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Chapter Seven: Adjustments

“People of the Fleet, I have astounding news to report. No doubt you have all been wondering about the mysterious ship that appeared today. I am overjoyed to inform you that we have made contact with our lost brothers and sisters.
The Thirteenth Tribe has spread far and wide across the Galaxy, and their descendants have made many incredible developments in society, culture and spaceflight.
We encountered their their vessel after it had been hurled across space, and after helping to avert a Cylon attack, they came aboard Galactica to extend to us a hand in friendship, so if you chance to meet them, please welcome them as such.
These people have offered to guide us to their home and represent us to their government, a vast coalition of worlds known as the “New Republic,” which holds within its borders many habitable worlds, one of which we can settle on and re-establish our culture, our traditions, and our way of life.
More information will be forthcoming as we communicate further with our new friends, but they have told us that we still have a long way to go until we reach their territory.
So, until that day, we must carry on as we have before, facing each new challenge with determination in our hearts, but know that with the dawning of this new day, we have been given new hope.
We must embark on this journey secure in the knowledge that we have new friends traveling beside us and a home that will welcome us to it.
So say we all.”

Official Statement issued by President Laura Roslin regarding the First Contact with the New Republic
Recorded and preserved for posterity in the Fleet Archives

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA
COMMANDER ADAMA'S QUARTERS
THE NEXT DAY

Cheering from every ship in the fleet echoed out of the intercom on the wall.

“Hard to believe they're still at it after two hours.” Tigh grumbled

“It's the best news they've had in weeks.” Adama replied. “Shows them we were on the right track all along.”

“Even if we weren't?” asked Tigh. He seemed unsurprised.

“Even if we weren't.” Adama confirmed. Then he gave a small grin, “Besides, I've seen you tie one on longer.”

“They're amateurs,” Tigh snorted, aiming his finger at the Commander like a pistol. “And you're a
sneaky sonofabitch Bill. I think you owe me at least a glass of the good stuff for the whole “I know where Earth is thing.”

“At least one.” The 'Sneaky Sonofabitch' had already poured two tumblers of 20 year old Ambrosia. “Mr Gaeta has watch for the night.”
He raised his glass, “To Earth.”

Tigh raised his, “To Earth, whadda they call it- Coruscant- or whatever piece of rock and dirt we bet our futures on.”

They clinked glasses, and drank.

“Eloquent Saul.”

“Thanks Bill.” Tigh's eyes hardened. “Watch these people, Antilles especially. He's an idealist, and a charismatic one. They're dangerous.”

“He's not after my command.”

“Yet.” the balding exec muttered darkly

“I'm well aware of the potential for danger.” Adama said, giving his friend a pointed look before continuing.

“I'm also aware of the danger posed if me or someone under my command alienates them. I trust you to give them the benefit of the doubt just like I trust you to walk out of your cabin each day as a good officer, and my friend.”

“Sure.” Tigh looked resigned. “This turns to shit, don't say I didn't warn ya.”

Adama quirked an eyebrow, “If you have a better idea...”

Tigh just smirked and refilled their tumblers.

************************

COLONIAL ONE
PRESIDENT'S QUARTERS

Cheering from every ship in the fleet sounded tinnily from the speakers on Laura's desk.
“Madam President?”

Laura Roslin turned to her aide. The fact that she no longer waited a beat to remember that she was the President both reassured and terrified her.

“Yes Billy.”

The tall, awkward boy – no, young man paused, uncertain how to continue.

“Don't worry,” Laura smiled, “I'm not going to bite, or give you detention. You have a question?”
Billy looked abashed, “I understand why you didn't tell the people the full story; the aliens and Republic and Empire, it's a bit much to take it, and I'm assuming we're going to break the news gently...”

He looked to her for conformation, and she nodded,
“However, you didn't mention anything about the Gods beyond talking vaguely about 're-establishing traditions,' and saying 'So Say We All...'”
he trailed off.

Her brow furrowed “Was there a problem with the speech?”

“No! Not at all – I remember watching one of Adar's addresses Madam President, he didn't get a reaction like this even before the Teacher's Strike.”

“What is it then?” she prompted

“We met people, other people from the galaxy and they don't know about the Gods. Most of the Gemenese and Saggiterons believe in the literal truth of the scriptures. Sarah Porter is going to have kittens-”

“She'll lose all credibility if she does,” Laura remarked, deadpan, “The sacred scrolls have some pretty specific things to say on the matter of lying with the beasts.”

Her aide did a double-take, and they both laughed quietly for a minute or so. Evidence that the the President of the Colonies had a sarcastic streak needed to be carefully suppressed lest the masses be offended.

“It's not just her.” Billy said, picking up from where they had paused, “Tom Zarek is rapidly becoming very popular among the Saggiteron survivors. Tory thinks he will be “elected” as their Quorum representative, and you can bet he knows how to play the to the downtrodden and oppressed.”

his features grew sharper, and his tone more bitter,

“Gods above, Madam President, he could have played me if I hadn't seen his little prison riot on the Astral Queen- what almost happened to Cally, and Dee- “Freedom Fighter” my ass.”

Laura patted his shoulder, “Easy Billy. You know it, and I know it, but the poor and downtrodden don't, and they need a voice.”

Her aide's jaw dropped, “Madam President, you can't seriously be considering-”

“What, exactly? Supporting Zarek? legitimizing him?” He nodded and Laura's expression grew predatory.

“I am absolutely considering it,” she replied in a quiet, dangerous voice, “I need to hear the voice of the masses, and while Tom Zarek is a rabble-rouser and a malcontent who gets his followers and influence from setting himself against the system, right now he has their ear and they his. I can't afford to lose touch with the common person, however easily they might be swayed by Zarek's rhetoric.”

Billy nodded, as Laura continued,

“I remember radicals like him from university-hell, when I was young and easily impressed, I even dated a couple. I know the type. Once Tom Zarek has a taste of established political power, and has been embraced with open arms, he'll be forced to become part of the system he's been fighting all his life.”

“I see,” said Billy, “You're trying to alienate his base.”

“Not necessarily,” said Laura, pausing to pour two glasses of water-plotting was such thirsty work,

“If we can rehabilitate him in the eyes of the fleet and create an alliance with him, it may shift the attentions of the downtrodden from Sarah Porter's faction and marginalize them. The Gemonese and Saggiterons respond to Zarek's demagoguery more reliably than Porter's religious claptrap.” She gave a twisted grin,

“Gods alone know that the last frakking thing I need when we finally reach Republic Space is a majority of idiot fundamentalists refusing to talk to the Republic Diplomats and hampering resettlement because the ambassadors 'Don't know of the Gods.' If I have to ally with a former terrorist to do so, then so be it.”

