Battlestar Galactica 2003 is a copyright of the Sci Fi Channel. Battlestar Galactica is a trademark and copyright of Universal Studios. Ron Moore re-imagined Glen A. Larson's original idea; but then again, most people who would be reading this already know that. My use is in no way intended to challenge or infringe upon any established copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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II – Moments of Transition

"I'm very sorry we haven't gotten to do this sooner," Baltar apologized.

Apollo was impressed by the apparent sincerity in the president's voice. He's really starting to settle into the skin of a politician. A couple more weeks, and he'll be a world-class liar like the rest of them.

"There hasn't been too much that's been pressing," Admiral Adama replied. "Though I'd appreciate it if you'd do everything you can to make time for military briefings, Mr. President, especially until we get an idea of how you'd like to do things."

"Of course," Baltar said, smiling slightly at some unspoken joke. "So… what's first?"

"There are several reports for you to look over," the admiral said, pushing forward a stack of bound papers. "Those include everything you need to know – fuel consumption and refinery capacity, weapon and ammunition production, current military enlistment goals, a roster of our current officers, flight specs on the Vipers, the list goes on and on."

"I see."

"I'll help you go over it," Apollo promised. "President Roslin didn't have any military experience, either, and she picked it up pretty quickly." He doubted, however, that he would ever enjoy his time with the current president as much as he had his time with Baltar's predecessor.

"At the bottom of the pile, you'll find the latest updates to the basic information in the reports," Tigh added.

"Great," Baltar said with a smile, dropping his hands on the stack. "And is there anything else? I know President Roslin always spent quite a bit of time in these briefings."

Apollo hid a smirk, unable to resist dwelling upon the thought that the reason the military briefings had always taken so long was that the president and the admiral had always been looking for excuses to spend time together; the military briefings were really the only normally scheduled meetings that provided that opportunity. "Well, there aren't really any major situations," Apollo said. "With inter-ship travel only just now getting started up again, there are sure to be small problems, but those are routinely handled. Unless you'd like to consider changing our routines," he added, drawing a disapproving stare from his father.

"No, I don't see any point in messing with procedures that have kept us safe this far," Baltar replied.

"Then as long as we don't get attacked, we won't have to spend time going over damage and casualty reports," Tigh added. "That's what usually takes longest."

"I know that not every encounter with cylon raiders gets reported to the press," Balter commented. "In fact, President Roslin all but told me there were attacks that not even I heard about, even though I was the vice president."

"I wouldn't know what she did or didn't feel was necessary to share with you," Adama grumbled.

Apollo thought something in his father's vaguely reproachful tone sounded very similar to the way he had whenever he'd found him and Zak fighting. "I don't care if he hit you first, Apollo. I don't want to hear excuses; you're old enough to know better than hit back."

"That's not my point," Baltar said with a casual wave. "What I mean is this – I'm aware that there are probably many things I don't know about the fleet's defenses. I think I deserve a frank evaluation, summed up in a few words, without having to take the next several days piecing together clues from several misleading and incomplete reports, hoping against hope that the mosaic I construct is something akin to reality."

Apollo couldn't help but smile at Baltar's candor; it was not a trait he usually saw in politicians. While his father's face was unreadable, Lee knew his father well enough to realize that the almost undetectable glimmer deep within his eyes was a sign that Baltar finally said something that met with the admiral's approval.

