Krenzik's War Part 6, a battlestar galactica: 2003 fanfic

Title: Krenzik's War-Part 6

Author: Manipulator and ViperChickKaliyla

Word count: 13,377

Rating: (M)

Spoilers: Between "Tigh Me Up, Tigh Me Down" and "Hand of God"

Disclaimer: BSG is property of NBC/Universal
Notes: This is another collaboration with ViperChick Kaliyla, featuring Diana Thalyka, President Roslin's voice to the civilian population. The story will switch perspectives, from Krenzik's to Diana's view of the same scene. These perspective shifts are denoted with marked double line breaks. This story precedes "Krenzik's War" parts 1-5. If you haven't, you should read those first.

You know what I miss the most about Pyramid? It certainly wasn't all the bullshit politics of the college game, or the back spasms, recurring groin pulls, or the bone spurs in my right knee. It wasn't even the far more glorious high school years, when we took the conference and prefecture titles my senior year. Sure, it was great, sometimes, to feed off the energy of your home crowd, that deep rumble as the bleachers shook, or to savor the rancor of the masses when you stomped into someone else's house and laid down a nasty spanking, but, with time, these aren't what I miss the most.

Once I, and my teammates, stepped onto the court, nothing else mattered. The world was simple. We relied one each other to do one thing: get it in the hole. Since I left the game, and college, behind me, I had yet to find another time where that many guys could agree, single-minded, so unified in purpose.

In the ten days since the nuke scare, which I missed in a hospital bed on Galactica, we managed to trade a case of booze for rubber mats with Colonial Movers. We traded some engine work on another small freighter, the Jenna May, out of Arelon, for the wood to make a backboard and the hole. Then we found a good spot at the back of the warehouse, laid out the triangle and boundaries with duct tape, and I brought the ball.

After four days saddled with still duty, which involved checking over a few dials and sampling one shot every three or four hours, I was back to work, but hadn't been off the Lady, since running into that lead pipe, on the Mazingo. They never even sent over an apology, but at least we got the scanner, and some amusement, Down Below, from listening to viper and raptor chatter. Since I'd gotten my stitches out, I wanted to get the jitters over with, and go off-ship. There was simply too much nervous energy and too much dead time. Our new Pyramid court fixed that.

We could only go 2-on-2, at the most, but that was pure heaven for all of us, even Ed, Nick, and Briar, who, along with his fork truck guys, never played the game, or wanted to, in their lives. They still came by to watch, though. Nick even started getting in some games. At that time, though, some smack talk between Mangan and Caff resulted in a match-up pitting the FTL tech and me against the foreman and Marty.

Marty was definitely raw, never playing beyond the schoolyard, but he was quick, and took us on, with a definite chip on his shoulder. Caff and Mangan both played, way back in high school. Our boss even made second team all-province on Arelon. Both men moved craftily and had keen minds for the game that surprised me. Mangan correctly told me to match my bulk against Caff's so he could take advantage of Marty's inexperience.

The score was tied, with Caff and I facing off, at the top of the key. The boss checked, letting the ball roll off his fingers, back into my hands. He was feeling pretty good. Marty fed him, and he managed to catch me out of position, making an easy lob that spun around the rim, and then into the hole, as if by the force of his will.

We grinned, cagily, soaked in sweat. Yeah, I was a little older, a little softer, but I could feel the reflexes coming back, the sixth sense of knowing where my teammate was, where the points of the triangle were.

"Don't get me wrong, Caff. You got skill, but man, didn't you play with leather helmets? The ball was a pig's bladder then, too, huh?"

He waved a dismissive hand.

"Hey, all-prefecture is tough, but you know Libron doesn't have the tradition of Arelon."

I smirked, made a sweet no-look pass to Mangan. He caught Marty by surprise, with a free lane to the hole. He feigned going for the lay-up, drawing Caff away from me, to cover for his partner. Then he fed me right back. I charged the key, and, while hitting Caff was like running into a steel bulkhead, it was easy enough to extend my arm over his shoulder, and let the ball roll off my fingertips, for the score. The guys surrounding our half-court mat hollered, some laughing, some applauding.

Mangan smirked as he tossed Caffrey the ball.

"What was that about Arelon, Jimmy?"

The intercom chimed.

"Maintenance report to the mess hall, maintenance to the mess hall," Jeffers droned.

"This ain't over," Caff said, catching his breath. "You gotta win by two, young pup."

I winked at him, "You wanna put off the inevitable, so be it."

Jasper Bertrand, in meticulously tailored khakis and a polo shirt, surveyed the thin line of a scar, on my forehead, that told how I was fingered as a Cylon.

"I'm glad to see you're alright, Krenzik," he told me. "It's a damn shame people started turning on one another, but it could have been worse. The initial backlash was frightening to say the least."

"It's nothing, really, Mr. Bertrand, " I told him. "I'm itching to get off this tub again, to tell you the truth."

Nick glared at me, and I knew what he was thinking. He thought I was an ass kisser, pure and simple. I'm sure Ed did, too, since they agreed on nearly everything. Oh well, if he didn't have the stones to talk up to a guy in a suit, he had nothing to bitch about. Bertrand patted me on the shoulder, and resumed his speech as the entire crew sat or stood around a mess hall table.

"I'm here, because Colonial One needs some work. I managed to bend a couple ears in the cabinet, and, since Galactica can't send any specialists until tomorrow, I managed to get some face time for you gentlemen."

We all looked at one another, amazed. Us? Colonial One? We would be walking in the footsteps of the fleet's prime knuckledraggers, Galactica's mechanics, whose training put us all to shame, except Caffrey, our lone Fleet veteran.

Stengler nodded to our foreman.

"You're the only one that's had hands-on with that class, take two guys with you."

Caffrey smiled, showing all teeth. I hate to admit it, but I leaned forward with everyone else. I felt like I was the best man for the job, but it was his call. This would show who he thought the best of us was.

"Krenzik, you're coming with me," he said. Happiness coursed through me. Sure, it took the near-extinction of the human race, but I was going to fix the president's passenger liner!

Caffrey then turned to Mangan. "Adam, you'll mind the store while I'm gone. The schedule's up in the shop. Get everybody else to work, or off-ship as needed."

"We'll get 'er done," Mangan nodded. He seemed okay with it, since Caffrey made a point to show that he would be in charge.

"Oh," Caff continued. "Toby, you're coming along too. You don't need a welder, until you don't bring him."

Then he looked to Stengler and Jeffers, who both nodded in endorsement.

"Great," Betrand said, unfolding a printout he slid out of his back pants pocket. "According to their captain, sensors indicate all CPU and computer functions are optimal, but, after a brief overheat and line flush last week, there's…"

He squinted, furrowed his brow, as if he couldn't quite grasp what he was reading.

"There's a thunking noise coming from the front of the main turbine."

In case you don't know, thunking in the main turbine always means dirty, intensive labor. Basically, it's a giant internal combustion engine, a different animal, but still related to the one in a car, loosely. Something was going on with the main belt or it's drive wheel. The hub could be cracked, the bearing could be worn out, or, the belt wheel could need replaced. The last one was just plain nasty, over 100 pounds of steel, three feet in diameter, over a foot thick. If it was warped, we could possibly run it on the lathe, back here in the shop, to milk a few more weeks or months out of it. That's only if it wasn't too badly twisted out of shape.

Caff mirrored my thoughts.

"Hopefully it's just the bearing, but if it's the wheel, I know we don't have that aboard here. We may need to come back, run it on the lathe, or put out the word for a new one."

