| Whether 'Tis Nobler |
| Summary: | Immediately following Bannik's briefing, Air Wing and Marine personnel discuss their situation and their options. Verdict: this sucks. |
| Date: | 15 Apr 2042 AE |
| Related Logs: | Immediately follows All Bets Down |
| Players: |
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| Ready Room! |
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| Room desc goes here! |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #413 |
Frowning as he listens, Samuel's eyes narrows quite a bit now, as he looks around for a few moments, "This is… wrong…" he mutters to himself.
Psyche stands as Kepner comes over the coms, her hand rising to cover her mouth as he announces the first of the promised executions. Both hands grip the back of the chair in front of her as there's a mad-scramble for the CIC. "We suit up," she replies to Devlin's earlier question, though it seems as though it were posed many years ago. "We arm ourselves. And we wait."
"What is wrong?" Asks a man who has been utterly unnoticable for well, quite some time. Spade glances from where he's been lurking towards Samuel with a tilt of his head. "The break from reality? The desperation from hopelessness? The execution of good soldiers? Or just… well, everything?" The last part is tacked on with a little smirk.
"I knew it. I frakking /knew/ it. The moment those spooks showed up they've never been straight with us. Wonder how long that big, clapping zealot arsehole with the rubber face had been planning this shit." McQueen states, after hearing the transmission ring over the Wireless. "Well. I suppose now's not the time for naval-gazing. Um, so, yeh." He leans over towards some of the other pilots. "I remember Wolfe down in Engineering was talking about some of the EW upgrades we 'got' from that ship full of assholes. Anyone know the full extent of it? Other than it puts us on the same kind of leash we were on when the Cylons hit us in the first place?"
McQueen pauses again, listening to the loudspeaker, just shaking his head, mouth agape.
"Everything just about covers it," Samuel replies as he looks over to Spade. "Don't suppose we can waltz over there and…" He then hears that next broadcast, and grimaces as he looks between the others present, rather carefully for now. But it's clear to see he's far from calm inside, by the expression on his face.
Devlin flinches at the execution announcement, and reaches up for Psyche's arm as she rises. He gets to his feet as well, but leans against the back of the chair in front of him, turning to look at McQueen. "They didn't all seem bad," he shrugs, "I mean, Fiasco's a good time, and AWOL seemed nice." It's not offered with much conviction, though. He glances over at Samuel and Spade and then back around, asking sort of generally, "What're we going to do, though? I mean… are we seriously going to get out there and start shooting people? Other humans? That is so not what I signed up for."
Psyche shakes her head in response to McQueen. "Not a damned thing," she admits, jaw working viciously on her gum. She takes a breath. Blows a bubble. It calms her a little. "They're nice people, baby," she says to Devlin, "but they're in a frakking cult. There's no helping them" She chews. Inflates a bubble. Pops it. Takes a breath. "There's no way they're going to let this happen — frak, I never thought I'd say it, but thank the Lords for Boots who's never followed an order in his frakking life he didn't personally agree with. There's going to be a plan coming down, and it's not going to be Kepner's plan. We just have to be ready."
"Well, Fiasco n' Awol are hot. And there's that doctor, too." McQueen says. Well, good thing he keeps everything in perspective. "Wish I could get a bloody sandwich with all 'em on it." He says, attempting some kind of stale, flat approximation of mirth, which fails on several levels. "Just goes to show you, can't trust a pretty face. Or in Kepner's case, a rubber one." As Kepner broadcasts his latest ultimatum, McQueen's arm waves towards the Wireless loudspeaker in a gesture of frustration as much as insult, flipping it the bird. "I'm going to excercise my powers of 'fatal rectal trauma' up your arse, you miserable twat."
Back to Psyche. "Hm. Well. Cult or no, something about these systems. Everything in a network is multidirectional, to some degree." He stretches and sits up in his chair, his leg stiffly rising until it's in a straight position, before he relaxes it, gritting his teeth in what looks to be as much annoyance as pain.
