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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VIII – Sacrificing Freedom for SecurityAdmiral William Adama sat patiently, awaiting his XO's answer to a question he never expected to ask – Is it time to start considering martial law? How the hell did we come to this?
"I don't see where this is coming from," Tigh finally said.
"Baltar's losing control," Adama explained, not thinking that much more explanation was necessary. He's already seen it, Adama knew. He knows everything's starting to come apart at the seams.
"There are still a lot of people who support him," Tigh replied. "He was Roslin's chosen successor, he was elected by the Quorum of Twelve."
"I know, Saul. You don't have to convince me." Adama sighed wearily, thinking over the situation yet again, trying to find the simple solution that had thus far eluded him. Roslin hadn't just been the legitimate successor to the presidency; she had also been the object of prophecy, a woman who uncannily fit a thousands-year old description of the woman who would lead humanity through its darkest hour. With her death, it appeared as if those two roles were now diverging – Gaius Baltar was the legitimate heir to power, and Tom Zarek was widely thought to be the Condemned Man, the leader who would rise to lead the people to Earth after the great leader's death. Two men with claims to power, each of them with thousands of supporters. And all of those supporters are crammed into decrepit old starships, living on borrowed time, slowly – and miserably – continuing their inexorable journey toward an early grave. This isn't going to end well.
"We can wait this out," Saul suggested. "This isn't the first time religion and politics have been at odds. Things'll calm down. They always do."
"And if they don't?"
"If you listen to anyone about this, Bill, listen to me – martial law is not the way to calm things down."
"I know," Adama admitted, "but I've heard people talking, I've seen some of my own crewmen – including no small number of officers – skulking in shadows, poring over scraps of paper or slipping each other datapads. And it's always the same thing."
"Donner's book," Tigh sighed.
"Yeah… Donner's book."
"We could try banning it," Tigh suggested.
"And we'd need to declare martial law to enforce the ban," Adama countered. "Besides, Laura wouldn't have wanted that."
"And it's too bad she isn't here anymore, too, since she'd be the first one to shut down this nonsense."
"She's the only one who could," Adama said, rising from his chair and stretching his legs. "She's the only one who could capably combine politics and prophecy… the rest of us are clutching at straws, trying to figure out the best combination of the two."
"Not that I'm questioning your decisions," Tigh said, taking the conversation in a new direction, "but why is this something we're even talking about? Martial law essentially means having the military step in to take over. Wouldn't it be simpler just to openly support one of the two men? There are a lot of people who consider you a hero; people will listen to what you say. At the very least, that would almost certainly bring an overwhelming majority of support behind one man or the other."
"The military's place is not to play politics," Adama replied curtly, not caring for how much of Ellen he heard in Saul's suggestion.
"The military's place is not to set policy," Tigh argued, putting a finer point on Adama's statement. "And as for politics… name me one admiral who got to that rank without kissing the ass of a few politicians."
"You mean besides me?" Adama asked sarcastically.
"Of course, present company excluded," Tigh allowed, an uncharacteristic smile spreading across his face.
"That's a dangerous road, Saul," Adama said. "It's one thing for flag officers to shmooze politicians in order to make admiral, but it's something entirely different if politicians start coming to the flag officers in order to gain or increase their own power. That's a short step from a military junta."
"As opposed to a military coup, which is nothing but a junta," Tigh pointed out. "If we're talking about choosing the lesser of two evils, I think it's clear what we should do."
"I know," Adama admitted. "But that doesn't mean I have to like it."
"Then just look at it pragmatically," Tigh suggested. "When I declared martial law, I was immediately buried under an avalanche of civilian problems that completely overwhelmed me. Even before the protests and violence, I was so busy trying to manage day-to-day civilian issues that I couldn't also handle fleet defense and security. The civilian government isn't just an idea, something to guarantee freedom; we need the bureaucracy to address all of the non-military problems, too. We're too understaffed to guarantee security, even with the new levies… we can't take on any more responsibilities."
"So either Baltar or Zarek has to consolidate control," Adama said, summing up the situation. "And one of them has to do it soon, before things start to spin out of control."
"And you're going to tell me you don't have a preference as to which one it is?" Tigh asked.
"We can't get involved," Adama muttered. As much as I want to, I can't open that door. Because once it's opened, it can't be closed again. And like Saul said, having military rule not only denies freedoms, it'll also overwhelm us so much that we won't even be able to provide security.
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"Just a few beers, huh?" Ares asked, leveling an irritated stare at Starbuck.
