BSG Fic: "Beyond the Line" (1/10)
So, I'm breaking my own rule and posting the first chapter of this fic before the conclusion is completely written. Partly I'm bowing to rap541's demand for more plotty Gaeta gen fic. Partly, I'm looking to feed my poor deprived muses some reviews to keep them going. Mostly, this is a promise to myself that I will have the last chapters *finished* in short order. I started this back in March, and so far only my three lovely betas have seen it.
Title: Beyond the Line
Summary: After Felix Gaeta is arrested on the eve of the planned mutiny, the crew of Galactica learns that some things are far beyond the control of any one man.
Rating: T for disturbing images/themes later on.
Author's Notes: This piece goes AU after "A Disquiet Follows My Soul" and features an ensemble, though Gaeta and Adama are the focus. Pairings are strictly canon. Reviews are wonderful. Concrit shows you care.
Betas: The inestimable falafel_musings, lls_mutant, and safenthecity
Word Count: 3,500
Chapter Title: Arrested
Felix Gaeta limped slowly into the duty locker-still awkward on his faulty prosthetic. At 2300, the bunkroom was crowded, with those who had the early shifts already in their bunks, others gathered around the central table to play cards and drink. Felix’s bunkmates parted to let him by without comment. He’d been using his peg leg long enough that it no longer attracted stares-aside from the rare occasions when he fell on his face.
Of course, there was one notable exception. Felix could feel Louis Hoshi’s silent eyes on him from across the room. Felix did his best to ignore the other man as he made his way to his locker and unbuttoned his jacket. A tense silence hung between them, despite the low din of the card game. Felix had barely spoken to Louis since their return from that fateful Raptor mission. He couldn’t afford to let him in now. Felix forced himself to put all this out of his mind. It was better this way, he knew. If tomorrow played out as planned, Louis would never forgive him, but he might come to understand.
And if anything went wrong . . . well, Felix would be damned if he took Louis down with him. He’d lost too many people he cared about already.
His eyes were drawn, as always, to Dee’s empty rack and the faint brown stain on the bulkhead that all the cleaning in the world couldn’t remove.
Felix shook himself and dropped into his rack, sighing with relief at the lessening pain in what remained of his leg. His hands moved automatically to loosen the cap of the prosthetic and slide it off his stump. He propped it against the bulkhead in easy reach, along with his cane. After removing his boot, he fell back against the dilapidated mattress and draped an arm over his eyes. For the thousandth time, he ran through a mental checklist. Everything was in place to ensure a swift, relatively bloodless change of power. Though a thousand things could still go wrong, Felix had done all that he could. He had just a few hours to sleep and prepare for what would surely be the longest day of his life.
He closed his eyes and wished it were that easy to shut down his spinning brain. He could see it all behind his lids-timetables, unit strengths, countermeasures. And Adama. Always Adama. Frakkin’ Adama who couldn’t have just let them all die honorably at the end of the worlds-who kept dragging them on from one fruitless dream to the next, and frak anybody who got hurt along the way. Frak what they used to stand for. Frak the people they left behind. Frak everything except him and Roslin and their pointless pipe dreams. No more. With this surrender, this deal with the devil, this alliance-whatever you want to call it-they’d gone too far.
In a few hours Adama would see that he couldn’t go on ignoring the will of the people; that his oath demanded he stand up to the Cylons even when it seemed hopeless, even when it hurt him personally.
And then, very soon, he would see nothing ever again.
The stray thought hit Felix like a punch in the gut. Though this knowledge had been plaguing him all day, it had lost none of its sting. There had to be a clear-cut victory; Tom Zarek had been very blunt on this point. The only way to supplant the Old Man in the eyes of the crew and the fleet was to kill him. Quickly and decisively.
Felix rolled over and opened his eyes to stare at the blank bulkhead. How did it come to this? Saul Tigh. It always came back to Saul Tigh. He was a Cylon who had somehow infiltrated the highest levels of Galactica command. That he might not have been aware of his nature at first hardly mattered-Boomer hadn’t known either, and look at the damage she’d done. He knew now, and there was no way he could be trusted as second-in-command in a war on his own people.
The Old Man Felix had first served under would have known what to do. He would have airlocked Tigh within minutes of learning his true nature. At the height of the war, Felix had stood next to Adama and watched as the Admiral gave the command to drop a nuclear missile on his own son’s head. He had known-everyone in CIC had known-that it was the right decision, but like everyone else, Felix had been secretly glad that only Adama had to make the call. He was the only one strong enough to do what was necessary.