“I'm still on the fence,” Billy said, “This plan requires depending on Zarek to carry out your agenda, to follow our party line.” He gave her a skeptical look, “How do you know he'll do what you want to?”

Laura felt a warm, almost maternal, glow of pride.

Only a few weeks on the job and he's a brilliant schemer. She thought, He'll make a good president someday, and sooner than he thinks.

“While Tom Zarek may be one of the most devious political manipulators of this generation.” Laura admitted, “He frakked up with his demands after he took hostages. In effect, he made 'campaign promises' as he did so, with demands that I stand for re-election in due time.” The president smiled nastily, resembling a vengeful demon.

“I'll stand for the re-election in eight months, thanks to Captain Apollo, but Zarek needs to give the people what he promised:change for the better in the government and a new money system. Let him be the one to implement change from within the system. If he wants to pass anything, he'll owe us.”

“And so was the wolf was chained and the day saved.” Billy said, deadpan, quoting the end of a popular children's book.

“Precisely.” Laura said, “And not before time. If we are going to deal with the New Republic government, a legitimized and victorious insurgency ,we need to make our own terrorists...”

“Fluffy?” asked Billy, raising an eyebrow, and clearly taking his humor cues from his boss.

“Sure,” Laura sighed, “Let's go with that.” She stretched and rolled her neck. “What's on the schedule for today?”

Billy quickly consulted his planner, “Meeting with the Captains of the Gideon and the Tarbadek to discuss supply transfers and storage, the Greenleaf' is having trouble with her FTLs again, and-”

The President stalled him with a wave of her hand, “What about scheduling a meeting with the Civilian Liaison, the Lady Winter?”

Billy's brow wrinkled, I could push your 1300 meeting with the Cloud Nine Administrators...”

Laura shook her head, “No, that won't do...Invite her along with us, and we can talk along the way.”

“Very good, Madam President,” Billy nodded, as he made a notation in his planner, “I'll contact Galactica right away.”

“Thank you Billy.”

***********


BATTLESTAR GALACTICA
WEDGE AND IELLA'S QUARTERS


Their sleep was only briefly interrupted by President Roslin's announcement, followed by cheering from every ship in the fleet before they figured out how to disengage the intercom on the wall. Iella almost shot it.

After the near-worship displayed by the Adumari,Wedge mused, simple happiness to see us is a nice change...

After coming awake at some unnatural hour to the sound of “Reveille, Reveille,” being broadcast over the intercom system, Wedge woke up next to his wife and had to take a few moments in processing yesterday's events to remember why he was on a lumpy bed in a such a dark room,

“Morning.” he mumbled, feeling slightly jealous of the extra few seconds of sleep Iella had snatched as she stirred and stretched.

Wedge tried too, and after a few pops he upgraded his internal status from “barely active droid frozen in one position” to “pit droid sucked through a Podracer engine.”

Oh well, at least his back felt better.

Together, they took one look at their spartan and dusty surroundings before deciding that if they were going to be miserable, they should at least be miserable with their friends.

After rousing Tycho and Winter, they went to Hobbie and Janson's quarters.

“Seems like they really like us, Boss.” Tycho noted, coolly raising an eyebrow.

“Enough to wake us up with that racket,” Hobbie groused, “No pressure, huh?”

“None at all.” Wedge said, “Alright. To business- I'm going to get us a tour of the ship so we know the layout, and then we split up.”

Everyone nodded. “Winter, you are going to be meeting President Roslin to get a look at the civilian side of things, and Iella, you, Hobbie and Wes do the same thing with Commander Adama. Tycho and I will join you after we take a look at the shuttle and see how bad the damage is, and if we'll be able to use it at all.”

“Having it up and running would increase our chances dramatically,” Winter said, “But it looked pretty bad. No hyperdrive or long range comms at least, and I think the thrusters were damaged.”

“That's what we're going to find out. Anything I might have forgotten about before we contact the Commander?”

“Breakfast.” Said Hobbie

“Caf.” grumbled Iella.

“Pillows.” Janson said dreamily, “And sheets. Soft sheets.”

“I'll speak to the manager.” Wedge sighed, rolling his eyes in a very un-General-like manner,

“Anything that doesn't relate to our accommodations?”

Tycho raised a hand, “Specs on their FTL engines to plot our trip back and figure out if the Cylons can pose a threat to the Republic?”

“Head of the class.” Wedge said. “Now I'll just see if I can get this intercom...”

A discreet knock on the hatch interrupted them, and Wedge hauled the hatch open to find an olive-skinned young man in a neatly turned-out blue uniform standing outside and looking painfully earnest.

“Good morning sir, My name is Lieutenant Felix Gaeta, and in addition to my duties as Galactica's First Shift DRADIS Officer, I've been assigned as your liason during your stay aboard Galactica.”

He gave a smooth salute, and held it until Wedge returned it.

I was never that young. Thought Wedge thought.

“Pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant,” Wedge said, “I'm assuming you'll be giving us a tour of the ship?”

“Yes sir. Was there an area you wished to see first?”

“Well, we're a bit hungry...”

“Of course.” Gaeta replied, looking embarrassed, “We must have forgotten to show you last night. My apologies to all of you.”

He pointed down the corridor,

“The mess is this way.” he turned to the group, and kept walking, backwards, pointing out directions to different parts of the ship along the way.

The smell of grease and the noise of dining began to pervade the corridor, and the group made a left turn into a mess hall that looked very much like the ones seen on New Republic vessels.

“What's good here?” Wedge asked Gaeta as they each grabbed a tray.

“Nothing's really spectacular...” said the Lieutenant as they made their way over to the servers, “...The potatoes are alright, but I'd avoid the powdered eggs-” He gestured at a pale yellow mass in one of the serving trays, “Nobody eats them. Rumor has it that those eggs have been in storage since the Cylon War.”

“Stored for forty years?” Hobbie said, incredulously, sliding his tray along the metal counter and
looking dubiously at the eggs.

“Well like I said, nobody eats them.” Gaeta replied, looking faintly amused, “Gods know how many times they've been dehydrated and reconstituted, but we may have to eat them someday, especially since most of the fresh stuff is going fast. There's no way to get more after the attacks-”

“Are you worried about running out of food soon?” Winter asked, piling potatoes and some sort of meat onto her tray,

“Galactica can go a year or more on rations and recycled water, and I think there's a botannical cruiser in the Fleet,” Gaeta said, “But it's going to get tight on the civilian ships soon.”
After they had filled their trays, the lieutenant moved to a battered silver cylinder about half the diameter of an astromech, and began to fill several cups with a steaming brown liquid that gave off an acrid smell, putting them on a tray before guiding them to a table.

“Try some of this.” He said, passing out the cups after Wedge and his friends sat and began to make their attempts at eating the food, “Can't guarantee you'll like it but it should wake you up.”

