Turning Point
by Alice
September 22, 2002

Personal Journal - Viper Pilot - Ensign Toz:

     Today is the anniversary of a lost war. The day, one yaron ago, we
lost everything. It was supposed to be a day of special meaning. What
meaning they wanted us to remember I don't know. A day to reflect and
take comfort in the small fact that we, as a people, still exist. We
still live. But, that was not what today turned out to be. It became a
mockery of all that. You see, today we lost our Strike Captain. Apollo.
After all this time I thought I'd finally gotten numb to all the losses,
but I was wrong. This one has left me feeling numb alright, but lost too
- as lost as I felt when the colonies were destroyed. 
     It's not that he died. His actual death I could have handled if he'd
died in a Cylon firefight - we all expect that end at some point. No,
it's the way he died that is haunting me. It's left this shadow, for a
lack of a better word, which has settled around us all like a fog. We're
just wondering around in it unsure, lost, to lethargic to care - and
angry. An impotent anger that has no release.
     We've been fighting practically non-stop since we left our homes
behind, never to see a sunset or sunrise again on the planets of our
birth - our home. Why? For what? Even as it is now, Cylon occupied, it is
still our home. It will always be our home. Yet, each day we get farther
away from it. That hurts. 
     I know the Commander is leading us to a new home - to earth. Where
we are to find our brothers and ask, like some poor relation, for help.
(sigh)
     We few, all that is left of our once mighty armed forces, still
fight to protect what is left of our people. 220 odd ships. What was it
Apollo had said? "220 ships, that 150,000 people and only 98 warriors to
defend them all! You do the math Mortain. That's over 500 people per
warrior to protect!"
     98 warriors ready to let those 220 ships go to Hell for what they
did to him. Well, let them rot in those metal coffins, I don't care! I
don't care about any of it anymore.
     Starbuck took it the hardest. I can still hear him screaming out
Apollo's name. I thought for sure he'd kill Mortain, but Boomer held him
back. (Sigh) I guess he felt he was right. "We protect. We don't kill,
it's scum like you who do." I know it was a supreme effort on his part
not to succumb to their level but, how I wish he had and killed Mortain.
I needed revenge, something immediate and as final as their actions. We
all needed - something. We didn't get it.
     I don't know where this will leave us and what, if anything, will
happen. I have a patrol in five centons. I don't want to go. I just feel
so lost, I never thought Apollo death would effect me this way, but it
has. 

**********************

     "Commander?"
     "Yes, Tigh."
     "It's starting."
     " I know."
     "What should we do?"
     (sigh) " I don't know if we can do anything."
     "Surly, we have to try."
     "Why?"
     "Why?!"
     "Yes, why! I feel the same as they do."
     "Adama..."
     "They killed my son, Tigh! They killed him becuase he was a warrior.
He was nothing more to them than a symbol of their hatred for the rest of
us."
     "They were fanatics. The rest can't..."
     "Can't they? Don't they? The council has repeatedly installed
restriction upon restriction against the military. They want to confine
us here, caged like some rabid guard daggits, only to be let out to
fight."
     "So, you're going to let Apollo's death be the start of a what? A
mutiny, a disaster as fatal as the Cylon betrayal? Don't do that to him,
his memory; you know how he felt on this."
     "Yes, and what did it get him, Tigh? It got him killed, that what it
got him. He went to talk, to compromise, to understand. Frak, Tigh, he
went there to help them."

**********************

     "Boxey, what are you doing in here?" 
     "Listening."
     "Listening? To what?
     "Grandpa"
     Athena, now that she stopped to listen could here the voices coming
through the vent on the floor near Boxey. 

**********************

     "I'm sorry, Tigh, you're right. It's just so hard..."
     "I know, Adama, I know. What will you say to them?"
     "I don't know, I don't want to think about it now. I have to
write...(sob)...to write my sons eulogy."
     "I don't think you can wait. You should say something to them."
     "Leave it until after the farewell, Tigh. I can't deal with it now."
     "Okay, Adama."