Bertrand nodded. "Since you're working for the President, today, you will have a raptor docked, and waiting for you at all times, no matter what you need."

Our own private raptor, and being entrusted with the care of what now served as the President's mansion--Bertrand was testing us, testing me. I would have gladly bet a paycheck (if we still got them, that is) that he had been working toward a moment like this. Getting his name buzzing around the cabinet, show the prospective Libronese voters that he was getting the C1 fixed when Galactica couldn't be bothered, and Tom Zarek couldn't get his foot in the door. I remembered what he said to me, over drinks in his office. "We'll get it done by lunch." Our muscle was going to get him past another milestone toward his plan. I didn't want Zarek gaining any more favor than he had already, but I couldn't shake the feeling I was merely sticking with someone from a somewhat cooler level of hell.

We piled Toby's gear, and two mobile tool chests onto our awaiting raptor. We brought along a new bearing, plus a new main drive belt, since Caff figured we might as well replace that too.

"Now remember," he told us, in a paternal tone, as if he were taking two little kids in public for the first time. "It's called Colonial One, but it's just another government liner, really. Still, remember, the President is right upstairs. So make sure, when this aide, this Mr. Senai, comes down, you're not belching or whatever and--"

"Hey, Caff," I interrupted. "I guess that means no farting either, right?"

He glared at me.

"Don't mess around. Remember, the way you treat him will get back to the main lady, believe me."

I nodded, and he went on.

"That said, this thing will probably need a lot of work, but we're focused on the main drive wheel and the belt. But we'll compile a list, to be sure. This ship was probably shared by several departments. Also, that means they got just enough regular maintenance to keep it going. The government has a knack for cuttin' corners when it matters most."

Thankfully, Papa Caffrey's diatribe was cut short once we achieved hard seal. We lugged our equipment out, and Mr. Senai, a small, graying man in a rumpled suit and wire-rimmed glasses greeted us near the energy coils. They were arranged oddly, both stacked on one side above the FTL. Most of the time they were on either side. This ship was probably designed for maintenance in port only. Beyond this would probably be a hatch leading down to a small engine compartment, probably not much larger than that on the Mazingo.

Senai shook all of our hands vigorously, as Caff introduced us.

"Thanks so much for coming by," he said, with an unwavering mask of congeniality. "The engine room's hatch is this way. Follow me."

There were cots, lots of them, probably for over a hundred people down here. I knew that Colonial One had it rough, as a short range tub, but I never thought this many civvies would still be living on her?

"So," I asked Senai. "This is where you all sleep?" I remembered what Caff said, and did my best to conceal the mix of disgust and shock I felt.

"No sir," he said. "The cabinet and various aides are upstairs."

The last time I saw something like this, was when our high school gym housed survivors from a big tornado wave that hit. Those folks were there only a few days. How could all these people live like this for months, with no seeming end in sight? I could tell there were only meager restrooms aboard, by the smell that comes with too many people in close quarters. I couldn't imagine sleeping upstairs. At least the civvies down here could lay down. Taking one's work home was given a whole new meaning.

"I'll be back down in an hour or so, to get a progress report for Madame President. Thanks again, gentlemen." With that, he scurried back up the steps.

I tried to picture Diana Thalyka living like that, coming home to what amounted to a recliner, and just a little shared sink to wash herself, her clothes, after spending all day dealing with the empty hands, outstretched, across the fleet. She earned my respect, even some admiration with what she tried to do, how she held it together, when we last spoke on the Lady. Now, though, I honestly didn't know how she did it. I wondered what she was doing, upstairs, right then.

We left the tool chests up above, as we carried down Toby's gear, knowing, as Caff put it, we won't need it until we leave it up top. Caff checked the turbine's brain while I did a cursory check of the cooling system. Toby undid the bolts on the main turbine's front guard with a battery-powered drill wrench. He let the steel guard clank to the floor, making Caff jump.

"Toby! That's just the thing I was talkin' about."

Toby wasn't listening. He just stared at the main drive, his jaw slack, shaking his head.

"Caff, you better come look at this."

The foreman and I peeked over his shoulder. It was going to take more than a new bearing. The drive wheel was warped. The drive must have overheated recently, and whomever from Galactica patched up the leak, got the temperature back in spec, but didn't check the wheel. The heat made the alloy in the drive wheel warp, causing the clanking sound. The wheel would, over time, cause the drive shaft to snap, and Colonial One would need a brand new motor, unable to do anything but jump, and then just float, dead in space.

I let out a low whistle. This thing was even worse than the severe damage we were shown in the textbooks back in tech school. I'd never seen anything like this on any ship that wasn't either scuttled, or in drydock.

"Whaddya think, Caff?"

He grunted. "Let's get it off there. We might be able to by 'em time putting on the lathe."

After loosening the tension on the belt, the nuts holding the wheel and it's overlapping hub in place didn't want to yield.

"Toby," Caff said. "Go up top and get my crescent wrenches."

When Toby returned, it took Caff's and my strength to get that nut to finally turn, then come off. Then, because things like this are either too simple, or horrific, all the way, the damn thing wouldn't come straight off the shaft. Caff and I then spent the next ten minutes trying to make the wheel and hub to move, while Toby struck the shaft with a hammer. Flakes of long-dried corrosion sifted to the floor, and, as we were all shiny with sweat, it came loose.

I measured three different points with a micrometer, which didn't lie. The cold hard fact was that this wheel needed replaced. It was far too warped to smooth out evenly.

"Well," Caff said. "This sounds like a good time for lunch."

We sat around the hatch, our foreman atop his tool chest, lost in thought, as he ate a fried chuckwagon steak sandwich. I was getting sick of these, after a while. We got a few cases in trade for Nick replacing the motherboard on a nav console, and five jars of our hooch. They beat instant noodles, but not by much. I decided to save my apple until later. Fresh fruit was still a precious thing to be savored. I'd eat it on the ride home.

"There's no bones about it," Caff said. "That thing needs replaced. And we don't have one, that size. They'll have to get it from Galactica. It's standard on their secondary thrusters."

It was simple enough, but I had a feeling there was more.

"So, why you look like your dog died, Caff," I asked him.

"Jay, that Senai, fella is gonna come back down here, expecting something good to tell President Roslin. This won't be it. I learned in the service there's three ways: the right way, the wrong way, and the Fleet way. We're about to see the Fleet way."

I looked at my watch. It was almost an hour. Mr. Senai and his rumpled suit, his finger combed gray hair, came down the steps, feet clapping against the steel under him, with his evidently clear sense of direction and purpose.

"Taking a break, fellas," he asked us, almost accusing us, it seemed, behind his cabinet-perfect smile.

No, I wanted to tell him. We're finding the cure for cancer. How about you? But, I remembered the cots, and the spider web pattern of veins in Diana Thalyka's eyes, and held my tongue. He was an ass, but it wasn't like he was better off than me.

Caff stood, towering over the man, and affably told him, straight up that the wheel had to be replaced, and they needed to call Galactica for the part.

Mr. Senai nodded thoughtfully, but I could see the color drain from his face. This wasn't the happy news he needed to hear, let alone wanted.

"Well," he asked. "Um, couldn't you guys, I don't know, work some of your magic, you know? Put your heads together and find a way to keep it running, at least until we can get it repaired?"

Caff gently shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir. That wheel is junk. We can't even it out back at our shop. It's just far too warped. Believe me, sir. If there was any way could avoid having to call Galactica for a new one, we would but--"

"Look, Mr., uh, Caffrey. I have faith in you guys. At least try to make sure you've exhausted all of your options, okay? I'll be back down in about an hour. Sorry. Gotta run."

