CHAPTER

16

 

 

Kara stared in shock, then fought against her restraints. “No! Lee! Peter!” she cried through the catwalk floor. It felt like she was a mile away from them both.

Peter looked up, stricken. Lee tried yanking at Peter’s handcuffs, but they didn’t budge. The timer continued its deadly countdown. Lee grabbed it, and his hand shook visibly.

“Pull the timer off and it blows right away,” Sharon called down, and Lee froze. “Have fun with it. Come on, Lieutenant.” And she began to haul Kara away by one elbow.

“Lee!” Kara shrieked. “Lee!”

Below, Peter’s face hardened. Abruptly he shoved Lee away and sprinted off into the darkness. Lee, still shirtless, snatched up one of the helmets from the floor and pointed its light toward him. The timer, glowing an angry red in the dark, showed six seconds. Peter was already climbing into the heavy metal scoop of a loader. He shot one more look up at Kara. She stared back, feeling completely helpless.

“I’m sorry, Kara!” Peter called. There were tears in his voice. “I’m so sorry.”

He dropped into the loader bucket. Lee dove to the floor. Even though she was two stories above it, the explosion knocked Kara off her feet. It was like being slapped by a giant hand. She landed beside Sharon, the latticed metal of the catwalk scraping her bare arms and shoulders. Automatic alarms blared. Sharon recovered her feet first, yanked Kara back to hers, and towed her toward a set of stairs that led downward. The heat sucked the air from Kara’s lungs and shriveled her hair. The hot smell of scorched metal stung her nose and acrid smoke clawed at her eyes. Then she heard the scream of tortured metal, and a section of the catwalk behind them crashed to the main floor. The section Kara and Sharon were standing on tilted backward. Kara, her hands cuffed behind her, lost her balance and fell heavily to the latticework. She slid backward with a yelp, losing more skin to the catwalk.

“Frak,” Sharon said, and managed to grab Kara by the hair. White pain ripped Kara’s scalp and she screamed. Sharon, who had hooked an arm around a strut for support, hauled Kara closer, then managed to get a hand under Kara’s arm and yank her along until they came to a level section of the catwalk near the stairs. Kara felt like a bruised bag of meat. She coughed and stumbled, but Sharon yanked her down the steps anyway. Twice she stumbled and fell, and both times Sharon hauled her roughly to her feet.

“Lee!” Kara called over her shoulder. “Lee!”

“Shut up,” Sharon ordered. “We have to get to the Raptor.”

“I’m not going with you, bitch,” Kara spat. “You had that planned from beginning, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah.” Sharon opened the door. “You didn’t honestly think I’d wreck a plan we’ve been perfecting for months, did you? This way, Peter’s still dead, the cure is destroyed, the only other person whose body makes the prion is with me, and I still have a hostage that’ll get me clear of the Fleet. If you’re very nice to me, I’ll give you a vac suit before I dump you out the airlock, and if you’re really nice to me, I’ll let you put it on first.”

“So why did you tell Lee to come along? Why kill him?”

Sharon shrugged. “Someone had to handle the chains.”

Kara decided not to respond to this. Sharon shoved her into the corridor beyond the doorway and shut the hatch. The heat vanished, letting Kara breathe more easily. They were standing at a well-lighted T intersection.

“All right, let’s see,” Sharon said, “assuming Captain good-boy Apollo wasn’t lying about the Raptor—and your life expectancy will be really short if he did, honey—we need to go… this way.”

“I’ll frakking kill you,” Kara gasped. “I swear I’ll find a way.”

“Sure, sure,” Sharon said, towing her along. “Even if you managed it, I’d be alive and kicking humanity’s ass again before long. Not that there’ll be much ass to kick now that Peter blew himself to bits and took the cure with him.”

“He didn’t do it,” Kara snarled. “That was you.”

“Whatever. Let’s see. Left up here, then right, and the ship should be—ah-ha!”

They came across a hole, perhaps a meter and a half in diameter, that had been cut into the bulkhead. Lying on the deck in front of it was a big circle of ceramic. It looked like a mutated round drawbridge. Sharon pushed Kara toward the hole. Kara ducked to get inside and found herself in the familiar interior of a Raptor transport. Sharon also ducked to follow. The moment Kara crossed the threshold, she straightened, spun, and kicked Sharon in the head before the Cylon woman could straighten. Sharon grunted and went down to her hands and knees. All the anger and fear Kara had been carrying with her exploded like a missile. She swept Sharon’s arms out from under her with a sweep kick and jumped forward. The back of her foot came down on the back of Sharon’s neck. Kara pressed down.

