ANOTHER WAY: CHAPTER 16
The Scent of Dawn
Ever since she had been brought on board, he had been denied access to his Kara. Number Two had taken control, with the blessing of the Ruling Seven, of the Viper pilot. Even a member of his own line had agreed to allow Two to bring her Destiny to fruitition.
He had stood by, mutely, as Kara was made to control the Raiders that were chipping away at the resolve and resources of the Human Race. Relayed communiqués from the spy network spoke of fights breaking out amongst the crew of Galactica, the growing sense of despondency in the civilian fleet the Battlestar protected and the doggedness of the governing parties to publish a façade of faith and hope. Two's strategies were working. There was no denying that Starbuck was the Wings of the Broken Dove. But was that model really doing God's Will or was he justifying keeping Kara by parading her banner in front of all his victories?
Which was why he was where he was; he needed to know what to do.
He believed that inter-species pro-creation would only bring the Cylon race closer to God and fulfilling destiny He had for His children. But, Cylons were the Children of Man – not God. In order to be a Child of God, then it was a rational conclusion that Cylon and Human had to mate, to produce an offspring, to bear a child that would be born a Child of God. One conception had already occurred. And, after realizing that her faith in a new world laid best with those of her own race, the mother of that child had returned to her people. But in the beginning, it had taken love – that evasive and indefinable essence – to achieve such a Blessing. Karl Agathon passed every test that he and his people put in front of him to prove his love for Sharon. It was not until Sharon defied her orders, broke with her brothers and sisters, essentially proving to Karl that she loved him – even though he never asked it of her – that the union God intended for Man and Cylon occurred.
His eyes snapped open as he replayed his last few thoughts.
That was it; that was what he needed to do.
Rising from the side of the pool, for once he chose not to listen to the ramblings of the Hybrid as he made his way out of the chamber. For once, he did not stay to watch the unfocused eyes of the Hybrid suddenly sharpen with lucidity and look clearly up at the ceiling of the room, as if to translate, out loud, the hieroglyphics of the stars.
"Two. Two. Two has no place when there is only One. The Blessed One will carry out her mission and bring about the Unification of The One. The Thunderbolt of Zeus will cleave Humanity's Children. Two. Two. Two has no place…"
BSG Xxx BSG Xxx BSG Xxx BSG
He shouldn't have been surprised.
Even on a military ship, the events of the past few months made secrets few and far between. He should've known that someone, somewhere, would have said something to someone who would have put the pieces together. A Prisoner of War escaped her bonds, overpowered her escort, and made it to a remote airlock which happened to be large enough to launch the Blackbird. Much less the fact that the Blackbird was prepped and ready to go at the same time she made her 'escape'. Yeah – that and a storage locker full of Cottle's cigarettes would give you lung cancer.
It didn't matter that two of her four escorts were still under Cottle's care more than three days later with injuries she had inflicted. It didn't matter that a network of Cylon sympathizers had been rounded up and exposed, each member of the group fighting for air-time on the Wireless Broadcasting Network to claim responsibility for facilitating Sharon's escape. It didn't matter that Agathon, Katraine, Edmundson and Constanza were each re-lubricating launch tubes in between their already filled duties' roster as penance for fighting on the deck and sending Cally to Sickbay. It didn't matter because everyone saw through that damned hare-brained scenario that was dreamed up and hinged on a wing and prayer that no one would look too closely at the string of events leading up to the here and now.
Approaching Bill's quarters with the hopes of not drinking alone, the guards at the door opened the hatch with an edge to their efficiency. These men were loyal to Adama and would put their lives on the line for the Commander. Pausing at the threshold and not seeing anyone, he stepped back into the corridor. The clanking of it spinning shut and the lock being engaged was proof enough that the door was closed with a little more force than necessary had him thankful that those boys were on their side. Bill's guards had been on Red Alert ever since that Cylon hauled her sorry ass all the back to where she came from. That would be enough to put even the most disciplined soldier on edge.
Listening to his own footfalls as he made his way back to his quarters, he thought about the only 'good' thing to come out of this whole mess. Agathon no longer had to defend his or his Toasterette's honour with his fists. No one was muttering about Helo's ship-wide conspiracy to spring the mother of his child. Although, he could live without hearing that Eight model being made out to be a victim of 'military machinations'. Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean, he snorted derisively.
