AN: Sorry about this big delay. This chapter just wouldn't come together, and this chapter is actually only a piece of what I was planning to do. Operation Home Star (the one to get SG1 to a gate to dial Earth) will be dealt with next chapter.
Just a remind that Caprica is not canon for the story but merely inspiration. The reason for this clarification will be very clear in the second scene.
There's some new/old characters who are introduced and who will be worked into the story as the time line progresses. I also too some creative leeway with these characters' relationships, which will be very clear in the third scene.
And thank you to the reviewers who have taken time to review. It is very much appreciated and constructive criticism is welcome. Please enjoy the story and if everything goes well, the next chapter should be up much sooner than 2 months.
City of Augustus, Picon
Colonial Fleet Headquarters, the Rotunda annex
Allison Vasic quietly sighed and looked up after checking her wrist watch, her eyes resting on Colonel Michael Tassi, Vasic's XO, and his chin dimpled as he made an exaggerated angry face before rolling his eyes. They heard a click and a small shuffle. Down the hall the plain brown wooden door to the room holding the Command Review Board opened and Lt. Colonel Yannis, Uppity, exited. Vasic could tell he was upset, the way he paused before turning towards the group.
A sailor, with a black armband with the letters FP, Fleet Police, shut the door behind the colonel and stiffened, trying to burrow a hole into the wall with his stare.
The CO of Gorgon straightened and played with her dress gray's sash, finally giving it a good tug and mentally nodding that everything would soon be over, that her commander and more importantly, good friend, would be cleared of any 'wrongdoing' or possible negligence.
And gods, what she would give to be a fly on the wall in that room.
This had the underpinnings of Madison all over it again. Vasic wasn't the type of woman to say Adama had been in the 'wrong place at the wrong time.' They were right where they were supposed to be, the attack hadn't been Adama's fault, and pursuing whatever had created that damned particle Amorak and Baltar had gotten so excited about was the common sense thing to do. But when did common sense enter into the equation when politicians and admirals wanting to cover their collective asses ever matter?
Basically blame the Old Man for doing his duty, acting courageously, and not blinking when faced with not only a potentially superior enemy, but an alien enemy!
An what kind of message would this CRB hold? There were always automatic hearing triggered if a ship was lost, from a Viper up to, and gods forbid, a battlestar. Vasic could count on one hand the number of times a commander or higher had been called in to answer formally after combat. And gods, she'd witnessed some boneheaded and fraked up tactics during the Cylon War which amounted to basically human waves, which had been conveniently ignored during the spate of post-War hero making.
Vasic didn't doubt her skills as a commander and she damn well didn't doubt Bill's skills one bit. Battlestar commanders were rigorously trained and selected. There were thousands of warship commanding officers but barely a hundred battlestars; the Fleet could be extremely, excruciatingly picky when it came to promotion from colonel to commander to battlestar CO.
Bill had done everything right, Vasic was sure of it, and honestly, looking back, he'd been far more restrained then she'd have been. He hadn't wanted a fight, not then, because he wasn't stupid. Aggression and imaginative tactics were drilled into the brains of all Fleet officers but so was survival; you don't win wars dying for your planet, you won wars by making the enemy cock sucking, cunt licking fraker die for his.
And Vasic gave a hard nod to reaffirm those thoughts.
She saw the scowl, even from ten meters, on the air group commander's face. He wasn't an overtly emotional man, very restrained, but he wasn't doing a good job hiding his feeling. If he even was trying.
None of them were in the mood. They'd been here for hours and hurricanes were pounding their way up the coast, closer and closer to Augustus. The last thing any of them wanted was to be stuck here at the HQ overnight or on this planet any longer than they had to be. It felt dirty just being here for the sole reason of testifying in Bill Adama's CRB.
"Well, that was interesting, sir," Uppity remarked as he walked by the commander, plopping down in a seat and rubbing his temples. "I didn't know if they were admirals or politicians." He wrinkled his nose.
"This is what happens," Tassi said, "when people act like cowards."
Vasic held up a hand. "Come on, Mike." She saw the look from Uppity. "You too, Uppity. The admirals in there are doing a job, fraked up as it is, but they're not that." The commander shook her head as Tassi just shrugged one shoulder lazily.
"Perfect day though for this, right?" He snickered.
There was a flash of lightning and a loud, whipping crack of thunder outside. Rain had battered the city last night, cleared for an hour or so this morning, and then started again. Every space ship not in space was at least a hundred klicks inland from Augustus and half the staff at Fleet Headquarters was at home. Tomorrow only critical personnel would be in the complex.
