He took a step toward her, lancing her with a glare. The sheer hypocrisy of one who purported to be so morally superior to him, using his people in a game as if they were poker chips… it infuriated him. With a stoic demeanor born of long practice, he said, “It may interest you to know that your father is, as we speak, en route to Colonial One. He’s presenting himself as a bargaining chip in order to make up for what turns out to be his daughter’s subterfuge.”
Her eyes widened. “He did that…?”
“Yes, Miss Gunnerson. He did exactly that. Perhaps the next time you play games with people’s lives, you’ll want to make certain that all the pieces are in their correct place.”
She didn’t respond. Instead her head sank back and she closed her eyes. She had put her hand against her nose to stop the bleeding and she had more or less succeeded.
The marines were clearly waiting for their instructions. Adama didn’t waste any time. “I’m going to send advance word back to your vessel that you have your book, along with a recording of this session so they’ll know precisely what you did. Then marines will escort you back to your vessel. I want you off my ship.”
Sharon looked up for the first time and registered surprise. “Off…?”
“You heard me.”
“But…”
She began to stand and the marines instantly tensed. Sharon froze in a half crouch and then, very slowly, sat down on the cot once more. “With all due respect, Admiral… are you sure that’s wise?”
No. It may be unspeakably stupid. But President Roslin is trying to defuse a delicate situation, and I want the meeting with the Quorum to have as few distractions as possible. So even though I may be throwing in a bargaining chip that I could have made good use of, I’m going to send her back to her ship with her tail between her legs in order to make sure that Wolf Gunnerson doesn’t go off the deep end because his daughter’s in the hands of the military.
He made no answer. Instead he made a curt gesture with his head to the marines. They slammed the door to Sharon’s cell shut with a resounding clang, and led Freya out at gunpoint. As they headed for the exit from the brig area, Sharon suddenly lumbered to her feet, cupped her hands around her mouth, and shouted, “Who’s the bigger bastard, Admiral! You or me? Especially considering that I—as I’m always being reminded—am not human! We had a deal, Admiral! We had a frakking deal! And you’d better come through on your end or…”
He stopped, turned and faced her. He never raised his voice, which would have made it difficult to hear him. But he spoke slowly enough that the movement of his lips was unmistakable as he said, “…or what?”
Sharon had no answer. Nevertheless, she remained standing until Adama, Freya Gunnerson, and the marines exited the area. The last thing she saw of them was Freya making an obscene gesture in her direction. Sharon didn’t return it.
Colonel Tigh would have been interested to know that he wasn’t much happier than Sharon Valerii had been with Adama’s decision. Adama, wisely, had chosen to apprise him of it when both of them were on CIC. He had obviously known that Tigh would never raise any kind of major fuss about it with the rest of the command personnel there, which made it ideal for Adama if he didn’t feel like getting into ten rounds of “Why the frak did you do that?!” with his second in command.
So Tigh had held his tongue and his reaction, although he knew that Adama had maneuvered him into having to do so, and he made sure—with as many subtle hints and signals as he could—that Adama knew that he knew. Of course, in the end, Adama didn’t care, which pretty much trumped the entire issue.
This left Tigh in CIC fuming over the ongoing situation that continued to leave them vulnerable to another Cylon ambush. He found that he was staring for ages and ages at every single person in CIC. Sooner or later another one of his people would realize that he was staring at them, but it wasn’t as if they could complain about it. What could they possibly say? “Colonel, please stop looking at me.” It would sound ridiculous.
Even more ridiculous was that he was doing it in the first place. It wasn’t as if he was expecting one of them to suddenly collapse to their knees and begin sobbing, “I’m sorry! I can’t stand the pressure anymore! I’m a Cylon! I confess! Shoot me now before I endanger the fleet!”
It left Tigh with a vague sense of frustration. The investigation had gone nowhere, leaving him feeling impotent and confused.
