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Jun. 1st, 2007 08:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
callsignhuskerFuel reserves down to 5%. The fleet can't make it much further. Boomer and Crashdown find tylium ore on an asteroid.
Naturally, the asteroid is covered in Cylons. With a base for refining the tylium, using it to fuel their own ships. And -- more to the point -- for defending the tylium.
They're in the CIC, looking at Boomer and Crashdown's recon work -- images, maps, grids. The pencils are out, the exasperation is palpable, the desperation is an undercurrent. Four of them stand around Command and Control -- Colonel Tigh, Captain Adama, and Lieutenant Gaeta.
And Bill.
He listens to them, stays silent, listens to Saul and Gaeta bellyache, listens to Lee say they should give up on it and find another source, listens to Saul argue with Lee -- "How are we going to get our refinery ship -- "
Bill's had enough. "We take the tylium from the Cylons."
Saul straightens. "With all respect, this is hardly the time to attack a superior force."
He keeps studying the plans. They can hear the anger in his voice, and that's fine. "This is exactly the time." He glances up at Saul, back at the maps. "We know where they are. They don't know where we are. Catch them with their pants down."
"If we fail..." Lee sounds dubious.
"End of game." Saul sounds grim.
"So we don't fail," Bill says, and he looks at them over his spectacles, and there isn't any more protest from any of them.
***
There's only one person he knows who's crazy enough to be able to pull this kind of thing off. He pulls Starbuck out of the ready room, brings her to the situation room.
"With all due respect, gentlemen," he tells Lee and Saul, calmly, "we're not as crazy as she is."
Time to let Kara take it over. Time to let her see if she can prove herself. He steps back -- figuratively and literally. A couple of hours later he tells Dee to alert Colonial One, request the president's presence.
"If you succeed, what's to prevent the Cylons from coming back with reinforcements?" Roslin's calm, a fish out of water, but calm. They need her approval; they need to be able to explain it to her; they need to be able to answer all her questions. Adama is silently gratified to see Apollo backing Kara without question, answering Roslin's questions. It's Starbuck's plan, and they've made sure Roslin knows it.
It's Starbuck's plan, but it's his responsibility to feel that question. "Nothing. But if we get a chance to knock out that base, it'll buy us some time."
"Why?"
"If you keep running from the schoolyard bully, he keeps on chasing you, but the moment you turn around and stop and you punch him really hard in a sensitive spot...he'll think twice about coming back again." It's revealing. He doesn't care. It's been long enough that they can stop being numb.
Right now Adama prefers anger to grief.
"So it's either this or run out of fuel and be annihilated."
At least she finally sees it, he thinks. They all finally see it -- Saul and Lee first. Now the civilians. This is it, this is their chance, and Adama is frakking tired of running.
"Sometimes," he says, mild, "you have to roll the hard six."
Roslin gives her approval.
Forty-eight hours until the op. Adama calls in to the CIC, tells Mr. Gaeta to start a clock.
***
Of the many problems facing them, there's one that deserves his immediate attention: Kara, and her knee. Another object lesson; her knee's still too weak to take the kind of force it requires to fly a Viper in combat; he proves it to her in the weight room.
She's furious. He can see that.
"I'm sorry. It's a tough one. But you're staying home."
He lost Zak to a Viper.
He won't lose Kara.
***
It puts Lee under more pressure, though, with Starbuck out. She isn't happy about being left out, and knowing her, she's letting Lee know.
And knowing Lee --
The night before, he finds Lee in the launch bay with his Viper.
It's a gesture he'd been wanting to make -- giving Lee a talisman. His father's silver lighter, engraved with his name -- Joseph Adama, barely visible.
"Dad used to carry that into court cases, claimed he never lost unless he left it behind."
Lee's smile is bitter. "So you're worried too."
Bill straightens. "About what?"
His son doesn't answer immediately. But then Lee says, a little halting, "You know, sometimes it feels like the whole ship thinks Starbuck would do better."
"I don't." Bill's response is prompt.
Still bitter: "How can you be so sure?"
Lee is sitting, hunched, on the low wall; Bill is leaning against the wall, hands clasped loosely. Bill looks up at him, and says, simply, as though it's self-evident, "Because you're my son."
Lee shoots him a glance -- the kind of uncertain glance he hasn't seen out of Lee in ten years or more. Makes him look a lot younger.
I'm glad he's here, Bill thinks. Unbelievably glad -- that we're both here.
"Get some rest," he says, and the softening he hears in his voice makes him toughen it up for his next words. "You're going to need it." And he turns away, heads for the ladder out of the launch bay, when --
"Dad?"
He turns. Lee's holding up the lighter. "I'll bring it back."
