Chapter Fourteen

Colonel Diallo shook his head as he read Lieutenant Passel's urgent report. How did it all fall apart so quickly? He obviously wasn't cut out for a life of crime. He rubbed a hand briskly through his short, steely grey hair, as he once again read through Dr. Alpheus' medical report, his feet up on his desk.

Note: there was no trace of narcotics in the cadet's bloodstream or evidence of sustained usage. Routine urine and blood screens have been consistently negative for two-and-a-half yahrens.

He eyes fell on the holoptic of his wife that he kept on his desk. Even if he lost everything, it would still be worth it. Lanelle. He gripped the likeness of his wife and closed his eyes.

Corpeus had told him the cadet didn't exactly jump at the proposed agreement. Apparently, the kid had principles. He refused to cut a deal when he was innocent of all charges. Then Adama's son had shown up. Diallo blew out a slow, deep breath.

After all the plans he had made, the careful preparation, the tension, the anxiety, the cold-gripping fear in his gut every time he completed a transfer of goods, he simply hadn't expected to get caught.

One little slip. Some frisky Academy yahoo out for some romance. With his own daughter, he recalled as he shook his head in bemusement.

When it came down to it, it was some nobody-cadet or him. Oh, sure it might be a bit black and white, but the kid was young and could find something else to do. It's not like Academy life was the be-all or end-all in career choices. That was for damn sure.

"Colonel."

Diallo's head snapped up at the unexpected voice. He chided himself on losing concentration and awareness of his environment, even as he registered his daughter standing before him in the doorway of his office. "Cadet."

Imara took the two steps that were necessary to bring her into his office. "We need to talk."

She perched on the edge of his desk, the way she had done a hundred times before. Diallo could almost imagine her swinging her legs back and forth as she had done as a child. Her dark features and hair were so much like her mother's; it was almost difficult to look upon her without thinking of Lanelle. "About?"

"Starbuck." Imara returned evenly. "I know you're setting him up. I know Brand is in on it too." Despite her outward calm, she was shaking on the inside. This was it. She had to get him to back down. Starbuck's future was on the line.

Diallo just stared at her. Her eyes glared at him accusingly. His head shook slightly. He was so damned sure Starbuck had told him the truth. That Imara hadn't known. He had wanted to believe it so badly . . .

"Say something." Imara choked out. Somehow, she still wanted him to deny it. Tell her it was all a misunderstanding. Instead, he looked at her so forlornly. A beaten man.

"You were there. With him." Diallo murmured, lowering his legs from his desk. He covered his face with a hand. Lords, he felt old all of a sudden.

"Yes! I was there!" Imara hissed, standing again as she swallowed the lump in her throat. "I heard you talking about your retirement. How could you do this to mother? Especially now?" A stray tear escaped and she wiped at it angrily.

"Imara, you don't understand . . . " Diallo began, looking up at his daughter.

"Of course, I don't understand! How could I? You're breaking the law, Colonel!" Her body began to tremble and she squeezed her hands into fists, trying to retain a grip on her emotions.

"I did it for your mother!" Diallo barked, rising to his feet and facing her. He lowered his voice. "I . . . had to."

"What the frack does that mean?" Imara snarled back at him.

"I would like to know as well." An authoritative voice demanded from the doorway.

Diallo and Imara turned together to see Adama and Apollo watching them.

"Oh, Lords," Diallo muttered as Commander Adama of the Battlestar Galactica and the Quorum of Twelve walked into his office, a witness to his downfall. For a brief moment he thought of fighting or running, but he knew there was no place to go. A strange calmness settled over him, like a man who had come to terms with his fate. He sat on the edge of his desk.

"Frack . . . " Imara added, any pretense of having a quiet, confidential discussion abruptly finished. She slumped down into her father's chair, dreading the next few moments. She wished she could just disappear. She closed her eyes tightly, placing a hand to her mouth, feeling the bile rise in her throat. Her courage, tenacity, and intent failed her in sight of her father's complete humiliation.

