CHAPTER

15

 

 

Adama had never seen Laura Roslin as shaken as she was at that point. She was seated in his quarters and was looking shell-shocked. Inwardly he cursed himself as a fool, believing he should never have taken her to see Sharon Valerii in the first place… particularly galling since it had been his own damned suggestion.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked her gently.

“I’ve never wanted one so desperately in my life.”

Reaching under his desk, he pulled out a bottle of alcohol that had been a gift from Tigh. Adama was reasonably sure Tigh had acquired it from the black market, but Tigh hadn’t volunteered the information and Adama felt it better not to inquire too closely. Considering Laura’s state of mind, he suspected she wasn’t going to ask too many questions either. He filled a glass for her and slid it over to her. She took it without even looking at it and knocked it back in one shot. Then she held the glass out again and Adama filled it without comment. This time she sipped it far more slowly.

“You’re not turning into a Cylon,” Adama assured her.

“How do we know that?”

“Madame President…”

“How do we know?” she repeated. There was no fear in her voice, no trace of panic. She was asking in what could have been an almost clinical fashion, as if they were discussing the results of some new experiment. “You can’t say it’s impossible. You don’t know. Neither do I. Perhaps she’s right. Perhaps I’m undergoing some… metabolic process that is slowly transforming me into one of them.”

“That’s absurd.”

“So you say. But you don’t know.” She looked him square in the eye. “Do you.”

The truth was that he didn’t, but he wasn’t about to say that to her. It wasn’t what she needed to hear. “Yes. I do.”

“You were the one who said,” she reminded him, “that Sharon Valerii has always told you the truth.”

“All she did was float a possibility. Possibilities are nothing more than that… and can be dismissed just as quickly.”

“Possibilities can also be things to be explored.”

He gestured in a you-tell-me manner. “How would you suggest we explore it?” he asked. “Dissect you?”

Adama wasn’t serious, of course, but she looked thoughtful as if were actually a viable notion. “Did you dissect the previous incarnation of Valerii?”

“Yes.”

“And what did you discover that readily distinguished her from being a human?”

“Nothing,” Adama admitted.

“Nothing. Which leads us back to wondering how you would know in my case.”

“It’s more than biological.”

“Is it?” she asked, one eyebrow cocked. “If we can’t distinguish them from ourselves, and if we can’t even tell if we’re turning into one of them…”

“I can tell.”

“You can.” Roslin made no effort to hide her disbelief of the claim. “How?”

“In their eyes. They can’t disguise their pure hatred for us. I see it burning in there with cold fury. That’s how you tell.”

“Really. And if that tell should fail?”

“Well,” he paused, “getting shot is also a good tip-off.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation and her bleak mood, Laura Roslin smiled at that. “I should think it would be.” Then her amusement faded, to be replaced by grim apprehension. “Admiral… if you ever have any reason to think I’ve been… swayed… over to their side…”

“I will act accordingly.”

“Even though there will be those who accuse you of treason?”

“The survival of the fleet is my overriding concern,” said Adama firmly. “I’ll deal with whatever consequences may result from that. But I repeat: There is no way that you could, or would, become a Cylon.”

“How do you know, Admiral? How do you truly know?”

“Because,” he said with conviction, “you are far too much a woman of conscience to allow that to happen. If you truly believed that you presented a threat to the fleet… that you had allied yourself, however against your will it was, with the Cylons, then you would come to me and ask me to put a shot through your head.”

“And could you do that?” She saw the brief flicker of hesitation in his eyes. “Could you? I come to you and say, ‘Admiral, it was everything I could do not to open fire on the Quorum of Twelve. Kill me before I kill someone else. That’s a direct order from your commander-in-chief.’ Could you do it?”

The hesitation evaporated and slowly he nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Huh.” She frowned. “I don’t know whether to feel relieved about that, or concerned.”

“Both, I suppose,” said Adama.

“All right,” Laura replied. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“I hesitate to mention it… but have you spoken with Doctor Baltar about this?”

“No,” she admitted. “I have… concerns about him. I would not feel comfortable trusting him with this situation at this time.”

“Concerns.”

“You have none?”

“I didn’t say that,” said Adama. “Simply nothing that I can act upon. And you?”

She hesitated and then said, “The same. Or, at the very least, nothing I can put into words.”

What would I say? That I had visions of him on Caprica, locked in a passionate embrace with a known Cylon agent? There’s still too much I don’t know. He’s the foremost expert on Cylons. If I were becoming influenced by the Cylon fetus, then wouldn’t it be in the Cylons’ best interests to have the man who knows most about them to fall under suspicion?

