3: In Which There Is Panic

Laura surprised herself by falling asleep fairly quickly. Staying asleep, on the other hand, was something else. There was some kind of owl-like bird that seemed to have a perfect genius for hooting loudly and eerily just as slumber was about to claim her. When that didn't jerk her awake, Bill's sonorous snores did. She grabbed a twig and took to poking him with it so that she didn't have to reach out of her sleeping bag altogether, but he was so sleepily reproachful when she succeeded in shutting him up that she felt guilty and ended up suffering the snoring.

Then there was Tory, who was clearly having no problems whatsoever and was fathoms deep in dreamland, her eyelids fluttering and a low stream of muttered nonsense emitting from her lips. Laura contemplated transferring the attentions of her twig to her, but Tory had too many opportunities for revenge to risk it, so Laura simply huffed her annoyance at the universe and glowered at the sky. It was a beautiful night, too, reminding her of the time she and Bill spent under the stars on Founder's Day. She glanced at him, but he'd (finally) taken the hint and had rolled into a sleeping position that did not cause him to sound like a dying bull.

She sighed, and rolled closer, knowing from Kobol that he was the best bulwark against the wind she could have. She closed her eyes and focused on sleeeeeeeep...

She must have succeeded, because the next thing she knew, her heart seemed to be trying to escape the confines of her chest. Dazed, it took Laura a split second to realise why. Then she tried to escape the confines of her sleeping bag.

Someone was screaming. Loudly. At eardrum-bursting pitch.

Laura struggled harder; anything to get to the perpetrator and discover the cause of the screaming or (more likely) suppress them thoroughly. Stiff from a night on the ground—even her cot back in her tent offered better protection from the elements—her efforts got her precisely nowhere. Insult was added to injury when Tory managed to untangle herself from her sleeping bag with a minimum of fuss and leg it across the camp while Laura was still trying to make her arms do what she told them.

'I hate young people,' she declared grumpily once she'd finally extracted her fingers and began to unzip her bag.

'Lucky you didn't enlist,' Bill commented, his amusement a little too plain for Laura's comfort. 'You're not made for this living rough, are you?'

Laura cast him an incredulous look. He seemed completely unbothered by the ongoing yells that would have done credit to a whole phalanx of banshees. 'And which of us is living down here right now?' She indicated vaguely in the direction of the wailing. 'In case you hadn't noticed, someone is screaming, Admiral.'

Bill remained unworried. 'Tory's on it.'

For some reason, this annoyed Laura hugely. 'Someone could be hurt,' she insisted as she stood, drawing herself up to her full height. Then she promptly spoiled her efforts by tripping over her own feet. Bill steadied her and she promptly removed herself from his grip. 'If you're not gonna help, take your hands off me.'

'Does that mean that I can touch you if I do help?' he asked, and she stalked off, refusing to even dignify that with a response.

'What seems to be the problem?' she demanded in her sternest teacher-cum-presidential tones as she approached the source of the howling—a thirteen year old girl with ridiculously long curly hair who was now streaming tears with the same enthusiasm she'd devoted to screaming minutes earlier. Laura took a moment to wish the girl would shower similar dedication on her schoolwork.

Tory, crouched beside the kid, looked up. 'Spiders in her hair.'

Laura stopped. 'Spiders?' she repeated disbelievingly. 'Spiders?!'

'I-it w-was horrible, M-miss R-roslin,' the girl wailed, literally dripping an unpleasant mixture of saline and snot. Laura stayed where she was and crossed her arms over her chest.

'They scared her,' Tory added, dark eyes reproachful. 'Think of it - you're sleeping and something creeps and crawls through your hair and penetrates deeper and deep-'

The girl started to shriek again and Laura clapped her hands to her ears.

'All right!' she shouted. 'Miss Foster, I'll deal with this now. Perhaps you could-um, put the coffee on? Yes. Do that. Coffee. We'll need breakfast soon and I don't imagine anyone will—Persephone, for the love of all the gods will you SHUT THE FRAK UP or I'll ask Admiral Adama to put you out an airlock!'

