Disclaimers in Part One. Remember: REVIEWS equals MORE FANFIC!
For those still wondering:
English dialogue is in "".
Colonial dialogue is bolded.
Italicized dialogue indicates voices coming over the wireless.
With enormous (Basestar-sized) thanks to The Sidhe, who gave me one of the ideas appearing below. Check out "The Consequences of Not Being Polite" to see why. Thanks also to everyone who has written in so far; you're what keeps this story going!
That all said, back to work…
THE LONG ROAD HOME
Book I: Promised Land
Part Six
Two hours earlier...
1524 Hours GMT
"Acknowledged, Sergeant," Rice stated into his suit's mic, confirming Guarland's report of returning to Owl 71 and re-establishing contact with Olympus.Ishnay had personally escorted Taylor and Lewis, who had likewise confirmed their safe arrival and commencement of testing via personal mics. This left himself and Thrace at the tender mercies of Tigh, Athena and Costanza. Tigh dismissed Costanza after a few minutes with orders to try to control any crazy rumors circulating amongst the crew, the pilots particularly.
"And if they ask about Starbuck?" Costanza had asked quietly before he left.
"Tell 'em they'll hear it from me and everyone keep on their best behavior. Now move." Hotdog gave his commander a salute and hustled away without another glance at either Rice or the subject of discussion. Silence again descended on the Ops Room, no less tense or uncertain than before.
"I see Costanza's shaped up pretty well while I've been gone," Starbuck stated, reaching for something to say.
Tigh glanced her way with a glower, and then refocused on Admiral Rice. "How long do you expect these tests to take, Admiral?"
"At the very least a few hours, Commander. Likely much longer."
"Hmph. Obviously I can't offer you two a drink in the meantime, eh? May I offer you at least a cybol tour of the ship instead?"
"A splendid idea, Sir. Any objections, Colonel?"
"None, Admiral," Starbuck replied, her tone completely at odds with the sentiment. She figured the Basestar had to least equal the internal volume of the Olympus, if not more. The prospect of marching around in their gear and carrying the Sniffer wasn't all that appealing. Fortunately the past two years had taught her a thing or two about carrying 'extra' weight.
"Commander Tigh, we are at your disposal."
"Very well, Admiral. Captain, with me." Tigh led the way out of Ops and back to the Bridge, Athena on his heels and Rice and Starbuck lumbering after. Major Agathon came to attention when they stepped into sight.
"Major, please show our guests here around the Nemesis."
"Yes, Sir. How extensively?"
"Non-vital areas. Some of Little Delphi if it can be managed without causing a stir."
"Understood, Sir." The Major met his wife's gaze for second, a fractional nod passing between them which Starbuck couldn't miss.
"You understood everything I just said to my Executive, Admiral?"
"Non-vital areas only and...small delphon, was it?"
Tigh actually cracked a grin at the Admiral sounding uncertain for a change. "Almost, Sir. I'm sure Cap...I'm sure Colonel Thrace can fill in any holes for you."
"I'm sure." Rice turned to the formidable presence standing a few paces off. "Major? We're in your hands."
"If you'll follow me, Admiral?" The tall man had eyes for the senior officer of the pair, as if Starbuck didn't even exist.
Starbuck couldn't stop the flinch that came from her former crewmate's lack of acknowledgment, uncertain if it were conscious or not. She trailed after Helo and the Admiral, feeling the heat a dozen eyes on her back.
1650 Hours GMT
Major Agathon proved an adequate if some taciturn tour guide. 'Non-vital areas' of the ship evidentially were the crew's quarters, rec areas, the hanger decks, and parts of the fabrication plant which churned out everything from new uniforms to soap to much needed spare parts for the rest of the Fleet. It was only with the last that required a bit more explanation than "This is Crew Deck A" and "Those are Rec Rooms Four and Five". The Major offered some further explanation when prompted, but otherwise kept his peace and was quite obvious about not looking anywhere in the direction of Colonel Thrace.
