With the Weapons of a Woman
by Soledad
For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the Introduction.
Author's notes: From the Councillors, Siress Aeriana and Sire Ixion are my original characters. The others appeared in the one or other canon episode, but neither colony designation, nor personal background was given, so I took some poetic freedom in that area.
Chapter 08 – The Council Meeting
The newly-appointed Council of Elders – a temporary assemblage that would govern what was left of the Twelve Tribes until a proper Quorum could be elected – gathered in the Council Chamber… originally a conference room for the senior officers of the Battlestar that had been modified for this very purpose. It had a long table in the middle, surrounded by twelve large, comfortable armchairs, an exact copy of the bridge's transparent star map near the head of the table, a large viewscreen for communications and a gallery facing the presidential chair for spectators, should they be allowed to participate, which was a very rare thing.
Eleven of the chairs were occupied by the new, temporarily assigned councilmen – or councilwomen, as it was the case for two colonies – who were chatting among themselves anxiously, trying to guess the purpose of this not pre-scheduled meeting. Commander Adama was standing in front of the presidential chair, at the head of the table, ready to begin his resignation speech, a look if grim determination upon his deeply-lined face.
Serina, now wearing an ankle-length dress of a sombre amber colour, as it was appropriate for a government clerk, was sitting on the gallery, looking down at the Council table. A recording device lay before her on a small table, as-yet inactivated. She'd been a little surprised when Apollo had joined her, right at the beginning of the meeting, but she understood quickly that he hadn't come in his capacity as the Strike Captain of the Galactica. He was, after all, the heir of a Great House of Caprica… one of the very few that survived.
Apollo had come in the company of Flag Lieutenant Omega, less known as Sire Orestes from the House of Lares – now the only survivor of that once rich, powerful and numerous House, who had apparently taken interest in politics, but only from the sidelines. He could have made a run for the seat of the Caprican councillor, of course, and with a reasonable chance to win, too. He outranked young Sire Telamon – who was reportedly planning to participate in the elections for the permanent quorum – in the matters of birth, after all. Serina doubted that he would do so, though. He was said to be a dedicated officer, in charge of a dangerously undermanned bridge, and wouldn't abandon his post to play power games with the Council.
"Is he truly going to go through with that resignation plan of his?" he asked Apollo in a low voice as they were entering the gallery through the back door.
Apollo looked resigned and angered simultaneously. "He's submitting it to the Quorum at this very meeting, yes."
Omega shook his head thoughtfully. "With fuel and food running so low, it's the worst possible time for him to resign. If we ever needed leadership…"
"I know,' Apollo sighed. "I argued with him. Hades, I shouted at him, and so did Tigh. But he wouldn't be moved. All he said was that the Fleet was filled with good men and the Quorum would decide."
"Oh, I'm sure they will," Omega smiled humourlessly. "You're aware of the fact, of course, that if he resigns now, it will look exactly the same as his act of pulling the Galactica out of battle with the Cylons. I'm sorry, but…"
"Don't be," Apollo interrupted. "You're absolutely right. But we've tried our best to make him change his mind and failed. Now we have no other choice than watch the disaster unfold."
Omega nodded in grim agreement and took a seat, close enough to Apollo to signalize his support to the Adamans but far enough to provide him and Serina with some semblance of privacy. Serina suppressed a smile. It seemed that the rumour mill already considered them an item, and Omega was a well-bred gentleman. Good.
Now she'd have to be careful; make Apollo believe that courting her had been his idea in the first place. Pressing the issue would be counterproductive; and besides, she had time now. She no longer needed him to keep her aboard the Galactica. She could stay on her own right and weave her net patiently.
Mentally reminding herself that she was there to work, Serina took a good, hard look at the temporary Council. The faces she saw were – unsurprisingly – familiar ones. The same faces she'd seen aboard the Rising Star, populating the Club Elite. Again, not truly surprising. One had to be nobly born to be elected as a councillor, on most of the colonies; and aristocrats, with very few exceptions, preferred a posh environment.
