Laura Roslin looked at her reflection in the mirror, at the white blouse and gray costume.

“I think I'm going to get tired of this outfit,” she sighed, “seeing as I only have three for the rest of my life.”

“It looks fine.” Billy’s attempt at reassurance made her chuckle.

“Fine?”

“It looks great.”

“You don't know anything about women, do you?”

Billy’s uneasiness was interrupted by the loud entrance of his fellow presidential aide, Zak Adama.

“Well, Madam President, looks like we’ve docked with Galactica, and the honor guard is waiting outside to greet you with . . . honor.” He choked on the reiterated word, furrowed his brow thinking about something else, more fitting, but the President didn’t let him muse over it.

“Please don't tell me,” she interrupted, “that we have to go through this every time I step on that ship.”

“No, ma'am,” Billy hurried with reassurance. “But they will always render honors for your arrival. It's protocol.”

“The military, they do love their protocol.”

“I'm sure if they knew you didn't like it they'd be willing to--”

“No. Let Adama sound the trumpets.” Laura stepped towards the exit, side-by-side with Billy, leaving Zak slightly behind. His carefree behavior didn’t bode well with her sense of responsibility. Maybe in other circumstances she would find him charming, but as a member of the administration of the remnants of the human race, he seemed more and more inapt.

With which he would agree wholeheartedly if she voiced the thought. His attempts at making a good impression were backfireing all the time, making him think that perhaps he should just give up. After all, he was certain she would kick his ass out of her office as soon as she got to know him better.

His head bowed, Zak followed the President and Billy through the door, listening to their quiet conversation.

“It makes him feel more comfortable,” Roslin continued. She suspected such about the Commander, and the Commander’s son thought this somehow didn’t fit with the father he knew. “Maybe if he feels more comfortable, he'll be a little easier to deal with.”

“That's smart.”

“No, it's not smart; it's politics. ”

“Well, actually--” Zak interrupted and they both turned to look at him. Oh, what the frak! “He’s actually totally not into protocol. I mean as far as I know him any longer, so my opinion may be worthless here, but I remember him hating all the formalities, courteous performance and ass kissing - sorry.” He looked up sheepishly, but to his surprise she seemed amused. This was the first time, so not quite knowing how to react, he continued explaining. “That’s kind of like me; I’m like him. Rebellious or whatever you call it. Lee was always more like mom, always appropriate, giving the right offerings to the right gods. At least when people were watching. You can tell me to shut up.”

“Shut up, Zak,” Laura Roslin said with a small smile. “And thank you for this bit of information. That was exactly what I needed from you. Knowing something about our Commander will make it much easier for me to cooperate with him.”

A smile, a gentle squeeze of his arm, and Zak felt like a schoolboy who just got a candy. Teachers’ games, he reminded himself, but that didn’t make the candy any less sweet.

She stepped down the ladder, Billy and Zak followed, then she accepted the formal greeting from the Commander, the salute of honor guard detail, responded to it adequately, and requested that the Commander walk with her to his quarters.

As they strode side by side, she eyed him for a brief moment before she began talking. “Commander Adama, I greatly appreciate the effort you’re making to make me feel like a president. I’m honored. But I think, under the circumstances, with all of us traveling in those space ships, and the fact that I will probably be visiting Galactica often, I don't think it's necessary to perform that kind of ceremony each time. Wouldn’t you agree?”

William Adama looked at her with surprise. He, for once, was sure the pompe mattered to her, but then with the civilians one could never tell. He had to admit that it was annoying the hell out of him to prepare an honor guard each time she boarded the battlestar, and his thoughts were exactly the same – if she was to come onboard every other day, it would get frakking tiring.

So he complied with her request with great relief. If everything would go with that woman that easily, their military-civilian cooperation might yet prove to be quite fruitful.

He was to be disappointed though – as soon as he briefly explained the idea of acquiring the water supply from the frozen moon with the help of the Astral Queen prisoners.

“Slave labor?” she spat at that.

Bill sighed from the bottom of his guts; she could be very annoying when she chose to. Unfortunately, they had made that deal about dividing military and civilian matters, and releasing the prisoners was in her area of decision-making.

He had to convince her those people were what they all needed.

“They are criminals,” he tried. “They've been sentenced to hard labor. And this is very hard labor. Not to mention physically dangerous. This is not for civilians, and we don’t have enough marines to pull this off in a reasonable time.”

