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.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
IX – A Change of Plan"Stand down, Apollo," Commander Adama's voice rumbled over the comm.
"Say again, Galactica," Apollo replied, glancing over at Racetrack.
"Stand down. We're aborting the mission."
"Commander, we're--"
"We're aborting, Captain," the commander ordered in a tone that told Apollo there was nothing he could do or say to change his father's mind.
"Copy, Galactica," Apollo said. "Powering down." He practically leapt out of the pilot's seat and jumped down to the flight deck. "What the hell is going on?" he shouted at Tyrol. The chief only shrugged his shoulders.
Apollo threw his helmet aside and started to the bridge, long, powerful strides making no secret of his anger about the mission being scrubbed. He was halfway to the bridge when two marines walking in the opposite direction stopped him. "Captain, come with us," one of them said.
"What?"
"The Commander wants you in the Sit-Room, sir."
"I know the way," Apollo said, pushing past the two marines and leaving them behind as he went in search of answers. He was surprised at his own anger, but he didn't stop to dwell on it. Minutes later, he walked into the Sit-Room and settled his eyes on the commander, the president, Doctor Cottle, and Colonel Tigh."
"Took longer than I thought," the commander said with the hint of a grin.
"Why'd we abort?"
"Sit down, Captain," the commander suggested, gesturing toward an unoccupied chair. Apollo did as he was told, and the commander continued. "We didn't abort, Lee. We're discussing altering the mission."
"Altering it how?" Apollo asked suspiciously. Once he subdued his own irritation, he noticed that the tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife.
"I'm going along," President Roslin answered.
"Commander, I think the president's suggestion is tactically unwise," Apollo said immediately.
"You've been spending too much time with the president and her politician friends," Adama responded. "It's amazing how respectful and diplomatic you can sound when you're saying someone is being foolish." He smiled at the president, who smiled back, despite his brazen insult. Not for the first time, Apollo wondered at the strange nature of the friendship between his father and the president.
"I need to do this," the president said.
"This is a military mission," the commander replied. "There are three military vessels, staffed fully by military personnel, making a trip to a military research facility to recover military assets. With all due respect, Madame President, your opinion means less than nothing in this instance."
"I'm dying," the president replied, her hands folded in front of her as she fixed her gaze on the commander. "Your people are going to a medical research lab. There may be something there that can help me."
"At the very least, I'll be able to get some tests done," Cottle added.
"The president and Galactica's doctor?" Tigh said. "That's a completely unacceptable risk."
"I understand the risk," Cottle answered. "That's why Ishay will go instead of me. We have an epidemic developing in the fleet; I haven't lost it so badly that I think it's a good idea to go on vacation to a research lab."
"We're not talking about going on vacation," Tigh snapped.
"It's all relative," Cottle replied, indifferent to Tigh's moodiness. "Spending a week in the cramped quarters of a Raptor, making small talk with Colonial marines is far preferable to tending to people who are dying from the Trojan Flu because I don't have anything to treat them."
"I need to go," the president said. "Now more than ever. We should have seen the possibility of Zarek using the religion card…"
"What do you mean?" Apollo asked.
"There are rumors spreading that he's the Condemned Man from Pythia's prophecies," the commander explained.
"And I'll lay a hundred to one that Zarek is the one who started those rumors," Tigh put in.
"I don't doubt it," Adama muttered, "but that doesn't mean we don't have to deal with it, all the same." He glanced at Apollo, and then almost imperceptibly at the president. Apollo couldn't help but wish that he could read his father's thoughts in that moment, that he could somehow learn how his father broke down decisions like this.
"We have to do anything we can," the president said, "if only to buy me some more time. Weeks, months… it'll mean a lot later on down the line. I have to get a few more people into key positions; I have to prepare the vice-president for Zarek's all-out political assault after my death. Prophecy gives him a potent weapon – I of all people realize that – but it's only one of his many weapons. We've seen what can happen when the civilian population turns against Galactica, and if we don't think Zarek will take advantage of that, we're fooling ourselves."
"We can't just send you out there on a Raptor," Adama said, sighing heavily. "There's the distinct possibility that this is a trap."
