Fic - "Going Forward" - BSG/STNG AU - Part 3
Part 3 -BSG/STNG crossover, sequel to Going Native which is tagged trekfic. This is tagged goingforwardfic.
It looked good, Bill Adama thought as he looked at the Galactica’s landing bay. He looked at the uniformed crew working in front of the Raptor, and as they spotted him and began dashing about, for just a moment, every hair on his body seemed to stand on end. It had been just like this, he realized. The day of the Cylon attack, and every sense he had burned. He took a deep breath and let it out as he stepped over to the small work crew. It helped that they mostly had different faces. Still, as Chief Tyrol stepped forward, he felt that odd frisson of fear, of something not right.
There were twenty full time psychologists and psychiatrists in the colony, and they all were busy. Post traumatic stress was a fact of life, but he didn’t think that he was one of the worst sufferers. A twinge here and there, that was just too many bad memories to avoid them all, but he was hardly in bad shape. They were lucky that there hadn’t been more hard core breakdowns. As it was, the hospital had a permanent psychiatric ward and even Federation medicine wasn’t helping the worst cases. There had been a rash of suicide attempts in the first few months of the colony settlement, fortunately few had been successful. Survivor guilt, the psychologists said.
Chief Tyrol snapped to attention, the orange coverall surprisingly crisp and clean. Both jarring and familiar. “Would you like to inspect the deck, sir?”
“Everything seems to be in order, Chief.” He did want to talk with Tyrol though, so it was convenient. “Walk with me for a moment, Tyrol.”
“Yes sir.” The petite woman came up beside him and began matching his stride. He waited until he was certain the rest of the crew couldn’t hear. “There is a position opening up planet side. The airbase needs a new ground crew officer. They need someone smart enough to master the Starfleet tech, and who can organize the landing field. I’m recommending you for it, Cally.”
“That’s… thank you sir,” she said after a moment. “But I’m not an officer.”
“Not until the promotion is finalized, no,” he said easily. “But I was planning to sign the paperwork and announce it once you accepted the offer.” It was rewarding to see the young woman smile. “You deserve it, Cally.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said again. “But there’s still so much work to do here.”
“The refit is almost done. You’ll have about two weeks to recommend the new head deck chief. And you’ll be back for reserve training on the standard schedule, so if there’s a serious problem you can still be consulted.” And he suspected that any consults would be over the new Federation tech. Cally Tyrol was in the portion of the crew that had adapted well to all of the changes. That was the reason he was promoting her. The probation period for their membership in the Federation would end in five years, and the fleet would need officers who had mastered the new skills.
She nodded, and then she spotted something, over his shoulder. “Hey you three!” she shouted, her voice suddenly firm. “I see you there, and I know what you’re doing! Get back to work!” Bill turned just in time to see three orange clad workers scurry away, pushing mop buckets and looking chagrinned. He was pleased that Cally kept her face firm until the crewmen were away, before she smiled with amusement.
“The new ones don’t realize,” she said quickly, “that I know all the ways to hide and goof off on this deck. That little alcove is where Prosna, Socinus, and I would hide from the chief when he was looking for people to scrub the deck.” Her good natured smile faded suddenly, and a tremble washed over her body. She shook it off almost instantly. “That seems like such a long time ago… They’d be laughing over the idea of my getting commissioned.”
“Is that a yes?” he asked.
She nodded. “It is, sir. And thank you.”
“You’ve come a long way from when you started here as a deckhand. We need people like you in the fleet. In a few years, its going to be a whole different game of triad.” He was feeling himself, more and more. “I’ll be making the official announcement later today. I want your list of candidates for promotion to your position on my desk in an hour.”
She nodded and returned to the main deck. She’ll be a good officer, he mused, and he suspected they were going to need good officers in the next few years. He didn’t like the reports he had been reading from Starfleet. He was grateful to Starfleet and the Federation, but that didn’t mean he was in love with everything they did. The colony definitely had some converts to Federation thinking, and he knew that was only going to continue. The new colonists, from Earth and her colonies, brought their children, and that meant the few children that had survived the Second Exodus were surrounded by classmates who knew nothing but the Federation. He wasn’t so convinced that closing his eyes and hoping that Starfleet and the Federation knew best was the best way to handle things.
Musing about the Federation reminded him that it was almost time for the squads that were training with Starfleet to return. One of many things that had changed on the Galactica was that she now had several transporter rooms. Which was turning into a source of irritation between him and the current starbase commander. The transporters were energy hogs. A wonderful tool for emergencies and fast transport, but a lot of the crew simply wasn’t comfortable with it, and the energy they required had dramatically lengthened the refit. Rosenfeld had been fine with allowing Raptors and shuttles to move the training squads but Grossen insisted that they use the transporters. It was irritating, made worse by the condescending air Gerald Grossen used when he spoke.
