||||||||||==BS-75 Galactica (+861 Days Post Cylon Holocaust)==||||||||||
Major Agathon and Colonel Tigh grunted as they finally lifted the last bank of viewing monitors back into position with Tigh giving the structure a light but firm kick, warning the metal stands to not fall again.
"That was the third fraking time this afternoon," he cursed under his breath, giving Helo a curt nod in appreciation for his help. He pulled down his uniform blouse and readjusted his gig line after his belt had shifted from that little bout of damage control. "Hey, get someone to get their ass up here and properly bolt this thing down," he shouted to the DC crewman, manning the coordination and response console.
Commander Adama just looked up over his glasses and smirked, quickly going back to the damage assessments he was holding in his hand. Per Cain's orders, sent a few months after New Caprica's settlement, most reports were being sent out on tablet computers or small electronic reading pads now, which frustrated the Commander. The print was too small and he hated the feel of thick plastic under his finger.
"Can you read that for me, Saul," he said quietly as his XO came and stood close to his right shoulder.
Saul Tigh reached over gently and took the e-reader, first holding it within a hair's width of his good eye before extending his elbow to its limit. "Looks like it says… frak Bill, I can't read these," sighing, he gave up in frustration and tossed the e-pad back onto the central command station console, letting it slide over the scorch marks from where the central DRADIS display had showered sparks after Galactica had been hit amidships with a full missile salvo.
The Commander let a small grin and quick smile escape from his chest. He was glad to have his blunt-as-always XO back in the CIC. Six weeks had been too long for the man. Adama did have to look away and huff; it'd only taken a dozen baseships firing on the fleet to finally get him from feeling sorry for himself and make him throw out the bottle. The Old Man just hoped that the bottle was gone for good.
But on that thought the happiness of seeing his friend back vanished. With Ellen dead, his eye gone, and the horror stories of what Saul Tigh, his friend had done on the planet, he had a gut feeling, a strong painful feeling, that Saul Tigh was not done with the bottle. Not yet.
With a discreet glance he looked over his friend. Adama knew his friend hid a flask either in his tunic or in his boot. But the Old Man could always tell if Tigh had a flask. It was the way he carried himself. And today, right now at least, he was standing strong.
A smile crept on his face and he gave his friend a good slap on the arm. "Private Jaffee," Adama said out of the corner of his mouth, looking to his side trying to find his orderly.
A young kid ran forward, seemingly appearing out of thin air. "Sir!" He snapped his heels together, knowing every change in tone of the Old Man's voice. The young private knew his Commander needed something important right away.
Adama nodded; pleased the private had come so quickly. He looked him over quickly, giving the private silent approval. "Private. I need you to take this and get the DC reports printed onto paper… I can't see the fraking thing," he ended with a mumble. Saul's chest popped out for a moment in a little, silent laugh.
Private Jaffee nodded, and took the e-reader Adama handed to him and quickly made his way to an ancillary room across from CIC to print out the reports.
"We're getting old, Bill," Saul's reluctant, raspy voice told him. "All these young kids and this technology," he grunted, turning back to DRADIS and the damage readouts on the central screens.
"Yeah," he turned back as well, holding out his hand as Dee gave him a sly smile and handed him half a dozen pages on fleet status reports. She still printed everything out on the octagonal paper for him. He wished his department and section heads would follow the lead of the young specialist.
"Though what can we expect," Tigh mused, accepting the top page the Commander had just finished.
"Yeah?" He asked half paying attention as he skimmed through the details. Starboard flightpod frames 16, 17, 21, 22; significant damage to launch tubes 9, 10, 14, 15. Repair; two weeks, standard repair shift. "Here Saul… looks like we'll be taking a little while longer before the starboard pod is fully operational," he handed him the second page.
Commander Adama was worried that he'd letting his XO back so soon… but six weeks wasn't soon he'd told himself over and over, might be a mistake. What Colonel Tigh had been through on New Caprica, Commander Adama still didn't know the full details. He knew of the suicide bombings and as a commander, had been ashamed. The eye, that was obvious. And the torture. But Ellen? There were rumors he had killed his wife for giving away Sharon's landing position. Rumors.
Commander Adama was worried, but Bill Adama knew his friend, Saul Tigh needed to be here. Next to him, shoulder to shoulder in CIC. Bill Adama threw the concerns of Commander Adama to the back of his mind, locking them away. He couldn't let his friend get distracted, he couldn't let his friend walk down that dark path. Not after everything his closest and truest friend had been through. He swore it.
|||||||||||==BS-62 Pegasus==||||||||||
"Everything should be repaired within the week, sir," Major Adama reported confidently, handing the Admiral his latest status report. "Unfortunately… the top side heat exchangers took another hit."
"Not the top side heat exchangers," she deadpanned, keeping his face straight and eyes glued forward before the tip of her lip curved into a devious smile. She tossed the tablet onto her command console. "We finally get them working at full capacity and the Cylons come and frak it up," she took a long exhale, scratching her head as she thought over the months, years, of frustration they had had attempting to fix the top side heat exchanger.