There was Siress Aeriana, representing the female-dominated society of Aries, wearing a long robe made of some shiny fabric that looked like liquid metal. Her jet-black hair was put high and covered with a metallic headgear that had a half-mask, covering her face and dramatically emphasizing her jewelled dark eyes. The gown had a high collar that surrounded her neck and the back of her head like a protective shield – the archaic garment of a head Amazon.
The youngest two of her four husbands were standing behind her chair, ready to serve her every need. By age, both could easily have been her sons. But again, they were probably junior husbands – mere playthings in the complicated structure of Aerian clan marriages where females outranked males and senior spouses outranked junior ones.
There was Sire Uri, of course, in his opulent robes, representing the Leonid survivors. Tainted as he was with scandal, his people had nevertheless given him a vote of confidence to continue in the Quorum – most likely because no-one else from Leonis' patrician Houses had survived… although his past success might also have played a role.
There was Sire Geller, a dotardly old man, one of Uri's trusted allies. He'd been Councillor longer than Serina had been alive; even though the Aquarians had been unhappy with the way he'd represented – or rather hadn't represented their interests in the Quorum and had voted him down right before the Destruction. They had still re-elected him now, though... for the time being.
The only other choice would have been Sire Darius, and even though he'd been higher born and extremely popular as a poet and as the only son of the legendary Commander Devon, people generally found him too young for such heavy responsibility. Serina didn't think that Darius minded – he seemed to be the kind of young artist who loved his personal freedom above everything else.
There was Sire Ixion, tall, well-built, silver-haired and coldly handsome, representing the Potnia, the dual priestesses of the Gemoni theocracy for decades. His presence was the least surprising; unlike on the other Colonies, on Gemini the office of the Councillor was determined by birthright and usually held to the individual's death.
Sire Ixion had left the Atlantia just before the Cylon attack to report back to the Potnia aboard the Gemoni colonization ship, the Labyrinth. They'd been thought lost for quite a while before they'd come out of hiding, to everyone's surprise and delight.
There was Commander Xaviar, the last member of Sagittara's oldest and most powerful military family, once commander of the Battlestar Leonidas, which he'd lost in the Battle of Molecay, due to Commander Cain's unexpected departure. He'd been found after the battle in a lifepod, badly burned and his left arm beyond help.
He'd spent sectares in the best Life Centre of Sagittara until he finally healed, but his face remained disfigured due to the burn marks, and his left arm had been replaced by a bionic implant. He counted as a trusted ally of Sire Anton, but again, Scorpians and Sagittarians usually stuck together.
There was Siress Tinia, representing Canceria', an ordinary, by-the-book democracy without any aristocracy to name it. Accordingly, Siress Tinia represented a family or rich merchants and textile magnates, with several ships in the Fleet to her name, and had been elected on the basis of her wealth and bargaining skills. The fact that she was the owner of the Textile Ship, too, secured her an important position within what remained from the upper echelon of Colonial society.
There was Sire Lobe, once a wealthy landowner on Piscera and an important deliverer of a broad bandwidth of agrarian products across the colonies. Even with his extensive lands now gone forever, he secured his position due the fact that he owned the Mineral Ships – vessels that had become of crucial importance now – as well as two liners, the Pisces and the Trainian, now both housing hundreds of survivors. He, too, was well known as one of Uri's allies, although considered too simple-minded to actually realize that he was being manipulated by the Leonid.
Scorpia was – how could it have happened differently? – represented by Sire Anton. The emaciated, old-line politician had been sitting in the Quorum even longer than Sire Geller and counted as crafty, but his true alliances were nigh impossible to guess.
He'd opposed – carefully – President Adar's anti-military politics, while still being his aide-de-camps. He'd supported Adama in a number of issues but kept close ties with Uri and his exclusive circle of friends as well. Behind his benevolent, almost senile smile was a shrewd, calculating mind, and the look of his watery blue eyes made Serina shiver whenever she felt them upon herself.
There was Sire Domra, another once-rich landowner, this one from Taura. A well-meaning though not very bright man, who'd risen to unparalleled importance within the Fleet, however, as he owned all the remaining agroships. There could be no doubt that once the harvests began, his influence would grow proportionally.
