OBT Forum

Quote from: Blacknova on January 28, 2013, 03:34:44 PM

Perhaps we could tie masterarminas to a chair and deny him internet time until he finishes the story?

With some bread and water as sustenance

If he gets it done fast enough I think the bread and water could turn into Steak and wine

As a father of two girls, I absolutely LOVED that exchange! 

Mathias looked up as Margaret came through the hatch to his quarters and shut it firmly behind her—and the CLANG of metal on metal was  great deal louder than was honestly called for; he frowned slightly at that.

She marched up to his desk and stood at attention in her flight suit—and her expression reminded him oh so much of her mother Sara when she had been pissed.

“Personal business or official, Lieutenant Edmondson?” he asked.

“Personal, Sir,” she answered.  “Request permission to speak freely and off the record.”

Yep, Mathias thought.  She is pissed.  “Permission granted.”

Her posture relaxed, but her muscles were still tense and she leaned over and pocked a finger across his desk.  “My love life is none of your concern, Uncle Mat!” she barked.  “Fuzzy is shaking like a leaf—and he won’t even talk to me about what you said to him!  What the Hells did you tell him?”

“We had a little chat about what is and is not allowed on this ship, Margaret—and no, your love-life isn’t any of my concern.  Do you love this man, Kief?”

“That isn’t relevant!” she snapped.

“That wasn’t an answer, Margaret.  I’m . . . concerned about you.  Perhaps I should have kept my mouth shut—perhaps Sidewinder shouldn’t have told me—but I would have found out anyway.  Clearly it is open scuttlebutt on Galactica, at least from what my sources have gathered.  You are a Colonial officer and you well know the regs against fraternization.”

“Regs?  Regs?  You have no idea how many people I’ve seen die in the past year, Uncle Mat!  None!  How many people that I called my friends go out there every day and not come home again!  No idea how it feels to know that sooner or later your time is going to come and you are going to be the one to go down in flames.  We comfort ourselves how we can, when we can—because that is all we have left.”

“No, Margaret, it’s not,” Matt said as he stood and then opened a refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of Scorpia Necrosia.  He popped the tops off of both of them and handed one to his niece and took a sip from the second.  And then he pointed to the sofa and two chairs.  Margaret hesitated for a moment, but then she sat down and Mathias sat down across from her.

“That is why I’m concerned, Margaret—that attitude.  I knew that you would hear about what I said to Mister Kief and that if you were anything like your mother when she was your age, you would come barging in here to set me straight.  ‘Abuse of authority and position’, ‘conduct unbecoming a Colonial officer’, and ‘undue influence to nepotism’.  Right?”

Racetrack’s eyes narrowed and Mathias grinned.  “Instead of me coming to you and you automatically getting your hackles up and walking off when I try to raise this issue, you came to me.  Margaret, I don’t care who you decide to frack—although I will say your taste in men has gone downhill if Mister Kief is your choice.  But I am worried and concerned over this . . . this death-wish you seem to have.  Thoughts like that, they tend to come true for pilots, because they become convinced that something bad is going to happen, then sure enough they make a mistake—and something bad does happen.”

“I’m not . . . ,” she began.

“You are, Racetrack,” her uncle interrupted softly, using her call sign to emphasize the point.  “You are stressed, you are grieving for your friends and your lovers and your family—the whole world has ended.  And you—and some of the other pilots—genuinely believe that your time will come.  That you are going to die out there in the cockpit of a Raptor; and baby-girl, that is what is concerning me.  Not as a Colonial Fleet officer, not as your higher-ranking superior, but as your uncle.  This jumping around from rack to rack and going through partners like crap through a goose is just a symptom of what is bothering you—and you need to work through that before you wind up transforming that belief into reality.  I don’t want to attend your funeral because of a self-fulfilling prophecy, Margaret.”

She just stared at Mathias, a tear leaking out of the corner of her eye and he nodded.  “Your superiors should have already addressed this with you—but they are torn up as well, hon.  I’ve got someone I want you to talk to while you are here on board Scorpia.  Erin Hayes—she’s a specialist in stuff like this.”

“A shrink?  You want me to see a shrink?” Racetrack said bitterly.

“She’s a civilian—but she knows post-traumatic stress, Margaret.  Nothing goes in your file.  Nothing goes on your record.  What happens between you and her stays between you and her.  And I don’t just want you to speak with her.  There are several others that Sidewinder noted that are having the same problems—Fuzzy Kief isn’t one of them.  He just took the opportunity to get in your pants because you were willing to let him in your rack.”

