CHAPTER

9

 

 

“Report, Mr. Gaeta,” snapped Adama.

“Ten—make that twelve—Cylon raiders and one heavy raider at the edge of dradis range,” Gaeta said crisply. “No basestar.”

“Thank the gods for small favors,” Tigh muttered.

“Set Condition One,” Adama ordered, and Tigh reached for the PA phone to comply. “Get the Vipers out there. Dualla, how close is the Monarch to clearing the planet?”

“This is Colonel Tigh. Set Condition One throughout the Fleet,” Tigh’s voice boomed from the loudspeakers. “Repeat: Set Condition One.”

“Captain Demeter estimates half an hour, sir,” Dee replied.

“One side or the other will be dead by then,” Tigh said, dropping the receiver into its cradle. A loud clunk thudded from the PA system—Tigh had forgotten to shut off the PA before he hung up. Dualla winced as the sound echoed in her headphone. “Why would they send such a small force? They have to know that we can eat a tiny group like that for breakfast.”

“Maybe it’s a scouting mission,” Gaeta said.

Adama eyed the dradis readout as it growled to itself. Twelve little Cylon raiders buzzed toward the Fleet. It sounded like a nursery rhyme. Twelve little raiders buzzing from the heavens. Vipers ate one and that left eleven. They moved steadily forward, like barracuda skimming toward a wounded fish. Except this particular fish was a shark, and the barracuda in question were smart enough to know better. What the hell was going on?

“Scouting parties have all been smaller than this,” Adama said. “And raiding parties have always been bigger. This doesn’t add up. Dualla, do we have radio connection with the Viper squadron yet?”

“Affirmative, sir.” Dualla threw a switch, and distorted voices filtered from the CIC speakers.

“Listen up,” Adama said loudly. “There’s something odd going on this time around. The enemy is up to something strange, and I want all of you to use extra care.” Even as he gave the order, he realized how idiotic it sounded. The Viper pilots always used extra care. Anyone who flew out using anything less was unlikely to return.

“Got it, sir,” Lee said, and Adama felt the usual mix of pride and fear—pride that his son was CAG, fear that he would never come back.

“Maybe they thought we were gone,” Kara said. “Figured they’d get Planet Goop for themselves.”

“Maybe they want to work on their tans,” Hot Dog said. “Or maybe they want tickets to the next Attis concert.”

“Table the conversation,” Lee ordered. “We have a mission.”

“Roger that,” Kat said. “Roger dodger codger with a pipe.”

Adama shot Tigh a glance.

“What was that, Kat?” Starbuck said. “I didn’t copy.”

“I said, ‘We’ll smash ’em flat.’”

Adama gave a mental shrug. Radio distortion, must be. But Tigh looked concerned, and Adama was afraid his own face wore the same expression.

 

The first Cylon raider dipped and swooped against the starry black background. Kara’s cross-hairs dipped and swooped just behind it on her screen. Her breath sounded harsh and steady inside her helmet.

“Come on, frakker,” she muttered. “Come on.”

Then the raider zigged when it should have bet on zag. Kara thumbed the fire button. She felt more than heard the soft thump of gunfire, and the raider went up in the usual yellow fireball. It was amazing, actually. The single flick of her thumb destroyed an enemy. A small action that precipitated an enormous consequence. The ultimate in power and control. She loved it. Out here, she was in control of her own destiny Out here, the choices were crisp and clear, with no emotional tangles. It was fly the ship, destroy the enemy. Nothing else mattered. Lee only mattered as her CAG, and Peter…

…Peter didn’t matter at all.

It had been almost three days since their… encounter after the concert. Kara had slid out of Peter’s bed without awakening him, dressed, and slipped out. No emotional tangles, thanks. It wasn’t what she wanted right now. She had lost Zak Adama, her fiancé, to a flight accident. She had lost Samuel Anders, another lover, to the resistance movement he was still fighting back on Caprica. She didn’t need to get involved with someone else right now.

But another part of her remembered Peter’s mouth on hers, the way he touched her, the way he had sung to her after their lovemaking had ended. Her loneliness hadn’t disappeared, but it had certainly ebbed. Still, he hadn’t tried to contact her, and she hadn’t tried to contact him, not even to get tickets for his second concert, which was tonight. And that was for the best.

It sure was.

Another raider came about and trained its guns on her. Kara casually twitched her joystick and her Viper smoothly skimmed out of range. Then she abruptly reversed, flipped over, and fired back in the direction she had come. The raider exploded. Kara twitched the joystick again, the Viper came about, and once again she was facing the rest of the raiding party. A strange emotion came over her—calm mixed with exultation. It felt as if her senses had merged with the Viper and stretched out to encompass the rest of the squadron and the Cylon raiding party. She could see exactly what needed to be done and exactly how to do it. Kara allowed herself a small grin. She recognized the feeling—she was heading into the Zone. Her grin widened. A pilot who hit the Zone could do no wrong, make no mistakes, remained invincible. It was a glorious—and rare—place to hit. Better than a runner’s high. Better than sex, better than art, better than music. Better than life.