The Admiral hid any irritation he might have felt at this quite well, nodding at the appropriate times and letting the Colonial officer lead the discussion. Their path appeared to be winding back to CIC and giving 'Little Delphi' a miss. As they passed an empty rec room, he spoke up. "Major, I'd like to get some air samples from in here. Alone if that's alright?"
"I've no objection, Sir," Helo replied tightly. "But please stay in sight."
"Of course. You stay put, Colonel." Before Starbuck could object to the order, her superior officer turned and entered the empty room, waving his instrument about in an exaggerated show of checking the farthest corner visible from the doorway. His movements were slow, deliberately so; a more pointed directive could not be imagined.
"So," Starbuck started, stomach tightening as if she were about to step into the ring for another 'dance'. "How's Hera?"
Helo's expression softened a bit at the question. "She's good. Growing fast. Nightmares aren't as bad these days."
"Figured," she smiled in reply. "How about the Chief and Cally? Nicky start gnawing on Viper parts?"
"They're good last I saw."
Starbuck had to take a breath, trying to decide whether to go through the entire crew roster or just jump into the proverbial deep end. There was no real choice to make there of course. She'd never been one to do things by half.
But that didn't mean she couldn't test the waters first. "Ho…how about the Old Man?" It was a…safer…question than the one to come.
"He's fine." Kara blew a relieved breath, only to have it freeze in her throat as something resembling a scowl hit Helo's face. "At least, he was until his son flipped out, handed in his wings, and helped get Baltar declared 'not guilty' by his tribunal."
"Lee…handed in his…?" She couldn't form the words, certain she'd misheard everything. "Wuh…why?"
"I think watching his Lead Pilot fly into a storm system and appeared toblow up in front of him had something to do with it." Helo clenched his teeth hard enough to hear the enamel scrape. "Didn't do much for Fleet or pilot morale, either."
"Is he…he's…" Again, she couldn't form the words, the possibilities too terrifying to consider.
"He's alive. At least, so I hear." The Colonial took what looked like a calming breath. "He didn't re-up or take his wings back, at least."
"He…what?"
"He's not a pilot anymore, Kara. Simple as that." That pseudo-scowl returned and he closed the distance between them. "How about you? I'd like to know how in Hades you're still in one piece, huh?"
"We'd all like to know that, Major," the Admiral suddenly stated from the doorway. Helo immediately stepped back, as did Starbuck, though the latter more as if she were shoved. "She piloted a flaming Viper through our atmosphere and made a perfect landing without either instrumentation or visibility. Exactly how she managed that we've no idea, given she was completely unconscious when we pulled her out of the wreckage." The senior officer chuckled loudly. "Maybe it was the Gods who delivered her to us."
"I apologize, Sir," Helo stated quickly.
"For what? It's a perfectly legitimate question." This appeared to bring both Helo and Starbuck up short. Rice pushed on. "Major, the Commander mentioned another section of the ship? Little delphonany or something?"
"Little Delphi, Sir. It's a, well, civilian community aboard." Helo met their looks directly. "Nemesis serves as a platform for technical training for our Fleet, instructing people for service in our refinery and mining ships as well as for Military service."
"I'm presuming this is all voluntary?"
"It is."
"Is that…is that where…?" Starbuck cursed her sudden inability to speak, the shock of recent revelations only just wearing off.
"No, he isn't," Helo replied flatly. He was privately but profoundly relieved when both Starbuck and the Admiral nodded, apparently not wanting to pursue that particular line of questioning further. He doubted he could begin to explain the relationship involved in any coherent manner anyway.
The Admiral instead asked "Why wasn't this area on our agenda here? I'm just curious, mind."
"The Commander asked we avoid creating any…disruptions here if it can be helped, Sir. I…until you can remove those suits safely I feel we should keep to areas of minimal population."
"That's accurate, Sir," Starbuck affirmed. "You're really getting into this XO stuff, huh?" she added, old habits suddenly taking hold.
"And how many letters are after your name these days?" Helo replied with a small grin.
The Admiral again broke in. "Colonel Thrace is our Commander of Combined Air Wings, which incidentally puts her at the top of our fleet's food-chain and pretty much irreplaceable." He had no doubt the Colonel herself was giving a rare blush to this recital. It didn't help that Helo gave a small whistle of genuine surprise. "I should also mention the only reason she's here…excuse us, Major."
