The Time of the Reckoning

[falafel_musings]

Summary: A missing scenes fic covering the time between the end of the mutiny and the execution of its leaders. This fic explores the conflicting viewpoints and emotions of Zarek, Gaeta and Adama during the hours before the firing squad.
Characters: Adama, Gaeta and Zarek, with references to Adama/Roslin and Baltar/Gaeta.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own BSG.
Author's Note: These characters put me through so much grief during the mutiny arc. This fic is my attempt to work through the issues I have with each of them, trying to understand their perspectives and fill in some emotional gaps left by the hasty resolution to this story.  

 

The Time of the Reckoning

 

In the end, the mutiny had been brought down swiftly with little resistance. A sense of order had been restored to the ship. Now was the time of the reckoning. The President had already drawn up two death warrants. Both were waiting to be signed.

 

Adama went to deal with Zarek first. 

 

He found the Vice President pacing the floor of his holding room, like a lion that remains ferocious even within the trappings of its cage. Adama had brought the lawyer, Romo Lampkin, along with him, but Zarek was quick to cut through the formalities and refuse even the semblance of judicial representation. He knew when he was beat. Lampkin was spurned from the room again, sighing and shaking his head as he left. 

 

Tom Zarek spoke for himself as he always had done. He stood by his principles and his convictions. He was not afraid to die for them. He never was. Not on New Caprica and certainly not now. Zarek would have no part in collaborating with the cylons. He would not bend to a system that he did not believe in. He was proud of that.

 

“Did you murder the Quorum?” asked Adama, wanting to steal away his pride.

 

Zarek’s answer could be read upon his face. Suddenly he looked older, paler and wearier. His eyes betrayed the endless sorrow of all the things he had done and had been prepared to do in the service of his cause. The things he had done this day and the things he had done many years ago in his legendary youth. He still carried the burden of all that death. It was never an easy weight to carry; never a small price to pay.

 

“I did what I had to do,” he answered at last. The man was unshakable.

 

Adama asked for the names of the marines who had carried out the masscare. Zarek refused to give them up, of course. He would take their names to the grave. He would be the hero now and he would protect those men who had slaughered their government. And they weren’t the only ones who Zarek was prepared to save.

 

“Gaeta had nothing to do with it,” said Zarek. “You know that, don’t you? The kid never really knew what he was getting himself into. He was just trying to stand up for what was right. He wanted to fix a broken world. But he wasn’t prepared for the consequences. I thought he was, but I was wrong. He didn’t have the stomach for it. He didn’t even want to kill you. I had to force his hand…but you know that, don’t you?”

 

Adama scowled and turned away. He would not have Zarek telling him what he knew, even though he sensed that his words were sincere. He could see what Zarek was trying to do here. He was hoping to be the sole martyr of this revolution. He was wishing to lighten his own burdens. He would pay the price himself, so that the other rebels might be spared. Tom Zarek would find his redemption in dying for all their sins.  

 

“He’s a good kid, Admiral,” said Zarek, his voice earnest and imploring now. “He’s a damned good officer and you know it. I’d be smart about this if I were you. Is there a man in your crew who can run the systems in the CIC better than Gaeta? Just think about that. You’ll need him in the days to come.”

 

Adama thought of the Tom Zarek who Laura had once quietly admired. She had told him of that day on New Caprica; the day they were both brought before the Centurion firing squad. Laura had said that in the face of their execution, Zarek had shown her friendship; he had made her smile. He had shielded her body with his own when the bullets began to fly. Maybe Zarek had always been prepared to die this way; maybe he had saved all his courage for this moment, so in the end he could be the hero. He could have died protecting Laura on New Caprica. He could die protecting Gaeta now.

 

There wasn’t much Adama would deny a condemned man. But he wasn’t prepared to grant Zarek this honour. He couldn't allow it. He wouldn’t let him be the hero this time.

 

“I have no use for mutineers on my ship...”

His words were hard as bullets. His heart was stone after this day.