The other raiders fell back out of firing range and spread out, as if creating a net. Behind them hovered the blocky form of the heavy raider. Kara could see every detail—the exact shade of red of each scanning Cylon eye, the position of every star, the tiny flare of every rocket booster. Around her, flying in perfect formation, was the rest of the squadron—Lee, Kat, Hot Dog, Mack, Ukie, and Powerball. Kara knew where they were without even looking.

“Nice shooting,” Lee said.

“Roger that,” Kara said. “I’m in the Zone.”

“Chaldena talush saemal,” came Hot Dog’s voice. “Vili ve.”

“Hot Dog, are you all right?” Lee said. “I didn’t copy that.”

There was a pause. “I t-tried to s-say it was pretty impressive,” Hot Dog replied. “I’ve never b-b-been in the Zone.”

“That’s not what it sounded like you said,” Kara put in. “It sounded like nonsense.”

Hot Dog didn’t answer. The Cylons hovered, still out of range, still waiting. Kara felt the moment, the Zone, slipping away.

“Let’s go in and get ’em,” she barked.

“I’m CAG, Lieutenant. CAG stands for ‘guy who’s in charge’,” Lee reminded her. Brief pause. “Okay, blow them out of the sky!”

Kara vaulted forward, then yanked her Viper upward to avoid a spray of fire from one of the raiders. She brought her nose around, snapped the cross-hairs into position, and fired. The Cylon quivered under the hail of bullets, then soundlessly blew up in a satisfying ball of flame.

“That’s three!” Kara whooped.

“Kildra nash,” Hot Dog shouted. His Viper overtook hers and rushed straight at the hole Kara had made in the line of raiders. Except his ship jumped and wobbled like a baby bird just learning to fly. It jerked around, then abruptly skewed sideways, dropping out of Kara’s line of sight.

“What the hell are you doing, Hot Dog?” Lee demanded. He fired at a raider, and it exploded. Only eight left, plus the heavy raider. Kat and Powerball were engaged in a dogfight with a pair of Cylons. Mack failed to dodge a third raider quickly enough, and his Viper shuddered under his opponent’s fire.

“I’m losing altitude control!” he shouted. “Frak! I can barely keep myself upright.”

Kara punched her own thrusters and zipped into the space between Mack and the Cylon. She spun about and fired. The Cylon jerked as she raked one of its wings. It climbed, trying to get around her.

“Get back to the Galactica, Mack!” Kara ordered. “Go!”

“Nultani nultanil reb!” Hot Dog said. “Fleg anzara bekki!”

Kara glanced at her screen. She had forgotten about him. Hot Dog’s Viper bobbled about her readout like a drunken spider. A raider zeroed in on him, diving like a falcon reaching for a rabbit. Her heart lurched. Shadow’s death loomed in her mind, but Kara was too far away to do anything about it.

“Igot him,” Yukie said, and gunned the Cylon down.

“Hot Dog, respond!” Lee ordered. “Brendan!”

But Hot Dog only spouted more gibberish. His Viper continued to fly in erratic lines. Beyond him, Kat and Powerball destroyed their Cylons, leaving only five and the heavy raider. They hovered silently in place, almost as if they were watching.

“Got it!” Powerball howled. “One more dead mother-frakkin’ Cylon.”

“Yilt denow!” Kat said. “We rock!”

Kara’s blood ran cold. “Repeat that, Kat. You sounded like Hot Dog for a minute there.”

“Bedlom pilt kareem Hot Dog,” she said. And her Viper began to wobble, too.

“Shit!” Lee said. “What the hell is going on? Kat, Hot Dog, and Mack—haul it back to Galactica. Move it! The rest of you, wipe out the rest of the Cylons.”

Kara flipped her Viper around to orient on the remaining enemy ships. But even as she punched up her thrusters, six flashes of white light blasted across her retina. The Cylons vanished into hyperspace.

“They’re gone?” Kara said. “Just like that?”

“Maybe they figured we were winning,” Lee said.

“Viper squadron, this is Galactica Actual,” Commander Adama’s voice broke in. “Return to Galactica immediately. And I want all of you in sickbay.”

Kat and Hot Dog landed unevenly. Both of them needed steady encouragement and orders to stay focused, and both of them spoke a steady stream of nonsense words laced with occasional snatches of normal speech. Kara landed her own Viper, the clamps engaged, and the elevator went through its usual descent. The moment her canopy opened, Kara yanked off her vac suit helmet and vaulted clear of the little ship. A small swarm of people had surrounded Kat’s and Hot Dog’s Vipers, and both pilots were being helped down to the deck. Kara caught a glimpse of Hot Dog’s pale face. His mouth was moving, but she couldn’t catch the words. Abruptly he went into convulsions. A stream of unintelligible words rolled from his mouth. Kara’s stomach turned. Illness always creeped her out. It was worse when someone she liked was sick, and she liked Hot Dog. When a bunch of Galactica’s pilots had died in an accident, Adama had ordered Kara, an experienced flight instructor, to shove him, Kat, and several others through intensive flight training. She knew him fairly well as a result, and she fervently hoped both he and Kat would be all right.

