Fic: Running Naked with the Oracle (because I love weed)
Just a little speculation about life on New Caprica, pre-occupation. Written solely because the adama_roslin "birthday game" gave me such an excellent sentence.
Characters: OC, Dedona Selloi, Tory Foster, Laura Roslin, Duck, Baltar
Rating: T (nudity, drug use, as should be obvious from the title)
“Honestly, Dedona,” I said, passing her the joint and leaning back into the tie-dyed bean-bag chair in the corner of her tent as I exhaled. “I think our frakking President is only into frakking. Not Presidenting. Have you seen the girls going in and out of Colonial One?”
Dedona nodded. “Young. Skimpier outfits every week.” She looked down at her own flowing robes and pulled them more tightly around her with her free hand. “I feel sorry for them. It’s cold here. And he’s gross.”
“Gross and derelict,” I declared, taking the joint back from her and inhaling deeply. “Gods, that’s good.”
“Maybe you have to be naked to get the President to pay attention to you around here,” she mused.
My head spun with possibilities. I’d only encountered the President once, before he was President; he’d made a pass at me in the bathroom of Cloud Nine. I’ve seen the former President many more times in comparison; smoked with her, even. Pretty cool chick.
But not as cool as Dedona. I rolled off the bean-bag chair and onto my stomach, kicking my legs up behind me as I tried not to appear overtly devious. I’ve just had an excellent idea.
“What, Diana?” she asked warily.
Damn. I’d forgotten about her oracling powers.
“We want Baltar . . . to pave the streets, create infrastructure that will give us better bathrooms than we had in space, ensure we have enough food to eat and medicine to keep us healthy,” I began.
“I want candy. Where’s the work on the candy factory?” Dedona interrupted me.
“Right.” Dedona always wants candy. It’s how we first became friends, when I came to her tent and shared some dried apple slices with her. She busted out the chamalla to celebrate, then we decided to see what would happen when combined with the local smokeable, topped off with Galen Tyrol's rotgut. Nothing that should be repeated too frequently, I can report. “Anyway. I think it’s a well-known fact that none of those things are happening, nor do they appear to be on the imminent horizon of our allegedly better tomorrow.”
“So?”
“So maybe we have to find a way to relate to the President. Catch his attention. Make him listen, really listen,” I said, getting excited.
“How’s that?” she asked, but I knew she already knew where I was going with this.
“A naked march on Colonial One,” I announced, handing the joint back to her so she could re-light it off one of the many prayer candles behind her. “It’ll be awesome.”
“Oh no,” she said, and closed her eyes. She murmured in a low, quiet voice I couldn’t understand, but after hanging out in her tent for the past few weeks for daily smoke sessions, it’s not completely unexpected. I rolled on my back and let her ride it out, while I quietly examine the swirling smoke accumulating in the top of the tent. It reminds me of cotton candy, of dandelion weeds, of my favorite rice pudding, of the Tauron-style steam baths I used to visit whenever my business took me to that desolate world. Good food, though, I recall as my stomach rumbles. Damn weed always makes me hungry. Not enough food to go around now. Baltar’s fault, I recall hazily.
My gaze turned down from the ceiling to a burgundy tapestry. The black designs shifted, and I suddenly saw the path for the naked march.
Dedona finally stopped talking to herself. “Doe?” I asked tentatively. “What do the gods think of this plan?”
“Hmm.” She laughed. “They like it. This planet requires a strong constitution and a proactive mindset. The naked march shows both.” She looked down at her scarf and daintily dusted off some accumulated grey ash. “I get to wear my turban, though.”
“Oh, definitely,” I said. “And I get to carry a bag full of weed.”
“A peace offering for the President,” she said knowingly.
“Something to entice people to join us,” I corrected. “Lower their inhibitions. Create a relaxed vibe that’s not threatening or violent. We just want to prove a point.”
“We’re doing this today, aren’t we.” Her question's rhetorical; she already knows, of course.
