Chapter 13: Hello Madame President

Jack rushed through the narrow corridors of Battlestar Galactica. With Cottle's autopsy results in his hands, he had no time to lose. Especially not when considering the information a hurried Petty Officer had told him in passing. Everything happened at high speed. This was a crazy day and O'Neill fought against getting infected by the surrounding chaos.

Just a few hours had passed since Carter and he had returned from Ragnar Station with the Cylon in the human costume in addition. A meeting with the leading officers had been summoned in a hurry.
This was all he knew before attending the autopsy. What no one had bothered telling him, was what had happened in the meantime. Carter and Jackson had been picked up from the infirmary and placed under arrest at the brig. Jack was willing to bet his ass that Colonel Tigh had a hand in this, wanting to restore his battered reputation. But the two civilians wouldn't have to stay alone for long. They'd get company soon enough.

And as it was often the matter when some unforeseen development on Galactica took place, Starbuck was right in the middle of things. She'd stolen -ahem lent - a Viper for an unauthorized recon mission at the verge of the surrounding nebula of gas giant Ragnar. Her original intent had been to see what else was there in space with them. And she'd found a lot. On one side of the nebula lurked a huge fleet of Cylon ships. Whether their presence was pure coincidence, or if Loeben Conoy had told the truth after all, resurrecting with all his knowledge in a new human body and telling his pals were to find them, they had no way to know. For now, however, they seemed to be save in the atmosphere of Ragnar nebula. The EM field effectively interfering with the Cylon's Dradis.

Much more astonishing than the huge enemy fleet was what Starbuck had discovered at the other end of the nebula. A second fleet. A ragtag collection of all kinds of civilian ships. Refugees. Survivors. They had unsuspectingly rested so very close to the Cylons, that it would've been a matter of time before their destruction. The atmosphere seemed to interfere with the Cylon's systems more than they'd thought previously. This was the only way to explain that Starbuck had been able to find and lead them into the protective fog without arousing the Cylon's attention.

And although they could also talk about some commendation for the female pilot, Starbuck was put under arrest too and on her way to the brig. A disciplinary action that was understandable and even appropriate, but under their current situation pretty much irresponsible. They needed every capable pilot.

Pumped with energy, Jack O'Neill finally bolted through the heavy iron door that led to the conference room. His eyes scanned the room. A long table was set up with enough chairs for at least a dozen people. He was the last of the military personnel to arrive and if the seating arrangements represented an indication about the course of the coming conversation, then there was a fight for competence announcing itself. All officers had settled at the back side of the table, so that the obviously late politicians had to take a seat opposite the uniformed men. Jack nodded at each of the other officers, and sat down on the last remaining chair next to Chief Tyrol.

But he wasn't the only member of this exquisite club of leaders who was late. The President was late too. Yes, that's right, Starbuck had found them a new President amidst the refugees too. However, this President was an old acquaintance. President Laura Roslin, former Minister of Education, had attended Galactica's disarmament ceremony. That damn ceremony seemed to be years ago. She'd been on her way back to Caprica when the Cylons launched their attack. If it hadn't bee for Lt. Lee Adama, her escort, she would've been shot down too. Adama jr. had used a clever trick to outsmart the screw heads. Later, minister Roslin had received an intercepted wireless message reporting that every higher ranking politician was dead, making her President Roslin instead.

This had to be a first in the long history of the Colonies. A president who had no Colony to govern. Instead, Roslin had picked up a convoy of scattered and heavily damaged ships and brought them here, due to Lee Adama's speculation that if his father had survived, he'd come here to get ammunition from Ragnar Station. Although it was known that father and son were not particularly close, Lee had still been able to anticipate his dad's reaction correctly, thus saving the lives of thousands of survivors. If someone was looking for the hero of the day, Lee Adama was the winner.

Thus, they would not only have to reconsider what Galactica and it's crew should do, but also what was right considering the ships full of refugees. They had to debate about both aspects, trying to make a compromise between the military leaders and the provisional civilian government. It was still not clear, if Adama would proceed with his order to go back into the fight with the Cylons. And now they had to take care about he holocaust survivors too. Just thinking about it gave him a headache. That's why he was a pilot. O'Neill had never wanted to do something else but flying.

Jack allowed himself a glance out of the conference room's wide window. He could see two commercial passenger transport ships and three smaller, private vessels. More than 60 ships were currently crowded together, staying near the only armed ship and waiting for their military and civilian decision makers to decide what to do next.

What a farce. About a half dozen people would decide what should happen with tens of thousands scared, traumatized and injured people. Debating about what was good for them. And he was supposed to be one of those persons. How could he possibly know what was good for others, when he still wasn't completely sure if he was glad that he had survived? Why him, when millions of better men and women had lost their lives today?