**********************

     "You shouldn't be listen in, Boxey." Athena said trying to catch her
sob before it came out. Gently she took his hand and led him away from
the vent and back to bed. 

**********************

     "Are you sure about this, Starbuck?"
     "I promised."
     "I know, but..."
     "But, nothing Boomer, I promise Apollo I take care of him."
     "I know, we all did. "
     "No, I did."
     "It a big responsibility, you should let us at least help..."
     "Later, Boomer, please. Later."
     "Okay, okay. You ready?"
     "No. Oh God, no. It wasn't supposed to be like this!! Not like this!
Not like this."
     "I know. I know."
     "Boomer, did they find...?"
     "No."
     "Lords Boomer, why?"
     "I don't know."
     "No. No one does."
     "We have to go, Starbuck."
     "I know, I just can't stop shaking."
     "Me either, lets go."

**********************

     "What are *they* doing here!" came an angry hiss from one of the
assembled pilots.
     "Who?"
     "Them! Didn't they see enough pain when they spaced him?" The angry
hiss had grown into low deadly whisper.
     "I'd say they are in pain."
     "What?"
     "Yah, what do you mean by that crack, Boomer?" 
     "Look at them! They aren't rejoicing, they're mourning. Just like
us."
     "Never like us!"
     "Maybe not, after all, we only lost a person, they lost a hero."
     "Don't try an make light of this Boomer!" the angry whisper warned.
     "I'm not! I couldn't. But, look at them, really look at them. They
didn't do this! That monster did, not them. They're hurting too, like us.
"
     "I don't know, I don't want to know."
     "Apollo would."
     "That's low, Boomer."
     "It's the truth and you know it! Apollo cared about it - them."
     "He died for it!"
     "Yes, he did." (silence) "He, cared and like the hero he was he died
for what he believed in."
     "I don't know Boomer."
     "I do."
     (silence)
     "They do look upset, I'll grant them that."
     "Quiet now, you lot, the Commanders about to speak."

**********************

Personal Journal - Command - Commander Adama 

     It's been a secton now, since Apollo was murdered. The warriors have
settled down and I no longer worry about an uprising against the newly
formed Ship's Council. They've held new elections and the new panel of
representatives will convene in two days. Mortain and his followers have
been detained on the Prison Barge for now, until their trial. The Council
of the Twelve was afraid to hold them in the brig on the Galactica. Smart
move on their part, if disappointing. 
     Yes, I need revenge as much as my warriors do. But, unlike them, I
can't admit to it. Not in public at least. (sigh) I miss my boy. I miss
him terribly. I can't get the image of his face out of my mind. The
pained expression as he fought again the reduced pressure, mouth open,
desperately trying to take a breath. Then before the other council
members could stop him, Mortain blew open the outer doors of the airlock,
and he disappeared in the rush of escaping air, into the vacuum of space.
I can still hear Starbuck screaming, can still see the monitors blur
before me.
     It was all so terribly pointless. The stand off was over. The
hostages were being released, but Mortain had the last, terrible act of
cruelty. 
     I was surprised that the Ship's Councilors, the ones that had not be
involved in the take over, had the courage to attend Apollo's Farwell. I
think it went along way in healing some of the wounds. We couldn't have a
proper service, a funeral. The recovery team tried but could not locate
his body. Mortain had denied us even that small comfort. 
     Starbuck has moved in with Boxey, promising to take care of him as
his own son. His promise to Apollo. I can't deny him that. I just wish I
could find something to say to Boxey to easy his grief. This was not a
heroic death defending the fleet. Not a death I could explain saved
lives. This was an act of terror, designed to demoralize and frighten. It
almost worked. He almost made my son's death a turning point. He didn't
succeed. I won't let him. Perhaps Apollo's death is a turning point in
our fleet, but I will make sure it is a positive one. I owe that to my
son. 

End