BSG Fic: Beyond the Line (2/10)
Here's part two of this ensemble AU.
Title: Beyond the Line
Summary: Felix's arrest triggers retaliation by his supporters, throwing Galactica command into disarray. AU after aDFmS
Rating: T for violence, disturbing themes
Author's Note: Adama fans may be pleased with this chapter, Gaeta fans perhaps less so. Since this is an ensemble piece, the prominence of the characters vary by the chapter. Reviews make my day, so please tell me, even if you hated it.
Betas: safenthecity, falafel_musings, and lls_mutant, I could not have done it without you.
Word Count: 3,600
Chapter Title: Escalation
Bill Adama felt like there was sawdust collecting behind his eyes. He rubbed at them absently and reached for a stim pill to take the edge off. The other two men in his quarters pretended not to notice. Saul was pacing in front of his desk, hands clasped behind his back. “We may have lucked out on this one, Bill. I think we nipped it in the bud. Gaeta’s still not talking, but he’s obviously the brains behind the operation. The others-whoever they are-won’t move without him.”
“And yet, there are others,” Bill’s voice was rougher than usual, “Would-be mutineers walking around on my ship-flying my planes, working in my CIC.”
“Don’t take it personally; everyone’s gone a little crazy since Earth. They just need to vent some steam.”
Lee was slouched in his chair. He shook his head. “Felix Gaeta . . . I still can’t believe he would do something like this.”
Saul treated Lee to a sharp glare. “Well, that’s the thing about mutineers, Mr. Adama. You never can see them coming.”
“Enough,” Bill growled. He had enough to worry about without his XO and his son sniping over ancient history. “Colonel, keep pressing Lt. Gaeta for information, but don’t cross any lines you can’t come back from-he’s still a Colonial officer. Move Zarek to an isolated holding cell and review the Marine roster. Make sure the guards with access to him are completely loyal-I don’t want any more late night visits from disgruntled officers.” Tigh nodded and left.
Bill turned his attention to his son. “Lee, inform the Quorum that Mr. Zarek is being removed from office on charges of inciting mutiny and sedition aboard a military vessel. Any and all questions and objections are to be referred directly to this office.”
Lee hesitated. “There are procedures that have to be followed-criminal charges, impeachment hearings . . .”
“Frak the hearings. I’m putting this fire out now. We’ll deal with the fallout once Zarek has lost the power to influence my crew.”
“But that’s just it-the longer he’s behind bars the more influence he’ll gain. You saw that with President Roslin-“
“I haven’t forgotten. Zarek is no Roslin. He has charisma, but more importantly, he has connections. He’s ten times more dangerous out there than he could ever be in a cell. Mutiny is a military issue. Talk to the Quorum.”
Lee looked away. “How is the President?”
“The same. I’ll talk to her tonight.”
“Will it do any good this time?”
“Lee.” He waited until his son met his gaze.
The younger man stood with a rueful sigh. “I’ll talk to them, but they’re still pretty pissed over the He Te Khan. I wouldn’t count on their support.” He headed for the door then turned. “I hate to say it, but I’m starting to miss the days when all I had to do was shoot things.”
That startled a slight smile out of Bill. “Bite your tongue. If it comes to shooting over this we’re all screwed.”
////////////////////////////////////////
Slap, slap, slap.
The battered running shoes she’d found made a strange sound on Galactica’s metal decks-less heavy than the boots Bill’s people wore, not as sharp as the heels she’d practically lived in for the last four years.
Laura Roslin smiled.
Crewmen left and right parted as she jogged by. The majority of the crew was used to her antics by now. Running through the corridors in sweats no longer attracted stares.
She powered up a half flight of stairs and closed her eyes, relishing the unfamiliar burn in her muscles, the sweat on her face, the reminder that she wasn’t dead yet. For the first time in weeks, she felt like more than a dried-up shell. Blood and life coursed through her with every beat of her tired heart.
She paused in an isolated corridor. Her head scarf was coming undone. She peeled the damp material off her scalp and set about tying it more securely.
Her attention on the head wrap, she never saw them approach. Her first clue that something was wrong came when a black cloth closed suddenly over her mouth and nose. Letting out a startled cry, she tried to push the material away, but strong arms closed around her from behind. Laura instinctively stopped breathing rather than inhale whatever was on the cloth. She struggled against the restraining arms, but her diloxin-ruined muscles were no match for the bulging biceps of her assailant.
Her thoughts were becoming fuzzy. She would have to breathe soon. She felt her head wrap fall to the ground, and some distant part of her was embarrassed that her attacker now had an up-close view of her bare skull.
Her diaphragm contracted of its own volition and noxious fumes hit her lungs. She choked. Her eyes teared. Bright spots appeared behind her closed lids. She had time for a single thought.