Someone coughed slightly, steering Jack out of his gloomy thoughts. With him in the conference room was of course Commander Adama as chief commander of the remaining military ship. To his left sat the ever-grumpy Colonel Tigh. On the right Lt. Gaeta, was fingering nervously the documents he brought along. He was the tactical officer, also responsible for navigation. But he'd spent the last hours analyzing the transcripts of the last wireless messages they had received. Besides Felix Gaeta, Chief Tyrol sat uncomfortably in his chair. After the death of higher ranking officers, he was now the most experienced and competent engineer Galactica had to offer. O'Neill didn't envy him. No matter what they would decide at this table, his domain had definitely increased. Now, he wasn't only responsible for everything that happened in the hangar, but also for the entire Battlestar and who knew, perhaps even for several civilian and commercial vessels. They had no idea how good equipment and crew of the other ships was.

Finally, the heavy door to the conference room was opened by one of the black-clad Marines. Their civilian counterparts had arrived. The new president strode into the room first. Laura Roslin was in her early fifties, but she was still a beautiful woman. She had long, dark hair and alert, intelligent eyes. Her elegant suit tagged her as a someone who was important right away and her posture indicated that she was expecting some kind of fight. Behind her, a young man followed. He carried a bulging briefcase, her assistant? The third party-goer was a small and thin man with shoulder-length, black hair. Jack recognized him immediately, although he had almost no free time and decided not to waste those precious days with watching stupid game shows or current gossip in television. But this man had been the dominating topic in all media for almost a year now. There was hardly a chance to escape his airtime.

It was Dr. Gaius Baltar, the superstar, ladykiller, millionaire and bon viveur among Caprica's scientific elite. If you believed the rumors about him, especially the one's he spread himself, there was nothing he couldn't do. He was a genius. That's why he was probably such a busy man. Whether it was commercial holoband-technology, colonial defense system development or computer technology designing. He had his scrawny fingers in every pie possible. Accumulating money and guzzling it away on super fancy festivities. He was also considered one of late President Richard Adar's best buddies. O'Neill hoped that it was true what they said about his abilities. Coincidentally, Dr. Baltar was the man who'd taken Karl 'Helo' Agathorn's place in the saving Raptor. An excellent pilot and outstanding personality had sacrificed himself for Baltar. Jack hoped he was worth it.

The officers stood up respectfully as President Roslin held out a pale hand to the Commander. Adama took the offered hand and after the usual handshakes were exchanged, they resumed their seats again.

The new President was anything, but not shy and if she was aware of the dramatic circumstances that made her the new boss, she managed to suppress any kind of doubt she might feel. Naturally, she started speaking.
"Gentleman, thank you for coming together on such short notice. There is much to discuss." She began in a quiet, but controlled voice.
"It is an honor to have you here, Madame President. I think I speak for all aboard Battlestar Galactica, when I say that we're all relived that you could escape the Cylons." Replied Adama and the two leaders eyed each other expectantly. A struggle for power and competence was in the air, but the meeting remained polite for now.

Like a real pro, Roslin accepted the Commander's welcome with a smooth nod.
"Thanks again, Commander Adama. Should we start?"
"Yes. May I suggest that my officers start with a sitrep for their areas of responsibility, so we are all up to date." Suggestend Adama und again, the President responded with an approving nod. O'Neill wasn't quite sure, if there was real understanding for their situation behind her competent mask, or if she was just anxious to defend her claim of power.

"Yes, well…" Colonel Tigh began in his known uncharming way. "Galactica has suffered some serious damage on the outer shell during the battle. But nothing that keeps us from fighting. However, we've lost the left flight pod due to the impact of a nuclear missile. That's a mess down there, I guess it'll take a while before we can use it again. The ammunition the Chief brought from Ragnar Station should be sufficient. Everyone who can walk is aiming everything on this ship that can shoot."
Tigh's unfocused eyes wandered around and he cleared his throat before he continued.
"Now for the bad news. We have lost a total of 536 crewmembers. 93 are still missing. Most of them engineers and deckhands. Pilots too. Will take us a while to compensate for that."
A stunned silence filled the room following Tigh's report. They all assumed that their losses were big, but to hear the exact number of victims was still something completely different. Like a punch in the gut.

O'Neill rubbed this throbbing temples. There hadn't been enough time to see for himself how many of his people had survived. The chaos was just too big to make precise statements and it drove him crazy not to know all the names. It was his job to know these things. His responsibility. He felt like he was failing them. All of his flygirls and flyboys.

