Don't fool yourselves. Diversity may bring turmoil, but uniformity seldom brings peace. – William Lester Kobol, First Lord of Kobol
"So, here's what I came up with," the portly bureaucrat said, with a nod toward the long narrow Battlestar Galactica printout President Roslin held. "12,377 Capricans, they're the biggest group. We expected that since we were mostly picking up ships from Caprican space. Then we have 6,216 Geminons, 5,088 Taurans, 4,203 Aerians, 3,825 Virgans, 2,790 Librans, 5,080 Picons, 2,642 Aquarions, 4,912 Scorpons, and 2,378 Sagitarrons. After that it gets bad. There's less than a thousand combined from far Canceron and Leonid."
Madame President sighed. "Those small gene pools will create problems when we start rebuilding the twelve colonies. We may have to consider some eugenics laws. But your list doesn't include the Commander's military personnel, right?"
"What's this 'other' down here at the bottom?" William 'Husher' Adama broke in. Adama was commander of the Twelve Colonies' last battlestar the Galactica and presumably the highest-ranking human military officer in the known universe. He and Madam President were the only two people in the whole fleet that knew where they were actually going. The story Adama fed everyone was that they were bound for a lost colony called Earth. The truth was that they were simply running.
He'd been having trouble focusing on the bureaucrat's parade of numbers, but the last line on his copy of the printout said, "Other – 30." Now what the hell could "other" be?
The pen pusher, Adama thought his name was Blanchard or Orchard or something close and that he'd been among the educational officials at the Galactica's decommissioning ceremony, ignored the commander's question and said to President Roslin, "That's right, ma'am. Their clerk tells me the crew's about ninety percent native Caprican, the rest from all over." He glanced down at his list. "Two thousand and fifty-three, all told, if their numbers are right."
Jerry's bulk gave him a deep, resonant voice very much like Adama's. It was the only point of similarity between the two men.
Jerry also had a pronounced body odor, although that was pretty much true for all of them. Their current water shortage was rapidly revising personal hygiene standards.
Adama wished he could space the bureaucrats with the rest of the trash. He fired an irritated look down table to his executive officer, Colonel Paul 'Solomon' Tigh. Adama usually called him Saul. Saul looked as ticked off as Adama felt.
Over by the wardroom's entry hatch, Chiefs Tyrol and Suben had been cooling their heels for fifteen minutes. They had a fleet readiness evaluation to deliver. While the two chiefs were here, work waited somewhere else. Adama hated meetings, especially ones where everyone could use a bath.
The President leaned forward. "Jerry, tell us about that listing down at the bottom, please. I'd like to know what 'other' means too." She looked as gray as a rainy day. The usually fine laugh lines at the corners of her eyes had turned to deep tight cuts. Her cancer must be chewing her hard today, Adama thought. Although she'd promised to start treatment, it hadn't happened yet. Only President Roslin stood between Adama and a load of responsibility that made his battlestar command look like a Sunday afternoon trip to the Moon and back. It kept him awake every night.
Turning to her left, the President whispered something to her tall young aide, Billy Keikeya, who immediately arose and trotted out of the wardroom.
After an irritated glare at the table's two military officers, Jerry picked up a short piece of printout from his pile on the table. "Well, there are thirty of them as the list says. Three are space-born Colonials claiming dual citizenship Caprican/Geminon. The biggest group is on the Gravity Well, twenty emigrants from the Sagitarrian/Tauron joint colony on Lippnor that folded last month. They were on their way back and hadn't decided which planet to call home. Still have a nice collection of livestock, by the way. Goats, pigs, chickens. Some seed and grain too."
Jerry had started warming to his details. A professional number cruncher, at the President's behest he'd spent the last eight days surveying their flotilla of fifty odd ships. He probably knew more about the refugees' exact social condition than anyone else in the compartment. It didn't, however, make him a likeable person. Even in the cool air beads of sweat stood on Jerry's bulging forehead, and with every shift in ventilation his body odor multiplied. Adama had been considering offering Jerry the use of Galactica's gymnasium – the man desperately needed to exercise -- but changed his mind. It would keep the bureaucrat under foot even more.
"On the Jump Gap, I found five abandoned children too young and shook up to even remember their names let alone their home planet. I took them back to the Lippnors. They're a religious sect. Plain people, you know. Took the kids in just like that." Jerry snapped his fingers to show the immediacy of the adoption.
"Uh, the other two people were both in comas on the Colossus, no papers. Looked like maybe a brother and sister or husband and wife, the same race and about the same age. They're probably dead by now." Jerry put down his printout.
Over by the hatch, Billy Keikeya had returned. A graceful mature dark-skinned woman, the Kobol Priest Elosha, followed him in. They sat down next to Tyrol and Suben who obligingly scooted over. Tyrol immediately began to engage the priest in low conversation, probably about the letter of request Adama had on his desk. Tyrol was asking to marry one of the newer j.g.'s, the Raptor pilot that had come to Ragnar with Lee, Valerii. Adama hadn't yet decided what to do. Perhaps he ought to talk to the priest as well.