“Looks like caf.” Iella said, in a slightly more upbeat tone than she had used previously.

Janson took a whiff of the steam coming off of the cups, “Smells like caf. What is it?”

“We call it coffee.” Gaeta said, “Most people need it to wake up in the morning and I don't want to find out what'll happen when we run out of it,” He blew on the cup in his hand, and took a satisfied slurp, “Probably mutiny.”

Wedge raised his eyebrows, and the lieutenant blanched, “Ahhhhh only joking sir.”

Janson smiled, “That's alright, lieutenant, most of the New Reupblic Fleet shares your sentiments regarding caf. And don't mind the General, he's always grumpy till' he's had his.”

Gaeta looked at Wedge searching for a reaction to Janson's cavalier attiturde, but for the moment, Wedge had other priorities and was immersed in his study of the cup's contents. Wedge noticed that a multicolored film covering the surface of the beverage bore a striking resemblance to machine oil, but his still-fogged state encouraged necessary experimentation.

He took a tentative sip, pronouncing it it good, before his wife and friends set upon their own cups with a will.

The “coffee” was less flavorful and far harsher than most of the caf Wedge had had in his years of service, but it did serve to pry his eyelids open and render everybody tired but attentive as they ate for the first time in a day or so.

“Do you have any other questions?”Gaeta inquired as they finished up.

“Yes,” Janson said, gesturing with a fork, “Can you tell me how do you can walk backwards like you did earlier without falling over?”

“Practice.” The younger man smiled, “In College I had to walk like when I gave tours to prospective students and their parents. Helped with rent.”

“You're not career military?” Iella asked, evaluated him again.

Gaeta's smile grew bittersweet. “Not until the attacks. This was originally a three-year hitch to pay for graduate school. I wanted to study genetics. I suppose I have no choice now though.”

“I'm sorry.” she said.

“It's not your fault.” he said, using a tone that signaled an end to that particular discussion, “If you are ready to continue the tour, your trays go in the bin near the door on your way out.”

Iella nodded, unsure of what to say, and the tour continued. They saw sickbay, The engine rooms, and the forward observation lounge which offered an unparalleled view of the Fleet, before making their way to the Combat Information Center, where Lieutenant Gaeta resumed his post at an important-looking console.

Wedge was impressed by the location of the CIC, the brain of the ship was positioned behind the heaviest armor the Galactica had to offer, in a manner similar to that of a Mon Cal Cruiser or Star Destroyer's auxiliary bridge, and seemed to make more sense than placing it directly in the line of fire. He was amazed by the coordinated chaos of the cavernous, two-story chamber, as Commander Adama and Colonel Tigh issued order after order to the dozens of crewmen manning different stations around the room.

The Commander nodded a greeting, “Good morning General, I trust you and your party slept well.”

“Well as could be expected,” Wedge said, “Thank you for your hospitality. And the guide – Mr. Gaeta
was very helpful.”

“He's one of my best.” Adama said, “He volunteered to be contacted in his off-shift hours if you have any further questions.”

“Generous of him.” remarked Wedge, “I'll keep that in mind. Did you have any ideas about how we can help?”

“President Roslin has requested that your civilian liason, Winter accompany her on her itinerary to get a better idea about our situation.”

Winter spoke up, “I can leave at your convenience, Commander.”

“Good. We've got a Raptor ready to launch in ten minutes.” He gestured a Marine over. “Corporal, take her to the launch bay.”

Winter left with the soldier, and Adama turned to the rest of them. “I don't know how you knocked out those Cylon Raiders when you arrived, but if it's something you can duplicate, that would help a lot.”

“That was us playing with the comm system.” Wedge informed him, “I think it may be damaged along with the rest of the shuttle. Tycho and I will check it out, have the most mechanical experience, and the rest of you get to stick around and figure out how the military system works here. Commander, do you have anyone available for that?”

Adama turned to his Exec, “Who's free?”

“Starbuck” Tigh responded, “Probably in the mess playing triad – I'll have her take you to your ship.”

He picked up a handset from the plotting table, “Lieutenant Thrace to the CIC, at the double.”

“Thank you Colonel” Wedge said.

“Don't mention it General,” he rasped, “I just hope you can fix your ship enough to frag some more toasters.”

“So do we, Colonel.” Iella said, and turned to Wedge and Tycho. “Any idea if the Intellect can fly again?”

“Won't know 'till we take a look at it.” said Tycho, “We should check it out now, but it may take some time. If you have any spare deck crew, they might be able to help.”

“Starbuck should be here in a few minutes,” Tigh said, “and I'll get Chief Tyrol on the horn. Take all the time you need.”

Wedge nodded, “Sounds good. Let's get to work.”

********

Pretty good chapter. Though the ending is a bit abrupt.

I'm assuming you're going for massive irony, with Roslyn's opinions on religion and Gaeta's mutiny line?

IT...IS...ALIVE! :D

On a serious note, this became one of my all-time favourite fanfics after stumbling across it on FF.com

You have done a wonderful job of capturing the characters. They're very beliveable, and the interactions are exactly what I think would happen.

I was so..overjoyed to see this update! If this isn't just a one-off and you really are continuing this very promising story, then I wish you the very best of luck Sir

Here's the next Chapter, Again, you guys get it first, and sorry about the wait.

Thanks for this one go to MrBean for the idea for briefing scene and the Viper and shuttle Tech Specs and Star Wars science, and to Crazedwraith for his excellent (and rapid) Beta work on this chapter which enabled me to get it out faster.

Hope you folks like it, and let me know if i should try to put it in the C and C fanfic section or need to write more.


Chapter Eight: Flight of Fancy

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA
PORT LAUNCH BAY
VIPER LAUNCH TUBE

“Run-up!”

The tube’s catapult mechanism settled over the skid of Wedge’s Viper with a solid –KA-chunk-shaking the lightly-built fighter and giving him fifth thoughts about this ‘flying lesson.’ He had already had his second, third and fourth thoughts after Starbuck told a rating to capture images of each of them, saying, “That's in case you don't come back.”

Then came the announcement from Captain Kelly, the Landing Signals Officer, the one Wedge dreaded and secretly hoped for simultaneously:

**Red One, you are clear to launch.**

And to think that all of this started with a broken shuttle. Wedge thought, bracing for massive acceleration and hoping that his face wouldn't end up gracing the Galactica's Memorial Wall.

******************

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA
PORT FLIGHT POD
SHUTTLE PHANAN'S INTELLECT
SEVERAL HOURS EARLIER


“Looks pretty frakked up,” said Chief Tyrol, as he bent to examine an opened panel with exposed fiber-optic cables. “Let me guess,” He said, standing up to glance at a screen showing the status of the comm system, which showed diagnostics flickering intermittently in varying shades of bloodred,

“Red means bad for you guys too, huh?”