Bill raises an eyebrow. "You'd better, or I'll kick your ass." And then to Lee's startlement: "That's a good lighter."
Nothing else to say. There hasn't been for years. Bill turns and heads up the ladder.
***
The op initiates; he's in the situation room, and he stands next to the President. Let her see how it happens. It's a learning opportunity for her as well.
Minutes later: "They took the bait." He's calm -- has to be. "Mr. Gaeta. Launch Strike Force One." And just like clockwork -- it's neat, it's fast, and it's steady.
Starbuck isn't. He can feel the anxiety radiating from her -- from everyone in the room: Roslin standing inscrutable, Gaeta relaying orders, Dr. Baltar lurking in the shadows.
Starbuck, soft, for his ears only: "I just hope that Lee can -- " She shakes her head.
"Lee isn't the problem. You should take a good look at yourself."
To her surprised glance (and it's even a little outraged): "I had to go through the same transition. When you're in the cockpit, you're in control. It's hard to give it up."
"It would just be a lot easier if I was flying with them."
"All you can do now is wait and hope you didn't make any mistakes."
"I never wanted this kind of responsibility." And now she sounds angry.
And in response, Adama looks at her directly.
Says -- and lets her hear the frustration -- "The Cylons never asked us what we wanted."
He directs his gaze to the table, with all the ships laid out, illustrating the current state of the operation. "Welcome to the big leagues."
***
When it starts going to hell, Starbuck gets twitchier -- cracking her knuckles, fidgeting. She's not the only one. Strike Force One is -- as Kara observes -- getting cut to pieces.
Adama recalls them. Waits for the squadrons of Cylon Raiders to come after Galactica, since they'll have heard the call from Galactica. And when they do --
"Now we play for all the marbles." He straightens. "Starbuck, it's your plan."
Starbuck makes the call; Apollo brings out Strike Force Two, hidden on one of the freighters. Roslin: "Lieutenant Thrace, why didn't you tell me we had another attack force hidden in the freighters." It's not a question, either; she sounds irked. Which means she's worse than irked.
Adama cuts over Starbuck. His officer; his responsibility. "It was my decision. I routinely restrict tactical details to those who need to know." He looks up. "Old habits die hard."
Her smile is small, professional. "So you still might pull this off."
It's up to Lee. Adama doesn't say so. Instead he heads to the CIC. Galactica's about to be under attack. He's needed.
***
"Commander on deck."
"As you were," Adama calls, and heads for Command and Control; Saul's in front of him, barking out the sitrep: three minutes to Cylon fighters.
Adama, confident and cantankerous, to Dee over at Communications: "Notify the Strike One Vipers that they can stop running and blast those bastards to hell."
"Yes sir."
Nobody's smiling. It's not over. But it's feeling clearer. Better. Like they've got a chance.
And then Apollo, piped in over the comm, out on the asteroid:
"Oh, no, don't do this, Lee -- The conveyor tunnel's clear, I -- I'm going through it."
Adama's expression at Command and Control doesn't change.
He can't let it.
Lee said he'd bring it back. And all he can do is listen -- listen as Lee chatters to himself, keeps himself calm, the kind of thing all pilots do. Bill's grateful for it -- means Lee's there, means Lee's alive.
"Okay, I'm through the tunnel -- they can't get firing solution on me -- there you are."
Adama doesn't move. Nobody in CIC is moving.
And then comes Lee:
"Ah -- Galactica -- Apollo."
"Mission...accomplished."
The CIC erupts in cheers.
Saul reaches out; Bill shakes Saul's hand. And then Bill very deliberately takes off his glasses. Folds them.
Only then does he allow himself a very small smile. Only then: relief. Lee's here. Starbuck's here. And they socked the schoolyard bully in a sensitive place. More than that -- they're capable of hurting the Cylons.
There could be an end to this.
They could stop running. Set down stake somewhere. Go about making lives for themselves. If they can hurt the Cylons badly enough --
As though from far away, he hears Dee: "Commander -- Strike One reports inbound Cylons are bugging out, request permission to go after them, sir."
And he can sympathize with that. Gods, he can sympathize with that.
"Tell our people to pursue and destroy."
Dee relays -- tear 'em up -- and Adama unfolds his glasses.
Puts them back on.
It's not over. It's not going to be over any time soon.
Twenty seconds of relief -- that's all he can fairly allow himself. The others, though --
***
When he heads down to the flight deck, he sees Lee in his flight suit with a cigar in his mouth and a bottle of alcohol in his hand and an unbelievably huge grin on his face, and Adama can't help but smile.
Lee reaches for the lighter, tosses it past Starbuck. Adama catches it.
And Adama grins.
And Adama turns, walks past the celebration, walks back to the CIC. There'll be cleanup. And there'll be plans for retrieving and refining the tylium.
