Sins of the Father By Shawn L. Scialo (a short story based on the mini)

After two years, the words still reverberated in Commander Adama's head. His firstborn son, Lee, had mercilessly scolded him in front of dozens of mourners at Zachary Adama's funeral.

"Zac should not have been there!!! He was only doing it for you!!!" an enraged Lee had exclaimed.

It took Lee's beloved mother, Illya, stepping in between the two men in her life to prevent the exchange from turning into an ugly fist fight.

Two years later, William Adama had to relive that sick moment as Lee uttered the very same words once again.

"He should not have been there! He was only doing it for you! Face it--- you killed him."

Of course, Commander Adama had tortured himself enough over the past two years, searching his own soul for a truth in those statements. He didn't need anyone, especially his only surviving blood, pouring salt into an old wound. The truth was that in a way, the Commander totally agreed with Lee. He had killed Zac, just as surely as he had killed his ex-wife, Illya, and would probably kill Lee and the rest of the 50,000 human survivors. After all, he was leading the survivors of the holocaust on an almost hopeless quest for a mythical lost tribe of humanity. What were the odds on this rag-tag fugitive fleet surviving the elements of deep space, the Cylons, and the unknown dark and sinister threats that lied ahead?

William "Husker" Adama had always been a tortured soul. He himself never quite understood exactly what drove him to do the things that he did, to make the decisions that he made. He just did it. He just lived. The military had always been a part of his life. He knew no other way. So, he passed on his ethics and morals and sense of duty to his children and even to his wife. He pushed them as if he were their drill sergeant and not their father, not her husband.

Husker was a stubborn loner. He had few friends and even fewer allies. When the Colonial Fleet slowly began to once again rely on networked computer systems, which had been outlawed for years due to the pacts agreed upon after the Cylon Wars, William remained silent. That would haunt him till his death. His dearest friend, Colonel Paul Tigh had urged him to reconsider his stance of isolationism, but to no avail. Instead of spearheading the lobby of bi-partisan anti-A.I. groups, which could have benefited greatly from the involvement of someone of Adama's stature, the legendary Caprican Commander refused to seize the moment. His only recourse was to see to it that his warship, the Battlestar Galactica, did not ever install a networked computer or an Artificial Intelligence of any kind so long as he was in command. So, several years and a holocaust later, William felt the pangs of guilt as much as anyone in the rag-tag fleet. Maybe the fools in President Adar's cabinet hadn't seen the danger, but he had. Commanader Adama knew this day of infamy was inevitable and he had done nothing to stop it.

Illya, his beloved ex-wife, who he had never stopped loving, had surely lost her life that day. A Cylon nuke had exploded directly over Caprica City, Caprica. Illya worked for the defense department, whose main headquarters were in the very heart of the city. At least Adama could allow himself to believe that she had died instantly, without pain.

Zac and Illya were gone. William felt as though his own hands had had a part in each of his loved ones demise and now he laid claim to being responsible for over 50, 000 human survivors. To make matters worse, he had essentially lied to the masses when he told the beleaguered group of refugees that he alone knew the way to salvation. Adama claimed to know the route to the legendary lost Thirteenth Tribe, a tribe of Kobol that was believed to have colonized a distant star called Earth. It had been the ultimate pep talk. The Commander was cheered the way a Triad coach was revered after giving a spirited halftime speech. This time, however, the game was not Triad---it was life and death. Would he lead the last remnants of humanity into oblivion? Were they really better off pursuing the impossible dream of Earth?

"There is no Earth", President Laura Roslin had stated succinctly.

"People can't just live", answered William. "They need something to live for. Let it be Earth."

Surprisingly, the newly elected president agreed to keep Adama's secret. She would not tell the people the truth, that there really was no Earth---- no safe refuge.

Shaking himself awake from his daydream, Commander Adama slouched at his desk, fumbling around for his journal recorder. As he did so, he thought of Leoben, the Cylon humanoid he had killed and brought aboard Galactica for research purposes. Leoben had repeated a key line of his retirement speech at the Galactica's de-commissioning ceremony. Obviously, there had been another Cylon spy or spies operating aboard Galactica. Adama cursed aloud at the mere thought of Cylon agents sitting in the audience during his speech. As he continued to search his shambled office for the recorder, his mind raced back to the original draft of his speech.

"We wanted to play god---create life---and when that life turned against us, we'd comfort ourselves in the knowledge that it was the Cylons that were the flawed creation. The truth is that we are the flawed creation."

That would have went over well he thought as he finally found the recorder under the remains of the noodle soup he had for dinner the previous night. The commander turned the recorder on and slowly and efficiently denoted key statistics and pertinent information from the days' events. When he finished with the items deemed necessary per Colonial Fleet protocol, he paused before deciding to add some personal opinions and insight for this particular log entry.

"I haven't been a practicing Kobolian since I was a small boy on Caprica", the Commander whispered into the microphone. "Yet, I was well schooled enough in the Sacred Scrolls and the Book of the Word to fool fifty- thousand people into chasing a dream, a mythical thirteenth colony of man."

The commander paused to pour himself a drink. He lazily brought the mug to his mouth and guzzled the alcohol down rather sloppily.

"They were searching for a star called Earth", he said with a feigned laugh. "But first, they had to win a great war."

William looked about his quarters as if he had never seen the room before.

"Battlestar Galactica!" he said excitedly to himself.

Commanader Adama left the recorder on as he scoured the room for his family's most cherished heirloom, an inordinately large history book of his family and their ancestors. Finally, he found the book that had eluded him since before President Roslin's visit to his quarters the previous day. He let the large album drop on his desk with some force and carefully wiped years of dust away with his calloused hands.

The books cover read: The House of Adam. Commander Adama had not opened the book since his father had read it to him when he was but a small boy. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he felt a sudden sense of urgency as he perused one page after another. He re-learned that his family tree could be traced all the way back to another mythical planet, to some at least, the planet Kobol. Kobol was the mother world of all humans-- -where life began.

According to legend or religion, which ever you prefer, Kobol had been a thriving civilization until its only star began to die. The tribes of Kobol spent yahrens, their ancient term for years, searching for a suitable system to colonize. After a decades long search, they came upon the Cyrannus system, a system of 12 planets and 3 suns.

Hours of futile, yet interesting reading later, Adama's eyes spied what his subconscious must have known all along. Halfway through the book, a small hand written piece of paper lay crumpled. Adama opened it. He was startled to recognize his father's handwriting.

Earth: Quadrant alpha, 19 million hectares---hexalon vector 22 on circular reckoning course of 000.9.

"Why can't I just ask you into my heart, father?" he whispered to himself. "I want to believe so badly---but I don't. I can't. How could you let so many die?"

For the first time since the annihilation of the human race, Commander William "Husker" Adama openly wept. He sobbed for what seemed like an eternity. In reality, five minutes had passed before he composed himself. Then, he rose and launched the family album across the room with all of his might.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaargggggghhhhhh!!! Why? Why?" he cried.

Regaining his composure once more, Commander Adama watched the small piece of paper flutter to the floor. He picked it up and slouched down on his desk chair. He stared at the paper for a long moment before finally buzzing the CIC.

"Yes, sir?" came the voice on the other end.

"Lieutenant", Adama said in almost a slur. "I have new coordinates for you to plot."

End.