The Gift of Hermes, for puszysty
Title: “The Gift of Hermes”
Author: brennanspeaks
Summary: Romo Lampkin knows what it means to be a surrogate son.
Characters: Romo Lampkin, Felix Gaeta, Tom Zarek, Bill Adama, Lee Adama
Rating: G
Remixed from: A picture’s worth a thousand words by puszysty
Author’s Notes: Not betaed, so be kind.
Granted, the situation had hardly been ideal for observation, but as he sat across from his new client, Romo Lampkin wondered why during that whole asylum of a trial he’d never noticed what a smart mouth Felix Gaeta had.
“So, I’m guessing you’re not doing this for the dubious fame and glory, so why are you here?”
Romo offered an exaggerated yawn in response. “It’s certainly not because I like you, Mr. Gaeta, let’s be clear about that.”
The disgraced Lieutenant blew smoke in Romo’s face. “They’re compensating you well for this, I assume.”
Romo barely held back a snort of derision. Yeah, currency is worth its weight in dog droppings, and this kid thinks I’m getting rich. “They’re not paying me a damn thing.”
The officer chewed on that for a moment. “Then, why bother?”
To be honest, Romo wasn’t sure. Regardless of what he said in court, this case was almost certain to end in blood. People, as a rule, didn’t take kindly to having their entire governing body assassinated. Maybe he was more of a masochist than he thought. Maybe it was morbid curiosity-a leftover from his days with Joe. Or maybe . . . there was something about this kid. The way he’d sat across from Adama with his arms folded, demanding answers with his lips while begging for forgiveness with his posture. It was worth investigating.
Of course, Romo was hardly ever honest. “Suffice to say, Mr. Gaeta, I like a challenge.”
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Law was an entertaining vocation, if only because of the briefcases. When he’d started his first job at Adama, Wolfman, and Gray, Romo had been startled to discover the reverence with which some lawyers treated those battered leather status symbols. He’d met one particularly peculiar fellow who called his case “Wilma” and had a special shelf in his office for “her.” There had been plenty of head cases at that lovely little firm. His internship there had been the most educational experience of Romo’s life.
Romo had never quite bought into the briefcase worship, but he had to admit, it was a useful accessory. If a lawyer carried a briefcase, no one stopped to wonder what was in it. The average person assumed he carried only dry legal documents that they weren’t authorized to see anyway. It made his life much simpler when he didn’t have to worry about where to hide his souvenirs.
As the judges took the bench for Colonial Case 19, the People vs. Tom Zarek and Felix Gaeta, Romo’s briefcase was surprisingly bare. It contained a pad of paper, three pencils, four photographs, and a small golden coin. Ignoring Gaeta’s fidgeting, he flipped through the photos one more time. He’d filched them from Gaeta’s locker. One featured Felix with a man and woman who were probably his parents. They were an older couple, Romo noted; they’d most likely died long before the attacks. An only child. Another shot showed a very young Felix in a crowd of slightly older schoolboys. The curly-haired boy was grinning from ear to ear, clearly elated to be included in this group. A bit of a tag-along, then. The next picture showed a gaggle of roughly-clad civilians at the lowest dive of a watering hole on New Caprica. Gaeta stood among them, looking stiff and uncomfortable in his pressed suit. A tad elitist, perhaps, but not above connecting with people. He pulled out the last photo-Gaeta with his arm around Anastasia Dualla-and let a wry smile tug at his cheek. Definitely not above connecting.
The Chief Justice rose and led the court in a recitation of the Prayer to Zeus. Romo wasn’t surprised that in creatively remodeling the justice system, Roslin had nevertheless kept the old religious traditions intact. He stayed silent, but reached for the gleaming chip of metal at the bottom of his briefcase. Most lawyers-the religious ones, at least-would use this time to pray to Zeus for justice or Athena for wisdom. Not Romo. Running his thumb over the tiny icon, he mouthed the same prayer he spoke at the beginning of every trial. Hermes, Trickster, Maia’s son, help us pull the rug out from under them.
As the prosecutor began her opening statements, he snapped a pencil for good measure.
Break preconceptions.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Romo collected. Perhaps that was his true vocation. He had all kinds of creative ways of justifying it to himself. It taught him about human nature. It turned up details that would otherwise go unnoticed. It made him a more effective lawyer. But the truth was, he collected (some would say stole) because he had to. Whenever he was out of his element, the compulsion would grow, like an itch behind his eyeballs-the need to see more of the people around him by examining all their precious stuff. Now that he had Gaeta figured out, there was one more player in this little saga who remained unknown. Romo had collected from him before, but now he needed some up to date information.
In the end, it proved almost pitifully easy. When the guards led the prisoners out during the first recess, Romo lagged just a few steps behind his client, off to the side slightly. A certain Admiral brushed by, doubtless with pressing business to attend to, and in so doing stepped right between Romo and Gaeta’s guards. Romo’s hand slipped automatically into the other man’s pocket. After so many years, he could collect on autopilot. His fingers encountered something small and slim, but he didn’t pause to inspect it, because there was something much more interesting to watch.
Just as he’d expected, Admiral Adama scarcely noticed Romo, he was so busy glaring at Gaeta. What surprised Romo was the look on the young man’s face as he stared back. Gaeta wasn’t glaring. He wasn’t pointedly ignoring Adama or staring shamefaced at the floor. No, Felix Gaeta met Adama’s eyes with a steady, unapologetic gaze. But the look on his face . . . pain and guilt warred with confusion and longing. His eyes made the plea his lips would never voice.
It was a face Romo knew well; it was the look of the surrogate son rejected.
He almost forgot to examine his new souvenir. When he finally looked at it, he nearly laughed aloud. A pink eraser, yellow paint, jagged wooden edges . . . it seemed this Adama, too, believed in Breaking Preconceptions.
Gaeta might just have a chance.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
The only thing worse than a grandstanding lawyer was a grandstanding co-defendant representing himself. Romo made this observation as Zarek’s opening statement stretched into its second hour. It was sixty-one minutes of wasted breath, in Romo’s expert opinion. While Gaeta might have a shot, Zarek was sunk unless his explanation involved mystical body snatchers forcing him to order the deaths of the Quorum. Still, as Zarek droned on about transparency of government and the responsibilities of the military, Romo could see that he didn’t care. The Vice President of the Colonies was a dead man walking, but hell if he wasn’t going to die as he’d lived with a bone to pick.
Romo couldn’t complain too much, though, since it gave him the perfect opportunity to gather more intelligence. People’s true selves came out when they were bored. It was fascinating to watch.
His impression of Gaeta and Adama was confirmed in the first fifteen minutes. Across the aisle and one row back, the Admiral stared stonily ahead, refusing to grant the defense table even a cursory look. Gaeta, on the other hand, was constantly stealing glances in Adama’s direction, twiddling his fingers and ducking his head as though that would somehow make his fixation less obvious.
Gods, it was like being twenty-two again. Romo remembered well the countless long nights at his tiny desk in the corner of Joe’s office, working hard, fighting the fatigue, constantly glancing up seeking validation from the impassive man behind the larger desk. Is he watching? Does he know how hard I’m working? Will he care what I have to say? Interns were like overeager puppies, and Joe hadn’t hesitated to exploit that. The bastard.
Zarek was finally wrapping things up-bringing his statements to a close on some rousing, eloquent note about some injustice or other. Romo considered his options. He’d prepared a brief opening statement, but most of his points had already been made by Zarek-though in a roundabout, hackneyed, and unnecessarily verbose manner. The judges’ eyes were looking suspiciously glazed, so Romo was better off not antagonizing them. There would be other moments.
As Zarek resumed his seat, the Chief Justice looked at Romo. “Counsel for Lt. Gaeta?”
Romo stood and nodded to the judge. “We have no statements to make at this time, Your Honor.”
A relieved murmur ran through the courtroom. Gaeta was less impressed. “Are you even trying?” he hissed.
“Shut up and let me save your ass,” Romo muttered back.
Felix had no idea just how hard he was trying.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
The prosecution’s case was rather unimaginative. Cassidy called witness after witness to testify to the bloody violence they had witnessed or instigated during the mutiny. As with Baltar’s case, she was going for quantity over quality-trying to shock the judges into a verdict by sheer tonnage of evidence. Much to Romo’s relief, the most damning testimony tended to be directed at Zarek. Perhaps Cassidy had simply identified Gaeta as the easier target. Romo’s cross-examinations always followed the same general format.
“Your co-defendant ordered me to decapitate thirty-nine puppies!”
“That’s nice, but was my client present for said puppy massacres?”
“Well . . . no . . .”
“Did my client ever order, suggest, or condone the killing of puppies?”
“No . . .”
“Was my client pleased to learn that you had killed puppies on his co-defendant’s orders?”
“Not exactly . . .”
“Have you ever known my client to express any animosity towards canines?”
“No, but . . .”
“No further questions.”
It was boring, but effective. In this manner, he absolved Gaeta of the deaths of the Quorum, Laird, even Private Whatshisname from CIC. Gradually, the court was beginning to see Gaeta as the victim, tricked and manipulated by Zarek. This process was greatly simplified by the bumbling legal strategy of Tom Zarek himself. The politician was clearly in love with the sound of his own voice-or else just desperate. He conducted extensive cross-examinations, mercilessly browbeating the most benign witnesses over every minute detail. It wasn’t often that Romo got to play the good guy in court, but with Zarek posturing like a schoolyard bully, it made sense to keep his own comments understated. The best defense was a mirror of the defendant. The flamboyant tactics that had worked so well at Baltar’s trial would be all wrong for Gaeta. There was a three way war going on here, and Romo’s best chance for saving his client was to keep a low profile and let Zarek and Cassidy tear each other apart.
Of course, that stratagem would only work for so long. Sooner or later, Gaeta’s day of reckoning would come.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Romo folded his arms, studying the man in the cell before him. If the threat of imminent death was taking any kind of toll on Tom Zarek, he covered it well. The former terrorist stared back at the lawyer, his calculating gaze a mirror of Romo’s.
