Disclaimer: Battlestar Galactica belongs to Ronald D
Disclaimer: Battlestar Galactica belongs to Ronald D. Moore and the Sci-Fi channel. In my version of events, Baltar kept his beard.
Chapter 21: Mousetrap
Roslin wandered into the kitchen to find Adama standing near the stove, frying something. She walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, looking past him. "Whatever you've got, it smells good."
"I finally managed to make something edible out of the root that Baltar thinks should be our main diet here," Adama remarked, moving the sizzling roots in the pan along with the onions, using his spatula.
She glanced out of the kitchen window to see Digger rolling around in the flowerbed again. "I'll be right back."
Walking outside, she placed her hands on her hips and shook her head at the dog. "Honestly Digger, how am I ever supposed to grow vegetables when you keep rolling in them?"
The dog only jumped up and wagged his tail at her in response. Suddenly the dog stood on its hind legs. Then he grew taller as paws became hands and legs became arms as he morphed into a man. She gasped at who it was that she saw. "Billy," Roslin whispered.
"Laura, you can't trust your eyes," he told her.
Roslin woke in the dark, trying to sit up, but finding it difficult to move. Then her hand brushed a shoulder that was not hers and she remembered where she was. Adama reached up and clicked the light switch. "It's alright, Laura. You're safe."
She brushed her lips with his, then slowly awareness of their undressed state began to sink in and she reached for the blanket to cover herself. "I had another dream," she began.
"Was it the Cylons again?" Adama asked after noticing that the clock read 0200, draping an arm over her shoulders and drawing her back to him.
"No. You were cooking something with the root from New Caprica and the dog turned into Billy. He told me not to trust my eyes," Roslin conveyed.
She spotted Digger laying on the floor by Adama's rack. "Billy looked after you. Maybe you associated the dog with him because the dog's been looking after you too," Adama surmised, turning off the light.
"I don't know," she whispered before cuddling up to him and trying to sleep again.
His alarm clock woke them at 0530. She blinked, looking at the clock with a groan. As he slid out of bed, she pulled the blanket over her head. He glanced back at her and chuckled. "As much as I'd rather let you stay there all day, I believe you have an early meeting."
"If they come looking for me, tell them that the Admiral's wife has other plans today," she remarked, her voice slightly muffled from the blanket.
He sat down on the bed, resting a hand on the shape of her back. "Then what would all yesterday's secrecy have been for? That poor priest had to endure Kara's innuendo-packed jokes for nothing.
She giggled and pulled part of the blanket back. "I suppose you have a point. One of these days, after things settle down, I would like to tell Zarek though. I'd love to see the look on his face."
"When you do, I'll find you a camera," Adama joked. Then he kissed her forehead. "Come on, you get the first shower. I'll order coffee."
"Alright. I think after my meeting, I'll visit our Cylon prisoner," Roslin mentioned.
"One of these days we'll need to find a job for her before your government finds out about her," he pointed out.
Roslin smirked. "So they're only 'my' government now?"
Adama chuckled. "The admiral is too busy worrying about the president to worry about the rest of the government."
Later as he heard the water running, a knock sounded at the hatch. He opened it to find a bleary-eyed Sonya holding a box in one hand while a cloth handbag was draped over the opposite shoulder. "I managed to acquire the chemicals that we'll need. You wanted a box of cornflakes as well, Admiral?"
He smiled politely. "Thank you."
Handing him the box, she left, moving as if sleepwalking. Adama closed the door and set the box of cornflakes on his desk. The coffee arrived a few minutes later and he had just returned from the kitchen with two mugs to see Roslin enter the room wearing her smart black business suit, ready for the day.
"The shower's open," she informed him with a warm smile.
Setting the mugs down on his desk beside the carafe, he took her right hand in his and kissed it. "Do you have time for breakfast?"
Smiling again, she stepped forward and kissed him lightly. "That depends on what we're having. If it's green…"
He poured her a mug of coffee and then showed her the cereal box. "Getani dropped it off this morning."
Her eyes widened when she realized what she was looking at. "How in the universe did she find it?"
"I didn't want to ask," he responded.
She smirked and shook her head. "In that case, maybe I don't want to know either."
While he showered, she poured herself a bowl of cornflakes, adding a bit of coffee due to their lack of milk. I wonder what else she uses her Black Market connections for, Roslin mused.
Sonya slinked into the lab, carrying the olive-green woven handbag. There was a clunk when she set it down on the table. Baltar eyed her suspiciously as she drifted over to a stool, her movements resembling a slot, a dying tiger, or a bear wandering out after hibernation.
