CHAPTER 4
WELCOME BACK, KARA THRACE
"Get out of the way! Make a hole! Gods, make a hole!" Kara Thrace was right behind the red striped centurions, and she was screaming at the few surviving marines to clear a path. In her entire life, she had rarely felt so helpless. They had managed to stop all but one of the hostile Cylons, but in the closed confines of the CIC, one would be more than enough.
The blood stained centurion who had become her personal bodyguard jumped over the barricade and plunged into the CIC in its wake. As she fought her way through the crates, Kara heard gunfire erupt just ahead of her, a single volley that ceased as abruptly as it had started. She could hear a woman screaming … Shelly! Oh, gods, please, please don't let her be hurt! Then she heard Colonel Tigh yelling for medics, and barely repressed fear turned into full fledged panic.
Kara clawed her way into the CIC. Her protector was standing near the central console, looking down at the shattered remains of a former comrade in arms. Wisps of smoke were still rising from its cannons. Kara's eyes followed the sound of Shelly's screams, and unbidden her legs carried her to the navigation console. Shelly was on the floor, holding Adama in her arms, her hands pressed tightly against his back. Not tightly enough. Blood was leaking out between Shelly's fingers; it had already begun to pool on the floor.
"Where are the medics?" Saul Tigh was still yelling into the phone. "Where's Doc Cottle?"
"Sir," Aaron Kelly called out in an excited voice, "Kat reports Aft Damage Control secure! But they need medics!"
"Did you hear that, sickbay? We need medics right frakking now," an exasperated Tigh growled. "The CIC and Aft Damage Control both, so move it!"
Kara dropped to the floor beside Shelly and the commander. Shelly's screams had faded to a muted whisper; she was crying now, babbling Bill's name, the sound a mix of resignation and fear. Not knowing what else to do, Kara added her hands to Shelly's; she pressed down hard, desperately trying to staunch the flow of blood.
It seemed an eternity before Kara heard the sound of Layne Ishay's voice out in the corridor. The paramedic was shouting at everyone to get out of the way. . . .
"Lieutenant Thrace, you need to stand clear," Ishay ordered.
Starbuck scrambled out of the way, to be instantly replaced by Sergeant Omar Fischer, a hulking marine NCO. Fischer hastily wrapped a pressure cuff around Adama's left arm.
"Sergeant, do we have pressure?" Ishay was trying to remove Shelly's hands from the commander's back, but she was failing miserably.
"Yeah … yeah, there's pressure."
"You're sure?" Kara didn't recognize the young male nurse to Ishay's right.
"Pressure? Yeah, we have pressure."
"Miss Godfrey," Ishay said, "can you hear me?" The paramedic slapped the Cylon lightly on the cheek; Ishay thought that she might well be in shock. "Shelly, I need you to let go. We can't help Commander Adama if you don't let go!"
Shelly's eyes located Layne Ishay, and finally seemed to focus. "The centurion," she said, "the centurion can lift Bill more easily than you can."
"That's a good idea," Ishay conceded. She looked over at Kara Thrace.
"Lieutenant, can you get your toaster friend to help us? We need to get the commander onto the gurney, but gently … gently."
No words passed between Starbuck and her mute metallic bodyguard. She merely looked at the centurion, and then turned her head to look meaningfully at Adama. Without hesitation, the machine bent over the commander, unsheathed its long, graceful talons, and slid them under his body. The centurion lifted Adama's unconscious form with surprising gentleness, and effortlessly eased him onto the stretcher.
"Okay," Ishay muttered as she examined Adama's wounds, "I need pressure bandages. We need to stop the bleeding, and then we're going to get him to sickbay ASAP."
Kara Thrace crawled back to Shelly's side. She was frantic with worry.
"Mom, are you okay? Have you been shot?" Shelly Godfrey was an exact copy of the birth mother whose image Kara Thrace had now locked away in her memory. Not a close copy … an exact copy. The two Sixes easily blurred together in Kara's mind, but in the world of Cylon psychology the difference was pretty much academic anyway.
Kara rapidly ran her hands over Shelly's body. Her clothing was bloodstained, but Kara couldn't find a wound. Finally, she encouraged the Cylon to sit up, and then helped her to her feet.
The two women stared at one another for a long moment, and then they embraced. Kara buried her head in the taller woman's shoulder. "Gods, but it's good to see you," she murmured. "It's so gods damned good!"
