"Shit man." Bobby grumbled, as he poked around his scrambled eggs with his plastic fork. "Any chance of getting the good powdered eggs again?"
We all sat around a long table in the mess hall just like every morning, except Caff wasn't there. Anyone else would have killed for scrambled eggs, sausage patties, and a side of grits in this fleet. Most everyone else ate the rations doled out by the government, but we made our deals, and we had the right affiliations. Phelan had said the other "good" stuff we were trading for would look like swill. These eggs were a little rubbery, and the sausage had that distinctive synthetic protein aftertaste, but I doubt anyone else was eating much better.
Toby shrugged, as he built a makeshift sandwich, scooping his eggs between his slices of toast.
"Tastes better with ketchup," he said, behind a mouthful.
Mangan drank his coffee, in silence, looking over the schedule on the clipboard. It wouldn't be much. Not many civvies shuttles were moving, so we didn't have to do much off ship. The most we would have to do was finish up hose maintenance on the port stabilizers, and make sure our new guns were oiled up. That wouldn't be on paper though. We had company, after all.
"So, Jay," Marty asked me. "Is, uh, our guest gonna eat with us."
I looked up to him and found more eyes on me. Bobby, the other lift driver Dan, Ed, Nick. Yeah, big news. Would the woman who totally shattered everything we believed in, from a hospital bed, be joining the freighter jocks of the Lady for breakfast?
I shrugged. "I dunno. If she's up to it, probably. She was on the run for three days or something like that. She's gotta be hungry by now."
Nick leaned over, so I could see him behind Dan's head. "Heard she had an IV in her arm an' shit."
I nodded. The tension around me made a subtle shift upward. Right now, only the Captain's emphatic order that we would protect her kept them from being outwardly vocal, at least in front of me. I could tell she meant trouble to most of these guys, especially Nick, Briar, and the cargo guys. She probably was trouble for me too. Caff was missing because he needed her to be safe, because he believed she was too important. I thought about that, and wondered, as the curtain closed on the farce that was Earth, what she was living for, if not a better place. Was it because she was doing something she believed in, or was it the fact that her job could never, ever end? It was hard to ponder why she was still in this fleet, this universe, when she had to wade through endless kilometers of red tape every day. Me? I was starting to feel okay with just rolling with the gut instinct to survive, because surviving was what intelligent beings were supposed to do. Besides, the Cylons wanted us dead. I'd be damned if I ever did anything to make their lives easier.
"Hey, Krenzik," Ed said, behind a mouthful of the sort of okay powdered eggs. "She got any other bombs to drop on us? I mean, President's nuts, no Earth. Kobol, and shit? There anything else she hinted at?"
Mangan looked up from his clipboard, through his eyebrows.
"Why dontcha ask, her, Eddie," he said, before I could reply.
Diana came through the doorway, from Pinklon's office. She must have borrowed the company issue khaki pants from Moore, since they barely hung on to her hips, the cuffs pooling around the flipflops on her feet. Her upper torso swam in a green nurse's smock, which was tucked in and bunched around the waist of Moore's trousers. I looked up, watched her head up to Lina, at the start of the line. She carried a familiar-looking printout from the nurse. Most likely, it was orders for what she could and could not eat. She did her best to make her strides as politically perfect as possible, but there was no saving the clunkiness of walking in sandals, in clothes many sizes too big. Her gaze met mine briefly, and her face looked clean, freshly scrubbed, with a little color returned. Her still-wet hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail.
I looked around, and found seven other heads trained on her while Lina heaped double rations onto her plate. Toby turned to me, leaned across the table.
"Hey, Jay," he whispered. "I never knew how big an ass Moore really had, man!" Marty choked on his orange juice, and I had to force every muscle in my face not to smile. Yeah, Diana probably could have used one leg for a skirt.
Diana thanked Lina, which was a definite rarity for her and Neil, and came over to our table. Everybody failed miserably to look casual, even Mangan. Our FTL tech couldn't look interested in much of anything if he tried, except now. I realized why. She headed for the empty seat, at the end of the table to my right, and Toby's left. It was never official, but Caff always sat at the head of this table, and, without a thought, we left this chair empty, his chair. She looked pensively at us, then to me.