“I assume this isn’t a social visit, Mr. Lampkin.”
“You’re going to die, Mr. Zarek.”
Zarek took the statement with an easy smile. “Never expected to live forever.”
“You don’t understand; you’re going to die within twenty-four hours of saying ‘the defense rests.’”
The man watched him, his face solemn but collected. “I understand more than you think.”
“Yet you continue to pound every witness who takes the stand.”
“That’s rich, coming from Baltar’s counsel.” When Romo didn’t respond, Zarek sighed. “Some statements need to be made.”
“And how far are you willing to go?”
“Well, as you pointed out, I don’t have a whole lot to lose.”
Romo paced a few steps. He was off his game. So long as Zarek and all his worldly possessions stayed locked on that side of the bars, he could only collect with his eyes. Joe’s voice echoed in his head. All the signs are there . . . He took in the easy way Zarek lounged on his cot, as comfortable in a cell as another man might be in his own living room. All his possessions fit neatly into a cardboard box tucked under his bed. He had the look of a man long-accustomed to incarceration.
“You’ve seen this coming for a long time, haven’t you?”
Zarek shrugged. “It is the nature of the establishment to crush opposition. I’ve spent my life trying to change that.”
“Spare me the sermon, Mr. Zarek. The fact is that you overreached this time, and like it or not you’re going to pay the price.” He paused. “But maybe, Mr. Gaeta doesn’t have to.”
There. For a split second as Romo said Gaeta’s name . . . something passed across Tom Zarek’s face. His voice revealed nothing. “When Lt. Gaeta committed to this, he understood that there might be consequences. He accepted them. I made sure of that.”
Don’t look for the what; look for the why.
In Zarek’s long and infamous career, he had doubtless acquired a long string of accomplices. With the exception of Felix Gaeta, these men and women now shared exactly one trait; they were all dead.
“You’ve known lots of Felix Gaetas, haven’t you, Mr. Zarek?”
“Excuse me?”
“Good kids-confused kids-who put it all on the line for your cause because nothing else makes sense anymore. You’ve buried a lot of those kids, haven’t you?” Romo paused. “Maybe you even were one once.”
“Is there a point in there somewhere, Mr. Lampkin?”
“What’s a life worth to you, Mr. Zarek? Now, we all know that you’re willing to trade your life for your message, but what about his? Is he worth more to you than a statement?”
“Where are you going with this?”
“I’m putting Gaeta on the stand. He’s going to tell his story whether he wants to or not. And when the time comes, there is not a doubt in my mind that you could take him apart on cross. The little idiot’s loyal to you in spite of everything. Ask him if he’d do it again and he’ll say yes because he thinks that’s what you want from him. It might even help your cause-give your mourners one more martyr to rally around. But it will doom Felix to sharing your fate. So, what’s his life worth to you?”
Zarek didn’t respond.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
The court held its breath as Zarek dismissed his last witness. The old revolutionary cast one last significant glance around the courtroom, his eyes coming to rest on Romo.
“The defense rests.”
The chief justice nodded. “So noted. Does defense counsel for Mr. Gaeta have any witnesses to call?”
“We do.” Romo stood slowly. “If it please the court, defense counsel calls Lt. Felix Gaeta to testify on his own behalf.”
“What?!!!” Every head in the courtroom turned to look at Felix Gaeta, who was staring at Romo in shock.
Cassidy sprang to her feet. “Your Honors, the prosecution was not informed of this!”
“Join the club,” Gaeta growled. Romo kicked him under the table and winced when his foot hit metal.
“Counsel approach.”
The indignant lieutenant reached for his cane, but Romo knocked it out of his hand. “He doesn’t mean you, Skippy.” Gaeta glared daggers at Romo, but Zarek clapped a placating hand on his shoulder as he stepped by.
“Your Honor, this is highly irregular,” Cassidy growled when all three of them were gathered before the chief justice. “Mr. Lampkin did not alert the prosecution that Lt. Gaeta would be testifying. This is just one more in a series of questionable tactics-“
“Your Honor, my client has a constitutionally guaranteed right to testify in his own defense, and if you want to talk about questionable tactics, this whole trial is questionable. My client is a fleet officer and should have been tried by a military tribunal. By charging him alongside Mr. Zarek, the prosecution seeks prove guilt-by-association in direct-“
“Enough.” The judge cut them off. He glanced at Tom Zarek who watched impassively. “Does defense counsel make any exceptions?”
“I have no objection, your Honor.” Romo nearly rolled his eyes at Zarek’s choice of the old Saggitaron word “objection” over the more modern “exception.” Still, his voice was neutral. If Zarek was rankled at being characterized as a stain on Gaeta’s character, he didn’t show it.
“Very well. The prosecution’s exception is overruled. Call your witness, Mr. Lampkin.”
Easier said than done, Romo mused. As soon as he returned to the defense table, Gaeta grabbed his wrist. “What the hell is going on?” The man hissed.
“It’s quite simple, Lieutenant,” Romo pointed for emphasis, “You’re going to sit in that chair. I’ll ask some rather brilliant questions. You’ll answer as honestly as your limited faculties allow.”
“Are you telling me this whole grand strategy of yours hinges on what I have to say?”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“You have no idea. I also know what I’m doing. Now, let’s not keep the nice judges waiting.” Romo slapped Gaeta’s cane into his hand. The young officer adjusted his grip but did not yet rise.
“Romo . . .” For the first time, a glimmer of anxiety shone through the steely exterior. “This can’t be the only way.”
Romo sighed. “Felix,” he waited until Gaeta met his gaze, “I can’t promise that this’ll work. I can tell you that in my long and illustrious career, I’ve gotten worse men acquitted for worse crimes. But, all I can promise is that if you don’t sit for the panel, you will sit before a firing squad.”
Gaeta considered that for a moment. He glanced at Zarek, who smiled reassuringly. Finally, he drew a deep breath and stood.
It took Gaeta a long time to cross the short distance, and Romo knew that his pace was not solely due to his disability. Everything about Gaeta, from his hunched shoulders to his bowed head to the tense expression on his face when he finally sat, suggested that he really was bound for the gallows rather than the witness stand. Romo took a moment to gather his thoughts. This would have to be handled delicately.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
“What the hell was that about?”
Romo decided that the anger in Gaeta’s voice was a good sign; at the very least, it showed he was getting over the shell-shocked near-catatonia that had gripped him since he limped down from the witness stand. “That was our ironically-named justice system in action, my friend.”
“No, what the hell was that about? You’re supposed to be my attorney, but you practically made their case for them! I looked like a fool up there-a guilty fool. I had no idea what to say, what to do-“
“All you had to do was explain truthfully, from your perspective, what you did and why. Did you do that?”
“Well, yes, I tried, but . . . the things you got me to say . . . Frak, Lampkin, I admitted in front of all of them that even I wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing.”
“So, you admitted to being human. Given the circumstances, I don’t think that counts against you.”
“Look . . . would you please just talk to me? You really think I did well up there?”
Romo sighed. “Of course not. Your testimony was an absolute disaster, but it was a believable disaster. Do you even remember what you said?”
“Well, it’s all starting to run together in my head. I’m told traumatic stress can do that to a person . . .”
“Cute.” Romo sobered. “You admitted to following Adama’s orders, even when you disagreed with them, until the abuses of power were too numerous to ignore. You made it clear that you didn’t agree with what Zarek did to the Quorum, and it doesn’t take too much imagination to guess that he would have done the same to you if you went against him at that point. Most importantly, you admitted to saving the Galactica.”
Felix blinked. “I what?”
“You never thought of it that way, did you?” Romo pursed his lips. “I’m no commander, but even I know we were outgunned by that Baseship. If you hadn’t issued a weapons-hold-if you hadn’t surrendered to face trial and possible execution-then all of us, you, me, Adama, Zarek, the whole kit and caboodle that is the Battlestar Galactica, we’d all have gone up in a pretty blossom of nuclear fire.”
Gaeta pondered that for a moment. “Somehow, I don’t think the judges will see it that way,” he said at last.
Romo grinned wolfishly. “Leave that to me.”
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
The corridors outside Galactica’s makeshift courtroom were no less pleasant than the rest of the ship. Years ago light fixtures were reduced by fifty percent in deference to the light bulb shortage. Those that remained flickered unsteadily, ubiquitous victims of the battlestar’s sporadic power shortages. Rust scarred and mottled the once shining bulkheads, and the whole area reeked of mold. Romo leaned against a surface that seemed relatively sanitary in a corner that was reasonably deserted. With five minutes to kill before the end of the recess, he pulled his little idol out of his pocket and ran his thumb over the golden surface, muttering the half-remembered prayers to Hermes.
A little extra help never hurt.
Romo made it a policy never to second-guess himself. In the courtroom, you picked a strategy and stuck with it, and if you knew what you were doing, usually you won. But whatever the plan of attack, it was absolutely essential that neither the jury nor the opposition, nor your own client sensed any doubt on your part. Joe had hammered that into him again and again.
And yet, as he recalled Gaeta nearly breaking down as he stammered through his testimony, he couldn’t help but wonder. Was it worth it? In law, the ends always justified the means-Joe swore by that, too, and Romo believed him-but, what if even that wasn’t enough? What if instead of saving his life, Romo had done nothing but prolong Felix Gaeta’s humiliation?
He still remembered Joe’s scornful voice from the day they’d finally parted ways. You wanted to fail.
Not this time.
A familiar voice interrupted his musings. “I never figured you for the religious type.”
Romo looked up to see one Lee Adama leaning against a bulkhead, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his second-hand suit. A sarcastic smile tugged at his lips. “’Religious type’? How could you? It’s not like we wear uniforms.”
“I just thought-”
“That being a man of the law-a man of reason--I’d be above such parochial nonsense? You’ve spent too much time around the Adamas, Adama.”