“I have no use for traitors in my CIC. Mr Gaeta was once a very good officer of mine. His loss will be a blow to our mission. I hold you responsible for it, Mr Vice President. You know that, don’t you?”

 

Adama intended to keep all his promises from now on. There would be no forgiveness. They would die with nothing. He would hold Zarek responsible for this unfortunate incident. That had been his solemn vow, just two days before. Adama still held Zarek responsible for that other execution he had inflicted on Felix Gaeta; the execution that his Circle had come so close to carrying out. His Tactical Officer had never been the same since that ordeal. Once he was a good kid, but something had changed him. Something had corrupted him. Someone was to blame for that. It might as well be Zarek.

 

Adama stared at the man whose death he would soon be ordering. Zarek’s expression was grim, regretful and yet resigned. Adama could see that he was already taking the burden of Gaeta’s sentence on his own heart, another burden he would carry to the end. Zarek knew this was his punishment. He took it like a man.

 

Adama left him to gather up the last pieces of his nerve.

 

 

~*~

 

 

When Adama came to Gaeta, he found him sitting perfectly still.

 

The guards at the door said they had heard no sound from the prisoner in the room; none of the raging and defiance that had echoed from the chamber where they were holding Zarek. When Adama stepped inside, Gaeta did not look at him. His hands were resting flat on the table. His bloodshot eyes stared vacantly ahead of him. He had the look of one who had fallen into a trance. Adama was tempted to snap his fingers in front of his face to wake him up. But the next moment Gaeta swallowed and shook himself, turning his head to meet Adama’s stare.  

 

“Do you want a trial, Mr Gaeta?” he asked.

 

His words came out softer than he had intended. Adama tightened his jaw, reminding himself that he couldn’t afford to be soft. Not this time.

 

Gaeta shook his head. “That won’t be necessary, Admiral.”

 

Admiral. Adama had lost his ship, thrown down his stars and yet his usurper still called him Admiral. Then again, he still called him Mr Gaeta.

 

“I wrote a full confession the night before the mutiny,” Gaeta told him. “You’ll find it on the top shelf of my locker. I prepared it just in case anything went wrong. It’ll tell you how I formulated a plan to seize control of the ship, how I convinced several members of the crew, along with Vice President Zarek, to aid me in the rebellion…it’s all there, sir. It was my plan. I take complete responsibility for it.”

 

“And what was this plan of yours?” Adama prompted.

 

Gaeta didn’t hesitate. “To take command of Galactica, to put the leaders of the alliance into custody, to re-establish democracy and the justice system, to sever ties with the cylons and then resume the search for a habitable planet, sir...”

 

Adama raised an eyebrow. He was almost impressed. “That’s quite a plan, Mr Gaeta. I'm guessing it didn’t turn out exactly how you thought it would...”    

   

“No sir,” Gaeta conceded. “I made a lot of mistakes. I failed in my objectives. In truth I knew my probability for success was slim. But I had to do something. I don’t know what else I could have done.”

 

Gaeta fell silent, hunching his back and drawing his arms into his chest. For a moment he looked like a cornered animal trying to make itself look small, so that a predator might leave it in peace. Adama wondered if this was how Gaeta had survived as a resistance spy on New Caprica. Every day making himself look small; making himself insignificant, so that he might do what he could for the human race.

 

“Did you give the order to fire on the escaping Raptor?” asked Adama, not prepared to relinquish his anger. It was Gaeta’s turn to answer to him now.

 

“Yes sir,” said Gaeta, meeting his eyes again.

 

“Did you know that the President of the Colonies was on board?”

 

Gaeta held his stare. “No sir…not for certain.”

 

Adama felt a new and dangerous fury rising inside him.

 

“If you had known…would you still have ordered your pilots to shoot?”

 

Gaeta hesitated, but not for long. “Yes sir. I would have.” 

      

Adama’s hands tightened into fists at his sides. It was taking all his restraint not to grab Gaeta by his hair, throw him to the floor and beat him within an inch of his life. He knew he wasn’t the sort of man who would hit a cripple, but it hardly seemed to matter when he already had Gaeta's death warrant waiting on his desk.

