Something I forgot to do in the previous chapters. I do not own BSG or Homeworld.

Thought it might be interesting to try a little change in plot pace here. Don't worry, we'll be getting back to the battle very soon.

Phase 2: Illusory Reality

Onboard the Battlestar Galactica

Jared had no idea why alarm clocks hated him. But they did. He had blown 60 cubits on a "state-of-the-art" electronic clock to ensure that he'd be up and about a good 2 hours before the initial preparations of the decommissioning ceremony, figuring it would be a good investment when he was reassigned to another battle group and put back on the rigid flight schedule. But the damn thing, with an alarm that rivaled that of the Galactica's Action Stations alert, hadn't even made a pitter when it was supposed to; worse, the daily bugle, which would have otherwise ensured Jared at least a good 30 minutes of time, had been disabled due to all the screwing around the tech guys where doing with the ship's electrical systems, trying to convert an old warhorse into a pretty show horse in the course of a few weeks. It had taken the polite nudging of a random Ensign to rouse him from sleep, whereupon he came to the realization that he had less than 5 minutes to get ready least the CAG gain permanent procession of his balls.

Lucky, the young Lieutenant was rather used to situations like these. In the course of 3 minutes, he was fully decked in his Dress Grays, the leather sash draped across his shoulder decorated with the small, various honors he'd received from his impressive performances throughout flight school and his early assignments. He spent his last 2 minutes looking himself over in the mirror of his locker, spoofing his ear-length locks of jet-black hair and making sure a small amount at the back of his head was slightly spiked before he headed to the door of the otherwise empty duty locker, releasing the dead bolt and heaving it open.

Even though he had prepared himself as he always did, the aqua-tinted light of the hallway still blinded his amethyst-colored eyes for an instant, to the point that he had to shield them for several moments. He sighed, more or less at a loss as to why they insisted on keeping the things so bright. When he recovered he began at a jog down the vast, A-shaped corridor in the direction of the starboard flight deck, the echo of his footsteps joining the lively buzz and voices that already filled the passageway. Along the way he passed and politely greeted his scurrying deck mates; from a trio of young, orange-clad knuckle draggers to an almost fully outfitted member of the Marine detachment providing security outside of an Armory hatch. But just as he was making good time, he ran into a badly congested bottleneck, chock full of noisy civilian reporters and their bulky broadcasting equipment. They were led by a guy in a tacky green suit, who apparently thought he was the new resident expert on Battlestars. Jared rolled his eyes and shrugged irritably as he tried to calculate some manner of attack to force his way through.

Before he could try to put any into action, though, he felt a slender hand grip his well-defined left forearm. He turned to his side, and was greeted with the graciously beam of the brunette Petty Officer 2nd Class Sandra Abaris, who was sporting plain green fatigues instead of the orange utility jumpsuit he had previously seen her with during the few momentary converses they'd on the flight deck. "A bit of a traffic jam, ain't it Lieutenant?"

Frak, Frak, Shit, Frak…Jared thought frantically, wishing like hell he had spent a few more minutes spoofing. He was probably still lazy-eyed and groggy looking, and was overdue for a good shave. Gods knew if he had even put on deodorant before he left his locker. Okay, play it very cool. You've got this, Jared. You have the ball…

"Pfft, you're telling me. I was just about to decide wither to try to pull a Sam T. Anders move or not."

Sandra giggled as Jared put on a not-too toothy grin. So far so good, I think…

"3 months on this old horse and you still haven't learned all the ins and outs…" she declared, before yanking him to the side and into one of the narrower maintenance corridors. "Come on. 2 more minutes and we'll both be scrubbing latrines for the next week."

The maintenance hall was much more comfortably lit, and was lined with pipes and gauges that extended upwards into the darkness of the hull. It was designed as a one-person path, and Jared found himself hip-to-hip with Sandra most of the way as they slid forwards. As a result, it took him a good few seconds to completely compose himself, resulting in an awkwardly late response.

"Have you met the CAG? I'll be lucky not to spend the next month scrubbing his back if I miss this."

There came another invigorating laugh from Sandra, before they emerged from the corridor and into the midst of the crowd funneling its way into the starboard flight pod.

"Well," Jared said, turning around to face her. He could see his grin in her large, amber eyes. "Thank you, Petty Officer Abaris, for officially saving my roast." He gestured with his hands towards the entrance. "Shall we?"

"Ha ha, you're very welcome sir, but umm…" she bit her lip for a moment and looked back towards a smaller secondary hatch onto the flight deck. "I think commissioned officers are supposed to go through there and receive their seating arrangements."

…frak…

"Right, of course," Jared tried to laugh it off, scratching the back of his head. Sandra gave a departing smile. "Well, I'll see you inside, Lieutenant Aeson."

"Take care, Petty Officer Abaris."

They brushed shoulders before going in opposite directions. As he walked to the hatch Jared tallied up his interactions and concluded that he'd made some decent progress with the enchanting knuckle dragger; or at the very least he hadn't fraked up too many times. As he entered the bay, saluting the Marine guard and crossing his name off of a checklist, he decided to ask her to the mess hall later, depending on how well the day's events would play out.

Jared was relived when the same guy in the green suit got off the podium; not because it meant the old man was about to give his speech, but because he just really didn't like that tour guide for some reason. He clapped loudly for Commander Adama as he took his place in the spotlight, with the vast window of enchanting space as his backdrop and the huge banners of the 12 colonies to his flanks. The man looked good for his age, and he seemed confident as he put on his glasses and began the speech he had been practicing all morning.

But not more than 10 seconds into the speech, Jared, along with practically the entire audience, realized something was wrong. The commander lowered his head for a few awkward moments; Jared irritably wondered why the speechwriters had made such a damn complex and corny speech for the man to memorize. He was surprised when Adama came right back, giving a completely improvised and fluid speech that struck a sensitive chord among the entire of those gathered.

"Sooner or later, the day comes when you can't hide from the things that you've done, anymore."

Jared had been rather pleased as he drank in the old man's natural speaking ability. Up until he heard that line. Jared didn't know why, but a flood of emotions and memories chose that inappropriate instant to come back to him, in force. Memories from another life; one he had chosen to bury a long time ago.

He gritted his teeth and shook his head, trying to stave off the bitter reminiscences as applauds commenced and Commander Adama walked off the stage. Jared quickly regained his composure and gave his standing ovation, but a good distance behind and to the right of him, Sandra Abaris had bared witness to his entire 5 seconds of sudden grief. She clapped as well, but did not take her concerned tawny eyes off of the young pilot.

He later found himself sipping coffee in the rowdy mess hall. Alone.

Today wasn't a good day to press his luck with Sandra. Not after what happened at the ceremony anyways. Actually, being off duty, Jared contemplated hitting the bottle for the first time in a good month or so.

As he deliberated, the throaty, pulsating, but incredibly loud Condition 1 alert siren sounded throughout the ship. The collection of crewmen in the mess quickly exchanged a confused glance among one another, before abandoning their meals and card games, jumping over chairs and block-rushing the exit. Jared took a long look at the silver flask he had been about to partake of, before grudgingly capping it and placing it in his fatigue's cargo pocket. Before he joined the funnel making its way out, he smiled to himself…

Maybe the Almighty still has my back after all…