Lee rocked back on his heels. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“I know that, which is why you’re getting a stern word instead of a boot up the ass. ‘Religious types’ aren’t all like Roslin’s Pythian zealots and Baltar’s starry-eyed fan club. The world gets a lot easier to puzzle out once you realize that people come in all shapes and sizes.”
“I understand,” Lee assured him in a tone that said that he didn’t, but was willing to smile and nod for the sake of civility. Romo sighed and offered the icon to him. Lee lifted the coin curiously but carefully, like a botanist investigating a new species of plant while suspicious of poisonous barbs. “I’m not sure I recognize this god.”
“I’m not surprised; the Admiral doesn’t seem like the type to invest in Temple School. That’s Hermes.” At Lee’s blank look, Romo rolled his eyes. “Son of Zeus? Messenger of the gods? Bringer of luck? Come on, Adama, tell me you’ve at least seen the cartoon?”
“Maybe . . . something about stealing cows?”
Romo chuckled. “’Hermes in Infancy*.’ That one’s a classic.”
Lee handed the coin back, his face a mask of polite disinterest. “I can never remember all the lore. It’s the kind of thing you have to be raised with.”
Romo accepted the idol. “It’s pretty simple really.” He flipped the coin, caught it, and tucked it into a breast pocket. “Hermes wanted to be recognized as Zeus’ son. So to get that legitimacy, he wrecked a little chaos on Olympus.”
“By stealing cows?”
“Among other things.”
“Romo,” a hint of concern crept into Lee’s voice, “You can’t really believe all that? Gods in diapers running around after giant cattle on some mythical mountain? I mean . . . we’re . . .” He held his hands out to indicate the grand tribute to progress that was the Battlestar Galactica.
Romo smiled. “I believe in what it tells me about the world.”
“And what’s that?”
“That strength doesn’t translate into morality. That sometimes to get justice you have to upset the establishment a little.” Romo glanced down. “That in the end, we all want recognition from our fathers.”
Lee digested that for a moment. He ran a hand through his disorderly hair. “That was a gutsy thing you did-putting Gaeta on the stand. You really didn’t prep him for it?”
“As you’ll recall, my client has a tendency to lie when he’s prepped for testimony. He’s not happy with me, but he’ll live.”
Neither man commented on the unfortunate word choice. After a moment, Lee cleared his throat. “I don’t know how much good it did. He’s not the most credible witness.”
“Credibility has nothing to do with it.”
“Come again?”
“It was never about what he said. The judges can disbelieve every word of it and the testimony will still have served its purpose.”
“And what purpose is that?”
“The fleet wants to see Gaeta torn apart. They should have some idea of what it looks like.”
Lee pinched the bridge of his nose. “I shouldn’t be telling you this . . . but you’ve made the prosecution nervous.”
Romo’s gaze sharpened. “They’re going to call a rebuttal witness?” Lee didn’t respond. Romo swallowed his exasperation. “If Cassidy has already decided to call another witness, she’s obligated to share that decision with defense counsel.”
“You didn’t share your witness list with the prosecution.”
“Fair point, but unless you want to see your precious legal system trampled on by any more blasphemous attorneys, you’ll tell me who the witness is.”
Lee stared at the blank bulkhead behind Romo. “Tomorrow, Zeus takes the stand.”
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
“I told Mr. Gaeta that his actions were in violation of his oath as an officer. I made it clear that he could not expect amnesty if he continued in that course.” Bill Adama leaned back, wearing his default inscrutable expression. Cassidy paced back and forth. She was clearly enjoying this.
“And how did the defendant respond?”
“He was composed. He ordered the command staff taken to the brig, myself included. When I next saw him, he had taken almost complete command of Galactica.”
“No further questions.”
“Your witness, Mr. Lampkin.”
Romo stood. “Thank you, Your Honor. Just a few questions, Admiral.” This would be easier, Romo reflected, if the Old Man didn’t look so damn much like his old man. Bill Adama lacked his father’s dark eyes and his hair had not yet turned completely silver, but every other detail, from the heavy set of his jaw to the expression of perpetual stoicism, could have been copied from Joe Adama’s face.
Nothing for it. Romo lifted a packet of papers, the edges worn and creased. “This is Defense Exhibit H. Could you read the highlighted passage?”
“’Since the exodus, tensions among the crew remain high, especially between those who were evacuated from New Caprica. In particular, Captain Thrace has been seen exchanging heated words with Lieutenant Gaeta in full view of junior officers and enlisted crewmen. I have asked Captain Agathon to place them on opposite shifts in hopes of averting future confrontations.’ I’ll save you the trouble of asking. Yes, I wrote this just after the exodus from New Caprica. It was copied from my personal log.”
Romo smiled thinly. The Admiral was trying to off-balance him, but when it came to courtroom tactics, Adama was far outmatched. “Thank you for your candor, Admiral. Now, can you describe for us any additional action you took as a result of this incident?”
“Exception; relevancy?”
“If Your Honors will grant me just a bit of leeway? It goes to the defendant’s state of mind.”
“An event that happened over a year ago?”
“I’ll allow it, but tread lightly, Mr. Lampkin.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” Romo rounded on Adama, who had sat impassive throughout the rapid-fire debate. “Please answer the question, Admiral.”
“I had a conversation with Captain Thrace. I warned her that her conduct was inappropriate for a Colonial officer. A disciplinary notice was entered into her personnel file.”
“And my client? Did you have a similar . . . conversation with Lieutenant Gaeta?”
“Not at that time. I judged that his disciplinary infractions were too minor to warrant an official reprimand.”
“You didn’t speak to him? Not even to get his side of the story?”
Adama shot him a familiar, contemptuous look. “I wasn’t interested in sides. A public argument between officers is bad for morale; that was the only issue at stake.”
“You weren’t interested in what could have sparked such a heated argument?”
“It’s my understanding that it was personal. I’m not a frakking relationship counselor.”
“Admiral!” The judges looked scandalized. Adama reluctantly inclined his head towards the one who had spoken.
“Beg pardon.”
Romo cleared his throat. “Fair enough. Turn to the next page and read the highlighted passage.”
Looking incredulous, Adama flipped the page and read, “The Demetrius mission yielded three casualties. Gunnery Sergeant Matthias is dead after an equipment malfunction. A civilian, Jean Barolay, was killed aboard the Baseship. Lt. Gaeta has survived the amputation of his lower leg, but remains in critical care. The cause of his gunshot wound is not immediately apparent; according to Major Cottle, it must have been inflicted at least twelve hours prior to the Demetrius’ return. The statements of the officers involved have been contradictory. In light of recent events, I have ruled the shooting accidental and placed further investigation on hold. The last thing I need is to lose another officer out of this mess.” The Admiral’s expression didn’t change, but Romo noticed that he carefully avoided looking at the defense table. Guilt was a good sign.
“And is this statement also from your personal log?”
“Yes.”
“And what did ‘further investigation’ reveal about the circumstances of my client’s injury?”
Adama’s shoulders stiffened. “The investigation was never reopened.”
Romo raised his eyebrows. “Never reopened? Two people dead, one maimed, and you never took the time to straighten out your officers’ stories?”
The Admiral’s face darkened. “We’re at war. People die.”
It was like arguing with a brick wall. Romo paced back and forth, taking a moment to regroup. Adama had avoided the obvious riposte-that the sudden appearance of the Baseship had rendered all other concerned secondary. Either the Admiral was shrewder than Romo had suspected, or he just felt guilty as hell. Either way, there were no more points to be won here.
“With that in mind, Admiral, why don’t you flip to the last page and read the highlighted portion?”
The angry lines in Adama’s face deepened when he recognized the entry Romo had chosen. For a moment, Romo thought he would refuse. Then, a judge cleared her throat, and Adama began to read. “Almost twenty-six hours have passed, and there is still no sign of Raptor 718.” Romo resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder to check on his client. He was saving Gaeta’s life. He was. “Colonel Tigh has dispatched a search Raptor, but if their jump drive malfunctioned, we may never find them.” Adama hesitated, and Romo knew that he was regretting ever agreeing to grant Gaeta a trial. “I have denied the XO’s request for an additional two Raptors to aid in the search. With tylium supplies running low, we don’t have resources to waste on dead-end missions. Though our Cylon allies are troubled by the loss of two of their own, their resources are similarly strained. Memorial services for Specialist Brooks and Lieutenants Finn, Esrin, and Gaeta will begin as soon as Lieutenant Hoshi and Lieutenant Edmondson return.”
A statement like that required no follow-up. Romo paced a few more steps, letting it sink in. Adama drew a slow breath and stared fixedly at the far corner of the courtroom, still studiously avoiding Gaeta’s gaze. Romo decided that it was time to close the noose and let Adama hang himself.
“Three separate incidents. Three short log entries. No inquiry, no follow-up. You never gave Lieutenant Gaeta much thought, did you?”
It was such an easy trap to avoid. Any other man would have protested. An Admiral can’t be blamed for the actions of a Captain, nor the behavior of officers on a mission he was not part of, and he certainly wasn’t responsible for the deadly consequences of a faulty FTL drive. But, this man was an Adama, and god-complexes are genetic.
The Admiral’s voice was icy. “I gave Lieutenant Gaeta no more attention and no less than any other officer on this ship.”
“Really? Is that how it is under your command?”
“Yes.”
“No special treatment? For anyone?”
“No.”
Romo leaned back on his heels and folded his arms. He kept his voice frank. “Then, why start now?”
“Excuse me?”
“Isn’t it true that of over eighty officers and crewmen implicated in the recent mutiny, my client is the only one to face the charge of treason and its accompanying sentence?”
“He was the instigator-“
Romo raised his voice, matching Adama. “Cpt. Aaron Kelly, prior to the mutiny was incarcerated for the murder of one Alan Hughes and the attempted murder of yours truly, among others. In the aftermath of the violence, isn’t it true that not only was he not charged with bearing arms for Mr. Zarek, but he received a full pardon and is returning to his rank and station aboard Galactica?”