"Yup, just a few," she agreed, counting the empty bottles on the small table in front of her. Eight? she asked herself. When did it get to eight?
"My personal reserve is really getting low," Ares chided. "If you were looking to get good and hammered, you could have been decent enough to tell me so I could you from the beginning. Now I have all this catching up to do."
"Sorry," Starbuck answered. "I didn't really expect to have more than two or three. I drank one for myself, and one for Apollo. Then I had one more so that I'd stop thinking so much about Apollo. But that didn't work, so I had another. And another."
"And the next thing you know, a bunch of my beers are gone and you're making a mess of my ship," Ares said, now grinning as he twisted of a bottle cap and chugged a beer.
Kara watched quietly, remembering something she'd heard about Colonial Special Ops several years earlier; when a member of a team was killed on a mission, it was tradition for the survivors to buy a keg and do their damnedest to finish it in one night.
I wonder how many beers he drank in honor of fallen comrades, she thought. I wonder if he'll save a few to drink to me someday.
"So…" Ares said.
"So…" Starbuck repeated. They both sat silently for several minutes until Kara opened another beer and asked, "Did you know I'm the one who's responsible for getting Lee killed?"
"I hadn't heard," Ares said as casually as if she had asked whether he knew that it would be sunny in Caprica City for the next few days.
"I'm serious."
"Okay," Ares said with a shrug.
"What the frak is wrong with you?"
"That's a question better asked of you," Ares replied. "Lee was a soldier, and soldiers die. That's the way it is, and he knew it going in. You weren't with him when it happened, you didn't order him to go out there, and you sure as hell weren't the one who actually killed him. So maybe I'm a bit slow, but I don't see how you're the one to blame."
"I was the one who was supposed to be on that training flight."
"And why weren't you?"
"The admiral ordered me to crunch some numbers for the op," she explained.
"So you didn't go because you were ordered not to, and Lee went because he was ordered to take your place."
"I know what you're going to say," Starbuck said curtly, "but you're wrong. The nuggets are my responsibility. I could have rescheduled the flight to a time when I could handle it. There was no reason for Lee to go; I could have objected, but I figured I'd let him get out from behind his desk for a change. I should have known better, and I ended up getting him killed."
"Is that what the admiral said?"
"He wouldn't say it," Starbuck replied. "I mean, how the frak do you call someone to task for getting both of your sons killed?"
"Promote her and make her your CAG?" Ares suggested sarcastically.
"Frak you," Starbuck spat. She grabbed an empty bottle and threw it at Ares as hard as she could. Quick as a striking snake, his hand darted out and caught the bottle in mid-flight before setting it gently back on the table.
"You're not the only one who was a professional sports prospect," he said with a wink.
"Oh really?"
"Varsity at East Delphi University," Ares confirmed with a wistful nod. "In the end, my dreams were bigger than my talent. But that didn't stop me from training my ass off for a few years."
"Probably better that you caught it, anyway," Starbuck grumbled. "It's not like I have pilots to spare… you're better off in the cockpit than the infirmary."
"With a bottle sticking out of my head," Ares added. "Not that I was ever in any real danger – you're probably tipsy enough to be seeing double right now."
Starbuck couldn't help but laugh. It felt good, though a second later her guilt was back, and only made worse by the fact that she had dared to smile for a moment. "So what now?" she asked.
"Huh?"
"What do we do now?"
"You mean right now, or in general?" Ares asked.
"Right now," Starbuck answered. "A lot of people died this past year. Billions of people I never knew, lots of pilots I knew well, even our prophesied great leader. And not to sound awful, but it wasn't like I cared all that much. The last person who died that I really cared about was Zak. And now…"
"Now his brother," Ares finished for her. "Apollo's a good guy."
"He was," Starbuck agreed.
"And while he'd be touched by your self-destructive, alcohol-soaked reaction to your grief, I think he'd also prefer if you got back to work as soon as possible."
"I can't," Starbuck said. "At least not yet. I can't deal with them right now."
"With who?"
"The pilots," she explained. "They're driving me up a frakking wall; I don't know how Lee handled them. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, Kat is all up in my face every frakking minute, giving me attitude and making like she's the gods' gift to us mere mortals."
"The nerve," Ares commented, producing a pack of cigarettes and lighting one with a practiced flourish. "After all, you've made it quite clear that you're the gods' gift."
"I'm serious," Starbuck said. "She's a pain in the ass. This morning I was a little hung over, so I handed off my CAP to someone else. It wouldn't have been safe for me to be flying, but she made it out to be like some kind of capital offense or something. She questioned my ability as an officer."