He nodded to the transporter chief, a new designation in the colonial fleet. The woman nodded back. Chief Christensen was actually from Earth, a Starfleet veteran who had brought her family out to New Atlantis. She was helping train some of the others and had agreed with his annoyance over Grossen insisting on transports instead of Raptors. Because it made the crew nervous, he liked to be on hand for the occasional transport.
And he could tell by the frowns on everyone and the cold scowl on Major Kara Thrace’s face that it had been a bad day on the training ships. She jumped off the pad. “I’m glad to see you, sir. We should talk.”
Judging by the grumbling, it was going to be good. He gave her a look and she nodded immediately. It pleased him. She was getting better at not letting her mood show on her face. As the acting XO, she needed to have self control. The walk to his quarters also took the edge off. “So,” he said as she closed the hatch to his office, “how was the training exercise?”
“What training exercise? Cmdr. Grossen put all the training squads on maintenance duty. He feels that Cmdr. Rosenfield rushed us through, and we all need to get reacquainted with how real technology works. Apparently that involves acting as the janitorial staff.”
“He’s exceeding his authority.” Which was a problem. But if he had Grossen’s measure, the bastard would have some official justification, which meant a lengthy back and forth argument with the nearest ranking Starfleet official. It also occurred to him why Grossen was acting poorly. “I could complain now, or we can wait for the new commander to arrive.”
Kara’s eyes suddenly gleamed with amusement. He was pleased. She had understood immediately. “Thank gods. I was afraid they were gonna leave that prick in command permanently. No wonder he was frothing at the mouth. Do we know who we’re getting?”
“Commander Felix Gaeta.” He could see she wasn’t surprised. Neither was he, but he was curious as to how she would react. “What are your feelings on that? After all, you’ll be the one working with him once I retire.” He poured them both a glass of ambrosia.
“Retirement?” Kara snorted as she tipped her glass back. “I don’t plan to kill Gaeta if that’s what you’re worried about. We’re good. He and I have actually been working on some new fighter designs. I also read his recent research papers.”
“So what is your opinion?” She was shaping up well, he realized. Tigh really wanted to step down. The man had surprised him, that was the truth, by not simply crawling into a bottle once the danger had passed, but the Federation’s synthehol had stopped that particular spiral downward. Tigh ran the groundside base for the most part, and was experimenting with establishing a vinyard and winery, of all things.
Kara sipped the beverage. “I know Dee wants to come back, and while I am sure President Roslin is already worried about the religious issues, I don’t think it’s the issue she thinks. I think Gaeta isn’t the sort to pull the asshole move that Grossen did today, and he’s definitely going to be more sympathetic to the colonial point of view. But…”
Adama waited. Kara Thrace had a temper, and was often too brash for her own good, but she was also a near genius tactician and strategist.
“The big problem is that Gaeta *is* Starfleet, and we all need to remember that. Including you, sir.” Kara swirled her drink around. “He’s not Lt. Gaeta, your tactical officer in the CIC. In a lot of very important ways, he never was. Now he’s going to be in charge of the starbase and that means he’s going to cross you at some point. And because all of his Earth buddies suspect him of being too sympathetic to us, he’s going to cross you a lot. Not over big things… Like I said, he’s never going to pull that petty crap Grossen does, but he is going to dot every i and cross every t over regulations and not give an inch on the weapons clause. Which I think you realized.”
He had, and it pleased him that she had summed it up so easily. It confirmed the decision he had made earlier. “Saul wants to step down as executive officer. He’s getting older and feels he can better help the fleet by commanding the ground base. Within the next few months I’m going to be reorganizing the command line. You’re in line for his spot. If you’re not interested, you need to say so now.” Helo was next up, and more likely to say yes, but Kara was the better candidate. He liked Karl Agathon as a man, and Agathon was steadier and possibly brighter than Thrace, but she had the fire and Helo did not. Helo was also rather in love with Starfleet and the Federation. He and Sharon both had been away, on Earth, several times, taking courses at Starfleet. His recommendation, if Kara chose to take it, would be to put Helo in her executive officer spot, but that was still well off.
She thought over it carefully. He could tell it wasn’t an unexpected surprise. “ You want me to take command when you retire. You know I won’t keep things the same.”
“I expect that. We are moving forward into a different world. I think you have what we need. I’ll warn you, it means less flying time and less time with your family, but it also means that you’ll shape our future.” He waited.