How could it possibly be? He was certain none of these people were Cylons. They were the hardest-working officers he’d ever had the privilege to have under his command. They were loyal, honest, unafraid to speak truth to power. Even though he knew the dim opinion of him that was held by many, they continued to treat him with respect, at least to his face.
Look there at Dualla. Constantly monitoring communications, staying on top of everything. Her logs were meticulous. Yes, it was possible that she was falsifying something, or perhaps sending communications to the Cylons, but he just couldn’t believe it. Then again—he reminded himself—would he have thought such a thing of Boomer before it was revealed that she was a Cylon? Well… yeah. Yeah, truth to tell. He’d always had suspicions that something was off with her. Not that she was a Cylon necessarily because, hell, how could he have known that the Cylons looked like humans now? But she hadn’t been quite right. He’d used to think his opinions of her were colored by her illicit affair with Chief Tyrol. It always seemed that when something was going wrong or something was being covered up, Sharon Valerii was in the middle of it. So when the explosive revelation had been made, through her attempt on the Old Man’s life, that she was a Cylon agent, Tigh had been shocked but not too shocked.
But Dualla? Straight arrow all the way. Yes, he knew she and the president’s aide had a thing brewing, but there was nothing untoward about that.
And then there was Gaeta.
Tigh’s attention swung over to the ship’s young tactical officer. He’d served Adama for three years, as officer of the watch in addition to his other duties. If Gaeta had been an enemy agent, certainly he could have brought Adama down in flames long before this. Things didn’t just happen for no reason. Look at Gaeta, at his station, working hard on new coordinates, having dumped the previous ones for fear that perhaps somehow the Cylons had managed to find out about them. Standing there, muttering to himself as he developed a new escape plan should the Cylons attack, scratching away at his hand…
Tigh suddenly stopped. He frowned. He took a step toward Gaeta, who wasn’t paying any attention to him, so lost in his work was he. Gaeta continued to mutter calculations, making certain that the coordinates would bring them to safety rather than disaster. It was at that point Tigh realized that Gaeta always did that: always spoke softly to himself to help focus his attention on whatever he happened to be doing.
No. It couldn’t be that simple.
Waiting for his call to be put through to the Bifrost, Adama was watching Tigh with open curiosity. He imagined he could almost see the wheels turning in Tigh’s head, but he wasn’t entirely certain in what direction they were spinning.
At that moment, Dualla called out, “Admiral… Starbuck on the line.”
Deciding that whatever was up with Tigh could wait until later, Adama picked up the phone and, said, “Starbuck? Are you and Helo all right?”
“Couldn’t be better, Admiral,” came her pleased voice. “We’re hearing from our jailers that Freya Gunnerson is now stating she’s the one who took their precious book.”
“That’s correct.”
He knew that Starbuck would be able to tell from his tone that there was more to the story than that. He also knew that she would be well aware not to ask about it. “There’s some skepticism being expressed by our captors over it.”
“That should evaporate when she shows up with the book in hand. Her escorts will make sure she presents it.” He paused and then said, “What’s the status of your visit?”
“Well, the young fellow we came to visit appears to have gotten
kind of shy.” She said it lightly, as if they were discussing something of little to no consequence. “We thought we would hang out until he shows up again.”
“Is the environment conducive to that?”
“I think it will be, once we’ve been cleared,” she replied carefully. “In spite of everything that’s happened, I’m still very anxious to hook up with the young man.”
“All right… if you think you can handle it.”
He knew what the answer was going to be even as he said it: a curt laugh from Kara Thrace, followed by a brisk, “No problem on this end, Admiral. We’ll have the little scamp in hand before you know it.”
“Very well. And Starbuck… be careful.”
“I always am, sir.”
“Galactica out.”
He hung up the phone, knowing full well that Kara Thrace had many admirable qualities, but being careful never was, and never would be, one of them. He wanted her to be all right. He wanted her to live to a ripe old age. But he knew in his heart that that wasn’t how Kara Thrace was going to exit this plane of existence. She was going to go out in a ball of fire, howling defiance and laughing in death’s face the entire time.
