Consequence
Of Alliance
-Chapter 7-
Tinia sat back in her seat, her eyes trained on
the other members of the Council of Twelve as they took in the
end of her story. She had done her best, used all her skills as a
politician to make them sympathetic towards Adama but the
victorious look in Antipas' eyes told her all she needed to know.
She was failing.
It had been over a centar since the Commander's viper had left
for the prison barge and since then, Tinia had heard nothing.
Outside Adama's quarters, Tigh had promised to let her know the
centon there was any news but with all the uproar concerning the
Commander's decision, Tinia doubted very much that he'd be
willing to give her it during the meeting. The meeting that, she
was certain, was going to last a substantial amount of time.
She watched Councillor Anton, looking for some sign that he was
still in support of Adama and prayed to the Lords of Kobol that
Antipas wouldn't- couldn't- be successful in his plan, whatever
that truly was. As the new "President" of their quorum,
he had already won the first battle. Tinia vowed that he wasn't
going to win the second one.
The murmurs of the group finally died down to a rather subdued
silence, as the other Council members regarded her dubiously. She
could see a varying range of emotions in each person's eyes.
Emotions that ranged drastically from anger. . . to worry. . .
confusion. . . and then finally triumph, as her eyes came to rest
on Antipas.
When she was only a young girl, Tinia's father had, on more than
one occasion, brought her along to the Council meetings he,
himself, had presided over. She remembered vividly the first day
she had hidden in the far reaches of the chamber, watching and
listening to her father fight for what he believed to be the
common good. It was from there that her passion for politics
began.
When her father had died, a tragedy she had always blamed on the
military personnel meant to protect him, she had become
disillusioned. Alone, for the first time in her life, and angry
with everyone for the death of her father, it had been many
yahrens before she had become part of the political movement of
the twelve worlds.
As a rule, she disliked the military and their need to fight. She
understood all too well that they had no choice, that was more
than obvious, but it was the ones that seemed to live for war,
the ones born to fight, that she just couldn't accept, and, for a
time, that was what she believed all warriors were like.
But Adama was different, and the people under him, that was all
they were too, underneath it all. People who hurt and felt and
wanted more than anything not to have to fight the Cylons to
survive. That was the issue here; how to make them all see that
following Antipas was wrong. The military controlled because they
had to, not because they wanted to. They weren't in it for power
or glory but for the survival of the human race, something that
the rest of the Council just could not understand.
Her father had always taught her to fight until the end, but he
had also taught her how to recognise a losing battle. If her next
words couldn't
shift the balance away from the young Sire, she didn't see what
else possibly could. Rising from her seat one last time, Tinia
faced her opposers and took a deep breath.
"Only yesterday," she began, before Antipas could
speak, "we were a civilised quorum of the people. A council
who knew how to conduct
investigations in an orderly and *fair* manner, according to what
was best for those that would put their trust in us." Her
eyes met Antipas' and held. "Now, less than twenty four
centars later, it would seem that we are more interested in
ourselves, and how best to serve our own wishes than those of
anyone else.
"It *must* end here," she stressed finally. "It is
time for common sense to reign again, and I, for one, will
tolerate nothing less." She paused. "Yes, Adama should
have discussed Baltar with us, I admit that. And, perhaps, he
should have discussed the situation of Lieutenant Sheba with us
as well. However, he did not. What he *did* do was to act in the
best interests of the people around him, something that we, as
the Council of Twelve, ought to be doing too.
"Do not persecute this man because of his love for his
family or of that he holds for others. It is not a weakness, and
if you consider it such I would wish that more would have it. He
is human, and humans make mistakes. *No one,*" she
emphasised, "has the type of responsibility that Adama has
resting upon his shoulders. I suggest you think of that before
you condemn him."
Leaving that thought hanging in the air, Tinia sank back,
exhausted, into her chair.
