I don't know how she did it, but Diana was crisp, alert. The same suit that hung disheveled on her last night, when she thought about ending it all, adorned her willowy frame now as if it had just returned from the cleaners.
Sleep came grudgingly the night before. The weight of grief and expectation, the pressure of being thrust into leadership, and wondering why Caff picked me, left my eyes open, staring at the bedsprings of Toby's bunk above me.
Oh yeah, and I kissed her.
Sensory overload left me feeling like I should have at least tucked in my shirt as I yawned over my cup of black coffee.
Her burgundy lips turned upward in a slight grin, as she brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face.
"You look like I feel, Jay."
"Well, I wish I felt how you look, although I doubt I'll find a suit in that cut that'll fit me."
She tilted her head, brow furrowing.
"Not likely. Are we meeting with just the Captain or the entire command staff?"
"The cap'n and Jeffers," I said, before sucking in some java to kick-start my synapses.
She stood watching me for a moment, before I realized that I had to lead her to CiC, and she knew it.
"Oh, okay. Let's go. But you need to do most of the talking. I'll jump in when you need a hand."
For the first time ever, I sat in the flight crew's break room as Caff did for so many years before me. I had empirical evidence that Milt Jeffers did indeed look freshly pressed 24/7, and that Stengler would always look as if he rolled out of bed ten minutes ago.
We left Moore and Mitchell to run the boat as we mapped out the day, and I pitched Diana's plan.
"The Secretary approached me last night, and came up with a plan to fill the ration void and continue trading on some level, until Galactica gets supply lines moving again."
I nodded to Diana, and hoped she was thinking more crisply than I. It was her job, after all. I was still feeling my way around mine. I thought of the blank stares I received the night before from the guys--my guys--who wouldn't have to wake up for another thirty minutes.
She commandeered a few sheets of New Castle Freight stationary and a pen from my quarters.
Secretary Thalyka cleared her throat.
"As you may know, in addition to trade between ships, rations are dispensed to ships by the government—especially to smaller ships unable to make enough trades to feed their people. In addition, of the trades that occur, many—although not nearly all—", she said with a tense but knowing smile "—are facilitated, or at least monitored and encouraged, by the government as well. However, with Colonial One out of contact, and the Quorum of Twelve dissolved, that is no longer the case."
Stengler sipped his own coffee, looking at her, waiting for more.
"What she's saying is," I continued. "For a time, we can get the vessels with civvie shuttles to hook up, and send some of our excess rations, like the government stuff we've been stockpiling in the hold, out to some of the small liners, you know?"
The Captain nodded, as Jeffers pursed his lips, in seeming thought.
"Okay," Stengler began. "Let me see if I'm getting this. We basically feed the smaller vessels until…when? We don't know when Galactica will start up the supply lines. I mean, I think they will, but what if we go through all the MRE's and dry stuff? Ships will be expecting more, still, and then what will happen when the wrong people see our fresh goods rolling through the fleet?"
"To answer your first question, Captain, by no means do I expect you to go through all your supplies. If a ship has nothing, yes, supply them for nothing in return. But if a ship has anything to trade—anything at all, that they can afford to spare—make a trade for it. Preferably, for an item that another ship needs. Then, trade THAT item for something that ANOTHER ship needs, and so on. In that way, you will only jumpstart the process. You won't be the sole supplier, simply the hub, so to speak."
"Yeah, but what about what that's going to look like, with all those shuttles coming and going?"
"Your ship, Captain, already has a much greater volume of both incoming and outgoing trade than many other ships in the fleet. Given that, and the fact that you have yet to draw attention to yourselves, I would not expect a slight rise in volume of trade traffic to be cause for concern—or even for notice—aboard Galactica. After all, if they thought enough about trade routes and supplies to be tracking trade routes, they would be thinking enough to have set up a system already."
Jeffers nodded emphatically.
"She's got a point, Brad. We don't' really deal in anything essential, anyway, outside of sending the mechanics out, or occasional parts. Most of the goods we barter are liquor, tobacco, things like that."
Damn, she was good. I'd never seen Milt Jeffers agree with anyone.
"Besides," I interjected. "We're not the only ship with a good setup. I don't think it would put a dent in our dry stuff for over month, based on what we have in the racks. The vessels we'll be helping, even for nothing, really don't need much. And, correct me if I'm wrong, the big task would be to get the shuttle jocks from the luxury liner, the refinery, and the other big boys to make a deal to move the stuff."
Diana paused for a breath, then shook her head in affirmation.
"Pretty much—people will be eager to trade, if we can supply them with something they need. Getting things started will be the toughest part. Once everything is started, though, it should pretty much be a self-sustaining system."
Her eyes slid back over to Jeffers and Stengler, who rubbed his chin, as if the answer was on the tip of his tongue, already.
"Okay," he said. "We'll try it for a week. Dry rations only, and no off-ship repairs until the climate's a little cooler out there. We lost one good man already. We don't need to lose any more. If we get any word--and I mean any word, Krenzik--that Galactica is giving us a long look, shut it down."
"You got it, Cap'n. I'll get the guys up top with Briar to stage everything."
"Right," Jeffers said, rising from his seat. "I'll tell Mitchell to drum up some shuttle traffic, and put the word out to the little guys. I'll have the schedule printed up for Maintenance and Briar in five minutes."
With that, Milt Jeffers was off to start the day.
"Thanks," I told Stengler. Diana stood, formally extending her hand, just as she did the very first time she stepped on the Lady a seeming lifetime ago.
He firmly grasped hers, shook.
"I hope this can work. But if it doesn't get others to do the same, we can't keep it up for long. Like it or not, we have keep our own house in order, first."
"It can work, Captain Stengler," she said, every syllable meaning it. "I'll make it work. WE'LL make it work."