"May I join all of you," she asked. Her impeccable manners were so out of place, I couldn't find the words to come out. I looked down the line, and everyone just stared blankly at the Secretary. I gestured toward the seat--Caff's seat.
"Sure."
She laid down her tray, slid into her chair. As she unfolded her paper napkin, and placed it in her lap, Toby suddenly became self-conscious of the big hunk he took out of his sandwich, and made a point to lick a stray bit up into his mouth.
The stares didn't move an inch. First, there was a woman on board. Second, she was sitting in our Foreman's seat. Finally, she was the one who told us the President had gone nuts, and Earth was a myth--but it might not be. Oh yeah, and the beginning of everything was supposedly a short jump away.
She cleared her throat.
"Thank you," she said, her pitch filled the room just enough to be heard, but not overwhelm, just as she did the first time she came aboard the Lady. Old habits died hard.
"Thank you all, for letting me stay here. I won't forget it."
No one nodded. No one said "you're welcome." Nothing. Eyes found their way back to plates and forks resumed picking at half-eaten food.
I looked to her.
"No problem," I said, then I shifted my gaze down the table, trying to make eye contact with the few that would look up to me. "No problem at all."
I allowed her a slight smile, and she returned it.
"Is. . .Is there any word on your foreman," she asked.
I shook my head. "We hope to find out something today. We're hoping for the best." I tried to make my words sound cool, even, but as I fumbled around breakfast with my fork, I knew I failed.
"I hope he returns soon. He's a good man. I wish there were a thousand more like him."
Everyone else looked up again, with a start. Toby's expression softened a little, and he grinned slightly.
Mangan coolly met her gaze from the opposite end.
"So say we all," he told her, and us.
"So say we all," we returned.
Everyone resumed eating, and chatter started up once more. Diana tentatively dug her fork into her double heap of eggs. I noticed no sausage was on her plate, replaced with a Styrofoam bowl of oatmeal. Above that were two eight-ounce cups of orange juice.
"Go on," Toby said. "This has to be better than that ration shit you get--got on Colonial One."
She smiled wanly in return, and lifted her fork. After that first bite, she heaped more into her mouth, barely swallowing and, it seemed, barely tasting her meal. The same lady that sweated buckets in our break room Down Below, yet sipped water as if she were at a state dinner, was evidently on vacation. Nick put down his coffee cup, staring. Soon the rest of us were all about watching Secretary Diana Thalyka inhale her breakfast. No one timed it, but she demolished everything in front of her in probably three minutes.
She turned toward the kitchen, and Lina, who was lifting out the steel serving trays and scraping them off. She suddenly remembered the napkin, lifted it from her lap and wiped her lips.
"Thank you so much, Lina," she said. "Thank you, Neil. That was delicious."
Marty laughed. "Damn, they weren't shittin' when they said you didn't eat for a few days!"
Toby elbowed him, telling him to shut up, as chuckles rattled on down the table. I laughed a little, too, as she turned back to us, blushing. It made me happier than expected to see a genuine bit of color flush into her skin from something other than anger or fear.
Neil conveyed his usual soft-spoken thanks, and Lina actually smiled--sincerely!
"I hope your attitude rubs off on the knuckledraggers, honey," she replied. With that, she resumed her scraping.
Diana actually laughed then, covering her mouth demurely with one hand. Our happiness slowly receded, though, when we saw Jeffers behind us, face flushed, eyes looking a little too wet. In a wavering hand was a printout. The only noise left was the electric hum of the ventilation system.
Diana looked to me, slowly shaking her head. All of us knew what was coming.
"As of. . . 0630. . . "
He licked his lips, as the sheet fluttered in his hand. I heard Nick murmur "no," behind me. Toby slid off his ballcap.
"James Caffrey was i-identified and pronounced dead aboard Galactica, of multiple gunshot wounds. We don't know when they will return his body."
Milt Jeffers stood frozen, there, as we digested the unthinkable. Caff always found a way, he always had a plan, but not this time.
"No…"
Diana shook her head. "No!" She slumped, in Caff's seat, stray locks of hair draping trembling hands, as sobbed into them.