Serina wasn't sure she found that thought reassuring.
Virgon, another agrist society, was represented by Siress Belloby. She, too, had been a rich landowner once, and the head of an interplanetary merchant organization. She owned several ships: the Orion, aboard which she lived, and the Livestock Ships, the latter of which had raised her influence almost as much as owning the agroships had raised that of Sire Domra.
Again, Serina wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or not.
And finally, Sire Gamesh, representing Libra – or rather the handful of survivors from Libra, wearing the wide-cut, colourfully striped robes of his lost homeworld: dark, sleek, intense, and beautiful. Once the right-hand man of Sire Uri, Serina wondered whom he would support as a member of the Quorum. After all, he was said to be a close friend of Colonel Tigh, the executive officer of the Galactica.
Commander Adama cleared his throat and the Council room became eerily silent. He began to speak, but he couldn't even reach the end of his resignation speech when the Councillors began to protest.
Some of them even sprang to their feet in outrage.
"No!" Commander Xaviar exclaimed. "I won't have it. The Fleet needs to remain under military leadership as long as we're still fleeing from the Cylons."
"Unacceptable!" Siress Tinia declared as well. "We're new to the office… most of us are, anyway. We still have to learn how to govern, and we need someone with proper experience to show us the way."
"Adama, you cannot resign!" Siress Belloby pleaded, making Serina wonder whether the old gossip had been true and she had indeed have a love affair with Adama before the Commander would have married Siress Ila. "Not you! We need you!"
Sire Anton rose and silenced the surge of protests with a sweeping gesture; one made quite dramatic by the wide sleeves of his official robe, Serina noticed cynically.
"Nonsense, Adama," he said with that benevolent smile of his that didn't quite reach his watery eyes. "You've led us wisely and well. That's why we cannot accept your resignation. Things are too grave now."
"I disagree," Sire Uri said in his sonorous voice. "I think our dear Adama is best qualified to judge his own capability to lead."
Apollo and Omega exchanged wryly amused looks. It had been obvious that – if there were to be any serious opposition to any sensible plan – it would originate with the Leonid councillor. He'd vote against anything that could strengthen Adama's position, simply out of spite.
Serina was of two minds about the whole situation. On the one hand, she owed Sire Uri a great deal for past favours. On the other hand, said favours could easily turn against her in the eyes of the Adamans and their allies. And despite Commander Adama's resignation, true power still lay in the hand of the military; and there it will remain for a long time to come.
She glanced at Apollo, who seemed furious but held back for the time being. His body language, though, was that of a man ready to jump to his feet and start shouting any micron now. Serina laid a hand upon his forearm to convince him to remain seated and squeezed gently.
"Allow your father to fight his own battles," she whispered, so that the recording device, adjusted to a longer range, wouldn't pick up her voice. "Your time will come," and she turned her attention back to Sire Uri, who was just warming up to the topic."
"In all due respect," he was saying, "I'm not all that sure that the Commander has led us all that wisely, all that well. I cannot, in good conscience, characterize our present predicament as the result of good planning."
"I agree," Commander Xaviar said in his harsh voice; his voice cords, too, had suffered serious damage when he'd been burned. "However, it wasn't Adama's fault. The blame lies with the delusional idiots who believed that the Cylons would actually make peace with us. The ones who wouldn't even allow our Viper squadrons to start in the face of a rapidly approaching Cylon attack force. The same ones who'd decided – despite the protests of the military, if I may add – to bring our entire battle fleet to those so-called peace negotiations, leaving our colonies vulnerable and unprotected. Adama was probably the only member of the Quorum who had no part in that."
"That may be so," Uri said smoothly. "But I place the blame for the chaos that we endure now squarely on the Commander's shoulders. Poor judgement in choosing food and fuel lots now leave us on the brink of disaster."
"Oh, Councilman, Councilman," Sire Anton gave a sound that sounded remarkably like a high-pitched giggle. "If I may say so, you've got a lot of nerve, casting accusations about food shortages, when you yourself have been brought up on charges of hoarding in the face of starvation."
