out to Galactica—that same day, I flew out there. The same day that the Cylons came. And I thought you were dead.”
He held her hands and she was crying—he was crying. He kissed those hands. “We have a daughter, Anne. A little girl,” he said as he looked at the crib. “My daughter—our daughter.”
“Is this a dream, Lee?” she asked. “Because if you aren’t here when I wake up, I don’t know what I’ll do,” she cried. And Lee held her. He cried with her. He kissed her. And he wiped away her tears.
“No dream, Anne. I’m here. And I will be here for you from now on—for you, if you will have me back. And my daughter. I’m here for our daughter.”
“You’re not scared anymore?”
“I’m terrified,” he said as tears ran down his cheeks. “She’s so small, so fragile, so . . .,” and Anne held him now.
"So innocent," she finished.
After a long while, they pulled apart and Lee looked over at the crib again. “What’s her name?”
“Evelyn Sophia Adama,” she cried.
And Lee stared at her. “You named her for my grandmother?”
“And mine. We both have issues with our own parents, but not our grandparents.”
The babe jerked and she began to cry. Lee looked at Anne and she nodded. He walked over to the crib and he gingerly and gently picked up the infant wrapped in the blankets.
“Support her head, Lee,” Anne said softly, and the pilot adjusted his grip. Her eyes were half-closed and her hands reached out—and she had the thick brown hair on her head. “Shhhhhhhhh,” whispered Lee as he rocked her. “Hello, Evelyn,” he said. “I’m your Dad,” he cried as he carried her over to Ann and his former fiancée took her and unlaced her robes to begin feeding the hungry infant.
And he sat down again and held Anne’s hand—and stroked the baby’s arm as she drank.
Mathias handed Lee a glass and he sat down on the corner of his desk. “Bit much to take in all at once, eh, Commander Adama?”
“Excuse me?” Lee asked as he accepted the liquor and took a sip.
“You looked frazzled and delighted and frankly like you are scared to death, Commander,” he said. And he took a sip from his own glass. “No offense meant.”
“None taken,” Lee whispered. “I think we are going to have some problems when we make the rendezvous with the Fleet. The demographics for your ships alone—it will have major ramifications on the election and the Gemenesse are not going to be happy that they aren’t the second largest population block anymore. Never mind that my father is going to . . .,” Lee winced. And he took another sip. “Let’s just say that he isn’t going to find your solution to the SFM very pleasing. He could barely stomach having Tom Zarek around, and now you are bringing in one of Zarek’s field commanders and six hundred people that belonged to the SFM? And you have let them retain possession of a Battlestar?”
He took another sip—no, a swallow—this time.
“I understand, Commander. But I was actually referring to you suddenly becoming a father,” Mathias said with a laugh, and then he stood and walked around his desk to his chair and sat down. “I remember exactly how frightened I was when Josie was born,” he said, getting a faraway look in his eyes. “Afraid to pick her up because I might hurt her; I had no idea what to do—but I learned, Commander. And so will you.”
Mathias stared at Lee until the younger man nodded and then he took another sip. “But on the broader point of integrating our forces, that is something that Admiral Adama, yourself, President Roslin, and I are going to have to do some . . . serious thinking about. I’ve got Sidewinder’s report on the general condition and morale of your Fleet—there are many elements to it that . . . disturb me. Not the least of which is that your own Executive Officer aboard Pegasus is a woman who cold-bloodedly gunned down civilians at the orders of Admiral Cain,” and Mathias’s voice grew cold.
Lee winced again. They had shown him the recordings from Scylla and Umino Hana and the other ships that had been left behind by Cain—looted and left behind. And they were damning. He began to open his mouth, but Mathias shook his head.
“I wouldn’t recommend that you defend her, Commander. And I will demand that she—and everyone involved—stand a courts-martial for their actions. That is non-negotiable.” Mathias paused and he waited until Lee nodded. “That being said, I realize what a horrible position William Adama is in. Both Galactica and Pegasus are severely undermanned, if these numbers you have given me are correct, and I do not doubt your veracity. You have 44,929 civilians versus 4,650 Fleet personnel, pilots, and Marines. Those civilians are spread across sixty-one ships, all of which need fuel, air, provisions, water, and are in desperate need of maintenance.”
“I, on the other hand, command two Fleet ships that currently have crew complements in excess of full nominal strength and a third warship crewed by members of the Saggitaron Freedom Movement. All riding herd on just four civilian vessels to protect, provision, and maintain—and I’ve managed to put Fleet personnel in as command and crew on each of those ships since we took aboard the station personnel of Cerberus. We have a grand total of 3,256 civilians—more than six hundred of whom belonged or were associated with the SFM—to our 2,206 Fleet personnel. That gives me more options on how to maintain discipline and authority—options that William Adama did not have; certainly not before he managed to make rendezvous with Pegasus.”
Mathias scratched his head and he chuckled. “Believe it or not, I admire your father, Lee. He’s held a rag-tag band of refugees together with nothing more than his will and spit, and he has done an amazing job considering the circumstances.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Lee said.