Oh, frak.
And then she knew no more.
////////////////////////////////////////
“This is insane.”
“You’ve been saying that for the past hour. Find a new song.”
“I mean it; this isn’t what I signed up for.”
“So go hide in your rack and cry. Nobody’s making you come along.”
“Frak you.”
“Cut it out, both of you. Bickering gets us nowhere. Now, nobody wants to be doing this, but we all agreed it’s the only way.”
“The only . . . come on, she’s the President of the Colonies! When they catch us . . .”
“What’s the matter, you scared of mean old Papa Adama?”
“Would you shut up and listen for once? This is treason.”
“Pipe down. It’s not treason.”
“It’s the definition of treason!”
“So what was Gaeta planning, huh? Civil disobedience?”
“You’re not helping. Look, I know this is a big leap we’re taking. But remember that this all started with Roslin. Her title doesn’t give her the right to forge an alliance with the machines who murdered ninety-nine percent of our race.”
“You’ve been listening to Gaeta’s speeches for too long.”
“If you don’t think he’s right, then why are you here? My point is, she’s the one guilty of treason. Her and the Adamas and everyone else who’s supporting this frakked-up deal with the devil. We’re fulfilling our oaths to protect and defend the Colonies.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“And you civilians are clearly here out of a sense of civic duty.”
“Sure.”
“So what now? ‘Cause I’m really starting to doubt that the Old Man will just wake up one morning and see things our way.”
“He won’t have a choice. He abdicates the throne or his honey takes a spacewalk.”
“Tell me you don’t buy into that nonsense about them frakking?”
“It’s irrelevant at this point. You-you have the means to get her off the ship?”
“Yeah, everything’s in place-shady friends . . .”
“I don’t want to hear about it. Every part of this plan stay compartmentalized, so if he takes down one of us he can’t find us all.”
“Unless, of course, Gaeta squeals.”
“He’s not gonna talk, we’ve been over this.”
“We have some time, but securing Felix’s release has to be one of our first priorities.”
“That might not be such a good idea. If they don’t already have proof of his guilt, us demanding his freedom is sure to tip our hand and ruin whatever game he’s got going with the Admiral.”
“Good point . . . Zarek, then. We’ll hardly be the first to call for his release. Once he’s out, he can take control of the Quorum, exert pressure on Adama. What do you think?”
“It doesn’t solve all our problems, but it’s a start.”
“I’m in.”
“Check with your people-both of you. Make sure everyone’s onboard. Anybody can’t handle it, we cut them loose now before things get any worse. Because believe me, they are going to get worse.”
///////////////////////////////////////
A bright swatch of color caught Bill’s eye. It fluttered slightly from the air purifier- pale green against the blank gray of the corridor.
Bill picked it up and turned it over in his hands. The soft material was cold. There was no mistaking it-Laura’s head wrap.
It still smelled like her.
Bill’s hands trembled. The deck seemed to spin under his feet. People didn’t just vanish. They lived, they died, but they weren’t just spirited away like in some fairy tale. Bill shook himself. If he was having thoughts like this, he really needed to cut back. He forced himself to focus on the crisis at hand.
Something had happened. He didn’t know what, he didn’t know how. No one had seen Laura being taken. And yet, she must have been taken.
She wouldn’t just vanish.
The crackle of the PA drew the Admiral out of his hopeless reverie. Colonel Tigh’s voice rolled through the static. “Pass the word to the Admiral; he’s needed in the CIC. Repeat, pass the word: Admiral Adama to CIC.”
/////////////////////////////////////
Bill made it to the CIC in half the time it normally took him. Saul looked up from the command table to see the Admiral striding towards him, his face inscrutable as always, his hands knotted in some kind of cloth. His voice was stormy. “What do we have?”
Saul straightened, but kept one hand on the table rather than come to full military attention. “Take a breath, sir. No one’s been hurt-yet.”
Adama glared daggers at him. “What. Do. We. Have?”
Saul sighed. It seemed his attempts to handle this delicately would only make it worse. Never did care for delicate anyway, he thought wryly. “We have a wireless broadcast from somewhere in the fleet. There’s a group calling themselves the Voice of the People. They’re claiming they ‘detained’ the President of the Colonies on charges of collaborating with the Cylons. The only way they’ll consider ‘pardoning’ her is if we-well, you, at least-release Zarek, instate him as President and ‘sever ties’ with the Cylons.”
“ ‘Sever ties with the Cylons’? They used those exact words? Not ‘the Baseship,’ ‘the Cylons’?”
“Yeah.” So, they’re definitely not in my fan club.
Bill growled. “Just what we need-another fringe group taking hostages and sowing chaos.”