Making his way to a tantalus of the Chief's Special Brew – probably the last he would get for a while – and pouring himself a couple of fingers of the clear beverage, he had to close his ears to Ellen's prattle. An absent wave of his hand was all the acknowledgement his wife was going to get as he didn't even bother to look up from the rim of his glass. His head was facing in the opposite direction as she smoothed her dress over her hips and told him she was going off ship and wouldn't be back until the morning.
Ellen's perky words to the Marines stationed outside of their quarters as she made her exit burned more than the rotgut singed his lips. Looking down his nose and expecting to see the curl to his lips as he brought the glass to his mouth, it was the mental image of Starbuck leaning back in her chair at a card table, deliberately asking, 'how's the wife?', was what he saw on the surface of his drink. Sloshing the contents around the inside of his glass made her image go away, but not the way she said those words. Guilt wasn't something he did well. He left that to the professionals like Thrace, Roslin and the Old Man's kid. But this was something else and he had some serious drinking to do before he went back out there made like everything was 'business as usual'.
Deep into his second glass, a sudden thought had him reaching for the phone and paging CIC. Recalling Bill's end of a terse phone call with the President earlier in the day had started him thinking. Bill was obviously trying to stay in this sector, but was running out of reasons. He couldn't bring dead kids back to life, but Hell. He wasn't the XO for nothing. There was still one thing he could do for his friend.
"Get me the Officer of the Watch." Pausing long enough to take another swallow from his glass, it was a moment before the fumes stopped prickling the inside of his nose.
Hearing the click of the line as it was transferred, Saul didn't bother with pleasantries.
"Mr. Gaeta, I am ordering you to find a reason to keep us at this location for as long as possible."
Bsg xxx bsg xxx bsg
He could feel it everywhere he went.
It wasn't just the stares that stuck to his back as he left a room. It wasn't just the deepened quiet that permeated CIC when he stood watch. It wasn't the way he was given just a little more berth when he walked in the corridors of his ship.
It was all of that, and then some.
It was the downcast looks that he was given when perfunctory salutes were exchanged. It was the absence of being included in private jokes when before he would have been invited to join in and share the laugh. It was the sharp turn of a heel when a crewmember took their leave of his presence.
It was unilateral disapproval emanating from every crew member the gossip mill had reached. Not to mention that Saul was getting the same treatment as well, but to a slightly lesser degree. Everyone knew who made the decisions on his ship, and that always carried a certain level of accountability. Saul didn't deserve it, but at the same time there was also nothing he could do about it.
Entering his quarters, he had no right to be disappointed that 'they' were still there. Where else would they go? It wasn't like anything had been resolved or an understanding had been reached. The words spoken in anger and self-loathing from Lee's last 'visit' were still hanging in the air.
Three steps had him standing next to a carafe of the Chief's Special Brew and a few deft hand movements had the top resettled. Picking up the tumbler and taking a sip before resting the decanter back on the tray, he sat heavily in his chair. Tossing his glasses onto his desk, he gave as much attention to the sound they made skidding across the piled paperwork as the paper work itself. Instead, he swivelled and faced his past, present and future.
Pictures marked the edges of his desk, were arranged on the sideboard and crowded the shelves of his bookcase.
Stills of Lee, Zak and Caroline when his family had been whole had their own special place on the sideboard. The two pictures of Anne, one of their wedding day and the other of her standing next to him on a receiving line at some formal function were there as well, but kept at a respectful distance from the images of Caroline and his boys. His second marriage was something only he understood. Interestingly enough, Zak was the only one who didn't judge him for it. Group shots, individual poses, and the candid moments captured on paper were the few precious escapes he had from his current reality. Sabbaticals were now isolated trips down memory lane lasting moments or the lengths of sleepless nights rather than planned leaves of absences that he could've taken a year to complete if the worlds hadn't ended.
If the worlds hadn't ended …
Now that was a sentence if he ever thought one. A deep pull on his drink also pushed aside the innuendo-laced conversation he had with Laura several hours ago that had to do with why the Fleet was still in the same location after three days.