"They should have just issued a decision with a report like they always do," Tassi stated dryly. "This is just-"
"This is what happens with a gods damn Prog as SecWar," Uppity grumbled.
"Hey." Vasic tone was warning enough, not much else needed to be said. It wasn't like she was a fan of the Secretary, but the military was controlled by the civilians completely now. "Maybe they're putting on a show and he'll get a slap on the wrist and a letter of caution," she offered as a concession to the agitated men.
Or a letter of reprimand, she thought, which would make him a terminal commander, get him booted off Valkyrie and end his career. The LOC would expire within two years and while it was generally reserved for young hot shots needing a good kick in the pants and a lesson in humility, it wasn't something close to damning.
Uppity crossed his arms. "I'm sure I wasn't the only one going in thinking this would be easy. The civilians don't know how to handle this- tell and cause a panic, cover it up and hope for the best, damn whoever gets in the way."
"How much longer can the government cover this up, anyway?" Tassi asked. He motioned at the commander. "You had a reporter call you."
Vasic's eyebrows rose to acknowledge and she saw Uppity's head cock quizzically. "Some reporter called me two nights ago, Uppity," she explained. "He wanted an anonymous source to tell him what'd happened out there. I don't know…" she shifted in her seat, uncrossing one leg and then crossing the other. "This whole thing… it won't be a secret for much longer, it's too big. Too many people know."
Tassi's fist smacked his open palm. "And we need men like Commander Adama to lead us and hit that son of a bitch Sokar as hard as we can."
"Unless the board sacrifices him."
"Maybe, Uppity," Vasic said, swallowing. "But he's got allies on the Board. We can't do anything now so just…" she held up a hand, "just let's sit here and wait. They're done with all our testimony so we should have something soon."
"You know," Colonel Tassi said to Vasic, "I could be home, maybe lounging around the pool, smelling fresh cut grass, throwing a tennis ball to the dog…" he raised his chin and pretend to smell non-existent grass. "But this is just grandstanding. They'll run their dog and grog show and it'll end up being a slap on the wrist. Most likely." He balled his hands into fists and crossed his arms, looking every few seconds at the door.
Yannis rubbed his chin. "I just hope the admirals come through for him."
Admiral Corman and Vice Admiral Marak were in there, offering their quiet support to Adama. When Vasic had gone in they'd been sitting with stone faces, listening to the Fleet Investigators present their 'findings'. A few others were seated in the gallery, mostly just staff officers for Marak or Corman, with Corman's chief of staff noticeably absent.
Allison knew of the mission on Argus, since they'd asked for opinions on how best to deal with Goa'uld should they be encountered, but the specifics and destination were compartmentalized, and she didn't have the necessary clearance which bothered her if she thought about it.
Another half hour passed in relative silence. Vasic, Yannis, and Tassi didn't say much more than a few words to each other after their brief conversation, their moods dark and their minds elsewhere, concerned with larger and more important things than futile complaining.
The storms outside intensified and thunder cracked and rumbled a few times a minute.
Commander Vasic was about to say something pessimistic to go along with her XO when they heard the doors opening. Colonel Tigh was the first out and Yannis, Tassi, and Vasic were on their feet before he was a step out into the hall in their direction. He looked left and right as he ran a hand through his thinning white hair and seeing the three of them, arched his eyebrows, sighed, and walked over at a brisk pace.
They assembled into a little group.
Vasic could read the expression on his face. Unfortunately he always looked like he'd just sucked on some sour hersin fruit. Either that or he always looked pissed off. "I don't know if that's your happy face or pissed off face, Saul," she said, trying to break a little of the tension. "It's over?"
"Oh, it's over." The Valkyrie XO gulped and looked behind him.
Admiral Corman, Vice Admiral Marak, and Commander Adama all exited. Adama stopped and looked back, but the two admirals were talking with him, motioning for him to follow. Vasic thought she saw a slight nod and there was a moment of release and relief. She let her muscles relax for just a few precious seconds.
She felt disappointed he wasn't coming back himself to talk to them. She'd have to call or go over to his Valkyrie later. Then she remembered he was heading back to Caprica for Lee's graduation. Maybe she'd drop by his house and see how things were? She needed to get back to Caprica anyway-
"What'd they say, sir?" Yannis asked, shifting left and right and brining Vasic's attention back. His eyes darted between the XO and CO and admirals disappearing down the hall.
"Letter of Caution."
"Thank the gods," a few of them sighed in unison.
Tigh held up a hand. "I wouldn't celebrate yet." He grumbled. "An LOC but Corman and Marak went on the line for him. You all didn't see it. This board was…" he trailed off, "not right. I don't know."