Saul looked up. “Thing is, Admiral, this one might not be quite so fringe.”
A heavy silence fell over the CIC. Private Jaffey coughed and the sound echoed. Adama glanced from face to solemn face. “Mr. Hoshi,” he croaked at last, “You have the deck.” Without another word, Bill grabbed Saul by the arm and practically pulled him bodily from the room. “What are you saying, Saul?” he hissed once they reached the relative privacy of the corridor.
The Colonel refused to be cowed by the fire in the Admiral’s eyes. “Think about it, Bill,” he responded in the same tone, “They took her from the Galactica-right out from under our noses! Whoever did it knew this ship and knew her routine. We’re looking at an inside job.”
“I do not believe that anyone on this crew would commit treason.”
“Please, Admiral, less than twenty-four hours ago you arrested one of our best officers for plotting a mutiny.”
For a moment, Adama tried to stare him down. Saul met his gaze unflinchingly. It was the Admiral who looked away. “I feel like I don’t even know this crew anymore, Saul.” His voice was low. Saul could tell the words cost him pain. “I used to believe they were my family. I relied on their loyalty unconditionally. Now, it seems like my ship is being ripped apart at the seams by the very men and women I counted on to hold it together.”
Saul swallowed. The Admiral’s anger was gone, replaced by a hopelessness that was much more frightening. “They’ve lost their way, Bill. They’re confused and scared and pissed as all hell. They’ll come back. Deep down, these people trust you. They’ll remember how we got this far. Until then, one crisis at a time.”
Adama stared fixedly at the bulkhead. “You think there’s a connection between Gaeta and these kidnappers?”
“Hard to say. Not a direct one, I don’t think. Gaeta’s pissed, but he’s far too by-the-book to plan a kidnapping. I’d say it’s more Zarek’s style, but I know for a fact that he hasn’t had visitors. We’re probably dealing with some of his shady friends.”
“We won’t get anything out of Zarek.”
“Probably not; no. He’s made a career out of this kind of stunt.”
“But if Gaeta was colluding with him, there’s a good chance he knows who these ‘friends’ are and who on the Galactica is helping them.”
“I’ll go increase the pressure.”
“No,” the Admiral’s face had resumed its stony composure. “Talk to Hadrian. Tell her I want to know names and stations of every person Gaeta’s talked to in the last week. I’ll go to the brig. I think it’s time the Lieutenant and I had an abrupt conversation.”
//////////////////////////////////////
Bill stormed into the brig and took quick stock of the situation. The room was empty save for the single guard behind the desk and Felix Gaeta slumped on his cot in the closer cell.
The Lieutenant didn’t look well. His uncharacteristically pale face sported a slight sheen of sweat and faint dark circles under both eyes. According to the guard’s report, Gaeta hadn’t slept since his arrest the day before.
Bill didn’t care. The young officer sat slouched on his cot like it was a recliner, his prosthetic propped off to one side. His head was thrown back, and the expression on his face when he saw the Admiral . . . it was a smirk. There was no other word for Gaeta’s sarcastic half-smile. Zak had perfected that expression as a teenager, chosen for the assurance of getting a rise out of Bill. It had angered him-seeing that sneer on the face of his son. It infuriated him to see it now on the face of this would-be mutineer.
“Open it,” he growled at the Marine. The cell door rolled open with an ominous clank.
To his credit, Lieutenant Gaeta did attempt to sit up as Bill strode into his cell.
“Admiral,” his voice held the same sarcastic tone reflected in his body language. “I’d stand, but . . . well . . .”
“Who are they?”
Though clearly unsettled by the controlled rage in Bill’s voice, Gaeta did his best to maintain both his composure and his smirk. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your little friends. Who are they?”
“While I have no idea what you’re talking about, I’m sure that any hypothetical friends I might have would prefer the term ‘vertically-challenged.’”
Before the words were fully out of Gaeta’s mouth, Bill grabbed the metal table to his left and tipped it over, sending a tray of dishes flying, narrowly missing the smart-mouthed Lieutenant. Gaeta jumped at the sudden din and looked up at the Admiral with something akin to fear in his eyes.
All things considered, Bill was rather glad that he’d resisted his first instinct, which was to treat Gaeta himself much as he’d treated the table.
“Your co-conspirators.” Bill sounded out every syllable slowly, and was rewarded by a glimmer of panic that appeared in Gaeta’s eyes before being blinked away. “I want their names and I want them now.”
All sarcasm had fled Gaeta’s face, but the kid seemed determined to stick to his guns. “There was no conspiracy, much less co-conspirators, sir.” Bill reflected that Lee had been a better liar at the age of five.