Next was Lt. Gaeta's turn. He was spreading his papers out on the table. It was a sort of timeline he'd created out of the wireless messages they'd received.
"Almost exactly 8 hours ago, we received many reports about system failures throughout the whole fleet. Initially, these messages had routine character, so we didn't react immediately. But half an hour later, there were first messages of visual contact with Cylon ships. The Perseus was the first ship that was involved in a fight. Then the Atlantia and Kronos reportet enemy contact too. Fleet Command on Picon took over the management and ordered a large-scale counter-offensive. Due to the observed troop movement, Picon realized that the Cylon's target had to be Caprica. The entire fleet, led by Admiral Negala, gathered in Caprica's orbit."
The paper rustled as Gaeta turned to the next page. The following was an outline of the final minutes of the 12 Colonies. At least the events which could be reconstructed from the partially mutilated wireless messages.

"The last wireless messages we received from Admiral Negala contained the confirmation about an enemy fleet forming and that it was indeed the Cylons. The last message was from the Hercules, reporting the death of Admiral Negala and the complete destruction of the Fleet Command and the Battlestars. A little later, the line went dead. From this moment on, we were practically blind. We still can't reach anyone on any frequency. No answer from the Colonies, a Battlestar or one of our space stations. Not even white noise. "
Geata searched for words to describe the complete emptiness.
"It's like they all suddenly disappeared. Like we are the lest people in the universe. From Major O'Neill and Lt. Valerii, we know that the entire fleet was indeed destroyed. In addition, they also observed the detonation of 24 nuclear bombs on Caprica. Taking our own standard nuclear bombs as basis for calculations, we have to expect the worst."

"And that would be? Out with it, Lt. Geata. We need to hear that." Urged the President admirably gently. Geata opened the first two buttons of his collar before he answered.
"Even if we are overly optimistic, Caprica is atomically contaminated for at least the next thousands of years. For humans, animals and every kind of vegetation." He shrugged his shoulders helplessly, almost as if he wanted to apologize that there was nothing encouraging to say. "With the appropriate dosage of anti-radiations pills it could be possible to survive for some time. Maybe even a few months without any radiation injuries, but in no case longer than year. Considering how aggressive the Cylons attacked, adding the fact that we are not receiving any kind of wireless messages, we have to assume that the same thing has happened to every one of the other 11 Colonies."

If the things he said weren't bad enough, the stuff he left for imagination was even worst. The planet was contaminated, inhabitable for humans. They could never go back again. The 12 Colonies were lost to them, forever.

It felt wrong that everyone present was taking in the reports seemingly emotionless. But it was necessary. They had no time to mourn everything and everyone they'd lost. Not until they'd negotiated a plan for the immediate future. Despite the stressful situation, despite their own worries, they had no other choice but to remain factual. Isolating their hearts and minds emotionally from the grief they were supposed to feel. This was their job. People were trusting them with their lives. Facing facts, the people sitting in this room were the only ones left of the colonial command personnel, military and politically.

The Chief was the next one to give a sitrep.
"As the Colonel said, the Galactica has suffered some damage to the outer shell. We definitely need to take care of that soon. But for the time being, there should be no danger of serious damage. Apart from that, the left flight pod is almost completely destroyed. If we want to use it again, we have to put a lot of time and resources in a complete reconstruction. The good news is, despite the nuclear detonation, there is no measurable radiation inside the ship. Although there are reports about some damage to the power lines and the freight elevators, the primary systems are working without failure."
"What about the FTL-drive?" inquired Commander Adama. Tyrol nodded conscientiously.
"We all know that Galactica's FTL-drive wasn't used in more than 20 years. Still, it worked perfectly. A few circuits are fried, but my people are already busy overriding them. However, the drive is out of date and it wasn't constructed for regularly jumping this kind of distances, so we can't expect full performance in the future. But in any case, I can guarantee you that we'll have a functioning FTL-drive for the next few months. At the latest, we have to seriously think about improvements in about 6 months."

Now, it was O'Neill's turn. There was not much to report. After all, he'd spend his last hours at Ragnar Station and hanging around in Cottle's autopsy room.
"As already mentioned, we have lost a large number of pilots. I can't give you an exact number, but we are working on it. The more urgent problem is the status of our squadrons. Due to disarmament and plans to convert this Battlestar into a museum ship, our contingent of Viper's was already running low before the attacks. Our Viper's of the model Mark III, including their pilots, are either destroyed or listed mia. We have left 40 Vipers of the older model Mark II, but as you all know they were intended either for scrap press or exhibition at the museum. According to this, the technical condition is suboptimal at best. For the Raptors, the situation is more relaxed. We got 26 left, and they are all fully functional."
"Are we able to set up a proficient squadron to get back into the battle?" Inquired Adama again. Jack grimaced. He knew what the Commander was aiming at and he hated to disappoint him. But sugarcoating the facts was not an option.