'If the Worlds Hadn't Ended' was a game he had made himself stop playing the eighth day after the jump from Ragnar Anchorage. What was the point? It could not bring back the dead, it could not rewind time, and it could not give him the five minutes he so desperately prayed for to call Caroline and Anne to tell them that he loved them. If the worlds hadn't ended, he still would have to live the rest of his life without Zak.
On the flip-side, if the worlds hadn't ended, he wouldn't have Lee. Lee would still be treating him like a pariah. If Lee hadn't been ordered to Galactica for the decommissioning ceremony, Bill knew he would never get a chance to see the man behind the officer that so many of his peers congratulated him on raising.
If they only knew.
If they only knew that Lee virtually raised himself and his younger brother. If they only knew that Lee only went into the military reserves as a way to pay his own way through college and got his Captain's bars to spite the Old Man. If they only knew that the one thing he and Lee needed so desperately from one another was the one thing the other held back, hoarded as greedily as a miser covets his gold: approval. He never believed in empty praise offered for the sake of bolstering personal confidence. Praise was earned when doing the right thing won out over the hardest choices. Apparently, Lee defined parental disapproval by what Bill never said.
But that was changing, and all because of one person.
Kara.
Three pictures of Kara, one each in her different personas, transitioned the pictures on his sideboard to what his life was currently like.
Reaching for one of Kara, being Kara with Lee and Zak in Caroline's backyard, the frame was just as cold as his hands. Still holding it, his eyes rested on another picture, a horizontal shot that always brought a wry smile to his face whenever he looked at it. It was Starbuck, stogie in her mouth and lounging on the wing of her Viper as her freshly minted name-plate was being affixed. A velvet covered box rested in front of a photo of Lieutenant Thrace looking resplendent in set of dress greys with her formal sash firmly in place.
This one woman took away his son, gave him back his other son, and restored a piece of his soul all by just being who she was in all her perfectly flawed permutations.
No, it wasn't fair that he thought that she was responsible for Zak's death. That was a series of unfortunate events that led to Zak's life ending before it could really get started.
But she did, with her confession, free Zak's memory from being a baton each Adama man wielded without remorse.
Putting the picture of Kara and his boys back, he ran a trembling finger over the soft fabric that covered the box that Tigh had procured nearly seven weeks ago As of this moment, Bill knew he hadn't had it in him to open it up and look at the Captain's pins that would never be placed on the collars of Kara's uniforms.
And today, this night, he didn't have it in him to pry the box open.
The heft of the box weighed against the final conversation he had with Starbuck – with Kara. He told her to come home. He was willing, in that moment, to sacrifice himself and everyone else on Cloud Nine to nuclear annihilation, if she would just turn her Viper around and back away from that Heavy Raider. But she took that away from him. She defied him. She was locked into a high-risk card game with Castor and willingly let him stack the deck against her. She had all the cards he was going to give her and held onto her trump – herself – until the very last moment.
Why didn't she just do what she was told!
All the backlash he had been stoically enduring over the past several days came crashing down at once and all he could do was reflexively clutch the velvet box until the hinges creaked.
Casting his mental eye along every corridor on Galactica, projecting his thoughts out to every ship in the Fleet and trying to touch the minds of the nearly fifty-thousand people he was sworn to protect a swell of hurt-born anger rattled his heart. How dare they judge him! Didn't these people know that doing what he did, that he signed off on the mission to kill one of his own children, was for them?
His eyes falling on Zak, his gaze switching to Kara's visage and Lee's disparaging words echoing in the one room he had to eat, sleep, work and live, his arm pulled back and before he knew what happened, Kara's black box flew across the room. The sound of metal bouncing off of the carpet was the pins separating from their mountings. Lee was going blame him for Kara's death the same way Lee blamed him for killing Zak.
Finding the box, it was only a couple of seconds before he found the pair of gold signets.
Palming them, he stood up, aged ten years and faced his future with the same amount of resolve he used to shut the door to the past and make himself live in the present.
He would not regret sending Sharon. He couldn't. The survival of the human race depended on it.
