“P-Pardon? There’s, ah… there’s no one here, Madame President, except you and—”
“You looked right at her. I just saw you do it!”
“What?” There was extreme nervousness in Baltar’s face, and he was stammering very badly.
“She said something and you looked right at her!”
He felt his knees starting to give way, but kept himself on his feet with effort. “Her? What her are you referring to…?”
“Shelly Godfrey! Right there!”
Six looked genuinely stunned. She clapped a hand to her bosom. Baltar slipped up again, looking directly toward her. “I… I…” he stuttered.
“You looked at her again! Don’t tell me I’m just seeing her!”
“She can see me!” Shelly said through tightly clenched teeth. “Do something! Distract her!”
Responding instantly, Baltar tossed on a facade of concern and said, “You appear overwrought, Madame President. Perhaps you’d like to sit down—”
“To hell with that!” shouted Laura. “The audacity! To walk in here with your Cylon… what? Co-conspirator? Lover?!”
Baltar had never come as close to passing out from shock as he did at that moment.
“Madame President…” Baltar began, starting to come around the desk.
Then he jumped back as Laura grabbed a heavy paperweight off her desk with one hand while, with the other, she grabbed up a phone and snapped, “Billy! Get in here with two security guards! Arrest—”
As she spoke, she threw the paperweight directly at Six. Baltar lunged to one side, his head snapped around, and he saw the paperweight sail through empty air and smash into the bulkhead.
Laura swayed behind the desk, clearly stunned that the paperweight had connected with nothing and that Six had apparently vanished into thin air. At that moment, the door flew open, and Billy was there with two armed men from her personal guard. They looked around, saw no one but the president and the vice president and—through process of elimination—figured that Baltar was the threat. The guards grabbed him by either arm. The papers Baltar had brought with him flew in all directions.
“Get your damned hands off me!” Baltar shouted, his voice going up an octave.
“Madame President…” Billy began.
But she waved him off, her face ashen. “Let him go!” she said. When the guards hesitated, still confused over what had just happened, she repeated more firmly, “Let him go.”
The guards did, backing off. “Madame President,” Billy started once more, but then stopped, since he clearly had no idea what to say.
“It… was a misunderstanding,” she said slowly. She continued to address Billy, but she was looking straight at Baltar. “I’m sorry to have summoned you like that. I was… it was just a misunderstanding,” she told them once more, as if repetition would somehow make it more credible.
Her aide didn’t leave immediately. Instead he and Roslin locked gazes, and Baltar knew that there was something more going on here, something that he wasn’t privy to. What did the president have on him and if it was anything, why didn’t she use it?
The personal guards backed out of the room, still looking around suspiciously. Billy continued to look at Roslin for a short time longer, and then very stiffly he said, “Thank you, Madame President,” and stepped out of the office as well.
A deathly silence descended over Baltar and Roslin. Both of them were standing. Finally Roslin eased herself into her chair and tried to arrange her hands neatly, one upon the other, as if nothing untoward had occurred. Baltar then knelt down, gathered the scattered papers, and arranged them neatly in a pile. He took a step forward, placed them on her desk, and stepped back. Still nothing was said.
“Madame President,” he finally asked slowly, “is there something you’d like to tell me?”
She appeared to give the matter some thought, and then replied, “No. I don’t believe there is.”
Baltar squared his shoulders and, very casually, said, “Feel free to review my findings at your leisure. I assume you’re busy at the moment…” He paused and then added, “And have a good deal on your mind.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Do you require me to remain for the imminent Quorum gathering?”
“No, that shouldn’t be necessary.”
“As you wish. Thank you, Madame President.”
“Thank you, Doctor Baltar.”
He got out of the room quickly and headed down the narrow corridor outside. The security guards were a short ways away, and they both gave him extremely suspicious stares as he went past. The moment they were behind him, Number Six was in front of him. Perversely, she seemed delighted with the latest development. “She’s on to you, Gaius.”
