||||||||||==BS-75 Galactica (+990 Days Post Cylon Holocaust)==||||||||||
Commander Adama had gambled enough for two lifetimes. Viper pilots were notorious gamblers- Adama remembered one time when he won six months worth of pay in a high stakes game aboard Ares, an old and rickety Flight I Kokytus battlestar which had been patched together half way through the Cylon War to replace loses to the Columbia battlestar forces.
Then he lost it all better on a Pyramid game a week later on the C-Bucs.
His recent gamble, a roll of the dice, was still in the air. He could see in his mind the die hitting the table, friction forces slowing the die as they rolled and wobbled in the air and as he hoped against hope to get the Lucky Seven.
Everything had been going well. He felt lucky.
Her felt that luck change when President Roslin had asked, forced really, a meeting between him and Quorum detractors. The Quorum was with her for now, but Adama knew the woman, forty-seventh in the line of succession, to be a woman with, as crude as he knew it was, balls.
And they were harder that Admiral Cain's, he knew. The school teacher had conspired once to murder the Admiral.
That takes something innate. Adama knew you can't learn something like that.
Even with Pegasus missing there was a serene calm in the Commander even as he looked across to the politicians across from him. They were a diverse lot the three of them- Mrs. Porter, Mr. Baggot, and Mr. Karp. Still, he couldn't help but see in them beady eyed, salivating, vampire politicians ready to suck his blood dry and regurgitate it to the masses.
This calm Adama was unsure of. He'd led the fleet now in the major crises; the Exodus, the initial weeks of endless jumping, the water crisis, the fuel crisis, the prisoner riots, the election, the rescue on New Caprica, and now a food crisis. Pegasus was gone. Not gone, destroyed, but locked into a recess in his mind so he could concentrate on the matter at hand:
"You're telling us that you have Baltar and that Six working on a Raptor… doing what, exactly?" Delegate Iosef Karp of Libra demanded. He leaned forward across the conference room table towards a standing Adama. "We've been hands off, Commander but this is getting too far. Too far." He gestured with a knife-like hand from his shoulder down towards the U-shaped table. "We let you and Cain have enough leeway," he frowned.
"I would have to agree with Mr. Karp," Marshall Baggot of Virgon said quietly.
While seeing Baggot hadn't shocked Commander Adama, it had surprised him. The Virgon man had been a successful small businessman on the colony and had supported Tom Zarek for Vice President during the Colonial Day festivities. He'd come over and had been won by Roslin. Politics.
Adama sniffed at that thought. Bribery… though he admitted he was being unfairly cynical to a somewhat politician.
"The project we have been undertaking is a classified military project," Commander Adama informed them. He knew it wouldn't do much good. Hundreds of crew and civilians and civilian freighter pilots had seen the former president and Six working on the Raptor. "I don't like discussing classified information Mr. Karp." The Commander sourly added.
"Whether you like it or not, Commander," Porter countered quickly, "we are the civilian representatives of thousands of Colonial citizens. It seems to me we need every spare Raptor not on the 'Cee A P' or maintenance out there expanding our search perimeter for food sources."
The Commander eyes her up and down.
Porter knew what he was doing.
"This is typical…" she said with a disdainful wave of her finger, "we have civilian oversight of the military for a reason. Since there is no Minister of Defense you need to answer to the Quorum." She twisted in her in annoyance, looking away towards the corners of the conference room to calm herself. "If you think we're just heard to bitch at you, Commander, we're not. There's a reason why there is a civilian government and not a military dictatorship."
"I never said you didn't have their interests at heart," Adama dutifully responded. "I see no point to coming in here and demanding I answer your questions. I will address my crew concerning the Raptor when it is time."
Baggot held up both hands and motioned for everyone to calm down.
"Commander… if Baltar has some secret idea of finding food, why not tell us?" The Virgon delegate asked. He swallowed when a hard hunger pang struck his stomach and traveled up his throat and forced the aging man to lean on the table.
"Are you okay?" Adama asked. He turned and was about to call over the Marines. "I'll have them take you to sick-"
"No, I'll be alright," he waved them off. "I've just have headache the past few days," Baggot explained. "Why can't you tell us?"
"He doesn't trust us," Karp opined.
"Exactly," Porter added. "We're politicians. The military never trusts politicians," she coldly added. "And Gemenon has never been a supporter of the military… trust, Commander. We've put our faith in you and give you the benefit of the doubt. Why not the same?"
Karp spoke up.
"We've also heard that your Cylon pilot… Athena, I believe, the Eight, and the Earth machine, Soto, are both working on this project. So you'll have to excuse me if my constituents are concerned that three machines and a man the entire fleet sees as a traitor… that they're working on this and it is a concern," Karp finished.
Command Adama dipped his head to acknowledge the concern and keeping his face in its typical impassive and authoritative look, explained; "Athena and the Six, Caprica Six, possess extensive knowledge of Cylon technology. Baltar was the premier scientist back on the Colonies… as much as I hate to say it, he's probably smarter than all of us in this room times ten." Baggot snickered while the other two remained resolutely annoyed. "And Soto has proven her loyalty, remember on New Caprica," he looked at Porter and Karp.
He was at ease with how well mannered the delegates were behaving. Maybe if he offered to sit down with them and listen they might be less confrontational in the future? He made a note to consider that and report his observations to the President. She did know politicians.
"So are you looking for Pegasus?" Porter asked as soon as the Commander had finished reminded them of the machine's loyalties and actions on New Caprica.
Karp nodded and wagged his finger at his Quorum colleague. "That seems to be the idea, Commander, that everyone in the fleet seems to think. You said priority was food."
"Pegasus has advanced optical and X-Ray telescopes and astrometric facilities. Admiral Cain's battlestar also has dozens of Raptors which could greatly increase our search radius," the Commander said.
Porter swaggered as she digested the Commander's statements.
"I know when a politician or a military command is using 'plausible deniability', Commander. You're a good Commander… you saved us on New Caprica and my constituents are eternally grateful, and your leadership in this crisis… but don't patronize us," Porter warned. She could be just as stern, cool, and composed as the Commander standing opposite her.
As if on cue the sound powered to the conference room rang. A Marine answered and informed the Commander he was needed in CIC.
"Miss Porter, I took this meeting as a courtesy to the President. If you'll excuse me…" he trailed off as he turned.
"Commander Adama," the middle-aged Quorum delegate shouted after him. Her voice was strong and loud. "Commander Adama," she hurried to his side, "former President Baltar and that Six were responsible for the bloody occupation. There are people in the fleet who won't take well to knowing that Baltar and the Cylon are involved in some secret military project."
He didn't respond and turned away again but stopped when he felt the tight grip of the fiery woman on his forearm.