"Sorry Sir, absolutely not. We could, perhaps, send out 10 or 15 vipers." He threw Tyrol a quizzical look and the Chief confirmed the estimated number of functioning Vipers with a short nod.
"If the pilots are good enough, that's enough to wipe out a bunch of scrap heads." Growled Tigh and O'Neill couldn't help but suspect that the XO was still pissed off about the confrontation at the CIC.
"You're talking about the technical requirements, but that's too one sided." Jack pointed out and felt President Roslin's attention on himself.
"We need to consider the human component. I haven't had a chance to talk to my pilots in detail, but many of them are injured or at last battered. And I'm not just talking about the physical condition. Many of them are nervous, scared and exhausted. It would be irresponsible to force them into a cockpit. As I said, if we really need to form a squadron, I guess we could sent out a maximum of 15 Vipers. But that doesn't mean these pilots are in full possession of their mental and physical powers. They are just the one's who can still keep a minimum of composure."

"I see." Commented the Commander grimly. Jack could see that he disliked the news. But Adama was a man of clear and honest words. This was a similarity between Commander and his CAG. Nice talking was neither his, nor O'Neill's style.
"Did I understand that right, Galactica is currently in no position to attack the Cylon fleet?" Stressed Roslin, questioning the two senior officers with demanding eyes. Before anyone of them could say anything, Adama's deep voice cut through the otherwise silent room.
"Nobody said that."
Roslin frowned. "The Major was pretty clear with his words. How can you understand that wrong?"

Adama pulled his classes from his nose and fired a relentless look at the new President.
"Miss Roslin, my primary objective at the present time is to repair the Galatica and continue to fight."
Roslin was speechless, but only for a short moment.
"You want to return? Right into the battlefield? Why? There is nothing left to fight for."
"We don't know that with certainty. It's possible that there are still colonialists fighting. They need our help. This ship and this crew won't retreat."

The President ran a harried hand through her hair.
"With all due respect, Commander Adama, but that's crazy. What you suggest is a suicide mission."
Suddenly, she pointed her fingers at O'Neill and he didn't like it that she used him to emphasize her position.
"Your own CAG was there and saw it with his own eyes. The entire fleet is destroyed. Caprica is uninhabitable for humans. The refugees tell us similar stories about the other colonies. There is nothing left you and your crew could recapture. We can't return."

"This is not your decision to make. We will leave as soon as possible. To find the enemy. We're at war, and that's my mission." The Commander remained stubborn. But the new President seemed to be pretty boneheaded herself.
"I honestly don't know why I have to keep telling you this, but the war is over."
"That's where you're wrong. It hasn't begun yet."
"That's insane and you know it. This is just your military pride speaking. But we have more important things to take care of. There are thousands of civilian refugees out there who don't stand a chance without your ship to protect them. They are the last of us."

"You would rather that we run?" Adama almost spat those words into her face.
O'Neill knew that the word 'flight' wasn't part of the Commander's vocabulary and normally, he would agree with the old man. But Roslin was right. Even though it was hard to admit and the role as fugitive wasn't tailored for his shoulders. But out there in space was nothing left for them to return to. Nothing worth dying for. If they wouldn't have found the refugees, they may have displayed one last act of heroic bravery, throwing themselves into a losing battle. But now, there were possibly ten thousands of civilians dependent on their protection. They couldn't refuse this responsibility.

"Yes, absolutely." Answered Roslin fiercely. "That is the only sane thing to do here. Exactly that: run. We leave this solar system, and we don't look back."
"And we go where?"
"I don't know yet. Another star system, another planet. Somewhere where the Cylon's won't find us. Somewhere to start new."

If there was one thing Adama detested more than escape, it was haphazard and aimless action. His voice was very soft now, he almost whispered. Still, he managed to sound threatening. He rose from his chair and looked down at Roslin, while he emphasized every word with a blow on the table.
"You can run if you like. This ship, this crew, will stand and fight."
Roslin understood the challenge. She drew herself up to her full height and replied Adama's words vigorously.
"I'm gonna be straight with you here. The human race is about to be wiped out. We have ten thousands of people left, and that's it. Now, if we want to survive as a species, we need to get the hell out of here and we need to start having babies."

"Don't be so dramatic, lady." Colonel Tigh joined the dispute. "As Commander Adama said. That's not your decision. I know that actually doing something must be foreign to you. You've probably spend your time in a comfortable office, pushing paper back and forth. But we've been preparing for this for all our lives. We won't back off."

