[Resurrection Hub, Cavil's Resurrection Section]

Buster strode away from her, past the rows of stored Cavils, checking the area for conscious ones walking about, while she paused at the entrance of the hall, glancing over her shoulder into the curved corridor, listening to the soft whirling sound of the living hub. Would the hybrid know what they were doing?

No one in sight, not even Ben. He was rarely far from her, but she didn't want him to see this yet and she certainly didn't want to share her discovery with any of the other models. It would stagger the Threes with their fascination for the missing five, and when the Twos and Sixes found out, the Cylon power structure would probably shift. It would become inescapable that the humanoid models' limited and specific memory loss had been inflicted on them by Cavil; that he had tampered with their programming; that he had been hiding five of their models, and that his was the worst kind of dictatorship. All under the guise of one-model one-vote equality.

Why had he done it? Was it solely hunger for power? She had to understand Cavil's game before she could effectively disrupt it. She had to know more. She'd only seen three of the five models. Would the unknown two turn out to be undercover Cylons as well, like the Chief, people she'd met in the Fleet and thought of as humans?

What if one was Captain Apollo? With his drive for perfection Lee Adama would be a picture-perfect robot, and for that same reason it could hardly be expected that Lieutenant Thrace was in one of the two capsules. A cantankerous capricious machine was a contradiction in terms, which left out Colonel Tigh as well, as a drunken robot would be a showcase of bad design and insufficient testing, but Baltar… Baltar being a Cylon that would make a great deal of sense. She swallowed against a wave of nausea. Tension, no doubt.

It had crossed her mind that one of the two remaining pods might hold a Bill copy. Baltar's Cylon detector had cleared Bill, but the device had exonerated Boomer too.

Having Bill here with her in the Hub…. It was a furtive hope, but one that had grown in the past few days while she'd been avoiding Cavil's Resurrection Section for fear of detection.

From the middle of the room, Buster motioned the coast was clear. She hastened to him, took the turn into the small corridor, past the pod with the able-bodied blond young man, past the dark haired girl, past Chief Tyrol, to the fourth body capsule and looked inside.

In the casing rested, in glorious beauty, the bare body of Ellen Tigh, her waist slim, her blond curls spread around her head like an aura.

Laura's jaw dropped and her shoulders slumped. Ellen? .

Of course, the woman had been suspected to be a Cylon when she first appeared out of the blue, but once Laura had gotten to know her the idea that the frolicsome, whimsical, unpredictable flirt could have been programmed, had become absurd. But here she was, undeniably Ellen Tigh. Without the usual tasteless dresses concealing her features, it was obvious that her Cylon creator had outdone himself with this design of female perfection. He must have had an ingenious mind, great human insight, and unconventional cutting-edge programming skills too, to accomplish this.

Would the Ellen in the Fleet know she was a Cylon? It was obvious that Colonel Tigh didn't. He hated Cylons almost as much as he was smitten with his personal copy of this model.

Bill probably ought to be informed that his XO was sleeping with the enemy.

What would happen if Laura took Ellen with her when she updated Bill of this development, the evidence in tow? Laura smiled at the prospect. One Ellen was already more trouble than Bill wanted and now there could potentially be a million copies… Colonel Tigh's reaction would worth watching too, when he was confronted with his wife's twin. Laura chuckled and walked to the last body pod.

She faltered – halted – froze.

Maybe Tigh's reaction wouldn't be what she had expected.

In the fifth pod, on his back, naked as the others, sporting a small gray sailor's beard, lay a flawless copy of Saul Tigh.

Laura sight shifted, blurred; she saw him and then she didn't, while the world slowed down to a trickle. Bill's oldest friend, the man he trusted implicitly despite his obvious failings, the man he'd fought alongside for decades, the man who'd always had his back - that man was a Cylon.

She abhorred the prospect of telling Bill. It would crush him as surely as her own death had done - though for herself, this find may be a chance.

A Tigh copy was more than just a clandestinely hidden model, more than a lever to trigger a Cylon uproar against the Cavils. No, a Tigh copy may be able to tip the scales right here and now. The bond between Bill and Saul had been reciprocal. Tigh thought the world of Bill, Tigh would die for Bill, Laura had no doubt about that. Maybe, just maybe, she'd found the one person on this Hub who would support Bill as much as she did, the one person that could really be her ally.

She wavered, looking up at Buster for guidance. He swished his red eye from left to right and back, awaiting her orders. Awakening this Tigh might not be harder than resurrecting the Roslins she had roused in the past.

She unlocked the pod, opened the lid and eyed the resurrection tub that was placed so conveniently in the center of the five pods.

No. Not here. Not where any second a Cavil could appear.