Adama looked down at the hand and back at her. As if his silent look told her everything she slowly removed her hand and the Commander left.
||||||||||==BS-75 Galactica (+991 Days Post Cylon Holocaust)==||||||||||
"God damnit, I just need to use the bathroom," Baltar protested as a big, two plus meter tall Marine clad in intimidating black armor and a rifle across his chest stood in front of him. "Now, I am sure a Marine such as yourself, prideful and professional, would not want to explain to your friends why there is piss on your boot-"
"Is there a problem here, sergeant?" Athena asked as she brushed her oily hands off on a grease cloth. She walked up to the Marine and turned so she could face him and Baltar.
The bio-Cylon was a head shorter and about a hundred pounds light than the armored Marine, but she held herself tall and was firm in her stance.
"No, sir," the Marine replied. "He went to the bathroom an hour ago and needs to go again. I think he's doing something in there," the Marine said as he added in a glare at the skittish scientist. "Sir, there's only myself and the corporal. We're to have two Marines here at all times…"
His implication of perversion was met by a return glare colder than the void outside Galactica.
"No, it was three hours ago," Baltar pointed out. "Maybe basic time keeping isn't an integral part of your 'point-and-shoot' or 'yes, sir' and 'no, sir' training but-"
Athena put her backhand on the scientist's chest. "I'll take him," Athena offered as a means to shut the scientist up.
The food shortage had stranded a significant number of Marines in their beds, too tired to work. Exhausted. What others there were were stretched to the limit guarding secure areas of the ship and aiding the distribution of the dwindling supply of dry rations.
Her offer also allowed the Marine to treat the doctor like crap and not lose any credibility or standing with his friends. The Marines were professional, but the hatred for the former President was so obvious and powerful that Colonel Tigh had had to hand-pick Marines who had not been stranded on New Caprica during the Cylon occupation.
"Yes, sir," the Marine dutifully responded and stepped aside. He let his rifle slide back down to a carry position. He'd been prepared to use it to push into Baltar's chest and shove him backwards into the Raptor.
Athena quickly motioned for Baltar to move it and made her impatience clear with a stuttering hand gesture towards the hanger deck heads.
Baltar, of course, had to get in a victorious sneer at the young Marine and add in an insult about the man's intelligence under his breath.
He kept looking back as he and Athena made their way across the landing bay.
"Thank you," the Doctor said.
Athena thought for a moment that he sounded almost gracious.
"You're welcome… and that guy has been pissing me off recently," she whispered. The scientist grunted his complete agreement. "But I did consider how it would have looked if you did take a piss on the flight deck. The Chief probably would have killed you and I bet I couldn't have stopped him if he tried." She chuckled. "You need to lighten up a little bit, Doctor."
The Doctor looked at her with narrowed eyes and straight-lipped mouth. "You're not the object of murderous stares and people spitting at you for something you had no control over."
He locked eyes with a group of deck hands and slowed his paced until Athena pulled him back with a tug on his arm. He winced, and the deck hands laughed. It felt like the bio-Cylon had almost pulled his shoulder out of its socket. He twisted it and rubbed it with his opposite hand just to be sure.
Athena opened the hatch towards the central storage areas, where the closest heads were. "You think I don't get stared at?" She asked as she ushered him through and closed and locked the hatch behind her. "There are kids in the Galactica day care whose parents won't let their kid play with mine and we're part of the same crew. You think I don't get stared at… or Hera doesn't get stared at? The only half-human and half-Cylon child in existence?" She pushed him forward. "You don't know."
Baltar stumbled and straightened his sweat marked and oil stained shirt.
"Yes, I do know, Mrs. Agathon," he corrected. He began looking for the heads with her behind him. "I do very much know," he repeated to the empty corridor in front of him. "I surrender to the Cylons and am made into a puppet and I get One Eye Tigh and his merry band of suicide bombers trying to fraking kill me at every turn and every fraking day!" He spun around.
Athena could see the sweat dripping from his brow and the central vein running between his eyes and up his forehead pulsing. He was shaking.
"The head is over here," she pointed lazily.
The left side of Doctor Baltar's lip flickered briefly, either in contempt or in acknowledgment it was unfair for him to have lost his temper. He knew that Sharon, Mrs. Agathon, had been subject to some brutal conditions and had nearly been raped by Lieutenant Thorne and his own merry band of rapists.
"I apologize," the Doctor said in a dignified tone, raising himself to his full height and pushing back his shoulders. He wasn't a tall man, but he was lean and could be a presence when he wanted to be.
"Just… go to the bathroom…" she stepped over the ankle knockers as she followed Baltar and closed the hatch. She watched Baltar go into a stall and close the gray slit door. She turned the water to the faucet on so she wouldn't hear him pissing.
"I have to thank you," he said from behind the stall door, "for trusting me and Caprica."
Athena shivered. She hated it when people talked and went to the bathroom. It was creepy.
"Don't mention it." She hesitantly said.
She turned around towards the sink and grabbed the edges. Her neck came down and her shoulders came up and she stared at the brown eyes and light brown face looking back at her. She was a Cylon helping humans with a hybrid daughter escorting the former president of the Colonies to the head.
Athena reached down and splashed some water on her face as the hatch opened.
"How ya doin'?" She heard someone ask. It was friendly voice; strong, kind, casual.
With water dripping down her face and in her eyes she brought a clean part of her green military blouse up to wipe off her eyes.
She heard something extend, like metal brushing on metal. As she turned she felt something smash into the back of her head, throwing her forward into the mirror. A strike to the back brought her down, her chin smashing into the side of the sink. Athena fell, her eyes wet and blurry, and she watched a pair of black boots stomp in front of her. The door to the stall opened and Baltar was pulled out by the scruff of his shirt, his pants around his ankles, by two men who threw him to the ground and began kicking and beating him.
Caprica watched the exchange between the Marine and Baltar with a strange, almost predator-like interest. Her head tilted slowly back and forth, her blonde hair following, as she studied Gaius's interaction with the Marine.
The Marine stood his ground, Baltar stood his ground. A small amalgam of orange jump suits, green fatigues, and pilots and civilians had assembled on the far end of the maintenance deck, more than likely hoping for the doctor to be rifle whipped by the Marine.
He wasn't afraid and he wasn't backing down. She smiled to herself and looked back down as Athena approached. She'd handle it and help Baltar. The Six was proud of her Cylon sister and had envied her for her honor and convictions.
The platinum blonde synthetic woman had worked tirelessly for the last few days, twenty hours a day, to finish the device and upgrades to the Raptor. She wasn't sure why she was doing this.
There was a civil war with her people, with Twos, Sixes, and Eights pitted against the other models. She wanted to help her Cylon brother and sisters, but hadn't demanded to be released yet. She was being held back by the man she was watching confront the Marine and leave the hanger deck.