"What the hell happened to you? You look like an insect after it's been stepped on," Baltar remarked.
As she glared at him, what would normally have been the whites of her eyes appeared to be pinkish-red. "It's a side effect from the oca smoke."
He raised an eyebrow. "I'm not familiar with oca."
She smirked and rested an elbow on the table, leaning on it. "I'm surprised at you, Dr. I-presume-to-know-everything. Oca is an herb that's all over the Black Market. However, if you're only down there for a day in the general trade area, you don't notice it much. The business I had to do required a chat with my boss. He smokes the stuff, so when I entered his office, I was breathing in quite a bit more of it than usual. Oca produces an effect that basically mellows the mood."
"It figures that the Black Market uses drugs to help business," Baltar commented, reaching for the bag.
"You get used to it if you're down there on a daily basis, but I haven't been there for a while and I inhaled far more than was wise. Today I feel like the walking dead. It should pass though," Sonya remarked.
As she rubber her temples, he took a risk and stepped closer to her. "Would you like me to order some coffee delivered?"
"Yes, that would be good." Then she pointed to the bag over on the table. "I brought the chemicals we need."
While he made a call to the mess hall, she removed three water bottle-like jars containing substances that were orange, pink, and yellow. "Will it really work?" he asked her.
"It had better," she paused and rubbed her neck. "Deities, sometimes I hate that frakkin' herb."
Baltar continued to watch her, pensively drumming his fingers on the counter. "You're… you're not just going to drop dead, are you? Because if you are, they'll all blame me."
Sonya held her head in her hands for a moment. "I told you it will pass." The coffee arrived and he set a mug down by her. "Thank you," she said, taking the mug in her hands, inhaling the scent before taking a sip of the steaming liquid.
"You're being civil again," Baltar pointed out.
"Only because I feel too crummy at the moment to yell at you," she replied. "I still hate you, but right now I hate oca more."
He decided that it was a good time to test Six's theory. "That, or perhaps you only pretend to hate me, but really you want to possess me."
She scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself. You are not the gods' gift to women. I'm not your type anyway," she remarked, sliding down from the stool. Mimicking Baltar's accent, she began an imitation. "Gaius Baltar only likes tall blonde women. Who cares if they're really Cylons as long as they're tall and blonde. No need to bother with short women who might actually be more interesting. No, I like the tall blondes with more body than brains."
"I can do better." He stood and cleared his throat, trying to alter his accent as she had. Though he sounded nothing like her, he did manage to sound different. "I'm short and bossy and I hate Baltar, because in reality I'm compensating for something. So what if I'm trying to be smarter than he is. Nobody takes me seriously, so I have to piss everyone off."
Sonya would have been irritated with him, but instead she was contemplating the critiques they had made of each other. "I think we're both morons here in one way or another. Here I am, pretending to be a scientist when I'm really a hacker among other less illustrious Black Market jobs, and here you are, pretending to be from Caprica when you're actually from Aerelon."
He looked over at her in surprise. 'You've read my book?"
She snorted. "No. I haven't had the desire to read garbage lately."
"Then how did know?" he probed, studying her.
"The way you grow your beard gives it away. Most people wouldn't catch it," she explained, setting her empty coffee mug on the counter.
He eyed her incredulously. "Even when she's not herself, she's still got the upper hand," his imaginary Six whispered in his ear. "I thought you were a Sagittarian. How do you know so much about people from Aerelon?"
Sonya crossed her arms. "Let's just say I've done a lot of traveling. Now, if I were you, I wouldn't move any closer."
"And why is that?" he dared to ask.
She took a step toward him, staring him down. "I'm not a doctor, but I know anatomically where your kidneys are. The Black Market would probably pay a lot for organ donations."
Her comment had startled him and he spilled coffee on his sleeve as he set the mug down. "Perhaps we should get to work then."
"Finally," she responded. "The only thing we're going to need now is a volunteer."
Six paced her cell in the brig, the loneliness beginning to bother her, despite the Baltar in her head periodically annoying her. "Why can't they trust me? Don't they understand that I want to help them?"
"Because in their eyes, you'll always be a Cylon," her mental Baltar stated.
She wheeled around immediately, hearing the door open. The president stepped into the room, supported by her aide. "Hello, Six."
"Hello. What can I do for you today, Laura?" Six inquired.
Roslin stepped away from Tory, folding her hands in front of her. "Is there anything else that you can remember about the Final Five or the Guardian?"
Six sighed. "I'm sorry, but I've told you all I know."