But that was then. Somewhere along the line, something had broken in William Adama. He’d let Tigh live. He’d let this bloody farce of an alliance continue. And now, there was only one way to stop the madness. He, Felix Gaeta, must have the strength to do what Bill Adama could not do-to end the life of someone he respected, even loved, for the good of the fleet-for the survival of humanity.
Once upon a time, the Old Man had valued the survival of their race above all else. If that man were here now, he would understand.
Felix rolled over and stared out at his bunkmates through lidded eyes. They were a tired bunch. Those at the table sat slumped over their worn cards, talking in muted voices. Those in their racks slept the sleep of the dead. There was something familiar and reassuring about the muffled chorus of snores and curses. This was home. Felix closed his eyes. One way or another, this would be the last night he spent in the duty locker.
There was a screeching clang as someone pushed the hatch open. Felix didn’t bother opening his eyes. What did it matter if one more officer came or went?
But there came the muffled tread of many boots on the deck, and then the metallic scrape of chairs being pushed back as those at the table got to their feet. Felix growled in annoyance. Why did they have to make a big production out of it? Didn’t they realize there were people trying to sleep?
Then came the sound that could not be ignored: the sharp click of safeties disengaging. Felix’s eyes opened with a snap, and some tiny, distant part of him was not surprised to see a half-dozen Marines surrounding his bed, six black rifles pointed at his chest.
Most of him, though, was preoccupied with not making any sudden moves.
Only when his vision began to go gray did Felix remember to breathe. His eyes darted carefully from faces to weapons and back again before coming to rest on the woman who strode forward, preternaturally confident in her khaki fatigues.
“Felix Gaeta.”
Felix swallowed. “Sergeant Hadrian.”
“By order of the Admiral, you are being taken into custody. Stand up.”
Felix glanced deliberately from her eyes to his missing leg and back again. Slowly, he sat up and reached for his prosthetic, stopping only when the muzzle of a rifle connected with the back of his hand. Drawing a measured breath, Felix reached instead for his cane and raised himself unsteadily to his . . . foot.
Hadrian gave the Marines a curt nod. “Search his living space.” The master-at-arms stood aside, and Felix limped past her to brace himself against the table.
Tiny details stood out in Felix’s mind. The corrugated deck was cold under his bare foot. The triad players had abandoned their game, dropping the cards to rest face up. The hand closest to Felix was one card short of a full straight. The players themselves stood back, apparently shocked into silence. Felix didn’t want to look at them, but duty demanded it. Skulls was the only member of his conspiracy currently present. Felix locked eyes with the ECO and shook his head ever so slightly. The last thing he needed was for his people to get killed in some misguided rescue attempt.
“What’s going on?” Felix’s head snapped around at the familiar voice. Across the room, Louis slowly rose to his feet.
Sergeant Hadrian’s face didn’t change. “It’s none of your concern, Lieutenant Hoshi.”
Louis took in Felix, Hadrian, and the six Marines who were efficiently stripping Felix’s bed and shook his head. “Like hell. What is Lieutenant Gaeta being charged with?”
“That’s need to know, sir.”
“You can’t just . . .”
“Leave it alone, Louis,” Felix interrupted quickly, studying his hands, “I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding.”
Sergeant Hadrian snorted, but made no comment.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
After thoroughly and fruitlessly pawing through his few possessions, they took Felix to the brig. If things had been less serious, Felix might have been darkly amused by Hadrian’s attempts to handcuff him. It took much explaining before the woman would accept that unless they wanted to bodily carry him, he needed his hands free to manage the cane.
It all passed in a blur-the arrest, the search, the long walk at gunpoint past countless staring crew members-and then they left him alone in the cell to wonder where he’d gone wrong as the minutes slowly ticked away.
How much did they know? How much was guesswork? Was Felix about to be joined by his entire force? He wouldn’t be here unless Adama had evidence. Felix desperately wracked his brain. Could he have slipped up? Yes. His mind quickly zeroed in on a dozen times and places where he could have slipped his hand-said the wrong thing to the wrong person.
It all depended on what they had on him. Random connections with low-level crew and civilians could be explained away. The plan could move forward-with some reworking. But if they had the complete picture . . . well, he and everyone who’d pledged support to him could pretty much kiss their asses goodbye.
After a few minutes-or maybe it was hours-the hatch clanged open to admit an older officer with a very disagreeable expression. The Marine behind the desk sprang to his feet and offered a quick salute. The officer returned the gesture-roughly, because with his right eye gone he could no longer judge where his hand ended up. Felix nervously edged forward on his cot. This was serious.
