Alarm bells rang in Laura Roslin’s head. Early in her career as president, Commander Adama and Colonel Tigh had accused her of instigating unrest and tried to force her out of office. She had resisted and eventually won her position and their respect, but the situation had been dicey for a while, and Laura had lived in fear that what remained of the Colonies was heading for a military dictatorship. Now Sarah Porter looked to be heading down a similar road, one that led to a religious dictatorship. But how should she turn Sarah aside? It was always best to convince rather than dictate, whether you were teaching or governing, but Laura was so damned tired. Her mind flowed like a slushy stream, and she couldn’t get herself to focus.
Wake up! she told herself sternly. You can sleep when you’re dead, and the way things are going, that’ll be right soon. So get your work done, woman.
The room wavered like a desert mirage. What was the last thing Sarah had said? Something about arresting Unity members as dissidents. A small part of Laura agreed with Sarah’s sentiments, wrong-minded as they were. Maybe she could use her own sympathy to get Sarah’s and bring her around. Dammit, she hated this. It was like being forced to work under the worst case of flu in history. A drain had opened and strength was rapidly flowing out of her. She could barely sit up now, but she had to find the strength to speak somewhere. Laura took one deep breath, then took a second. But before she could speak, Tom raised a finger.
“I need to interject here, Sarah,” he said. “I feel duty-bound to remind you that it’s the government’s job to protect its citizens, and regardless of how we”—and Laura instantly caught Tom’s careful use of we instead of you—“might feel about them, it sounds like the Unity members are actually victims who need protection. As government officials, we don’t have the luxury of deciding who is worth protecting and who isn’t. If the Unity is attacked, it’s our job to defend its members.”
Laura stared, unsure of her own ears. Tom was taking her side? Why?
But even as she asked, the answer came. Tom was all about the rights of the individual, no matter how difficult or inconvenient those rights might be. That included the rights of a religious minority. Laura had automatically assumed Tom was out to make trouble for her, but instead he was helping. She glanced at him with a small measure of respect, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“I should defend heretics?” Porter’s face was hard. “Tom, Geminon has a long history of careful adherence to the laws set down by the Lords of Kobol. These Unity people are damning themselves by their preachings and their beliefs.”
“Then it’ll be up to the Lords of Kobol to deal with them,” Laura said. The words came with aching slowness, as if she had to pull them out of thick mud. “But in the meantime, we can’t tell them what to believe or what to say.”
“They’re dangerous! Just listening to their lies turns my stomach and makes me fear for my soul.” Porter got up and paced around the tiny office like an angry wolf. Laura envied her easy power, her fluid vitality. What would it be like to have strength to spare for pacing? She felt herself slump a little more. In minute she was going to collapse, she could feel it. Laura had to wrap this up, get Sarah out of her office before that happened.
“How can I let them spread such filth around Geminese ships?” Sarah continued, oblivious to Laura’s distress. “They threaten everything Geminon stands for, and they need to be exterminated.”
And then the words came to Laura. She murmured, “That sounds like something the Cylons would say.”
That stopped Sarah Porter. She stared at Laura for a long moment, then turned and gazed out the window. Laura never could bring herself to call them “portholes.” Stupid thought to have right before you were going to collapse. She needed to speak, but her energy was gone. The floor rocked slightly—a bad sign—and the words wouldn’t come.
Tom came to her rescue. His charisma was in “on” mode now, and his presence filled the room like a brewing thunderstorm. “If you want another assessment,” he said, “think of it this way. We’ll turn the Unity into martyrs if we muzzle them or arrest them. It would probably be better to take the tone of a parent indulging the whims of a silly child. You know what I mean—‘It’s a phase. He’ll grow tired of it and come around.’ And if there is no truth to what they preach, the Unity will eventually collapse. Then you can look merciful and magnanimous by accepting its former members back into the fold.” He flashed a grin. “Everyone wins.”
Sarah continued staring out at the cold stars. Laura was holding herself upright now by sheer strength of will, and even that was fading fast. But if she dismissed Sarah now, it would look like Laura was ordering Sarah to agree with her instead of letting it happen naturally.
Please, Laura begged silently. See it my way. Our way. Then both of you can go and I can collapse.
“All right,” Sarah said at last. “We’ll try it that way. Thank you, Madam President. Tom.”
Laura nodded acknowledgment. Her head weighed a thousand pounds and the motion almost broke her neck. Sarah left, and Tom was at the curtains. Her energy was gone, but somewhere she found a tiny spark that let her speak.
“Tom,” she said. Her voice was soft partly out of calculation and partly out of necessity.
He stopped at the doorway and turned, eyebrows raised.
“Why?” She was whispering now. “Why take my side?”
Tom paused, and for a horrible moment Laura was sure he was going to say he had helped because she was dying. She didn’t think she could stand the pity of someone like Tom Zarek.
“It’s never been about you, Laura,” he said softly. “It’s been about the people.”
He left. The moment the curtains fell shut behind Tom Zarek, Laura collapsed over her desk blotter. She lay there, halfconscious. In a minute she would have the strength to get up and move to the couch, but for now …
“Madam President?” An urgent hand shook her shoulder. “Madam President, are you all right? Should I call the doctor?”