 

“The Raptor was moving towards the cylon basestar,” Gaeta explained, bracing himself in his chair. “I believed that the occupants of the Raptor intended to use the basestar to threaten the Galactica and the civilian fleet. Which they did, sir. I was attempting a pre-emptive strike. I had assumed command of the ship and my first duty was to protect the people of the fleet…not the cylons and their collaborators.”      

 

“You mean to say that you would have…”

 

“She abandoned her duties, Admiral. I did not abandon mine.”

 

Adama brought his fist down hard on the table. He watched Gaeta flinch and lower his eyes despite his resolve. Adama could have killed this man with his bare hands. He had never felt so angry with someone for being right.

 

Because Gaeta was right. That’s what was burning him.   

 

Adama sighed. “What do you suggest that I should do with that pilot who obeyed your order to fire? What should I do with all those who followed you and your mutiny? Should I forgive them?”

 

Adama hadn’t intended it, but in his frustration he had fallen back into their old routine. He was the Admiral asking his Mr Gaeta for the best tactical solution to this crisis. As always his officer served him with the right advice. 

 

“Bring them back onto your side,” Gaeta said simply. “They are not as disloyal to you as you think. They were only angry and disappointed. They want to see you as the leader you once were. If you can become that man again then I dare say they’ll follow you in whatever determinations you see fit to make for this fleet.”

 

Adama exhaled. The expectations of this kid exhausted him.

 

“Mr Gaeta, I can't say that I’ll ever be the leader you want me to be again.”

 

He shrugged. “It hardly matters what I want anymore, does it sir.”        

 

Gaeta smiled faintly. The Admiral could see that he had already accepted his fate. He had sentenced himself to execution before anyone else had the chance. There was part of Adama that wanted to overturn his assumption. He could still choose not to kill him. There was still room in the Brig. There were ways he could punish Gaeta that he did not expect; punishments that he might find harder to bear than a swift death. He could keep him in prison for the next twenty years or more. He could turn him into another Tom Zarek; a defeated rebel who would never be set free.  

 

But Adama was looking a little closer at Gaeta now. He was noticing the paleness of his skin; the fever in his eyes, his hair that was turning grey at the edges, the long red scratches that covered his severed leg. He had never seen anyone so young look so tired. It hurt to look at him. Adama remembered the night in the morgue when he had looked down on the body of Lieutenant Dualla. He felt the same despairing questions and answers rising in his mind.

 

What did you do…What did you do…?

 

Adama knew that he was looking at one who was already dead. One of his own kids. And in his heart he knew the reason for this death too.

 

I let you down...I let everybody down…

 

Adama could not hesitate this time. He needed those warrants signed. He needed to gather a firing squad. He needed to put down this rebellion hard and fast if he was ever going to lead his disappointed crew again. Tactically and lawfully, it was the right thing to do. The only thing to do. But he couldn’t look at Gaeta anymore. He turned away from him just as he had lowered the white sheet over Dee.

 

“There are civilian clothes in my locker too, sir…” Gaeta added softly. “If you want to have one of the guards bring them down, then I’ll turn in my uniform.”

 

Adama made no response to these words. He needed to leave this room before he lost his resolve; before he began to wonder if there might be another way out of this…

 

…before he even thought about crying.   

 

 

~*~

 

 

Adama sat in his chair, staring at the stars that had been left on his desk. He realised that Gaeta had never put them on, not even as he rang through the order to carry out his execution. Those stars weren’t the only thing he had left in his quarters. His false leg was propped against the side of the table. Adama could not bring himself to touch either of these fragments just yet. For now they were the ghost of this man who had haunted his private rooms earlier this day.  

 

Gaeta and Zarek still had a few hours left yet. Saul was still struggling to find volunteers for the firing squad. Even those who had repented from the mutiny had memories of the two condemned men in better times. They remembered the good turns that they had done them on New Caprica when they were the ones who had picked up the slack of Baltar’s failing presidency. In spite of everything that had happened during this uprising it was hard to find six men who were willing to kill Tom Zarek and Felix Gaeta. Adama still feared that he might turn them into martyrs.  