Vasic frowned. "What?"
Saul's shoulders dropped as he explained the real problems. His forehead wrinkled right before he grumbled.
"The politicians don't care about the damn aliens as much as they do the secret missions. Not in the fraking sense they put it. There were other missions dealing with the Cylons," he said in his typically grumpy voice. "The whole secret missions thing and they're afraid they're gonna get caught with their hand in the cookie jar and this whole cover up will blow up in their faces." The colonel's nose wrinkled. "The scapegoats are ready."
"The commander?"
Saul shook his head. "No, thankfully, not him, too low. Corman and Marak somehow convinced the powers that be to keep the Old Man as Valkyrie's CO. Those two are done though. Admiral Corman resigned his commission yesterday and Admiral Marak accepted a reassignment to be the commander of Recruiting Distract Nine… on Aquarion."
"You can't be serious?" Vasic asked. She saw the others couldn't believe that. "That's political suicide if Prestiok is going after the admiral. And a career ender for Marak… damnit, he's a good man."
"I don't have the full details." Saul breathed in. "Corman talked about the integrity and duty of an officer for a few minutes… but whatever it was, it was all a show. The Board went in knowing he'd resigned and that Marak accepted responsibility and has been reassigned. I got the impression it was by Secretary Prestiok."
"So what happens now?" Tassi asked.
"Marak's committed career suicide," Vasic pointed out, "from a task group commander to recruiting. He was good." She lowered her voice. "It's a gods damn shame."
If she'd been in the position she'd have straight up resigned. Viktor Marak had been in command of five battlestar groups, dozens of front line warships and over a hundred and twenty thousand men under his command. And now he'd fallen on his sword and was reassigned to the colony with the lowest recruitment, per capita, of any Colony. Lower than Sagittaron and even the moons.
Then Vasic's stomach knotted and she wondered if Prestiok had forced the man to retain his commission and endure such an embarrassing reassignment. Task Group Six Seven had been the main group assigned to clandestine missions. Viktor Marak had been the Fleet element who had orchestrated many of the reconnaissance missions into Cylon space and had worked intimately with FID. She remembered when Gorgon had been assigned to Six Seven and hearing rumors that Marak had been a part of one of the myriad clandestine groups which had operated during the War and after before everything had been streamlined and reformed once the War ended.
"If the secretary wanted someone to fall on their swords, he got two admirals," Saul said, "and they did it for another reason, too." The group waited. "They're not completely fraked-up idiots at the Pinnacle. We're the only ones with experience fighting the Goa'uld…"
Delphi City
Caprica
Smelling the flowers, a sweet summertime southern white tulip Carolanne had loved, William Adama took his time walking down his driveway. He let the sounds of his boots clicking on the stones relax him and the sun warm him.
He was home, for now, and was determined to enjoy it. He'd let the sun beat down on him, pour a glass of fine ambrosia, throw on a pair of sunglasses and relax in a lawn chair. That was his plan starting in oh, thirty, forty minutes.
The other flowers were in bloom, the smell of sage almost intoxicating as it filled his nostrils. Birds were flying high or chirping in the trees. A squirrel jumped from a low hanging branch onto a window sill and then leapt onto the ground, disappearing under some bushes. Everything- almost- had been as he'd left it.
His car was out on the driveway. The curtains were drawn. The Colonial flag wasn't raised as it should have been, as Carolanne did when he was on deployment or his duty called him away for the day or night. And there was a box, stamped with some strange square logo with a ring around it… 'Delphi to Anywhere, Arnu Brothers Moving Company' in bold, black letters.
"Frak…" he whispered. His hand was on the door knob, his key out. The lock clicked opened. It sounded louder, sending a child down his spine. He turned the handle and pushed. "Frak…"
The idea of a relaxing afternoon, foot up outside with that fine ambrosia quickly began to dim.
The house was empty. Mostly empty. A few of his things were still there; a couch, a chair. There was a TV on the floor, unplugged. All of his commemorative shot glasses from the squadrons and ships he'd served on, which Carolanne had hated. His heart skipped and he was quick to get to his office. Relieved to see his prized possession still untouched he closed his eyes for a moment and let the revelation sink in.
Carolanne had left him. Rage, fear, betrayal, and finally understanding all swept through his thoughts simultaneously. He understood; the fights, the drinking, he understood it all. This was the natural conclusion to years of… years of everything going wrong and everything being ignored, swept under the rug, and the pretending nothing was wrong.