“It’s too bad she won’t live,” he said so softly that no one else heard him. “But then again… who does?”
CHAPTER
21
Wolf Gunnerson was aghast at what Laura Roslin had just told him.
He had been given quite decent visitor’s accommodations when he had arrived on Colonial One, considering the circumstances. Laura Roslin had come to meet with him once he was settled in, and delivered him the news that Adama had conveyed to her. She watched him carefully to see if there was the slightest hint of duplicity in his face as he reacted to what she was telling him.
She had to admit, if he was acting, he was wonderfully accomplished at it. The blood drained from his face, and he looked as if he was starting to have heart palpitations. “Freya took it? Freya… ?” He rocked back in the chair that was far too small for him and groaned under his weight. “I can’t understand… what would possess her…?”
“I couldn’t begin to say,” Roslin said, trying to be as diplomatic as possible. “Nevertheless, the fact remains: She has it in her possession. She is being turned over to the authorities on your vessel even as we speak. That aspect of this… crisis… appears to be settled.”
“So it does.” He was still looking like a man in shock. “That she could do such a thing… put a couple of innocent soldiers under the light of suspicion. You think you know your own child, and then…” He shook his head, discouraged, and then looked up at Roslin. “Do you have children of your own?”
“No.”
“They bring great joy, but also great heartache. This is obviously one of the moments of heartache. What must the Quorum think of me?”
“They will think you were deceived,” she said, still trying to choose as delicate phrasing as she could. “It can happen to anyone. In fact, I daresay it’s happened to everyone at some time or another.”
“I certainly hope they will still be willing to meet with me,” said Wolf Gunnerson. “I mean, I can see how you could turn around and send me back to the Bifrost, dismissing me out of hand.”
“That’s not going to happen,” she said. “In fact—believe it or not—this has had a positive effect on the meeting you requested.”
“Has it?” He seemed anxious to hear some benefit from what he clearly perceived to be a gargantuan fiasco.
“Yes. There were two members of the Quorum who were still holding out, contending that they were being strong-armed into this meeting because of the hostage situation. With that no longer being a factor, they have acceded to the will of the majority and are going to be attending. In fact, everyone should be here shortly. You will receive a fair hearing.”
“That is all I have ever asked,” he said politely.
It was hard for her to believe that a man this large was capable of being so soft spoken. “There’s been a recent development.”
“Oh?” He raised a bushy eyebrow. “What now? My daughter has announced she has a bomb and intends to obliterate us all?”
“Hardly,” she said. “A reporter who has been supportive of the administration has asked to have an exclusive interview with you.”
“The press traditionally isn’t friendly to my cause. I’m not sure of the advantage…”
“The advantage is that she has sworn to give you a platform to speak your mind and get your beliefs out to the populace.”
Wolf still looked suspicious. “Can she be trusted?”
“She was given complete access to all levels of Galactica and came back with a story that was extremely even-handed. Even Admiral Adama was satisfied with it, and he’s not exactly the easiest of audiences to satisfy.”
Her description of the previous story caught Wolf’s interest. “I believe I saw that coverage. That was… Diana Bears, was it?”
“D’anna Biers,” she politely corrected him. “She’s right outside with her cameraman, ready to talk to you if you’d be willing to permit it. By the time you’re done, the Quorum should be assembled in the main conference room.”
“She would follow us there as well?”
“Several members of the press will be there,” said Laura Roslin. “I think you’ll find the members of the Quorum are more likely to be attentive and patient if they’re on camera. And that’s what you want them to be.”
“Yes, of course. All right,” he said with more conviction, as if he were working to convince himself. “Yes, send her in.”
“Very well.” She went to the door and opened it. “He’ll speak to you,” she called.
