Respite
Missing scenes from Episode 3.16 "Dirty hands"
Disclaimer: Battlestar Galactica stil isn't mine, no matter how much wishing I do.
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Colonel Saul Tigh stalked around the command deck of the Galactica, looking for something he could curse and rant about.
Nothing. Everyone was efficiently doing their jobs, keeping their heads down and butts up.
Frak, he was bored.
The crew was involved in the minutia of routine station-keeping duties. There were no Cylons. Nothing to shoot at. No jumps planned. Just a whole lot of nothing to look at. And a whole lot of time in which to think how much he wanted a drink.
Don't think about that, he told himself sternly.
"Raptor 753 requesting permission to depart on routine patrol," Mr Hoshi relayed from his post at Communications.
"Granted," Tigh said, still pacing.
A raptor leaving on routine patrol was the current "highlight of the watch".
He glanced at the clock on the wall. At least another two hours before he could go, dammit.
What everyone needed were a few drills to liven things up; people were growing complacent. A few hair-raising simulations were just the way to go. What was the point of being XO if you couldn't scare the crap out of the crew every so often? He'd have to remember to suggest it to the old man next time he saw him. Which might be a while, given the Admiral's sudden penchant for paperwork.
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Previous evening
"You know this extended quiet is getting on my nerves," Tigh said, helping himself to salad.
"I mean, no toasters in several months, and the fleet sitting here for two weeks waiting for fuel..."
Adama nodded around a mouthful of noodles.
"We can use the break. And it's given us plenty of time to catch up on the paperwork," he said once he'd cleared his mouth.
"Paperwork," Saul snorted. "Bane of society. Would have been better off losing it with the fall of the Colonies."
"Could almost agree there," Adama said ruefully. "I think mine has doubled since Roslin made me an Admiral."
Tigh chuckled.
"You're the same person, doing the same job. They pin a frakking rank pin on your collar, and suddenly every one wants a piece of your time. Can't wipe their ground-hugging butts without your advice or guidance."
"At least the bureaucracy at the top is a little less," Adama replied, sipping his wine. "I only have to report to the President these days. Which reminds me, she sent over a stack of proposals from various captains in the Fleet for me to look over."
"You want me to cover your watch in the morning?" Saul asked.
Adama nodded.
"Thanks."
Tigh shook his head.
"I thought we'd just agreed that paperwork was the devil's work. Now you're so enamored of it you're doing the President's for her?"
"She's busy organizing things for Baltar's trial," Adama responded mildly. "And these things probably fall more within my purview than hers anyway."
"Trial. She should have just airlocked the crazy toaster-loving bastard," Saul muttered. "Nobody knew he was aboard anyway. No lawyers; none of this "fair trial" crap; just air locking. Nice and easy."
"I'll remind you of that next time you piss her off," Adama grinned, looking at him over the top of his glasses.
"She doesn't need to airlock me: she's got a mean right hook, as I've already found out," Saul grinned, exaggerating a little, running a hand over his stubbled jaw and miming pain.
The Admiral raised an eyebrow.
"On New Caprica," Saul clarified. "OK, more of a slap really, but the woman packs a wallop."
"And you wonder why I'm doing the paperwork for her," Adama deadpanned.
Saul guffawed, and raised his glass in a toast.
"To the President. May we stay on her good side and therefore on the breathable side of airlocks."
"So say we all," Adama responded softly.
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Hoshi's voice abruptly broke the stillness of the command deck.
"Sir, Raptor 753 has just declared an emergency. They..."
Saul's good eye fixed on the communications rating as the man paused staring off into space, then looked back at the XO.
"Racetrack and Skulls have just ejected."
Gaeta bent over a DRADIS repeater. "I have the raptor on DRADIS. Plotting traject..."
The officer broke off, and stared at Tigh, swallowing hard
"Sir. DRADIS shows the raptor has collided with another ship."
"Which ship?" Tigh asked, although with a sinking sensation in his belly, he admitted he already knew. That particular icon on the DRADIS console belonged to only one ship.
"Colonial One, Sir," Gaeta confirmed.
"Scramble two Search and Rescue raptors. SAR one is to locate our pilots, the other to go to Colonial One."
"Scrambling," Gaeta confirmed.
Tigh lifted the phone and connected to Adama's quarters.
"Bill. You need to get up to CIC immediately. There's been an incident with one of the raptors."
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Tigh was listening to an update on the situation from Gaeta when the Admiral strode onto the command deck.
"Report," he barked out.
Tigh nodded to Gaeta, indicating the younger man should brief the Admiral.
"Raptor 753 declared an outbound emergency," Gaeta said crisply. "The ship lost navigation, and the engines were cutting in and out erratically. Racetrack and Skulls were forced to eject." The young man took a breath. "Subsequent to this, the raptor spun out of control and crashed into Colonial One."
Something flared in Adama's eyes, but the Admiral suppressed whatever it was, before Saul had a chance to put a name to it.
"Search and Rescue raptors have been scrambled and left the flight deck ninety seconds ago," the Colonel added.
"Any word from Colonial One?"
"The pilot reports no decompressions so far," Gaeta replied.
"Do we have a location on the President?"
Gaeta swallowed at the intensity of the gaze. Conversation in the control room lapsed into expectant silence.
"President Roslin was on board Colonial One at the time of the incident," Gaeta said softly. "No report on her status as yet." He paused, then continued. "From the initial reports, it appears the raptor impacted on Colonial One's port side, just forward of bulkhead fifteen."
Saul winced. That was the same lateral section as the Presidential suite.
Adama turned to the communications officer.
"Mr Hoshi, have you tried to establish a direct link to the President's office?"
The rating nodded.
"Yes sir, but internal comms on Colonial One are currently intermittent." His eyes grew unfocussed, and his hand lightly touched his earpiece. "Sir, SAR raptor two reports successful docking with Colonial One. They are proceeding forward to the damaged section."
Adama nodded acknowledgement, absently cracking his knuckles.
Tigh noted the reaction without comment. The old man only did that when he was feeling particularly stressed.
"Anything from SAR raptor one?" he asked the comms officer.
Hoshi shook his head.
Adama motioned Tigh closer.
"We need to get the wreckage of that first raptor secured," he said quietly. "We need to know if this was an accident or..."
"Sabotage? An assassination attempt?" Saul completed.
Adama gave a short nod.
"I'll have marines escort the recovery team," Saul responded just as quietly, picking up the phone and issuing orders to the marine captain.
Minutes ticked by slowly. An expectant hush hung over the room, as people waited to hear the fate of their President.
Hoshi reported that SAR Raptor One had recovered Racetrack and Skulls, both unharmed.
More time passed. Saul paced. Adama stared off into space, cracking his knuckles.
Then Hoshi looked up from his control panel.
"Sir, you should hear this."
Without waiting for a reply, he switched the feed from his earpiece to the CIC PA system.
"...repeat: the President is alive and unhurt."
Cheers erupted across the bridge. Saul felt himself grinning and looked across at the Admiral.
Adama was leaning heavily against the plotting board, head slightly bowed; his normal military façade missing. There was a look of relief and...
Saul stared at his CO, his good eye widening as something that had been hovering around the edge of his consciousness for a while finally clicked into place. Then he smoothly stepped between his Admiral and the crew, coincidentally blocking their view of Adama, and rapidly began issuing orders.
So the old man had fallen for the President.
Holy frak.