Kara took another sip of her drink. “You’re lucky,” she said finally, a slight smile coming to her face, “that Sam is a better father than I am a mother, and that I still get flying time. I accept.”
It looked good, Bill Adama thought as he looked at the Galactica’s landing bay. He looked at the uniformed crew working in front of the Raptor, and as they spotted him and began dashing about, for just a moment, every hair on his body seemed to stand on end. It had been just like this, he realized. The day of the Cylon attack, and every sense he had burned. He took a deep breath and let it out as he stepped over to the small work crew. It helped that they mostly had different faces. Still, as Chief Tyrol stepped forward, he felt that odd frisson of fear, of something not right.
There were twenty full time psychologists and psychiatrists in the colony, and they all were busy. Post traumatic stress was a fact of life, but he didn’t think that he was one of the worst sufferers. A twinge here and there, that was just too many bad memories to avoid them all, but he was hardly in bad shape. They were lucky that there hadn’t been more hard core breakdowns. As it was, the hospital had a permanent psychiatric ward and even Federation medicine wasn’t helping the worst cases. There had been a rash of suicide attempts in the first few months of the colony settlement, fortunately few had been successful. Survivor guilt, the psychologists said.
Chief Tyrol snapped to attention, the orange coverall surprisingly crisp and clean. Both jarring and familiar. “Would you like to inspect the deck, sir?”
“Everything seems to be in order, Chief.” He did want to talk with Tyrol though, so it was convenient. “Walk with me for a moment, Tyrol.”
“Yes sir.” The petite woman came up beside him and began matching his stride. He waited until he was certain the rest of the crew couldn’t hear. “There is a position opening up planet side. The airbase needs a new ground crew officer. They need someone smart enough to master the Starfleet tech, and who can organize the landing field. I’m recommending you for it, Cally.”
“That’s… thank you sir,” she said after a moment. “But I’m not an officer.”
“Not until the promotion is finalized, no,” he said easily. “But I was planning to sign the paperwork and announce it once you accepted the offer.” It was rewarding to see the young woman smile. “You deserve it, Cally.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said again. “But there’s still so much work to do here.”
“The refit is almost done. You’ll have about two weeks to recommend the new head deck chief. And you’ll be back for reserve training on the standard schedule, so if there’s a serious problem you can still be consulted.” And he suspected that any consults would be over the new Federation tech. Cally Tyrol was in the portion of the crew that had adapted well to all of the changes. That was the reason he was promoting her. The probation period for their membership in the Federation would end in five years, and the fleet would need officers who had mastered the new skills.
She nodded, and then she spotted something, over his shoulder. “Hey you three!” she shouted, her voice suddenly firm. “I see you there, and I know what you’re doing! Get back to work!” Bill turned just in time to see three orange clad workers scurry away, pushing mop buckets and looking chagrinned. He was pleased that Cally kept her face firm until the crewmen were away, before she smiled with amusement.
“The new ones don’t realize,” she said quickly, “that I know all the ways to hide and goof off on this deck. That little alcove is where Prosna, Socinus, and I would hide from the chief when he was looking for people to scrub the deck.” Her good natured smile faded suddenly, and a tremble washed over her body. She shook it off almost instantly. “That seems like such a long time ago… They’d be laughing over the idea of my getting commissioned.”
“Is that a yes?” he asked.
She nodded. “It is, sir. And thank you.”
“You’ve come a long way from when you started here as a deckhand. We need people like you in the fleet. In a few years, its going to be a whole different game of triad.” He was feeling himself, more and more. “I’ll be making the official announcement later today. I want your list of candidates for promotion to your position on my desk in an hour.”
She nodded and returned to the main deck. She’ll be a good officer, he mused, and he suspected they were going to need good officers in the next few years. He didn’t like the reports he had been reading from Starfleet. He was grateful to Starfleet and the Federation, but that didn’t mean he was in love with everything they did. The colony definitely had some converts to Federation thinking, and he knew that was only going to continue. The new colonists, from Earth and her colonies, brought their children, and that meant the few children that had survived the Second Exodus were surrounded by classmates who knew nothing but the Federation. He wasn’t so convinced that closing his eyes and hoping that Starfleet and the Federation knew best was the best way to handle things.
Musing about the Federation reminded him that it was almost time for the squads that were training with Starfleet to return. One of many things that had changed on the Galactica was that she now had several transporter rooms. Which was turning into a source of irritation between him and the current starbase commander. The transporters were energy hogs. A wonderful tool for emergencies and fast transport, but a lot of the crew simply wasn’t comfortable with it, and the energy they required had dramatically lengthened the refit. Rosenfeld had been fine with allowing Raptors and shuttles to move the training squads but Grossen insisted that they use the transporters. It was irritating, made worse by the condescending air Gerald Grossen used when he spoke.
