Responses to Earlier Comments:

War Sage - thanks again. :) I know Survival of the fittest is a cliche for survival stories (Lord of the Flies, Postman, Walking Dead, etc.), but I think that's what we do as humans, right? We go hungry or our children go hungry and we do what we have to. I read some of your work. It looks like you're taking a break from writing. Let me know if you pick it up again.

Keithallen - thanks for the comment. I'm reading DankUser and Maeve right now. You're next. :)

DankUser, thank you so much for the thorough feedback. I've started through one of your fics. You're an accomplished writer and I appreciate your reading my work and taking the time to write. I appreciate your thoughts on getting reviews. Fair enough - I'll take what I can get and move forward. For the story - Cru needs at least three more people aboard - it would be helpful if they are handy, but he may not be able to choose. There is a lot of room for others, 50 or more could fit tightly packed in, but the undersized air handlers can support only so many - that might be remedied later.

BSG FanFic - Bree's Twin

Chapter 9, Fixing a Hole (continued) and Making Friends

Please note: I own no part or share in the Battlestar Galactica realm, either commercial or otherwise. This story is submitted for entertainment purposes only.

Reminder: I did not spend time making up non-earth names for common things; a soda is not a "fizzy ", oil is not "slip-juice", a pistol is not a mini 'hand-boomer", etc.

"Oops, they weren't green beans and carrots. They were lima beans. I don't like lima beans. They could have kept them with my blessing."

~ Cru's journal, if he had time to keep one.

Aboard BREE'S TWIN - 11 days after the attack

The 5.56mm Colonial standard round shot through the deck plating next to Colfax's ear..

Fragments of metal, both from the round and from the deck, struck him. The blast of the impact rang out in his ear. He clutched at the side of his face. His hands, when he drew them back, were smeared with blood.

Cru pulled Colfax up by his hair while directing Ehinger back. Bleeding and coughing, Colfax stood but remained bent at the waist because Cru held him there, at arm's length.

"Let's go 'T-Dog'."

Cru walked them both out into the companionway, and forward, just as the safety doors to the receiving deck opened. The Receiving deck had been filled with air, the pressure was equalized, and was sufficiently secure from leaks. The men and women, members of Colfax's crew, streamed into the doorway when they heard the shot.

"How about you folks step back, lest I aerate Puppy-Chuck, here," said Cru.

The maintenance crew backed up as Cru approached with Colfax and Ehinger.

Cru dragged Colfax along, with the man half standing and half crawling to keep up. He was starving for breath, bleeding, and in pain. He could do little else but endure. Cru directed Ehinger up into the Receiving deck room and pushed Colfax, bodily, in behind her. Colfax stumbled forward and fell to the deck. John, who had been watching by monitor, stepped in through the far door on the far side of the room, with a rifle in his hands.

The engineers formed a semi-circle of hard angry stares. Cru advanced until he stood before them. The pistol was out but aimed downward. "I am tired of the poor attitude displayed by this team. I'm tired of the lack of respect for my ship and for me." He glared at the fellow who had operated the double-handed hammer drill. "I'm tired of frakking holes in my deck plating." Cru pointed at the engineer. "I'm talking about you."

The engineer was older than Cru, by maybe six or seven years. He was at that age when he should have been running jobs and leading crews, or long moved on, leaving the heavier work for the young. He spat on the deck to show his concern and the lack thereof.

"See this?" Cru continued - he might come back to the gray-haired frak, later. Instead, he held up his wallet to the nearest of the engineers. "You there, what does this say?"

The engineer read Cru's military ID. "It says, 'Richard Cru, Major, Colonial Marines'."

"Frak me," said Malek under his breath. Malek was the ill-mannered tech operator who took the controls remote from Cru "He's military? I didn't know he was military."

"Yeah, military, said Cru. "I believe your phrase was 'No shit'."

The Engineer continued. "But in all due respect to that gun in your hand, and not to you, it also says you're retired from the service. That means you're nothing anymore."

"Really? How much, in this confrontation - this exact moment in time, right now, do you think that matters? The frakking Cylons changed all of that, didn't they? Nobody's retired anymore. Nobody gets a free pass." Cru took a step towards the man. "But more importantly, you should be thinking about what I can do with this pistol in my hand - what I have been trained to do, and what I can accomplish in a few quick bursts - starting with you." Cru took a second step toward the engineer. The pistol was unwavering in its aim between the man's eyes. Cru clicked the safety lever to lock and back to unlock. It made a loud latching sound in the prevailing silence. There was no mistaking what could happen next.

"Cru…" said John, in an attempt to pause the situation and maybe, diffuse it.

The engineer took a step back and held up his hands in supplication. "Sorry, pal...I was outta line."