"What would drive a man such as yourself to sell Colonial weapons to Chobatar rebels?" Adama asked again.

Diallo sniffed humourlessly. "The cubits." He looked over to see Adama's hardened features studying him intently. A man of such power would never understand. "I needed the cubits."

"For what?" the words were torn from Imara's throat, as he admitted to his mercenary motivation.

"Your mother's treatments," he whispered.

"But . . . the Service covers that . . . doesn't it?" Imara stuttered as she looked at her father in horror with a dawning realization.

"Treatments?" Apollo asked quietly, looking from the Colonel to his daughter.

"My wife . . . has a brain tumour." Diallo told them hoarsely. It was still hard to say aloud. Even after several sectars of watching her suffer with headaches, confusion, a seizure disorder, and a slowly progressive paralysis of the right side of her body, he still found it hard to believe he couldn't save her. Lord knows he had tried. Hades, he could barely stand to look at her anymore, her deterioration caused him such pain.

"Your daughter is correct, Colonel. The Colonial Service certainly provides medical care in these circumstances. I'm afraid I don't understand." Adama probed gently.

"They waited too long!" Diallo hissed. "They told her the headaches were stress related." It had been a tumultuous time in their marriage. She had been so moody and difficult. Their relationship had always had its share of ups and downs with him being in the Service and away from home so much. Even he hadn't taking Lanelle seriously when she started taking to her bed with headaches. Her absence was a relief, compared to their constant fighting.

"By the time they agreed to send her to a specialist, the tumour had grown. When they finally diagnosed her, they couldn't operate. They said it would kill her. They gave her six sectars to live and started her on traditional therapies." Diallo covered his face with his hands; reliving the moment they had told him his wife was going to die. He had never felt more impotent in his life.

"But . . . the treatments . . . " Imara stood, pulling her father's hands from his face and exposing his naked grief. "They started helping . . . I don't understand." Her voice broke. Her dark eyes glistened with unshed tears as she searched his familiar features for more information.

"The treatments are purely experimental, Imara." He cleared his throat as he struggled to say the words. "They aren't covered by my medical plan." Diallo's eyes misted over as he looked into hers. "I . . . sold the house. I liquidated our assets. I even cashed out my pension. Anything to pay for the treatments, especially when she responded so well . . . at first." He had almost felt like he had his Lanelle back. Gone were the headaches and mood swings. Her memory was as sharp as a youngster's again. The seizures ended. "I needed more cubits to continue the therapy."

"You started smuggling arms." Apollo commented.

Diallo nodded at the young flight leader, blinking rapidly to clear his clouding vision. "Brand was already involved. It was relatively minor in hindsight. He was selling old, outdated equipment to rebels. Making a tidy profit, mind you. I discovered his operation."

"And instead of reporting him . . . " Adama prompted him.

"I joined him and upped the ante." Diallo agreed. "I took control of his operation. I had access to the information we needed. The clout." He shrugged, shaking his head self-deprecatingly.

"So Brand was already involved. What about the coca?" Apollo asked, wondering how that became a part of the scenario.

"Again, that was Brand. I know he uses it off duty occasionally, but I'm not sure how much. He seems to get his job done. He always took advantage of our trips to get the 'good stuff' as he called it. I knew he traded for coca the day we set up Starbuck." It had been the perfect plan with all the pieces falling in place. He snorted. Or so he had thought.

"What did you sell the rebels, Diallo? How long has this been going on?" Adama asked, torn between his empathy for the man's motives and his distaste at his actions.

The colonel sighed. "Explosives mostly. You know how many we use in training maneuvers. They're easy to account for. Then one of the Chobatar leaders approached me about the new blasters with the dual setting. Hades, I even figured there would be less of them running around killing one another with the stun option." He met Adama's cool stare. "Strange how you start to rationalize it all."