She nodded for Major Adama to carry on and took a quick look at the gash that had been sealed with graft glue. If he was lucky (or unlucky, Cain wasn't sure) he wouldn't have much of a scar after the cut healed. Her ship had been lucky. They'd lost no pilots in the short scuffle but had suffered three dozen wounded, most from being shaken out of their racks or thrown into bulkheads.
Cain had to thank the Gods for the automated targeting systems. The missiles the Cylons had used had been heavy, high yield, more powerful than the regular anti-ship missiles.
The Admiral still had absolutely no idea how the Cylons had found them.
But all the distraction was brought to a halt as Administrator Iblis had finally made his way, with a Marine guard, to the CIC.
Cain nodded to the guard, indicating him to stand back respectfully from the Guardian in the IL-S body. She waited for him to speak. But as usual the Guardian stood, silent. She locked eyes with Adama for a moment and gave him a quick roll of the eyes, indicating her annoyance with the Guardian. Once they started speaking they could either go on and on, never shutting up, or just offer vague and ambiguous statements. Unfortunately for her conversations usually vectored towards the latter. She thought the machines either forgot that humans cannot do a hundred different things at once, or draw conclusions from such convoluted
She wasn't bothered anymore by the Earth 'Terminators', though a chill ran down her back every time she thought of that name or they used that descriptor, but there was just something off about the Guardian IL-S bodies. Something she couldn't put her finger on which just set off her inner defenses. She chalked it up to the battle. Post-battle adrenaline and forty hours of activity with nothing more than a quick cat-nap… fifteen hours ago was most likely to blame, she told herself.
"How did the Cylons find us?" She casually asked, keeping her eyes on the reports crewman were continually setting down on the command console. The anger rushing through her mind was contained behind her military training. And yelling at any of the machines, Earth or Guardian, would be futile.
Administrator Iblis had been standing with his arms clasped in front of his black on gray uniform, but brought them to his chest defensively. "We don't know," he told her quickly. "Perhaps one of your ships had a tracking device you did not find?" He inquired, tilting his head and raising his voice on the last pronoun.
Major Adama had moved forward from the tactical watch officer stationed, passed the tactical information station and stood opposite the Guardian administrator. "We searched those ships double, triple, Administrator Iblis," Adama defended. "The Tech Com officers did as well," he said, referring to the machines.
Iblis acquiesced, bowing his head. "Apologies then, but I am required to put all possible scenarios forward, as that is my function," he stated plainly. "I do much more than just shuffle papers," he added.
Both Adama and Cain looked up at that unnecessary, superfluous comment. "I never said you didn't," the Major responded, his brow furled down, voice flat.
"And where is Commander Cyrus? I've got nine of my men aboard your baseships and four irreplaceable strategic assets," Cain questioned, giving her full attention to the Guardian as she set the reports back on the overcrowding command console. She held up her hand before Iblis could speak. "We know they succeeded, I want to know where they are," she made that very clear.
"As you know he sent a scout to another facility. We don't… know exactly where he went after that," the IL-S admitted, sounding reluctant to share that information. He had kept his voice even and steady, showing no concern the Guardian leadership did not know where their premier commander had disappeared to.
Major Adama's mouth opened slightly, and he looked left and right in disbelief at that. He extended his right elbow as he leaned forward on the command console, the overhead lights bathing half his face in color, the other in darkness. "You don't know where one of your commanders is… with six of your baseships…?" He looked towards the Admiral waiting for her response as well.
The noise in the CIC had quieted slightly. The crews were still pretending to do work, though to the two trained commanders, it was obvious they were keeping one ear and one eye discreetly on them and Iblis.
Everything said in CIC was classified need-to-know. Relevant officers and sailors could be told of pertinent information, but what was said in command was not to be repeated over a game of Triad or on the Pyramid court.
Admiral Cain had sent the last crewman who had breached confidentiality to the brig for a month then to Demetrius for six.
Administrator Iblis nodded slowly and took three steps forward until his synthetic machine body was pressed against the command console, closer to Cain and Adama. He looked each of them in the eye, whose full attention he now commanded.
He held up his index finger in a matter-of-fact motion as he spoke. "Because we are nomadic, we give our commanders incredible leeway. The Commander controls out expeditionary forces and those six ships are under his personal command," he held his finger up, and brought his opposite hand behind his back, as if to lecture them, "but he does not have them all with him. He split his forces after the attack."
Cain shook her head, narrowing her eyes slightly and opening her mouth. What Iblis had said meant nothing to her. The commanders were given extreme laxity? He split his forces? That told her nothing of where her crewmen were, where the Blackbirds were, or why the Cylons were able to find them.
"We lost nine-hundred and eight-four on the three ships destroyed," Cain stated coolly and quietly. She added a suitable level of force behind her voice to emphasize this loss to the Administrator. Unsurprisingly to her, he didn't react. She clenched her jaw with enough force she could crack her own teeth from the pressure.