She knew she couldn’t go on like this forever. Sooner or later, she was going to have to sort this out, or resign from the presidency That was the only option left to her if she thought that her own mind was unreliable. Until it reached that point, though, she was going to try and play things as carefully as she could.

“You should still seek medical aid,” Adama said firmly.

Laura nodded in agreement. “All right,” she told him, albeit with reluctance, “I’ll speak to Doctor Cottle about it.”

“Excellent.”

Adama began to stand, clearly thinking the meeting was over, but Laura didn’t move. Her gaze hardened and she said, “She has a lawyer?” This prompted Adama to sit back down again with an audible sigh, as if he were deflating and that was what was lowering him back into his seat.

“Yes,” he said.

“And she spoke with this person?”

“Yes.”

“And you allowed this?”

“I considered shooting her,” Adama said, “but I was daunted by the prospect of the paperwork.”

She shook her head, clearly not amused. “You should have denied her access.”

“If I had, she would have gone public with the presence of the Cylon.”

“You just know it’s going to happen sooner or later.”

“Possibly. Considering we’re still trying to get a handle on what caused the Cylons to be able to anticipate our Jump, my vote is for ‘later’.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she allowed. She shook her head and half-smiled. “I hate to admit it… and if asked, I would deny it… but I’m starting to see the advantages of martial law. Under such conditions, you could have just held her indefinitely at your whim.”

“A dictatorship is also an option,” he pointed out.

“In case you haven’t been paying attention to the press, there are some who are under the impression that we already have one.” Laura appeared to give it some consideration, and then she shook her head sadly and said, “It wouldn’t work. I look ghastly in jackboots.”

“Imagine my relief.” He paused and then said, “She made the argument that Sharon Valerii is so indistinguishable from a human that it was inappropriate—even illegal—to treat her as anything but.”

“What did you say?”

“I said she was a machine.”

“What,” Laura asked after a moment, “do you truly believe?”

Adama leaned back in his chair. It was a question that he’d been wrestling with ever since he’d come out of his coma and had come face to face with the creature that had shot him. “I hate to say it, but—”

“You don’t know? Admiral… Bill… one of them tried to kill you.”

“And another one of them saved you,” he reminded her. “I look into the face of Sharon Valerii, and I see the enemy. I see something inhuman. But…”

“But what?”

He tried to figure out the best way to phrase it. “The lawyer was right about one thing. It is always easier to think of an enemy as less than human, even when you know they are. So when you know they’re not, how much easier to make them less than they are?”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

Adama’s mind rolled back to a meeting he’d had with the Cylon. The results of that encounter had never been far from him, and they continued to haunt him. “I had a talk with her…”

“It.”

“With the Cylon, back when we first encountered the Pegasus. When it looked as if I was going to have Starbuck assassinate Admiral Cain. I asked her why the Cylons hated us. Why they were trying to kill us. She brought up something I’d said about humans deserving to survive… and suggested that maybe we weren’t. That we weren’t worthy to. And when she said that, there was something about her… she seemed…”

“She seemed what?” prompted Laura.

“Wise. Wiser than us. Older than us.”

Laura Roslin looked as if her eyes were going to leap out of her head. “Are you saying that they’re rendering judgment upon us… and are worthy of doing so?”

“No,” he said flatly.

“Then what…?”

“The reason Admiral Cain wasn’t killed by Kara Thrace… was because Sharon Valerii made me feel as if I wasn’t living up to the promise of humanity. I was as willing to kill the admiral… as the Cylons are to kill us. In that moment, she was more human than I… and I was more machine than she. No wonder we can’t determine, even through autopsy, what the differences are between us. There are times when the line blurs so much, I’m not sure where it is anymore.”

“I remind you, Admiral, that it was a Cylon who cold-bloodedly killed Admiral Cain after you, in your humanity, declined.”

“I am aware of that, yes.”

Laura could almost see the wheels turning within his head. “May I ask what you’re thinking?”

“I’m thinking that either Sharon Valerii is one of the most brilliant actresses of her age… or there may be some sort of actual dissent within the ranks of the Cylons. If there’s one Sharon who truly believes in humanity… there may be more. And it’s possible that somehow down the line, we might be able to exploit that.”

She arched an eyebrow in interest. “You mean foster some sort of civil war within the Cylons themselves?”

“The notion of having them invest their talent for homicide into obliterating each other rather than us is an appealing one, wouldn’t you say?”

A slow smile spread across Laura’s face. “Do you think it’s possible?”

“As we’ve established, when it comes to the Cylons, anything is possible.”

Laura nodded in agreement. “The bugs in the rooms,” she said after some consideration. “They have to come out.”

“No.”