Hot Dog continued to babble. His eyes were wide open and alert, his expression both frightened and mystified. It looked as if he knew what was going on, but was powerless to stop it. Looking at him sent a chill down Kara’s spine.

“Medic!” someone shouted. “Get him a stretcher!”

“He’s speaking in tongues,” said someone else. “The Lords of Kobol speak through him!”

That hushed the onlookers. Kara blinked. She knew of the concept, had heard that some Oracles went into strange fits that foretold the future or channeled the Lords of Kobol themselves. Was that the source of her unease? Were the Lords of Kobol present? Kara fought an urge to look over her shoulder.

Over by her own Viper, Kat kept her feet with the assistance of a repair technician. “Green eyes like a cat mouse in a trapdoor in a barn horse riding into the sunset,” she said. “F-frak! I’m… I can’t keep my key in the lock of my brainwave pattern of a dress my mother sewed for her tenth anniversary.”

A medic appeared with a stretcher, and several people were helping Hot Dog onto it. Lee was among them. Hot Dog continued to thrash and babble. Kara dashed over to Kat and put a hand on her forehead. It was hot and moist. Her dark skin had a ghoulish cast to it.

“She has a fever,” the repair tech said. “I can feel it through her clothes.”

“Kat, can you hear me?” Kara demanded, looking into her eyes. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“I… I have no idea what’s up in the sky with pie and apples and pears of two or three green leaves. Pel dar mayfel nam! Frak!” She shook her head. “I’m trying…”

“Try not to talk.” Kara ducked under one of Kat’s arms while the technician ducked under the other. They lifted Kat partly off her feet. “Let’s get you to sickbay along with Hot Dog.”

“Bun in a refrigerator,” Kat agreed.

 

“I don’t know what to make of it,” Cottle sighed. He ground his cigarette out in the ashtray on Adama’s desk. “I’ve got three people babbling and convulsing in my sickbay with no idea what’s behind it. Meds help, though they just treat the symptoms, not the cause. I’m stumped. I’m waiting for some more test results to filter through, but so far I’m finding no viruses, no bacteria, not even a protozoan. But some weird agent is attacking their brains.”

“What exactly does this agent do?” Adama asked. He was sitting rigidly behind his desk, forcing himself not to drum his fingers or tap his feet. This was not good news, and he was so frakking tired of bad news. Two pilots incapacitated, possibly dying. Chief Tyrol nearly mowed down. Tiredness washed over him. Another three or four cats had been added to the pile he was juggling.

“Just reading from their symptoms,” Cottle said, “I think it attacks the language and motor control centers first. This, by the way, means the little sucker can cross the blood-brain barrier, which isn’t easy. It’s why brain diseases are so rare.”

“You’re sure it’s a disease,” Adama said. “Not something else.”

A knock came at the door and Gaeta poked his head into the room. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Commander, but you wanted to be informed the moment the Monarch’s crew had cleared Planet Goop.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Are the Jump coordinates still good?”

“I’ve been keeping them updated,” Gaeta replied.

“Then let’s get the hell out of this sector,” Adama said. “Order all ships to Jump immediately.”

“Sir.” Gaeta vanished.

“I’m not ruling anything out at this point,” Cottle said, answering Adama’s earlier statement. “Radiation exposure, toxin, something in the food. I don’t know. The problem is, I can’t find a common vector. Hyksos works on the Monarch. Kat and Hot Dog, as everyone likes to call them, are Viper pilots. They don’t all three know each other, they don’t eat the same food or drink the same water. All three have been in space recently, but that was after they were showing symptoms. My gut says it might be something from Planet Goop simply because it’s the only new thing that’s been introduced to all of us, but I have no evidence to support that. Hell, I don’t even know if this thing is contagious or not.”

Adama felt the sudden strange shift that indicated the ship’s Jump drive was powering up. It was as if his clothes were turning inside-out with him still inside them. A bit of nausea sloshed through his stomach, he felt a slight wrench, and it was over. Jump successful. Cottle didn’t seem particularly bothered, and Adama kept his own face impassive. He straightened his glasses and continued the conversation. “What are you doing to learn more?”

“All kinds of tests on every body fluid and tissue I can reach. Dr. Baltar is doing the same, though His Majesty hasn’t deigned to report anything to me, so I don’t know if he’s found anything.”

“I’m sure he’d say something to one of us if he did,” Adama said.

“Sure,” Cottle drawled. “It’s not like he’s weird or strange or anything. Always well-behaved in public, that’s our vice president.”

 

“Kara! Kara Thrace!”

Kara spun and came face-to-face with Peter Attis. He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss before she could react. Two passing repair techs turned to stare.