Adama heard a slight commotion behind him, the sound of a glass touching the granite countertops in the kitchen. He sighed and turned, walking slowly in, like the sound of his steps would offend the gods. He turned a corner and stopped in the threshold of the empty kitchen. A pile of paper plates, still in their plastic wrapping, was all that remained. And some plastic utensils. At least Carolanne had left something for him to eat on and with.
Though the speed she'd cleared the house was surprising. She must've done it last week, when he'd been on Picon. Or a few days ago when he'd had to go to Gemenon Fleet Station or… he snickered, there were so many chances for her to have done it. A little piece of him was surprised she'd waited this long.
The commander looked over at the woman sitting in the kitchen, sitting patiently, reading a magazine, the afternoon sunlight making the paper look glossy. He took off his glasses and held them loose in his hand.
"You're looking well," he said to the older woman sitting at the breakfast bar. She had a small bottle of Ambrosia opened, and a little bit of the light green liquid in a glass. "I didn't expect you." He gestured at the bottle. "A little early?"
One of the images in the magazine caught his eye as it started to move, advertising some sort of cosmetic.
"Hmm… no, you never do," she smiled down at the ad, her fingers outlining the perfume bottle. "I'm glad your CRB went well. I'm sorry about Corman and Marak. It's a shame." She eyed the glass of ambrosia, smiled at it and took a sip. "I figured you'd want some." She pushed her glass towards him.
The commander snorted and took one, big drink. This ambrosia had been chilled instead of the usual room temperature it was generally served at. He pushed up his sleeve and looked at his watch; five hours and seven minutes. But with how Caprica and Picon's rotations were, it was actually earlier in the day on Caprica than when he'd left Picon.
She'd probably known the results of the CRB immediately after it ended. Did she have anything to do with it; did she issue some threat, forcing Corman to fall on his sword or Marak to get reassigned? Frak.
"I think it's been two years, Tammie."
"You know I hate it when you call me that, Willy." She smiled back and in a flash, had her arms around him. She gave a tight squeeze. "It's okay to hug your sister." She held on for another moment. "You were never one to show much affection… not after mom died."
He sat half facing her and half facing the refrigerator. He pulled a glass and poured himself a drink. "Yeah, well, I didn't have a good teacher."
"He talks about you. Dad's proud of you." The commander took a sip and look at her. She detected the ever-present dislike glittering in his eyes when talking about their father. "You should visit him."
"Maybe. Why are you here?" He had a feeling, and with Tamara it was never a good one. If he could describe their relationship, it'd be 'fraked up' or 'strained'- an understatement if there ever was one.
How many people in the Fleet had a brother or sister or mother or father or any family member like Tamara?
"And so the commander comes right to the point." Tamara Adama stood and smoothed her power suit. Her heels clicked on the marble floor. "Carry called me, told me she was going to divorce you, as you've probably figured it out."
"She never liked you calling her that."
"She never liked anything I did." Tamara cut her brother off with a hand gesture. "She never got used to the 'lifestyle' of having someone like me in the family. She thought I was bad for her image and her little circle of friends." She finished with a heavy roll of her eyes. "I think she called me to clear the air… afraid I'd do something to…" she sighed, "that I'd do something negative to her. Your ex-wife had an imagination." She walked over to him and straightened the collar on his uniform. "Hell, I think she blames me for your problems. Whatever lifts her ship is fine by me."
The commander sat there, not completely oblivious to his passive-aggressive expression. His sister had an odd way of trying to make him feel better; if she was trying to make him feel better should she have sounded so callous and dismissive about accepting blame for his marriage? Adama's lip curled up and he gently shook his head, looking back up at her with tired, deep blue eyes.
Tamara turned her back and stared out the large kitchen window at the pond in the back.
"Well, you look good, Tamara."
His sister looked herself over, nodding her agreement. "I'd like to go to Lee's graduation. It'd be nice for them both to see their favorite aunt." She turned her head and winked at him. "And I haven't seen them in a long time… how long's it been, Willy?"
"You're their only aunt. And you know why you haven't seen them."
She turned and walked back over slowly. Her glass still had two sips worth, but she downed it in one. Tamara placed the glass on the countertop just a little harder than necessary.
"Willy, I've stayed away like you asked. I've kept you out. Lee and Zak have never been near anything," she paused, "you're my only family, Willy."
He kept his scowl, but he lightened his tone. "I certainly can't stop you from seeing them." There was a pause. "They're your family, too."
"Ha, thanks," his sister chuckled to relieve a moment of building tension, "for the enthusiasm." She played with her hands a moment. "So you know, we've gone… semi-legitimate, Willy."
Adama snickered. "Semi-legitimate," he repeated under his breath. "When did this happen?"
