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Entry tags:
fic: BSG, Six Honest Citizens, PG
disclaimer: not mine
rating: PG, language
character: Tom Zarek (others, too)
set: post-Exodus, pre-Collaborators
spoilers: Collaborators.
length: 1000+
notes: I was having a chat with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
prolix_allie this afternoon, and for some reason I got onto babbling about how Tom Zarek picked the members of the Circle (I know, production-wise, they were simply people they already had contracts for, plus we'd met them on New Caprica). This... came from that, though it's mostly Tom collecting circle members.
Six Honest Citizens
by ALC Punk!
Tom goes to Sam Anders first. In planning this circle, this tribunal which will root out those who could cause problems later on, he chose Anders as his linchpin. If this man, who is so honest and straightforward accepts, there is hope the others will, too. Tom isn't going to lie to himself and say he's doing this for humanitarian reasons. Four months, rotting in a Cylon jail cell had given him lots of time to think, to plan carefully what he'd do once out. He never considered that he wouldn't be.
Anger vibrates off of Anders in disjointed waves when Tom finds him, throwing a pyramid ball in a disused locker off the hanger deck.
Civilians are almost easier to handle than military--there aren't rules, but they have simpler wants and needs. At least, that's what Tom has always found. It's how he almost won the presidency, once upon a time.
"I'm putting together a tribunal, and I'd like you to be a part of it."
The words still Anders and he almost misses the ball on its rebound. But it's automatic, the way he catches it, holding it close for an instant, before he looks at Tom. "Collaborators?"
Right there, something crystallizes for Tom: never make this man an enemy. "I want impartial judges, each judgment must be unanimous. Carried out--"
"By their peers?" The ball flies again, this time with a vicious slice through the air. It slaps against the decking with a sound that echoes the anger in Anders' stance. "Impartial. I can do impartial."
"Can you offer suggestions for others?" It's a delicate question, but Tom feels that utilizing this man's intelligence may make his job simpler. When Anders rattles off three names, he almost smiles. Two of them are already on his list.
-
Diana Seelix looks out of place in her orange jumpsuit, as though she misses the wind and dirt more than she cares to admit. Tom finds her easy to provoke, that hatred of the Cylons simmering just beneath the surface. Not that he wants to, not now. He simply needs her to accept what he feels is a duty she is suited for.
The words barely finish before she nods, stumbling over her words of acceptance, that anger still bright in her eyes. Almost incandescent when compared to Anders.
"Do you have suggestions, for other good citizens?"
For an instant, something that might be cynicism flashes through her eyes. Then it's gone, and she nods. "Barolay and Connor."
-
Good choices.
Barolay just nods an acceptance, her face almost impassive. The anger in her is all physical, the way her shoulders are still tense and her fingers half-clench into fists before stopping.
He makes a note of her, wondering if he can use her elsewhere, when this is all over and done with. Tom isn't going to kid himself: Roslin won't let him stay in power, not with her precious Earth to find. And not with Adama as Admiral. Neither of them trust him further than they can throw him, and as he makes a notation on the pile of folders he plans to entrust to his tribunal, he doesn't blame them.
-
He finds Connor in one of the compartments too full of refugees. The others, they ask him questions he has no answers to, but he fends them off with a smile and an apology.
The anger coming off Connor is almost worse than Seelix, and Tom wonders if they should conscript him into service. With a weapon in hand, he might not be so dangerous. But he accepts Tom's proposal, talking about his son and the wrongs done to him by the Cylons and those working for them.
-
Approaching Chief Tyrol is different. Tom has to be careful; like Sam Anders, this man has something innate, some honesty that could tip the balance either way. He finds him outside quarters, looking tired. Explaining in quiet tones, he watches the emotions pass across Tyrol's face.
Once finished, he waits.
"I don't like you," the honesty reflected in the Chief's face is almost ironic. "I don't like this."
"But you'll do it." Tom isn't guessing.
Tyrol looks away, towards the corridor leading to his quarters. There's the sound of people changing shifts, soldiers moving from one job to the next, some are laughing. Ribald jokes told a thousand times still giving them surcease from their daily struggle. "Yeah. I'll do it."
