Chapter 11

Clue

Adama ran his finger across the star chart. Nearly four days now and they hadn't found a single ship. Not that he'd really expected them to. Even with all the Raptors out round the clock they had barely searched a fraction of the area around Galactica, never mind the huge expanse of space beyond their current position. He knew that looking for the fleet this way was a huge gamble. They were using precious fuel in the search, fuel they couldn't replace without the Tylium ship.

He had stubbornly held onto the hope that the virus was due to some malcontent on his crew, someone with a grudge. OK, so it was a long shot, but it was the better of the two options; at least it left room for the possibility that the Base Star had stumbled across them by chance and were unaware of the virus. He had hoped that when Galactica had jumped away the Base Star would move off on its own, leaving Galactica free to go back and rendezvous with the rest of the fleet. That way, virus or no virus, the fleet would be able to come together again.

He'd purposefully left it as long as he could, resisting the temptation to send out a Raptor immediately to see if the Base Star was still there. He didn't want the Cylons alerted to the fact that Galactica and the fleet were anywhere near, or that they were interested in that particular sector of space. But this was the end of the third day and soon the civilian ships would be faced with the choice of jumping back to their last coordinates or running out of essential food, water and fuel.

He couldn't afford to leave it any longer, so he'd sent out a Raptor at 1900 hours with orders to scout the periphery of the sector and jump back immediately if there was any sign of Cylon activity.

If he'd had any doubts before that this virus had been the work of the Cylons… well, there they were, four Base Stars just waiting to pick off any ships that returned. They didn't stand a chance and the Cylons knew it.

By now a few of the civilian ships would be starting to struggle; most of them were crammed full of people with no water recycling facilities and limited food and fuel. Once the Captains of the ships realized they were alone it was only a matter of time before they were forced to jump back, but instead of finding Galactica and the rest of the fleet they'd be met by four Base Stars hungry for their blood.

He focused again on the star chart. There was no way in hell Galactica could hold off four Base Stars. All that was left was to try to do the impossible and find at least some of the fleet. He stared at the chart as if somehow the ships would magically appear on the empty page. He couldn't see any way out of this. It looked like the Cylons had finally won.

The printout of the virus was lying smugly next to the star chart, a mocking reminder of their imminent defeat. He glared down at the wretched thing, seeing only the unseen hand of the traitor behind it, staring it down and willing whoever it was to come forward and fight him in the open. Of course whoever it was would stay hidden. The Cylons' methods were nothing if not underhand.

As he turned his attention back to the chart something else caught his eye; down at the bottom of the printout, like faint echoes of words, there were tiny pencil marks, almost small enough to be missed, carefully annotating the lines of computer code. He picked up the sheet of paper, peering through his reading glasses. This was new. The pencil marks, a tiny, neat hand. Gaeta? Baltar? They were the only ones who'd had access to this sheet of paper. Then he remembered Daniel Faraday at his desk, scribbling away with the stub of a pencil. He grabbed the phone off the wall. 'Get Baltar and Gaeta up here immediately. Is the prisoner awake yet? I want to know the minute he wakes up, understand?' He put the phone down and looked at the tiny marks again. Some of the parts of computer code had been underlined, little arrows and symbols drawn on it. This didn't look like random doodling.

Ten minutes later and Baltar was glaring at him for being dragged out of bed. 'Its just some nonsense formula,' he muttered, 'It doesn't mean anything.'

'Lieutenant Gaeta?' Gaeta looked quickly at Baltar, then at the printout. He shook his head, 'I'm sorry sir, I… it doesn't mean anything to me either. Some of these symbols, well, they're not even real.'

'Not real?'

'No, sir, they're not real mathematical symbols.'

'Unless it's some kind of code?'

Baltar poked the sheet in exasperation, 'Of course it's not a code, look, even without the weird squiggles it still doesn't make mathematical sense. And trust me, I know. After all, I am pretty sure that I am the only one here with a degree in Maths and Computing.'

Adama looked steadily at the sheet of paper in front of him. He nodded slowly. 'Thank you, that'll be all.'

Baltar gave him a piercing glare, muttering as he left, 'As if some of us didn't have a bed to go to.'

'Dr Baltar.' Baltar turned round, an expectant sneer on his face, 'If we don't find the fleet, then you'll get your chance to sleep for a very long time because it is more than likely we'll all be dead.'

