A/N: Hi all. So, going to try to get back to a regular schedule now that the holidays are done. For those that have continued to follow this story, THANK YOU, there's much more yet to tell. And remember, comments are always appreciated :)

Chapter 114 Jolts

The wrench slipped and Galen's hand glanced off the Viper's heat exchanger.

"Godsda—" his curse was muffled off as he held the offending knuckle to his mouth.

"You ok there, Chief?" an orange-clad deckhand called up the ladder to where Tyrol was awkwardly positioned working on the ship's engine.

"Fine. Just frakking fine," Galen snapped out, then took a breath. "I'm good, Kirby," he said, forcing the irritation from his voice. "Why don't you see if we've got any 34CK washers left in storage." As the younger man hurried off on the errand, Galen shook his hand out. A banged hand wasn't anything new in his line of work and he'd usually shrug the minor injury aside to continue about his business, but lately it seemed that every little thing threw him into a near rage.

And Galen knew exactly why.

The knowledge had come in a flood to him after they'd jumped away from the algae planet.

But not immediately.

When he'd first landed back on Galactica, he'd been too distracted by the emergency jump and the necessity of dealing with the post-combat flight checks, and then there'd been the unloading of the harvesting equipment to oversee, too. It wasn't until hours later when he'd been in a storage locker by himself that the dam had broken and swept all of his certainties away.

Partially hidden from view by the Viper's tail section, Galen purposefully leaned his forehead on his sore hand as he recalled the moment of clarity that muddied everything forever.

In the storage locker, a wave of vertigo overcame him and his knees buckled. Confused denial fought futilely against a certainty that belied his whole sense of self. Then, like a joint popping back into place with an audible snap…he knew who he was. What he was.

Deep within Galactica's interior, Galen Tyrol let his head fall back with a dull thud against the wall.

His past.

His world.

It was all a lie.

He started to laugh then, at first a short gust of air, then building to loud guffaws with an edge of hysteria to them as past moments flashed through his mind, showing him the fool the universe played him for.

'You're a machine. I'm not' - With Boomer in the brig.

'I am not a Cylon' - With Brother Cavil.

His part in the Resistance on New Caprica.

It was all too guttingly ironic that all this time he was the very enemy he'd been fighting against. The Lords of Kobol had a seriously frakked up sense of humor. As he fell silent, Galen stared up at the metal grating above his head and searched his memories. He recalled his parents, the stories of his youth, his time on other battlestars. And now, the awareness that so many of them were false had him wondering where those ended and the real ones began. How long has he been a sleeper agent? Certainly longer than Boomer because he'd been on the Galactica under Adama's command for some four years before the invasion.

Thoughts of Boomer made him shudder. In horror now, he fully knew how she'd felt on discovering her entire life had been just some scheme designed to infiltrate and destroy those she'd come to view as family. She had shot the Old Man. Said she'd never meant to, it had just happened.

It had just happened...

Galen lifted his hands. They shook a little as he turned the palms up and wondered what sabotage they might already have instigated. How many times in the past had small glitches in one of his birds not been the failure of an old part, but due instead to some action of these hands…and he hadn't even know it? Clenching them into fists, he tried to force memories to the surface…to reveal the truth of whether he'd a literal hand in the deaths of those that trusted him.

Nothing.

But was that proof that he hadn't…or just that he'd blocked out the memories?

And what of the Raptors' NAV systems? Was it really just an issue with equipment exceeding its designed perimeters...or evidence of his subconscious programming? And then there was Starbuck. Had the oversight been just that or a forgotten act of sabotage on his part?

Surging to his feet, Galen started towards the hatch to turn himself in, resolute to tell the Admiral and accept whatever consequences that meant. He didn't want to die, but if he were a danger to others—

"Gods…Cally," he choked out, dismayed at how she was going to react. Then his thoughts shifted to his son. If Galen was a Cylon, then that made Nicky a half-breed, just like Hera. His stomach twisted at the idea, then he shoved the momentary revulsion aside. Nicky was his son. Whatever else he might be, he was just a little boy. His child.

Rage at the sick joke of it all coursed through him, and Galen struck out with an livid roar, knocking rows of boxes to the floor, then grabbing a wrench set and hurling each, one by one, at the wall. With the last rattling clang he stopped and surveyed his handiwork. Parts and tools were strewn across the small room. It suddenly seemed an apt representation of his life.

Panting heavily from the outburst, Galen stared at the mess. At least sure that he was responsible for this one. He ran his hand over his head, wondering how everything had come apart so quickly? How was he different than the man that had gone down to the planet earlier that day? He still had a wife and son. There were still men and women beyond the hatch that were relying on him to do his job. Who would take care of all of them if he was locked up in the brig? And Cally? His gut turned again at how she'd probably react to learning that all this time she'd been married to a Cylon.

And their child might not be safe.

Galen was one of the few that had puzzled out the story behind Hera's reported 'death' and her later return. On New Caprica, he and Cally had interacted enough with the other parents for him to recognize that Maya's child and Hera were one and the same. It didn't take much of a leap to guess who had arranged things. How would the President and Admiral react when faced with another hybrid?