Saul Tigh strode a few paces into the room and stood staring at the bulkhead. “You’re dismissed,” he growled at the Marine.
As the guard departed, the one-eyed Cylon slowly drew a chair from behind the desk. Felix winced at the scrape of metal on metal. Tigh slowly sat down, and Felix wetted his lips, trying not to let his nervousness show. “May I ask what’s going on, sir?”
“We’ll get to that, Lieutenant. First, let’s clear the air.”
“I . . . beg your pardon?”
“Better out than in. It’s clear you’ve got a fart building in your ass, so let’s hear it before the stink gets any worse. What is it this time? ‘Frakkin’ toaster son of a bitch’? Classic. ‘Bastard skin-job’? Lacks creativity. ‘Frakked-up spawn of a kitchen appliance’? That one even made me laugh.”
Felix said nothing.
Tigh leaned forward. “You think I don’t hear what you and your little friends say when you think nobody’s listening? Come on, let’s have it if you think a few more will make a difference.”
Felix looked away.
“No? Alright, Lieutenant, then let’s assume-just for the sake of argument-that in addition to being a frakked-up toaster skin-job I am the XO of this ship and your superior officer. Can we do that?”
“Yes sir.” Felix’s voice was icy.
Somehow, the absence of an eye didn’t detract at all from Tigh’s trademark arched-eyebrow glare. “It seems you’ve been making some new friends, Mr. Gaeta.”
Felix swallowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” That much, at least, was true. He could be referring to the civilians Felix had recruited in Dogville or the NCO’s who’d offered him support or the officers who’d helped him plan the whole operation.
“Then let me refresh your memory.” Tigh pulled a small tape recorder from his pocket and set it on the desk. He pressed a button and a familiar voice echoed out of it.
“Every revolution begins with one small act of courage . . .”
It was all Felix could do to keep from cursing. Bugs. Why hadn’t he thought of that? He’d participated in Baltar’s taped interrogations. He should have realized that command would be interested in anything Zarek said.
Tigh leaned back in his chair as if he were watching a pyramid game or listening to a symphony. “Quite the righteous statesman, isn’t he? It’s almost enough to make you forget he’s a raving lunatic.”
Felix said nothing. He didn’t have to because his own voice was already filling the room.
“The world is frakked . . .”
Felix looked away. This was both the best and worst thing that he could have been arrested for-best because if all they had was the link between him and Zarek then the people he’d recruited were safe, worst because if they had Zarek the movement was pretty much over. He and the Vice President might be the only ones to take the fall, but everyone would suffer the consequences from their inaction.
He had to see this through to the end. “Is this really worth so much excitement? All I hear is a conversation between myself and the Vice President of the Colonies.”
Tigh’s eyebrows shot up further. “Really? Because what I hear is a conversation between a terrorist and a Colonial officer in which they plot to spread mutiny and sedition aboard a military vessel. Who else is in on it?”
“Beg pardon?”
“Don’t frak with me Gaeta-there’s no way you and your pal there pull of this little revolution all by your lonesome. I want your cohorts-I want names. Or you can get real used to the inside of that cell.”
So, there it was-the ultimatum. Felix blinked. “There are no cohorts, sir. I was not planning a mutiny; I was simply pledging my support to a political figure who’s been arrested and held without charge.”
Tigh snorted. “So, that bit about ‘deadly consequences’ went right over your head, did it? You’re not that stupid, Gaeta, and neither am I.” The Cylon stood and scooped up the tape recorder in one smooth motion. “I’ll be back when you’re ready to talk. Have a . . . comfortable stay.” He rapped on the hatch and the Marine swung it open. Tigh glanced at the guard as he left. “Leave the light on.”
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
As the hatch closed behind him, Saul Tigh was greeted by slow, sarcastic applause. Turning-he hated it when people snuck up on his right-he growled when he saw who it was. “What the frak are you doing here, Starbuck?”
She shrugged lazily, the gesture hindered by the bottle of ambrosia she kept tucked under her arm like a security blanket. “Galactica’s a small town. After the ruckus Hadrian made, I’m surprised half the crew isn’t down here to gawk.”
“’Half the crew’ knows I’d have their asses if they left their stations. Don’t you have some nuggets you could be terrorizing?”
Starbuck shrugged and took a deliberate draught. “I’m off the clock.” She advanced a few predatory steps. “And today, it doesn’t look like I’m the slacker.” A smirk tugged at her lips. “Was that the best you could do, Colonel? You didn’t even break a sweat.”