She was nearing the point of mental exhaustion and was unwilling to play this game with Iblis.
And as if sensing his CO was near an edge, Major Adama spoke up.
"Administrator," he started with a strong emphasis on that title, "that tells us absolutely nothing on where our men and women are. We know three things. One, the attack was a success. Two, the Commander is off doing something. And three, the Cylons found us. So let's start with number three, shall we?" He asked rhetorically, keeping his voice down but firm. He'd noticed the crew getting slightly nervous, casting each other worried glances. The last thing he or Cain or his father needed were rumors spreading that the Guardians were playing a quick one of the lives of Colonial officers.
And while he knew his wife could handle anything on her own, he had to worry about her safety. He let a smile crept through his mind that she'd call him an angsty worrier if she knew just how worried he actually was over this.
"I have no idea how the Cylons found us. Divine providence?" He asked, cocking his head, and smiling almost mockingly towards the XO. He narrowed his eyes slightly, as if in deep thought and revelation. "I know that the Cylons often found your rag tag fleet, even in deep space," he pointed out. The IL-S could tell he'd struck a slight nerve with Adama on the past two comments. "I told you, I don't know. Neither does the leadership. Unless you all sent out scouts after we explicitly requested you do not?" He phrased the question to imply the guilt of discovery lay with the Colonials.
Adama and Cain both knew that the Guardians would have known if any FTL jump had occurred. And their dealings with Iblis over the last six weeks had told them he, it, was a machine which was also current on the details.
Both of the senior officers of Pegasus could feel the tension building up slowly with Administrator Iblis. The malfunctioning environmental controls, causing the entire CIC to be stuffy and humid only added to the stresses all the human crewmembers were under. Running major repairs as CO and XO and confronted with an arrogant and somehow hostile bureaucrat created too much stress, tension, and annoyance for either of them to deal with much longer.
Cain shot Adama a glance for him to continuing the questioning. He returned with a silent and motionless acknowledgment.
Major Avion had more than once vouched for the willingness of the Guardians to protect the Colonial remnant. He'd gone and claimed Iblis was a 'good guy' and a 'great Triad player' but a 'little stiff'. But whatever redeeming qualities the Helios CO had seen in Iblis, neither Cain nor Adama saw them. Except for his excruciating ability to currently annoy the two Pegasus officers there was no possible way in the worlds how they could see anyone sitting down with a game of Triad with the IL-S. Unless seriously and completely drunk.
"No, we did not send any Raptors," Adama replied. Cain nodded her agreement. "Maybe if we did do some scouting instead of trusting you we'd have seen their fleet assembling?" He closed his mouth and bit on his tongue lightly to keep himself from playing in this futile game of blame. He could feel the blood in his head as he did become agitated, with extra blood pressure under the gash on his head."For six weeks we've been doing what you wanted of us," he said slowly. "But their fleet finding us with a dozen baseships cannot be coincidence."
Iblis shrugged and his black on gray tunic wrinkled slightly at the shoulder. He diverted his attention to his appearance and he flattened it back with a quick and methodical motion of his robotic hands.
"It's to be expected now," he stated vaguely. He took a moment before elaborating. "We're allied so they are going to be sending more ships at us… all of us now, which is unfortunate. And since they know Helios is a part of the fleet, and you have two gunships now, they'll come at all of us harder and faster." He waved the concern away and half turned to face Admiral Cain more fully. "I'm sure Commander Cyrus said the same after we aided you over New Caprica," he stated and brought his eyebrows up while he gave quick, short nods.
"That's why we need to jump again," Cain added. "I want to put at least thirty El Why between us and where the Cylons attacked us." She brought up an e-reader for the Guardian, who took it lightly in his hand. The Cylons found them, so that was that. She felt more at ease doing rather than reacting. And feeling mentally defeated, she admitted running was doing. At least it was something, she conceded. "Our astrometrics have identified a star system four jumps from here," she leaned over and keyed in the specific ID for the system, "two gas giants and significant asteroid fields. We should be able to hide behind one of the giants and conduct repairs."
The Administrator nodded and handed back the e-reader, pulling a similar electronic device from his uniform pocket. "Here," he handed it to the Admiral, "that is the extent of our maps. We're two dozen jumps away from unknown territory," he leaned forward on the command console, "this is new for us as it is you. We didn't explore this territory."
Admiral Cain sighed, and darted her eyes left and right quickly as she read the descriptions of the Guardian's assessment. They'd used a host of specialized telescopes, radio, and X-ray receivers, and spectrographs to map out a significant portion of territory, but Cain was worried about what she was seeing.
"According to the scrolls and the… markers," she forced that word out. She didn't believe the scrolls were as trustworthy as Roslin kept claiming, "We need to proceed in this general direction. Our Earth allies have said the same."
"But space is big," Iblis grinned, but he kept his voice flat and smooth, "heading in that direction, you'd need millions of Raptors just to scout the territory."
"John did say they've been sending radio signals into space for well over a century. But that is still... small," Major Adama conceded. "And at this point, if we're still Gods' knows how many light years away, stellar background noise would make it all but impossible."