Serina glanced at Apollo, who seemed grimly satisfied that the matter was, at least, being addressed. He'd arrested Sire Uri upon those charges, but it hadn't done any good. Uri had manipulated the situation to his advantage – even become the leader of the faction opposed to his father.
Apollo had no idea how the man had done that; perhaps he'd had allies within the Council. Allies who hadn't been quite as innocent in the same charges as they'd like to appear. Uri's reply seemed to prove his suspicions.
"Are your hands so clean, Anton?" he asked softly, with a smirk that made Serina shiver. "What about…"
"Gentlemen," Adama interrupted, clearly disgusted with the whole situation. "Gentlemen, please. This squabbling is not in our best interests."
"Yes, you're quite right," Sire Anton replied with an apologetic gesture. "I'm sorry. What's truly important right now is that we must make a plan quickly… a plan of survival."
Adama nodded. "Agreed. Sire Uri is not entirely incorrect about the state we are in now; nor is he unjustified in blaming me…"
"Yes, he is," Commander Xaviar interrupted harshly. "He tries to put blame where it does not belong to distract others from the blame he carries for the situation. No-one of us is entirely innocent in this disaster."
"Perhaps so," Adama allowed. "But the question is not where we ought to put the blame, is it? The problem is, as has been, that there are too many of us. Too many people. Too many ships."
"Too few of each, if you ask me, considering the number of people we were forced to leave behind to be slaughtered by the tinheads," Xaviar declared sourly.
"True," Adama said with a sigh. "But those people are beyond our help; we need to focus on the ones who did get away and who are still numerous. Too numerous for our limited resources. We would have had troubles even if so much of our food supply had not been contaminated; even if so many of our ships had not proved to be in such unstable condition."
"The military should have prepared better for a possible evacuation," Sire Geller's voice was shrill and accusatory.
Sire Ixion raised an elegant silver eyebrow. "Should they have? And what resources, pray tell, should they have used for it? If I remember correctly, Sire Geller, you used to be one of the most enthusiastic supporters when the late President Adar suggested cutting the military budget to half. That music academy of yours alone could have brought up the costs for a transport vessel… a good, sound one."
"Oh, would it?" Sire Geller scowled. "And what about your Labyrinth? You had a colonization ship built in all secrecy, and at high costs that would have been enough for the building of a brand new Battlestar!"
"Yes, we have," Sire Ixion replied calmly, "And, unlike your music academy, the Labyrinth has saved four thousand five hundred lives… lives that otherwise would have been lost. Or would we have been able to find place for four and a half thousand people within the Fleet, had the Labyrinth not been ready and stocked?"
"Certainly not," Adama replied. "Neither would we have been able to save half as many lives as we did, had we not had the Gemini freighters at our disposal. If we had time…"
"But we hadn't, and that is the real source of our disturbances," Siress Tinia pointed out. "We must obtain fuel and food; that's our only solution. Otherwise, we'll all perish – slowly and gradually, as our supplies run out."
Serina found herself nodding to that clever and practical analysis. Siress Tinia might not have been an aristocrat, born and bred to lead people, but she obviously had the common sense and the organizing skills of an experienced merchant. One could only hope she wouldn't suffer irrevocable brain damage from all that exposure to old-line politicians.
"We also have to convert our ships to make them able to travel a great deal faster, and leave behind those that cannot be converted," Commander Xaviar added.
"That would mean crowding ourselves together even more!" Sire Uri protested. "Conditions are already intolerable."
"Yes, Uri, we all know how you were suffering on the Elite level of the Rising Star," Siress Belloby countered with false sweetness.
"Intolerable indeed," Commander Xaviar snorted. "Adama, I do think we should follow your proposal that we pool our stock of fuel and send on the Galactica and the most capable ships of our rag-tag fleet ahead in order to obtain fuel and supplies for the rest of us."
"Ships left behind?" Sire Uri shouted, very real panic mirroring on his face, as it was clear the Rising Star wouldn't be one of those most capable ships, being an unarmed luxury liner as she was. "Adama, just how many ships do you propose we send on this fool… on this foraging mission?"
"Commander Xaviar has the hard figures on that, Councillor Uri," Adama replied calmly.