President Roslin started to thank Jerry for his efforts, but the round-bodied bureaucrat had one more factoid to offer. "I just thought you ought to know, ma'am. I ran into Garner Graham on the Star Chaser."
"Garner Graham, G. G. of the Caprican Graham conglomerate? Oh wow." Through her fatigue, Madame President looked surprised. She should be. Even Adama who had spent almost his whole life off-planet had heard of the Grahams. "Well, his money can't buy him Senate seats any more, but thanks for letting me know."
As Jerry rose to leave, Billy gestured to Mother Elosha to stand and they both came forward. President Roslin whispered to Adama, "I hope you don't mind, Hush, but I was hoping to leave after we met with Mother Elosha. I don't think she's going to take long."
After the President had asked Adama to call her Laura, he'd made free with his own nickname of Hush, short for his Viper call sign Husher. No one had called him William since his mother died. In fact, most people now called him Commander, even his own son Lee.
As it turned out, Mother Elosha had a straightforward request. She wanted wireless airtime. "I thought perhaps each morning before the course correction, sort of as a blessing. A reading from the Scrolls, a prayer. It'd mean a lot to everyone, I think." The priest leaned toward Adama across the gray expanse of table. "If you knew how much we all look forward to your daily wireless news broadcasts, you'd understand. Even if no one knows what you look like, we all know your voice, Commander. On Colonial One, everyone stops what they're doing to listen. You have no idea how important it is."
No, Adama hadn't. He didn't know whether to be flattered or concerned at the paucity of diversion on the ships. He looked at the President. "I don't have any objections, if you don't, Laura."
"Well, Mother, we would have to give equal time to the monotheists." The President sighed and rubbed her eyes. Mother Elosha was one of the few people who knew about the President's cancer so she wasn't trying to hide it. Billy was already shuffling papers together getting ready to leave.
"Pastor Remalya and I have already spoken. We've agreed to alternate," the priest assured her.
Five minutes later the President left, but not before she once again had reminded Adama of the upcoming party with the fleet commanders. "Bring someone who'll make you look a little more human and approachable," she'd said as she'd taken Billy's arm and slowly walked away. They were bound for Colonial One docked in the newly empty starboard landing pod.
Adama's proposal to outfit the Tall Doll with three cannons and use her as an FTL gunship had led to a frakking party! This morning he'd announced it in the news and instructions broadcast he did twice a day, and Specialist Dualla reported five of the ship commanders had already committed. Hopefully they'd eventually all sign on. According to Lee's report yesterday, the convoy had several decommissioned Colonial gun ships. If they could sufficiently butter up one of those commanders, President Roslin's plan might work. But if he'd had any idea --
Adama hadn't been on a date for ten years, not since the first few months after his divorce. There were no women on the Galactica that didn't have to call him "sir." So now among all of Adama's other responsibilities, he had to look for a date. At his age. He should be bouncing grandchildren on his knee or something equally stereotypical, not cruising the ranks of unmarried females hoping to find someone who was both suitable and not scared to death of him. Lee had already told Adama that he was taking Kara.
Adama had to get off this ship for a while, to be just a human being. Hell, he was supposed to be retired. Damned Cylons.
Colonel Tigh went with Mother Elosha to arrange the wireless setup. Finally Chief Tyrol and Chief Suben were able to sit down at the table with Commander Adama.
"Coffee?" Adama asked, gesturing behind him toward the pot. Tyrol shook his head. Suben accepted a cup, black. Adama arose to pour.
Tyrol outranked Suben, but not by much. Although still fairly young, Tyrol could fix literally anything on the Galactica. He preferred the landing pod's Vipers and Raptors, and normally they took up most of his time. But he'd been working everything the last few days and not getting a whole lot of sleep. He had bags under his eyes big enough to pack lunch. Valerii might also have something to do with that.
Suben had primary responsibility for Galactica's various engines, wiring and plumbing. Almost Adama's age, Suben was neither imaginative nor ambitious, but he was competent and smart enough to pace himself. He looked better rested than Tyrol. He and Adama had always gotten along fairly well.
Colonel Tigh returned just as Adama poured the last coffee in the pot for himself and sat down. The cupful smelled awful and tasted worse. Quadruply recycled water made dreadful coffee.
"Did the Kobol Dream get off?" Adama asked. Thanks to several interstellar barges filled with grains and soybeans and a tylium tanker they had plenty of food and fuel, at least for the time being. But water was just as important and among the hubbub of settling in 50,000 people for a possibly years-long flight, every ship was supposed to be building extra water treatment tanks. Except on the Galactica, ship septic systems were being taxed way beyond overload.
Lords, Adama was getting tired of dealing with all the details of saving the human race. He needed something simple to do, just one thing.
Tyrol nodded his dark, close cropped head. "She left at twelve-hundred on the dot. That Commander Smith isn't such a bad sort." He laid his black scheduler on the table. "We do have a new problem, however, sir. The Star Chaser reported this morning that both her normal and FTL engines are down and she's asked permission to drop out of formation using her attitudes." Attitudes were the small rockets used for adjusting course, changing direction, and so on. Without a normal space engine, the Chaser couldn't make tomorrow morning's course correction. That would make her a traffic hazard in about twenty hours. Until then she could cruise in place with the rest of them.