"Exactly," Iblis nodded. "And we were never actively searching, never listening."
"How are you going to contact Cyrus if we jump to the gas giants?" Admiral Cain inquired, turning her head back to look the IL-S in his synthetic, hollow eyes. There was just nothing there behind those obviously artificial eyes. The Administrator could profess to care about what happened, though his attitude suggested to her otherwise, but she could never know. She could look in the eyes of a crewman and know his or her character. Even Cyrus and Thais she could see something. Here, nothing.
Sometimes she believed if she just saw a two and a half meter tall Centurion it would be less awkward. At least then she would know. She wouldn't have to see Iblis pretending to be something she suspected he did not want to be.
"We have emergency coordinates like you do. We shouldn't expect him back for a day or two." He stood there for a moment, slightly swaying backward and forward in his imitation of human movement. There was not much more he needed to say, but he stayed, observing the Admiral interacting with her XO for a moment. Her attention had shifted, but he could still feel them both watching him, though their focus was on the reader he had handed them. "We can expect increased attack, even with the facility destroyed," he stated randomly, bringing the conversation back to its beginning.
Major Adama looked up. "Yes… you're right. It will probably be a few months before they need significant resupply." He held up his hand for Iblis to give him a moment before speaking. "But, if they operate on standard supply schedules, as Athena has told us, they'll have to pause in a few months. It'll reward us in the long term."
The Administrator frowned a moment and looked down towards the metal deck plates, noting the drops of dried blood, as he thought of this. "That is true. Though Commander Cyrus made it sound like an immediate cessation based on his presentation to us." That statement was not entirely accurate, but Iblis was running the odds that since he was merely an administrator, they could dismiss his ignorance as a 'lack of programming' or some other excuse.
He pursed his lips, readying to speak again. "But I don't know what Cyrus is planning out there in deep space… wherever he is…" his voice and thoughts trailed off. He shook his head with his eyes partially closed at his public disapproval of the commander.
Admiral Cain, not completely convinced at Iblis's fuzzy admission of being possible misled, kept her tone neutral as she decided not to challenge the Administrator on that particular point. "Well… if you say you all give commanders extreme leeway, he might have been doing the same with the facts," she suggested. Iblis nodded.
She observed him for a moment, the curious administrator who was such a nuisance for her at the moment. If his mission, or his goal, was to test Colonial commitment to this alliance, she hoped he would be disappointed. She pleaded to the Gods Iblis was against this alliance, and even with the military benefits, she felt maintaining it out of spite for this machine would be justification enough.
Cain blinked once and wiped the bead of sweat which had been forming on her forehead from the humidity. This wasn't a good day. And she needed to sleep. The sooner Iblis was gone, the more relaxed she would feel. And she made a mental commitment to retrieve a large cup of coffee from the mess deck as soon as Iblis slithered away, back to the Guardian mobile base.
"Before I go, my superiors were wishing to know how you are proceeding with your… 'de-conditioning' of those prisoners from New Caprica. The tortured ones," he elaborated unnecessarily.
She grunted quietly to herself. She could see Major Adama shift uneasily on his feet, licking his lips from the discomfort of this sensitive topic.
For the Admiral, and for most of the CIC staff who could hear the Guardian, that was still an emotional and delicate topic. Crewmembers from both battlestars had been subjugated to brutal psychological torture and conditioning on New Caprica.
And rumors had grievously spread like a tyllium fire that even more brutal methods had to be employed to de-condition them. Having the Tech Com terminator, Carter, the lead in this process of 'de-conditioning' had upset more than a few. The only 'good' part of the de-conditioning was that maybe half a dozen officers and civilians had ever seen Carter conduct one in person. So in this grim scenario there was that one fortunate fact that there was not much more than rumors going on from the usual sources; those who never actually witnessed anything but heard 'from a friend.'
Level-headed officers and senior NCOs had been able to push down and extinguish many of the more radical rumors (one involving physical torture of the crewmen), but still, it was a military vessel and for six weeks there had been a lot of 'hurry up and wait' actions, even with repairs. Downtime was opportune time for rumors.
It could be visibly determined by even a blind man Cain did not appreciate the Administrator raising that sensitive topic then. She had to use the last bit of mental strength length before exhaustion completely overwhelmed her to keep herself from taking out her pistol and slamming it into the side of the Administrator's face.
Even with that blank, almost absent-minded stare she could tell there was a certain smug attitude behind it. Cain could see that the Administrator thought he could stand there and just raise this issue and pretend to be naively innocent of its sensitivity. Deep, cold, and deadly space was filled with more life and compassion than those dead, fake eyes of Iblis.
But she didn't want to let herself become distracted by Iblis, of all machines. They were good at picking up little triggers to goad people. She wouldn't let that happen.
So she didn't stare daggers at him, or grit her teeth as she wanted to. But she answered politely, calming herself immediately as she had felt that fire build up.