For an endless moment, all were silent, until Sire Domra finally
rose from his seat. His face lined with uncertainty, his eyes
clouded with worry, he regarded the other Council members.
"It would seem to me," he began gently, "that
Adama's ability to lead us is coming into question. Much as I
dislike it, the fact is that Adama's family *must* come second to
the needs of the Fleet. Until now, that has always been the case,
if it no longer is. . ." He trailed off, silent for a micron
as he let that sink in.
"By your own admission, Tinia, what he has done is wrong.
And while I'm sure there must be more to his agreeing to. . .
give himself to Baltar, the fact remains that he has." He
paused, looking to Antipas for support. "However this
situation is going to end, I, personally, don't see any choice
but to revoke the order of martial law and retain from Adama
command of the Fleet. Only then, can we make certain that
something like this will not happen again."
Stunned at this unexpected turn of events that she, in effect,
had orchestrated, Tinia watched as each of the others in turn
slowly nodded their agreement.
*~*
There had not been many times in his life when Adama had felt
completely helpless. In fact, the Destruction and the deaths of
Zac and Serina were the only ones he could easily name.
Growing up a witness to the War and taking his place as leader to
the Fleet, the Commander's faith had been tested many times. Yet,
each time he, and the people around him, had been strong enough
to pick up the pieces after every tragedy.
This time he could not be so hopeful.
Whatever had transpired on the prison barge in the last thirty
centons, he knew it was far from over. And if Sheba died, Adama
could be sure there was no way his son would survive it.
Not for the first time did Apollo's father think that the
warriors he commanded already knew far too much loss in their
young lives. In finding Earth, he had hoped to bring an end to
the pain his children suffered.
He knew that now to be only a wishful dream.
As long as there was love, there would always be suffering; there
was no way to guard against it. Still to be seen, however, was
how much the two went together at the end of this day.
His eyes trained on the incoming shuttle, the Commander couldn't
help but wonder if it was already too late as he began trying to
establish radio contact.
*~*
The pain in Apollo's shoulder had been getting progressively
worse with each passing centon. Serpents tongues of fire seemed
to run down the nerves of his arm, beads of sweat forming on his
brow, yet still he held fast to the controls of the shuttle.
The pain was nothing compared to the pain in his heart.
In his deepest nightmares, Apollo had seen all this before, and
the fear that followed it was no stranger. The image of Sheba, as
he had seen her last, would be forever burned into his soul, and
that hurt far more than a laser wound ever could.
Guilt was a powerful emotion, a driving force as intense as love
or hate, and able to destroy just as easily. For Apollo, it was a
constant shadow, always waiting for him there, in the darkness,
when he slept. . . when he dreamed. . . and when something made
him *feel*.
Like Sheba did.
Starbuck understood that, and had said nothing since his friend's
resolve to escape the prison barge. As far as Apollo was
concerned, everything that happened here today was his fault and
nothing he could say would convince his friend otherwise.
There was only one person that could do that.
Glancing at Apollo from the corner of his eye, Starbuck noted
with growing concern that his friend's condition seemed to have
worsened even in the last few microns. The Captain's skin had
taken on a deathly white tone and his breathing seemed to be
getting more and more laboured as time went on. He had known
there was no way Apollo would let his wound be treated while
Sheba's life was still on the line, but now, if it wasn't. . .
"Cassi?" Starbuck called anxiously over his shoulder.
Looking back to Apollo as the blond medtech made her way to the
cockpit, he saw his friend slump over the controls, a gasp of
pain escaping his lips as he finally surrendered to the fire
coursing through his body.
"Cassi!" he called again, more frantically.
"I'm here, Starbuck," she replied, coming up behind
him. "What-"
Cassiopeia stopped short as she saw Apollo. He looked. . .
Moving quickly forward, she pulled the Captain back in his seat
and slipped the flight jacket from around his shoulders to reveal
a blackened, smouldering laser burn on his right shoulder. His
eyes slipped open.
"Sheba?" he whispered.