Yesterday, she wanted to die. Now, she wanted to feed the fleet. Yesterday, I was waiting for Caff to come home, so he could tell us what to do next, and now, I was the one who ran Down Below. I was a little in awe of her, then. She could have let herself crumble under the weight of being the last member of the government who could do anything, even when her job didn't truly exist anymore. When I took the schedule out to the mechanics--my mechanics—I would have to do the same. Press on, or be crushed, and take others down with me.
I sat at the head of the breakfast table, in what was now my chair. Diana was seated to my left, where another guy who looked like me sat for years, doing what he was told. I passed the clipboard down, starting with Toby. I didn't have to worry about how to begin, as questions came at me with full force.
"Okay," Marty began, suddenly forgetting his biscuit suspended in sausage gravy. "Uh, why are we marking and staging all the dry rations?"
My throat felt exceptionally dry, as I sipped my water.
"Well, until Galactica gets the supply network up and running, we, with the help of civvies, are going to trade food for goods with all the smaller ships we can--"
"What about those that don't have nothing," Nick interrupted, his face already red. I don't know what I expected. Nick Sorg was the kind of person who would think all was right with the worlds if he was the only one left standing after a nuclear blast. He probably would have been happier being the last man alive on Libron, instead of working this tub and running from the toasters.
"Then, Nick," I told him, making sure I made eye contact. "We give it to 'em."
The clipboard changed hands, down the line, coming to Mike Briar, the shipping clerk. Bobby and Dan huddled around him to look.
"How long are we gonna be expected to keep this up," Mangan asked.
I wanted to look to Diana, to give her spin, but thought better of it. I could tell by the shift in mood after she sat down that it would be best if she were seen and not heard.
"We have enough dry stuff to last us three months. Most of it's going to the smaller vessels with populations the same size as ours or less. Since Adama's up and around again, there's no sign marines will be cutting into anyone else, so they'll want a supply line up ASAP. They need fed, too, and--"
"Who came up with this shit, anyway?" Nick rose from his seat, leaning on the table, glaring at me. I had hoped he would have waited to pull my punk card, but I wasn't surprised. He was at his toughest around an audience.
I almost stood as well, but decided I should play it cool. Even if it didn't feel like it, I was in charge. It was time to start acting like I was.
"As I was saying, Nick. They need fed too, and they will want to keep the natives from getting too restless and put on a happier face after the Gideon. If we draw the wrong kind of attention, we pull the plug. In response to your question, Secretary Thalyka approached me last night with the idea. Stengler gave his okay before Jeffers printed up the schedule."
Sorg's eyes slid over to Diana, and he shook his head. "This is bullshit." Diana's gaze locked firmly with his, and she sat a little straighter. Without a word, she seemed to tell him "that's the way it is."
I shrugged, feeling my face grow hot. He was definitely pulling my punk card now. The irony was, as just another mechanic, I could have gotten in his face the same way I did when he wanted to leave Galactica's pilot to die on that dead moon months ago.
"Maybe," I told him, fighting to keep my tone even. "But it's on the schedule. So eat up and get to it."
They all looked at me then, for an eternal moment, before forks and spoons dug into food once more.
Mangan was the first to leave, as he did every morning I worked with him. He popped a cigarette into his mouth, and headed for the FTL room in silence. Nick made a point to clatter his dishes loudly as he dumped them in the plastic tray at the end of the mess line. Plastic slammed against metal as he ditched his tray atop the trash can, before he followed Coursen, Marty, and the fork lift guys out to the cargo hold. At least I hoped he would. I suddenly became aware of our 9mm semi-autos in our shoulder holsters, and the assault rifles sleeping on their racks near the firing range, waiting to cut loose. Was Nick Sorg all talk? What about the others, who quietly followed along? If a person doesn't like something, he either leaves it alone, or eliminates it.
Toby, the only one left besides Diana, put up his tray, paused at the double doors.
"Look…Jay. I respect you, okay? But this is a bad idea. I mean, shit. If they see us, they're gonna see her. And she's public enemy number one to them--"
"Then we just have to know when to pull the plug, right?"
My welder looked to Diana as if in apology, then to me again. I leaned forward, resting on my elbows.
"Right, Toby?"
He gave a slight nod and was gone. I rubbed my temples, and sighed.
"Well, that was an unmitigated disaster. So much for rallying the troops."
Diana slid her chair closer to me, laid a hand atop mine.
"They're doing what you asked. That's not a disaster."
She knew how to work in a world of power and bureaucracy, but I felt like her naivete shined through here. I supposed it had to come with the fierce idealism she showed me that night on Cloud Nine.
I gently squeezed her fingers.
"For now. You'd never see that when Caff was here. Sure, if we didn't like something, we'd tell him, but Nick would never pull the shit he did during a morning meeting. I feel like I need eyes in the back of my head."
"Maybe you can get them in time, to see what we're trying to do. I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, but Nick doesn't exactly seem too popular with the rest of the men."
I laughed. She had a gift for understatement.
"Yeah, but he's normal to them. I've never been. He's not the most liked, but Ed Coursen's his best buddy. He does have some respect with the rest of the guys. When it comes down to it, he's just an asshole, not a bad mechanic."
"Look, if you think Nick is a lost cause, don't focus so much on him. Worry about the others--either Nick will come around in time, or he won't. As long as he does what he's told, that's all that really matters. And in the beginning, that's all you can ask for."
I shook my head. She knew what it was like to have leadership thrust into her lap, but this was different. She had structure, the Articles to fall back on. The only thing that backed up this ship was New Castle Freight, which now, presumably, was a pile of rubble. We were an island unto ourselves. Looking into her eyes and seeing the earnest resolve in her gaze, I couldn't feed her my gloom and doom--not all of it, anyway.
"I hope you're right, I really do."
"Obedience is given, and respect is earned. It's hard to step into being a leader. But I think it's probably hard too, to step into following someone new so abruptly. They obey you, now. Do well, and they will come to respect you as well."