"Pick him up," she said to Buster, "we're taking him home."

.

.

[Colonial One, President's Office]

"So, you released the prisoner from the brig and put her…..," Baltar raised a brow in insinuation, "….where?" The pretender sat behind Laura's desk as if he owned it, his eyes alive with innuendo.

"You heard me." Bill folded his hands together, trying to keep a firm grip on his impatience. Briefing the president was one of the chores he rather delegated to Lee, but this time that was impossible. He'd known relocating Laura to his quarters might cause waves. He'd simply have to wait them out.

Baltar glanced to his left as if listening.

"Is that altogether ethical?" he then asked.

Bill bit back his reply, stepped toward the desk, close enough to pull the puppet president over the table if he only stretched out his arms. He was not going to indulge him in a game of ethics, not this pawn without moral compass. Baltar pressed himself against the back of Laura's chair.

"Uhh … what I meant is… actually … ," Baltar swallowed, "…why would anyone want a thing like that?"

Trying to regain his equilibrium, Bill stared down at him a bit longer, until Baltar fidgeted like a cadet caught drunk on duty.

"She has recent tactical knowledge of the Cylons' plans and actions," Bill explained at a slow pace. "We work together on a strategy to stop the Cylons from sending us more Roslin copies."

He hoped it sounded plausible. He could hardly say he needed and wanted his partner back, the one soul in the universe he could level with, the woman who sustained him with her presence alone.

Baltar's eyes flicked to his left again, and then, to Bill's surprise, he nodded.

"I hear a second Roslin copy has arrived," Baltar said.

"She's in Sickbay." Cottle had reported the new one was healing well and that he would release her soon.

"When she recovers," Baltar said, "I'd like that copy to be sent to me."

Bill's muscles tightened. "Why?"

"I am the foremost specialist regarding the Cylon subspecies of the human race. Studying a living copy of their latest model would be beneficial for humanity's understanding of Cylon technology and progress."

It sounded plausible but Baltar's eyes brimmed with a different hunger and his demeanor spoke of scenarios Bill would not allow any Laura to be subjected to.

"No," he said.

"I'm the President of the Colonies," Baltar insisted.

Bill hummed noncommittedly.

"As I understand it, the number of Roslins that the Cylons can send us is infinite," Baltar continued. "You don't have enough brig space to hoard them all."

Bill didn't intend to place the new one in the brig and watch over its suicidal phases again. He couldn't brave the exhausting ordeal a second time. The whole damn process was far too slow for his purposes, for the plan that was gradually maturing in his head.

"No, we don't have that much brig space," he agreed. The best place for a new suicidal Laura would be with the first Laura, the one that finally understood how her death would play into Cavil's hands, the Laura who now wouldn't even kill herself if he returned her the side arm.

It was a risk, of course. This new one looked different, as mature as the original Laura, and her programming was an unknown factor altogether. He'd have to rely on the first Laura to bring the second one about.

And that first one, the one that acted like his Laura, talked like his Laura, and finally connected with him like his Laura – with her he wanted to finish what she had started in the brig, as soon as he could end this briefing.

"Then give me the next one," Baltar said.

Never, Bill thought. "I'll quarter them on the Galactica," he said.

"How many Roslins do you need, for intelligence purposes?" A note of a whine crept into his voice.

Bill shrugged, distracted. It had just occurred to him that if he kept the first Laura in his quarters, as he fully intended to do, the second one would have to stay there too, for the first one to be able to keep an eye her.

He exhaled, disgruntled. He couldn't possibly frak her while the new one slept on his couch. He'd be blocked from making love to Laura - by Laura. He had painted himself into a corner.

Bill groaned.

"What?" huffed Baltar, as if Bill's grunt had been an assessment of his presidency. "Is it so strange I want one of them too?"

Suddenly, Baltar's head rushed forward - downward, as if pushed by an invisible hand, his forehead bumping onto the presidential desk, hitting the wood hard. He cried out in pain but kept his head down, against the desk, as if an invisible magnet kept him glued to the bureau.

The hair in Bill's neck stood on end.

"Really?" Baltar wailed exasperated. "You're jealous? Now?"

Bill decided to ignore the infantile protest. Jealousy didn't even begin to cover what he felt when it came to sharing Laura with Baltar. It was not going to happen.

"I'll make the arrangements," Bill said, deliberately abstruse, turning to leave. As he walked to the curtain, he heard Baltar mutter frustrated objections behind his back.

Bill ignored him. An idea how to solve his multiple Laura fix had emerged in his head and a slow smile curled his lips upward.

Now, how would he convince the Lauras?

Thanks for the inspiring comments

Next time: RST at last.