He became aware his daughter was still holding his hands. He gazed down at her again. "As to how long, about two sectars. That was about the time it took for me to realize that your mother was losing control of the right side of her body. The treatments had only delayed the disease process." He looked to Adama. "My wife is still dying, Commander."

"I'm sorry." Adama responded shortly, clearing his throat, finding it choked with his own emotion. He couldn't help but wonder what he would have done in Diallo's position. But he and Ila wouldn't have waited so long . . .

"Now what?" Imara asked aloud, needing to know what would happen next.

"Because of your actions, a young man is sitting in the brig waiting to be expelled from the Academy, Colonel." Adama pointed out. "How could you so thoughtlessly decide to destroy his future?"

"It seemed the lesser of two evils, Commander. Brand wanted to kill Starbuck. He suggested we make it look like some kind of accident during the maneuvers." Diallo watched as they stared at him in horror. "Hades, at that point we didn't even know for sure it was Cadet Starbuck that saw us and overheard us. I figured if we set him up and had him expelled, he would just go away quietly, thankful that he wasn't going to be incarcerated. I wasn't counting on his . . . friends." He smiled slightly at his daughter and Apollo. Truthfully, he had thought a cadet like Starbuck would be easily framed. He certainly had a reputation for living a bit on the wild side. But his friends had gathered protectively around him, ready to defend him. It had been . . . unpredictable.

"Sergeant Brand was assaulting Starbuck when we visited the brig not long ago. I ordered him relieved of duty until he spoke with his commanding officer. You, I assume?" Adama saw Diallo's nod of agreement. "I think we should take this to Commander Orrick."

"Commander, despite what you've heard, I won't testify against my father. Not even for Starbuck." Imara stood protectively in front of the Colonel, her passion and convictions once again supporting him, as was right. "You still need my testimony to corroborate Starbuck's story. I want you to strike a deal for my father."

"Imara . . . " Diallo protested.

"No, wait. I don't agree with what you've done, Colonel. But I understand why you did it. The fracking Service that you poured your heart and soul into for thirty-five yahrens failed you when you most needed their help." Imara sought Diallo's eyes as he looked away uncomfortably. "I nailed it, didn't I?"

"Fracking bloody Hades Hole . . . " Diallo muttered as he pulled away from his daughter. Of course she nailed it. She knew him too well. He crossed his arms and took deep breaths, his back turned on them. The Service looks after its own. What a fracking joke! C'mon, Diallo, get yourself together.

It was all too much. His wife's disease, his financial ruin trying to save her, his downward spiral into criminal activity, beating on one of his own cadets and then setting him up, and his ultimate humiliation in front of his own daughter and Commander Adama. He felt his body tremble, seeking emotional release. He refused to crumble.

"Cadet Imara. I believe in light of your father's personal situation that Commander Orrick may be willing to consider a . . . deal." Adama spoke softly, choosing his words carefully. "I don't want to overstep my bounds, as this is an Academy issue and Orrick is in charge. But I believe he will be amenable to an agreement of sorts. I will speak on your father's behalf."

Imara nodded as she stared at the ramrod-straight back of the Colonel. Her father. Oddly, the Colonel had always suited him better. The Service was always more of a family to him than they had been . . . well, apparently not anymore. "Fair enough. What about Brand?" she asked Adama.

"He seems to lack the . . . sympathetic angle." Adama mused. "I think I'll leave that up to Commander Orrick to sort out."

"He's the one who should be incarcerated. That man is vicious and evil." Imara spat back at him, her hatred for the sergeant who had involved her father in arms smuggling coming to the forefront.

"I'm certain after Commander Orrick listens to Starbuck's statement, he'll agree with you, Cadet Imara." Adama returned. "Now, let's go to the Commander's office and sort all this out."

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Brand stumbled from Diallo's office building heading blindly out into the fading daylight. What the frack should he do now?

