Wounded Wing: Chapter 111 Debriefs
Chapter 111 Debriefs
“…that’s when I decided wasn’t gonna let any damned Cylon programming make me into someone else,” Saul Tigh said. Then, voice rising, “I’m no Boomer,” he snapped out, slapping his palm on the metal table between he and Lee for emphasis.
“How can you be sure?”
At Lee’s demand, a muscle in Saul’s cheek twitched. The older man placed both hands before him and leaned forward.
“Cuz I’m no frakkin’ traitor!” Tigh’s face was flushed, and Lee saw the strain as the man tried to curb his indignation. Abruptly the Colonel sat back, his tone quieting when he said, “The Admiral saved my life, you know. Course he wasn’t an Admiral then, but he came back for me. Just like he said it would…” Saul faded off, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.
Watching the Colonel raise a distracted hand to scratch at a day’s-old growth of whiskers, Lee was glad he’d personally had time for a quick to shower and shave after shedding his jocksmock. He certainly hadn’t had any since, he thought wryly. A glance at the room’s clock showed that it was just into the first watches’ shift; he doubted many on Galactica had seen their racks at all during the third shift. Surveying Saul again, he could see how fatigue had deepened the lines of the older man’s face. They were all tired-and when Lee’s stomach made a low rumble-hungry, too, he admitted. He couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten, and he knew for a fact that the prisoners hadn’t either.
With a wave to the attending guard, “See about sending to the mess for a couple of trays,” he said, a flick of his hand to indicate they were for himself and the ex-XO, “and make sure that the prisoner’s receive theirs also,” he carried on to order. The Marine looked uncertain about leaving him alone, but then gave the aborted salute that Lee was slowly becoming accustomed to, and turned to leave.
When alone, and sure that he and Tigh would have some time without a second pair of ears, Lee rapped the table to pull the other’s attention back to him.
“How?” he began. “How did my father save your life?”
Saul’s eyes squinted at him as if trying to decide how much to share, then his blue-clad shoulders gave a shrug and he leaned forward again.
“We met in a bar fight. No surprise there, I expect.” He gave a gruff laugh. “I was in a tough spot. Looking at being out numbered and too damned drunk to care.”
“That’s it?”
“Course not!” Saul huffed, scorning the suggestion. “Turns out Bill was the new man on the rattleclap cargo-carrier I was working at the time. You see, we both mustered out after the war-” he broke off, confusion lowering his brows. “Least I thought I did.” Saul’s eyes turned opaque as his focus shifted inward again.
“Colonel,” Lee said, growing impatient as the silence dragged out. He needed to know more about Saul’s hold on his father to be better able to judge the Admiral’s reactions, and he’d rather not have an audience in case there were any damaging revelations to be made.
Tigh’s gaze sharpened again, and he said, “Sorry,” before passing a hand over his eyes. “It’s just... I’m not even frakkin’ sure where my real memories start.” His hands fisted on the table’s surface. “Was I in the First Cylon War? Don’t think they had skinjobs back then.” A growl came from the man as he lifted and flexed his hand. “Frakkin’ skinjob,” he muttered, glaring at his hand.
Afraid that Saul was about to descend into mute musings again, “Ellen said that it was about six years after the Armistice,” he offered. When Saul’s gaze shifted to him, Lee continued, “According to her, the Ones wiped the memories of all the other lines, boxed Tyrol, Foster and Anders on the chance he’d need their resurrection expertise in the future, but chose to drop the two of you on Caprica with false memories of your past.”
“Yeah... Yeah, that would be about when I mustered outta the Fleet,” Saul agreed.
“And?”
“And…” He gave a derisive snort, “and I found work around the shipyards in Caprica City. Scut runs mostly. Piloting cargo transport and the like, ” he said. “Though, I badly missed flying a Viper,” then at Lee’s raised eyebrow, “It was real, godsdamnit!” Saul growled. “The war. Bullethead boarding parties. Watching folks I knew get gutted by damned Toasters.” He jabbed a finger at Lee. “It was frakkin’ real to me!”