He glared at the Lieutenant. “Do not frak with me, Mr. Gaeta. This ends right here, right now. One or more of your little friends had a hand in kidnapping the President of the Colonies off of this very ship. You are going to give me their names and I’m ending this madness right now.”
Gaeta’s eyes widened. His face paled further. He bore little resemblance to the wise-ass who’d greeted Bill only minutes earlier. “Roslin’s been kidnapped?”
“President Roslin has been taken hostage by a group demanding the release of your new friend Zarek. I don’t think I need to tell you just how serious this is.”
Gaeta stared down at his hands. “Frak.”
“Names, Mr. Gaeta.”
He looked up and there was a definite note of desperation in his voice. “I’m not the first person to side with Zarek and I won’t be the last. He has supporters throughout the fleet. Any one of them could have-“
“Infiltrated the Galactica, gained intimate knowledge of both its layout and the President’s routine, seized President Roslin in the middle of the day shift, and extracted her without raising any suspicions? Don’t make me laugh, Mr. Gaeta; she was taken by at least one-probably several-members of this crew. And you are the only officer on this ship to have contact with Zarek in the last seventy-two hours.”
“I had nothing to do with this, sir. I don’t believe in terrorism as a means of protest.”
“That’s debatable. The fact remains that you were recruiting mutineers who may or may not share your ethical absolutes. I want their names.”
“Why, so you can arrest them and hold them without charge based solely on guilt-by-association?” Anger began to leak through the strain in Gaeta’s voice.
Bill took a deep breath and counted to ten before he could trust himself to respond. “If it turns out they were not involved in this latest act of treason, that will be taken into account.”
“My people weren’t involved in what happened to President Roslin.”
“You a psychic now?”
“They wouldn’t . . . I’m sorry, sir, but I won’t let you destroy their careers over something I’m sure they had no part in. There were no co-conspirators. That’s my official statement.”
Bill closed his eyes before he could begin to see red. He knew intellectually that it would do no good to browbeat Gaeta while the Lieutenant remained locked in denial. As good as it might feel to rough Gaeta up-verbally or physically-Laura needed him to be smart about this, and that meant waiting until the younger man was ready to talk. As soon as Gaeta got over his misguided loyalty to the mutineers, he would have plenty to say.
Bill took one deliberate step towards Gaeta and watched the other man shrink back almost imperceptibly. He stared down at the Lieutenant for a moment, then reached into his pocket and withdrew a portable tape recorder. “We’ll talk again soon. In the meantime . . .” He tossed the small device and Gaeta caught it reflexively. “This is the broadcast your friends sent out detailing their crime. Have a listen . . . and then ask yourself whether these terrorists really deserve your loyalty.”
He left the brig without another word.
///////////////////////////////////////
A cramp in her arm slowly drew Laura Roslin out of her hazy half-consciousness. She rolled her shoulders irritably, trying to get comfortable, only to stop when the motion resulted in a terrifyingly familiar tug on her wrists. She froze. For about thirty seconds she didn’t even breathe. Slowly-gingerly-she tried to move her arms. The fingers of her right hand felt thick and sluggish. Her left she couldn’t feel at all-there was just a tingling pain from the elbow down where her arm should have been. It was this pain that had roused her from her stupor.
But then . . . she tried to raise her right arm, and this time there was no mistaking the sensation: the sharp bite of thin plastic handcuffs into raw skin.
With this sudden revelation, her disoriented brain quickly began to resolve the jumbled mess of sensations. She was lying on her left side on some kind of thin mattress. A blindfold was bound tightly around her head. And her arms . . . her wrists were tied behind her with the kind of cheap, disposable restraints she was so familiar with. And with that, her first coherent thought took shape.
Frak. It was a dream. A pretty good dream, for the most part, and vivid. The exodus, the Eye of Jupiter, the Ionian Nebula . . . the alliance, Earth (well, that was a pretty frakked-up part, but still) . . . returning to the presidency . . . falling for Bill Adama . . . None of it was real because she was clearly still in her cell, and any minute now Cavil or Doral would be sauntering in to start the next round of interrogations.
And yet . . . As her faculties slowly returned, Laura gathered a few pieces of circumstantial evidence that contradicted her assumption. For one thing, she’d never had that good of an imagination. For another, the surface under her was definitely a cot and the slight vibration through the mattress suggested a ship-both of which would have been out of place in the bare concrete cells of the New Caprica detention facility. And, most telling of all, she could feel the slight breeze of an air vent blowing on her distinctively bald skull.
Then, what . . . ? It suddenly rushed back in a nightmarish blur.
Jogging on Galactica . . .
From behind . . . an attacker . . .
A cloth . . . can’t breathe . . . can’t fight . . .
Have to breathe . . . then choking . . . gasping . . . then blackness . . .
Blackness . . .