Saul’s eye narrowed. “Make sense or shut up, Thrace.”
“No bloody knuckles. No panicked medics rushing in. Gaeta’s back in there having a good laugh at your expense.”
“What the frak has gotten into you?”
Her smirk split into a hard-edged sardonic grin. “That is the question, isn’t it? The walls are thin. I know what Gaeta was planning. And I can’t believe that knowing that, you’re just letting him nap his troubles away.”
“You have all the subtlety of a nuclear bomb.”
She took another swig from the bottle and stepped even closer, so close that he could smell the liquor on her breath. Silently, she offered him a drink. Saul leaned back. “Seems like you’re going strong enough for both of us.”
“What’s the matter? Is it bad for your gears?”
He resisted the almost overwhelming urge to hit her. “Something like that.”
All traces of a smile fell from her features. “I entertained a mutiny once. And I paid the price.”
“Is that so? Because from what I remember of the price, it seems like Gaeta paid most of it.”
Her eyes flashed. “I can’t believe you’re defending that little frak.”
“What do you expect me to do, Starbuck? He didn’t kill anyone or damage any equipment or even strike a superior officer. All he did was talk to a walking waste of space.”
“I expect you to protect this ship. We’re not safe until we know who his little pals are.”
Saul clenched his jaw. She was so far over the line . . . “And you think I should beat it out of him?”
“It’s worth a shot.”
“Are you even listening to yourself? This is a fellow officer we’re talking about.”
“A mutiny is like an infection. Maybe it feels like an annoyance at first. You ignore it, hope it’ll go away. But, it gets into people. Turns them into something else. Takes away what you thought they were . . .” She trailed off and took a long drink. “You’re not gonna finish this with the kid gloves still on.”
Saul stared. It had been a long time since he’d seen her so . . . broken. A long time, but not forever. “What happened to you, Thrace?”
This time, her grin was tinged with hysteria. “I don’t frakkin’ know.”
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
“This is bad. This is really bad.”
“We get the picture. Shut up.”
“What are we going to do?”
“What can we do? They arrested him.”
“They’ll be coming for us soon.”
“Don’t be an idiot; Gaeta won’t give us up.”
“He might not have a choice. Or have you forgotten that a Cylon is wearing Colonel pins?”
“Gaeta’s a rock. This whole thing was his idea; he won’t let us take the fall.”
“What about the plan?”
“What about it? We’re best off forgetting it.”
“Look, this thing might have been Felix’s idea, but it’s bigger than him. Everything is still in place. Surely the loss of one man doesn’t change that much. We can still bust the VP out. We can still remove Adama.”
“And replace him with who? You?”
“Enough! This is pointless. Gaeta was the linchpin of this whole thing. Without him in CIC monitoring the situation and disrupting communications we’d be taken down before we could blink.”
“The jailbreak doesn’t require Gaeta. We could still get Zarek out.”
“To what end? If Adama’s still in command he’ll just finish the Vice President sooner rather than later. And, we’ll all go down with him.”
“Hey, this is still the Old Man we’re talking about-not some toaster.”
“You sure about that?”
“He’s many things, but he’s not a murderer.”
“Do you remember the work stoppage a while back?”
“Bunch of knuckledraggers with their panties in a knot?”
“Hey!”
“That’s the one. Couple days after that, I got drunk with Tyrol.”
“Big surprise.”
“After we’d had a few, he started talking about the strike and how Adama stopped it.”
“Recreating that idiot workers’ union?”
“No. That was Roslin. And that was all after the fact. The strike was over by then. Adama had put a stop to it.”
“How?”
“Remember Cally? Cute knuckledragger, married the Chief, they had a kid?”
“Costanza’s kid.”
“Of course I remember-everybody knew Cally.”
“The Admiral told Tyrol that if he didn’t stop the strike he would put Cally up against a bulkhead and shoot her as a mutineer.”
“What?!! You’re frakkin’ with me!”
“Heard it from the Chief’s own lips.”
“Yeah, and toasters never lie.”
“Does this really come as a surprise to any of you? Adama doesn’t frak around with mutiny. That’s why we can’t go forward. Gaeta’s probably a dead man. There’s no reason for us to go down with him.”
“No. The Admiral won’t kill him. At least, not before he gets information from him-information about us.”
“So we’re all dead men! That’s helpful, really.”
“Would you shut up and listen? Adama is coming for all of us. The only way we can survive is to act first.”