"I don't follow," President Roslin said. "You told me this would be a routine mission, just fly there and fly back."
"That's if everything goes well," Adama responded. "The fact is, I think it's a little convenient that we have an outbreak of the Trojan Flu within a week of the arrival of three men who just happened to recently visit a space station that was built because of the logistical problems caused by the last outbreak of this disease."
"You think Ares and his people are involved?" Apollo asked.
"I didn't say that," the commander clarified immediately. "It's very possible that the so-called doctors they met on the station were cylons – cylons posing as doctors like the one Starbuck reported treated her on Caprica – and that they somehow managed to sneak the virus aboard the Chimera. Ares and his people wouldn't be the first people who fell for a cylon deception."
"I see." Roslin's hands finally left the table, moving to rub her temples.
"Risking two Raptors and a freighter we only just added to our list of assets is one thing, but sending out a president who isn't just our chief executive, but also a religious figure seen as the object of prophecy… it's a big risk." The commander's eyes bored into the president's, as if he was daring her to defy his logic and conclusions. "Maybe too big."
"I need to go," the president repeated. "It's because I'm a religious figure… and even more so because Zarek is trying to copy my performance by merit of his criminal convictions."
"You're going to have to board the station to use its testing equipment, right?" Apollo asked.
"I'm afraid so," Cottle answered.
"And that means we're sitting ducks if it is a trap," he said. "The Chimera is armed, but Raptors just aren't equipped to carry heavy weaponry, not to mention the fact that they aren't maneuverable enough to last long against cylon raiders. And of course, we already stripped them down to carry fuel and supplies, so it's not like we can throw weapons on them now even if we wanted to."
"What about a handful of Vipers?" Roslin asked. "We could have them flying around the station, on guard duty, so to speak."
"Vipers don't have FTL capability," Apollo explained. "That's not an engineering problem we're about to solve anytime soon."
"The only way to get Vipers to Chiron is to carry them out there," Adama added.
"We can't have the Galactica leave the fleet," the president said.
"And there's no way it's an acceptable risk to bring the whole fleet back that way," the commander said.
"We can use a ship other than the Galactica," Tigh commented, drawing everyone's attention. "It's not like we've never done it before."
"We can't use a civilian transport like that," the president objected. "That one time was a unique instance, and don't forget it wasn't something I knew of in advance. I can't start allowing you to use civilian ships every time it might be easier than coming up with a practical solution."
"Then maybe we should stop using the word 'civilian,' " Apollo suggested.
"Excuse me, Captain?" the president asked.
"Sooner or later, we have to face the fact that the cylons don't make a distinction between combatants and non-combatants," Apollo said. He could hardly believe he was actually using Ares' argument.
"I don't think that's a door we want to open," the commander said, making it clear that that line of discussion was over.
"How about turning just one civilian ship over to the military?" Tigh suggested.
"That's how it starts," Roslin objected.
"Let's be realistic for a minute," Tigh responded. "Most of the ships out there have absolutely no military value. But a few are built very solidly and could be converted into small military transports with a minimum of work."
"How minimum?" Adama asked.
"Three days."
"It sounds like this is something you've thought about, that you have one in mind already," the president said suspiciously.
"I do," Tigh admitted. Adama now looked as suspicious as the president. "I get bored sometimes," the colonel grumbled. That drew a smile from the commander, and more suspicion from the president.
"Which ship?"
"The Aegina," Tigh said. "It's a hydrogen harvester." Apollo had to admit that Tigh had chosen well. Used to siphon hydrogen from the upper atmospheres of gas giant planets, hydrogen harvesters were very solidly built, designed to withstand intense gravity wells, sudden and dramatic temperature fluctuations, and the powerful concussions that sometimes occurred when hydrogen ignited around the ship. Even better, they had large, pressurized holds that could easily be converted to temporary flight decks. Though three days isn't going to be enough time to arm the thing.
"Do it," Adama said, his tone making his intentions clear – he would allow the president her folly, but she would have to play by his rules. Those rules meant the military just gained a new ship to support her escort of Vipers.