“That doesn’t mean we aren’t going to be at logger-heads over a tremendous number of issues,” and the Commander of Scorpia sighed again. “Tell me that this Gaius Baltar isn’t as much of an ass as his letter makes him out to be? He all but solicited my support for his candidacy for President—as if campaigning for elected office were the single most important element at this exact moment.”
“I could tell you that, Commander, but I really don’t want to lie to you,” Lee said.
And Mathias snorted. “The rest of these Quorum members I have never heard of—although some of them are familiar to a few of my people. At least Roslin’s letter was not filled with pleas to support her and veiled threats in the event that I do not.”
“They are the elected representative of the people, Commander,” Lee said. “We’ve sacrificed much, but we still hold by the Articles of Colonization,” he said and then immediately regretted it as Mathias smiled.
“You do? Then the reports I have received of torture and rape and illegal power grabs by the executive are false?”
Lee blushed and he began to open his mouth, but Mathias waved him off. “Desperate times call for desperate measures—that is understood, Commander. But I do expect you to inform the President and your father upon our rendezvous with Galactica’s fleet that there is a limit to how far I am willing to see civil liberties pushed. A hard limit—and they are right up against it. Especially in regards to the treatment of Cylon prisoners of war.”
“I understand from the scuttlebutt that you executed a Cylon yourself, Commander,” Lee snapped.
“I did, Commander. And if the Admiral and the President want to put me on trial for that action—they are most certainly entitled to do so. I did not have my prisoner beaten. I did not have him raped. I did not deprive him of food and water and medical care. I did not engage in psychological or physical torture. I deemed his execution necessary and proper and carried it out with my own hands doing my best to make certain that he did not suffer needlessly. And since my other two Cylons believed that we were still within range of a Resurrection Ship at the time, I in effect paroled him to carry a message for me.”
Mathias took another sip. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“It was a command decision that you made, Sir. Just like the command decisions that Admiral Adama and President Roslin have had to make over the past eight months.”
Mathias snorted. “You’ll do, Commander. You’re a bit green yet, but I think that rumors of nepotism aside, William Adama made a fine choice in whom to assign as the commanding officer of Pegasus. Now,” he said as he stood. “My ship commanders want to meet you in person, and my pilots are festing your pilots; Gods only know how many of them will be in hack by morning. But I have informed my ship captains that they will meet you after dinner this evening. Why don’t you go spend some more time with your fiancée and daughter, Commander?”
Lee stood. “Sir, I don’t want to ignore my duty for personal matters.”
“Consider it an order then,” Mathias said with a smile. “Until 1800 hours, you are off-duty, Mister Adama. Don’t be late—I had my chef break out the good stuff.”
The pilots were exchanging stories while gathered around a buffet table—several were clustered Racetrack and Skulls as they described one of the many encounters with the Cylons, others were singing, still more were playing cards. But all of them were celebrating. Except Athena who stood against the bulkhead with an energy drink in her hand, sipping it on it alone—not quite alone, as the two ‘escorts’, otherwise known as ‘guards’, kept a watchful eye on her from a distance.
She heard a throat clear and she turned to see Sidewinder leaning in the hatch. “Want to take a walk, Athena?” he asked. And she smiled.
“Sure, if you don’t mind them tagging along,” she pointed towards the Marines.
Sidewinder snorted, “Ah, there goes my dastardly scheme to steal you away from Helo,” he said holding one hand to his heart. “Come on, I’ve got some people who want to meet you.”
She raised one eyebrow and then nodded. The two of them moved out into the immaculate corridors of Scorpia and Athena snorted.
“You find something amusing?”
“It’s a bit of culture shock, Sidewinder,” she said. “I mean, not even Pegasus or Cloud Nine is this clean—and the pilots, our pilots from Galactica and Pegasus, are a bit peeved that the beers were non-alcoholic.”
“And people wonder why I seemed off the deep-end when I showed up on Galactica. Commander Lorne believes in running a tight ship, Athena. It is all what we are used to,” he laughed. “I’ve spent two years away from the Colonies on this ship—two years. And we kept discipline and order; seeing how far the Fleet has fallen in just a third of that time was . . .,” his voice trailed off.
“Not where it mattered—they fly well and they fight well,” Athena answered.
“They do, but you need something more than flying and fighting. You know, I asked Racetrack why she—and the others—were just ignoring the regs. Her answer was, all of us are going to die—there are too many Cylons and every time we fly, someone doesn’t come back. She said we will keep on flying and fighting, but that in the end we are just going to run out of bodies and planes and then everyone is going to die.”
He stopped and looked at Athena. “They lost hope; they almost lost faith; that is why I pushed them so hard to get their minds off such fatal thoughts.”
Athena nodded—and then she drew in a sharp inhalation of breath as she saw the Marine standing next to hatch marked COMMANDER, BSG-25.
Sidewinder nodded. “Commander Lorne wants a word, Athena.”