I stood up and parted the flap to her tent to check the status of the weather; no rain. "It's on. Let's go raise awareness."
"We need a better name than naked march," she said, leaving her robes pooled on the floor as she rose.
Who are we and what are we doing? I wonder. We were of the Twelve Worlds once, Capricans, Taurons, and Sagittarons, Scorpians and Librans; farmers and teachers and entrepreneurs and writers. The sad, muddy reality is that we are all underutilized New Capricans now. "Naked New Capricans for Governmental Accountability." My suggestion was muffled against my rough burlap dress as I pulled it over my head. I hesitated only a moment before shucking off my bra and underwear, too.
Whether she heard me or not, Doe and the gods approve; she boldly stepped out of the tent, her turban looking incongruous in juxtaposition with her pale, bare skin. I grabbed my purse and slung it across my body, checking to make sure I've got plenty of joints ready to share. I could hear Dedona talking outside the tent, her voice rising with excitement as she explained our mission.
Considering the number of joints I've got on my person and our aims for this peaceful procession, the few battered matches in my skirt pocket won't be of much help, so I grabbed a few lit candles before blowing out the rest and stepping outside.
"Hey, Tory," I greeted my frenemy, who was talking to Doe with a skeptical look on her face. I’ve hated her ever since she beat me out for the Presidential aide position and got to move to Colonial One, but now we’re more or less back where we started, and we run into each other all the time. "You gonna storm the streets with us?”
Her nose wrinkled as she looked me over; I couldn’t care less. I gave her some serious bitchface, but the damn weed made me burst out laughing before long. “Come on, Foster.” I passed my armful of prayer candles to Dedona so that I could fumble around in my purse. “Here you go. Incentive.”
Tory accepted her prize and tucked it behind her ear. “Let me just drop my stuff off at my tent and I’ll be right with you.”
I nodded at Doe. “So say we all,” she said floatily, eyes fixated on a dancing flame.
We’d attracted a semi-circle of onlookers while talking to Tory. “We are Naked New Capricans for Governmental Accountability!” I yelled at the gawkers. “Join us as we march on Colonial One to demand improved infrastructure, better access to medicine, a more fair food rationing system!”
“And candy,” added Dedona. “We also demand candy!”
A couple I recognized from the Rising Star looked at each other and shrugged before stripping off their clothes. “Shoes are okay, though, right?” asked the girl from beneath her dark blond fringe as she struggled to get her pants off.
“Whatever you want to wear is fine! We are making a point to the President,” I explained. “Apparently only naked chicks merit Presidential consideration. If that is so-- we must stoop to his level!”
“And it will work,” Dedona predicted for the crowd’s benefit. “We will be heard. And it will be good!”
She lights a joint and passes it to the couple, now naked, then holds out her hand to me to take a few more to distribute.
“We’re gonna smoke and march and make a scene!” I screamed. “Come on!”
I’m glad I’ve left my boots on, too, as I start walking through the muddy, rutted street. “Naked New Capricans for change! What do we want?”
“Candy,” Dedona said resolutely.
I shrugged. Good enough. “When do we want it?”
“All the time!” she said back, louder this time.
I linked my arm through hers so she can keep pace with me on our walk. “Doe, the answer is ‘now.’ Not ‘candy, all the time.’ When do we want it? Now!”
“Now!” she echoed with middling conviction.
“Good, let’s try it again.” I turn backwards to face our small but growing following. “What do we want?”
“Accountability,” chimes in a naked Tory Foster.
I grinned. “When do we want it?”
“Now!”
We run through the tried and true rally for a couple more rounds, and by the time I looked behind me again, the fleshy crowd had grown to a good two dozen.
“It’s working!” I whispered to Doe.
We walked past the construction kiosk to which I’m nominally supposed to report each morning, but without any materials requisitions coming in, haven’t had much to do most days but turn around and go back to my tent or Dedona’s, or out exploring if the weather’s nice, which it rarely is. From the small contingent of people standing around it, I deduce that today is no different.