"Fine, a frank evaluation," Adama responded. There are dozens of civilian ships, many of them years past their primes and with grueling maintenance schedules, and none of them armed. Protecting them we have the Galactica and the Myrmidon. The Myrmidon is just a solidly-constructed hydrogen harvester re-fit to fill a military role – it's lightly armed and almost completely unarmored; it's capable of transporting a detachment of up to six Vipers, but it's not capable of permanently supporting them, not that we have either the Vipers or the pilots to indulge that fantasy; its crew is still being trained and its commanding officer would've been considered at least five or six years shy of the inexperience needed for the position if the Colonies hadn't been destroyed; and last, but certainly not least, its FTL drive has been acting up lately, so I'm increasingly concerned that we may eventually have to abandon it and salvage it for scrap. As for the Galactica, it's a battlestar. It's fully armed and heavily armored, it has a trained crew, though we're about 400 people short of what would be considered a full crew complement. We have Vipers and trained, experienced pilots, though neither in adequate supply. So the Galactica is about as well off as we could hope to expect, all things considered, but we can't forget the ship is decades-old and its maintenance schedule hasn't been kept up since it was scheduled to be decommissioned and turned into a museum. Ideally, the Galactica would never be expected to escort more than a half-dozen unarmed civilian transports like the ones we have with us, especially with the scant number of Vipers at our disposal."

"So the best word to describe our predicament might be dire," Baltar responded.

"Yes."

"And your people have kept us all safe so far."

"We've been lucky here and there," Adama admitted. "It helps."

Apollo thought he caught Baltar glance out of the corner of his eye and nod almost imperceptibly, almost as if he was listening to someone else in the room. It sent a shiver through him, though he could not explain why.

"What would make things easier?" Baltar asked.

"Excuse me?" Adama asked.

"I'm the president now," Baltar replied. "I have it in my power to assist you, and I happen to know that doing so is in my best interests."

"I don't know what kind of person you think I am, or how much trouble the Quorum of Twelve is giving you, but if you think that bribing me--"

"No, of course not," Baltar interrupted. "I'm afraid you misunderstand me, Admiral. You and your soldiers are responsible for the safety of the fleet. For my safety, truth be told. And yes, I've already had my problems with the Quorum and with day-to-day business, but I think it's important to acknowledge that the safety and security of the fleet is vital. After all, all of our other problems immediately become irrelevant if we find ourselves subject to a cylon surprise attack and we can't defend ourselves."

"What are you suggesting?" the admiral asked.

"I'm not suggesting anything," Baltar said. "You're the soldier, not me; tell me what you need."

"More ships," Tigh immediately said. "More men, more weapons, more fuel, a few spacedocks for repairs, a few weeks' liberty to let our people unwind, the list goes on and on."

"I see that." Baltar steepled his fingers in front of him and smiled broadly. "What do you want, Admiral?"

"The Aether," he answered without a moment's hesitation.

"A ship?"

"No," Apollo interjected. "We're not taking another civilian ship."

"We need one, Captain." The admiral's eyes were ice, his face a stone mask. Apollo knew he was going to get chewed out for this, but he saw no other choice.

"President Roslin would never have agreed to this," Apollo said.

"She gave us the Myrmidon," Tigh pointed out.

"Reluctantly," Apollo countered. "She always wanted to keep a firm line between the military and civilian personnel and ships. Since she's died, we've recruited over four hundred new troops, and now we're going to convert another ship."

"Just one ship," Tigh said.

That's how it starts, Apollo remembered President Roslin saying. She was right – it didn't end with the Myrmidon; it won't end with the Aether.

"The Aether is small," the admiral told the president. "It has a crew of only about forty. But it's one of the newest ships in the fleet – it's a deep space surveyor. It's fast, relatively maneuverable, and has the virtue of being designed to go years without major maintenance."

"She's yours," Baltar said. "I'll have my staff prepare any necessary paperwork."

"Thank you, Mr. President," Adama replied.

"If that's all," Baltar prompted, standing and grabbing his stack of reports as he walked out, seeming eager to get away from the three command officers.

"Well I'll be damned," Tigh muttered as soon as the door had closed. "I never thought we'd find a friend in him."

"Don't be so sure we have," Adama cautioned his XO. "He's still a civilian, and the president, to boot, so I'm sure there'll be a price for this favor somewhere down the line."

"I really don't think we should do this," Apollo said, drawing an icy stare from Tigh and a tired shrug from his father.

"Give us a moment, would you, Colonel," Adama said.