Mangan stood, and walked up to Jeffers, his left hand twitched, and that was the only indication of the shock he felt with us. I watched Diana, thought about how, 24 hours ago, Caff sat in that same seat, just like every morning on the Lady for my entire six years and change on the boat, and a decade before that.
Tears rolled down Marty's face, as he stared into space, running a hand over his hair slowly, again and again. Briar laid a consoling hand on Nick's shoulder, as he buried his face in his hands, muttering something I couldn't understand.
Mangan's jaw worked, but nothing came out. Caffrey had been a close friend for years, ever since they first signed on with New Castle Freight, through divorces and watching children grow up, while they jockeyed around the Colonies. They survived it all, until now.
"Mr. Jeffers, wh-what are we gonna do. About putting him to rest?"
The XO nodded. "Well, the best we can do is a memorial service. We can't get a Priest--"
Toby jumped from his seat, tears coursing down his cheeks, now. "What?"
Jeffers stopped talking, as our welder started slowly toward him.
"What was that, Mr. Jeffers? Did you just say we can't get a Priest for Caff?"
"That's right Dempsey. Traffic is at a--"
"Bullshit!"
Toby's face was almost maroon, as he leaned in, almost forehead to forehead with the XO. Mangan grabbed his arm, but he shoved it away. My limbs still wouldn't move, and I just watched, because that was all I could do.
"Step back, Dempsey."
"What? Whatcha gonna do if I don't--Milton?" Mangan just hung his head, but stayed close, in case it really went too far.
"Dempsey! Back…up."
"You gonna write me up? Gonna recommend termination to personnel?"
"Look--"
Toby snatched a handful of Jeffers shirt and life coursed back through me, and I joined the rest lunging forward. Mangan tried in vain to wedge himself between them, as I grabbed one arm, and Ed the other.
"You gonna get another godsdamned welder? Huh?"
Tears streamed freely then, as his eyes bulged. Jeffers didn't give up an inch, though.
"Shoulda been you, Jeffers. We needed Caff more than we ever needed your sorry ass!"
"Toby…" I began, as my vision blurred and my eyes began to sting. "This is no good man, come on--"
"Krenzik," Jeffers said. "Let him go. You too, Coursen."
By then the Captain burst through the double doors from CiC, along with Moore, but stopped short of the fray, as they saw us free Toby's arms.
Toby's chest heaved with each breath, as he cried silently, glaring at Jeffers.
"Listen to me, Dempsey. I knew Jim Caffrey when you were still a little kid. I got him the foreman's job on this boat because he was the best mechanic who ever worked for me, and one of the finest people I've ever known. But we can't get his body, and we can't get a Priest. It's up to us to put him to rest the best we can. If mopping up the floor with me will change anything that's happened, then have at it. Otherwise, you go with the rest, back down, and find a crate that we can use, and find any personal affects you want to leave with him."
Stengler cleared his throat.
"Mr. Jeffers, we received condolences from Phelan and the crew of the Prometheus. I made him aware of our problem, and he promises a Priest will be here in time for a memorial service this evening."
Then he looked over the rest of us. "Go on," the Captain said. "There's nothing that can't wait. Just carry out Mr. Jeffers' orders, and we're going to put Caffrey to rest, tonight, after dinner.
I turned to leave with the rest, and saw Diana hunched over, trembling.
"Krenzik!"
I turned to him, wiping my eyes. "Yeah, Cap'n?"
"Take Miss Thalyka back to Pinklon, then I need to see you in CiC. As soon as you can get there."
I extended my hand, and Diana grasped it to help herself up out of Caff's seat. But it wasn't Caff's seat anymore. It never would be again.
Down the narrow corridors of steel, Diana sniffled into a wadded tissue, on our way back to the nurse's station. I wanted to let it out, but my grief was lodged down deep, a numb hollowness that didn't feel like it would ever leave. I remembered Laura Roslin's whiteboard, and the heavy black number scrawled on it. The last vestiges of humanity now would subtract a few more from that total, not because viper pilots died valiantly protecting us, nor because of a Cylon sneak attack. We were feeding off ourselves now, and Saul Tigh was the first to bring his empty stomach to the table.
Within sight of Pinklon's office, Diana stopped, reddened, puffy eyes looked up to me.
"He shouldn't have done it, Jay. He should have been on that shuttle out! He shouldn't have given me that seat!"
