Setting: Shortly following the events in "Water".
Spoilers: Up through episode 1.02.

--------------------------------

Day 9.

It's been four days since I destroyed the Olympic Carrier and potentially 1,345 people along with it. I can't stop thinking about it, and the flashbacks are getting worse. At first, it only happened right after I'd wake up, as though it was simply a lingering dream. But the last few times it's hit me while I was wide awake, for no discernable reason. Fortunately, the episodes have been very brief, lasting only a few seconds, and no one else has noticed. If anyone knew, I'd probably be pulled from flight status and forced to undergo a psych evaluation. Hell, maybe I should be, but... damn it, it's going to be hard enough finding acceptance with this crew as it is. Being both the new guy and the commander's kid, I'm already doubly-damned. If it got around that the new CAG is going schizo after only 9 days in command, I'd never earn their respect. I just have to hope that time and fortitude will solve the problem.

Speaking of fortitude... I tried to talk to my father about it. The order to destroy the ship came from him, so I thought perhaps he might understand. Wrong! To paraphrase his response, "Suck it up Kid. Be a man and get over it." All right, maybe Dad wasn't quite that blunt, but the meaning was essentially the same. I thought at first that he might be right. It would certainly make life easier these days if I was more thick-skinned, like he is. Sometimes I think he's downright bullet-proof. But I'd only be fooling myself to pretend that I'm the same, and I don't believe any more that his reaction is necessarily the right one.

President Roslin actually approached me on the subject. It turns out her reaction is much more akin to my own. She has doubts, regrets, and even carries a piece of paper in her pocket bearing the name of the Olympic Carrier. She wants to always be reminded of what happened. I think I'm less inclined than she is to believe it might have been a mistake to destroy the ship, but I think we both agree that it would be a mistake to just shrug it off. Those thousands who died deserve better than to simply be forgotten.

It's strange. I barely know Laura Roslin, yet I must admit that it's easier talking with her than with my own father. She actually listens instead of lectures, and I believe she has a genuine interest in hearing what I have to say. In the short time that I've known her, I've grown to respect and admire her a great deal. Her situation, in a way, mirrors my own, though the weight of my burden pales in comparison to hers. Out of sheer necessity, we've both ended up stepping into positions of leadership that neither of us were prepared for or sought after. Perhaps she recognizes the similarities of our situations and sees a kind of kindred spirit in me too. Perhaps that was why she asked for my help. It's imperative that she succeed in her new role as the President. The people desperately need a sense of stability and strong leadership in the government, and I believe that with a little help she can deliver that. That's why I agreed to act as her advisor on the military. She's smart enough to know that there's a lot she doesn't know, particularly with regard to military procedures and protocols... as well as, I believe, how to deal with my father... though I can hardly consider myself to be the foremost authority on that.

When I broached the subject with Dad concerning my new position as advisor to the President... let's just say he didn't respond well. I tried to make it very clear to him that my duties to the President were primarily informational and had nothing to do with actual military decisions or tactics. Command of the military was still unquestioningly, completely under his authority. I told him that I'm simply "educating the teacher." I thought for certain he would understand that, even welcome it, as it would potentially ease the lines of communication between them. He responded as though I'd insulted him somehow. He was quiet. There was no ranting or yelling, but he certainly gave me The Look. That look on his face used to send Zak and me running for our rooms when I was kid. I knew from the start that he would have some reservations about all this, but not to this degree. On the one hand, he makes this grand gesture of organizing a formal, military ceremony to welcome the President onboard Galactica, all for the purpose of helping her to feel more "Presidential." But when I agree to do my part in helping her to settle in, he looks at me like I've just betrayed him. I don't get it. I would almost start to suspect that he wanted to keep President Roslin to himself.

Or does he really believe that I can't fulfill my military duties if my loyalties are divided? I affirmed to him that I still recognize my job as CAG to be my primary responsibility and vowed that my position as advisor to the president won't interfere with that. He didn't appear to be convinced. He actually asked me, "Do you think you can serve two masters?" Masters? I didn't think I even had one. In response though, I just told him, "I think I can handle both jobs." He just gave me The Look again, and said, "We'll see." That you will Old Man!

Given recent events, however, the unpleasant prospect of playing referee between the Commander and the President should be the least of my worries. The suspicious "failure" of Galactica's portside water tanks has left the fleet in a state of emergency, with riots breaking out on those ships that aren't equipped for long-term water reclamation. Fortunately, Boomer and Crashdown have already located a new source of water on a moon within short-jump range. Chief Tyrol is leading the acquisition effort, but it will be several days at best before the tanks are repaired and our water stores are replenished. Until the water distribution to the fleet resumes, panic amongst the civilian population will continue.

I can't blame the civilians for being afraid. Though I may be inclined at times to grumble about the constant demands of my hectic schedule, I also can't deny that I'm glad to be kept busy. If I had to sit idly by, with no means to contribute and no control over my state in life, I might be raising holy hell by now too, out of sheer frustration. President Roslin has requested that military troops be sent to maintain order in some of the more troublesome spots in the fleet. I'm not comfortable with this situation, but who else can she turn to? There hasn't yet been time to organize and staff a civilian police force. Hopefully this state of partial martial-law will be brief... and it won't come back to bite us on the ass.

Worst of all, regardless of when the water crisis is resolved, the critical issue behind it still needs to be resolved. Who was responsible? That little bombshell that the Commander dropped... hold on. I have to be careful here. As much as I'd love to examine all the implications on this matter, I can't do it here. That information remains classified, and this journal hardly qualifies as controlled media. The bottom line for me is that I now have another reason to keep watch over my pilots, beyond simply watching for warning signs of depression and self-destructive behavior. I'm sure that all division leaders would say the same, but I can't believe that any of my pilots will ultimately be implicated. I've flown with them all, and seen each and every one of them put their lives at risk to defend the fleet. In spite of that however, I still get a cold feeling in my gut that when the truth of this incident is revealed, it will be a shock to us all, and none of us will see it coming.