Roslin stood against two officers now, against the Commander and his XO. She knew that she needed support form their ranks if she wanted to gain their acceptance. Her eyes fell on O'Neill and as he noticed this, he tried to make himself as small as possible in his hair. A rather stupid attempt, considering his height.
"What do you say, Major…?" Apparently, she'd chosen him to be her ally.
"O'Neill, Madame President."
"Well, Major O'Neill. I understand that this is not an easy question, but I ask you to reply truthfully and according to your experience. Think about all those lives that depend on it. You've been there when the Cylons destroyed our whole fleet. You've seen that our defense strategy couldn't protect us. Do you share the opinion that it would be wise for Galactica to return to the battle?"

Jack felt all eyes on him. The literal weight on his shoulders. Damn, it was hot in here! He knew that he had to disappoint his Commander. He didn't want to. But the President was right. O'Neill didn't doubt Adama's competence. But there were so many lives at stake. The refugees had no significant stocks and certainly no way to defend themselves. The Cylons could wipe them out like one would get rid of a nasty bug. Because that's exactly what they were for the Cylons, bugs. And what did you do with bugs? Right, you wiped them out. Those civilians were going to be slaughtered, just like the paralyzed colonial fleet. And if O'Neill knew one thing, than it was that he never again wanted to see something like that. And he didn't want to be responsible for it too. This wasn't just about them, the crew, anymore. This was not the time to be egoistic.

He took a deep breath before answering.
"No, Madame President. Considering the condition of the ship and its crew, I have to speak against a direct confrontation. I think we should follow your plan."
Rosling chastised Adama and Tigh with a triumphant look.
"There you have it, gentleman. And I don't think your Major is alone with his opinion."

Tigh snorted and Jack was sure that the older man would like filleting him with a sharp knife.
"The Major can think whatever he wants to think. But that doesn't matter for the rest of us. You and O'Neill, you can run if you prefer. We're not."
The Colonel's reproachful eyes burned in Jack's neck, but he refused to give him the satisfaction of responding emotionally. Tigh thought of him as coward and traitor. So what? O'Neill wasn't impressed with that. He didn't have a particularly high opinion of Tigh himself. Instead, he prepared a well planned counter attack. Tigh had no right to sit there, so self righteously. Not after he'd been ready to blow almost 50 deckhands into space, sacrificing their lives for the easy solution. The Colonel was the last person with the right to talk about cohesion.

"What about the civilians? You want to leave them here? Is that your solution?"
"Oh, they're probably safe for the time being."
Now it was O'Neill's turn to grunt dismissively.
"Yeah, the emphasis is on 'probably'" He answered and was well aware of the large dose of sarcasm in his voice. He noticed how Roslin had to suppress a knowing grin. The Colonel seemed not to have expected persistent resistance, so he glared angrily at the CAG.
"The Cylons may not know that the civilians are here. Maybe they're just after the military and they'll leave other ships alone." Commented Lt. Gaeta, trying to maintain an objective tone. But his intent to defuse the tension in the room failed miserably.

"That's one hell of an assumption. Besides, the Cylons did just pulverize all of our 12 Colonies. Merciful is not the word I'd associate with them." Jack said and leaned his body forward. Apparently, no one was ready to voice the truth.
"The truth is, if we go back -leaving the civilian vessels behind- this crew will die. And after the toasters are finished with us, they're gonna hunt the civilians, and they're gonna kill them too. We can choose between certain dead and trying to stay alive a little time longer. Together, as a fleet. I don't know bout you, but I refuse to give the fraking Cylons the chance to get the last of us. That's my opinion."

"And how are we supposed to do that, huh? We can't cram thousands of men, women and children aboard this ship." Argued Tigh.
"I'm not saying we should. They could jump with us. Like a convoy. We pick a jump spot far enough outside the combat zone for…"
"What the hell is outside the combat zone at this point?! Did you think about that, you frakking son of a…" blustered the almost bald man and looked like wanted to tear O'Neill apart at any moment. Jack balled his fists and prepared for a confrontation.

"That's enough!"
"Stop that!"
Roslin and Adama called out simultaneously. The tempers had raised and especially the Colonel and the CAG were eyeing each other like two boxers heading for the final knockout.

"Commander Adama," Roslin's resolute voice cut through the shouting of the officers. "…Are you planning to stage a military coup?"
All officers directed their utterly confused eyes at the President. She'd effectively rattled all of them. Adama took a moment to adjust to the new situation.
"What?!"
"Do you plan to declare martial law? Take over the government? Throw me into the brig?"