He couldn't deny that this time, Lee's anger was justifiable. He hoped that Apollo would learn to fly to with another wingman, even if that pilot would never be a match for him like Starbuck. The only common ground that he prayed still existed between him and Captain Adama – that would transfer to the rest of the Fleet through the same channels they all found out about Starbuck – was that he put his own needs behind that which necessitated Humanities survival.
Frak. Taking another gulp, he rolled his eyes at himself. Now he sounded like one of Laura's 'spin machine' talking heads.
He needed sleep. No. He needed his daughter. But that wasn't going to happen. Not now, not ever. Not unless the Lords of Kobol stretched out their hands and took a vested interest in human events.
But then again, if the Gods didn't stop the end of the worlds, why would they care about the life of just one pilot?
Even if the time of the Gods wasn't over, Man could not let blind faith be his only course of action when faced with adversity. After all, if The Gods still existed and if the Gods still wanted to be worshipped and have devotions to them declared, and then there had to be people alive to do so.
If the Gods had a problem with the way he was doing things, they were free to step in and give him a hand. Lords know, he asked them often enough.
The ringing of the telephone had him pushing off of his bed and haltingly stepped up to the side of his desk. The clock on the wall showed that First Shift was just a couple of hours away, he had fallen asleep with his uniform on and his shoes still tied.
"Sir, Lieutenant Gaeta here."
"Yes, Lieutenant?" Those two words worked their way over his over-sized tongue.
"CAP report just came in. In reviewing the scans, there is a nearby moon that has rich deposits of a refinable ore – and given our state of lack of available gross resources – which is compatible with our…"
Cutting Gaeta off, Bill stopped the younger man in mid-sentence, "Twenty-five words or less, if you please, Mr. Gaeta. It's too early for anything else."
"There's a metal on a nearby moon that we can use to fix the Fleet. All we have to do is go and get it." Gaeta reported matter-of-factly, stumbling slightly over the phrase, 'fix the fleet'.
Glancing at a file-folder containing the report on the number of downed Raptors, Vipers and civilian ships structurally challenged by metal fatigue, he made an executive decision.
"Make it so, Mr. Gaeta. Inform the CAG and notify the Chief. Contact the mining ship and get them on it. We cannot lose this opportunity." A spark of hope lit his over-tired eyes.
The public pressure to stay and refine the ore into valuable metal would force Laura to agree to stay where they were for at least several more days. He promised Sharon that the Fleet would wait seven days for her. He might have to live the rest of his life without two of his three children, but he could do everything in his power to make sure Helo never had to know what it was like to lose a child to circumstance.
"Yes, Sir," Gaeta agreed.
Thinking about his earlier musings, Bill knew Felix wasn't Lee, but the younger Tactical Officer at least a place to start.
"Well done, Mr. Gaeta."
BSG Xxx BSG Xxx BSG Xxx BSG
By God, she was beautiful.
He could sit there and watch her for hours. Actually, he already had. Sitting on the floor, just outside of the barrier that prevented her from escaping, he watched her as she feigned sleep.
Yes, he knew his Persephone. He knew when she was asleep, because that was when her nightmares surfaced. He knew when she was awake, because that was when she pushed herself into exercising in the hopes of making her body and mind too exhausted to dream. He knew when that Eight model came to escort Persephone to the sanitary facilities. But her, laying on the floor, wearing the clothes he had picked out for her, resting her head on her hands and her eyes closed was nothing but a ruse.
So he waited.
And he remembered. Choosing one of his fondest memories, he shut his eyes and relived the moment when he changed Kara's name to Persephone.
Walking along the shoreline together while on a three-day pass to Aquaria, the water lapping at their ankles as they laughingly tried to play a game of 'Keep Away' between their feet and the lightly crashing surf, he caught her looking at him with this incredibly hesitant expression on her face. Reaching out, she traced his jaw line and trailed the pads of her fingers down the side of his neck. In a voice only slightly louder than the waves breaking against the sand, she told him that she felt like she had spent her life in darkness. Until now; now she felt like she was going to begin the second half of her life living in the light. It was in that moment that something gripped him, something that could only have come from the Grace of God, and he asked her to marry him. He pulled off the simple silver band he wore, his grandfather's wedding ring, off his right hand and held it out to her. A smile broke out across her face and she nodded. It took a couple of tries, but when the band slipped over the knuckle of her thumb it looked like it was meant to be there. But in typical Kara style, she masked her emotions with a quip. She said she would, but did she really have to give up her name? As it stood, she was the only Thrace on the flight log books versus the three entries all with the same name: Adama.