“Join us,” I called to my coworkers. “We’re tired of not working, we’re tired of muddy streets and canvas homes and digging latrines.”
“We’re mad as hell, and we’re not going to take it any more,” added Tory.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Keep smoking, Foster. We’re not trying to be mad as hell. We’re trying to be mellow, and direct, and keep the crowd under control, and I’ll be out of this stash if you keep egging everyone on.”
She took a deep drag and kept on walking. Soon the entire skeleton staff of Construction Unit # 5 had ditched their clothes and joined our cause.
Tory suddenly stopped in her tracks, causing a minor pile-up of naked people behind her, who were a little slow in sorting themselves out. I snorted. New Caprica was a hornier place than my co-ed summer camp on Scorpia. “What’s up?” I asked her once the bodies disentangled.
She gave a minute nod of her head to the school tent on the left, and Dedona giggled.
“What? It’s not like the kids don’t see naked adults in the showers once a week, anyway,” I said defensively.
“Actually, they should have been dismissed for the day by now, I think,” Tory offered.
In truth, I’m slightly afraid to look over there.
“Ms. Petros,” called a throaty alto. “I do believe you seem to have misplaced your clothing.”
I fixed a smile on my face and turned. “And encouraged everyone else to do so, as well,” I said, gesturing around to the growing group. “We are Naked New Capricans for Governmental Accountability, and we are taking our grievances to President Baltar.”
“We want paved streets and candy. Now,” Dedona added.
I walked closer to the former President and rummaged around in my bag, offering her a joint and a light. “Join us?” I ask, nonchalant. Her presence would lend some serious credibility to our cause.
Laura looked back at the school tent; I can tell she’s considering it. She scans the crowd briefly, and at the wicked grin that follows, I know she’s made her choice.
“Yeah!” cheers one of my coworkers, an older, bearded man, when Laura began stripping at the entrance to the school tent. Like the rest of us, she left her boots on and everything else behind.
“Give me that joint,” she ordered me once the march resumed. I lit one for her off the end of my own (second? third? fourth? I’ve lost count, but my stash is still going strong) and handed it to her. She drew in the heavy smoke in a slow, savoring breath and held it.
“Good stuff, Diana,” she said with a wink before her long exhale added to a thick bluish plume following the crowd.
We picked up the pace as we approached the center of New Caprica City, having finally reached a critical mass of naked, agitated people ready to demand satisfaction from their erstwhile leader. We are united in our cause; brothers and sisters in deprivation, our troubles eased only by the rejuvenating, hope-inspiring herb. In a moment of panic, I worry that getting everyone high might have made the group too mellow to adequately express our concerns. Oh well; just as there’s no way to un-ring a bell, there’s no way to un-smoke a joint. And as I glanced around at my compatriots, I see a steely determination and frustration that inspires me to come up with a new chant.
“President Baltar, How do you do? Too busy to lead while there’s sluts to be screwed! We are here and we’re pissed, we want toilets, not ditch. And our rations are small, are you eating it all? We come without clothes, so we don’t come to blows.” I whisper it the first time, testing out the words in my mouth. After years in marketing, I know there’s no use in a good jingle if people can’t chime in easily.
I say it again, louder, and am pleased at the general tone, if not the grammar.
“What’s that?” Dedona asked, walking at a fast clip with elbows pumping and breasts swinging. “Say it again, Di?”
I told her, and a serene smile crept across her face. “I like it.”
I ran it by Tory-- the chick does have some good ideas, sometimes-- and she actually laughed. I never actually saw her toke, but at this point I think we’re all just reinforcing each other’s contact highs, given the ridiculous microclimate we’ve created beneath our canopy of herbal smoke.