She nodded and stepped forward, and the Marine opened the hatch. Stepping inside, she saw that it was a large and spacious as Admiral Adama’s quarters, divided in an outer office, a sleeping area, and small dining room—and then she stopped dead cold. Her jaw dropped.
“Hello, Sharon,” Brother Cavil said as he stood, along with Sam Anders and Commander Lorne—two Marines were present as well, along with a tall dark-skinned man in the uniform of a Colonel.
“Lieutenant Agathon,” Mathias said. “I believe you have met John Cavil and Samuel Anders; this is Colonel Thomas Jayne.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” the Taurian said as he held out his hand, and Athena shook it.
“We have a lot to discuss, Athena, and not much time. And it would probably help if the two of you removed her memory block,” he said to Cavil and Anders.
She looked puzzled, and then both of them said the code-phrase that Daniel had used on them—and she remembered. “Oh, frack. Starbuck is going to freak out,” she blurted as she stared at Sam—her brother. And then her face blanched and she groaned. “And the others!” she snapped.
“Admiral Adama, Commander Adama, and the President already know,” Sidewinder said. “But you can see why we wanted to keep it under wraps.”
Her knees felt weak and Mathias pointed to a chair. “I have Sidewinder’s report—but before I make any decisions, Athena, I want to hear from you. Don’t hold anything back, I want the full story—if you have to, consider that an order.”
She nodded and took in a deep breath. And then she began.
Mathias waited until everyone at the table had quit flooding Lee Adama with questions and then he stood. “I hope all of you enjoyed the meal,” he said to the commanders of the various ships, “and the discussion. At 1000 hours tomorrow, we will make the first of eight jumps that will bring us to the rendezvous point with Galactica and her fleet. As we speak, Lieutenant Agathon is working with our navigators to get the coordinates plotted and entered—there is no margin for error here. Entering incorrect coordinates will send your vessel to a far distant destination with no hope of being recovered.”
He paused and let that sink in. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is up to you to make certain that the coordinates are checked, double-checked, and checked again. I have no intention of losing any ship on this operation,” Mathias said. “We will not leave behind any ship on this operation. Is that understood?”
He waited until each commander nodded in turn.
“We will make one jump every day and perform a full system diagnostic on the FTL drives between jumps. While the Cylons routinely do jumps of this length, the Colonial Fleet has not. I want to be damned certain that everything is functioning properly. Scorpia, Aurora, and Anubis will deploy a rotating CAP at twice the normal strength on each leg. If all goes well,” Mathias said with a smile, “then in nine days we will be rejoining the remainder of humanity’s survivors.”
He raised his glass, and first Colonel Jayne stood, and Major Caldwell, then Commander Adama, and Colonel Foeswan, and Jon Namer, and all the rest.
“Attention on deck!” Hamish ‘Skulls’ McCall barked as Mathias entered the berthing compartment to which the visiting pilots had been assigned. “As you were,” the Commander said as the pilots and ECOs quickly stood and came to attention. “Which one of you unlucky bastards is Fuzzy?”
Suddenly, one pilot’s face drained of blood and Mathias bared his teeth—if sharks could smile, it might charitably be called such. “The rest of you . . . OUT,” he commanded and the other pilots and ECOs quickly departed; Mathias closed the hatch behind them.
“Lieutenant Jarrell Kief,” Mathias said as he walked up to the pilot, still showing his teeth. “How did you get that call-sign of Fuzzy, Mister Kief?”
“M-my mustache,” he stammered as he stood at attention, his gaze fixed on the far wall. “My flight instructor said it looked like a fuzzy caterpillar, Sir.”
“You don’t have a mustache now, do you?”
“N-no, Sir.”
“Still have problems growing a mustache, Fuzzy?”
“N-no, Sir.”
“Then where is that mustache, Mister Kief?” Mathias asked in a very quiet voice.
“I-I shaved it off, Sir.”
“Why?”
He looked down, and mumbled something.
“What was that?”
“The girls didn’t like it,” he said quietly.
“I see. Would that be the civilian girls or the ‘girls’ that wear the uniform of a Colonial officer, such as my niece?”
“I-I . . . ,” he stammered, and his voice trailed off.
Mathias leaned in close to him. “Yes, Mister Kief, I believe it would be in your best interest to think about your answers to my questions. What are your intentions regarding my niece, Mister Kief?”
He looked up and there was pure horror in his eyes. “My intentions?” he yelped.
Mathias just stood there.
“Oh, we aren’t in a relationship, Sir, we were just blowing off steam,” and then he closed his eyes as he realized just how that sounded.
“So you decided to crawl into a rack with my niece, not because you love her, but because she was a good lay?”
“Well, we never actually finis- . . .,” he began.
“Are you saying that my niece isn’t a good lay, Mister Kief?” the Commander snapped.
The poor pilot just groaned and sweat began to pop out on his forehead. Mathias stepped back and he put his hands on his hips.