"Of course not!" He replied, sounding almost as if he took the question as a personal insult. The Commander possessed a very tightly woven code of ethics. A violent military coup was beneath his dignity. He would never force a military leadership upon the survivors. Like every colonialist, he had the greatest respect for democratic decisions. Of course, Roslin hadn't been rightly elected. She was President because there was no one else of the political elite alive. But the emergency regulations that made her acting president had been democratically enacted. For emergencies just like this. Adama had better things to do than call this into question now. He knew, whatever would happen in the future, that they would need the political stability.

The heated atmosphere had calmed down a bit. Also, because everyone was now focused on the two top leaders. A decision as to who would have the last word in the future could fall at any moment.

"Then you do acknowledge my position as president as duly constituted under the article of colonization?" Roslin demanded to know with a calm voice.
Adama took his time. But O'Neill was pretty sure he knew the answer already. Roslin was the legitimate president and thus the supreme commander of the colonial fleet. Or in this case, the commander of what was left of said fleet. The Galactica. Adama could choose to oppose her policy, but that would equal a military coup. And no one wanted that.

He finally answered with a hard-fought "Yes" and dropped back into his seat.
"So, you agree with me? This war is over. We lost."
"Yes."
All participants in the room sighed with relief. Not only because they knew now that they wouldn't throw themselves into a battle guaranteeing their own death, but also because the fronts were defined. They had just recovered a minimum of stability.

Only Tigh seemed to have problems with this decision.
"We're running?!" He asked in disbelief.
"We're not running away." Corrected Adama. "We're retreating strategically. And we're gonna take the civilians with us. We leave this solar systems, and we won't come back."
"Thank you, Commander Adama." Roslin said in a conciliatory tone.
O'Neill noticed for the first time, how battered she looked. Somehow feeble, as if this discussion had cost her a great deal of strength.

A relaxing silence filled the room for a few moments. While Adama straightened his glasses, Roslin dabbed beads of sweat form her forehead. Tigh continued to pout.

"Now that that's settled." Began the President again, taking the documents her young assistant handed her.
"There are two other things I'd like to discuss with you."
Adama remained silent, a sweeping gesture asking her to go on.

"I'm mainly concerned about the Cylon your CAG brought from Ragnar Station. What's the status here?"
All attention was on O'Neill now. He was the only one who knew about the results of the autopsy.
"Doc Cottle says that at first glance, everything about Conoy's body looks human. Internal organs, lymphatic systems and all the other slimy stuff. But he found something when he cremated a hand."
"Let me guess." Piped up Dr. Baltar for the first time. His posture was a tad too pointy-headed for Jack's taste.
"Your doctor found unique chemical compounds that reveal the nature of the sample to be synthetic."
The wise guy was dead on.
"True. That's what Cottle says."

The implication of this fact hung a few seconds between their heads like heavy smoke, before Roslin broke the spell.
"So it' true? Cylons look like us now. And we have no way to distinguish between them and us, unless we cut off a body part and burn it?"
Not a particularly good prospect. O'Neill wasn't keen on losing one of his body parts to prove that he wasn't a toaster.

"Yes, they look like us. And now we have a problem." Confirmed Adama and Jack felt the need to support the statement in his usual unconventional way.
"Yeah, a big honkin' problem!"
"If the Cylons look like us, then anyone of us could be a Cylon. We may have to deal with cylon spies on board this ship or any other ship of this fleet." Implied the Commander a fact, everyone of them was thinking about already. Cylon spies among them, in the middle of Galactica's most sensitive compounds. Working, joking, eating and sleeping at their side.
Subconsciously, those present scrutinized each other. If anyone of them could be a toaster, they could trust no one anymore.

"That's a very frightening possibility. And that's why I asked Dr. Gaius Baltar to accompany me to this meeting." Explained Roslin the presence of the universally known genius.
"We need a way to screen human from Cylon and Dr. Baltar here is the leading scientific expert. If anyone can find such a method, it's Dr. Baltar."
Upon the praise, Baltar bowed his head slightly and confidently and folded his hands in front of him.
"I'll give my best. I guess I could have the first results in a few weeks. Assuming that everything I need is provided."

Roslin turned back to Adama.
"That's the time you come into play."
"Me?" Wondered the Commander, leaning back in his chair and waiting. He' complied to her will just a few minutes ago. If the President wanted something else from him, she would have to do all the work.
"Unfortunately, no other ship in the fleet is able to provide adequate accommodations for Dr. Baltar's experiments. I would therefore ask you to give Mr. Baltar a space for his laboratory and access to all resources and suitably personnel he needs aboard Galactica."

That was a pretty hefty request, moreover, because it was formulated as a command. The meaning behind Roslin's carefully chosen words was evident. One didn't have to like her style, but her demands were definitely well thought trough and making sense in every aspect.
"I'll see what I can do. However, I want daily reports and I can't allow the doctor to do anything that would endanger this ship and crew."