-------------------------------------------------
"You wanted to see me?" Starbuck asked as she walked into the C.A.G.'s office.
"Close the door," Apollo told her. She did, and then she sat down in front of him, her defiant gaze daring him to call her to task for whatever it was that he thought she had done this time. For once, it wasn't me, she reminded herself. I've been on my best behavior.
Apollo finished writing up a report while Starbuck waited silently, refusing to be the one to start the conversation. She watched his pen scrawl across the bottom of the page, signing off on what looked like a performance evaluation for one of the pilots. Starbuck wondered if it was hers, but she resisted the temptation to take a peek. There was a chance it was about someone else, and she respected the other pilots' privacy. At least when it came to official evaluations.
"You've been doing better lately," Apollo finally said, pushing all of his papers to the side.
"So I get a gold star?"
"You get to keep flying," Apollo retorted with a smile. "And I guess you get the privilege of knowing your Viper won't be rotated to any other pilot unless there's an emergency."
"Promise?"
"Sure." Lee smiled as he stood and walked to a small desk across the room. "Coffee?"
"Please."
He poured two cups and returned to his seat across from Starbuck. "I've been looking over this op that we've been putting together."
"So the mission wasn't scrubbed?"
"No, just delayed," Apollo told her. "For reasons that will become apparent very quickly, what I'm about to tell you is strictly classified."
"Fine."
"We're refitting the Aegina to take along with us," Apollo explained.
"To bring back extra supplies?"
"That's one reason," Apollo confirmed. "That's even going to be the official reason. We're also going to load up some Vipers to provide air cover, in case it's a trap."
"And you're afraid that a cylon spy might find out our Viper complement is going to be taxed even more," Starbuck guessed.
"When word gets out that we sent along some Vipers, that's going to be the exact reason we'll give," Apollo confirmed. "But that's only a half-truth to cover up the most important part of the mission."
"Which is?"
"President Roslin is going, too."
"What! The commander okayed that?"
"It's a medical station," Apollo answered. "She's looking for some kind of treatment that may help, especially with all this Condemned Man crap that only seems to be getting more out of hand with every hour."
"So you're sending Vipers to provide air cover for the president."
"Yes."
"And something beyond the obvious has you concerned." It was a statement, not a question. Sometimes he hated how transparent he was to her.
"The commander has concerns," Apollo replied. "Though I guess I share them."
"Such as?"
"Bringing the president along to the station raises a whole new set of risks," Apollo explained needlessly. "We have to ensure her safety, because for many of our people she's become more than just the head of state."
"She's the object of prophecy," Starbuck said, finishing Apollo's thought for him.
"Tigh's idea of refitting the Aegina is a good one, but it creates another problem."
"And that is?"
"The Aegina will be able to carry six Vipers to the Chiron station," Apollo explained. By our best estimates, it's a three-day trip there, and three days back. Maybe three and a half, depending on how far the fleet travels while the ships are away."
"Plus at least half a day to scavenge what supplies we can and get them back here," Starbuck added.
"So figure the mission takes a week."
"Okay."
"That means we're taking a significant portion of our Vipers and sending them away for all that time," Apollo explained. "And like you already pointed out, that's going to place tremendous strain on the pilots who remain behind, since they'll have to cover all the C.A.P.s until the mission is over. It's also going to mean we're at less than 100 if the cylons find the fleet."
"Not that being at 100 is all that big a deal, given the losses we've already suffered."
"And therein lies the problem."
"You have any ideas for how to deal with it?" Starbuck asked.
"One. But I don't like it."
"And that is?"
"One of us has to stay here with the fleet," Apollo explained.
"I knew it – if you think for one second that I'm staying on the Galactica again while you go out on the mission--"
"Lieutenant," Apollo barked. "I'd appreciate it if you waited to hear the orders before you start objecting to them."
"Fine," Starbuck spat back, crossing her arms and waiting for Apollo to speak, already formulating the arguments she would raise.
"I'm the one who's staying behind," Apollo told her.
"Huh?"
