Ron Moore reimagined Glen A. Larson's original idea; but then again, most people who would be reading this already know that. My use is in no way meant to challenge any established copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.
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II – Friends Old and New"Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes," Rob Fetter commented as he opened the door and settled his gaze on Apollo. "You look tired."
"Been busy," Apollo answered. "Mind if I come in?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Not really." Fetter stood aside and waved Apollo into his quarters. "Where's your crew?" Apollo asked.
"They're both on the ship," Fetter explained. "Repairs, inventory, the whole nine yards. Besides, this prison cell the captain refers to as our quarters isn't big enough for more than two of us to be in here at a time. Drake spends most of his time on our ship, and Rutger only swings by this hole when he needs some sleep."
"Sounds like you're already adjusting well."
"Can we skip past the B.S., Apollo?" Fetter asked. "What're the terms?"
"Huh?"
"You've come to dragoon me and my team into Galactica's crew, right?"
"What would make you assume that?"
"You're not denying it."
"Look, we've got little more than 45,000 people left, Ares. They need to be protected, and you're an experienced soldier."
"No one's called me Ares in years," Fetter laughed. "Little known fact – Colonial commandoes rarely got to retain their call signs after they lost their wings and were transferred."
"Okay," Apollo said, unsure of how else to respond. Despite Fetter's smile and laughter, there was an undeniable edge of bitterness in his voice.
"So I ask again – what're the terms?"
"How do you mean?"
"How many hours per week?" Fetter asked. "It's not like we can haggle about pay, benefits, or educational reimbursement, right? I need to know how many hours per week, what rank my guys and I get, how much bigger the quarters will be on Galactica as opposed to here on the Astral Queen, and how many patrols per week I get in a Viper."
"In a Viper," Apollo repeated with a smile. "Is that what you're expecting?"
"Have a surplus of pilots for those antique Vipers, do you?"
"Not exactly."
"So give me a few patrols each week, and I'll place myself and the Chimera at your disposal. It's a good ship, Apollo. Think of it as an oversized Raptor with state of the art Colonial weapons."
"And your crew?"
"Gotta talk to them yourself," Fetter said. "Both of them served for a time, so they may want to help out. They both have pretty bad attitudes, though. You know, I might be willing to intercede on your behalf…" His voice trailed off and a broad smile played across his face.
"And the price?"
"A few cigars," Fetter answered. "I haven't had a cigar since about a week after the cylons attacked. I spent enough time on battlestars to know that someone somewhere on that beaten-up hunk of a would-be museum has a year's supply stashed away."
"I'll point you in the right direction when we're done."
"And how much more do we have to go?"
"I need to know about your crew," Apollo said. "And I need to know everything that you've been up to since the Academy. Most of all, I'd really like to know how the hell you found us. Consider it the commander's need to know."
"I hope you have plenty of time," Fetter replied, "because this is gonna take a while."
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"Who're you?" Helo asked, staring down the unfamiliar man who had just arrived and started staring at Sharon, asleep on the cot in her cell.
"Noah Drake," the man answered, nervously running his hand through his thick black hair, his bright blue eyes noticeably avoiding Helo's gaze. "I just landed on the Galactica. I'm with Lieutenant Fetter."
"And this is the first place you came?" Helo took a step toward the much smaller man, planning to intimidate the newcomer and chase him from the specially designed brig. He generally disliked new faces just on principle, and the fact that Drake had to have practically raced down to see the captive cylon did nothing to make Helo more friendly.
"I had to see it with my own eyes," Drake answered. "Captain Adama told us that the cylons could look human now, and--"
"--They more than look human," Helo interrupted.
"Oh, of course… you must be Lieutenant Agatha."
"Agathon," Helo corrected.
"Yes, the one who – fathered, I guess is the correct word – her child, right?"
"Right."
"Fascinating."
"You think so, huh?" Helo asked, moving another step closer. Drake moved a half step away, maintaining some distance, but he kept his own eyes riveted on Sharon as Helo tried to end the conversation. "Maybe you should just go now."
"Soon," Drake responded. "Very soon, I'm sure. I just… I had to see it."
"Her. You had to see her."
"You really think of it that way?" Drake asked. "How? I mean… after what they did to us."
"Okay, that's it, buddy. Show's closed," Helo said evenly. "I've been more than patient, but I think it's time you leave now."
"I'm here on the commander's orders," Drake replied. That took Helo by surprise. "He found out about my old job, so he told me to come down here and take a look."
"Your old job?"
"Military intelligence," Drake answered.
"If you think you're gonna torture her…" Helo practically shouted, his hands balling into fists at his side as he chased away no shortage of images in his head – some memories, some nightmares – showing the misery the mother of his child would endure.
"I never said I was an interrogator," Drake snapped. "I was in R&D, actually. I'm a scientist. Specifically, a theoretical engineer." His voice suddenly oozed confidence and arrogance as he began to speak about his old job. In fact, Helo found that the man in front of him now reminded him of Dr. Baltar.
