Chapter 14 - The razor's edge
Breathing hard, O'Neil circled the heavy punch bag and laid into it with a flurry of lefts and rights. His t-shirt was soaked with sweat and his dark hair was plastered to his head. The impacts jarred his arms, the torn flesh of his shoulder wound protesting the movements, but still he kept on with grim determination.
He was seething with anger as Cain's scornful words echoed in his ears.
We're at war, son. And fighting a war means making sacrifices. If you can't handle that, you've got no place calling yourself a Commander.
He gritted his teeth as his fists slammed into the padded leather bag again and again. The heavy bag lurched and swayed with the impacts.
I've never disobeyed an order in my life, sir.
His heart was pounding and his breath coming in gasps as he circled the bag, muscles burning and legs heavy. Still the anger burned inside him, unquenched by his punishing workout.
More missiles streaked in from both sides of Endeavour, hitting the old ship again and again. Her hull was thick and as heavily armoured as any Colonial vessel had ever been, but even she couldn't withstand this pummelling for long. Plumes of fire blossomed from the ruptured hull, ejecting smoke and debris out into space.
Her main armament flashed one more time, the shells tearing into the nearest Baseship, before the fires reached her magazines and she exploded. A gigantic fireball erupted from the forward section, rapidly blasting apart the hull as it expanded to consume the entire ship.
His knuckles ached from the punishment, blood seeping from the torn flesh to soak the tape and bandages around his hands, but he ignored it. He was like a man possessed, laying into the bag again and again.
His voice was ragged when he spoke again. "Are you ready for this?"
Samantha swallowed and nodded.
O'Neil turned and retreated to the inner door, reached up and pressed the Close switch. Samantha's eyes were on him the whole time as the hydraulic system worked.
"I'll see you again," she said, as the door locked in place.
O'Neil reached for the outer door lever, closed his eyes and pulled it. When he opened them again, the airlock was empty. She was gone.
With an exhausted sigh, he landed one final blow before falling to his knees, struggling to draw breath.
"Don't you think you've done enough for one day?" a voice asked.
O'Neil looked up to see Starke standing at the entrance to exercise room. Her deep blue eyes shone with concern.
"Why do you care?" he asked, barely managing to say the words.
She looked at him hard. "Because you're our commander. I don't want to see you kill yourself."
"No such luck." He pulled himself to his feet with some difficulty. His heart rate was returning to normal. "I'm not ready to check out yet."
She smiled faintly. "Glad to hear it." She walked forward. "Come on, let's get out of here. You want a drink? I'm buying."
Despite himself, he managed a smile. "Who can refuse an offer like that?"
After showering and cleaning up a little, he found himself seated in Starke's cabin. Being so undermanned, Endurance didn't lack for crew berthing space, and she had taken over a decent sized cabin that was appropriate for her rank.
She handed him a glass of clear liquid. Catching his questioning expression, she said, "Moonshine. There's a real market aboard this ship. I'll assume you won't give me an official reprimand for buying some."
He grinned. "You're safe for now." His smile quickly vanished when he took a sip of the stuff. It was like liquid fire burning its way down his throat. "Smooth," he managed to rasp.
Starke smiled in amusement. "Takes some getting used to, but it does the job." She sat down beside him at the table and took a drink herself, though it was several seconds before she spoke again. "So what's up with you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Come on. I haven't known you too long, but it's obvious something's on your mind. So what is it?"
O'Neil took a drink, a long slow one, before replying. "Cain. She wants to take us into battle, use Endurance as bait to lure out half a dozen Baseships."
"You think it'll work?"
"What I think is irrelevant. She made that abundantly clear," he shot back, before taking another drink. "But for what it's worth, no, I don't think it'll work. I think it'll get us all killed, and we'll lose one if not both of our ships. And you want to know what scares me the most? I don't think she cares."
Starke frowned. "She's always had a reputation as a hard-ass."
"It's more than that. She's got this… anger inside her. It's eating her up." He shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe we're all losing it. Can't say I'd blame anyone after everything we've been through."
"So what are you going to do?"
"Me? I'm a soldier. I follow orders." He raised glass to take another drink, but winced in pain and laid it down. Pain radiated outward from his hand.
"You all right?"
He nodded slowly. "An old injury. I broke my hand when I used to be a fighter. Still gives me trouble every once in a while."
"Is that why you retired?"
O'Neil exhaled. She'd asked him about that once before, and he figured she deserved an answer. "No. There was another reason."
*****
Caprica City
Eleven Years Earlier
Taking a deep breath, O'Neil knocked on the locker room door. It was a few seconds before a voice answered.
"Yeah!"
He opened the door and walked inside.
The locker room was old, like the rest of the building. It smelled of sweat and steam and old leather. And sitting on a bench in the middle of the room was his opponent.
The man was a mess, one eye swollen completely shut, face covered in cuts and bruises, hands still taped up. He looked up at O'Neil, and nodded in greeting.
"Hey, kid," he said. "I figured you'd come in here before it was all over."
"You know why I'm here?" O'Neil asked, surprised.
He nodded. "You gave me a hell of a fight, kid. That's the best gods damn beating I've taken in years."