"When do you estimate you will be finished?" Caprica Six heard. She looked up to see Soto staring back at her, half turned, from the pilot's seat.
"Done already?" She decided to use a question to answer the machine's question. She leaned forward from the ECO chair to get a better view. Sure enough Soto had finished adding the displays and controls to the pilot's central control console. "It's a bit unorthodox… the layout of the control panel," she motioned with her chin.
She reached down into her tool kit and pulled out a micro soldering tool and connected some wires to the motherboard she had been upgrading. A petite cough escaped her lungs when the thin serpentine puff of smoke slivered into her lungs.
"The controls are optimized for my use. Ergonomics are not as efficient as machine-operated systems," Soto explained. "I do not suffer from cramping." The female machine stood up and looked out the bay door of the Raptor. "Few Skynet or new Tech Com aircraft even have cockpits as you would recognize them," she casually stated.
"Much like our Raiders," Caprica said.
"Very much like your Raiders." She agreed.
The Marines were patrolling the perimeter, the black crates holding the external equipment they would need to still attach were locked and secured, and the novelty of a machine, two bio-Cylons, and the disgraced former President of the Colonies modifying a Raptor had worn off about mid-way through the second day.
"The stares here aren't as bad as New Caprica," the Six randomly began, "because I think they know they can still beat us. No matter what we did they fought back. Surely they knew if they did enough damage we would leave and nuke them from orbit?"
Caprica heard a fast and deep, almost synthetic and machine-like chuckle from the Terminator. She looked up at her and the machine was still staring out into the hanger deck. Her right hand was poised up at the top of the bay door and she was leaning slightly forward.
It was so human to Caprica, to see the machine leaning forward like that, like a young woman confident in herself and her abilities.
"Humans have an amazing inability to grasp the consequences of their actions." Jo pushed off and leaned on the cabin plating opposite the ECO console on the port side. "I said the same thing. To be honest, Caprica, when I was on the planet if I saw the Cylons evacuating I was going to run. Run as fast as I could and as far away as I could to a place I found which had a high probability to survival."
"Oh?" Caprica was interested. She put the motherboard down on a piece of plastic and turned to listen.
"It was seven point two kilometers from the city, southeast, over-"
"The hills… I remember there was a canyon."
"Yes. I assumed you would use nothing larger than a one hundred to one hundred and fifty kiloton nuclear device."
"One eighty five, actually…" She shrugged. The Terminator began laughing while Caprica stared on at the strange sense of humor. "That's funny?"
Soto stopped, her face moving from a creased, contorting picture of laughter to an even and blank canvas. "No, it's not funny."
Caprica went to reach for the electronics she was working on and stopped mid-grab. She brought her hands back to her lap and her arms back to her side. Her gray sweats were a bit more comfortable than her tight black pants, high heels, and skimpy jacket, but this still felt wrong. It wasn't the Colonial workout clothes which were doubling as a jail uniform, it was just being here.
"Why am I doing this?" She asked the empty air, or Soto, she didn't know. Caprica just kept staring ahead at the mesh on the wall behind the co-pilot station. "Why am I helping? I'm going to be executed- civil war or not."
"You don't know that," the Terminator replied evenly. "But it is probable."
"Thank you for that," the Six sardonically replied.
"You can be lied to or be told the truth. It's up to you, Caprica," Soto said. "It is probably you and Baltar may be executed. However, by helping the fleet here you also gain sympathy." She looked back into the landing bay. "The people here are not ruthless."
"If that will be my fate, I can accept it… but Baltar. I don't even know how to deal with what happened to him," she lamented. "I don't even know how that's possible. It shouldn't be possible, Soto… it's, it's not designed like that," she insisted.
"Now that we know we can observe," Soto advised.
"I don't know what would happen if we approached him." The Six said as she began to grow quiet and reserved. Her hands moved lazily over the equipment in her lap.
"Maybe you need a purpose?" Jo asked. "It's not like one of… uh… us, has never done something for a human out of love before."
"I guess not," the dejected Cylon prisoner replied as her head fell into her chest. "What I was responsible for cannot be forgiven, even in the eyes of God. Even repentant-"
"Stop." Soto held up her hand. "One thing I despise is when people feel sorry for themselves. Whatever you did, whatever it was, Caprica," Jo leaned in, "I don't want to know. Because right now you and Baltar are the only two who can help me find John and Carter and Pegasus. They're all that matter to me."
"You don't care about the part I played in the holocaust?"
"No, I do care."
Caprica frowned at the contradiction and assume the machine had been or was lying.
She glanced over to the machine who had locked her gaze on her.
"I don't care right now. Whatever the Colonials decide to do with you and Baltar is not something I can affect. There was a saying there is no fate but what we make, Caprica. Make yours."
Athena felt the air knocked out of her after a second kick. Her ribs were bruising and close to cracking. She'd bitten a nasty chunk of flesh from the inside of her cheek when she had fallen. Almost choking on the flesh, she coughed it up and spit blood onto her attacker's boots.
She put her hands under her and tried to get up on all fours but was pushed back down, her face slammed into the deck, by a boot to the mid-back.
"Hold him down. We'll take care of the Cylon bitch," the man with the metal billy club snarled, "and then gut the President." He reached down and yanked Athena's long black hair and pulled her left and right and towards him.
She almost fell when her knees buckled, but one of the other two men who had been beating Baltar had wrapped his arms around her and was holding her up for another punch.
Her augmented bio-Cylon physiology didn't matter if she was taken by surprise and struck on the back on the head.
If she had seen the billy club, if the man had at least been somewhat honorable and attacked from the front, he'd be laying with a broken arm, an open and compound fracture, sprawled on the ground. And probably a broken knee.
His two buddies would have been lying on the floor as well. She could have finished this in seconds if she hadn't been surprised. And now all that was racing through Sharon's mind was a way to get out of this. She needed an opening and her eyes and mind desparately searched for one.
The bio-Cylon needed time to recover. Only seconds, but if the man kept up his attack she'd be unconscious. She had to distract him.
"Coward!" She spat. Blood oozed out of her mouth and she somehow managed to get some on the man's vest. She couldn't see him and he was still blurry.
The man cocked back his hand and tensed and back hand slapped her. A ring he was wearing tore into her cheek and splashed blood onto the head mirror.
"Fraking shit, cut my knuckles," he cursed, shaking his hand out. He leaned in and grabbed her by the throat. "I heard what the Pegasus crew was going to do to you… I like that idea…" he grinned.
He moaned in a disgusting, mocking expectance and his hands came down and his fingers felt her breasts and dragged down her stomach to her belt.
"You're a fraking coward!" She shouted. He backhanded her.
Her vision was clearing and her knees weren't as wobbly. Her synthetic glands were shooting out copious amounts of adrenaline and other chemicals designed to boost reflexes, focus the bio-Cylon, and give them an edge in battle.