“My niece is a grown woman, Mister Kief. And she has every right to have intercourse with any man she chooses. Of course, given her limited options for partners, that gave you probably your best chance to have a one-night stand with my niece. Because otherwise, I would imagine she wouldn’t give a scrawny, fuzzy, miserable, ugly-ass pilot such as yourself a second glance. Am I correct, Mister Kief?”
“Sir, she’s had worse!” And then his eyes grew even wider and he began to sway.
“Did you just mean to imply that my niece is a slut, Mister Kief?” Mathias asked in a pleasant sounding voice—that was utterly and completely belied by the coldness in his eyes. “That she is a loose woman of no morals who will hop into bed with anyone for any reason? Tell me that you did not just imply that slur upon her character to my face, Lieutenant. And for the sake of all the Gods, unlock your knees before you pass out on my deck.”
Mathias waited and he got only silence. “Ah. You are learning that sometimes there is no right answer and that sometimes the best thing to do is keep your fracking mouth shut and your fracking trousers zipped—is that correct, Mister Kief?”
“Yes, Sir!” he barked.
“Good. Now, I have a piece of advice for you. You will be going back to Galactica soon—but until then, you are on my ship. Which means . . . what, Mister Kief?”
“I’m not to touch your niece in any way whatsoever, Sir?”
Mathias smiled. “See, you do learn. Mister Kief, I will promise you this—you hurt Margaret in any way, shape, or form, and I will make certain that Admiral Adama gives me your ass as part of my air group. And I will make you pay for those sins until Tarterus is closed due to ice. Do you understand me?”
“Y-yes, Sir.”
“Good. Now get out of here and stay out of my sight while you remain on my ship,” Mathias growled—and the pilot literally bolted from the berth.
Last edited by masterarminas on 2013-01-28 05:26pm, edited 2 times in total.
FaxModem1 wrote:So, he affixed himself to the ship's hull?
On the outside. Probably safer and less painful.
Ah, the A-Team approach "If I was nervous I'd be nailing myself to the container right now!"
Baltar: "I don't want to miss a moment of the last Battlestar's destruction!"
Centurion: "Sir, I really think you should look at the other Battlestar."
Baltar: "What are you babbling about other...it's impossible!"
Centurion: "No. It is a Battlestar."
Corrax Entry 7:17: So you walk eternally through the shadow realms, standing against evil where all others falter. May your thirst for retribution never quench, may the blood on your sword never dry, and may we never need you again.
Mathias looked up as Margaret came through the hatch to his quarters and shut it firmly behind her—and the CLANG of metal on metal was great deal louder than was honestly called for; he frowned slightly at that.
She marched up to his desk and stood at attention in her flight suit—and her expression reminded him oh so much of her mother Sara when she had been pissed.
“Personal business or official, Lieutenant Edmondson?” he asked.
“Personal, Sir,” she answered. “Request permission to speak freely and off the record.”
Yep, Mathias thought. She is pissed. “Permission granted.”
Her posture relaxed, but her muscles were still tense and she leaned over and pocked a finger across his desk. “My love life is none of your concern, Uncle Mat!” she barked. “Fuzzy is shaking like a leaf—and he won’t even talk to me about what you said to him! What the Hells did you tell him?”
“We had a little chat about what is and is not allowed on this ship, Margaret—and no, your love-life isn’t any of my concern. Do you love this man, Kief?”
“That isn’t relevant!” she snapped.
“That wasn’t an answer, Margaret. I’m . . . concerned about you. Perhaps I should have kept my mouth shut—perhaps Sidewinder shouldn’t have told me—but I would have found out anyway. Clearly it is open scuttlebutt on Galactica, at least from what my sources have gathered. You are a Colonial officer and you well know the regs against fraternization.”
“Regs? Regs? You have no idea how many people I’ve seen die in the past year, Uncle Mat! None! How many people that I called my friends go out there every day and not come home again! No idea how it feels to know that sooner or later your time is going to come and you are going to be the one to go down in flames. We comfort ourselves how we can, when we can—because that is all we have left.”
“No, Margaret, it’s not,” Matt said as he stood and then opened a refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of Scorpia Necrosia. He popped the tops off of both of them and handed one to his niece and took a sip from the second. And then he pointed to the sofa and two chairs. Margaret hesitated for a moment, but then she sat down and Mathias sat down across from her.
“That is why I’m concerned, Margaret—that attitude. I knew that you would hear about what I said to Mister Kief and that if you were anything like your mother when she was your age, you would come barging in here to set me straight. ‘Abuse of authority and position’, ‘conduct unbecoming a Colonial officer’, and ‘undue influence to nepotism’. Right?”
Racetrack’s eyes narrowed and Mathias grinned. “Instead of me coming to you and you automatically getting your hackles up and walking off when I try to raise this issue, you came to me. Margaret, I don’t care who you decide to frack—although I will say your taste in men has gone downhill if Mister Kief is your choice. But I am worried and concerned over this . . . this death-wish you seem to have. Thoughts like that, they tend to come true for pilots, because they become convinced that something bad is going to happen, then sure enough they make a mistake—and something bad does happen.”