"Unfortunately it's moving slowly," she admitted, regret on her voice. "Our fleet psychologists did not want to participate. But we have our experts who have dealt with similar issues helping the victims." She did look at him, right in his eyes. "They are victims. And we will help them." She assumed the Guardians would have just shot them out an airlock. Maybe. She didn't know. Her anger at Iblis, while faint, was still there. Maybe if it were up to the IL-S standing to her side they'd flush them out an airlock, but not Cyrus or Thais.
"Thank you," he said, pretending to be gracious. "I shall take me leave and report back," he bowed his head in respect, the old custom having disappeared in the Colonies centuries ago looked no less awkward on him than it would a human.
"I'll have a Raptor prepped. Immediately," she responded dryly.
||||||||||==Guardian Command Baseship==||||||||||
Starbuck's general outlook on problems had always been to confront them, and if necessary, beat them to death and stand over their twitching corpses. Or, and this was her preference, take out her problems with a pistol or rifle. A Viper was good, too. Or even a nuke strapped to a Blackbird. She had found that especially appealing over the last few months.
But the recent problems could not be killed with her fists. Or even a pistol. Or a rifle. The problems occupying her as she stalked through the Guardian command baseship concerned the war. She grunted as she went over that thought again in her mind. She'd realized long ago there was no war. But like the broken, malfunctioning, blinking light she could see down the corridor, the thought of war and or not would come and go, never settling as fact or fiction.
The fact was their war ended at Ragnar Anchorage. Reluctantly she admitted to herself one can't really have a war when one less than a percent of your military was left fighting, and with so few civilian left they couldn't even fill all the seats at the Cap. U.
The fictitious part of their war was that there was a war now. War implied victory. There were two battlestars, a cruiser, and maybe two dozen Guardian warships… against an armada which had wiped out 20 billion people in the span of a week... that wasn't war. Even with 'rebel' (she rolled her eyes at that thought) Cylon support, there was still no war.
War was winning. Victory. Survival was just survival. One could never even win at surviving. It was a day-to-day process. It had no end like war. It had no victory.
She grunted, the hopelessness not lost on her. This is why she hated situations like this. All alone, walking the corridors she only had her thoughts to keep her company. And Starbuck's thoughts were the only thing which truly scared Starbuck.
These thoughts and contradiction and distraction just circled around in her mind like a whirlpool, fueled by her own conscious thoughts and while rapidly draining the hope for a brighter tomorrow from her.
She sighed and struck the cold bulkhead with the side of her balled fist, the echo lost in the sea of repetitious thuds of Centurion boots striking the metal plating all around her.
The Colonial captain weaved in and out between the Centurion crew dotting the corridors. They barely moved as she dodged them. No doubt, she thought, they would only move mere millimeters, the most minimal distance to not brush into her. Being on a battlestar most of her adult life Kara Thrace Adama was especially used to the lack of space, lack of privacy, and lack of just about anything. But here, now, it was always taken to an extreme.
She continued her quest, fording forwarding through groups of Centurions going someplace, she wasn't sure where. They all looked the same, and except for rank markings (which she still did not completely understand) and little marking on their shoulder armor, she had no idea what half the Centurions on the ship did.
As the cool and brisk air of the corridor attempted to grab and hold her she increased her speed. The internal horizontal trams were off line after the attack, and the lifts were 'down for repair.' She let out a long, deep sigh, her hot breath condensing in the chilled air. The Guardians had turned down life support heating in all areas except the temporary crew quarters, a small make-shift recreation room, and the command deck.
Closing her eyes briefly she thought where to check next. She prayed to Tyche, hoping she would guide her to the correct room, alcove, compartment, or wherever the machine had decided to seclude himself.
And in no time, her classic, timely, and supernatural Starbuck's Luck had led her to the right place.
"Hey, do you have a minute?" She asked John Planck, stepping into the observation lounge.
Momentarily so caught up in her task of finding the machine, he had completely ignored the view from the room or even where he was. She'd seen him sitting at a table with a tablet computer, and had just focused on going in. Attack the problem.
Such tunnel vision could get a pilot killed.
He carefully placed the tablet on the table and stood up, smiling, he said, "Of course, Starbuck. I was just going over some star maps Commander Cyrus provided." He looked around, almost absentmindedly. "I was waiting for Athena, see if the Cylons knew anything, but I haven't seen her all morning."
Starbuck clenched her teeth lightly and shrugged, unable to give him an answer as well. 'All morning', she shook her head and glanced at her watch and had to laugh. It was 0432. She snorted again as she stifled the last bit of, what she hoped, was her discreet chuckle.
As she moved forward she was distracted by the large window at the far end of the room. She gave it a curious look, not completely understanding why the Guardians would build something so out of place. But she did take that moment to look out into the deep black of space. The pilot walked up and could see a nebula almost perfectly placed in the center, but at this distance, no larger than a coin.
Seeing space was nothing exciting, at least, not usually. She'd never made a reservation to visit and just sit and relax in the viewing lounge on Galactica or Pegasus, though Lee had tried to talk her into it. She saw space every day. But she realized some things could not be appreciated from the cockpit of a Viper.