"Just kill her! Kill the Cylon bitch!" the man standing over a bloodied and half-conscious Baltar hissed. "Hurry up and kill her!"
The other man was holding her, his arms wrapped into the pits of her elbows, and pinning her against his chest.
The man who threatened to rape her grabbed her by the throat and leaned in.
"You think what you did on New Caprica won us over? You're a Cylon bitch and a Cylon whore and you'll always be one. Once we're done here we'll gut your Cylon fraking husband and-"
He had no time to finish his sentence, his threat; Athena knew how it would end. Her eyes darkened and widened and her head was clear. She felt everything slow as she studied the man in front of her; tall, dirty hair, green eyes, square jaw… and evil, devil's grin and a dark shine in his eyes- manifestations of an evil soul.
She didn't see a man. She saw evil. There was a terribly malicious smile creasing his lips. She would not hold back.
She released every drug her synthetic glands and augmented body could make to increase her strength. She would not hold back.
The man with the billy club raised it at an angle to bring it down to crack her temple. She raised her leg and stomped down hard on the man's foot that was holding her. His grip slackened as her heel was driven into his foot, shattering bones. Her left hand formed a fist and with a mean hook contacted the green eyed man in the right cheek.
Both men screamed and the third over Baltar stood in shook as the bio-Cylon fought back.
In slow motion she watched as the wave rippled the skin across his cheek. She heard bones cracking in his jaw.
Athena leapt and double kicked him and pushed back, throwing the man holding her into a stall door. He came crashing down onto a toilet and screaming and the metal bowl was rammed into his back.
The man over Baltar, a short man, a balding man, a scared man, ran over and had a knife ready but hesitated.
On top of the man prostrated across the toilet she pushed down and shot herself off at a angle. She kicked the man in the ankles and swept him off his feet. He landed on the ground and dropped the knife. The mother and wife stood and faced the man with the billy club, who had recovered.
He swung at her at a downward angle from his right. She easily blocked it with a swipe of her forearm. An open palm strike to his sternum crack the bone and he staggered back, dropping the billy club. His hands frantically reached out for the sink to keep himself upright. The left hand was on his chest, claw-like and he was wheezing and struggling to breathe.
"N-n-no… pl-please!" He begged, falling to his knees, no longer able to support himself.
She saw his eyes dart right. Athena dodged as the man from the stall tried to lunge at her and fail. She back stepped and as he fell she brought an elbow down on the back of his neck. He stopped in mid air from the counter momentum and fell. His cervical vertebrae were smashed, his brainstem crushed and obliterated. The man from the stall, the man holding her, laid face down on the deck dead.
Sharon was breathing heavily. She looked over and saw Baltar struggling to regain consciousness. The man on his knees in front of her was still begging.
Her shoulders were heaving up and down and her heart was pounding. She could hear the beating of feet out in the corridor, running towards the bathroom. The sound of the fight had attracted attention.
Her hands raced for his throat and she squeezed as hard as she could. She heard a crack as her vision narrowed to a pin point and she passed out.
"Sharon!" Helo yelled. He sped around the corner, almost colliding with a nurse, and yelled again on seeing his wife bandaged and bruised and lying on a gurney in medical. He ran forward and Doctor Cottle stepped in front of him and slowed him down.
"Easy, son. Calm down." Helo brushed passed him and grabbed his wife's hands and gently hugged her. "She passed out; she has a hard knock on the head, so take it easy!" He shouted after the worried and frightened husband.
Commander Adama, Colonel Tigh, and half a dozen Marines flowed in and were standing in the waiting area of medical. Doctor Cottle was already explaining the situation to them.
Doctor Cottle nodded and came back to the opposite side Helo was on.
"Where's Hera, where is she?" Sharon demanded, trying to push herself up. Her Cylon strength was too much for Helo alone and Doctor Cottle had to help keep her calm.
"Sharon! Sharon! She's safe! She is safe!" He yelled to her, grabbing her and letting her burry her head in her chest. "She'll be down soon, don't worry, she's safe."
She tried to push up, but Helo kept her calm and lying in the bed wrapped in his arms. She had pads on the side of her head monitoring her brain. She'd suffered a concussion.
Commander Adama walked up slowly to Sharon and grabbed her hand. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
"Commander!" Colonel Tigh called.
Commander Adama looked once more at Sharon and squeezed her hand. He looked over his shoulder and the face of an old, kind, caring man was replaced with a face of hardened stone and complete anger.
He stormed over to a man in too-tight handcuffs and strapped down to a gurney.
"This is him?" Adama snarled.
"Yes sir," Tigh responded. "Crewman Frederick Crush from Cloud 9, here to pick up food supplies," Tigh read. "The other two were DOA, sir," Tigh snickered.
Colonel Tigh, standing opposite the Commander, brought the clipboard behind his back and waited for orders on what to do with the prisoner.
"Colonel Tigh, I want-" Adama began as he heard stomping.
Adama spun in time as Helo saw the man was inches away from killing him himself. "Easy, son," Adama stepped between the officer and the attacker. "He'll get his dues," he whispered, "you can be sure of that." Helo pressed forward. "Be with your wife, Helo," Adama told him.
He stared at Helo's chest and then looked him in the eye. He held Helo there until the angered husband looked down and locked eyes with the Commander in silent understanding. The man could beat this coward into a bloody pulp. The Commander had more than half a mind to let him do it, too.
Commander Adama turned back to the Marines standing over the shackled prisoner and Doctor Cottle.
"I want this thing out of here as soon as possible," the Commander ordered. "Bandage him up and get him ready to transfer to the brig."
Cottle, standing over the patient's head lit a cigarette. "As fast as possible." He blew down into the man's face and ignored the coughing.
The battlestar commander turned again to Helo who had calmed down and was walking back to his wife, looking over his shoulder and watching the shackled attack like a hawk.
"Commander," Doc Cottle said again to get the Old Man's attention. Adama walked over and was now over Baltar. "Doctor Baltar here suffered more extensive injuries. He has a concussion, a perforated ear drum, a broken nose, and substantial bruising to his face and ribs…" Cottle traild off as he held his stethoscope over the man's lung fields, "and most likely a simple pneumothorax by the sound of it."
The Doctor, who had been facing Cottle with his eyes closed looked over at the Commander.
"I think beating me was the dream of the entire fleet," Baltar coughed.
"Don't be a wise ass," Cottle advised in a gruff and unsympathetic tone. "You should be lucky you didn't suffer anything worse with that bruising."
"How long will his recovery time be?" Adama asked.
He reached out and grabbed the plastic guard rails and leaned in to inspect the poor scientist doctor. He did feel sorry for him, after a fashion.