“Now who’s the hostage, toaster?” Kara panted.

“Don’t call me that,” Sharon growled. In a flash of movement, she grabbed Kara’s ankle and yanked. Kara lost her balance and crashed to the deck on her side. Sharon scrambled to her feet and kicked Kara under the jaw. Her teeth clacked together and Kara saw stars through an explosion of pain. The Raptor spun around her.

“Frakking human bitch,” Sharon spat. “I should shoot you right now.”

Running footsteps pounded down the corridor toward the hole and the hatchway that framed it. Sharon started to shut the hatchway, but an arm interposed itself. It was shaking.

“Wait!” said a male voice. Kara was too groggy from Sharon’s kick to recognize it, but Sharon seemed to. She let the hatchway open again just far enough to reveal a dark-haired man crouching over to peer inside the Raptor.

“Helo,” Sharon said. Her hand dropped to her belt and toyed with a small control Kara hadn’t noticed before. “This is a surprise. Trying to delay me long enough for the rest of the troop to catch up?”

“No,” Helo said. His dark eyes were serious. “Sharon, please don’t do this. Leave Starbuck here.”

Sharon looked genuinely puzzled. “Why would I do that?”

“I know you aren’t… aren’t my Sharon,” he said. “But you have to know how much I love her—you. Please leave Kara here. Everyone over at CIC is too sick to chase you. Leave Kara here.”

“So you can try to synthesize a cure from her blood?” Sharon scoffed. “I don’t think so, Helo.”

Kara tried to sit up, but the pain in her head and her bound hands made it impossible. She could only lay with her cheek pressed into the cool floor.

“Then do it for me,” Helo pleaded. “I’ve talked to my Sharon a lot, and it sounded like all of the Sharons… all of you… share some of the same memories. Don’t you remember any feelings for me?”

“Your Sharon never died, Helo, so her memories were never downloaded anywhere. You’re just another human.” Sharon started to push the hatch shut again. “One who made the stupid mistake of falling in love with a superior being.”

A pistol appeared in Helo’s hand. “I gave you a chance,” he said, and fired.

Sharon, however, was already moving. She ducked, and her foot came up in a sideways kick that slammed into Helo’s midriff and flung him backward. He hit the opposite wall with a terrible thud. The bullet ricocheted off a strut in the interior. Kara heard a cracking noise, but lying on the floor as she was, she couldn’t see much. Helo slid to the deck, clearly dazed.

“I could kill you, Helo,” Sharon said, her hand once again on that strange control at her belt. “But I won’t. The plague can take you. Maybe there’s something to the whole ‘feelings for you’ thing after all.”

She slammed the hatchway shut, spun the wheel to lock it, and reached into a storage closet to remove a white vac suit. With practiced ease, she slipped it on and sealed the helmet. Kara was too groggy to do anything but lie there. And what did it matter if she fought back, anyway? Lee was dead, Peter was dead, the cure for the plague was destroyed. Almost everyone in the Fleet would die within the next two or three days, and the Cylons would be able to mop up the remaining handful at leisure. A single tear ran from the corner of her eye and down the side of her nose. Everything she had worked to preserve, everything she had fought for, was gone. Her life was a waste.

And you’re a waste of life, said her father’s voice. Just a scared little nothing.

Sharon, fully suited, took up the pilot’s seat at the front of the Raptor, and switched on the radio. “Galactica Actual, this is Boomer. Anyone over there well enough to give me a high sign?”

There was a long pause. Kara tried to remain hopeful. If there was a way to negotiate her release, Commander Adama would find it. Sharon didn’t wait for an answer. She released the clamps holding the Raptor to the side of the Monarch, and the bright stars beyond the pilot’s canopy began to move.

“This is Galactica Actual,” came Colonel Tigh’s voice, and Kara’s heart sank. The man was as diplomatic as a hammerhead shark. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Hey there, Colonel,” Sharon said, as if this were a perfectly normal day. The Raptor picked up speed. “The Old Man too sick to come on the line himself?”

“None of your goddam business,” Tigh snapped. “You just bring that Raptor back, missy, and we’ll call it even.”

