Title: Krenzik's War II-Part 1
Author: Manipulator
Rating: M
Word Count: 6612
Spoilers: "Final Cut"
Disclaimer: Battlestar Galactica is the property of NBC/Universal
Notes: This story follows Parts 1-8 of "Krenzik's War," and the collaboration with ViperChickKaliyla, "Shadows and Reflections," picking up a few days where the latter left off. You'll want to read those to understand what's going on now. Thanks go out to VCK for her input, as this is the first time I've written her character of Diana Thalyka solo.
THE LADY OF LIBRON II
Class II Heavy Freighter
Libron Reg. #AFM-9944-03A
Flight Crew-
Executive Officer- Milt Jeffers
Navigator-Linda Moore
Communicatons-Steve Mitchell
Maintenance-
Foreman-Jay Krenzik
FTL Tech-vacant
Mechanics-
Nick Sorg
Ed Coursen
Marty Samuels
Welder-Toby Dempsey
Shipping Clerk-Mike Briar
Fork Lift-Bobby Kessey
Dan Fitch
Nurse-Joe Pinklon
Cafeteria-Lina Hoffer
Neil Mentz
A camera is just a tool to record something for posterity. I knew the metal, circuits, plastic, and glass that trained on me didn't care what I said. That didn't stop me from fighting an urge to stare back at it, as if I could ward the thing off. I didn't have any choice, though, but to look D'Anna Biers in the eye and leave it all in her hands. The reporter sat back looking more relaxed than one should in one of the steel mess hall chairs. With her slender legs crossed, notepad in her lap, she brushed a lock of tawny hair out of her face and leaned forward. Her eyes gleamed, as if she knew I was about to say the most important thing she would ever hear.
"So," she asked me. "Do you think Brad Stengler should go free?"
It was no huge secret what the Captain did. Adam Mangan, our hyperdrive technician, thought jumping to Kobol was a bad idea--bad enough to attempt to murder Diana Thalyka and I while we slept. Stengler invoked Captain's mass, in light of the government's dissolution, and the tyranny shown by Colonel Tigh. If you had a window, and you were within ten clicks, you saw Mangan's last moments, writhing in the vacuum.
A couple days after rejoining the fleet, a raptor came to spirit Diana Thalyka back to Colonial One, and two corpsmen came along to take Captain Stengler. There was no goodbye speech, just handshakes and words of thanks, as he stoically let the marines shackle him. I walked Diana up to the airlock, and she kissed me goodbye.
"I'm sorry," she said, eyes sliding toward the hatch, where Stengler sat on the bench, chain links rattling as he tried in vain to get comfortable. I just nodded. What else could be said? Diana's report would be meaningless anyway, since a full quarter of the fleet must have seen what happened, and sent unanswered inquiries to give aid. Oh yeah, and one viper on patrol nearly hit Mangan's corpse.
"Go on," I told her. "We'll get together for dinner or something next week, okay?"
She smiled then, as brightly as decorum would allow.
"I'd like that. And, Jay, there's one more thing. When I talked with the President this morning, she wanted me to pass on her thanks for keeping me safe."
I shrugged. "I'd have done it anyway, you know that."
"That's not it. She told me that if you need a favor--anything--you may ask it of her."
Before I could respond, her lips met mine a final time. With a last look, she boarded the raptor and was gone.
Brad Stengler spaced a homicidal mutineer and got shackles. I nearly got myself and Diana killed in bed and I got a favor from President Laura Roslin.
The renewed credibility in Earth was a rare item of good news that was the talk of wireless, and consumed a lot of ink in the press. Hot on the heels of that was the outrage over the Gideon Massacre, and the fact Colonel Tigh had not been incarcerated, demoted, or in any way punished for giving the order. There was no judicial structure in place yet, but Roslin gave Stengler ten years of hard labor aboard Galactica loading shells. I tried to tell myself that our Captain went of his own accord, and didn't deny anything. He did what he felt he had to do, to protect all of us, right or wrong.