His feet clomped up the metal stairs again, as fast as they could carry him, without running.

"He frakked us," Toby muttered.

I smiled cynically, and looked over to our welder.

"And he didn't even promise he'd call. So, Caff. Is this what you mean by the Fleet way?"

Caffrey sat down, once more, on his toolbox, hunched over, resting meaty forearms on his knees.

"Hold on. I sort of know where he's coming from. When I was a deckhand, near the end…I was third in seniority on my flight deck, on the Atlantia. We were on a cruise, out by the asteroids near Leon. We had an accidental detonation. Seven dead. To get home, I had to suddenly run the flight deck. I was just a mechanic, 2nd Class Petty Officer, but I was the man. I had no choice. I just had to do it. That guy is in the same boat. But, I had a new Chief to relieve me when we docked. These people don't have anyone. Ever."

I understood what he was saying. Just like Diana, he was thrust into great responsibility from obscurity. Just like the President herself. And then, I realized, just like us. I thought about the little kids flocked around me, the teacher who saw my toolbox in hand, and hugged me. So many people acted like we were saving them, when, before the end of everything, we were just knuckledraggers. We were more, just like the people above us, and how ready were any of us for that? It pieced together for me then.

Caff shook her hand with utmost respect, and had me do the question box, to make it as easy on her as he could. He knew what she faced, every day, when everyone else saw just another paperpusher ready to feed them bullshit. Hell, it took me an entire tour of the engine room. If she hadn't been sweating buckets, I may never have been able to see anything from her perspective. We had common ground. We could use it to our benefit, and the President's. The plan clicked its piece into a form in my mind.

Toby made a weird face.

"What's that got to do with this, Caff?"

"Toby, this guy is supposed to keep this out of the President's hair. She's overwhelmed up there, just like we are. Just like that Senai guy. He was probably just some paper pusher who had no impact on anything--"

"Let's take it up and show her," I said. My foreman and the welder looked at me with astonishment, eyes wide. Caff's jaw hung open. This would be a hard sell, but we could do it.

"Look," I said. "The President's relying on him, right? Well, Bertrand's relying on us. One floor separates us from where the buck stops. When's the last time any of us could say that?"

Caffrey nodded slowly. "Keep talking. I'm not sure I like it, but we'll listen."

"Okay. We're going over Senai's head. Like you said, Caff, how much trouble is he gonna get into? Who's going to replace him?"

Caffrey nodded again, this time in earnest, beckoning me with his right hand to go on. Toby just sat there, puzzled. Don't worry, pal, peddle faster and you'll catch up soon enough.

"We have another contact. Diana Thalyka. She got us what we needed, on the double. And, I think we have a bit of a rapport."

Toby sniggered and swatted me with his hat.

"Come on man, you want a piece that's--"

Caffrey frowned. "Shut up, Toby."

I continued, a little chagrined that Toby did indeed catch that. She was certainly easy on the eyes, but I knew that was immaterial here. Although another whiff of her perfume wouldn't have been unwelcome.

"Right, Caff. She's seen some of what we have to do every day. I think if she sees that piece of junk--"

"Wait, Jay," Caffrey interjected. "You want that lady, in her nice dress to go down in that shithole? I'm glad you never tried being a car salesman. You woulda starved to death."

"Then we'll bring it up. It's only what? 200 kilos? It's not easy, but it's not that hard, either. Now, we just have her look at it, and get us in to show it to the president. She sees how warped it is, she'll be on the horn to Galactica, we have our part, and an hour or two from now, we leave here looking great!"

Our foreman nodded, proudly. He liked it. From the look on Toby's face, I think he finally pedaled up to speed.

"Okay, Jay," Caff said. "Toby and I will get the wheel up here. You go up there and ask for her. And when you do, make sure you say you need to see her. Not want. Need. Got it?"

I nodded, and bounded up the steps, two at a time. I didn't want to go over this over and over in my mind, or I would end up tripping over my own words. We had one shot at this. If we didn't get it right, we would not only look like incompetents, but we could also lose a very good working relationship with our civilian liason. That, and, yeah, I didn't want her to think I was a dick.

Two bodyguards stood vigil on either side of the hatch, leading to Roslin and her Cabinet. They looked jubilant compared to the stiff that escorted Diana around the Lady, but I knew there would be no easygoing banter, here.

"Excuse me," I asked them, glad my voice could resonate the confidence I didn't quite feel. "My name is Jay Krenzik. I, my foreman, and a welder are fixing the Colonial One's main drive. My associates and I need to speak with Diana Thalyka, as soon as possible. We have a problem."

One guard looked to the other, who nodded slightly.

"One moment, please," the one on the left said, before ducking in the hatch and closing it behind him.

Caff was right. The word "need" just sounded so much more urgent. And Diana was the President's chief mouthpiece to the needy, which was all of us. I stood in silence, straight, with my hands behind my back. I wouldn't be caught leaning against a rail picking dirt out from my fingernails with my pocketknife.

Finally, the hatch opened. I braced myself for the guard to return, say she wasn't there, or unavailable, but it was her. She was wearing the same gray suit, and white blouse that she toured the Lady in. The lines under her eyes were etched a little deeper, and a few more strands of hair escaped her bun, this time, but she came. Her brow creased a little. I was sure I was the last thing she needed to worry about right now.

"Miss Thalyka," I said, remembering my protocol. "Thank you for taking the time to see me. We need your help."

At the sound of her name--her professionally appropriate name--her expression softened just enough to allow her pink-colored lips to smile a little.

It was more than a little surprising, to see him standing there. To see anyone standing there. We hadn't been expecting any mechanics for a few days.

"My help? What seems to be the problem?"

"Long story short. Your ship will be dead in space within days, at the most, if we don't get parts from Galactica. This matter needs the President's attention, now. We need to bring her your ship's main drive wheel, so she can see for herself."

My whole body goes cold, at the words "dead in space". If the ship went dead in space, the rest of us would soon be 'dead in space' as well, courtesy of the Cylons. But to bring this--to bring anything--to the President...all other options must be exhausted first.

"Why Galactica? Are these parts unavailable anywhere else?"

"Yes. Even if they were, it could take days. And if we have to jump away from a Cylon attack, Colonial One could very well find herself drifting into Galactica at the exit point, with no motor."

Again, that cold feeling, the tightening in my chest. That reaction is rare, these days, so numb am I--so numb is everyone--to it all.

"Can't you do a patch job? To last us until the part can be gotten through normal channels, or tracked down on another ship?"

He sighed, and I got the feeling he had been asked that, or something similar, recently.

"It's not like that. Come on down. I'll show you what I mean."

I nodded my assent to him, turned to follow. I could hear the controlled footsteps of one of the silent sentinels at the door, as he stepped out of position to follow me down.

The temperature got progressively hotter, the lower we got, and it occurred to me that I had never been to his part of the ship before. I had been to the sections where we housed the civilians, around this area, to speak with them, but I had never been anywhere near the engine. After I...why would I have been? I wouldn't know an engine from a bomb, frankly, which is why we had security...and why we needed mechanics.

At the bottom of the stairs, two of the other men from the Lady of Libron II were waiting, holding some bizarre thing that looked rather heavy, if the sweat coating their faces and arms was any indication. One of them was the foreman, Caffrey. The other was a younger man (though still older than I was) whose name started with a "T", if I remembered correctly...

"Gentlemen. What...What is that?"