"But you wouldn't go down," O'Neil said, an edge of anger in his voice.
The old fighter managed a wry smile. "No, I wouldn't."
"Why?" he asked, as frustrated as he was baffled. "This wasn't a title fight - it didn't mean anything. You're not even close to being a contender now. So what was the point? Why fight so hard when there was nothing to gain?"
At this, the man rose to his feet. Old, beaten and bruised he might have been, but he was still a formidable figure. "If you have to ask that question, you've got no place calling yourself a fighter," he said, his voice deep and gravelly. "We don't do this for pay days or title shots. We fight because that's what we're born to do, because no matter what happens out there in the world, there's still honour to be found in that ring. Maybe one day you'll understand that."
O'Neil backed off a pace, such was his shock at the man's words. But more intimidating than that was the look in his eyes - that hunger, that fierce burning passion for what he did. It was something he'd never experienced before.
Without saying another word, he turned and walked out.
*****
"That was it for me. I knew right there and then, he had something I'd never have. I never could have taken the beating he went through, I never could have kept getting up, knowing I was going get hurt again and again. He was right – I had no business calling myself a fighter." O'Neil shrugged and took another drink. "But Cain… She questioned whether I had what it took to be a commander. She asked whether I was ready to make the hard decisions. Maybe she was right."
Starke leaned forward, her eyes fixed on him. "Rick, you've got no reason to doubt yourself. We're alive now only because of you. So stop kicking yourself in the ass."
He looked at her and managed a smile. "You sound like my old man."
She held her glass up in a toast. "He must have been a great guy."
"He was."
*****
The next couple of days passed more or less without incident as the two ships moved further from Colonial space at sub-light. No further Cylon action was encountered, but the mood amongst the two crews remained wary. With Pegasus' Vipers continuing to provide Combat Air Patrols, Endurance was brought patiently back up to combat readiness.
Her electronic warfare systems were brought back online, and in some cases upgraded with newer components from the Battlestar. Her missile batteries were replenished, and her main guns repaired as well as could be managed. In all, six of her fifty-two heavy batteries had been damaged beyond repair, as well as about thirty secondary gun turrets. Still, all told she had survived her previous battles with little permanent damage, and the addition of a full compliment of Havoc missiles had greatly boosted her combat potential.
O'Neil heard little further from Cain during this time. She seemed content to leave him and his crew to their own devices, though he didn't doubt that the repair teams from Pegasus reported directly back to her. In particular, he suspected Kendra Shaw of spying on him – the young woman always seemed to be lurking around the CIC, always within earshot when he was talking to Munro or some other senior officer.
Thus, he was forced to come up with some novel ways to avoid her.
"Been a while since I've been down here," he remarked, staring at the rows of heavy calibre shells laid about before him, each of them weighing nearly three tonnes each. It was impossible for such weapons to be manhandled into the guns, so automated hoists were used instead.
The magazine room was about a hundred feet long, and there were fourteen such compartments aboard the Dreadnought. It had been a while since he had inspected one, and he found the comparative silence to be quite refreshing after the hustle and bustle in the CIC.
"So what's going on between you and Cain?" Munro asked as they walked.
"I don't know," he admitted. "She's gone quiet on me, which isn't exactly unwelcome. But it doesn't sit well with me."
Naturally he had briefed Munro on Cain's proposed attack plan. The younger man had greeted it in much the way O'Neil had anticipated, with liberal use of the term 'frakking madness'. Still, such was the authority and intimidation factor that went along with the Admiral that he hadn't openly suggested doing anything except obeying her orders.
"I'm glad I wasn't in the room when you two were butting heads," Munro said with a wry grin.
"You should be," O'Neil confirmed. He sighed and shook his head. "I don't know. There's something about her that's been bothering me."
"What, exactly?"
"Well, when I explained to her what happened with Samantha, and that Cylons can look and act human now, it didn't faze her. I didn't notice it at the time, but I realise it now. She wasn't even a little surprised, which means she already knew the truth."
Munro frowned. "So why didn't she say anything?"
O'Neil turned to look at him. "I don't know, but like I said, it doesn't sit well with me."
At that moment, they were interrupted by the blare of the ship's intercom. "Commander O'Neil, please report to the CIC right away. I repeat, Commander O'Neil to the CIC."
Munro raised an eyebrow. "Is it just me, or does that have a bad ring to it?"
"It's not just you."
After a fast jog up from the forward magazine, O'Neil and Munro emerged into the CIC sweating and slightly out of breath. "Commander on the deck," O'Neil announced. "Give me a report."
At this, Jonas Drake, the Captain of Endurance's Marine contingent, moved forward to talk to him. "Sir, a party of Marines from Pegasus came aboard with a orders to remove the prisoner from the brig. The orders came from Admiral Cain herself."
O'Neil frowned in confusion. "Piran? Why?"
The Lieutenant who had led the failed mutiny had been hauled off to the brig at O'Neil's orders. He hadn't yet decided what to do with Piran, but it appeared that Cain had taken that decision out of his hands.
"I don't know, sir," Drake admitted. "But they had orders to transfer him to Pegasus."
