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thatcrazycajunConversation in Admiral's quarters aboard the Colonial Fleet battlestar Galactica between Maj. Karl Agathon (callsign "Helo") and Adm. William Adama, Cmdr-JCS, Colonial Fleet, 2212 hours:
The door chime went off as Adama poured. "Come in," he said aloud.
Helo came in, still in uniform as he was just coming off shift in the CIC. "You wanted to see me, sir?"
Adama looked up and smiled. "Come in, Helo. At ease; this isn't a formal interview. Want something to drink? 180-year-old Sagittaran whisky. Nobody in the galaxy makes it smoother." He gestured with the half-empty bottle in his hand.
"So I've heard, sir. Never had any myself."
"Then it's your lucky day...in more ways than one," he said as he filled a shot glass and handed it to Helo with a meaningful look...though Helo was damned if he had the tiniest clue just what that meaning was. Though he did have one nagging suspicion... But he took the drink. Adama waved at a chair. "Have a seat. Relax."
Helo sat and faced the big desk behind which Adama usually did most of his work when he wasn't on command deck. The Old Man raised his own glass and said solemnly, "To the Colonies and the Fleet." The ceremonial service toast every Colonial warrior knew by heart.
Helo's own glass went up in response. "The Colonies and the Fleet," he said. Adama reached forward from his position, butt parked against the front of the desk, and clinked the rim of his glass against Helo's, then drank up and emptied his glass in one smooth, swift motion. "Ahhh," he exhaled as the liquor seared its way down his throat. Helo took a more cautious sip and found it every bit as good as advertised. Then Adama fixed him with a gimlet eye that Helo had only ever seen him use in inspections, when the Old Man had found some infraction of regulations in dress or maintenance that he found unacceptable. "Damn it to all the gods, Helo, if you were gonna pull a bonehead move like this, couldn't you at least have had sense enough to wear a frakkin' pair of rubber gloves?"
Helo started. "Sir?"
"Sloppy, Major. Very careless. I don't tolerate sloppiness in my command; you should know that by now." He didn't look angry...but he did look deadly serious. "Once I figured out how those Cylon prisoners got asphyxiated, it didn't take a Dr. Baltar to figure out where to look for clues. I dusted the circuit boxes for fingerprints...purely to satisfy my own curiosity, you understand. And the only ones I found that didn't belong to maintenance or engineering personnel who could all be accounted for at the time in question...were yours. Pretty damned recent, too."
Helo's heart jumped into his mouth. Oh, frak, he thought, I knew it. I can't believe I was so stupid. I am so frakking hosed.
"Again, relax, son," Adama said gently. "There isn't going to be an inquiry...damn lucky for you. The only two reasons your ass isn't sitting before a board of court-martial right now are: one, I happen to agree with you on this; and two, President Roslin knows me and respects my judgment. She just barely didn't give me an order to mount an investigation...but she's furious at me that I even let this happen, as well as for stonewalling her on it...and I can't say I blame her. I'm gonna have to stay the hell out of her sight for at least a month—and I strongly recommend that you do the same." He leaned down into Helo's face...and now he did indeed look supremely angry. "And so help me gods, if you ever frakking put me in a position like that again, mister, there will be some serious hell to pay. Do you read me?"
Helo gulped. "Y-yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir."
Adama waved him off. "Don't apologize, son. You saved us from ourselves. Gods know—and so does Roslin—we want the Cylons stopped every bit as much as she does. But if we'd done it this way, we'd have started down a road we could never, ever have come back from...and I really don't think we'd like who we'd have become by the time we reached the end of it. She knows neither of us is really a traitor...so she didn't give me the order. I just wanted you to know that; I figured you'd be pretty damned worried about now."
Helo sighed heavily. "Thank you, sir. For going to the goal for me."
Adama shook his graying head. "Just doing my job, son." His expression turned reflective. "Again, just out of curiosity—and you don't have to answer if you don't want to—whose idea was this? Yours...or Sharon's?"
"Uh, I don't mind, sir. It was all me. Sharon was actually shocked and horrified when I told her what I was planning...but in the end, she understood. She supported my decision, but it was totally mine."
"Huh." Adama turned his glass over in his hand, focusing in on its clear Merian crystal surface. "Pretty ironic," he mused. "A Cylon who's more patriotic to humanity than a born human." He put the glass down on the desk behind him. "Finish your drink and get some sleep, son. That'll be all."
"Yes, sir," Helo replied, downing the last of his whiskey. "Uh, sir...I am sorry about putting you in this position. But I think you should know...if I had it to do over again, even knowing what I know now—I'm pretty sure I'd do exactly the same thing."
Adama nodded. "I know, Karl. I just wanted you to know it's gonna be okay...and that even if no one else will ever know, I know it was you. And so does Roslin." He fixed that gimlet eye on the younger man again. "We won't get away with this kind of crap a second time. So make damned sure there isn't a next time...or if there is, let's at least figure out a better way to handle it, shall we?"
Helo nodded back. "Yes, sir. Thank you again, sir."
"No, thank you," Adama said soberly. "I don't know if I could have had the guts to do what you did, had I been in your shoes."
"Sir, with all due respect, I've served under you way too long to believe that." Helo's eyes shone as he looked at his commanding officer.
Adama sighed. "You may well be giving me far more compliment than I deserve, son...but with any luck, we'll never have to find out. Good night."
