Battlestar Galactica

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  “Shut up, sir,” he muttered, and pulled her into an urgent kissing embrace. She clutched him just as urgently. They kissed like forbidden lovers, tearing at each others’ clothes as if they couldn’t get enough, fast enough. There was, in fact, no telling how long they had, or when they’d get another chance—or whether they’d be caught this time, or the next. Neither of them spoke, not now, at least not in words … .

  Outside, on the hangar floor, deck crewman Jane Cally paused in what she was doing, which was helping her crewmate Leonard Prosna into a spacesuit for a maintenance job. “Hold it,” she said, trying to get him to stand still for a moment. Then, louder, “Hold up!” Prosna looked puzzled, but she wasn’t speaking to him, she was yelling to Brad Socinus, who was heading for the Tool Room with a heavy toolkit in his arms.

  “What?” Socinus asked. “Oh, don’t tell me.”

  “Yeah, the groping light is on in there.”

  “Oh, frak me,” Socinus said, looking for a place to set down the crate.

  “Just put it over there,” Cally said, pointing to a work bench that had a small, bare patch on top.

  Socinus groaned and set the load down. “This is getting out of control, you know. Has the chief lost his mind?”

  “Hey,” said Cally, getting back to adjusting Prosna’s spacesuit, “it’s none of our damn business, is it?”

  Prosna finally snorted. “It’s our frakking business if he gets busted for banging his superior officer. They’ll both get busted. You think that won’t affect us?”

  Cally started to reply, but finally shrugged it off with a shake of her head. They all knew Tyrol’s affair with Boomer was highly illegal, and a mighty dangerous game. So far, they were all looking the other way, out of loyalty to Galen Tyrol. But how long could they protect him? How long before someone less forgiving—someone like the XO, say—found out what was going on? Maybe they were just hoping that the ship would be retired before it happened.

  “Let’s just hope they don’t get caught,” Cally said at last, having no other answer.

  “Fat frakking chance,” was all Socinus had to say.

  The Squadron Ready Room was nearly filled with pilots when the CAG, Jackson Spencer, started the briefing. The Commander Air Group was the chief pilot for all the squadrons on the ship, and the one who was charged with seeing that all flying squadrons faithfully executed the orders of the ship’s master, Commander Adama. It was the CAG who set both the tone and the rules, and if any of his pilots busted either, it was his job to bust them. That rarely happened with a crew as well trained as this one, though. Mostly his job was to see that the flying went smoothly, and safely.

  The CAG began the briefing with a review of the mission immediately before them: “Today’s the main event. We have a formation demonstration—flyby maneuvers in conjunction with the decommissioning ceremony. I’ve got a few changes to the flight plan. Lieutenant Thrace is being replaced in the slot by Lieutenant Anders.” There was no need to say why; everyone knew that Kara Thrace, Starbuck, was in the brig. “Also, we have Captain Lee Adama joining us, and he’s going to be flying lead during the flyby, so … please, welcome the captain!”

  That brought some applause, many turned heads, and a number of calls of welcome, as all the other pilots in the room craned their necks to see the flyer they knew by reputation, and to greet the man they knew to be their commander’s son. Lee himself shifted in his seat, and forced an uncomfortable smile.

  The CAG continued. “Now, thanks to Chief Tyrol and his deck gang, Captain, you’re going to have the honor of flying the actual Viper that your father flew once, forty years ago.” The CAG paused for a reaction from Lee.

  Momentarily unable to speak, Lee fiddled with his pen for a few seconds. Finally, he said awkwardly, “Great. That’s um … that’s … quite an honor.”

  Around him, silent puzzlement registered at his apparent lack of enthusiasm; one or two of the pilots snorted softly. Let them, Lee thought. They don’t know him the way I do. The CAG’s face darkened almost imperceptibly as he responded, “Yes, it is, Captain. And personally I can’t think of a better way to send this ship into retirement.”

  And personally you can’t think of a reason why they would invite a jerk like me to a ceremony honoring my father, right? Well, I could name a lot of better ways to retire this old hulk. And the man you all look up to so much.

  Lee managed another smile, and a nod.

