There was something about Lee Adama that set her teeth on edge.
Part of it was his manner – he was smug and spit-polished, all show. He specialized in the kind of insubordination that hid in inflections rather than words, ideas rather than actions.
But there was something more to it, something she hadn’t yet grasped. She remembered leaning over Bill’s log books, late that first night after finding the fleet. Reading clipped summaries of mutiny and betrayal, she’d felt outrage churning her gut. Not on Bill’s behalf – he had asked for everything he’d gotten – but for the service, and for herself. This blind idealism, set down in black and white, was toxic.
The Galactica CAG was a cancer, and he needed to be removed.
She transferred and demoted him; barely spared him a glance while he stood beside Thrace, finishing her sentences, riding her coattails. Bill asked for more time to consider their plan – in other words, to plot with the fifth column planted in her ship – and as she turned to the door she saw Lee’s hand curl lightly on Thrace’s arm. It was discreet, the most officers could allow themselves in public. She remembered that very gesture, the spark of it along her skin. Gina’s fingers had been so gentle that night, and Jurgen’s eyes had followed the two of them with a teasing, knowing light.
She stopped abruptly in the corridor, the recognition she had long held back pushing at the edge of her mind. When Lee wandered out a moment later, she turned on him.
“Care to tell me what your father finds it so urgent to discuss behind my back?”
He blinked, pulling up straight and offering a carefully blank face. “I don’t know, sir. Perhaps you should ask him.”
“I’m asking you, Lieutenant.”
“He’s talking with the CAG about her plan, sir. I don’t know any more than that. I didn’t question my superior officers – I’ve recently been advised against that.” With a half-tilt of his head, he indicated the pips on his collar.
Oh, he was hateful. Anger was boiling up out of all proportion and she hissed, “You’d do well to drop the irony from your tone, Lieutenant. The last officer who questioned orders on this ship left his brains on the CIC carpet.”
Adama stared at her. For a long moment, they said nothing.
“Was he right?” he asked. “In the end?”
And then it was hard to breathe. Unwanted and undeniable, the resemblance broke through. Jurgen Belzen – he reminded her of Jurgen, always had, from the moment she read those logs. The caution, the questions, the principled last stands in all their self-indulgence...the guilt, the twelve years of knowing blown away in one shot and gods help her, they even looked alike.
Twelve years reduced to a stain on the carpet and thirty-seven pilots that never came home. And all for nothing, if she hadn’t been right.
“No,” she answered harshly. “No."
Jurgen hadn't been right in the end. He couldn't have been, because it wasn't over yet.
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timeasmymeasure
Loot Part 2
Date: 2011-04-10 12:48 pm (UTC)Lest Old Acquaintance Be Forgot
There was something about Lee Adama that set her teeth on edge.
Part of it was his manner – he was smug and spit-polished, all show. He specialized in the kind of insubordination that hid in inflections rather than words, ideas rather than actions.
But there was something more to it, something she hadn’t yet grasped. She remembered leaning over Bill’s log books, late that first night after finding the fleet. Reading clipped summaries of mutiny and betrayal, she’d felt outrage churning her gut. Not on Bill’s behalf – he had asked for everything he’d gotten – but for the service, and for herself. This blind idealism, set down in black and white, was toxic.
The Galactica CAG was a cancer, and he needed to be removed.
She transferred and demoted him; barely spared him a glance while he stood beside Thrace, finishing her sentences, riding her coattails. Bill asked for more time to consider their plan – in other words, to plot with the fifth column planted in her ship – and as she turned to the door she saw Lee’s hand curl lightly on Thrace’s arm. It was discreet, the most officers could allow themselves in public. She remembered that very gesture, the spark of it along her skin. Gina’s fingers had been so gentle that night, and Jurgen’s eyes had followed the two of them with a teasing, knowing light.
She stopped abruptly in the corridor, the recognition she had long held back pushing at the edge of her mind. When Lee wandered out a moment later, she turned on him.
“Care to tell me what your father finds it so urgent to discuss behind my back?”
He blinked, pulling up straight and offering a carefully blank face. “I don’t know, sir. Perhaps you should ask him.”
“I’m asking you, Lieutenant.”
“He’s talking with the CAG about her plan, sir. I don’t know any more than that. I didn’t question my superior officers – I’ve recently been advised against that.” With a half-tilt of his head, he indicated the pips on his collar.
Oh, he was hateful. Anger was boiling up out of all proportion and she hissed, “You’d do well to drop the irony from your tone, Lieutenant. The last officer who questioned orders on this ship left his brains on the CIC carpet.”
Adama stared at her. For a long moment, they said nothing.
“Was he right?” he asked. “In the end?”
And then it was hard to breathe. Unwanted and undeniable, the resemblance broke through. Jurgen Belzen – he reminded her of Jurgen, always had, from the moment she read those logs. The caution, the questions, the principled last stands in all their self-indulgence...the guilt, the twelve years of knowing blown away in one shot and gods help her, they even looked alike.
Twelve years reduced to a stain on the carpet and thirty-seven pilots that never came home. And all for nothing, if she hadn’t been right.
“No,” she answered harshly. “No."
Jurgen hadn't been right in the end. He couldn't have been, because it wasn't over yet.
4. Won from