“There were mitigating-“
“Lieutenant Noel Allison was seen firing on a Raptor containing President Roslin! At the time of his arrest, he was in command of a firing squad whose intended target was you yourself. Tell us, Admiral, what is Lieutenant Allison being charged with?”
“Dereliction of duty and endangering a civilian.”
“And how do you justify these charges-which I think the court will agree are far from adequate to the crimes described?”
“Lieutenant Allison was following the orders of a superior officer!”
“And that superior officer was Lieutenant Gaeta?”
“Yes.”
“And he deserves to die for it?”
“Yes.”
Ringing silence greeted the Admiral’s pronouncement. The years had weathered Bill Adama’s face, but when he scowled, he was still recognizable as the hotshot pilot who glared out of the silver frame on the corner of a large wooden desk-the real object of Joe’s affections. Romo advanced a few steps, carefully pitching his voice low. “And did it occur to you, Admiral, as you were dealing out judgment, that my client was also following the orders of a superior?”
Just a touch of uncertainty crept into Adama’s eyes. It never made it to his voice. “No one forced Mr. Gaeta to do what he did.”
“No, but he was following the explicit instructions of Vice President Tom Zarek.” Romo paused for emphasis. “And that’s what this is really about, isn’t it, Admiral?” Adama opened his mouth with a retort, but Romo cut him off. “You don’t mind that over eighty other men and women engaged in mutinous activity, so long as they were still taking orders from one of your hand-picked officers. But, it just kills you that my client could be led astray by the likes of Tom Zarek, doesn’t it?”
“That’s not why-“
“You’ve never liked Mr. Zarek, have you, Admiral?”
“It’s not my job to like him.”
“But, it is your job to protect the Articles of Colonization. Those same Articles and the will of the people give him authority as Vice President, but you’ve never recognized that right, have you?”
“Exception! Argumentative!”
“Isn’t it true that you refused to recognize Mr. Zarek’s authority as acting-President, even when President Roslin was indisposed due to being kidnapped by the Cylons?”
“She wasn’t kidnapped-“
“But didn’t you fail to acknowledge Mr. Zarek, preferring to install your own son as interim president because Mr. Zarek was that unworthy to lead?”
“You proposed that arrangement!”
“In reaction to your lack of confidence. Tell us, Admiral, what makes Tom Zarek so unfit to be President?”
“Zarek is a terrorist and a megalomaniac! He has exploited every tragedy this fleet has experienced to further his own agenda. He constantly seeks more influence. When he couldn’t get it from me, he turned to my son, and when Lee refused to humor him, he turned his attention on my junior officers!”
“And that’s what this is about, isn’t it? Not oaths, not legality, just your personal vendetta with Mr. Zarek, and my client is caught in the middle.”
“You have no frakking idea what you’re talking about!” Adama’s legendary control had all but evaporated. Romo watched the rage boiling right under the surface and decided to add some heat.
“Then, why don’t you enlighten me, Admiral? You’ve testified that you treated Mr. Gaeta no differently than any other officer. So, why is he facing the death penalty while his co-conspirators get slaps on the wrist?”
“Because he was in command!” Adama thundered. “For seven years, I trained him as an officer in my CIC. Tactics, strategy, technical support, and yes there were times he screwed up and there were times others screwed up and he was hurt through no fault of his own, but he remained a command officer, and I made sure he knew what that meant. When he pulled his little coup, he was in command of Galactica. And he had a duty-not to me or President Roslin or Vice President Zarek. He had a duty to this ship to protect her crew.”
“And he failed, didn’t he?”
Adama’s shoulders slumped as the energy from his tirade left him. “Yes.” Romo knew he was counting the bodies, just as Gaeta was. They were too alike, these two clients of his; more alike than either would admit to being.
“Just like you failed?”
A plaintive note entered the gravelly voice. “Yes.”
“And my client, Lieutenant Felix Gaeta, doesn’t deserve to face a firing squad anymore than you did, does he?”
The last glimmer of anger faded from the Admiral’s eyes. “No, he doesn’t.”
“No further questions.”
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Romo leaned back in his seat. Joe used to say that closing statements were only one part reason to two parts emotion and four parts theater. Romo hoped the old bastard was right about that one. “I have a confession to make.” He folded his arms. “I don’t like my client.” While that sunk in, Romo stood and paced a few steps away. “And really, I don’t think anyone in this courtroom can blame me. Mr. Gaeta is a hard man to like.” He turned to indicate Felix, who was now staring at Romo wearing that familiar expression of confusion and betrayal. “I mean, look at him. He’s sarcastic, stubborn, bitter. He keeps unsavory company. We all remember him as the voice of the Baltar Administration, so his easy alliance with Tom Zarek comes as no surprise to most of us. How can you respect a man like that? A man who will switch sides at the drop of a hat? A man who has made so many mistakes he can’t count them all? A man who time after time places his trust in the wrong people, learns nothing, and is condemned to repeat the same mistakes over and over? A man . . . like us?
“This case is not about legality; even the Admiral admits that. In many ways, our legal system is simply not adequate to the task at hand. Legal codes provide order. They tell us that this person is authorized to kill that person under these circumstances or that this person is subject to that person, so long as they all follow these guidelines. It’s a good system, and we need a system, but it is woefully inadequate to the case before us.
“Your task, Your Honors, is to weigh the value of life and death in a species that now numbers fewer than forty thousand individuals. One of those individuals is my client.
“It’s strange, really, how seeing so much destruction makes life cheap. Death is all we’ve known for over three years. It’s become a habit, a security blanket, the solution when we can’t come up with anything better. It would be so easy to execute my client. After all, we already don’t like him! He’s arrogant. He’s hapless. Felix Gaeta is a man who perpetually puts his trust in the wrong people. First, there was Baltar, now Zarek. Both abused that trust and left him to take the fall. Felix Gaeta has the unfortunate talent of always ending up on the wrong side-the losing side. It would be so easy to call his crimes capital-to flush him out the airlock, and hope his foolish naiveté goes with him.
“But then, of course, this stops being a case about Felix Gaeta. It becomes a case about our own shame. We have trusted the wrong people. We have been on the losing side. And killing Felix Gaeta will do nothing to assuage the betrayal we feel.
“Before you make your decision, let me tell you why I, personally, dislike Felix Gaeta. A few days ago, I was luxuriating in my quarters on Colonial One, spending some quality time with my pet dog, when four armed Marines knocked on my door. They were there to take me to the Admiral’s quarters on Galactica. The ship was a mess-gunfire in the halls, the whole shebang. And at the center of it all, Felix Gaeta had transformed the Admiral’s quarters into a makeshift courtroom, so that Admiral Adama could have his right to a fair trial. And me? I was there as defense counsel. I was summoned by Felix Gaeta to argue for the life of a man who had already decided that Mr. Gaeta deserved to die. In the middle of a war zone, Felix Gaeta was concerned about due process.
“It was then that I realized that Mr. Gaeta, in his naiveté, still believes in this meaningless system of rules and penalties that we call a legal code. If you find him guilty, he’ll accept your decision with a salute, and march down to the airlock as quickly as his prosthetic leg will allow. The question you need to answer is this: Is that a man we can afford to lose?”
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
“Will the defendants please rise?”
For Gaeta, that was easier said than done. Romo watched from the corner of his eye as the young officer carefully balanced, hands braced against the table for support. On his other side, Zarek cast similarly surreptitious glances. Felix seemed to be managing. Though he could not straighten to his full height, he held his chin up and kept his face carefully serene.
“By unanimous vote, we find the defendant Thomas Zarek guilty of treason. He is hereby remanded to the custody of the Admiral of the Fleet and is to be executed by firing squad no later than 2300 tonight.”
The courtroom broke out in a flurry of hushed voices. In a testament to the eloquence of the Vice President’s last stand, no one applauded. Zarek closed his eyes for one brief second, then opened them, accepting his fate in uncharacteristic silence. The chief justice rapped his gavel twice, calling the court to order. Romo stuffed his hands in his pockets, determined not to let a glimmer of nervousness show. He was a good liar. He could convince them all that this was just another case-that he didn’t give a frak one way or the other.
Present the best case you can with the client you’re given. Human nature will take care of the rest.
“By a vote of three to two, we find the defendant Felix Gaeta not guilty and order his immediate release.”
The response this time was not nearly so muted. A few voices immediately rose in protest, sparking countless arguments, mostly between men and women in duty blues. Romo slowly exhaled and glanced at his client.
Felix seemed oblivious to the growing turmoil of the crowd behind him. He was staring at the chief justice, mouth slightly open, brow furrowed in a classic expression of confusion. After a moment, he slowly turned to face his co-defendant. Zarek managed a smile, a nod, and a clap on the shoulder for the man who would have laid down his life for him. Before Felix had a chance to respond, a pair of Marines led the condemned man away. Even after he was gone, Felix stared at the empty space his latest departed idol had occupied, looking a bit like a lost child.
Romo pulled his shades from his pocket. “C’mon, kid, let’s get out of here.”
Felix turned to him, his expression slightly dazed. “Go where?”
“With me. We’ll start something new, together.” The officers and crewmen who’d attended the proceedings began to filter out. Gaeta flinched as a lieutenant shot him a particularly venomous glare. Romo waited until the younger man met his gaze again. “We can’t forget the past, Felix, but we can’t live in it either.”
Felix didn’t respond. His gaze drifted past Romo to settle ten feet behind him. Romo turned to see what had captured his client’s attention.
Across the aisle, Bill Adama locked eyes with his former tactical officer. His face revealed nothing, but then, it never had. After a moment, he inclined his head slightly in an almost imperceptible gesture of respect.
When Romo turned to look at Felix again, the young man’s eyes were focused on him. The tension slowly ebbed from his face, making him look years younger. It was all the payment Romo needed. In this desperate, scrabbling existence, maybe he couldn’t win legitimacy for the surrogate son. But, he could give him some measure of hope.
