“Two Basestars and three smaller support ships—holding at near maximum DRADIS range,” Tigh reported as the Admiral walked into CIC trailed by the President . . . and Tom Zarek. Saul turned his back on the man and he joined Adama at the central console. “CAP and the ready fighters are holding station under Stinger at the outer marker. The Fleet has begun jumping away—but so far, they haven’t launched Raiders.”
“Unusual,” growled Bill. “But if they are willing to let us go without a fight, I’m willing to oblige them. Inform Stinger to stand by to execute combat landings on Galactica
—we will sort out the wings after the jump.”
“Admiral!” snapped Dee. “We are being hailed by the Cylons.”
“On speaker,” Adama replied.
we wish to speak in peace, please respond.”
The Admiral lifted the phone and twisted the cord in his hand. “This is Galactica
,” he said. “Identify yourself.”
There was a pause. “Do you recognize my voice, Admiral?” a woman asked.
“I should, a copy of you flew Raptors off my flight deck,” Adama answered. “And put two bullets in my chest.”
“Not a copy, Admiral. This is Boomer.”
Tigh’s lips tightened as he walked up and Adama lowered the phone. “All ships away except Galactica
, Sir,” the XO said.
“Recover our fighters, Colonel,” Adama ordered and he raised the phone again. “Say your say, Boomer—we are about to leave.”
“We would like to discuss the terms of surrender.”
Silence hung over the CIC. And Adama breathed deeply for a second before he reply in a cold, cold voice. “Boomer, you must not have known me at all—we will not surrender today, tomorrow, or ever.”
“You mistake me, Admiral—we want to discuss the terms of our surrender to you.”