"Well," I said, looking at the clipboard. "They also need to respect you a bit more. When we leave here, I'm firing up the still with Ed and Toby. You are going up to look in on the boys in the cargo hold. If you're more than just a suit sitting Up Top, they may not feel so nervous around you."
What I didn't tell her was that she would be a good barometer for how much some of those guys actually respected me. I had a feeling they knew there was something between us, no matter how small it was at that point. If they went so far as to give her shit, I'd know to sleep with my gun under the pillow.
II
When I entered the cargo bay, it was nearly as much a hub of activity as Colonial One, on any given day—the main differences being that the space was larger, less people were involved, and there was machinery involved—two large forklifts, dropping crates by the airlock, then going back for more. Two men—the young guy, Marty, and the ass, Nick—were standing by the crates waiting to be moved, checking things off on a pair of clipboards. A third man was standing near where the forklifts were working—with what must have been supreme trust in their drivers not to run him over—with another clipboard, looking back and forth from one forklift, to the other, to the men by the boxes. I ran a hand instinctively along my suit, smoothing it, and weaved my way through it all to the man—what was his name? Brisk…Bryce…Briar--That was it—who appeared to be overseeing things.
"How is everything going, Mister Briar?"
His head raised from his clipboard slowly, and he gave me a slight smile—the type of not cold but not warm smile that I myself had fixed on so many people, these last few months. It was, I have to admit, a bit odd, to have it shown to me, instead.
"It's going fine, Miss. Not a big deal, really. We just gotta find and check off the ration crates, then figure out how we need to break the stuff up once we get some calls."
"Excellent. Do you have any shuttles due to come in on your normal trade schedule that you could send things out on?"
"Well, no. Ever since the Gideon, there's no traffic. We'll get word when Jeffers either comes down to tell us, or gives word to Jay."
I made a mental note to speak to Jeffers—or Jay, or perhaps both—as soon as possible. They might be willing to wait for some mystical word from above, but I knew that there were many people out there, in the fleet, who couldn't afford that.
"Understood."
I paused, casting my eyes around the cargo bay.
"Mind if I look around for a moment, Mister Briar?"
"Go ahead, but make sure you watch where Dan and Bobby are going, they sure as hell don't," he replied, focusing once again intently on the papers before him.
They didn't? He knew they didn't, and he still was willing to stand out here?
Shrugging off my questions over his sanity with regards to being willing to stand in the path of huge machinery, I walked over to where the crates were being piled up. I spent a moment or two looking them over and then started over to where Marty and Nick were checking off the other crates before they were moved. About halfway there I noticed that Nick had his eyes locked on me, and probably had for some time. He was leaning against one of the crates, clipboard hung at his side. I admit, I probably—definitely—looked out of place in the cargo bay. The look in his eyes wasn't confusion, or interest, or even the fear or disagreement which I saw in some of the other eyes around me. No, the look in his eyes was something that—for all the anger, fear, and insanity that had been in eyes that faced me these last few months—I had never before had fixed upon me: Pure, unmitigated hatred. I suppressed a shiver, and it was all I could do to continue walking towards them.
"How are things going, gentlemen?"
Marty looked up, grinned a little. It seemed forced, like Briar's had.
"It's going okay, it's all pretty much MRE's and instant stuff. We just gotta put everything in categories."
"Speak for yourself, Marty," Nick began. "I still have some, um, problems with all this."
He walked toward me, tapping his clipboard on one of his meaty thighs. I remembered Jay telling me he had actually gotten into a fistfight with this man just last week. He was short, not quite my height, but he was broad-shouldered, muscular—and, frankly, mean. For the moment, I decided to ignore him, speaking once again to Marty.
"Good. With any luck, we can start moving some of it out by the end of the day."
"I see you got this all planned out, huh," Nick asked me, as he made a point of it to move back into my line of vision.
As much as I didn't want to, I made a point to meet his eyes again, my own gaze hard, as it had been earlier that morning.
"Yes, I do. I would never have proposed it if I had not."
He tilted his head to one side and sneered. "So you got a plan for when Galactica kicks down our door? When they tear through here lookin' for you? I sure wouldn't wanna get the way of 'em. We already lost our boss."
I wanted to flinch away from his gaze, not so much because of him, but because of the reminder, once again,of what had occurred several days before. He had a right to feel whatever he wished over the loss of his boss. And he had, whether I might agree with his views or not, a right to hold whatever views he wished concerning my presence here. He did not, however, have a right to speak to me in the manner in which he currently was...and however much I might like to let that comment slide as well, to avoid a confrontation, I knew I could not. Respect is earned, I had told Jay shortly before. But respect is also conditional: If you do not demand it…few, if any, will give it to you. And if you allow others to mistreat you…you may end up losing the respect of those who previously had granted it to you as well.
"That, Mister Sorg, is your prerogative. If, for some reason, Galactica chose to board this vessel, it would make very little difference to me whether you chose to fight, to hide, or to do nothing. We must all make our own decisions. However, I do not believe you should be speaking to me in that manner."
In the corner of my eye I saw Marty looking up at us, and was suddenly aware that the constant hum of the forklifts had ceased.
He chuckled, mocking me. "Well, I don't believe you should even be here, but you are, ain't you."
Enough was enough. That was even further across the line than before. I fixed my hardest stare on him, the kind I had seen President Roslin give these past few months, to those who in the initial days after the bombing, or the chaos directly after it, forgot who and what she was and the respect—or at least courtesy—her position demanded they accord her.
"Yes. I am here. And barring the repeal of the illegal declaration of martial law on the part of Galactica, I am here to stay. You don't have to like it, Mister Sorg. You don't have to agree with it. But you do have to accept it. And you don't have to like me, or even to respect me. But you do have to treat me with the courtesy to which I am due. Because as I recall, your captain did not take a vote on the issue."