Fin
Author: brennanspeaks
Summary: Romo Lampkin knows what it means to be a surrogate son.
Characters: Romo Lampkin, Felix Gaeta, Tom Zarek, Bill Adama, Lee Adama
Rating: G
Remixed from: A picture’s worth a thousand words by puszysty
Author’s Notes: Not betaed, so be kind.
Granted, the situation had hardly been ideal for observation, but as he sat across from his new client, Romo Lampkin wondered why during that whole asylum of a trial he’d never noticed what a smart mouth Felix Gaeta had.
“So, I’m guessing you’re not doing this for the dubious fame and glory, so why are you here?”
Romo offered an exaggerated yawn in response. “It’s certainly not because I like you, Mr. Gaeta, let’s be clear about that.”
The disgraced Lieutenant blew smoke in Romo’s face. “They’re compensating you well for this, I assume.”
Romo barely held back a snort of derision. Yeah, currency is worth its weight in dog droppings, and this kid thinks I’m getting rich. “They’re not paying me a damn thing.”
The officer chewed on that for a moment. “Then, why bother?”
To be honest, Romo wasn’t sure. Regardless of what he said in court, this case was almost certain to end in blood. People, as a rule, didn’t take kindly to having their entire governing body assassinated. Maybe he was more of a masochist than he thought. Maybe it was morbid curiosity-a leftover from his days with Joe. Or maybe . . . there was something about this kid. The way he’d sat across from Adama with his arms folded, demanding answers with his lips while begging for forgiveness with his posture. It was worth investigating.
Of course, Romo was hardly ever honest. “Suffice to say, Mr. Gaeta, I like a challenge.”
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Law was an entertaining vocation, if only because of the briefcases. When he’d started his first job at Adama, Wolfman, and Gray, Romo had been startled to discover the reverence with which some lawyers treated those battered leather status symbols. He’d met one particularly peculiar fellow who called his case “Wilma” and had a special shelf in his office for “her.” There had been plenty of head cases at that lovely little firm. His internship there had been the most educational experience of Romo’s life.
Romo had never quite bought into the briefcase worship, but he had to admit, it was a useful accessory. If a lawyer carried a briefcase, no one stopped to wonder what was in it. The average person assumed he carried only dry legal documents that they weren’t authorized to see anyway. It made his life much simpler when he didn’t have to worry about where to hide his souvenirs.
As the judges took the bench for Colonial Case 19, the People vs. Tom Zarek and Felix Gaeta, Romo’s briefcase was surprisingly bare. It contained a pad of paper, three pencils, four photographs, and a small golden coin. Ignoring Gaeta’s fidgeting, he flipped through the photos one more time. He’d filched them from Gaeta’s locker. One featured Felix with a man and woman who were probably his parents. They were an older couple, Romo noted; they’d most likely died long before the attacks. An only child. Another shot showed a very young Felix in a crowd of slightly older schoolboys. The curly-haired boy was grinning from ear to ear, clearly elated to be included in this group. A bit of a tag-along, then. The next picture showed a gaggle of roughly-clad civilians at the lowest dive of a watering hole on New Caprica. Gaeta stood among them, looking stiff and uncomfortable in his pressed suit. A tad elitist, perhaps, but not above connecting with people. He pulled out the last photo-Gaeta with his arm around Anastasia Dualla-and let a wry smile tug at his cheek. Definitely not above connecting.
The Chief Justice rose and led the court in a recitation of the Prayer to Zeus. Romo wasn’t surprised that in creatively remodeling the justice system, Roslin had nevertheless kept the old religious traditions intact. He stayed silent, but reached for the gleaming chip of metal at the bottom of his briefcase. Most lawyers-the religious ones, at least-would use this time to pray to Zeus for justice or Athena for wisdom. Not Romo. Running his thumb over the tiny icon, he mouthed the same prayer he spoke at the beginning of every trial. Hermes, Trickster, Maia’s son, help us pull the rug out from under them.
As the prosecutor began her opening statements, he snapped a pencil for good measure.
Break preconceptions.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Romo collected. Perhaps that was his true vocation. He had all kinds of creative ways of justifying it to himself. It taught him about human nature. It turned up details that would otherwise go unnoticed. It made him a more effective lawyer. But the truth was, he collected (some would say stole) because he had to. Whenever he was out of his element, the compulsion would grow, like an itch behind his eyeballs-the need to see more of the people around him by examining all their precious stuff. Now that he had Gaeta figured out, there was one more player in this little saga who remained unknown. Romo had collected from him before, but now he needed some up to date information.
In the end, it proved almost pitifully easy. When the guards led the prisoners out during the first recess, Romo lagged just a few steps behind his client, off to the side slightly. A certain Admiral brushed by, doubtless with pressing business to attend to, and in so doing stepped right between Romo and Gaeta’s guards. Romo’s hand slipped automatically into the other man’s pocket. After so many years, he could collect on autopilot. His fingers encountered something small and slim, but he didn’t pause to inspect it, because there was something much more interesting to watch.
Just as he’d expected, Admiral Adama scarcely noticed Romo, he was so busy glaring at Gaeta. What surprised Romo was the look on the young man’s face as he stared back. Gaeta wasn’t glaring. He wasn’t pointedly ignoring Adama or staring shamefaced at the floor. No, Felix Gaeta met Adama’s eyes with a steady, unapologetic gaze. But the look on his face . . . pain and guilt warred with confusion and longing. His eyes made the plea his lips would never voice.
It was a face Romo knew well; it was the look of the surrogate son rejected.
He almost forgot to examine his new souvenir. When he finally looked at it, he nearly laughed aloud. A pink eraser, yellow paint, jagged wooden edges . . . it seemed this Adama, too, believed in Breaking Preconceptions.
Gaeta might just have a chance.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
The only thing worse than a grandstanding lawyer was a grandstanding co-defendant representing himself. Romo made this observation as Zarek’s opening statement stretched into its second hour. It was sixty-one minutes of wasted breath, in Romo’s expert opinion. While Gaeta might have a shot, Zarek was sunk unless his explanation involved mystical body snatchers forcing him to order the deaths of the Quorum. Still, as Zarek droned on about transparency of government and the responsibilities of the military, Romo could see that he didn’t care. The Vice President of the Colonies was a dead man walking, but hell if he wasn’t going to die as he’d lived with a bone to pick.
Romo couldn’t complain too much, though, since it gave him the perfect opportunity to gather more intelligence. People’s true selves came out when they were bored. It was fascinating to watch.
His impression of Gaeta and Adama was confirmed in the first fifteen minutes. Across the aisle and one row back, the Admiral stared stonily ahead, refusing to grant the defense table even a cursory look. Gaeta, on the other hand, was constantly stealing glances in Adama’s direction, twiddling his fingers and ducking his head as though that would somehow make his fixation less obvious.
Gods, it was like being twenty-two again. Romo remembered well the countless long nights at his tiny desk in the corner of Joe’s office, working hard, fighting the fatigue, constantly glancing up seeking validation from the impassive man behind the larger desk. Is he watching? Does he know how hard I’m working? Will he care what I have to say? Interns were like overeager puppies, and Joe hadn’t hesitated to exploit that. The bastard.
Zarek was finally wrapping things up-bringing his statements to a close on some rousing, eloquent note about some injustice or other. Romo considered his options. He’d prepared a brief opening statement, but most of his points had already been made by Zarek-though in a roundabout, hackneyed, and unnecessarily verbose manner. The judges’ eyes were looking suspiciously glazed, so Romo was better off not antagonizing them. There would be other moments.
As Zarek resumed his seat, the Chief Justice looked at Romo. “Counsel for Lt. Gaeta?”
Romo stood and nodded to the judge. “We have no statements to make at this time, Your Honor.”
A relieved murmur ran through the courtroom. Gaeta was less impressed. “Are you even trying?” he hissed.
“Shut up and let me save your ass,” Romo muttered back.
Felix had no idea just how hard he was trying.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
The prosecution’s case was rather unimaginative. Cassidy called witness after witness to testify to the bloody violence they had witnessed or instigated during the mutiny. As with Baltar’s case, she was going for quantity over quality-trying to shock the judges into a verdict by sheer tonnage of evidence. Much to Romo’s relief, the most damning testimony tended to be directed at Zarek. Perhaps Cassidy had simply identified Gaeta as the easier target. Romo’s cross-examinations always followed the same general format.
“Your co-defendant ordered me to decapitate thirty-nine puppies!”
“That’s nice, but was my client present for said puppy massacres?”
“Well . . . no . . .”
“Did my client ever order, suggest, or condone the killing of puppies?”
“No . . .”
“Was my client pleased to learn that you had killed puppies on his co-defendant’s orders?”
“Not exactly . . .”
“Have you ever known my client to express any animosity towards canines?”
“No, but . . .”
“No further questions.”
It was boring, but effective. In this manner, he absolved Gaeta of the deaths of the Quorum, Laird, even Private Whatshisname from CIC. Gradually, the court was beginning to see Gaeta as the victim, tricked and manipulated by Zarek. This process was greatly simplified by the bumbling legal strategy of Tom Zarek himself. The politician was clearly in love with the sound of his own voice-or else just desperate. He conducted extensive cross-examinations, mercilessly browbeating the most benign witnesses over every minute detail. It wasn’t often that Romo got to play the good guy in court, but with Zarek posturing like a schoolyard bully, it made sense to keep his own comments understated. The best defense was a mirror of the defendant. The flamboyant tactics that had worked so well at Baltar’s trial would be all wrong for Gaeta. There was a three way war going on here, and Romo’s best chance for saving his client was to keep a low profile and let Zarek and Cassidy tear each other apart.
Of course, that stratagem would only work for so long. Sooner or later, Gaeta’s day of reckoning would come.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Romo folded his arms, studying the man in the cell before him. If the threat of imminent death was taking any kind of toll on Tom Zarek, he covered it well. The former terrorist stared back at the lawyer, his calculating gaze a mirror of Romo’s.