"She's fine for now, Apollo," Cassi replied softly,
"but I need to see to you."
Unable to protest, the Captain allowed himself to be supported by
both Starbuck and Cassiopeia as he struggled to rise from his
seat. Putting his good arm around her shoulder, Apollo let the
medtech lead him towards the rear of the shuttle as Starbuck sat
back down in the pilot's chair, intent on getting them home as
soon as possible.
If he didn't, who knew how much could be lost?
The beep of the comm unit roused him from his darkening thoughts.
Reaching over to activate it, Starbuck sighed sadly as he spotted
the Commander's lone viper flying through the stars towards them.
How did he tell Adama he had to worry about another one of his
children?
The Commander's face appeared instantly on the screen, the lines
of age etched in even deeper around his dark brown eyes as he
asked, "Starbuck?"
Starbuck looked down, unsure of what to say. He struggled for
what seemed endless microns before replying, "I think we
have to hurry, Commander."
*~*
As Cassiopeia tended to Apollo's wound, her gaze couldn't help
but wander to the prone form of Sheba, lying unconscious on one
of the long chairs lining the opposite wall of the shuttle.
Having only been a medtech for the better part of a yahren, she
had neither the expertise nor the experience to gauge just how
serious her friend's injuries were. What she did know was that
they were running out of time. . . and there was nothing more she
could do to help.
Her friend had not woken again since Apollo had left her in
Cassi's care and although Cassi herself held great hopes for
Sheba's recovery, she had absolutely no way of knowing whether or
not those beliefs would turn out to be well founded. For the
moment, she was stable, her burns already treated and the blood
wiped from her face. She could have been sleeping, merely resting
her eyes after another tiring mission. . . only Cassiopeia knew
better.
As did Apollo.
From where she knelt beside him, gently cleaning his wound, Cassi
could see his eyes never once moved from the delicate features of
Sheba's face, almost as if he was scared to lose sight of her in
case she somehow slipped away the moment he looked elsewhere. She
could almost feel him willing her to wake up, and with all her
heart she wished she had the power to grant him that one small
glimmer of hope.
But she didn't, and, she told herself, she was the only one to
blame.
More times than Cassiopeia could remember, Dr. Salik had offered
her the training she needed to elevate from her position as a
medtech, and more times than she could remember, she had turned
him down, believing that she was not yet ready to face that
challenge.
Now she cursed herself for her stupidity.
Seeing just how much Apollo was hurting called out to every
instinct in her to help, only there was nothing she could do. . .
was there?
She understood what hurt him and why it hurt him, but she also
understood that when it came to Sheba, he was especially afraid
of admitting his feelings because of her status as a warrior. As
a pilot she was one of the best, but even the best pilots could
make mistakes. A mission to a planet could easily end in tragedy
should an unknown assailant like the Cylon on Kobol decide to
make sudden use of an energy weapon. All too soon, Sheba could
become nothing more than a memory, and if Apollo had to go
through that again, it would undoubtedly destroy him.
Even so, Cassi had to admit, something had changed since their
escape from the prison barge. Leaving the Galactica, she had
sensed in Apollo a multitude of conflicting emotions, the
predominant one being fear. Only, it wasn't just a fear of losing
Sheba, of losing another woman he loved. It was the fear of
failing, the fear of being depended on and then letting that
person down.
For the first time that Cassiopeia could remember in the two
yahrens she had known Apollo, he had been afraid to go on a
mission.
And that was the turning point.
Now, as she finished bandaging the Captain's shoulder, Cassi
realised that for Apollo to come to any kind of peace she had to
give him the time he needed alone with Sheba, or watch as he
retreated back into his shell. And she wasn't about to let him do
that.
Rising from her kneeling position on the floor of the shuttle she
sealed the lid of her medkit and watched as Apollo straightened,
his gaze still never leaving Sheba. An almost inaudible
"thank you" passed his lips, but not once did he look
Cassiopeia in the eyes.