“Admiral…”

“It’s a military matter, Madame President. A military decision. I stand by it and until we get this sorted out, they’re staying where they are.”

She scowled. “I want your word that they’re gone once things are ‘sorted out’.”

“You have it.”

“And be certain to tell Colonel Tigh that I’m not happy with him at all.”

There was a knock at Adama’s door. “Yes?” called Adama.

“Do you have a minute, Admiral?” came Tigh’s voice.

Adama’s eyes flashed with amusement as he looked at Laura. “By all means,” he said.

Tigh pushed the door opened, walked in and stopped when he saw Laura. “Madame President,” he said in surprise. “An unexpected honor.”

“We were just talking about you,” Adama told him.

“Really. Nothing good, I hope,” said Tigh.

“The president wished me to inform you that she’s not happy with you at all.”

Tigh didn’t look the least bit bothered. “Then my hope was fulfilled.” Before either Adama or Roslin could explain specifically what it was that Tigh had done to draw the president’s ire, his voice grew serious and he continued, “Doctor Baltar has come to me with a situation.”

“Is this about the matter that we heard him muttering to himself over?” When he saw Tigh’s surprised gaze flicker over to Roslin, he added, “She knows about the bugs. And she knows that I knew from the start. Colonel Tigh,” he said to Roslin, “suggested that I claim ignorance of the program to spare me your ire.”

“Did he.”

“Yes.”

“Huh,” she grunted. “That was very noble of you, Colonel.”

“Thank you, Madame President.”

“Doesn’t make me any happier with you, though.”

“Understood. Admiral,” he continued, looking as if the president’s happiness with him wasn’t of particular importance, “the doctor wishes to meet with you. He believes that the boy may in fact be a Cylon.”

Roslin’s cheeks pinked slightly at the prospect of another Cylon being identified. “Boy? What boy?”

“Andrew Boxman. The pilots call him Boxey,” said Adama. “He was caught having a private conference with Sharon Valerii.”

“Naturally he was checked over to make sure he wasn’t a Cylon himself,” Tigh told her. “Baltar originally gave him a clean bill of health… but now apparently he’s having second thoughts.”

Laura started murmuring the name “Boxman” to herself. She frowned a moment, trying to figure out why it sounded familiar, and then she remembered. “Wasn’t the officer who was killed at the meeting station when the Cylons first attacked named Boxman… ?”

“Boxey’s father. He’s orphaned.”

“We know who his parents were, and we still felt it necessary to check if he was a Cylon?”

“We know that an Alex Boxman existed at some point,” Tigh said. “We’ve no idea whether the one who came aboard Galactica—in the company of Sharon Valerii yet—is the original item. Alex Boxman may well be dead and this one is an imposter.”

“Do they do that? Impersonate other people?”

“We don’t know,” Tigh said stiffly. “But it’s preferable not to take chances.”

“Yes. Yes, of course, you’re right. Do we know where he is now?” asked Roslin.

“We’ve been keeping tabs on him, just in case,” Adama said. He was sifting through some notes on his desk and produced one that had been delivered to him recently. “According to child protection authorities, he’s taken up residence on the Bifrost, under the guardianship of—by astounding coincidence—Sharon Valerii’s lawyer, Freya Gunnerson.”

“Gunnerson…?”

He noticed the uptick in her voice. “You know her?”

“I suspect I know a relative of hers. How old is she?”

The question surprised him mildly and he glanced over at Tigh. Tigh shrugged. “Mid-twenties, I’d make her out to be.”

“Probably her father, then.” She laid out as quickly as she could the details of her encounter with Wolf Gunnerson.

Adama took it in, considering every word she said. “Hell of a coincidence,” he said finally.

“I don’t like coincidences on general principle,” said Tigh.

Standing up and coming around his desk, Adama said, “Let’s go have a chat with Doctor Baltar and find out what the hell is going on. Madame President, would you care to join us…?”

“I think it would be better if I got back to my ship,” she said, rising as well.

“If I may ask, what are you going to do about the Midguardians?” asked Adama. “Are you seriously considering their request for statehood?”

“I’ve ruled out nothing,” said Roslin. “I generally try to keep my options open until I see how things pan out.”

Tigh scowled and said, “If you ask me—which you didn’t, but anyway—if you ask me, elevating those heathens to parity with the Twelve Colonies, you’re asking for trouble, with all respect.”

“That may be, Colonel,” replied Laura Roslin. “But I’ve noticed that trouble tends to show up, unasked for or not. So I might as well do what I feel is right and let the consequences fall as they may.”