All eyes turned to the Sagittaran Warlord, who shrugged and spoke brusquely.
"About one third of the present Fleet. There's just that amount of fuel to be spread around… and that's a bit of thin spreading, ladies and gentlemen."
"Thin spreading indeed!" Sire Uri said darkly. "I say this is just a ploy for you and the other warriors to escape the rest of us; leave us here, without fuel, to die slowly."
"I'm sorely tempted as far as you are concerned," Commander Xaviar replied bluntly. "However, what I do consider are the hard facts, and the basic truth is: as things stand, there's no sufficient fuel to get the entire Fleet anywhere. We must let those few who can seek out a solution to do so."
"Why am I not surprised that the two ranking military officers are of one mind about this?" Sire Uri sneered. "I'm not certain you're not deceiving us in tandem… with that old war daggit, Kronus, watching your back."
"That was uncalled for," Sire Anton interrupted, shedding the disguise of the dotardly old man for a micron and letting a glimpse of tylinium steel glint beneath the surface. "You know better than that, Sire Uri; you're just being contrary on principle."
"Ah, are you in league with them, too, Anton?" the Leonid asked in a wounded tone that would have been ridiculous, hadn't it had a faint threatening edge.
Sire Anton didn't seem particularly frightened, though. He simply rolled his eyes in the manner of a long-suffering grandfather.
"Gentlemen, please," Adama interrupted, before their argument could have gotten out of hand completely. "Hear me out."
"You sound very authoritarian for a leader who's just resigned," Sire Uri commented nastily.
It was Adama's turn to roll his eyes now. "I am merely advising."
"Share with us your advice, then," Sire Uri sneered. "I'm anxious to hear it, Commander."
"I wish I could make him disappear," Apollo muttered.
He only meant it for Serina, but Omega, whose ears were sharp like those of a leporid's, caught the tail end of it, and he nodded sagely.
"It's bad enough having to cope with ignorant opposition on a meeting like this," he commented, "even though Sire Ixion and Commander Xaviar can at least understand the ramification. I think, however, that Sire Uri is merely a boisterous crook who would never listen to reason anyway. This is his way to get back to you for arresting him."
"And a fat lot of good that arrest did," Apollo scowled.
Omega raised a superior eyebrow. "It probably did more good than you'd believe. The younger generation – those who used to be devoted to him – has already begun to drift away. Of course, it will take time before that would bring our people any good, but," he shrugged elegantly, "the tendency is there."
"Careful," Serina warned them, "or the recording device would pick up your voices instead that of the Commander."
The two young officers exchanged rueful looks and turned their attention back to the Council meeting… just in time.
"I propose," Adama was saying, "that we send our best ships to Carillon, for the purpose of obtaining fuel and food."
"Carillon?" Sire Uri repeated, a curious sarcasm colouring his voice. "Why in the Twelve Worlds an abandoned outpost like Carillon?"
"Carillon was once the object of a mining expedition from our colony," Sire Lobe said thoughtfully. "One of our mineral ships found rich sources of Tylium."
"But, if I recall correctly, it was abandoned as impractical to mine," Sire Uri pointed out.
He was obviously prepared. Either his spies had obtained Adama's plan before the meeting – the ways used to achieve that would have been worth investigating – or his people were very good at picking up possible destinations that would provide for the needs of the Fleet.
"Yes, but only because there was no local labour and it was too far away from the colonies to make shipping profitable," Siress Tinia replied, all business. She seemed very much in her own, which was understandable; this was her area of expertise. "However, the exegencies of commerce need not concern us now. It's not like we'd want to get the fuel back to our lost homeworlds," she added bitterly.
"Yet the same problems still do exist," Sire Uri countered, and as much as one might dislike him as a person, it would have been hard to prove him wrong in that particular matter. "Carillon is too far away. Too many disasters could occur to our ships and people left behind."
"In all fairness, I must admit that there's some truth in that," Sire Anton said in concern. "Do you have a different suggestion, Uri?"
