"I think we got lucky with this batch, sir." Kara Thrace stretched her legs and crossed them at the ankles, slouching a little. "Six good prospects for either Viper or Raptor pilots. Eight more don't have the reflexes but could probably handle shuttles or tenders. Only four look likely to wash out completely."
He glanced down at her list. "That leaves two."
"Yeah, well ..." Starbuck wore a gamine smile that threatened to mutate into a smirk. "Those two I'm kinda keeping an eye on. If I'm right, they only joined up because of a desire for – how shall I put this – the CAG's personal attention."
One corner of Adama's mouth twitched upwards. "Really. Well, as long as they aren't disruptive, that shouldn't be a problem. Recruits have had crushes on their CO's before." He ignored Starbuck's barely-audible as you should know. "You might want to drop a quiet word in Lee's ear, but if these two women can prove themselves, let them run."
She was definitely smirking now. "Actually, only one of the two is a woman."
"Ah. Make sure you let Lee know, then."
"Awwwww ... sometimes, Boss, you are just no fun."
He traded grins with her, leaning back in his chair, only to be pulled up short by a stabbing sensation in his left side. He leaned forward again with an involuntary huff of pain.
"What is it?" Starbuck sat up, startled and concerned.
"It's – just a spasm. It'll pass." He tried to relax by way of demonstration, but the pain jabbed again.
Her eyes narrowed. "Were you working out too much in the gym again?"
"No."
Two nights ago she had come across him sitting doubled-over at one of the weight machines. After helping him back to his office, breezily reassuring everyone they met on the way, she had proceeded to ream him out for trying to finish off what Boomer's bullets had started. Seeing the fear hiding behind the anger in her eyes, he had taken the lecture fairly quietly.
She looked likely to start in on him again, though. "Damn it, and after you told me off on the same subject! I'm calling Doc Cottle—"
"No you're not, Lieutenant." The steel in that denial caught her halfway out of her chair. He sighed and softened his voice. "Seriously. I'm fine."
She sat down again, but her eyes were still troubled.
Both Kara and Lee, he knew, had been carrying a load of unwarranted guilt over the shooting. Neither of them could have changed Sharon Valerii's actions or their outcome, even if they hadn't chosen to disobey his orders. But they had so chosen, he had gotten shot, and so they felt guilty. The strict military disciplinarian in him agreed with them.
Fortunately, a near-death experience can cut through a lot of crap.
All those calling for Starbuck and Apollo's courts-martial were as doomed to disappointment as those calling for Adama's. The hard facts said that he needed his CAG and best pilot, just as the fleet needed him. The deeper truth was that he needed the only family he had left. During his agonizing and ongoing recuperation, righteous anger would have been a poor substitute for the people he loved.
They stayed away from the subject of Laura Roslin as much as possible, though, unless speaking on official terms. Kara and Lee's actions he at least understood, though he still couldn't agree with them. Roslin's ... were another order of magnitude altogether.
The awkward silence ended when the door buzzer announced an envelope-bearing corpsman. "Mail for you, Commander."
"I wasn't expecting anything in hard copy."
"It came over from the Shining Hand, sir. Lt. Gaeta's been over it."
Indeed, a sheet attached to the envelope meticulously listed the various scans and tests it had undergone to declare it safe for Adama's presence. Adama smiled at Gaeta's silent editorial comment on commanders who refused to let an aide screen their mail.
"Who's it from?" Starbuck leaned forward
He turned the envelope over as the door shut behind the corpsman. "Mayla Coiros. Huh."
"You know her?" Curious, Starbuck got up moved to Adama's left side.
"Not exactly. She's a photojournalist. Shows up at most press conferences and official functions. I have seen her work; she's extremely talented." He looked up at Starbuck hanging over his shoulder. "This is marked 'Confidential', you know."
She gave him a cheerful leer. "Boss, are you telling me that some photographer has sent you compromising pictures and an extortion note, and I don't get to see?"