The crowd caught on to the chant quickly, and before long we’ve run through our rhyming litany of complaints a good dozen times. The group is ready, and just in time, as we finally approached Colonial One. The ship looks far dingier in the atmosphere than it ever did in space, from what I can remember of seeing it from the Rising Star’s recreation area.
“Bal-tar!” I screamed. The crowd followed my lead, calling for him to come down from his lair. Laura Roslin started a slow clap, ominous in its cadence. Her eyes opened in surprise when the hatch of the ship finally rises.
“Uh--” Baltar looked around from behind his two armed goons, confusion, disgust, and fear all evident on his face. “What is the meaning of this?”
The crowd looks to me, and I gamely step forward to explain. “Well, sir, we noticed that the only people who seem to be able to get appointments with the President on Colonial One tend to be rather...scantily clad. So we determined that perhaps we should come see you in person and let you know what we think of this frakking planet.”
Roslin looked in my direction approvingly and nodded. Emboldened, I continued.
“We want to be put back to work. I work in construction; we’ve got no materials to build with.” I gestured to the rest of Construction Unit Number 5, and they clapped, hooted and waved. “Other people would be laying down infrastructure, working on water purification so we could actually have a potable water system. But instead--”
“Instead you’re frakking whores and popping pills!” burst in a bitter, raspy voice. “Asshole!”
“Leave now! This is a disturbance of the peace and it will not be tolerated,” blustered Baltar. “Grievances are to be directed through the proper channels--”
“FRAK the proper channels!” shouted a ginger guy I knew only as Duck. “How are we supposed to live on half rations, less than when we were in space?”
“Yeah! How? Frak!” rabbled the crowd. I grinned.
“You all leave me with no choice,” simpered Baltar. “I had so hoped to have a productive discussion--”
I look at Dedona sardonically. “Productive discussion, my ass,” I whisper, giving my own assets a saucy shake.
“Stop-- stop that right now!” Baltar yelled, his eyes wide and fixed in my direction. I sighed and crossed my arms over my chest. “You all leave me with no choice.” He looked behind him and gestured to the dark-haired figure at the top of the ladder up into Colonial One. “Felix, disperse our friends here, please.”
“But sir, the pressure,” came a quiet response.
“Do it,” Baltar commanded.
With shoulders slumped, Baltar’s aide descended the few stairs and moved beneath the belly of the ship.
It’s just a few droplets at first, and I thought for a moment that maybe the inevitable rain has returned. But soon the gentle drops become stinging, painful missiles, followed by an outright leveling force. I gasped in relief when it was directed elsewhere and squinted.
A fire hose. Damn.
“Run!” I yelled. “Back to the settlement!” Most of the group didn’t need to be told twice. I grabbed Dedona, who was standing totally still with a strange look on her face that I knew meant she was not quite present.
“Doe, come on!” I grabbed her hand and took off at a sprint. “Did you see that?” I huffed.
“Yeah,” she said, rolling her eyes at me. “I felt it. That frakker not only has running water, but water pressure to spare.”
Said water, shot with said pressure, sprayed against our backsides as we made our hasty retreat.
“Godsdamn but that hurts,” I gritted out. I looked around; the Naked New Capricans for Governmental Accountability (how did we not even get around to telling Baltar our name, I wondered) were now a sad, soppy lot, with angry red welts across our bodies where the spray made direct contact. Laura Roslin was giggling as she ran, her wild auburn locks a soggy mess. Tory Foster looked pissed, a distinct look of I did not sign up for this written across her face.
But my leather bag has protected my dwindling stash of weed, I discreetly noted with a prod. “Man,” I said to Dedona, slightly out of breath as we continued to run from the hose’s range. “I don’t think we got our message through to him very well, but I bet we made an impression anyway.”
“And he’s just used up all his available water,” she said with a faraway gaze that tells me I’m better off not asking how, exactly, she knows that.
“Looks like we’re back to square one,” I said. “Let’s grab our clothes and head up into the foothills. Weed is the only thing that makes this place tolerable, and we’re gonna need some more after today.”