“I assume this isn’t a social visit, Mr. Lampkin.”
“You’re going to die, Mr. Zarek.”
Zarek took the statement with an easy smile. “Never expected to live forever.”
“You don’t understand; you’re going to die within twenty-four hours of saying ‘the defense rests.’”
The man watched him, his face solemn but collected. “I understand more than you think.”
“Yet you continue to pound every witness who takes the stand.”
“That’s rich, coming from Baltar’s counsel.” When Romo didn’t respond, Zarek sighed. “Some statements need to be made.”
“And how far are you willing to go?”
“Well, as you pointed out, I don’t have a whole lot to lose.”
Romo paced a few steps. He was off his game. So long as Zarek and all his worldly possessions stayed locked on that side of the bars, he could only collect with his eyes. Joe’s voice echoed in his head. All the signs are there . . . He took in the easy way Zarek lounged on his cot, as comfortable in a cell as another man might be in his own living room. All his possessions fit neatly into a cardboard box tucked under his bed. He had the look of a man long-accustomed to incarceration.
“You’ve seen this coming for a long time, haven’t you?”
Zarek shrugged. “It is the nature of the establishment to crush opposition. I’ve spent my life trying to change that.”
“Spare me the sermon, Mr. Zarek. The fact is that you overreached this time, and like it or not you’re going to pay the price.” He paused. “But maybe, Mr. Gaeta doesn’t have to.”
There. For a split second as Romo said Gaeta’s name . . . something passed across Tom Zarek’s face. His voice revealed nothing. “When Lt. Gaeta committed to this, he understood that there might be consequences. He accepted them. I made sure of that.”
Don’t look for the what; look for the why.
In Zarek’s long and infamous career, he had doubtless acquired a long string of accomplices. With the exception of Felix Gaeta, these men and women now shared exactly one trait; they were all dead.
“You’ve known lots of Felix Gaetas, haven’t you, Mr. Zarek?”
“Excuse me?”
“Good kids-confused kids-who put it all on the line for your cause because nothing else makes sense anymore. You’ve buried a lot of those kids, haven’t you?” Romo paused. “Maybe you even were one once.”
“Is there a point in there somewhere, Mr. Lampkin?”
“What’s a life worth to you, Mr. Zarek? Now, we all know that you’re willing to trade your life for your message, but what about his? Is he worth more to you than a statement?”
“Where are you going with this?”
“I’m putting Gaeta on the stand. He’s going to tell his story whether he wants to or not. And when the time comes, there is not a doubt in my mind that you could take him apart on cross. The little idiot’s loyal to you in spite of everything. Ask him if he’d do it again and he’ll say yes because he thinks that’s what you want from him. It might even help your cause-give your mourners one more martyr to rally around. But it will doom Felix to sharing your fate. So, what’s his life worth to you?”
Zarek didn’t respond.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
The court held its breath as Zarek dismissed his last witness. The old revolutionary cast one last significant glance around the courtroom, his eyes coming to rest on Romo.
“The defense rests.”
The chief justice nodded. “So noted. Does defense counsel for Mr. Gaeta have any witnesses to call?”
“We do.” Romo stood slowly. “If it please the court, defense counsel calls Lt. Felix Gaeta to testify on his own behalf.”
“What?!!!” Every head in the courtroom turned to look at Felix Gaeta, who was staring at Romo in shock.
Cassidy sprang to her feet. “Your Honors, the prosecution was not informed of this!”
“Join the club,” Gaeta growled. Romo kicked him under the table and winced when his foot hit metal.
“Counsel approach.”
The indignant lieutenant reached for his cane, but Romo knocked it out of his hand. “He doesn’t mean you, Skippy.” Gaeta glared daggers at Romo, but Zarek clapped a placating hand on his shoulder as he stepped by.
“Your Honor, this is highly irregular,” Cassidy growled when all three of them were gathered before the chief justice. “Mr. Lampkin did not alert the prosecution that Lt. Gaeta would be testifying. This is just one more in a series of questionable tactics-“
“Your Honor, my client has a constitutionally guaranteed right to testify in his own defense, and if you want to talk about questionable tactics, this whole trial is questionable. My client is a fleet officer and should have been tried by a military tribunal. By charging him alongside Mr. Zarek, the prosecution seeks prove guilt-by-association in direct-“
“Enough.” The judge cut them off. He glanced at Tom Zarek who watched impassively. “Does defense counsel make any exceptions?”
“I have no objection, your Honor.” Romo nearly rolled his eyes at Zarek’s choice of the old Saggitaron word “objection” over the more modern “exception.” Still, his voice was neutral. If Zarek was rankled at being characterized as a stain on Gaeta’s character, he didn’t show it.
“Very well. The prosecution’s exception is overruled. Call your witness, Mr. Lampkin.”
Easier said than done, Romo mused. As soon as he returned to the defense table, Gaeta grabbed his wrist. “What the hell is going on?” The man hissed.
“It’s quite simple, Lieutenant,” Romo pointed for emphasis, “You’re going to sit in that chair. I’ll ask some rather brilliant questions. You’ll answer as honestly as your limited faculties allow.”
“Are you telling me this whole grand strategy of yours hinges on what I have to say?”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“You have no idea. I also know what I’m doing. Now, let’s not keep the nice judges waiting.” Romo slapped Gaeta’s cane into his hand. The young officer adjusted his grip but did not yet rise.
“Romo . . .” For the first time, a glimmer of anxiety shone through the steely exterior. “This can’t be the only way.”
Romo sighed. “Felix,” he waited until Gaeta met his gaze, “I can’t promise that this’ll work. I can tell you that in my long and illustrious career, I’ve gotten worse men acquitted for worse crimes. But, all I can promise is that if you don’t sit for the panel, you will sit before a firing squad.”
Gaeta considered that for a moment. He glanced at Zarek, who smiled reassuringly. Finally, he drew a deep breath and stood.
It took Gaeta a long time to cross the short distance, and Romo knew that his pace was not solely due to his disability. Everything about Gaeta, from his hunched shoulders to his bowed head to the tense expression on his face when he finally sat, suggested that he really was bound for the gallows rather than the witness stand. Romo took a moment to gather his thoughts. This would have to be handled delicately.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
“What the hell was that about?”
Romo decided that the anger in Gaeta’s voice was a good sign; at the very least, it showed he was getting over the shell-shocked near-catatonia that had gripped him since he limped down from the witness stand. “That was our ironically-named justice system in action, my friend.”
“No, what the hell was that about? You’re supposed to be my attorney, but you practically made their case for them! I looked like a fool up there-a guilty fool. I had no idea what to say, what to do-“
“All you had to do was explain truthfully, from your perspective, what you did and why. Did you do that?”
“Well, yes, I tried, but . . . the things you got me to say . . . Frak, Lampkin, I admitted in front of all of them that even I wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing.”
“So, you admitted to being human. Given the circumstances, I don’t think that counts against you.”
“Look . . . would you please just talk to me? You really think I did well up there?”
Romo sighed. “Of course not. Your testimony was an absolute disaster, but it was a believable disaster. Do you even remember what you said?”
“Well, it’s all starting to run together in my head. I’m told traumatic stress can do that to a person . . .”
“Cute.” Romo sobered. “You admitted to following Adama’s orders, even when you disagreed with them, until the abuses of power were too numerous to ignore. You made it clear that you didn’t agree with what Zarek did to the Quorum, and it doesn’t take too much imagination to guess that he would have done the same to you if you went against him at that point. Most importantly, you admitted to saving the Galactica.”
Felix blinked. “I what?”
“You never thought of it that way, did you?” Romo pursed his lips. “I’m no commander, but even I know we were outgunned by that Baseship. If you hadn’t issued a weapons-hold-if you hadn’t surrendered to face trial and possible execution-then all of us, you, me, Adama, Zarek, the whole kit and caboodle that is the Battlestar Galactica, we’d all have gone up in a pretty blossom of nuclear fire.”
Gaeta pondered that for a moment. “Somehow, I don’t think the judges will see it that way,” he said at last.
Romo grinned wolfishly. “Leave that to me.”
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
The corridors outside Galactica’s makeshift courtroom were no less pleasant than the rest of the ship. Years ago light fixtures were reduced by fifty percent in deference to the light bulb shortage. Those that remained flickered unsteadily, ubiquitous victims of the battlestar’s sporadic power shortages. Rust scarred and mottled the once shining bulkheads, and the whole area reeked of mold. Romo leaned against a surface that seemed relatively sanitary in a corner that was reasonably deserted. With five minutes to kill before the end of the recess, he pulled his little idol out of his pocket and ran his thumb over the golden surface, muttering the half-remembered prayers to Hermes.
A little extra help never hurt.
Romo made it a policy never to second-guess himself. In the courtroom, you picked a strategy and stuck with it, and if you knew what you were doing, usually you won. But whatever the plan of attack, it was absolutely essential that neither the jury nor the opposition, nor your own client sensed any doubt on your part. Joe had hammered that into him again and again.
And yet, as he recalled Gaeta nearly breaking down as he stammered through his testimony, he couldn’t help but wonder. Was it worth it? In law, the ends always justified the means-Joe swore by that, too, and Romo believed him-but, what if even that wasn’t enough? What if instead of saving his life, Romo had done nothing but prolong Felix Gaeta’s humiliation?
He still remembered Joe’s scornful voice from the day they’d finally parted ways. You wanted to fail.
Not this time.
A familiar voice interrupted his musings. “I never figured you for the religious type.”
Romo looked up to see one Lee Adama leaning against a bulkhead, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his second-hand suit. A sarcastic smile tugged at his lips. “’Religious type’? How could you? It’s not like we wear uniforms.”
“I just thought-”
“That being a man of the law-a man of reason--I’d be above such parochial nonsense? You’ve spent too much time around the Adamas, Adama.”
