Saul Tigh hated politicians.
Especially bureaucratic politicians who had somehow gained command of a civilian ship and then tortured everyone. In the middle of a crisis situation, every single damned one of them should be confined to quarters or vented out an open airlock. He needed to get a grip on the situation, coordinate an evacuation and possibly try and track down suspects. The shuttles and Raptors were already on their way back to the Hephaestus, but that was just one variable of about 100 right now.
He did NOT have time to listen to a blustering idiot who resented everything he was trying to do. He really needed a little bit more of Will's diplomacy right about now. He needed his friend's calm, professional demeanor, and ...
"And I don't at ALL agree with that captain's decision to..."
Saul's hands tightened around a piece of flimsey Gaeta had just handed him. Frak the diplomacy.
"Captain Moore, I'm giving you five seconds to shut up, or I'm ending this conversation." Tigh's voice crackled with tension, and every head in the CIC spun to look at him.
Honestly, right now, he really didn't care.
"You can't talk to me like that!" Captain Moore had plowed forward anyhow. "You can NOT simply take control of a civilian vessel and expect me to cooperate! President Roslin PERSONALLY--"
The last of Saul Tigh's short fuse melted away, and he cut the captain off with all due expediency.
"Captain Moore, do you want to be charged with treason?"
"What?"
"Treason, Captain. The attempt to overthrow the government by overt acts that directly threaten the safety of this fleet." He paused, allowing a slightly evil smile to skim across his face. "You are familiar with the term?"
There was a crackle of static, and then Captain Moore was back on the line.
"Ye...yes, sir."
"Then listen to me, before I throw the damned book at you for this." Saul had to work hard to get the growl out of his voice. "Because if you don't, not only will I charge you with treason, but with about a dozen other charges, up to and including the attempted murder of the Galactica's Commander of Air Group!"
Stunned silence, both on the comm and on the CIC, greeted him.
"No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. I mean--"
Saul rolled his eyes.
"Captain, I suggest you put my crew chief on the comm, so I can get an update on the matters at hand. Otherwise, the first charge is going to be obstructing the Galactica and her crew. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, SIR! Just a minute." The reply was immediate and even given with a degree of military courtesy.
A satisfied smile crept across Saul's face, and throughout the CIC, he saw the smile being returned by a number of the staff. Well, he'd be damned. How long had it been since he'd had any damned respect around here?
Saul let out a long sigh, and switched the comm over to his headset while he waited for the chief. He really, really needed a drink. He needed it for his sanity, for his sense of calm, to keep his balance and his control. He felt lost without it now. Normally, he would've had a slug from the bottle when he'd gone to bed, but he'd been so frakking tired he'd just collapsed in his bed without even shucking his uniform.
It made rolling out of bed on an adrenaline high from the Condition One alarms miserable. Then again, it also meant he was sober. At the moment, he didn't know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.
"Sir, this is Chief Tyrol." The chief's voice crackled with static over the comm, but it was audible and understandable. Tigh glared at no one in particular. Why did he have to get the clear comm for the problem and the static for the solution? It was shaping up to be one hell of a day.
"Are you on a secure line, Chief? No listeners?"
"Yes, sir, Captain Moore is out of the room." Tyrol's voice sounded confused, and Tigh really didn't blame him. "Sir, begging your pardon, but where's Commander Adama?"
"In sickbay with his son. All five wounded Lee brought in were critical. He became number six." Tigh sighed, distracted by the mental image of the younger Adama collapsed in his father's arms. Will didn't deserve this, not after the past two weeks. "Chief, did you know how badly your CAG was hurt?"
"I knew something was wrong, sir, but he said he was fine." Tigh could hear the frustration in Tyrol's voice even over the crackling comm. "It didn't look like a major deal, sir." There was a pause, and then Tyrol asked, "How is he?"
Tigh felt like climbing through the ceiling of the CIC, having absolutely no outlet for his frustration. Tyrol wasn't at fault; no one was. But there was no doubt there would be a body count here. High, low, it really didn't matter ... yet. Tigh couldn't get the image of Lee Adama out of his mind, or wonder -- Lords of Kobol forgive him -- if Lee would be joining that list. Lee -- collapsed, silent, unable to draw a breath. He'd seen the look of horror that crossed Will's face, and he knew if Lee died, that nightmare image would follow William around for the rest of his life.
Saul didn't know how his friend survived the death of one son. He wasn't sure if Will could recover from the death of the other.