“I’m not . . . ,” she began.
“You are, Racetrack,” her uncle interrupted softly, using her call sign to emphasize the point. “You are stressed, you are grieving for your friends and your lovers and your family—the whole world has ended. And you—and some of the other pilots—genuinely believe that your time will come. That you are going to die out there in the cockpit of a Raptor; and baby-girl, that is what is concerning me. Not as a Colonial Fleet officer, not as your higher-ranking superior, but as your uncle. This jumping around from rack to rack and going through partners like crap through a goose is just a symptom of what is bothering you—and you need to work through that before you wind up transforming that belief into reality. I don’t want to attend your funeral because of a self-fulfilling prophecy, Margaret.”
She just stared at Mathias, a tear leaking out of the corner of her eye and he nodded. “Your superiors should have already addressed this with you—but they are torn up as well, hon. I’ve got someone I want you to talk to while you are here on board Scorpia. Erin Hayes—she’s a specialist in stuff like this.”
“A shrink? You want me to see a shrink?” Racetrack said bitterly.
“She’s a civilian—but she knows post-traumatic stress, Margaret. Nothing goes in your file. Nothing goes on your record. What happens between you and her stays between you and her. And I don’t just want you to speak with her. There are several others that Sidewinder noted that are having the same problems—Fuzzy Kief isn’t one of them. He just took the opportunity to get in your pants because you were willing to let him in your rack.”
Mathias snorted. “In fact, if you are like your mother at this age,” he said again, “you probably grabbed him and hauled him into your rack without waiting for an answer.”
Racetrack let out a laugh, amid the tears, and she actually looked surprised at the laugh. Mathias nodded. “That’s my girl,” he said. “I think that is the first laugh I’ve heard from you since you came aboard—there have been no smiles, no joy, just that desperate pain that you keep trying to frack away. Talk to Miss Hayes, Margaret—I won’t make you. I’m asking you. Talk to her, and remember that I’m here if you need to talk to me. Even after you get back to your squadron on Galactica.”
“You aren’t transferring me? That’s the scuttlebutt; that you are going to transfer me here where you can keep an eye on me!” Racetrack said.
“Nope. I’m not having you transferred, Margaret. Scuttlebutt is wrong this time—and Adama won’t treat you any differently because you are my niece; no more than he would expect me to treat Lee differently because he is Adama’s son.”
She sat there and Mathias could see the anger drain from her—leaving just an exhausted and depressed young woman. “I’ll talk to her, Uncle Mat,” she whispered. And then took a sip of the thick black beer—and looked pleasantly surprised. “This is good.”
“Best beer in the Colonies, Margaret,” Mathias said with a sad smile. He picked up the phone from its station on the wall. “Tom, can you page Doctor Hayes and have her report to my quarters?” He paused. “Thank you.”
“You want me to talk her here? Now?”
“You got anything better to do with your time, Margaret? I’ll leave you two alone—or, if you prefer, you can go with her to the office I’ve assigned her. Up to you.”
Racetrack took another slug of the beer and then she nodded. “You . . . ,” she started, and then she paused. She took in a deep breath. “You don’t have to go. But you might not like all the details.”
“I’m from Scorpia, Margaret honey; born and raised. Trust me,” Mathias said with a smile, “I’ve seen worse; I’ve heard worse; I’ve probably done worse. Remind me to tell you what Josie was experimenting with before I left her in the capable hands of Emily to fly this mission,” he said with a snort. “If you want me to stay, I’ll stay. If you want me to go, I’ll go. But either way, Maggie-girl, I’m not going to quit loving you or caring about you.”
“Okay,” she said with a swallow of a sudden lump in her throat.
Gaius Baltar walked into the temporary office of the President on Cloud Nine. Laura Roslin’s new advisor was at his heels, but he ignored her and smiled at Laura. Laura in turn took off her glasses and smiled at Gaius as well.
“He wouldn’t stop, Madame President,” Maya began, but Laura just nodded.
“It is all right, Maya. Gaius, what can I do for you today? I am afraid that my time is short, what with the meeting of the Quorum in just,” she made a show of checking her timepiece, “fifteen minutes.”
“That is Mister Vice-President, Madame President,” Gaius said as he took a seat. And he cocked his head to one side, waiting.
“Mister Vice-President,” Laura said soothingly. And then the humor went out of her voice. “What do you want?”
Gaius adjusted his coat and he leaned forward. “Madame President, I have been giving some rather serious thought to the wonderful news that Captain Greene and Lieutenant Jamussa brought us—the existence of other survivors. If I recall the briefing that Tory gave me on their statements, more than five thousand survivors, Madame President. And thank you again, she has proven a most wonderful chief of staff.”
He smiled.
Laura smiled. And according to her reports, she thought, you are cutting her out of everything—not quite so politically naïve as you want to appear, are you Gaius? “Yes, a wonderful thing indeed.” She cocked her head to one side and crossed her legs. “Did you come here to express your joy over this?”