Hiding his own smile, Zak remembered watching the scared look in her eyes when he nodded his head up and down solemnly before clueing her in as to why his eyes began to sparkle, shining with his inner happiness. He told her that she had to leave the name Kara behind and that she had to get used to being called Persephone. With that, she smiled. Sunlight caught her hair and flashed in her teeth. She teased him about getting 'in touch' with his 'inner Goddess' and that Demeter would be a great call sign when he got his wings. Pulling her in close for a kiss, tasting the brine and beach that flavoured her mouth, he shook his head again – but this time in the opposite direction. He said that she had it wrong. Persephone escaped her overbearing, domineering mother to find the kind of love she always deserved in the arms of the God of the Underworld, and that was where her true happiness dwelled. He knew he reached the real Kara in that moment because a single, small tear that slipped out of her eye and ran the length of the slope of her sun-warmed cheek. And the fact that she grabbed him by his waist and he allowed her to wrestle him deeper into the water until they both lost their footing and a crashing wave swamped them both. Coming up for air, flinging wet hair in every direction, she swam up to him and kissed away every drop of salt water that clung to his face.
With that, he knew that his mission was complete. Zak had done the hard work of getting past Lieutenant Thrace. Once the switch had been made, he had the even tougher job of getting past the even more formidable defences of Starbuck. And for one glorious moment, he did. He reached her and found out what was so special about love.
But that was the only moment he got. No matter how he tried, no matter how satisfying the physical side of their relationship was, no matter how much he delved into the character he was playing – until he actually became Zak Adama – something was holding her back to the point where it was decided that Kara did love him, just in a way that was unique unto herself. To dispel any murmurings, especially from the Fives – Leoben models – a test was created.
Kara's final test – much like the one he read about in the dossier pertaining to Karl Agathon and the Eight model who called herself Sharon – was something he was sure she was going to pass. After all, it was he who took the call from the base's Infirmary confirming Kara's appointment for a blood test just days after he found a home pregnancy test in the bathroom trash. Doing the math, he traced the point of conception to that long weekend on Aquaria.
As his Flight Instructor, it was Kara's job to make sure that everyone of her nuggets deserved to be in a plane. Deliberately failing to do four manoeuvres correctly during his check ride, he waited to see if Kara loved him enough to fail him, or if Starbuck and Lt. Thrace would justify passing him on the pretence of loyalty and Adama family honour. Did she love him enough to make sure he came home to her? Or, did she only think she loved him, and because of that, allow all the other stuff he threw at her – his family's expectations, the way he looked up to Lee, how the Old Man was kind of man he wanted to be, how important it was to him to fly – to sway her decision?
When she didn't immediately throw her arms around him when he walked into her off-base apartment on Picon that night, he knew something was wrong. When she insisted that they go out instead of stay in and celebrate that was the second sign that something was up. Making love to her body, the sensation of her saying, 'I'm sorry,' as she rose to meet every physical pleasure he gave her with sensual gift of her own reverberated down his spine. Even when he pumped every ounce of everything he had into her, he still had to be the one who asked her how he did. It took everything else he had left not to let her see the disappointment in his face and body when she glibly told him he passed – by the skin of his teeth, but he passed.
His Kara did not love him. The child was his, created out of that perfect night of love, but she did not truly love him. Something – someone else – ruled her heart. That is why plans had be scrapped, lines of thought re-drafted and self-imposed exile had been necessary.
A warm, comforting hand coming to rest on his shoulder brought Zak – because that was who he was – out of his reverie. He didn't have to look to know who it was; he could tell by the soothing presence the other man provided who stood behind him.
"How are you doing?" Simon asked.
"Fine." His returning gaze was honest and open. Of all the models, he had the most in common with Simon and Six.
"Just be careful not to get too close. Or get eye strain. If anything happens to you, there aren't any other models to download you into." Watching Simon flit his eyes between where Starbuck was on the floor, the barrier that made up a wall of her cell and were he sat, Simon sounded a lot like Lee did when giving his little brother Zak a few words of advice. "Remember that. I'll be back to check on her later."