"Kara," Shelly sighed. She rested her cheek in Starbuck's hair, and clutched her tight. "Our daughter," she sniffled, "our little girl." Shelly started sobbing. "Kara," she cried in a small and lost voice, "I'm the one who should be lying there. Bill … he took the bullets that were meant for me. . . ."
"They were meant for me," she repeated, the tears trickling down her face as she looked at his still form lying on the gurney.
Colonel Tigh walked over and took in the scene. So Starbuck's a Cylon brat … that explains a lot of things.
"I hate to interrupt this touching family reunion," he caustically remarked, "but I need both of you to get your heads in the frakkin' game! Starbuck, the marines have taken heavy casualties, and there are still Cylons crawling all over the lower decks. I need two of your centurions to secure sickbay, and I want you and your metal pal here to get your Cylon asses down to the laundry room. There's a centurion dug in there, and Lieutenant Wallace doesn't have the resources to dig him out. Take care of the problem, and then sweep the lower decks. This ship will remain off limits to the rest of the fleet until it's been completely secured, you got that?"
"Yes, sir; I'll take care of it."
Behind him, Saul Tigh heard Layne Ishay tell someone to make a hole. He looked Shelly Godfrey up and down; she was a puzzle, and Tigh wasn't about to pretend that he had the key.
"And you," he said to Shelly. "The Gods only know why, but that man clearly loves you more than life itself. So you get yourself down to sickbay and you stay there. You hold his hand, you keep telling him how much you love him … I don't care what … but you give him a reason to suck down that next breath. Just so we're clear—this ship will be Bill Adama's command till the day he dies, and you are not going to let that happen. Am I getting through to you, lady?
"Yes, Colonel … and thank you, sir."
The two women hastened from the CIC.
. . .
A doctor might have said that Galactica's sickbay looked like the emergency ward of a Caprica City hospital late on a Saturday night, but to Lee Adama the only word that came immediately to mind was bedlam. A dozen gurneys and stretchers were parked haphazardly in the adjoining corridor, and every bed in sickbay itself already seemed to be occupied. Nurses and paramedics were scampering about, but if there was anyone in charge it was by no means obvious.
The two medics who had wheeled Creusa into sickbay had already abandoned them, their services urgently needed elsewhere. Apollo had been given no instructions, no advice of any kind, so he decided to take the bull by the horns. He would simply grab the first person he saw in a white lab coat. That person turned out to be Simon O'Neill.
"Hey, doc …" Apollo stopped in mid-sentence as he belatedly recognized the lanky Cylon. The irony of asking a Cylon medic to treat a wounded Cylon warrior on a colonial battlestar was not lost on him. "Doc, we could use a little help here. Creusa was wounded in a firefight with a bunch of centurions. . . ."
"The centurions lost," the blond Cylon added tartly.
"Captain, look around you." Simon gestured expansively around the sickbay. "Everybody in here was wounded in a firefight with the centurions."
"That may well be, doc," Apollo impatiently replied, "but not everybody in here saved the ship in the process. She did." Apollo reached out and took Creusa's hand. "So, we owe her. And besides … it's not good politics to ignore the wounded leader of a new and potentially valuable ally."
"Let me get this straight, Captain … you want me to move her ahead of all these people, even the critically wounded?" Simon O'Neill was incredulous.
Lee stared silently at the Cylon, who threw his hands in the air in a very human gesture of capitulation. He strode to the foot of the gurney, wrote the word CYLON in bold letters on a chart that he found there, and then returned to shine a bright light in Creusa's eyes.
"She has good pupillary response," he observed. "Six, are you in any pain?"
"Breathing's a bitch," Creusa curtly remarked in a low, strained voice.
"Are you experiencing short but intense stabbing pains?"
"Well done, Four! What's the diagnosis?"
"The bullet has probably shattered a rib, but we'll need X-rays to see if there's any other meaningful damage. Captain, the X-ray department is directly behind you. Wheel her over there, and instruct whoever's in charge to expedite on my authority. The technicians will know what to do, but make sure that the film gets attached to this chart, and that the chart stays with her at all times. Do you know how to apply and read a pressure cuff?"
"Sure," Apollo said. "It's part of every pilot's emergency medical training."
"Good. After X-rays, get a pressure reading, and record it on the chart, along with the date and time. If the result falls below 80/50, you come get me stat. Otherwise, take a new reading every thirty minutes until someone comes for her. Captain, please keep in mind that she's cylon, and that Cylons do not bruise easily. I don't think she's critical, so you will have to be patient. We're short staffed, and there are a lot of badly injured people here." With that, Simon turned and hurried off.