All I could do was look at her. What could I say? It wasn't her fault, Caff practically threw her on that shuttle, just as he probably would have done for the any of his men on the Lady. I felt like anything that came from my lips would be utterly useless. How could I offer consolation when I felt barren inside? She grabbed my wrist, fingernails digging in. At that moment I was almost glad to feel something other than hollow, even if it was pain.
"I tried stop him! But he just wouldn't listen! I tried to tell him he had to get off that ship! But he told me...he told me he could take care of himself! He told me he'd be fine, that he'd join us on the next shuttle out, after it was all over! I knew he shouldn't stay, even then! Why didn't he listen? Why…"
More tears rolled down her cheeks, and I found my arms encircle her, one hand cradling her head against my chest. My lips touched her hair, as I tried to shush her.
"Shhh…Diana, it's not your fault."
She continued, unabated, crying into my chest.
"That seat was supposed to be his! He was going to be off that ship, if wasn't for me!"
She looked up, her chin digging into my breastbone.
"And I couldn't convince him not to put me on that shuttle!"
I shook my head, fighting the urge to brush a stray hair away from her face. I wanted her to stop--just stop. I felt helpless enough, but I couldn't understand how she accept the weight of the fleet on her shoulders, even then, as her lack of blame should have been clear cut.
"Nobody could stop Caff once he set his mind to doing something. It's not your fault he's gone. The blame goes to one place. And it's not here."
That was one thing we had, in this morass of gray areas and vague morality. One man sent those marines over there. Even the one that pulled the trigger probably knew he didn't have a prayer if he didn't come back with results--no matter what.
"I shouldn't have HAD to change his mind, even! I'm not worth it! I'm not ANYTHING anymore! But he couldn't see that! He just... the way he spoke to me... the things he said...it was like nothing had changed, in his mind! Why couldn't he see that? Why--"
I'd had enough, I couldn't carry her grief and mine. I clutched her wrists. I fought to keep my voice down.
"That was his way! He believed in what you were trying to do. I'm not going to listen you carry this around. His blood is not on your hands! Now come on."
I took her by the arm, to Pinklon's door. Before she entered, she turned back to me.
"Everyone's blood is on my hands, Jay," she said, in a tiny, helpless voice. " All of them. Everyone's blood is on my hands, and Billy's, and the President's--on all our hands. It's the way things work. The way they've always worked."
I shook my head.
"Not here."
With that, I headed down to CiC. Nothing would change her mind, nothing ever would. Her ideals were all she had left, now that our government was shattered into a thousand pieces. They would probably be her burden as well as her security blanket for the rest of her life--which could end next week, or whenever Saul Tigh needed some coffee, or tylium, or whatever. All four of our flight officers turned when I entered, and they stood, with Brad Stengler in front.
"Krenzik," he began. "Jay, when we first started trading, and decided Caffrey would be best suited to run the. . .business end of all this, we did it because he was among the people, just like all of you, and he had a way about him with others, like you do."
I just looked at them, and they stared back as if the conclusion was as evident as the ships floating in formation around us.
"What I'm trying to tell you, Jay, is this."
Jay? I realized then that Stengler had never called me by my first name, ever. Now, he had done it twice.
"Caffrey and I went over a lot of things, and one of them was what would happen should he pass on. We all agreed that-that you would replace him as foreman."
"Me?"
I had to lean against the hatch, as my legs felt suddenly unstable.
"What about Mangan, he--"
Jeffers cut me off.
"Mangan is good with machines. That's why he's never gone beyond FTL tech, never wanted to. Being a foreman is about people. And you've done a lot of good things, because you understand people. We think they'll follow you, Krenzik."
"Before we announced the news," Stengler said. "We boxed up Caffrey's things. You can start moving into the foreman's quarters any time you like."
The foreman is dead! Long live the foreman! It didn't feel right, just rumbling into his old room when Caff's body was barely cold. I didn't know how I felt. Last week, I was in a fistfight with Nick. Before that, I remembered my shaking hands as I tried to light a smoke, after wading through a sea of dirty orphans. I was the same guy who landed Diana Thalyka on the cover of "Scuttlebutt." I barely did anything that day on Colonial One. Caff did it all, standing proud before the President of the Twelve Colonies, giving her the no-nonsense summation of why her ship needed parts right then. He walked out working-class hero. I walked out a political liability.