  The CAG moved on to the down-and-dirty details of the maneuvers they would be flying later that day.

  It was a day that, for Lee, could not end soon enough.

  CHAPTER 8

  CAPRICA CITY, GOVERNMENT CENTER PLAZA

  Coming down the steps from the Defense Ministry, her arm draped over Baltar’s shoulder, Natasi listened tolerantly as Gaius went on about the success of his latest project, the Central Navigation Program currently being deployed and tested in the Colonial fleet. Really—she loved him, and could barely keep her hands off him, but when he got going on his accomplishments, there was no shutting him off.

  “It may interest you to know,” he was saying, tightening his arm around her waist, “that the final results are in on the CNP project. It’s working at close to ninety-five percent efficiency throughout the fleet.” She half expected him to stop and take a bow, but instead he continued without a beat, “Hold your applause, please.”

  “No applause for me?” she asked, her head turned away from him. My, aren’t you satisfied? “I doubt you would ever have completed the project without me.” She finally looked at him.

  Gaius casually drew a mouthful of smoke from his cigar. “Yes, well, you … helped a bit …”

  “I rewrote half your algorithms.”

  “All right, you were extremely helpful.” He peered at her through his dark glasses. “But let’s not forget, you got something out of it. All that poking around inside the Defense mainframe should give you a huge advantage bidding for the contract next year.”

  She turned to face him. “You know that’s not really why I did it.”

  He paused and looked away. “No, you did it because you love me.”

  She drew him back and allowed just flicker of a smile on her lips. “That, and God wanted me to help you.”

  A pained expression crossed his face, and he pulled off his dark glasses. “Right, he spoke to you, did he? You had a chat?” Now, instead of pained, he looked supercilious.

  Deliberately and tolerantly, she said, “He didn’t speak to me in a literal voice. And you don’t have to mock my faith.”

  “I’m sorry,” Gaius said. “I’m just not very religious.”

  To say the least. “Does it bother you that I am?”

  He sighed, obviously groping for words. He put his arm back around her waist, and began walking again. “It puzzles me that an intelligent, attractive woman such as yourself should be taken in by mysticism and superstition.” His voice suddenly turned lecherous. “But I’m willing to overlook it, on account of your other attributes.”

  She laughed, and turned to stop him with a hand to his chest. “I have to go. I’m meeting someone.”

  “Really? Who is he? I’m insanely jealous.”

  She leaned into him with a chuckle. “I doubt that.”

  Gaius looked slightly disconcerted. He put a fingertip to her nose. “So touchy today.” Almost imperceptibly gathering his ego, he continued, “Well, as a matter of fact, I’m meeting someone, too—business. A new project at Defense I might do. So, uh”—he kissed her on the cheek—“you’ll call me later. Right?” Without waiting for an answer, he sauntered away.

  She watched him go, then turned to be on with her business. She stopped before she’d taken more than a step. Her entire mood and outlook changed as she greeted her colleague. “It’s about time,” she said. “I wondered when you’d get here.”

  Her contact nodded. “It is indeed. The time has almost come.”

  She drew a breath and sighed. So soon. The work is nearly fini
shed. “All right, then. I’d like to be with him.”

  The other nodded again. “Of course. There is much for him to do yet. And one way or another, you will always be with him.”

  CHAPTER 9

  GALACTICA, PORT AND STARBOARD LANDING BAYS

  The giant warship Galactica boasted two complete landing systems—essentially, parallel runways enclosed in enormous tubes, one on either flank of the great spaceship. On the right, or starboard, side, the huge landing bay had already been turned into a huge museum hall. Twenty-odd older-model Vipers of various vintages had been brought in, and were in the process of being converted to display units. Various historical exhibits were being prepared, including actual Cylon Centurions, warrior robots captured during the Cylon War forty years ago. A scale model depicted the most dreaded of all war machines, the Cylon base star—the enemy’s counterpart to the Colonial battlestar, but much larger, and in nearly every way more powerful. The work on preparing the exhibits proceeded quietly, steadily, and for the most part, outside the day-to-day awareness of the Galactica crew. It was far enough along, though, to make quite an impression on visitors for the dedication ceremony.