“Nah. Thought you might want to know I’m making off with one of your star pilots,” Sharon said. Her voice was tinny over the suit’s intercom. “Lieutenant Thrace is lying here on my deck, stunned but in one piece. She’ll stay that way unless you try to fire on me with those shaky hands of yours.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Tigh countered.

Sharon got up from the pilot’s chair and hauled Kara to her feet. Pain slashed through her head, and she felt warm blood dribble down her chin from a cut she hadn’t noticed before. Sharon plunked Kara into the copilot’s chair and said, “Say hello, Lieutenant.”

Kara remained silent.

“If you say hello,” Sharon said sweetly, “I promise to give you a vac suit of your own before I shove you outside.”

“Frak you,” Kara said.

“That could be a recording,” Tigh said.

“Repeat what the good Colonel just said, Starbuck,” Sharon ordered. “If you want the vac suit, that is.”

“That could be a recording,” Kara said through gritted teeth. Every movement only made the pain worse.

“There you are, Colonel. So hold your fire and everything’ll be just fine. I’ll stick Starbuck here in a suit, give her a tracking transponder, and toss her outside. Once I’ve jumped away, you can come and rescue her.”

The lie was so transparent, even Tigh had to see through it. Kara had no illusions about her eventual fate at Sharon’s hands, but the pain in her head made it difficult to think.

“Where’s Peter Attis?” Tigh demanded.

“Back on the Monarch,” Sharon said.

“Where, exactly? The Monarch is a big place.”

“I guess you could say he’s all over the place, really. Boomer out.”

A tiny crackle came from the canopy in front of Kara, and a hairline crack ran across the Plexiglas. Kara’s blood chilled as she realized what had happened—Helo’s ricochet had chipped the canopy and the resulting weakness was getting worse. Sharon, however, didn’t seem to notice. She was busy plotting a jump.

“Okay,” she said, putting in the final numbers and standing up. “While the computer’s finishing that up, you and I have things to do.”

She hooked a hand under Kara’s elbow, tugged her out of the copilot’s chair, and hauled her toward the closed hatchway.

“No suit?” Kara said, already knowing the answer.

“No suit,” Sharon agreed. “I was lying. Hell, I’m doing you a favor. Better to die now than watch all your friends die while you live.”

“Don’t do me any favors,” Kara said half-heartedly. Sharon’s grip was steel-strong and Kara couldn’t break the handcuffs. Her mind came up with a dozen ideas, each one more desperate and unworkable than the last. Sharon let go of Kara and put her hands on the wheel that would open the hatchway and evacuate the air. The resulting blast of wind would shove Kara straight out into space. Kara swallowed, trying to hold on to every sensation she could because they would be her last ones. The air rushing through her lungs, the heart beating in her chest, the pain stabbing through her head. It didn’t seem fair, having pain as her final sensation. Sharon started to turn the wheel—

—and then another Sharon rose up behind her, both hands laced together in a double fist. Kara stared, not comprehending what she was looking at. The second Sharon brought both hands down on the back of the fist Sharon’s head. The thin fabric of the vac suit head covering was no protection, and the first Sharon staggered in pain and surprise. The second Sharon hit her again and again and again, a dizzying rain of blows that thudded against the vac suit. The first Sharon collapsed to the deck.

“Sorry it took so long,” the second Sharon said. She was wearing a prison jumpsuit, and her stomach was a little rounded. Pregnant. It was Caprica Sharon. “I had to wait until she was in a vac suit before I made a move.”

“What?” Kara said, confused. “Why?”

The Plexiglas crackled audibly. Caprica Sharon spun in surprise. A spider web of cracks was spinning a network across the canopy.

“Oh frak,” she whispered, then flew into action. She leaped behind Kara and snapped the handcuff chain. Kara winced, but she was growing used to pain by now. Every part of her body hurt by now. Caprica Sharon pulled Kara to her with easy strength, and both of them groped through the storage closet for vac suits. The canopy crackled again and the web of cracks grew larger. Kara thought she heard a faint hiss of escaping air. Gods, nothing ever came easy, did it? She should be in the clear now, but she was still struggling for life.

“Could we make it back to the Monarch?” Kara asked.