True, he'd have put a bullet to the man's head if he'd had the opportunity… but he was trying to help the ship, even if it might have been to save his own ass, but help was help and Galactica needed all the help she could get at the moment.
"I want to keep him for observation and an X ray… a simple pneumo is fairly easy to fix. A couple days maybe. After that I can discharge him. I can bandage up his ribs; give him some injections to speed up the healing, and some drugs for the pain… that's about it." The Doctor took another puff of his cigarette as the Commander stared down at the now dreary ex-President. "No one deserves this," the Doctor opined.
Commander Adama looked up weary and tired.
Maybe, he thought, he should have addressed the crew immediately and told them that Baltar and Six were helping them build something to possibly find Pegasus? Maybe that would have prevented this… but no, he concluded. People who hate will hate no matter what. Hate was irrational. It was based on fear. And when people were afraid they would do anything and do it for temporary gain even if it hurt them a hundred times more in the end.
'Sometimes we have to ask ourselves if we're worthy,' he uttered so quietly that the Doctor a mere meter away couldn't heard him.
"Well, Gaius, I don't know if what happened to you was because you defied God's plan or whether or not He is testing you," the Six said in a melancholy tone. She looked down longingly at her corporeal love and ran her finger down from his chin to his chest, down his neck. He was asleep. He was so peaceful; she could watch him sleep forever. But, the Six knew, he had work to do. "Wake up, Gaius," she commanded.
The beaten and bruised scientist shot up in bed, gasping. His eyes were wide and his heart rate monitor began beeping frantically.
"I'm alright, I'm alright," he shouted to the nurses, waving them off.
Still, they came to check him. One of the physician assistants, Warrant Office Second Class Ishay pushed him back down, telling him to lie back, and she checked his heart and lungs with her stethoscope and made sure the blood pressure sensors and other monitoring devices were working properly.
"You're alright now, but when these medications wear off, you'll be hurting, Doctor. You suffered serious bruising and a conscious," the physician's assistant informed her. "And you need to stay calm or the foam will rip apart and your pneumothorax could worsen."
"They were cruel to you, Gaius," the Six spoke softly. The platinum blonde haired woman in a white dress walked up behind the medic and peered over her shoulder at the chart. "You'll be fine, Gaius. There are many trials God sets upon those He's chosen… you should feel honored… after a fashion."
"I know," he responded.
Ishay looked down and put his chart back at the foot of his bed.
"Just get some rest and sleep." Ishay said.
"I wonder how the Cylon is doing…" Six imagined.
"How is Shar-… Lieutenant Agathon?" he asked, leaning up. He looked left and right but saw he was in an alcove and couldn't see anything except a small TV on the wall and the bulkheads. "She saved my life," he said quietly.
The woman smiled at him and nodded. "Yes, she did. She's fine. We released her. You've been out for a while… sleeping." She tapped the metal rail at the end of the bed, nodded in conclusion and walked off to check on other patients when Baltar didn't need her.
"So this is a test?" he asked, laying back and burying his head into his pillow. He stared absently into the boring gray ceiling. "A test from your God?"
"He's your God, too, Gaius, whether you want to accept him or not. I don't know if it was a test," she admitted. "What do you think?"
"If it's a test?" He asked her rhetorically.
He cupped his hands and buried his face in them. He could feel the moisture condence from his warm breath into the small container he'd created between his mouth and hands.
"You've been strong, Gaius. People are falling over from hunger, too sick to work, and you work tirelessly…"
"Well, I do have company," he said.
He wasn't referring to her.
A silent minute, punctuated only by beeps and groans of medical equipment, filled Baltar's mind.
"I try and help and I'm beaten and Lt. Agathon is beaten… why should I even help?" He questioned.
"I think you know the answer to that, Gaius," the Six responded. She sat on his bed and leaned down. Slowly she put her arm under his pillow and draped it onto his chest and ran her finger up and down his shoulder. "Good men are often put through trials."
"Good men are put through trials… you mean, like building that thing to attract the Cylons on New Caprica?" He looked at her wide-eyed and demanded to know what she meant. "Like that?" he snarled at the Six.
She looked hurt and closed her eyes.
The bedridden scientist felt worse than he perceived she felt, if she could feel… he wasn't sure. Once more his mind raced and fought with itself over whether the Six standing here was real or fake. She felt so real, but as a scientist, the Doctor knew that neural stimulation could induce some… strange sensations and realities- the entire basis of the old holoband technology had been based on light inducing electrical signals in the brain.
"New Caprica wasn't the right place. You knew that, Gaius. You knew that… you knew your place wasn't on the planet… what did you think you were building? Honestly, Gaius? How long before the Cylons would have found you?" The Six asked. She was beside him and caressing his cheek lovingly.
"And you knew they wouldn't just nuke us?"
The Six looked him in the eye and for a second Baltar could see fear. He saw what true fear, something he had never seen in her before. The man watched as she stood and looked away.
"It was a risk, Gaius. You knew that risk had to be taken."
"You put me… all of us in danger."
Baltar watched as she ran her hands up and down her bare arms. Was she cold, he wondered? Or nervous? He silently demanded to know how she could even be nervous, how a supposed figment of his imagination could be nervous and cold?
He shook with frustration and pumped his hands into hardened fists and yelled.
"Damnit, just tell me!"
He was staring right at her, tears on the cusp of falling from his eyes.
"Hey!" Baltar heard. "What's wrong now?" Ishay demanded and she stalked over. She was at the foot of his bed and her head swiveled to the now empty corner of the medical bay where Baltar was staring. The woman looked at the injured scientist and then back to where he was staring and back again. "What are you looking at?"
"Nothing, Gaius," he heard her say. He couldn't see her.
"I was… um… I was dreaming… sorry," he sheepishly smiled and looked down and darted his eyes left and right.
The PA rolled her eyes and sighed and stalked off for a second time.
"Dreaming…" Baltar repeated.
||||||||||==Colonial One==||||||||||
President Roslin sat quietly behind the desk of the President of the Colonies and quietly watched Commander Adama sitting in the plush leather seats opposite her. There were forty-seven thousand out of seventy-thousand Colonial citizens who wanted justice and many of them were willing to do whatever it took to ensure justice, in some manner, was carried out.
A people on the run now, nearly one thousand days since the Colonies had been destroyed, and starving and tired, had rallied into opposing camps. The attack on Baltar and Athena had gotten the fleet talking, distracted them.
It was something Roslin did not want.
The cold, harsh world had begun to reform when the Cylons appeared. What was it, Roslin thought back, that Baltar had said… 'The city was going to be built on the dreams and hopes of the surviving population for a better tomorrow'? Roslin knew at the time, and even now, that line was incredibly corny, lame perhaps. The city on New Caprica had started with so much of that hope, stalled, and then was finally looking like a city until they came.