"I'll be in C.I.C.," Tigh said, quickly showing himself the door.

"I know you've got a strong civilian streak, Lee," the admiral said once they were alone, "but you have to start facing facts. We all do. As much as we may not like to admit it, even with the billions that have already died in this war, we're going to lose more people. Just like we lost President Roslin. I'm not here to coddle the people; I'm here to protect them. I need more ships to do that, and you damn well know it."

"But we can't lose sight of the big picture," Apollo countered. "If we lose sight of what we are, of our heritage, then--"

"The Colonies are dead, Lee," Adama interrupted. "President Roslin was the last link to the old elected government, and she's gone; the Colonies have been sacked, the human race all but wiped out. What Baltar said is something that I've often thought, myself – all of our other problems immediately become irrelevant if we find ourselves subject to a cylon surprise attack. We can debate, and philosophize, and bargain, and lie to our heart's content once we're safe. But until that day, we have to make sure we do everything we can to make sure our children, and our children's children, have that opportunity."

"But--"

"That's all," Adama said, cutting him off.

Apollo rose rigidly, snapped a quick salute that conveyed more defiance than respect, and walked out of the briefing room, leaving his father alone to ponder the inevitable consequences of what he'd done.

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"You look just like I feel," Starbuck said to Helo as she walked into the weight room. It was the middle of the night, and the two of them were alone; she found that suited her just fine.

"And if you look like you feel, then I guess I must look like hell," Helo said with a grin. Starbuck took a few seconds to work out in her head what he'd said, and then she smiled back.

"So how's it going with you?" Starbuck asked, throwing some plates on the military press machine, deciding that maybe doing an intense shoulder workout might drain the tension that spread from her neck all the way down to the middle of her back.

"Been better," Helo admitted. "Been worse, though, too, I guess. How 'bout you?"

"Pretty much the same," Starbuck grunted as she began a set, not bothering to count her reps, deciding that every set she did that night would be to failure. Maybe then I can get some frakking sleep.

Silence reigned for several minutes as they both proceeded through their routines. Starbuck was actually startled at how quiet it was; the rhythmic clanking of iron weights and Helo's occasional grunt were relative silence compared to the near-constant noise that typically surrounded her on the busy battlestar. There was no background hum of various conversations, no announcements from the bridge, no crashes or bangs as one of the numerous new crewmen managed to drop something that was either delicate or explosive. Or both. For some reason, she found herself reminded of Caprica City at dawn, when people were just waking up and the streets were almost completely clear. Just like now, it was almost possible to imagine you were practically alone despite the people that were all around you. But her stomach sank as memories of Caprica reminded her of someone she'd been trying to forget.

"Can I ask you something?" Helo said, breaking the silence at what Starbuck thought was the perfect moment.

"Shoot."

"It's about…" His voice trailed off, and though he looked away and didn't say another word, Starbuck knew he was talking about Sharon.

"Go ahead," she prompted. "No matter what I might say, whether it pisses you off or whatever, you can at least count on me not to repeat any of this to anyone else. For what that's worth."

"I know." Helo stood up from the leg press machine and stared at the weights, as if they would provide him with the perfect combination of words to help him express what he was thinking and feeling. "It's just… I don't know. It's driving me crazy, you know?"

"You mean Sharon?"

"The whole thing with Sharon," Helo explained.

"How do you mean?"

"I sit in with Doc Drake when he's questioning her."

"Uh-huh."

"And when he asks his questions, it's almost impossible to think of her as anything other than a machine, you know?"

"I can imagine," Starbuck said, trying to be as sympathetic as possible. Helo's a good guy, she reminded herself. There's no point in telling him I don't think it's ever possible to see her as anything other than a machine. Not after what she did to the Old Man.

"I mean, I look at her, and I see Sharon," Helo continued. "What I mean is, in my mind, she's the same woman I flew with before the attack. When I saw her on Caprica and she told me she'd come back from Galactica to get me, I believed it was really her. I had no idea that Sharon – the real Sharon – was back here, with no one any the wiser."

