A/R REMIX: "Not At All Marginal"
Title: Not At All Marginal
Rating: K
Original Author: afrakaday
Original Title: Three diary/log/margin entries
“Your handwriting is godsawful,” Adama grumbled. “I thought you used to be a school teacher.”
“I didn’t teach penmanship,” Roslin answered. She sipped her tea and almost spit it out. Cold and bitter, with the thickish consistency of algae.
They were alone in the ward room, exhausted after a marathon of tedious debate over the rationing of dental fillings in the fleet. Roslin looked over to see what he was reading.
And then she realized exactly what he was reading.
The scrawled list she had made to pass the dreary meeting. The list of possible date ideas.
“What does this say, ‘Data ideas? Check with Tory on the… invisibility?’ “
“Right, ‘data’ ideas,” she said smoothly. “ I need to check with Tory on their advisability. You can give me that. It’s just some …” and she trailed off, reaching for the paper.
But he leaned away and asked, “What are you getting data about?”
“It’s an educational study,” she said shortly. “And it really doesn’t affect the military branch.”
He looked again at the scrap and read the next line haltingly, “ ‘Obstetrical duck… too… douche’? What the frak does that mean? Something to do with women’s heath?”
She would not reach for the paper again. If it was not placed in her hand, she would not be a school girl lunging to get her books from the teasing bully.
“Something like that,” she answered, wondering how he possibly got ‘obstetrical duck’ from ‘observational deck’. And ‘douche’ from ‘cliché’? Her handwriting wasn’t that terrible; perhaps his glasses needed a stronger lens. “ I told you it wouldn’t be of interest.”
“We have women in the military,” he reminded her.
He looked at the next line and read, “’Tillium ship: too industrial.’ What does that have to do with women’s health? Or education?”
“I was considering environmental concerns,” she said. “Actually, Bill, those ideas are worthless; you can just toss that paper in the trash.”
But he did not throw it away; he continued to read. “ ’Interrogate Baltar’. Alright, where does that fit in?”
“He’s a scientist, Bill, and while I loathe the frak-weasel, he knows about research into many fields, including the environmental sciences and education and women’s health.” She was beginning to lie as much as Richard Adar, she thought.
“As far as I’m concerned, Baltar is poison for the environment and he’s poison for women,” Bill answered. “But how about this part, ‘We did end up in his rack afterward, last time’?” He looked at her, his blue eyes piercing.
And suddenly she knew: she hadn’t been lying.
This was a women’s health issue. She was a woman: and she was not going to be healthy until those blue eyes were a lot closer.
This was an environmental issue. The climate between them had changed, the air quality was electrified; they were in the midst of an energy crisis which would reach critical proportions if a few atoms were not split soon. There was a dangerously high level of radioactivity, right there in the ward room, and if something didn’t shatter it immediately, the whole ship could explode.
This was an educational issue. And she was ready to do a little teaching.
But before she could start, he held out her paper and smiled. “I vote for your number four here, a viper ride,” he said. “We’ll just tell Racetrack that she’s dismissed, and that I’ll be taking you back to Colonial One.”
She took back her scrap, speechless.
“Yes, to answer your question, two can fit fine in about any position you can think of in a Viper.”
Still --- she had no words.
“And Laura, if I can read Saul’s handwriting, I can read anybody’s.”
-fin-
Rating: K
Original Author: afrakaday
Original Title: Three diary/log/margin entries
“Your handwriting is godsawful,” Adama grumbled. “I thought you used to be a school teacher.”
“I didn’t teach penmanship,” Roslin answered. She sipped her tea and almost spit it out. Cold and bitter, with the thickish consistency of algae.
They were alone in the ward room, exhausted after a marathon of tedious debate over the rationing of dental fillings in the fleet. Roslin looked over to see what he was reading.
And then she realized exactly what he was reading.
The scrawled list she had made to pass the dreary meeting. The list of possible date ideas.
“What does this say, ‘Data ideas? Check with Tory on the… invisibility?’ “
“Right, ‘data’ ideas,” she said smoothly. “ I need to check with Tory on their advisability. You can give me that. It’s just some …” and she trailed off, reaching for the paper.
But he leaned away and asked, “What are you getting data about?”
“It’s an educational study,” she said shortly. “And it really doesn’t affect the military branch.”
He looked again at the scrap and read the next line haltingly, “ ‘Obstetrical duck… too… douche’? What the frak does that mean? Something to do with women’s heath?”
She would not reach for the paper again. If it was not placed in her hand, she would not be a school girl lunging to get her books from the teasing bully.
“Something like that,” she answered, wondering how he possibly got ‘obstetrical duck’ from ‘observational deck’. And ‘douche’ from ‘cliché’? Her handwriting wasn’t that terrible; perhaps his glasses needed a stronger lens. “ I told you it wouldn’t be of interest.”
“We have women in the military,” he reminded her.
He looked at the next line and read, “’Tillium ship: too industrial.’ What does that have to do with women’s health? Or education?”
“I was considering environmental concerns,” she said. “Actually, Bill, those ideas are worthless; you can just toss that paper in the trash.”
But he did not throw it away; he continued to read. “ ’Interrogate Baltar’. Alright, where does that fit in?”
“He’s a scientist, Bill, and while I loathe the frak-weasel, he knows about research into many fields, including the environmental sciences and education and women’s health.” She was beginning to lie as much as Richard Adar, she thought.
“As far as I’m concerned, Baltar is poison for the environment and he’s poison for women,” Bill answered. “But how about this part, ‘We did end up in his rack afterward, last time’?” He looked at her, his blue eyes piercing.
And suddenly she knew: she hadn’t been lying.
This was a women’s health issue. She was a woman: and she was not going to be healthy until those blue eyes were a lot closer.
This was an environmental issue. The climate between them had changed, the air quality was electrified; they were in the midst of an energy crisis which would reach critical proportions if a few atoms were not split soon. There was a dangerously high level of radioactivity, right there in the ward room, and if something didn’t shatter it immediately, the whole ship could explode.
This was an educational issue. And she was ready to do a little teaching.
But before she could start, he held out her paper and smiled. “I vote for your number four here, a viper ride,” he said. “We’ll just tell Racetrack that she’s dismissed, and that I’ll be taking you back to Colonial One.”
She took back her scrap, speechless.
“Yes, to answer your question, two can fit fine in about any position you can think of in a Viper.”
Still --- she had no words.
“And Laura, if I can read Saul’s handwriting, I can read anybody’s.”
-fin-