Taking the only opportunity she was likely to get before the
shuttle landed on the Galactica, Cassi moved to sit beside the
Captain, her hand reaching out to rest gently on his arm.
Finally, he looked up, taking in the serious expression on her
face as a confused one came over his own.
"Cassi, what. . .?" Apollo's voice trailed off as he
stole another glance in Sheba's direction.
"Apollo," Cassiopeia's tone was serious, "listen,
I. . ." She paused, unsure of how to continue. "I know
that you've been. . . avoiding Sheba the past few days, and. . .
I know what you talked about in the raider. I'm not making any
judgements," she added quickly, seeing the familiar guarded
expression shadow Apollo's face. "I just want to make sure
that. . . when she wakes up. . ."
"Don't you mean, 'if she wakes up'?" Apollo asked
quietly, as he finally turned to face her.
"No, Apollo," she replied solemnly, "I said
'when'."
The Captain allowed himself a small smile before he looked down,
tears filling his eyes. "You don't have to worry,
Cassiopeia," he whispered, as she rose from her seat,
"I'm not going anywhere."
Cassi smiled as she moved off towards the shuttle's cockpit,
giving Apollo the privacy he needed. Before she passed through
the doorway she turned, watching as he slowly made his way over
to where Sheba was lying.
"Apollo?" He looked towards her. "You have to
confront your own demons," she said quietly. "No one
can do it for you."
He nodded, a look of understanding passing over his features.
"I know," he said. "I know."
*~*
A few hectares from the fleet, Boomer scanned ahead for the
Galactica as he returned from a deep patrol. It had been a long
few centars and the dark Lieutenant was looking forward to
getting home. Muscles he didn't even know he had were aching and
he longed for the soothing heat of the turbowash.
Absently, his hand rose to his neck, a long sigh escaping his
lips as he tried to ease the tension there. He hoped that, by
now, the tension he'd left brewing on the battlestar had eased
somewhat as well, but knowing his friends as well as he did, he
had to admit it was unlikely.
In Apollo and Sheba both, he had noticed a definite change since
the destruction of the Cylon base star. They were distracted, on
edge and completely miserable. Avoiding each other. He had his
own suspicions as to why, but other than asking his wingmate if
she was all right, he had not voiced his concerns to anyone other
than himself.
An urgent beeping broke Boomer out of his thoughts. Frowning, he
leaned forward, taking in the data now flashing on his screen.
The scans were complete, only. . . there was no sign of the
Galactica.
"What the frack. . ?" he whispered.
He checked the rendezvous co-ordinates that had been programmed
into his viper before he left, then the ones on his screen. As
he'd thought- they matched.
Worried now, Boomer hit his comm. "Bojay?" he asked.
It took a moment before the Pegasus Captain responded. When he
did, his voice was low and rough from having been woken up.
"Yeah, Boomer. What's up?" As he spoke, Bojay
stretched, as far as he could in the cramped conditions of his
viper, trying to ease his stiff joints.
"The Galactica," Boomer replied. "We're at the
rendezvous. . . but she's nowhere in sight."
"Are you sure?" Bojay asked, the concern evident in his
voice.
"Well, take a look for yourself." From inside his
viper, Boomer gestured with a wave of his hand to the expanse of
space that lay ahead of him. "If she's out there, I can't
find her. And neither can my scanners," he added.
Bojay frowned and shook his head as he ran a confirmation scan.
"I can't get her either." He adjusted his scanner.
"I am reading a lot of interference, though."
"What kind?"
"I'm not sure. . ." Bojay paused as he rechecked his
instruments. "Looks like it could've been caused by-"
He stopped, realising what he was about to say.
"An explosion?" Boomer asked quietly.
Bojay stayed silent.
"Bojay?"
"Yeah," the Captain sighed. "A pretty big one,
too."
"Big enough to be the Galactica?"
Bojay didn't have to answer.