It wasn't what I had been intending to say...However, upon seeing the odd piece of equipment they clutched, it was, regrettably, the thing which came out of my mouth.

I wanted to laugh. Sure, a greasy old main drive wheel--a warped one, no less, wasn't the coolest thing on earth, by any stretch, but neither was it a glimpse into the very essence of horror. Caff and Toby balanced it upright, as they both nodded amicably to Diana, who reciprocated, if a little stiffly.

"As you can see…" I was unsure if I should call her Diana at this point, so I erred on the side of caution. "…Miss Thalyka. This is not a patchable sort of thing. It's warped--warped so badly it can't be fixed. It must be replaced, with a new one. These wheels are standard for Galactica's secondary thrusters, so they should have more than enough in stock."

Caff nodded to me in approval. Yeah, I did learn something from my foreman once in a while.

Diana pursed her lips, and tilted her head. The only indication I had that this was seriously bothering her, was the fact her folders were bending in her arms, as if she were clutching them like a security blanket. She stared at the wheel, for a second. I knew we were asking a lot, but it needed to be done. Even if a member of Roslin's Cabinet told her, it could get lost in the shuffle.

"Are you sure, Jay?"

Okay, she started it. No more Miss Thalyka until we got upstairs. I could feel my fresh scar itch, a little, as my face grew hot. Perhaps we should've escorted her down there. I leaned a little closer to her.

"Can we talk in private for a minute?"

Her eyes moved from side to side, as I did my best to remember she was in my corner, she just didn't know it yet. Or maybe she did. I didn't know. But I knew I could convince her to get us the audience we needed. She looked over to her guard, then gestured me to follow her, down toward the energy coils.

She clutched her manila folders even tighter, now. I thought she would end up folding them before we were done.

"Look," she told me, her voice hushed. "I just can't let anybody up there to see the President. Certainly not three people at once. I'm not saying this isn't serious, but--"

"But," I interjected. "Diana, if you don't get this thing replaced, now, here's what will happen." I held up my right index finger. "One: If you have to jump, your captain will have to immediately kick on the engines at the exit point to correct your position."

I raised my middle finger next to it. "Two: The torque from a drive wheel that frakked up could cause your main drive shaft to crack upon ignition."

Her eyes widened and her lips parted a little. Good. I was getting through. I added my ring finger.

"Three: If that happens, you will be adrift, and, given your place in formation, you will drift into Galactica, which means…Four: You will explode."

Her face was frozen for a moment, speechless. I admit I was impressed with myself. Hell, this woman was never at a loss for words. Down the hall, I could see Caff and Toby looking on, craning their necks, failing in their quest to look casual. I filled the silence with what I hoped was my grand charge to the hole, to score the winning point.

"Look, I know it's about protocol, and there's a process to all this. But, that Senai guy, the Chairman of the Cat Toy committee, or whatever, evidently doesn't have the sway you do, and hopes this will all just go away. I'm not worried about protocol. I'm worried about getting things done. You need to be safe."

Oops. Yeah, had I not just recovered from a serious head injury, would have made a note to smack my head against the bathroom sink when I got back. I scrambled to recover.

"All of you. We can't have our entire government plow into a Battlestar."

She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. If that stack of folders had been a puppy, it would be dead.

"I'll go topside and ask the President if one of you can come up. Without the...device."

If it was the zoo up there she made it out to be, I wasn't so sure if she would do it without the visual. Seeing was believing. Diana wouldn't scuttle us, now. I felt that I had the better hand, in this case.

"No way. She has to see it. If it's that much of a zoo, she may just blow it off. If it's been clanking in there that long, she probably let it go one or more times already."

"Are you sure, you can't just describe it to her--?"

"I bet somebody did already. Look. We go up, show her the thing, she's shocked. You get your part, we get it done, everyone's happy."

"Look, if this were any other day, maybe. But we've got half the reporters in the fleet up there, right now! The point is, 'shocked' is going to be an understatement. We might get our part all right, but damn will they get a story. And the President will get a head. My head. Just like the press will have her head."

I saw something that I thought, given her supposed political savvy, would have leaped out at her. I smiled.

"The press? Wouldn't the President look good, addressing the needs of the very mechanics, the very civilians, she is supposed to serve? Those very same guys that are going to save this ship from possible catastrophe?"

"It's not the issue of the people, at all. That isn't the problem, concerning the press. It's the issue of the--what did you call it again?"

"The main drive wheel."

"Right. Look, that thing...I'll go up and ask the President, if one of you can come up with it."

This was like I was asking to give her an emergency appendectomy or something. Gods dammit! How were they holding anything together up there?

"One person can't carry it. Two carry, one talks."

"Look, one--and the part--are going to be hard enough to get permission for, today. Can't I just help carry it?"

I couldn't help but laugh. I knew it required maximum effort from Toby and Caff to lug that thing up the ladder.

"Yeah, on 'press day' they'll love seeing you hold up your end of a 200-plus kilo chunk of metal, then fall on your ass. Diana, please be reasonable. We thought this out with a minimum of stress for you, as part of the plan."

"Two of you, to carry the part, you said. I'll ask if two of you can come topside. Please, try and understand. That isn't a press issue, limiting the number of people. That's a security issue. I'm not saying I don't trust you. And I'm not saying the President wouldn't trust you. But even I couldn't have gotten in to see President Adar, back on the Colonies, before all this. And the need for security becomes all the more important now, with the recent discoveries concerning the Cylons."

I remembered the Mazingo. I was desperate here, too. I leaned down, so she could see the top of my head, the thin line where Doc Cottle patched me up.

"See that? A guy on the Mazingo cracked me in the head with a lead pipe, because he thought he knew better than I did when my college pyramid coach got fired. He thought I was a Cylon. I bled all over the place, and was knocked so silly, they had to take me straight to Galactica to get patched up."

I glared at her then, not letting my eyes waver, craning my neck a little, so hers couldn't either.

"I'm not accusing you of being Cylons. Gods only know we've had enough damn occurrences of the whole world gone mad over that, as you unfortunately seem to have experienced. I'm only saying, security is paramount. Two men, to carry the device."

Nice parry. If we lived long enough, she might be President, one day.

"Look, to be blunt, Caff and Toby aren't the best talkers. That's why, when you came aboard the Lady, all those guys had me ask questions out of a box. And that's why I gave you the tour of down below. They want to carry it, so I'm free to say our piece and quickly, and concisely as I can."

"I still have to authorize this with the President. I don't have the authority to bring three men up, on my own. Follow me up, and wait outside the door."

I nodded. Inside, I was doing cartwheels. We were getting it done, one way or another.

"Excellent."

I followed her back to the stairs, Caff, Toby, and the wheel. Before she headed up, I remembered the apple in my lunchbox. I flipped the box open, took it out.

"Hey," I called after her, as she took the first step up.

She turned around. The way she moved, in that simple motion, was so graceful, I never wanted to forget it. The way she held up her chin, the sparkle in her gray eyes, I wanted her to stand that way forever. I mentally slapped myself to loosen my tongue, and approached, presenting the apple. Her jaw went slack, and she plucked it from my hand.

"Where did--how did you get this?"

"We traded for some a while back," I said, beaming. For a split second, decorum was shed, and bit into it, inadvertently ripping off a large, crisp hunk of white fruit. Her cheeks bulged as she chewed. I was reminded of a crude joke involving a woman walking into a bar with a squirrel. The punchline was something about hording nuts. A little juice dripped from one corner of her mouth, as she slowed down, and took in smaller bites, more fitting for a Cabinet member. Her bodyguard, as always, was unfazed. I turned to get her a napkin from my lunchbox, but Caff was right there, handing me one with a wink. I felt a rush of the pride he seemed to feel.