Soon, we were back among the fleet, trading our know-how for whatever we could get. I made a run to Aquaria 691, a passenger liner. I did a routine belt change on their port and starboard stabilizers in exchange for five cartons of cigarettes and--get this--100 cubits. Cash actually had value in some circles, especially on Cloud Nine and in some of the shops in the Luxury Liner. I figured it would keep the Lady's crew in nicotine and give me some much-needed cash to properly take Diana out on our first real date. I anticipated not looking very smooth handing our waiter a jar of white liquor when the check came.
Aquaria 691's navigator, Byron, counted out the bills in the cockpit. After handing them to me, his eyes fixed on the patch sewn to my shirt's left sleeve.
"Hey," he said. "If you don't mind me asking, wasn't it your captain that spaced that mechanic for mutiny?"
My hand, with the folded bills, paused halfway into my pants pocket. I knew word spread, but hearing it mentioned off the cuff made my skin crawl a little.
"That's right."
After an eternal, uncomfortable silent breath, he cleared his throat.
"Sorry, but I don't know if you caught the Colonial Gang this morning, but it was a big deal on today's show, with him getting ten years hard labor."
"It was on wireless?"
This would have been big news, at least planetside on Libron, if not across the Colonies, before the bombs dropped, but I felt blindsided. It never occurred to me that anything that happened aboard the Lady would ever warrant full-blown news coverage. I tried to imagine people talking about this over their morning coffee, something that involved my little corner of the universe.
"Damn straight," Byron told me. "You want to hear it? One of our passengers has a wireless set. They replay it continuously all morning, you know. Maybe he'll let you use it."
An elderly couple owned the set, which the passengers had set up near the aft hatch as a sort of community TV. I ducked around the men and women of all ages and sizes, under clotheslines that shamelessly held every garment from underwear to bras and more.
Byron led me through, as I noticed a lot of eyes land on my toolbelt, and people warmly greet me, or nod with a smile. One guy, about my age, who, at one time must have been all moussed up and ready for a big business meeting shook my hand.
"It's great you guys are out there helping us out. It's murder getting the government to finally get around to doing anything."
"Sure man," I told him. "It's my job, you know?"
He laughed. "Well you just keep on doing it. This damn fleet needs more guys like you around."
Byron waved for me to join him as he finally tuned in the correct signal. His eyes lit up as he increased the volume.
"Good! This is where they started talking about your captain."
I heard the familiar voices of the last "legitimate" journalists left alive squawk and interrupt one another as if it was just another day in Caprica City.
"…Playa, how can you still be a Roslin apologist after the Stengler mess? Saul Tigh sends a raptor full of marines who are not trained in crowd control over to the Gideon, setting the stage for bloodshed, and he gets off scott free. Brad Stengler, a freighter captain just trying to hold it together without a government under the tyranny of martial law--"
"Colonial Law is quite clear, Tom! The takeover was illegal! Adama admitted--"
"Let me finish, Playa. And after his crew intervene, preventing murder, mayhem, and saving the life of Secretary Thalyka--who was his prime target--he gets ten years of hard labor! This is an atrocity! You can drone on about Colonial law all you like, but the hard reality was that it was anarchy throughout the fleet. He was indeed alone and did what he had to do."
"Tom, she gave him a very light sentence. He can still have a life, and Galactica is treating him well, by all accounts. She could have just dumped him on the Astral Queen and forgot about him…"
They sniped back and forth for several more minutes, running the same points into the ground, before moving on to rationing issues.
Some of the passengers voiced their displeasure and condolences to me over Stengler's sentence as we returned to the cockpit. I took my 100 cubits and five cartons with me. As I boarded my awaiting shuttle, the pilot, a regular from the Luxury Liner said her hellos then told me she had orders to take me to Bertrand.