"Well, the way I was brought up, you don't go around bossin' people around in their own house. And this ain't your house, is it? You should just be happy to be here. You're causin' us trouble."
Behind us, Briar's voice called out before I could so much as open my mouth in reply.
"Hey Nick, Krenzik wants this stuff done before lunch so---"
Nick, for his part, looked over at Briar, and shouted back.
"Just mind your business, Mike! Me and the uh, Madame whatever are talkin'."
Among others, it would have been forgetfulness, unfamiliarity with proper titles, or simply too much stress to bother. But the way he formed his words, the tone of his voice—especially his emphasis on the word "whatever"—told me his errors and omissions were deliberate. When Briar did not immediately respond, I gathered myself, met his eyes once again, and spoke to his earlier comments:
"I assure you, I am indeed very happy to be here. And I do realize the difficulties this may impose upon your ship and crew, and am doing—and will continue to do—my best to mitigate them. But as far as your comment about this not being my house is concerned: As a matter of fact, Mister Sorg, I do believe this—and every other ship in the fleet—IS my house, after a fashion. And you would do well to remember that."
"Man..." He shook his head, and sneered in contempt "You got Krenzik wrapped around your frakkin' finger, dontcha?" Then he leaned in, far too close, until he was no more than a few inches from my face. "I don't want your ass on this ship. Never did. You better stay outta my way."
Life on Colonial One had robbed me of any sense of personal space I had had prior to the destruction of the Colonies. However, this, like the captain who had nearly slugged me during the water crisis, was different. His body language, and the way in which he leaned in, spoke of a clear threat and an intent to intimidate. I wanted to back up, but that would have been letting him get away with it. There was only one man who would be backing up here, and it was going to be Nicholas Sorg. Rather than backing up, I leaned in that final inch myself, before responding. The fear clawed at me, as it had so long ago facing the enraged captain, but I ignored it, and somehow, to my own surprise, managed to keep my voice not only level, but authoritative and cold.
"I suggest you step back, Mister Sorg. I don't believe your captain would be pleased to learn of this exchange. It would be much more convenient for both of us if it remained between us, don't you agree? So. Step. Back. Now."
He didn't move, initially, just standing there, his eyes full of even more rage than before….and a great deal of shock as well. But after a moment or two, he whirled, and threw his clipboard to the deck. It landed with a loud, harsh "CLANG!" against the metal of the deck, and he stormed off. And if anger had been a weapon, the sheer amount in his stride as he exited the cargo bay would have been enough for us to defeat the entirety of the Cylon race.
Briar shouted after him, ""Hey! Nick! Where you goin'?", and without turning, or even pausing, Nick angrily shouted back an excuse: "I gotta shit!".
Trying to maintain my composure, I turned back to Marty, then to Briar, and nodded at them both.
"Looks like you're doing an excellent job, gentlemen. By all means, carry on."
With that, I, too, exited the cargo bay, careful to walk slowly, calmly, purposefully, even though what I wanted to do was run from the room and slam my fist into a bulkhead, Once I was out of the cargo bay, the hatch closed behind me, I began to move more quickly, as quickly as my feet would carry me without running. I needed to get back where there were people—anyone else. It wasn't much safer, I was beginning to think, for me to be alone in a corridor with Nick around than it would have been for me to have stayed aboard the Gideon. Because Nick Sorg was bad news—worse news than even I had first assumed.
I was about halfway back to CiC—where I had been planning to head, just to not be alone, with Nick around—when I suddenly realized how hungry I was. Even though I doubted it was mealtime (and on a ship like this—like all ships, now—mealtime would be set and limited), I headed to the cafeteria anyways, hoping that perhaps I could at least snag a sandwich, or a pack of rations.
When I entered, I looked around for Lina or Neil, and finally spotted Lina by the sink, surrounded by a pile of dishes. I waited a moment or two, thinking she would have heard my footsteps, but finally, realized she must not have noticed my entrance.
"Excuse me, Lina—"
She turned then, and I continued.
"I'm sorry to bother you—I know lunch isn't supposed to be until later—but would it be possible for me to get a couple of slices of toast, please?"
"Hmmm...well, okay. I'm takin' my break anyway in a minute, so sit tight. I'll fix you up something."
I took a seat at the table, and a few minutes later, Lina appeared, carrying not one but two plates of food—and not just toast, either. She set one of the plates in front of me—on it was two pieces of toast with jelly, as well as a couple of sausages, and what looked like reconstituted scrambled eggs. To my even greater surprise, she then took the other plate, and set it down on the table as well, taking a seat directly across from me. Both of us ate in silence for awhile, until I had finished. I was still unable to hold myself, in the wake of going so long without food, to the polite and leisurely eating habits which had been instilled in me since childhood.
"Thank you, Lina."
She looked up from her own plate, then, and her eyes seemed to sweep over me, before finally lingering for a few seconds on my face.
"It's okay, you're lookin' a little peaked. Besides, Nobody really comes back here to talk to me, except Neil back there, unfortunately. And the food ain't never that good to stick around. So, what's on your mind? "
I hesitated a moment, unsure of whether I should bring up what was truly on my mind with anyone. Finally, however, I spoke.
"They don't like having me here. I can tell... because they go so far as to practically say so. At a meeting today, one of them turned to Jay and mouthed off about me. And the way they look at me, and speak to me...or in some cases, the way they don't speak to me. And just now, in the cargo bay…"
I paused, then took a deep breath and continued.
"One of them—the same one as was mouthing off earlier this morning—he was mouthing off to me again, criticizing me, my orders, my plan they were carrying out, everything. When I tried to tell him it wasn't really appropriate, he went off the deep end. Told me he didn't think I should be here…told me I don't have any authority here. And when I tried to remind him that I did…he just got in my face, with hatred in his eyes, and the things he said got even worse."