"You're the best pilot we have," Apollo admitted, "though if you ever tell anyone I said that, you'll be grounded for a month." Starbuck failed completely in her attempt to hide her satisfied smile. "If the cylons find our task force, you'll be outnumbered. Vastly outnumbered. You give them the best chance for survival; you give the president the best chance for survival."
"Thanks."
"But I need to be able to trust you out there," Apollo added, his eyes boring into hers. "I need to know that you're actually getting your head screwed on straight rather than just behaving in the short term, that I can trust you not only to fly, but to be responsible."
"Flying is about guts, about instinct," Starbuck objected. "Thinking gets in the way."
"Maybe for you, but while not thinking may serve you well, it'll do nothing for the pilots who need to act on your orders."
"You offering me command?"
Apollo nodded.
"I don't want it," Starbuck told him. "Don't get me wrong – I want to go – but I don't want the command. Give it to someone else. Give it to Ares."
"That's exactly what I want to avoid, Starbuck. You're the best pilot we have," Apollo reminded her. "Command goes to the best. It's that simple. It's time to grow up, Lieutenant. If you want to go on this mission, you'll accept command of the flight group. And if you accept command, you have to remember that no one will be there to pick you up if you fall. There won't be anyone else to rally the other pilots and fix the situation if you get in it. It's either you, or no one."
"Okay."
"And one other thing," Apollo added with an ominous tone. "As the ranking Viper pilot, as the one in command of the flight group, you'll be empowered to make all military decisions that affect those Vipers; it will be like you're the commander's voice out there."
"I understand."
"That means you don't do what the president tells you to if it's not tactically advisable."
"I got it."
"That means there will be no repeat performances of your adventure to Caprica."
"I told you I got it."
"Make sure you do," Apollo told her. "The other pilots will be counting on you, and the president needs you to get her back here alive, whether she appreciates your methods or not. Command isn't a popularity contest; it's only about the results, about the success of the mission."
"I understand, really," Starbuck assured him. "And you don't need to give me the official C.A.G.'s mission briefing pep talk or whatever this is, either. I won't let you down."
"I know you won't," Apollo said, smiling despite himself. "But that's not good enough," he added, suddenly growing very serious. "I need you to do one other thing."
"What's that?"
"I need you to promise me – as your superior officer, as your friend… and as Zak's brother – that you'll make sure you get yourself back here alive, too. Okay? That means none of your crazy hero stuff."
"Lee… I mean, Captain, when have I ever given you reason to believe I'd go off and do some kind of crazy hero stuff?" A lopsided, cocky grin spread across her face, and Apollo was unable to stifle a chuckle. "Am I dismissed?" Starbuck asked.
"Sure," Apollo said with a grin.
-------------------------------------------------
"Have a seat, Colonel," Commander Adama said. Tigh looked from Adama to Major Rutger, and then sat down in an empty chair.
"We're going to discuss the marines," Adama began. "Since the major is a marine and you're a fleet officer, I've asked him to take over the marine detachment on Galactica," he told Tigh. The colonel nodded, his expression devoid of any hint as to whether he was relieved or disappointed. "However, the major has requested that you remain the CO for the time being," Adama added.
"Stay on?" Tigh replied, confused.
"The major's only experience has been in the field," Adama explained.
"I've never been in command of anything other than a strike team, sir," Rutger added. "That included planning an op, executing it, and then getting extensive shore leave to get a release from the stress. To be honest, I don't know that I'm ready for this assignment."
"Is that so?" Tigh asked. He looked closely at Rutger for a few moments, then said, "What else is bugging you?"
"Sir?"
"Running this detachment is easy enough," Tigh replied. "It's mostly paperwork, and I assume you're literate. What's your real problem here?"
"What are you getting at, Colonel?" Adama asked. Clearly there was more going on here than he knew, and he hated being in the dark about anything on his ship.
"I've heard a few rumors," Tigh explained. "There was that problem with that cylon in the brig a couple of days ago, a few of the flight deck specialists getting it in their heads that they should space the prisoner."