“No, Madame President,” Gaius said as he removed his glasses. “Having given this matter some long and intense thought, I believe that we must reschedule the elections until after these survivors—more than eleven percent of our existing Fleet—have rejoined us.” He smiled.
“Reschedule the elections? Mister Vice-President, we do not know when these survivors will be rejoining us; clearly acting now is premature and shows . . . uncertainty in the government.”
“That could well be true, but if I understand the briefing that Captain Gaeta provided to myself and the other members of the Quorum, we are expecting Scorpia and her other ships in a matter of weeks—their arrival should occur just before the scheduled election.” Gaius sighed. And then he nodded. “Clearly you will have two choices, Madame President, if the elections are not to be rescheduled and they arrive beforehand.”
“Oh, and what might those be, Gaius?” Laura asked sweetly.
“First, you can allow them to cast a ballot—but at such a late date, there will no great opportunity to instruct them in the issues that are at hand. As such, their votes will be . . . uneducated, Madame President. And quite likely will break along the lines of their own Colonies here in the Fleet,” he paused. “Of course, such a break will only happen once their fellow survivors make their own views on the election known—but then we do have a policy of allowing free communication between the various ships of the Fleet, do we not?”
“We do,” answered Laura.
“Yes, Madame President. We do. And given the demographic breakdown of the survivors in Scorpia’s own Fleet . . . well, you are already losing the Tauron and Saggitaron vote. And if Prince Hamish,” Laura kept all expression from her face, but inside she winced—because no one was supposed to know of that yet, “decides to support my candidacy and that of Tom Zarek for Vice-President, then the Virgons might well change sides. They are one of your strongest supporters, Madame President, and I would hate for you to lose the election on the basis of one man making an uninformed decision just days before the ballots are cast.”
Gaius smiled.
“And the second option?”
“Oh, you can simply declare that they have no vote, Madame President. It would disenfranchise them in this election cycle, of course, but you might be able to cite some . . . residency laws as grounds.”
He smiled again and put his glasses back on and he drew in a deep breath. “However, it is my considered opinion, Madame President, that neither of these options will be satisfactory to the Quorum—especially to the smaller populations that are about to get a great deal larger. That will, unfortunately, cut away at that nearly overwhelming majority of the Caprican and Picon bloc that are supporting you. Although I would imagine that your recent executive order, bypassing the Quorum completely I might add, on the matter of abortion rights will mean that the Gemenesse will be behind you nearly one hundred percent. That order is another matter I plan to bring officially before the Quorum today.”
Laura kept her intense dislike of the man from her face as she continued to smile at him. “Mister Vice-President, rescheduling the elections would be breaking a promise I made to the Fleet. We will deal with Scorpia’s fleet when they arrive. And if they arrive prior to the election, they will have a vote.”
Gaius stood and he nodded his head. “I do admire you taking such a stand, however, I will be bringing this matter to the attention of the Quorum in,” and Gaius checked his timepiece just as ostentatiously as Laura had, “eleven minutes. Until then, Madame President—I have an appointment to speak with the representatives from Leonis, Saggitaron, Scorpia, Tauron, and Virgon on this very matter before we convene the meeting."
He smiled again. “Do not be late, Madame President,” he smiled as he spoke those words to her. And then he left her office and Laura frowned. After Laura heard the outer office door close, she cursed. “Maya,” she called out. “I need to speak with Marshall Bagot and Perah Enyeto, RIGHT NOW!"
Why do I think that neither the President, nor the Vice-President, are going to get what ever it is they are expecting in the arrival of Commander Lorne.
Highlord Laan wrote:Agatha Heterodyne built a squadron of flying pigs and an overgunned robot reindeer in a cave! With a box of scraps!
"And low, I have cometh, the destroyer of threads."
If Laura Roslin was surprised by the cameras of the media when she entered the hall on Cloud Nine where the Quorum would convene, she did not show it. Instead, she smiled and waved at the reporters as she walked over to her bench. One by one the Twelve delegates to the Quorum took their own seats—and did the fourteenth man present, Vice-President Gaius Baltar.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the Quorum, I hereby declare these proceedings opens,” Laura said with a glowing smile. “I was under the impression that today’s session was closed to the media,” she said, looking at Gaius across the long horse-shoe shaped table.
Wallace Gray, elected by the survivors of Caprica to the Quorum after Baltar became Vice-President, stood up. “Madame President,” he said with little expression on his face, “we are an elected body of the people—surely we have nothing to fear from the people to which we are pledged seeing our deliberations. The Vice-President suggested that today’s session be opened to the media, and I endorsed that suggestion—as have a majority of my fellow delegates. Did you not receive our memorandum on this change? It was delivered to your office last week.” He then sat.
Laura kept the fixed smile on her face and she nodded. So this is how Wallace is going to get his revenge on me, she thought. “I think it is a lovely idea, Wallace. But no, the memo seems to have gotten misplaced on its way to my desk.”