A slightly less squirrelly Dr. Baltar, Helo decided. "You're a what engineer?" he asked.
"A theoretical engineer," Drake repeated, very slowly, as if he were speaking to a very young child that was hearing the words for the first time. "I come up with theoretical weapons and then try to make them a reality."
"And the commander sent you down here?" Helo asked skeptically.
"Well, as one of my shipmates would say, before fighting a war, one has to understand the enemy. From what I've heard, we don't even have anything approaching an efficient means of telling a humaniform cylon from a human."
"A humani-what cyclon?"
"Humaniform cylon," Drake repeated with an impatient sigh. Helo found he disliked the sudden feeling that Drake was barely tolerating him, treating him like a five-year old child trying to take part in a conversation about inter-colony politics. "They look and, from what I've heard thus far, often at least act human," Drake explained. "They're human in form, if not in fact. They're certainly not like any of the centurions we fought when we were scavenging parts at an old colonial outpost."
"So you're an engineer," Helo muttered, trying to get control of the situation, to put Drake back on the defensive like he had been before Helo lost all track of the conversation. "You're interested in how things are built. If you think for a second that you're going to take her apart or anything--"
"I have been very patient with you so far, Lieutenant, but if you continue trying to intimidate me we're going to have a problem."
"Really?" Helo asked, crossing his arms and glaring at the shorter, thinner scientist. The subtlety of trading verbal jabs was a lost art on Helo, but physical intimidation was something in which he excelled. He knew that, if nothing else, he was good at violence.
"Really," Drake snapped. "All I need do is report your interference, and you'll find yourself on latrine duty for the foreseeable future." Helo laughed at the empty threat, and Drake quickly changed his approach. "Yes, well… I suppose maybe you're assuming that the commander would never ground a qualified and experienced ECO just to satisfy my injured ego. Maybe you're right. Maybe I'll have to find another way, something creative."
"That a threat?" Helo asked, taking another step toward the engineer.
"I'm a theoretical engineer, Lieutenant," Drake chided indifferently, turning away from Helo and directing all of his attention on the captive cylon. "Imagination is what I do. I don't make threats. I've never needed to. However," he said, his tone switching from vaguely impatient to cheerily amicable with a single word, "I find this pissing contest quite disagreeable. I'd rather we got along."
"I bet."
"And so do you, Lieutenant," he answered, his tone once more turning on a dime, containing a hint of malice that Helo would never have expected such an unimposing man to be able to muster. "Because you see, I have a lot of questions regarding this cylon, and I believe that you have answers for a great many of my questions. In the unfortunate event that you decide not to be forthcoming with some of that information, I may be forced to use my imagination to find other ways to answer those questions. I'm sure even a soldier has enough intelligence to follow along with what I'm saying."
"Yeah," Helo grunted. He fought the impulse to crush the man's skull against a bulkhead. I always knew this was coming, he reminded himself. No way people will ever accept Sharon and me… but if there's some way to make this easier, even if it means dealing with this asshole, I think I better play along. At least for now. At least until the baby's born.
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"Lee?" Starbuck asked, knocking softly on the open door to the C.A.G.'s office. "You got a minute?"
"Depends," Apollo said uncertainly. "Is this about you being grounded?"
"Yes."
"Then no, I don't have a minute," Apollo said. He knew better than to discuss the topic with Starbuck when she opened the conversation by calling him 'Lee.' He wore at least three hats that he knew of – superior officer, wingman, and off-duty buddy – and Starbuck was going to have to learn not to confuse his various roles in her life. She could not use their friendship to evade discipline.
"But I don't need to be grounded," Starbuck protested. "I can understand that you're overworked, so I'm willing to put up with you being a little cranky--"
"That's big of you, Lieutenant," Apollo said, steepling his fingers in front of him and staring down his best friend and most insubordinate pilot. "Just knowing you can empathize will help me sleep better at night."
"I didn't mean it like that," Starbuck objected.
"You're grounded, Lieutenant, end of story," Apollo said. "Consider yourself lucky that I don't give you extra time for that stunt you pulled, ignoring my orders and immediately jumping into a Viper when we went to red alert."
"Reporting for duty, Captain," another voice said, startling Starbuck almost right out of her boots. She turned and found herself staring into the chest of a man she had never seen before. She looked up and found him gazing down at her, his unimpressive brown eyes alight with mirth at the obvious fact that he had surprised her.
"Who are you?"
"Lieutenant Fetter."
"Well, the Captain and I are having a conversation, Lieutenant," Starbuck growled. "You'd best come back later."
"And who, exactly, are you?" Fetter asked.
"Lieutenant Thrace."
"Starbuck," Fetter said with a nod. "Yeah… I've heard of you."
"I bet." Starbuck turned to face Fetter for only a moment, her body language practically screaming, 'What are you still doing here?' Then she turned back to Apollo, clearly signaling that she expected Fetter to leave.