He eyed her, and she eyed him, not convinced in the slightest.

“Maybe we should find some way to make it their decision,” suddenly Zak cut in. The brief flicker of appreciation he’d seen in Roslin’s eyes earlier had given him the courage to interfere; something he wouldn’t normally do – his father was in the same room! He cast a glance at the Old Man, and at the sight of his surprise, but not irritation yet, took a deep breath and continued. “To get them to, I don’t know, volunteer? They are cramped in a transport ship, maybe they’d like to stretch their legs? So to speak.”

“You’re right,” Lee backed him up, “that ship was not designed for long-term incarceration. They might prefer to get out. Do something, even if it is dangerous.”

“Stretch their legs, huh?” Roslin smiled “Okay, but only if they volunteer. They are not slaves, and I will not have them treated as such,” she stated firmly, staring at the Commander.

And Zak, seeing how his ideas were being met with approval, tried another one. “We might even grant them some kind of reward. Just don’t know if money have any value these days--”

“We could offer points towards earning freedom,” Lee offered.

“That sounds reasonable,” the President agreed.

The three of them seemed to think alike, the ideas flickering between their minds faster than words.

Zak’s and Lee’s eyes met and for a brief moment they shared a memory – of younger days when it had been just them against the world, when they’d tried to trick their mother into letting them go to games or festivals, or simply to leave them alone when she’d been in a foul mood. They may have their differences now, but the bond formed in old times was strong.

“Excuse me,” their father’s gruff voice brought them back to the present. “You wanna start releasing hardened criminals into the fleet?”

“Sir,” Lee replied defiantly, “these men were on their way to Caprica for parole hearings, which at least implies they may be ready for release.”

And while the Commander gazed at his sons, his eyes flashing fire, the President simply said, “Thank you, Captain. Mr Adama, make it happen. And to address Commander Adama's concerns,” she turned to Billy, “I'd like you to go along and set up a screening procedure to weed out the hardened criminals.”

Commander Adama greeted his teeth. “I would like to have a representative from Galactica who will report directly to me about security issues” he uttered.

“Let me just--” Lee started, mentally checking the flight rotation, and his daily schedule, but his father didn’t even let him finish.

“Not you” he cut in, not sparing one glance at the Captain. “Don’t you have CAP?”

“No” Lee replied, but wasn’t heard. Probably because he spoke too softly. Once more he and his brother exchanged glances, and Zak’s brow jumped up questioningly, but this time Lee did not guess what his brother was thinking, the connection was lost.

---

Zak couldn’t believe his luck. He got the important mission and Billy was there to assist him. His ideas were heard and appreciated. Duh, his brother backed him up! That was something, it reminded Zak of some of the best childhood moments.

When the two men, with the assistance of Petty Officer Dualla and Specialist Cally stepped out of the raptor and followed the warden into the command area of Astral Queen, Zak felt like a true leader. He was given a microphone, announced himself as the personal representative of the President, and gave a pompous speech that simply had to be acknowledged.

Well, it wasn’t.

For a moment there was no response from the prisoners. No one stepped out of the now-opened cells.

Then they heard sole footsteps, and a strong voice saying “We respectfully decline”.

Zak gasped. Billy gasped even louder “That’s Tom Zarek!”

“That terrorist?” Dualla leaned over to take a better look, while the prisoners started to scan Zarek’s name and hit the bars.

Zak vaguely remembered Lee telling him something about a guy named Zarek, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what had affected his big bro so much in that man. A terrorist. What could be affecting in a terrorist?

“So who the hell is Tom Zarek?” asked the warden.

“He's a freedom fighter,” replied Billy. “He's a-- he's a prisoner of conscience.”

“He's a butcher,” Dualla cut in, her voice dripping disgust.

Billy started to argue, and Zak’s memory was triggered. Lee had read some book that had been smuggled around the campus, forbidden by the authorities. “His colony was exploited by the other eleven for centuries. His people were marginalized, brutalized--”

“I'm from Sagittaron, and that man does not speak for all of us. He blew up a government building, and there is no excuse for that.”

Zak gazed from Billy to Dualla, startled by the sudden change in his boring colleague and the fire in that seemingly calm girl. Well, there was something in her – he had to admit – that might affect even such a doorknob as Billy Keikeya. He’s your only friend, now! He smacked himself mentally and looked back at the prisoners.

