(A little more this time. Lemme know whatcha think!)

Part Seven

+02:05:09

(Helo)

"Why wasn't I informed Kara was still alive?"

My mouth went dry as I tried to come up with a decent answer. It seemed like a good idea at the time did not strike as a very good explanation right then. I'd served under the Old Man long enough to recognize the warning signs he was broadcasting, which didn't help my damned concentration.

It wasn't the fact he was holding his hands behind his back as much as the not-scowl he was wearing. You could read most anything into that look and you'd likely be wrong. He'd had the same look in the last Dance, right before he and Apollo had pounded each other through the canvas and landing each other into Life Station. It hadn't been pretty to watch and even worse to clear up after.

Ultimately, I opted for the simple truth. "She asked us to keep it quiet, Sir."

Okay, partial-truth telling, though I doubted either Admiral Rice or Secretary Richards were going to contradict me on this. Kara might and likely would if it came up, but I figured the Old Man would just take it as Kara being Kara and just maybe not put too much stock in any arguments she might make.

Wishful thinking probably, especially with the way things had been going since Kara damn near rammed Javelin yesterday. Gods, but I wanted to strangle Tigh for going missing the way he had, leaving me to explain all of this to the Old Man.

At least Sharon still had my back on this, Gods bless her. "We didn't simply accept her word on her identity, Admiral. Lieutenant Ishnay performed a comprehensive X-ray and MRI."

"I have the results with me," I stated next, opening the folder with me and offering Adama the sheets. He made no move to take them. Instead, he continued to stare at me in that same silent manner that had left many an officer and specialist shaking in their boots.

I managed – just – to keep meeting that stare straight on without shaking; guess all those stare-downs with Hera over bedtime and eating her fruits had some benefit after all.

The Admiral snatched the papers from my hand and spun on his heel, Zarek and Caprica gathering at his shoulders. The set of his shoulders was the only deterrent I needed against offering any further comment after that. Not that I blamed the Admiral in the slightest for being this pissed. I was actually surprised he hadn't started throwing punches.

After sharing a politely chagrined look with my wife, I decided I'd better find something else to occupy my attention for a bit. I didn't care to wreck my digestion any further with what the Terrans passed as coffee, so that left the pictures. I waved Sharon over and picked up the closest binder, and flipped to page 14.

She joined me looking at it, stiffening at the sight of the burning Viper on the tarmac under a stormy desert sky. She hadn't needed any explanation of whose plane it was.

The next page showed men in heavy burn gear, two of them struggling in the middle of that inferno with a barely visible form. Again, neither of us needed any commentary to understand what we were seeing.

Page 16 showed a slender Colonial pilot in full flight suit and helmet reclining in a gurney, the Viper little more than a burnt-out shell in the background. The men in burn gear were still running around as well, though they seemed more concerned with a couple of their own right then.

If I hadn't known better, I'd have sworn the pilot in the picture hadn't been near so much as a stubbed-out cigarette. No burns or the slightest bit of smoke-damage to been seen on her, but an abundance of condensation on the inside of the helmet's visor prevented us from seeing who it was. As if there were absolutely any question in either of our minds on that score.

I tried to imagine the chaos that damned woman had caused with her arrival, but figured my imagination would only come up short.

The next few pages were of Kara being divested of her flight suit. The Terran's evidentially had done so with the greatest care, managing to work out the catches on the helmet, vest and joints without having to resort to cutting it all off her. She looked...serene...in those photos, at ease in a way I had never seen before.

The last photo of her there was one of her laid out in a sterile-looking room that made Cylon containment look almost luxurious. It looked as if it had been pulled from some kind of security camera feed, since the edges of the image were grainy and indistinct.

The photo after that one, the last in the book before a divider page, was a clear shot of her gear. It had been virtually dismantled and neatly laid out on a long table, little tent cards with what looked like numbers rested on or near each item. Item number 40, a small leather bundle, caught my eye, as it didn't look like a regular-issue piece of equipment.

"Major." The Admiral's abrupt call had me looking up quickly. Sharon studied the picture a second longer before doing the same. I saw how he had a death grip on the papers he'd taken from me, an ever-so-slight tremble betraying how this all must have been affecting him.

"There are references here to a recently-broken shoulder and cracked ribs," he stated bluntly.

I answered, "According to Admiral Rice, Starbuck was...attacked...by some pilots she was training a year and a half ago. Those pilots are presently serving extended sentences..."

"There's also a notation in here about abdominal scarring." This was directed at Sharon, who pressed her lips into a firm line.

"I believe it's what it looks like, Sir. I'm not aware of anyone questioning Starbuck directly on it."

The Old Man looked between the pair of us, face still unreadable. I half-wished he'd just have a screaming fit, tear us to bloody pieces, and be done with it. "What do you think?" was his only question.

"It's here. Lords of Kobol bless or damn us all, Sir, but it is her."