And tonight, a cigar and a glass of golden, privately.
Naturally, the asteroid is covered in Cylons. With a base for refining the tylium, using it to fuel their own ships. And -- more to the point -- for defending the tylium.
They're in the CIC, looking at Boomer and Crashdown's recon work -- images, maps, grids. The pencils are out, the exasperation is palpable, the desperation is an undercurrent. Four of them stand around Command and Control -- Colonel Tigh, Captain Adama, and Lieutenant Gaeta.
And Bill.
He listens to them, stays silent, listens to Saul and Gaeta bellyache, listens to Lee say they should give up on it and find another source, listens to Saul argue with Lee -- "How are we going to get our refinery ship -- "
Bill's had enough. "We take the tylium from the Cylons."
Saul straightens. "With all respect, this is hardly the time to attack a superior force."
He keeps studying the plans. They can hear the anger in his voice, and that's fine. "This is exactly the time." He glances up at Saul, back at the maps. "We know where they are. They don't know where we are. Catch them with their pants down."
"If we fail..." Lee sounds dubious.
"End of game." Saul sounds grim.
"So we don't fail," Bill says, and he looks at them over his spectacles, and there isn't any more protest from any of them.
There's only one person he knows who's crazy enough to be able to pull this kind of thing off. He pulls Starbuck out of the ready room, brings her to the situation room.
"With all due respect, gentlemen," he tells Lee and Saul, calmly, "we're not as crazy as she is."
Time to let Kara take it over. Time to let her see if she can prove herself. He steps back -- figuratively and literally. A couple of hours later he tells Dee to alert Colonial One, request the president's presence.
"If you succeed, what's to prevent the Cylons from coming back with reinforcements?" Roslin's calm, a fish out of water, but calm. They need her approval; they need to be able to explain it to her; they need to be able to answer all her questions. Adama is silently gratified to see Apollo backing Kara without question, answering Roslin's questions. It's Starbuck's plan, and they've made sure Roslin knows it.
It's Starbuck's plan, but it's his responsibility to feel that question. "Nothing. But if we get a chance to knock out that base, it'll buy us some time."
"Why?"
"If you keep running from the schoolyard bully, he keeps on chasing you, but the moment you turn around and stop and you punch him really hard in a sensitive spot...he'll think twice about coming back again." It's revealing. He doesn't care. It's been long enough that they can stop being numb.
Right now Adama prefers anger to grief.
"So it's either this or run out of fuel and be annihilated."
At least she finally sees it, he thinks. They all finally see it -- Saul and Lee first. Now the civilians. This is it, this is their chance, and Adama is frakking tired of running.
"Sometimes," he says, mild, "you have to roll the hard six."
Roslin gives her approval.
Forty-eight hours until the op. Adama calls in to the CIC, tells Mr. Gaeta to start a clock.
Of the many problems facing them, there's one that deserves his immediate attention: Kara, and her knee. Another object lesson; her knee's still too weak to take the kind of force it requires to fly a Viper in combat; he proves it to her in the weight room.
She's furious. He can see that.
"I'm sorry. It's a tough one. But you're staying home."
He lost Zak to a Viper.
He won't lose Kara.
It puts Lee under more pressure, though, with Starbuck out. She isn't happy about being left out, and knowing her, she's letting Lee know.
And knowing Lee --
The night before, he finds Lee in the launch bay with his Viper.
It's a gesture he'd been wanting to make -- giving Lee a talisman. His father's silver lighter, engraved with his name -- Joseph Adama, barely visible.
"Dad used to carry that into court cases, claimed he never lost unless he left it behind."
Lee's smile is bitter. "So you're worried too."
Bill straightens. "About what?"
His son doesn't answer immediately. But then Lee says, a little halting, "You know, sometimes it feels like the whole ship thinks Starbuck would do better."
"I don't." Bill's response is prompt.
Still bitter: "How can you be so sure?"
Lee is sitting, hunched, on the low wall; Bill is leaning against the wall, hands clasped loosely. Bill looks up at him, and says, simply, as though it's self-evident, "Because you're my son."
Lee shoots him a glance -- the kind of uncertain glance he hasn't seen out of Lee in ten years or more. Makes him look a lot younger.
I'm glad he's here, Bill thinks. Unbelievably glad -- that we're both here.
"Get some rest," he says, and the softening he hears in his voice makes him toughen it up for his next words. "You're going to need it." And he turns away, heads for the ladder out of the launch bay, when --
"Dad?"
He turns. Lee's holding up the lighter. "I'll bring it back."
Bill raises an eyebrow. "You'd better, or I'll kick your ass." And then to Lee's startlement: "That's a good lighter."