"As a matter of fact, I do," the Leonid rose with flourish and walked over to the transparent star map. "I suggest that we cross Sector Sigma – with the entire Fleet – and land here, on Borallus. It's closer, an we know everything we need is there. Food, water, fuel."
"And undoubtedly a Cylon task force," Adama commented dryly.
"It could be fatal to let down our camouflage shield and attempt landing on Borallus," Commander Xaviar supported him.
"Possibly fatal," Sire Uri emphasized. "To me, it seems surely fatal to use Carillon as destination."
Many of the councillors clearly agreed with his proposal – and not only his usual allies. The idea of leaving behind the slower ships seemed to frighten everyone, and there was an agreement about the fact that they didn't have the fuel needed to travel around several sectors to reach Carillon.
"Carillon is our only hope," Adama argued. "Gentlemen – and ladies," he added, nodding towards the female councillors, "you must understand that the situation has reached critical level much sooner than we'd anticipated. Rations have already been cut by two-thirds, and the agroships are still sectons away from the first harvest. We cannot afford to squabble any longer. We must act, and we must be able to present our plan of action to our people unanimously."
"Unanimity meaning just being your echo, of course," Sire Uri replied bitterly, but he did sit down.
"Certainly not!" Sire Domra protested angrily. "I will never condone any plan that includes leaving our slower ships behind."
"Neither would I," Sire Gamesh said forcefully. "When our people elected me to represent their interests, I've taken a solemn vow to do everything in my power to keep them alive. Leaving them behind, unprotected, is out of the question!"
The argument came to an impasse, with much shouting and counter-shooting, and fruitless efforts from the side of Sire Anton – who'd been nominated as acting President in Adama's stead – to calm the participants down. It seemed that they wouldn't come to any solution, though… until Apollo rose and said in a clear voice that carried across the Council chamber.
"There is another way."
The councillors, who'd apparently forgotten about his presence, fell in shocked silence at that and looked at him expectantly.
"There is another way," he repeated. "If I may have a micron of your time?"
To his surprise, Sire Uri wasn't the first to protest. It was Siress Tinia, of all people… perhaps not so surprisingly, after all. Not being nobly born, she'd always guarded her privileges jealously.
"You have no vote in this Council, Captain," she reminded him.
"Of course not," Apollo readily agreed. "All I intend to make an alternate suggestion – one that might point at a way out of this impasse."
Sire Anton looked at Sire Ixion; the Gemoni aristocrat shrugged.
"It can do no harm, I suppose," he said. "We need a solution."
"Very well," Sire Anton turned to Apollo in a grandfatherly manner. "Tell us about your idea, my boy. You have the Council's full attention."
"I support Commander Adama's rejection of Borallus," Apollo began.
"Surprising," Sire Uri commented, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"It is a death trap, as lethal as the one we left behind," Apollo continued, ignoring the remark. He hurried down from the gallery, over to the star map. "And we haven't got the armament to fight… not any possible Cylon forces alone, but also any possible surviving Nomes who might not be overly enthusiastic to share what's left of their resources with a fleet of starving people. It could lead to a massacre, on either side."
"That's, unfortunately, true," Commander Xaviar agreed. "Even if vastly outnumbered, the Nomes could cause heavy casualties, should it come to an armed confrontation. Do continue, Captain. I am eager to hear your alternate solution."
"It's a relatively simple one," Apollo said. "There is another approach to Carillon. Instead of using the intended route," he showed said route on the star map, using his fingers to trace a possible path around at least three or four sectors, "which takes us sectons out of our way, I suggest we take the direct path," he paused for effect and made a sweeping motion with his hand over an area marked in red, somewhere in the middle of the map. "Through the Nova of Madigan. Not patrolled, and a saving of sectons in reaching Carillon."
There was a stunned silence in the Council chamber, and then Sire Anton recovered enough to speak up.
"Captain, I may not be a military expert, but I do know that the Cylons don't have to patrol that particular area," he said, "because they mine it. They lay mines that make passage impossible."
Commander Xaviar nodded in grim agreement.
"It is impossible for cumbersome ships like ours to even attempt to go through that narrow passage," he said, and Adama nodded, too.