"Uh-huh," Starbuck said with a nod, unable to think of anything else to say. She doubted it would help if she told him she couldn't believe how thickheaded he was being, that it would all start to make a lot more sense if he stopped forcing himself to think of Sharon as a person.

"And I love her," Helo said, sounding almost disgusted with himself, despitye the fact that a wistful smile remained on his face the whole time. "I loved her for so long, even though she was with the chief all that time."

"Already knew that," Starbuck said with a wink.

Helo stared at her, unable to voice a reply.

"Hey, you may be many things, but subtle isn't one of them," she said, shrugging as she walked over and grabbed some dumbbells. "It was obvious to anyone who knew you. Well, except for Sharon and the chief."

"Oh, great…"

"If it's any consolation, you're not the only one living in a festival-worthy drama," Starbuck sighed.

"Really?" Helo asked. He looked like he was weighing the merits of explaining himself, and then said, "Does this have to do with Apollo?"

"Huh?" Starbuck asked quickly, stunned at the question. "Apollo?"

"Well, you two--"

"No," Starbuck objected. "Apollo is--" She stopped herself cold before she said, 'Zak's brother.' She knew that just speaking the words would hurt, and now she did her best not to even think about them. "Look, I was actually talking about someone else."

"Ares?" Helo asked, shrugging his shoulders.

"Gods no," Starbuck said with a laugh. "And if anyone is spreading any rumors to the contrary, feel free to use them for a punching bag," she added.

"Well who else is there?" Helo asked. "I can't imagine… Oh… Hell, no," his voice boomed out in disbelief.

"Yeah," Starbuck said with a shrug, knowing that Helo had guessed.

"Anders."

"Yup, Anders," she answered with a nod.

It was obvious that Helo's sudden interest in doing another set of leg-presses was simply an excuse not to have to say anything, to buy a few moments to come up with something that might be appropriate. The strained look on his face just before he spoke almost made Starbuck feel sorry for him.

"But… you hardly know him," Helo pointed out once he was done with his set.

"Yeah," Starbuck agreed.

"And he's probably dead," Helo added. He winced when he realized what he'd said, but Starbuck nodded, admitting the likelihood.

"Yup. A dead guy. Figures."

"And you…"

"I… I don't know," Starbuck said. "It's just this weird thing. I'll be out there on CAP, and I'll start thinking about him. Or I'll be playing cards with Ares and the guys, and I'll find myself wondering what Sam might say about a joke. Or I'll start wondering what he doing right now, fighting cylons back on Caprica. It's like… I have him in my head, and I can't stop thinking about him. And I know frakking well that it can't be love, because I hardly know him, but when you feel like this, it…"

"I know," Helo nodded. "Believe me, if anyone on the ship knows what it's like to be in love without having a single frakking good reason for it, it's me."

"I'm not in love," Starbuck protested.

"That's not what it sounds like."

"Frak you," she shot back, managing a thin smile to punctuate her words.

"Seriously," Helo said. "Maybe it's not such a bad thing, you know? You can't be a hard-ass all the time. We all need something to keep us going, something to cling to that isn't about the war."

"Isn't about the war?" Starbuck asked.

"I read a book back in high school, about the Cylon War."

"The First Cylon War," Starbuck corrected.

"Yeah, the first. Back then, I couldn't put it down because of the cool war stories; but thinking about it now, the whole thing was really about the time they spent in between the battles. Now all I really remember is how everyone in his unit got so emotionally fragged that after a while all they talked about was what they'd do after the war. It was sort of a way not to think about the fact that they probably wouldn't live that long."

"And here's the part where your attempts to cheer me up start sounding like one of Ares's pep talks," Starbuck chided. "You better quit while you're ahead."

"Fine," Helo said. "But don't be afraid of what you're feeling. Okay?"

"I'm not afraid," Starbuck said.