 

He opened the book of military law he had taken from his shelves. He did not read the protocol on the execution of mutineers. Instead Adama turned to the pages on the execution of a CO. It seemed only fair. Gaeta had been their Commander if only for a brief time. Adama didn’t like to admit it, but the kid had beaten him. He had stolen his frakking ship from under his nose. He had employed all his tactical skill and he had won the day. Adama had hated him for that. He had mocked him and tried to crush his morale. But he had some grudging respect for this victor too. Not because Gaeta had the guts to stand up to an old battleaxe like him. No...rather because in the end he had chosen to surrender before he jeopardised the safety of the fleet. In a sense Gaeta had stayed true to his oath. He would die wearing the uniform.

 

Adama squinted over the pages before him. In his reading he found the execution of a Commander came laced with all manner of old traditions. The book said a condemned leader should be allowed a last cigar before the firing squad and a last confession to his priest. Adama knew that Gaeta was an atheist. Even if he were not, with Elosha dead and Cavil a cylon, his ship was running low on spiritual councelors. The only holy man they had left was Baltar.

 

Baltar. Adama had never really understood the relationship between Baltar and Gaeta over the years. He knew there was something there between them, something troubled and yet intimate. He had never taken the time to peer under that rock. He wasn’t about to now. But he decided to ring down a message to the guards that Gaius Baltar should be permitted to sit and talk with Felix Gaeta until they were ready for the execution. Adama also asked that his morning coffee be sent to Mr Gaeta with a compliment of cigars. He hung up before he could be asked to explain why.

 

A few moments later a Petty Officer, whose name Adama did not know, brought him a box filled with the belongings emptied from Gaeta’s locker. It was understood among the crew that their Officer of the Watch was a dead man walking. Adama didn’t think he could bring himself to open the box. He liked its plain simple exterior and didn’t wish to raise its lid. It was the same as always. In all those long years of service Adama had never really gotten to know his Mr Gaeta. He hadn't taken the time with him. He had never called him Felix. He couldn’t be a father to all of them. There just wasn’t time for it. There were some he had to neglect. There were some who he had to use for their functional purposes, never looking beneath the surface, even as he demanded the same measure of loyalty from them.

 

But now Adama was curious. He opened up the box. Inside he found the confession Gaeta had written the night before his mutiny. It was all set down just as he had told him. He also found the charts for a nearby K class star system with jump coordinates attached. Even amidst his plans to revolt Gaeta had not neglected his duties as a navigator. Adama dug a little deeper into the box. He found an unsent letter written to his parents on the day of the decommissioning; a letter bursting with pride at having served under Commander William Adama and brimming with prospects for his future career. A little deeper still and there were his books on genetics, medicine, engineering…his many and varied aspirations. There were the floor plans for buildings Gaeta had dreamt of constructing on New Caprica. There were the photographs he had taken the day of the Ground Breaking ceremony; Laura in her red dress, Dee dancing and smiling, Saul with his arm around Ellen's shoulder. Adama could still remember turning to Laura that day and remarking to her that Gaeta was a good kid. 

 

He was a good kid. Something had changed him. Something had damaged him. Someone was to blame for that. Adama suspected there were a lot of people to blame for that. He was certain he was one of them.

 

The spell was broken as Adama received the call informing that the firing squad was assembled and awaiting his orders. He remembered he was attending an execution, not a funeral. He sealed up the box and moved it to his bedside. He took up his Admiral’s stars and reattached them to his collar. Now it was his grim duty to become the merciless leader he never wanted to be. Now he would turn his heart into stone. He would turn himself into Cain. He would go down to the hanger and he would give the order to shoot one of his crew. To kill one of his kids. Adama could still feel the bullets embedded in his own chest. The ghostly bullets of Sharon Valerii. They still pained him. He wasn't the leader he used to be. 

 

Adama had hoped it would never come to this. Now as he left his quarters, taking one last glance at the box beside his bed, he only hoped that one day he might understand who Felix had been.


The End.