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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VI – Into the Tempest"You're late, Captain," Commander Adama told Apollo as he walked into the situation room. He tried to hide his surprise as he looked around at the other people seated around the table, all apparently waiting for him. Apollo had expected that he had screwed up some more paperwork and that his father had once again chosen to reprimand him in the dead of night, when there was less chance of being seen and allowing rumors to get around to the crew. But instead of another one-on-one ass chewing, he arrived to find President Roslin, Doctor Cottle, Colonel Tigh, and Doctor Baltar all in attendance. The president and vice-president, the commander and his XO, the one medical doctor in the fleet, and me. One of these things is not like the others.
"I got hung up with paperwork," Apollo apologized. The commander only nodded in response, an almost inaudible grunt signaling that he was done with the ship's C.A.G.
"We're all here, doctor," the president told Cottle.
"Great," the doctor answered, nervously tapping his pen against the tabletop. "For those of you who don't know – and that would just be the vice-president and Captain Adama, unless I'm mistaken – we're facing a fleet-wide health crisis."
"What?" Apollo asked.
"The Trojan Flu," Cottle answered.
"The Trojan Plague?" Baltar interjected, his eyes going wide.
"It's just the flu, doctor," Cottle assured him.
"Keep a straight face just like that, and maybe some of the people out there will believe you when you tell them," Baltar replied. "Refer to it as the flu, if you'd like, but it is what it is, and the last time it surfaced, millions died."
"That won't happen this time," Roslin said.
"Of course not," Baltar responded. "We're a few people short of millions of possible fatalities, aren't we?"
"Doctor, please," Adama said, his soft voice immediately cutting off all discussion and injecting a surreal calm over the room. Then, turning to Cottle, he asked, "How bad is it?"
"It looks like forty-seven confirmed cases on six ships spread throughout the fleet," Cottle explained. "There're also ninety-four suspected cases that haven't been confirmed yet, not only on the same six ships, but also on seven others. As you know, there's only one on Galactica."
"It's on the Galactica?" Apollo asked.
"Hyper," Tigh answered. "He was over on Cloud Nine when the outbreak started."
"So that's why he's in quarantine."
"And it looks like all of our vaccines have protected the Galactica's crew so far," the commander explained.
"Excuse me?" Baltar asked.
"Colonial military personnel undergo an exhaustive battery of vaccines once per year," Tigh explained. "We travel from one planet to another, with citizens of every colony and outpost going back and forth between ships. We encounter derelict ships from time to time, and we've even done the occasional exploration of new, potential colonies. There're incalculable opportunities for disease, so we take prevention very seriously. The soldiers should be secure."
"Though I've pretty much quarantined Galactica's crew from the rest of the fleet, just to make sure," the commander added. "That's why you're here," he told Apollo. "Your pilots are not to dock with any other ships without my express authorization, and while on Galactica they're to remain quarantined from the rest of the crew. The Vipers are our only real offensive force, and the only layer of protection we have beyond Galactica's guns. Your people get sick, and we're in big trouble." Apollo nodded, marveling that the man who was integrally involved in his most embarrassing childhood memory – breaking his arm trying to teach Zak how to swan dive from the roof into the pool – was now commanding the attention and respect of a roomful of people that included the president of the Colonies. He doubted he would ever find such situations anything less than surreal.
"And what about the civilians?" Baltar asked evenly, suddenly demonstrating the detached, logical intellect that he had been known for even before the war.
"We don't have enough vaccine for everyone," Cottle answered. "And our medical supplies are limited. All I have is on Galactica, and this ship was never intended to support a civilian fleet of this size."
"Or any size," Tigh added. Apollo noted the irritated glance the president directed toward the colonel, though Tigh seemed pointedly oblivious.
"There's almost certainly going to be a panic among the people," the president said.
"We're going to need some sort of civilian police force," the commander replied. "We've discussed this before."
"I know," the president admitted, "but we're just finishing our census. It's too soon."
