Thirteen

Chapter Forty-Six

Election Eve

Laura Roslin wished that President Rodney Adar had lived, so he could run against Tom Zarek and allow her to just worry about her position with the government as education minister. Instead, she was on a podium, giving a stump speech to a crowd of supporters in the Zocolo shopping area in the central corridor of the station. In another part of the massive shopping area, her opponent, Tom Zarek, was doing the same thing. It was now three days before the election, and she was running on coffee, junk food, and adrenaline. Sleep was almost unattainable, with a quick half-hour nap appearing to be as much of a luxury as going to a spa for a week.

The crowds were enthusiastic as usual, with some hecklers thrown in to try and throw her off her game. She was amazed to find that, instead of being thrown off, she used their barbs as her own weapons, throwing them back at her opposition with effective linguistic lethality. She didn't know if taking the wind out of the sails of detractors was praise-worthy, but she took pride in her abilities.

When it was over, her security, a mixture of her old personal guards as well as Babylon 5 peace officers, helped to clear the way for her to head back to her headquarters. Roslin shook hands as she made her way down the gauntlet of supporters, as her security looked over the crowd, readying themselves should a would-be assassin appear. All she could think about was that she needed a drink and she needed it now, because her throat was getting raw with all the speaking.

The cold coming off the ice in the tumbler full of whiskey soothed her hands, sore from all the handshaking. She sipped at the drink, letting the cool alcohol slowly slide down her throat. "Oh Gods!" she exclaimed. "This may not be ambrosia, but it's still good!"

Wallace Gray, her former choice for vice-president, smiled and sipped some of his own whiskey. "Yeah, this stuff hits the spot all right! So how are you holding up?"

"About as well as anyone can, Wally. I'm exhausted, frustrated, and just wanting to get this over with. It doesn't help that we might be attacked on election day or immediately thereafter."

Gray nodded and added, "There is that. At least it's not before the election, or else Zarek might use it against you!"

"Wouldn't put it past them? So have they told you what happens if the station is boarded?" Roslin asked.

"We go into a life pod and get the hell off the station, hoping like hell we don't get picked up by the Cylons or the Drakh, smashed by some big chunk of debris, or blasted to bits by a particle beam! Sounds like fun!" Gray said sarcastically.

Roslin nodded and said, "I have faith that we'll come through this. You know what the Minbari say: 'faith manages'. We'll get to see if that holds true."

"Well, that and five cubits will buy you a cup of coffee." Gray said.

"Credits, Wally." Roslin corrected him without thinking.

Gray's face changed and he got up quickly from his chair, going over to the sideboard and refilling his drink. "What is it, Wally?" Roslin asked.

He paused for a moment, an ice cube suspended over his tumbler by tongs. Gray released the grip slightly on the tongs, and the cube clinked down on top of the other one in his glass. He filled his glass up with more whiskey, then turned around and said, "That's what worries people, Laura: stuff like 'credits' instead of 'cubits'. Our people are worried that we're going to lose our culture the longer we stay here. Despite the best efforts of station personnel, Christian missionaries are trying to recruit our people away from following our gods and to worship some guy nailed up to a post and crossbar."

"I understand, Wally, but what can we do right now? Once we weather the storm of this attack, if we weather it, then we can be more serious in looking for a homeworld."

Gray sat down hard in his chair and leaned forward urgently. "Laura, Zarek is out there hammering you on how close you are with the Earthers! He's claiming that you'll sell our entire culture, our religion, and our way of life to the Earth Alliance for our mere survival! It's a miracle that we're still even with him in the polls!"

"So what? Let him bash me all he wants! Would they rather be dead? I'm the one who helped get us to this point, along with Adama and the rest of the military. What did Zarek do? Help get a few ships a few extra supplies that we weren't able to get to them in time? People may want change, but they also know that if it weren't for me, we might not be here."

"That sounds a bit arrogant, doesn't it?" Gray commented.

"Wally, if it had been up to Adama, Galactica would have gone back to fight against the Cylons. They wouldn't have stood a chance, and neither would we. If Adama hadn't agreed to flee the system, we'd all be dead right now!" Roslin said tersely.

"Then tell them that! Who cares if it sounds like you're shortchanging Adama! We need the people to remember why you are president!"

Roslin thought for a moment, then said, "Get one of our speechwriters in here!" Gray smiled and went to fetch one.

In his campaign headquarters, Zarek had just finished taping his part of yet another commercial for the election. His cheeks were sore from all the smiling, and his throat was sore from all of the stump speeches and other times when he had to speak. Like Roslin, his hands were sore from all the handshakes. He, too, would be glad to have just an hour sleep right now, but time was of the essence, so sleep would come when the election campaign was over.

He commented on that to his lover, Ellen Tigh, who replied, "Well, if my husband can pull a miracle out of his ass, maybe your victory will mean something! To be perfectly honest, I'm not optimistic!" She gulped down some of the brandy he had on his desk.

"Ellen, we'll get through it. With luck, Saul will die in the battle and you won't have to worry about all the legal problems a divorce brings up."

She looked at him and said, "That's kind of a cold blooded way of looking at things, Tom. In case you hadn't noticed, there are other people besides my husband on the Galactica, people who I wouldn't want see die."

He shrugged and said, "What can I do? It's out of my hands. Even if I win the election, I won't become commander in chief of the military until I am inaugurated. Besides, with Saul out of the way, it'll help me ease Adama out of his position as head of the military."

"Are you crazy, Tom?" she exclaimed, "He's the only experienced officer we have left, outside of Fisk on the Pegasus! For Gods' sake, who would you appoint to head the military?"

Tom looked down at the floor for the moment. He drank from his glass, savoring the taste of the brandy. "Maybe you're right. Hell, maybe we should keep Saul around after all. It's not like you're going back to him anyway."

Ellen came up to him and embraced him, saying, "Hell no! He may be the perfect soldier at the moment, but he'll always be a lousy husband, whether I'm his wife or anyone else is. As long as he doesn't try to overthrow you, he can live until he's a hundred for all I care."

"Yeah, and with Sheridan and Garibaldi around, they won't let that happen! I know they don't like me, but at least they aren't interfering in the election."

"Well, no wonder they aren't, Tom, because they know what would happen if they interfered and you won anyway!" Ellen said as she smiled broadly.

"And as for President Hollifield, I can deal with him too. At least until Senator Cally beats him three years from now! She's been invaluable to this campaign!"

Ellen took his glass and refilled it, then brought it back to where they were seated. "You don't have a thing for her, do ya?", she said with a wink.

Zarek laughed out loud, "Gods no! Mind you, you've got talons, but hers would rip me to shreds if I got on her bad side! I can imagine being married to her would mean that I'd have to lose quite a lot of arguments at home!"

"That's good!" she said as she sat down on his lap. They kissed, but their impromptu make out session was cut down before it began by a chime from the door. "Come in!" Zarek said as Ellen got up from his lap, and one of his campaign workers came in with yet more paperwork for him to look at. Ellen sighed, but paid it no mind, because in three days, her man would become the next Colonial president, if the Gods' will went the same way as her desires were going.