“Sir,” Cally interrupted, voicing his thoughts. “I've been watching the clock, and if we're not gonna get any help, we should move on.

“If Zarek is shaking this party, let’s talk to Zarek first,” Zak sighed, hoping he knew enough to have a decent chat with the man.

If Lee was here . . . he started thinking, but slapped himself again. He could do it without Lee.

He followed the guard to the lower level of the prison ship, trying to figure out what he was going to say. As they approached Zarek’s cell, he had another fiery speech ready, but as the prisoner stood up facing the other way with his hands crossed behind his back, Zak found himself flabbergasted.

“Uh, that’s not necessary,” he managed. “I just wanted to talk.”

The prisoner half-turned around, casting a sharp glance at the young man, before his eyes fell on the floor.

“Guard,” he said in a clear voice. “Prisoner eight-nine-three-eight-nine-three requests permission to speak with this visitor.”

“Granted.”

Zarek let his hands fall to his sides, and faced Zak Adama, a slight smirk dancing on his lips. “I'm not allowed to speak unless asked a direct question,” he explained. “You didn't ask me a direct question. You've never been in a prison before, have you?”

“No.”

“You're fortunate. May I sit down?”

Zak gazed at the man, still astounded.

“Sure,” he spat, and realizing this was a form of invitation, stepped inside. The sound of door slamming behind him, made him jump. Zarek’s smirk flickered again, and vanished away, replaced by polite curiosity.

Not allowed to speak, unless asked a direct question – Zak remembered. What was this speech he had planned? . . .

“You know that the Fleet is out of water. You know that if we don’t replenish our resources soon, people will start dying from dehydration. Including your comrades. And yourself. Now, I need you to talk to your men, and convince them that this is in their best interest to help us.”

“They're not my men,” Zarek replied calmly. “They belong to you. I belong to you, you own us. You're the master, we're the slaves.”

Zak fought the sudden urge to smack the smug bastard over the head. Perhaps they should simply order them to get those tools in their hands and do the job, without all the bullshit of negotiations, and respect to their humanity.

But this was not what the President wanted, and he was here as her voice, so he had to speak for her. That was politics.

So Zak gritted his teeth and took a deep breath.

“Listen, all the President wants, is to offer you a chance to earn your freedom--”

“Now, you've said the truth: freedom is earned.” Zarek smiled smugly, staring straight at the younger man.

And at that moment Zak realized he could not win this one. He might either hit the asshole, or get out of there before he’d blow up. He turned away, trying to pretend he didn’t see Zarek’s victorious smile, and banged on the door in attempt to call the guard. No one appeared.

And then the door opened.

Cautiously Zak stepped out, knowing that something was wrong. Indeed – other cells were opened as well, and prisoners started flowing out.

“You might want to stay inside” Zarek called, but this was the last thing Zak wanted. The need to hit something finally won over any other emotion and over common sense as well, and the young man jumped right in the middle of the muddle. He managed to break a few noses and hopefully ribs, before his head clashed with something hard, and he fell to the floor.

---

Starbuck was not making the CAG’s work easy. For once, she was making stupid jokes about Flattop’s landing style – which was terrible to say the least, but not her concern – and her talking interrupted the Captain’s lecture. Secondly, she brought a kid to the briefing. A kid! Boxey should have been sent out of Galactica as soon as they had a moment of peace and quiet, but somehow he had been smuggled around the bunkrooms and was still wandering on decks. Lee thought that he should hand the boy to Zak as soon as his brother would return from Astral Queen. If there was time for this. But there needed to be.

Thinking of Astral Queen, Zak and all that water crisis gave him a headache. And standing right outside the CIC, Lee knew what was the real reason of his discomfort. It was the man inside. The Commander. His father. And, of course, Zak’s father.

Commander Adama’s reaction to their plan earlier this morning was the one they should have expected, but were still startled by it. Then Zak left and Lee stayed behind, ignored by his superior officer. He knew he was supposed to feel offended by this, and he did, but he just gritted his teeth and tried to bear his burden. It was getting heavy though.

He forced himself to step inside. He approached the Control Console, where the Commander stood eyeing DRADIS and the whole CIC without even turning his head. The Old Man’s ability to know about everything that happened around him always amazed Lee. That’s why he was certain his father knew about his presence even though he didn’t spare a single look.