“We have quite a full agenda before us today, so let us get started with the . . .,” Laura began, but then she trailed off as Tom Zarek, the Delegate from Sagittaron rose to his feet.
“Madame President, a point of order, if I may?”
Laura nodded.
“The agenda, as it currently stands, fails to reflect the . . . stunning news we received this past week that another Battlestar has survived the attack on the Colonies. We all realize that the agenda of the Quorum was drawn up well in advance, and it certainly needs to be addressed—but in light of the recent developments within the Fleet, I move that we table the agenda as written in order to address the . . . complications that the reunion of humanity might well bring.”
Wallace Gray stood again. “Caprica seconds that motion, Madame President.”
Laura glared at Tom and then at Gaius and finally at Wallace. But she only smiled. “Having been moved and seconded, how do the delegates say?” she asked.
And not surprisingly, the vote was overwhelmingly in favor of tabling the agenda. You orchestrated this Tom, she thought. Not Gaius, you. And he looked directly at her, and as if he could hear her thoughts, he nodded with what could only be described as a smirk on his face.
“Madame President,” Gaius said as he stood. “With the agenda now set aside, I would request the floor.”
“The Vice-President has the floor,” she said.
“Thank you, Madame President. While it is true that we must look to the coming reunion with our lost brothers and sisters with joy and anticipation, there are other issues which we as the elected representatives of our people must address. I refer today to the executive order which President Roslin arbitrarily issued that strips our people of the rights guaranteed to them under the Articles of Colonization—specifically, her outlawing of a woman’s right to choose for themselves whether or not they bring a pregnancy to term.”
“That has been settled!” snapped the Gemenesse Delegate, Sarah Porter. “The imperative to boost our population mandates that abortion be made illegal!”
“And your religious convictions play no role whatsoever in this decision, do they, Madame Delegate?” Gaius asked. “We must address the issue of growing our population—we have forty nine thousand five hundred and seventy nine survivors in this Fleet. That will soon be increased to fifty five thousand and forty three survivors once Scorpia and the ships she is escorting arrive. That will be a joyous, wonderful day for us all. We must address the issue of bringing the next generation into this world and raising them, but we cannot do so by Presidential fiat and the curtailing of civil liberties.”
He looked around the chamber and then stared directly into the cameras of the media. “I know that President Roslin has done what she believes is the right and correct action to ensure the survival of our species, and that her inability to appoint an independent judiciary to rule on the legality of her actions does not result from a thirst from tyranny, but instead because the Fleet is too small to need such a body. Madame President, you are wrong on that—were we here today to gauge the necessity of our government based upon the numbers of the survivors, we would not have a President or a Quorum, but instead a Mayor and a City Council.”
Laura fumed on the inside, but she just smiled at Gaius. “Mister Vice-President, as you are aware, as the Quorum is aware, we have explored the possibility of creating the judicial branch anew—but such matters take time.”
“Yes, Madame President. They do take time,” Gaius answered. “And we have had time. For five months the Quorum has been reestablished,” he told the cameras, “and in all that time has the President and her advisors even once brought to the Quorum a plan for installing a civilian judiciary within this Fleet? I do not question the motives of the President in this, but relying upon military tribunals is yet another blow against civil liberties. We must have an independent Court that can rule on the legality of the actions of this Quorum and the President.”
He paused and he looked at each of the Delegates, and then the President, and then at the cameras. “And it is here, among the elected representative of the people of the Fleet, that we must, together, make the decision on whether or not we strip women of their rights in the name of procreation. That decision is ours, not the President’s alone, and despite what the Delegate from Gemenon has declared it is no settled issue!”
Sarah Porter slammed her hand down on her desk. “At a time when we need every new living person to build up our strength, you would condone the selfish act of caring only how a new baby will affect one life? We are a community—and sacrifices must be made for the good of all!”
“Does that mean that you plan on outlawing same-sex marriages next, Madame Delegate? Such unions cannot produce off-spring, after all,” Gaius said. “What about the women of child-bearing age who daily risk their lives flying Vipers in this Fleet’s defense? Should they be stripped of their duties and impregnated—even against their will—because your Sacred Scrolls demand that we go forth and multiply? Where does it end? Neither your religious beliefs, nor those of the President of the Twelve Colonies, gives either of you the right or the authority to dictate to a woman how she lives her life; whether or not she bears a child; how that child is to be raised!” Gaius thundered. And then he closed his eyes and shook his head, almost as if he were listening to a voice that only he could hear.
He nodded. “Madame Delegate,” he said directly to Sarah Porter. “You support the President in her decision to outlaw abortion in the Fleet, yes?”
“I certainly do.”
“And, while I hesitate to bring politics into this, you support the President against me because she gave you this ban—and I oppose it, yes?”
“YES!”
“Would you still support her if you aware that, as President, she issued an order calling for the termination of a pregnancy against the wishes of the mother carrying the child?” Gaius snapped.
Oh, you son-of-a-. . . Laura thought, and her smile faltered.