Nodding in agreement, he indulged Simon's bedside manner. Turning his head and saying goodbye to the other model, Zak never saw Starbuck open her eyes or the feral look that locked every muscle between her hair-line and chin into place before having to go back to pretending to be asleep.
One aspect of Colonial training mandated that everyone – friend or foe – had a weakness. It was just a matter of finding it. Sometimes it was a psychological hang up. Sometimes, if you were very lucky, it was a physical affliction you could exploit. It all came down to being patient enough to find it. She had killed a Simon, a Raider and a Six with her bare hands. Adding a Zak to the list could be done.
She just had to make sure she could do it without destroying herself in the process.
Keeping 'the ball' in her 'possession', she didn't open her eyes when she addressed Zak.
"What do you want?"
"You," his answer was simple and straightforward – to anyone who wasn't them.
"You have me." Not shifting a muscled, she countered, "I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. So what's with making like I'm some zoo exhibit?"
"No, I don't. If I did, we wouldn't be here now."
If she didn't know better, she would have sworn that he sounded apologetic while at the same time insinuating that had happened to her was her fault. Frak that. Granted some days she might not know which way was up, and the very real possibility of never sleeping again made her already raw eyes burn more intensely, but if he thought he was going to lay this on her head, he had another thing coming. If he was going to play the Blame Game, the least he could've done was taken a page from a book written by a master; her mother. Compared to her, he was child trying to fit into a pair of her high heeled shoes. And, he needed to know that – in no uncertain terms.
"You are insane."
"And you are beyond insane."
She didn't have an answer for that. One couldn't argue the truth.
Oh frak! Did he say, 'beyond insane'?
That had her sitting up and crossing her ankles underneath the crook of her knees.
"Where did you hear that?" She had to know.
"I have my ways," he said cryptically. That is, before he levelled a pointed look at her. "Kara, have you ever wondered why we always seem to find you?"
"If you are gonna to try to pin that on me too, you're way more damaged than your little playmates already think you are." Two can play the 'mind-frak' game. Not that it took a genius to figure out that 'we' were Cylons and 'you' were Colonials.
"Spies, Kara." His words were patronizing. "Every war has them." Shifting his position until he matched hers, he started again. "Kara, why do you think your Fleet has lasted this long?"
"S. T. A. R. B. U. C. K. My name is Starbuck. If you call me anything else, we're done – right here, right now." Kara ground out.
"Why do you think your worlds were annihilated?" Zak went on as if she hadn't said a word. "Why would machines that operate on logic and numbers keep throwing resources and materials at the same group of individuals only to be rebuffed time and again if all we wanted to do was to kill every single one of you?"
"Because you're all mad; someone slipped your processors into overdrive and then went on a permanent coffee break."
"Think, Starbuck! If we are programmed to kill, then we'd be failing our programming – right? What would happen to a computer if it could not do its job – huh?"
She didn't want to go where he was leading her. She didn't want to acknowledge the deeper fears that crested in the darker moments when the questions of 'how' and 'why', and 'why don't they just stop', made her thump the roof of her bunk in anger fuelled frustration.
"The decision to bomb the Colonies was deliberate. Humans are like livestock. Once ensconced on a farm, they won't leave unless you make them. Or, give them a reason. So, we gave you a reason to leave. We made you abandon your lives and let natural selection take its course. Only the strongest, the luckiest and those pre-destined would survive."
"You wanted survivors…" Kara's voice trailed off as realization closed off her larynx.
"If you couldn't go home and you needed fifty-thousand people from twelve different worlds to agree on one place to resettle without argument, Starbuck – where would you go?"
The word Earth exploded in her mind. Sharon's words about how the Cylons knew more about Colonial religion than Colonials did bounced between her ears.
"If it was our intention to eradicate the human race, Starbuck – annihilating the Colonies would leave our mission incomplete." Zak's pride in the Cylon plan was evident in every word he spoke. "It was a very simple strategy based on a very basic primal instinct. When running away from something, you always have an end destination in mind. Running away from danger means you head towards safety. We made you run and gave you the tools to pick the only logical destination. Why do you think the Galactica was the only Battlestar to survive the initial attacks? Why do you think a group of forty-plus ships with engine and reactor signatures that could be traced for thousands of parsecs always seem to get away at the last possible moment?"