The councilman's Secretary, Mona, buzzed me in. Jasper Bertrand was behind his desk, with Phelan's man Zenar lounging in one of the overstuffed leather chairs. He nodded to me seriously as Bertrand silently raised the front page of "Scuttlebutt" before me. The headline read: "ROSLIN GIVES TEN YEARS TO CIVVIE CAPTAIN FOR TELLING THALYKA TO 'SHUT UP!'" Below that was a stock photo montage of Diana, Roslin, and Brad Stengler, from his company ID.
They both just looked at me, as if I was supposed to say something. I felt like I was in the principal's office.
"We have a problem, Krenzik," Bertrand said, slamming the paper down on his blotter.
I looked to Zenar, who had gotten up to fix himself a drink, then sat his bulk against the edge of Bertrand's desk as if he owned it.
"It's a tabloid. Nobody believes that crap."
"Yeah, but it's attracting attention, and we both know that's something we don't need."
I thought of the latest round of mystery crates that came with our shipments of liquor and other luxuries from the Prometheus. I should have seen it earlier, but being just another little tub in the fleet was a big advantage. We were suddenly a small part of the talk soup. I remembered how the same rag of a paper latched on to me whispering in Diana's ear on Colonial One. The only good thing was that it was forgotten about within a couple days. This, however, was a lot more than just a careless whisper. Death had a longer shelf life.
I looked past Zenar to the Councilman, who sighed.
"I'm sure you've heard the wireless by now. If it weren't for the map on Kobol and everyone's hatred of Tigh, this would the big issue of the day. I'm tied to Roslin, until elections come up, at least. I can't speak out against this, and I need to make sure that we have all hands on deck here."
His eyes slid over to Zenar, who said: "Phelan is letting you know that if press come snooping around that you make sure--damn sure-- that you don't let 'em sniff around. Rations are tight all over the fleet, while you, and some others are doing great on their own. That's gonna make people ask questions. We don't need any questions, do we?"
I didn't like being leaned on, but Zenar could apply all the pressure he wanted. That was a simple fact.
"So what do you want me to do," I asked him.
Zenar sipped, then pointed a finger at me to drive his point home.
"Don't give any reporters, or any of Roslin's flunkies ammo that could damage the Councilman's position. He gets tripped up, so do we. Make sure your guys do the same. Phelan doesn't care how you do it, just get it done."
I nodded. "You got it. But won't it look weird if we duck all the press on this thing? I mean, we seem to have their sympathy, from what I heard."
"Don't duck them," Bertrand said. "Just be careful what you say, especially to your new…girlfriend."
He said the word as if it were dipped in battery acid. Last week he thought it was the best news he had heard since we jumped into the Promar Sector.
"Don't worry about it. We don't talk work anyway, when we get together."
"Keep it that way," Zenar grunted into his glass as he finished off his drink.
"Just keep doing what you're doing, Krenzik. No one is saying to hide. Just be very careful what you say," Bertrand said. "That'll be all. Keep up the good work, and we'll all get through this."
Within the hour, I was back on the Lady. The first thing I did, after docking aft, was tell Briar, Bobby, and Dan the score on the press. They never left the ship, but I needed to cover all the bases. The only mechanic not out among the fleet was Marty. After shoving his copy of "Scuttlebutt" out of my face, I decided to just tell him after everyone was back. I needed a drink. I turned in the still's general direction and the intercom chimed. Jeffers wanted me Up Top, ASAP.
I poured a cup of coffee, which was now over-boiled tar after sitting on the burner all morning. He sat across from me after I slid into a chair at the table where we had our morning meetings.
"It's not right, Krenzik," he said, shoulders slumped--something I never saw out of the perpetually rigid XO. "Brad went of his own accord, sure. But he was just trying to protect us. I didn't like it any more than Diana, or you, or anyone else, but he took the hit for his crew, and Roslin's letting him have it."
"I know, Mr. Jeffers. It's all over the wireless--"
"It's not right! Tigh gets nothing, and she drops the hammer on Brad. Somebody needs to do something."
The hairs raised on the back of my neck. Usually something big and negative came behind those words. I told him about my meeting with Zenar and Bertrand.