 

Billy Keikeya looked as if he were about to go into shock when Laura Roslin told him the outcome of her discussion with Admiral Adama. He was literally trembling with indignation, and as she sat in her office and watched his mounting mortification, she never felt quite as badly for him as she did at that moment. Billy took his responsibility as her aide and—ultimately—confidant very seriously. It was at times such as this that she remembered just how young he truly was, because his face was stricken with an expression that would have been at home on one of her students who had just been informed he’d been caught cheating. Except in this case, of course, Billy was innocent of any criminal intent.

“They had her quarters bugged?” he asked in disbelief. When she nodded, he demanded, “Did Dee know about this?”

“Dee…? Oh. Dualla. No, I’ve no reason to assume she did.”

“I’ve got to tell her…”

Billy started to stand but Roslin firmly gestured for him to sit. “You’re to tell her nothing. You’re not to tell any of them anything. You and I may find the concept repulsive, but Adama and Tigh make a convincing argument. These are difficult times, Billy, and difficult decisions have to be made to get us through them. These include decisions we don’t always agree with… but have to live with.”

“But Madame President, with all respect… it’s wrong,” he said, still looking upset but nevertheless sitting as she indicated him to do. “Shouldn’t we take stands on things for no other reason than that?”

“I’m not so sure it’s wrong.”

“How can it not be?”

“Because we can’t afford to be naive, Billy,” she said firmly. “We’re dealing with an enemy that will stop at nothing to destroy us. So if extreme measures need to be taken to avoid being destroyed, then that’s what we do.”

Billy stared at her for a long moment, and she wasn’t sure what was going through his mind. “You have something to say, Billy?” she asked.

“It’s…” He paused, and then said, “It’s not my place. I’m sorry…”

“Billy, your place is where I say it is. If you have something to say, then let’s hear it.”

“Madame President, you’ve been through a lot… it really wouldn’t be fair of me to—”

Annoyance flashed across her eyes. “Billy, I don’t give a damn about fairness. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

He studied her for a long moment, and then he said, “You never used to be the type to back down, that’s all.”

She felt a brief flare of temper, and she had to remind herself that she had pushed Billy into saying what he was thinking. “I don’t believe I agree with your assessment.”

“Yes, Madame President.” He seemed suddenly anxious to get the hell out. “That… well, that’s fine. You’re right.” He started to stand once more, and a single imperious gesture from her caused him to plop down yet again. She didn’t say anything; she just stared at him, making no effort to prompt him, certain that the ongoing glacial look she was giving him would be more than enough to get him talking again. As it turned out, she was right. “Okay, look… with all respect… what you said just now. You ‘don’t believe’ that you agree. It sounded less definitive. You’ve been less definitive. Less sure of yourself.”

“If that’s true—and I’m not saying it is, but if it were—certainly don’t you think some of that can be attributed to the fact that I haven’t been sleeping much lately? That might have something to do with it.”

“Something. Maybe. But not all of it.”

“Then what—?”

“Madame President,” Billy said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, “I really… really think it’s inappropriate for me to be discussing this with you…”

“Billy,” said Roslin, her voice softening slightly, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed… but you and Lee Adama are the only two people I’ve known I could count on from the moment I became president… and, frankly, even Lee has been shaky every now and then, since he’s got a bit of a conflict of interest.”

“That’s understating it,” muttered Billy.

“You’ve seen me at my worst and at my best… or at least what passes for my best. You, of all people, should know you can speak honestly with me.”

“All right.” He lowered his head and interlaced his fingers, looking as if he were working to find the best way to put it. “I think it’s more than just the dreaming… the sleeplessness. You’ve seemed more tentative in your decision making, in your attitude… in everything.”

“Really.” She maintained her pleasant tone, although it was not without effort. “And why do you think that would be?”

“Well… if I had to guess… it’s because as long as you were convinced you were going to die, you had nothing to be afraid of. I mean, what’s the worst that can possibly happen to someone? It’s death, right? And because you had adjusted to the idea that you didn’t have much time left, you were determined to do everything you could before your time ran out because you figured, you know… you had nothing to lose. You weren’t in it for the long haul. You weren’t a marathon runner; your life was boiled down to the hundred-yard dash. You just ran with everything you had, head down, arms pumping, and anything that got in your way, you ran right over it. But now… now you’ve got something to live for. A lot to live for. And you no longer have the—it’ll sound weird—you don’t have the ‘comfort’ of knowing that you won’t be around for much longer. Now you can afford to take your time in trying to get humanity to Earth because you actually have a chance of seeing it yourself. Plus you’re considering every single aspect of everything because you have time to think about all the ramifications, all the sides, where before you just… well, it seemed like you just went with your gut.”

