“Let’s go back to the magazine,” Kord said.
Marko set his hands flat on his knees before anyone had to tell him to.
Habit moving them felt like giving something away, and there was nothing left to give in a stores locker, deck three aft: no windows, one hatch, a folding table that had seen better decades and two chairs that hadn’t.
Kord sat across from him with a slim folder open between them and the kind of patience that didn’t need a clock.
“Yes, Sergeant.” “You gave the order to shore the feed hatch and vent aft.
Chief Tyrol confirms it.
Specialist Barris confirms it.
Three minutes forty seconds on the clock.” Kord’s voice stayed level.
Courteous.
“Walk me through how you knew.” “I didn’t know, Sergeant.
I read the frame.” “The frame looked whole to Barris.” “Barris was watching the fire.
I was watching the load.” Kord made a small notation.
Didn’t look up.
“You’ve done magazine work before?” “No, Sergeant.” “Ordnance handling?” “No, Sergeant.” “But you knew the frame wouldn’t hold.” Marko breathed once.
Let it out.
“I know steel under compression.
The magazine was a compression problem with a timer.” Kord nodded.
Turned a page.
“The Adriatic.
You volunteered for a hull-integrity assessment on a civilian transport you’d never set foot on.
Found stress fractures in a frame the yard crew missed.
How?” “I walked the welds.
Saw the pattern.” “What pattern?” “Radiating from the keel junction.
Old retrofit work, inadequate reinforcement.” “You’re not a hull inspector, Specialist.” “No, Sergeant.
I’m a damage-control tech who’s seen a cracked frame.” Kord’s pen hovered.
“Chief Tyrol says you’re the best eye he’s got.
Says you see things before they fail.” A pause.
“That’s a useful skill in a damage-control specialist.” “Thank you, Sergeant.” “It’s also a useful skill in a Cylon.” Marko met his eyes.
Said nothing.
“Something you want to tell me, Dabrowski?” “No, Sergeant.” Kord leaned back.
Not frustrated.
Just…
measuring.
“Let me ask it differently.
Have you ever been wrong?” The question landed cold.
“Yes, Sergeant.” “When?” Marko’s mouth went dry.
The Adriatic’s frame, groaning under his hands.
The clawback, eight days gone and still on the Board’s provisional ledger.
“Adriatic,” he said.
“Told the yard crew a repair would hold for three jumps.
Holds pending.” Kord wrote that down.
Slowly.
“Holds pending,” he repeated.
“Not holds proven.” “Correct, Sergeant.” “So you were wrong to guarantee it.” “I didn’t guarantee it.
I said it would hold.
It’s holding.” “For now.” “Yes, Sergeant.
For now.” Kord closed the folder.
Rested his hands on it.
“Here’s my problem, Specialist.
I’ve got six witnesses who say you called six failures before anyone else saw them.
I’ve got a fuel count you corrected from a transfer line.
I’ve got a Chief who trusts you and can’t tell me why.
And I’ve got a specialist who gives me answers so short and clean they could’ve been rehearsed.” “They weren’t, Sergeant.” “Then help me understand how a deckhand knows what an officer missed.” Marko held his gaze.
“I pay attention.” “So does everyone on this ship.” “Then I pay better attention.” The hatch cracked open.
Tyrol stepped in, oil on his coveralls, fatigue under his eyes, and the kind of edge that came from a man interrupted one too many times.
“Sergeant.
I need my specialist back.” Kord didn’t rise.
“We’re not finished, Chief.” “You’ve had him for ninety minutes.
I’ve got a hydraulic array that won’t seal and a flight deck that needs it done before the next CAP cycle.
He walks now or you get it in writing from the XO.” Kord’s jaw worked.
He stood, slowly, and handed Marko a single folded page.
“Statement summary.
Read it.
Sign it.
Return it to the master-at-arms office by twenty-two hundred.” Marko took it.
“Yes, Sergeant.” Kord looked at Tyrol.
Then back to Marko.
“Cylons are patient, Specialist.
So am I.” He picked up his folder and walked out, leaving the hatch open behind him.
Tyrol waited until the footsteps faded.
Then he turned to Marko, and the look on his face wasn’t relief.
“What the frak are you into, Dabrowski?” “Nothing, Chief.” “That wasn’t nothing.
That was the master-at-arms building a case file with your name on the spine.” “I answered his questions.” “Yeah, you did.
Short, clean, and just true enough he can’t call you a liar.” Tyrol stepped closer.
Lowered his voice.
“I went to bat for you in there.
Burned a favor with Tigh to pull you out before Kord decided to make this formal.
You understand what that cost?” Marko met his eyes.
“Yes, Chief.” “Good.
Because I’m not doing it again.
Next time he calls you in, you’re on your own and you’d better have a better answer than ‘I pay attention.'” “Understood, Chief.” Tyrol studied him.
Fatigue and something else.
Something that looked like doubt trying not to be.
“The hydraulic array’s in Bay Two.
It’s a seal problem, should be simple.
Make it simple, Dabrowski.
No miracles.
No perfect frakking calls.
Just turn the wrench and let someone else be right for once.” He left.
Marko sat alone in the stores locker.
The statement summary sat unfolded in his hands.
Six saves, listed clean.
Six moments where he’d known before he should have.
The Board said nothing.
Kord wouldn’t bore off.
That much was clear now.
The hunter had a shape, and the shape fit too well, and patience was a weapon Marko couldn’t match because every save made the case tighter.
Invisible wasn’t working.
So.
Useful, then.
Indispensable.
If he couldn’t make Kord stop hunting, he’d make Command need him more than they feared him.
Every correct call.
Every fix that held.
Every crisis where the fleet needed the man who saw what was breaking and knew how to shore it before it killed someone.
He’d become the specialist they couldn’t afford to airlock even if they wanted to.
The thought tasted like ash.
Like sealing a hatch.
Like deciding who lived by deciding what truth got told.
He folded the statement.
Pocketed it.
Stood.
Bay Two.
A hydraulic seal.
Simple work.
He walked out of the locker and headed for the hangar, carrying Kord’s file in his head and Tyrol’s spent favor like a bill he couldn’t pay.
The fix would hold.
It had to.
// FIELD BRIEFING Update cycle: 7 chapters every 10 days.
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