  On the opposite side of the ship, the port landing bay was still very much in use. In fact, it was busier than usual, what with the arriving vessels and the fact that it was now doing the work of two bays. The large passenger transport coming in just now looked like a toy boat as it settled to a stop in the long cavern of the landing bay. It was carrying the chief VIP for the dedication ceremonies, the Secretary of Education for the Twelve Colonies.

  “Colonial Transport Seven-Niner-Eight heavy, welcome to Galactica. Please stand by, and keep your passengers seated, while we bring you down into the hangar deck.”

  “Galactica, Colonial Seven-Niner-Eight heavy, roger.”

  It took a little longer to get the large transport squared away than it did a small Viper, but eventually its doors opened, and people started streaming out. They were escorted across the hangar floor by the deckhands, and shown the way to the ladders that would take them down to E Deck, where their guides awaited them.

  Billy Keikeya was first down the ladder, but the well-groomed man in civilian dress who waited to greet them called first to Laura Roslin as she was still negotiating the ladder. “Secretary Roslin?”

  “Yes.” The secretary stepped off the ladder and turned.

  After greeting her, the man finally spoke to Billy. “Mister Krekare?”

  “Keikeya,” Billy corrected him.

  “Oh—sorry. My name’s Aaron Doral.” Shaking hands with both of them, Mr. Doral spoke quickly as he continued, “I’m from Public Relations. I’d like to welcome you aboard Galactica.”

  “Thank you,” Laura said.

  “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your quarters.”

  They set off through the corridors, and Billy was almost at once overwhelmed by the new sights and the bustle of activity, with ship’s crew members striding purposefully through a bewildering series of intersecting corridors. The whole look of the place was surprisingly clunky and old fashioned compared to the transport he’d just come in on—or to just about anything on Caprica. The passageways were blocked off at regular intervals by bulkheads and huge metal hatches with rims, or coamings, that one had to step over to get from compartment to compartment. Storage lockers lined the walls everywhere, filling just about every nook and cranny. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought he was on a submarine.

  Overhead speakers kept coming alive for announcements. At one point, the announcement was to welcome the Secretary of Education to the Galactica. Billy was tired, but intrigued. He paused at one intersection to look around. His eye was caught by an attractive, copper-complexioned crewwoman with long dark hair in a ponytail, and he turned to watch her pass. It was only when she turned to look back at him with a sharp, captivating gaze that he realized he was staring. He returned to his senses with a start, and hurried after the Secretary and Mr. Doral.

  The only problem was, they were out of sight. He whirled this way and that, trying to figure out which way they might have gone. Too many choices. “Madame Secretary?” he called. Taking a guess, he chose a passageway branching off the right, followed it a short distance, then halted, suddenly uncertain. He started down another, turned a corner, and realized he was now completely lost. Sweating, feeling like a dunce, he tried a different direction. Great. If they didn’t already think you were too young for the job, this’ll clinch it. “Madame Secretary!”

  He moved more quickly, down a hallway that at least seemed large enough to be a main corridor. There was an announcement tone overhead, and the intercom voice, saying, “Attention all hands. There is an EVA in progress outside the hull. Do not radiate any electrical …”

  Billy found himself in front of a large hatch. Well, maybe they’d gone this way, and that was why they couldn’t hear his calls. Taking a breath, he pulled it open. To his complete embarrassment, he found himself standing in the doorway to a large bathroom, in which about a dozen men—and women—were in various stages of undress while showering or washing at sinks.

  The nearest woman, dressed only in a black bra and the bottom half of a jumpsuit, glared up from the wash basin and said, “In … or out!”

  “Excuse me?” He realized, dizzily, that this was the same dark-complexioned woman he had seen just a few minutes ago in the corridor.

  “Get in or get out. Shut the hatch,” she said, continuing to scrub at her face with a washcloth.

  “Oh—sorry!” he said, reaching to pull the hatch closed behind him.

  The woman looked up at him with tolerant exasperation. She had gorgeous eyes. “Where are you trying to be?”

  He struggled to find his voice. “Uh—visitors’ quarters.” He winced, stepping aside for more people coming into the room. “I’m a visitor.”