As Lee gave a grudging nod, Saul appeared partially mollified. With a sullen huff, he continued, “It wasn’t so bad at first; found steady work and even shacked up with an ex-Marine for a time.” He scrubbed at his jaw as his gaze dropped. “The drinking was just to help me sleep,” he defensively added, and Lee could see where this was heading. It wasn’t hard to guess that his relationship and work both suffered as Saul became increasingly dependent on the bottle. Some of the local bars that serviced the personnel of Caprica Base were regular hangouts for those veterans that were willing to trade stories-real or fabricated-to nuggets gullible enough to be talked into buying a round of drinks. Yes, Lee decided, Saul Tigh would have fit right in, his natural bluster a magnet to the Fleet’s newest hotshots; that was, until he’d down enough alcohol to become belligerent.
“Too many ex-flyers with cleaner records than mine, so I spent the next few years groundside,” Saul went on. “Finally started shipping out as a deckhand on freighters. Had joined a new one a short time before I hooked up with your old man, and he had my back in that bar fight and from that point on. Things were ok after that for about two years, I guess. Not great,” he shrugged, “but we managed. You see, he understood.”
Lee understood then, too. The senior Adama had undoubtedly kept Tigh dry and sane during that time. In return, the man had given his father both friendship and loyalty. Oh, yes, he understood far too well as his own thoughts turned to wondering what Kara was doing now. His attention was pulled back as Saul continued.
ldquo;We were on shore leave and Bill met this blonde-I guess we both have a thing for them-and it got serious fast.” He paused, and his tone was resentful when he continued. “So while I was cooling my heels for a few days in lockup over a card game gone wrong, your dad was off wooing your mom.”
It was obvious from the dark look Saul cast his way that he felt Lee’s father should have bailed him out or, at the very least, have been stuck in the same cell with him. He gave a mental shrug. As a kid, he’d heard enough times of how his parents had met; Carolanne just coming out of a bank and slipping on the slick pavement. His father had caught her arm, preventing a nasty fall, but she had still twisted an ankle and his dad had insisted on carrying her to a hospital a few blocks away and waiting with her. The tale had long since lost its romantic luster.
“So they got married later that week. Where’d that leave you-besides behind bars?” he asked, and watched as Saul’s lips thinned.
“Bill had a contract. We both did,” he said. “So he kissed the new missus goodbye and after the judge kicked me loose, we returned to our berths on that doddering excuse for a ship.” Saul paused and rubbed his hands along the rough fabric of his pants. Then he took up the story again, his voice going flat. “Bill got a letter, about two months later it was. Seems the new Mrs. Adama had a few connections. She’d got him reinstated with the Fleet. He said he’d get me back in, too, once he had some pull.” Saul crossed his arms. “I waited. Kept my head down. Stayed clear of the bottle. And I waited. After a year I got tired of waiting. Wasn’t long after that I found my ass dirtside and out of work again.”
As the figure across from him seemed to hunch in on himself, Lee shifted, and the sound of his chair legs scraping against the metal decking drew Tigh’s gaze back to him.
“But he did get you reinstated…as a Captain, right?” Lee pressed.
“Yeah. Yes he did,” answered Saul, sitting up a little straighter. “Saved my life. It was a close thing, though. Couldn’t keep a job. Didn’t see a reason to stay sober, so I didn’t bother.” Squinting at Lee, “Don’t mind telling you it was a close thing. Day later, even an hour, and the MPs your dad sent to find me would’ve been too late.”