Laura gasped. Her throat worked as she bit back a scream.
Title: Beyond the Line
Summary: Felix's arrest triggers retaliation by his supporters, throwing Galactica command into disarray. AU after aDFmS
Rating: T for violence, disturbing themes
Author's Note: Adama fans may be pleased with this chapter, Gaeta fans perhaps less so. Since this is an ensemble piece, the prominence of the characters vary by the chapter. Reviews make my day, so please tell me, even if you hated it.
Betas: safenthecity, falafel_musings, and lls_mutant, I could not have done it without you.
Word Count: 3,600
Chapter Title: Escalation
Bill Adama felt like there was sawdust collecting behind his eyes. He rubbed at them absently and reached for a stim pill to take the edge off. The other two men in his quarters pretended not to notice. Saul was pacing in front of his desk, hands clasped behind his back. “We may have lucked out on this one, Bill. I think we nipped it in the bud. Gaeta’s still not talking, but he’s obviously the brains behind the operation. The others-whoever they are-won’t move without him.”
“And yet, there are others,” Bill’s voice was rougher than usual, “Would-be mutineers walking around on my ship-flying my planes, working in my CIC.”
“Don’t take it personally; everyone’s gone a little crazy since Earth. They just need to vent some steam.”
Lee was slouched in his chair. He shook his head. “Felix Gaeta . . . I still can’t believe he would do something like this.”
Saul treated Lee to a sharp glare. “Well, that’s the thing about mutineers, Mr. Adama. You never can see them coming.”
“Enough,” Bill growled. He had enough to worry about without his XO and his son sniping over ancient history. “Colonel, keep pressing Lt. Gaeta for information, but don’t cross any lines you can’t come back from-he’s still a Colonial officer. Move Zarek to an isolated holding cell and review the Marine roster. Make sure the guards with access to him are completely loyal-I don’t want any more late night visits from disgruntled officers.” Tigh nodded and left.
Bill turned his attention to his son. “Lee, inform the Quorum that Mr. Zarek is being removed from office on charges of inciting mutiny and sedition aboard a military vessel. Any and all questions and objections are to be referred directly to this office.”
Lee hesitated. “There are procedures that have to be followed-criminal charges, impeachment hearings . . .”
“Frak the hearings. I’m putting this fire out now. We’ll deal with the fallout once Zarek has lost the power to influence my crew.”
“But that’s just it-the longer he’s behind bars the more influence he’ll gain. You saw that with President Roslin-“
“I haven’t forgotten. Zarek is no Roslin. He has charisma, but more importantly, he has connections. He’s ten times more dangerous out there than he could ever be in a cell. Mutiny is a military issue. Talk to the Quorum.”
Lee looked away. “How is the President?”
“The same. I’ll talk to her tonight.”
“Will it do any good this time?”
“Lee.” He waited until his son met his gaze.
The younger man stood with a rueful sigh. “I’ll talk to them, but they’re still pretty pissed over the He Te Khan. I wouldn’t count on their support.” He headed for the door then turned. “I hate to say it, but I’m starting to miss the days when all I had to do was shoot things.”
That startled a slight smile out of Bill. “Bite your tongue. If it comes to shooting over this we’re all screwed.”
////////////////////////////////////////
Slap, slap, slap.
The battered running shoes she’d found made a strange sound on Galactica’s metal decks-less heavy than the boots Bill’s people wore, not as sharp as the heels she’d practically lived in for the last four years.
Laura Roslin smiled.
Crewmen left and right parted as she jogged by. The majority of the crew was used to her antics by now. Running through the corridors in sweats no longer attracted stares.
She powered up a half flight of stairs and closed her eyes, relishing the unfamiliar burn in her muscles, the sweat on her face, the reminder that she wasn’t dead yet. For the first time in weeks, she felt like more than a dried-up shell. Blood and life coursed through her with every beat of her tired heart.
She paused in an isolated corridor. Her head scarf was coming undone. She peeled the damp material off her scalp and set about tying it more securely.
Her attention on the head wrap, she never saw them approach. Her first clue that something was wrong came when a black cloth closed suddenly over her mouth and nose. Letting out a startled cry, she tried to push the material away, but strong arms closed around her from behind. Laura instinctively stopped breathing rather than inhale whatever was on the cloth. She struggled against the restraining arms, but her diloxin-ruined muscles were no match for the bulging biceps of her assailant.
Her thoughts were becoming fuzzy. She would have to breathe soon. She felt her head wrap fall to the ground, and some distant part of her was embarrassed that her attacker now had an up-close view of her bare skull.
Her diaphragm contracted of its own volition and noxious fumes hit her lungs. She choked. Her eyes teared. Bright spots appeared behind her closed lids. She had time for a single thought.