Laura regretted the words back as soon as she uttered them, but they were gratifyingly effective. Persephone stopped shrieking so suddenly that Laura's ears continued ringing for some seconds after.

Even so, she had to admit she couldn't entirely blame Persephone. Tory's words had given her the shivers. Not only that, but she had her own memories of getting bugs caught in her mane as a child. She managed a weak smile at the girl, who was starting to look as if she preferred the spiders when the alternative was an irate former president with a penchant for airlocks.

'Are you okay now?'

'Y-yes'm,' the girl stammered, wide-eyed.

Laura glanced at one of Persephone's friends who'd stayed nearby throughout. 'Are you okay?'

'Yes, ma'am.' She gave Laura a decidedly wary look. 'Um, shall we bring Seph over to Miss Foster?'

Relieved that someone was behaving sensibly, Laura beamed. 'Yes. Absolutely. You do that. Make sure you add plenty of honey to Persephone's cup!' she shouted after the pair as they sidled off. The sensible girl, Polly, looked back with a nod, and Laura sighed. Perhaps she should go for some coffee herself.

She had just collected her cup of morning brew and settled next to Bill in their shelter when one of the boys plonked himself beside her, an imploring look plastered across his freckled face.

Laura realised she was about to be wheedled and steeled herself. She had a soft spot for this particular kid, for his frank gaze and unruly mop reminded her painfully of Billy. The fact that he was a good student (most of the time) helped too.

'Miss Roslin,' Richie began seriously, 'this is a campin' trip, right?'

'Hmmm,' Laura agreed, although she was personally starting to consider it a quick way of driving innocent teachers around the bend.

Richie shifted awkwardly, and Laura eyed him over the top of her glasses. 'What is it, Richie? Spit it out. I can only say no.'

'I wanna go nature-studyin',' Richie said in a rush. 'You know, draw the plants an' animals and stuff.'

'That's a great plan,' Bill interjected. 'I'll tell you what,' he went on, 'there's a stream nearby. How 'bout I show you how to pan for gold after you've done your nature study?'

Laura could mark the exact instant when pure academic aspirations were overtaken by base mercenary instincts. Richie's eyes practically glowed cubit signs.

'Yeah! That'd be ... like frakkin' awesome, sir!' He caught Laura's eye and gabbled a quick, 'I mean, totally awesome,' whilst scrambling to his feet, almost puppy-like in his eagerness. 'Can I tell the others, Mr-er—sir?'

'The title is "Admiral",' Laura interjected in her best old-maid-schoolmistress tones, but Richie ignored her, his eyes still fixed on Bill.

She huffed as Bill nodded agreement. Richie ran off to his mates, yelling about getting rich.

'He's happy,' Bill said, sounding far too satisfied. He looked it, too, his moustache twitching with his smile, like the cat who'd got the cream.

Laura hummed sceptically. She had a nasty feeling that this would come back to haunt them.

Several hours later, Laura was in the middle of explaining photosynthesis and similar processes to a mixed gang of teenagers when Bill reappeared, looking wilder than she'd ever seen her stoic admiral look. She paused in her lecture and stared at him.

'What's wrong?'

The kids went wide-eyed and still.

Bill's look of wildness faded to... could it be guilt? All her instincts on alert now, Laura dropped the stick she was using as a pointer (causing momentary consternation amongst her pupils; one wag shouted 'Timber!').

'Admiral?' she questioned.

Now he just looked sheepish, like a little boy who'd got caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. Laura's eyes narrowed.

'What did you do?'

Bill pulled himself up straight and met her gaze, his jaw clenched and his hands clasped in a familiar pose at his waist. 'I ... uh, I lost your kids.'

With the prospect of infuriated parents (never to mention potentially aggrieved voters) before her, Laura took off at a run.

Finding the kids was a priority. Murdering Bill could wait.

If you've enjoyed this—or for that matter, haven't enjoyed it—please let me know.