“That canopy’s going to go in less than a minute,” Caprica Sharon said. “So that would be a ‘no’.” She thrust a suit at Kara, who pulled it on with chilly fingers. Neither human nor Cylon spoke further. The first Sharon lay on the floor, still unconscious. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth. The canopy made a soft popping sound, and this time the hiss of escaping air was clearly audible. An alarm beeped on the console, in case no one had figured out that the Raptor was losing air. Kara checked the fastenings of her suit and reached for the helmet. A slight breeze caressed her cheek, bringing a reflexive stab of fear. A breeze was a fine thing outdoors on a still summer day, but on a ship, it heralded death by decompression. Kara yanked on the helmet, sealed it, and inhaled the rush of plastic-scented air. Caprica Sharon, meanwhile, had put on her own vac suit, but she set the helmet aside.

“What are you doing?” Kara asked, her voice close and muffled inside the suit. The canopy was by now nothing but a network of cracks.

Caprica Sharon wordlessly reached down, unfastened the other Sharon’s fabric helmet, and ripped it free. She put it on her own head and fastened it, then shot a glance at the canopy. Now Kara understood. She supposed she should have felt some sort of pity or reluctance, but all she felt was glad relief.

The first Sharon’s eyes popped open and she vaulted to her feet so fast, Kara couldn’t react. She caught Caprica Sharon by surprise as well. The first Sharon plowed into Caprica and knocked her face-down to the deck with the first Sharon on top of her.

“I’ll kill him and you,” the first Sharon snarled for no reason Kara could see. Who the hell was him?

“You can’t reach the control while you’re in that vac suit,” Caprica Sharon gasped back.

The first Sharon got her fingers under the fastenings of Caprica Sharon’s cloth helmet. Damage alarms and air alarms blared through the Raptor’s cabin. Caprica Sharon couldn’t get the leverage to fight back. The first Sharon ignored Kara entirely.

Wild anger roared over Kara. The first Sharon was responsible for everything that had happened—the plague, Kara’s sickness, Peter’s death, Lee’s death, the destruction of the cure. Strength she didn’t know she possessed thundered through her. She grabbed the first Sharon’s vac suit by the back of the neck and at the small of back and lifted.

The first Sharon weighed less than Kara had anticipated. Startled, the first Sharon came free of her victim with an indignant yelp.

“Grab something!” Kara shouted inside her own suit. Without waiting to see if Caprica Sharon had heard, she swung the first Sharon once to gain some momentum, then flung her straight toward the canopy. Sharon hit the weakened Plexiglas face-first dead between the pilot and copilot chairs. The canopy exploded outward, and Sharon blew into space. Her scream was lost in the rush of air.

A hurricane blast knocked Kara off her feet from behind, and she found herself flying toward the empty canopy. She desperately grabbed for one of the chairs and missed. Then an iron hand caught her ankle. Caprica Sharon, her other hand firmly clutching a handhold, towed her back to safety. Kara caught a glimpse of the first Sharon as she drifted through uncaring vacuum, twitching and clawing at her own face as bloody vapor burst from her mouth and nose. The pain and horror of her expression made Kara look away, despite her earlier feelings of anger and hatred. The Cylon may have deserved the death, but Kara found she didn’t want to watch it.

The blast of air was short-lived on such a small vessel, and it died quickly. Once the women were sure neither of them was injured or leaking air, they both carefully climbed into seats, Caprica Sharon in the pilot’s chair and Kara in the copilot position. It was unnerving to sit in a Raptor, looking at the stars without a Plexiglas barrier between herself and vacuum. She felt as if she could float off into the emptiness. Maybe she should. Everyone in the Fleet was either dead or dying, and she didn’t want to be the only one left behind.

Lee was dead. The thought hit her like a punch to her already-sore gut. Frak. She felt tears well up and blinked them back. Crying in a vac suit was almost as bad as throwing up in one. To distract herself, Kara shot Sharon a glance. The Cylon’s face was calm inside her vac suit helmet.

“Thanks,” Kara said hoarsely. “For saving me. Twice.”

“Thanks for saving me once,” Sharon replied with a small grin. “Why don’t you radio Galactica and tell them we’re coming? I have the feeling they won’t believe anything I have to say.”

 

Gaius Baltar filled a pipette with fluid from a Petrie dish, prepared a slide for it, and slipped it under the microscope. He peered through the lenses. “Well, Gaius?”

For once, Gaius didn’t jump or yelp or spin around. He had sensed Six’s presence before she spoke. “I’ve been listening to the radio news,” he said without turning around. “Quite a lot’s been happening aboard the Monarch.”