“But you just said it-we can’t take the CIC without Gaeta!”
“Maybe not, but we can do something-something that will force Adama to take note of us. The first step in bringing him down.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Listen. Here’s the plan . . .”
TBC
Chapter Two: Escalation
Title: Beyond the Line
Summary: After Felix Gaeta is arrested on the eve of the planned mutiny, the crew of Galactica learns that some things are far beyond the control of any one man.
Rating: T for disturbing images/themes later on.
Author's Notes: This piece goes AU after "A Disquiet Follows My Soul" and features an ensemble, though Gaeta and Adama are the focus. Pairings are strictly canon. Reviews are wonderful. Concrit shows you care.
Betas: The inestimable falafel_musings, lls_mutant, and safenthecity
Word Count: 3,500
Chapter Title: Arrested
Felix Gaeta limped slowly into the duty locker-still awkward on his faulty prosthetic. At 2300, the bunkroom was crowded, with those who had the early shifts already in their bunks, others gathered around the central table to play cards and drink. Felix’s bunkmates parted to let him by without comment. He’d been using his peg leg long enough that it no longer attracted stares-aside from the rare occasions when he fell on his face.
Of course, there was one notable exception. Felix could feel Louis Hoshi’s silent eyes on him from across the room. Felix did his best to ignore the other man as he made his way to his locker and unbuttoned his jacket. A tense silence hung between them, despite the low din of the card game. Felix had barely spoken to Louis since their return from that fateful Raptor mission. He couldn’t afford to let him in now. Felix forced himself to put all this out of his mind. It was better this way, he knew. If tomorrow played out as planned, Louis would never forgive him, but he might come to understand.
And if anything went wrong . . . well, Felix would be damned if he took Louis down with him. He’d lost too many people he cared about already.
His eyes were drawn, as always, to Dee’s empty rack and the faint brown stain on the bulkhead that all the cleaning in the world couldn’t remove.
Felix shook himself and dropped into his rack, sighing with relief at the lessening pain in what remained of his leg. His hands moved automatically to loosen the cap of the prosthetic and slide it off his stump. He propped it against the bulkhead in easy reach, along with his cane. After removing his boot, he fell back against the dilapidated mattress and draped an arm over his eyes. For the thousandth time, he ran through a mental checklist. Everything was in place to ensure a swift, relatively bloodless change of power. Though a thousand things could still go wrong, Felix had done all that he could. He had just a few hours to sleep and prepare for what would surely be the longest day of his life.
He closed his eyes and wished it were that easy to shut down his spinning brain. He could see it all behind his lids-timetables, unit strengths, countermeasures. And Adama. Always Adama. Frakkin’ Adama who couldn’t have just let them all die honorably at the end of the worlds-who kept dragging them on from one fruitless dream to the next, and frak anybody who got hurt along the way. Frak what they used to stand for. Frak the people they left behind. Frak everything except him and Roslin and their pointless pipe dreams. No more. With this surrender, this deal with the devil, this alliance-whatever you want to call it-they’d gone too far.
In a few hours Adama would see that he couldn’t go on ignoring the will of the people; that his oath demanded he stand up to the Cylons even when it seemed hopeless, even when it hurt him personally.
And then, very soon, he would see nothing ever again.
The stray thought hit Felix like a punch in the gut. Though this knowledge had been plaguing him all day, it had lost none of its sting. There had to be a clear-cut victory; Tom Zarek had been very blunt on this point. The only way to supplant the Old Man in the eyes of the crew and the fleet was to kill him. Quickly and decisively.
Felix rolled over and opened his eyes to stare at the blank bulkhead. How did it come to this? Saul Tigh. It always came back to Saul Tigh. He was a Cylon who had somehow infiltrated the highest levels of Galactica command. That he might not have been aware of his nature at first hardly mattered-Boomer hadn’t known either, and look at the damage she’d done. He knew now, and there was no way he could be trusted as second-in-command in a war on his own people.
The Old Man Felix had first served under would have known what to do. He would have airlocked Tigh within minutes of learning his true nature. At the height of the war, Felix had stood next to Adama and watched as the Admiral gave the command to drop a nuclear missile on his own son’s head. He had known-everyone in CIC had known-that it was the right decision, but like everyone else, Felix had been secretly glad that only Adama had to make the call. He was the only one strong enough to do what was necessary.
But that was then. Somewhere along the line, something had broken in William Adama. He’d let Tigh live. He’d let this bloody farce of an alliance continue. And now, there was only one way to stop the madness. He, Felix Gaeta, must have the strength to do what Bill Adama could not do-to end the life of someone he respected, even loved, for the good of the fleet-for the survival of humanity.
