"You smell like rat piss, Grandy."

Commander Carl Moore was a short man. Standing only 5'4 or so, he was shorter than almost all officers in the Colonial Fleet, and stood only an inch above the minimum required height for service. His office, what Captain Grandy now stood in, reflected that. The abnormally short desk chair that Commander Moore now sat in, for instance, was the butt end of many a joke among the Casperon's more maligned crew.

"I don't know if that warrants a thank you, sir-" Grandy started.

"It warrants a fucking shower."

"Sir, I-"

"-am going to back to my bunk." Commander Moore interjected. "I am going to go take a shower. I am going to go clean off the urine-scented, shittily distilled alcohol I am irresponsibly DROWNING MYSELF IN!"

Grandy just stood there, shocked. He had never seen this man, his friend, behaving this way before. To say it was shocking would be a total understatement.

"And after that, I am going to wash my uniform and report for duty. As the second in command of this battlestar. A title worthy of distinction, not pathetic alcoholism."

Grandy kept his posture and composure, but his soul was sweating bullets.

"Sir- Carl, I don't know what this is."

A switch flipped. Commander Moore dropped his pissed demeanor, replacing it with one of some kind of forlorn sadness.

"Dick, I'm sorry." Commander Moore said. "Things are changing. I can't stop them from changing anymore, and now I have to fix what I have let be broken." He gestured vaguely in Grandy's direction, looking as though the movement hurt him.

"What are you talking about?" Grandy asked, confused.

Commander Moore sighed, and rested his arms on the table in front of him. He invited Grandy to sit with a gesture, and he complied.

"To tell the truth, Dick," Commander Moore began. "Its not good. You're familiar with the Galactica?"

"I am." replied Grandy. "It's a museum ship now, right?"

"She will be, in a few more days. The ceremony is starting tomorrow, and after that finishes, the Board of Education will take her, and cart her around to every school that wants to see her."

Grandy was confused. "What does this have to do with us?"

"I'm only telling you what I tried to make happen." Commander Moore said, his voice quieting. "The Adar administration is cutting back on the fleet in a bunch of areas, starting with the resident museum pieces. The Education Department didn't have the bankroll to take both us and Galactica, so they picked the one in better shape and left us to the scrapyard."

"...the scrapyard? We're being decommissioned?" Grandy inquired.

Commander Moore nodded.

There was a silence between the two men for a moment, both of them staring at some inanimate object, trying to process the information they were hearing.

Grandy eventually spoke. "What will happen now?" he asked.

"Starting tomorrow, we will begin preparations for decommission." Said the Commander. "In 5 days, we will make a jump to the Scorpia Shipyard, where all materials, weapons, and crew will be offloaded, and the ship will be ripped apart over the following few weeks and turned into slag. That slag will then be sold to the highest bidder, and the Casperon will be dead."

Commander Moore's gaze didn't move from the ornamental painting he stared at as he continued.

"While the ship is being ripped apart, all crew will be considered for reassignment. All command staff will be interviewed about their time aboard this ship. Any crew or staff who do not make the cut in any way will be immediately discharged and returned to their home planet."

Commander Moore looked at Grandy.

"That is why I need you to take a shower. To clean your nose. Sober the fuck up while you can, because you have a history and they will test your boozed ass for alcohol. If you test the slightest bit positive, they will discharge you on the spot and Gods know they have every right to."

Grandy leaned back in his chair. The weight of what Moore had just told him sank deep into his head.

Moore stood, walked around his desk, and stopped right in front of the sitting Grandy.

"On your feet, Captain. Stand."

Grandy obeyed, standing up out of the chair, and a whole head taller than Commander Moore.

"I have known you for the majority of the time that I have had this station. I trust you. You are my friend, Richard." Commander Moore dusted off the shoulders of Grandy's uniform. "This is not what happens to you. You will make it through the next few weeks, and you will be a Captain on the other side of this. I swear it."

He grinned. "Who knows, you may even have my job."