No big deal. Akiyama Tajima Kobol, Eighth Lord of Kobol
Colonel Paul Tigh tried to hurry back to CIC after seeing Commander Adama off on his little expedition, but he was ambushed at every passageway intersection. First, Chief Jennifer Brendan, in charge of laundry and stores, wanted to know how soon she'd be back in business. Then Chief Deuch the head cook paced him for twenty meters wanting to know the same. Neither liked what he had to say – that the water delivery was still on hold. Tigh was used to that. XOs are often stuck with delivering bad news.
Tigh stopped briefly in his quarters to use the head and grab a quick swig, only his third today and that was a minor victory. Yesterday he'd killed a whole bottle.
Just short of the CIC hatch Doctor Baltar caught up with Tigh. He'd spent the last week in the medical laboratory working on a simple, on-the-spot way to identify their worst problem, the Cylon human look-alikes. "I think I'll have something for you in a few more days," he said, looking over his shoulder as he spoke. His eyes seemed to track something that wasn't there.
Tigh trusted Baltar, but the man had more twitches than a mere-mouse. His long hair, greasy-looking since the first day Tigh had met him, had become a lank, matted nest. His beard had grown from a dark shadow to a prickly brush and his clothes had food spots buried in the wrinkles. It had to be the water shortage. No sane man did that to himself voluntarily. On the other hand, Baltar was genius. They did all sorts of crazy things.
After following Tigh into CIC, Baltar stopped at Lieutenant Gaeta's station. The always spit-and-polish Gaeta smiled Baltar a pleased greeting, and the two heads went together. Tigh had begun to suspect something there, but he followed the "don't-ask-don't-tell" Fleet policy. As Tigh checked in with Specialist Dualla he overheard snatches of conversation: " . . . the party . . . wondering . . . the President asked me . . . someone . . ." Gaeta nodded and smiled eagerly as Baltar spoke.
Baltar was too precious a resource to judge by normal standards, and if anyone could clean him up, it'd be Gaeta. Might even cure him of some of that twitchiness. Tigh made a mental note to ask Gaeta if he wanted a roommate. Baltar had been bunking down wherever exhaustion found him, most of the time in the lab. He'd probably like a place to call home not to mention the companionship.
Dualla reported the Commander's transmitter still quiet. Of course, it would be. The shuttle had just departed. Then Dee waved in the general direction of the wardroom and said, "Mother Elosha has been waiting like you asked. I made her some more coffee and sent down for sandwiches."
Tigh groaned. He'd forgotten. A conference with the priest had seemed like a good idea an hour ago, but with the Commander off-ship it didn't anymore. Still he should at least personally apologize to Mother Elosha for keeping her.
After letting Gaeta know he still had the bridge, Tigh once more left CIC.
It was going to be one of those days, Tigh decided. Since the Cylons had attacked humanity, pretty much every day had been "one of those days." And today Hush sure wasn't helping much.
Tigh slipped through the wardroom hatch to find Mother Elosha sitting alone at the table calmly munching a chop meat sandwich and perusing a Sacred Scroll. She looked up and smiled. "Colonel! I'm glad to see you!"
"I'm sorry I'm late, Mother. Duties, you know."
"Oh, I know about duty, Colonel. But don't worry. After these past few days, a little quiet time is a blessing straight from the Lords. And a real sandwich! It's been a treat."
The priest's big smile did something to Tigh's heart. As the highest-ranking cleric among the refugees, Mother Elosha hadn't spent more than a few hours on the Galactica since their escape. In fact, she hadn't been anywhere very long. Grabbing any passing shuttle, she'd been doing her best to get around to every ship and encourage everyone. Even her daily prayer services were going to be sent in via wireless from wherever she happened to be.
But the best thing about Mother Elosha, the thing Tigh liked most, was that unlike some of the bureaucrats she backed Commander Adama to the hilt. "Earth is there," she said every day and to everyone who'd listen. "I know they'll take us in."
Tigh's mother had taught him to respect the church and the holy Lords. He could make a few minutes to talk with this priest. After all, the meeting had been his idea. He pulled up a chair. "I'm glad you've found some peace here in our wardroom. Lords know you deserve it."
The wise brown eyes looked into him. "So what can I do for you, Colonel?"
Tigh folded his hands and looked at them. His mind tumbled, everything rattling together -- the horrors of war, the hatred of his shipmates, Kara Thrace's belligerence, his dead and cheating wife, worries about the convoy and the gnawing fear that never left him. He was just one heartbeat from being responsible for the entire human race, and he couldn't even stop drinking. "I hardly know where to begin."
The priest laughed gently. "Well, some people do like the beginning, but I've always favored the end. It seems to save time and I don't think either one of us has too much of that." She had the coffee pot sitting on the table and offered Tigh a cup. He shook his head. He'd had enough bad coffee already today and not nearly enough whiskey.
"The end, hmm, I guess that would be this party that's coming up. I'm supposed to go and . . . and bring a date. And I'm not sure . . . " Tigh's voice trailed off.
"Ah, I see. Did you lose someone in the war?" Every person on the Galactica had lost someone. Most of them had lost everyone. The war had been just last week. The memory still shocked.
Tigh kept his eyes on his knotted hands. He had a sudden memory of how his wife had looked on their wedding day, petite, vivacious and beautiful, and their honeymoon on a tropical island, the soft warm breeze on the beach and her soft skin in his bed. But for the last two years they'd fought like the proverbial cat and rat. He was always gone, she'd said. She got lonely. That had cut deep, but all the fighting had worn Tigh thin, and as his retirement date had crept up on him, he would have done anything to make peace.
On Picon he'd bought her a beautiful sparkling red party dress, shoes, the whole works. A shop clerk had helped him pick it out and coordinate. Now the clerk, the shop and Tigh's wife were all gone. Only the outfit remained. It was still in a box under his bed. Finally he choked out, "My wife. We've been separated for six months. She was filing for . . . I had . . . "
Mother Elosha nodded and sighed. She looked very sad. How many stories like this had she heard in the last few days? What friends, family or lovers had she lost herself? "Let's see, this party. Do you want to go?"
At that Tigh straightened up and untied his hands. He still had a job. He was still XO. "That's not the question, Mother. I've been ordered to attend the party. I'll go."
The priest sipped her coffee and for a moment seemed lost in thought. Pushing away the last of her sandwich, she leaned back in her chair. "Well, you know something, Colonel, I've been ordered to go too. And so far I haven't found a date. What do you say? Would you like to go with me? I think we could knock their eyes out."
For a moment Tigh looked at her in amazement. "Yes, ma'am, I'm sure we'd do that. I'd be honored beyond words."
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A gentlemen, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month. Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene 4, line 156.
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