"Yeah, you're the one they got to teach at the Academy after I turned them down and handed in my wings," Fetter responded with a smirk, either missing or ignoring Starbuck's signals. She had trouble deciding whether she was more irritated by his presence or his comment.
"I was no one's second choice," Starbuck shot back, indulging in the momentary distraction of a second target for her wrath.
"If you say so," Fetter said with an uninterested shrug. His dismissal only served to infuriate her all the more, and the look in his eye told Starbuck that Fetter knew exactly what he was doing.
"I do say so." She was now glaring up at the taller pilot, hoping he would be stupid enough to take a swing at her.
"I'm sure." Fetter's smile grew even larger, and he laughed heartily. "Nah, I'm just funnin' ya, Starbuck. I was well and truly grounded long before you started babysitting nuggets. Apollo mentioned your name to me earlier; seems I owe you my thanks."
"Why's that?" Starbuck asked.
"You've volunteered your Viper for his first practice flight," Apollo said.
Starbuck tried to hide her shock and rage, but she knew from the delighted look on Apollo's face that she had failed miserably. "No way, Apollo," she protested. "I've been working on that damn thing for weeks. Tyrol and I just got the controls the way I like them. I don't need this guy taking her out and screwing her up."
"And maybe you'll think of that next time you're considering being insubordinate," Apollo said evenly.
"I wasn't being insubordinate, I was trying to make a point about pilot efficiency," Starbuck spat. "You're the C.A.G., it's your job to listen to those complaints and concerns, whether you want to hear them or not."
"She's got a point," Fetter commented.
"You stay out of this," Apollo warned.
"I think you just like to get your rocks off once in awhile by making me look bad in front of the other pilots," Starbuck said.
"You do a good enough job of that all on your own, Lieutenant," Apollo retorted. "The drinking, the gambling, the careless flying and constant disregard for the rules makes you a caricature of the pilot someone as gifted as you should be. But your attitude is just part of the problem. Unless you start getting it through your head that things are done the way they are for a reason, you're gonna get someone hurt." For a brief moment, Apollo wondered what had caused Starbuck to start behaving so out of control. Then he was hit by an uncomfortable epiphany – there was nothing different about her; he was the one who had changed. While that devil-may-care attitude is endearing when I'm dealing with Kara Thrace, drinking buddy and fellow troublemaker extraordinaire, when I'm Captain Adama, the C.A.G., I can't help but see her as anything other than a disobedient headcase. I guess she's not the only one who has to learn how to deal with the three hats I wear in her life.
All Starbuck wanted was to leap over Lee's desk and start throttling him, but she kept her cool, despite the fact that her arms and legs were shaking from the adrenaline pumping through her veins. When the hell did Lee start taking classes at the Colonel Tigh School of Command, anyway? "Is that all, Captain?" she managed to ask through her clenched jaw.
"Dismissed." Starbuck turned and strode away.
"Well I guess that wasn't the best first impression I've ever made," Fetter said once Starbuck had walked out of earshot. "Good thing you covered for me and got her so pissed at you that she forgot I even exist. You know, I always knew you'd make a good officer, Apollo. Real admiral material."
"You think so?" Apollo asked. He passed up the opportunity to indulge the daydream of what his life would have been like if he had chosen to devote himself to a career in the fleet instead of bouncing around from one pilot assignment to another, never much more than a glorified reservist.
"Well, that little sermon you gave Starbuck sounded eerily like what Admiral Nagala said to me when I was grounded for the fifth time."
"You don't say."
"No, wait… that was the sixth time. I forgot about the one for buzzing Commander Baxter's shuttle. Of course, Admiral Nagala's tirade lacked all the latent, unresolved sexual tension, but you were quite impressive."
"There's no unresolved sexual tension," Apollo said evenly. "And I can't believe that's still all you ever think about."
"First of all, it's not all I ever think about. Wine, women, and war – that's three things. Second, are you saying the tension is all resolved?" Fetter asked. "You two, you know," he said, making a few vulgar gestures with his hands, "makin' with the whoopee?"
"Making with the whoopee?" Apollo asked, unable to suppress a laugh. "How old are you now?"
"Older than you, Apollo," Fetter said. "You mind your elders."
"You're not that eld."
"And neither is Starbuck," Fetter said, returning their topic of conversation to Apollo's undisciplined pilot. "Young and spunky, just the way you used to like them. Like Athena. But maybe Starbuck is a little much for you now that you're all grown up. I know I don't think I could ever handle her."
"She does take some getting used to," Apollo admitted.
"It worth the trouble?"
"She's a damn good pilot," Apollo said.
"As good as I was?"
"Better than you ever were, Ares. Even better than Athena."
"Well then I guess I should make sure I get on her good side."
"For more reason than one," Apollo replied, a weary smirk curling his lips. "Remember when you were asking about cigars? She's the one with the stash."
To be continued…………………………