Lee wasted no time getting the gurney to X-ray, where he insisted on helping to ease her onto the table. When they were finished and Creusa was back on the gurney, he left her only long enough to locate a pressure cuff. He was taking his first reading when the Cylon reached out and took hold of his arm. Once again, she studied him with those intense, blue eyes.
"Captain Apollo," Creusa said in a throaty whisper, "thank you for taking such good care of me. Anyone watching us might conclude that you are genuinely concerned for my well being."
Lee met the Cylon's gaze with a tentative half-smile. All sorts of sensations were at war with one another inside his body.
"They wouldn't be wrong," Apollo admitted in an equally low voice. "They definitely wouldn't be wrong."
. . .
Theoretically, the Six with no name conceded, there had to be something in the universe more surreal than being trapped in the laundry room of the battlestar Galactica by a legless centurion with a seemingly infinite supply of ammunition, but at the moment she was hard pressed to imagine what it could possibly be. Her present situation was ridiculous. She couldn't advance and she couldn't retreat, and she didn't even want to think about what would transpire when she had to attend to one of those annoying body functions for which humans demanded such absolute privacy.
Well, she wouldn't let it come to that, Six vowed. If it came to a choice between sitting in a puddle of her own piss or tossing a fragmentation grenade into the rear of the laundry room, the crew would just have to wear dirty uniforms for a couple of weeks. She was about to encourage Lieutenant Jeremy Wallace to go find a few grenades when the universe perversely chose to take that distinctly more surreal turn. Six was instantly convinced that it had done so just to spite her. She found herself staring at Kara Thrace, which she could handle, and at a half dozen or more centurions trailing in her wake, which she could not. Six blinked several times, her expression registering complete disbelief. Starbuck had a huge grin on her face, and she was waving. She was actually waving!
No one had got around to informing poor Six that the war had indeed charted a new and very strange course.
"Six," Starbuck asked, "will a concussion grenade incapacitate our misguided friend in there?"
"Momentarily," Six promptly responded.
"How many moments are there in 'momentarily'?"
Six thought about it. "Disorientation? Three seconds, tops. Then another two seconds to reacquire its targeting prompts. Whatever you're planning, Lieutenant, you have four to five seconds … not one second more."
Damn! Six seconds would be nice. Kara turned to address her robotic bodyguard.
"Have you tried reasoning with it?"
The bloodied machine responded by holding out one metallic digit. Yes.
"Any luck?"
Two metallic digits. No. The centurion then extended its middle digit, and pointed it at the ceiling.
"It told you to get frakked?"
One digit. Yes.
"Oh, this one is definitely worth saving," Kara laughed. "You gotta love a machine with a bad attitude!"
"Six," Kara continued, "we need a distraction. Can you crawl around to its left and make some noise? Get it to shift its attention in your direction?"
"Would you like me to stand up and dance? That should get its attention. Of course, it would also get me killed!"
Kara rolled her eyes. "Come on, Six, don't be so melodramatic. Just buy me an extra second or two, okay? Here, this should help. It has a full load."
Starbuck slid her sidearm across the floor, and pulled out a concussion grenade. While the Six with no name was crawling into position, Kara held up her free hand to her metallic guardian angel. She was holding a small screwdriver.
"I'll be right behind you," she said. "Sit on it, stand on it, whatever … just buy me time to pop the inhibitor."
A volley of small arms fire erupted inside the laundry room, followed instantly by the deeper roar of the centurion's cannons. That was Kara's cue. She pulled the pin on the grenade and as she rushed into the room threw it in the damaged machine's general direction. She hurled herself to the floor and covered her ears, but the last echoes of the blast had not yet died away when she was back on her feet. Her centurion had already swept past, leaving Kara to bring up the rear.
Three seconds later, Kara's protector threw itself across the hostile centurion's torso, pinning both it and its cannons to the floor. The enraged machine reflexively fired off another volley, which reduced one of Galactica's industrial sized washers to scrap. It did not stop firing until Kara had prized loose the telencephalic inhibitor. The two centurions then rapidly conversed, after which Starbuck's bodyguard climbed back to its feet.
"Okay," Starbuck shouted, "we're clear."
As the Six hesitantly approached, Kara turned to face her. The hybrid child might have taken after Shelly Godfrey physically, but Starbuck and the Six with no name were kindred spirits. Kara's affection for this particular mom and her notoriously anti-authoritarian attitude was written all over her face.
"Starbuck?" The Six's voice betrayed her uncertainty.