Lee rocked back on his heels. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“I know that, which is why you’re getting a stern word instead of a boot up the ass. ‘Religious types’ aren’t all like Roslin’s Pythian zealots and Baltar’s starry-eyed fan club. The world gets a lot easier to puzzle out once you realize that people come in all shapes and sizes.”
“I understand,” Lee assured him in a tone that said that he didn’t, but was willing to smile and nod for the sake of civility. Romo sighed and offered the icon to him. Lee lifted the coin curiously but carefully, like a botanist investigating a new species of plant while suspicious of poisonous barbs. “I’m not sure I recognize this god.”
“I’m not surprised; the Admiral doesn’t seem like the type to invest in Temple School. That’s Hermes.” At Lee’s blank look, Romo rolled his eyes. “Son of Zeus? Messenger of the gods? Bringer of luck? Come on, Adama, tell me you’ve at least seen the cartoon?”
“Maybe . . . something about stealing cows?”
Romo chuckled. “’Hermes in Infancy*.’ That one’s a classic.”
Lee handed the coin back, his face a mask of polite disinterest. “I can never remember all the lore. It’s the kind of thing you have to be raised with.”
Romo accepted the idol. “It’s pretty simple really.” He flipped the coin, caught it, and tucked it into a breast pocket. “Hermes wanted to be recognized as Zeus’ son. So to get that legitimacy, he wrecked a little chaos on Olympus.”
“By stealing cows?”
“Among other things.”
“Romo,” a hint of concern crept into Lee’s voice, “You can’t really believe all that? Gods in diapers running around after giant cattle on some mythical mountain? I mean . . . we’re . . .” He held his hands out to indicate the grand tribute to progress that was the Battlestar Galactica.
Romo smiled. “I believe in what it tells me about the world.”
“And what’s that?”
“That strength doesn’t translate into morality. That sometimes to get justice you have to upset the establishment a little.” Romo glanced down. “That in the end, we all want recognition from our fathers.”
Lee digested that for a moment. He ran a hand through his disorderly hair. “That was a gutsy thing you did-putting Gaeta on the stand. You really didn’t prep him for it?”
“As you’ll recall, my client has a tendency to lie when he’s prepped for testimony. He’s not happy with me, but he’ll live.”
Neither man commented on the unfortunate word choice. After a moment, Lee cleared his throat. “I don’t know how much good it did. He’s not the most credible witness.”
“Credibility has nothing to do with it.”
“Come again?”
“It was never about what he said. The judges can disbelieve every word of it and the testimony will still have served its purpose.”
“And what purpose is that?”
“The fleet wants to see Gaeta torn apart. They should have some idea of what it looks like.”
Lee pinched the bridge of his nose. “I shouldn’t be telling you this . . . but you’ve made the prosecution nervous.”
Romo’s gaze sharpened. “They’re going to call a rebuttal witness?” Lee didn’t respond. Romo swallowed his exasperation. “If Cassidy has already decided to call another witness, she’s obligated to share that decision with defense counsel.”
“You didn’t share your witness list with the prosecution.”
“Fair point, but unless you want to see your precious legal system trampled on by any more blasphemous attorneys, you’ll tell me who the witness is.”
Lee stared at the blank bulkhead behind Romo. “Tomorrow, Zeus takes the stand.”
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
“I told Mr. Gaeta that his actions were in violation of his oath as an officer. I made it clear that he could not expect amnesty if he continued in that course.” Bill Adama leaned back, wearing his default inscrutable expression. Cassidy paced back and forth. She was clearly enjoying this.
“And how did the defendant respond?”
“He was composed. He ordered the command staff taken to the brig, myself included. When I next saw him, he had taken almost complete command of Galactica.”
“No further questions.”
“Your witness, Mr. Lampkin.”
Romo stood. “Thank you, Your Honor. Just a few questions, Admiral.” This would be easier, Romo reflected, if the Old Man didn’t look so damn much like his old man. Bill Adama lacked his father’s dark eyes and his hair had not yet turned completely silver, but every other detail, from the heavy set of his jaw to the expression of perpetual stoicism, could have been copied from Joe Adama’s face.
Nothing for it. Romo lifted a packet of papers, the edges worn and creased. “This is Defense Exhibit H. Could you read the highlighted passage?”
“’Since the exodus, tensions among the crew remain high, especially between those who were evacuated from New Caprica. In particular, Captain Thrace has been seen exchanging heated words with Lieutenant Gaeta in full view of junior officers and enlisted crewmen. I have asked Captain Agathon to place them on opposite shifts in hopes of averting future confrontations.’ I’ll save you the trouble of asking. Yes, I wrote this just after the exodus from New Caprica. It was copied from my personal log.”
Romo smiled thinly. The Admiral was trying to off-balance him, but when it came to courtroom tactics, Adama was far outmatched. “Thank you for your candor, Admiral. Now, can you describe for us any additional action you took as a result of this incident?”
“Exception; relevancy?”
“If Your Honors will grant me just a bit of leeway? It goes to the defendant’s state of mind.”
“An event that happened over a year ago?”
“I’ll allow it, but tread lightly, Mr. Lampkin.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” Romo rounded on Adama, who had sat impassive throughout the rapid-fire debate. “Please answer the question, Admiral.”
“I had a conversation with Captain Thrace. I warned her that her conduct was inappropriate for a Colonial officer. A disciplinary notice was entered into her personnel file.”
“And my client? Did you have a similar . . . conversation with Lieutenant Gaeta?”
“Not at that time. I judged that his disciplinary infractions were too minor to warrant an official reprimand.”
“You didn’t speak to him? Not even to get his side of the story?”
Adama shot him a familiar, contemptuous look. “I wasn’t interested in sides. A public argument between officers is bad for morale; that was the only issue at stake.”
“You weren’t interested in what could have sparked such a heated argument?”
“It’s my understanding that it was personal. I’m not a frakking relationship counselor.”
“Admiral!” The judges looked scandalized. Adama reluctantly inclined his head towards the one who had spoken.
“Beg pardon.”
Romo cleared his throat. “Fair enough. Turn to the next page and read the highlighted passage.”
Looking incredulous, Adama flipped the page and read, “The Demetrius mission yielded three casualties. Gunnery Sergeant Matthias is dead after an equipment malfunction. A civilian, Jean Barolay, was killed aboard the Baseship. Lt. Gaeta has survived the amputation of his lower leg, but remains in critical care. The cause of his gunshot wound is not immediately apparent; according to Major Cottle, it must have been inflicted at least twelve hours prior to the Demetrius’ return. The statements of the officers involved have been contradictory. In light of recent events, I have ruled the shooting accidental and placed further investigation on hold. The last thing I need is to lose another officer out of this mess.” The Admiral’s expression didn’t change, but Romo noticed that he carefully avoided looking at the defense table. Guilt was a good sign.
“And is this statement also from your personal log?”
“Yes.”
“And what did ‘further investigation’ reveal about the circumstances of my client’s injury?”
Adama’s shoulders stiffened. “The investigation was never reopened.”
Romo raised his eyebrows. “Never reopened? Two people dead, one maimed, and you never took the time to straighten out your officers’ stories?”
The Admiral’s face darkened. “We’re at war. People die.”
It was like arguing with a brick wall. Romo paced back and forth, taking a moment to regroup. Adama had avoided the obvious riposte-that the sudden appearance of the Baseship had rendered all other concerned secondary. Either the Admiral was shrewder than Romo had suspected, or he just felt guilty as hell. Either way, there were no more points to be won here.
“With that in mind, Admiral, why don’t you flip to the last page and read the highlighted portion?”
The angry lines in Adama’s face deepened when he recognized the entry Romo had chosen. For a moment, Romo thought he would refuse. Then, a judge cleared her throat, and Adama began to read. “Almost twenty-six hours have passed, and there is still no sign of Raptor 718.” Romo resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder to check on his client. He was saving Gaeta’s life. He was. “Colonel Tigh has dispatched a search Raptor, but if their jump drive malfunctioned, we may never find them.” Adama hesitated, and Romo knew that he was regretting ever agreeing to grant Gaeta a trial. “I have denied the XO’s request for an additional two Raptors to aid in the search. With tylium supplies running low, we don’t have resources to waste on dead-end missions. Though our Cylon allies are troubled by the loss of two of their own, their resources are similarly strained. Memorial services for Specialist Brooks and Lieutenants Finn, Esrin, and Gaeta will begin as soon as Lieutenant Hoshi and Lieutenant Edmondson return.”
A statement like that required no follow-up. Romo paced a few more steps, letting it sink in. Adama drew a slow breath and stared fixedly at the far corner of the courtroom, still studiously avoiding Gaeta’s gaze. Romo decided that it was time to close the noose and let Adama hang himself.
“Three separate incidents. Three short log entries. No inquiry, no follow-up. You never gave Lieutenant Gaeta much thought, did you?”
It was such an easy trap to avoid. Any other man would have protested. An Admiral can’t be blamed for the actions of a Captain, nor the behavior of officers on a mission he was not part of, and he certainly wasn’t responsible for the deadly consequences of a faulty FTL drive. But, this man was an Adama, and god-complexes are genetic.
The Admiral’s voice was icy. “I gave Lieutenant Gaeta no more attention and no less than any other officer on this ship.”
“Really? Is that how it is under your command?”
“Yes.”
“No special treatment? For anyone?”
“No.”
Romo leaned back on his heels and folded his arms. He kept his voice frank. “Then, why start now?”
“Excuse me?”
“Isn’t it true that of over eighty officers and crewmen implicated in the recent mutiny, my client is the only one to face the charge of treason and its accompanying sentence?”
“He was the instigator-“
Romo raised his voice, matching Adama. “Cpt. Aaron Kelly, prior to the mutiny was incarcerated for the murder of one Alan Hughes and the attempted murder of yours truly, among others. In the aftermath of the violence, isn’t it true that not only was he not charged with bearing arms for Mr. Zarek, but he received a full pardon and is returning to his rank and station aboard Galactica?”