Baltar flinched, 'Of course. Of course. I didn't mean- Yes. You're right. You're right…'

After they had gone, Adama looked again at the tiny pencil marks. Maybe it was nothing, maybe he was just clutching at straws, but straws were all they had left.

00000

They'd headed northeast, away from the coast and the shoreline. Boomer had figured that the beach was too exposed and she'd wanted to stay away from higher ground as well, so they'd stayed where the jungle was thickest. It was hard going but at least they hadn't met any more Cylons. Instead they had walked and walked until the rain came on, huddling for shelter under a stand of trees that did nothing but drip huge blobs of water onto them. And now she was still wet and freezing. Except for her face. Her face was hot again around the wound. The cream from the med kit had helped, but now the med kit was with the Raptor and the Raptor was with the Cylons and they were a day's walk away.

The images were indistinct, blurry. Boomer was under water, she could feel the pressure of the weight of the water all around her. She was in a large pool – was it the one here on Kobol? Was she dreaming about that? The walls were gray, and when she looked down at her hand she saw the red circle of the G4 detonator stuck firmly into the explosive. She wasn't asleep exactly, more in that dreamy half sleep. And it didn't feel like a dream either. When she tried to focus on it the images stepped away, almost like someone hiding just at the edge of her peripheral vision.

She hadn't been dreaming. This felt more like her brain was leaking, like stuff was just beginning to squeeze its way out of her mind. She was smart enough to see it for what it was; a bunch of memories. Tiny snippets of things, impressions, ghosts of real life events. Being wet, submerged, holding the detonators, breaking into the arms locker, the hatch combing on C causeway, the virus. Lines and lines of computer code, all of it sharp and clear as if she were reading a shopping list or a novel. She sat quietly and wondered what the frak she'd done.

She knew what it meant of course. She had a strong real memory of sitting soaking wet and dripping, a whole twelve hours of her life just gone and an armed G4 explosive sitting in her bag. She knew what it meant now. She hadn't been drugged and drenched and framed for something she hadn't done. It hadn't been like that at all. She was the Cylon agent. She was the one who had vented half of Galactica's water into space. It was obvious now. It must have been obvious to the Chief as well; maybe not with the water, but certainly with the hatch combing. Whoever had left that hatch open had let in the Cylon suicide bomber. She had no memories of that - but she had been there, hadn't she? By then even the Chief had been beginning to wonder.

She looked over to see Racetrack still fast asleep, curled up in her usual cat-like position. She looked so peaceful she almost expected her to give out a contented purr. Who was she kidding? Racetrack wasn't peaceful, she was exhausted. They'd been walking all day, pushing hard to get some distance between them and the Cylon smoke thing that had chased them that morning. Racetrack hadn't complained, she hadn't questioned what Boomer had told her to do. She hadn't made any suggestions either, just plodded on behind her like an obedient pet. Boomer couldn't decide whether it was admirable or just plain stupid. Didn't Racetrack realize she was with a frakking Cylon? Wasn't it obvious by now that she didn't get tired, she didn't need sleep, she didn't even seem to need to eat or drink like Racetrack did? Racetrack was weak. She was weak and fragile and Boomer was doing her best to save her, but for gods' sake, how the frak was that going to be possible now? Especially after the things spewing out of her own mind – the things she had done. She had crippled Galactica, almost gotten the Old Man blown to hell by a suicide bomber, vented their water into space- planted a virus for frak's sake. She had no idea whether the virus had activated or not. Probably. Probably why they weren't going to be rescued. No one was coming for them because she, Boomer, had fixed it so that they couldn't. She'd killed Racetrack before they'd even gotten here.

The sick feeling in her guts tore at her even more. Maybe she should just confess it all, hand Racetrack her sidearm and wait for her to shoot her. Tempting as that seemed, it wasn't going to save Racetrack. It probably wouldn't even make her feel better. If she was a Cylon they just downloaded, didn't they, turned up somewhere else? That's what Crashdown had said. That was the intel on Cylons. Even if Racetrack shot her now she wouldn't really die.

It was pitch black. There was no moon. Did this planet have moons? She still couldn't remember. Perhaps she'd never known. The Chief would know. But she wasn't thinking about the Chief. Not any more. Not now. The person she was, Sharon, was gone. Replaced by a monster machine. She shivered and clutched her arms around her legs, hugging herself closer because she knew now for a fact that he never would again.