"And in what she speaks is the deepest concern." Spade says as he nods towards Psyche. "They are in a cult, they believe the man to a depth blindly. There is nothing more dangerous than a man who believes in everything and is willing to give everything. Meanwhile, we already question the necessity of our actions." Looking from Samuel to the others, the MP manages another slight smile, "So in the end we gird ourselves aye? Decide what is necessary. Good is merely an adjective. A good man can still commit murder."
"Quite true, they are a frakking cult, which is dangerous…" Samuel offers, before he sighs a little bit. "I just wish we could somehow remove the head of that snake…" A brief sigh as he shrugs, nodding to the part about good man being able to commit murder. "Didn't someone once say that an action was good if it maximized the overall happiness or some such thing?"
"Yeah, but going against Kepner's plan is gonna mean us attacking, isn't it?" Devlin points out to Psyche and the rest, "Attacking Areion, I mean. I mean… seriously, we're going to be out there shooting down other Vipers. That is seriously frakked up." He glances over at Samuel and Spade and shrugs, "So they're in a cult, they're still humans, and we haven't got many of those left. I'm not saying I want to go suiciding with them, but… I don't know, I don't like this 'assault plan' thing much either."
Chew, chew, chew. Blow. Pop. "If they didn't have our people, I'd say we just cripple their ship and jump, leave them for the cylons." This is Psyche's opinion. Easy, right? "We were doing just frakking fine before they came along." She rakes her hands through her hair, throwing out action movie scenarios, clearly not a tactician. "Or we somehow take our Kepner, and then maybe if there's anyone who wants to defect from the cult, it won't be a total loss." She drops back into a chair. "Crazy motherfrakker's probably impossible to access, though. And if you go after the king, you best not miss."
McQueen leans in his chair to study Spade carefully, his pale blue eyes narrowing. "That's the problem with zealots. Shouldn't be bloody well trusted to run a hot dog cart." His chest rises and falls as he takes a deep, frustrated breath. "Making the Cylons pay for their crimes is all well and good if you have some kind of contingent survival plan. Otherwise, why are you even bothering? I don't think the Gods are keepin' a scorecard on this one."
To Psyche now. "So we don't miss, yeh? Any word on when you're going out? I'm still not clear for high-G maneuvers thanks to my leg, although I might just ignore that little detail."
Psyche shakes her head, standing again. She doesn't seem to know what to do with herself. "Not a clue. Everything's a clusterfrak right now. I guess Boots is de facto in charge of us airy fairies — we should let him know we stand ready." She glances around at her fellow pilots. "Assuming we all stand together on this."
"Broadside's acting CAG," Devlin corrects, "They announced it while you were in the Head. Sorry, meant to mention it." He chews on his lip some more and listens around the room, and shrugs at McQueen, "I dunno. I mean, yeah. I'm not for suicide plans, that's stupid. But there's got to be a third way here somewhere, doesn't there? Maybe?" Psyche's plans draw a bit of a crooked smile, "You have been in my DVDs too much." He rakes a hand through his hair and shrugs, "We follow orders. From here, I mean. Not from Areion. Whatever comes down, that's what I'm doing." But it doesn't sound like he expects to like it.
Evandreus is oddly delayed in being released from the Sickbay, but once he arrives he seems for all intents and purposes entire and in his mind, even if he's still as pale as if he'd seen a ghost. But that might be from the announcement on the PA on his way up.
"That's why we need to take out the controllers, so to speak," Samuel offers after a few moments of pause. He then nods a bit at Devlin's words about following orders from here. "Good plan." Looking over at Evandreus for a few moments now, offering the man a nod.
"Broadside? Really?" Psyche pffts her consternation. "I miss more shit when I'm in the head." She pauses, reflects, opens her mouth to qualify that statement, then thinks better of it with a shake of her head.
"No assumption to make, there, Bubbs." McQueen says, without hesitation, something of a thin smile that almost reaches his eyes painting his face before it fades as he weighs the whole horrible, hopeless situation. "Broadside, eh? Well. He's no Toast. But then again, nobody is. Nobody." He starts glancing downwards towards the floor. "Anyway, yeh. Controllers."