“Sure,” Dedona said. “I’ve got a feeling we might find something sweet up there, too.”
Characters: OC, Dedona Selloi, Tory Foster, Laura Roslin, Duck, Baltar
Rating: T (nudity, drug use, as should be obvious from the title)
“Honestly, Dedona,” I said, passing her the joint and leaning back into the tie-dyed bean-bag chair in the corner of her tent as I exhaled. “I think our frakking President is only into frakking. Not Presidenting. Have you seen the girls going in and out of Colonial One?”
Dedona nodded. “Young. Skimpier outfits every week.” She looked down at her own flowing robes and pulled them more tightly around her with her free hand. “I feel sorry for them. It’s cold here. And he’s gross.”
“Gross and derelict,” I declared, taking the joint back from her and inhaling deeply. “Gods, that’s good.”
“Maybe you have to be naked to get the President to pay attention to you around here,” she mused.
My head spun with possibilities. I’d only encountered the President once, before he was President; he’d made a pass at me in the bathroom of Cloud Nine. I’ve seen the former President many more times in comparison; smoked with her, even. Pretty cool chick.
But not as cool as Dedona. I rolled off the bean-bag chair and onto my stomach, kicking my legs up behind me as I tried not to appear overtly devious. I’ve just had an excellent idea.
“What, Diana?” she asked warily.
Damn. I’d forgotten about her oracling powers.
“We want Baltar . . . to pave the streets, create infrastructure that will give us better bathrooms than we had in space, ensure we have enough food to eat and medicine to keep us healthy,” I began.
“I want candy. Where’s the work on the candy factory?” Dedona interrupted me.
“Right.” Dedona always wants candy. It’s how we first became friends, when I came to her tent and shared some dried apple slices with her. She busted out the chamalla to celebrate, then we decided to see what would happen when combined with the local smokeable, topped off with Galen Tyrol's rotgut. Nothing that should be repeated too frequently, I can report. “Anyway. I think it’s a well-known fact that none of those things are happening, nor do they appear to be on the imminent horizon of our allegedly better tomorrow.”
“So?”
“So maybe we have to find a way to relate to the President. Catch his attention. Make him listen, really listen,” I said, getting excited.
“How’s that?” she asked, but I knew she already knew where I was going with this.
“A naked march on Colonial One,” I announced, handing the joint back to her so she could re-light it off one of the many prayer candles behind her. “It’ll be awesome.”
“Oh no,” she said, and closed her eyes. She murmured in a low, quiet voice I couldn’t understand, but after hanging out in her tent for the past few weeks for daily smoke sessions, it’s not completely unexpected. I rolled on my back and let her ride it out, while I quietly examine the swirling smoke accumulating in the top of the tent. It reminds me of cotton candy, of dandelion weeds, of my favorite rice pudding, of the Tauron-style steam baths I used to visit whenever my business took me to that desolate world. Good food, though, I recall as my stomach rumbles. Damn weed always makes me hungry. Not enough food to go around now. Baltar’s fault, I recall hazily.
My gaze turned down from the ceiling to a burgundy tapestry. The black designs shifted, and I suddenly saw the path for the naked march.
Dedona finally stopped talking to herself. “Doe?” I asked tentatively. “What do the gods think of this plan?”
“Hmm.” She laughed. “They like it. This planet requires a strong constitution and a proactive mindset. The naked march shows both.” She looked down at her scarf and daintily dusted off some accumulated grey ash. “I get to wear my turban, though.”
“Oh, definitely,” I said. “And I get to carry a bag full of weed.”
“A peace offering for the President,” she said knowingly.
“Something to entice people to join us,” I corrected. “Lower their inhibitions. Create a relaxed vibe that’s not threatening or violent. We just want to prove a point.”
“We’re doing this today, aren’t we.” Her question's rhetorical; she already knows, of course.
I stood up and parted the flap to her tent to check the status of the weather; no rain. "It's on. Let's go raise awareness."
