"Every year, the finest graduates of the colleges and universities of the Twelve Colonies become officers in the Colonial Fleet. A select few of them are chosen to attend the Tactical Officers' School." from a Colonial Fleet recruiting video.
It was the last workday before a long weekend; the afternoon zeppelin from Queenstown to the Fleet Operating Base was unusually empty; a few defense contractors, some young sailors fresh out of training preparing to deploy with the fleet, some family members either coming to visit sons or daughters, or to join their service member. No. No one of any interest to her, and then she saw him. Reasonably good looking, young and trim, not like the fat defense contractors, and he was in uniform so she could tell he was an officer; a junior officer, but still, an officer. She brought him his lunch, and made a point of leaning over him to get something from the seat back next to him. Straightening up, she deliberately brushed against him. He looked up, annoyed. "I'll get it for you, miss." She looked down and smiled, "Thank you, sir; I didn't want to bother you." Felix Gaeta didn't return her smile, "No problem." Walking away, she thought to herself, "Frak him. No, that's not gonna happen."
Disembarking from the zeppelin, Gaeta saw the signs in the terminal directing new personnel to sign in at Central Transport for transportation to their units. Behind the counter, a strac NCO took a copy of people's orders and checked the monitor to see about their transportation. "A copy of your orders, Sir; thank you. You'll be going to the West Compound, Building 7455. The ground bus will be here in about 45 mikes, so if you want to leave your bags here, you can check out the shops, get a bite to eat. The next bus will be in about two hours. We'll load your bags on board." "Thank you; I'll be back." He had never been to Picon before, and he hadn't had much time from the time he landed planet-side at the spaceport until the zeppelin left, so he wanted to see as much as he could see. The sandwich and cup of coffee took almost the full 45 minutes, and Gaeta almost missed the bus.
The bus dropped him off at the schoolhouse, and he noted that no one came to carry his bags. Inside, at the duty desk, a grizzled chief barely looked up and reached out a hand, "Orders, sir."
Felix looked down, "I'm surprised, chief, that a man of your experience and years of service doesn't know to come to attention for a superior officer."
By tradition, the duty officer didn't need to come to attention for anyone except the school commander or other officers of equal or greater rank. This ensign didn't qualify. Slowly, the chief rose, "By your command, sir. I'm sorry sir."
Handing over his orders, Gaeta added, "That's better, chief."
"You'll be in room 427; Mister Kirikiadi will be your roommate. Runner," and he snapped his fingers, "take MISTER Gaeta's bags up to room 427." They left, and the chief looked after him. Normally a new ensign would be beneath his notice; they were expected to say and do stupid things, but something about this one got under his skin. Within minutes, word went out over the old chiefs' network that Ensign Felix Gaeta was trouble.
At the door to Room 427, the runner dropped off Gaeta's bags, "You're in here, sir." Runners did not bring new arrivals bags into their rooms; they dropped them off at the door. The layout of these suites was such that that the hallway door entered into a small ante-room. To the right and to the left were the large, single occupant bedrooms, with a shared bathroom with twin sinks between the bedrooms and offset opposite the hallway door.
Felix Gaeta was a rarity in the history of man; he had perfect pitch. From the sounds coming out of the bathroom, it was obvious the person inside did not. He supposed that on some colonies, that sound which rose above the hair dryer was considered music; no, who was he kidding, no one considered that music. Assuming it was his new roommate, he looked in the open door and almost gaped, but managed "What the frak are you doing?"
Standing on a towel, stark naked admiring himself in the mirror was a guy his own age. He was about the same height as Felix, but a stockier build. In one hand he held a hair dryer which he was using on his nether regions, and in the other hand was a pair of scissors which he was using in concert with the hair dryer. Over his left shoulder, Felix recognized the markings of the leading student society in the Twelve Colonies; a society that had considered, and decided it could do without, Felix Gaeta.
The naked guy put his hair dryer and scissors down on the counter, and he turned to Felix, smiling a broad smile, saying, "I'm just doing a little manscaping; you know the shorter the bush, the bigger the tree," and then he had the temerity, still smiling, to wink at Felix. He turned, and with no attempt to cover up, walked over, hand outstretched, and said, "I'm Mike Kirikiadi; my friends call me Riki." Pointing at his chest, he said "I shaved the lightning bolt, myself."
Felix's head started reeling. This guy couldn't be real; it had to be a test of some sort. The Society wouldn't have a member like him unless he was from some bumfrak, back world college. Nonplussed, Felix just stammered, "Uh, ugh, we can shake later. Where are you from?" "U Libran. I studied digital applications of forensic accounting; you?" Not a bumfrak back world college. "Oh, uh, biogenetics. What's your date of rank?"
In the Colonial Fleet, date of rank was everything; it determined if you commanded, or were commanded; it determined when you went before the promotion board; it was the lifeblood of every officer and enlisted man in the Fleet. "It's the first." Had Gaeta also had a date of rank on the first, he would have been senior, since regs mandated that with the same date of rank, precedence was alphabetical. Shaking his head, defeated, not happy with his new roommate, Felix dragged his bags into the empty room and started to unpack.