"That's been dealt with," Adama said curtly, failing miserably at hiding his irritation. Maybe I should have kept Cally in the brig for a while longer the first time, he wondered. He had not seen much of a legal basis for imprisoning her for murder the first time she took it upon herself to attack a cylon – a cylon that was in custody because she tried to kill me – but this time… It's not that I have any affection for the cylon, he told himself, wondering at the fact that he always started this train of thought with that stipulation. But it has been helpful, and it is going to give birth to something. I can't expect the rest of the crew to make a distinction between the cylon I tacitly allowed them to murder and the one we currently have locked up, but they're not the same. But I don't have to explain myself for the crewmen to get it through their heads that no more violence will be accepted aboard my ship. His final solution had seemed best – double-shifts for a week, loss of pay, loss of all accrued personal time. Money had no real meaning, and time in the brig was time away from work. The only effective punishment appeared to be to take away all possibility of time away from the deck, and there had been no repeat incidents after the commander adjusted his thinking regarding discipline.
"The problem with the cylon was dealt with," Tigh corrected. "The crew is still looking for an explanation as to where the flu came from, and their latest theory is that Rutger and his crew brought it."
"They were screened by both Baltar and Cottle," Adama said wearily. "They're not cylons, and they're not sick."
"They know that, sir," Rutger responded. "They're just tired and scared, and they're looking to make sense of what's going on. They'll get over it soon enough."
"They better," Adama said. "Colonel, I want you to stay on for at least a few more weeks, in name only."
"Of course."
"And major, I expect you to deal with your marines," the commander said. "It'll take time to earn their respect, but I sure as hell expect you to get their obedience."
"Yes, sir."
"Select a half-dozen of them for the op we were just discussing. The rest of them will stay here under Hadrian's command."
"Yes, sir."
"Dismissed."
No sooner had Rutger left than Tigh was looking for information. "So you're set on going through with the president's half-ass plan?"
"Even I've heard the rumors about Zarek," Adama said. "That should tell you all you need to know."
"Tells me people are being stupid."
"Religion broke the fleet up once before," Adama pointed out. "We didn't take it seriously last time, we didn't expect so many ships to break away and follow Roslin to Kobol. They followed because of their faith, because of their need for a savior. If people start believing Zarek is their next savior – whether they should have their heads examined or not – we should pay attention and plan accordingly."
"Maybe," Tigh reluctantly conceded. "But you're putting Rutger in command of the op?"
"No," Adam said with a weary smile. "I may be old, but I'm not senile. His record shows that he's capable, but no one will respect his authority yet. He's only going to select and prep a team to take onto the station, to watch over the ship's crew just in case something goes wrong. You'll be in charge of the mission."
"What?"
"This mission is important, Saul," Adama responded. "I need someone capable, someone I can trust."
"Send someone else."
"There is no one else," Adama barked, slamming his fist on the tabletop. He took a moment to regain his composure, as surprised at his outburst as Tigh obviously was. Too much to do with no available assets to do it, he thought for the umpteenth time. I'm no miracle worker – it's time for my officers to start stepping up. "This fleet has two officers capable of command in a combat situation – you and me. The Galactica is mine; I have to watch over the fleet. That leaves you."
"I don't know, Bill."
"This isn't a request, Colonel," Adama said, disappointed that he had to address his friend and XO this way. "This is an order. I think the president's hare-brained idea is as necessary as it is foolhardy, but it's got to get done. I need someone to coordinate the Aegina, the Chimera, two Raptors, and a detachment of Vipers. I need someone the Aegina's crew will listen to; I need someone who can get those supplies loaded in the short time it takes for Roslin to get her tests done; and I need someone who can hold off the cylons if this is a trap."
"Yes, sir." Tigh's eyes were blank, his expression unreadable. But Adama could tell that at least there was not an ounce of hesitation. I guess that's realistically as much as I can hope for right now.
"Apollo is organizing the flight team right now," Adama said. "The crew of the Aegina is formally enlisting in the service, so you'll officially be in command and will have full authority over anyone on the ship."
"Yes, sir."
"Another thing – I want a new name for the Aegina," Adama added. "It's going to be a military vessel… come up with something more fitting."
"Yes, sir."