“For most humans or near-humans.” Wedge said, “Verpine and some other species can see in many light spectrums, so their diagnostics get a bit confusing sometimes.”

“What are Verpines?” asked Chief.

“It's Verpine, singular. They're an insectile species who excel in starship construction and maintenance.” Tycho said, as he pulled up an image from his datapad. “One of them, called Zraii, is our squadron mechanic.”

Tyrol scrutinized the alien physique and looked at the arms of various sizes, “Huh. Small hands. Looks like he'd come in handy on my hangar deck. Then again, we're so shorthanded now, I'll take just about anyone.”

Wedge decided he liked the stocky, pragmatic man. The Chief's dedicated yet cynical manner would be right at at home on any ship in the fleet. Galen Tyrol shouldn't have as much trouble as some of the other Colonials he had observed in adapting to a galactic society filled with so many vastly diverse lifeforms, but to be sure, the Corellian decided to test him.

“Anyone?” He asked, and raised his voice “Gate? C'mon out.”

Mournful tootling came from another section of the ship.

“It's okay,” Wedge coaxed, “Nobody's gonna hurt you.”

Finally, a red and white R5 extended his middle tread and rolled into the cockpit.

“Lords of Kobol!” The Chief exclaimed, edging away, “What the frak is that thing?”

“Chief, meet R5-G8, or Gate, for short.” Said Wedge, “He's an astromech droid. Gate rides in the back of my X-wing and functions as a navigator, in-flight mechanic, and occasionally as a backseat pilot.

“He?” asked Tyrol, “It has a gender?”

“Most droids tend to develop a distinct personality after a while if you avoid frequent memory wipes.” Tycho said,” “Some are male, others are female, and barring a malicious slicer or a really unlikely programming error, none of them want to kill us. In fact, Gate is always complaining about Wedge's flying being too risky.”

The Droid gave a rude blatt, which sounded as if a human had blown air through their lips.

Chief Tyrol couldn't help but smile as Wedge instructed the astromech to take a look at fixing the comm system, and as the four of them bent to the task, he noticed the Chief's knack for machinery didn't just extend to the inanimate parts of a starship as he began to build a nearly instant rapport with the little droid, and tried to distinguish the tones that issued forth for each response.

It's a small step forward, Wedge thought, and I hope there will be more like it. Gate can be an incredible asset on the Hangar Deck, and that's one step closer to getting him into CIC to take a look at the navigation records. That'll shorten our trip home even more.

*********
“Okay. Try it now.” Said Tycho, up to his shoulders in wiring.

Wedge hit the console, and the shuttle's engines started to warm up, only to be interrupted by a shrill whine as they failed to initiate and the capacitors wound down.

“Sithspit! That's the fifth time. How bad is it, Tych?”

The blond man consulted a readout panel and shrugged.

“Pretty bad. I think Gate's done with his analysis. Do you want a list, or a play-by-play.”

Wedge thought for a moment. “Tell me what it happened, as it happened. Then let's see if we can get her running again.”

Tycho turned to the droid and spoke in a conciliatory tone, “Alright Gate, you heard the General, now show us what happened.”

The waist-high Astromech tootled mournfully and plugged into the cockpit's computer port. As he did so, schematics began to flash in a sequence too rapid for a living eye to process.

“Woah! Woah Gate!” Wedge said, waving his hands in a frantic “Cut” motion, “Slow it down a bit, we can't see that.”

Tycho smirked “I think he's still unhappy about the Chief leaving, Wedge. Not to mention the restraining bolt.”

“You think?” He turned to the droid, “Look. You know what the Cylons did to these people, it was either that, or deactivate you permanently. And the Chief got called away to fix Lt. Valerii's ship.”

More beeps came, very mischievous in tone, and followed by a very rude blatt! Tycho smiled.

That was uincalled for! I wouldn't let them deactivate you..” Wedge said, patting the droid's flowerpot dome for reassurance,“And you're right.” he continued, “I do think he and the Lieutenant are an item, but it's probably against regs. The Chief will be back soon, and Lieutentant Valerii seemed to like you too.”

“These people are our best hope for now. Even though they are a mite twitchy.” He gave a pointed look to Gate, “And the best way we can help them is to fix the shuttle.”

An inquiring tootle issued from the droid, as he shifted from tread to tread.

“and we need your help to try and do that.” Wedge prompted.

The images slowed down and the sequence began again.

“Thank you Gate.” said the General, promptly turning to his Second-in-command, “okay, Tych, Show me just how broken this ship is.”

The blond man nodded, indicating the first image;

“Well, as you can see here, when the motivator blew it took out the port side control relays, and when those went, it slagged half the port side cannons, stressing the linkages to the starboard guns so much that if we fired them they would they would likely melt after only a few shots.”

Wedge grimaced – he didn't like being in an unarmed ship – and held up his hand to pause Tycho.

“Wait. Let me guess. It gets worse.”

“Yes.” said Tycho, raising an eyebrow, “How did you know?”

Now it was Wedge's turn to give a knowing smirk, “You always save the worst news for last- must be that holodrama obsession of yours. Ending with good news doesn't always hurt, you know.”

“It does if the bad news saved for last is 'Don't touch that panel, it'll electrocute you!'”Tycho deadpanned.

Wedge jerked his hand back from an instrument panel he had been about to examine before noticing it was powered down, and he shot Tycho a poisonous look.

“I'll get you for that, you know.”

“I'm sure,” Tycho drawled. “Isn't General Wedge Antilles, Diplomatic Envoy above that low sort of revenge?”

Wedge gave his friend a smile toothier than one found on a Shistavanean used-speeder salesman.

“I don't know. Maybe I am. But why don't you ask Wes what prompted the Great Ewok Hunt?”

The Alderaanian raised an eyebrow, “The one that ended with him naked in front of the Wraiths holding a stuffed Lt. Kettch?”

Wedge, still smiling dangerously, nodded. As Tycho paled.

“Consider my statement withdrawn then.”

“I always knew you were the smart one.” Wedge said, “Just don't tell Wes I said that.”

“Done.” promised Tycho

“Anyway, when those melted the feedback bled into the cockpit systems. Luckily the safeties worked for the most part, we still have shortrange comms, subspace sensors and the control runs. So we can fly the ship. Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Gate says the hyperwave sensors got mostly fried, as well as the entire targeting computer. And of course that secondhand motivator's shot so there's no hyperdrive even if we could see where we were going...plus, backwash was strong enough to bleed off into the energy cells.”

“Meaning?”

“If we fix the energy cells, patch the port linkages into the starboard cannons, and slice together short-range comms and enough of a sensor package to fly and shoot with some stuff from that Wraith goody bag in the smuggling compartment, it'll take weeks. But we've still got a power problem. According to Gate, we can fly the ship, fire the weapons, or raise the shields, but not at the same time.”