"Why?" I faltered at that, unsure how to answer when I realized I couldn't provide any actual evidence to back up my faith.

Sharon once more came to my rescue, sort of. "She asked about you and your son while she was cleaning herself aboard Nemesis," she reported calmly. "I'm afraid I panicked her a bit when I told her about Lee's leaving the military. She was, well, almost hysterical until I reassured her he was alive and well."

That had not sounded like the Kara I knew. Of course I was still trying to get my head around this business about 'abdominal scarring'; Rice and the others had made it sound like she'd come through her landing unscathed and that they'd been keeping from so much as scraping her knee ever since.

Trying not to contradict Sharon, I added, "It's more than just her physical form, Sir." I took a fortifying breath and rubbed my cropped head. "It…it's just…her. She's got every broken bone she ever had, her tattoos are all there, and she's as stubborn and argumentative and…and…"

Looking back on it, I have to wonder who I was actually trying to convince right then. No, I had no doubts it really was Kara, but neither could I summon a rational argument to back it up. Injuries and tattoos could be copied after all, and a Starbuck who got hysterical definitely didn't sound legit to anyone who knew her well.

The Old Man remained as still as stone, staring at us with those implacable eyes. Zarek by this point had joined Carroq in raiding the refreshments table, thereby taking himself out of the crossfire. Caprica had remained but was standing a bit off to the side, looking her usual thoughtful self.

Neither Sharon nor I had moved a hair, presenting as much of a united front as only the two of us could. This standoff might have well have lasted clean into the next century if Caprica hadn't broken in.

"Admiral?" A grunt was her only answer, and not a particularly encouraging one at that. She pressed on anyway. "Sir, I don't think this is any kind of trick." Another grunt, a bit heavier on the hostility this time, to the point where Caprica was starting to look a tad uncomfortable.

Not that she let this stop her. "Despite whatever...impression...the Leobens may have given, Captain Thrace was never considered a real target by the rest of us. The rest of the Models, that is. Our records on her, so far as I know at least, were nowhere near as detailed as you might think..."

"Even after New Caprica?" I asked.

"Leoben's fixation on her was never anything we'd consider sane or scientific. He never allowed anyone else, especially the Simons, to so much as touch her." She frowned for a moment. "His supply demands were beyond belief half the time there. Silk sheets, fresh produce, a dedicated water heater for a standalone plumbing system..."

"But no physical exams?" the Admiral asked. I was almost afraid of her answer.

"None, Sir. My oath." Our shared sigh of relief was as profound as it was silent.

What little peace we found in that was lost as Zarek piped up from behind me. "Fascinating as this is, it doesn't give us much of direction to push these negotiations in."

"I think it strengthens our hand, actually," Caprica parried. "If this is indeed Kara Thrace as she claims, then we already have an advocate among these people."

"That's if she hasn't already been co-opted by these people after two years of captivity..." Zarek argued in reply.

"They've already stated she hasn't been under duress," I reminded everyone. The Admiral didn't seem the slightest bit phased at this news. "It was one of the first things they stated when we established contact us."

"Meaning they were not keeping her as a prisoner," Caprica stated, trying not to sound smug. "In fact, from the reactions of these officers, I'd say they've been nothing but supremely cautious about her safety."

"Be that as it may..." Zarek tried to argue, only to be over-ridden by the Old Man.

"Be that as it may," he echoed, turning his glare on the Vice-President. "Be all that as it may, we don't actually know anything." His eyes swept over each of us. "We don't know anything beyond what little they've told us.

"And I want to hear a whole damned lot more before we even start talking about believing anyone or anything. That includes all transcripts and records from the first contacts with Nemesis. Am I understood?"

Nods all around gave him his answer. Giving one of his own, he waved us all back to our chairs. I noted how we now outnumbered the Terrans, leaving the table a couple chairs short if we kept to the previous arrangement. The Old Man's only concession to this was to sign for Caprica to remain standing. She offered no objection to this and took up a conveniently out-of-the-way position nearby.

The rest of us sat as directed. I was the last to do so, having moved to the hatchway and waited for the Admiral to give the all clear. When he was seated and had both Kara's scans and the Terran's briefing binder open before him, I took this as my signal and depressed the door chime once.

I didn't wait for the hatch to open or to observe the Terrans re-entering the room; that was Caprica's job and I was happy to leave her to it. I only wished I had taken a moment to refill my cup. I was down to my last couple of sips of coffee and Gods alone knew when I would have another taste of this stuff.

Only when the handful of chairs facing us were again occupied did the Old Man look up from the papers and photos before him. I couldn't help but tense in anticipation, his face having taken the deliberately blank look that usually preceded some kind of explosion.

Sadly, I wasn't disappointed.


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Next up: Adama vs. Thrace (again).

See you next year. (yeah, bad joke I know)