Helo parked his empty glass beside Adama's on the desk. "Good night, sir," he replied with a small smile and turned on his heel to leave. Adama watched his back recede and the door slide shut behind him, lost in thought.
Helo came in, still in uniform as he was just coming off shift in the CIC. "You wanted to see me, sir?"
Adama looked up and smiled. "Come in, Helo. At ease; this isn't a formal interview. Want something to drink? 180-year-old Sagittaran whisky. Nobody in the galaxy makes it smoother." He gestured with the half-empty bottle in his hand.
"So I've heard, sir. Never had any myself."
"Then it's your lucky day...in more ways than one," he said as he filled a shot glass and handed it to Helo with a meaningful look...though Helo was damned if he had the tiniest clue just what that meaning was. Though he did have one nagging suspicion... But he took the drink. Adama waved at a chair. "Have a seat. Relax."
Helo sat and faced the big desk behind which Adama usually did most of his work when he wasn't on command deck. The Old Man raised his own glass and said solemnly, "To the Colonies and the Fleet." The ceremonial service toast every Colonial warrior knew by heart.
Helo's own glass went up in response. "The Colonies and the Fleet," he said. Adama reached forward from his position, butt parked against the front of the desk, and clinked the rim of his glass against Helo's, then drank up and emptied his glass in one smooth, swift motion. "Ahhh," he exhaled as the liquor seared its way down his throat. Helo took a more cautious sip and found it every bit as good as advertised. Then Adama fixed him with a gimlet eye that Helo had only ever seen him use in inspections, when the Old Man had found some infraction of regulations in dress or maintenance that he found unacceptable. "Damn it to all the gods, Helo, if you were gonna pull a bonehead move like this, couldn't you at least have had sense enough to wear a frakkin' pair of rubber gloves?"
Helo started. "Sir?"
"Sloppy, Major. Very careless. I don't tolerate sloppiness in my command; you should know that by now." He didn't look angry...but he did look deadly serious. "Once I figured out how those Cylon prisoners got asphyxiated, it didn't take a Dr. Baltar to figure out where to look for clues. I dusted the circuit boxes for fingerprints...purely to satisfy my own curiosity, you understand. And the only ones I found that didn't belong to maintenance or engineering personnel who could all be accounted for at the time in question...were yours. Pretty damned recent, too."
Helo's heart jumped into his mouth. Oh, frak, he thought, I knew it. I can't believe I was so stupid. I am so frakking hosed.
"Again, relax, son," Adama said gently. "There isn't going to be an inquiry...damn lucky for you. The only two reasons your ass isn't sitting before a board of court-martial right now are: one, I happen to agree with you on this; and two, President Roslin knows me and respects my judgment. She just barely didn't give me an order to mount an investigation...but she's furious at me that I even let this happen, as well as for stonewalling her on it...and I can't say I blame her. I'm gonna have to stay the hell out of her sight for at least a month—and I strongly recommend that you do the same." He leaned down into Helo's face...and now he did indeed look supremely angry. "And so help me gods, if you ever frakking put me in a position like that again, mister, there will be some serious hell to pay. Do you read me?"
Helo gulped. "Y-yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir."
Adama waved him off. "Don't apologize, son. You saved us from ourselves. Gods know—and so does Roslin—we want the Cylons stopped every bit as much as she does. But if we'd done it this way, we'd have started down a road we could never, ever have come back from...and I really don't think we'd like who we'd have become by the time we reached the end of it. She knows neither of us is really a traitor...so she didn't give me the order. I just wanted you to know that; I figured you'd be pretty damned worried about now."
Helo sighed heavily. "Thank you, sir. For going to the goal for me."
Adama shook his graying head. "Just doing my job, son." His expression turned reflective. "Again, just out of curiosity—and you don't have to answer if you don't want to—whose idea was this? Yours...or Sharon's?"
"Uh, I don't mind, sir. It was all me. Sharon was actually shocked and horrified when I told her what I was planning...but in the end, she understood. She supported my decision, but it was totally mine."
"Huh." Adama turned his glass over in his hand, focusing in on its clear Merian crystal surface. "Pretty ironic," he mused. "A Cylon who's more patriotic to humanity than a born human." He put the glass down on the desk behind him. "Finish your drink and get some sleep, son. That'll be all."
"Yes, sir," Helo replied, downing the last of his whiskey. "Uh, sir...I am sorry about putting you in this position. But I think you should know...if I had it to do over again, even knowing what I know now—I'm pretty sure I'd do exactly the same thing."
Adama nodded. "I know, Karl. I just wanted you to know it's gonna be okay...and that even if no one else will ever know, I know it was you. And so does Roslin." He fixed that gimlet eye on the younger man again. "We won't get away with this kind of crap a second time. So make damned sure there isn't a next time...or if there is, let's at least figure out a better way to handle it, shall we?"
Helo nodded back. "Yes, sir. Thank you again, sir."
"No, thank you," Adama said soberly. "I don't know if I could have had the guts to do what you did, had I been in your shoes."
"Sir, with all due respect, I've served under you way too long to believe that." Helo's eyes shone as he looked at his commanding officer.
Adama sighed. "You may well be giving me far more compliment than I deserve, son...but with any luck, we'll never have to find out. Good night."
Helo parked his empty glass beside Adama's on the desk. "Good night, sir," he replied with a small smile and turned on his heel to leave. Adama watched his back recede and the door slide shut behind him, lost in thought.