“That was never the case, Billy. I always considered every aspect.”

“Maybe. But I don’t think you gave everything equal consideration, the way you do now. I mean, hell,” and he almost laughed, “there were times when it seemed like you were spoiling for a fight more than Adama, and he’s the soldier. Lately you’ve been more cautious. More… politic.”

“Well, I am a politician.”

“No, Madame President,” he said firmly. “You’re a leader. There’s a difference. A huge difference. A politician cares what people think, and they hate her for it. A leader tells them what to think, and they love her for it.”

“I think you’re selling me a little short as a politician, Billy.”

“And with all respect, Madame President, I think you’re selling yourself short as a leader. I think you weren’t afraid of dying, but now you’re…”

“Afraid of living?”

“Not afraid. Just… concerned.” He paused and then looked down, feeling ashamed. “I said it wasn’t appropriate for me to say stuff like this.”

“Billy,” she said slowly “I may be many things… but the one thing I remain is your president. If you, of all people, can’t communicate with your president… what hope does any of the rest of my constituency have?”

“You’re not upset then.”

“No. I don’t agree with what you have to say, but I respect that you said it.”

“Thank you, Madame President. Is that all?”

She nodded and yet again he rose from his chair. He started to head for the door and then Roslin called, “Billy… I know you graduated with degrees in political science and government. But before that, did you study psychology at all?”

He smiled. “Two years, before I changed majors. You could tell, huh.”

“Let’s just say that it wasn’t a wasted two years.”

“Thank you, Madame President,” he said, bowed slightly, and left.

His words stayed with her, though, long after he had gone. Her impulse really was to reject what he he’d said out of hand… but the more she thought about it, the more she wondered if he had a point. It wasn’t that she’d resigned herself to dying, but she had accepted it. She knew how her life was going to end, and her existence had turned into a race against time. It had enabled her to focus her efforts with laserlike efficiency. Now, though, the ending was no longer certain, and her future—so clearly defined—was now murky. The focus was gone. She was still determined to get humanity to its new home, but with the time element gone, she could afford to… to…

“To be more cautious. More politic,” she echoed his words. “Let’s face it… more weak.” Billy hadn’t said that, but she said it. It was part of the reason she’d been content to let Adama and Tigh go talk to Baltar. She had a feeling that someone like Baltar would easily sniff out weakness. She’d come to see Adama as an ally, and even with him, she didn’t want to allow anyone to see her at less than her best. But Baltar would sense her weakness and—if he was indeed a Cylon sympathizer of some sort as she was beginning to believe—she didn’t want to chance letting on to the opposition that there was any diminishment in her capacity.

But she couldn’t keep it up forever. She needed to pull herself together. Laura hated to admit it, but Billy might have indeed had a point. The cancer had loomed large as the final coda on her life. Now the end of her life had yet to be written—which meant that everything leading up to it needed a heavy rewrite. And she was going to have to take pen in hand and write it herself… before someone removed the pen from her hand and did the writing for her.

Weaker. Less of a leader. She didn’t like the sound of it or the feel of it. And she was starting to think that maybe she should be doing something about it…

… provided there wasn’t an unborn Cylon who was trying to drive her insane.

 

* * *

 

Saul Tigh had the sneaking suspicion that Gaius Baltar was trying to drive him insane.

Adama didn’t look any happier, but as always, he was able to contain whatever annoyance he was feeling beneath his stony exterior. They were in Baltar’s lab and Baltar—as he so often did—looked slightly furtive, as if he already knew what you were going to say and was planning his next response several steps further along the projected conversation. Tigh didn’t understand why anyone would feel the need to be thinking that much about something as simple as a discussion. It was as if Baltar considered it all some sort of battle of wits, and rather than communicating the way a normal person did, he was out to win a game that only he knew he was playing. Tigh felt there were only two reasons for Baltar to be thinking that way: He was so brilliant that he couldn’t help but try to stay ahead of the curve… or he had something he was hiding and was trying to head off questions before they got uncomfortably close.

Either way, he got on Tigh’s nerves with remarkable ease.

“So now you’re saying,” Adama asked slowly, wanting to make certain he understood what he was being told, “that Boxey might be a Cylon?”

“I’m saying that I’ve discovered anomalies in the original blood sample I drew,” replied Baltar. “I make it a habit to recheck my findings… particularly when Cylons might be involved. Everything about them is geared towards subterfuge.”

“Even their blood?”

“Every aspect of them, Admiral,” Baltar said firmly. “In the case of young Mr. Boxman, there are some things that don’t properly match up. His cell count for one. It leads me to wonder whether something went wrong with the test the first time.”

