Ron Moore reimagined Glen A. Larson's original idea; but then again, most people who would be reading this already know that. My use is in no way meant to challenge any established copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.
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IV – Gathering Clouds"There are plenty of people in the fleet who are devoted to my cause," Tom Zarek said, his icy stare boring into the eyes of the young man seated across from him. "There are even those who are devoted to me, personally, feeling that that is, in some way, better than just embracing my ideals."
"I'm definitely one of those pe--"
"I'm not done," Zarek said, holding up a hand to stop his visitor mid-sentence. "There's no shortage of people who are willing to die for me… or kill for me." His guest had nothing to say to that. "I don't say any of this to brag, so don't get that impression. I tell you this because I want you to understand that, as far as supporters go, there's very little I need."
"And you want to know what I have to offer you," the young man surmised.
"Assuming there's anything to offer."
"I was able to get a private meeting," the young man pointed out. "That's something."
"Perhaps." Zarek continued to stare down his visitor, but the young man did not shy away; his brown eyes kept staring right back, never indicating even the slightest degree of discomfort. Finally, several minutes later, Zarek smiled. "No one's ever lasted that long," he commented.
"It's not like I have much else to do."
"I suppose not."
"So what'll you give me in return for my information?" the young man asked, surprising Zarek with his even, businesslike tone. He guessed his visitor was no more than nineteen, possibly twenty years old. He was growing a bit of stubble – Zarek was sure it was intended to make him look older and more dangerous – but the facial hair was still little more than peach fuzz, even paler than the blonde hair on the young man's head. But he's calm. Smart, and calm. This one might have some potential.
"Assuming there's anything I have to give, what is it, exactly, that you want?"
"A job."
"You've already told me that," Zarek reminded him. That simple request had been the first thing the young man had mentioned when he walked in.
"So I presume you'd like me to be more specific."
"Like I said, I have a lot of people who support me already," Zarek responded, leaning back slightly in his chair, enjoying his position in the conversation. "Everyone new means another mouth I have to make sure gets fed, another person I need to find a place to live. If I spend all my time providing favors, there'll be no time left to accomplish my goals."
"It's a quandary," the young man said with a smirk, displaying the kind of arrogant sarcasm that only a teenager can ever properly muster. Zarek found he was definitely starting to like the kid.
"A job," Zarek thought out loud. "You realize, of course, that no job I found you would possibly pay anything. At least not in the old sense."
"That's good, since even a salary of a million cubits a day wouldn't mean a whole helluva lot given the fact that there's no place to spend my money. I'll work for a room to myself, some hot food in my stomach, and the chance to be near you."
"Near me?"
"Decisions are made when you're in the room," the young man explained. "Before you walk in, things are a certain way. When you walk back out, things are different. I don't want to be one of the people waiting outside to find out what changed. I want to be in the room when it all goes down; I want to see how you make your decisions."
"And you want a voice in those decisions."
"That would be pretty presumptuous of me, don't you think?"
"I do."
"Then I'll remember that you think of me as being presumptuous," the young man said with a smile.
"Also remember that this job you ask for comes with a price," Zarek pointed out. "You said you have information, information that would call into question the leadership of both Adama and Roslin."
"I know what I said."
"And you were telling the truth?"
"Do I seem the type who'd lie about something like that?"
"If it suited your purposes," Zarek said, realizing how much the young man reminded him of himself when he was younger. Doesn't really matter what he says, Zarek decided. I'm keeping this kid close, lest someone else find him and realize he's a diamond in the rough.
"Then I guess I have to work on appearing more sincere."
Zarek laughed. "So what's your name?" he asked, though he already knew the answer. He found it was possible to tell a great deal about a person based solely on how he said his own name.
"Deaq. Deaq Connor."
"Well then, Deaq," Zarek said with a satisfied smile, "Why don't you tell me what you know that could bring down both Adama and Roslin?"
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"President Roslin?" Billy Keikeya asked softly from outside the door, obviously making certain he did not wake her up if she was asleep.
"Come on in," Laura called out. Billy opened the door and walked in, greeting her with a warm smile. She was amused by how much he had grown into the role of her assistant. On the first day of his internship, he had been absolutely mousy. And that was when I was only the Secretary of Education. He had just started to come out of his shell when the attack came and Roslin had become president. That had thrown him off balance, though her medical condition had made him strongly protective of the woman who awed him so. "What do you need, Billy?"
"It's the press again," he explained. "They're not happy about you canceling the meeting of the Quorum of Twelve on Cloud Nine."
"Is that all?"
"They're also a little suspicious about why you haven't been seen in public for the past few days."
"I've been busy," Roslin explained needlessly. If anyone knew how hard she had been working lately, it was Billy.
"They think you've taken ill," he told her.
"And you explained that I'm healthy?"
"They need to see you for themselves," he told her. "You know how rumors get started. People are always willing to believe the worst unless they have proof otherwise."
"Proof that isn't good enough unless they get to see it with their own eyes."
"But if you go out there, the press is going to grill you about the canceled assembly," Billy warned her.
"Yes, I'm sure Tom Zarek has made certain the question will come up," Roslin muttered under her breath. She knew Billy had heard her, but he did not reply. "Fine, schedule a press conference for tomorrow," the president instructed. "Set it for noon."
Billy was halfway out the door when Roslin decided something else. "And Billy," she added, "contact Galactica on a secure transmission. Send a message to Adama. Tell him we'll have our meeting tonight. At midnight."
"Ma'am?"
"I'll explain on the way over to Galactica," Roslin assured him. Tell him to include anyone he thinks should be there. It's left to his discretion."
