The sound of air being sucked in over his teeth filled the relative quiet of the compact head. Bill looked down at the dull razor blade and then at the series of pin prick holes along his throat that were starting to enthuse red. Dipping the razor in the cup of water he was using to shave Bill stretched the skin over his Adam’s apple as tightly as he could and drew the blade along the grain of his beard scraping the previous night’s growth away. A knock at the hatch made him glance down to where his pocket watch lay open beside the empty sink. Breakfast was on time, these arrangements were just making him slower than usual. Dipping his head out of the doorframe he called out for the steward to come in and carried on scraping the last of his stubble away. Satisfied with the results he wiped away the remaining thin traces of soap foam and turned out the light before stepping out into the main return of his quarters. The man in the white tabard nodded in reply to Bill’s thanks before leaving and as the wheel of his hatch spun to lock the combing back into place he was crossing to the recessed locker by his rack. Passing the intricately carved antique wooden table that stood prominently on this side of the partition, where the Steward had, as usual set two places and a coffee pot between.

His movements, as he pulled a fresh undershirt over his head, may have been calm and measured as usual. But Bill Adama’s mind was racing, calculating the odds of their long term survival and then ruminating on some desperate way to beat those same slim odds. He wondered if indeed they would make it, before screwing his eyes tightly shut and asking himself ‘make it where?’ Saul, despite his rough hewn sensibilities, had summed it up perfectly; ‘the universe is a pretty barren place when you get right down to it.’ The fleet’s long term survival hinged on the nigh-on impossible task of finding an astral body with a planetary system that was habitable, which was unknown to the Cylons, easily defensible and capable of supporting life in the long term.

Not much if you said it fast.

He was snapped from his meditation by the customary wrap on the hatch followed by the sound of the wheel cracking the hatchcombing before the heavy door swung outwards and Tigh stepped over the threshold.   "Morning.” he drawled before depositing a set of octagonal stock prints beside the coffee pot and rubbing the bridge of his nose.  Bill finished doing up the buttons of his tunic and came to take the chair opposite.

“I want you to know,” Bill began while pouring a cup for each of them. “I appreciate you standing an extra watch, we’re seriously undermanned as you know-“

”Enough said.”   Saul was obviously uncomfortable accepting the recognition and retreated behind the strong black brew. For his part Bill just smiled as he donned his glasses and lifted the pile of print outs Saul had brought with him. “What have we got?” he asked beginning to leaf through the transcripts.

”Comm chatter from Midwatch”  Saul managed to reply as he chewed, having stirred the bowl of re-hydrated oats and unceremoniously stooping his head to meet the first spoonful.  ”Civvies still on the warpath.”  he quipped before taking another spoonful.

Bill let his eyes drift down the report in question. There was rising civil disobedience on a variety of ships. The announcement that Raptor surveys had found a new water supply had only staved off dissent for a while. The civilians were apparently dissatisfied with the time it was taking to extract the ice cores, and transport the water back to Galactica’s storage tanks. “We might have to be the policemen here after all.” Bill commented as he read yet another report detailing civil unrest in the fleet ranging from outspoken criticism of the President to full scale threats to take control of ships and stage an embargo of the Galactica until water supplies were replenished.

”What?”  Tigh asked not being privy to the reference.

“Never mind, I’ll deal with this when I get to combat. Anything else?”

Bill reached for his coffee as Tigh finished the remnants of his breakfast and nodded.

” Well whatever their planning it might get worse before it gets better.”

He looked over the rims of his glasses in response, prompting the Colonel to continue.

”Surface team reported that they ripped another drill head during the night, we’re looking at an additional twelve hours.”

Bill sighed heavily as he put the pile of papers down and picked up his own spoon. “I’ve a feeling we used up our ration of luck just finding that rock.”

”Well if it were too easy,” Saul reclined in his seat. ”Anyone could do it.”

Bill allowed himself to breathe a quiet laugh at the brevity but the brief moment of light heartedness was cut short as the overhead speakers gave out their familiar hail.

”Attention on Galactica, oh-six-hundred revallie. Day watch personnel thirty minutes to duty stations.”

Saul rose from his seat and stretched, the additional hours spent in CIC were ingrained on his ashen face. Bill finished his coffee and took up the print outs again as he rose to head toward the hatch. “Get some rest Colonel, lets see what today brings.”