Cru looked at him with simmering anger. The fellow didn't believe he was "outta line" - of course, he didn't. These idiots would be running repairs all over the fleet with the expectation of fleecing crews who couldn't defend themselves. But really, that was someone else's problem. Cru reached that point in the conversation where nothing was left but a choice between violence or moving on.

"Right," Cru growled as he lowered the weapon. "I have a load of fuel and ore to manage, and I expect it'll keep me busy." Cru pointed to Colfax. "How 'bout one of you get him the frak off my boat, before I put another hole in my deck, by way of his skull."

~~~~~/~~~~~

Cru and John watched the team pack up their gear, including Colfax's helmet, and exit through the new access port.

"Colfax," said Cru through the open port.

Colfax seethed with anger but kept it in check.

"My ship is old. If you have to come back here for another repair, and you pull this shit again," Cru gestured with the weapon, "I will end you and I'll make your crew watch."

No one spoke. No one made eye contact.

"Look at me," hissed Cru.

Colfax looked up.

"Are we clear?"

"We're clear."

~~~~~/~~~~~

"That was harsh, Cru," said John after the maintenance rig detached and pulled away.

"Was it?" said Cru.

"What'd they want? A couple of cases of Ambrosia - not even the good stuff, and cigarettes?" John tapped on the access port door. "We just made an enemy of these people."

"An hour ago you wanted me to do something about their shoddy work."

"Not this. This won't be the end of it."

"...And vegetables, John," said Cru. He pulled the pistol's magazine, cleared the round from the chamber, and made the weapon safe. "They were taking our food. On quarter-rations, in desperate times, that case of green beans and carrots could last us a week. Food is life."

"Yeah, but right now, we might need them more than those canned vegetables."

"I don't agree, but, I'll take that under consideration for the next time some dumb-frak, with poor manners, threatens me with gun-barrel diplomacy.

"Gun-barrel diplomacy?" John scoffed but lightened his tone. "Did you make that up?"

Cru smiled. "Yeah, it has a ring, doesn't it? 'Gun-Barrel Diplomacy'?"

"Sure Cru." John shook his head. "Anyway, it's good to have decent access again."

"Agreed."

The awkward moment passed.

'Look, John," Cru continued. "I don't know the ground yet. That's military-speak for not having good intel. It means I make decisions with what I've got - nothing else. T-Dog, or Colfax, or whatever his name is, was on my ship, armed. He established his willingness to use this weapon, and he backed his crewmember as she walked off with our livelihood. If that is what is passing for law and order, there will be blood. And, I'm okay with that - it's not my preferred MO - but I'm okay with it."

"Yeah, well remember, there's always a bigger fish. T-Dog is just the first."

Cru nodded. "Sure, but the biggest fish is that old battlestar out there. We'll be mucking around in the swill, before long, but I bet the crap will stop there."

John nodded. He envisioned a life under military rule. At no point in history, across twelve planets, had it ever worked well for long.

Cru lightened the tone with a smile.

"Hey, you know how I told you I knew this 'Laura Roslin' woman?" said Cru. "She's the president?"

"Yeah."

"I think I know the Battlestar's commander, too."

"Really? Did he poke you in the ribs with his finger or walk away with a case of martini olives?"

"Nice, but no. He got me drunk - big-time drunk, and he wheeled me back to my Q in a grocery cart."

"What's a Q?"

"Really? I tell you the 'Old Man' of the entire military fleet - all one battlestar of it - got me dead drunk and you ask what a Q is?"

"Yeah, Cru," replied John. "I have no energy for guessing."

"Okay, I get it - I get it. 'Q' stands for 'Quarters', I had a single-occupancy room with a rack, wall-locker, foot-locker, place for my sea-bag, and a 'head', which is a 'bathroom' for you civvie folks."

"I know what a head is," said John. "...and this 'Battlestar Bill'? He pushed you back to your Q in a cart?

"Bill Adama?"

"Yeah, 'Battlestar BIll Adama'. His name's all over the 'squawk'."

"Then I definitely know him. He was a major at the time. And for good or bad, he'll remember me."

"Yeah," replied John, "I expect I'd remember anyone I had to push back to their quarters in a grocery cart."

"Yeah, most would, I think, but it's a bit more than that." Cru paused in thought. "A long time ago, I did this thing..."

"Whattaya mean, 'Thing'?" asked John.

"It's a long tale," said Cru.

Thanks, everyone for your comments and messages. I asked for some feedback, last chapter, and I got some good actionable info. I'll keep this going. There's a lot of back-story info that isn't making it to print. I'll need to write a compilation chapter soon on bit-pieces that are happening and are needed to move the story forward, like what are the kids up to and whether or not one of them might have brought a cat aboard…things like that.