"I don't know, Chief. But he's here, and getting medical attention. I think that's as good as we can hope for at the moment." Tigh tried to force his mind back on track. There'd be a time and place for fear and grief later. He'd told his friend that he didn't need to worry about the crisis, and he'd be damned sure that wasn't an empty promise.
"Give me your report, Chief, and tell me everything. Because right now, we don't know a hell of a lot."
*~*~*
"I'm sorry, Commander, we just don't have time right now. One of the techs will have to explain things for you."
William Adama hated being brushed off, but that's exactly what the surgeon in sickbay had done right after telling his commander that his son was going into surgery. A good part of that feeling was intolerance built from years of being in command; it just wasn't very often when people didn't bow to the authority of his position and give him exactly what he'd asked for. He knew he was spoiled, and frankly, after 45 years in the service, he thought he was entitled.
But the other part was just sheer frustration. He always wanted to know what was going on, when, and how it was going to affect him and the people around him. When he didn't get the answers he asked for, he felt like he'd been dropped in some deep, impenetrable pit without any guidance on how to get out.
Normally, it seriously annoyed him. When it concerned his son, it nearly pushed him past the point of rational thought. Fortunately -- for both him and the safety of the techs in the Galactica's medical arena -- one of the techs had apparently decided his rank deserved some respect and had shown up less than a minute after the surgeon left to answer every one of Will's questions.
It had almost been too much information.
"Commander?" The gentle voice of the tech that had spoken with him -- Cassie, if he remembered correctly -- drifted over his shoulder and made him lift his head and turn around.
She was gesturing towards the comm on the wall, holding out the handset.
"Colonel Tigh for you, sir." Damn. For a minute, he'd almost forgotten the whole reason they were here. The explosion. The Hephaestus. For the first time in a long time, William Adama felt overwhelmed -- unable to establish a clear line between family and duty. He could hardly even think. The last time he'd felt like this was when...
When he thought Lee had died. Pushing himself to his feet, Will made quick, urgent strides to the comm, trying to keep one step ahead of the path his brain had started to form with that last thought.
"Colonel Tigh." Will needed to get his mind back to the present, on his duty and his job. "Report."
"Like hell, Will." Will didn't know whether to laugh or be truly annoyed. Saul, the bastard, sounded almost gleeful in his disrespect. "How's Lee?"
William's heart caught in his throat, and he felt a fresh surge of emotions. He could almost forget there were others who cared right now. He could almost make this into his own selfish need for his son. The reminder that his best friend worried for Adama -- and Lee -- in the midst of a crisis snapped him back to life on board the Galactica.
He sighed, loudly, and keyed the handset.
"They took him into surgery about..." Will looked at his chronometer, "...ten minutes ago." He looked at his hands, and realized he was trembling. Rattled, he took a deep breath before continuing.
"His left lung's collapsed, and he broke a number of ribs on both sides." Wearily, he realized that he couldn't even remember the exact number now. "He's also got a severe concussion and a hairline fracture in his skull, and some internal bleeding. They put in a chest tube, but they needed to stabilize him before they could sedate him and put him on a respirator so they could..." Will leaned back against the wall, and closed his eyes. "So they could go in to surgically repair the internal bleeding. They'll fuse the bones later."
He could hear Tigh's quiet breathing on the other end.
"How long until they know anything?"
"At least a few hours. Maybe longer." Will straightened up, and forced himself to find a neutral spot on the wall to stare at. He had a job to do, and he needed to find a way to do it. "I'm going to come back up to CIC, and--"
"Not a chance in hell." Will could clearly hear the fire in his XO's voice, which backed him up a few paces in spite of himself. "I've already got security on their way down to sickbay, and they've got orders to stay there until I personally tell them to leave. They've also got orders to keep everyone there -- you included -- locked down."
THAT certainly got his attention. He remembered Lee's frantic, breathless voice over the wireless. "We do NOT know what caused the explosion." And then Lee had collapsed, and he'd found out nothing more from his son. What had Lee seen? What had he thought?
Would he ever know?
Heaving a sigh, Will keyed the mike, this time leaving it on continuous broadcast.
"What's going on, Saul?"
"This wasn't an accident." Saul was angry; Will could hear it in his friend's voice. And as he listened, William found his own stomach beginning to burn. "There were a few things Lee didn't get to when he reported in. The shuttle they were inspecting had an electrical fire a few minutes before the explosion. Tyrol says they were checking it out when they heard shots fired somewhere in the vicinity of the hangar bay. In fact, that's the only reason any of them got out of there alive. They went out to investigate, and just happened to be close to the hatch when everything went up."