As small as the nebula was, she could see the small swirls of gas and energy, the oranges and reds, as they fought to dominate the magnificent color patterns she could just barely make out.
She turned back around quickly on her heels, her expression apologetic for being distracted. Starbuck saw the machine still standing, looking towards her, but not watching her. His eyes were distant.
"John… one thing my mo-, one thing I was taught since I was young as to always attack problems head on," she began, talking to him but keeping her eyes almost straight ahead, looking towards the exit.
A small grin was on the left side of his mouth, and he tilted his head left, acknowledging. "That's always a good philosophy," he added for sake of conversation.
He realized this was hardly a social visit based on the time and the way in which she had started the conversation. There was the brief question as a greeting and a strange transition to another topic. There were a dozen different subjects he knew she could be referring to, and none were ones he wished to discuss. After the Guardians had decreased the temperatures in the corridors, and declared the trams and lifts offline, he'd have expected the Colonials to remain in their heated, comfortable quarters.
While he had disagreed with Commander Cyrus's somewhat bizarre attempts to keep the Colonials confined to their quarters, without actually keeping them confined, he hadn't disputed it. Most of the pilots had secluded themselves there anyway and no one wanted Captain Shaw causing trouble. Athena was not as susceptible to the cold as humans, so she could tolerate the decrease in heat more readily.
But Starbuck was always a surprise. The small living quarters set aside for them, down to this lounge, was nearly three quarters a kilometer away and twelve decks up to the dorsal disk. The Earth machine was always surprised at her uncanny ability to turn up during such times. And he was constantly surprised as her resilience to outside forces which worked against her. He thought that if, when, they made in to Earth she and a few other Colonials would make good officers in Tech Com, if they were willing.
"Yes, but I need to talk to you about the Cylons. There are certain, uh, problems." She bobbed her head, searching his brain for a better word. "Complications. Yes, let's say 'complications' or even 'issues' with what happened yesterday." She walked forward, shrugging, and took a seat opposite him. "The secret meeting with so-called 'rebel' Cylons doesn't look good. There are concerns."
"Concerns?" He repeated questioningly, sitting down himself. "From Captain Shaw I presume?" He sounded annoyed.
Starbuck did not immediately answer him. But she understood completely why he asked that question.
John replayed the events from the previous day. He'd been annoyed and frustrated, as had Jo and Carter. But they all agreed she just needed to feel like she 'won one'. So they didn't argue. Conceding something minor like that wasn't an issue. Commander Cyrus, Daniel, Sharon, they'd all understood why they had done it. Perhaps none had understood that little concessions needed to be made as Sharon Agathon; giving up you entire past life was difficult. John, Jo, and Carter always had each other to rely on.
The earlier outburst from Shaw had been unexpected. From his observations of her the last two years, it was clear she was still on some sort of drug. He hadn't noticed it recently, but her erratic behavior could not be due just to stress or lack of rest. Humans used that excuse too much.
Captain Adama snorted, a sly smile formed momentarily on her lips before vanishing. She carefully placed her hands on the table. Noticing the other, more comfortable furniture arranged in the lounge, she mentally shook her head at John's obvious choice to pick the least comfortable.
She licked her lips, slightly nervous. Her actions brought an end to the few seconds of silence Starbuck had let creep up between them. She probably knew he wouldn't be expected her answer.
"No. Me," she smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry, but I expressed my concerns to Captain Shaw last night after the… meeting… with the Cylons." She inhaled deeply. "You and your team have been a great help," she began, exhaling slowly as she spoke, "but this wa-, conflict looks like it is being run and decided by machines."
He nodded.
"And I know you understand the implications of this." She flipped her left hand so the palm was facing up, and she looked out towards the star field as she began again. She delicately split her attention between John and the coin-sized nebula. "We were destroyed by machines. And don't be mistaken that there are grumblings, in the fleet, that the commanders are… hm, listening to you all too much."
She looked concerned, apprehensive. He completely understood. It wasn't unexpected. He felt it was better she say something now, here, when something could still be done. An issue raised in public or by the fleet commanders would be much more difficult to deal with.
They'd tactfully averted boycotts by ship captains of using Guardian technology, using the good will and the confusion from the New Caprica rescue to upgrade and repair the fleet before organized resistance could be made. But with the fleet settling back down, with the news media reforming and reorganizing, and with old, sectarian or ethnic or political divisions taking shape once again in the fleet, it would only be a matter of time.
The vast majority of their time with the fleet had been over New Caprica, over a year, and then five months planning the rescue. The fact was, John realized, the fleet still barely knew them.
This was exactly like Earth. He hoped the mistakes on Earth by human leaders, their distrust of machines, would not happen again here.
The three machines and Colonials considered the others to be allies. But alliances were made for convenience. He called them allies, but only a few were friends. He was glad a friend, rather than an ally, was sitting across from him.
"I do understand," he stated simply, keeping his voice and emotion distant. He had dozens of personal experiences he could share, but right now he would keep any elaboration to a minimum, though he knew Starbuck had a way about her of coaxing information out of anyone.
