2237-05-08 - Faith and Politics

Lyn and Aldrich run into one another in the Vanguard's gym and discuss what's happening on Canceron.

Date: 2237-05-08

Location: Gym -- Vanguard

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 1013

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The Vanguard gym is much smaller than Galactica's, but still has the same basic components. There's a small changing area, a section with padded mats for sparring or gymnastics and a row of punching bags. The back of the room has a few treadmills and weight machines, and a rack of free weights. One of the walls has been lined with hand and footholds to make a modest climbing wall.


Aldrich has been down on the planet for several days, working with some of the locals. He's at least slept and showered since then, but he still has a ragged look to match the rest of the crew's. That's not stopping him from hitting the gym, for some reason. He's just finishing up some sort of leg machine exercises, and settles back to rest, taking a long swig of water from a plastic sports bottle.

Lyn finally had a few shifts off running supplies down to Canceron, which she used to shower, sleep and eat. Now that she's no longer exhausted, the itch to move has returned. A few days cooped up on a ship and she starts to get restless. The sergeant steps into the gym in the usual workout gear: khaki shorts, grey tee, and the brownish-charcoal tank of the colonial forces off duty clothes. She has a small towel slung over one shoulder, and running shoes on.

Green eyes sweep the mostly empty gym. With so much work and double shifts for the disaster relief effort, most people aren't prioritizing a work out. She spots Aldrich and gives him a faint, lopsided grin. "Chaplain," she greets, heading for a treadmill not far from him.

Aldrich gives a weary smile to Lyn as she greets him, and a lazy half-wave. "Evening." He closes his eyes for a moment and then takes a deep breath. "I think we should shoot whoever invented physical therapy," he jokes, though it has an edge of weariness to it. "How are you holding up?"

"Just point me at them, I'll get my rifle loaded," Lyn replies with a short laugh. "As for me, I'm breathing. I'm guessing Command ok'd sending those revolutionaries some supplies, if you're back on board?" Lyn quips. "Hope they treated you all right down there." The towel gets draped over one of the treadmill's handrails and she pulls back her hair into an elastic at the nape of her neck. "That was damned fine diplomatic work you and Courtois managed."

Aldrich looks a little grim about the revolutionaries. "They treated me fine. They aren't bad people. They're just desperate." He pulls one leg up on his knee to massage the calf, presumably where it was previously injured. "I'd feel better about the diplomatic work if I could have left them with something a bit more substantial than promises."

"Yeah, I thought we had it bad on Aquaria with the cold and the volcano. That was a vacation compared to what's been going on down in those mines," Lyn admits with a frown. She starts the treadmill and begins jogging on it, facing Aldrich so the conversation can continue. "It's hard, being part of something that spans all the colonies. You learn more than you might want to, and you get to feel helpless about a lot of things. But you do good too."

Aldrich nods a little, and gives a crooked smile. "Well, one of the nice things about being a chaplain is that I don't necessarily have to shut up about it. I'm going to try to make some noise about their situation, if I can. I just have to figure out exactly what sort of noise needs to be made, and where."

"And make sure people know it's your personal stance, and not that of the Colonial Forces, because they might not take it well otherwise," Lyn advises. "It sucks to have to be neutral about all this, it really does. It's a frakking shame, but it's just how it is." She turns up the speed to burn off some of her anger. "If I had even a tiny bit of diplomatic talent, I'd go into politics and see what could be done. But I don't have that kind of a gift."

Aldrich lifts a shoulder. "Diplomacy and politics are slightly different skill sets, I'm afraid," he chuckles a bit. "Or I'd be tempted myself. Can you imagine? I'd last about two seconds."

Lyn laughs and shakes her head. "I don't think I'd get through one day before I punched some idiot politician in the frakking nose. Pardon my language, Chaplain." She runs easily, like it's something she's done every day for most of her life. "But I guess we find our way to where we belong eventually, right?"

Aldrich snorts faintly. "I think if I can resist the urge to punch Mikolas, I could probably make it through politics," he points out. He doesn't seem bothered by the language. He does nod to the last bit, though. "The gods do seem to have a way of sending us where we're needed."

"Just sometimes, not fast enough," Lyn grunts back. "Don't think I've met Mikolas. Where are you from, Chaplain?" She continues running, with a little sweat beginning to beat on her forehead. She looks at him curiously.

Aldrich shakes his head a little. "You'll know when you do. He means well, I think, but... Well, I guess you'll just have to find out for yourself." He smiles faintly, though it takes on just the slightest hint of tension when she asks where he's from. "Gemenon, originally."

"Really?" Lyn seems surprised. "How do you feel about your homeworld staying out of the conflict with the Cylons? Do they approve of you ministering to the fleet?"

Aldrich lifts a shoulder a little. "Honestly? It doesn't surprise me. But beyond that, it's not really my place to have an opinion about it." And the last bit earns a bit of a snort of amusement. "I doubt Gemenon as a whole has any opinion about me one way or the other. But I'm sure if anyone there knows about it, they disapprove."

"Well I'm glad we got you, Chaplain. We need more level heads in this flying tin can. I'm certainly not one of them," Lyn quips. She swipes a hand across her forehead to fling the sweat aside. "What did you do to your leg?" she asks, jerking her chin towards the one he was rubbing.

"Well, I will take that as the highest compliment," Aldrich replies, then smiles wryly as she inquires about his leg. "Got it in the way of a bullet. I was with the crew at Edson. Made it through the whole bombing, hiding out in the jungle, rescues, and all of that... Then got myself shot when we were almost home free."

"See, some of us get where we're needed too late. I probably could have been a help with that situation. I'm at my best on the ground, not stuck in a space-bound asylum," Lyn admits with a twitch of her nose.

Aldrich lifts a shoulder, with a shake of his head. "Well, I can't blame you for wanting to get in on the action, after what I've heard about the situation on Aquaria... But I doubt you'll be lacking for chances to shoot at toasters, before long."

"I'm better at finding the toasters and sneaking up on them. I'm a good shot, but I'm more of a sniper than a rifleman. That's why I'm in recon," Lyn admits with a chuckle. "I prefer not to be seen at all."

Aldrich nods a little, and smiles slightly. "That's the smarter way to do it," he agrees. "I'm not much of a shot, myself. Once the mission has been blessed, about all I'm good for is providing cover fire..."

"Don't sell yourself short," Lyn replies at that, with an arch of a brow. She stops the machine and grabs her towel to mop at her face. "You have a gift in knowing the right things to say to people, defusing situations. What you did with those former miners was proof of that."

Aldrich glances down and shakes his head. "Not a skill that I've learned to employ against our usual enemies, I'm afraid." He smiles a little, then adds, "But thank you. I do what I can." He stretches out his shoulder a little, takes a deep breath, and then settles in to do another set. Apparently that was enough rest. "And of course, if you ever find yourself in need of my particular services, the chapel is always open. Whether you believe or not."

"Cylons aren't the only trouble we run into, Chaplain," Lyn says quietly. "Do me a favor, and say a little prayer for me, that I get back into the field before I lose my mind up here." She grins, slings the towel around her neck, and pats him on the shoulder. There's no promise to go to the chapel, but there's no refusal either. She heads out for the showers.


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