I paused again, trying to calm myself, finding I was having a harder time holding it together now, as I recounted everything, than I had had when all of it actually happened.
"…and none of the rest did anything about it. When he finally got out of my face, it was because I made him…no one else so much as lifted a finger or spoke a word against him, the entire time."
She nodded, slowly.
"Yeah, they hate ya."
"Why?"
"Well, I don't think anybody wants to throw you to the wolves--I think. But you're on the run, and they're scared."
"Most of them, maybe. But I was on Colonial One, when Galactica's marines boarded. And I was out among the fleet, during the water crisis, and on the Gideon before the marines stormed her. I know what fear looks like, what it causes people to do, or not do. And for some of them...particularly one of them…it isn't fear, at all."
After a moment, she leaned forward, and gestured with her hand to indicate I should do the same. Still somewhat mystified, I nevertheless leaned in close. When she spoke again, her voice was barely more than a whisper.
"They don't tell me shit. But they think I'm deaf sometimes when they come an' grab coffee."
As if I was not already confused—and surprised—enough, she suddenly reached out, then, and grasped my hand in hers.
"Remember this, if something happens. The Cap'n don't really run this boat. Never did. The boys down below, the knuckledraggers have always run it. Jimmy Caffrey ran it, and Jay has gotta run it. I can tell ya right now it don't sit well with him gettin' the job. They're scared, and scared people do crazy things."
That, I knew all too well, many times over, after these last few months. And despite my best efforts, when I spoke again, a touch of the fear and uncertainty I felt had creeped into my voice.
"You said, they say things, when they think you don't hear. What did they say?"
She looked over her shoulder, even though she must have known there was no one else in the room—the same type of paranoia I exhibited when it came to the press—and then turned back to me once more, her voice now barely audible.
"It might be nothin' but Nick Sorg--the stumpy guy--and Jay don't get along--heard they got into a fight playin' pyramid last week--and they was goin' at it it like dogs in a pit. Never liked each other to begin with. And Nick don't trust nobody 'cept Nick. Never did."
I thought back, to the way he had treated me, and the way he seemed to treat the others.
"Yeah, he doesn't seem to like anyone. And he seems to hate Jay. But…he seems to hate me a whole lot more."
Even now, I couldn't make sense of it all—Jay was the one who'd been in a fight with him, the one who he didn't think should be foreman. I had done nothing to him. And it wasn't even fear on his part. Because the look in his eyes, when he looked at me, wasn't fear, like the look in the other men's eyes when they laid eyes upon me. No, his gaze held hatred, and contempt.
"He never trusted government, even before the bombs dropped. Now he sees his new boss, a guy he hates, makin' him run your plan. Eddy Coursen don't like you either, 'cause he goes along with Nick on everything."
Wonderful. No wonder he had made that comment, in the cargo bay, about me having wrapped Jay around my little finger—it must seem, given his views, to be an alliance of his worst enemies.
Before I could say anything in reply, however, Lina shook her head, and continued.
"Everybody don't know what to make of you, but those two think you're gonna bring Galactica crashin' down on us. An' when Nick don't like something, he likes to take matters into his own hands, or so I hear."
The Colonies had been destroyed. Everyone I had ever known, everything I had ever known, had died, or been destroyed. Everything but the government, the Articles, the people, and my duty to them. And then, so abruptly…they—and nearly everyone I had come to know since the bombs fell—had been gone too, with Adama's coup, and Tigh's declaration of martial law. I had thought I was safe, on Colonial One, after the destruction of the Colonies, only to have Adama arrest the President. I had thought I was at least somewhat safe, after that, only to have Tigh declare martial law. I had thought I was safe on the Gideon, only to have Galactica's marines storm her…and someone die, for me. And I had thought I was safe here…Only to now discover this. I couldn't help it, now—even as shame and anger at myself for doing so washed over me, I leaned my elbows against the table…and lowered my head into my hands.
Suddenly, I felt hands, rough and worn like my grandmother's had been, grip mine, forcing me to lift my head, and look into her eyes. All I wanted to do, even in this moment was to hide my face, and look away, before I gave anything away…before I broke my decorum any more than I already had. But her grip on my hands prevented that, and I found I could not stop the words that came out of my mouth.
"I…I really thought we had a chance. I thought—I guess we all thought—that we could guide everyone to safety. Protect them from the Cylons. When we heard, what had happened on he Colonies, and later, when we learned Adar was dead…it all happened so fast. She took the oath of office, then we all took ours. And all that time, we never had time to think, to think we were a broken government, over a broken, shattered people. Because we couldn't afford to think that—we had to be better than that, believe we were better than that, believe we were more than that—that we were real, as real as Adar and his Cabinet on the Colonies, and that those ships out there were the Colonies, as real as Caprcica, and Libron, and all the others. But maybe we should have stopped to think. Because we just pressed on, like we had to—tried our best—but never realizing the mistakes we made, in all the chaos. Never realizing it, until it was too late. Because I guess maybe we weren't as good as our predecessors, back on the Colonies. Because this didn't take the Cylons. We did this to ourselves….we did this to our people."
"This ain't nothin' new. The Cylons, during the first war, raided Libron for iron ore. They bombed us--hard! When they left, it took days for the Fleet to send help. People were tearin' at each other, even then! You stuck with somebody you trusted. So you stick with Jay."
Her response made it clear she hadn't understood what I meant. Or perhaps, she had, and had chosen to ignore it. If the former, it was only understandable—everyone views things through the filter of their own experiences, and she was unlikely to know how to respond to the dilemmas of leadership and statesmanship I had just posed, anyways. And if the latter, then I supposed I was grateful to her, for ignoring the words I should never have let slip past my lips.
All I could do, at that moment, was nod in reply. I let no words slip past my lips, lest they betray me, as my last words had.