If he did what he should and turned himself in, everything he held dear would be taken and threatened.

He couldn't do it.

Godsdamnit! He wouldn't do it!

Scrubbing damp palms along the seams of his overalls, Galen recalled that Boomer had spoken of 'missing time'. Searching his mind, he couldn't find any instances that sounded like what she had described. Maybe he was different, could choose whether to act or not? Or maybe the Cylons had just been biding their time, waiting until he was aware of who—he shook his head—of what he was before putting their plan into action.

Would he have a choice?

Had Boomer?

Then again, she hadn't known what she was. He did now. Maybe that would be enough to protect those about him…assuming that he hadn't been already unknowingly caused harm, he reminded himself. Again Galen shook his head. It was all too damned confusing. Either he had been a saboteur all along or not. There was nothing to indicate that he had ever done anything. That had to count as a proof of sorts, right?

Right?

Chief Galen Tyrol lifted his head and flexed the scraped knuckles of his hand, wondering why the pain felt the same now as before he knew? He was the same man. He would act that way until proven otherwise. A glance over his shoulder showed him the young crewman returning and Galen took a breath, reconfirming the decision he'd made a couple of days ago. Unless he was becoming a danger to Galactica, he was going to keep his new knowledge to himself and do his job. And if he was more short tempered than usual…well, it would be hard to tell the difference; they all were now.

[ I I I I I ]

Three days later and Galen stood on the wing of a Raptor watching the Admiral escort President Roslin along the Flight Deck towards him. Tory and a Marine guard, clad in his usual black protective gear, followed closely on their heels. Extending his hand, he gave a nod in greeting to Roslin as he assisted her up the inset step of the shuttle. Turning back to her assistant, his hand closed around the darker woman's and a shock coursed between them.

His startled gaze linked with Tory's as her eyes flared in shock.

What the hell…?

As she stumbled, Galen instinctively grabbed her elbow to steady her.

"Are yo—" he started.

"Wha—," she said at the same time. Then, abruptly shrugging his hand off, "I'm fine. Just dizzy for a moment," she hurried said, her voice unsteady.

"Tory?" Roslin called from the interior of the Raptor.

As the young woman ducked to enter the shuttle, Galen saw the way her eyes flicked to him again, confusion…and a hint of fear…in her look. He shook off the feeling that she could suddenly see what he was. He knew he hadn't grown horns—or metal antennas—so there was no way the President's aide knew his secret, he reassured himself as he stepped from the wing. With a wave of his hand, he gave the order for the Raptor to be towed to the launch pad.

Turning away, he was startled to find the Admiral still standing near, gaze locked on the departing shuttle.

"Chief," Adama quietly said.

"Sir," Galen acknowledged, noting the weary sag of the Admiral's shoulders. His eyes shifted away, still guiltily aware that the Old Man's poorly concealed grief was very probably due to a mistake on Galen's part. If only he had personally checked Starbuck's Raptor he was sure that he would have realized that it hadn't received the NAV update...and she wouldn't have been lost, tearing the heart out of Galactica's command staff.

In the hectic days harvesting the algae and the ones since their jump from that system, he knew that the crew has been practically running on autopilot. And that included the battlestar's commander and its CAG. It hadn't been surprising with the exhaustion due to the lack of food and little sleep sapping everyone's energy, but now, as they were finally getting back into a regular routine, the reality of recent events had cast a continuing pall over all of the ship's complement.

Despite his own distraction, Galen was sharply aware of how Captain Thrace's loss was affecting those closest to her. They'd held the memorial for Starbuck few days ago and he could see how the initial impact of her death had been temporarily buffered by physical exhaustion and the press of duties that demanded everyone's time. But now that there was a lull, the Admiral's grief seemed like a reopened wound, freshly raw in the overly bright lights of the hanger bay.

"See that a Raptor's made available for the President's use for the next few weeks. She'll be making daily trips," Adama ordered, his words sounding hollowed out, like they'd come from an empty cavern deep within the man's chest.

"Yes, Sir." Galen hesitated, then, "Athena's on inter-fleet shuttle duty this week. But Racetrack and Skulls are our most experienced team," he suggested, hoping that the Admiral wouldn't think he was overstepping his position.

Usually the CAG would be in charge of duty assignments, but the Major had been a rare visitor to the bay in the past week. Galen knew Apollo wasn't shirking his duties, but he seemed to be using any excuse to avoid coming down to the flight deck, spending his time either in the Ready Room, CIC…or more often, holed up in his office. And to be honest, Galen felt both relieved and ashamed. While the Old Man had made it apparent that he didn't blame Tyrol for Starbuck's loss, his son had done the opposite.

Galen's hand started to rise to his neck as he recalled Lee's attack immediately after Kara's disappearance. Realizing what he was doing, he dropped his hand back to his side, hoping the Admiral hadn't seen the aborted move. It also triggered another thought, and Galen was suddenly thankful that there was no reason a deckhand needed to carry a holstered weapon. The idea that without conscious thought he might pull a gun and shoot the Old Man just as Boomer had was enough to lock his muscles rigid.

"That'll be fine, Chief."