Oh, frak.
And then she knew no more.
////////////////////////////////////////
“This is insane.”
“You’ve been saying that for the past hour. Find a new song.”
“I mean it; this isn’t what I signed up for.”
“So go hide in your rack and cry. Nobody’s making you come along.”
“Frak you.”
“Cut it out, both of you. Bickering gets us nowhere. Now, nobody wants to be doing this, but we all agreed it’s the only way.”
“The only . . . come on, she’s the President of the Colonies! When they catch us . . .”
“What’s the matter, you scared of mean old Papa Adama?”
“Would you shut up and listen for once? This is treason.”
“Pipe down. It’s not treason.”
“It’s the definition of treason!”
“So what was Gaeta planning, huh? Civil disobedience?”
“You’re not helping. Look, I know this is a big leap we’re taking. But remember that this all started with Roslin. Her title doesn’t give her the right to forge an alliance with the machines who murdered ninety-nine percent of our race.”
“You’ve been listening to Gaeta’s speeches for too long.”
“If you don’t think he’s right, then why are you here? My point is, she’s the one guilty of treason. Her and the Adamas and everyone else who’s supporting this frakked-up deal with the devil. We’re fulfilling our oaths to protect and defend the Colonies.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“And you civilians are clearly here out of a sense of civic duty.”
“Sure.”
“So what now? ‘Cause I’m really starting to doubt that the Old Man will just wake up one morning and see things our way.”
“He won’t have a choice. He abdicates the throne or his honey takes a spacewalk.”
“Tell me you don’t buy into that nonsense about them frakking?”
“It’s irrelevant at this point. You-you have the means to get her off the ship?”
“Yeah, everything’s in place-shady friends . . .”
“I don’t want to hear about it. Every part of this plan stay compartmentalized, so if he takes down one of us he can’t find us all.”
“Unless, of course, Gaeta squeals.”
“He’s not gonna talk, we’ve been over this.”
“We have some time, but securing Felix’s release has to be one of our first priorities.”
“That might not be such a good idea. If they don’t already have proof of his guilt, us demanding his freedom is sure to tip our hand and ruin whatever game he’s got going with the Admiral.”
“Good point . . . Zarek, then. We’ll hardly be the first to call for his release. Once he’s out, he can take control of the Quorum, exert pressure on Adama. What do you think?”
“It doesn’t solve all our problems, but it’s a start.”
“I’m in.”
“Check with your people-both of you. Make sure everyone’s onboard. Anybody can’t handle it, we cut them loose now before things get any worse. Because believe me, they are going to get worse.”
///////////////////////////////////////
A bright swatch of color caught Bill’s eye. It fluttered slightly from the air purifier- pale green against the blank gray of the corridor.
Bill picked it up and turned it over in his hands. The soft material was cold. There was no mistaking it-Laura’s head wrap.
It still smelled like her.
Bill’s hands trembled. The deck seemed to spin under his feet. People didn’t just vanish. They lived, they died, but they weren’t just spirited away like in some fairy tale. Bill shook himself. If he was having thoughts like this, he really needed to cut back. He forced himself to focus on the crisis at hand.
Something had happened. He didn’t know what, he didn’t know how. No one had seen Laura being taken. And yet, she must have been taken.
She wouldn’t just vanish.
The crackle of the PA drew the Admiral out of his hopeless reverie. Colonel Tigh’s voice rolled through the static. “Pass the word to the Admiral; he’s needed in the CIC. Repeat, pass the word: Admiral Adama to CIC.”
/////////////////////////////////////
Bill made it to the CIC in half the time it normally took him. Saul looked up from the command table to see the Admiral striding towards him, his face inscrutable as always, his hands knotted in some kind of cloth. His voice was stormy. “What do we have?”
Saul straightened, but kept one hand on the table rather than come to full military attention. “Take a breath, sir. No one’s been hurt-yet.”
Adama glared daggers at him. “What. Do. We. Have?”
Saul sighed. It seemed his attempts to handle this delicately would only make it worse. Never did care for delicate anyway, he thought wryly. “We have a wireless broadcast from somewhere in the fleet. There’s a group calling themselves the Voice of the People. They’re claiming they ‘detained’ the President of the Colonies on charges of collaborating with the Cylons. The only way they’ll consider ‘pardoning’ her is if we-well, you, at least-release Zarek, instate him as President and ‘sever ties’ with the Cylons.”
“ ‘Sever ties with the Cylons’? They used those exact words? Not ‘the Baseship,’ ‘the Cylons’?”
“Yeah.” So, they’re definitely not in my fan club.
Bill growled. “Just what we need-another fringe group taking hostages and sowing chaos.”
Saul looked up. “Thing is, Admiral, this one might not be quite so fringe.”