She rose, then, and started walking back towards the kitchen, then paused, and turned halfway, looking over her shoulder at me.
"Oh, and don't think I don't see the goo-goo eyes you two been makin' at each other..."
I opened my mouth to reply—unable, this time, to stay silent, no matter what I worried my lips would produce—but before I could so much as utter a syllable, she had turned away again, and resumed her brisk walk towards the kitchen, shouting.
"GODSDAMMIT TO HELL, NEIL! WE GOTTA START LUNCH ANDTHIS FLOOR AIN'T MOPPED YET AN' THE DISHES AIN'T DONE!"
III
The miners were the first to answer the call. They were interested in freeing up a shuttle to carry provisions out to the smaller vessels, for five cases of homebrew this week. After that, I would have to meet with their chief of maintenance to hash out a deal for anything beyond that.
Toby grimaced, as he gave me a second opinion on the last test shot before we started case number one. The stuff was one step below solvent, but drinking it wouldn't hurt you.
We adjusted the mix, and let the still go to work. My welder (a day would come when I would get used to saying that) stayed quiet as we worked, doing his job, the silence thickening incrementally. I didn't know what to do. Should I prod him, or let leave him to his thoughts? He told me where he stood already, more or less. I had a feeling it wouldn't make any difference that I felt just as lost as they did, except I was the one who was supposed to lead them. I went with my gut, on this one. I hated uncomfortable silences.
"What's on your mind, Toby," I asked him, as we sat two stools pulled out of the shop. I lit a smoke, and extended my lighter over to ignite his.
His blue eyes held on me for a moment, as he puffed the cigarette to life. He sat back, shrugging.
"What isn't," he said, shaking his head. "Not even a week goes by and everything's down the drain. Caff's dead, no government, and I just got this sick feeling about what we're doing."
"Toby, like I said, we'll pull the plug if we get any heat--"
"Yeah, but…." He stared at the floor, flicked his ash.
"But what?"
"Well, I know you got a thing for her. And…"
"And you think I'm letting that cloud my judgment?"
His look answered for him. I was on an island in all this. Before the nukes hit, the Captain, Jeffers, and Caff were backed by the whole authority of New Castle Freight. We were basically our own little colony. Eliminate the Colonial government, and the Lady of Libron II was a floating city-state. Martial law tended not to concern itself with anything beyond having the military's needs met. We were all alone until they wanted something.
I had more power than Caff ever did before the bombs dropped, and I was the only one who could really enforce it. No HR department planetside backed me, and no one was an employee any longer. We were all in this for survival, and a cut of whatever we could trade for. What would stop anyone who felt cornered?
Toby sighed.
"Come on, man," I said. "Tell me what you think."
"Well, I do think so, a little. I think her little trip around the fleet put the zap on her head. And I know the other guys do too."
I forced a laugh. "Yeah, I didn't need you to tell me that but--"
Mangan waltzed in, sauntered up to the spigot that jutted out from the tanks with his tin cup.
"Got a deal with the miners, huh?"
He poured out a shot, and coughed a little, after taking it down.
"Yeah," I told him. "Five cases, to run a shuttle for this week."
He raised an eyebrow. "Ted Pomeray's their maintenance guy. You gotta deal tough with him. He delivers, but he wants a lot. Got it?"
I nodded, resisting the urge to avoid his gaze. My gut still couldn't tell me that he was my subordinate now. Before he left, Mangan turned back to me.
"Oh yeah, your lady friend, the secretary, is up on the catwalk, lookin' for you."
As soon as Mangan was out of earshot, Toby leaned close to me.
"Caff always looked out for us, first. You gotta show everybody that you're doing the same. You know what I mean?"
I nodded. "I know. And I am. Just keep an eye on the still. I'll go see what she wants."
Diana stood with both hands clasping the railing, near the hatch to the mess hall. Her face looked almost as white as the blouse she wore under her suit jacket. The hopeful side of me prayed it was just because of her recovery from exhaustion. She met me at the top of the ladder.
"We need to talk, Jay."
After leading me to my quarters, ignoring my questions about what and why, she told me to shut the hatch. Diana sat at the table, and gestured for me to do the same. I felt a surge of what Toby must have been, then. Last week, Caff sat there berating me for fighting Nick in the cargo hold. Last night, I sat with Diana hoping I could convince her not to end it all. I sat with Diana at this table and felt her crush against me, sobbing. Now, she was all business, but I could see in her movements, in her eyes that she was worried, and maybe afraid.
"Okay now--"
"Keep your voice down, Jay," she hissed. "Walls have ears. And never more so than when you think that they do not."
I nodded, gestured for her to go on.
"Alright, why the cloak and dagger? Would you like me to turn on the shower, just in case the room's bugged?"
Ever since breakfast, I tried to think of what Caff would do. How was he able to juggle all our different personalities and keep us on task and out of each other's hair? I never felt like he was doing anything special. He was just being Jim Caffrey. I had no idea if these guys really trusted me, and now I was dragged into a secret meeting with Madame Secretary.
Her face hardened for an instant but she ignored my retort, and dove right in.
"Remember how you told me to go check things out in the cargo hold? Well, I did. And things were going great. But while I was there...one of your men threatened me."
My face grew hot. On a gut level, I wanted to protect her, and on all other levels this was bad news as well. Already I could see this plan unravel--before we even made it to lunch. The fear she tried to contain bled through now. I had an idea who would have the balls and the lack of brains to stick his anger out in front of her. My jaw tightened as I forced myself to keep my delivery calm. She was scared enough already.
"Let me guess. Nick?"
She nodded raptly.
" I went over to where he and Marty were checking off crates. He said he had problems with this. I tried to ignore him. He pushed harder, testing me...I tried to reply reasonably."
"There's no reasonably with Nick."
"So finally, he started talking about him not wanting to be in the way "when Galactica comes for me", and a couple of other things. I told him I didn't care what he did if Galactica showed, that it was--that it was not his problem."