He kept walking and, in a low voice, said, “How is that possible?”
“It’s not. That’s what makes it all the more exciting.”
“I could do with a little less excitement in my life, thank you. How could she know about us?”
“She can’t.”
“How did she see you?”
“She couldn’t.”
“You’re not helping.”
Her long legs enabled her to keep pace with him easily. “Helping? I’ve done nothing but help you, Gaius. Helped you with information. Helped you see the future of the human race. Helped you fulfill your full potential. And you have resisted me and fought me at every turn, squandering precious time. And now your time’s running out. She’s on to you.”
“It’s impossible!”
“And yet it is.” She stepped directly in his path and, even though he could have walked right through her, instead he slammed to a halt. “And you better figure out a way to fix it. Fast. Because you have even less time than you think.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means exactly what I said, Gaius. Exactly what I said.”
He turned away from her, feeling as if the corridor around him was tilting sideways. Composing himself, he turned back to face her once more only to see that she was gone.
“Bitch,” he whispered under his breath.
CHAPTER
22
Kara and Agathon, so bored out of their minds that they were tempted to stage a jailbreak just to get shot at and break up the monotony, looked up in mild surprise as the door to the room they were being kept in opened. Kara had thought sure that, once word had reached the ship of Freya’s duplicity, they would immediately be kicked loose. She’d said as much to Adama. But to her annoyance, they’d been informed by a couple of Gunnerson’s lieutenants—one named Tyr, the other Fenris, both of them large and sturdily built, albeit not quite as massive as Gunnerson—that they were going to continue to be kept right where they were until “matters were sorted out to their satisfaction.”
The door opening suggested that such a time might be imminent, and the presence of Tyr standing next to Freya Gunnerson, holding her firmly by one arm, confirmed it. Standing behind Freya were two marines, corporals Jolly and Zac. Jolly, despite his name, had the most perpetually dour expression of any marine Starbuck had ever known, and Zac was a bulky woman who looked fully capable of breaking most men in half. Clearly they had been responsible for escorting her back from Galactica.
“I believe,” said Tyr, “that Freya has something she wishes to say to you.” He nudged her forward slightly and she cast an angry glare at Tyr before looking back at Starbuck and Helo.
“I apologize for the inconvenience,” she said tersely.
“Frak you,” shot back Starbuck, having no patience for her apologies, and said to Tyr, “are we finally free to go?”
“Yes. Enjoy the rest of your stay on the Bifrost.”
“Sure we will,” said Agathon, “because, y’know, it’s been such a joy until now.”
Freya looked as if she was about to respond, but before she could, Tyr and Fenris yanked her away. Jolly and Zac stepped forward, both of them tossing off salutes and saying, “Admiral Adama instruc
ted us to report to you and aid you in your search for the suspect.”
“It’s appreciated,” said Starbuck as she emerged from the room, Helo right behind her. She walked with quick, brisk steps, and they immediately fell into step behind her. The hell of it was that she didn’t have the faintest idea of where they were going, but she looked as if she moving with great authority, so naturally they followed her. It made her wonder if there were times when the Old Man likewise didn’t have the faintest idea what he was doing, but he made his moves with such confidence that people just naturally attended to everything he said and did.
Nah. No way. The Old Man always knew what was best. Always. She should be so lucky to be as on top of things as Adama was.
“We looking for Boxey?” asked Helo.
“Frakking right we’re looking for Boxey,” shot back Starbuck. “At this point, considering all the trouble and hassle we’ve had to deal with because of him, I almost don’t care if he’s a Cylon or not. We’re hauling his ass back to Galactica either way.”
“Where do we start, Lieutenant?” asked Jolly.
“I’m not sure,” she said as they rounded a corner, “but we find him even if we have to tear this whole ship apart panel by panel.”