Lee stood then, moving to the far wall to get some mental space more than physical distance from the man he was supposed to judge. With his hands in his trousers’ pockets, he contemplated Saul’s story. There was very little he’d be able to verify. Sure, the time he’d spent with Bill Adama, but as for the rest…
None of the Saul’s behavior made sense if he were a plant meant to infiltrate the Fleet. There was no way the Cylons could’ve predicted the role Bill Adama would one day play, so why setup a saboteur as the best friend of an aging deckhand? He shook his head, rejecting the idea that it was anything more than chance that had brought the two men together. And from the sounds of things, it was his father that had each time initiated the contact. If Saul Tigh was a sleeper agent, his programming had either drastically failed or succeeded beyond any reasonable expectation. As much as Lee might resent the Colonel, once he was honest with himself, he just couldn’t believe that Tigh would side with Adama’s enemies. His father had proven true to his word-that was the deeper reason for Saul’s explaining all he had-and Tigh had given his loyalty to Bill Adama against all comers.
Obviously, there was one thing the figure in blue across from him wanted Lee to understand; that Saul Tigh was loyal and nothing could shake that truth.
The clank of the hatch wheel spinning pulled Lee’s startled gaze around, then he relaxed as he remembered the guard he’d sent for food. He stepped forward and helped the younger fellow manage the heavy door, swinging it open. Deftly relieving the Marine of the two trays, he returned to the table and slid one across to the Colonel.
As he sat and met Saul’s questioning gaze, “Eat up, Sir,” he said, purposefully using the honorific as he passed Tigh a fork. As the older man warily took the utensil, “I still have one more debrief, then I’ll report to the Admiral,” Lee said, then with a nod, “I doubt it’s as bad as it looks,” he added, leaving it to Saul to puzzle out whether he meant the food…or the final revealed Cylons’ fate.
[ I I I I I ]
Sam had just finished his meal when several guards entered the Cylon holding cell. They formed up, armed with assault rifles at the ready, before one called out Sam’s name. Having already gone through this routine once when he’d been allowed to shower and change, it was less alarming this time. Still, he figured it didn’t pay to make the guys with the guns impatient, so he set aside the tray and stood, hands extended.
The young man who stepped forward with a set of wrist shackles had been in the New Caprican Resistance with him. As the Marine attached the cuffs, he gave Anders an apologetic look, a definite improvement over the betrayed anger he’d first displayed. Obviously Sam wasn’t the only one becoming accustomed to the fact that he was a Cylon. The relief he felt at the revelation loosened his jaw enough that he could give the soldier a reassuring smile in return.
“Enough, Private!” snapped one of the other Marines. “Just secure the prisoner and step back.”
Sam sighed when the young soldier made a hasty retreat. So much for improved relations, though he supposed he shouldn’t blame the guy too much. It had only been a couple of hours ago that they’d had to pull him off D’Anna. Yeah, the restraints and heightened tension weren’t really a surprise; truth was that he didn’t even regret it, just that the men had proven too quick at preventing him finishing off the Three.
On the lead guard’s command, “Out!” Sam fell into position in the cordon of Marines, trying to look as cooperative as possible. He suddenly wondered if the just-finished meal was meant to be his last and he was even now being escorted to a nearby airlock. He really, really hoped not, if for no other reason than he wanted a chance to say goodbye to Kara.
Following stoically, Sam calculated the odds that he was going to his execution. It seemed less likely given the treatment they’d received so far.
In the hours since Saul Tigh and Lee Adama had paid their visit, time had dragged, broken only by the guards coming for one or the other of the prisoners. The first time, when they’d motioned Ellen forward, he had thought to protest. The grim expressions and poised guns had given him no choice but to watch apprehensively as she was escorted out. He was nearly nauseous from apprehension when less than a half hour later Ellen had been returned, freshly showered and relaxed looking. Her smile had reassured him that his dark thoughts of how Pegasus’ Cylon prisoner was treated weren’t about to be reenacted on Galactica.