He also wanted to know what 'semi-legitimate' could even mean.
Tamara shrugged. "Oh, not too long ago, but I've been trying to take us that way for a while now. Section Five and Seven's been cracking down. It's not like it used to be before unification. Or so I've been told. Now with all the Colony-wide LEOs running around, it's harder to do the business I was doing."
"I can imagine." He looked off, presenting a side to her.
"It's a business, that's all it was," she replied coolly. "I did it honorably. Some of those other frakers…" she held up a fist, chest high. "Never mind, that's neither here nor there, little brother."
Adama looked at his sister, a spitting image of his mother and father, and a natural successor to their father's lifestyle. The commander resented that his sister had gone into the 'family business' but he could at least respect that she was upfront about it, unlike good old dad, who paraded around as a 'civil rights' attorney while bribing judges, threatening jurors, and getting murders and thieves and thugs off free.
Bill Adama had kept his sister at arm's length, for the benefit of Lee and Zak, though there were times he wondered if he'd used his children as excuses to keep himself from feeling the bitter disappointment he felt in his father transferred to his sister.
She patted her brother on the back and squeezed his shoulder. "You're my little brother, don't forget that." She gave him another squeeze. "Even if you're this big, bad Fleet commander, you're still my little brother, Willy. And it's a brave new worlds, Willy… brave new galaxy…" she winked at him. "Opportunity…" she breathed in, releasing slowly. "I know what happened out there, I know about the aliens who attacked you." They exchanged looks, the looks they'd done when one thought the other was lying. Then Tamara said it. "Goa'uld. And it's time for payback." Her lips parted, showing a line of teeth. Somehow she produced a knife, the same knife Uncle Sam had used for decades. The light gleamed off the polished metal and it was in almost perfect condition with the exception of two chinks in the blade, roughly a third the way up, and a scratch near the tip.
"Tamara… how? What are you going to do that a fleet of battlestars and an army can't?" He was calm, composed, despite her somehow knowing such highly classified details. Behind the glitter and the pomp and the glow of any civilization a dark and powerful underground festered. He was intimately associated with the one inhabiting the Colonies and with the past conspiracies run by the Ha'la'tha, the younger brother was not surprised his older sister knew.
She looked at the knife and back at him. "If there is war, battlestars won't win it alone. You'll need people, people like me, who can find the dirt and the underground, find the rot and the decay, and exploit it. Blood's thicker than soil, Willy, and they accepted their eventual return to the soil when they decided to frak with Adamas…"
Colonial Fleet Academy
Paestum, southeast of Delphi City
The humidity of a Delphi summer had taken a break, a short one, but just long enough for the ceremony of the Fleet Academy's newest graduating class. One thousand, eight hundred and seventeen graduating classes had come before, starting when the Fleet Academy had been the Paestum Citadel, the combined arms school to the ancient Paestum Federation before it had been folded into the Lycian Alliance, led by Caprica City.
William Adama stood in the crowd, his dress grays pressed, his medals shining under the warm sun of Cyrannus Major and the distant, cooler Minor. This was one of the rare occasions covers were required; light gray with a black strip and a golden phoenix. He hadn't worn the thing in probably eight or nine months and had been two seconds from calling up his yeoman to search for it on Valkyrie.
He looked at his watch to keep from making eye contact with his ex-wife, who was standing next to him, pretending everything was 'fine', for the sake of Lee and Zak. Not that it would do much good, Adama considered if the boys decided to come home at all. Lee, however, was off to Virgon in two days to celebrate his commissioning along with half a dozen classmates. Zak had done something to piss off the Commandant, again, and was on restriction and confinement for the next week and a half before shipping off to his cherry cruise.
The graduation ceremony had been quick despite the many thousands who'd walked the stage and received their diplomas. The commander could still feel the pride rippling through his body, puffing out his chest when 'Leland Joseph Adama' had been called. His son had walked proudly, smartly, and militarily across that stage, gave a strong handshake, and had been smiling wide enough his cheeks probably still hurt.
He chuckled, shaking his head at the ground. He remembered the first day, Matriculation Day, how Lee and Zak had experienced what he had and where they were now. There was the yelling and screaming of the cadre, how they were forced to push, do high knees, power V-jumps, and being woken up at 0400 to machine gun fire and cadre kicking in their doors. For the first ten days the upper class cadre had tried their patience, their physical fitness, but more importantly, their mental resolve.
On the last day his squad corporal, a mean, short, but fiery woman, now a rear admiral, had taken him and two others into one of the basements, shut the door, and turned on a space heater, working them until the walls had begun to sweat. That workout became a weekly ritual for him until Advent, the day the plebe midshipmen became fourth classmen.