When I turned back, she was down to the thin core, and I handed the napkin to her.

"Oh my Gods, where'd you get napkins?"

"We trade, I told you."

Diana Thalyka demurely wiped her mouth, wrapped the core up in the thin paper, and placed it in her pocket.

She smiled, this time devoid of political rigidity.

"I can't promise you she will, but, in light of what you told me, chances are good you'll get an audience."

Without another word, she purposely climbed the steps, and her shadow followed without a word.

Caff pounded me on the back.

"Way to go, buddy! Toby and I will carry the wheel, you talk to her."

My throat went suddenly dry.

"Me?"

Once again, I had mouthpiece duty.

Oh, wonderful. They want me to let them see the President. All of them, no less. What a security risk. And given their current appearance, what a potential disaster, given that some reporters are up top at the moment. No way can I authorize this one on my own.

"Look, I just can't let anybody up there to see the President, certainly not three people at once. I'm not saying this isn't serious, but--"

"But--Diana, if you don't get this thing replaced, now, here's what will happen. One: If you have to jump, your captain will have to immediately kick on the engines at the exit point to correct your position. Two: The torque from a drive wheel that frakked up could cause your main drive shaft to crack upon ignition."

He raise his fingers, one with each point, ticking them off like an annoyed professor might do to a student who refused to see the point.

"Three: If that happens, you will be adrift, and, given your place in formation, you will drift into Galactica, which means…Four: You will explode."

Wonderful. Just wonderful. Confirmation of that cold, tight feeling that I had experienced, the moment he had first spoken on this subject, earlier. Any other day, that would have been enough, to take at least one of them topside, on my own authority. Any other day but today, with the press swarming the ship like rats, surrounding a huge piece of cheese.

Trapped. Totally trapped. I can't say no. And I can't say yes. So I say the only other thing to say, the only thing I can say, and I say it with a sigh.

"I'll go topside and ask the President if one of you can come up. Without the...device."

"No way. She has to see it. If it's that much of a zoo, she may just blow it off. If it's been clanking in there that long, she probably let it go one or more times already."

"Are you sure, you can't just describe it to her--?"

"I bet somebody did already. Look. We go up, show her the thing, she's shocked. You get your part, we get it done, we're all happy."

"Look, if this were any other day, maybe. But we've got half the reporters in the fleet up there, right now! The point is, 'shocked' is going to be an understatement. We might get out part alright, but damn will they get a story. And the President will get a head. My head. Just like the press will have her head."

"The press? Wouldn't the President look good, addressing the needs of the very mechanics, the very civilians she is supposed to serve? Those very same guys that are going to save this ship from possible catastrophe?"

"It's not the issue of the people, at all. That isn't the problem, concerning the press. It's the issue of the...what did you call it again?"

"The main drive wheel."

"Right. Look, that thing...I'll go up and ask the President, if one of you can come up with it."

"One person can't carry it. Two carry, one talks."

"Look, one--and the part--are going to be hard enough to get permsision for, today. Can't I just help carry it?"

He laughed, unable to stifle it, and I surpressed the urge to sigh again.

"Yeah, on 'press day' they'll love seeing you hold up your end of a 150-pound chunk of metal, then fall on your ass. Diana, please be reasonable. We thought this out with a minimum of stress for you, as part of the plan."

Honestly. I should never have extended him the farmiliarity I did, earlier. He was taking it too far. Much too far.

But we needed him right now, I pretend not to have noticed, and continue on to reply to him instead.

"Two of you, to carry the part, you said. I'll ask if two of you can come topside. Please, try and understand. That isn't a press issue, limiting the number of people. That's a security issue. I'm not saying I don't trust you. And I'm not saying the President wouldn't trust you. But even I couldn't have gotten in to see President Adar, back on the Colonies, before all this. And the need for security becomes all the more important, in light of the recent discoveries concerning the Cylons."

"See that? A guy on the Mazingo cracked me in the head with a lead pipe, because he thought he knew better than I did when my college pyramid coach got fired. He thought I was Cylon. I bled all over the place, and was knocked so silly, they had to take me straight to Galactica to get patched up."

Another one. Like all the reports that crossed the President's desk, after the announcement. All the times I had been called in, for a few days there, to take those reports. We would tear ourselves apart over it, if we weren't careful. His had not been the only occurrence of paranoia and violence in the fleet, that first week after the announcement. Some of them had even resulted in deaths. We were killing each other, over this. The uncertainty was so bad, the stress, the idleness...I had been surprised, honestly, that the announcement had caused as 'little' damage as it did and was. It was insane, totally insane. Maybe that's half the reason why they chose to look like us, anyways. Because they knew that once we found out...we would tear ourselves apart, without any help from them.

"I'm not accusing you of being Cylons. Gods only know we've had enough of the whole world gone mad over that, as you unfortunately seem to have experienced. I'm only saying, security is paramount. Two men, to carry the device."

This was going nowhere, I could tell. And it probably never would. I wanted to bang my fist into the cold metal railing, at a universe that would back me into such a corner. But I couldn't. Instead, I stifle a sigh, and look him in the eyes.

"I still have to authorize this with the President. I don't have the athourity to bring three men up, on my own. Follow me up, and wait outside the door."

"Excellent."

That was easy for him to say. Nothing about this entire situation was 'excellent'. But then again, nothing ever was, anymore.

"Hey."

I turned, pivoting on the heel that was still flat on the deck. Jay Krenzik was holding an apple. An APPLE.

"Where did--how did you get this?"

I couldn't help myself. I hadn't seen fresh fruit in months. Or fresh food, for that matter. And non-perishable Galactica rations can barely be called 'food' at all, for that matter. So I bit into it, right then and there, biting off a huge chunk, more than was polite.

After that first bite, I managed to slow down to more dignified portions, but I could feel the juice running down my face from that first ill-advised bite. Luckily, the foreman, Caffrey, passed Jay a napkin, which he in turn, handed to me.

"Oh my Gods, where'd you get napkins."

"We trade, I told you."

Wiping the juice from my mouth, I wrapped the core in the napkin, and stuck it in the pocket of my suit coat. Some of the ships in the fleet had hydroponics sections. One of them, currently under repair, even had real gardens. The first chance I got, I would plant these seeds, or hand them over to be planted. One on every ship in the fleet capable of growing them.

"I can't promise you she will, but, in light of what you told me, chances are good you'll get an audience."

With that, I turned to climb the stairs. Best to get this over with.

Once I reached the top, the guard retook his position at the side of the door, and I slid through the door. I could feel their eyes on me, as the door closed. Like a thousand other eyes hat had been on me, these past weeks, these past months, practically, now. Depending on me to somehow pull the rabbit out of the hat. Dammit, I didn't even HAVE a hat. Let alone a rabbit.

"Well," Toby asked, leaning over, eyes wide. "She gonna do it?"

"Well, man, she's going up to ask. If she says yes, which I think she will, because this is about as bad as it gets without your main turbine blowing, then we're up there. In front of the President."

In front of the President. It finally began to sink in. I knew and respected the fact she was upstairs, but the absence of the Presidential Mansion, the monuments of Caprica City, the old tradition, carved in stone, in the history books, didn't let it the notion permeate me. Now, though, I just said we were probably about to go upstairs and see the President the same way I would have said we had an a meeting with Captain Stengler. Caffrey looked at me, and smiled.