“And a lot’s been happening in this lab,” Six said smugly.

This time Gaius glanced over his shoulder at her. No matter what they did together, no matter what happened, Number Six remained perfectly beautiful. Her white-blond hair was never mussed, her makeup never smeared, her dress never wrinkled. Her legs never prickled with stubble, her breath never smelled of garlic, and the only time she sweated was during sex, which Baltar found a turn-on. She was physically perfect in every way.

“So are you here to tell me something useful or just kibbitz while I work?”

“Work?” She gestured at the incubator. It was the size of a small refrigerator and filled with warm test tubes. “Looks like the machines are doing the work for you.”

“Mmmmm.” Gaius changed slides and looked again. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to lend a hand.”

“Why not call Dr. Cottle in to help you?”

“Cottle is a doctor, not a research scientist. Besides, he’s shaking too much to be of any use. Looks like it’s just me.”

“Chosen by God,” Number Six said, “and working like a devil. That’s you, isn’t it, Gaius?”

“Just hand me that box of syringes, would you?”

“I think it would be more appropriate if I just watched.”

“That’s not what you said half an hour ago,” Baltar teased.

Six smiled. It wasn’t a happy smile or a sensuous one. It was the sort of smile Baltar had come to dread over the months. His good mood faltered.

“What?” he asked.

“There’s something you’re forgetting, Gaius.”

 

Kara was in a frak-it mood by the time the Raptor was safely aboard the Galactica on Deck Five, so she pulled off her vac suit helmet and climbed out the shattered canopy instead of exiting through the hatchway. Only five people were waiting for her—the plague was getting worse. Three of the people were combat troops Kara didn’t recognize. Their rifles were at the ready, and she assumed they were there for Sharon. The fourth was Karl “Helo” Agathon. His face was pale and his uniform was dirty.

The fifth was Lee Adama.

At first Kara’s mind couldn’t process what she was seeing. The bomb had gone off. Lee was dead. But there he was. Bruises and burns mottled his face and arms. He had replaced his shirt. A bandage covered one cheek. But there he was. Gladness as wide as a rainbow poured over her, and she grabbed him in a hard hug.

“Ow!” they both said as the embrace aggravated their injuries. They backed away from each other, unable to repress the grins that stretched their faces.

“You bastard!” she said. “I thought you died in that explosion.”

“I thought so, too,” Lee admitted. “Piece of machinery shielded me. That, and the fact that the bomb went off inside the loader scoop. If Peter hadn’t run when he had, I would be dead.”

“Peter.” Emerging sorrow dampened the gladness. “He saved us both, then.”

“Yeah,” Lee said grimly. “Maybe.” And he held up his hands to remind Kara that they were still shaking.

Helo stepped forward and gave Kara a hug of his own, but gently. Then he said, “Was Sharon—our Sharon—really on board the Raptor with you?”

“Sure thing,” Sharon said, emerging from the Raptor, her vac suit already removed. Before anyone could react, Helo grabbed her in a hard embrace and kissed her. She kissed him back. Kara shot a sidelong glance at Lee and caught him shooting a sidelong glance at her. A moment passed and Lee took a step toward her. Kara leaned in.

Then she kissed him quickly on the cheek. He smelled of metal and sweat. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she said brusquely.

“Uh, yeah,” he replied. “Thanks.”

The three marines, meanwhile, moved in on Sharon and Helo, safeties off, expressions tense. Sharon noticed them and stepped away from Helo, hands raised. “Don’t shoot. I’m not going to make any sudden moves or hurt anyone.”

One of the marines brandished his rifle. “Toas—”

“Don’t finish that phrase, soldier,” Kara interrupted. “Unless you want a world of trouble from an unexpected direction.”

The marine shut his mouth.

“What the frak happened?” Lee said.

“How’s the Old Man?” Kara countered.

“Barely functional. Tigh’s mostly in charge.”

“Aw, frak.” This from Sharon. The Cylon allowed the marines to put shackles on her wrists and ankles. Around her neck, one of them fastened a man-catcher—a collar with a stiff pole instead of a leash. Helo watched, a pained look on his face, but he didn’t interfere.

“I won’t let him hurt you, Sharon,” Kara said. “But we all need to catch up.”

“The President’s already in the CIC conference room with the Old Man,” Lee said. “Come on.”

