It Just Keeps Getting Better Cedric sat quietly alone in the Avalon's situation room, murmuring to himself in frustration as he read over the leaked document and waited for the Admiral's arrival.
Claudia was not a happy bunny... Catch the fleet unaware and she could probably pull something out of the fire, but politics was, in some ways, a far more dangerous game. Mostly because it could be that much more cruel and sadistic. Yet, like a necessary evil, she had to play it and this particular match seemed like it might be a very interesting game, indeed.
Mentally bracing herself, the Admiral opened door and entered with a convincingly authoritarian flourish.
"Prime Minister," she greeted with formal smile, "nice to see you... I apologise for the recent delays. With this security breach on top of everything else, I'm sure you can understand my time suddenly became a little more... Limited, recently."
"Of course, Admiral," he replied with the sound of contempt in his voice, walking over to offer his hand in an attempt to be cordial. "Neither you nor I want to be here, Admiral, so why don't we just start, by you explaining your intentions for commissioning this report?"
"Oh, it gets better. There's two."
The shake of hands had taken place between the two sentences. Sinclair calculating her statement for maximum impact.
"What you have there, is a preliminary report, made from the time of leaving Colonial territory. What we'll have soon, is a thorough, fully updated inventory of the same. The reason for this is because, to be blunt, Prime Minister, after a few more engagements like our last? The Cylons won't have to do any more attacking... We'll be falling apart on their behalf. Already are, in fact."
Sinclair had specified this very room for good reason. Gesturing towards the large screen, a file was accessed and magnified, showing likely projections of ship survivability.
"What you see here is based on present estimates. As I say, we're looking to make sure our database is as up to scratch as it can possibly be. However, in a best case scenario?" She suggested, typing up the relevant detail and watching as a bleak-looking graphic appeared. "We're looking at a possible 25% loss of both military and civilian assets. Needless to say, once we get all the available numbers punched in, this is going to look like an optimist's dream..."
"Interesting... You certainly have painted a grim future for the fleet, Admiral," Cedric replied, as he walked past the Admiral and took a moment to look closely over the graphic and quickly contemplate the situation. "Is that all?"
"In the first three months, yes. That's assuming we don't contact the enemy and all equipment on every single ship lives out within the expected limits of its manufacturer's guarantee. And that no particularly drastic changes have taken place since the exodus began."
Taking a moment for Wyndom to absorb the ramifications, Admiral Sinclair tapped out another, even worse chart. "40%... 50%... 30%..." She continued, counting down. "At this rate, we might make it through the year - if we're careful. And if our foe decides to be polite, we might even still have a single battlestar around to shelter whatever's left."
The final graphic was not a pleasant one. Indeed, a close-up magnified the Avalon, itself, showing only one flight pod still operable and efficiency severely impeded by hundreds of civilians, who had been forced to transfer from their own, long-since abandoned craft. Few other ships were left in the fleet. Most of those still flying along were reserved for official government business, only.
"To be blunt, Prime Minister, we're running out... Not of food, recycled fluids or even fuel. We're running out of raw materials. Every successive engagement we can't immediately jump out of, expends a lot of ammunition and every direct hit, whether on ourselves or a luxury yacht, means one more part of the hull to be patched up. To say nothing of electronics and the like; all of which are running pretty much continuously and with very few spare parts now available."
Again, Sinclair paused. She was being realistic. Even Wyndom would know that she would not be painting such a massively horrid outlook, if it could at all be helped. Doing so would only harm her own case for security arrangements. Such things took compromise on both their behalves.
"Our primary solution is to find an available planet or asteroid field with enough material to mine out at short notice. If not... We might have to start considering taking apart a few of the older ships to patch up those more likely to survive. It's not an ideal thought, but it is what it is and something I'd rather have as much available data as possible, upon which to help us all base a final recommendation for your good self."
"I commend you for your imitative, Admiral. And don't think for a moment that I don't appreciate this information or the severity of our situation." Cedric turned around to face her. "But I must say, none of this explains why I only received the original report from a leak, wasn't informed about this sooner, from you or that you've decided to create and maintain a list of crew and passenger manifests. If a member of the press or opposition found out, their first question would be what the frack do you think your doing? Withholding information, spying on civilians and now suggesting that we should start destroying this fleet, in order to save it?"
Sinclair mentally braced herself. It was as she had expected. One of those times when they were going to end up butting heads, purely because of their respective jobs and what each entailed.
"I hardly think keeping track of potential sudden arrivals of Cylon agents qualifies us as a collective police state, Sir," she justified; her choice of title reflecting what perhaps now could be read as a vaguely more frosty atmosphere between them. "Believe me, if that's what I wanted, you'd know it, in no uncertain terms."
Although civil liberties were something to be preserved, Sinclair often felt that those who vocalised such concerns through the media had no real appreciation of just how bad it could be, were there a true need to clamp down hard. There were certainly the resources available for it. That she respected the restrictions imposed upon the military by law, albeit begrudgingly, Sinclair felt was a testament to her willingness to find a compromise.
"All I'm doing, with respect, is elaborating upon a very real concern, Prime Minister. One you've more or less forced my hand into explaining, I might add. Now... Quite whether you'll choose to act upon whatever I recommend, will be your choice. You do, however, have my appreciation for not handing this over to the press and I'm doing everything within my power to make sure this doesn't happen again. We apprehended those responsible, shortly after it reached your staff and protocls have since been sharpened up."
"Good. You have my full support, as Prime Minister, in whatever measures you for security. And as for the situation regarding the fleet, I will wait for your final report and expect a briefing to further discuss it. For now, I will instruct the Cabinet to co-operate with your office, as needed and explore alternative solutions to this problem."
"Then we have an understanding," Sinclair replied, offering a small nod of formal respect.
One immediately casting itself up to ceiling, as a klaxon sounded in familiar alarm.
"ACTION STATIONS! ACTION STATIONS! THIS IS NOT A DRILL! ALL HANDS, MAN YOUR ACTION STATIONS!"
"Looks like we have to cut this meeting short," Sinclair announced, already on her way to open the door and take her leave. "If you'll excuse me... I suggest you either head on over to the CIC or stay here until called upon. Either way, it looks like those estimated figures might have already encountered their first snag."
With that, Cedric followed her towards the bridge.