00000

Adama's whole body was aching. Between Laura's sudden collapse and the joker in his room, he'd only caught about two hours sleep. He took a deep breath as he waited for the guard to open the hatch to the isolation cell. The new prisoner had woken up already – he had been unconscious for only five hours. Adama wasn't sure why this one was awake so soon. Desmond had been out cold for two days. Maybe whoever drugged them had realized they needed to adjust the dose. Baltar was running a Cylon test on this new prisoner, but it wouldn't be ready for hours, though he suspected the results were going to come up negative the same as Desmond's. The toxin blood check already looked the same; traces of alcohol but nothing else.

He stepped into the room and gestured for the guard to let him into the cell. There were two guards behind him, both with instructions to shoot if the prisoner made any sudden moves. Adama was in no mood for games.

Faraday was sitting up on the bed looking more than a little worse for wear.

'Give the prisoner some water.' The guard quickly complied, handing over a water bottle which Faraday took gratefully. He tipped back the bottle and drank thirstily, wiping his hand on the back of his mouth as he handed back the bottle.

He coughed and smiled.'Wow. That was intense.' He brushed his hands through his hair and looked up expectantly.

Adama carefully unfolded the sheet of paper with the virus on it and pushed it towards him. 'What do you know about this?'

Faraday glanced at the sheet of paper and then squinted up at him, a half smile playing on his lips. 'It's a virus. A very sophisticated piece of coding.'

'Did you write it?'

'Me? No. No, I didn't. But whoever did really knew what they were doing.'

'But you made these marks here?' Adama pointed to the pencil lines in the margin.

'Ah yes, I just jotted down a few ideas – I didn't really have time to resolve it, but I made a good start. Do you want me to explain it to you?'

'We know about the virus. And we know what it's for. I am going to ask you again: are you responsible for placing this virus on my ship?'

'No. I'm not.'

'But you know who is.'

'No, actually, I'd never even seen it before I found myself in your room.'

Adama had a sudden urge to punch this man in the mouth. With an effort he controlled himself and stood up straight, folding up the printout with a measured deliberation before he left the room. He could feel Faraday's eyes on him. The prisoner didn't say anything and Adama didn't turn back. They were playing with him. Wasting time. Time the fleet didn't have. Desmond had come across as crazy and confused, but this guy Faraday knew exactly what was going on. He was smug. At that point Adama made his decision. He'd give it a few more days to try and find the fleet and then Galactica was on her own; they would leave here and try to find a habitable planet somewhere. But with Cylon agents on the ship they still weren't safe. He needed to be sure. If someone else was working with Faraday and Desmond, then he needed to know who they were.

He was surprised that the Cylons hadn't caught up with Galactica, given that he was now almost certain that they were behind the arrival of Faraday and Desmond. And he was sorely tempted to do what Tigh suggested, shove them out of the nearest airlock and vent them both into space. But there was still enough of his own father in him - the crazy-assed lawyer who insisted on defending the indefensible - to realize that summary justice wasn't justice at all and Kangaroo Courts had no place on his ship. However pissed he was with the way Faraday looked at him, the man was still human – at least to the best his knowledge – and he couldn't cut corners, he wouldn't cut corners. But nor would he endanger the lives of his crew. He had a day or two to figure out what to do with Desmond and Faraday. Not long enough.

Meanwhile they would try to get some answers. He scanned the names and faces of members of his crew and could find no one; no one but Lee.

Tigh would beat the crap out of the prisoners and get nothing from them – and so would he. He'd almost hit him, been so close, but it was obvious that the direct approach wasn't going to work.

He would have trusted Laura in her right mind – or maybe not, she was too direct, too blunt. She'd go at it like Colonel Tigh.

And Starbuck – well, she would hopefully have learned her lesson from the Leobin model. And why the hell was he including Starbuck in all his calculations anyway? – Starbuck was gone.

Captain Kelly, maybe, but he couldn't trust him with something like this, he lacked a presence, there wasn't enough authority in him to pull it off.

Gaeta was too green.

Chief Tyrol was the next man he'd choose, but he was too compassionate, weak in the wrong places for this sort of job.

Lee was the only face who came to mind; subtle and skilled enough to figure this one out, but hard enough to crack the nut if he needed to.

It was only Lee. Always Lee.

Faraday would have to go into Laura Roslin's cell. She didn't need it now anyway. He wasn't putting her back there. He'd give her quarters on Galactica once thy let her out of sick bay, and hopefully soon she'd be well enough to hold a rational conversation with him again. He'd missed that. He sighed. It was all such a frakking mess.