Mathias snorted.  “In fact, if you are like your mother at this age,” he said again, “you probably grabbed him and hauled him into your rack without waiting for an answer.”

Racetrack let out a laugh, amid the tears, and she actually looked surprised at the laugh.  Mathias nodded.  “That’s my girl,” he said.  “I think that is the first laugh I’ve heard from you since you came aboard—there have been no smiles, no joy, just that desperate pain that you keep trying to frack away.  Talk to Miss Hayes, Margaret—I won’t make you.  I’m asking you.  Talk to her, and remember that I’m here if you need to talk to me.  Even after you get back to your squadron on Galactica.”

“You aren’t transferring me?  That’s the scuttlebutt; that you are going to transfer me here where you can keep an eye on me!” Racetrack said.

“Nope.  I’m not having you transferred, Margaret.  Scuttlebutt is wrong this time—and Adama won’t treat you any differently because you are my niece; no more than he would expect me to treat Lee differently because he is Adama’s son.”

She sat there and Mathias could see the anger drain from her—leaving just an exhausted and depressed young woman.  “I’ll talk to her, Uncle Mat,” she whispered.  And then took a sip of the thick black beer—and looked pleasantly surprised.  “This is good.”

“Best beer in the Colonies, Margaret,” Mathias said with a sad smile.  He picked up the phone from its station on the wall.  “Tom, can you page Doctor Hayes and have her report to my quarters?”  He paused.  “Thank you.”

“You want me to talk her here?  Now?”

“You got anything better to do with your time, Margaret?  I’ll leave you two alone—or, if you prefer, you can go with her to the office I’ve assigned her.  Up to you.”

Racetrack took another slug of the beer and then she nodded.  “You . . . ,” she started, and then she paused.  She took in a deep breath.  “You don’t have to go.  But you might not like all the details.”

“I’m from Scorpia, Margaret honey; born and raised.  Trust me,” Mathias said with a smile, “I’ve seen worse; I’ve heard worse; I’ve probably done worse.  Remind me to tell you what Josie was experimenting with before I left her in the capable hands of Emily to fly this mission,” he said with a snort.  “If you want me to stay, I’ll stay.  If you want me to go, I’ll go.  But either way, Maggie-girl, I’m not going to quit loving you or caring about you.”

“Okay,” she said with a swallow of a sudden lump in her throat.

yep...still doesn't change the fact that Mathias broke regs in a way that could come back to bite him on the ass. 

It could be just his way of 'shocking' the others to get them out of the defeatist funk that they are developing.  Get them mad, make them realize that they are still alive, therefore, there is still a chance for survival. 

My two bits. 

   Got to love how Baltar twists things!  Wonder if he will see Six in his head if he meets the other cylons?

If Laura Roslin was surprised by the cameras of the media when she entered the hall on Cloud Nine where the Quorum would convene, she did not show it.  Instead, she smiled and waved at the reporters as she walked over to her bench.  One by one the Twelve delegates to the Quorum took their own seats—and did the fourteenth man present, Vice-President Gaius Baltar.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Quorum, I hereby declare these proceedings opens,” Laura said with a glowing smile.  “I was under the impression that today’s session was closed to the media,” she said, looking at Gaius across the long horse-shoe shaped table.

Wallace Gray, elected by the survivors of Caprica to the Quorum after Baltar became Vice-President, stood up.  “Madame President,” he said with little expression on his face, “we are an elected body of the people—surely we have nothing to fear from the people to which we are pledged seeing our deliberations.  The Vice-President suggested that today’s session be opened to the media, and I endorsed that suggestion—as have a majority of my fellow delegates.  Did you not receive our memorandum on this change?  It was delivered to your office last week.”  He then sat.

Laura kept the fixed smile on her face and she nodded.  So this is how Wallace is going to get his revenge on me, she thought.  “I think it is a lovely idea, Wallace.  But no, the memo seems to have gotten misplaced on its way to my desk.”

“We have quite a full agenda before us today, so let us get started with the . . .,” Laura began, but then she trailed off as Tom Zarek, the Delegate from Sagittaron rose to his feet.

“Madame President, a point of order, if I may?”

Laura nodded.

“The agenda, as it currently stands, fails to reflect the . . . stunning news we received this past week that another Battlestar has survived the attack on the Colonies.  We all realize that the agenda of the Quorum was drawn up well in advance, and it certainly needs to be addressed—but in light of the recent developments within the Fleet, I move that we table the agenda as written in order to address the . . . complications that the reunion of humanity might well bring.”

Wallace Gray stood again.  “Caprica seconds that motion, Madame President.”