"I know that," Apollo said. "The Fleet could not travel the channel… unless it had been cleared first."
"And how would you propose doing that?" Sire Anton asked doubtfully.
Apollo shrugged with deliberate lightness.
"Well, I suggest I find one or two volunteers to join me in flying ahead of the Fleet in our Vipers to blow the mine field apart with laser torpedoes," he said simply.
"Good idea," Commander Xaviar agreed promptly, while Sire Gamesh shook his sleek, dark head in doubt.
"Two volunteers? With Tigh no longer flying fighter craft? Forget it, Captain. You'll never be able to do that."
"Try me," Apollo replied calmly.
"Out of the question!" Adama protested. "Out of the question!"
Sire Uri, however, looked like the felix that had just got into the cream.
"Brilliant, brilliant," he declared. "If we must go straight away, as you say, Adama, then this is the way," he looked around at his colleagues with a benevolent smile. "I say we support the captain."
Sire Anton giggled again. "Good for you, my boy. Good for you. As grave a plan as it is, it appears to be our only hope. You have the support and the blessing of the Quorum of Twelve."
"And with that and two cubits he can buy a cup of weak kava in the Officers Club," Onega commented cynically, while the members of the Quorum enthusiastically applauded.
"Did he really have to do that?" Serina asked. "To volunteer for such a dangerous mission?"
Omega shrugged. "Knowing the power play going on in the background, perhaps it's a good thing – assuming that he'll survive, that is. The truth is, he's been getting a lot of flak lately. As much as he's proved himself over and over in the eyes of the military, there are still people within the Council – or without it – who attribute his rise through the rank as well executed nepotism. When he arrested Sire Uri, he and his allies accused him of a political ploy, threatening to appropriate the Rising Star simply to collect fuel for the Galactica."
"They can't truly believe it!" Serina protested.
Omega shrugged again. "Whether they truly believe it or not, it's of secondary importance. That's what they're spreading, and the sooner that particular tooth is pulled, the better."
"By getting himself killed?" Serina asked. "For an abandoned outpost that might not even be worth the try?"
The Flag lieutenant leaned closer to him. "I believe it is. Since you're making the official records, let me tell you this: at Apollo's request, we've made a long-range sensor survey of the minefield and discovered something interesting. Every mined satellite is firmly in orbit. So sign of a decaying orbit anywhere."
"Which means what exactly?" Serina, not being military herself, was a little confused.
"It implicates that the minefield is maintained on a regular basis; and that in order to do so, there has to be somebody down there on Carillon's surface."
"Does it also mean there's a good chance they're mining Tylium, then?" Serina asked.
"Sure," Omega replied. "They've got to be doing something important to bother with all this protection."
Serina pulled a face. "I'm not sure it makes me feel any better. Whom, do you think, Apollo has in mind as volunteers?"
"Oh, that's not a question at all," Omega smiled. "There are only two who'd stand a chance to survive a mission like that: Lieutenants Starbuck and Boomer."
Starbuck again. Serina found that she was getting annoyed by that name. Clearly, the blond pilot and Apollo were all but joined at the hip. She'd have her work cut out for her if she wanted to separate them enough to focus the captain's attention on herself and on Boxey. But she would, eventually. She would not share him with anyone, the least with another man. Not even if he was flit, which she didn't truly believe. There was definite interest in his eyes when he looked at her.
And it wasn't so as if there would have been many socially suitable women of the right age that he could have married. In fact, there were none; Serina knew that. She'd checked the list of the survivors very carefully and realized that in the eyes of blood-conscious nobility, she might actually count as a good catch. Yes, she was born out of a mésaliance, but at least her mother was pure-blooded Caprican. From a lesser House, granted, but nobly-born nonetheless. And even Commander Adama had spoken of Lyra with respect. It was reasonable to expect that Lyra's daughter would be an acceptable choice for him.
If only Apollo wouldn't get himself killed by a Cylon mine before she could have confessed him her past choices and received absolution. She would, of that she had little doubt… if he lived long enough to give it to her. What was that stupid flyboy thinking anyway, volunteering for such a mission? Wasn't that what cannon fodder was for?
~TBC~