Helo watched as both Starbuck and Rice tapped their earpieces, evidentially allowing one of their teammates to speak to them privately. Taylor's dour voice cut in on their internal mics. "We are, Major," Rice confirmed this suspicion. "What's up?"
They both listened to whatever message was being sent them, both going very, very still as they did. "Good to know. Maintain position." The Admiral clicked off and nodded to Starbuck. "And you wonder why the Flight Surgeons hate you."
"Here I thought it was my winning personality," the Colonel bantered back. "Recommend we consider ending Phase Two, Sir."
"No more doubts?"
"Not since the Commander slapped me down back there."
"Noted." He turned back to Helo, who had been watching their exchange with care. "Major, would you please ask the Commander to join us in your medical wing? We have something rather important to show him."
1723 Hours GMT
Life Station was a bit more crowded than normal when Tigh and Athena breezed in, with Rice, Starbuck, Helo, Ishnay, Taylor and Lewis all crowded into the back area the CMO had partitioned off for the Terran's equipment. Helo quickly moved over to Tigh and whispered something into his ear. Tigh simply nodded in reply and ordered "Major, return to CIC." Helo saluted and left without a word. Tigh turned and asked no-one in particular, "Okay, what's wrong?"
It was Corporal Lewis who spoke up. "We've compiled a genetic profile of your people, based on the samples your crew has provided."
"So?"
"Well, Sir. I believe it's been mentioned our planet had a pandemic in the recent past."
"Again, so?"
Rice nodded over to Lewis, who turned a small monitor screen about so the newest arrivals could see it. "All rightwhat am I looking at?" Tigh asked with his customary impatience.
"The red text on the side here? Those are known pathogens and infectious diseases." Tigh leaned in closer while Athena remained where she was. The alphabet was unfamiliar to either but both could make out a sizable list of individual names there.
"Please don't tell me my people are in danger from all that," Tigh groaned, only to look up sharply at the Corporal's next words.
"No, Sir. Quite the reverse. All the samples are…well, for lack of a better word, clean. According to the scans and projected breakdowns, your people could fight off most everything in the inventory."
"What? How?"
"Got me there, Sir. Every sample I've run shows them coming up negative against everything from the common cold to Marburg Influenza. Hell, even Mannheim-Tariq Strains B and D is projected at a zero-point-five percent rate of infection."
The names meant nothing the Colonials, but Rice and Taylor couldn't help but be stunned. "That's…pretty damned impressive," the Admiral mused aloud. "Mannheim-Tariq" was the name for the strains of viruses better known as 'The Blight', which had come some terribly close to wiping out its creators. Humanity had survived only because the virus itself had mutated to a more benign strain after its accidental release into the biosphere.
It had prompted humanity to walk a little more softly upon the planet if nothing else, and to get serious about guarding against another such outbreak in the future. Hence the extreme speed and precision of the instruments they'd brought aboard. The processing package of the DNA scanners could pick apart the genetic code of every crewmember in the Terran Fleet within a few hours if needed and, within a fair margin of confidence, project any conceivable worry from a resurgence of the flu to viral hemorrhagic fever.
Tigh took in the stunned stances of his opposite numbers and asked, "How about the other way around? Are you in any danger from us?"
"I'm finding nothing unidentifiable or even vaguely threatening besides a vague analogue to Chicken Pox, which looks so weak a couple Aspirin could probably lick it."
"Chick-ken Poch?" Tigh and Athena both looked over at Starbuck, who translated for them.
"Coryn's Fever, Commander. He doesn't find anything more serious than that." Which was a bit a joke in itself given how decidedly harmless Coryn's Fever itself was; embarrassing as hell where it caused breakouts to happen, but otherwise total benign.
"You're joking."
"No, Sir," Lewis was quick to shake his head.
"Ishnay, can you confirm any of this?"
"Not with the equipment I have available, Sir. But, uh, what they're saying does make sense."
"Eh? How?"