“Uh, hi,” she said, caught off guard. She felt strangely breathless and struggled to hide it.

“I was beginning to think you’d forgotten who I am,” he said with a grin. Then the grin faded. “You haven’t, have you?”

She looked at him, and all her earlier cautions came flooding back. She didn’t need to get involved with anyone right now. She didn’t need to be tied down or entangled.

She didn’t need to.

But that was it, wasn’t it? She didn’t need to. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t. Kara tossed her doubts aside with a laugh, then gave Peter a brief hug and stole an ass-grab in the process. His butt cheek was firm with muscle, and she liked the way it filled her hand. Peter stiffened, then laughed himself. It was a liquid, masculine sound that flowed over her with unexpected warmth. She drew him into a side corridor so they wouldn’t block traffic or garner more stares, then gave him a kiss of her own, a longer one this time. Her body pressed against his, and she could feel his response.

“I haven’t forgotten,” she said. “But I wasn’t sure you wanted to see me again. Rock star always moving on and all that.”

“Give up my number one groupie? You have to be kidding! Besides, what would the tabloids say?”

She laughed again. It was fun to laugh with Peter. She kissed him again, thanking the gods that she was officially off duty and able to steal a few kisses without violating regs.

“Are you coming to the concert tonight?” he asked. “I’ve got tickets for you and for… for Lee, if you want to bring him.”

And suddenly she was reluctant. “I don’t know,” she said. “I have the feeling … we just came away from a Cylon raid, and it was a little weird. They Jumped away just when things were getting interesting.”

“Well that’s good news, isn’t it?”

“Yeah…” Kara reached up and smoothed a bit of his hair. “But it doesn’t feel right.” She thought about telling Peter about Kat and Hot Dog, then changed her mind. No one had said to keep the problem quiet, but she wasn’t sure it was a good idea to spread the information around the Fleet. “My instincts tell me to stay on alert status, even though I’m off duty until tomorrow.”

Peter took her hand. “Look, if you won’t come to the concert, then have dinner with me. On Cloud 9. They feed me pretty well over there. What do you say?”

Okay, that’d be great. “Not sure,” she said.

“Look, you work hard defending us. You deserve some ‘me’ time. And it’s only dinner. Not like it’s an entire evening. What do you say?”

She wavered. Fresh after a Jump was usually the safest time. It would take the Cylons some time to track them down again. If she wanted to grab some R&R, this was the best opportunity.

“All right,” she said. “Where should we meet?”

“Can you find the Gilded Lily?” he asked.

Her eyes widened a little. “Sure! But they’re pretty expensive. Especially now.”

“The owner’s a fan,” Peter said, a smile in his eyes. “Meet me there at five, okay? I have to be backstage by seven.”

“Sounds perfect.”

He gave her another kiss, then turned and strode away. Kara watched him go, noticing the little bounce in his step.

 

Gaius Baltar frowned into the microscope eyepiece. A crowd of red blood cells and occasional white blood cells drifted slowly through a sea of plasma. He refocused, bringing the image closer. A donut-shaped red blood cell, or platelet, ballooned to the size of a basketball. Using precise nudges of the controls, he edged the slide a few microns to the left. The platelet slid sideways a little, and Gaius brought the focus in even tighter. Some of the larger individual molecules were starting to take shape now, emerging in fractal patterns on the platelet’s cell membrane and in the plasma itself. A little closer, and…

There it was. A clump of molecules that had caught his eye earlier. He moved in closer yet so he could examine a single one. It looked like three twisted ribbons attached to each other by twisted threads at the ends. It wasn’t a virus or bacillus, that much was obvious. It was a single molecule, protein if he was any judge. And he was.

“What did you find, Gaius?” Number Six asked breathily in his ear.

“I think,” he said without taking his eyes off the slide, “it’s a prion.”

“A prion?” she repeated. Her tone sounded like she knew exactly what one was, but Baltar couldn’t help explaining, showing off what he had discovered.

“Prions are protein fragments that aren’t viruses but can act like them. They often attack the nervous system, especially the brain.”

“Really.” Six sounded bored. Baltar ignored this.

“Yes. It won’t show up on a normal test for a virus or bacillus because it isn’t one. When they attach to nerve cells, they can interfere with neurological activity, even destroy brain tissue.” He stared at the tiny bit of protein. “But this one… this one I’ve never seen before.”

“Where did it come from?”

“Hyksos, the harvest worker.”

“No, Gaius—I mean originally.”

“Oh.” He shrugged. “No idea.”

A pair of soft hands caressed his back. “Amazing how something so small, so insignificant, can be so powerful.” Gaius felt Six’s touch tingle through him, setting off little waves of desire. He forced himself to continue staring at the molecule. It drifted away from the red blood cell and rotated slowly in the plasma. Gaius pressed a switch, and a micro-camera captured an image. Six ran a finger down the side of his neck, and he shuddered.

