Chapter Twenty-Three
"Will this do, Captain Starbuck?" the bodyguard, Miller, asked in an exaggeratedly cordial tone, extending a hand through the doorway and indicating the opulent suite within as though he was some kind of footman. Located on the fifth floor of Capitol Hill, the rooms had been designated for the day use of "honourable members", as well as various and sundry other guests and dignitaries. "Early eighteenth century Colonial style."
Stepping past two more of Mason's men, but standing aside for Lauren to precede him, Starbuck finally stepped into the air-conditioned room. Lavish décor surrounded them, and after spending most of his time on Earth in military settings, it was a little overwhelming. From the furniture and floor coverings to the knick-knacks and richly coloured paintings, this was a room designed to impress its occupants. Despite the beautiful artwork and antiques, his deprived senses were quickly redirected to the spread of victuals laid out for them to enjoy on a low rectangular table. His stomach grumbled at the sight and smell of enticing but alien foods waiting for him.
"Did you say Colonial?" he asked as he noticed Dayton's daughter still had a slight limp.
As promised, Lauren had received medical attention and clean clothes, dressed elegantly in an ivory pantsuit that accented her lithe figure and dark hair, now swept up off her face. While Starbuck was occupied with delivering Mason's scripted message to his commander as well as posing for public relations propaganda for the people of Earth, Lauren had had a complete makeover. She looked absolutely gorgeous, and he had to remind himself that she was a mature Earth woman in what Dayton referred to as her middle age. Yeah, it made a guy want to find out more about the Middle Ages on Earth. He curbed the grin threatening to overtake his features. Lords, between the two of them, they looked like some fictitious happy couple from the make believe world Mason seemed to be creating for him. A world where he was a heroic Colonial Warrior, sent to save Earth and any other poor unfortunate soul or damsel in distress from the murderous Cylons, and Lauren was his beautiful companion. Okay, so at this point he felt a bit like a performing daggit. A tired and hungry performing daggit.
"Yup," Miller stepped inside the suite, closing the door behind him, leaving Mason's other men in the hall to stand guard while he took a more personal approach to supervising the couple.
"Historically, our ancestors migrated here across the Atlantic Ocean from Europe hundreds of years ago. We were once colonists as well," Lauren elucidated on the henchman's answer, flipping open a large book on the rectangular table to reveal a map of Earth. She traced her finger across the ocean, showing him the path her ancestors had followed. Although he couldn't read her language, the name she mentioned certainly made him take notice. Her tone, however, was a little distant and cool while he leaned over her shoulder to observe.
"Atlantic, huh? Our presidential flagship was called the Atlantia," he mused aloud.
"Where is it now?" Miller asked.
"Destroyed by the Cylons," he replied, before moving further to the right and lifting a cover on a warming tray, feeling the heat rising from the food.
Starbuck groaned aloud in delirious anticipation as the incredible smell wafted upward. It reminded him of crisped porcine in the colonies. He ignored the serving implement, using his fingers to pop the strip of protein into his mouth, and then flopped onto the longseat, chewing in delight, before sucking the lingering fat off of his fingers.
"Lords, this is amazing," he murmured, reaching for another slice before asking: "What do you call it?"
"Bacon."
"I could make a meal out of this alone," he said, chewing on another piece before pulling a different warming cover off. He frowned as he saw some kind of yellow sauce covering a rather ordinary looking ovum. He quirked his eyebrows at Lauren.
"Looks like all the makings for Eggs Benedict," she supplied, leaning over and uncovering other hot plates.
"Come again?"
A moment later she was putting various items together and placing a plate down in front of him, almost completing the domestic image. Then she handed him utensils with a silent frown of disapproval as he finished chewing another piece of bacon, once again sucking the fat off his fingers. He couldn't help but grin. Yeah, the conjugal picture was now complete.
"Try it," she coaxed him.
"Where I come from, they only cover things with sauce to disguise the taste," Starbuck returned sceptically. "Either in the Mess Hall or our survival rations." He noticed a slight rise of the eyebrows from Miller. Yeah. Mess call and survival packs. He's been there. He turned back to Lauren. "Are you going to have some?"
"Not until I see that you haven't keeled over," she replied with a wicked little smile, standing up to take the chair across from him.
"Keeled? Uh . . ."
"Dropped dead," said Miller, moving closer to the banquet.
Starbuck paused, a half eaten piece of bacon still in his grasp. He put it down on an empty plate. Would Mason try to poison him after using him to lure Dayton down to the UN? No, the man still needed him. Dayton would insist on talking to Starbuck personally. Especially after . . . All the same, the mere thought took away a guy's appetite, no matter how hearty. "Suddenly, I don't feel so well."