He had stopped by home to relax a little, but that had been short-lived. Typically his wife, Lara, was hosting some female-oriented household party; selling overpriced wares to her best friends and colleagues in the name of 'an evening out with the girls'. He had secluded himself in his den as she ran around tidying. He was apparently just one more out-of-place item.

Since he was technically off duty, he had even taken another hit of coca, the drug easing him as no other relaxant had ever done. It also gave him perspective. It made things clearer. He realized he had to talk to Diallo about Commander Adama's involvement. He told Lara he had an appointment with Diallo, which wasn't unusual these days, and left.

However, when he arrived at Diallo's office, it was only to discover his superior officer pouring his heart out to Adama. He stayed out of sight, but within earshot, as he listened to the tail end of their conversation. He was there long enough to realize that the Colonel had set him up.

He's the one who should be incarcerated. The girl's words reverberated in his mind. He's the one who undoubtedly would be. Brand could feel the sweat on his forehead trickling down his temples. His heart was pounding against his chest. He looked around for a place to go as he stood hesitating in the parade square.

The brig. His office. His refuge.

Yeah, he was told he was dismissed and relieved of duty, but that wouldn't stop him from going back to his office. He could sit and think things over there. Steady his nerves. He needed privacy. No prying eyes. No judgments. A place to think.

Within centons he was back at the brig. He coded himself in, almost walking straight into Keane, so intent he was on reaching his sanctuary.

"Aren't you supposed to be off duty?" Keane enquired, barring the way down the corridor. "Don't give me any trouble here, Brand."

"No trouble." Brand rasped. "Just need something in my office." My sanity. He shouldered past Keane and closed the door of his office behind him.

He slumped against the wall, pulling off his jacket. Lords, he was hot. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve as he crossed and opened his window. The cold breeze felt good on his hot skin. He let the wind soothe him until it was no longer comfortable.

His eyes fell to his desk. Brand sat in his chair and pulled out the main drawer. He removed it totally, turning it upside down to reveal the Chobatar's gift to him. It was a new form of coca. Natana had insisted it was easier to conceal and transport. He held up the small, rough square, paper-like in texture.

Lords, maybe he shouldn't try it here . . . now. His hand shook as he raised it to eyelevel to study it. It looked harmless enough really. He snorted as he realized it was nothing that he couldn't handle. After all, he was off duty. Beside, it might even help him sort things out. Maybe he could come up with an idea to get him out of this mess.

He placed the dose under his tongue and leaned back, closing his eyes. He had never had so many doses in a day before . . . but sometimes a man had to test his boundaries to establish his control. He did control the drug, not the other way around. It was his choice to take another hit.

He could feel his heart race as the drug traveled through his system. Lords, it was so good. He opened his eyes and looked around the office; every colour was sharper, every line more defined. He was heightening his awareness, altering his existence. Elysium.

He heard a cough and realized even his hearing was more acute. Keane was likely putting together some food for the detainee, if the clatter of dishes was any indication. He gritted his teeth as he thought about the cadet who had brought him so much trouble.

He had had a sweet little deal going when Diallo had uncovered his operation. Then when the Colonel had come on board, it had become even sweeter. Hades, he was finally making some real money with the supplies that Diallo could redirect and flog. Now, it was crashing down around them. It was that fracking cadet's fault.

What was it Starbuck had said to him? It began with you and it's going to end with your tribunal. Or words to that effect. Well, the more he thought about it, the clearer it became that the problem actually began with that cadet.

Cadet Starbuck was the key witness to all of it. Without him they didn't have a case. He absently wiped at his eyes, surprised to see the perspiration that had gathered there. He was still sweating profusely. It was hotter in there than he realized.

Now, Adama had said something about it all hinging on Commander Orrick listening to Starbuck's statement. That was interesting. What if the cadet wasn't around to make a statement? That could be arranged. Without the key witness, their case against him would fall apart.

A cold smile drifted across his face. Yeah, the coca made everything so much more comprehendible. He had walked in there in a panic, and now he had a clear path to salvation.