Cots having been brought in, and once all the prisoners had cleaned up, they should have gotten some rest. Yet it was difficult when no one knew what was happening beyond the pleximesh of their cell. Especially when first Caprica, and then Ellen, were taken away for a second time. Time stretched in their absence, and Sam had risen from his cot and begun to pace. He supposed that the nervous tension that drove his own agitated motions could be to blame for D’Anna’s behavior, but he wasn’t in any mood to give the woman the benefit of a doubt. So when she started in about how trusting Kara had been a stupid move, Sam had told her that he didn’t give a damned about her opinion and to leave off her complaints.
That had only seemed to fuel her bitterness.
D’Anna had acrimoniously continued on, voice purposefully pitched loud enough for him to hear, and Sam had gone from just irritated to plain enraged. It was bad enough knowing that Leoben had harmed his wife, but when the Three started in with insinuations that Kara had enjoyed the Two’s attention, he had totally lost it. Only the guards’ swift response had kept him from strangling her and to hell with the consequences. The one good thing was that she’d been removed and hadn’t returned.
Halting at the guards’ orders in front of an unmarked hatch, Anders wondered what lay behind this door. He didn’t have long to wait, for in response to the Marine’s call, a voice answered, “Come,” giving them permission to enter. The hatch swung wide, revealing a table and two chairs within. A sharp prod in the back urged him forward. It wasn’t until he cleared the threshold that Anders saw the figure lounging just to the side of the opening. He hesitated, but a gun barrel directed him onwards to the far chair.
Slouching into the seat, he eyed the other man.
“You want ‘em secured, Sir?” a guard asked with a nod towards Sam’s shackles.
“No, go ahead and release him.”
Without taking his eyes from the motionless figure, Sam lifted his hands and the Marine made fast work of removing the restraints. Sam rubbed the chaffed skin of his wrists and waited.
“Your team can wait outside, Lieutenant.”
The officer gave a dubious look before he turned to wave his men out and followed after.
Alone now, Sam asked, ”You’re not afraid of me, Apollo?”
Lee gave a pause before he replied, “Should I be?” and there was an undercurrent to his tone.
“Not gonna attack you, if that’s what you mean.” Sam shifted and hitched an arm over the edge of his chair back. “Thought there might be something else,” he goaded, prodding to see if he’d understood Apollo’s earlier unspoken message.
“Kara,” Lee said as if that explained everything. He stepped forward and pulled the second chair clear, settling across from Sam.
Sam took a breath. The hints, rumors and insinuations that Starbuck and Apollo were more than just wingmen were true. Sam’s eyes narrowed as he pushed down the urge to toss the table aside and punch the other man.
“What’s she to you?” he coolly asked, then frowned as blue eyes shifted to Sam’s bare right arm. In response to Lee’s pointed look, Sam ground out, “Kara’s my wife.”
Apollo gave a short laugh as if having scored a point, and Sam’s scowl deepened.
“If you can say that, then you don’t know Kara at all.”
Sam gritted his teeth at the statement-Adama was right to an extent. He gave a mental grimace at how Kara would’ve reacted if she’d heard his own claim of possession. If there was one thing he’d learned on New Caprica, it was that you did not own Kara Thrace. If you were damned lucky and she gave of herself, then it was always known it was conditional. That was just the way she was. He’d understood that even when they’d stood together on the water’s edge and exchanged vows. And it had always been enough for him. At least until now, until he faced a serious threat to what he had with her.
“Like I said, what’s she to you?” he demanded, wanting to push the other on to defense. He saw the amusement shed from Apollo’s expression as the pilot’s face tightened in pain.
“More than you know,” Lee’s reply finally came.
And for a moment they understood each other as Sam recalled the devastation he’d felt when Cavil had told him that Kara was dead. Now, he recognized that same gut-loss in Lee’s eyes.
Makes sense. Then chiding himself, Of course it makes sense. They thought she was dead.
Letting his gaze slide away from the raw emotion that reflected his own, Sam’s eyes settled on the clock on the side wall. How many hours since he’d last slept? Lifting his hands, he pressed the palms against his aching eyes and rubbed.