"You did good, Jay. The last time I saw the President, was when Stennar, during his first term, visited the Geminon Shipyards, to christen the new Battlestar Hera. I got within ten feet of him, as he walked by us all in formation. But you, you're getting us right up to her desk."

I heard those purposeful footsteps come down, Diana stopped just short of the bottom.

"No sharp objects," she said, flatly. "That means, no knives, no nail files, nothing sharp."

We raptly dumped our pocketknives on my tool chest. Just to be sure, Toby even dumped out a couple toothpicks.

I smiled and said, "Let's go."

Caff and Toby hefted the drive wheel behind me, as Diana continued to dictate the rules of our meeting.

"Keep it as brief as you can. Stay as close to the center aisle as possible. For Gods' sakes don't bump anyone with that filthy thing."

At the top of the steps, she turned. Gods she looked nervous. Her alabaster skin looked a little whiter, and tendons in her neck stood out, rigid.

I looked back at Caff and Toby. They nodded to me. I turned to Diana, and nodded.

"We're ready, Miss Thalyka."

She raised an eyebrow, one corner of her mouth upturned in the most cynical of grins.

"You think so?"

Walking back out the door, I came down the short set of steps to the landing that seperated the door rom the longer steps down to the engine room and the area where I had met them before.

"No sharp objects. That means no knives, no nail files, nothing sharp."

They emptied their pockets, and I hadn't seen people with so many sharp objects in their pockets since...well, since forever.

"Let's go."

"Keep it as brief as you can. Stay as close to the center aisle as possible. For Gods' sakes don't bump anyone with that filthy thing."

"We're ready, Miss Thalyka."

Ready. No...no, they weren't ready. No one could be ready, no one ever was. Hell, I was so damn nervous, when she called me in, after being sworn in, to offer me my position. No one is ever ready to meet the President, that first time. I don't think it's possible. And as for the rest...Not ready to see the ship topside, either.

Everyone still has this romantic notion. Even though we're all packed into ships...Somehow everyone seems to have this notion, even knowing it's size, that Colonial One topside is like the lap of luxury. I am sure they imagine us with adequate--even ample--space, with beds, lights we can turn out, good food, more than one bathroom, maybe a shower or two...and more. And these men were similar to that in their views. They still, I could see in their eyes, expected to walk into, if not luxury (all notions of that having been driven out of them by seeing the engine room), at last adequacy, or something close to it. Soon, they would see the truth. Soon, they would understand. They would understand why there had been so much concern over bringing the device topside. They would understand my comments that they nearly laughed at and brushed off, about tripping over things. I could only hope that they would conceal and control their inevitable shock well enough to keep a firm hold on the...whatever it was...and stay close to the center of the aisle.

The door opened, and I stepped through, beckoning them to follow.

I was twelve when my parents, when, trying to pretend they got along, took me to the movies to see the famous disaster film "Spaceport!" Colonial One reminded me of that film. Granted, no one was punching themselves in the head to put a bodily fire out, nor were they stepping all over one another, trampling bodies to get to the emergency oxygen masks. They were packed in, though, milling around, over, under, passing stacks of papers over, and behind, across seats that were luxurious for a jaunt between colonies, but definitely not meant to be the one place you worked, ate, and slept.

One harried man's tie was crooked, and he had large stains under the armpits of his white dress shirt. He looked up at us, as if we were, well, a bunch of greasy mechanics lugging a huge dirty chunk of metal down the all too narrow aisle. Through the sea of bodies, folders, the din of chatter, past the microphones, cameras, and wireless headsets, I saw two desks. To the left, a young, slim guy with brown hair, and one of the ugliest ties I ever saw, was hunched over, his sleeves rolled up chattering a mile a minute into his phone, nodding occasionally. At the very back, at the center of this godsawful circus, I could see the top of a woman's head, obscured by a mountain range of papers.

We moved slowly, taking care, as Diana instructed, not to bump anyone. Caff's and Toby's muscles strained, as they gingerly carried a wheel that simply wasn't meant to be carried gingerly. As I moved, I tried to put on as affable a face as I could.

"Okay, everyone!"

Suddenly, everything stopped. I mean everything. A distinctive chill crept up my spine. Every single person in here was looking at me. The Cabinet, whoever they all were, aides, the press, with their microphones, craned around. Diana turned around, too. Her mouth was a tight, pink line, underneath eyes that were small grey dots surrounded by huge whites.

"We're sorry for the interruption, but we just need to get this thing up front. If we could just have your cooperation for just a moment, and clear as much of a path for us as you can."

The sea parted, as much as it could, anyway. The kid at the desk, near the president, muttered something into the phone, then hung up. He looked almost as incredulous as Diana did.

We had a path of sorts, now. Of course, asking for more would be like asking them to get more desks up here. Nice idea, but pretty much as feasible as me punching out Zeus.

Colonial One--what a shithole.

We moved, closer, a couple of flashbulbs went off in my peripheral vision. Diana raised a hand to stop, about five feet from the desk of the President of the Twelve Colonies. We did, as she scurried around behind the wall of papers, and whispered to the President. I saw the top of her head nod, and then Diana beckoned us to approach, as Laura Roslin stood.

She was a thin, almost frail woman, with a kindly face framed by severe glasses. She stood tall, with her hands in front of her, fingers interlaced, relaxed. She didn't have to say a word to let me know she wanted the story, now.

"Yes," she asked. "I've been told we have serious problems with our engines."

The space around me closed a little, as I could see the reporters lean in, one woman was almost falling over to get a microphone in my face.

I nodded raptly. Showtime.

"Madame President. My name is Jay Krenzik." I gestured behind me to Caff, then Toby. "This is my foreman, James Caffrey, and our ship's welder, Toby Dempsey. We're from the freighter Lady of Libron II, and were sent here to repair your ship--"

"Yes, I know, young man. Please, I'm told it's urgent. Now go on."

Oh boy. I was sweating a little, and it wasn't all from the stifling heat of an entire government crammed into this miserable metal tube. My scar itched a little, and I fought the urge to scratch it.

"First, begging your pardon, Madame President, if you could have someone please clear off your desk. We need to show you."

She crossed her arms in front, eyes narrowing, slightly, her face a mask of stone. Then she called over to the kid with the shitty tie.

"Billy, help Diana clear off my desk, won't you?"

In seconds, Diana and Billy piled up all her folders and letters and memos on the floor behind her, what little there was. I pulled the large towel hanging from Caff's belt and draped it over her desk, just after Diana removed the President's blotter. I looked over at Caffrey, and realized that I wasn't the man to tell Laura Roslin what was what.

This wasn't a case of giving a gift. This was a matter of putting the best person in front of her--someone who still had a shred of idealism left, that had just as much faith in what government was supposed to do before Armageddon as after. I put my trust in people, not symbols, or institutions. Caffrey wasn't blind to the flaws of government, but he always believed it could rise above the chaos it had been mired in for so long.

"And, Madame President. This can best be shown to you, by my foreman, here, James Caffrey."

Caff looked up at me, years seeming to just fall away from his features. He was definitely nervous, but I knew he'd thank me later. I grabbed his end of the wheel, then Toby and I did our best not to slam it on the desktop. Mercifully, we were successful.

I'll give Roslin credit. She didn't flinch looking at that thing. It could have been just another memo.

I stepped back, and Caffrey stood proud, hands clasped behind his back, chin up, and looked the President in the eye. More flashbulbs flickered around us, and microphones loomed around him, as bees would around a flower, but he didn't notice.

He cleared his throat, and his voice resonated throughout the cabin.