“Pay attention to me, Gaius,” she whispered, her breath hot in his ear. “Don’t ignore me.”

He turned on his stool to look at her, and his jaw dropped. Six wore a short skirt, high-heeled sandals, and nothing else. Her bare breasts were tantalizingly within reach. Her presence contrasted sharply with the machinelike utilitarian lab around her.

“You… you…” He cleared his throat and tried again. “You’ve never struck me as the needy female type.”

She leaned into him, her warm softness pressing against his body. “I need some ‘me’ time. And so do you.”

There seemed to be a joke in what she said, but Gaius didn’t get it, and Six didn’t explain.

“I don’t think so,” he said, though his face felt flushed. “I need to track down exactly what this thing is.”

Rather than respond, Six drew him off the stool and pulled him toward one of the work tables. Gaius didn’t resist. She boosted herself up on it and leaned back slightly, her lips parted, her platinum hair falling backward.

“Kiss me, Gaius,” she said. “Now.”

He leaned toward her. She put up a hand.

“Not there,” she said. “This is for me.”

When the door opened a few minutes later, Dr. Cottle entered the lab and found Gaius Baltar kneeling in a strange position behind one of the tables. Both his arms rested on the tabletop as if his hands were cupping something. Cottle blinked and shifted his cigarette from one side of his mouth to the other.

“Did you lose something, Dr. Baltar?” Cottle said.

Gaius shot upright, his face bright red, his brain moving fast. “No… no. I was just… doing some stretching exercises.” He demonstrated some deep knee bends and winced a little. “See? I get cramped up, sitting on these stools all day long.”

“I hear you,” Cottle said. He was carrying an uneven file folder filled with papers, and he set it on the table. “Though deep knee bends won’t stretch you much. I just dropped by to tell you Hyksos has slipped into a full-blown coma and those Viper pilots stay quiet only when they’re pumped full of ativan. I’ve got a whole ream of test results here, but nothing comes up. I came down to see if you’ve got anything.”

“I do, actually,” Gaius said, gesturing at the microscope. He was flushed and slightly sweaty. Dammit, why did people insist on walking in on him during private moments? “Take a look.”

Cottle did. “What am I looking at?”

“I think it’s a prion,” Baltar told him. His groin ached.

Cottle whistled. “Now why the hell didn’t I think to look for that? Dammit. And you’re right. Come on.” He straightened and headed for the door.

“Where are we going?” Baltar asked, giving chase.

“Back to sickbay, where else? I want to scan a few brains.”

Cottle made his way down the corridors of Galactica, not seeming to hurry, but somehow forcing Gaius into a trot to keep up. Down in sickbay, he summoned two med techs to roll Hyksos’ bulky, quiescent body down to the corner where they kept the image scanner. Hyksos’ face was pale and still, and Gaius was barely able to make out his breathing. Something suddenly occurred to Gaius, something that made his heart lurch, and he sidled up to Cottle as the techs slid Hyksos onto the scanner shelf.

“Some prions can be transmitted from host to host,” he murmured. “What do you think of the possibility that these could…”

“It’s already crossed my mind,” Cottle murmured back. He puffed smoke from the side of his mouth. “I don’t think we need to bring that up with the general public just yet, though.”

“Of course, of course. I’m sure everything will be fine, in any case.” But Gaius’ entire body had gone cold. Prions generally weren’t easily contagious. In most cases, one had to bring the prion directly into the body, usually by eating it in contaminated food or by direct introduction into the blood. Easily transmittable prions were pure theory, known only as projections on paper. Or were they?

“Look at this, Doctor,” Cottle said, pointing at the scanner readout screens. They showed images of Hyksos’ brain activity. The entire system was darkened—the man was in a coma—but Cottle zoomed in on the left hemisphere. “There. The language centers show severely depressed activity. And over here—motor function. The damage is more extensive than in the other areas, which means they were probably attacked first. No wonder the patients convulse and spout gibberish.”

Gaius slowly and deliberately pulled on a pair of sterile gloves. Without a word, he pulled a cotton swab from a drawer, pried Hyksos’ mouth open, and collected a sample of saliva. Then he slid another swab into Hyksos’ nose. It was difficult—the shelf of the scanner was in the way—but he managed.

“What are you doing?” Cottle demanded.

“I should think it was obvious,” Gaius said, and he all but ran back to his lab. When Cottle arrived some time later, he found Gaius hunched over his microscope, not kneeling behind the table.

“What’s going on?” Cottle said. “What are you thinking?”

Gaius pushed himself back from the microscope. “See for yourself. I’ve already run a few tests. This prion is present in Hyksos’ saliva and his mucus. I’ve exposed this one to low temperatures, high temperatures, UV radiation, and a dry atmosphere. It holds cohesion.”

“Oh, shit.” Cottle leaned against a table. “You think it’s contagious.”