“What sort of something?” asked Tigh.

“It could be any number of things,” Baltar replied. He sounded annoyed that he would be required to explain something that was clearly, to him, blindingly obvious. His voice grew lower, as if he were concerned that someone was listening in. That, of course, carried with it some irony considering that he was right. It was just that the people who were listening in on him were sitting right there in his lab. “The most disturbing of those possibilities is some sort of sabotage. That someone snuck into the lab and did something to the sample I was using for testing while I wasn’t around.”

“Where the frak did you go, considering you know how important the test is?” demanded Tigh.

Baltar gave him a withering glance. “The test involves growing a culture, Colonel. That takes time. Simply baby-sitting it for the duration isn’t really a viable option. Feel free,” he added with increased sarcasm, “to refute me with your copious years of scientific training.”

Tigh glared at him, hoping his scowl would be sufficiently intimidating. Baltar, tragically, didn’t look intimidated in the slightest.

“That’s what I thought,” said Baltar when Tigh had no comeback.

Clearly wishing to move forward, Adama said quietly, “What do you need us to do?”

“Why… bring the boy back here, of course,” Baltar said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I ran tests on the blood sample that remained, and from what I could determine, he has four of the six markers that would indicate that he is a Cylon. Unfortunately, due to their close resemblance to humans, four out of six is within the margin of error. Six out of six is the only way to be sure, and that’s impossible to determine with what I have on hand.”

“Give us your best guess, Doctor, if you wouldn’t mind,” Tigh said. “Is the boy a Cylon or not?”

“I don’t ‘guess’, Colonel,” Baltar replied with the heavy manner of the truly put-upon. “I conduct experiments and I draw conclusions. Guessing accomplishes nothing and can only lead to confusion and contradiction. I need him here to be sure.”

Tigh and Adama exchanged looks, and then Adama said, “All right. We’ll bring him back.”

“I’ll scramble a squad of marines,” Tigh said, heading for the door as if the entire matter was settled.

He was halted in mid-stride by Adama’s calm, collected, “That may not be necessary, Colonel.”

Tigh turned and looked at him in surprise. “No?”

“We’ll discuss it further. Thank you, Doctor…” and then he paused and added, “Or do you prefer ‘Mr. Vice President'?”

“Depends on the circumstance,” replied Baltar.

Adama nodded, then accompanied Tigh into the hallway. He turned back toward the lab after a moment and said, “Would you mind telling Kara Thrace to wait for me in my quarters?”

“Starbuck? Why?” But Tigh instantly thought better of what he’d just said and instead simply nodded and continued, “Yes sir.”

“Thank you. I’ll be along shortly.”

Adama waited until Tigh was gone, then knocked once more at the lab door and let himself in before Baltar had a chance to say anything. He noted that Baltar was standing in an odd position, as if he were talking to someone. But there was no one there. Baltar jumped slightly at the intrusion and quickly smoothed his shirt… not because it was wrinkled, but obviously because he was endeavoring to regain his composure. “Did I interrupt a conversation?” Adama asked with a slightly bemused expression.

“I talk to myself on occasion,” Baltar said. “It’s how I work through complex problems. Plus I’m starved for intelligent discussion, so…” The last comment was clearly intended to be a joke, but Baltar had the comedy stylings of a Cylon raider, so it fell flat. Knowing that it had, he cleared his throat and said, “Is there something else, Admiral?”

“You’re responsible for President Roslin’s cure.”

“Yes,” said Baltar warily, as if worried he was being set up in some way.

“I’d like to know about the possibilities of side effects.”

His eyes narrowed as if he were trying to read Adama’s mind. Caution still pervading his voice, he said, “Naturally there’s the possibility of side effects. We’re dealing with an entirely new branch of medicine. Using the blood of the unborn Cylon isn’t exactly the sort of treatment you’re liable to find in any medical textbooks. It was a desperation move.”

“You didn’t know it would work?”

“Of course not. I knew it could work, but that’s not the same thing. Frankly, I wanted to keep President Roslin here for observation for a month or two, but she was insistent about getting back to work.”

“She would be, yes.”

Baltar now looked extremely suspicious. “Admiral… is there something going on that I should know about? Is President Roslin suffering from some sort of reaction? I admit, I wasn’t entirely sanguine over the prospect of attempting an entirely new medical treatment on her. But since the alternative was certain death, I didn’t see that she had a good deal to lose. Any negative reactions she’s having, however, would certainly be helpful to know about, especially considering that others who suffer from similar illnesses might want similar treatment.”

“Yes. It would.” Adama paused a moment, looking to be considering possibilities, and then said as coolly as ever, “I simply wanted to know if I should be on the watch for something.”