"I can't enforce the peace with marines," the commander replied. "Even if I had enough of them, they're not trained for civilian crowd control. And even if they were, using them would require a declaration of martial law."
"And we're not doing that again," the president said, again glancing at the colonel, who seemed just as pointedly oblivious as he had the last time.
"So Doctor, am I to take it that the most effective course of action at this time is just to quarantine every ship in the fleet and let the flu run its course?" Adama asked Cottle.
"I would say so, yes," Cottle agreed. "There's no indication that it's gotten to every ship, and the flu is far from 100 fatal. About two-thirds of those exposed to the virus will become infected, but only half of the infected people will die."
"The oldest and youngest," Baltar surmised.
"No," Cottle corrected with a shrug. "Most strains of the flu are that way, but the Trojan Flu – and any of the related strains in this particular family, for that matter – will kill indiscriminately. Youth and vitality have little to do with survival; it's basically a crapshoot. Though I think we all have to keep something important in mind – due to food rationing and some dietary deficiencies, it's safe to say that no one in the fleet is as healthy as they could be. That might increase the rate of infection or death."
"Or both," Baltar added.
"Shut down all traffic as soon as we're done here," Adama told Tigh.
"There'll be questions, panic, eventually water shortages and famine," the president commented. "You know how bad things got after a temporary water shortage; imagine how bad it will be now."
"I'd rather not," Adama replied. "But I guess it doesn't matter what I'd rather do. Apollo, I'm going to need you to figure out a way to get extra pilots in the air."
"I'm not going to be able to sustain extra patrols for very long; this'll have to get resolved relatively quickly."
"No promises," the commander told him.
"If this helps at all, it will likely be close to two weeks before we reach the high water mark for infection," Cottle said.
"That's not very long," Roslin responded.
"That's actually a while," Cottle assured her. "Given the fact that we're working in closed environments, with everyone sharing the same air and water… it could end up spreading faster. Probably not too much faster, but it could be worse."
"We need some form of treatment," Roslin said, something in her voice pleading for an answer that her mind seemed to know just wasn't there.
"I'll see if I can come up with anything," Cottle said.
"We're done," Adama announced, rising from his chair and moving toward the exit before anyone could object, Tigh firmly in tow behind him.
"I don't suppose you've had any training in medicine," Cottle asked Baltar.
"No, not so much," he shrugged. "I guess I'm pretty much useless in this particular situation," he said. Apollo caught Baltar glance toward the corner, and his own gaze followed the doctor's eyes, but he saw nothing that should have attracted Baltar's attention. "I suppose I'll go cloister myself back in my lab, then," Baltar added, suddenly seeming very interested in getting out of the room.
"After you come by sick bay," Cottle told him. "You're the vice-president and our best scientist… you need as many vaccines as I can come up with for you."
"Dr. Pin Cushion, that has a nice ring to it," Baltar muttered, waiting for Cottle to leave and falling in step behind him, leaving Apollo alone with the president.
"Madame President," Apollo said with a nod, standing to leave.
"Captain," Roslin said, her authority holding him in the room until she decided she was done with him.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Keep an eye on the commander, will you?"
"Ma'am?" Apollo had always respected the president, but if she thought he was about to spy on his father – no matter how great a rift they were known to have had for a great deal of their lives – she obviously had a great deal left to learn about him.
"He's still recovering from what that cylon did to him," Roslin explained, "and now he has to face a situation that has no military solution, but may eventually require military intervention. Sooner or later, we may need his marines to help restore order. I need to know he understands that and will be ready to do what's required."
"I'll do what I can," Apollo said, immediately turning and leaving. What the hell have we all come to? he wondered. On the one hand, we have my father seeming to refuse to consider using the military to help keep order, and on the other we have the president appearing absolutely certain that martial law is an inevitability. Funny how different things are after the end of the world.
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"I need you to check something for me," Zarek said as soon as he walked into Ellen's cabin on Cloud Nine.
"Does this have anything to do with whatever it is you heard Adama and Roslin are up to?"
