Authors Note

Sorry for the delay in chapters! I blame my exams, but luckily my exams are all over now! So here we go!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters what-so-ever, so please don't sue. If you're still keen on suing me, then do it over the story that you think is the best. Leave me a little bit of ego as I go to prison.

Corridor

Battlestar Galactica

Tory ran down the corridor, a look of mild annoyance on her face. Her heels clicked impatiently as she turned another corner, and she was seriously considering commandeering some flat shoes as the impact of the shoes on metal floors sent vibrations through her body.

She had just been informed of the President's arrival on the Galactica, and she quickly tried to make her way down to the hangar bay to greet her, and give her the schedule for the rest of the day. The only problem was, when she had reached the hangar bay, Tory had found nothing but an empty raptor and a couple of confused Marines loitering around.

Not knowing where the President had headed, Tory set off down the corridors of the Battlestar, hoping for a glimpse of the telltale Auburn hair or the echo of heels. However, she had seen no fiery redness in the crowds of Galactica crew members and the only heels that could be heard for metres were her own. She didn't give up, however, turning down another corridor in a vain attempt to find Roslin.

After a few minutes of continuous running, Tory soon found herself tiring out. I should have gone with Laura when she went to the gym, she thought to herself, and groaned inwardly when a dull ache attacked her side, indicating a stitch. She stopped, catching her breath and looking around at her surroundings. She hadn't bothered taking the time to get to know her way around the ship, figuring it pointless as she only needed to know the way to the pilots quarters, meeting rooms and CIC. Now however, as she glanced around, she regretted not asking for a tour. She was lost.

Many hatches branched off of the corridor she found herself in, and Tory figured that she must be near living quarters. Maybe someone would come past soon, on their way to their racks, and give her some directions. There was nothing much more that could be done, and Tory leant back against the bulkhead, sighing as she felt her feet throbbing.

Suddenly, the air around her seemed dense. She couldn't breathe. Her lungs were whining in protest and she valiantly tried to draw a breath. It felt as if someone had covered her mouth and nose, causing the overwhelming fear of asphyxiation to rise from the pit of her stomach. Something was wrong, she knew as she tried to push herself away from the wall to get help. Her legs refused to obey her commands however, and her head started to thump painfully.

Tory was used to headaches, you had to be if you worked on schedules and meetings and had a disagreement with Laura Roslin. This wasn't like the others though, and Tory felt her legs start to buckle beneath her. She brought out her hands quickly to cushion the fall, yet she did not collapse. It was a weird feeling, she noted as her legs shakily propelled her forwards, to not be in control of her own body. The invisible force covering her face slowly dissolved, allowing her to gasp and breathe in huge amounts of air.

As soon as she managed to get her breathing under control, she wildly looked around hoping for the slightest glimpse of another human being, to grab onto her and to help her regain control. As her legs pushed her down the corridor, her hopes vanished and were replaced with raw fear; is this something to do with my programming? Where am I going? Questions raced through her mind, and she found one of them answered, as she made her way past a sign indicating Living Quarters for pilots.

"But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate …" the words tumbled from her mouth, without her knowledge. She could hear the music filtering in through the ship, lulling her mind into acceptance. She wanted to fight it, she needed to fight it. She was Tory Foster, a human. She chose to be human.

As she was pushed forwards, something blocked her. She was near now, so close to where she was meant to be …. Just a few more feet … but the obstacle in front of her would not budge, no matter how much her body tried to push past it. Her mind screamed at her; look at what is blocking you! Stop moving! Tory Foster, pull yourself together! Fight back!

Her body wasn't listening, struggling futilely against the force pushing her back. Suddenly, she felt herself being pushed back into the bulkhead, the obstacle now surrounding her, keeping her from moving. Words drifted past Tory's ears, but she couldn't quite grasp what was being said.

Focus, her mind scolded her, and she felt a little bit of control seep back in. She focused in on what was being said.

"Foster, will you frakking stand still!? Don't make me hit you because Godsdamnit I will!"

The voice was rough and angry, and Tory felt herself relax slightly under the familiarity of it. She was in the mildly assuring presence of Colonel Saul Tigh. When he realized that he had gained her complete attention and felt her stop struggling, he pulled away slightly, panting.

"Godsdamnit woman," he sighed, taking a few steps backwards, "you're a fighter."

"Colonel?" Tory managed to find her voice. She needed assurance that it was really him, and not some Cylon taking over his body as she had felt take over hers just moments ago.

"Yeah, it's me." He answered her silent question, but his attention was fixed on the door in front of him, "we're outside Helo and Athena's quarters. Anders has gone in already, I couldn't stop him."

"We need to get in there Colonel. Do you have a gun on you?"

Tigh looked at her, his only eye showing great surprise at being asked such a question. He didn't reply with words, instead pulling a gun from within his uniform. Tory nodded in acknowledgement, indicating that he should keep it out.

"We need to get in there Colonel, now."

If he had any trouble in understanding her request, he didn't show it, instead throwing his weight onto the hatch wheel in front, and slowly turning it ….