It was a memory, but one which would forever be ingrained in the psyche of each Colonial citizen. The Fall, the Holocaust was something few people saw and very few actually experience; only a handful had been close enough to the twelve worlds to witness the bombardment and even fewer had been rescued from the planets.
The occupation had been something different. It had been deeply personal, a final insult to an already broken people.
"Madam President?" She heard. A gruff, husky voice resonated in her ears. "Madam President… Laura," she heard. Her head snapped back front and her eyes focused.
Roslin thought back to the Circle, to the secret 'jury' cabal the short-termed President Zarek had formed. They'd killed fifteen people… the 'worse of the worse.' That was their claim. Only the most liberal application of the word 'lawful' could have describe the kangaroo court Zarek had assembled. But, Roslin considered, if the court had followed through… was there anyone else who might be targeted? Might it have been better to just finish it then and there? Quick and… dirty.
For months now, Roslin contemplated, she had promised Baltar would receive a trial.
'When?' the press would ask.
'Soon,' she would respond.
Always 'soon.'
'At least he has a lawyer,' she would quip.
The press would laugh and then maybe make a joke or two then move onto something else.
She didn't understand it, but she felt… disgusted by the attack. When she heard the report she hadn't felt anything, nothing in her gut. Her mind was telling her that Baltar had it coming, or at least, she'd expected her mind to tell her that. But there had been nothing until now.
Even as he calmly sat there, the President could see the Commander was unnerved by this attack.
She slowly took off her glasses, laid them at the corner of her desk, and gently smiled away the thoughts haunting her mind.
"Do you remember what you said, Bill, during Galactica's museum ceremony?" Roslin asked with a hint of reservation as quiet, concerned eyes looked back at the resolute Commander.
The Old Man's lip curved upward into a remembering grin and he huffed at the memory and the sentiments the president was trying to dig up. He didn't have to be reminded of what he'd said. That day was etched into his mind and played in his dreams and nightmares both.
"I remember it every day," he responded in his gruff voice, looking her in the eye. He felt himself growing distant. "When something like this happens I have to remind myself there are people… men, women, and children in this fleet who deserve protection."
And he'd been so lucky to have his son survive the attack. So few families had survived.
She nodded in gentle understanding of the burden on the man's shoulders. "This is when the worst of us comes out, when our backs are to the wall," she said. On her desk she pushed aside a pen and leaned down and forward on her elbows. "Maybe-"
"I accept responsibility for this," the Commander said. He uncrossed his legs and scooted forward, his uniform scrapping on the leather seats. "I kept my people in the dark. I was operating under a system which is old, antiquated. We've seen where keeping military secrets have gotten us before. Misunderstandings… miscommunications…" he trailed off as he looked out of the view ports to the behemoth gray and black Galactica floating alongside Colonial One. "The Fall changed our society and New Caprica broke it. With the Guardians and a quest for Earth we were hanging on by a thread, distracted- we've been lucky. This is the first crisis we've had since the planet. I said to someone before I don't do regrets, but I will accept the responsibility."
"No. Everyone is on edge from the food and the loss of Peg…" she stopped mid-sentence in realization of her error. "I didn't… mean to imply the ship is gone, Bill," she corrected. Her voice was soft and sympathetic, but the Commander, sitting only two meters away, was cold and distant. For Roslin the distance could be like he was light years away.
She mentally lashed herself for even inadvertently suggesting the battlestar with his son and daughter-in-law was lost, destroyed.
Commander Adama let out a breath, and the tired and worried expression which had become common on his face the last few weeks appeared in force. "The Raptor project was to bring some hope to the people when we need it."
"You did it before with the Blackbird," Roslin observed. She stood up and walked over and slowly, with a gentle grace, lowered herself onto the adjacent seat. "It's who you're using. On Galactica you're isolated…" Adama looked up in disagreement and Roslin put up a hand to stop him from countering her. "It's true, Bill, you are. The meeting you had with the Quorum delegates is the first in months and you don't make it to many of the other ships in the fleet… what was the last ship other than Galactica, Pegasus, or Helios you were on? Or Colonial One?"
"Cloud 9," he said. "Three months ago," he reluctantly admitted. He felt his shoulders drop down in defeat to the President's point.
A feeling he was still unfamiliar with, a heavy coldness fell in his gut. He'd made a mistake.
"Exactly, Bill. You have the former president everyone hates and sees as a Cylon collaborator taking lead on the project and accompanied by Caprica Six… and," she snorted and then laughed, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't" she waved, "but the rumors are…"
"I'm aware of the rumors concerning their relationship on New Caprica," he filled in for the President.
He didn't mention the recording of Baltar's ramblings. Commander Adama had indeed witnessed the former president profess a love for the biological-robot hybrid in Sharon's old cell after fierce sessions of argument with the 'empty' air and walls.
Colonel Tigh had called it the 'most fraked up thing since human-Centurion porn' he'd seen after the first war.
"And even with everything Lieutenant Agathon has done for the fleet she's still a Cylon and former Lieutenant Soto is a machine… so do you see where I'm going with this, Bill?" She asked delicately.
There was a tense moment where the President felt she hadn't just stepped on the Commander's toes, but had stomped on them and then dug and twisted her heel into the mangled bone and flesh.
Adama felt the President's hand on his shoulder, and she gave it a powerful squeeze in friendship and understanding.
The brooding Commander looked over to the president with perpetually tired, but authoritative eyes. He could see the cheek bones in her face and she looked pale. He knew she would be refusing to eat if it meant someone else wouldn't go as hungry.
"Have you been eating, Madam President?" He asked.
At the mention of food he felt the pang of hunger.
"Have you, Bill?" She countered. "And don't distract me from your answer. I might be hungry like everyone else, but I'm not distracted so easily," she quipped and tapped her temple.
He scooted over in his seat and leaned to face her.
"I've got a little extra," he patted his stomach. "I'll manage." He looked back over her shoulder at the Vipers flying CAP around the President's transport. "And yes, I heard you. They're the only ones qualified… Baltar is, unfortunately a genius." He looked back at her. "We've made more-"
She gave him an annoyed look. "Worse alliances," she finished.
He winced in such a subtle manner Roslin almost missed it.
"I was going to say… 'desperate,' Madam President," he said with a tilt of the head.
She pressed her hands together and brought them up to her face, covering her nose and mouth. "We're so desperate we need to use an overseer and a disgraced collaborator?"
"When we stopped being a civilization, when the Cylons nuked our Colonies, yes, we're desperate and we need to use every resource available. If it's any comfort, if the Six or Baltar are deceiving us, Soto swore she would terminate them." The President chuckled awkwardly. He stood up and pulled down his tunic. "Madam President," he looked at his watch, "I have some more meetings and business to attend to on Galactica, and I'm meeting with the Guardians and Captain Vansen on the baseship."