“Just like the flu,” Gaius agreed. His voice was flat. He felt oddly detached, strangely calm. The panic, he was sure, would come later. He had just spent a goodly amount of time in sickbay with three people who carried what appeared to be a deadly contagious disease. Number Six was nowhere to be found, and he was dying to talk to her about this. She was the one who had suggested he visit sickbay in the first place, which meant she had to know something.

“Where the hell did it come from?” Cottle muttered. “Frak! What’s new on the ship?”

“The algae, perhaps,” Gaius said. “Though that doesn’t seem likely. None of the other people on the Monarch have come down with this condition, and the other two patients are Viper pilots.”

“Brain diseases are funny that way,” Cottle pointed out. “One person contracts it and falls into a coma almost immediately, another contracts it, and lives for months without showing a single symptom. No one knows why the hell it happens that way, but it does. One of the Viper pilots could be Patient Zero, or it could be someone who hasn’t shown symptoms at all.”

“We can’t find Patient Zero until we know what vectors the other patients have in common,” Gaius said. “Of course, knowing the first person to contract it would help us figure out where this came from.”

“So what do all three patients have in common?” Cottle asked, clearly thinking out loud. “Something that other people don’t.”

“Actually, we could all have come down with it months ago, long before the Cylon attack on the Colonies,” Gaius pointed out. “Perhaps these patients are just the first to show symptoms.”

Cottle eyed him. “Do you honestly think that’s likely?”

“No,” Gaius admitted. “But we can’t afford to restrict our thinking at this stage.”

“We still need to establish some sort of parameter,” Cottle argued. “Two Viper pilots and a worker on a mining ship. Do they all three know each other?”

“Not that I know of, and unfortunately we can’t ask them.” He looked into the microscope again. The ribbony prion seemed to stare obstinately back up at him. “I doubt it’s the algae. We’ll have to check samples, of course, but as far as I know, prions that can infect humans simply don’t hang about in primitive plant life. Something else must have brought this thing aboard.”

Cottle took a nervous drag on his cigarette. “So what else is new to the Fleet?”

 

Peter Attis stood in the middle of a group of people, raised his glass in a mock toast, and said something Kara couldn’t hear. Everyone around him laughed. Kara eyed him warily. She had been expecting a date sort of thing—two people, one table, candle, lots of innuendo. Instead, when she had arrived at the Gilded Lily, she had been ushered into a private banquet hall. There, Kara had found Peter holding forth to a roomful of maybe two dozen people, none of whom she recognized. A group of about ten had clustered around Peter, while the others stood around in uncertain small groups. A pre-concert party, perhaps? Whatever the case, it had caught her off guard. She felt annoyed that Peter hadn’t warned her. Hell, she had even borrowed a dress from Dualla for the occasion. An angry look crossed her face and she elbowed her way toward him through the crowd.

“…can’t believe you’re actually here,” a young woman gushed. “We’ve been waiting for so long.”

“Waiting for what?” Kara asked a little too brightly.

“Kara!” Peter swept her into an unexpected kiss. Kara let him, but only just. The onlookers waited politely. “Glad you made it!”

“Who are your friends?” Kara said. “When you asked me if I wanted to have dinner, I didn’t think you meant an entire banquet.”

The gushing lady, a small, dark-haired woman, grabbed Kara’s hand and shook it. “You’re so lucky,” she said. “Peter chose you for his consort.”

“Consort?” Kara echoed. “Listen, lady—”

“That’s not quite what she meant,” Peter said quickly. “Louann, please. Kara’s a good friend.”

“But someone like you deserves a consort,” Louann said, clearly shocked. “I can find one for you, if you like.”

Peter was actually blushing. “Not today, thanks.”

“Peter,” Kara said in her “someone’s going to get hurt soon and it won’t be me” voice, “what the frak is going on?”

“Blasphemy!” said a man in shock. “That sort of language in front of the Chosen.”

Before Kara could respond to this, Peter spoke up. “If by ‘chosen’ you mean ‘chosen by the Cylons’, you can keep it.”

“But they were the ones who taught you the Unity Path,” Louann said.

“Yes,” Peter acknowledged with a duck of his head. “But it wasn’t fun or pleasant.”

“‘And the Unifier shall walk among the Enemy, and He shall return both changed and unharmed,’” the young man intoned.

“What’s the frakking Unifier?” Kara demanded.

“They’re saying,” Peter spoke up before the man could bring up blasphemy again, “that the Sacred Scrolls predict the arrival of a leader.”

“That’s President Roslin,” Kara said waspishly “The dying leader. Everyone knows that.”

“No,” the man said. “That’s from the Book of Pythia. The Book of Glykon predicts the arrival of a spiritual leader who will bring all the tribes together, a Unifier. It says, ‘The Unifier shall have a Voice of Gold, and He will save Humanity with the Plague of the Tongue.’”

“And,” added Louann, “Glykon goes on to say, ‘The Unifier will bring together all Humans into one Tribe under one God.’ Peter’s music—the golden voice—talks about the One. When Alexander and I”—here she took the man’s hand—“heard Peter sing his new song at the concert, it was like a bolt of lightning struck us both. We knew he was it. The Unifier. He will lead us all to the next level of spirituality. He will convince everyone that all the gods are merely facets of a single entity.”