A heavy silence fell over the CIC. Private Jaffey coughed and the sound echoed. Adama glanced from face to solemn face. “Mr. Hoshi,” he croaked at last, “You have the deck.” Without another word, Bill grabbed Saul by the arm and practically pulled him bodily from the room. “What are you saying, Saul?” he hissed once they reached the relative privacy of the corridor.
The Colonel refused to be cowed by the fire in the Admiral’s eyes. “Think about it, Bill,” he responded in the same tone, “They took her from the Galactica-right out from under our noses! Whoever did it knew this ship and knew her routine. We’re looking at an inside job.”
“I do not believe that anyone on this crew would commit treason.”
“Please, Admiral, less than twenty-four hours ago you arrested one of our best officers for plotting a mutiny.”
For a moment, Adama tried to stare him down. Saul met his gaze unflinchingly. It was the Admiral who looked away. “I feel like I don’t even know this crew anymore, Saul.” His voice was low. Saul could tell the words cost him pain. “I used to believe they were my family. I relied on their loyalty unconditionally. Now, it seems like my ship is being ripped apart at the seams by the very men and women I counted on to hold it together.”
Saul swallowed. The Admiral’s anger was gone, replaced by a hopelessness that was much more frightening. “They’ve lost their way, Bill. They’re confused and scared and pissed as all hell. They’ll come back. Deep down, these people trust you. They’ll remember how we got this far. Until then, one crisis at a time.”
Adama stared fixedly at the bulkhead. “You think there’s a connection between Gaeta and these kidnappers?”
“Hard to say. Not a direct one, I don’t think. Gaeta’s pissed, but he’s far too by-the-book to plan a kidnapping. I’d say it’s more Zarek’s style, but I know for a fact that he hasn’t had visitors. We’re probably dealing with some of his shady friends.”
“We won’t get anything out of Zarek.”
“Probably not; no. He’s made a career out of this kind of stunt.”
“But if Gaeta was colluding with him, there’s a good chance he knows who these ‘friends’ are and who on the Galactica is helping them.”
“I’ll go increase the pressure.”
“No,” the Admiral’s face had resumed its stony composure. “Talk to Hadrian. Tell her I want to know names and stations of every person Gaeta’s talked to in the last week. I’ll go to the brig. I think it’s time the Lieutenant and I had an abrupt conversation.”
//////////////////////////////////////
Bill stormed into the brig and took quick stock of the situation. The room was empty save for the single guard behind the desk and Felix Gaeta slumped on his cot in the closer cell.
The Lieutenant didn’t look well. His uncharacteristically pale face sported a slight sheen of sweat and faint dark circles under both eyes. According to the guard’s report, Gaeta hadn’t slept since his arrest the day before.
Bill didn’t care. The young officer sat slouched on his cot like it was a recliner, his prosthetic propped off to one side. His head was thrown back, and the expression on his face when he saw the Admiral . . . it was a smirk. There was no other word for Gaeta’s sarcastic half-smile. Zak had perfected that expression as a teenager, chosen for the assurance of getting a rise out of Bill. It had angered him-seeing that sneer on the face of his son. It infuriated him to see it now on the face of this would-be mutineer.
“Open it,” he growled at the Marine. The cell door rolled open with an ominous clank.
To his credit, Lieutenant Gaeta did attempt to sit up as Bill strode into his cell.
“Admiral,” his voice held the same sarcastic tone reflected in his body language. “I’d stand, but . . . well . . .”
“Who are they?”
Though clearly unsettled by the controlled rage in Bill’s voice, Gaeta did his best to maintain both his composure and his smirk. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your little friends. Who are they?”
“While I have no idea what you’re talking about, I’m sure that any hypothetical friends I might have would prefer the term ‘vertically-challenged.’”
Before the words were fully out of Gaeta’s mouth, Bill grabbed the metal table to his left and tipped it over, sending a tray of dishes flying, narrowly missing the smart-mouthed Lieutenant. Gaeta jumped at the sudden din and looked up at the Admiral with something akin to fear in his eyes.
All things considered, Bill was rather glad that he’d resisted his first instinct, which was to treat Gaeta himself much as he’d treated the table.
“Your co-conspirators.” Bill sounded out every syllable slowly, and was rewarded by a glimmer of panic that appeared in Gaeta’s eyes before being blinked away. “I want their names and I want them now.”
All sarcasm had fled Gaeta’s face, but the kid seemed determined to stick to his guns. “There was no conspiracy, much less co-conspirators, sir.” Bill reflected that Lee had been a better liar at the age of five.
He glared at the Lieutenant. “Do not frak with me, Mr. Gaeta. This ends right here, right now. One or more of your little friends had a hand in kidnapping the President of the Colonies off of this very ship. You are going to give me their names and I’m ending this madness right now.”
