The Ex-President

Part One:

That Frakking Music

"When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes

I all alone beweep my outcast state

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries

And look upon myself and curse my fate"

~ William Shakespeare ~

Chapter I

Laura could tell by the look on Admiral Adama's face that his meeting with President Baltar had not gone well. President Baltar: no two words strung together had ever made her as sick as those. The only thing Baltar was fit to be president of was his own fan club. Now was not the time to say such things however, standing on the hangar deck of Colonial One surrounded by her former security and staff trying to give the impression that she was stepping aside gracefully. She might have preferred slinking off the ship quietly but she wasn't about to give Baltar the added satisfaction. She was going to thank her people for their loyal service over the last ten months and then she was going to walk out of here with her chin up. She hoped.

'It's been an honour, ma'am,' said Stoker, one of her guard, holding her hand as he spoke. 'You know we all voted for you. Except Maurice (who was conspicuous by his absence), but we're gonna put him out an airlock later.'

She smiled and almost meant it, 'I appreciate the sentiment, Michael.'

'Anytime,' he smiled, reluctantly letting her go.

She looked around at the others. Bill was doing his best to blend into the background, to give her this moment with her people. 'I know it might be tempting to let Baltar fend for himself,' there were a few furtive looks exchanged and a less subtle 'hell yeah' coughed out from somewhere, 'but I hope you will continue to do your jobs as well for him as you have for me, because it's the people you serve and you make a difference in this fleet every day.' Not that it would be a fleet for much longer.

'We'll see you back here before long, ma'am,' called Lawrence from the back and there were echoes of agreement.

'If you ever need anything, ma'am,' said Daria, one of her junior aides, looking slightly tearful.

'I'll let you know. Thank you, all,' she said, her gaze sweeping the small group of dependable colleagues one last time. She had made her official goodbyes to the entire staff of Colonial One before Baltar's inauguration but the people around her now were the ones who cared enough to want to give their personal condolences over the election and best wishes for the future, whatever that might hold. The only person missing was Laura's chief aide, Tory Foster, for the simple reason that she had preceded Roslin off the ship, moving to the Zephyr the day before. Swallowing down the lump in her throat, Laura said, 'I wish you all the best of luck.' And she sincerely meant it. They were probably going to need it.

Bill came forward and her hand was cold in his as he helped her onto the wing of the raptor. He alone heard the shaky breath she took as the door closed. Racetrack and Skulls were piloting and both kept their eyes front out of respect for their passengers.

Laura felt numb leaving Colonial One, leaving almost everyone she knew behind, her nine year political career at an abrupt and unforeseeable end, but then, when did she ever see it coming? 'He's going ahead with the settlement, isn't he?' she asked at last, though Bill's face on the hangar deck had said it all.

'Yes.'

It was a very quiet ride back to Galactica.

'I've put you in quarters on F-Deck. They used to be officer's quarter's so you won't have to share,' Bill explained, as he led Laura off the port hangar deck, the largest of her luggage bags slung over his shoulder. She nodded mutely, barely acknowledging the people they passed. More than half of the fleet had voted for Baltar and, though she had fared slightly better aboard Galactica than Baltar in the polls, the guilty looks and quickly averted gazes were ill-disguised as she walked up the corridor. Here were some of the morons who had chosen fiction over reality and succeeded in deposing her, but they were not the only ones who would suffer for it, she was sure of that.

She was still stewing in these uncharitable thoughts when she realised that they had arrived at her new home. The room resembled the inside of a metal cargo container more than anything else, utterly devoid of character, charm, windows. In the living area there was a desk, a wardrobe and a small blue two-seater sofa that reminded her of the one she had slept on aboard Colonial One. From what she could see there was a bathroom but it didn't appear to have a shower, only a toilet and sink. Looked like she'd have to get used to communal showering.

'Home, sweet home,' she said wryly, letting her bags slump to the floor just inside the hatchway and suddenly feeling extraordinarily miserable at the thought of spending day after day gazing at nothing but these barren walls and her own navel.

To her horror she felt tears welling up and hurriedly turned away, hoping Bill hadn't noticed. To her shame he decided not to be accommodatingly oblivious to her distress. She felt his comforting hand on her shoulder but shied away from it, reaching down to pick up a bag and wiping her eyes in the process. 'I'm fine. I should unpack,' she said, not looking at him as she hoisted the bag onto the bed, blindly pulling out clothes.

There was a long moment of silence in which Laura both feared and craved to feel his hand on her shoulder again but, finally, he simply said, 'You know where to find me.'

She nodded, not trusting her voice as more tears glided down her cheeks, staying bent over the bag until she heard the hatch close behind him, when she sobbed and sank down onto the bed, wrapping her arms around herself.

Baltar was president. Baltar, the man who had at best fraternised with the cylons and at worst colluded in the genocide of Mankind; Baltar, whose nuclear bomb had somehow ended up aboard Cloud Nine; Baltar, who sought power not to make a difference to the people but to take it from her because she had wounded his ego; Baltar, who had his head so far up his own ass it was a wonder he wasn't constantly crashing into things. This was the man who had beaten her in a free and democratic election. This was who the people had chosen. Not to mention Vice-President Zarek, the convicted terrorist, who was no doubt getting his fair share of enjoyment from her removal, too.

And now both were tied to the promise that had won them the election: settlement on a planet that was far from ideal for the short-term and insufficiently endowed to support them in the long-term. They couldn't live on dreams alone as Baltar and Zarek had connived to convince the people and Baltar had proven time and again as vice-president that the responsibilities of leadership held little interest for him. Life on 'New Caprica' (ha!) would be hard to manage for someone competent. Where would they be when the novelty wore off for Baltar? When his shiny new sceptre lost its gleam?

But that wasn't her problem anymore was it? The people had chosen and Baltar was the guy for them. Never mind that she had scooped most of them out of the void after the attacks, never mind that she had kept them alive this long, never mind any of that because she had had the gall to tell them the truth rather than what they wanted to hear and nobody wanted to hear that they couldn't have their old lives back right now. They looked at their children and dreamed of open spaces for them to run around in, she got that, she did, but Laura was afraid for her people, deeply afraid, and knowing that they chose their own fates didn't make it any easier to watch them settle on this gods-forsaken planet, knowing the endeavour was doomed from the first.

And, knowing this, she had let Baltar win the election, she had let Bill convince her that she wouldn't be able to live with it but now she was having second thoughts. Second, third, fourth. Shouldn't she have saved the people from their own ignorance? Shouldn't she have done anything to stop Baltar and Zarek from coming to power? Hadn't that been why she'd been sent the vision of Baltar when she was dying? So that she would know how critical it was to protect the people from him? Just a few weeks ago she'd been so sure she had this election in the bag and now, here she was, flat on her face with the rug pulled out from under her.

What was shegoing to do now? In the last ten months she'd gone from Secretary of Education to President of the Colonies, from terminal breast-cancer to miracle cure, from wallflower to girl-power and she felt as if she'd just stepped off a fairground ride, dizzy with all the things she hadn't had time to think about until now. She hardly even recognised herself anymore.

How could she possibly know what she was going to do next?

She pushed the bag off her bed and lay down on the bare mattress, hoping that sleep and obliviousness would come quickly, and that she would wake to find out this had all been a nightmare.