"Madame President. You are looking at your main drive wheel. It is severely warped. The only way to fix your main turbine is to get parts from Galactica. These are standard parts for their secondary thrusters, and their deck chief should have plenty in stock. If this is not replaced immediately, this ship will be dead in space."

"I see," Roslin said, nodding thoughtfully. "If that is what it will take to repair this vessel, then that is what you will have."

Caff's chest swelled with pride, Toby and I looked at one another. Yeah. We did it.

"Also, Madame President," our boss continued. "I have been a commercial mechanic for over twenty years. Before that, I served as a deckhand for eight years in the Colonial Fleet, honorably discharged as a Petty Officer 2nd Class. I was stationed aboard the Atlantia, and at the Geminon Shipyards. No disrespect, Madame President, but in my years of service, I have never seen a government vessel in such a state of disrepair. This tub is a gashog, with a cooling system on the brink of total failure. It was evident it had not been properly maintained in some time. In short, this ship is not fit to carry the President of the Twelve Colonies."

Roslin actually grinned. Wow.

"Thank you, Mister Caffrey, for your assessment. But I assure you, I find this ship quite adequate to the needs of myself and my government."

Caff smiled, bowed his head a little.

"I understand your main priority is the people. That is your duty. My duty is to inform you, the President, of any dangers that may affect you and the rest of the government aboard Colonial One while I and my mechanics are entrusted with its repair. When can we expect the parts to arrive, Madame President, so we can get out of your hair?"

"They will arrive within two hours."

That was it--No guesses, no qualifying words, no probably' or 'if possible'. Within two hours, spoken as surely as anything ever could be.

"Thank you, Madame President. We'll let you get back to work."

Then Roslin leaned over, extended her hand. Caff started, but hesitated inches from her fingers, noticing the grease covering his. She stretched a little extra, and firmly clasped his hand, and shook, as cameras made their own starlight around former Petty Officer Second Class James Caffrey, and President Laura Roslin.

I'm sure Toby was agape, but I didn't notice. I could just watch her take his stained hand in hers, two people making things happen. This was the first time I could honestly say I saw government at work, and liked what I saw, wholeheartedly.

Then, someone from the clump of microphones and cameras shouted.

"Madame President? How about a shot with the mechanics?"

With barely any hesitation, despite the abruptness of the question, President Roslin nodded to the reporter.

She indicated that we should step behind her desk, and we did so, attempting not to trip on the papers and other equipment of her profession that now covered the floor area behind the desk and around our feet. Meanwhile, I noted that Diana had moved off to one side, to stand by the kid with the ugly tie, Billy. He whispered something to her, and I raised an eyebrow. I hoped she wasn't dating that guy. He seemed nice enough, but I had far better taste in clothes than he did. None of my ties, back in the ashes of Libron, made me look like I left a trail of vomit down the front of my shirt.

I refocused, and turned to the front, smiling, virtually blinded by the assault of flashbulbs. I hoped I didn't blink. After the cameras got their fill, Caffrey barked at us.

"Now get that nasty thing of the President's desk, she has work to do!"

Everyone shuffled awkwardly as we tried to get to one side of the old drive wheel, or reassemble Roslin's mountain of papers. Diana brushed by me, face to face. I smiled, and shook her hand. She went to bat for us, above and beyond, again.

"Thank you," I said, as she returned my grip firmly. As an afterthought, I leaned over, and said in her ear, "How come that Billy guy gets a desk and you don't?"

She pulled back a little, and said "You're welcome," a little too loudly. I'd forgotten the sea of cameras, but remembered again looking into the wide-eyed, but tense mask of congeniality she wore just then.

I let her pass and grabbed my end of the wheel before I tossed more chum to the sharks, and Caff led us down the aisle, as if he were a general, and we were his soldiers. Diana stepped over some feet, folders and maybe an arm or two, to get to the front our train back to the hatch. I kicked myself for not telling Caff to hold up, and let her escort us back out. It was the closest thing to the Presidential Mansion, now. Strangers never go anywhere without an escort.

Finally, we were out of the hatch, pandemonium sealed in behind us. Diana and one of the guards followed us back down to the bottom of the steps, where we started.

Caff smiled, and nodded to her.

"Thank you so much, Miss Thalyka. I won't forget this. If I can do anything for you, all you need to do is ask."

She shook her head.

"Don't worry about it Mr. Caffrey."

Toby smiled and did a little nod/bow. She smiled curtly, then looked to me, and a spark, like that of a match first catching flame seemed to burn behind those grey eyes.

I felt suddenly very nervous, and my lips had no choice but to stretch in a crooked grin.

"Thanks again, Diana I--"

"Your welcome, Mr. Krenzik," she said, abruptly, before turning. I could almost feel myself physically shrink.

"Oh, one more thing, Miss Thalyka," I said, mimicking her emphasis.

She turned, head tilted, lips pursed.

"Yes?"

"How come that Billy guy gets a desk and you don't?"

"He has time to sit in one."

With that, she turned, with a little hint of sass in her gait, before climbing the steps.

They followed me down the aisle, but it was slow going, and I could see the veins in their necks nearly popping out with the exertion of carrying the...what was it again? Main drive wheel? down the aisle.

"Okay, everyone!"

What the hell was he doing? What did he think he was doing? In front of the press, no less!

"We're sorry for the interruption, but we just need to get this thing up front. If we could just have your cooperation for just a moment, and clear as much of a path for us as you can."

At least they cooperated with the request. All I could do in that moment was glance over at Billy, who was just hanging up the phone and looked as shocked as I knew I felt, though whether it was due to Krenzik's outburst or the machinery Caffrey and Toby carried, I didn't know.

The reporters were staring in now, as I had known they would. As we reached the desk, I put out a hand as a signal for the three men behind me to stop, and shortly thereafter, after the President nodded her assent, beckoned them to approach.

The President stood, looking over them, before her eyes settled on Krenzik.

"Yes, I've been told we have serious problems with our engines."

The reporters were closing in ever closer now, like rapid dogs chasing a squirrel, and Krenzik nodded, looking very nervous but clearly trying to hide that fact, and began to speak.

"Madame President. My name is Jay Krenzik. This is my foreman, James Caffrey, and our ship's welder, Toby Dempsey. We're from the freighter Lady of Libron II, and were sent here to repair your ship--"

"Yes, I know, young man. Please, I'm told it's urgent. Now go on."

"First, begging your pardon, Madame President, if you could have someone please clear off your desk. We need to show you."

They wanted to WHAT? Surely, they didn't mean--Surely, they didn't plan to actually--

But apparently, they did. And after a moment of contemplation with crossed arms and narrowed eyes--but an admirably neutral face--from the Preisdent, she called out to Billy.

"Billy, help Diana clear off my desk, won't you?"

We moved quickly, but carefully, to clear everything from her desk, and Jay Krenzik pulled a towel from Caffrey's belt and laid it over the desk.

"And, Madame President. This can best be shown to you, by my foreman, here, James Caffrey."

Caffrey looked over at Krenzik, and he seemed to come alive before my eyes. Krenzik relieved him of his end of the...thing...and he and Toby struggled--successfully, thankfully--to set it on Roslin's desk without destroying the desk. The President, for her part, looked admirably calm and collected, admirably comfortable. Nothing like me when I first saw that thing.

Caffrey was standing as straight as he could be, practically at attention. The reporters were continuing to push in, ever closer, but neither of them seemed to notice.

"I see. If that is what it will take to repair this vessel, then that is what you will have."

