For the first time, Dee didn't mind the endless dreariness of New Caprica. The unpleasant weather outside meant the chances of anyone hanging around to listen in were small. Given how little the tent walls blocked sound, they needed all the help they could get.

Ms. Roslin was pacing around the tent, arms folded, avoiding what little furniture Dee and Billy had managed to make or trade for. It was just the three of them; Ms. Roslin was well known for having a soft spot for Billy, so a visit would pass mostly unremarked. "Unfortunately, Baltar's complete lack of spine isn't surprising at all," she said.

Dee rolled her eyes. If it had been, she wouldn't have helped try to steal the election. Though she had to admit, no one had anticipated anything quite this catastrophic. "It's the Cylons I can't figure out. They've been here almost a week, and they're still trying to pretend they come in peace and just want to help. Who do they think they're fooling?"

"But what if they are telling the truth?" Billy said. "Or at least think they are. Do we want to do anything that might provoke them into changing their minds?" It was funny how her husband's naïveté could be either annoying or the most appealing thing about him, under different circumstances. How he'd managed to hang onto it this long, she had no idea.

"And if we just cave to their demands, what position will we be in when the gloves come off?" Roslin countered. "No. We can't just roll over. We have to act."

"But it doesn't have to be overt, not at first," Dee said. "Our first priority has to be keeping our people alive until Galactica and the Fleet come for us, and getting them ready to evacuate at a moment's notice. That will be easier if the Cylons think we're pacified."

Roslin took off her glasses. "What do you mean?"

"It's like being on a ship," Dee said. She paused, gathering her thoughts. "The officers give the orders, but it's the crew who carry them out. Everything depends on them interpreting and passing on orders, and sometimes there are a lot of different ways to do so, that get done what needs doing. And once they've given the orders, officers sometimes aren't very good at seeing how they're carried out unless something goes wrong. Sometimes, when you've got a bad officer, you have to use that to … work around them and in spite of them. The Cylons … so far, they're not exactly getting their hands dirty. They've got the Centurions helping build and plant, but the Centurions don't exactly mix with humans. Neither do the skin jobs—all they've done so far is give orders phrased as 'requests.' If we show them what they want to see … maybe we can work around them." She finished, face heating slightly under the intent gazes of both her husband and the former President.

"That's a very good idea, Dee," Ms. Roslin said softly. "I suppose you have a few ideas for carrying that out?"

"Yes," Dee said. "And the first is, show them what they want to see. They're going to be watching you very carefully, ma'am. They'll be suspicious if you just roll over for them."

"Yes, I see that," she said. "If Baltar won't speak up for our people, I will."

"You'll have to be careful, not to antagonize them into cracking down too hard," Billy said, anxiously. "The longer we can go with the Cylons playing nice, the more people will survive in the long run. Assuming Galactica and Pegasus come back for us."

"They'll come," Dee said fiercely. "The Old Man won't leave us here."

Roslin nodded. "Whatever else you may think about Admiral Adama, he is fiercely loyal and stubborn. He'll be back. We need to be ready. And if they're watching me, that means I can't be running the show behind the scenes."

"No, ma'am," Dee said, running through a list of who could pull something like this off. Colonel Tigh would want to be in charge if he caught wind of this, but he didn't have the kind of subtlety needed. Same with most of the others she knew. It was a shame Felix was so closely tied with the administration—he'd be ideal for this. She could really use his help.

"Think you can do it, Petty Officer?" When Dee didn't answer, Roslin went on. "You've got experience in subterfuge, fairly successfully, too. As Galactica's former communications officer, you've got connections. Not to mention, I seem to recall you being fairly close to Felix Gaeta, which gives you a back-door channel to the President's office, however ineffective it may be."

"Thank you for your confidence, ma'am. We have to assume that eventually they'll either kill or imprison you." Dee put her hand on Billy's to stifle his protest. "If we're lucky, they won't torture you for information. But if they do … it's probably best if you don't have too much information to give them."

Ms. Roslin nodded, soberly. "I suppose you're right. But that means we do need contingency plans, for what happens after they take me. Somebody will have to take over being the public face of the people, then. Someone not important enough for them to go after, someone they'll underestimate."

"Who do you have in mind?" Billy asked.

"Think you're up to it, Mister Keikeya? Putting that innocent baby face to work for the Colonies, again?"

Billy gaped like a fish. "Uh, ma'am, when I look innocent, it's because I usually am. I did enough drama in school to know I'm no actor."

"Billy and I are both most useful in the background," Dee said. "Aides. Helpers. Couriers. Back-door channels. The kind of people everyone—Colonial and Cylon alike—don't even notice. That's what makes us dangerous." Billy twined his fingers through hers. She squeezed his hand.