He nodded to the transporter chief, a new designation in the colonial fleet. The woman nodded back. Chief Christensen was actually from Earth, a Starfleet veteran who had brought her family out to New Atlantis. She was helping train some of the others and had agreed with his annoyance over Grossen insisting on transports instead of Raptors. Because it made the crew nervous, he liked to be on hand for the occasional transport.
And he could tell by the frowns on everyone and the cold scowl on Major Kara Thrace’s face that it had been a bad day on the training ships. She jumped off the pad. “I’m glad to see you, sir. We should talk.”
Judging by the grumbling, it was going to be good. He gave her a look and she nodded immediately. It pleased him. She was getting better at not letting her mood show on her face. As the acting XO, she needed to have self control. The walk to his quarters also took the edge off. “So,” he said as she closed the hatch to his office, “how was the training exercise?”
“What training exercise? Cmdr. Grossen put all the training squads on maintenance duty. He feels that Cmdr. Rosenfield rushed us through, and we all need to get reacquainted with how real technology works. Apparently that involves acting as the janitorial staff.”
“He’s exceeding his authority.” Which was a problem. But if he had Grossen’s measure, the bastard would have some official justification, which meant a lengthy back and forth argument with the nearest ranking Starfleet official. It also occurred to him why Grossen was acting poorly. “I could complain now, or we can wait for the new commander to arrive.”
Kara’s eyes suddenly gleamed with amusement. He was pleased. She had understood immediately. “Thank gods. I was afraid they were gonna leave that prick in command permanently. No wonder he was frothing at the mouth. Do we know who we’re getting?”
“Commander Felix Gaeta.” He could see she wasn’t surprised. Neither was he, but he was curious as to how she would react. “What are your feelings on that? After all, you’ll be the one working with him once I retire.” He poured them both a glass of ambrosia.
“Retirement?” Kara snorted as she tipped her glass back. “I don’t plan to kill Gaeta if that’s what you’re worried about. We’re good. He and I have actually been working on some new fighter designs. I also read his recent research papers.”
“So what is your opinion?” She was shaping up well, he realized. Tigh really wanted to step down. The man had surprised him, that was the truth, by not simply crawling into a bottle once the danger had passed, but the Federation’s synthehol had stopped that particular spiral downward. Tigh ran the groundside base for the most part, and was experimenting with establishing a vinyard and winery, of all things.
Kara sipped the beverage. “I know Dee wants to come back, and while I am sure President Roslin is already worried about the religious issues, I don’t think it’s the issue she thinks. I think Gaeta isn’t the sort to pull the asshole move that Grossen did today, and he’s definitely going to be more sympathetic to the colonial point of view. But…”
Adama waited. Kara Thrace had a temper, and was often too brash for her own good, but she was also a near genius tactician and strategist.
“The big problem is that Gaeta *is* Starfleet, and we all need to remember that. Including you, sir.” Kara swirled her drink around. “He’s not Lt. Gaeta, your tactical officer in the CIC. In a lot of very important ways, he never was. Now he’s going to be in charge of the starbase and that means he’s going to cross you at some point. And because all of his Earth buddies suspect him of being too sympathetic to us, he’s going to cross you a lot. Not over big things… Like I said, he’s never going to pull that petty crap Grossen does, but he is going to dot every i and cross every t over regulations and not give an inch on the weapons clause. Which I think you realized.”
He had, and it pleased him that she had summed it up so easily. It confirmed the decision he had made earlier. “Saul wants to step down as executive officer. He’s getting older and feels he can better help the fleet by commanding the ground base. Within the next few months I’m going to be reorganizing the command line. You’re in line for his spot. If you’re not interested, you need to say so now.” Helo was next up, and more likely to say yes, but Kara was the better candidate. He liked Karl Agathon as a man, and Agathon was steadier and possibly brighter than Thrace, but she had the fire and Helo did not. Helo was also rather in love with Starfleet and the Federation. He and Sharon both had been away, on Earth, several times, taking courses at Starfleet. His recommendation, if Kara chose to take it, would be to put Helo in her executive officer spot, but that was still well off.
She thought over it carefully. He could tell it wasn’t an unexpected surprise. “ You want me to take command when you retire. You know I won’t keep things the same.”
“I expect that. We are moving forward into a different world. I think you have what we need. I’ll warn you, it means less flying time and less time with your family, but it also means that you’ll shape our future.” He waited.
Kara took another sip of her drink. “You’re lucky,” she said finally, a slight smile coming to her face, “that Sam is a better father than I am a mother, and that I still get flying time. I accept.”