01 - Battlestar Galactica Read Online Free

and swept the tarp smoothly off the concealed craft.
    Adama stared. It was an old-style Viper, a fighter from the days of the Cylon
war. “Mark Two,” he said, in genuine wonder. “I haven’t seen one of these in
about twenty years.”
    “If the commander will take a closer look…”
    Adama shot Tyrol a puzzled glance and stepped closer. Then he saw it—the
name, stenciled on the hull, just below the lip of the cockpit canopy:
     
    LT. WILLIAM ADAMA
    “HUSHER”
     
    He laughed. So that’s what they’d been up to, painting his name and his old
call sign on the vintage warbird. But Tyrol was still talking:
    “…at the tail number, Nebula Seven-Two-Four-Two Constellation.”
    Adama’s mouth dropped open, as he read the registration markings on the
Viper’s tail. N7242C. They hadn’t just painted his name on any old
warbird. “Oh my God. Where did you find her?”
    Tyrol was openly grinning now. “Rusting out in a salvage yard on Sagitarron.
We had hopes the commander would allow her to participate in the decommissioning
ceremony.”
    Adama turned in disbelief. “She’ll fly?”
    “Oh, yes, sir. We’ve restored the engines, patched the guidance system,
replaced much of the flight controls…”
    Adama hardly knew whether to laugh or cry. “You guys are amazing.” He reached
out to touch the hull of the craft. Viper N7242C. How many times had he flown
this fighter, forty years ago? How many times had it survived Cylon attack to
bring him safely back to the flight deck? My God, he thought.
    “…she’s fueled, armed, ready for launch, sir.”
    Laughing quietly, Adama ran his hands over the aft engine cowling.
    “Commander—”
    He turned back. “What? More?” Tyrol handed him a flat package wrapped in
brown paper. Adama chuckled. “Somebody’s bucking for a promotion around here.”
    Tyrol grinned and glanced at the deck crewman standing beside him. “I believe
that would be Prosna, sir. He found this in the Fleet Archives. He was doing
some research for the museum.” Prosna lifted his chin slightly, but did not
crack a smile.
    It felt like a plaque of some kind. Adama tore the paper open and lifted out
a picture framed in dark, heavy hardwood, square with all four corners cut off.
It was a photo of himself as a young fighter pilot, standing in front of this
same Viper, with two boys. Sweet Lords of Kobol. Zak and Lee must have
been about seven or eight at the time. They were beaming with pride as they
stood with their father and his Viper. Adama felt his mask of command begin to
fail as a host of unexpected emotions welled up in him. They look so happy. A
lump formed in his throat as he fought to keep his composure, to hold back
the tears that were welling in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, looking up before
he could crack, looking all around him to include the entire assembled crew.
“Thank you all.”
    “You’re welcome, sir,” said Tyrol. And as Adama stood, continuing to stare silently at the photo in his hands, Tyrol quietly
dismissed the crew.
    Adama stood motionless, lost in the past, lost in the photo, for a very long
time.

 
 
CHAPTER
3
     
     
    Galactica, Officers’ Wardroom
     
    The triad game was already well underway when Colonel Saul Tigh entered the
officers’ wardroom and headed shakily for the coffee table. He helped himself to
a coffee cup, but did not fill it with coffee. From his pocket, he produced a
small metal flask. He unscrewed the top and carefully poured a generous shot of
whiskey into the coffee cup. If anyone noticed, nobody said anything. Colonel
Tigh, the Executive Officer of the ship, was off duty. If he wanted to have a
drink or two, there was nobody here who could tell him no. And it sure
helped steady his nerves, and take the edge off that headache that pounded
insistently at the back of his skull.
    Besides, maybe it would help him shake things up a little here. These people
were having too damn much fun.
    Tigh pulled out the