“Has there been any change in her behavior?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“Has she been speaking to you about any difficulties?”

“I couldn’t say.”

Slowly Baltar nodded, easily reading between the lines of Adama’s vague response. “Couldn’t say… or choose not to?”

Adama inclined his head slightly, acknowledging that the latter was a distinct possibility. “Thank you for your time, Doctor. If, in your further research, specific aspects of side effects occur to you, you will share them with me, won’t you.”

“Of course. And you would share any share specifics of negative changes in President Roslin’s condition, should any of them present themselves to you?”

“You may expect me to, yes.”

Baltar smiled in a way that didn’t give the least appearance of amusement. “Very carefully worded. I suppose I may also expect Cylons to come flying out of my ass. But that doesn’t mean it’s going to happen.”

“Vice President Baltar,” said Adama, “in your case… I wouldn’t rule out a single possibility.” With that he headed out the door.

His exit, although naturally he didn’t hear it, was accompanied by delighted laughter from Number Six. Baltar gave her a sour look as she continued to laugh and then applauded slowly and sarcastically. “Now there goes a funny, funny man,” she said.

“He’s the height of hilarity.” He looked at her suspiciously. “What was he talking about? What ‘side effects’?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Six, the picture of wide-eyed innocence.

“Why don’t I believe that?”

“Because, Gaius,” she replied, “you see the world as a vast web of lies and deceit. You believe in nothing and no one.”

“I believe in myself.”

“You believe in yourself least of all,” said Six with a giggle that sounded surprisingly girlish. “You second-guess yourself constantly and you live in perpetual fear that you’re going to be found out. In so many ways, you wish you were like her.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean,” she said, striding across the room on those legs that seemed to go on forever, “that Laura Roslin was on the brink of death and she still never showed one iota of fear. You envy her for that, because you jump at sounds and shadows. You envy her her fearlessness. You saw her cancer as a chink in her armor, and yet even staring oblivion in the face, she was unafraid. You could never look death in the face and remain un-fazed.”

He stepped close to her, stared directly into her eyes, and said tightly, “Oh really? I’m doing it right now.”

Then he turned his back to her and strode out of his lab, leaving her behind to watch him go with her face a mask of thought.

 

What the frak did I do now?

Naturally that had been the first thing that had gone through Starbuck’s mind when Tigh had approached her with a determined look on his face. Then the perpetually sour executive officer had told her, as bluntly as he could, that Adama wanted to see her in his quarters. Her initial sense of relief (Oh, good, Tigh hasn’t found some new excuse to toss me in the brig) was immediately replaced by a sense of vague dread (What did I do to piss off the Old Man?).

She knew it was ridiculous for her to feel that way. It wasn’t as if she had a perpetually guilty conscience. Still, she couldn’t help but occasionally feel a bit besieged, and although she was reasonably sure she hadn’t done anything out of line lately, well… there was always the stuff she’d done in the past that she’d never been caught out for. So… well, yes, maybe she did have a perpetually guilty conscience at that, always wondering when one of her idiot pranks was going to catch up with her.

Or, for that matter, it might be something of more recent vintage… literally. She’d been hitting the booze fairly hard lately, and had been hung over well into duty hours. Thank gods it hadn’t happened during a toaster attack. She had never been at anything less than her best when it had counted, but even Kara had to admit that that was as much luck as anything else. There was always the possibility that she might be forced to leap into a cockpit with her head ringing and her vision impaired. She liked to tell herself that if such a situation presented itself, she would automatically regain full sobriety and be ready to launch an attack at a moment’s notice. But she didn’t know how much of that was genuine and how much might just be wishful thinking.

She didn’t want to think that anyone in her squad would have ratted her out, but she knew that was overly optimistic. It was entirely possible that someone had indeed done just that, and if she was going to be pointing fingers at anyone, it would probably be Kat. Kat had had it in for her for the longest time, and if presented with an opportunity to make Starbuck look bad, well, wouldn’t she grab it immediately?

Maybe. Maybe not. Kat was determined to show Starbuck up, and to prove that she, Kat, was the best fighter pilot in the squad. But to show someone up, that person had to be around to be shown up. If Kat got Starbuck grounded somehow, then how would she, Kat, have the opportunity to prove to everyone that she had the goods and Starbuck didn’t?

So it probably wasn’t Kat.

Lee, maybe? Nah. If Lee had a bone to pick with her about drinking, or about anything, then he would just face her and tell her, not rat her out to his father. That just wasn’t his style.