They made a strange procession through the corridors of the Galactica—Lee and Kara both limping and sore, Sharon hobbling at the end of the man-catcher, the grim-faced marines with their ready weapons. The corridors, however, were mostly empty.

“Where is everyone?” Kara asked. “Down with the plague?”

“I guess,” Lee said. “Helo and I grabbed one of the Monarch’s shuttles and rushed over here after Helo talked to Sharon—the other Sharon. Helo can still fly, and we were hoping to get him into a Viper or another Raptor, something faster than a shuttle, so we could intercept you. But all the combat ships are down—not enough knuckle-draggers to keep them running. Everyone on the Galactica is either too shaky to do anything but lie in their bunks, or they’re trying to run three and four duty stations at the same time.”

“Have you told them about…” Kara trailed off, not sure how much she should say.

“No,” Lee said. “I’ve talked to CIC, but I haven’t been up there yet.”

Helo muttered something that sounded like, “We’re all ass-frakked,” but he didn’t elaborate. Kara concentrated on staying upright. Exhaustion was weighing down on her like a lead blanket. How long had it been since she’d had a real rest? Or sleep? She couldn’t remember. Escaping from the other Sharon hadn’t been the end of her problems—or the Fleet’s.

CIC was almost empty. Kara counted six people, none of whom she knew, desperately trying to run stations designed for twenty. They barely glanced up as the group passed through on their way to the conference room. Kara swallowed. If a Cylon basestar showed up now, they were dead.

Though the same was true if a basestar didn’t show up.

The CIC conference room was hushed and dimly lit. At the table sat Commander Adama, Colonel Tigh, and Laura Roslin.

President Roslin’s hands were on the table, and they trembled only slightly. Adama, on the other hand, was clearly fighting to keep himself upright and his mouth shut. Tigh was trembling but seemed functional. They all eyed Sharon as the marines herded her through the door. Sharon was keeping her face impassive, and Kara wondered how she felt about being hauled around like an animal. Did she get angry? Or maybe she found all the extra security flattering, along the lines of “only someone truly dangerous rates this kind of treatment.” Kara decided that if she were ever in Sharon’s position, she’d try to feel flattered.

Everyone took a seat except Sharon, who stood to one side.

“We don’t have time for preliminaries, so I’ll just ask about the bad news now,” Roslin said. Her voice was soft and tired as an old blanket. “I don’t see Peter, so I assume he’s dead.”

Kara gave a reluctant nod, and felt cold fear and hopeless despair settle across the room. “Sharon—a different Sharon—killed him.” She briefed them on what had happened to her since the kidnapping and was surprised to learn she’d been gone for less than a day. It felt like a week.

The table remained silent for a moment after Kara’s briefing. Adama was sweating with the effort of remaining silent, and Kara wanted to comfort him. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do.

“Sharon,” Roslin said at last. “Tell us what happened to you.” Roslin’s voice carried an edge of ice. The President loathed all Cylons and had never warmed to Sharon, even after repeated demonstrations that she meant the Fleet no harm and was, in fact, helping as best she could.

“Where should I start?” she asked.

“From your jailbreak,” Roslin said levelly. “When you killed that marine and sent the other to sickbay.”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” Sharon said, though her tone said she expected no one would believe her. “The other copy did.”

“Thank gods,” Helo said with a small sigh.

Sharon gave him a small smile. “She wiped out the guards at the cell and broke me out, but she wasn’t offering to get me off the Galactica or anything like that.”

“What did she offer you?” Roslin said.

“Nothing. She said there was a secret compartment in the escape pod on Deck Five and that I’d better find a way to get there and hide.” Sharon paused and licked her lips. “She was going to use me as a scapegoat or a distraction or both. Commander Adama would order search teams to look for me, and that would take extra time and resources and allow her to do what she wanted more easily. They also know that I’ve been helping the Fleet. If I got caught and was blamed for killing the guard, you’d never believe another word I said. My so-called escape was a way to neutralize any further help I might give the Fleet.”

“She could have just killed you,” Roslin said.

“That would kill the baby, too,” Sharon replied. “Not what she—or any other Cylon—would want.”

“Why didn’t you just come forward?” Tigh demanded. “Let yourself get caught?”

“Him,” Sharon said, nodding toward Helo. “She knocked him out just after the escape and stuck a microdetonator under the skin on the back of his skull. She told me she’d blow Helo to pieces if I got caught.”