"And think of it this way," Adama said, hoping to elicit some kind of reaction from his XO. "This'll be a chance for you to have a few days away from Starbuck."
-------------------------------------------------
"Pour yourself some coffee and get comfortable," Starbuck told Ares as he walked into the ready room, descending the stairs and looking over the schematic that Starbuck had taped to the dry-erase board.
"I thought there was no food or drink in the ready room," Ares said, his eyes already poring over the details of Chiron's design, noting each of the airlocks and looking for the fastest route to the medical labs.
"Apollo's rules don't count when he's not here," Starbuck said with a smile. "We're gonna be here awhile, so that means coffee."
"An all-nighter before we leave?"
"Shouldn't be any fighting tomorrow," Starbuck reasoned. "We can sleep then, once we're sure we have a plan and that you and I are on the same page."
"Your briefing was pretty thorough," Ares told her. "I don't think there're many questions."
"Well I have a few," Starbuck said, staring down the much larger pilot. Ares' only response was a grin. "I know all of my pilots from here on Galactica," Starbuck explained. "I know their strengths and weaknesses, and I know how they'll react if we get in a fight."
"But you don't know me at all," Ares said, summing up her concerns in a few words. "You've probably heard Apollo tell a few stories about me, and maybe that has you concerned. But then again, a look at my service record will let you know I have combat experience."
"And a history of disciplinary issues," Starbuck pointed out.
"Look who's talking."
"Yeah, it's the commanding officer of the fighter group," Starbuck snapped. "So you'd best keep that in mind."
"Yes, ma'am."
"And if you ma'am me again, I'm gonna knock out a few of those perfectly straight teeth," Starbuck replied, forcing herself to grin and lighten the mood immediately. She was still uncomfortably conscious of the fact that she was trying to find an effective command style. "Truth be told, I'm concerned about your time after the military more than anything else."
"As a bounty hunter."
"As someone who doesn't have to answer to anyone else," Starbuck clarified. "I just want to make sure you remember that there's a thing called the chain of command, and you're expected to respect it."
"So Apollo keeps telling me," Ares joked. Starbuck did not share a laugh – or even a smile – so Ares' expression melted back to pure business. "I understand, Lieutenant," he assured her.
"Good. But since you brought it up, what kind of action have you seen?"
"I assume we're talking about combat and not bars," Ares replied.
He's completely incapable of being serious, Starbuck decided. Then, with a shudder, she realized that most people on Galactica likely thought the same about her. She scowled, her stern expression chasing away Ares' smile.
"Fine, combat. I was in several dogfights with pirates," he told her. "Food riots on Sagitarron eight years ago, combat insertion during the Damocles mutiny, and several ops that, as far as I know, are still classified. For what that's worth now."
"You earned almost as many combat commendations as you did disciplinary reprimands," Starbuck commented. "Almost."
"I never took to peacetime," Ares said with a shrug. "I like action. I like waking up and not knowing if I'll live to see my rack again when the day is done. I like being shot at. I like shooting back."
"People like you can be dangerous," Starbuck responded. This is exactly what Lee was talking about, she decided. Apollo had made several ambiguously worded comments about Ares' personality, and she had always suspected that the C.A.G. had several things he wanted to say but held back for some reason. He's a loose cannon.
"Yes, people like me can be very dangerous," Ares agreed. "With luck, I'll only pose a danger to our enemies."
"I don't like counting on luck, and we're not expecting any enemies," Starbuck pointed out. "I need to know you won't do anything stupid, perhaps 'inadvertently' – I would hope not intentionally – to bring a fight down on us."
"Like breaking radio silence," Ares suggested. "You paid very close attention to my file." He shrugged his shoulders, making an attempt at bravado that did not impress Starbuck at all. "I never made that mistake a second time."
"So it was a mistake?"
"You think I wanted that firefight to happen?"
"I don't know what to think," Starbuck admitted. "I don't know you, and that makes me nervous. But Captain Adama thinks it would be a good idea to have that ship of yours out there with us, and from what he's told me, I'd have to agree. But having your ship means taking you along."
"And that brings us back to how you don't trust me."