  That brought a giggle from the woman, who glanced at her nearest neighbor. “Huh! Never would have guessed!”

  Billy’s face burned with embarrassment. Two women entered behind him and went into toilet stalls.

  “Never been in a unisex head before?” the woman asked.

  “Uh—no, not really.”

  She nodded. “Well, there’s not much privacy on a warship. So the first rule is, don’t get your panties in a bunch at being seen. Second rule is, don’t stare.”

  Which, he realized with a lurch, was exactly what he’d been doing. Again. “Um—sorry.” He looked quickly away from her.

  “C’mon,” she said, zipping up her jumpsuit. “Let’s get you home.” She grabbed his elbow and propelled him out the door. As she led him down the passageway, she glanced at him with a grin. “What’s your name?”

  He swallowed, trying not to be dazzled by her smile. She had a great smile. “Billy.” And I’m not really a complete dolt, I just look like one right now.

  “Hi, Billy. I’m Petty Officer Dualla, Crew Specialist.”

  “Hi—Petty, uh—”

  Her grin widened. “How about just Dualla. Better yet, call me D.”

  “Hi, D.,” he said, blushing, but feeling much better already. He had a feeling he’d just made his first friend on Galactica.

  “The answer’s no,” Commander Adama said, walking with Laura Roslin and Aaron Doral through the D-Deck passageway. They had met in the corridor and Adama had turned aside from his immediate destination to walk with them for a few minutes. Unfortunately, Laura had brought up what apparently was a very touchy subject.

  “It’s a visitor’s guide,” she said, amazed that a pleasant so-good-to-meet-you conversation had turned so tense, so quickly. “It tells people where things like the restrooms are. Or what the lunch special is in the cafeteria. Or how to buy a Galactica t-shirt. Galactica is going to be a museum, after all.”

  Adama shook his head. “What you’re talking about is an integrated computer network, and I will not have it on this ship.”

  Laura stared straight ahead as they walked, and tried n
ot to sound derisive. “I heard you’re one of those people. You’re actually afraid of computers.”

  “No, there are many computers on this ship. But they’re not networked.” Adama stopped and faced her.

  Laura tried to maintain a polite smile, but it was difficult in the face of such obstinacy. “A computer network would simply make it faster and easier for teachers to be able to teach—”

  He interrupted impatiently. “Let me explain something to you. Many good men and women lost their lives aboard this ship during the Cylon war, because someone wanted a faster computer to make their lives easier—but you know what happened. The Cylons took control of every computer network in the Twelve Colonies.” He was starting to lecture now. “I’m sorry that I’m inconveniencing you or the teachers, but I will not allow a networked computerized system to be placed upon this ship while I’m in command. Is that clear?”

  Stunned by the sudden display of authoritarianism, Laura managed a tight, indignant smile as she said, “Yes, sir.”

  Adama nodded. “Thank you.” And with that, he excused himself and strode away.

  Laura glanced at Doral, who was obviously feeling a little flustered at the abruptness with which feelings had gotten out of hand. Well, she didn’t have time to worry about the PR guy’s feelings now. Nor Billy’s, she thought as she saw him come around the corner with an attractive female crewmember. “Where you been?” she murmured, not really caring.

  “Uh—I got lost, but—D., here, helped me out,” Billy said, gesturing awkwardly. D. smiled briefly and walked on.

  “Fine. Good.” Laura raised her chin and said to Doral, “Would you be so good as to show us to our quarters now?”

  The brig was a small compartment, which always surprised Kara Thrace when she thought about it. She guessed there weren’t that many frak-offs like herself getting themselves locked up for stupid reasons. That was why there was just one guard, who had nothing to do but sign in visitors and let the food come through at mealtime. The place was grungy as hell, too. The walls were lined with ugly, composite pegboard, probably to absorb the sounds of screams—of boredom. The whole place, including the bars on her cell, needed a good paint job, and the mattress on the bunk smelled pretty ripe. It definitely wasn’t the cleanest compartment on the ship—which she particularly noticed when she got down on the metal floor to do push-ups. Which was precisely what she was doing, trying to stay in some semblance of shape, when she heard a voice from the past. Oh frak, not now.