"Well, it's not the food. It's untainted," Miller claimed, moving to join them and helping himself to a large portion of bacon and wrapping some kind of carb unit around it. Greedily, he shoved it into his mouth, tearing off a large bite and savouring it. He glanced up at an antique wall chrono before helping himself to the carafe of what smelled like java. "If Mason wanted you dead, I'd have shot you by now. We don't go in for the cloak and dagger crap."
"How reassuring," Starbuck replied, once again rising to his feet and wandering around the room.
"With allies like Mason, who needs enemies?" Lauren stated the obvious.
"You're supposed to watch that mouth, lady," Miller reminded her through another bite of his food. He looked at Starbuck accusingly. "You're supposed to make her."
"You want me to gag her or shoot her?" Starbuck replied, crossing to a closed door. He tried the knob. It wasn't locked.
"Smart ass. I should have thrown you out of that chopper when I had the chance."
"Guess so, because I don't give second chances, Miller," Starbuck returned, biting his tongue just a moment too late.
"I suppose the room is bugged," Lauren changed the subject. "Video surveillance?"
Miller shook his head. "Actually, the room is wired to detect any electronic surveillance and to alert security. As you can imagine, some . . . uh . . . sensitive conversations happen here."
"Yeah, I'm sure they do," Lauren rolled her eyes distastefully. "Congressmen and their bedfellows. Makes me want to cover the furniture in plastic before I sit on it."
"Holy frack," Starbuck said as he pushed open the door and looked inside the sleeping chamber. Through the windows he could see the city stretching out for kilometrons. The room was decorated in the same antique and expensive style as the sitting room with beautiful artwork and accessories, but it was the bed that demanded his attention. The large four-poster dominated the room with a thickly padded surface and covers you could get lost in. He'd crossed the room in a few strides, flopping himself onto the comfortable surface, bouncing a couple times in complete abandon, sighing in self-indulgence as his weary form sunk into the mattress. He let out a moan of complete and utter satisfaction.
"Comfy?" Lauren asked, standing in the open doorway, looking around curiously.
He smiled lazily, patting the surface next to him. "You have got to try this out, it's like floating on a cloud." Then he added quietly for her ears only, "Pumpkin Girl."
Lauren's slender form stiffened for a brief moment as she studied him uncertainly. Starbuck crooked a finger at her, beckoning her to him, and then nodded towards the bodyguard in the other room.
"You really do think you're irresistible, don't you?" she said loud enough for Miller to hear, taking a hesitant step inside the room, her hand gripping the doorknob like some kind of lifeline.
"Oh, I know I am," he returned with a roguish grin, seeing the amused smile drift over her features. Few women were immune to that grin, and Lauren was no exception. But considering the way she felt about him just now, would she play along? "Besides, I'm your protector. We both know what Mason would have done to you if I hadn't stepped in. What he could still do to your long lost father when he gets him down here. You really ought to be nice to me, for your own sake and his." He patted the bed again.
Out in the sitting room, Miller stood up, looking towards them. A piece of something hung from his mouth. Apparently, he was torn between the feast and what was unfolding in the bedroom.
"Really?" she asked acerbically, and then let out a rude snort. "You'd actually force me to . . . Some hero."
"I'm just a man," he replied, propping himself up on an elbow. "With appetites that transcend beyond mere bacon."
She made a choking sound. "I was hoping you were actually. . ." she bit off her words hastily. "Betraying my father and now this. I guess you're showing your true colours."
"C'mon, we're both consenting adults," he said, slipping off the bed and slowly walking towards her. "Force doesn't have to enter into this. Unless you like it rough." He paused as she shook her head in denial. "Hey, you seemed to like me just fine back in the chopper. Starbuck? Are you okay?" he mimicked her. "Or maybe you prefer your lovers tied up? Hmm?"
She stood there, frozen to the spot. He couldn't read her at all now. He might have gone too far.
"Look, doughnuts! You want a doughnut?" Miller called out, noticing Starbuck's look of confusion and annoyance. "They're sweet!"
"I'm willing to bet they're not as sweet as the lady," Starbuck replied lewdly, reaching out and taking Lauren's stiff and resistant hand and raising it upward towards his lips. Over her shoulder he could still see Miller watching. Instead of kissing her hand, he merely caressed her fingers with his thumb, meeting her eyes. She dropped her chin, looking downward in shame or fear, he couldn't tell which. He ducked his head, leaning in close, whispering in her ear, "Trust me."
Tenderly, he put a finger under her chin, tilting her face upwards. She swallowed hard, a faint tremble running through her as she reluctantly met his gaze again.
He could only hope that his gentle actions and reassuring words negated every lousy thing he'd said to her the moment before as she studied him dubiously. Then he quirked his eyebrows at her, asking permission before he continued. She hesitated for a few microns, and then nodded, the movement barely perceptible. Slowly, he reached behind her head with his other hand, releasing the clasp that held up her hair. Dark, lustrous tresses fell down, framing her face. Idly he fingered her silken hair. "You're a beautiful woman, Lauren," he whispered huskily. "I think we should, uh . . . take a little time to get to know each other better. Seal our new relationship."