The Second Born favored her with a cheeky grin. "Hey, Six," she said, "let me bring you up to speed. It turns out that I have a really colorful family background! My dad was human, but my mom was cylon … a Six! Can you believe it? We're related!"
The Six stared at Kara Thrace, the revelation filling her with wonder.
"Our daughter … you're our daughter?"
The Six with no name got no further. Lieutenant Wallace had joined them, and he was sporting a cheeky grin of his own. "There, now, that wasn't so difficult, was it?" Wallace was about to say something more when he was rudely interrupted.
Kara Thrace barely beat the Six with no name to the punch.
. . .
Sergeant Omar Fischer wheeled the unconscious Commander Adama directly into one of Galactica's two surgical theaters, and with the help of a pair of male nurses, carefully transferred him to an operating table. Shelly Godfrey was about to enter the surgical ward when she looked down the companionway and spotted Apollo standing over another gurney a short distance away.
"Lee?"
Apollo glanced up, to see his father's Cylon girlfriend walking towards him with a pair of centurions at her back. There was blood all over her, and Lee's first panicked thought was that she must have been wounded in one of the many firefights that had broken out across the ship.
Lee Adama's feelings for Shelly Godfrey were ambiguous in the extreme. He had long since accepted her as a genuine defector: if she had wanted to kill his father or harm the fleet in any way, she had passed on dozens of opportunities to do so. He knew that Kara Thrace had taken the Cylon under her wing, and Starbuck's instincts were not to be dismissed lightly. In Apollo's mind, however, Shelly's chief recommendation was the simple, incontestable fact that she made his father happy. No one who saw the two of them together could miss this obvious truth, but Lee knew that he and Saul Tigh were the only two people to grasp what it actually meant. His parents' marriage had been a train wreck; even as a small child Lee had observed tensions that he could not understand, and he had quickly learned that as the oldest son he was an inviting target for his mother's deflected anger. In later years he had taken the full measure of his father's aloofness and connected it to his mother's growing dependence on alcohol. If the two of them had ever been happy, Lee Adama had no memory of it.
And now his father had found happiness … with a machine. Here lay the second, incontestable truth. A creature with silica pathways inside her brain had brought William Adama a measure of joy that he had never obtained from a relationship with a human woman. Lee didn't know whether Shelly's feelings for his father were authentic or the result of computer programming, but in the final analysis it didn't really matter. Shelly was cylon, and early on she had ceased pretending to be anything else. His father knew what she was, and he had nevertheless dropped his barriers and allowed her inside his heart. The two of them cared deeply for one another, and neither of them sought advantage from that fact. Lee secretly envied them the honesty and trust that defined every aspect of their relationship.
And now, standing at Creusa's side, solicitously holding her hand, Apollo could not help but ask himself whether he was truly his father's son. We certainly share a passion for blonds, Apollo mused, and both of us seem to have a problem connecting with women. I drove Gianne away the moment I discovered she was pregnant. Kara was a safe bet because she belonged to Zak. But after Zak's death, I turned on her, held her responsible so that I could keep my distance. Now I chew her out every chance I get before I go running off to Shevon. Yeah, Lee, face facts. You're so frakked up that you're drawn to a carbon copy of your future mother-in-law. You're drawn to a machine because she's safe … non-threatening, won't make emotional demands. And she's beautiful! Gods, but she's beautiful … every horny teenager's wet dream. I wonder what she's like in bed?
"Shelly, are you all right? Have you been shot?" There was nothing feigned about the anxiety in Apollo's voice.
"Lee! No, I'm fine … but your father …" Shelly Godfrey trailed off as she saw awareness dawn in his eyes. She couldn't bear to tell him, and yet there was no one else to whom this task could fairly be delegated. She took a deep breath.
"Lee, a centurion made it to the CIC. It came for me, but your father shielded me, saved my life. Lee, he's been shot … your father's been shot."
"How bad?" Apollo reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders. "Shelly, how bad?"
"It's bad, Lee … two bullets in the back. They're still lodged inside him."
"Doc Cottle … is Doc Cottle with him?"
Shelly sadly shook her head. "No, Major Cottle stayed with the fleet when we jumped to Kobol. My recommendation, Lee … your father was following my recommendation that we leave our only fully qualified surgeon with the civilians. I'm … I'm sorry."
Apollo took a deep breath of his own. "No, Shelly, don't apologize. That was a good call … a good call." A determined look came over his face. "Shelly, this is Creusa. Look after her for me, and at the first sign of trouble yell for help. I've gotta go!"