Being back at the Academy wasn't all good memories. The dark ones came with the territory and like every dark memory in the Colonial psyche, it had been the Cylons to blame.
For forty-two nights during his plebe year he'd slept in bomb shelters. Twenty-one nights they'd had to help man the air defenses in Delphi City and the local townships. The next years it was slightly less and less, but he never forgot the sweat and stink of the shelters as the midshipmen crowded in or the groan of the gears as the blast doors descended.
Even with all these happy faces about him, his fists clenched in a moment's anger as he remembered the night. Looking southwest he could just barely see the twenty-story spire of the Hekatombaion Memorial, a black, round column
On one night, as the leaves turned brown and the weather grew cold the Cylons had struck. In the dead of night, after a raid on Caprica, they'd snuck in a transport and disembarked a dozen Centurions. They were ferocious, heavily armored and more heavily armed than any before. They'd killed the perimeter guards, disabled the sensors, and snuck onto the Academy grounds.
Adama remembered the alarm klaxons blaring, grabbing his rifle, and rushing to a defensive position. He'd fired his first round in anger that night, but hadn't hit anything. Marine security engaged the Cylons before they got too close to the barracks' complex. But a Centurion got through, like they always seemed to be able to do.
Five-hundred and fifteen midshipmen had died when a caldron bomb- the most powerful non-nuclear, Cylon-portable bomb ever created, exploded outside of a wing of the barracks.
The commander's eyes were dark until he heard a loud 'Aunt Tammie!' from behind him. He twirled around, the memories vanishing as he saw his eldest and youngest together and exchanging hugs with their aunt. Lee had the biggest grin on his face. Carolanne was there, too, giving the boys a hug and of course, a kiss on the cheek.
"Dad," Lee said, breaking his hug with his mom. He came to a stiff position of attention and saluted.
Zak hung back, watching with an amused smile at the little bit of pomp. His brother and father missed the eye roll.
"At ease, ensign," the commander ordered, love in his voice, after returning the salute. "I'm proud of you, son." He grasped his son's hand tightly and with the free hand, squeezed his shoulder. "You've done yourself well."
The commander saw his other son mosey off, talking with a female midshipmen. Zak had a slick grin he was trying to hide.
"Thanks."
There was a tense moment. The commander gave a thoughtful look down and a nod, then looked his son in the eyes. "When do you go to Viper school?"
He could tell that Lee knew he knew the answer. His son humored him and answered back, but the happiness and pep in his voice wasn't enough to cover the longing in the young man's eyes or the subtle shift in posture away from his father. Adama picked up on it and felt the pain of regret; he hadn't been there.
Lee looked over his shoulder at his mom, talking with his aunt uneasily, and back at his dad. The commander wondered if Lee knew.
"Graduating is only the first step, Lee. Going to Viper school, getting your wings, that's when you become a man." The commander swallowed. "When you sit in that seat and flick the turbos for the first time and pull a hard six, you'll know."
"Zak's been thinking about Vipers, too, dad," Lee said to keep an uncomfortable silence from falling over them again. "But you-"
"His cherry cruise starts soon," Adama said. "He'll have two weeks at a Viper school, maybe that'll get him properly motivated." The commander stepped forward and lowered his voice. "You know your brother. He's come a long way since that first day and Advent, but he'll need you, too."
"He can't have us hanging over his shoulder, dad." Lee said, his tone almost scolding. He flashed a look of disapproval. "He needs to make things up for himself." Ensign Adama looked over his father's shoulder and snickered. "Well… he could still use some advice. You might want to talk to him about his cruise."
Commander Adama, expressionless, turned around to see him flirting with an upper class midshipman. A young woman with blond hair tied back in a short ponytail, with her lips pursed to what would only be called a 'shit eating grin'. He shook his head and turned back, but Lee was gone, talking with his mother, giving her and Aunt Tammie hugs again.
Conflicted, the commander turned away towards his youngest. He felt regret every night not being there for the boys more, sometimes putting his needs above theirs. Would life have been better if he'd settled on a single planet, gotten an office job? He always thought he'd been doing this for them. The Fleet was an honorable profession, he could protect them from the Cylons, and his kids and wife had never once worried about a roof over their head, warm clothes in the winter, food, or who'd pay for their lessons or clothes or toys.
Civilian life had been a monumental failure, and William Adama was man enough to admit that, but only to himself, and maybe Saul. Well, yeah, he remembered, he had admitted it to Saul when he'd recruited his chronically grumpy best friend to join back up with him from those gods awful sub-light tramp freighters.
