The day Felix took over the Galactica, people stared at him in horror. "You're a cylon," Adama said, struggling in the chair that Felix had tied him too. "I should have known. A frakking cylon." "Not at all," Felix said, pulling the eyepatch down over his left eye. "Yaarrrr." It was a relief to finally say it, to let it slip. "Actually, I'm a pirate. Matey." * Being a pirate meant certain things. It meant an eye patch – silky and shiny and blackest of black. It meant the slightly jaunty walk that Felix had practiced for hours before he got it right. It required certain changes to the ship, including the flying of a dastardly skull and crossbones flag. Felix decided against having a hook for hand, though. It might have been more authentic, but he suspected it would just get in the way. Now, if Commander Adama were a pirate, he'd surely include the hook. But even as a pirate, Felix knew he was no Commander Adama. Pirates also needed to use the right kind of language. He was having more trouble with that. "You sound stilted," Starbuck laughed at him, when he approached her about being his first mate. "Part educated school-boy, and part wannabe." She leaned in close, and whispered, "It's pretty pathetic, Gaeta." "Dread Pirate Gaeta," he said automatically. He was constantly having to remind people of his New Official Title. It was tiresome. "Yaarr. So will ye be my first mate? Lieutenant? If you're not too busy, that is." "You're kidding me, right?" But he really wasn't. Starbuck was made to be a pirate. She already had the walk, and she'd never even had to practice it. "I'm not." Leaning back in her chair, she looking him up and down. "First mate, huh? Do I still get to fly a Viper?" "A Swashbuckler," he reminded her. There were no Vipers on the High Seas. "And yarr, ye do. And be mine eyes, telling me what is happening amongst the Fleet. I'm in much need of a first mate with yer talents." "Well. It's a pretty tempting offer." She paused, grinning slightly, and then said, "I'll take it." He grinned back, and handed her a celebratory cigar. "Oh, and Gaeta? About your eyepatch – you keep switching it to alternate eyes. Makes you look frakking absentminded." Huh. And here he'd been thinking it made him look unpredictable, daring. Really, this is why he needed a first mate. * Plotting to take over the Galactica had been surprisingly easy. Everyone was worried about cylons, wear-and-tear, cylons, running out of food, cylons. No one had thought to worry about pirates. Particularly pirates on the inside. But while everyone else had been worried about rations and spare parts and cylon detection and population numbers, Felix had been planning his vision. That vision was clear, it was simple, and it was beautiful: a pirate fleet, headed by the Galactica (a more suitable pirate name would have to be found when he had a moment to think), and causing havoc in the galaxy. Because the cylons might be able to defeat ordinary humans, but they'd never, ever had to face pirates. And Felix had known from the beginning that he was the right man for this particular job. * "This administration does not negotiate with pirates," President Roslin said, after Felix boarded her ship. "That's OK," he replied, and then caught himself. "I mean, yarrrr. No matter. Negotiation is for landlubbers." He winked at Billy, who was standing slightly behind the president. Billy winked back. Felix knew Billy had always yearned to be a pirate. It was written all over his face. He also knew that at this precise moment, Billy was concealing a red bandana in his pants pocket. Billy had just been waiting for Felix to make his move. Soon enough, that red bandana would be pulled out and tied around Billy's head. "What do you intend to do with the Fleet, Mr. Gaeta?" He turned his attention back to the president, and didn't bother to correct her about his new title. He knew she would never call him Dread Pirate Gaeta. She was far too stubborn for that. "Yar. We will continue to look for Earth." Something about her relaxed slightly. "I'm surprised." "Why?" Roslin shrugged, and by gum, she was a beautiful woman. Any pirate would be proud to have her on his arm. "I expected that this coup would have a different endpoint." Stepping closer to her, he smiled his most charming pirate smile. "Arrr, Laura, ye worry for no reason. Earth is the only place this pirate wants to be. After all, a real pirate needs seas." * He ordered Chief Tyrol to paint the pirate insignia on all the Vipers and Raptors. And he ordered that they now be called Swashbucklers and Marauders of the Seas. It didn't matter if the new names were mouthfuls. Some things just had to be done. Tyrol complained. "We're backlogged with repairs, you frakking idiot. My people don't have time to paint pretty pictures." Felix didn't have time to explain that there was nothing pretty about a skull and crossbones. And he also didn't have time to listen to the Chief's bitching. "Priorities, Chief," he said, frowning. He tried to ignore that he'd just been called a frakking idiot. He really didn't want to have to make Tyrol walk the plank. Some pirates were just foul-tempered all the time. Obviously, the Chief was one of them, and that just had to be accepted. Nothing could be done. "If we are to be pirates, we must look the part." Tyrol glared at him, and walked away, muttering, "Frakking pirate bullshit." Felix watched him go, and then surveyed the deck. The ships would look fantastic with the new insignia. * He thought long and hard about it – over many a mug of grog – but ultimately, he decided not to have Commander Adama walk the plank. It was unsporting. If they had been on the High Seas, at least the commander would have the theoretical chance to swim to safety. There'd be no chance out in space. "So," he said after explaining his reasoning, "I won't be killing you." "I'm thrilled," Adama replied, from inside of his