"I'm not sure I'm ready for this," she managed, swallowing hard, allowing him to take her other hand and draw her further into the room.
"You will be, Sweet Lady, that I can promise you."
Shakily, she looked back towards Miller almost pleadingly. The bodyguard shrugged and looked away, sitting back down, grabbing another mouthful of breakfast. For a moment, she dug in her heels, meeting Starbuck's eyes. "I don't care so much about myself, but promise me you'll do everything you can to make sure my father and sister don't get hurt. I want your word. . . if it means anything."
"You have my word as a warrior," Starbuck replied, closing the door on Miller, and locking them inside.
xxxxx
This whole mission had been a series of bittersweet and eye-opening experiences from the get-go, when Commander Adama had told Commander Mark Dayton that his was purely a military mission to destroy a Cylon Base Ship, and that he was to avoid any contact with Earthmen in favour of leaving it to the bureauticians when "the timing was right". Of course, it had taken no time at all for that approach to fall apart when they'd rescued the Barstow astronauts on Mars, followed shortly thereafter by Starbuck situating himself between a Cylon patrol and the Earth Space Shuttle, Venture, in Earth's orbit. Other mission highlights had included finding out that the missing Endeavour astronauts had been recorded in history as terrorists who had conspired to blow up the International Space Station back in 2010, Count Iblis showing up and engaging in some kind of duel with Ama for the dominion of the universe, and discovering that the power source of the Clavis, the Espridian device that had transported them through space and time, was actually some kind of energy eating parasitic entity that fed on their capital ship's power systems. Now, they had finally succeeded in their mission and had destroyed the Ravager, but it was at the expense of Mexico City and Las Vegas both being blown off the map. He could have eventually learned to live with the disasters knowing that Earth was finally safe, but just now he was getting the idea that the ticker-tape parade he'd been imagining in his near future was a bit premature.
Dayton was getting an increasingly bad feeling as he watched his daughter's drawn and tense features. After the potentially disastrous pulse from the exploding Ravager had pummelled South Asia, it had taken a while to triangulate a signal through surviving satellite transponders so they could reconnect with WASA. It was a testament to the EMP hardening technology that the space agency employed that their power, computers and communications had survived mostly intact while nearby areas had lost their entire infrastructures.
Jess had been speaking to her Executive Director from WASA down at the Baikonur Space Centre, but had unfortunately lapsed into Russian a few minutes before, leaving him entirely out of the one-way conversation that he'd been listening to before that. To think that the American astronaut had a Russian-speaking daughter that now headed up Baikonur Space Centre was a bit of a mental adjustment for her old man. After all, back in his day Baikonur Cosmodrome played second fiddle to NASA, or so most Americans believed.
"Sergei, slow down!" she said abruptly as Ryan entered the Control Centre.
"I left Carter and Trent in the OC with some of the boys. They're exchanging war stories," Paddy said aside to Dayton.
Dayton acknowledged the information with a brief nod while inclining his head towards his daughter.
"You're speaking too fast, Sergei!" Jess was saying. "Give that to me again. What did Roach say about Starbuck?"
Apollo looked up at that, the words flowing through the languatron like music to the young colonel's ears. They had orders to return to the Fleet once they'd completed their mission, and with the relative volatility of the volton-sucking Clavis, sooner was looking better than later. But first they needed to find Starbuck. A dying cadet was counting on it.
"Remember, he always lands on his feet," Dayton said to Apollo.
Apollo shook his head, the lack of sleep over the last few days beginning to wear on even him. "He usually lands on his astrum. We pull him back onto his feet," he reminded his commander.
"We'll find him. We'll just follow the trail of swooning females." Dayton slapped a hand on Apollo's shoulder before turning to Dorado. That was when he'd noticed Luana in the corner. She'd slipped in. Internally, he winced at his quip. To her credit, she merely starred at him levelly before saying something quietly to Coxcoxtli. "Captain Dorado, do you have any results on the specs WASA sent for the moon base?"
"Porter and Baker are helping with the conversions, Commander," Dorado replied, shaking his head. "Nothing conclusive yet."
Dayton nodded, returning his attention to his daughter.
"Okay, Sergei. We'll wait on that. Dayton out," Jess signed off. "Can you handle that, Pierus?"
"Yes, Ma'am," the cadet replied from his station.
"Keep me posted," Jess replied with the confidence of one accustomed to giving orders. She turned to regard her father. "Things have gone to hell in a hand basket down there. The world is reaching its boiling point."
"The EMP?" Apollo asked.