"Zak," he said to the young man's back. His son's shoulder was touching the young woman's, and he could tell by her uniform she was a rising first-class midshipman. This was borderline PDA and Adama sighed. The two spun around, the woman doing a double-take when she saw him.
"Good afternoon, sir," she said with that same pursued-lip smile and with a dimpled chin. The pep in her voice was almost too much.
"Midshipman," the commander said with a nod. He frowned at his son, whose eyes shifted left and right, knowing trouble was here. "Lee told me something about your cruise?"
"Oh… right…" Zak coughed and looked at the young woman. "I sort of uh… got reassigned, dad, to a-"
Sternly, the commander repeated what his son had said. "Reassigned from a cherry cruise?" He slowly and heavily blinked his eyes. That wasn't supposed to happen. Cherry cruises introduced upcoming thirds to aircraft, ship handling, engineering, and the Marines and it was the first time a midshipman was evaluated. Those evals would stick with Zak until he graduated and determine what he'd get on the Gold List! The commander lowered his chin. "And how did that happen?" His voice was like a weight, pinning Zak down for precious seconds.
"My fault, sir."
Zak lowered his head, the weight lifted by her save. "Kara-"
"Kara…?" Commander Adama questioned, momentarily distracted by the larger issue, his tone disapproving at the familiarity between a fourth classman and a second.
Even as a soon-to-be third and first, first names were reserved for those within one's own class. A second class-man didn't even refer to a first class-man by first name.
The young woman, Kara, snapped to attention. "Kara Thrace, sir, from Midia, a little town… well, if anything close to C-City is little, about fifty klicks north of it." She smiled at him and put herself at ease. "And um, don't get made sir, it was my fault."
Adama saw the light in her eyes, the looks from Zak to her, and the way she held herself and feared his son may be involved in a sexual relationship with this upper-class midshipman. That was the last thing Zak needed; fall into old habits and distractions. This time there would be harsh penalties.
The Academy tended to give everyone at least one more chance, provided they didn't steal, lie, or do anything heinous. But Zak could spend a year on confinement and find himself doing penalty marches every morning if he wasn't careful.
His eyes had shifted to the young woman, reading her, unconsciously transitioning into that 'Adama stare' Saul had told him he did when people got into his gun sights.
Kara bit her lip. "And sir… one more thing?" She waited until he nodded. "I'm a bit uh… well that story about Valkyrie and what happened… if it was Cylons you ran into out there, sir, I bet you gave them hell and kicked their fraking ass."
His son stood with his mouth hanging open, almost to the grass. His eyes were darting between Kara and his dad.
The commander had half a mind to dress her down, but for some reason, he couldn't. He was certainly able to, he'd dressed down dozens over his long career, but he just couldn't.
A part of him wanted to, but a stronger part didn't, because… he mentally frowned, searching, and not finding an answer, forced his face to relax and his body to let go of the tension. Maybe it was because the CRB had robbed him of something, or maybe it was just because the cover story and continued denials of anything happening was so disrespectful to the dead… and was it right to dress down a midshipman for such a comment? The midshipmen were taught to celebrate victory, even if that victory was costly, the ultimate goal of battles and war was to win.
He felt some connection to this young woman, something he didn't really understand, but looking at her, the young woman's blunt comment and the way she held herself, her very attitude just seemed to click something in the commander.
"I can't discuss it." He answered her with a simple, time-honored dodge. "But what is this that is your fault?"
"I got reassigned to a picket out past Sectar System or something… Dad, it's not her fault. The VTOL-"
"VTOL?" The commander repeated, his soft voice somehow sounding like thunder. Zak grimaced. "What VTOL?"
"I thought Lee…" Zak started and waving off towards his brother's backside.
"We took a VTOL, sir," Thrace explained, "me, Zak, and uh… a friend of ours. It was my idea. We were working penalty marches and they were offering two-for-ones, ya know, sort of an end of the year thing, 'here ya are, here's a little gift for us making your life miserable'…" she coughed, grinning at her own distraction and rubbed her neck, pushing back some blond hair. "I um… so we went to help clean them and sir, they're just sitting there, the crew chief left and one of them was the new model, the SR-97 and um…"
Adama softly snorted as a corner of his lip rose up into a smirk. He'd read of the SR-97 VTOLs in Terrestrial Aviation. The SR-97 was a sleek, very expensive high performance military and paramilitary VTOL designed for training, tactical insertions, and as a medium gunship. Their new Aerodyne 56 turbo engines could achieve a top speed over eighteen hundred kilometers an hour and with a pressurized cockpit and cabin, climb to an altitude of forty-two kilometers. Adama recalled it was being built primarily for the Army and for Colony-wide law enforcement agencies.