cell. Secretly, Felix hoped that Adama would come around. Pirate Adama would be an almost unstoppable force, and Felix just couldn't give up on that. He could picture it – splitting the Fleet between them, and running two dastardly pirate flanks. It would bring tears to even the hardest of hard pirates' eyes. But in the meantime, Adama was staying in the brig. "Is there anything you need?" "A gun," Adama said, his expression blank. Felix had to laugh. Everyone knew that pirates were better off with swords. Perhaps he would send Adama a plastic sword. It would be excellent for practicing. Maybe he'd send Apollo in too. Apollo was clearly wavering on the pirate issue – torn between duty to his father, and the urge to sport the jaunty hat Felix had tempted him with. Maybe bonding with plastic swords would bring them both around. * Making checklists was not a strictly pirate-like undertaking, but Felix had always found lists useful. They help keep a man organized, and any self-respecting pirate should keep his ships focused. So, he went over his checklist, adding new points as he thought of them. Dastardly take-over of Galactica: Check. Wooing of the crew to his side: Check. Of course, there some hold-outs, but Felix always had hope. Ordering all uniforms altered to reflect a more acceptable pirate style: No. It was disappointing, but cloth, thread and seamstress limitations meant the appropriate flounces, broad sleeved-shirts, and jaunty vests weren't possible. He'd considered long and hard that the excesses of cloth on the upper body would be made up for by very tight pants, but in the end, you have to choose your battles. All ships in the Fleet now sporting skull and crossbones insignia: Check. It made him smile every time he saw them. Keeping Colonel Tigh distracted with Chief Tyrol's grog: Check. Finding of buxom wench to be his consort: No. Here he was falling behind. Starbuck was his first mate – it wouldn't be appropriate. Cally had laughed in his face. Boomer had said no, even when he'd used his best pirate line ('Aye, now that's some treasure chest ye have there'). For a time, he'd held out hope that Shelley Godfrey might be the one, but then she'd turned out to be a cylon, so that was out. And the thought of Ellen Tigh made him shudder. It was disheartening, prompting many a night moping over a pint of the Chief's grog. It made him long for Helo, who might have objected to the title of buxom wench, but who would've – Felix was certain – jumped at the chance to be a pirate's consort. Ah well. A pirate's life couldn't be all wenches and song. And on the matter of songs: Instituting new colonial anthem with more appropriate pirate theme: Check. Dr. Baltar, landlubber though he may be, turned out to have quite a way with song writing. Felix looked over his list, and added a few more points: Convert Commander Adama. Find Earth. Get president to stop looking at him suspiciously. Get president to send Billy to Galactica more often. Institute off-hours grog drinking and signing sessions. All in all, life was good. * "Ahoy! Cylon raiders on DRADIS!" Dee shouted. "Avast!" Felix replied. Finally! A chance to try his new strategy. "Launch the alert fighters. And make it snappy!" "Alert fighters launched, three minutes to contact!" Glancing at him, she added, "Aaarrr!" He nodded approvingly, and then turned to watch the DRADIS signatures, cylon and Swashbuckler, moving closer to each other. Now he'd see if the skull and crossbones insignia had any effect. "Starbuck requests Galactica actual," Dee said, and Felix nodded, picking up the handset. "Galactica actual," he said, "Starbuck, eliminate them bastards, and smartly!" "Aye, Gaeta, we're on it. Just wanted to say, they're behaving strangely. Cautiously." He grinned. "Shoot 'em down." They did. The raiders slowed, holding their attack patterns, and then slowly began to retreat. Starbuck and others pursued, attacked, destroyed. Felix's only regret was that there was no loot to be had. * He ran a tight ship. Since he'd consolidated his take-over, there'd been no rebellions, no complaints about supply routes, no difficulties with the Quorum. Morale was up – Felix credited the singing and grog drinking sessions for at least part of that. Cylon attacks were down. Felix was working on a theory hypothesizing a natural, and immutable, cylon fear of pirates. He suspected it traced to the original cylon creator, a man well-known to be fond of eye patches, sailing ships, flamboyant clothes, and rousing song. So far Dr. Baltar hadn't been able to suggest alternative possibilities. Despite his successes, despite the grog and the sword fighting classes and the singing, he still sometimes he heard almost mutinous comments from the deck swabbers and bilge rats. Whispers that he'd cracked, or was having a prolonged post-traumatic episode. Whispers that his eye patch was freakish, that he was a broken man. He pushed them away – pushed them to the same place he pushed Adama's repeated statements that Felix wasn't truly a pirate. Instead of brooding – so unseemly in a swashbuckling sailor – he would laugh about it. Sometimes he'd laugh right in the middle of the CIC. "Sir?" Dee asked one day, as he started his deep, devious pirate's laugh. "Something funny?" Turning to look at her, he adjusted his eye patch, and grinned his widest grin. "I be the proudest Dread Pirate there is, that's all." And it was true. He was proud of the ship and his crew. And a proud pirate was a happy pirate. Even if he didn't have chests of gold and other loot. But there was always Earth for that. |
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A tight ship Rating: PG Characters: Gaeta, Starbuck, Adama, Dee, Tyrol, Roslin. Words: about 1900 Spoilers: general s1 Summary: The day Felix took over the Galactica, people stared at him in horror. Notes: Um. Pirate crack fic. Pirate language from Talk Like a Pirate website. |