The phone rang. After answering it, he handed the phone to Roslin. "Excuse me a moment," she told Six. "Ah, Miss Getani, what is it? That's good to know. Thank you for your efforts. I hope it works." Handing the phone back to the guard, Roslin faced Six. "Our two experts are building a machine that can translate the sequences of one's and zero's that you claim are from the Guardian."
"I hope for your sakes that it means good news," Six remarked.
Roslin smiled. "Oh, it is. But they need a volunteer."
"Oh how delightful. It's a chance to get out of this cell," mental Baltar told Six.
Six stepped forward. "Are you asking me to be a volunteer?"
"Yes," the president responded.
"I'll do it," Six said without hesitation.
Then Roslin and Tory left the cell. "Madame President, I don't know if that was a good idea. What if she tries to escape?"
"Something tells me that she won't," Roslin answered. Suddenly a wave of vertigo hit her and she reached out to the wall to balance herself. Noting Tory's concern, she responded, "I'm alright. What's next on my schedule?"
"Madame President, how are you feeling?" Tory probed.
The swirling sensation had subsided enough for her to continue walking again. "I have to keep going as long as I can."
Tory shook her head. "Ma'am, if you suddenly pass out, the admiral will be very upset with me." Then the aide leaned closer and whispered, "You have more than yourself to think about, Mrs. Adama."
Roslin raised an eyebrow, noticing that aside from her security detail, no one else was in the hall. "What would you suggest then?"
"That you rest before your next meeting. You've got an hour before meeting the vice president," Tory recommended.
The older woman acquiesced. "Alright, I'll go. I think I should visit our guest first though."
Abigail's temporary guest quarters were on the way to the admiral's quarters anyway. Roslin knocked on the door. Abigail opened it, smiling politely. "Madame President, it's good to see you again."
"I wanted to see how you were doing," Roslin mentioned.
"I was hoping to use the satellite system to talk with my boss again," the other woman mentioned.
Roslin nodded. "That's something you should see the admiral about. He's in CIC."
Abigail looked for the marine outside her door and asked him to escort her to CIC. Roslin headed to Adama's quarters to lie down as Abigail and the marine walked through the halls. Abruptly the small woman turned a corner and bumped into something that said "Oof."
A balding man with beady eyes and bad teeth stared at her. "I'm so sorry, excuse me," Abigail stated.
"I'll let it go, this time. Say, you don't sound familiar. Which colony are you from?" the man asked.
Abigail raised an eyebrow. "Colony?"
The man rolled his eyes. "Yeah, as in the Twelve Colonies, like the rest of us. Does that ring a bell?"
She took a deep breath, trying to formulate an answer. What was the place that the people who came to Solaris Station mentioned? I think I remember. "I'm from Capricorn," she replied, hurrying past him with the marine in tow.
Shaking his head, the man headed over to the lab and stopped. He peeked in to find the woman he was looking for. Sonya turned to face the man by the door. "Arnie, what are you ding here? How did you find me?"
He shrugged. "Lucky guess." Then he spotted Baltar. "Hey, it's Dr. Let's-flip-a-coin-to-see-which-side-I'm-on-today."
"You sir, are not amusing," Baltar threw back. "Now if you will excuse us, we have actual work to be doing."
Arnie snorted, looking back to Sonya. "Are you gonna let him talk to you like that, Sonny? You look like crap by the way."
Baltar gulped as he could almost see a visible shift in attitude. Sonya glared at him, causing him to take a step back. "Look, I got us the chemicals. I came up with this project. The way I see it, I'm the one in charge here, not you. You're only here because they can't find a way to kill you that won't attract a lot of attention."
"Relax, Gaius. Obviously she's showing off for that guy. Just sit back and see how this all plays out," the Six in his head reminded him.
Sonya then turned back to Arnie. "What are you doing up here anyway?"
Arnie cracked his knuckles. "Nigel sent me here to find out the specifics on your project."
She shook her head. "I'm dealing with the top brass on this one. I can't just go telling the whole universe now, can I? Come on, Arnie."
The man shoved his hands into the pockets of his dingy jeans. "Fine. Just remind me what 'Capricorn' means."
Sonya raised an eyebrow and then looked to Baltar. He nodded and answered, "'Capricorn' is referring to the star configuration for which Caprica was named. It's rumored that when we reach Earth, we'll be able to see all twelve of the Colonial namesakes."
"I ran into some lady in the hall. When I asked her what colony she was from, she looked at me like I was crazy, and then she tells me 'Capricorn.' You meet so many whack-jobs outside of the Prometheus," Arnie remarked. Then he walked toward the door. "Since you can't tell me anything useful, I guess I'll be going."