"Do you see any reason I should?"
"Just by looking at my file?" Ares asked. "No."
"So what is there outside of the file that should make me think you're not going to 'make a mistake' that's going to attract cylon attention?"
"I can give you my word."
"Did you give Commander Pycelle your word, too?" Starbuck asked, referring to an incident where Ares ordered his squadron to go from concealed observation to all-out attack in violation of orders.
"I did," Ares admitted. "But those pirates knew we were there, they were baiting us."
"The investigation found no evidence of that."
"And I was punished," Ares pointed out. "That's what lost me my wings. From squadron leader to permanently grounded in the span of a day and a half."
"You won't find any sympathy here."
"You've been grounded," Ares responded. "You know what it's like. Imagine having it be permanent."
"You got three of your pilots killed. You were lucky to avoid a court martial and several years in a stockade. In fact, I don't have any idea how you managed to weasel out of that and get command of a black ops team."
"It has to do with the classified portion of my file," Ares answered. "The Galactica's databanks only have my declassified service record; we'd have to go back to Caprica for the rest."
"I don't suppose you'd be willing to share."
"I was given a direct order not to reveal that information," Ares said. "Now how am I going to convince you that you can trust me to follow your orders if I start mouthing off about classified ops I was ordered never to discuss?"
"Apollo's right – you can be a pain in the ass."
"But if all hell breaks loose, you'll want me there," Ares assured her.
"Probably," Starbuck admitted. There were precious few pilots with pre-war combat experience – officers on the fast track to promotion did not get assigned to a battlestar scheduled to be mothballed and converted to a museum. She was entrusted with protecting the president, and that meant using every available asset. But does that justify rolling the dice on Ares?
"Just give me a chance," Ares said. "You have my word, Starbuck – I won't let you down. I swear it."
-------------------------------------------------
"Galactica, this is the Myrmidon," Starbuck said over the comm. "We're ready for departure." She gave a sideways glance to Tigh, who sneered back in her direction. She was already counting the moments until she could get in her Viper and leave him safely behind, even if it would only be for a few hours of practicing the difficult combat landing on the Myrmidon. Guy's going to make this whole mission miserable, she decided. At least when he's not busy actively frakking the whole thing up. I'll bet the only competent thing he does during this whole mission is come up with a new name for the Aegina. At least he got that much right…
"Raptor 478 has radioed in that first jump destination is secure," Dualla's voice replied. "Myrmidon, you're cleared for departure. Good luck."
"Make the jump," Tigh said.
A young man who hardly looked old enough to be in college – to say nothing of being old enough to handle the Myrmidon's helm when there was the possibility of combat – nodded and managed to handle the controls without allowing Tigh's suspicious glare to break his concentration.
Pseudo-soldiers, Tigh had called the ship's crew. Starbuck had initially been shocked that Tigh would ever confide any sentiment or opinion in her. Then it had occurred to her that it was completely predictable that the one time he thought Starbuck worthy of hearing his opinion was an instance in which it was totally inappropriate. I don't know that he should be bitching and moaning to me about his damned command staff. Then again, I am the commanding officer of the flight group on the ship, sorta like the Apollo to his Commander Adama. Then she realized the comparison she'd just made. "Oh gods," she muttered. "We're totally frakked."
"What was that Lieutenant?" Tigh asked.
"Nothing," Starbuck said with a shrug. "Sir," she added quickly. She was not particularly fond of toeing the line around Tigh, but the bridge was full of men and women who had officially enlisted the day before. They remained on the Myrmidon because they were familiar with the ship – the ship's captain, an old hydrogen harvester named Callysa, even stayed on as the XO – but no one other than Callysa had any Colonial military experience, and even she had only one short tour on a Colonial cruiser. They have to learn about military discipline, and Tigh and I are going to be their role models. Maybe the commander doesn't really want us to make it back, she considered, a smile crossing her lips as her stomach lurched with the FTL jump.
A moment later an empty starfield came into view. And so began the ill-fated mission led by Tigh and Thrace. This'll be one consciously omitted from the history books.
To be continued…………………………