Kara suddenly felt uneasy, as if someone might be listening in. Perhaps the gods. She turned to Peter. “Do you believe that? Do you believe that the Lords of Kobol—Zeus, Athena, Artemis, all of them—are all different facets of a single god?”

Peter nodded. “I do. Humans can’t comprehend the true nature of a deity, so we divide the One up into pieces we can comprehend.”

“And the Cylons taught you this,” Kara said. Her scalp prickled, as if her hair were about to stand up. “Philosophy from a toaster.”

“Not exactly.” Peter ran a hand through blond hair. “It might be better to say that the Cylons helped me realize the truth. They didn’t convert me to their religion—they didn’t even try—but I lived among them as a slave for all those months, and several truths were revealed to me during that time.”

“Most spiritual leaders go through a time of trial before truth comes to them,” Alexander pointed out. He was in his forties, and his dark hair had receded almost completely. He needed a trim, however, and his remaining hair stood out like a mane on an aging lion. One of his hands shook slightly. Kara wondered if he had palsy.

Kara gave the room an uneasy glance. A sizeable group was still listening to the exchange, hanging on every word. Suddenly she wished Lee was there, and that thought made her even more uneasy. Lee would be a bright, solid presence in this place where words spun around like shadows. Peter stood in the center of the room, a sun god surrounded by lesser, darker beings. Kara realized she was in the center with him. As a consort? She pushed that thought aside. Conflicting emotions tugged at her like restless children. She wanted to stand by Peter, feel his warmth and wallow in their shared sexuality. She also wanted to run away, leave his strange ideas far behind and bury them in the shadows.

And then a server announced dinner would be served and everyone needed to take their seats. The little crowd dispersed. Peter showed Kara to a chair at his right, and Kara decided to let him. No point in giving up a good meal over someone else’s blasphemy.

The table itself was set with a linen tablecloth and linen napkins. The water glasses were thick, heavy goblets, and the silverware shone like clear water captured beneath a monstrous chandelier. Even during times of struggle, you could find luxury if you looked hard enough or had good enough connections. Earlier in her life, Kara would have felt out of place and uncertain in such grand surroundings, but a military officer quickly learned manners proper for any occasion. When in doubt, pretend the host was your commanding officer and everything else would follow.

Servers brought bowls of salad—fresh algae—and Peter took up a spot at the head of the table, where he addressed the room. He raised his water glass.

“A toast,” he said. “First, to Kara Thrace for saving my life, leading me to all of you, and showing me that I don’t need to feel lonely or afraid. Long may she live!”

“Long may she live!” repeated the room.

Slightly mollified, Kara nodded to everyone as they thumped their glasses twice on the table and drank to her health. Peter flashed her his trademark wide grin. But she was still unsettled. What the hell was this about? Had Peter made this many friends since she had brought him into the Fleet? She supposed it was possible. He was a celebrity, and celebrities rarely had trouble finding friends—or acquaintances and suck-ups, anyway. She glanced down the long table, trying to see what, if anything, everyone had in common. Almost everyone was her age or younger. The sole exceptions were Louann and Alexander. Both sexes seemed to be equally represented.

Kara took up her fork and tried a bite of salad. It was dark green and cold, with a slight salty tang. Surprisingly good. It was the first fresh greenery she had eaten in weeks, come to that. As a teenager, Kara had rebelled against eating anything resembling good nutrition. Once she was on her own, the diet of junk food and alcohol had continued, more out of habit than necessity. On Galactica, of course, fresh food was at a premium. Kara hadn’t realized how much she’d missed the stuff until she had some in front of her, and she dug into the salad with delicate relish.

“We don’t have much time tonight,” Peter said, resuming his seat. “So we’ll start.”

Start what? Kara wondered, starting to feel uneasy. Her annoyance returned, and she found herself glaring at Peter. He had dumped her into an unknown situation without warning, without even telling her there would be a situation. She felt like he had tricked her.

“Most of you have been asking questions about my spiritual leanings. I’m here to make some of those clear.” He coughed slightly and took a sip of water. “I believe I am the Unifier mentioned in the Book of Glykon. We humans fight among ourselves. We bicker and bite each other’s backs. All humans once belonged to a single tribe living in splendor on Kobol until they argued and split into thirteen tribes. One of those tribes was lost forever, but instead of learning from this lesson, we still fight among ourselves. We rage over who should get what food and clothing. We bicker over sleeping quarters and medicine. We fight over who should be in charge. Laura Roslin, the dying leader mentioned in the Book of Pythia, actually had to flee the military How did it happen that such an important person should have to run for her life?”

Kara set down her fork in surprise. Peter must have been busier than she knew. President Roslin’s imprisonment and escape had happened long before he had shown up. Possibly Louann and Alexander had filled him in on the major events of the last few months.