“Somehow I don't think the Cylons will give us weeks.” Wedge mused, “I'll ask Captain Adama for a rundown on their fighters so we can do something to protect these people. We can fix the shuttle when we have spare time.”

“All right,” said Tycho, “What do you want me to do?”

“Go comm Wes and Hobbie. Tell them we have some new toys to play with.”

****************************
BATTLESTAR GALACTICA
PILOT BRIEFING ROOM

With Lt. Thrace of training the less-experienced “nuggets” in basic flight skills, it was left to Lee Adama to brief them on the new fighters they would be flying. Despite his rapport with Thrace, Wedge was glad to get the chance to evaluate the younger Adama.

His briefing was efficient and to the point , which quelled any lingering fears Wedge had about the Commander favoring his son for the position of CAG over another officer with more ability.
Clearly he knew his business. Picture slides of the Colonial Viper MK II were distributed, and then Adama went into a brief rundown of the Viper’s performance qualities and main weapon systems.

Across the table Wedge could see Hobbie mouthing "Kinetics?" at him as the “Captain Apollo” began his description.

“…The Mark Two boasts twin 30mm mass drivers mounted in the wings, with an eight hundred round magazine. The rate of fire is twenty rounds a second…”

Doing the light math in his head, it came to forty seconds of sustained fire and Wedge had to suppress a wince. Even though an X-Wing’s quad Lasers could fire only once a second at full power, the single fire setting could discharge at close to the Vipers firing rate, with even those under-powered shots packing far more destructive force than the Viper's guns.

Never mind the fact the X-wing could keep firing indefinitely and the laser cannons would melt from overuse before the power ran out, Or that the Viper's acceleration and maneuverability was negligible, even compared to a DIE-Wing.

Ammunition constraints for anything other than missiles were not something he was used to working under in a dogfight.

Unfortunately the Captain had informed them missile components were difficult to assemble aboard, so for now, missiles were reserved solely for strike missions.

Still, Thought Wedge, The design elements are solid. Swap those mass drivers for two Taim and Baks, throw in some Novaldexx Engines and shields, and you've got a compact fighter that could really dance and sting.

Even though it took place on a new ship within a completely different society, the briefing felt comfortable for some reason, like a trip back in time to the bad old days, flying with his friends for the chronically-under supplied Rebel Alliance.

But this time, he was reduced to throwing rocks.

The only consolation was the other side is going to be throwing rocks right back at me. With no shields, that's small comfort.

**************************

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA
LOCKER ROOM

Pulling on the Colonial flightsuits was strange. They fit more tightly than the ones issued in eye-hurting orange by the New Republic Starfighter Command. However, everyone was pleased with the helmets, which offered a better view than the mask of an Imperial pilots and a full atmospheric enclosure that would be more reliable than the magcon field on an X-Wing ejector seat.

Let me get this straight,” Hobbie said, sealing the top seam of his flightsuit, “In little more than a month, we’ve gone from honor-obsessed dilettantes trying to kill us because we’re famous to traveling the Unknown Regions with the paranoid survivors of the genocide of a dozen lost Corellian colonies-destroyed, I might add, by the lunatic droids that they themselves created,”

He paused to take a breath,

“Droids who are now capable of looking like anyone, and the only ships we can fight them in are so fragile and backward they wouldn’t even pass muster in a system defense force if you bribed the inspection teams?”

“Succinctly put,” said Wedge, “Your point?”

The gloomy pilot shrugged. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I think a substantial pay raise is in order.”

“So comm your Senate Representative with a request when we get back.” Wedge sighed, attaching the gloves over the suit sleeves.

He was getting too old for this…Sithspit, he had been born too old for this.

“If we get back,” Hobbie muttered, “Like it’ll matter. Senate Appropriations is more tightfisted than a Hutt with arthritis.”

“Oh, cheer up Hobbie,” said Tycho, taking the opportunity to badger him further “It’s not like we’re officially serving with the Republic Fleet on this one-Odds are they’ll say we weren’t on duty, so no combat pay.”

Then Janson, who had remained uncharacteristically silent let out his breath with a -houff- stood up, and picked up his newly issued helmet, which for some reason had the number 1000 painted along the top in red.

“Let’s do this. Wes said, “Hopefully we’ll buy a plot in those delightful flying caskets before I have to hear another one of your motivational speeches.”

then he brightened,

“Besides, if we survive, there's a guaranteed holodrama in it.”

“Seriously, think about it; Janson said, ignoring a few blank looks, and pressing on, “Mysterious colony of humans from the Unknown regions pursued by an evil force of droids?”

“and then four brave and handsome pilots-”

“Four?” Iella interrupted, “I only see three. Oh,” She glanced at the grandstanding Tanaabian and cocked her head, “Right, and their pet mynock.”

“You wound me,” Wes said, clutching his chest in an overly dramatic fashion.

“Somehow, I imagine your ego will survive,” Iella said, archly. “Besides, don't you four have ships to fly?”

“Don't remind me.” said Hobbie.
*******************
“Run-up!”

The tube’s catapult mechanism settled over the skid of Wedge’s Viper with a solid –KA-chunk-

And here he was, sitting in a rickety craft powered by the most basic of chemical reactions, a ship that even a suicidal TIE jockey would fill his flightsuit at the prospect of entering as he waited for a primitive magnetic catapult to hurl him into space.

**Red One,” Captain Kelly's voice sounded in his ear, “You are cleared to launch.**

A muted Thud-bump later and the Viper was speeding down the launch tube, and its pilot, General Wedge Antilles, who had of late spent most of his time directing battles from the bridge of the Super Star Destroyer Lusankya or flying a desk instead of high-preformance fighter-craft realized that the acceleration mashing him into his seat and pulling his cheeks back into a rictus grin wasn't the only reason he was smiling.

I haven't had this much fun in months.

********End of Chapter*********

Excellent chapter! I was wondering whatever happened to this fic, and I'm ecstatic that it still lives!

I think you've captured the characters really well. And with the damage the shuttle's sustained, it neatly avoids the issue of the Star Wars tech simply overwhelming the locals and making things too easy. Although there's still the opportunity to impress, they won't be able to do it all the time. Should prove very interesting. Can't wait for the next chapter!

Woo hoo, its back!

Ooh! I love this story on FF.net. Can't wait for the next chapter! I think that dealing with a society that is so heavily reliant on machines should have some interesting cultural conflicts with the Colonials, not to mention: how are the Cylons going to take this? I mean, has Sharon been exposed yet?

Urge to maim... rising.

darthdavid wrote:Urge to maim... rising.

What's up?

Sithking Zero wrote:

darthdavid wrote:Urge to maim... rising.

What's up?