"I mean… a secret meeting?" She shook her head in obvious disapproval.
"The full details were not revealed for some time. Though asking for us and Athena was suspicious," he readily admitted, but still kept the details vague.
Starbuck noted the phrasing. It was perfect political-speak. '…not revealed for some time' was vague enough to imply any point between Cyrus's briefing on Galactica up until the moments before she and Shaw had walked onto the command bridge.
"Regardless of when you knew, that isn't the point. While you have helped the fleet immensely, you do not represent the fleet," she waved her hand. She could tell the comment hadn't affected him much. Starbuck was relieved at that; they harbored no illusions about who was in command. "You've told me a lot about Earth. Was this ever an issue on Earth?" She looked at him, her eyes widening to emphasize the importance of the question. She opened her mouth, letting an "Ah" sound escape. "Yes, of course," she concluded virtually immediately after asking her questions.
He snickered. He was always amazed at her ability to connect the dots, find the little pieces of information, and come to a correct conclusion.
"Of course it was always a problem," he said defensively. "Humans had to fight Skynet in ten to one odds in their favor to even hope of victory. Before I left Tech Com for the Colonies, resistance forces in the western theater were nearly one-sixth machine. One unit, the 71st Infantry Regiment was exclusively machines. Even after all we accomplished before and during the war, the people would always have a fear we were running it, manipulating it." The annoyance, disappointment, and disapproval of those points of view were very apparent in his voice.
He could replay each betrayal scene by scene, with perfect recall, perfect memory of the faces and the words of humans who he and Jo and Carter had helped, only to be shot at or stabbed at or almost blown up.
Early in the war the few machines sent back in time and fighting for humanity had been forced to conceal their identities as machines, but it was inevitable that many would find out.
Three 'humans' storming factories and Skynet strongholds was not something people casually dismissed as 'luck' or stupidity. Some were excited that machines were working with the resistance, most were ambivalent, and a few were openly and violently hostile.
This was nothing new or uncommon.
John shrugged, sighing. He tapped the tablet stylus on the screen for a few moments before placing it back in its cubby hole. "There has never been a war like the one being waged on Earth. But even so, there are always politics. No human conflict, none in the entirety of recorded history has been free of politics," he let his shoulder drop slightly, "even when faced with annihilation, national politicians still interfered with the running of the war."
"I'm hardly a politician," Starbuck retorted.
"I'm not saying you are," the machine added defensively and apologetically. "But decisions General Connor was forced to make did involve political considerations. Decisions made in this fleet, which were political, almost brought destruction.
"Tech Com cannot wage its war without the civilians in the safe zones, governed by civilians mostly or a few military governors, producing equipment, growing food, or performing a hundred other tasks necessary for a war effort." He looked subtly out the window at the small dot of the nebula before continuing. "Even with Skynet pressing down, it is just in human nature to make bad decisions. And part of that is not trusting machines." He shook his head.
Starbuck raised her eyebrows, curious. She didn't enjoy hearing tales of the Apocalypse, but as a soldier she found the military and now political situation on Earth to be fascinating.
He noted her interest and decided to continue.
"Sector Seven comprised states in the United States which had no Skynet presence and which were fairly secluded from the front lines along the coastal states and Rocky Mountains. So they were safe. And the army and air force had devoted significant resources to protect them-"
"How many nations are there on Earth?"
"One hundred and ninety-two or one hundred and ninety-five, depending on who you ask," he stated, letting his eyes get a little wider and shrugging. "So in Sector Seven, the governor was supplying Tech Com with food, medicines, machine parts, and other supplies. It was tough. A significant part of the military was dedicated to protecting that sector. She's a fairly high priority target-"
"Understandable," Starbuck said.
John took in a breath and exhaled slowly as he debated how much detail he wanted to go into the political situation on Earth. Broad details were fine. But he didn't feel any envy for the civilian and military leaders of the fleet who would be forced to deal with the inevitable demand of Earth leaders to see Colonial technology and demand that they immediately attack Skynet in return for being permitted to land on Earth.
"We were sent in because the governor has had threats made against her. We thought they were Grays, human-Skynet collaborators. So Jo, Carter, and I arrive along with a pair of IK-950 special forces soldiers," he said. He saw the inquisitive look in her eye at the new designation. "The IK series are humans, heavily modified both genetically and physiologically, enhanced discreetly with technology," he elaborated.
She nodded, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. She couldn't quite see how humans would allow themselves to be 'enhanced discreetly', whatever that meant. Having transmitters under her skin, or eyes yanked out and replaced with fake ones, or whatever her imagination suggested they did to 'enhance' those people made her skin crawl.
"The Sector Seven cities and refugee camps were horrid, but nowhere near as bad as the tunnels around Los Angeles. The lucky refugees lived almost luxuriously compared to the vast majority in the US. Plague and disease were kept at a minimum because the governor wasn't… well, that's another story," he laughed, shaking his head as he remembered the corruption and malfeasance. He dismissed it, sadly, as human nature. Look out for me and myself first.