D’anna Biers, cheerful and professional, came through, followed by her cameraman, and said graciously to Laura, “My thanks, Madame President. I appreciate your putting in a good word for me.”
“I simply told him the truth. The decision was his.”
“My thanks just the same.”
“Well then,” smiled Laura. “I’ll leave you to it.” She exited, closing the door behind her.
D’anna Biers sat down and faced Wolf Gunnerson.
“So,” she said. “History is going to be made today.”
“That,” replied Wolf with a carefully neutral expression, “is exactly the best way I could have put it.”
“Are you ready to do it?”
“Absolutely. Are you?”
Her smiled widened, but it wasn’t an entirely pleasant one. Instead it appeared almost predatory. “Actually… believe it or not… I’ve been waiting for it for a long, long time now.”
Laura Roslin was sitting in her office, endeavoring to collect her thoughts, when Billy stuck his head in and informed her the vice president had arrived. “Why?” she sighed.
“He’s reporting to you about the possibilities of side effects or after effects that could result from the… from the cure you received.”
“He is?” She didn’t recall asking him to. “Very well, send him in.”
She knew she didn’t have much time to spend on Baltar. After all, the members of the Quorum were busy arriving, and things were simply moving too quickly for her to slow things down by talking to Baltar. Besides, it wasn’t as if he was her favorite person to speak with in the first place.
Roslin was still going through paperwork when Baltar’s voice spoke up. “Admiral Adama asked me to undertake this investigation. I thought you might be interested in the results of my studies, Madame President.”
She looked up, about to say, “And they would be…?” but her voice froze in her throat.
Baltar was standing a few feet away from her, and right next to Baltar was the known Cylon operative, Shelly Godfrey. Or perhaps Gina. They were the same “model,” after all.
Claiming to be a Defense Ministry systems analyst, “Shelly Godfrey” had shown up claiming that Gaius Baltar was a Cylon agent. Having failed in that attempt, she had vanished into hiding somewhere in the fleet a
nd was still out there… except now, she appeared to be right here, right in front of Roslin. Naturally she also looked like “Gina,” the same model of Cylon who had been a prisoner aboard the Pegasus. Tragically she had escaped and had gone on to murder Admiral Cain before likewise going into seclusion somewhere. It was a source of continuing frustration to Roslin that they could actually know what the damned toasters looked like and still be unable to capture them.
And now she was there, right there, next to Baltar. She was wearing a tight-fitting red dress, cut high at the hem, low at the top. Smirking, she was leaning on Baltar’s shoulder.
Laura felt lightheaded, as if her brain was going to splatter in all directions. This isn’t happening… this isn’t happening… gods dammit, this isn’t happening…
Baltar was puzzled at the confused look on Laura Roslin’s face, but didn’t dwell on it. If something was bothering her, certainly it was her problem, not his.
“Inconclusive, I’m afraid,” he was saying. “Since you are, naturally, the only human test study, the chemical examinations I’ve done thus far, particularly in seeing how the hemoglobin interacts with the cancer cells I culled, I can see—”
“She’s looking at you strangely, Gaius,” purred the blonde who was labeled as Shelly in Laura’s Cylon agent file. “Do you think she suspects you?”
Reflexively, Baltar glanced in her direction and said, “No.” Then he mentally chided himself for responding to her in front of a witness. It happened rarely, but if he was relaxed enough, she could still catch him off guard. It was a perverse little game she enjoyed playing with him. Fortunately he’d become deft at covering such slips. Furthermore since—as that annoying Boxey child had observed—people had become accustomed to the odd Doctor Baltar and his eccentricities, so such gaffes generally were shrugged off.
Not this time.
Laura was on her feet so fast that she banged her knees on the underside of her desk. Pain shot up and down her legs, but it barely registered with her. “What are you doing with her here!” she demanded.
[Battlestar Galactica Reimagined 03] - Sagittarius is Bleeding Page 27