"Lee, wait! The centurions … Colonel Tigh wants the centurions to secure sickbay."
"One at each end of the corridor," Lee shouted in response. He raced into the surgical theater. . . .
"Well, this is awkward," Creusa quietly observed.
Shelly looked down at her sister, but said nothing in response.
"Last week the arch traitor … the most vilified copy in the entire collective." Creusa inhaled sharply, and shut her eyes for a long moment. "Frak, but that hurts!"
"Sister?"
The blond warrior quickly regained her composure. "But this week a heroine without peer … an inspiration to rebel Cylons everywhere." Creusa looked up at her sister with a malicious smile. "So, now you're off the hook … or at least Natalie and I are on it with you."
"Sister, you are being too hard on yourself," Shelly protested in reply. "The Ones have made fools of us all, and if I had remained on a baseship I would still be doing their bidding. I was one of the lucky ones. Being sent to live among humans opened my eyes. We can't evolve without humans to inspire us—that much is so obvious that I sometimes wonder whether the real purpose of this war was to keep us from evolving! Why didn't the Ones tell us that we can have children? Why didn't they tell us that our race need not forever remain enslaved to resurrection technology? The Cavils have known the truth," Shelly bitterly added, "for decades."
"And what else have you discovered, sister?" Creusa was genuinely curious. "Can we feel love? Have you fallen in love with Commander Adama?"
"Yes," Shelly confessed, "we are very much in love."
"Then I suppose that there's hope for us all."
"Certainly for you, sister," Shelly retorted. "I saw the way that Lee was looking at you … he was even holding your hand! How did you charm him so quickly?"
Creusa smiled. She was sorely tempted to say something glib. Like father, like son? Wisely, however, she opted to say nothing at all.
. . .
"Now let me get this straight," Gaius Baltar remarked, "you want me to assume the presidency?" Baltar was standing in the middle of Commander Adama's private quarters, but the only other person in the room was Colonel Saul Tigh.
"That is correct, Doctor. By law, the sitting vice-president takes office when the serving president dies, becomes incapacitated, resigns, or is removed from office."
"The way I hear it," Baltar countered, "Laura Roslin is neither dead nor incapacitated, and she has not tendered her resignation. It's my understanding that, acting on Commander Adama's orders, you stormed Colonial One and arrested the President at gunpoint. Forgive me if I seem obtuse, Colonel, but I don't recall any language in the constitution that sanctions a coup d'etat."
Gaius Baltar's day had not improved upon his return to the Galactica. The occupants of the two Raptors were acutely aware of the fact that Heavy Raiders were breathing down their collective necks when they entered the starboard landing pod. Chinstrap and Swordsman had both piloted their ships to its far end, and upon completion of the jump they had immediately reentered space. Seconds later, a Cylon baseship had arrived on the scene, and shortly thereafter a pair of Heavy Raiders had departed for the battlestar. Obeying orders that came straight from the CIC, the two Raptor pilots had followed them into the landing bay. It was at this point that the Vice-President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol would have sworn that the entire universe had gone mad. He had exited his ship to find a deck hand busily painting red stripes on what appeared to be half the Cylon army. A Six who bore an eerie resemblance to Natasi had stared at him without recognition. Kara Thrace and two of the other pilots were wandering freely in and out of the centurions' ranks. For their part the metal monsters weren't shooting, disemboweling, dismembering or otherwise slaughtering the humans swirling around them. And in the end, when everyone else had left to do whatever it was that they were supposed to do, Vice-President Gaius Baltar had found himself summarily abandoned in the landing bay. Having to put up with still another insult to his dignity had further soured Baltar's already black mood. When two marines had finally shown up to escort him to Adama's quarters, the prickly Vice-President was primed for a nasty war of words. And Galactica's besotted XO made for a juicy target.
"Laura Roslin," Tigh impatiently answered, "suborned mutiny aboard this ship. Her actions resulted in the loss of a military asset of incalculable value, and they jeopardized your life and that of everyone else trapped on Kobol. Most importantly, however, she violated a working agreement with the Old Man that she entered upon of her own free will. She was supposed to handle the civvies, and leave military affairs in the commander's hands."
"And would I be correct in assuming, Colonel, that the President considered her actions to be consistent with the requirements of her office?" The two marines who had escorted him to Adama's quarters had relished the opportunity to describe in lurid detail just how Laura Roslin had ended up in Galactica's brig. Baltar suspected that they would be only too happy to toss him into the adjoining cell.