"Sir, when was the last time we had an actual health crisis in the Fleet? One that didn't involve a Cylon attack?" Ishnay shook his head. "I can't remember one, Sir. Even the Sagittarians haven't shown more than the occasional sniffle from chill sweats in the last couple years."
"Okay, granted," Tigh conceded with a slow nod. "Never though much about it."
"I doubt any of us have." Ishnay left this to hang between them all for a few breaths.
Rice glanced back at the monitor and asked, "Corporal, based on this new information, do you have any recommendations?"
"Above my pay grade, Sir."
"Major Taylor?"
The Marine shook his head. "With all due respect, Sir, not touching it."
"Weasel jarhead," the Admiral muttered before turning to Starbuck. "Well I already know what you think, Colonel."
"Yes, sir."
Rice added quietly, "Corporal Lewis, notify Sergeant Guarland I am terminating Stage Two as of 1731 hours. Relay to Olympus and remain in position."
"Aye, Sir."
Starbuck leaned over and stated equally quietly, "Volunteer to go first, Sir."
"Not in this lifetime, Thrace. The rest of you are to remain as you are until I say otherwise."
"Admiral?" Tigh questioned, not liking the tone of the conversation.
Admiral Rice sighed again and straightened. "Commander Tigh. Based on this information I am making a field command decision to terminate our Stage Two quarantine. You may want to take a step back."
"Why?" The question came from Athena, who had taken a defensive step between the Terrans and her commanding officer.
Rice didn't answer in words, at least not immediately. He tugged at a number of barely-visible seals and catches on his suit instead. The air in Life Station went still and silent, save for the slow hiss of pressure within and without the Admiral's gear equalizing. Once the hissing was done, he pulled his visored hood completely off and took another, deeper breath. The sweat on his bald head sparkled from the lights overhead.
The Admiral cleared his throat experimentally. He managed not to wrinkle his nose at the acrid scent of cleansers than hung around them. Keeping his expression completely blank, Rice regarded the three Colonials before him, grateful to finally be able to do so with clear eyes. He revised his opinion of Ishnay's likely age downward by a decade. The slender man's prematurely graying hair and air of weariness lending years to him. No threat there.
Athena was a bit more complicated, looking at once relaxed and coiled in the same stance. Rice still wracked his memory for what was so significant about Sharon Agathon but couldn't quite put his finger to it. This was annoying because she was setting off alarm klaxons in his head by just standing there. The fact she seemed more focused upon Starbuck than anyone else. Right then, it wasn't all that comforting either.
Tigh simply watched everything with a steadiness that was wholly at odds with the sort of man Thrace had described at such length over the last two years. Unlike Agathon, the details she'd imparted on Saul Tigh were extensive, surpassed in sheer volume by only two other names. He looked older and was visibly more weathered than the rest of them put together, his eye patch and the deep lines under his remaining eye testifying to his trials. There was an internal tension to the man that struck Rice as different from the usual ones of command.
He could sympathize, especially right then. He could feel the weight of history suddenly slide onto his shoulders. There was nothing to mark the import of the next few minutes besides the handful of them standing there.
Strangely, that actually felt like enough.
"Commander Tigh. Per United Nations Resolution 591, I am authorized and empowered to extend refugee status to the people of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol." For added emphasis, the Admiral made a further show of breaking the seals on his sleeves and pulling his heavy gloves off. "Welcome, Sir," he stated as he took a long step forward and extended his now-uncovered hand.
The Colonial Commander stared at the offered hand for several long breaths. He took one equally-long step forward and, eye fixed on the Admiral's own, clasped it firmly.
"Thank you, Admiral." He took a breath of his own, initially in relief, only to wrinkle his own nose as a familiar smell hit him. In a rare show of diplomacy, he continued, "Before we continue…"
"Yes?"
"May I offer you the use of our showers?"
TBC…
Authors Note: Yes, another relatively short chapter. And yes, things are moving a bit slower than perhaps they would on-screen. Trust me when I say they'll be picking up from here on. Thanks again to everyone who has taken the time to review; your comments are what keep me going here!