Gods, why was it he could completely see Zak doing something like this? Zak had always, always been the trouble maker of the two, always finding mischief in some way, pissing off his primary school teachers, pranking his secondary school principle by somehow getting the man's car onto the room of the school, or one of a dozen different things. But an SR-97?
"So, we took it out, dad, and before you say anything, Kara's a good pilot." Zak looked at her. "A great pilot, actually and they say she's a natural. Plus Agathon was there, and he's a good pilot, too."
"How did you take it?" The Old Man asked.
Thrace held up a finger. "Me, sir, with a little help… the new uh, security isn't as great as it's advertised."
The Old Man stood in a contemplative silence. For Zak, it was like a bubble. The shouts and screams from families around them, all the cheering and congratluations to new ensigns, it all just died down as his father's bright blue eyes turned dark.
"Zak." He was stern. "I'm disappointed. You stole an Academy VTOL-"
"We didn't really steal it, sir," Kara said quietly. "Borr-"
"We didn't steal it, dad. We borrowed it. And we brought it back." Kara nudged him and mouthed something, something the Old Man thought looked like a warning. "After we broke the climb speed record." His dad's eyes closed. "The commandant gave us restriction… and after our summer cruises we have to report back... immediately." His son shrugged, seeming to gain an exponential increase in confidence the closer Thrace stood to him. "And it was worth it. I mean, we're pretty much famous around here now." He tried to sound proud but ended up finishing with a stutter under his father's gaze.
There was more Zak wasn't telling him. Reading his son was as easy as reading a children's book. All kid's liked to think they could get away with secrets from their parents and so had the commander with his dad… though he actually had with his dad, which forced Adama's mood to darken considerably.
"Then you live with the consequences. This'll follow you."
"I got off easy. Kara and Karl got it worse," Zak complained. The young man shifted his weight, folding his arms. "It's not fair to them I get off because the commandant knows you."
Adama held out a hand and pointed, his index finger a steady centimeters from Zak's dress uniform. "First, you didn't get off. Those with seniority are always punished more…" and that all too recent memory began sapping his strength for an argument and he looked at Thrace, "and I'm surprised reassignments from cruises was all he did to you, Midshipman Thrace."
Adama knew the commandant, had served under him for three years as a divisional officer. The man was a hard ass, but fair when it came down to it, and the Old man suspected he had taken a personal interest in the futures of his son, this mischief causing Thrace, and whoever the frak 'Karl' was. He was probably one of Zak's classmates.
The young woman wasn't intimidated. "The commandant and I go back, sir."
The commander didn't need her to elaborate and that confirmed his suspicions; the commandant saw something in the young woman. And yeah, they went way back. Meaning she was constantly getting in trouble.
"Willy!" The commander turned as Tamara walked up. He cursed the timing. "Willy, let's go. Zak…" the older woman paused, smiled at him and morphed the smile into a grin when she looked at Kara. "Zak, Willy, there's a reception we need to be at shortly. And Lee wants to get some pictures with his friends. Come on." She tugged at her brother's dress grays before walking off.
The commander looked back over his shoulder as his sister marched away. He knew she'd interrupted right then for a reason, on purpose. It might have been years since they'd seen each other, but his sister knew him like the back of her hand and he knew she could read him. She'd exposed his first lie he ever told his parents at the dinner table when he was four. Tammie was still doing it.
"Zak." Adama softly nodded his head to the side. His son looked at Kara, sighed, and Adama guessed, rolled his eyes at him- what else would she giggle at? "Thrace," he said, when he was gone. His tone was somber, almost scolding, but also warm. "Be careful with him. And be careful with yourself. Whatever you did with the ninety-seven… the commandant's a good man. And I can guess this isn't the first time you've done something… stupid. I've seen midshipman like you…" and he didn't say was that he saw his younger self in her. "They tend to think they can keep bucking authority. It'll catch up with you. And dangerous stunts might be impressive, until they kill someone." He put his arms in front of him, grasping them at the wrist. He turned and looked back. "Carry on. And be careful." He said as he strode away, back to his family, leaving a Kara Thrace looking on enviously.
AN: So Kara and Zak are a bit of a couple at the Academy. I wanted to take their relationship and make it where they knew each other for a longer period than they did. Also, Karl Agathon was the third guy helping them fly the VTOL. they'll be recurring characters, sort of like Sacmis, in a while before they get to the fleet. The resignations of Corman and Marak's reassignment will also be explored later on; they didn't do it out of simple altruism for Adama.