The Admiral's words confused Galen as he fought free of the image in his head. As he realized that he was referring to the assignment of shuttle pilots, Galen gave a jerky nod in acknowledgment as Adama turned away. He swallowed, trying to work up some moisture in his dry mouth as the residual of fear shallowed out his breathing.

I'm not Boomer. They can't make me. Won't happen.

Repeating the words in his head, he shook off the doubts and resolutely moved to assist Figurski as the man tried to lift a parts-loaded box onto a cart.

Straightening with a tired sigh hours later, Galen cast a last look about the deck, confirming that all of the third shift's people seemed to have things well in hand and he could finally call it a day. He scrubbed the worst of the grease off on a permanently stained towel and tossed it in the bucket of used rags while moving towards the hatch. Just feet away from escape, he reluctantly halted as Colonial Tigh stepped through. The XO held a clipboard and Galen knew that he was going to have to handle whatever it was before he could go and discover what almost inedible thing the Mess was trying to camouflage the algae as this night.

"Just a few things," the XO said, obviously aware that he'd caught Tyrol heading out.

"What can I do you for, Sir."

"Some requests from civie ships needing parts," Tigh explained. "Things are slow this shift, so get someone to inventory what we can spare. Report can wait till morning, though."

Galen reached for the clipboard, his fingers brushing the XO's. Both men stiffened as a static charge zinged them both.

"Frakkin' hell," muttered Tigh as he yanked his hand back. Galen saw confusion twist the older man's expression before it settled into a grimace. "What the crap was that, Chief?" Galen just shook his head, not sure himself. Tigh frowned and gruffed out, "Well, just make damned sure you're not handling electronics without grounding yourself first. Can't afford fried circuits."

The XO's snapped words lit the tinder of Galen's newly ready anger. He ground his teeth, barely holding back a sharp reply about knowing his job and not being three sheets to the wind like some people. Something of his thoughts must have shown, for Tigh's eyes narrowed before he gave a dismissive grunt and wheeled around to leave.

Galen pulled his gaze from the departing back and to the clipboard in his hand as the anger receded as quickly as it had flared. He was tired. That's all. The stress of the past weeks was just catching up with him and his new temper had nothing to do with his being a Cylon, he assured himself.

Lifting his eyes, he searched for his duty-shift replacement. The sooner he passed on the XO's orders, the sooner he could go find something to eat. The prospect of spending an evening relaxing with his family had never seemed so attractive, and yet there was an underlying reluctance at having to face them.

Keeping his secret was tallying its own exhausting toll.

But what choice did he have?

[ I I I I I ]

One damage Raptor, one shaken pilot…and one dead lawyer.

Two of the three were Lee's problems as he dully considered the flight schedule on the desk before him. Maybe if he moved Claptrap to second rotation… No, he's already worked a double in the last two days, Lee recalled, erasing the partial notation. With a sigh, he propped his head on his hand and let his lids droop closed.

Today was going to be an especially bad day, he realized. Not that there had been any good ones since they'd passed through the radiation cloud. Not since…

Lee jerked upright and blinked gritty eyes open. There wasn't time today to tumble back into the well of malaise. It would trap him in a stupor for long hours before his duties finally gained enough purchase on his will and forced him to climb free.

Blinking again, he tried to focus on the grid of names, determined to complete the chart before maybe logging a few hours in his rack. One entry mocked his attempts to pull himself together though. With a curse, Lee thrust away the sheet on which he'd unconsciously filled in her name. It slid to the edge of the table, pausing for the barest moment before some unseen current carried it over. As Lee watch it flutter beyond his reach, he knew it was too late to make a frantic grasp to pull it back.

He was always too late.

Stumbling to his feet, he lurched towards the hatch, too many memories crowding in on him in the confines of the small office. In the hall, dragging in gulps of air, the constriction around his chest began to ease and he leaned against the bulkhead, thankful that the corridor was empty. He was so frakking tired of the pitying looks cast his way whenever the crew thought he wasn't looking.

The ship's intercom chimed and he lifted his head.

"Major Adama report to the Admiral's Quarters. Pass the word. Major Adama to the Admiral's Quarters."

Lee passed a hand over his stubbled face and smothered a groan. Last thing he wanted now was to see his father. Their shared loss should've brought them closer, but it had done the opposite, and Lee still couldn't forgive his dad for not allowing a Raptor to be sent back to the alpha point. A pragmatic corner of his mind whispered an agreement with the Admiral's decision, but his heart beat out a protest that filled his head with anger and grief. The only reason he was able to maintain a civil appearance around the Admiral at all was that he was so tired and rage took just too much energy.

Apathy had its advantages.

With a grimace, Lee decided not to take the time to clean up before answering the summons. The Admiral was probably already waiting for him. He did take a moment to button up and tug his blue duty jacket straight before turning towards Officer Country with dragging steps.

Lee was pretty sure he knew what the summons was about, but he couldn't give a damn about Gaius Baltar's fate. Then again, it was possible that Tigh had discovered the saboteur? He could only hope so, because the next bomb might kill one of the crew.

And Lee didn't think he had it in himself to erase anymore names.