"Fine, fine," he said. "We won't hang Roslin in effigy or anything, but I got a call today, from a reporter. Freelance. Her name's D'Anna Biers. She's doing a thing on the Gideon Massacre, and she said she'd like to come by and talk to us about Caffrey, and what happened before we jumped to Kobol."
"And?"
"And I said to come on over. She'll be here tomorrow morning after breakfast. And we'll keep Phelan off our asses. They won't see the cargo hold, and they won't see anything but government rations. I'm just tired of everybody else speaking for us on this. I'll call a meeting tonight and we'll get it all straight."
Everybody was on the same page about keeping Phelan happy. We had a good thing going, and we all intended to keep it that way. The next morning, Jeffers greeted Biers and her cameraman at the fore airlock. All the knuckledraggers stood behind me, in fresh work grays, shirts tucked in, hair moussed up--ready to go.
"I hope eating C1 shit this morning was worth it," Ed muttered as Nick self-consciously adjusted his belt. Toby gingerly ran a hand along his hair yet again, as if he was constantly one breath away from bed head.
Biers' shuttle achieved hard seal. Jeffers turned back to us as the airlock pressurized.
"Remember, stick to what happened, and about Caffrey. Don't let her suck you into any politics."
The smart thing to do was just tell her we weren't interested in talking, but the press had done a good job already of not letting this die. Even if we held our silence, someone else would fill the gap for us. This was the right thing to do, I hoped. I had wondered if everyone would hold up their end, just like they indicated in the meeting at breakfast. We all felt strongly about Caff's death and Mangan's betrayal. Captain Stengler was chucked in the slammer by the same woman we had voted to join, who we believed held the answers we needed to fight another day. She came through, but it seemed that after she thanked us for saving her Secretary's butt, she slapped us with the same metaphorical hand that she had just used to shake ours. For the first time, I had to let the chips fall where they may and trust my guys to do it by the numbers.
D'Anna's lean body moved with a vital, wiry energy as she walked. She always looked us in the eye when she spoke, always ready with a toothy, professional smile that she seemed to use so often that is must have been the only one she had.
"What I'm hoping to do," she said, gesturing smoothly with her hands. "Is to interview all of you, in your cafeteria as Mr. Jeffers requested. I also wanted to record a small introduction here in this corridor, where, I gather, it all happened."
Where it all happened. The place where Diana was pleading and trying to break down Colonial Law for the Captain as he snapped, and we all saw the last angry moments of Adam Mangan's life. The now-eternal "It."
D'Anna's cameraman, a lanky, curly-haired guy wearing baggy pants and a loose sweatshirt surveyed the corridor.
"Looks a little narrow, but I think we can get it."
"Alright, get over to the mess hall," Jeffers told us. "Give 'em some room."
Half an hour later, as the cameraman checked his light meter, D'Anna plugged the camera into a monitor and let us huddle around her and show us what she had filmed, so far. She leaned back in her chair, as if making a point to be calm, so we wouldn't be so obviously nervous. All of us took at least one smoke break on the catwalk waiting for her arrival, and I even found myself checking my hair in any reflective surface I could find. Like any other good reporter, she wanted her subjects at ease.
On the screen, she stood before the hatch to my quarters. A cold flash wormed its way up my spine, remembering my door swing open.
"It was this door that Adam Mangan picked open so he could end the lives of his newly appointed foreman, Jay Krenzik, and Secretary Diana Thalyka, less than eight hours before the Lady of Libron II would join Laura Roslin and the Quorum of Twelve in orbit above Kobol…"
The camera followed her as she continued down the dimly lit corridor, and recounted how Nick shot Mangan before he could finish the job.
"…With his attempt at mutiny ended, Captain Stengler was faced with preventing a dangerous man from taking control of his vessel and possibly murdering him and his crew. On one end, he had the unknown of Laura Roslin in orbit above Kobol, on the other, he had Galactica and Colonel Saul Tigh, who gave the order that was responsible for the death of James Caffrey aboard the Gideon…
She moved down the hall, retracing the steps we all took in our bloody funeral procession.