Letting his hands fall to his lap, “Look, man,” he said, “I’m too frakking wrecked to-to…” fatigue and frustration made him falter, “to throwdown with you over Kara right now, Ok. So, you ask what you need to know and we can be done here.”
“Fine.” Lee crossed his hands on the table. “I need to know where your loyalties lie.”
Sam blinked several times trying to figure out what he meant. Surely the guy didn’t think he’d side with the Cylons? Not after everything that had gone down?
“You’re seriously asking me that?” he demanded.
“Just answer the question, Anders,” Lee’s voice turned colder. “Whose side are you on?”
Leaning forward with his hands on his knees, Sam said, “I’m with the Colonials. Just like always.”
“And if Kara sided with the rebels? What if she chose to leave the Fleet?”
Again Anders was rocked back on his mental heels. What the hell was Adama going on about? Kara wasn’t about to abandon Galactica, certainly not to return to one of the rebel basestars. Confusion pulled his thoughts in opposing directions. Then his chin jerked up as he finally got the gist of what the other man was really asking. He gave Apollo a grim smile.
“If you’re thinking that my pennant flies with Kara only…than no,” Sam firmly stated. “I may not be human, but I’m not a frakking Toaster either. Nothing and no one can change that.” Jabbing a finger down at the table, “My team is here!” he forcefully added.
“I don’t know,” Lee said. “Looks to me like you got traded.”
Anders stared at him, again uncertain if they were discussing Sam’s political allegiance or Kara’s affection. Right. He could answer both easily enough. “I know who I’m with,” he replied, and took some satisfaction from the other man’s clenching jaw. The smugness he felt was fleeting, though, as the sense of time slipping away drew his eyes to the clock again.
“Look, man, we need this,” he said, then clarifying, “This alliance. Leoben gave me the rendezvous coordinates, but the rebels won’t wait. We’ve got five, maybe six, days max. Cavil’s forces are tough, but if Galactica joins with the rebels, we’ve got a chance at taking him down.”
“Why should I believe that this is anything but a trap?”
“Because it’s not.”
“Convince me.”
At the cold bite in Apollo’s words, Sam bleakly sought some argument to break through to the other man. Frak me! he cursed silently. He wasn’t one of those fast talking mediaheads; he’d always left that to the C-Buc’s PR department. And yet, here he was now expected to find a way to merger two rival groups. It took effort to not pound a fist on the table between them. How the hell was he supposed to persuade Adama when Sam himself still felt the dregs of bitter hatred towards those that had harmed so many of his friends-and this despite having his restored memory of having once belonged to that same collective. There was no frakking way he could see to prove the legitimacy of the rebel’s offer.
If Leoben was here-
Sam broke off as the irony of the thought taunted him. Yet the flash of guilt was quickly snuffed by the realization that the man across from him would’ve been even less likely to accept anything the Two proposed. Then it occurred to Sam that he was going about this the wrong way.
“We both love Kara and I’d never do anything to hurt her,” he said, barely holding back from asking Lee if he could claim the same. Instead, Sam went on, “This alliance is the best chance any of us has to survive.” He saw Adama’s resistance waver. “Kara spent weeks on the rebels’ basestar and they didn’t harm her. Go ahead, ask her. And then the rebels let her go as soon as they didn’t have the Ones to answer to.”
“Since when do the Cylons have to ‘answer to’ any single model?”
“Godsdamnit, Lee. You’re not listening.” Sam glared. “Cavil’s manipulated all of us for years. Whose plan do you think it was to destroy the Twelve Colonies? I’m telling you that he’s a frakking psycho-all the Ones are,” Sam burst out, then took a breath, trying to restrain his rage at thoughts of the Ones. His anger was layered, and deeper than the effects of his recent captivity. Eying the man across from him, Sam figured if anyone could understand it, Lee Adama would.