The President stood up and moved back to her large leather chair and slid into it. "How is the Helios XO doing?"
"She's doing well." he thought of that briefly. "She hasn't had much experience, but she's handling command well."
"You know my concerns about Helios and the ships?" She asked.
"She's a good ship, and Vansen is a capable executive officer," he responded. "I know Evzan Mikos wasn't your first choice for the new Caprican delegate-"
"But politics and voters," she cut him off. "The will of the people, it's so frustrating," she told him tongue-in-cheek.
"We tried dictatorship before," he commented. "At least Caprica now has the largest proportion of refugees," he added with a small smile. "We should be glad of that… thank you Madam President, but I have to go," he ended.
The president felt herself struggling to say something, to keep the conversation going with William Adama, but he said he needed to leave twice now. She didn't want to bother him. So she acknowledge his request and bid him a quiet goodbye.
After he had left she began rifling through stacks of papers on her desk, wondering where Billy and Tory were. One thing which clung to the back of her mind was how honest and blunt the Commander could be without being confrontational. HE was right, she knew. They were in no position to refuse help when offered. They were refugees.
Each time she forget the Commander always showed up when the time was right to remind her. They were seventy thousand people fleeing across the galaxy, thousands of light years from their homes, and thousands of light years from safety.
She took off her glasses and could feel coldness in her chest well up. It was tight and her hand slowly massaged her sternum. They fled one danger only towards another out of desperation, fear, and… nothing. They had nothing.
||||||||||==Guardian Baseship==||||||||||
Commander Adama's Raptor glided slowly into the landing bay of the Guardian baseship as a pair of Raiders on sentinel picket duty swung in and then out as the squat, brown transport craft entered the landing bays.
The young captain and Executive Officer of the cruiser Helios sat quietly across from the Commander, one hand on a hand hold and the other gripped to the seat.
She looked up and over and could see the Commander, sitting serene and calm, but with a little smile on his face at the captain's self-admitted nervousness.
"I always get a little jump on flights, sir. I wasn't a pilot," she sheepishly explain.
"That's al-" Adama's hand shot out when the Raptor lurched. He heard Racetrack yell back about that being her fault. "That's alright…" he finished, this time with a lighthearted jovialness to his voice.
Until the Raptor came to a complete stop and the hatch began cycling open, the captain maintained her near death grip on the seat. She'd been on probably a hundred separate Raptor flights but the captain felt she would probably never get used to sitting in the overly sensitive, stubby, little work mule of the fleet.
"Any tips on dealing with them?" He asked. She looked at him curiously. "You all lived with them a lot longer then we did," he pointed out.
"Oh, yes, sir. Administrator Iblis is a tight ass, sir, and pretends to be easily offended. Don't worry about it," she shook her hand for the Commander to not concern himself with Iblis, "and Thais… I don't know Thais well enough, sir… but, sir…"
"Yes?"
"Don't underestimate them," she respectfully warned. "Don't treat them like things and everything will be fine." She smiled. "And sir, they can be somewhat literal."
The hatch equalized pressure with the Guardian hanger bay, and a soft and quick hiss with an overhead light turning green signaled for the pilots to open the hatch. A trio of Marines were first out, inspecting the bay and the Guardians that had assembled. One maintained his position on the right side of the hatch while the two others bounced down off the wing onto the deck and assumed sentinel positions.
"Commander Adama," a machine in an IL-S body said.
It was wearing the impeccable and sharp uniform of the Guardians. Similar to the Colonial uniform, with the same, though tighter collar, but all black, with a thin red stripe in the center of two parallel gold stripes running down the crease of the pants, and the same from the shoulders to the cuffs.
The Commander looked up to see a somewhat familiar face, Commander Thais, saluting. Administrator Iblis stood behind and to the robot's right, in their analogue of civilian clothes- just a plain black suit with an unbuttoned and white collared shirt. A gold armored Model 005 and the unknown model of black Centurions Daniel had constructed stood behind and to the side of the two IL-S robots.
"Commander Thais," he returned the salute. "Permission to come aboard?" he asked. He felt being semi-formal to set the right tone.
The machine tilted his head in an angled nod and granted his permission.
The Commander and captain bounced off the wing with a light step and centered on the four Guardians. From the corner of his eye he saw his three Marine escorts fold in behind him in a rough escorting semi-circle, clearly nervous about being on a Guardian warship.
He looked around and could see the empty alcoves for dozens of gunships. The hanger deck was pristine. It was also quiet. Except for a few Centurions at the far end of the bay, few of the mechanical soldiers were present.
Adama could hear the muffled noise of machinery and equipment from the adjacent landing bay, most likely the Raider bay.
"If you accompany me to the command deck," Thais suggested, stepping back and then stepping abreast of the Commander as they followed the gold armored command centurion. "Captain Vansen, it is a pleasure to see you again."
"Thank you, Commander. It's been very busy on Helios," she said.
Thais nodded.
The walk for them was brisk, quick really, and quiet. Thais and Iblis made no small talk, no chit chat. The silence was comforting and troubling to the Commander. The machines were cool and focused, but distant and foreign. Adama felt there was nothing tangible holding the Guardians to humanity, the Colonies, other than what he considered a misplaced racial guilt over the genocide of the Twelve Worlds.
"I'm surprised you keep it warm in your baseship," Adama said, deciding to make conversation as they stepped off a tram a few frames back from command. "My pilots told me some of the other ships were much cooler." He felt the dry heat on his neck and face.
The corridors around him were for the most part empty. They were the same dimensions as the Guardian baseship that houses the first hybrid, but with clear white lights and vents instead of fans. There were recessed cameras and what appeared to be small gun turrets in some locations. Every ten meters were security doors and hatches. It maintained an efficient industrial appearance.
An occasional Centurion with oversized rifle was positioned at branching intersections of the corridors. Adama felt it was either to maintain security or a potential ploy at intimidation.
"This is the optimum temperature to keep certain functions within this baseship operating. A dry heat is preferable to humidity," Iblis responded after a long second with a mix of casual interest and bored apathy.
He looked back to Captain Vansen and she made eye contact with him briefly, but long enough to ward him off from attempting any more casual conversation.
Adama nodded to himself and let his eyes wander the corridors until they arrived in command.
It was everything he expected it would be. It was about the size of CIC on Galactica, but more organized. There were rows of data stream consoles on the periphery and a central command data hub in the center. There were also screen for what Adama assumed were for visual representations of what the robots saw in the Guardian version of a data stream.
"Our progress searching for food sources has been less than optimal," Commander Thais immediately stated as the doors hissed closed and sealed.
Commander Adama motioned for his Marines to remain near the door and for Vansen to follow.