The Captain extended his hand, and I shook it, firmly. My misgivings were, as of that moment, irrelevant. So what if my heart was about to explode out of my chest? I couldn't mourn any longer. I had an engine room to run. My feelings had to burrow deep.
I shook all their hands, after that, and finally, Stengler handed me Caff's sidearm.
"We have faith in you, Krenzik," Stengler said. "Now get your men to work."
My men? It still didn't feel right. Maybe it never would.
I turned to leave, stopped.
"Sir," I told Stengler. "For now, give Diana my quarters. She'll have the privacy she needs in there, and her own bathroom.
Stengler nodded, and I thought about handing them back Caff's weapon, to give to her, as well, but decided to do it myself. After all, I'd know for sure she was at least told correctly how load and fire it.
I didn't waste any time, returning to Pinklon's office. Diana recoiled at first, when I removed the 9mm semi-auto, as if I was handing her a rabid weasel to cuddle. I pressed, and she finally curled her fingers around the grip. The pistol looked like a cannon in her small hands, and I could tell she wasn't used to its weight. I took it back, pointed out everything.
"This is the trigger…the safety… got it?"
She nodded, as if she almost didn't comprehend the language I was using.
I sighed. "Look. If it comes down to it, you may need to use this. Tigh doesn't take prisoners." I slid out the clip, made sure Diana saw how I did it, then slammed it back into place, handed it back to her.
"Now, you do it."
Her fingers clumsily tried to make the clip slide out. She shook her head.
"Show me again," she asked, handing it back.
I did it slowly, the next time, easing it out, slamming it back in once more.
Diana clumsily repeated my motions with the pistol. It wasn't great, but she showed me she could do it.
"Practice," I told her. "By the way, Stengler's going to come down here, tell you to move into Caff's--my quarters whenever you're ready."
My quarters? It didn't feel right, didn't ring true in my ears. I wondered if it ever would.
She stared at the weapon that she held gingerly in both hands, then looked up at me.
"Your quarters? You mean--"
"Yeah. Looks like I got an engine room to run."
I had an engine room, a still, and lots of trade to worry about, in addition to protecting our cargo and the lives of seven other people, aft. My thoughts raced, every step feeling leaden, going through the narrow corridors, through the mess, and down the ladder. What would Mangan think of all this, and everyone else? Nick Sorg? I didn't want to know.
I slid down the ladder, and was relieved, at least, that I wouldn't have to go find the crew--my crew. My crew? They stood in our usual meeting circle in front of the main turbine, and I took the vacant patch of concrete where Caff would never stand again. Mangan looked me over, with his usual icy calm. Everyone stood there. Nick was staring blankly, eyes downward. Marty and Toby looked at me, a little wide-eyed.
The FTL tech--my second, handed me the clipboard, with our schedule. He knew. They all did, already.
"Caff told me, after he hashed it out with Stengler. They're all yours, boss. I know where you're gonna send me, so I'm gonna get to it."
With that, he lit a smoke, and headed toward his place, amidst the circuitry and energy coils of the FTL room.
I cleared my throat, sweating as everyone looked up at me, needing someone, needing me to tell them what to do.
"Well," I said, glad I didn't sound as nervous as I felt. "Like the Captain said, go find anything you want to send off with Caff. In a minute, I'm heading to tell Briar to find a good spaceworthy crate. Have what you need ready by 1850 hours, like Stengler said. After. . . "
I looked to Nick Sorg, who stared right back, icily. "After lunch, Nick , you go take Marty with you and do the hose check/maintenance of the port aft stabilizers. He hasn't seen much of that since joining us. And you need the hands-on Marty. And one more thing. We don't have any shuttles scheduled, except the Priest's. We will meet any docking ship, in force, armed. Tomorrow, we take those assault rifles to the firing range. That's all."
With that I turned around, left my men to their duties, to find my own memories of Caff, and figure out what I wanted to leave with him, as we laid him to rest.