"Yes," Zarek replied. At first glance, when she had just opened the door, Ellen had thought Zarek was tired; once he had walked in and started pouring himself a drink, she saw that the drawn, strained look on his face was not fatigue. It's rage, she realized, remembering seeing that look only a few times before in her life. Pure, feral rage, and he's doing everything he can to hold it in and seem unconcerned. Every passing second only convinced Ellen more than she had never seen anyone as angry as Tom Zarek was.
"What can I do?" she asked.
"I need you back on Galactica."
"Flights have been shut down," she objected immediately.
"I'll take care of it," he assured her, struggling to spread his lips into an unconcerned smile that never came close to reaching his smoldering eyes.
"Okay." Ellen walked to her closet and started to pull clothes off of the hangers, spreading them out on the bed while Zarek threw back his drink and poured another. "Are you going to tell me what this is about?" she asked.
"I've just gotten evidence to support the rumor I heard earlier," Zarek said. "There's been an outbreak of the Trojan Plague, and Adama and Roslin are covering it up."
"They wouldn't," Ellen objected. But if they were, a lot of things would suddenly make a whole lot more sense. Like why civilian traffic has been all but shut down, leaving some of the transports dangerously low on supplies.
"They would," Zarek assured her. "And they have."
"Why would they do that?"
"You even have to ask? Don't you remember what happened when the plague broke out 25 years ago?"
"A lot of people died," Ellen answered.
"Spoken like a true Caprican," Zarek replied with a condescending smile. "The plague started on the mining settlement of Troy, supposedly when a dormant virus was dug out of the ground. From there it made a quick jump to Aerelon, where it was just starting to get serious when the government got it under control. Suspiciously, after Aerelon, the government wasn't as quick to act on the one other Colony where there was a pandemic."
"Sagitarron."
"Yes, Sagitarron," he spat. "The government made sure that there was a chance for millions to die before it got around to helping us."
"There were other outbreaks, in all of the Colonies," Ellen argued.
"But it was controlled in every case. Troy and Sagitarron were devastated, and Aerelon had it bad for a little while, but all the rest escaped relatively unscathed."
"Relatively being the key word," Ellen shot back. "Over ten thousand died on Caprica."
"Over 33 million died on Sagitarron, all within the span of six months," Zarek shouted, giving voice to a sliver of the rage that had been burning within him. "Do you have any idea what that did to us? We never recovered."
"And what, you think Adama and Roslin secretly released the strain to wipe out the surviving Sagitarrons?" Ellen asked sarcastically. Zarek's only response was a backhand that sent her crashing over the bed. Light and pain flashed before her eyes, immediately followed by dark spots that obscured her vision and started to spread, threatening to usher her into unconsciousness. Ellen struggled back to her feet and stared Zarek down, ignoring the fact that she could hardly see him through her pain. "You ever hit me again, and you'll get to deal with my husband," she threatened.
Tom Zarek laughed. "If you think that's supposed to frighten me, Ellen--"
"My husband is a veteran of the first cylon war," she interrupted. "He's seen soldiers butchered before his very eyes as he fought for his own life; he's stood on a bridge and waited to see if a nuke would vaporize him or whether the armored hull would stand up to the attack. He's torn cylons apart with his bare hands, and he's killed countless men in his career. And if you don't think he'd be willing to kill for me – whether out of affection or simply because he took offense at you presuming to place your hands on me – or if you think there's anything you could ever say or do to intimidate him, you're out of your mind."
Zarek stood silently for several moments, and Ellen knew that he was reassessing her in his mind. Then he smiled, and she knew she had just passed some sort of test. "You're good," he told her. "If I didn't already know Colonel Tigh, I might have actually taken off with my tail tucked firmly between my legs."
"You'd also do well to remember that Saul isn't the only man willing to get rough to defend me," Ellen responded.
"Duly noted."
"So what do you need?" Ellen asked, now content that she would continue to be seen as an accomplice, several steps above the position of sycophant held by many of Zarek's allies.