“After Ellen and I resurrected, Cavil came by to taunt us with ‘stories’ of what was happening to Saul and Kara.” He definitely had Lee’s attention now. “Cavil liked details. What he said-” Sam broke off to swallow the bile that rose at the memories of torments the One had described during those dark weeks. Forcing his voice to steady, he continued. “He likes it to hurt. When he told me that Kara was dead, there was this look in his eyes…” Shaking his head, Sam wasn’t sure how to explain that moment. Bringing his eyes back to Lee’s, he ground out, “The Ones don’t just want to wipe out all humans, they’re obsessed with it.” Spacing his next words for emphasis, “They. Will. Never. Stop,” he grimly stated.
He watched Lee shift in his chair and hoped the man was finally getting it. Finally coming to see that the Colonials could never be safe as long as the faction led by the Ones still existed. Deciding to play out his last remaining move, he said, “The rebels made their choice. With or without Galactica, there’s no going back for them. Cavil’s not the kinda guy to forgive and forget, you know.” Sam settled further in his chair then and waited.
As Lee drummed his fingers on the table, Sam thought he saw grudging recognition of the points he had made. He could only hope it was enough. Then Adama rose and gave him a short nod before turning and moving towards the hatch. Uncertain how to take the man’s response, Sam nearly called out, but left his question unspoken. Lee either believed him, or he didn’t.
Recuffed, Sam stood. As he did, he chose to believe that he’d gotten through to the younger Adama. He figured if the two of them, rivals as they apparently were, could reach a tentative truce, then there was yet a chance for the same between the Colonials and rebels.
[ I I I I I ]
Lee’s gaze swept CIC, seeking the Admiral’s form in the low-lit chamber. He’d come straight from his last debrief and just wanted to give his father his recommendation and go find a rack in which to crash. As the familiar sounds of murmured orders and status reports that were the backdrop of Galactica’s nerve center hummed around him, Lee realized that his dad wasn’t here. Frustration warred with fatigue as he turned to leave.
“Apollo,” a voice called to him.
Looking over his shoulder, he saw the tall figure of the new XO step towards him. He gave Agathon a questioning look and caught the tilt of Helo’s head indicating that he wanted Lee to follow him. As he entered the War Room, he wondered what the newly promoted Major could want. He didn’t have long to wait as Helo closed the hatch and turned to face him.
“You’re looking for the Admiral?”
“Yes,” he replied, exhaustion making him curt.
“He’s resting. Best to wait until later.”
The words to tell the man to mind his own business were on the tip of Lee’s tongue, but he swallowed them back and ran an agitated hand through his hair. As he did, he considered whether his report was time sensitive enough to warrant waking his father. Thinking about it, he had to admit that it wasn’t. Moreover, he knew just exactly how strung out the Admiral was and a few hours rack time was likely to make him more receptive to Lee’s recommendation. And he knew his own arguments would fair better if they were at least coherent, something that right now Lee wasn’t sure he could pull off.
“Right,” he agreed. “Have me paged once he’s up.” He gave Agathon a nod, but as he moved to step by, a hand caught his elbow and he raised an inquiring eyebrow.
“About Showboat, Sir,” Helo started, then hesitated. Lee’s confusion seemed to make up the other man’s mind, for he went on, “Is she the best choice for CAG? Surely Kat would be the better. She’s been Galactica’s CAG before.”
“Kat’s good. Really good, but she never went through OCS,” Lee said. “Captain Case has both the training and experience; she was my CAG on Pegasus you’ll remember.”
“Showboat is from Pegasus,” Helo said slowly, “that’s one reason I thought Kat might be best.”
“We’re a mixed crew now,” Lee reminded him. “We’ve nearly as many pilots from Pegasus now as Galactica’s.
“Yes, but I’d think that-”
Lee interrupted, “Look, you’re the XO now. If you want to swap them, then do it.”
He watched Agathon straighten as the idea that he, not Lee, was in the position to make this sort of decision now. When it became clear that the other man wasn’t going to say anything further, Lee stepped past him.
Someplace on this ship there was a rack he could claim for at least a few hours. Everything else would have to wait.