"…he invoked a seldom-used Colonial law. In times of war, a civilian captain has broad powers of authority, if he cannot expect help to arrive. In short, he invoked Captain's Mass, and decided, reluctantly, that Adam Mangan had to die, in order to protect the exiled Secretary Thalyka and his crew. It was here, that Mangan was thrown into this airlock, as the Secretary pleaded to Stengler to spare the man who tried to kill her. Not relishing the prospect by any means, he did what he felt was the only thing he could do with a killer on one side, and an exiled, seemingly powerless President on the other. Upon rejoining the fleet, Roslin did not agree with his interpretation of the law. After he plead guilty and gave no resistance, the President sentenced him to ten years of hard labor, working with volunteer civilian mechanics loading munitions and performing routine maintenance aboard Galactica. Now, we are going to let the crew tell the story in their own words."
D'Anna paused the image, before shutting off the monitor. By then, the lights were set up just the way her assistant needed them, and we were ready to go.
She told us that she would spend several minutes with all of us, but asked that we remember that much of what she used would be edited, although nothing would be taken out of context. Then, we all waited out in the hall, as she called us in, one by one. Toby started, giving me his best cool smile before going in. We all took our turns, and D'Anna saved me for last. I wasn't that surprised, although I just wanted to get it over with. Everyone on the Lady depended on me--especially me--choosing my words carefully, as well as Bertrand and Phelan. I couldn't quite fathom that all the complex interests they were enmeshed in could be impacted by anything I said. What Diana told me, before she returned to Colonial One, held its place at the forefront of my thoughts.
The core fear was that we couldn't make this go away before it became the lead story on "Colonial Gang," or become too big for page two in the papers. The fact we had a segment in a documentary was proof of that. Stengler couldn't make this vanish by his contrite acceptance of punishment. Roslin couldn't by forcing him into a decade of hard labor. She did give me the tools to fix the spin machine, though--a simple, open-ended favor. On my last job, I replaced the drive and secondary belts on a passenger liner for cigarettes and 100 cubits. I could extract a splinter from the President's political finger by taking Brad Stengler off her hands. Now, I just had to tread carefully in the next few minutes so I didn't screw up my newly formed plan before I could even set it in motion.
She started off easily enough, just asking me how I felt when I saw Mangan laying under me, and why I didn't feel it was necessary to space him. I was a little more relaxed, just as she turned up the heat.
"So," she asked me. "Do you think Brad Stengler should go free?"
Boom. Right there, so much could be said in the silent spaces between every word. Adama, Roslin, Baltar, all the big talking heads had a feel for this, knew what to plug the holes with. Sure, I was a good bullshitter for a freighter jock, but now I had to be fully aware of every facial tick, every gesture. Everything I wanted and everything those fingering the strings needed demanded it.
"Well," I began, needing to clear my throat after almost gurgling the first word. "If we didn't respect and believe in Laura Roslin, we never would have made the jump to Kobol. I support our President…" Here it came. I would sink or swim with these next few words, and I wouldn't know which for days at least.
"But, in this she's wrong. Captain Stengler was just trying to protect his crew. It may not have been the right thing to do, but he did it for the right reasons. He should be able to come home to his ship."
D'Anna's lips spread into a grin that made her seem to show a thousand white teeth.
"And cut!"
She stood, extended her hand and I followed suit to return her firm handshake.
"Thank you so much, Jay," she said, pumping my hand. "To be honest with you, most of your mechanics and the flight crew were so tightlipped I wasn't sure if I'd get more than a couple minutes of usable footage out of them. You seem to have quite a way with words."
I smiled a little and thanked her. Before D'Anna, her assistant, and the cameras left, we sent the pair off with a jar each of our home brew. She actually seemed to appreciate it, too. After all, real liquor was getting more expensive every day. I didn't think it would ever cost as much as Brad Stengler's freedom.