One of the steel crates that had carried our new assault rifles was the right size for a coffin, so we used that. The Priest was younger than most Brothers I'd known, maybe 35, from the luxury liner. He was very warm and friendly, telling us deliberately how the ceremony would go, about half an hour before we were to begin. It was to be short and sweet, but as fitting as it could be, until Tigh saw fit to ever send us Caff's body or his ashes.
We lined the crate with a bed sheet. Jeffers placed Caff's spare ID badge, and a picture our foreman took with his daughter, from a couple years ago. He was with his children, and his twin grandbabies, now. I wondered, if they finally reconciled in Heaven. Nick placed a deck of playing cards, along with our Pyramid ball, alongside. Toby gently laid a mason jar of our house booze down, and his lips moved slightly in prayer, before he moved along. Marty laid down a half-chewed cigar, with Cloud Nine's logo embossed on the band, and, after him, Ed inserted a printout of Caff shaking hands with the president. Mangan placed a snapshot of he and Caff fishing along Lake Tuscan, on Canceron. Then he put a matchbook and a shotglass within. Whatever the latter two meant, it was between the two of them.
After Briar, Bobby, and Dan paid their respects, Diana came up the freight elevator. Her black pantsuit was crisp, clean, her government ID clipped to one wide lapel. The Secretary cradled a triangle of fabric, the Colonial flag that used to hang in the flight crew break room. Her hair was pulled back in a neat, tight bun. Her lips stood out in stark contrast to her alabaster skin, colored a severe burgundy. I figured she probably borrowed some makeup from Moore, who was every bit the polar opposite of Diana's fair complexion, flaxen hair, and willowy build. Her eyes, shadowed a warm brown, met mine for a brief moment, opening a window to her sorrow, as I approached Caffrey's box. She stood a discreet distance behind me, waiting to pay her respects.
With both hands, I tenderly laid my half-full bottle of Old Geminon down. I remembered what Caff said, the morning we all tasted the last can of lemon-lime Blasto. "To better days, so say we all." One day, he and I would toast again.
I rejoined the mechanics--my mechanics--in line, to the left of the crate, and Diana cautiously approached. Her lips pursed, quivered, as tears formed at the edges of her eyes, but she wouldn't let them fall. She stared at the parting gifts before her. I thought she would lay the flag inside, but instead, with an unsteady hand, she unclipped the badge from her lapel, laid it down next to our offerings. Diana's eyes squeezed shut, and she clutched the edge of the box, there because of his sacrifice. She breathed sharply through her nose, then reached into her jacket pocket, to reveal a lock of her hair. She left it with Caff, turned to join the flight crew on the right, flag in hand.
She extended it reverently, toward Stengler.
"Captain Stengler…"
Her voice cracked, and I wanted to cry, then, leave the last of my tears to my foreman, my friend, but I didn't have the luxury of grief anymore. My jaw tightened, until I thought my teeth would break, and the moment passed.
"Accept James Caffrey's flag, on behalf the grateful people of the Twelve Colonies."
Head bowed, Stengler took the flag, then approached the crate, a decade of age seemingly adding weight to his features. He laid it in, returned to the line.
The Priest nodded to us. It was time to begin. His ornate vestments shined in the overhead lights, as he smoothly unfurled his scrolls.
"The burdens of this life are with us, but a short time. For James Caffrey, son of Delroy and Louise Caffrey, brother of Theodore, Lester, Jenna, Martin, and Simone, the time was too short, but we take comfort in knowing that his life was dedicated to leadership and service of others. We honor him for that, and thus it falls upon us, to repent our sins. And, with the help of the Lords of Kobol, make ourselves worthy of that gift. Now, we commit his body to the universe, from which we were all made, secure in the knowledge that we will be reunited with him in a better place. So say we all."
"So say we all." Our muted cadence seemed almost swallowed by the immensity of the cargo hold. That was our cue, for Briar to raise the airlock's gate, and for us, Caff's men, to place his crate inside.
The flashing strobe above shined red over the buffed metal surface, as she shut lid on Jim Caffrey's life. The alarm droned, almost drowning out the Priest's words, as we gently laid him down, and the gate sealed shut again.
The outer doors parted, and the box shot out into the vacuum, swallowed by the infinite, night, joining the stars and other heavenly bodies that would shine on for eternity.
Goodbye, Caff.