“There were mitigating-“
“Lieutenant Noel Allison was seen firing on a Raptor containing President Roslin! At the time of his arrest, he was in command of a firing squad whose intended target was you yourself. Tell us, Admiral, what is Lieutenant Allison being charged with?”
“Dereliction of duty and endangering a civilian.”
“And how do you justify these charges-which I think the court will agree are far from adequate to the crimes described?”
“Lieutenant Allison was following the orders of a superior officer!”
“And that superior officer was Lieutenant Gaeta?”
“Yes.”
“And he deserves to die for it?”
“Yes.”
Ringing silence greeted the Admiral’s pronouncement. The years had weathered Bill Adama’s face, but when he scowled, he was still recognizable as the hotshot pilot who glared out of the silver frame on the corner of a large wooden desk-the real object of Joe’s affections. Romo advanced a few steps, carefully pitching his voice low. “And did it occur to you, Admiral, as you were dealing out judgment, that my client was also following the orders of a superior?”
Just a touch of uncertainty crept into Adama’s eyes. It never made it to his voice. “No one forced Mr. Gaeta to do what he did.”
“No, but he was following the explicit instructions of Vice President Tom Zarek.” Romo paused for emphasis. “And that’s what this is really about, isn’t it, Admiral?” Adama opened his mouth with a retort, but Romo cut him off. “You don’t mind that over eighty other men and women engaged in mutinous activity, so long as they were still taking orders from one of your hand-picked officers. But, it just kills you that my client could be led astray by the likes of Tom Zarek, doesn’t it?”
“That’s not why-“
“You’ve never liked Mr. Zarek, have you, Admiral?”
“It’s not my job to like him.”
“But, it is your job to protect the Articles of Colonization. Those same Articles and the will of the people give him authority as Vice President, but you’ve never recognized that right, have you?”
“Exception! Argumentative!”
“Isn’t it true that you refused to recognize Mr. Zarek’s authority as acting-President, even when President Roslin was indisposed due to being kidnapped by the Cylons?”
“She wasn’t kidnapped-“
“But didn’t you fail to acknowledge Mr. Zarek, preferring to install your own son as interim president because Mr. Zarek was that unworthy to lead?”
“You proposed that arrangement!”
“In reaction to your lack of confidence. Tell us, Admiral, what makes Tom Zarek so unfit to be President?”
“Zarek is a terrorist and a megalomaniac! He has exploited every tragedy this fleet has experienced to further his own agenda. He constantly seeks more influence. When he couldn’t get it from me, he turned to my son, and when Lee refused to humor him, he turned his attention on my junior officers!”
“And that’s what this is about, isn’t it? Not oaths, not legality, just your personal vendetta with Mr. Zarek, and my client is caught in the middle.”
“You have no frakking idea what you’re talking about!” Adama’s legendary control had all but evaporated. Romo watched the rage boiling right under the surface and decided to add some heat.
“Then, why don’t you enlighten me, Admiral? You’ve testified that you treated Mr. Gaeta no differently than any other officer. So, why is he facing the death penalty while his co-conspirators get slaps on the wrist?”
“Because he was in command!” Adama thundered. “For seven years, I trained him as an officer in my CIC. Tactics, strategy, technical support, and yes there were times he screwed up and there were times others screwed up and he was hurt through no fault of his own, but he remained a command officer, and I made sure he knew what that meant. When he pulled his little coup, he was in command of Galactica. And he had a duty-not to me or President Roslin or Vice President Zarek. He had a duty to this ship to protect her crew.”
“And he failed, didn’t he?”
Adama’s shoulders slumped as the energy from his tirade left him. “Yes.” Romo knew he was counting the bodies, just as Gaeta was. They were too alike, these two clients of his; more alike than either would admit to being.
“Just like you failed?”
A plaintive note entered the gravelly voice. “Yes.”
“And my client, Lieutenant Felix Gaeta, doesn’t deserve to face a firing squad anymore than you did, does he?”
The last glimmer of anger faded from the Admiral’s eyes. “No, he doesn’t.”
“No further questions.”
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Romo leaned back in his seat. Joe used to say that closing statements were only one part reason to two parts emotion and four parts theater. Romo hoped the old bastard was right about that one. “I have a confession to make.” He folded his arms. “I don’t like my client.” While that sunk in, Romo stood and paced a few steps away. “And really, I don’t think anyone in this courtroom can blame me. Mr. Gaeta is a hard man to like.” He turned to indicate Felix, who was now staring at Romo wearing that familiar expression of confusion and betrayal. “I mean, look at him. He’s sarcastic, stubborn, bitter. He keeps unsavory company. We all remember him as the voice of the Baltar Administration, so his easy alliance with Tom Zarek comes as no surprise to most of us. How can you respect a man like that? A man who will switch sides at the drop of a hat? A man who has made so many mistakes he can’t count them all? A man who time after time places his trust in the wrong people, learns nothing, and is condemned to repeat the same mistakes over and over? A man . . . like us?
“This case is not about legality; even the Admiral admits that. In many ways, our legal system is simply not adequate to the task at hand. Legal codes provide order. They tell us that this person is authorized to kill that person under these circumstances or that this person is subject to that person, so long as they all follow these guidelines. It’s a good system, and we need a system, but it is woefully inadequate to the case before us.
“Your task, Your Honors, is to weigh the value of life and death in a species that now numbers fewer than forty thousand individuals. One of those individuals is my client.
“It’s strange, really, how seeing so much destruction makes life cheap. Death is all we’ve known for over three years. It’s become a habit, a security blanket, the solution when we can’t come up with anything better. It would be so easy to execute my client. After all, we already don’t like him! He’s arrogant. He’s hapless. Felix Gaeta is a man who perpetually puts his trust in the wrong people. First, there was Baltar, now Zarek. Both abused that trust and left him to take the fall. Felix Gaeta has the unfortunate talent of always ending up on the wrong side-the losing side. It would be so easy to call his crimes capital-to flush him out the airlock, and hope his foolish naiveté goes with him.
“But then, of course, this stops being a case about Felix Gaeta. It becomes a case about our own shame. We have trusted the wrong people. We have been on the losing side. And killing Felix Gaeta will do nothing to assuage the betrayal we feel.
“Before you make your decision, let me tell you why I, personally, dislike Felix Gaeta. A few days ago, I was luxuriating in my quarters on Colonial One, spending some quality time with my pet dog, when four armed Marines knocked on my door. They were there to take me to the Admiral’s quarters on Galactica. The ship was a mess-gunfire in the halls, the whole shebang. And at the center of it all, Felix Gaeta had transformed the Admiral’s quarters into a makeshift courtroom, so that Admiral Adama could have his right to a fair trial. And me? I was there as defense counsel. I was summoned by Felix Gaeta to argue for the life of a man who had already decided that Mr. Gaeta deserved to die. In the middle of a war zone, Felix Gaeta was concerned about due process.
“It was then that I realized that Mr. Gaeta, in his naiveté, still believes in this meaningless system of rules and penalties that we call a legal code. If you find him guilty, he’ll accept your decision with a salute, and march down to the airlock as quickly as his prosthetic leg will allow. The question you need to answer is this: Is that a man we can afford to lose?”
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
“Will the defendants please rise?”
For Gaeta, that was easier said than done. Romo watched from the corner of his eye as the young officer carefully balanced, hands braced against the table for support. On his other side, Zarek cast similarly surreptitious glances. Felix seemed to be managing. Though he could not straighten to his full height, he held his chin up and kept his face carefully serene.
“By unanimous vote, we find the defendant Thomas Zarek guilty of treason. He is hereby remanded to the custody of the Admiral of the Fleet and is to be executed by firing squad no later than 2300 tonight.”
The courtroom broke out in a flurry of hushed voices. In a testament to the eloquence of the Vice President’s last stand, no one applauded. Zarek closed his eyes for one brief second, then opened them, accepting his fate in uncharacteristic silence. The chief justice rapped his gavel twice, calling the court to order. Romo stuffed his hands in his pockets, determined not to let a glimmer of nervousness show. He was a good liar. He could convince them all that this was just another case-that he didn’t give a frak one way or the other.
Present the best case you can with the client you’re given. Human nature will take care of the rest.
“By a vote of three to two, we find the defendant Felix Gaeta not guilty and order his immediate release.”
The response this time was not nearly so muted. A few voices immediately rose in protest, sparking countless arguments, mostly between men and women in duty blues. Romo slowly exhaled and glanced at his client.
Felix seemed oblivious to the growing turmoil of the crowd behind him. He was staring at the chief justice, mouth slightly open, brow furrowed in a classic expression of confusion. After a moment, he slowly turned to face his co-defendant. Zarek managed a smile, a nod, and a clap on the shoulder for the man who would have laid down his life for him. Before Felix had a chance to respond, a pair of Marines led the condemned man away. Even after he was gone, Felix stared at the empty space his latest departed idol had occupied, looking a bit like a lost child.
Romo pulled his shades from his pocket. “C’mon, kid, let’s get out of here.”
Felix turned to him, his expression slightly dazed. “Go where?”
“With me. We’ll start something new, together.” The officers and crewmen who’d attended the proceedings began to filter out. Gaeta flinched as a lieutenant shot him a particularly venomous glare. Romo waited until the younger man met his gaze again. “We can’t forget the past, Felix, but we can’t live in it either.”
Felix didn’t respond. His gaze drifted past Romo to settle ten feet behind him. Romo turned to see what had captured his client’s attention.
Across the aisle, Bill Adama locked eyes with his former tactical officer. His face revealed nothing, but then, it never had. After a moment, he inclined his head slightly in an almost imperceptible gesture of respect.
When Romo turned to look at Felix again, the young man’s eyes were focused on him. The tension slowly ebbed from his face, making him look years younger. It was all the payment Romo needed. In this desperate, scrabbling existence, maybe he couldn’t win legitimacy for the surrogate son. But, he could give him some measure of hope.
Fin