Nothing else to say. There hasn't been for years. Bill turns and heads up the ladder.
The op initiates; he's in the situation room, and he stands next to the President. Let her see how it happens. It's a learning opportunity for her as well.
Minutes later: "They took the bait." He's calm -- has to be. "Mr. Gaeta. Launch Strike Force One." And just like clockwork -- it's neat, it's fast, and it's steady.
Starbuck isn't. He can feel the anxiety radiating from her -- from everyone in the room: Roslin standing inscrutable, Gaeta relaying orders, Dr. Baltar lurking in the shadows.
Starbuck, soft, for his ears only: "I just hope that Lee can -- " She shakes her head.
"Lee isn't the problem. You should take a good look at yourself."
To her surprised glance (and it's even a little outraged): "I had to go through the same transition. When you're in the cockpit, you're in control. It's hard to give it up."
"It would just be a lot easier if I was flying with them."
"All you can do now is wait and hope you didn't make any mistakes."
"I never wanted this kind of responsibility." And now she sounds angry.
And in response, Adama looks at her directly.
Says -- and lets her hear the frustration -- "The Cylons never asked us what we wanted."
He directs his gaze to the table, with all the ships laid out, illustrating the current state of the operation. "Welcome to the big leagues."
When it starts going to hell, Starbuck gets twitchier -- cracking her knuckles, fidgeting. She's not the only one. Strike Force One is -- as Kara observes -- getting cut to pieces.
Adama recalls them. Waits for the squadrons of Cylon Raiders to come after Galactica, since they'll have heard the call from Galactica. And when they do --
"Now we play for all the marbles." He straightens. "Starbuck, it's your plan."
Starbuck makes the call; Apollo brings out Strike Force Two, hidden on one of the freighters. Roslin: "Lieutenant Thrace, why didn't you tell me we had another attack force hidden in the freighters." It's not a question, either; she sounds irked. Which means she's worse than irked.
Adama cuts over Starbuck. His officer; his responsibility. "It was my decision. I routinely restrict tactical details to those who need to know." He looks up. "Old habits die hard."
Her smile is small, professional. "So you still might pull this off."
It's up to Lee. Adama doesn't say so. Instead he heads to the CIC. Galactica's about to be under attack. He's needed.
"Commander on deck."
"As you were," Adama calls, and heads for Command and Control; Saul's in front of him, barking out the sitrep: three minutes to Cylon fighters.
Adama, confident and cantankerous, to Dee over at Communications: "Notify the Strike One Vipers that they can stop running and blast those bastards to hell."
"Yes sir."
Nobody's smiling. It's not over. But it's feeling clearer. Better. Like they've got a chance.
And then Apollo, piped in over the comm, out on the asteroid:
"Oh, no, don't do this, Lee -- The conveyor tunnel's clear, I -- I'm going through it."
Adama's expression at Command and Control doesn't change.
He can't let it.
Lee said he'd bring it back. And all he can do is listen -- listen as Lee chatters to himself, keeps himself calm, the kind of thing all pilots do. Bill's grateful for it -- means Lee's there, means Lee's alive.
"Okay, I'm through the tunnel -- they can't get firing solution on me -- there you are."
Adama doesn't move. Nobody in CIC is moving.
And then comes Lee:
"Ah -- Galactica -- Apollo."
"Mission...accomplished."
The CIC erupts in cheers.
Saul reaches out; Bill shakes Saul's hand. And then Bill very deliberately takes off his glasses. Folds them.
Only then does he allow himself a very small smile. Only then: relief. Lee's here. Starbuck's here. And they socked the schoolyard bully in a sensitive place. More than that -- they're capable of hurting the Cylons.
There could be an end to this.
They could stop running. Set down stake somewhere. Go about making lives for themselves. If they can hurt the Cylons badly enough --
As though from far away, he hears Dee: "Commander -- Strike One reports inbound Cylons are bugging out, request permission to go after them, sir."
And he can sympathize with that. Gods, he can sympathize with that.
"Tell our people to pursue and destroy."
Dee relays -- tear 'em up -- and Adama unfolds his glasses.
Puts them back on.
It's not over. It's not going to be over any time soon.
Twenty seconds of relief -- that's all he can fairly allow himself. The others, though --
When he heads down to the flight deck, he sees Lee in his flight suit with a cigar in his mouth and a bottle of alcohol in his hand and an unbelievably huge grin on his face, and Adama can't help but smile.
Lee reaches for the lighter, tosses it past Starbuck. Adama catches it.
And Adama grins.
And Adama turns, walks past the celebration, walks back to the CIC. There'll be cleanup. And there'll be plans for retrieving and refining the tylium.
And tonight, a cigar and a glass of golden, privately.