You necro'd the thread which is against forum rules and is really annoying. People think their favorite stories have been updated only to find out that someone has posted a +1 months after the last update.

Also it's Hiigara not Higaara.

Actually, Kartr, DrMckay posted a new bit in 2011.05.09. I missed the email update as well. Perhaps there was an issue during the server failure?

*Fixed spelling error - damn my eyes!

Torben wrote:Actually, Katr, DrMckay posted a new bit in 2011.05.09. I missed the email update as well. Perhaps there was an issue during the server failure?

There's a new bit? Where? I didn't see it... I'm not trying to keep a dormant thread going or anything, but if there is a new chapter hidden someplace, I'd like to know where to find it.

Scroll about halfway up the page. It's there.

Oh, shit. I misread the damned month. I retract my former statements and formally apologize for my error.

Torben wrote:Oh, shit. I misread the damned month. I retract my former statements and formally apologize for my error.

Apology accepted Captain Torben.

Author's Note: Here's the next chapter. Credit to SD.Net's Mr.Bean for most of the Adama/Baltar conversation, and Beta credit to Crazedwraith of SD.Net. Any remaining errors are my fault entirely

Sorry for the long time between updates.



Chapter Nine: Settling In

For Wedge, flying the Viper brought back memories of his tenth birthday, when Booster had visited Gus Tetra and with his parents’ tacit approval ‘borrowed’ some maintenance hoppers, giving him and Mirax their first flying lesson. They were light, flimsy craft with rudimentary systems and lacking life support, and inertial dampers. Booster deemed them perfect to learn the mechanics of zero-gee flight.

As he looked up at the stars through the visor of his vac suit during those early days, Wedge had never felt so unfettered.

As he maneuvered the fragile fighter, some of that freedom returned. There were no galaxies to save, no fleets to command, and no cynical politicians out to make him a hero, just him and the thin layer of the vac suit against the jewled blackness of space, pushing the limits of a new fighter.

I wonder how long it will last this time. Wedge mused, as he tried to get a feel for the Viper. Although it was orders of magnitude slower than anything he had previously flown, Wedge used their handling characteristics as a baseline.

While the Viper lacked the speed-demon characteristics of the A-wing or the reassuring solidity of Y-Wings and the clunky Adumari Blades he had so recently flown, the craft seemed to respond to his slightest motion as if he was willing rather than directing the craft to move. More than anything else it reminded him of his aging and much beloved X-Wing which could still take on the best the Imps had to offer.

With the right pilot of course.

As Wedge and his wingmates put the new craft through their paces at Starbuck's prompting, he hoped that they could gain enough expertise with them to be effective against the Cylons.

But that won't matter a bit if we can't build a rapport with the Colonials themselves. We need to use Gate's navigational readings after each jump to get home faster, and they don't trust us enough for that yet. The President trusts us enough to show Winter around the fleet and see them at their worst, but Adama has been a bit more wary, and Col. Tigh isn't helping.

Following suit as Starbuck ordered another inversion and acceleration in the other direction, or as she put it, a “Turn and Burn,” he wondered how Winter and Iella were doing...

*******************

LUXURY LINER CLOUD NINE
CENTRAL GREEN


“...we're thinking about removing some of this grass and turning the area into a large-scale vegetable garden. Our Purser's arranging for seeds from the Botannical Cruiser, but if you can put us in touch with the Demetrius, we can get treated fertilizer. That'll make the plants grow better and give the passengers something else to occupy their time. We're going to be running short on vitamin supplements soon, and the fresh vegetables will be a good replacement source...”

As the Cloud Nine Rep nattered on, Laura Roslin felt more and more discomfited every time she glanced at the mysterious Winter Retrac. The sight of such striking white hair on a young woman aside, her entire manner was different, and her bearing was almost regal.
Unlike most Colonials faced with the apocalypse and a president who had been an unknown quantity before it, Winter was calm, polite and deferential during the tour, asking seemingly innocuous questions which later seemed to define problems that the colonials had not seen as soon as they had arrived on board nearly an hour ago.

Questions like: “Given your situation, would it be possible to convert these gardens to agricultural or hydroponic production?” Which had resulted in the last three hours of discussion about the difficulties and possible benefits involved, and Winter's official promotion to Presidential Aide. The younger woman had looked briefly amused, and muttered something about “Supplying ragtag fleets” being a calling before creating a rough-draft proposal for the plantings out of thin air.

Laura had authorized it in the end, while requesting that a small more natural-looking grotto remain untouched for the fleet to be able to enjoy.

One of the benefits of the Presidency after the Apocalypse was occasional privacy when she asked for it, so now Laura was letting Winter handle the logistical arrangements while she took a few minutes to indulge herself in the grotto, spreading her coat on the dirt and placing the battered sensible flats next to it as she dangling her feet in a pool of burbling water, taking a few minutes' time to really revel in the smell of trees, grass and wet dirt for the first time since the attacks.

Until she remembered that little girl on the other Botannical Cruiser that she had ordered abandoned along with all the other sublight ships on that first day. The one who she had talked to in an environment much like this one, and who had surely died in fire.

Her name was Camie. She was going to meet her family at the Caprica City Spaceport, Laura remembered, Her family was going to make chicken pie, and she had a rag doll with yellow hair and. And I left her to die but I can't remember her face anymore. I will find no more peace here today, and I need to do something.

Soft footsteps behind Laura interrupted her reverie, “Are you all right, Madam President?” asked Winter.

“Yes, thank you Winter. Just remembering some of the more unpleasant choices I've had to make lately, and trying to persuade myself into another one-Building a bridge with Tom Zarek before the religious kooks do.”

Laura couldn't delay anymore and pulled her feet out of the water, shaking the worst of the droplets off before pulling her shoes on and rising, brushing most of the dirt off of the jacket.

But not all of it. Laura had certain appearances to keep up, and being spic and span on a former prison ship would not get her taken seriously by its former inmates.

“Zarek the terrorist?” Winter asked

“I'm surprised you people aren't calling him a freedom fighter given that your own government was formed from a successful insurgency.” Roslin replied, and held up a hand to forestall immediate response, “I'm not judging, just curious.”

The younger woman nodded, long white hair moving smoothly over her shoulders, “The elader of my home planet had a saying once, about our movement in the early days when Imperial propaganda labeled us as terrorists.”
Her voice changed in pitch and timbre, growing deeper and more deliberate, “Today's terrorists are tomorrow's freedom fighters. She gave a brief smile, “But only if we achieve victory.”

“Also,” she said, voice returning to normal, “The officially sanctioned Alliance of Free Planets obeyed the codified rules of war, and all of us joined from cells which followed those rules. Most of the time. When you're fighting a galaxy-spanning tyrannical dictator with supernatural powers, it becomes hard to draw a firm line on acceptable tactics all the time.”