Boxey awoke inside the crawl ducts. Confused, he started to sit up, but naturally that was impossible since he was surrounded by narrow metal confines. All he managed to do was slam his head on the metal above him, which sent noise and vibrations all up and down the ducts.
He had no idea how long he’d been there. When he’d clambered up into it, his heart had been pounding. He felt as if his entire world had been stood on its ear. Freya had been completely right about Starbuck and the others. They weren’t his friends. Perhaps they never even had been. They were chasing him down as if he was the worst sort of criminal or enemy, and he hadn’t done anything, not a thing. It wasn’t fair. Not at all. Why, they were treating him like…
Like Sharon Valerii. Or even worse.
His heart turned cold and bitter, and angrily he said, “I… I almost wish I was a Cylon. The stuff they’re doing… the way they look at me… it would serve ’em right. It would serve ’em right if I was a Cylon, because then they’d be afraid of me. That would be better than this. Anything would be better than this.”
He waited for his ire to subside, but it didn’t. It made him wonder if it had been like this for Sharon. If there had been a slow build up of suspicion, culminating in her self-realization and her ceasing to fight against her true nature.
He wondered if he had a true nature like that.
What if he was a…?
Boxey shook it off. He didn’t need to have his mind wandering in that direction right now, especially because he felt as if that direction was calling him more strongly than he’d like.
He slithered his way down the duct and found a ceiling panel that he could work loose. He listened for a long moment to make sure that there was no one around, and then gripped the grillwork and eased it up and out of place. He lay it down carefully to make sure that it didn’t make a lot of noise, and then eased himself down and through into the corridor, landing so softly that no one could have heard him.
At that exact instant, Starbuck and Helo, followed by two marines, came around the corner, Starbuck saying in annoyance, “—but we find him even if we have to tear this whole ship apart panel by panel.”
They stopped dead and all five stared at each other.
“Wow,” said Starbuck, clearly impressed with herself.
Instantly Boxey tried to leap back up toward the shaft space, but he only got halfway up before Agathon tackled him around the legs. Boxey tried to kick, but Agathon’s arms were wrapped tightly around them, making it impossible for Boxey to move them. Agathon yanked downward and the two of them hit the floor. Boxey desperately tried to squirm loose but by that point Corporals Jolly and Zac had hauled him to his feet and were holding him securely.
“Long time no see,” said Starbuck dryly. “And here I was just thinking how we should catch up with you.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Boxey snapped. He tried to pull at the marines who were holding him still, but he accomplished nothing on that score. “I’m not a Cylon.”
“Then why did you run?”
“Because you think I’m a Cylon!”
“How do you know that?”
“Because why else would you be here! You don’t like me! You never liked me!”
Starbuck looked taken aback by the ferocity of his accusations. Automatically she said, “That’s not true.”
“You know it is! You know it’s true! I tell you something and Baltar tells you something, and you believe him instead of me! Why?!”
“Because…” Starbuck started to reply, and then stopped. She and Helo looked at each other.
Helo shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I just go where they tell me.”
“Look, Boxey,” she began again.
“Give me one good reason that I should listen to you!”
“Because,” she said patiently but firmly, “I’m bigger than you. I have a couple of guys who are bigger than you, and they’re making sure you don’t go anywhere. So now’s the time to come to terms with the fact that you’re going back to Galactica, and yeah, you’re gonna be checked out, but that’s the way it goes because I have my orders and there’s not a single frakking thing you can do about it.”
As it happened, she could not have been more wrong.
She received her first inkling of her fundamental wrongness, however, the moment that alarms started going off all over the ship.
They were practically deafening, so much so that Boxey had to put his hands to his ears, and even the hardened marines were wincing.
“The two of you, stay here with him,” Kara snapped at them, “and Helo, you’re with me,” and she bolted down the main corridor before any further conversation could be had. Helo promptly took off after her, leaving the two bewildered marines staring at their captive and waiting for someone to tell them what they were supposed to do.