More than a year later, they returned to their quarters after graduation rehearsal, and true to tradition, their orders were on their pillows. Mike looked over at Felix and asked
"Where are you going?"
"I got the Galactica, under Commander Adama."
"Galactica! Jeeze, Felix, who'd you piss off in assignments branch? The Galactica can't get out of her own way. She takes a whole solar system to turn around. battlestar, my ass; battle barge is more like it. Her only purpose in the line is to draw fire from the real war fighters. And who is this Ad-a-ma? I've never heard of him. " Felix tried to get in a word, but Mike was on a roll. "He's probably some brand new commander with something to prove, or else he's a dried up hack on his tombstone assignment. Let me see what Jainz Colonial Fleets has to say."
Mike Kirikiadi pulled up Jainz Colonial Fleets on his monitor. Jainz had information not only on the Colonial Fleet, but also short biographies of commanders and above, plus information on all FTL space capable merchant ships. It was usually more accurate and more up to date than highly classified Colonial Fleet documents.
"Here we go. 'Galactica. hah; I was right, at speed she takes 8 a.u.'s to turn around. Hmm, this isn't good. All units of this class are to be decommissioned during the current quadrennium. Some units have displayed advanced structural fatigue. And this Adama fellow..." Mike whistled, "Watch yourself, Felix; he's frakked up royally somewhere along the line. He had the Valkyrie, and now Their Lordships have dumped him and his XO onto the Galactica. Just hope he gets out soon and doesn't drag you down with him. Your Adama is a piece of work. He's number 14 on the commanders' seniority list." The seniority list was everything; it determined if you commanded or were commanded. In the Colonial Fleet, if you were going to be promoted to Admiral, it happened before you reached 50 on the seniority list. "Where was I; oh yeah, he had the Valkyrie and they've transferred him to the Galactica along with his XO, Colonel, I think it's pronounced Tigg. They must've frakked up royally for a move like that. Yeah, Felix, watch your back; guys like that'll get you killed."
Felix laughed off his friend's concern. "Don't worry about me; if people start getting killed in the CIC, I've frakked up somewhere. Hey, but what about you? Aren't you gonna open your orders?."
Kirikiadi shook his head. "Their Lordships have decided that the CF can do well without the services of Mike Kirikiadi. I talked to my godfather and there's nothing to be done. I'm to report to the Reserve Unit on Libran on my arrival there. My ability at 3-d and 4-D thinking didn't meet their standards. Don't worry about me Felix; I already have a job lined up with Libran Intelligence as an auditor in the white collar crimes bureau. Very 2-D. "
in fact, Kirikiadi's conversation with his godfather had not been as calm and matter of fact as he let on. many officers had godfathers; older senior officers who looked out for their careers, guided them along their careers, and , when necessary, protected them. Rear Admiral Bill Flanders was the senior Libran in the Fleet, and was the Fleet's Judge Advocate General. "Look. Kirikiadi. there's nothing I can do. For whatever reason, the selection board decided not to put you in the fleet...Commander Cain was the Board President...Stop whining...let me tell you something; there are billions of people in the Twelve Colonies, and there are only two I'm afraid of; both of them are Helena Cain. I assure you, this is a good assignment for you...no, my boy, it won't do you any good to contact her. Suck it up. Flanders out." Absently, Flanders reached up and rubbed the left shoulder, that under his uniform blouse, unknown to Kirikiadi, had the same markings that Kirikiadi's shoulder had.
The Society had definite plans for Mike Kirikiadi, and they did not involve service with the Fleet. in twenty years, Kirikiadi would be one of three finalists for Director of Planetary Intelligence on Libran. Five years after that, he would be the Director of Colonial Intelligence. That plan would not be shared with Kirikiadi, but the ways would be opened for him to advance to it "on his own." The Selection Board had made Flanders' job much easier. Months later, he met one of the board members at a social event and asked about Kirikiadi. "Oh him, yeah, we talked about him a lot. His class standing was high enough, but he rubbed a lot of people the wrong way. The deciding vote came down to Cain, and she just said that she never wanted to serve with that creepy man. This is just between you and me, of course." Flanders nodded and wondered what Kirikiadi had done to get that kind of reputation.
The next day, Gaeta and Kirikiadi graduated and went their separate ways. They briefly stayed in touch as was usual but then fell out of contact as their lives diverged. Felix didn't even think of his friend almost two years later when the press reported that Libran drug kingpin Carmelo Wu had been killed in a shootout with Libran Intelligence forces. In fact, it had been Mike Kirikiadi who had walked up to the fallen Wu, dug his steel toed boot into the bullet wound on Wu's leg and listened to him whine and beg for his life for a few minutes before shifting the muzzle of his rifle a few centimeters and exerted a few kilos of pressure on the trigger, milliseconds before Wu's head exploded. Very 3-D.
Felix Gaeta and Mike Kirikiadi spent more than a year at the Tactical Officers' School. This is their story...