Links in Phelan's food chain had more choices than the average Colonial, even the one who had deep pockets or plenty to barter with. Trenard Suites, a five-star hotel chain, had a block of Cloud Nine's lower levels. Anyone else would have had to book days or weeks in advance. I dropped Phelan's name, a fifth of Ambrosia, and 25 cubits to the manager, who already knew who I was. Three days after my interview with D'Anna Biers, Madame Secretary and I were booked for the night.
She dropped her attaché case, stuffed with folders and papers at the door. She still wore her gentle shade of pink lipstick, and that same black pantsuit. I kissed her hello as she sank into me a little. I wore my usual charcoal gray workshirt and pants. It was always the same, as if we were action figures in some giant child's Cloud Nine Superaction Playset.
Her eyes lit up when I showed her the big fluffy white robe, and she cooed at the huge, black bathtub--which had plenty of room for two. Staying warm in plastifoam containers was takeout from the Aquarian restaurant one level down, near the brothels. They gave me a discount and passed on their best wishes to Captain Stengler as I picked up our order.
She savored every spicy bite of our chicken and rice, her skin a freshly scrubbed pink. Diana's hair was wrapped in a towel as her body seemed to sink into the huge robe. The mood was good, and I could see that her smile was definitely off the clock. I eased through the discussions of our respective weeks, waiting for the moment to make the transition.
"The thing is," she said, as daintily as possible as she chewed. "I've actually noticed that there aren't as many calls for me as there used to be."
"Well, that's great, isn't it?"
She laughed. "It simply means that I can get five hours sleep instead of 4 and a half. There are plenty of vessels with nothing to trade that need our help more than ever. But, the ones that can sustain themselves aren't as dependent on us--on me--as they used to be."
She reached for my free hand, intertwined her long, delicate fingers with mine.
"And you had a lot to do with that," she said, her gaze bathing me in warmth. "I'm…I'm proud of you."
I grinned, letting my thumb play over her knuckles. This was as good a time as any.
"Well, I'm proud of you, too. You've been catching a lot of heat these past few weeks, but you're not letting it get you down."
She shrugged. Usually she wore the burdens of public opinion like an iron trenchcoat. Then, it seemed, she had managed to let it settle into the general territory of her job.
"It won't go away. We just have to let it burn out on its own." Her lips pursed, eyes finding her nearly finished meal in its ridged square container. "No matter how long that takes. The President and Billy have their hands full enough with all the usual issues plus Colonel Tigh. What happened before Kobol is just a part of all that--"
"What if I told you I could make it go away."
She shook her head, lips spreading into that same cynical grin she gave me before escorting me into the chaos of Colonial One when we fixed her main turbine.
"You've mastered mind control? I don't--"
"I'm calling in my favor. I'm asking Roslin to free Stengler."
Her fingers slid out from mine as her eyes grew wide as plates. She sat so perfectly still, I half expected a pigeon to land on her shoulder.
"Do you realize what you're asking?"
"Yes. I do. But she can benefit from this. The Captain's strictly page two, but that won't last for long. People tend to get squirrelly in the wake of silence than they do noise. And nothing has been said or done. By helping me, we can help her."
"Oh, Gods…"
She massaged her temples, shaking her head.
"She will probably do it. The President is a woman of her word, almost to a fault. But do you realize how it will look, if we backpedal and set him free? After he pleaded guilty to murder?"
I nodded. "Yeah, but you'll think of something. If you, and everyone else up there on Colonial One have done nothing else, you have shown you can all think outside the box. When can you get me in there."
Diana sighed, seeming to actually shrink under the thick terry cloth.
"Considering it's your favor, day after tomorrow--late. But say what you have to say quickly. She's always booked solid."
"Send the raptor, and I'll be ready."
She shook her head, slowly, but a grin managed to make a slight return to her lips.
"This may be the only time you're more ready to face Colonial One than I am."