Her cheeks reddened, and I let her go on, hoping the release would calm her enough that I could ask her what I needed to. I tried to picture Caff listening to his various knuckledraggers over the years. How many times did he sit at this very table and have to deal with shit like this? The answer was never. He didn't have an escapee from the deposed government hiding from a battlestar as I did. I nodded as she continued.
"I politely reminded him that perhaps he shouldn't speak that way to me--but he just wouldn't quit, even then. Told me he didn't think I should be here, 'but you are, ain't you'. I told him I was, and that I was here to stay, until I can go elsewhere safely."
Her nostrils flared, and the tendons stood out on her long neck stood out as her words started to run together.
"Diana, slow down, okay? Now go on, but just take it easy so I can keep up."
She shook her head, sighed.
"I tried to be reasonable--told him he didn't have to like it, or like me, or agree with it, or respect me, but that he did have to treat me with courtesy. And then he totally lost it. Told me 'The way I was brought up, you don't go bossing people around in their own house. And this ain't your house, now is it.' Told me I should feel happy just to be here--and that I was causing trouble for everyone. So I told him, I was happy to be here and I'm doing my best not to cause trouble. But that he would do well to remember that…"
She felt her voice crack and Diana paused, her requisite decorum hanging on the edge. She didn't realize just how out of her element she was. Even if she wasn't our fugitive in residence, most guys like Nick--like us--didn't take kindly to suit-clad strangers who entered our world, eyed us with scrutiny. In this new age, though, there were no societal barriers preventing a guy like Nick from showing his ass in front of someone like Diana.
"Go on," I told her. And boy did she.
"He insulted me outright, and then insinuated I had you 'wrapped around my little finger.' And he leaned in, about two inches from my face, and told me 'I don't want your ass on this ship. Never did. You better stay outta my way.' I...I just leaned in the rest of the way, and told him to stay out of my way, that your Captain would not be pleased to hear about this. I had to tell him to step back two or three times before he finally did it. Then, he threw his clipboard to the deck and went tearing out of there like he was powered by Viper fuel. And none of your men did anything. None of your men even said anything."
Jay Krenzik the mechanic would have gone up to the cargo hold, found Nick and kicked his ass. I wasn't that guy any more. One thing I knew about leadership is that a good leader, whether he led an army, a Pyramid team, or a maintenance crew set the tone that filtered on down. The Lady wasn't a bad place to be in the New Castle fleet because Brad Stengler was laid back. If he was a ballbuster, Milt Jeffers would have gotten a nasty blanket party long before I ever signed on, six years ago. I had to figure out how to set my tone, and that started with trying to stop Diana's hands from trembling--because she couldn't.
Nick's words replayed in my head: "You better stay outta my way." I buried it, and felt as if I were trying to stuff all my anger and fear down into a pinhole.
"Now, take a breath. Just stay calm and--"
"I am calm, Jay."
Her glare was as sharp as razor blades reserved for Nick Sorg. I needed time to think and plan. Take my job out of the picture and Nick was basically threatening mutiny. I could go to Stengler. He could calm things down in the short term, but that would undermine the tenuous authority vested in me. Before I could open my mouth, she continued, actually sounding almost as serene as she needed to be.
"As calm as you are, at any rate. But, I was wrong, earlier, when I said you should try to ignore Nick. I thought he was just an ass, all bark and no bite. It seems that judgment may have been in error."
In error? Oh yes, that savvy understatement from the world of politics was back. I didn't know what to do. I needed time let my mind settle in on everything I just heard. I also needed let Diana feel a little safer when she left this room. I replayed what she said in my mind, searching for anything I could use.
"Okay. First off, this isn't Colonial One--"
"That shouldn't make any difference in the practice of civilized--"
"Diana, please let me finish. This isn't Colonial One. The guys probably didn't do anything because, well, it didn't come to blows. If he had raised a finger to hurt you, they would have tried to stop him. When he and I got into it last week, the moment we threw down, they piled on us to stop it. You got me?"
She took a deep breath and nodded. Good. She was deescalating a little. So far, so good.
"Now, if I'm not mistaken, Nick thinks this is still between you, him, and the guys in the cargo hold, right?"
She nodded again.
"Okay. That's good. That's excellent. That means we're one up on him already. We have a little while until lunch. We'll see how he acts then. But if anything else happens…"
I leaned forward, and tapped my finger on the table for emphasis.
"And I mean anything with him, you come get me. Don't go to Stengler, Jeffers, or anyone else. You come get me."
"And then what?" she asked.
I smiled, hoping it looked rueful enough. "Then I'll deal with it."
IV
'Deal with it'. He probably had no idea what he was going to do, even if it came to blows. Absolutely none. And I couldn't really blame him—I had no clue, either. It wasn't like this ship had a place to lock a man up, really. Or for that matter any manpower to spare, to make it feasible to do so.
"Right."
He didn't move even then, and I wondered if he expected me to say something else. Truth be told, I WANTED to say something else, starting with asking him what the hell kind of ship let people get in other people's faces two inches from their nose and use abusive language without someone intervening. Not Colonial One, indeed. But a ship shouldn't have to be Colonial One to observe the rules of common human courtesy that had been so common on the Colonies.
Or had they been so common? Were they actually as widespread as I had always assumed? Or had I simply never walked outside of the circles where they existed? It was a rather useless thing to wonder about, really. Either this behavior had been common enough in places like this before the bombs fell, as well as now, or it had arisen afterwards, from stress, or shock, or both. Either way, there was nothing I could do about it.
"Well, I really should let you get back to work, then. Gods only know your men must already think I take up enough of your time."
That one I could identify with, even if it was directed against me at the moment. Because everyone wanted to believe their leader was looking out for them, dedicating their time to them, especially in times like these.