"Taking out the head is all well and good, however as the infection for that is essentially what this is, an infection of belief. When it filters down throughout the people either it must be vacinated or removed from the population. Yes, they are humans and yes there is a noticable shortage of us now." Spade comments it all dryly and dispassionately as possible while looking at nothing. "And a greater shortage still. In the end ask yourself the question; will any on the Aerion hesitate to kill you? If the answer is no, then you already know what you must do."
Evandreus nods wanly to Applesauce and lifts a hand to his eye to rub at it as drawn-faced he wanders further into the room, getting a feel for it more than anything else, listening to bits and pieces of plans here and there and trying to piece them together, finally coming up alongside Bubs and just sort of settling there, as if she'll certainly give him a clue.
"Y'know, not to dwell on hindsight here, but does anyone find something suspicious about their Magical Interrogation Machine suddenly being used /after/ the Admiral was tossed out the Airlock?" McQueen ventures a moment. "Sorry. Conspiracy theory. Anyway, we're just spinning our bloody wheels here. I feel like we should be doing something more than just — waiting."
As though sensing Evan's need for answers, Psyche leans over and kisses the Leontonian's temple. "We're just stewing and fretting and waiting for orders, Bunnybutt," she tells him, gently. "It's pretty obviously come down to Us versus Them…" she looks to Devlin, reaching for his hand. "And it does suck."
McQueen adds, hastily. "Well, not /literally/ out the airlock. But it works. Anyway — I think the lot of ya are dead on the money. It's a ship full of individual people who are probably decent, that are a monster when you combine them."
There's something comforting in that, somehow. Not having to make any decisions. Just waiting until someone tells him where to go to die. Evan lets his head fall onto Psyche's shoulder. "We shouldn't fight them," he gives his own two cents. "Or the Cylons. We should just… sit down. All of us. And if they want to kill us, let them kill us on their own instead of getting the Cylons to do it. Don't let them hide behind some nebulous glory," the words sounding quite bitter.
"Few people are decent, they're just people." Spade rambles towards himself in a dry tone. "Any person would be more than their usual happy self but as soon as a dark and stormy night rolls in, when the shadows of a dark dusk creep over, anyone of those decent humans would reveal their own colors." A typewriter and a cigarette would really help the man's mood. "But, if we lay down and die, how could we ever redeem our existances?"
Samuel blinks a bit as he hears Evan's words, studying the man rather carefully for a few moments now. Looking about to say something, but he stops, looking around at the others for a few moments.
Evandreus lets his eyes, tired as they look, focus on Spade. "Better than we could if we turned our own weapons on our fellow men?" he answers back.
Devlin nods at McQueen, and then blinks at Evan's suggestion and frowns. "Yeah, no," he says after a minute, "I'm not for that one. They will kill us if we let them, you know. That seems pretty clear. I'm not just going to sit down and die. I don't like the idea of fighting other people, but…" he shrugs, "We do what we have to do. Giving up doesn't do anybody any good."
"He's right," Psyche says softly to Evan, stroking his hair. "Giving up isn't the answer. We've made it this far, Bunny. One step at a time, one moment at a time… we'll make it through."
"Well. I suppose I liberally apply the word 'decent', here. I always look on the sunny side of things. Like, that basin full of shit can be fertilizer. Or something like that." McQueen muses to the crowd. Before rounding on Evandreus, "Well, I'm all for sitting down and chatting with whoever will listen. Unfortunately, I think people already tried that with Kepner. Now more /decent/ people got plugged and he's going to ram this fleet up the arse of Caprica's collective Cylon population. Hell, we tried talking to the Cylons, and they didn't seem interested in chatting then, did they?" His nostrils flare, indignant. "All this talk about Gemenon aside."