A centon passed in an uncertain silence. Finally, Boomer couldn't
take any more.
"Well," he sighed, "I guess there's only one way
to find out." Switching from unicom to standard, Boomer's
eyes swept over the starfield as he began to speak, praying to a
God he no longer believed in to deliver both himself and Bojay to
the only home they had left.
*~*
For yet another endless centon, Athena's dark blue eyes stayed
fixed upon the scanner readout of her console. In her head, she
counted the microns, one by one as they flashed up on the screen
and froze, leaving her to wait what seemed forever for the next
one to come around.
There had been no word from Apollo's shuttle since the
destruction of the prison barge and with her Father failing to
report in as well, Athena couldn't help but wonder if the
intereference from the explosion was the only reason she wasn't
picking them up on her scanners.
Truly, she didn't know what she would do if she lost the rest of
her family. The thought was just too painful to let herself
think. . .
A crackling of static burst through her earpiece, startling
Athena out of her vigil. Her hopes soared as the garbled message
came through.
". . .actica. . .is Rec. . .obe Two. . .do you. . ? Repeat,
this is. . .con. . .Two. . .come in. . .lactica."
Her shoulders slumped; it wasn't Apollo's voice. Or Starbuck's,
or her Father's.
". . .Galactica. . ." The message came through again,
clearer this time. ". . .is Recon Probe Two. . . you read
me?"
The voice was more persistent, and as she recognised the
apprehension laced through it, she also recognised the speaker.
For the first time in days she allowed herself a small smile.
Boomer.
Calling to Colonel Tigh, Athena's fingers moved deftly over her
console, pulling up telemetry and establishing a communications
link with Boomer's viper. At last, things were looking up.
*~*
Nothing.
Boomer's hand clenched into a fist and uncharacteristically
struck the inside of his viper as his frustration overflowed. He
saw Bojay looking over at him from his own viper and shook his
head negative. Nothing. Not a damned thing. He was about to try
again when a burst of static came over his comm system.
"Recon. . .obe Two, this is. . .actica. . .read you. Repeat,
we read you."
Athena's voice was the sweetest sound Boomer had ever heard. A
grin lit up his face as he signalled again to Bojay, this time a
single sweeping gesture of success. They were going home.
"This is Recon Probe Two, Galactica," Boomer responded,
unable to keep the joy he felt from his voice. "Athena, are
you alright? We made the rendezvous but-"
Colonel Tigh cut him off, having reached Athena's console.
"I'm sorry, Boomer." The Lieutenant could hear the
strain in the executive officer's voice. "We had to stop the
fleet after the prison barge exploded."
"The prison barge?" Boomer asked, feeling his earlier
apprehension return. He caught Bojay out of the corner of his
eye, similarly shocked by the news he was now listening in to.
"But. . ." Boomer stopped as he came to an awful
realisation. "Oh Lord, Sheba?" he asked, recalling the
exact reason why Bojay had been flying with him for the past few
centars and not his usual wingmate. "What-"
"We don't know, Boomer." Athena's voice again.
"Apollo and Starbuck took a shuttle over after Baltar. . .
and the Commander. . . well. . . it's a long story." She
paused, trying to keep all she was feeling from coming through in
her voice. "But with all the interference from the
explosion. . ."
"The Galactica's scanners can't pick them up," Bojay
said quietly, understanding.
"If they're even out there at all. . ."
The sadness in Athena's voice was only just masked by the
professional tone she maintained on duty but to Boomer it
screamed out as loud as a battle klaxon. She was scared, hurting,
and while he wanted nothing more than to take the time to
reassure her, every micron counted if they were to get their
friends home safely. The friends he knew were still alive.
"They have to be, Athena," Bojay said. "I'm
sure-"
"They are," Boomer said firmly, renewed certainty
filling his voice as he cut the Pegasus Captain off. "And
what's more," he continued, "we're going to find
them."
*~*
To be continued. . .