Roslin agreed with a nod. "No one asks that from you. Your first priority remains the safety of this ship and this fleet, too. I just want us to use the maximum of our resources."
O'Neill grinned inwardly. He wondered why the former secretary of education hadn't risen among the political shark pool sooner. She was displaying all the needed abilities, using political phrases to persuade someone to help her. He was pretty sure that Adama had already seen through that. But finding a method do distinguish between their people and humanoid Cylons was in their mutual interest.

The president's fingers scurried across the documents in front of her until she found the passage she was interested in. She frowned and small wrinkles formed around her eyes as she looked questioningly at O'Neill.
"I've got another report about this humanoid Cylons and their ability to…" she searched for the right word. "…to transfer their consciousness to another body when they die. Is that correct? Are we talking about a form of resurrection?"
"Seems like it." Jack offered as an answer, but he could see that Roslin wasn't satisfied. It seemed that they had to get used to their new president's persistence. She wasn't the type to be satisfied with half-hearted answers.
"With all due respect, Major, but that sounds crazy."

O'Neill shrugged as he recapped what Loeben Conoy had told him.
"That's what Conoy claimed. He said that their artificial bodies are interchangeable. If one body dies, their knowledge, memories and consciousness is somehow transferred into a new one."
Roslin sat tensely in her chair, a pensive look on her face.
"Do you believe him?"
At first, he had no clue how to answer that. Buying himself some time to thing, he leaned back and ran his fingers through his already messy hair. He knew that his haircut didn't comply with the prescribed formal haircut for officers. But his hair was at least as stubborn as the rest of him. Some days it was almost impossible to tame the strands. Besides, he liked a little individuality. But his hair was his smallest problem. The truth was, he didn't know if he believed Loeben Conoy. His mind told him no. But somewhere in him was a part more anxious than he liked, and said part was firmly convinced that the Cylon had told the truth. It was more like a foreboding, than real knowledge. It wasn't based on facts, but on sheer instinct. But, how could he explain this without sounding like he was nuts?

"To be honest, I have no idea who this is possible at all. But yes, I think he told the truth. At least, Conoy was firmly convinced that this wasn't the end of him."
"Maybe that's what he wanted all along. Us sitting here, wasting time to discuss this. He probably said it just to unsettle us." Colonel Tigh offered an explanation, sounding noticeable condescending.
"Maybe. But he was dying and he knew it. There was almost something like…like anticipation in his eyes as he told me he was immortal. Why should he do that if he knew he wasn't coming back. Besides, he's a frikking Cylon. I'm not even sure if they are able to fake those emotions. In addition, we haven't seen or heard something from them in almost 40 years. Who knows how they evolved in the meantime?"
"All of this sounds very much science fiction. It's hard for me to believe in some kind of rebirth for Cylons." Mused Roslin.
"I'm not into science fiction at all. But we also wouldn't have expected that the Cylons could destroy our entire civilization in one day. And yet, here we are now. I mean, as long as we can't prove the opposite, we should at least expect the worst. It would be fatal to be caught with pants down again." Concluded O'Neill expertly.

He was not one who preferred to worry about things that might or not might happen in the future. But in this case, he was wiling to make an exception. Because if Loeben was right, they had to adjust their tactic. Their own crew would have to bear with losses along the way, while no Cylon soldier could be killed at all. Also, the knowledge of those Cylons would never be lost. If their spies learned something, this knowledge was practically uncontainable. And Jack harboured no hopes that there weren't spies among them. After all, they'd somehow managed to infiltrate their defensive systems. There had to be moles.

Roslin took a deep breath, revealing all her fatigue as she massaged her temples.
"Well gentleman, I'm open for any kind of options. What shall we do now?"
"We are doing exactly what you suggested, Madame President. We are looking for a point outside the combat zone. We organize ourselves. Then we start our search for a place we can start anew." Adama's deep voice sounded surprisingly conciliatory. He was rewarded with Roslin's first honest smile.
"I'm relieved that you think like that. Because, all differences aside, we need each other. I can't do this without you."
"You don't have to, Madame President."

The two leaders exchanged a last glance before Roslin braced her hands on the table.
"Well, I think we're done for today. I'd like to get some rest and…"
"Actually, there is something else." O'Neill spoke up.
It felt uncomfortable to delay the president's well deserved pause, but they had to talk about this. After all, this was about two people.
"Major, what is it?"