"Fine," Helo repeated. "And since you're not afraid, then let yourself think about it. And maybe ask yourself what you plan to do with Anders when the war is over."

By the time Starbuck had come up with a suitably sarcastic comment, Helo had walked out, leaving her alone to finish exhausting herself with the weights.

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"Thanks for meeting with me, Billy," Baltar said with a smile. Billy grinned back, though Baltar noted that the expression never reached his guest's eyes. "Can I offer you something to drink?"

"No thank you, Mr. President," Billy answered. "I was told you wanted to see me."

Fine, we'll get right to business, Baltar decided. "Yes, I feel that one of the first things I should do is address your situation here on Colonial One."

"Yes, Mr. President."

"You served President Roslin throughout her entire presidency, and she always spoke very highly of you."

Billy nodded, but didn't say a word.

"And I always noticed how on top of things you were," Baltar added. "I would like to keep you on in your old position, to have you as my personal assistant."

"I'm flattered," Billy responded, "but I'm afraid I have to decline the offer."

"Oh, really?" It had never occurred to Baltar that anyone would refuse an opportunity to work in his new administration. Everyone else he'd asked had agreed, though whether out of a sense of duty, a loyalty to him, or a simple enjoyment of the luxuries to be found on Colonial One, he couldn't say. But they all stayed. All except for the one person whose inside information may be most important. Maybe I should have asked him first, he considered, though he knew that older, career politicians would have been offended if he had talked to a jumped-up college intern before speaking with them.

"I have other plans," Billy explained.

"Yes, I heard," Baltar replied. "You're marrying Petty Officer Dualla."

Again, Billy nodded.

"Well, I can't say I'm not disappointed," Baltar said with a shrug. "Should you change your mind--"

"I won't."

"Ah, yes," Baltar said brusquely. He suddenly did not care for Billy's tone. I can't imagine he ever spoke to Roslin like that. "Well, good luck to you."

"Thank you." Billy stood and walked out, leaving Baltar alone with Six.

"I should have handled that better somehow," Baltar muttered.

"He's just a boy, Gaius," Six replied. "You'll be just fine without him."

"He's a boy who knew all of the players behind the scenes, who was used to passing messages back and forth through the fleet," Baltar explained. "Toadies and sycophants, I have in plenty. But sadly, capable bureaucrats are in short supply."

"You're just upset because he wasn't aching to grovel at your feet," Six said with a sarcastic smile. "As great a mind as you are, and as much power as you've amassed for yourself, you're still insecure enough to feel sorry for yourself when you fail to achieve complete adoration from the little people."

"The little people," Baltar repeated. "Yes, of course. But if Roslin hadn't died, Billy wouldn't have been one of the little people. He would have been a major player someday."

"But she did die, so too bad for him."

"Leave me," Baltar snapped, surprised at how disgusted he was at Six's tone when she talked so offhandedly about Roslin's death. It's not like I even liked Roslin – or that she had any use for me beyond preventing Zarek from being her vice-president – but I'll be damned if I sit here and listen to a cylon speak ill of her.

"Leave you?" Six asked.

Baltar looked up and fixed his stare on his persistent not-so-imaginary friend. Gods, I never noticed how absolutely ugly she can be, he thought, looking past the finely cut clothes and alluring figure to see the empty void behind her eyes. There's nothing there – no compassion, no pity, and absolutely no genuine affection for me. What have I been doing all this time? He almost shuddered, feeling strangely vulnerable alone in the room with her.

"You don't really want me to leave you, Gaius," Six assured him. "You need me. You just don't know how much, yet."

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"Hey," Starbuck said with a friendly nod, self-consciously pulling her towel around herself more tightly.

"Hey," Apollo answered, conspicuously slowing down the process of undressing, hoping to increase the chances that Starbuck would be dressed and out of the locker room before he got to the point where he was taking off his pants.