"We have everything except shuttlecraft searching. All jump capable gunships," he informed them, placing his left hand in the data port. On the wall half a dozen meters away a large image was projected. "We've searched dozens of proto-planetary systems as well as planetary systems. Our furthest squadrons with tankers have search three hundred light years from here. Nothing." He removed his hand but the image remained.
"Have there been any new finding on the telescopes?" Captain Vansen asked. She leaned took a step forward to look at the display. "Or are there any possibilities in your computers?" She reasoned there had to be something.
"Negative, Captain," Thais replied. "This region of space is unfamiliar. Habitable planets are very rare in the galaxy, Commander." He was blunt. "This region of space is also barren and there is a star cluster emitting large amounts of radiation and obscuring our wide band telescopes."
The view changed to outline a massive star cluster and a blue, squiggly line outlined the amount of space obscured by the intense light and radiation. It was extensive.
"If we can't find any planet-"
"I'm sorry commander," Iblis interrupted, "but we don't know what else we can do. We transferred all our food to your ships. Our ships were not built to sustain organic life forms indefinitely." Adama looked at him and did not need to be reminded of that. "Everything not in dry storage and sealed was contaminated. We're also using significant amounts of fuel."
Adama felt the urge to thank the Guardian for stating the obvious.
"I'm sure you would help more if you could," Vansen said.
"Indeed. We will continue our search. What if nothing can be found?" Thais asked.
"It won't come to that," Adama said.
"I understand," the machine replied. "But we can wish all we want. The facts are that the food crisis in the fleet is reaching breaking points. How much longer?" Thais asked.
"I appreciate this update, Commander Thais, but there are other reasons why I am here. I understand you have already transferred all the available foodstuffs to our vessels," Adama stated. Thais nodded and Iblis remained motionless. "With Pegasus gone… we're going to try and find her," he said.
Thais nodded and images on a side screen came up. Adama narrowed his eyes to slits in the dim light of the command bridge and stepped forward until he could make out the details. Pictures of the Raptor with Baltar, Six, Soto, and Athena were displayed on the wall.
"We intercepted these being transmitted over the data frequencies," Thais informed him. He handed Adama a piece of paper that had seemingly materialized from nowhere. "This is a log of the transmission and the frequency."
Adama took the paper and quickly glanced at it. It was technical, though the time stamps and frequencies were easy enough to understand. The channel the transmission had been sent was a secure short range civilian data feed.
"We can check out computer logs." He said as he creased the paper and held onto it. "I appreciate it. Is there any manner you may be able to render assistance to finding Pegasus?"
"We examined Doctor Baltar's findings presented to us. Our consensus agreed with Doctor Baltar's assessments," Thais replied.
Commander Adama watched the mechanical Centurions tilt their head as they awaited the Commander's response. He'd been getting slightly better at reading the few emotions the mechanical soldiers displayed; a tilt of the head was curiosity or confusion, a backward motion with shoulder involvement surprise, a swagger of the head and neck contempt.
He saw Iblis shift and look at Thais, whose head shot to the side to glare at the administrator.
"I must also inform you-"
"Commander," Iblis sternly warned. It visibly surprised him he said that rather than transmit it.
"We have been searching for Command Cyrus and the rest of the Guardian fleet," Thais said and ignored Iblis. "the majority of our jump capable craft have been searching for our fleet."
"And not for food?" Vansen asked, looking quickly to see Adama's reaction and back to the Guardians.
"You should see for yourselves." Thais said. He placed his hand back into the data stream and time elapsed video began playing on the wall monitors. "This is gun camera footage from one of our gunships."
Gunship footage of mangled and burnt hulks of baseship, freighters, fighters of all kinds, support ships, and the occasional Centurion body flashed across the monitors. In the far corner of the image munitions cooked off and eviscerated a Cylon baseship, taking the drifting hulk of what appeared to be an elongated, rectangular Cylon craft of some kind with it.
A side wall monitor showed the locations of wreckage in half a dozen large groups, and dozens of smaller dots, over approximately five hundred million kilometers.
"How long ago was this?" Adama quietly demanded. He had to consciously keep his face neutral and his hand from brushing his chin in disbelief. "Why would you keep something like this from us? After six months?" His eyes locked on the synthetic orbs of Iblis and Thais.
He locked his hands behind his back and awaited their response.
"This alliance has cost us significantly," Iblis told Adama and Vansen evenly. "That is why we have been searching… this ship… it has the means to produce more of us but we can't lose our civilization. You need to understand, we were less than a single percent of the Cylon population which fled the Colonies after the armistice was signed. We don't have the capabilities to fight the Cylons in a full war."
"Our baseships are smaller and less numerous than the Cylons, Commander," Thais carefully pointed out. "We helped you at New Caprica for reasons which shall remain our own…"
Commander Adama almost broke his stoic demeanor and felt like reminding Thais it had been Cyrus that said this was an 'alliance of convenience.' Adama had no doubt the Guardians would be handsomely rewarded by Tech Com on reaching Earth and helping to end the war.
"…and in doing so that has cost us thousands. Our computer compiled the wreckage remnant. We suspect the main facility your ships were at, two manufacturing stations, and a third of our offensive capability were destroyed in that system. That's hundreds of thousands of us, Commander."
Adama could see Vansen looked at him from the corner of his eyes, fidgeting uneasily. It looked like she wanted to say something but he held up his hand.
"Are you leaving the fleet to search for the Guardians?" Adama asked, straight to the point. Betrayal was an emotion he had every right to feel, but instead he felt empathetic.
"One week." Thais said.
"You're going to abandon us, Commander?" Vansen shot out, stepping forward. "You rescue us twice and… now you leave when we need your help?"
"Captain," Adama hissed. Vansen composed herself and stood back. "Commander, the captain is correct. You came to us once and we came to you once. But helping us and keeping this fleet safe… if your race is on the brink of destruction by the Cylons will one more baseship help? This can be your legacy, to help us." The robots stood quietly, the hum of the roving eyes on the Centurions and the sounds of equipment the only noise.
"We don't know if it's too late," Commander Thais said. "We can still hit the Cylons. We don't know how many of our baseships are still out there," he motioned behind him. "The galaxy is massive, Commander. There are an infinite number of places they could hide, or from where we could strike back at the Cylons." He pounded his fist into the command console.
Commander Adama thought back years ago to Ragnar Station and after he'd met Admiral Cain. "I wanted to go back at fight the Cylons. Admiral Cain wanted to go back and fight the Cylons- even retake the Colonies. We realized we could never survive if we did that. We have fifty, now seventy thousand survivors of the Colonies. We're all going to have to rebuild together. Don't throw it away for revenge." He pumped his fist slowly behind his back. "If I'd attacked I would be dead a thousand days now," he said. "Before you seek them out, just ask yourselves if revenge is worth dying for, if it is worth the end of your race."