"To make a long story short, it turned out the plot on her life was some complex, convoluted attempted to expose General Connor's reliance on machines and force him to step down as commander of North American resistance forces, get her allies in command. Machines, free or not, were not popular. She set it up to make it look like we killed the supposed Grays, 'innocent people' in cold blood. It almost led to strikes. Our largest weapons factory was on the verge of strikes until General Connor was forced to go out there himself and address the strikers."
Starbuck could see a little bit of admiration forming in those synthetic eyes.
"He knows when to inspire and how to do it. He averted the strike. General Connor had to make changes to how he deployed machines and how he utilized us. Not permanently. We were back to operating as we normally did within a month. But where he positioned machines, in that month he had to use humans. Hundreds died. They died needlessly because a charged public and political leaders needed to see that humans were fighting, not just machines. That humans were fighting for humans.
"The governor was sacked after we exposed her corruption and General Connor was able to put his own man in charge. The corruption led to public backlash, and General Connor was fairly popular there, and a lot of people wanted him to take over as military governor. Obviously running a war, this is impossible. So the administrators begged him to send someone to 'represent' him. Ironically, an IK-950, secretly, of course," he snickered, "The General does have balls, and he has an ability to really piss people off if he thinks he's right."
The Viper pilot breathed out slowly and quietly, contemplating what to say next. There was a lot she was still learning from the machines about Earth and what they had done. She understood their position. Still, having machines advise versus forming the fleet's battle strategies were two very different scenarios which would lead to many, many problems in the fleet.
She did mentally rewind her last statement. The fleet was now comprised of two fleets now. The one which had fled with Galactica at Ragnar and the one which the Guardians had discovered. Their attitudes were completely different after years of working with Centurions, of learning to put their differences aside. Galactica's fleet, outside the battlestars themselves, only had marginal contact with the Earth machines. Many still saw them as outsiders. They'd helped with infrastructure planning and construction New Caprica, but the three had still spent the vast majority of time aboard one of the two battlestars.
Starbuck ran the gauntlet of choices as she debated whether she really wanted to say what was on her mind. But like she was taught; face the problem head on. "Aren't our mistakes ours to make?" She mentally cringed as she said that. It was awkward and unrealistic. 'Our mistakes' could lead to species extinction she told herself.
Even not believing the legitimacy of that question, she was more curious about the answer.
"Not when we're here," John said, smiling. "Your mistakes affect us, too." Starbuck let herself relax and laugh slightly. "But no. 'Our mistakes are ours to make' isn't a valid argument," he lowered his voice, "and I suspect you don't really believe that," he pointed out, narrowing his eyes slightly. "That's said by those who cannot admit that others, outsiders, had better ideas and they ignored them. Kobol and New Caprica are the best examples… and…" he hesitated, "and not leaving me stranded on Kobol. That wasn't really a smart move… at the time." He lightened up his voice, raising its pitch, "But I am glad you didn't leave me there," he added quickly, holding back a sly grin.
The captain shrugged. "Meh. Maybe, but who could resist that shredded apart handsome face with all that metal and shining blue eye," she joked, kicking him under the table. "But you all do need to just take some notice," she said, changing from friendly banter to definitively serious. "Just take it as advice, from a friend. We've known each other… how long?"
"One thousand, two hundred and twenty-three days, seven hours, forty-one minutes, and three seconds… four… five…" he began counting, pretending to be serious.
"Alright, I get it," she held up her hand, a hard smile on her face as she shook her head. "So literal," she grunted, rolling her eyes playfully.
"Starbuck, thank you for bringing this concern to my attention before it became an issue," he said faintly. He became slightly more reserved as he sat there in silence for a minute as Starbuck waited. "I think we all want an end to this journey sooner rather than later. I'll talk with Jo and Carter and see what we can do. We're not seeking credit or recognition, that isn't important," he waved casually. "Anyone can take credit for what we suggest, if it works. We can take the blame if it doesn't. Whatever can get this fleet to safety."
She smiled as she closed her eyes briefly, understanding the sentiment. Their home was still there. And hopefully it could one day be a home for the remnants of the Colonies if Skynet and the Cylons could be defeated. "And Commander Cyrus," she added. "He's a good uh… IL-S, machine, but I think he needs to understand where the loyalties of you three are." She looked him straight in the eye. "Because Admiral Cain, Commander Adama, President Roslin, myself…"
"We're your allies," he affirmed. "If the Guardians ever do anything to put the fleet in danger-"
She put up her hand. "The first part was all I needed to hear." She yawned and leaned back in the chair, letting her back crack loudly as she pressed against the back of the chair. "Well, I need to get some sleep. Human and all…" she stood up. "I'm glad you understand where I'm coming from, John. I have the feeling everything will be okay. There is only so much grim darkness in the universe, and I think we've just about had our fill." She took a step to the side, away from the table and turned away. Not looking back she waved back and added, "Good night… see ya in a few hours."