And utter chaos suddenly erupted in the Quorum chamber aboard Cloud Nine. In front of the cameras carrying the event live to every ship in the Fleet.
Well, atleast Baltar will get his due and way heavier then he just gave Roslin, he killed the Colonies with his CNP programme.
Guy should have stayed with what he knew best, science.
Especialy when he had the possibility of playing with the Peg her factory plant.
Will Tom Zarek find himself in the position of Chief of Civilian Security?
Farwell political carrier.
Wires have to be coated in order to make them save to use, same stuff can be used to create clothing.
It´s probably how they make the seats in any new build Viper, Raptor or shuttle, that come out of the mini-factory plant onboard a Mercury class Battlestar.
This means that they can create clothing (just needs a anti-fire treatment) and desktop computers, if not lab-top or tablet computers.
If the fleet supply ship has the real thing onboard, then they will be quite occupied
Right now I would park any ship that I could, in some other ship it´s hangerbay.
Galactica has a couple of those and ships that could hold them.
Do hope Colonial One has it´s blueprints onboard or they can figure them out, could make a nice armed lander variant.
After the delegates and the media had calmed down, Laura stood. “I would remind the Vice-President that the woman in question was a Cylon prisoner! Cylons are things and they have no rights!”
A murmur danced around the room between the various delegates and the media, but Gaius smiled. “Certainly she was—and is—a Cylon, Madame President. But this Cylon fell in love with a human pilot on Caprica, the very pilot who gave up his seat on a Raptor to save me—me—from certain doom. He was—he is—a pilot who showed his heroism and commitment to the ideal of giving his life if necessary to save civilians. This Cylon abandoned her people, kept him alive on Caprica despite the actions of her fellow Cylons, she fell in love with him, and when you dispatched Captain Thrace to Caprica to recover the Arrow of Apollo, Madame President, this Cylon rescued Starbuck and Helo and flew them safely home. She gave us the map to Earth, Madame President.”
Gaius paused. “And as a reward, she was thrown into the brig. Isolated, held without charges, having no recourse under the law. And when it was discovered that she was pregnant with Helo’s child—the child of a hero-pilot of the Colonial Fleet, a half-human child—you ordered her pregnancy terminated.”
“I am no apologist,” he continued as Laura started to rise again, “for the Cylons. They most assuredly deserve nothing more than destruction for their crimes. And should she have had a say in this? Perhaps not. But you also went against the wishes of the human father—that hero-pilot who nearly gave his life in exchange for my own, just as the other pilots on Galactica and Pegasus do every single day for all of us!—and you tried to murder his daughter in her mother’s womb! For shame, Madame President. For shame!”
Laura glared at Gaius and Tom Zarek smiled with glee, and the rest of the delegates looked stunned.
“If we had a Court in place, they might have been able to stop your plans—we did not. And on the orders of Admiral Adama, that hero-pilot father-to-be was taken into custody so as not to interfere with the medical procedure—the unnecessary and illegal medical procedure—that you had ordered to take his daughter’s life, Madame President. It wasn’t illegal because you had already signed your executive order into law; it was illegal because you abused your power and authority and deprived Captain Karl Agathon of the rights given him by the Articles of Colonization!” Gaius paused and he looked over the Delegates of the Quorum.
“My fellow Delegates, we must—must—for the sake of the survivors of the Colonies and our individual liberty, empanel a Court to review the decisions made by the President whoever she—or he—may be. We must examine this issue in depth, and decide if we want the government to tell young women that they cannot risk their lives serving the Colonies in the Fleet, they cannot enter certain professions, that they must be . . . baby-factories to produce the next generation to the exclusion of all else.”
“To my shame,” Gaius said, with a tear glistening in his eyes, “I stood by and almost let this extra-judicial murder of an innocent child take place. It was the Gods themselves that intervened and led me to discover that in that child’s blood were the stem cells necessary to put the President’s cancer into remission. And when she discovered that, well, she withdrew her order to terminate the pregnancy. I have not mentioned this until now, because for all her faults, Laura Roslin has always done what she has felt was right. She has led us out of the grasp of the Cylons and preserved us—and she must be applauded for that herculean effort made for all of us. But I must question the basis for some of her decisions, decisions which, on the Colonies before the attack, would have been condemned by the people and the courts.”
“I was silent for too long, my fellow Colonials,” Gaius said. “I can remain silent no longer. I only ask that you forgive me for holding my tongue until now.”
And he sat.
Laura gathered herself but before she could stand—before an almost gloating Tom Zarek could stand—Oswyn Eriku of Libran rose to his feet.
“Libran agrees with the Vice-President. I have in my possession a list of all qualified legal experts remaining in our Fleet. Delegates to the Quorum, I move that we act—today—to seat a Court to prevent such an abuse of power and privilege in the future!”
“Sagittaron seconds the motion,” Tom Zarek called out, nearly stamping over Eladio Pusasha of Scorpia’s hasty, “Seconded!”
