Sagittarius Is Bleeding: Battlestar Galactica 3

by Peter David

  “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 and 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.

  “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 façade 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. Bal-tar 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 instructed 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 Star-buck. “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 did
n’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!”