"Easy CAP today," she commented, rotating her body just enough so that she could make sure Lee wasn't watching her, and denying him a full view if he was. She quickly took off her towel and pulled on some clothes, curious as to why it suddenly mattered to her. He's seen me naked before, she reasoned. So have all the other pilots. What's the big deal? But she knew what the big deal was – I spilled the beans, she thought angrily. I should never have done that. Especially since it wasn't totally true… at least not the way he'll take it.

She knew that she'd convinced Lee that she had no recollection of their conversation after she returned from Chiron, and she was thankful that he was willing to let the subject drop. He might even honestly think that I forget saying it, or that it was the alcohol talking, and not me, she hoped. And anyway, it's not like I came right out and professed my love for him or anything, she reminded herself. Not like he did with me.

"That thruster still giving you problems?" Apollo asked, thankful that Kara was still keeping her back to him. He slipped out of his pants and wrapped a towel around his waist, hoping that she neither caught a view nor noticed that he was in such a self-conscious rush to make certain she didn't get to see anything she'd already seen dozens of times.

"Think the chief got that taken care of," Kara replied.

"Good," Apollo replied, doing his best to chase away a stray thought about how Kara's hair looked when it was wet. Make more small talk, he told himself, trying to think of something that sounded anything like the countless meaningless comments he'd made in the past. Before she had too much to drink and said some things she obviously didn't plan to. He almost felt bad for her, knowing that she was not one to open up. That was why he was so willing to pretend that it had never happened, or act like he believed for even a second that Kara didn't remember saying it.

"You have a chance to sit in on any meetings with President Baltar yet?" Starbuck asked, relieving Apollo of the burden of coming up with distracting chitchat.

"This morning was the first time."

Starbuck turned to face him, hoping she didn't blush when her gaze meandered – strictly of its own accord and only for a fraction of a second – toward his towel. "How'd it go?" she asked, keeping her concentration riveted on his eyes.

"Let's just say I ended up getting a lecture from my father when we were done," Apollo said with a sigh.

"A lecture from the Old Man," Kara chuckled. "I guess that explains why he hasn't chewed me out lately – he's been too busy with you."

"Sure, laugh it up," Lee replied, unable to stifle a broad smile of his own.

"Sorry, Captain CAG, sir," Kara said in a mock stern tone, flashing Lee a quick, sloppy salute. "I should know better than to enjoy the misery of others. Sir." She started to smile, but then caught herself when something about the moment reminded her of her brief return to Caprica. And Sam. What the hell is wrong with me?

"It's just that Baltar authorized us to convert another civilian ship for military use," Apollo explained. He noticed something flicker behind Kara's eyes, but he was unable to place it. He had seen it before – several times lately, in fact – but he had resigned himself long ago to the reality that there were some things about Kara Thrace that he would never understand.

"Another ship, huh? This one gonna be any better than that tub we took to Chiron?"

"It's the Aether," Apollo said.

"State of the art, very nice," Starbuck said. Lee glowered when she expressed approval of the move, so she searched desperately for a new topic. "So whatcha doing for dinner?" she blurted out without thinking, instantly concerned that Apollo would think she was asking him to join her. No sooner had she spoken the words than she remembered what she had said to Ares recently – "Male and female pilots have dinner, everyone's gonna assume that something's going on." Frak.

"I'm just going to grab something and take it to my office," he replied. "Lots of paperwork to do; a CAG's work is never done."

"So you've told me," she answered. "I guess I'll catch up with Ares or something." Something momentarily darkened behind Apollo's eyes, but they brightened again almost immediately.

"Have fun," he told her.

"A few of us are planning on hitting the simulator later," Starbuck said. "Maybe you could meet up with us then." Though she put her best effort into sounding like she wanted him to join them, she partially hoped he would decline the invitation; being around Lee was starting to get too awkward to be worthwhile.

"Maybe," Apollo told her, knowing even as he spoke that there was no way he would go anywhere near the simulators if he knew she was going to be there. It's just a little awkward right now, he told himself. Give it a few days – a week, tops – and everything between us will be fine again.

To be continued……………………………