"They rarely do," Samuel offers to the part about Cylon's not being interested in chatting. Frowning a bit as he looks around. "You know what they say. A man's got to do what a man's got to do…"
"I don't see how taking a stand for something that's right equals giving up," Evandreus, glum, but at least sedate, against Bubs' shoulder. "If we all agree— we're not doing this. They can't take their weapon against the Cylons alone. And if they kill us all, they'd have to do that, anyhow. And live with themselves somehow, the meanwhile. If we all stand together and tell them we're not doing this… and that we're not going to fight them… maybe they'll realize what dicks they're being. If we fight them, they fight back, people die. If we fight the cylons, everyone dies. Our best option is not to fight at all."
"But do you think that is how it would play out?" Spade asks towards Evandreus. "What would play out, is we would stand as a united front and say no. Then they'd kill a handful. And the willingness to stand up would wavier and those left would go to their deaths. The result is the same." He sighs softly, "In the end, you'll need to consult your soul and whoever you pray to, to determine what is right. There isn't much good left for us Humans. For myself? If we're going to go out, I'd like to go out knowing that I stood up for what was right damnit, even if that means standing up against tyranny.
Devlin looks at Samuel, "Don't plan the plan if you can't follow through? Psyche's got that song on her player." He runs a hand through his hair again and then turns to look at Evandreus again, "Bunny, did you take your meds today? Because dude, that is only the best option if you are okay with sitting down and letting someone put a gun to your head and pull the trigger. And being okay with that is called being suicidal. They have pills for that. Either we sit down and we all die, or we go along with Kepner and we all die, or we fight them and probably some of us die but maybe not all. He's executing department heads, he's not gonna just say 'you know what, I take it back, you guys are right, let's not do this'. And what do you think'll happen to the civs on the Elpis? They'll get left here to die if we go."
If Devlin's reaction to Evandreus is slightly incredulous, McQueen's is sudden. And somewhat rude. The notebook on his lap suddenly gets lifted as he throws it hard against the wall, it splays open and the rings unlock, sending sheets of paper flying in a chaotic, messy pile. "Then THE FRAK'S THE BLOODY USE OF DOING ANYTHING AT ALL?! Frakkin' GROW A PAIR." He snaps at Bunny. "Think about it. Use that thing in your head you call a frakking /brain/ and think. The Gods aren't interested in grand, symbolic, useless gestures. The universe isn't keeping score of futile attempts at style points. How many poor bastards do you think held hands and sang hymns when the bombs fell, thinking The Lords would save their sorry asses from the fire raining down upon them?!" Something in him clicks, and then he pauses, looking down.
"I'm sorry. I didn' mean to yell at you. Just - principle is one thing. But when you disregard the greater good, look where principle bloody gets you. Nowhere. We have to /try/ to keep as many people alive as we damn well possibly can. THAT is our mission. To defend humanity from any and all threats. Even humanity itself."
"Elpis won't be in any better shape if we die fighting than if we die not fighting," Evan points out. "I took my pills," Evan answers Devlin. Which might be odd to hear, since Bunny's supposed to be off of them by now. "And it's not useless," he tells McQueen, keeping his own voice moderated to a nice, calm tone, seeming generally unfluttered by the show of distress. That glassy-eyed look McQueen's getting? Yah, that's the pills. "It doesn't have anything to do with the Lords. It only matters what you would or would not be able to do in order to survive and live with yourself after. They might be able to kill the other half of humanity and get good sleep at night. I couldn't."
Samuel shakes his head a little bit as he listens to what's being said. "Believe me," he begins. "If I could go in there alone and do whatever it took to get this sorted out, I would, even if it meant my death…" He sighs a little bit, "But sadly, I can't do that…"
Spade has left.