"Where is he now?"
The older man glanced away. "He left on a Raptor about ten minutes ago."
*****
Pale and trembling, Piran stared down the launch tube at the squad of armed Marines facing him. Beside them stood Admiral Cain, her back straight and her face grim as she looked at him.
"Lieutenant Piran, you have been tried and found guilty of inciting muntiny in time of war," she said, her tone cold and official.
"This is insane!" he protested. "I haven't even had a court-martial!"
"You were tried in abstentia," Cain said. "In any case, the evidence against you is overwhelming. There could be no other verdict. The sentence is death by firing squad, to be carried out immediately. Do you have anything to say before the sentence is carried out?"
Piran licked his dry lips, feeling the heartbeat pounding in his ears. Fear raced through his veins.
"P-please, don't do this," he heard himself say, knowing the futility of his words yet compelled to say them anyway. "I don't want to die here."
Cain remained unmoved by his pleas. "Marines, ready arms!"
As one, the Marines raised their rifles. Piran flinched.
"Aim!"
Piran closed his eyes, unwilling to face what was coming. He inhaled one last time, tasting the distinctive smell of a Battlestar. A lot of people had died aboard this ship. And today, one more was going to be added to that grim tally.
"Fire!"
*****
"I don't care about operational procedures, Colonel!" O'Neil ground out, clutching the phone tight. "You took one of my men without my authorisation. I want to speak to Admiral Cain right now."
"I'm sorry, sir. But the Admiral is busy," Colonel Fisk replied, his tone bland and official. "You'll have to try again later."
"Acknowledged. Endurance Actual, out." O'Neil slammed the phone down in its cradle. "Frak this. Lieutenant Drake!"
Drake appeared within moments. "Yes, sir!"
"Get a squad of Marines together. Make sure they're armed."
"You planning something?" Munro asked.
"You have the conn, Danny. I'm going to pay our friends on Pegasus a little visit."
The younger man eyed him dubiously. "Do you think that's a good idea?"
"Probably not, but I'm doing it anyway."
*****
The Raptor ride over to Pegasus lasted less than five minutes. O'Neil touched down on the lower Starboard landing bay, trying to ignore the odd feeling that he was coming in upside down. The newer Mercury class Battlestars, with their double-stacked landing bays, had been known to disturb more than a few cadets on their first landing.
As soon as the automated tug unit had hauled him into the hanger, O'Neil disembarked, flanked by Drake and four other Marines. Nobody tried to stop them as they marched through the Battlestar's corridors to the ship's brig.
Only outside the secure facility did they encounter resistance. Two armed Marines stood there, looking nervous as O'Neil and his group approached.
"Sir, this is a restricted area," one of them, a Sergeant, explained.
"Stand aside, Sergeant," O'Neil ordered. "We're going in there."
The man raised his chin. "I'm sorry, sir. But the Admiral's orders stand. Nobody gets into this brig without authorisation."
O'Neil took a step forward. If push came to shove, he intended to shove. But he was interrupted when another voice spoke up; one he knew all too well.
"Problems, Commander?"
O'Neil spun around to face Cain. "I came to find out what happened to the crewman you kidnapped."
"That's a little over-dramatic," she cut in. "And I don't much appreciate you bringing armed Marines aboard my ship."
"I tried to resolve this over the radio, but Fisk was stonewalling me. If direct action is what it takes to resolve this, so be it."
Cain's glance swept over the Marines standing with O'Neil. "We'll discuss this in my Ready Room. Come with me."
*****
"You did what?" O'Neil said incredulously.
He had listened with a mixture of amazement and disbelief as Cain had calmly related Piran's trial and summary execution. There had been no emotion in her voice, no regret, nothing. It was all business to her.
"He incited a mutiny in time of war," Cain replied. "There was only one punishment for men like that."
In some ways, he agreed with her. Piran had remained a threat, however remote, but O'Neil had been reluctant to simply execute him out of hand. He was still a human being, and they were in short supply these days.
Seeing his dubious look, Cain added, "You don't approve? Well, too bad, because I don't need your approval. We're hanging on by our fingernails here. The crews of both our ships have lost just about everything they ever cared about. It's only a matter of time before they forget what they're fighting for, or why they should even listen to us. And if that happens, then it's over. We'll have anarchy. This is how we maintain order."
"And how many more people are we going to kill?" he asked bluntly.
Her reply was equally blunt. "As many as we have to." She turned away and walked over to one of the display cases, examining the antique firearms within. "I'm trying to be patient here, Commander, because you've served us well so far, and because I remember the man you used to be. But my patience will only last so long. I need people around me who will obey orders, and who aren't afraid to get their hands dirty. Because make no mistake, that's the only way we're going to get through this."
"Then how about being straight with me," he said.
At this, the Admiral turned around to face him. "What are you talking about?"
"Your Marines were pretty determined not to let us into that brig. I know Piran wasn't in there, because you already executed him. So what is it you're keeping in there?"
The older woman was silent for some time, as if weighing up a choice in her head. Finally she seemed to reach a decision. "All right. You want to know so badly? I'll show you."