"Frankly, Mr. Vice-President, I don't have the slightest frakking idea what goes on in that woman's head. Nor do I particularly care. She went up against the Old Man and she lost."
"Well, Colonel Tigh, it may not matter to you, but it most certainly matters to me! Do you already have a cell with my name on it in your brig? Will you send in the marines to arrest me the first time that we fail to see eye to eye on a matter of policy? With all due respect, Colonel, this smells like a desperate attempt on your part to cover the commander's ass. You want me to legitimize what is clearly an illegal and unconstitutional act by assuming the presidency. Colonel, I'm a scientist, not a politician. I don't know the first thing about politics. But I'm not a fool, and I'm not especially fond of being treated like one. No, Colonel, I'm not going to indulge you. You and Adama got us into this mess, and it's your responsibility to clean it up. For what it's worth, I strongly recommend that you release the President and restore her to office immediately."
The Vice-President did not wait for a reply. Now that he had got in his licks, Gaius wanted to get as far away from the ill-tempered XO as he could, and do so in the shortest possible time. He had already been hauled off to the brig once, and he had absolutely no desire to repeat the experience.
. . .
"We've got tension pneumo; I'm going to stick him and release the pressure." Simon O'Neill looked up at Apollo. "Captain, you need to step back and give us room to work."
"Captain Adama, the commander's going to be okay," Ishay added. Reassuring distraught relatives had always been the toughest part of her job.
"Good," Simon observed several seconds later, "he's breathing on his own. Captain, your father is stable for the moment; why don't you stay with him while Ishay and I check on our other patients. And please don't worry, Captain; all of his vital signs are being monitored. The machines will let us know if his condition takes a turn for the worse."
The two paramedics resumed their hurried evaluation of the nearly two dozen wounded that had already been delivered to sickbay. Ishay twice paused only long enough to mark the foreheads of the injured marines with a large, black X. A third marine died right before her eyes. They would lose others, she knew, not because their wounds were untreatable but because Galactica's medical department was severely understaffed.
Layne and Simon were about halfway through the grim business of determining who would live and who would die when Laura Roslin and her three marine guards caught up with them. The President instantly volunteered their services.
"Thank you, Madame President," the tall Cylon gratefully replied, "we can certainly use all the help that we can get. I would like each of these marines to pair off with one of our medics; that will give us three additional teams. We also have a wounded Cylon on our hands." Simon turned and pointed down the companionway, drawing her attention to Shelly Godfrey. "Captain Adama has informed me that she was instrumental in saving the ship. She is alert and appears to be stable, but a few warm words of appreciation from the President of the Colonies might lift her morale. Please keep in mind, Madame President, that she has never experienced an invasive medical procedure. Heretofore, Creusa would simply have been euthanized so that she could download into a new body."
"Mr. O'Neill, I'll do what I can to put her at ease," Laura promised. And perhaps she'll be able to explain what she's doing here in the first place.
As Laura drew near, Shelly Godfrey turned to greet her. The Cylon entertained no illusions about the former schoolteacher's attitude toward "skin jobs," but this did not alter her conviction that the President's arrest was a serious blunder on Bill's part. The civilian populace simply would not appreciate the importance of the captured Raider, and few people even knew of the oral compact that divided authority over the fleet between the two leaders. Arrest and imprisonment would generate sympathy for Roslin, especially among people who disliked or distrusted the military, and this would strengthen her hand the next time that she clashed with the commander. Shelly was resolutely determined to protect Bill from the consequences of what he liked to describe as a "bad call," hence she had already decided to assume the role of peacemaker between the two feuding humans. Although she was careful not to reveal her feelings, therefore, inwardly Shelly was delighted to see that Laura Roslin was no longer in the brig.
"Madame President," Shelly said with a forced smile, "it's good to see you!"
"Thank you, Miss Godfrey … but … have you been injured?"
"No, Madame President." Shelly looked down at her suit, and visibly flinched as it finally dawned on her that she was covered with Adama's blood. "Commander Adama …"
"What," Roslin cut in, "the commander's been shot? Is it serious?"
Shelly bowed her head and meekly nodded. "He was protecting me," she whispered.
"Because he loves you," Roslin said, almost as an afterthought. Then she looked down at Creusa, and a look of startled recognition flashed across her face. The Cylon who saved my life, Laura thought, as those terrifying moments in the corridor outside Aft Damage Control slowly paraded through her mind. What in the name of the gods can I possibly say to her that won't sound banal and insincere? The President was in desperate need of inspiration.