We buried that topic, choosing to spend the rest of our time under the covers, in a more precious, silent form of communication. The next morning, we both had to rush out before 0600, as I had the regular morning meeting in one hour, and she had the first of six stops, plus a check-in with the President before lunch.
Before we parted ways to our respective shuttles, her fingers found the back of my neck, and brought my lips to press against hers.
"I really hope to frak you know what you're doing, Jay."
She dropped the "F" bomb, which generally meant it was…well… frakking serious. I ran it by the guys at breakfast, about Roslin's favor, about how good the odds were we could get the Captain out. Even Nick complimented me and wished me the best of luck.
Two days later, around 1930, after I scrubbed up, and put on my black suit and burgundy dress shirt, a raptor escorted me to Colonial One. Diana and one of the guards met me at the airlock.
"Remember, Jay," she told me, as our steps echoed on our way to the steps leading up to the passenger compartment. "She's going to play hardball with you. She doesn't like this one bit, but she hasn't indicated to me that she will say no. Keep it short, to the point."
"Hey, I've been up there once already, remember?"
"Exactly. That's why I'm reminding you."
The agent spun the wheel on the hatch, opening it. I was taken aback, momentarily, by the vast amount of empty seats. The whole government usually ate, slept, and worked in this skinny metal tube. Now, there was only Laura Roslin at the end of the long aisle, and Billy Keikeya seated at another desk to my left.
"Where is everybody," I whispered to her.
"We're starting to move out to other vessels. I get to next week. I'll explain later. Now remember what I told you."
Roslin looked up from her mountains of paperwork. Billy nodded in courtesy before making an effort to look busy with a pile of folders and memos.
The President slid a pile to one side, so she had an unobstructed view of me. Diana eased around behind her desk, stood behind her boss, as Roslin gestured for me to sit down.
"I have another appointment, Mr. Krenzik, so I will get down to it. At great risk to your vessel, your superiors, and your own men, you took in a member of my Cabinet and gave her safe haven. In return for that, you earned a favor. That is not something to be taken lightly. It is also not something to be abused."
I swallowed, wishing to the Gods someone would have offered me a glass of water. I was hoping not to have to make this simple point at all. It would have been like a new enlisted man telling Commander Adama he should shine his shoes.
"I understand, Madame President. But, speaking for everyone aboard the Lady of Libron II, we feel that he may have done the wrong thing, but it was for the right reasons. And we all know someone who's done that in the last few months."
I heard Billy's chair creak. I don't know what Diana was doing, because I would be damned if I could show any weakness and lose eye contact with Roslin, who glared at me from behind the thick frames of her glasses. Maybe, on my tombstone, assuming I died on a planet, I should have "he had balls" carved for my epitaph. At that moment, I wasn't sure if I had anything but that, as I tried to make my point.
She tilted her head a little, permitting her stoic expression the luxury of a tiny grin. "Yes. Yes we have, Mr. Krenzik. And I am a woman of my word. Now, are we going to repeat that cycle again, here?"
"Haven't we already with Colonel Tigh? Some people feel that you dropped the hammer on Captain Stengler because you couldn't on him."
"Yes, which is why this won't go away, but you know that, don't you? That's why you felt you could ask me to free Mr. Stengler."
I felt a thin, hot current of anger. With all the careful adherence to protocol in the military and the government on who was called what, when and where, I felt Stengler deserved to be called by his rightful title. Just because he couldn't hide behind a Colonial government ID or brass on his lapels he didn't waive that right to respect. It was my engine room on the Lady, but, for good or ill, it was godsdamned sure Brad Stengler's boat.
"Yes, Madame President. Freeing Captain Stengler would be a solid step toward healing as best we can, before this gets big enough for the front page of something other than "Scuttlebutt."
"Precisely, Mr. Krenzik," she said, leaning forward, hands clasped. "But, given the delicate nature of this situation, we can't just show the people you can walk away for spacing someone, regardless of what Commander Adama chooses to do with Colonel Tigh."