"And that means leaving every single survivor eeking out what means a dead-end life on a dead world out there to fend for themselves, with the Cylons. That means /not/ doing what we are meant to do — deliver humanity to a /new/ home. Kepner and his shitheads want to make a great big funeral pyre and hop into it, fine, but they're dragging everyone else down with them. /Including/ the Elpis." McQueen counters, rapidly seeming more calm and maybe even a little abashed, at least in tone and body language. Crossing his arms and adjusting his still-stiff leg, he frowns. "I'm not willing to /calmly/ go along with the end of all life as we know it. There's only one way out of this, and that's to outsmart that rubber-faced freak and his ship full of 'special forces' arseholes." As Rudy announces more joyful tidings over the comms, he rocks out of his seat and ambles to a standing position. "Oh, stuff it, you disingenuous, rancid ballbag. You're enjoying every minute of your little power trip." He flips a bird towards the loudspeaker and ambles over to retrieve his thrown notebook, bending down and scooping it up slowly.
Evandreus has left.
Devlin blinks at McQueen, but doesn't seem to disagree or even disapprove, really, nodding along. "Because if we fight them there's a chance we don't die," he points out, "And if we don't fight them, there's no chance we don't die. I'm not saying any of these are good options or good chances, but we can't sit and do nothing and just let them do whatever they want. If you don't want to fight, don't fight. Go sit somewhere and make your stand. But… I'm not going with you." He shrugs a bit, and then some more, nodding as Evan exits. He shakes his head at the next announcement, and flops back into the chair, looking across at McQueen. "Were you taking notes?"
"How do they pick those special force commanders? By the sentence that there's better to have vacuum inside your skull than nothing?" Samuel growls in the direction of the wireless as he hears Rudolph the No-Brained Comman-deer, or whatever he'd call him in his mind. "I wish I could just, you know… Give him a few bullets between the eyes or something. With our luck, he's probably one of those Cylons as well…"
"Maybe, but there's nothing really /useful/ in there." McQueen replies to Devlin, haplessly, as he wildly stuffs sheet after sheet onto the notebook's rings and just sighs. "I thought about making a list of all the dead. But I can probably find better uses for my time." His forehead creases even more than usual. "Heh. I imagine the Cylons arrayed against us would be dancing a frakking /jig/ at Kepner's bullshit. Naw. I don't believe in those witch hunts. Look where they got us?" With another shake of his head, he simply banishes the topic. "Look. Uh. I don't know what's going to happen today. But I just want you to know something. Something Toast and I realized, Gods protect her. We're all that we have. And I'm proud to have washed up on this ship of — 'non-special' forces and fly with some of the finest people I've ever known. For what it's worth."
Devlin nods to Samuel, "I know, right?" He just shakes his head, "This is nuts. But we'll figure a way out. We've got to somehow. There's no way we get this far just to end like this, that doesn't make any frakking sense." He runs a hand through his hair again and then looks back up at McQueen and nods, "They so would. Bastards. Bastards!" More pensive glaring at his shoes, and then up his head comes again as his fellow pilot speaks again. He smiles crookedly, and nods, "Thanks, Queenie. It's been a pleasure getting to serve with you guys so far. I'm glad I signed up and, you know, made it this far, at least."
"Even though you guys are… you know…" Samuel pauses briefly. "Flyboys…" he grins, "I'm proud to have served alongside you during this, and whatever might come… Sirs."
"Nothin' else to do, I suppose." McQueen simply offers, now, mostly silent as his thoughts wander. "I should find a way to bloody make myself /useful/. The waiting. It's killing me." He arranges the notebook now somewhat — neatly. He reaches over and clasps Samuel on the shoulder. "Don't 'Sir' me when you're givin' me a compliment, man."
Devlin nods to Samuel, shooting him that same crooked smile, and to McQueen as well. "Yeah, I should go do something. Figure out where in my locker I hid my sidearm, maybe." He thumps them both on the shoulder as he goes, offering, "Good luck, guys. See you soon."
"Sorry, si… Sorry," Samuel offers to McQueen, before he nods to Devlin. "Just make sure you shoot at the right people," he offers a bit lightly.
"There's nobody right. But - well, you make do what what's handed to you. When you're hungry — sometimes you have to eat that shit sandwich." McQueen says, brows drooping. "All right, then. Seein' if I can make myself useful, yeh?"
Samuel nods a little bit, "I should do the same," he offers. "Let's make sure we get out of this alive."