"What are we going to do with the civilians? You know, Sam Carter and Daniel Jackson?"
Roslin answered with a puzzled look. Apparently, she knew nothing about it. True, they had more urgent matters, but this was important for him. Sure, there was still this terrorist thing to take care of. But in Jack's opinion, the brig was the wrong place for them. Jackson was hurt, could barely walk by himself. And Carter…well, she'd earned his respect. Had saved his ass multiple times on this shitty day. But because their status as terror suspects hadn't been reversed, they were still considered dangerous.

"Who's that?" Roslin wanted to know and promptly received a grim response from Colonel Tigh.
"They are two terrorists the GDD nabbed the last night. The Major here thought it was a good idea to bring them here and now they are our problem."
"Terrorists? So they belong to the Astral Queen. Where's the problem?"
The Astral Queen, the prison ship, was among the fleet of survivors.
"The problem's exactly that. Those accusations are based on assumptions only. Personally, I don't believe it." Jack said. For some reason, he couldn't tell why, it was important for him that the two were released form the brig and cleared of all accusations.

Tigh grunted overbearingly.
"Good thing you're not a judge. The terrorists stay where they are, basta!"
Slowly but surely, Jack was getting really annoyed with the Colonel.
"With all due respect, Colonel, but you don't decided that. There is no solid evidence and you know it!"
"Do you hear yourself talking? We know absolutely nothing about them. They are a constant danger if they stay on this ship. They could be Cylons as well!"
O'Neill's face was the one of a man ready to stand his ground.
"Maybe you're the Cylon!"
Tigh's facial features derailed and his cheeks turned beet red.
"Don't get fresh with me! Otherwise, you can join your new friends in the brig!"
"Carter saved my life. And she saved the whole ship almost single handedly. That should count for something."

The lanky Colonel almost exploded with anger. When he spoke, he catapulted tiny particles of salvia across the room.
"Forgive me if I don't think much of that. Your judgment's not the best."
"Oh really? Carter's done more in the last 24 hours than you."
Jack noted dryly, hitting the other officer's soft spot.

Tigh turned for help to the Commander.
"Come on Bill, those two are dangerous. The guy even hit me."
"But only because you were willing to send 50 young people to death. Including me and Boomer."
"I was trying to save this ship!"
"But you didn't!" Jack protested indignantly and adding, not just because it was true, but also because he knew it would annoy Tigh: "Carter did. And if I might add, she'd not making any fuss about it. She'd not even demanding something."

Roslin lifted her hand to signal that she had something to contribute.
"I know that this particular matter falls under military law. Nevertheless, I'd like to remind you that the colonial laws still apply. No civilian may be detained without final conviction or trial detention. And much less if there's no evidence. Either you're obtaining valid verdict during a trial, or you have to let them go."

Commander Adama took off his glasses, cleaning them carefully before he answered.
"I am aware of the legal situation. But I can't ignore a possible threat for this ship."
"Oh come on, Sir." Protested Jack, adding something to prove his point when he realized how grouchy he'd sounded. "I'll stand bail for them."
He was amazed with himself about taking that responsibility, not a clue where his confidence came form. But he'd always been one to trust his gut feeling.
"If that is so." Informed Adama. "Then I see no need to keep the civilians in the brig. I allow them to move into a VIP quarter. The accusation of terrorism is suspended, for now. But they are under house arrest. They're allowed to move freely on their deck, but the rest of the ship is taboo. Make sure that your new friends understand this, Major. I won't tolerate any kind of violation against those rules. Are we clear?"

Jack couldn't help but grin. Triumph felt just too damned good. Above all, when sitting next to miffed Colonel Tigh.
"Yes, Sir. Thanks, Sir, Madame President. I'll take care of it personally."

But his victory was damped some when Adama asked him to stay for a moment after the meeting was over and everyone else had left the room. Jack knew what was about to come. And to be honest, he probably deserved it too.
Adama stepped closer to him, a strict whisper enough to put the younger man in his place.
"Let's be clear about this, Major, you know I like it when my people have a mind of their own. You speak up you mind and you don't care about the consequences. If you think you're right, you stick to it. You're not afraid of confrontations. And usually, that's exactly what I value about you. Why I trust you to be my CAG. But…"
O'Neill stood ramrod still. None of his muscles moving.

"But, should I ever get the feeling again that you're using the divergences between President Roslin and me to get what you want, be sure you don't want to face those consequences. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir. Crystal clear."
"Good. Dismissed."

Jack nodded once, then tried to make a quick getaway. He'd just reached the door handle, when Adama held him back one last time.
"Oh, and one more thing, Major…"
"Yes, Sir?"
"Please get Starbuck out of brig too. But make sure that she understands this time that rules apply for her as well."
"Got it, Sir."

That's it for now. Sorry to tell you guys, but there are just two more chapters to come. So, see you next time and have a nice week.