"It's a very human thing, Miss Godfrey," she finally added, "to risk your life, even sacrifice it, for someone you love, or a cause you believe in." Laura Roslin was still looking directly at Creusa. "A very human thing … some would say that it's our noblest quality." The three women fell into an awkward silence.
"Why are you doing this, Shelly?" The President had never been able to make sense of the Cylon's actions, and now there was an entire baseship behaving in ways that defied understanding. "Major Bierns once told me what would happen if you resurrected, and it makes death seem like a kindness. Knowing the possible cost, why did the two of you turn your backs on your own kind?"
"For me, Madame President," Shelly replied, "it was simple. Being cylon wasn't enough … I wanted more. I still want more. As for my sister …" Shelly took Creusa's hand, encouraging her to speak.
"Three days ago, I was living in a fool's paradise." Creusa was characteristically blunt. "The Ones have spoon fed us lie after lie, and we swallowed every one of them whole. We engaged in genocide to avenge your cruel mistreatment of the centurions … and yet we somehow managed to overlook the inconvenient fact that we were no less guilty of enslaving them. Were it not for John and Kara …" Creusa was too disgusted to continue.
"I'm sorry," Roslin said, "but you've lost me. Who is John, and what does Kara Thrace have to do with all of this?"
"You don't know?" Shelly Godfrey was thunderstruck, but the baffled expression on Laura Roslin's face made it quite clear that the President wasn't being coy.
"Madame President," Creusa quietly interjected, "you know them as John Bierns and Kara Thrace, but we think of them as the First and Second Born … the first Cylon-human hybrids. . . ."
"In our prophecies," Shelly went on, "they are also known as the Deliverer and the Guide … angels who, in our darkest hour, would lead us to our new home … grant us a new beginning. But we misunderstood the prophecies. We thought that they applied to Cylons alone, but clearly we were wrong. Clearly, we are supposed to go to Earth together."
"Children?" Now it was Laura Roslin's turn to be taken aback. "Humans and Cylons can have children?"
"Yes, Madame President," Creusa confirmed. "There is an Eight on our baseship who is in the early stages of pregnancy. Sharon and her mate—a Galactica officer, Lieutenant Karl Agathon—happened to be in the Delphi museum at the same time as Kara and Leoben. They decided to join us rather than take their chances on the surface of Caprica. Once Sharon gives birth, each of the female models will have delivered a child into the world."
"My gods," the President murmured, "Major Bierns and Lieutenant Thrace are hybrids! That's … well, that's simply beyond belief!"
"Madame President, I firmly believe that this is what our creators had in mind for us." The fervor in Shelly's eyes matched the conviction in her voice—she had not disagreed with a single thing that Natalie had told her over the phone. "They denied us the ability to have children among ourselves, but enabled us to have children with humans. This cannot be coincidence. Our creators wanted Cylons and humans to live together in peace, not destroy one another in endless war. The Cavils have hijacked our future … both of our futures. But they're not going to get away with it. What we're fighting for, Madame President … I guess … I guess that what we're fighting for is our birthright. We don't seek power or wealth … these things mean nothing to us. All we ask is that you give us a chance to grow, to develop … as individuals and as a species. That's all … really, that's all we ask. We can be so much more than we are today … if you'll just give us the chance."
It was very much to Laura Roslin's credit that her response to so heartfelt an admission was neither hasty nor flip. She took the time to think it through. She still wasn't prepared to accept everything that Shelly Godfrey had to say at face value, but she also readily conceded that the ship would have been lost without the intervention of these rebel Cylons. Only time would tell whether Shelly's noble words masked a hidden agenda, but for the moment there was no denying the obvious: a divided enemy was a weakened enemy. It was, Roslin soberly concluded, very much in humanity's immediate interest to forge an alliance with the rebels, though how she was going to sell such an alliance to the Quorum was another matter altogether.
"It would seem," Roslin carefully and cautiously replied, "that our fates are intertwined … and it may well be that we have misinterpreted our sacred texts as well. Perhaps we are meant to take this journey together. I want you both to know that, if we are to become allies, I will do everything in my power to see to it that your people are treated fairly and with respect. I will not pretend to you that feelings in the fleet are going to change overnight, but you have certainly earned the chance that you seek, and in time you may break down the wall of hatred that now exists between us. For all of our sakes, I wish you well."
Laura reached out and took Shelly gently by the arm. "Miss Godfrey … Shelly … why don't you go and check on the commander? I'll stay here and watch over your sister."
"Thank you, Madame President. You're very kind." And with that, Shelly raced off.