"Also, Madame President, I have been a commercial mechanic for over twenty years. Before that, I served as a deckhand for eight years in the Colonial Fleet, honorably discharged as a Petty Officer 2nd Class. I was stationed aboard the Atlantia, and at the Geminon Shipyards. No disrespect, Madame President, but in my years of service, I have never seen a government vessel in such a state of disrepair. This tub is a gashog, with a cooling system on the brink of total failure. It was evident it had not been properly maintained in some time. In short, this ship is not fit to carry the President of the Twelve Colonies."

Dear Gods. He said THAT, in front of the press. It was all going so well, until now...But she simply smiled at him, practically a grin...

"Thank you, Mister Caffrey, for your assessment. But I assure you, I find this ship quite adequate to the needs of myself and my government."

I should have known she would have an answer ready. Hell we all had to have answers ready, always, even to the questions we never expected. Especially in front of the news hounds.

News hounds. How strange I should think of them in that rather unflattering term, at the moment. My father had been one of them, and I had loved him dearly. I am sure I still would have, had he still been alive. But here, and now, in this situation and my current position...Here, they were nothing more than a tool to be used, and a force to be cautious of. Practically the enemy.

Caffrey smiled back at the President, and spoke again.

"They will arrive within two hours."

"Thank you, Madame President. We'll let you get back to work."

The President leaned over, and extended her hand to Caffrey. He started to reach out his hand to hers, then stopped, staring at it's current condition. She ended that hesitation, however, by reaching out her arm a little further, and clasping his hand firmly in her own. The cameras were all going off at once, and then, predictably, a voice called out loudly from within the throng.

"Madame President? How about a shot with the mechanics?"

The President nodded, then indicated that the three of them should step behind her desk. They did so, and I could see them trying hard not to slip on or step on the things Billy and I had set there, moments before. For my part, I moved off to one side to stand next to Billy and give the press a clear shot. He leaned over to whisper in my ear.

"They look as nervous as rabbits corned by a wolf."

I smiled in return, unable to risk a reply to that comment at the moment.

Again, the blinding cacophony of camera flashes, seemingly endless, lasting at least 30 seconds, most likely closer to a minute. Finally, the last bulb flashed, and Caffrey turned to Krenzik and Toby.

"Now get that nasty thing off the President's desk, she has work to do!"

Krenzik and Toby rushed to pick up the...main drive wheel, and as soon as Caffrey yanked the towel off the desk, Billy and I rushed to put the President's desk back together. Finally, I stood, faced Krenzik, and accepted the hand he offered me.

"Thank you."

Then, to my horror, he leaned in, close, to my ear...I tried to pull away, but the area was too crowded for me to succeed.

"How come that Billy guy gets a desk and you don't?"

I finally managed to pull back, and my mind was racing. I did the only thing I could think to do, to salvage this compromising situation before the assembled reporters. I replied to his thank you, as loudly as I possibly could without seeming odd, praying they would assume then that his other comments had been related.

"You're welcome."

By the time I had recovered enough, they were already moving out. I struggled to get ahead of them again, leaning and bending over chairs, weaving around people, and nearly killing myself on various obstacles several times, but finally making my way to the proper position.

As we reached the hatch, I stepped out, and one of the guards peeled off to follow me. Krenzik, Caffrey, and Toby stepped out after us, and the hatch closed behind them. Caffrey turned to me, smiled, and nodded.

"Thank you so much, Miss Thalyka. I won't forget this. If I can do anything for you, all you need to do is ask."

"Don't worry about it Mr. Caffrey."

Toby nodded to me as well, bowing his head more deeply than was normal. I smiled back at him, but couldn't help fixing a hostile gaze at Krenzik. The man had no experience with the press, or with political life, on any level. I'm sure he had no idea what he had just done. What he had just consigned me to in the nightly newscasts for at least the next 48 hours, until the press got tired of it, or some bigger story came along.

"Thanks again, Diana I--"

"Your welcome, Mr. Krenzik."

"Oh, one more thing, Miss Thalyka."

"Yes?"

"How come that Billy guy gets a desk and you don't?"

Honestly. Did he SEE any room for more than two desks in Colonial One? I could barely even fathom how that question was worth asking--Billy had a desk because there was room for two desks and two desks only. One for the President. One for her top aide. As simple as that. But I didn't feel like bothering to explain all that, certainly not to someone who had just put me in the position that Jay Krenzik had.

"He has time to sit in one."

Frankly, it might have been a tart, brusk answer to a man who had recently annoyed me, but it was the truth as well. Billy was the right hand of the President. He had to be near her at all times, he never left her. When she was at her desk...he could and should sit at his. Me...me, my duties take me everywhere. I'm always all over the fleet, often returning to Colonial One only to eat, sleep, and report. I really don't have time to sit at one, usually.

With that, I turned, and walked back up the short steps to the hatch, and through the hatch. Back to Billy. Back to the President. Back to the fiasco of reporters that surely awaited, and would surely not quite believe anything I could say. Oh well. The President would believe me. Billy would believe me. And the press...they would get tired of it in a few days at most. Sooner if a better story came along than "What did the mechanic say to the Cabinet official?". Like I said...my father was a reporter. I know how the game is played.

Still, reporters or no reporters awaiting me, I couldn't help but have my thoughts return, for a moment, to the foreman. How he had been the only one to greet me properly, look into my eyes with respect, speak kindly to me, when I had visited the Lady of Libron II a few weeks before. How he had spoken to the President, how they had smiled at each other, how he had known her reasoning for her reply to his words, and had respected it. How he had seen what most of us aboard already knew, about how she cared for the people, for her people, watching her every day count down the numbers on the Board, holding her face as still as could be, but with the tears always at the corners of her eyes. How he had been grateful, for me helping him and his people, even as THEY had been helping us as well. This fleet needed more men like him.

We hung out by the energy coils, waiting for a raptor to bring the new main drive wheel. I leaned, shoulders hunched, against the bulkhead, lost in thought. I looked down, and my cigarette was just a tube of dead ash.

Caffrey sat next to me, legs outstretched and crossed, puffing on a cigar. He looked like all was at peace in the universe, as far as he was concerned. Toby lit up, and sat indian style across from us.

"What's up, Jay," Caff asked me? "You look like you're a million miles away."

Toby laughed. "I know what's on his mind, boss. Diiiaaannnaa"

Caffrey shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe, in some way, down deep," he chuckled, then continued. "Way down deep, she kinda likes you, Jay."

I raised an eyebrow, my eyes meeting his.

"How deep? Shit…"

He just shrugged again, went back to smoking, a lazy ribbon of smoke drifting upward, and spreading out.

Toby shrugged.

"Maybe she does, man. Wierder shit's happened since we left home."

I dismissed him with a wave of my hand.

"She likes apples."

I turned my thoughts to Laura Roslin, and her unique strength. Commander Adama had this aura that he would make it out of humanity's last run untouched, and, if you were close enough to him, you would, too. The President though, looked as if the job may tear her apart, but not before she got it done. I saw a flicker of that in Diana, looking back, at how I pressed, and even when the options seemed walled off, she got us upstairs, and, before that, got us all the parts we needed. Caff looked Roslin straight in the eye, and told her, in no uncertain terms, the truth--Colonial One was a piece of shit.

I saw these people rising to the occasion, doing what had to be done, reaching down deep, to find that fire, that intangible, which enables ordinary people to do great, important things. I'd been searching for that ever since I hung up my helmet and gauntlets, and decided to be a freighter jock. Even now, when heart was all we had left, I was still looking for that same spark in me.