Laura glared at Tom and then at Gaius and finally at Wallace.  But she only smiled.  “Having been moved and seconded, how do the delegates say?” she asked.

And not surprisingly, the vote was overwhelmingly in favor of tabling the agenda.  You orchestrated this Tom, she thought.  Not Gaius, you.  And he looked directly at her, and as if he could hear her thoughts, he nodded with what could only be described as a smirk on his face.

“Madame President,” Gaius said as he stood.  “With the agenda now set aside, I would request the floor.”

“The Vice-President has the floor,” she said.

“Thank you, Madame President.  While it is true that we must look to the coming reunion with our lost brothers and sisters with joy and anticipation, there are other issues which we as the elected representatives of our people must address.  I refer today to the executive order which President Roslin arbitrarily issued that strips our people of the rights guaranteed to them under the Articles of Colonization—specifically, her outlawing of a woman’s right to choose for themselves whether or not they bring a pregnancy to term.”

“That has been settled!” snapped the Gemenesse Delegate, Sarah Porter.  “The imperative to boost our population mandates that abortion be made illegal!”

“And your religious convictions play no role whatsoever in this decision, do they, Madame Delegate?” Gaius asked.  “We must address the issue of growing our population—we have forty nine thousand five hundred and seventy nine survivors in this Fleet.  That will soon be increased to fifty five thousand and forty three survivors once Scorpia and the ships she is escorting arrive.  That will be a joyous, wonderful day for us all.  We must address the issue of bringing the next generation into this world and raising them, but we cannot do so by Presidential fiat and the curtailing of civil liberties.”

He looked around the chamber and then stared directly into the cameras of the media.  “I know that President Roslin has done what she believes is the right and correct action to ensure the survival of our species, and that her inability to appoint an independent judiciary to rule on the legality of her actions does not result from a thirst from tyranny, but instead because the Fleet is too small to need such a body.  Madame President, you are wrong on that—were we here today to gauge the necessity of our government based upon the numbers of the survivors, we would not have a President or a Quorum, but instead a Mayor and a City Council.”

Laura fumed on the inside, but she just smiled at Gaius.  “Mister Vice-President, as you are aware, as the Quorum is aware, we have explored the possibility of creating the judicial branch anew—but such matters take time.”

“Yes, Madame President.  They do take time,” Gaius answered.  “And we have had time.  For five months the Quorum has been reestablished,” he told the cameras, “and in all that time has the President and her advisors even once brought to the Quorum a plan for installing a civilian judiciary within this Fleet?  I do not question the motives of the President in this, but relying upon military tribunals is yet another blow against civil liberties.  We must have an independent Court that can rule on the legality of the actions of this Quorum and the President.”

He paused and he looked at each of the Delegates, and then the President, and then at the cameras.  “And it is here, among the elected representative of the people of the Fleet, that we must, together, make the decision on whether or not we strip women of their rights in the name of procreation.  That decision is ours, not the President’s alone, and despite what the Delegate from Gemenon has declared it is no settled issue!”

Sarah Porter slammed her hand down on her desk.  “At a time when we need every new living person to build up our strength, you would condone the selfish act of caring only how a new baby will affect one life?  We are a community—and sacrifices must be made for the good of all!”

“Does that mean that you plan on outlawing same-sex marriages next, Madame Delegate?  Such unions cannot produce off-spring, after all,” Gaius said.  “What about the women of child-bearing age who daily risk their lives flying Vipers in this Fleet’s defense?  Should they be stripped of their duties and impregnated—even against their will—because your Sacred Scrolls demand that we go forth and multiply?  Where does it end?  Neither your religious beliefs, nor those of the President of the Twelve Colonies, gives either of you the right or the authority to dictate to a woman how she lives her life; whether or not she bears a child; how that child is to be raised!” Gaius thundered.  And then he closed his eyes and shook his head, almost as if he were listening to a voice that only he could hear.

He nodded.  “Madame Delegate,” he said directly to Sarah Porter.  “You support the President in her decision to outlaw abortion in the Fleet, yes?”

“I certainly do.”

“And, while I hesitate to bring politics into this, you support the President against me because she gave you this ban—and I oppose it, yes?”

“YES!”

“Would you still support her if you aware that, as President, she issued an order calling for the termination of a pregnancy against the wishes of the mother carrying the child?” Gaius snapped.

Oh, you son-of-a-. . . Laura thought, and her smile faltered. 

And utter chaos suddenly erupted in the Quorum chamber aboard Cloud Nine.  In front of the cameras carrying the event live to every ship in the Fleet.