The Star Chaser, Adama had just heard that ship name. Oh yes, money bags Graham's ship.
"Has she been evacuated?" They left no one on a ship that couldn't jump FTL. There was someone standing watch around the clock on every ship's bridge ready to jump if the Cylons attacked.
Suben spoke. "Yes, sir, except for the ship's commander and a few other people. She only had thirty or so civvies to begin with, so it was pretty easy to spread them around among the passenger liners, one or two here, one or two there. I went over to work on her just a couple of hours ago, but her commander couldn't find engine schematics and I came back to see if the Galactica has anything." In answer to Adama's puzzled frown, he added, "The Chaser's a decommissioned Colonial twelve-gunner, sir. Probably fifty years old, if she's a day."
Adama smiled broadly. If that didn't take him back. "A twelve, huh? My Uncle Ben flew a decommissioned twelve for, oh, I don't know, thirty, thirty-five years ago on the Geminon-Capricon route. I used to spend all my vacations spacing with him when I was in college. I got pretty good at tearing her down. It's both her normal and FTL, you say? Original equipment? I wonder …" The seed of a plan began to form in Adama's mind. He came to a decision. "Chief Suben, I want you to tell the Chaser we're sending an experienced engineer to fix her engines before the next course correction."
Across the table both Suben and Tyrol looked confused. "Who, sir?"
"Me."
Tyrol didn't like it at all. If possible, Colonel Tigh liked it even less. He practically snarled his objections. Of course, with Adama off ship he'd be in charge. He never liked that.
Suben at least looked amused. Perhaps being a long-time bachelor and close to retirement age himself he understood Adama's need to get away. "I'll let her know, sir. Uh, you should know, sir, there's this guy Graham on the Chaser, seems to think he owns the Fleet. Tried to throw me off before I could even look at the engine room. And the commander is a woman named Maya Godden. Red hair, kinda pretty, but very fierce. Seems scared of the Graham character though. Both of them stood around glaring over my shoulder all the time. And Commander Godden didn't like having military on her ship at all. If the Galactica's commander shows up in her engine room, she might just … pow!" Suben pretended to shoot out a target with an imaginary gun.
Adama laughed. Freetraders and their commanders were renowned for their independence and distrust of the military. It wasn't something that changed overnight. "Thanks for the tip, chief. I'll be sure to don a disguise."
"You have to take at least a bodyguard with you, Commander," Colonel Tigh spoke up. "You know the route to Earth. That makes you the single most important human alive, and I'll be damned if I'll let you go alone."
"But Saul, chiefs don't have bodyguards. They won't know who I am. I …"
Suben dared to break in. It's not something a chief usually does to his commander. "I'll go with you, sir. They'll expect me to come back any way."
An hour later, Suben and Adama were in the bay used for Raptor and other non-catapult launches. As Adama pulled on a pair of well-dirtied orange coveralls, Suben gathered together two kits of tools, steel ones for the normal space engine and spark-less brass for the FTL.
Colonel Tigh noisily pounded down the metallic steps leading from the entry level and arrived in the launch bay out of breath and red faced. Tigh had a bad back and seldom exercised, not to mention the debilitating effects of his long-time alcohol addiction. He bent over, hands on knees and blew for several seconds. Finally straightening he held out a slender, metallic object that looked a lot like a pen or a gauge.
"I want you to stay in touch over there, Hush. Dualla gave me this. It's some sort of radiophone. She swears it's got a range of five hundred klicks and can broadcast a couple of days." He showed Adama the various settings. Off, transmit only, transmit and receive, receive only. "Dee or someone will be monitoring it all the time."
"Probably not such a bad idea, since I'm incognito. Thanks, Saul." Adama tucked the transmitter into his chest pocket. "Anything else?"
Tigh looked as if he were eating a lemon. "No, just be careful, old man. I can't hold this show together without you." He backed away a few steps, then turned to hurry up the metal stairs and back to CIC.
Out in the bay Adama's son Lee was readying one of their two Raptors to shuttle the Commander over to the Star Chaser. Like Tyrol and Tigh, he didn't approve of this venture, but he'd said very little, just "be careful" and "enjoy yourself." As their new CAG Lee was having his share of hassles. Perhaps he understood a little, or maybe he was just envious. That made Adama feel guilty, but he reminded himself that Lee flew patrol every day.
Tyrol had been sworn to secrecy. No one else was to know that Adama had, so to speak, jumped ship. He hadn't been this excited in a long time. He felt positively light-headed. Things were finally looking up.
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Conversation . . . is the art of never appearing a bore . . . Guy De Maupassant, Sur l'Eau (On the Water)
Talk to me. Tell me what you think of the new chapter. Yeah, I know it's not racy like the first one, but like I said this is really a Commander Adama story. Lee and Kara will be back later.