"We need a better name than naked march," she said, leaving her robes pooled on the floor as she rose.
Who are we and what are we doing? I wonder. We were of the Twelve Worlds once, Capricans, Taurons, and Sagittarons, Scorpians and Librans; farmers and teachers and entrepreneurs and writers. The sad, muddy reality is that we are all underutilized New Capricans now. "Naked New Capricans for Governmental Accountability." My suggestion was muffled against my rough burlap dress as I pulled it over my head. I hesitated only a moment before shucking off my bra and underwear, too.
Whether she heard me or not, Doe and the gods approve; she boldly stepped out of the tent, her turban looking incongruous in juxtaposition with her pale, bare skin. I grabbed my purse and slung it across my body, checking to make sure I've got plenty of joints ready to share. I could hear Dedona talking outside the tent, her voice rising with excitement as she explained our mission.
Considering the number of joints I've got on my person and our aims for this peaceful procession, the few battered matches in my skirt pocket won't be of much help, so I grabbed a few lit candles before blowing out the rest and stepping outside.
"Hey, Tory," I greeted my frenemy, who was talking to Doe with a skeptical look on her face. I’ve hated her ever since she beat me out for the Presidential aide position and got to move to Colonial One, but now we’re more or less back where we started, and we run into each other all the time. "You gonna storm the streets with us?”
Her nose wrinkled as she looked me over; I couldn’t care less. I gave her some serious bitchface, but the damn weed made me burst out laughing before long. “Come on, Foster.” I passed my armful of prayer candles to Dedona so that I could fumble around in my purse. “Here you go. Incentive.”
Tory accepted her prize and tucked it behind her ear. “Let me just drop my stuff off at my tent and I’ll be right with you.”
I nodded at Doe. “So say we all,” she said floatily, eyes fixated on a dancing flame.
We’d attracted a semi-circle of onlookers while talking to Tory. “We are Naked New Capricans for Governmental Accountability!” I yelled at the gawkers. “Join us as we march on Colonial One to demand improved infrastructure, better access to medicine, a more fair food rationing system!”
“And candy,” added Dedona. “We also demand candy!”
A couple I recognized from the Rising Star looked at each other and shrugged before stripping off their clothes. “Shoes are okay, though, right?” asked the girl from beneath her dark blond fringe as she struggled to get her pants off.
“Whatever you want to wear is fine! We are making a point to the President,” I explained. “Apparently only naked chicks merit Presidential consideration. If that is so-- we must stoop to his level!”
“And it will work,” Dedona predicted for the crowd’s benefit. “We will be heard. And it will be good!”
She lights a joint and passes it to the couple, now naked, then holds out her hand to me to take a few more to distribute.
“We’re gonna smoke and march and make a scene!” I screamed. “Come on!”
I’m glad I’ve left my boots on, too, as I start walking through the muddy, rutted street. “Naked New Capricans for change! What do we want?”
“Candy,” Dedona said resolutely.
I shrugged. Good enough. “When do we want it?”
“All the time!” she said back, louder this time.
I linked my arm through hers so she can keep pace with me on our walk. “Doe, the answer is ‘now.’ Not ‘candy, all the time.’ When do we want it? Now!”
“Now!” she echoed with middling conviction.
“Good, let’s try it again.” I turn backwards to face our small but growing following. “What do we want?”
“Accountability,” chimes in a naked Tory Foster.
I grinned. “When do we want it?”
“Now!”
We run through the tried and true rally for a couple more rounds, and by the time I looked behind me again, the fleshy crowd had grown to a good two dozen.
“It’s working!” I whispered to Doe.
We walked past the construction kiosk to which I’m nominally supposed to report each morning, but without any materials requisitions coming in, haven’t had much to do most days but turn around and go back to my tent or Dedona’s, or out exploring if the weather’s nice, which it rarely is. From the small contingent of people standing around it, I deduce that today is no different.