Winter's eyes grew far away for a minute, and she continued,

“Some of the Sector moffs and Ubiqutorate bureaucrats who were working thousands of sentients to death on a daily basis would come home to their families, tuck their children in at night, and bring back trinkets they had stolen from the dead for their wives and mistresses. Sometimes those people became leveraged for better treatment of nonhumans in the camps and mega-factories.”

“As far as Mr. Zarek goes, we have little respect for a man who was offered release from prison in exchange for labor, but compromised the safety of the fleet to score political points. The fact that he used hardened convicts to hold young women hostage makes it worse in our eyes.”
“Does your planet's leader feel as though the Alliance's victory was justified by the means used to procure it?” Roslin asked.

“I never got to find out,” Winter said softly, “He died when Alderaan was destroyed by the empire over ten years ago. Bail Organa raised me side by side with his own daughter Leia, who had to watch as our world burned. Tycho was in Imperial service talking to his family as it happened.” Her expression grew sad for a moment, “For thousands of years we had a reputation as pacifist philosophers with strong ethics. After the holocaust over eighty percent of able survivors joined the Alliance Fleet and requested frontline service.”

“I'm sorry,” Laura said, “I didn't know.”

“It's all right.” Winter said, “You've had your own hardships as bad or worse. Just don't let it drag you down. Make deals with who you have to, but don't give away too much out of guilt. Watch Zarek, but also keep in mind that he at least tried to keep the hostages safe while he negotiated.”

“I'll bear that in mind.” Laura said. “Thank you for your honesty. Now I have to beard the revolutionary in his den. Can you handle things here.”

The white-haired woman smiled again, “This would not be the first time I organized the supply system for a refugee fleet.”

“Oh?” Laura raised an eyebrow, out of curiosity, what other fields are you qualified in?”

“Of what hasn't been classified?” Winter asked, and the President nodded, “Quartermaster, intelligence analysis, negotiation, personal assistant, slicing, bodyguard, demolitions, and childcare.”

“Okay,” Laura said, “I'm impressed. You've got the job, and you can start today. The hours are terrible, the perks are awful, and you get paid mostly in food.

“Best offer I've had all week.” Winter said straight faced, and turned to go.

“Winter-” Laura said, and the other woman turned back, “Thank you for letting me draft you for this.”

Winter's expression grew serious. “Madam President, your actions are saving lives. If you hadn't used me to help these people in some way, I'd be worried about you.”

And then she left to oversee the plantings. Laura smiled and walked towards her shuttle.

*******************
BATTLESTAR GALACTICA
BRIEFING ROOM

Adama sat in the same room where they had first talked with their strange visitors. Except this time, it was just him and Doctor Baltar, who was trying to explain how far behind Colonial technology was compared to the wonders possessed by the Republic,

"Just try, try and understand this Commander, that Mr. Janson fellow let me examine this. He called it a Datapad. They had several, and he said that even the meanest farmer on any halfway decent world owned one. Look, full holographic interface, video playback and recording functions, even dictation, for Frak’s sake.”
“ And here, according to the help files this model comes loaded standard with "-ten thousand of the most common forms of verbal and written communication in the galaxy-" If my conversion figures are correct this thing has enough storage space and processing power to rival a full on university or government computer lab back on Caprica. And you want to know how smart that "droid" of theirs is?”

Adama knew better than to stop Baltar when he had reached mid-rant mode. He just made a 'continue' gesture, which the doctor ignored anyway.

“Well Commander I can't even quantify. I have absolutely no idea.

This Datapad here is just a personal aid, that... thing... is a full on faster than light navigation tool, in addition to being a repairman on par with your Chief Tyrol, and running code hundreds of times faster than all the Galatica's CIC computers combined.”

“Not bad for something that acts like an squeaky trashcan.” Adama muttered.

“Just don't let the 'trashcan' hear you say that Commander, he may be hurt.”

“He?” Adama asked in a soft, dangerous tone, “Have you forgotten what your navigation program let these things do to us so quickly, that you want to make it a person? Give it a gender?”

Darkness passed briefly over the smaller man's face as he pondered something, seeming to listen to one of the voices in his head, before deciding on a course of action

“This “droid” and the Cylons are not one and the same, Commander. In fact, I am given to understand that it performs duties equivalent to a Raptor ECO in General Antilles' fighter craft, making it a combat veteran of their own struggle for survival.”

After staring into space for a minute, Baltar oriented back to Adama and his expression became a mocking one, “How many combat missions have you flown recently Commander?”

Baltar received a steel-rimmed glare from the older man, his burst of courage fleeing just as quickly as it had arrived.

“Sorry,” he babbled, "It's just that it's a completely different culture. We have no standards for comparison, except that I wonder if all of their women are that nice-looking. Did you happen to know where they went? I wanted to-er- talk to them. Cultural exchange and all that.”

Adama briefly contemplated bludgeoning Baltar to death with the room's coffee pitcher before deciding it would be a crucial misallocation of strategic resources, and forced himself to reply to the gadfly,

“Ms. Retrac is currently shadowing the President, and Mrs. Wessiri Antilles has agreed to help you with your Cylon hunt. Apparently she's a former detective.”

“Actually, Commander I was hoping perhaps you could assign the task to Mr. Gaeta, his professional manner and grounding in scientific study would give him a better basis for understanding the scientific terminology.”

Baltar smiled, “He’s a bright young man, you know”

“Yes. Mr. Gaeta is one of my best Dradis operators.” Adama retorted, “However, In his copious amounts of spare time, he is now assisting the newcomers as a liaison officer. You'll work with the woman.”

Baltar blinked several times, “A-actually Commander, at this stage, I would work better in solitude, and even though Mrs. Antilles may be a proficient investigator, adding her to this project would, I believe be a waste of her talents. The woman has no scientific background. She'd hardly be able to lend a hand with my research.”

“Perhaps.” rumbled Adama, “But the woman's a trained investigator. She's tenacious and inquisitive. I'd guess you would hardly be able to keep up with her in a combat setting. So here's how it's going to work, Doctor Baltar. You find the Cylon agents in my fleet, and Wessiri Antilles keeps you alive while bringing them in. You start your partnership in half an hour, and if you are dumb enough to try anything with her, you deserve whatever broken bones you get. Have I made myself clear?”

“Abundantly Commander.” Baltar replied, “Er, shall I go now?”

“Yes,” Adama said, manfully resisting the temptation to roll his eyes, “You're dismissed Doctor.”

*******************
ASTRAL QUEEN
CAPTAIN'S QUARTERS

For Tom Zarek, it appeared that the old cliché of 'prison changing a man” was true. While his voice had been passionate and fiery on the wireless, in person he was a far cry from his archived photographs, looking haggard and weary. Whatever spark had once animated him was reduced to embers, but Laura noticed that the events of recent weeks had fanned them into life a bit.