"Don't worry about it. Even in the best of times we're worse than a bunch of old ladies at the salon."
I wasn't quite sure what he meant by that, so I simply stood, and walked him to the door. As I shut it behind him, I made certain to bolt it. The men who had been in the cargo bay might have thought of the things Nick said and did as no big deal. I knew differently.
V
I channeled all my effort into digging my fork into lunch, barely glancing up as the gang filed in from the cargo hold and Down Below. How did I broach this and not tip my hand? I couldn't do that just yet, but I could gauge reactions with a simple question or two?
"How we going with the rations, Mike?"
Briar's eyes didn't meet mine, and he shrugged.
"Okay, we got it all out, now. Lists are almost done."
Nick looked up at me for a split second, then to Marty, who ate as if he didn't hear me. Yeah, they were nervous, and they followed our credo a little too well: "What's said Down Below stays Down Below."
So far, none of them felt confident enough to blatantly cross the line to my face. All of us carrying sidearms helped. I found myself wondering if I would hesitate, if it came down to mutiny. In less than 72 hours, it was coming to this. First, it was the Cylons. After that it was our own military. Would it end up being us? I didn't want to believe that we escaped only to tear each other apart in the void.
"Good job in the hold," I continued, trying in vain to neatly cut through the preformed boneless barbequed rib patty on my plate. "Cap'n says the miners'll have a shuttle docking with us around 1430. They'll be able to load up some of the rinkydinks for the month on one run."
Diana looked up from her meal, down the table toward Nick, Briar, and the others that were on crate duty, but as she spoke, she made a point to make eye contact with each and every one of my men.
"Thank you all, for the excellent job you've been doing. I know doing this for the fleet is asking a lot of all you, but those you help won't forget."
Godsdamn, was she good. Nick Sorg just kept on sucking in his lunch, but I could see a hint of gratitude, in Marty's eyes, and even Mangan, cracked a slight grin and nodded, as Toby, Ed, and the rest gave her a quick "thank you." The mood lifted a notch. I thought there was a chance that I could just worry about all of them giving me the finger instead of just straight up mutiny. It wasn't much, but at this rate I was willing to take anything I could get.
I couldn't hold onto that nugget of elation long. The double doors leading to CiC flew open, and in came Milt Jeffers. The last time he did that… the seat I sat in was far too empty.
"Alright everyone, scuttle the old schedule. As of right now, per Captain Stengler's order, all traffic to and from the Lady is cancelled until further notice."
In my years on the Lady of Libron II, bad news from the XO was never met with absolute silence, until now. There's no Earth, but we found Kobol. Now there's an Earth, maybe. Tigh was going to mow down everybody for tylium, coffee, and maybe some breath mints, if the mood struck him. Now he wasn't. Guess what? We're gonna feed the fleet! Oh! Wait! My bad! We're not!
Our XO was apparently as stunned as I was. If Milt Jeffers didn't have to tell us all to pipe down after one of his big new orders, then Libron was flat.
"Sometime in the last 36 hours, Laura Roslin, with apparent help from Captain Lee Adama, escaped Galactica, and, from an undisclosed location," he said, before looking to me.
Lee Adama was the Commander's son, Galactica's Commander of the Air Group. The old man was still bedridden, if reports were true. I saw things turning ugly again. Would Tigh risk another massacre? How many stars were in all the space around us?
Diana had stood upon the announcement, all smiles, gray eyes wide. I could tell, looking around the table, that everyone else had at least an inkling of what I was thinking. We were on the brink once again.
"The, uh, President also released a prerecorded message over the wireless." He picked up the phone on the wall behind him and gave Mitchell the order to patch it in from CiC to the mess hall.
I still don't quite remember all of it. I knew the last lines would resonate in my mind for the rest of my life, though. Diana's smile receded, and for a breath her face wanted to fall, but her Colonial One blank slate overtook her features at the last moment.
". . .it seems I have been chosen to help lead you to the promised land of Earth. I will not question this choice. I will simply try to play my part in this plan. At the appointed hour, I will give the signal to the fleet. All those wishing to honor the Gods and walk the path of destiny will follow me back to Kobol. It is there we will meet the Gods' servant with the Arrow of Apollo."
Screw politics. Laura Roslin was branching out. Not only did she believe there was an Earth, she was going to point the way!
Before we could assault Jeffers with questions, he raised both hands to quell us.
"Krenzik, get everyone on their standard maintenance routines. I'll want you back in CiC. There will be a meeting after dinner with more information and we'll go from there.
Standard maintenance was done weekly or if we knew we were picking up our stakes soon, before an impending jump. The only thing he didn't ask of us was for Mangan to spin up the FTL. It was a good move, really. Keep the grunts busy, until supper and give the flight crew time to breathe. I wished I had that luxury.
"You heard the man," I told the gang. "You know where to go. I'll be back down on the main turbine after the meeting."
I started for CiC, behind Jeffers, and Diana followed.
"Sorry, Miss Thalyka," Jeffers told her. "Crew only."
Diana's gaze faltered, but nodded as she straightened a little more.
"Mister Jeffers. I have no intention of interfering with the business of your ship and crew, nor any decisions you all may make concerning this matter. However, if this concerns the President, and by extension, the government…I should be a part of it. I need to be a part of it. Please."
The XO shook his head.
"Sorry, Miss Thalyka. This is the way the Captain wants it. Come on Krenzik."
She nodded, despondent, and I could feel her eyes staring at our backs as I followed Milt Jeffers back to CiC. She was our main source of information on Roslin, and I couldn't understand why Stengler wouldn't want her back there. Then I thought about what the President's jailbreak could mean. More viper patrols and marines were only a few clicks away from storming any ship. I silently hoped that they weren't thinking of turning her over. She was the only person left that I didn't have to care about, but did. I wondered then what I was capable of, if I was the one willing to commit mutiny.