Chilled, Will sunk into the nearest chair. How close had it been? How close had he come to losing Lee, this time for good? Did that even matter right now? William wanted his clarity back, his control. Lee was a Warrior in the Colonial Fleet, and he'd been in danger before -- almost killed twice in the opening salvos of this war. Why now, then, could William not accept the risks?
Tigh went on, and Will's heart sunk further.
"And I mean everything, Will. It's not just the hangar bay. Support structures, hallways, everything's down over there. Tyrol says we're going to lose the ship." Will heard his XO sigh, and then continue on in a quieter voice. "He says the structural damage from the blast is too extensive, and that's just under a preliminary survey. They might have an hour, maybe two, but he isn't venturing a guess. Right now, we've got every free ship from the Galactica working on getting the survivors, and we'll have another shuttle when President Roslin arrives from Colonial One in a few minutes. Anything else we've got is either under repair, or out on the edges of the fleet where we can't get to it."
Will sat back and digested all of this, his mind going in slow circles, thinking up questions, finding an occasional answer -- which then provided another two questions in return. They'd spent the last 10 days evaluating military threats, dealing with supply issues, setting up patrols to deal with any possible Cylon threat to the fleet. Why in hell hadn't he seen this coming?
He didn't have an answer. He suspected he might not anytime soon. All they could do now was do exactly what he had told his crew to do earlier: work the problem. The answers would have to come later -- after they had every man, woman and child off the Hephaestus and safely on board the Galactica.
"All right. So, why the extra security?" He leaned his head back against the wall, and hauled in a deep breath. In light of what Saul had already told him, Will suspected he already knew the answer, but he wanted to know if Saul's mind was working on the same level of paranoia his already was at.
"First rule of terrorism: Where you have a bomb, you have a statement. You taught me that, Will." Adama almost cracked a grim smile. Whatever faults Saul Tigh had, a dull mind wasn't among them. His XO was exactly where he wanted him to be. "It could be the Cylons, it could be some faction of a planet-wide movement that got aboard one of the ships. Hell, it could be a disgruntled noncom looking to clear out the chain of command. But if this was done on purpose, then someone did it for a reason."
Tigh stopped suddenly, and William wondered why. He waited for a moment, hoping Saul would continue, then finally spoke up.
"What aren't you telling me, Saul?"
"Why take the shuttles out now?" William didn't follow the rabbit trail, but decided to wait his friend out. "They could've blown the ship, killed a lot of people and scared the same hell out of everyone they're doing now. But they waited until Galactica staff -- including the son of the most visible military figure left in the fleet -- was on board."
If William Adama hadn't been sitting, he would have collapsed to the floor. Of the theories he'd considered -- albeit briefly -- a military assassination hadn't been among them. He leaned his head back and shut his eyes, wishing he didn't see the logic behind this. Logic in the eyes of terrorists was striking at the most visible target, and removing it with the greatest amount of power and force. The only problem now was the target could very well have been his son.
Will wasn't sure how long he was silent; it felt like time had crawled to a stop. Finally, though, Saul's voice echoed back over the handset.
"Of course, this whole thing could be just what Captain Moore wants us to believe it is -- an accident." A note of sarcasm tainted his XO's voice. "But there's too much here to keep me believing in coincidence."
"If you believe in coincidence, my friend, then you'll be the next victim in a chain." Quoting the old Caprican axiom snapped William Adama out of his introspection -- made him think on the problem -- and he reopened his eyes. Around him, the actions of the sickbay staff continued in a sort of controlled chaos. "All right. I'll stay here, but you make sure that same level of security is assigned to President Roslin when she arrives. And confine the refugees to the flight deck. Have the medical staff brought down there, along with equipment. If you need to, call the Lenna Dell for more medical staff and equipment. I want everyone who comes over from the Hephaestus put in one area and kept there. If we have a terrorist on our--"
"Already done." There was a shuffle of papers on the other end. "Any other orders, sir?"
William smiled. If he'd been his XO, he'd probably feel just a little offended that his commander was repeating things that had probably been accomplished already. There was a certain amount of security there, and Will clung to it.
"You don't need my orders, my friend. Just keep me abreast of whatever you can. You certainly know where to find me." Will looked across the room, his eyes settling on the door to the operating arena, knowing there was one question that had been left unanswered. He didn't want to voice it, because if there was good news, Tigh already would have said so.
But he had to ask.
"Saul ... is there any sign of Lieutenant Thrace?"
"None." And this time, there was sorrow and pain in his friend's voice. "They haven't seen hide nor hair of her." After a pause, Tigh added a simple endnote, with a compassion and gentleness that Will wouldn't have expected when it came to Kara.
"I'm sorry."