As he exited, Sonya looked back at Baltar. "You know, all the work we've been doing, translating that electronic pad and now this project, do you think they've got more of a lead toward Earth than they've let on?"
"It wouldn't surprise me. The admiral had me looking at soil samples. I've also overheard something about a trip. Then yesterday a Raptor returned," Baltar mentioned.
"What if they've got somebody from Earth here? It is a really strange thing to say, that you're from 'Capricorn,'" Sonya suggested. As they began working again, she noticed how small their area suddenly seemed. "Do I have to draw a line down the table? You're making me claustrophobic." He rolled his eyes and stepped to the right, wondering if the others had indeed brought someone from Earth back with them. Neither of them heard the quick footsteps out in the hall from someone who had heard too much of their conversation.
Abigail entered CIC to find the admiral standing in the lower center of the room by the table with the model ships. He looked up as she neared the table. "Dr. Felds, what can we do for you today?"
"If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to talk to my boss again," she mentioned.
Adama nodded and motioned for her to follow him. Once the preliminary buttons were pushed and numbers were dialed, she waited to contact her boss. Adama left as the other man's face appeared on the screen. "Sir Camden, how are you today?" Abigail greeted him.
He smiled politely. "Very well, thank you. How are these 'Colonials' treating you?"
"They are very kind. Both the president and the admiral have made sure that I have what I need and that I'm comfortable. Have you been able to speak with the chancellor?" she inquired.
"Yes. I can configure a link between yourself and his office if you would like," Sir Camden suggested.
Abigail grinned brightly. "That would be wonderful, thank you."
A few moments later, the smiling image of a man with a coffee-complexion, short black mustache, and black hair combed back appeared. "Dr. Baldwin, it is very good to see you again. General Chesterton reported that there had been an accident." The chancellor was one of the few people who knew Abigail's real identity.
"Chancellor Byron, thank you for making time for me. I am with the Colonials and they are treating me quite well. Soon their government leaders wish to speak with you. I do hope that Chesterton hasn't told you horrible nonsense about the Colonials," she expressed.
Byron sighed and his brow furrowed. "Actually he has. He blamed the Colonials for the accident that supposedly killed you. He's rounding up military support for his ideas too."
Abigail frowned. "You've got to stop him, sir. These people mean us no harm. They're only looking for a new home."
The chancellor thought for a moment, running a finger through his moustache. "I think that we might be able to nudge the public's opinion if I have a few members of the press present when I speak to the Colonial leaders."
"I agree," Abigail responded.
"I will do what I can here and-" the ringing of a phone interrupted him. "I hope everything goes well on your end. I'd like to discuss this more, but I'm needed elsewhere. Please, contact me tomorrow through Sir Camden. I might be able to speak with them then."
"I understand, sir. Thank you for your time," she stated.
He nodded and smiled. "And thank you, Dr. Baldwin, for your involvement in all of this."
After the conversation ended, Abigail left the room to speak with the admiral. "Something has come up. May I have a word with you, Admiral Adama?"
"Of course," he responded, leading her aside behind the glass area.
She folded her hands in front of her and paced slightly. "Chesterton is rallying support against your fleet. I've talked to our chancellor and he will try to break up the rumors Chesterton is spreading. I've also asked him to talk with the Colonial leaders. He might be able to do this as early as tomorrow."
Adama nodded. "I'll inform the president. In the meantime, why don't you go back to working with Lieutenant Gaeta on converting your time estimate to our FTL drives?"
"That sounds fine, Admiral," she answered. They returned to the outer room and she walked over to the man, who was scanning the area for Cylons. The admiral explained that they should return to their earlier work and Gaeta agreed. As they began the conversions, Abigail's thoughts drifted back to the man whom she had bumped into. To her, he resembled a homeless man, not unlike the online pictures in the history book software she had used in school as a child.
Arnie, having returned to the Prometheus, entered the smoky office. The oca smoke did not cause his eyes to water nearly as much as it used to. In the dim light, Arnie knew that the other man in the room was facing him when he heard the squeak of the chair turn to face him. "Arnie, what have you learned for me?"
The other man glanced over his shoulder briefly, as if to make certain that the door was shut. "They've got someone from Earth onboard Galactica."
(My thanks to caramelapples, BossaNovaBaby24, sosayweall, Mariel3, Freelancer, murphybluecat, carolann, Ionel, KappaOmega, and Maud for reviewing :D)