Gaeta’s eyes widened. His face paled further. He bore little resemblance to the wise-ass who’d greeted Bill only minutes earlier. “Roslin’s been kidnapped?”
“President Roslin has been taken hostage by a group demanding the release of your new friend Zarek. I don’t think I need to tell you just how serious this is.”
Gaeta stared down at his hands. “Frak.”
“Names, Mr. Gaeta.”
He looked up and there was a definite note of desperation in his voice. “I’m not the first person to side with Zarek and I won’t be the last. He has supporters throughout the fleet. Any one of them could have-“
“Infiltrated the Galactica, gained intimate knowledge of both its layout and the President’s routine, seized President Roslin in the middle of the day shift, and extracted her without raising any suspicions? Don’t make me laugh, Mr. Gaeta; she was taken by at least one-probably several-members of this crew. And you are the only officer on this ship to have contact with Zarek in the last seventy-two hours.”
“I had nothing to do with this, sir. I don’t believe in terrorism as a means of protest.”
“That’s debatable. The fact remains that you were recruiting mutineers who may or may not share your ethical absolutes. I want their names.”
“Why, so you can arrest them and hold them without charge based solely on guilt-by-association?” Anger began to leak through the strain in Gaeta’s voice.
Bill took a deep breath and counted to ten before he could trust himself to respond. “If it turns out they were not involved in this latest act of treason, that will be taken into account.”
“My people weren’t involved in what happened to President Roslin.”
“You a psychic now?”
“They wouldn’t . . . I’m sorry, sir, but I won’t let you destroy their careers over something I’m sure they had no part in. There were no co-conspirators. That’s my official statement.”
Bill closed his eyes before he could begin to see red. He knew intellectually that it would do no good to browbeat Gaeta while the Lieutenant remained locked in denial. As good as it might feel to rough Gaeta up-verbally or physically-Laura needed him to be smart about this, and that meant waiting until the younger man was ready to talk. As soon as Gaeta got over his misguided loyalty to the mutineers, he would have plenty to say.
Bill took one deliberate step towards Gaeta and watched the other man shrink back almost imperceptibly. He stared down at the Lieutenant for a moment, then reached into his pocket and withdrew a portable tape recorder. “We’ll talk again soon. In the meantime . . .” He tossed the small device and Gaeta caught it reflexively. “This is the broadcast your friends sent out detailing their crime. Have a listen . . . and then ask yourself whether these terrorists really deserve your loyalty.”
He left the brig without another word.
///////////////////////////////////////
A cramp in her arm slowly drew Laura Roslin out of her hazy half-consciousness. She rolled her shoulders irritably, trying to get comfortable, only to stop when the motion resulted in a terrifyingly familiar tug on her wrists. She froze. For about thirty seconds she didn’t even breathe. Slowly-gingerly-she tried to move her arms. The fingers of her right hand felt thick and sluggish. Her left she couldn’t feel at all-there was just a tingling pain from the elbow down where her arm should have been. It was this pain that had roused her from her stupor.
But then . . . she tried to raise her right arm, and this time there was no mistaking the sensation: the sharp bite of thin plastic handcuffs into raw skin.
With this sudden revelation, her disoriented brain quickly began to resolve the jumbled mess of sensations. She was lying on her left side on some kind of thin mattress. A blindfold was bound tightly around her head. And her arms . . . her wrists were tied behind her with the kind of cheap, disposable restraints she was so familiar with. And with that, her first coherent thought took shape.
Frak. It was a dream. A pretty good dream, for the most part, and vivid. The exodus, the Eye of Jupiter, the Ionian Nebula . . . the alliance, Earth (well, that was a pretty frakked-up part, but still) . . . returning to the presidency . . . falling for Bill Adama . . . None of it was real because she was clearly still in her cell, and any minute now Cavil or Doral would be sauntering in to start the next round of interrogations.
And yet . . . As her faculties slowly returned, Laura gathered a few pieces of circumstantial evidence that contradicted her assumption. For one thing, she’d never had that good of an imagination. For another, the surface under her was definitely a cot and the slight vibration through the mattress suggested a ship-both of which would have been out of place in the bare concrete cells of the New Caprica detention facility. And, most telling of all, she could feel the slight breeze of an air vent blowing on her distinctively bald skull.
Then, what . . . ? It suddenly rushed back in a nightmarish blur.
Jogging on Galactica . . .
From behind . . . an attacker . . .
A cloth . . . can’t breathe . . . can’t fight . . .
Have to breathe . . . then choking . . . gasping . . . then blackness . . .
Blackness . . .
Laura gasped. Her throat worked as she bit back a scream.