"Just because you'd been drinking?" Ares asked, taking a long drag off his cigarette. "The nerve, questioning the capacity of an officer who'd been drinking on the job."
"I wasn't drinking on the job," Kara protested.
"Maybe not this morning, but when you came in to ask me if you could come in here to grab a few beers, it was a full hour before your shift was up," Ares said. "And that was just over two hours ago. So unless you drank all that beer in little more than an hour, it seems to me that you must've been drinking before your shift was over. And that's after getting a late start because of your hangover."
"I'm just under a lot of stress lately."
"The familiar refrain of all budding alcoholics."
"Frak off," Starbuck snapped. "I don't need the attitude."
"So I should sit here quietly and smile as you give me hell while you drink my irreplaceable beer?" Ares asked.
"It's not like that."
"It really is," Ares countered. "You're upset, and that's understandable, but hasn't this little drama with you and Kat reminded you of anyone else?"
"Huh?"
"Just sounds to me like you and Kat are starting to sound like you and Tigh is all."
"Get out," Starbuck growled.
"It's my ship," Ares reminded her.
"You have an answer for everything, don't you?"
"Usually."
"So what about that little problem I told you about?" Starbuck asked, thinking that as long as she and Ares were alone, that maybe they could get some work done.
"You mean with the op?"
"Yup."
"I've got an angle," Ares assured her. "We can go over it tomorrow."
"And why not now?"
"Because if we keep drinking at this pace, neither of us will remember what we talked about, and we'll just have to do it all over again, anyway. So I'd rather just drink, instead."
"A drink to Apollo," Starbuck said, raising her bottle.
Ares raised his own bottle and nodded in her direction, then finished that beer and opened another.
"We're never going to see Earth, are we?" Starbuck finally asked.
"Come again?"
"We'll never see Earth," Starbuck repeated. "I mean, look at us. The pilots, I mean. Take Kat, for instance – on a good day, she's one hell of a pilot. In fact, if she had a good day and caught me on a bad day, she might even be able to take me out."
"Maybe," Ares admitted. "But you'd have to be having a really crap day."
"No I wouldn't," Starbuck grumbled. "But still, everyone has an off day here and there. It's human nature. But the cylons… I don't think they have off days."
"Probably not," Ares agreed. "They're machines, so you can expect consistency – nothing stellar, nothing below-average."
"And when they started the war, I'll tell ya – I didn't think the average raider had a chance against an average human Viper pilot. Though there was always the chance that a raider could catch a human on a bad day."
"Uh-huh."
"But… well, I thought that maybe I was going crazy, but I started to think the raiders weren't as bad as they used to be."
"Really?"
"Yeah. They started reacting faster, anticipating our tactics more quickly. Almost like they were learning. You know, all of them."
"And?"
"And I talked to Sharon about it," Starbuck admitted. "I asked her what the deal is, whether the cylons were learning from our tactics and upgrading the programming in their raiders."
"Uh-huh."
"And do you know what she said?"
"Not yet."
"She told me the raiders are just like the cylons that look human," Starbuck said. "She told me that like the human ones, the raiders have individual personalities. They learn, the same as we do, and unlike us, they get downloaded and resurrected in new bodies, the same as the human ones do, after they're destroyed. She said they don't like dying, and they use the pain of death and rebirth as a learning experience and incentive not to do it again."
"Frak me…" Ares muttered.
"So over time, we're only going to get worn down, tired, and eventually old, while our enemies never age, never tire, and only get better and more motivated with each battle."
"We already knew we could never hope to win a war of attrition, but with this…"
"I know," Starbuck said with a grim nod. "It's funny in a way, because when I'm on a short leave over on the Astral Queen or something, I hear people talk about us sometimes. You know, the pilots."
"Uh-huh."
"And they talk about us like we're heroes, like we just stepped out of the legends of old. It's like they think we're super-human, when the reality is I'm sitting here counting the days, knowing that the defenseless civilians will likely outlive me. We're not free to do what we want, the way they are; we have no security, since we're going face-to-face with the cylons every time they show up. Basically, we're screwed."
"So they think we're superhuman, but you figure they'll all outlive us in the end."
"Yeah. Which is why I think we should live in the moment, just enjoy what we have while we can," Starbuck said, fishing a cigarette out of the pack Ares had dropped on the table. "Because sooner or later, we're gonna end up in a Viper, having an off-day against veteran machines."
"Live in the day, huh?" Ares said with a sly grin. "Just stop worrying about the consequences?"