She looked over to Billy, then, who seemed to know to get his nose out of his paperwork without a word.
"Billy, take this down. Here is what you will say at tomorrow morning's press conference. Secretary Thalyka reviewed Captain Stengler's case, in light of him not securing legal counsel before pleading guilty. Her report illustrated, to my satisfaction, that the Captain acted reasonably enough within the letter of Colonial law to draw a less severe sentence."
Billy Keikeya scribbled on a legal pad, keeping perfect time with her words.
"The sentence will be reduced to time served, and loss of a mechanic of his choosing, to take his place aboard Galactica for two months to carry on with support service and to be trained as…what was Mr. Mangan's position again?"
"FTL Tech, Madame President."
She waved a dismissive hand. "No slang, Mr. Krenzik. What is the official title."
"Hyperdrive technician, Mada--"
"What he just said, Billy. Also, the Lady of Libron II mechanics will go to three civilian vessels to be determined by this office to train their men in basic spacecraft maintenance, to compensate for the hasty disposition of a skilled worker among the population and you should be able to fill in the rest, right?"
Billy nodded. "No problem, Madame President."
Roslin turned in her chair, so that she made eye contact with all of us.
"Are we all clear on this?"
"Yes, Madame President," Diana said.
I seconded her affirmation and Roslin stood.
"We have an understanding then, and we are now even, Mr. Krenzik. We will send word when a raptor will come for the man you choose to train aboard the Galactica. You should have the names of the vessels we want you to go to by then as well. If you'll excuse me, I have another appointment to prepare for."
"Of course, Madame President," I said. She didn't extend her hand to shake, which disappointed me a little, but I had gotten the President of the Twelve Colonies to do what I wanted against her own wishes, which I supposed should have been enough.
Diana returned to my side, to escort me back to my awaiting raptor.
"And one more thing, Mr. Krenzik," she said, as I turned to leave. "I never extended my condolences on the loss of Mr. Caffrey. He was a fine man."
I nodded in thanks, and let Diana lead me out.
As the raptor's hatch dropped for me, Diana's lips gently touched mine, and I could see that familiar sadness tinged with a little hope in her eyes.
"I understand why you had to do it, Jay. I may not agree with it, but you did what you felt you had to do, making a hard choice, like we do every day, right here. I'll see you soon."
"Count on it," I told her as I boarded. She turned back to me, tucking her hand against her chest, and giving me a very undiplomatic little wave, before straightening up and returning to the spin factory, her armed shadow in tow.
I was met on Galactica by a Lieutenant Gaeta. He shoved a clipboard at me, told me to sign in order to accept Stengler into my custody. I was escorted through the hangar deck, with the mechanics in their orange jumpsuits, milling about, hands in the guts of vipers and raptors. I fought the urge to stop and feed my knuckledragger's desire to get an up-close look at the high-tech power of the vintage Mk II's and the cutting edge MkVII's. I got the impression the little dark-haired man that cruised with pedestrian efficiency wanted this over with as soon as humanly possible.
In a corded off area were numerous automatic shell loaders, manned by a few vaguely familiar faces from the other maintenance crews in the fleet and many more unknown to me, all clad in dark gray jumpsuits. Gaeta stopped abruptly, scanning the workers.
"I'm looking for a Bradley Stengler? Bradley Stengler!"
Several heads turned behind them, and out from behind the heavy machinery, the Captain emerged, his face lighting up, then turning confused at the sight of me.
"What's this?"
I grinned.
"I'm taking you home, Cap'n. You're free. There's a raptor waiting. Unless you wanna stay."
His eyes rimmed with tears, as he laughed.
"Oh Gods… no frakking way, Krenzik. I don't know how you pulled this off, but thanks."
I stepped on a few toes, sure. Even though many would think this was wrong, I knew that we could finally turn our eyes toward what would come next. After all, we were forced into being family aboard the Lady of Libron II, and with it came a certain responsibility to one another--a second chance.