Once upon a time, the Old Man had valued the survival of their race above all else. If that man were here now, he would understand.
Felix rolled over and stared out at his bunkmates through lidded eyes. They were a tired bunch. Those at the table sat slumped over their worn cards, talking in muted voices. Those in their racks slept the sleep of the dead. There was something familiar and reassuring about the muffled chorus of snores and curses. This was home. Felix closed his eyes. One way or another, this would be the last night he spent in the duty locker.
There was a screeching clang as someone pushed the hatch open. Felix didn’t bother opening his eyes. What did it matter if one more officer came or went?
But there came the muffled tread of many boots on the deck, and then the metallic scrape of chairs being pushed back as those at the table got to their feet. Felix growled in annoyance. Why did they have to make a big production out of it? Didn’t they realize there were people trying to sleep?
Then came the sound that could not be ignored: the sharp click of safeties disengaging. Felix’s eyes opened with a snap, and some tiny, distant part of him was not surprised to see a half-dozen Marines surrounding his bed, six black rifles pointed at his chest.
Most of him, though, was preoccupied with not making any sudden moves.
Only when his vision began to go gray did Felix remember to breathe. His eyes darted carefully from faces to weapons and back again before coming to rest on the woman who strode forward, preternaturally confident in her khaki fatigues.
“Felix Gaeta.”
Felix swallowed. “Sergeant Hadrian.”
“By order of the Admiral, you are being taken into custody. Stand up.”
Felix glanced deliberately from her eyes to his missing leg and back again. Slowly, he sat up and reached for his prosthetic, stopping only when the muzzle of a rifle connected with the back of his hand. Drawing a measured breath, Felix reached instead for his cane and raised himself unsteadily to his . . . foot.
Hadrian gave the Marines a curt nod. “Search his living space.” The master-at-arms stood aside, and Felix limped past her to brace himself against the table.
Tiny details stood out in Felix’s mind. The corrugated deck was cold under his bare foot. The triad players had abandoned their game, dropping the cards to rest face up. The hand closest to Felix was one card short of a full straight. The players themselves stood back, apparently shocked into silence. Felix didn’t want to look at them, but duty demanded it. Skulls was the only member of his conspiracy currently present. Felix locked eyes with the ECO and shook his head ever so slightly. The last thing he needed was for his people to get killed in some misguided rescue attempt.
“What’s going on?” Felix’s head snapped around at the familiar voice. Across the room, Louis slowly rose to his feet.
Sergeant Hadrian’s face didn’t change. “It’s none of your concern, Lieutenant Hoshi.”
Louis took in Felix, Hadrian, and the six Marines who were efficiently stripping Felix’s bed and shook his head. “Like hell. What is Lieutenant Gaeta being charged with?”
“That’s need to know, sir.”
“You can’t just . . .”
“Leave it alone, Louis,” Felix interrupted quickly, studying his hands, “I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding.”
Sergeant Hadrian snorted, but made no comment.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
After thoroughly and fruitlessly pawing through his few possessions, they took Felix to the brig. If things had been less serious, Felix might have been darkly amused by Hadrian’s attempts to handcuff him. It took much explaining before the woman would accept that unless they wanted to bodily carry him, he needed his hands free to manage the cane.
It all passed in a blur-the arrest, the search, the long walk at gunpoint past countless staring crew members-and then they left him alone in the cell to wonder where he’d gone wrong as the minutes slowly ticked away.
How much did they know? How much was guesswork? Was Felix about to be joined by his entire force? He wouldn’t be here unless Adama had evidence. Felix desperately wracked his brain. Could he have slipped up? Yes. His mind quickly zeroed in on a dozen times and places where he could have slipped his hand-said the wrong thing to the wrong person.
It all depended on what they had on him. Random connections with low-level crew and civilians could be explained away. The plan could move forward-with some reworking. But if they had the complete picture . . . well, he and everyone who’d pledged support to him could pretty much kiss their asses goodbye.
After a few minutes-or maybe it was hours-the hatch clanged open to admit an older officer with a very disagreeable expression. The Marine behind the desk sprang to his feet and offered a quick salute. The officer returned the gesture-roughly, because with his right eye gone he could no longer judge where his hand ended up. Felix nervously edged forward on his cot. This was serious.
Saul Tigh strode a few paces into the room and stood staring at the bulkhead. “You’re dismissed,” he growled at the Marine.