"Yes, ma'am."
"And Billy," Roslin called out as the door was closing.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Get something to eat," she ordered him. "Anastasia is going to blame me if you waste away to nothing."
"Yes, ma'am," he said with a smile, leaving the president alone to figure out what she was going to tell the press, and how she might be able to sugarcoat the news.
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"Gaius, wake up," Six said brusquely. Baltar forced his eyelids open and gazed across the dimly lit room, seeing her standing just inside the door.
"I'm sleeping," he complained tiredly. "Whatever you have to say can wait until later."
"It's only dinner time," Six objected. "You should be up and alert."
"I've been working for almost thirty hours," Baltar countered. "I don't feel a need to adhere to the old Colonial 24-hour day, dear. I wake up and work when I will, and sleep when I feel I need it. I don't seem to remember a sunrise or sunset lately that would inspire me to do otherwise."
"Fascinating," Six muttered in a voice that clearly indicated it was anything but. "I need to speak with you."
"Leave a message like anyone else," Baltar said, rolling over, his face only inches from the wall. "If you look on my desk, I believe you'll find the imaginary answering machine I have for imaginary cylons."
"This is important."
"You always say that."
"And have I ever been wrong?"
"There's always a first time," Baltar quipped, though the effort of having the conversation had helped clear a great many of the cobwebs in his head. I might as well get up, he decided. "Fine," he spat, sitting up and looking at his impatient cylon visitor. "What do you want this time?"
"I want to speak with you."
"You're already doing that."
"Something is wrong," Six told him.
"I assumed that already," Baltar replied. "Your greater than normal impatience was a dead giveaway."
"Something is wrong in the fleet, Gaius," Six explained. "Something you need to deal with."
"What?" Gaius was embarrassed by the concern he heard in his own voice. He always tried to appear coolly unfazed by anything Six told him, despite his constant thoughts that she could probably read his mind, anyway, so his shows of unconcerned bravado were vaudeville. "Are we about to be attacked?"
"Do you truly believe that an attack will come as long as our child is in the fleet?"
"I didn't believe your first attack was going to come, and that didn't turn out so well for me," Baltar pointed out caustically. He certainly wished Six would just get to the point; it was tiresome having to guess at the answer every time there was a crisis. One might expect that she'd be a little more forthcoming with answers when it's important, he thought angrily. Just like the tylium mine… would it really have been a chore to stand next to the photo and say, 'Shoot here'? "So there's an emergency," Baltar prompted.
"The entire fleet could be at risk."
"I'm touched by your concern," Baltar answered, "but I've been wondering something lately."
"If this is another crisis of faith--"
"No, this is anything but," Baltar assured her. "In fact, I think my concerns are the result of me believing too much."
"Do tell," Six replied with a thin, impatient smile and an indulgent wave of her hand. Baltar knew that expression well; it was the look she had every time she explained to him how he simply needed to have faith in her god and his own place in the universe. Baltar wanted nothing more than to knock that self-important grin right off her face.
"You've assured me that I'm god's instrument," Baltar said. Six nodded. "Well, if I'm so important – and if our child is so bloody significant – and if your god is really looking out for me, I really don't have to worry, do I?"
"Excuse me?"
"I'm not simply god's instrument, my dear. By your own reckoning, I hold a very special place in God's heart and plans. So instead of asking, 'How high?' every time your god tells me to jump, I'm just going to sit here."
"You're what?"
"I'm going to do whatever I want for a change," Baltar told her.
"That's not how it's supposed to be, Gaius."
"Sure it is," Baltar replied, ignoring the icy stare the cylon was leveling at him. "According to you, my destiny has already been written. The whole free will versus determinism dilemma concerned me for a while because my fragile human ego insisted on embracing the premise that I control my own destiny. But apparently, I don't. Isn't that so?"
"Haven't I already proven as much to you?"
"You have," Baltar said, practically giggling, wondering if his strange train of thought was the effect of inspiration or sleep deprivation. Probably a generous helping of both, actually. "And since I know that the outcome of my actions is preordained, I think that instead of doing what you tell me, I'm going to take another nap."
"Gaius!" Six yelled, apparently hoping to intimidate him.
"Not now," Balter answered, refusing to be concerned by the anger of a non-corporeal delusion. "It's time to sleep."
"There's something you have to do," Six told him.
"I don't doubt it," Baltar replied. "According to prophecy, I must now get some sleep. I know this because it's what I'm about to do, and since it's what I'm going to do, it must have been prophesied thusly."
"You mock me, and you mock God."
"Far from it," Baltar assured her. "You see, this nap is preordained. It's holy."
"That's blasphemous."
"There are some who would say the same thing about your monotheistic cult."
"I didn't see your gods helping you any when the cylons attacked," Six seethed.
"And I didn't see your god appear from the ether to stop this antique battlestar from slipping through your fingers."
"Galactica's escape and flight was prophesied."
"I know," Baltar said. "Although it's certainly convenient to look back and blame your failures on the premise that god wanted it that way; you would have made a great politician, dear. Regardless of whether we were meant to escape, your willingness to allow us to survive means this god of yours still needs us, despite the fact that our gods have no use for the cylons. How does that make you feel?"
"Enjoy your nap, Gaius," Six snapped. Baltar wondered how it was possible to feel fury roll off a hallucination.
"Oh, I will," he assured Six. He laid down and enjoyed the peaceful silence that immediately descended upon his mind. "I'll be right here if you need anything," he called out to the empty air. "Though please ask god to make sure he schedules his prophecies around my naps from now on."
To be continued…………………………