"So – you chase us – keeping us in an ever present state of alert. Subject us to cruelty – contrary to the 'teachings' of your 'God' – all so that we will lead you to Earth?" She had heard it once from his own mouth, but needed to say it again to make it real.
"No, you misunderstand me. God is love. Humans spurn His love for the sake of their false Gods and Idols. It is through His Grace that His Peace will spread through out your people and bring you the ever-lasting life that comes with living for eternity in His Hands. The only way to deliver them unto Him is on the Wings of a Broken Dove. For you see, Starbuck – you are His Instrument because you are the Broken Dove. Now, with you doing God's will, the Fleet will be pressed to push their way to Earth on an accelerated time table." Every word he said was steeped in conviction absolute.
"You are a frakked-up monster." Kara bit out.
"Nice to see that you haven't changed all that much, Starbuck," Zak commented wryly. Her insult meant nothing to him, but this whole session hadn't been about him to begin with. "Always fighting, never loving. It was always up for debate just how much you loved me."
"I never loved you. I loved Zak. He was the man I loved and he wasn't a machine. IT WAS NEVER YOU!" The last four words exploded out her mouth.
"Yes, you did. I was there, remember? No, you're angry because the truth hurts and you can't make it a lie, an untruth or be a victim of some twisted plot." Zak patiently explained.
"Yes. I. Was." Starbuck was shaking with the intensity of the emotions rolling through her.
"If you never loved me, Starbuck – then how do you explain the baby we conceived?" He threw a logic bomb right at her emotional core.
"What?!" Years of hurt exploded as his logic bomb detonated. "What baby?"
"Don't lie to me. I was the one who took that call from the Infirmary confirming your pregnancy test."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Honest confusion narrowed her eyes.
"A couple of weeks after we got back from Aquaria, remember?" Zak prompted. "Your cycle was late…"
"You were tracking my frakking periods?" Sudden realization made her narrowed eyes pop wide open. "That? That was what you've been talking about? Sorry to burst your Happy-Daddy bubble, but I was never pregnant. I was worried, I went for a test but it came back negative. I had a mild case of food poisoning that was slow in leaving my system." Seeing nothing but scepticism on his face she rallied. "You died before you checked, didn't you?
Hearing the sincerity in her words as her eyes flashed with the distant memory, he attacked her faith in what and who she cared about the most.
"If you want someone to blame, blame the Gods you worship. They foretold of your coming, Starbuck. You are there, in your precious Scriptures. All we had to do was be at the right place at the right time and wait for you to appear. Why do you think it took forty years to put our plan into action?" Zak queried. Seeing the dumbstruck look on her face, he cut the last tether she was holding on to. "And don't idolize the dead, Starbuck. Not that he didn't genuinely come to care about you, but why do you think a man like Zak Adama would deliberately set out to seduce his Flight Instructor?"
"HE LOVED ME!" Starbuck surged to her feet only to wobble once she was fully upright.
"That was me, Starbuck. ME. I loved you and I thought you loved me too!"
"YOU LIE!"
"I was the one who proposed to you on Aquaria. I was the one who put that ring on your thumb. I was the one you killed because you didn't love me enough to keep me from where I didn't belong!"
"GET OUT!"
"Adama was the one who gave him the idea, Starbuck, by marrying a woman who had connections." It was odd to talk about another man while at the same time, referring to himself in the third person. But the fact that he was getting to Starbuck, making her react after all this time, was too much of an incentive to stop now. "Adama wanted his career back and Zak slept with his teacher in order to make sure he passed Basic Flight. All that has happened before will happen again."
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" Kara clapped her hands over her ears and doubled over. His words could still be heard and her stomach threatened to open.
"You don't believe me – ask Lee. He'll tell you." Zak replied. There was no fear in his voice of being contradicted. He had read Zak's personal logs. It was all there in block-print letters.