As she knocked on Adama’s door, she came to the conclusion that she had nothing to worry about. He probably wanted to talk about duty rosters, or perhaps he had an assignment for her. But she hated the fact that she had such a checkered history that she felt compelled to run through an entire litany of possible negatives before she could finally decide that she had nothing to be concerned about. It made her think about the times that Tigh would look her in the face and practically snarl at her, “You’re a screw-up, Thrace, and that’s all you’ll ever be.” At which point she’d punched him and, well… that’s when the fun usually started.

“Come,” called Adama and she entered with no indication of anything in her mind other than being ready, willing and able to serve in whatever capacity she was required. Adama was leaning against his desk, sipping a cup of coffee, and he gestured for her to sit. She did so, folded her hands in her lap, and waited. She didn’t have to wait very long. “I have a job for you,” he said.

“Anything, Admiral,” she replied. Outwardly her demeanor didn’t change; inwardly she breathed a sigh of relief that her hyperactive imagination had been off base. Her inner big-mouth urged her to ask if she was going to be required to assassinate anyone this go-around, but she wisely managed to keep silent.

“Boxey is currently in residence on the transport Bifrost. I need you to go there and bring him back.”

That surprised her. “How did he wind up on the Bifrost?”

“The Midguardians have apparently taken him under their wing.”

“I see,” said Kara, who didn’t. “And may I ask why we need him brought back here? I mean, with all respect, Tigh had me give him the heave-ho from Galactica. He wasn’t happy about leaving and I wasn’t thrilled about sending him. So…?”

Adama stared at her for a long moment, and she instinctively knew what was going through his mind: He was trying to decide whether to answer her question or not. Something was going on with Boxey that was obviously on a need-to-know basis, and he was endeavoring to determine whether she needed to know or not…

That was when it hit her like a lightning bolt. Her eyes widened and before Adama could speak, she said, “This isn’t about the thing with him being a Cylon, is it? What, did Baltar change his mind?”

Adama was a hard individual to provoke a visible reaction from, and there were probably two people on Galactica who could accomplish it with facility. One was Lee Adama, and the other was looking at him at that moment. He blinked in surprise, and then looked wearily amused. “I should have known you’d figure it out,” he sighed.

“I don’t believe it,” Kara said firmly. “I don’t. Baltar’s up to something. The man’s a born liar.”

“Really. I didn’t think you knew him that well.”

She flinched involuntarily at that, and she was sure that Adama had caught the subtle but telling reaction. Not a damned thing slipped past him. Covering as quickly as she could, she said, “I’ve played poker with him.”

“I see.” The words hung there, and Kara was certain that she was being paranoid. Was there any possible way that Adama could tell—from that slightest of exchanges—that she’d had a drunken one-night stand with the then future vice president? It was one of the most ill-advised encounters she’d ever experienced, attributable partly to liquor and partly to morbid curiosity over whether mental prowess translated to… other types of prowess. The encounter had been something of a disappointment, and even now she and Baltar endeavored to look in other directions when they chanced to cross each other’s paths.

Adama continued to study her with his dissecting stare, and then said, “Then I guess you would know. The question then becomes, why would he lie about it?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“Neither do I,” Adama said. “So it’s better to be safe than sorry, don’t you agree?”

“Yes sir,” Kara said without hesitation. “I assume you want me to go in presenting a friendly face. It’s better to have me going in as a friend than storm the place with marines trying to force them to turn him over to us.”

“Infinitely better,” said Adama.

“You want me to go over there, tell him we miss him over here, tell him I talked to you and you’ve relented on him hanging out with us, and he’ll return with me… at which point he gets tossed in a cell and poked and prodded all over again.”

“Yes.”

Kara kept her face carefully neutral. Inwardly, she was recoiling at the entire prospect, and there was a deep, burning rage building within her that was directed entirely at Baltar. But Adama didn’t need her outrage at that moment. He needed her cooperation, and he needed her level head. Since she was at her most focused when she was behind the weapons console of a Viper, she pretended that was where she was. Mentally she conjured up a vista of space before her, and coming toward her was a Cylon raider. Except instead of the standard Cylon helmeted face upon it, the sneering face of Gaius Baltar was etched on it. She pulled the trigger and, in her mind’s eye, blew it out of space.

“No problem,” Kara assured him and then, as an afterthought, asked, “Mind if I bring Helo? He’s the other pilot besides Sharon that Boxey associates with being rescued. So having him along will likely help.”

“Be my guest,” said Adama.

“I’m on it.”

“Kara,” said Adama, standing, “thank you. And be careful.”

“Aren’t I always?” she asked with a wry smile.

He didn’t return the smile. “Almost never.”

“Wow,” she said. “I got an ‘almost’.”

“I was being generous.”