-
Tom tries to tell himself that he left Tigh for the last, because he was just that sure of him. But it's a lie, and Tom tries never to lie to himself. The man is in his quarters, bottle open, though there's nothing in the glass next to it.
He barely glances up at Tom, before he snorts and reaches for the glass. "You got somethin' you want, Mr. Vice President?" Tigh makes the title an insult.
It's one Tom let's slide. His goal here isn't conflict, and he's heard worse. He certainly won't ever expect to hear better from the bitter man in front of him. "I need you to head up the investigation into collaboration on New Caprica."
"Do you now? And what makes you think I would help?" Voice still scornful, Tigh looks down, watching the alcohol dribble from bottle to glass.
"You ran the resistance, and did things that aren't exactly on the white side of the ledger," Tom says, his voice matter-of-fact. "Suicide bombings, storing guns in churches. They were things you did to ensure peace, lengths that you went to keep our people, the human race, alive."
Tigh looks at him from one eye, then barks a laugh. "D'you even have the authority? Or has Roslin stopped playing schoolteacher long enough to throw you out on your ass like the maggot that you are?"
Ignoring the last statement, Tom nods, "I do. Please, Colonel--it is still Colonel, isn't it? This investigation needs a man of your integrity and expedience to run it."
A cackling laugh escapes Saul Tigh and he takes a long pull of the drink, setting the empty glass down as he looks up at Tom. "I'm an evil man. Best to continue in it. I'll take charge of this investigation and we'll root out the collaborators, give 'em the same chance they gave us."
Which is all Tom can ask for, really. He nods and sets his pile of folders down on the table, "Most of the legwork has been done. All that remains is for the circle to convene and discuss the fates of each case."
For a moment, both men look at each other, each understanding the other. Then Tigh grunts and pours out another measure of ambrosia, the smell sharp and clear against the dust and paper. "I'll be in touch."
It's a dismissal, and Tom takes it. There's no valor in prolonging the conversation.
After all, he's not fighting a war.
-f-
rating: PG, language
character: Tom Zarek (others, too)
set: post-Exodus, pre-Collaborators
spoilers: Collaborators.
length: 1000+
notes: I was having a chat with
prolix_allie this afternoon, and for some reason I got onto babbling about how Tom Zarek picked the members of the Circle (I know, production-wise, they were simply people they already had contracts for, plus we'd met them on New Caprica). This... came from that, though it's mostly Tom collecting circle members. Six Honest Citizens
by ALC Punk!
Tom goes to Sam Anders first. In planning this circle, this tribunal which will root out those who could cause problems later on, he chose Anders as his linchpin. If this man, who is so honest and straightforward accepts, there is hope the others will, too. Tom isn't going to lie to himself and say he's doing this for humanitarian reasons. Four months, rotting in a Cylon jail cell had given him lots of time to think, to plan carefully what he'd do once out. He never considered that he wouldn't be.
Anger vibrates off of Anders in disjointed waves when Tom finds him, throwing a pyramid ball in a disused locker off the hanger deck.
Civilians are almost easier to handle than military--there aren't rules, but they have simpler wants and needs. At least, that's what Tom has always found. It's how he almost won the presidency, once upon a time.
"I'm putting together a tribunal, and I'd like you to be a part of it."
The words still Anders and he almost misses the ball on its rebound. But it's automatic, the way he catches it, holding it close for an instant, before he looks at Tom. "Collaborators?"
Right there, something crystallizes for Tom: never make this man an enemy. "I want impartial judges, each judgment must be unanimous. Carried out--"
"By their peers?" The ball flies again, this time with a vicious slice through the air. It slaps against the decking with a sound that echoes the anger in Anders' stance. "Impartial. I can do impartial."
"Can you offer suggestions for others?" It's a delicate question, but Tom feels that utilizing this man's intelligence may make his job simpler. When Anders rattles off three names, he almost smiles. Two of them are already on his list.