He snorted. "I doubt that would be this lady's style."
"Then there's no problem with me looking." She smiled in triumph.
He shook his head and slit the envelope open. Inside was a single photo underneath a brief, handwritten cover letter.
Dear Commander, I came across this picture while clearing out some stored shots. I thought that you might like to have it. Sincerely yours, Mayla Coiros.
Adama's first reaction to the photo was extremely human. Good gods. That's how I looked
Not to mention how she looked ...
And Starbuck's getting an eyeful, great, just wonderful. Well, at least she can't see my face right now. Resigned, he braced himself for a Starbuckian comment, or at least a smothered snicker.
Neither came.
Surprised by her uncharacteristic silence, he glanced up at her, only to see that her eyes had again turned dark and troubled as she looked at the picture on his desk. Hesitantly, she extended one finger as if to touch the President's smiling image, then pulled it back. She seemed suddenly aware that he was watching her, and pulled herself back from where her thought had taken her.
"Oh, uh ... sorry for being nosy, sir. Are we finished?"
"I believe so. Is something wrong, Starbuck?"
"Nope, not a thing. I just need to prep for my next training session."
"Then you're dismissed, Lieutenant."
"Thank you sir." She started to head out the door, then hesitated. "Boss? Would you please call Doc Cottle for a checkup later?"
He gave her a searching look, then a nod. "Very well."
"Thanks." A quick smile, and she was gone.
What was that?
He didn't kid himself; what he'd just seen was an extremely atypical reaction. Starbuck, not cracking wise at a perfect opportunity? Apologizing? Something was bothering his girl, and that something had to do with Laura Roslin.
He looked down at the smiling, vibrant woman in the photo. She didn't look like that these days, he realized. She looked tired, drawn. Pale. The stresses of the Presidency, he'd thought.
Points of data, drifting through his memory, seemed to catch on each other and link. Roslin's exhaustion. Elosha's near-constant attendance on her. The murmurs of many in the fleet who called her the chosen leader, the one foretold. Doc Cottle. Kara looking like ... like she was afraid of losing a friend.
Turning away from the disturbing photo, he ran his eyes over the spines of his books, until his gaze was arrested by one particular title.
The Pythian Prophecies: Text and Analyses
The words solidified his thoughts like a seed crystal dropping into a solution. No. No, she can't be – it's not possible. Well, at least not likely.
But it fits, it fits everything that's happened, everything she's said and done, everything ...
His lips tightened, and he turned to key his comm unit. "Dualla."
"Yes Commander?"
"I need to speak to Doctor Cottle privately. Get him on the line and put him through to my office."
"I – yes sir. It may take some time to track him down."
"I'll wait."
"Yes sir. Sir, is something – "
He cut her off. "You have your orders."
"Yes sir." Her voice was a study in deep worry.
While he waited, he pulled The Pythian Prophecies from the shelf and leafed through it. The more he read, the grimmer his face became.
"Doctor Cottle, sir."
"Thank you, Dualla. Put him through." A beat. "Doctor?"
"Yes, Commander?" Doc also sounded concerned. "Are your wounds giving you trouble? I can shuttle over."
"Not necessary, Doctor. I'm calling to ask when President Roslin's next round of cancer treatments are scheduled."
A moment of silence, then, "Ah – Commander, I'm sure you know I can't tell you that ... "
Adama cut the comm.
Confirmation.
He sat, staring at the book in his hands, feeling cold realization boil away in the heat building up inside him. He took a long, slow breath through his nose, looking for his customary control. Once he found it, he hit the comm again.
"Dualla. Get a shuttle ready for immediate departure. Then contact Colonial One to tell them that I'm on my way over to speak with the President. If they get jumpy – " He bared his teeth. " – tell them I'll be alone and unarmed."
"Yes sir. And ... if they're still jumpy?"
"That will be their problem. Adama out."
His side spasmed again as he strode into the corridor. He ignored it.