Hangar Bay 2#

Battlestar Galactica

Tyrol hummed to himself as he scooted underneath a nearby Viper. The engines were completely destroyed and it needed a new windscreen placed in, but other than that the condition of it looked to be adequate. Tyrol smiled at this conclusion. This bird was going to survive to fight another day. After an explosive training mission gone awry, he was three days backlogged on repairs. It didn't help that his working relationship with Cally had completely fallen apart, as she would have been useful when they had to tackle a communications problem on a nearby Raptor. Tyrol and Lairs had spent hours trying to get their arms behind the Raptors casing, a job that would have taken the small Cally merely minutes.

With a loud sigh of relief, Tyrol pulled himself away from the downed Viper, and stood up quickly. He moved towards the trolley holding his tools and started to grasp at the ones he'd need to hook out the engine. If only another part of it could have taken the brunt of the shots, he thought to himself, engines are so hard to come by now. I'll have to look in the serviceable scrap.

As he turned around to get started on the Viper, his ears picked up a soft humming. It was a tune, he was sure of it. A familiar one at that. It glided softly past him, whispering and tempting him to follow. Shaking his head slightly, Tyrol felt words form and slowly exit his mouth, yet he was not the one speaking then.

"So let us not talk falsely now, the hour's getting late …" his voice picked up the tune of the soft humming and he felt captivated. He felt tools slip slowly out of his grasp and land with a harsh thud against the hangar bay floor, yet he did not care. His legs took on a life of their own, moving him towards the hatch that separated the Hangar Bay from the rest of the ship. A smile appeared on Tyrol's lips as his hand rested on the wheel of the hatch. It all made sense now, what he was going to do.

"Chief?" A voice called faintly from behind him. He didn't respond. He couldn't respond, only turn his head slightly to acknowledge that someone had spoken. A hand gently touched his shoulder, and he recognized the deep voice of Figurski, a fellow knuckle-dragger.

"We're backlogged on repairs, sir. This is no time to be wandering off. We need to get that Viper up or the CAG is going to have our arses on platters."

Tyrol didn't move from his position, making Figurski wonder if he had even heard him. Seconds ticked by slowly, and still no movement from the Chief. Just as Figurski went to reiterate his point, however, Tyrol spun the hatch wheel and opened it with a loud creak.

"All along the watchtower …" he murmured, before stepping through and shutting it behind him, leaving his fellow deck hand standing, confused. Tyrol was alone now, surveying the corridor in front. Nothing to do but follow the music, he decided, turning left at a junction. He wasn't heading towards Athena's quarters, instead choosing a different path …

Hangar Bay 2#

Battlestar Galactica

Cally stepped out from the head, back onto the hangar bay floor. She needed to check the communications on that Raptor that Tyrol and Laird had repaired. Wanting nothing to do with her ex-husband anymore, Cally had made herself invisible and watched patiently as Tyrol had smacked the Raptor and yelled "frak" before guiding Laird away to clean up the multiple cuts they had gotten.

As she moved towards the raptor, Cally stumbled slightly. She balanced herself quickly and sighed in relief. The Gods were looking out for her lately, first giving her a home and now saving her from any serious injury. She looked down in annoyance to find a wrench planted on the floor.

"Who the frak would leave a wrench on the floor?" she muttered to herself angrily, then realization hit her. There was only one person to be so careless, to be so lazy-

"Figurski!" she screamed angrily, looking around wildly for the deck hand. He was a walking hazard that man, she thought, as her gaze located him. He was over by the hatch, talking to someone. The person looked familiar, and as he slowly left, she recognized it to be Galen.

Figurski slowly turned around, dazed at sound of someone calling his name, and found Cally rushing over.

"Where did the Chief go?" She asked him quickly, annoyed because now they were down one knuckle-dragger. Having the Chief walk out on them now was not good, as they were already behind in their work.

"I don't know Cally," Figurski answered honestly, "he didn't say. He dropped his tools and left. I told him we're up to our frakking necks in work and are backlogged by three days, but he either didn't listen or just didn't seem to care!"

Cally looked worried, reflecting the exact expression that Figurski wore. The Chief just walking out was definitely not a good sign, and Cally wondered where the hell he had gone.

"Did he say anything Figurski?" Cally asked impatiently, hoping she'd get some clue as to what was more important than the repair of their Birds.

"Actually now tha' you mention it," He said slowly, trying to remember what the Chief had said, "he did hum something about a watchtower."

"A watchtower?"

"Yeah, I though it was pretty frakked up," Figurski nodded, before moving away, "I gotta go. I got three Vipers that need new wings for fraks sake!" With that, he swiftly moved away and over to the other side of the deck.

"A watchtower …." Cally murmured, trying desperately to remember why that seemed so familiar to her, "a watchtower …" Suddenly, it struck her. Before reaching the Ionian Nebula, Tyrol had spent nights humming the same tune, about a watchtower. Armed with this information and the knowledge of what Tyrol was, Cally ran towards the hatch, intent on following the Chief. If he was going to blow up this ship, she was going to try her best to stop him.

A/N

Really sorry about the delay! Hopefully the next chapter will be up faster :D Have patience with me if you can.