"I need some kind of clear evidence indicating that Adama and Roslin know," Zarek explained. "I already have proof of the plague, there'll be no denying it exists. But I need to bring them both down when I make my move. Both at the same time… I won't repeat the mistake of moving against one of them individually."
"I'll need a little time, Tom."
"I don't know how much I can give you. I have to make my move soon, before the information leaks on its own, before they have to announce the presence of the plague and make it seem like they're so concerned."
"I'll do what I can."
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"I'm sure that by now you've all heard the rumors," Apollo said, opening his daily briefing. Everyone, including Starbuck, just looked at him as if they had no idea what he was talking about. "Come on," he said, allowing an amused smile, "this ship is worse than high school. Rumors have a life of their own on Galactica."
"I think you need to narrow it down for us, sir," Starbuck suggested. "Like you said – this place is worse than a high school. We hear rumors all the time. You mean the one about Hot Dog and Cally?"
"What?" Hot Dog asked from the other side of the room.
"The subject of the rumor is always the last to know," Starbuck shrugged, eliciting a laugh from everyone but Apollo.
"Lieutenant, that'll be all," he said sternly. The grin melted off of Starbuck's face, and Apollo glanced down at his prepared notes. "Oh. frak it," he muttered, crumpling up the paper and tossing it toward the trash can, missing wide right. He made a point to ignore Starbuck's poorly concealed snicker. "I'm no good at public speaking or sugar-coating, so here's the thing – we have an outbreak of the Trojan Flu."
"Is it true that Hyper has it?" Kat asked.
"Yes." Apollo was surprised at how unconcerned his pilots appeared. Then again, they've been fighting a war against the cylons pretty much 24/7 for months, now. I guess it's not all that shocking that they're unimpressed by the threat of an outbreak of the flu.
"So what's the plan?" Starbuck asked. "We can't launch the alert fighters and shoot the flu to hell. Sir."
"No," Apollo admitted, helpless against the smile that he knew Starbuck had been hoping for. "For us, the plan is simple – we keep flying our patrols, we keep picking off scouting raiders, and we stay completely quarantined from the rest of the crew until the threat of infection has passed."
"Any idea when that might be?" Helo asked, clearly unhappy about the idea of not being able to go near Sharon. "It's not like we can just let everyone off the ships at the next colony so that we can decontaminate all the ships."
"No, it isn't," Apollo admitted. He had known that this part would be the toughest. "This is going to be the procedure into the foreseeable future."
"Then I quit," Helo said.
"You don't get to quit," Apollo told him.
"Watch me."
"Sit down, Helo," Starbuck said. Helo turned on her, clearly spoiling for a fight. She only sighed with disappointment. "You can't go near Sharon even if you weren't quarantined," she told him. "She's pregnant. She's probably quarantined, too. Right, Apollo?"
"Yeah. That's right." Apollo did not see any reason to expound on the additional reasons why their cylon prisoner had been the subject of a medical quarantine.
"So get your head out of your ass and do your job," Starbuck said, surprising Apollo with her ability to get Helo back in his seat. He was clearly still angry, but he was sitting. That was something.
"The corridors between the flight decks and the pilots' quarters are being sealed off," Apollo continued quickly, making certain no one else had an opportunity to object. "No talking to Tyrol's crew on the deck, no mixing with anyone else between the deck and the bunks. That clear?" No one objected, so he continued. "There will also be no docking with any of the other ships in the fleet without the commander's authorization, and we're going to enforce a strict policy of emergency civilian traffic only."
"Are we going to be expected to fire on civilian shuttles?" Hot Dog asked.
"I can't answer that," Apollo replied. "We'll have to look at each situation as it arises. Is that clear?" No one added anything else, so he guessed it was. "Dismissed."
Apollo was not surprised when Starbuck held back, but he had not expected Ares to join her. "Something to add?" he asked Ares, afraid of the answer, and even more afraid of any input Starbuck might decide to offer.
"Maybe. I don't know what the command staff is planning, or what resources you have available, but I think I might be able to offer a solution of sorts if the fleet's medical staff is running short of ideas."
To be continued…………………………