"Yup," Starbuck agreed. "No more thinking about what it means in the long-term. Besides, every time I think in the long-term, it only hurts."
"Because of that pyramid player of yours."
"Damnit, Ares…" Starbuck grumbled. "Here I was, being a perfectly happy, brooding drunk, and you had to remind me of Sam."
"So now you'll end up being a sloppy, miserable drunk?"
"Probably," Starbuck agreed, taking a long drag off the cigarette, holding her breath for several seconds before exhaling through her nose. "Why, you got any ideas on how to cheer me up?"
"I have a few," Ares admitted. "But it all depends on whether or not you can get us some simulator time."
"Huh?"
"I just finished programming a combat scenario in the Styx asteroid field," Ares told her. "And I'd love to see how well we can handle it drunk."
"Well… only one way to find out."
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"You do realize you're not working for a politician anymore, right?" Dee asked, thoroughly enjoying Billy's confused expression.
"Yeah," he assured her, finally starting to smile.
"Good, because with the way you talk, you sound like you're still all about people having a voice and all."
"I am about people having a voice."
"Right, but now that means other people," Dee pointed out.
"Huh?"
"You gave up your right to bitch and moan when you signed on the dotted line and put on that uniform," Dee said, silently admitting that Billy looked far more impressive in uniform than she'd expected he would.
"Well, not everyone agrees with that," Billy countered. "Captain Adama--"
"Forget it," Dee interrupted, not wanting to hear another word about Billy's hero and martyr, Captain Lee Adama, who had apparently become a legend in his own time somewhere along the line. He had been in charge of Billy's abbreviated officer training, and it had not been long before Billy's hero worship dominated his conversations with Dee. Lee's death had only exacerbated things.
"It's not something we can – or even should – just forget," Billy retorted. "True, we're soldiers, and soldiers have to follow orders without questioning everything that comes up. If we think too much, there'll be chaos. But if we never ask any questions – if we always just follow our orders like mindless automatons – then we're no different than the cylons. We have a moral responsibility to make certain that the actions of the military serve the populace and the civilian government, not subvert them."
"You really do sound just like Lee," Dee replied. "I mean, Apollo. Captain Adama." She did her best to conceal how shocked she was that she had let on that she and Lee had been on a first-name basis. There were several ways Billy could take that, and few of them were good.
"Well, someone should," Billy said without missing a beat. "The admiral gave the order to gun down civilians on the Astral Queen, and--"
"Those civilians were armed and holding hostages," Dee pointed out.
"And he keeps dragooning civilian ships into military service," Billy continued, ignoring Dee's interruption.
"You can hardly say he 'keeps on dragooning civilian ships,' Billy – there were only two of them."
"So far. And I've also heard rumors about the admiral declaring martial law."
"Just rumors," Dee assured him. "Everyone remembers how that worked out for Tigh last time. No one's going to make that mistake again."
"Even if civil war breaks out?"
"What? Seriously, Billy, where do you hear this stuff?"
"Well, I was talking to Lieutenant Fetter when he landed after his CAP, and he said--"
"Ares?" Dee interrupted. "You listened to something Ares said? Frak, Billy…"
"He made a lot of sense," Billy insisted.
"If he did, it's only because he was saying exactly what you wanted to hear," Dee responded with a grin, surprised that Billy, with all of his recent political experience, could be so easily taken in by one alarmist, trigger-happy pilot.
"It wasn't like that," Billy told her.
"The other pilots call him Ares for a reason," Dee explained. "He's always looking for ways we could end up in a fight. There were a few times I was training with Captain Apollo that he told me about how Ares insisted we were heading for civil war. He's been saying this for weeks, and it hasn't happened yet."
"Okay, but--"
"Just don't worry about it," Dee said. "This is just how it is in the military – everyone's always looking for the next enemy we may have to shoot at. When we get tired of watching the DRADIS screen or thinking about who might by a cylon spy, we start wondering what might get us shooting at each other again, the way it happened sometime back in the Colonies. It's no biggie."
"It's no biggie?" Billy asked incredulously. "We're talking about civil war."
"Won't happen," Dee assured him.
"Fine," Billy finally relented. "So what are you up to tonight?"
"Working third shift."
"I checked the duty roster – you're supposed to be free."
"I volunteered to put in some extra time," Dee answered with a shrug, hoping Billy wouldn't press the issue. She wanted to be as alone as possible, and third shift in C.I.C, was as close to that as she could expect to get. And is it that you want to be alone, or is it that you really just want to not be with Billy? she found herself wondering, shocked that such a thing could even occur to her.
To be continued……………………………