For starters, he actually tried to charm her.

Roslin halted his efforts with an incredulously raised eyebrow. “You don't know me, Tom, so I'll give you credit for the attempt, but it doesn't mean I'll respond your puerile romantic overtures like some over-privileged Caprican University Student who wants to irk her daddy by frakking you.”

“And don't think for one godsdamn minute that I need you to teach this poor, helpless Schoolmistress how to run this fleet of refugees, while ensuring that there is absolute equality, and making everything all better either. If I wanted personal time with a sagging revolutionary, I'd sit in my office swivel chair.”

Zarek snorted, but was kept from more by a burning glare, as Roslin continued,

“I’m sorry, Tom, for a moment there, I actually forgot you were a terrorist who used indiscriminate violence and leveraged the deaths of innocent men and women to publish a book and set back Caprican-Saggitaron relations by a decade at the least.”

Zarek’s eyes hardened, and the charming celebrity’s mask slipped a bit, revealing what he must have looked like as a young fire-eater.

“Believe it or not, Laura, everything I did has been to uphold the rights and freedoms granted by the Colonial Charter-“

“You took hostages!” she shot back, angered now

“I used the tools I had available to affect positive change.”

“Shove the soundbite up your ass, Zarek, and tell me exactly what ‘positive change’ you think we need.”

“This is a new, transient society. We need a meaningful currency,” he ground out, “We need assured equality under the law for everyone, we need a thousand other things-but most of all, we need political accountability-and that, Laura starts at the top. I didn’t call for new elections because I dislike you personally, but because I wanted you to abide by the Presidential term under which you had been appointed-Adar’s term.”

“You’re right.” Said Laura, “We need schools,” She continued, “and a culture, and jobs, and a better society.” But now, Tom, right now, we need to survive. We buy our survival with food, water, fuel. And when we have time, we build again. When it’s time to step down, I’ll step down.”

“At the end of your term?

“You’re assuming I won’t stand for re-election” said the President.

“If you lose, how can I be sure you’ll abide by a verbal agreement made off the record?”

“I won’t lose. I’ll have the best Vice-Presidential Candidate on the ballot.” She gave a wry grin, and pointed,

“You.”

“Me?” He asked, disbelief in his voice.

“Contrary to what you may believe, I don’t hate you, Tom,” She sighed, “On some level, despite your methods, I envy you. You managed to keep your idealism and a dream in for a better society intact. I started losing mine when Adar sent the Marines to break up the Teacher’s strike, and realized it was gone entirely when the Presidency passed to me.”


“All the insults, the accusations?” Zarek looked thoughtful

“A test. I never wanted this job, never asked for this responsibility. But it's mine all the same. I want someone to balance the needs of the average person with the necessity of building a new society, where taking an interest in the ship you’re living on or the fact that we are all Colonials matters more than the name of the presently-radioactive piece of dirt you were born on or what you think the gods tell you.”

Zarek’s eyebrows rose,

“Abandon the Quorum?”

“No. Change it.” she said curtly, “But the man who helps me with that has to be more than an aging radical with a death fixation.”

The aging radical paused before speaking, “That's a sharp tongue you've got, Madam President.
“Take a seat and let's talk.”


********End of Chapter*********

Hey, dude my betaing was that bad?

Sorry, Crazedwraith. I've taken so long to write this chapter I totally forgot you volunteered to edit. I was writing this at like 1-2 AM and just wanted to get something up. You've been a great beta (Pats on head and gives treat)

Pleasantly surprised to see this back! Though Winter seems to have become the Presidential Aide rather fast. Especially since you start out the chapter with Wedge talking to himself about earning the Colonials trust. IMHO it seems a little odd that if trust is an issue, Winter would be allowed to become Presidential Aide. It's been a long while since I watched nBSG and I don't remember Roslin being that nice to Zarek, in fact I don't remember her ever being that nice. She generally came across as a hard nosed, close minded, authoritarian. A former schoolteacher who misses being able to whack knuckles with her ruler.

That being said I like it and am glad this isn't dead.

Kartr_Kana wrote:Pleasantly surprised to see this back! Though Winter seems to have become the Presidential Aide rather fast. Especially since you start out the chapter with Wedge talking to himself about earning the Colonials trust. IMHO it seems a little odd that if trust is an issue, Winter would be allowed to become Presidential Aide. It's been a long while since I watched nBSG and I don't remember Roslin being that nice to Zarek, in fact I don't remember her ever being that nice. She generally came across as a hard nosed, close minded, authoritarian. A former schoolteacher who misses being able to whack knuckles with her ruler.

That being said I like it and am glad this isn't dead.

Your forgetting that she just found out that Tycho watch his world die in a LIVE BROADCAST. That would change anyone. Even those who just lost the bulk of 12 worlds. And before you say anything there was still people fight on some of the worlds we only saw Caprica in the show after the attack. And Ships all over the place still being hunted down.

knightowl wrote:

Kartr_Kana wrote:Pleasantly surprised to see this back! Though Winter seems to have become the Presidential Aide rather fast. Especially since you start out the chapter with Wedge talking to himself about earning the Colonials trust. IMHO it seems a little odd that if trust is an issue, Winter would be allowed to become Presidential Aide. It's been a long while since I watched nBSG and I don't remember Roslin being that nice to Zarek, in fact I don't remember her ever being that nice. She generally came across as a hard nosed, close minded, authoritarian. A former schoolteacher who misses being able to whack knuckles with her ruler.

That being said I like it and am glad this isn't dead.

Your forgetting that she just found out that Tycho watch his world die in a LIVE BROADCAST. That would change anyone. Even those who just lost the bulk of 12 worlds.

Not really sure what you're trying to say here. Yes she just found out Tycho watched his world get blown to asteroids, how does that have anything to do with anything?

knightowl wrote:And before you say anything there was still people fight on some of the worlds we only saw Caprica in the show after the attack. And Ships all over the place still being hunted down.

Bulk of 12 worlds? Those worlds all got nuked, then the Cylons landed and started hunting down survivors, farming women and executing everyone else. The vast majority of the Colonials who survived are in the fleet, the others are ragtag bands of resistance fighters, fighting a hopeless battle. Anyone left on any of the 12 worlds is going to die or get their ovaries farmed. Also anyone in any of those other fleets that may or may not exist, will soon run out food, fuel and air, dying far from home surrounded by the blackness of space. Also "Ships all over the place," well really it's only that one little sublight fleet that Cain looted and then left for dead, as well as the Pegasus itself. There are not ships all over the place being hunted down. Though once again I have to wonder what any of this has to do with anything I said.

The chapter has been edited for errors in grammar and refining the character voices, and Crazedwraith has been given credit as a beta. Again, Sorry about that Crazed. It's been some time since I worked on this.