"You leave him out of this! Both of them, do you hear me!" The initial panic she felt had waned. All that was left was violent fury, which had her snapping her head side to side as Zak's words sunk in and registered in her thrumming brain. "No. That's impossible. I'll never see Lee again…"
"He will be joining you shortly, Starbuck. It will only be a matter of time."
He knew the minute he over played his hand because that was when Starbuck lifted her head and Kara was shuttered away.
"Over. My. Dead. Body. You. Frakker." Starbuck was beyond seething. She felt an eerie kind of calm come over her, as if Artemis and Athena each had a hand on one of her shoulders and was guiding her along the narrow path of safety through the emotional anguish of the past twenty minutes. Through the Goddesses, she found the strength to stand straight and tall.
Lee and Adama were the reason why she had endured. They were the reason why she made sure that Zak and Simon's attentions stayed fixated on her. If it ever got back to the Old Man and Lee that Zak was a Cylon, it would break each of them. That's why she couldn't die. If she did, if he lost interest in her, Zak's eyes would naturally turn to the surviving 'members' of his 'family'. Lee's world would fall out from underneath him so fast that he would bounce when he hit bottom. Adama would lose his command, the one thing he held onto as preciously as he did Lee and Zak. Neither man would be the same person she trusted the Gods to take care of. She had splintered the Adama family once before, but she'd be damned if she was going to let it happen again. If that meant succumbing to Three's lash, then so be it. If that meant being forced into that chair time and again, so be it. At least there, she had a little bit of control as to prevent anyone else from dying by putting into play a 'destruction only' game plan. The Fleet would tear itself apart beginning at the top and working its way down to the most inconsequential ship in the group. But if Zak was going to change the rules half way through the game, then he had better be prepared for every contingency. Her life was forfeit. She knew that. But Lee and Adama's were not up for grabs. Not now, not ever.
An ethereal presence settled over his Persephone right before his eyes. Where fury and panic once held an iron grip, now there was a kind of power rippling through her that he had only seen glimpses of when she was engaged in battle. He watched, transfixed, as she brought the fleshy part of her right thumb to her mouth and bit down hard enough to draw blood. He stood motionless as with a flick of her wrist, precious drops fell on the floor of her cell and – impossibly – flew through the electronic barrier that protected him from her to land on his cheek and chest.
"I invoked Blood Rites on this BaseStar and the Heavy Raider that brought me here. Now, I invoke Blood Rites against you. As Athena and Artemis are my witnesses, I swear on the Altar of Ares that you will die by my hand before you even get close to Lee Adama or his father."
For the first time in a long time, Zak could not feel the soothing Hand of God on his brow. Mentally shaking his head, he replayed the past few minutes. A single woman, broken in body and psychologically shaken with nothing to lose, just promised to bring down a BaseStar, destroy a Heavy Raider and kill him sans a weapon or ally in sight. She was delusional. She had to be. How else could he explain what she just said? But what about the flecks of blood he could feel drying on his cheeks and marking his shirt? There was a rational reason for that as well. She flicked her wrist at the exact same time the barrier cycled. That one micro-second was all that was needed to get the droplets past the barrier and onto him.
He could not, in good conscious, leave God's Instrument entertaining thoughts of grandeur. That would be mean.
"You and what army, Starbuck," Zak clarified just how ridiculous her oath sounded.
He wasn't prepared for the conviction that dominated every letter of her next nine words.
"Me, myself and I – I don't need anyone else."
Not wanting her to get the last words, he nodded sagely.
"So be it, Starbuck."
"So be it, Number Two."
Staring each other down, it was Zak who looked away first. That was because a discreet cough broke his concentration.
Turning his head, he made eye contact with Number Three. D'Anna was right on time for Kara's – Starbuck's – next appointment.
"Am I interrupting something?" She asked, her question barely hiding the need to know what had made the air so thick with tension.
Smiling easily, Zak took two steps backwards and let D'Anna and the accompanying Centurion stand in front of the barrier. "No, not at all. We had just finished up, actually. She is all yours."
Letting D'Anna get on with the business of trussing Starbuck for transport to the 're-education area', Zak walked away but stopped just before he took the corner and called out on last thing to the two blonde women.
"Have fun."
Laughing lightly all the way down the hall, he knew his Persephone was back when he heard her answer.
"Oh, we will."