Helo’s hand stole to the back of his head. His face was pale. “That’s why my head’s been itching lately?”

“Probably. I’m so sorry, Helo.”

“Is it going to… you know… go off now?”

“If it hasn’t by now, I’d say you’re safe,” Sharon said. “Like Kara—Lieutenant Thrace—said, the other one is sucking vacuum, or vacuum is sucking her.”

“Why didn’t she pop it off outside the Raptor?” Helo pressed. “When I had the pistol?”

Sharon shrugged within the man-catcher. “Who knows? I’d guess she thought you weren’t a serious danger to her, and it was more fun to play with you. The detonator was aimed more at me than you anyway.”

“Yeah,” Helo muttered. “Gods.”

“That’s what you meant when you said you had to wait until the other Sharon was in a vac suit,” Kara said with new understanding. “If she was wearing the detonator on her belt or something, she wouldn’t be able to set it off with the suit in the way.”

“Yeah,” Sharon said. “I hid until I was sure Helo would be safe.” She shifted position within her shackles and the chains clinked. “Anyway, I didn’t know what to do after the other Sharon sprung me, so I hid for a while. But Chief Tyrol found the secret compartment in the pod, and I couldn’t stay there anymore. I snuck on board the Raptor that transported the marines to the Monarch. Once you all boarded, I slipped out and tried to get the other Sharon alone, but I couldn’t.”

“Those were your footsteps we kept hearing,” Lee said.

“Probably. I couldn’t think of a way to get Peter out of there without getting me and Helo killed, so I just waited. Once I realized the other Sharon was going to take Lieutenant Thrace back to the Raptor, I ran ahead. You know the rest of it.”

“Nothing… matters of state on the steps of—” Adama clamped his teeth together and tried again. “Nothing… matters. All dead soon.”

That silenced further conversation. Kara bit her lip. The Commander was completely right. Within a day or so, everyone Kara had worked so hard to save would be dead. It would be her, Sharon, and maybe a few other people rattling around in the ships.

Something occurred to Kara. “I can help a few people,” she said. “Anyone who has AB blood can get the cure from me. No one else, though.”

“That’s about four percent of the population,” Lee said. “It’ll help. Every life will help.”

He didn’t say what his blood type was, and Kara found she couldn’t bear to ask.

“And maybe someone can extract the cure from my blood and help others,” Kara said instead. “Tom Zarek was also cured, so maybe we can use his blood, too.”

“We’ll have to try,” Lee agreed. “Though Dr. Baltar said—”

The phone buzzed. Adama looked like he wanted to pick it up, but held back for obvious reasons. Everyone glanced uncertainly at everyone else. At last, Kara reached across the table and snatched up the receiver with her steady hands.

“CIC,” she said. “Lieutenant Thrace.”

“Doctor Baltar here,” said a familiar voice. “It’s good to hear your voice, Lieutenant. How are you?”

Kara kept her voice neutral. She had been trying to forget that she and Baltar had shared a brief, torrid bedroom session, but every time she saw him, the memory surfaced. She still couldn’t believe she had done it.

“I’m just dandy,” she said, aware that every eye in the room was on her. “What’s going on? Commander Adama’s… indisposed right now, if you’re looking for him.”

“Is he there? I know he probably can’t talk reliably.”

“Yes. What do you want, Dr. Baltar?” She added the latter so everyone would know who she was talking to.

“Just to see if everyone is there. I have… I have more news about the plague.”

Kara closed her eyes. She didn’t know if she could handle more bad news. “What is it?”

“It’d be easier to show you than to tell you,” he said. “If everyone is there, I’ll just come up.”

Kara relayed this to the others. Laura Roslin took charge and gave assent. A few minutes later, Gaius Baltar entered the room. His lab coat was neat and pressed, his face shaven, his hair combed, his tie straight. Kara wondered where he found the time and energy. She also noticed that his hands weren’t shaking at all. How had he escaped the plague?

Baltar was carrying a tray covered by a black cloth. He glanced at Sharon in surprise but didn’t comment on her presence. Instead, he set the tray down at the head of the table and took up a position there.

“What is it, Doctor?” Roslin asked softly. “How much worse can it get?”

“Actually, the news is rather better than you might think.” He whipped the cloth aside with a flourish, revealing a row of syringes. The needles gleamed in the dim light of the conference room. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the cure for the plague of tongues.”