Laura managed to raise her head enough to look into Billy Keikeya’s eyes. “Doctor Cottle can’t do anything, Billy. I just need to sleep.”
“At least let me help you to the couch,” he said. “Come on.”
She was only vaguely aware of Billy’s solicitous hands guiding her to the couch and helping her lie down. His presence comforted her more than it should have, and she wondered, not for the first time, what their relationship might have been if they hadn’t been separated by multiple decades and several lines of professionalism. “Billy,” she said. “I’m glad for your help.”
“It’s what I’m here for, Madam President,” was all he said.
The still hissed quietly to itself. Helo remained frozen, his head still sticking into the space behind the grating that hid the little machine. Sharon knelt beside it, looking almost serene. She wore a bulky gray jumpsuit she must have scavenged or stolen from somewhere. It looked warm, and it completely hid her rounding stomach. Helo couldn’t even tell she was pregnant.
“Frak,” Helo whispered. “Sharon, are you okay?”
“Perfectly fine,” she said. “Though now that you’ve seen me, I may have to kill you.”
Helo went cold all over. Sharon could do it. He had seen her move inhumanly fast before, and she was strong as a steel spider. “You wouldn’t,” he said, hoping he sounded braver than he felt.
“Actually, I haven’t decided yet. That’s why you’re still alive, Helo.”
“Why …” Helo swallowed. “Why did you kill the guard? You could have just knocked him out. Hell, why escape at all?”
Sharon snorted. “You have to ask?”
“I do. Dammit, Sharon, you’ve done nothing but help us before. Why run now?”
“The reason’s standing in front of you, Helo,” Sharon scoffed. “But you’re too stupid to see it. After everything I’ve done for Galactica, you still kept me in a cage. You treat me like an enemy.”
“I don’t.”
“Well, no,” Sharon ad
mitted. “That’s true. But you haven’t tried to persuade Adama to release me, either.”
“How do you know what I have or haven’t done?”
“If you really tried—really, really tried—you could get me released. So frak it. You treat me like an enemy, I’m going to act like one. It’s a hell of a lot more interesting than sitting in a cell all day, Helo.”
“How did you get out, anyway?”
“Please,” she snorted again. “That little box you call a jail? Not even close. I only pretended that cardboard brig could hold me. Adama would have spaced me if he had known otherwise.”
“But now you’re in worse trouble,” Helo pointed out, trying to remain calm and reasonable. Sharon sat serenely, but he saw coiled springs and sheathed claws in her body language. He felt like he had found a tiger in his closet, or maybe a time bomb. “Half the ship is hunting for you.”
“Like they’ll ever find me.”
“I did.”
“Because I let you.”
“The platoons—”
Sharon waved this off. “You’re not creative enough to look in all the places someone could hide. You just look in the places where you think someone could hide. I’m a lot more bendable than a human. You guys don’t bend—you break.”
“What about our baby?” Helo said. “Didn’t you think of that before you escaped?”
“The baby,” she repeated. “Yes, I thought about it. I decided it would be better for it to die free than live in a prison.”
“Commander Adama would never imprison a baby,” Helo protested.
“Oh, sure. And she’d have a fine life, right? A half-breed, living among humans. You have a great track record for love and tolerance. Admit it—you think of the baby as half Cylon.”
“As opposed to?” Helo asked, a bit of anger edging past the fear.
“Half human.”
That stopped Helo. He had to admit Sharon was right. He thought of the baby as half Cylon, meaning he focused on the nonhuman aspect. And the baby was his own. How would other people react to such a child? Would they see a child or a creature that was half enemy? The answer was obvious.
“How would your people see the baby?” he countered. “As half human?”
“We want babies, Helo,” she reminded him almost gently. “This one would be precious—the first baby born to a Cylon ever.”
“But your people killed babies,” Helo shot back. “Thousands of them. Hundreds of thousands.”
“Are you trying to guilt me into turning myself in?” she asked. “It won’t work. I’m not going back to that cell. It’s more interesting out here. There’s more to do, causing trouble for the Fleet. And you don’t have a hope of catching me. Even if I decide not to kill you, I’ll be long gone before you can call the marines.”
“And what about when you’re too pregnant to get around well? Or when the baby is born? You can’t hide a crying baby.”
“I’ll worry about it then.” She leaned toward him over the still, and Helo had to force himself not to draw away. Abruptly she grabbed his face with both hands and yanked him into a long, hard kiss. Her lips were cool. He forced himself not to struggle—she could break his neck. Maybe she was planning to. A part of Helo wondered if he looked ridiculous, with his ass hanging out of the vent space and his torso pulled over a still. Then Sharon released him.
“So that’s what it’s like,” she murmured.
Helo blinked to clear his head. It was buzzing. “What do you mean?”
“Just Cylon talk,” she said. “You’d better get going now. I’m not going to kill you.”
“Yeah?” His tone was slightly sarcastic. “Because I’m a good kisser?”
“Because someone else just might do the job for me.”
Before he could respond, alarms blared all over the ship.
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 Cap
rica. 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.
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