-
Diana Seelix looks out of place in her orange jumpsuit, as though she misses the wind and dirt more than she cares to admit. Tom finds her easy to provoke, that hatred of the Cylons simmering just beneath the surface. Not that he wants to, not now. He simply needs her to accept what he feels is a duty she is suited for.
The words barely finish before she nods, stumbling over her words of acceptance, that anger still bright in her eyes. Almost incandescent when compared to Anders.
"Do you have suggestions, for other good citizens?"
For an instant, something that might be cynicism flashes through her eyes. Then it's gone, and she nods. "Barolay and Connor."
-
Good choices.
Barolay just nods an acceptance, her face almost impassive. The anger in her is all physical, the way her shoulders are still tense and her fingers half-clench into fists before stopping.
He makes a note of her, wondering if he can use her elsewhere, when this is all over and done with. Tom isn't going to kid himself: Roslin won't let him stay in power, not with her precious Earth to find. And not with Adama as Admiral. Neither of them trust him further than they can throw him, and as he makes a notation on the pile of folders he plans to entrust to his tribunal, he doesn't blame them.
-
He finds Connor in one of the compartments too full of refugees. The others, they ask him questions he has no answers to, but he fends them off with a smile and an apology.
The anger coming off Connor is almost worse than Seelix, and Tom wonders if they should conscript him into service. With a weapon in hand, he might not be so dangerous. But he accepts Tom's proposal, talking about his son and the wrongs done to him by the Cylons and those working for them.
-
Approaching Chief Tyrol is different. Tom has to be careful; like Sam Anders, this man has something innate, some honesty that could tip the balance either way. He finds him outside quarters, looking tired. Explaining in quiet tones, he watches the emotions pass across Tyrol's face.
Once finished, he waits.
"I don't like you," the honesty reflected in the Chief's face is almost ironic. "I don't like this."
"But you'll do it." Tom isn't guessing.
Tyrol looks away, towards the corridor leading to his quarters. There's the sound of people changing shifts, soldiers moving from one job to the next, some are laughing. Ribald jokes told a thousand times still giving them surcease from their daily struggle. "Yeah. I'll do it."
-
Tom tries to tell himself that he left Tigh for the last, because he was just that sure of him. But it's a lie, and Tom tries never to lie to himself. The man is in his quarters, bottle open, though there's nothing in the glass next to it.
He barely glances up at Tom, before he snorts and reaches for the glass. "You got somethin' you want, Mr. Vice President?" Tigh makes the title an insult.
It's one Tom let's slide. His goal here isn't conflict, and he's heard worse. He certainly won't ever expect to hear better from the bitter man in front of him. "I need you to head up the investigation into collaboration on New Caprica."
"Do you now? And what makes you think I would help?" Voice still scornful, Tigh looks down, watching the alcohol dribble from bottle to glass.
"You ran the resistance, and did things that aren't exactly on the white side of the ledger," Tom says, his voice matter-of-fact. "Suicide bombings, storing guns in churches. They were things you did to ensure peace, lengths that you went to keep our people, the human race, alive."
Tigh looks at him from one eye, then barks a laugh. "D'you even have the authority? Or has Roslin stopped playing schoolteacher long enough to throw you out on your ass like the maggot that you are?"
Ignoring the last statement, Tom nods, "I do. Please, Colonel--it is still Colonel, isn't it? This investigation needs a man of your integrity and expedience to run it."
A cackling laugh escapes Saul Tigh and he takes a long pull of the drink, setting the empty glass down as he looks up at Tom. "I'm an evil man. Best to continue in it. I'll take charge of this investigation and we'll root out the collaborators, give 'em the same chance they gave us."
Which is all Tom can ask for, really. He nods and sets his pile of folders down on the table, "Most of the legwork has been done. All that remains is for the circle to convene and discuss the fates of each case."
For a moment, both men look at each other, each understanding the other. Then Tigh grunts and pours out another measure of ambrosia, the smell sharp and clear against the dust and paper. "I'll be in touch."
It's a dismissal, and Tom takes it. There's no valor in prolonging the conversation.
After all, he's not fighting a war.
-f-