“Join us,” I called to my coworkers. “We’re tired of not working, we’re tired of muddy streets and canvas homes and digging latrines.”
“We’re mad as hell, and we’re not going to take it any more,” added Tory.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Keep smoking, Foster. We’re not trying to be mad as hell. We’re trying to be mellow, and direct, and keep the crowd under control, and I’ll be out of this stash if you keep egging everyone on.”
She took a deep drag and kept on walking. Soon the entire skeleton staff of Construction Unit # 5 had ditched their clothes and joined our cause.
Tory suddenly stopped in her tracks, causing a minor pile-up of naked people behind her, who were a little slow in sorting themselves out. I snorted. New Caprica was a hornier place than my co-ed summer camp on Scorpia. “What’s up?” I asked her once the bodies disentangled.
She gave a minute nod of her head to the school tent on the left, and Dedona giggled.
“What? It’s not like the kids don’t see naked adults in the showers once a week, anyway,” I said defensively.
“Actually, they should have been dismissed for the day by now, I think,” Tory offered.
In truth, I’m slightly afraid to look over there.
“Ms. Petros,” called a throaty alto. “I do believe you seem to have misplaced your clothing.”
I fixed a smile on my face and turned. “And encouraged everyone else to do so, as well,” I said, gesturing around to the growing group. “We are Naked New Capricans for Governmental Accountability, and we are taking our grievances to President Baltar.”
“We want paved streets and candy. Now,” Dedona added.
I walked closer to the former President and rummaged around in my bag, offering her a joint and a light. “Join us?” I ask, nonchalant. Her presence would lend some serious credibility to our cause.
Laura looked back at the school tent; I can tell she’s considering it. She scans the crowd briefly, and at the wicked grin that follows, I know she’s made her choice.
“Yeah!” cheers one of my coworkers, an older, bearded man, when Laura began stripping at the entrance to the school tent. Like the rest of us, she left her boots on and everything else behind.
“Give me that joint,” she ordered me once the march resumed. I lit one for her off the end of my own (second? third? fourth? I’ve lost count, but my stash is still going strong) and handed it to her. She drew in the heavy smoke in a slow, savoring breath and held it.
“Good stuff, Diana,” she said with a wink before her long exhale added to a thick bluish plume following the crowd.
We picked up the pace as we approached the center of New Caprica City, having finally reached a critical mass of naked, agitated people ready to demand satisfaction from their erstwhile leader. We are united in our cause; brothers and sisters in deprivation, our troubles eased only by the rejuvenating, hope-inspiring herb. In a moment of panic, I worry that getting everyone high might have made the group too mellow to adequately express our concerns. Oh well; just as there’s no way to un-ring a bell, there’s no way to un-smoke a joint. And as I glanced around at my compatriots, I see a steely determination and frustration that inspires me to come up with a new chant.
“President Baltar, How do you do? Too busy to lead while there’s sluts to be screwed! We are here and we’re pissed, we want toilets, not ditch. And our rations are small, are you eating it all? We come without clothes, so we don’t come to blows.” I whisper it the first time, testing out the words in my mouth. After years in marketing, I know there’s no use in a good jingle if people can’t chime in easily.
I say it again, louder, and am pleased at the general tone, if not the grammar.
“What’s that?” Dedona asked, walking at a fast clip with elbows pumping and breasts swinging. “Say it again, Di?”
I told her, and a serene smile crept across her face. “I like it.”
I ran it by Tory-- the chick does have some good ideas, sometimes-- and she actually laughed. I never actually saw her toke, but at this point I think we’re all just reinforcing each other’s contact highs, given the ridiculous microclimate we’ve created beneath our canopy of herbal smoke.
The crowd caught on to the chant quickly, and before long we’ve run through our rhyming litany of complaints a good dozen times. The group is ready, and just in time, as we finally approached Colonial One. The ship looks far dingier in the atmosphere than it ever did in space, from what I can remember of seeing it from the Rising Star’s recreation area.
