"Hello?" A blond in a flight suit tapped on the glass.
"You're late to the party." Helo had recovered enough to be angry; Tyrol was still winded. "You just missed your buddies; your XO ran 'em off."
"I'm sorry?"
"Coupla' specialists? Came down to get some jollies?"
"I'm not—I'm sorry, I don't know anything about that."
Helo and Tyrol looked at each other. "So who are you?" Tyrol asked.
"I'm Gareth? Lowell. Nightlight. I, um—I fly Raptors off the portsight ventral deck?" He wrung his hands. "Doesn't matter. You're, ah, Lieutenant Agathon? And Chief Tyrol?"
"You have any idea what's going on here?" Helo murmured to Tyrol.
"Only that Aquaria looks like he's gonna propose to one of us." Then, louder: "What can we do for you l'tenant?"
"I'm just—I was passing by; and I wanted to say good luck." He dropped his voice to a hiss. "And to thank you."
"Excuse me?" Helo tried to process that.
"Listen: I respect the admiral, and I understand what she's trying to do; the pressure that she's under. But things have been happening on this ship since the attacks. Bad stuff. Wrong stuff. And, with all due respect, but Thorne? He was in the middle of it. I just wanted to… I suppose, to let you know that we're not all like that. Like him. I think… The admiral's not like that either; not really. But, listen: Some of us over here aren't comfortable with what's happened. I just wanted you to know that before—well, whatever shakes out. And maybe if—maybe when you get back to Galactica, tell the others? Look, I hafta go; glad to meet you guys. I hope it works out." He looked around furtively and shuffled out.
"What the frak just happened?"
"I have no idea. But maybe we've got some allies after all."