All is RDM, he just lets us play.
The Enemy Within – Remix
Chapter One
Exiting Admiral Cain's quarters, Kara halted in the deserted hallway as the hatch slid shut behind her, separating her from the superior officer she would soon assassinate.
The last seventy-two hours had canted her universe as radically as the fall of the Twelve Colonies. First, being reassigned to the Pegasus, then the unauthorized Blackbird foray, followed by a near duel between the two battlestars over Cain's execution order of Helo and the Chief. But it was the directive from the Old Man that had truly set her ideology askew.
'I want you to pull out your weapon…and shoot Admiral Cain in the head.'
Kara closed her eyes, a shiver coursing through her as the flatly spoken command again slicked a chill along her spine. Wetting dry lips, she jammed the dread into a nook to grapple with later. She had a more immediate issue, an order she'd just been given by the Admiral at the conclusion of their most recent strategy session.
Since returning yesterday from briefing Commander Adama on the plan to destroy the Cylon Resurrection Ship, she, Admiral Cain and Captain Kendra Shaw had been hammering out the final logistics of the mission. The Admiral had seemed impressed with the Op she and Lieutenant Adama had devised, but it had taken multiple meetings since to satisfy Cain that they had all their contingency plans in place.
In addition, each session had turned inevitably to talk of returning to Caprica and the other Colonies. And, as eager as she was to lead a rescue to retrieve Sam and the others stranded on the Cylon-infested planet, Kara was aware of the vast difficulties involved; Adama and Roslin had made them abundantly clear. But, listening now to Cain's talk of not just a quick hit and run, but of her intentions to liberate all of their homes and utterly destroy the enemy, Starbuck's blood thrummed a war-beat in her ears.
And yet…
Worrying her lower lip, Kara felt doubts creep in again now that she had left the sphere of Cain's mesmeric confidence. She'd seen enough first hand to know that two battlestars weren't capable of taking on the entire Cylon fleet, yet that certainly appeared to be what the Admiral had in mind. Maybe not head on. Not in a single confrontation. But even if Pegasus and Galactica worked in unison on coordinated ambushes, the odds were still astronomical. With no reinforcements, no station to dry-dock and repair damage between fights, it wouldn't be long before both ships literally buckled beneath the repeated pounding they were bound to take.
…and then there was the civilian fleet to consider.
Commander Adama's standard operating plan had always been to delay the Cylon attack force to buy time for the more vulnerable ships of the fleet to jump to safety. If both battlestars were engaging in regular strikes against the enemy, who was going to protect the remainder of humanity that huddled in the many unarmed transports?
She had asked the Admiral once about that—and hadn't brought the subject up again after receiving a brow-lowered glare and Cain's 'Not your concern, Captain.' The rebuke, so reminiscent of her mother's responses, had been enough to silence her protest.
Kara pinched the bridge of her nose, the beginnings of a headache pressing on her sinuses.
Frak. Who am I kidding?
It was all a moot point. There'd be no rescue mission back to Caprica once Admiral Cain was dead. As bitter as that truth tasted, Kara knew why Adama and Roslin had chosen to run when faced with the Cylon fleet at Ragnor Station. And, as much as it twisted her gut to admit, the war was no more a winning proposition now then it had been those months ago.
Kara abruptly realized that the reason she'd paused outside the Admiral's hatch had nothing to do with the possible mission back to Caprica. She'd been delaying, subconsciously diverting herself from confronting Cain's parting order for Kara to personally execute the Cylon prisoner in the brig below.
She swallowed repeatedly to moisten a throat gone dry as the Admiral's order again echoed in her ears. What she had to do was simple really. Kill the prisoner. Kill the enemy. It was what she trained for after all, what she'd been doing for so many long months now. What difference did it really make if she did it sighting through the canopy of a Viper or down the barrel of a pistol? The Cylon was dead either way.
Mentally shaking off the vines of irresolution that had held her, Starbuck turned to stalk off in the direction of the Pegasus' brig.
She had orders to execute.
One at a time.