Starbuck and Helo, meantime, were running as fast as they could. They passed frightened Midguardians who were certain that the alarm bells could only mean one thing: another Cylon attack. The same thing had occurred to Starbuck, and she was desperately looking for a viewing port to get a sense of what was going on outside.
“There!” shouted Helo, pointing ahead of them. “A viewing bay! Up there!”
She saw that he was right. A large round port window was set into the bulkhead ahead of them, which would give them a decent—if not enhanced—view of what was in front of them. Starbuck got to the port with Helo directly behind her, looking over her shoulder.
Starbuck gulped deeply when she saw what was heading their way.
“You’ve gotta be frakkin’ kidding me,” she said, her mind numb.
In Galactica’s CIC, Tigh drifted over to Adama and muttered to him in a low voice, “I’ll be right back.”
This alone was unusual: Adama wasn’t going to care if Tigh walked off CIC unannounced. This wasn’t grade school. If nothing else, he would have assumed Tigh was going to the head, and that hardly was worth a separate declaration. The fact that Tigh was taking the time to say something to Adama about his departure spoke volumes. Adama instantly knew that something was up. He met Tigh’s gaze, but saw the look in his XO’s eyes, and all he said in response was, “Okay.”
Tigh walked out of CIC like a man on a mission. When he returned a few minutes later, he was carrying several sheets of paper and a small wandlike device. Adama recognized it immediately for what it was, but he said nothing. Tigh’s movement had caught Dualla’s eye and a couple of other officers’. Like Adama, however, they simply watched in mute curiosity.
Gaeta looked up, bewildered, frowning. He stared uncomprehendingly as Tigh held up a piece of paper that read, “Don’t say a word.” Slowly, still not understanding but not about to do anything contrary to Tigh’s explicit order—even if
it was unspoken—Gaeta nodded.
He held up a second sign. It read, “Hold out your right hand.”
Gaeta did so, wondering obliquely if Tigh was about to slap it or something.
Instead Tigh extended the wand device. Naturally Gaeta recognized it as a bug detector. On two previous occasions he had stepped back from his station as Tigh had run the wand over the entire area to make certain there was no eavesdropping device hidden anywhere. Tigh had even had every member of CIC stand with arms extended to either side and run the wand up and down and around their bodies to make sure their uniforms weren’t bugged. Everything had come up clean. This time, though, Tigh ran it over the back of Gaeta’s hand, right where he had been scratching. Tigh had turned the volume on the wand down to almost nothing, but there was still a detector light on the handle, and the light instantly went off.
Gaeta’s jaw dropped in astonishment. Everyone on CIC, their attention completely engaged, also saw it, and their responses were similar. Adama’s jaw simply twitched which, for him, was the equivalent of his eyes leaping out of their sockets in astonishment.
“Mr. Gaeta,” Tigh said in a careful, measured, easy-to-hear voice, “verify the current emergency Jump point. Pegasus is reporting some uncertainty.” But as he spoke, he held up yet another sign, and it read: “Plot a new Jump point and keep your mouth shut as you’re doing it.”
Slowly Gaeta nodded and said, “Aye, sir.”
Tigh nodded in approval and then turned his gaze toward Adama in unmistakeable triumph. He held up yet another sign. It read, “Not bad for an old guy, huh.”
Not bad at all, mouthed Adama.
Even as he made new calculations, Gaeta spoke clearly—perhaps too clearly, but there was nothing they could do about this sudden self-consciousness—to the Pegasus, reverifying the Jump coordinates that were no longer relevant. He did so speaking into a dead phone, because naturally the Pegasus wasn’t going to know what the hell he was talking about if he’d been speaking directly to them. But if someone was listening in via a subcutaneous listening device in Gaeta’s hand—as Tigh obviously suspected was the case—they weren’t going to know that.
[Battlestar Galactica Reimagined 03] - Sagittarius is Bleeding Page 28