The President turned to the wounded Cylon. "Creusa? You saved my life today … you saved a lot of lives. How can I ever thank you?"
Creusa managed a smile, although it took some effort. "Madame President, I am not as ambitious as my sister. At this point … well, it would be nice if people stopped calling us "skin jobs."
"That I may be able to arrange," Laura responded with a smile of her own, but it quickly faded. The blond Six's breathing had become noticeably more labored. "Creusa," Laura said in a voice tinged with alarm, "is there anything that I can do for you?"
"Madame President," Creusa grunted, "can you use a pressure cuff?"
"Yes."
"Please do so, and if it comes back less than 80/50 … call for help."
. . .
"How long till Doc Cottle's aboard?"
Layne Ishay posed the question, but it could just as easily have come from Simon O'Neill, Shelly Godfrey, or Lee Adama. They were all gathered around the unconscious figure of Bill Adama, and they were all thinking the same thing.
"I don't know," Saul Tigh replied, "but it's gonna be a while." The XO was staring blindly at the commander's inert form.
"Colonel," the normally taciturn Simon O'Neill remarked, "he doesn't have much time."
"Now listen, all of you." The XO's demeanor was calm, but there was more than a hint of impatience in his tone. "We have not yet accounted for all of the centurions who boarded the ship, and the marines are still actively engaged with the enemy on the lower decks. Standard Operating Procedure requires Galactica to remain off limits to all other vessels until we have the situation completely under control. Not partially under control … completely under control! So the two of you are gonna have to go in yourselves." Tigh was looking pointedly at Layne and Simon.
"Us?" The Cylon wondered if the XO had any idea what he was talking about. "Colonel, neither of us are qualified to practice surgery, and our experience is limited to assisting others. We're medics, Colonel Tigh, and medics are not surgeons!"
"Well, today," Saul countered, "both of you are full-fledged doctors."
A moment later, the transparent plastic curtains that isolated the surgical ward parted, and Laura Roslin charged in. She went directly to Simon O'Neill.
"Creusa's blood pressure has dropped," the President told him, "and she's spitting up blood. I think she's in trouble!"
"Sergeant Fischer," Ishay snapped, "get her in here now!"
. . .
"Now let me get this straight, Lieutenant," an incredulous Galen Tyrol replied, "you want me to perform surgery on a Cylon centurion?"
"That's right, Chief," Kara Thrace agreed. "I want you to remove the legs from this chassis, and attach them to my mean tempered friend here." Kara pointed to the torso of the centurion that they had pulled out of the laundry room.
Chief Tyrol's day had been every bit as bad as Gaius Baltar's, but it was ending even worse. How, he wanted to know, could any sane person expect him to stop shooting toasters and start repairing them? And then he remembered that he was dealing with Kara Thrace. The Viper pilot had returned to the starboard hangar deck with a small army of red striped centurions at her beck and call. One of them was dragging the headless remains of a hostile centurion across the deck, while a second was carrying an enemy combatant that had lost its legs in a firefight. It was the latter that Kara Thrace had charged him to repair. The machine, Starbuck hastened to assure him, had switched sides.
Galen scratched his head. "Lieutenant, I don't suppose that this thing comes with a repair manual?"
Kara laughed derisively. "Come on, Chief, how hard can it be? You solder a few wires together, insert this male doohickey into that female thingy, and we're good to go!"
Starbuck turned to the Six with no name. The abrasive Cylon had all but glued herself to Kara's hip, so Starbuck figured that she might as well put her to work.
"Mom," Kara said sweetly, "can you help? Walk him through it … maybe give him a few pointers?"
"Sure," Six said.
"Mom?" The chief looked back and forth between the two females. "What am I missing here?"
"Chief, I'm a half-breed," Kara giggled. "Daddy was human and mommy a Cylon … a Six, to be specific. But gods only know what my maternal grandparents looked like!"
Galen threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Fine … whatever. Let's get started."
The chief's reservations notwithstanding, the work went quickly. In the beginning the Six had to coach him, but Galen was surprised to discover that he had an intuitive feel for how the machine was constructed. It was almost as if he had worked on the metal monsters in some past life.
In no time at all, therefore, Kara Thrace and her assorted relations were heading for the lower decks. The hybrid child fervently hoped that their newest recruit would be able to persuade its brothers to cease fighting before anyone else got hurt. There was room in Starbuck's heart for everybody—humans, Cylons, hybrids, centurions … they were all family. Families might fight, but this family had seen far too much of suffering and death. It was time for the healing to begin.