Lee sighed and was about to hand the Commander the briefing summary, when the older Adama suddenly turned, and pierced his son with his stare.

“Something on your mind, Captain?” the Old Man asked with scrutiny.

Lee’s first impulse was to respond that there was nothing, as he always did. But suddenly he felt he had nothing to lose anymore.

“Actually . . . I think you mistreated Zak.”

“Did I?” the father asked. And before the son had a chance to respond, added in a hoarse whisper, “Those people are the kind that would rip your hand off if you gave them a finger. You don’t get to be polite with people like that, you don’t offer them anything. You tell them to get their butts together and do the job you give them. And then they are grateful. I had no idea Zak was such an idealist to believe the bullshit the President sold him, but he picked his side, and I have nothing to say to him. Now give me those papers.”

“I had no idea this was about picking sides,” Lee murmured, handing the Commander his reports. Bill Adama only cast him a reproachful glance and said nothing more.

The young man knew his father was partially right. But he agreed with President Roslin on many subjects. The prisoners were still human, whatever--

His thoughts were interrupted by Lt. Gaeta’s alarmed voice “It’s the Astral Queen! They’ve taken hostages and they are about to make an announcement!”

“Get Colonel Tigh down here!” Adama ordered. “Put it through!”

“The crew are my prisoners,” a calm voice stated through the speakers. “They will not be harmed. But I have two conditions before I release my captives. First, the government which controls our fate is illegal and illegitimate, and it must submit to the will of the people. I demand the immediate resignation of Laura Roslin and her ministers.”

Lee gasped. His father’s face was a stony mask. Colonel Tigh entered and gazed at them startled, offended.

“Second,” the man on the other side continued, and Lee thought he’d heard that voice somewhere. “I demand free and open elections to choose a new leadership and a new government that represents all of the people. These demands are made not for me or for the former slaves held on this ship, but for you, the people, the survivors of the holocaust and the children of humanity's future. I am Tom Zarek, and this is the first day of the new era.”

“Zarek!” Lee breathed out. Of course he knew the man. And he knew his deeds.

“The terrorist!” Commander Adama hissed.

“The freedom fighter,” Captain Adama countered. Zarek was misjudged, misunderstood. Nobody even tried to listen to his ideas of social and cultural development of humanity.

“Cut that idealistic bullshit!” the Commander shouted. “And start working on the rescue op. Mr Gaeta, get Starbuck here. Colonel Tigh, we need the blueprint of Astral Queen, do we have it? Mr. Gaeta, I need to speak with the President immediately.”

While the Commander started discussing the crisis with President Roslin, the Colonel and the Captain moved over to the Tactical station. They were joined by Starbuck before they received any plans to work on. And while Colonel Tigh was only thinking about how to get rid of the fanatics, and Thrace was mostly stressing about the safety of Zak Adama, Lee thought of Zarek’s goals and analyzed each word they’d heard.

This was nonsense. He had to realize that no one would negotiate while he was holding hostages! Ha was a man of principle, and he was not stupid. Lee had read a book Zarek had written. A book that had been banned, smuggled in the campus. Radical, challenging thoughts that had made him question lots of things he'd accepted before. No, Zarek was not stupid, and there had to be more to his stance.

“What’s this ‘we’ crap?” Tigh’s rude question brought Lee back to reality.

Starbuck looked at the XO defiantly. “I’m going, sir.”

“Like hell.”

They stared each other, then simultaneously they turned to the Commander, who’d joined them.

The Old Man assessed the two. “We have a few marines left on Galactica,” he responded finally. “Let them handle it, Starbuck.”

“They don't have a sniper,” she countered. “And, with all due respect, sir, I am the best shot in or out of the cockpit.”

“She's right,” Tigh grunted, unhappy. “For once.”

Older Adama gave him quizzical look “Wonders never cease,” he murmured, and added louder, “All right, you're goin' in. You get a clear shot at Zarek, you take it. And I want to control that ship immediately. And I want all the hostages alive.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lee looked at them, startled. Starbuck was going? How?

“I’m going, too” he snapped.

Everyone turned to stare at him. Well, Starbuck was allowed to set assignments for herself, but he wasn’t? He should have known.

“You’re underestimating Zarek” he enlightened them, not hoping for any effect.

But his father actually listened. “How’s that?”

---

t.b.c.