“Bal-tar!” I screamed. The crowd followed my lead, calling for him to come down from his lair. Laura Roslin started a slow clap, ominous in its cadence. Her eyes opened in surprise when the hatch of the ship finally rises.
“Uh--” Baltar looked around from behind his two armed goons, confusion, disgust, and fear all evident on his face. “What is the meaning of this?”
The crowd looks to me, and I gamely step forward to explain. “Well, sir, we noticed that the only people who seem to be able to get appointments with the President on Colonial One tend to be rather...scantily clad. So we determined that perhaps we should come see you in person and let you know what we think of this frakking planet.”
Roslin looked in my direction approvingly and nodded. Emboldened, I continued.
“We want to be put back to work. I work in construction; we’ve got no materials to build with.” I gestured to the rest of Construction Unit Number 5, and they clapped, hooted and waved. “Other people would be laying down infrastructure, working on water purification so we could actually have a potable water system. But instead--”
“Instead you’re frakking whores and popping pills!” burst in a bitter, raspy voice. “Asshole!”
“Leave now! This is a disturbance of the peace and it will not be tolerated,” blustered Baltar. “Grievances are to be directed through the proper channels--”
“FRAK the proper channels!” shouted a ginger guy I knew only as Duck. “How are we supposed to live on half rations, less than when we were in space?”
“Yeah! How? Frak!” rabbled the crowd. I grinned.
“You all leave me with no choice,” simpered Baltar. “I had so hoped to have a productive discussion--”
I look at Dedona sardonically. “Productive discussion, my ass,” I whisper, giving my own assets a saucy shake.
“Stop-- stop that right now!” Baltar yelled, his eyes wide and fixed in my direction. I sighed and crossed my arms over my chest. “You all leave me with no choice.” He looked behind him and gestured to the dark-haired figure at the top of the ladder up into Colonial One. “Felix, disperse our friends here, please.”
“But sir, the pressure,” came a quiet response.
“Do it,” Baltar commanded.
With shoulders slumped, Baltar’s aide descended the few stairs and moved beneath the belly of the ship.
It’s just a few droplets at first, and I thought for a moment that maybe the inevitable rain has returned. But soon the gentle drops become stinging, painful missiles, followed by an outright leveling force. I gasped in relief when it was directed elsewhere and squinted.
A fire hose. Damn.
“Run!” I yelled. “Back to the settlement!” Most of the group didn’t need to be told twice. I grabbed Dedona, who was standing totally still with a strange look on her face that I knew meant she was not quite present.
“Doe, come on!” I grabbed her hand and took off at a sprint. “Did you see that?” I huffed.
“Yeah,” she said, rolling her eyes at me. “I felt it. That frakker not only has running water, but water pressure to spare.”
Said water, shot with said pressure, sprayed against our backsides as we made our hasty retreat.
“Godsdamn but that hurts,” I gritted out. I looked around; the Naked New Capricans for Governmental Accountability (how did we not even get around to telling Baltar our name, I wondered) were now a sad, soppy lot, with angry red welts across our bodies where the spray made direct contact. Laura Roslin was giggling as she ran, her wild auburn locks a soggy mess. Tory Foster looked pissed, a distinct look of I did not sign up for this written across her face.
But my leather bag has protected my dwindling stash of weed, I discreetly noted with a prod. “Man,” I said to Dedona, slightly out of breath as we continued to run from the hose’s range. “I don’t think we got our message through to him very well, but I bet we made an impression anyway.”
“And he’s just used up all his available water,” she said with a faraway gaze that tells me I’m better off not asking how, exactly, she knows that.
“Looks like we’re back to square one,” I said. “Let’s grab our clothes and head up into the foothills. Weed is the only thing that makes this place tolerable, and we’re gonna need some more after today.”
“Sure,” Dedona said. “I’ve got a feeling we might find something sweet up there, too.”