As the guard departed, the one-eyed Cylon slowly drew a chair from behind the desk. Felix winced at the scrape of metal on metal. Tigh slowly sat down, and Felix wetted his lips, trying not to let his nervousness show. “May I ask what’s going on, sir?”
“We’ll get to that, Lieutenant. First, let’s clear the air.”
“I . . . beg your pardon?”
“Better out than in. It’s clear you’ve got a fart building in your ass, so let’s hear it before the stink gets any worse. What is it this time? ‘Frakkin’ toaster son of a bitch’? Classic. ‘Bastard skin-job’? Lacks creativity. ‘Frakked-up spawn of a kitchen appliance’? That one even made me laugh.”
Felix said nothing.
Tigh leaned forward. “You think I don’t hear what you and your little friends say when you think nobody’s listening? Come on, let’s have it if you think a few more will make a difference.”
Felix looked away.
“No? Alright, Lieutenant, then let’s assume-just for the sake of argument-that in addition to being a frakked-up toaster skin-job I am the XO of this ship and your superior officer. Can we do that?”
“Yes sir.” Felix’s voice was icy.
Somehow, the absence of an eye didn’t detract at all from Tigh’s trademark arched-eyebrow glare. “It seems you’ve been making some new friends, Mr. Gaeta.”
Felix swallowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” That much, at least, was true. He could be referring to the civilians Felix had recruited in Dogville or the NCO’s who’d offered him support or the officers who’d helped him plan the whole operation.
“Then let me refresh your memory.” Tigh pulled a small tape recorder from his pocket and set it on the desk. He pressed a button and a familiar voice echoed out of it.
“Every revolution begins with one small act of courage . . .”
It was all Felix could do to keep from cursing. Bugs. Why hadn’t he thought of that? He’d participated in Baltar’s taped interrogations. He should have realized that command would be interested in anything Zarek said.
Tigh leaned back in his chair as if he were watching a pyramid game or listening to a symphony. “Quite the righteous statesman, isn’t he? It’s almost enough to make you forget he’s a raving lunatic.”
Felix said nothing. He didn’t have to because his own voice was already filling the room.
“The world is frakked . . .”
Felix looked away. This was both the best and worst thing that he could have been arrested for-best because if all they had was the link between him and Zarek then the people he’d recruited were safe, worst because if they had Zarek the movement was pretty much over. He and the Vice President might be the only ones to take the fall, but everyone would suffer the consequences from their inaction.
He had to see this through to the end. “Is this really worth so much excitement? All I hear is a conversation between myself and the Vice President of the Colonies.”
Tigh’s eyebrows shot up further. “Really? Because what I hear is a conversation between a terrorist and a Colonial officer in which they plot to spread mutiny and sedition aboard a military vessel. Who else is in on it?”
“Beg pardon?”
“Don’t frak with me Gaeta-there’s no way you and your pal there pull of this little revolution all by your lonesome. I want your cohorts-I want names. Or you can get real used to the inside of that cell.”
So, there it was-the ultimatum. Felix blinked. “There are no cohorts, sir. I was not planning a mutiny; I was simply pledging my support to a political figure who’s been arrested and held without charge.”
Tigh snorted. “So, that bit about ‘deadly consequences’ went right over your head, did it? You’re not that stupid, Gaeta, and neither am I.” The Cylon stood and scooped up the tape recorder in one smooth motion. “I’ll be back when you’re ready to talk. Have a . . . comfortable stay.” He rapped on the hatch and the Marine swung it open. Tigh glanced at the guard as he left. “Leave the light on.”
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
As the hatch closed behind him, Saul Tigh was greeted by slow, sarcastic applause. Turning-he hated it when people snuck up on his right-he growled when he saw who it was. “What the frak are you doing here, Starbuck?”
She shrugged lazily, the gesture hindered by the bottle of ambrosia she kept tucked under her arm like a security blanket. “Galactica’s a small town. After the ruckus Hadrian made, I’m surprised half the crew isn’t down here to gawk.”
“’Half the crew’ knows I’d have their asses if they left their stations. Don’t you have some nuggets you could be terrorizing?”
Starbuck shrugged and took a deliberate draught. “I’m off the clock.” She advanced a few predatory steps. “And today, it doesn’t look like I’m the slacker.” A smirk tugged at her lips. “Was that the best you could do, Colonel? You didn’t even break a sweat.”
Saul’s eye narrowed. “Make sense or shut up, Thrace.”
“No bloody knuckles. No panicked medics rushing in. Gaeta’s back in there having a good laugh at your expense.”