“The Cylons were able to destroy the Colonies because they were united under a single god with a single belief,” Peter continued. “Our belief in many gods and many tribes weakens us, creates us-against-them among our own kind. The Cylons will eventually win by default—we ourselves will finish the job they started.”

Kara found herself leaning toward Peter, listening hard as a child sitting at the feet of her grandfather. Peter’s smooth voice dripped hypnotic gold, his handsome face shining with an inner light. His words made sense. How much time had she spent fighting with other people instead of fighting Cylons?

“We need to reunite ourselves,” he said. “Stop thinking of ourselves as Capricans or Geminese or Librans. We are all human beings. We are—”

“Heretics!”

Startled, everyone twisted in their chairs. Sarah Porter was standing in the doorway, her face dark with fury. Five or six more people stood behind her, all dressed in Geminese clothing. Kara tensed.

“How can you listen to this filth?” Sarah demanded of the room. “You so-called Unity people bring chaos and disruption at a time when we need to be focused. And you, Peter Attis.” She stabbed a furious finger at him. “You and your music spread lies that poison everyone who hears.”

“How dare you!” Alexander said, leaping to his feet. “You can’t barge in here and—”

“No.” Peter held up a hand. “No, it’s all right. I welcome the dialogue. Though I’m afraid I can’t invite you to dinner, Representative Porter—we seem to be out of plates.”

Sarah folded her arms. Her followers remained stoically in place. “I wouldn’t break bread with a poisoner.”

“Please.” Peter spread his hands. “Exactly what are your objections? I’d love to talk about them with you so everyone here can decide for themselves.”

“You claim that all the gods are facets of a single god,” Sarah said. “And that path only leads to damnation. It’s what started the exodus from Kobol. The Sacred Scrolls say, ‘One jealous god desired to be elevated above all the other gods, and thus the war on Kobol began.’ You and your single god will destroy us all.”

“The One isn’t a jealous god,” Peter countered. “The One is all gods, and can’t be above or below them. Don’t twist what I say.”

“You twist what the Scrolls say,” Sarah snapped.

Louann leaped to her feet. “Leave him alone! Peter’s going to save us. Remember? ‘The Unifier shall have a Voice of Gold, and He will save Humanity with the Plague of the Tongue.’”

“Nonsense,” Sarah scoffed. “The Book of Glykon was declared apocryphal during the Third Conclave of Kobol.”

“Only because the Oracle of Arachne was feuding with the Priests,” Alexander retorted, also jumping up. “They knew she favored Glykon’s writings, so they declared the book apocrypha to discredit her. That Conclave was a galandine takil from the very beginning.”

A chill ran through Kara’s body. What had Alexander said?

“Arachne was a disgrace to her office!” Sarah growled, not seeming to notice Alexander’s odd language. “Your so-called Unifier has no place in our society!”

“Ah ha!” Alexander pointed at Sarah. His hand was shaking. Kara stared at it, remembering Kat and Hot Dog. “So you acknowledge that Peter is the Unifier! You recognize our existence, our power. There are more of us than you know, and thanks to Peter, we’re growing. People listen to him, and to us. There are more than five hundred of us now.”

“Perhaps I’ll have Peter arrested,” Sarah snapped. “For inciting a riot.”

“Peter isn’t our only leader,” Alexander said darkly. “And you jail the Unifier at your own peril. By throwing him in jail, you acknowledge who he is.”

“People, please,” Peter interjected. “I don’t want a fight.”

Sarah ignored him. “I acknowledge no such—”

And then Alexander toppled over. He landed on the floor, twisting and writhing. A string of nonsense words streamed from his mouth. Louann clapped her hands over her mouth. Everyone else, including Peter and Sarah, stared. Kara recovered first and dashed over to kneel beside him. Alexander continued to yammer.

“He needs help,” Kara said. “Call a medical team! Get Dr. Cottle!”

“It’s a miracle!” Louann clasped her hands together. “The miracle of tongues! It’s proof that Peter is here to save us!” She dropped to her knees and raised her hands high above her head. Most of the dinner crowd did the same. The salads sat on the table, half-eaten and ignored.

“Oh mighty One!” Louann shouted.

“Oh mighty One!” the kneeling crowd echoed.

“You who are all in one!”

“You who are all in one!”

Louann’s eyes were shut, and she swayed like a willow in a wind storm. The crowd followed her movements as if tied to her. Alexander continued to writhe and babble.

“We thank you for this miracle!” Louann said.

“We thank you for this miracle!”

Kara’s skin crawled. She ignored the people as best she could and tried to straighten Alexander’s limbs to keep him from hurting himself. He seemed unaware of her presence. His eyes stared at nothing, and he continued to spout nonsense, just as Kat and Hot Dog had. Kara couldn’t see Peter.

“Call a team!” she shouted again, hoping someone would do something. “Peter!”

“Blasphemy!” Sarah hooted.

The door exploded open and a platoon of marines poured into the room.