“What the frak has gotten into you?”
Her smirk split into a hard-edged sardonic grin. “That is the question, isn’t it? The walls are thin. I know what Gaeta was planning. And I can’t believe that knowing that, you’re just letting him nap his troubles away.”
“You have all the subtlety of a nuclear bomb.”
She took another swig from the bottle and stepped even closer, so close that he could smell the liquor on her breath. Silently, she offered him a drink. Saul leaned back. “Seems like you’re going strong enough for both of us.”
“What’s the matter? Is it bad for your gears?”
He resisted the almost overwhelming urge to hit her. “Something like that.”
All traces of a smile fell from her features. “I entertained a mutiny once. And I paid the price.”
“Is that so? Because from what I remember of the price, it seems like Gaeta paid most of it.”
Her eyes flashed. “I can’t believe you’re defending that little frak.”
“What do you expect me to do, Starbuck? He didn’t kill anyone or damage any equipment or even strike a superior officer. All he did was talk to a walking waste of space.”
“I expect you to protect this ship. We’re not safe until we know who his little pals are.”
Saul clenched his jaw. She was so far over the line . . . “And you think I should beat it out of him?”
“It’s worth a shot.”
“Are you even listening to yourself? This is a fellow officer we’re talking about.”
“A mutiny is like an infection. Maybe it feels like an annoyance at first. You ignore it, hope it’ll go away. But, it gets into people. Turns them into something else. Takes away what you thought they were . . .” She trailed off and took a long drink. “You’re not gonna finish this with the kid gloves still on.”
Saul stared. It had been a long time since he’d seen her so . . . broken. A long time, but not forever. “What happened to you, Thrace?”
This time, her grin was tinged with hysteria. “I don’t frakkin’ know.”
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
“This is bad. This is really bad.”
“We get the picture. Shut up.”
“What are we going to do?”
“What can we do? They arrested him.”
“They’ll be coming for us soon.”
“Don’t be an idiot; Gaeta won’t give us up.”
“He might not have a choice. Or have you forgotten that a Cylon is wearing Colonel pins?”
“Gaeta’s a rock. This whole thing was his idea; he won’t let us take the fall.”
“What about the plan?”
“What about it? We’re best off forgetting it.”
“Look, this thing might have been Felix’s idea, but it’s bigger than him. Everything is still in place. Surely the loss of one man doesn’t change that much. We can still bust the VP out. We can still remove Adama.”
“And replace him with who? You?”
“Enough! This is pointless. Gaeta was the linchpin of this whole thing. Without him in CIC monitoring the situation and disrupting communications we’d be taken down before we could blink.”
“The jailbreak doesn’t require Gaeta. We could still get Zarek out.”
“To what end? If Adama’s still in command he’ll just finish the Vice President sooner rather than later. And, we’ll all go down with him.”
“Hey, this is still the Old Man we’re talking about-not some toaster.”
“You sure about that?”
“He’s many things, but he’s not a murderer.”
“Do you remember the work stoppage a while back?”
“Bunch of knuckledraggers with their panties in a knot?”
“Hey!”
“That’s the one. Couple days after that, I got drunk with Tyrol.”
“Big surprise.”
“After we’d had a few, he started talking about the strike and how Adama stopped it.”
“Recreating that idiot workers’ union?”
“No. That was Roslin. And that was all after the fact. The strike was over by then. Adama had put a stop to it.”
“How?”
“Remember Cally? Cute knuckledragger, married the Chief, they had a kid?”
“Costanza’s kid.”
“Of course I remember-everybody knew Cally.”
“The Admiral told Tyrol that if he didn’t stop the strike he would put Cally up against a bulkhead and shoot her as a mutineer.”
“What?!! You’re frakkin’ with me!”
“Heard it from the Chief’s own lips.”
“Yeah, and toasters never lie.”
“Does this really come as a surprise to any of you? Adama doesn’t frak around with mutiny. That’s why we can’t go forward. Gaeta’s probably a dead man. There’s no reason for us to go down with him.”
“No. The Admiral won’t kill him. At least, not before he gets information from him-information about us.”
“So we’re all dead men! That’s helpful, really.”
“Would you shut up and listen? Adama is coming for all of us. The only way we can survive is to act first.”
“But you just said it-we can’t take the CIC without Gaeta!”
“Maybe not, but we can do something-something that will force Adama to take note of us. The first step in bringing him down.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Listen. Here’s the plan . . .”
TBC
Chapter Two: Escalation