"The EMP is just one more piece of chaos contributing to a worldwide political anarchy, financial collapse and possible nuclear war right now. India and Pakistan are apparently threatening nuclear retaliation on one another, both figuring that the EMP was an attack from the other," Jess replied through the languatron.
"Do they still have nuclear capability if the EMP already slammed them?"
"I don't for sure," Jess admitted. "They could be bluffing or not, it all depends on how EMP hardened they were. As you know, the Cylons already destroyed a lot of communications, military, navigation, reconnaissance, and environmental satellites. Even though the electromagnetic pulse only hit South Asia, even large portions of the western world's telecommunications were knocked out. That has a severe impact upon global monetary systems, which are primarily composed of electronic accounts and assets and rely on accurate timings from GPS to synchronise trades."
"Sounds like a mess," Porter said.
"To say the least. Rumour has it cyber attacks are also happening worldwide, every Tom, Dick, and Harry with an intact computer and a grudge taking advantage of firewalls crashing. They're attacking financial centres, banks, insurance companies, security . . ."
"That doesn't sound random," Porter said.
"Or like amateur hacks," Baker added. "This sounds organized."
"I know. Scary, isn't it?" Jess replied.
"Sounds Old Testament to me," Ryan inserted.
Dayton raised an apprehensive eyebrow at him. They were about to depart on another wild Ryan ride.
"Real wrath of God type stuff with a modern twist," Ryan explained. "Instead of fire and brimstone coming down from the sky, we have EMP pulses, collapse of national infrastructures and monetary systems, escalating distrust, accusations, knee jerk reactions, and now a potential nuclear war portending the End Times. If I was some Wrath of God type preacher, I'd be frothing at the mouth right about now, and loving it."
"Ah, yes. Rivers and seas boiling," Baker added.
"Forty years of darkness. Earthquakes, volcanoes . . ." Porter said.
"The dead rising from the grave," Baker returned.
"Human sacrifice. Dogs and cats living together. Mass hysteria," Ryan concluded.
"Thank you, Dr. Venkman," Dayton sighed. "But it's not wrath of God, Paddy, it's Iblis. We think we've saved the world and a series of events that we're involved in once again brings everything to a head. It has to be Iblis. We can't take two steps forward without either taking one back or tripping over him. And here I thought he was out of the picture."
"Evidently, he still left his mark . . . Mark," Ryan replied. "But regardless, what's happening on Earth right now with India and Pakistan is the result of mankind's actions, not Iblis'. Ignorance and fear. Pride and malice. As much as we hate to admit it, there's a little bit of Iblis in all of us. And there's a lot in some of us."
"We need a plan to temper the climate," Apollo added.
"Absolutely."
"Meanwhile, to top things off, the United Nations' Secretary-General apparently jumped off the top of the UN Complex because of his reported failure to convince world leaders to unite against the Cylons early enough to prevent the disasters in Nevada and Mexico," Jess told them. "His replacement is none other than the former US Director of National Intelligence, Mason. Have you been picking up any Earth politics since you've been in our system?"
"Some," Porter replied. "We were monitoring your telecommunications. That's how were heard about Starbuck getting shot at the UN, as well as your sister's apartment exploding."
"Well, I'm willing to bet that Mason was behind both of those," Jess told them. "Making him Secretary-General is like putting the Cookie Monster in charge of the cookie jar."
"Then how'd he get the position?" Apollo asked, not understanding the reference, but figuring out the meaning.
"Obviously, the world just went stark raving mad. As you gentlemen so eloquently put it, we have officially achieved global chaos, much of it inspired by Mason if my guess is right," Jess replied. "The average citizen is going to be more concerned with survival while everyone around them is panicking, rather than paying attention to what's going on in world politics."
"Then Mason and Iblis are in cahoots," Dayton inferred.
"Keith Carradine, David Keith and Wendy Malick, actually," Porter said.
"What is this? The Base Ship Movie Database?" Jess groaned.
"BSMDb?" Porter smiled. "Sounds about right."
"Look, I also heard that Colonel General Surkov, the Russian Air Force Commander In Chief, was recalled to Moscow because of a second assassination attempt on President Kuzmin," Jess added. "Turned out the Russian Prime Minister was behind it. Five ministers have stepped down. Seven more are calling for Kuzmin's resignation for what they call 'inaction' during the Cylon attack. One minister has turned up dead in an 'accident'."
"Isn't Russian politics known for its corruption?" Baker asked.
"Not since the thirtieth James Bond movie," Jess replied wryly. "News flash, Bob, Atsuo Hayashi at the Guiana Space Centre has Intel that something similar is happening in the States right now. Mason is supposed to be before Congress as we speak, supporting the call for the resignation of President Gibson. He's pushing for his Universal Government, claiming that with the support of the Colonial warship, he can personally negotiate for India and Pakistan to stand down before things escalate any further over there. He's pushing for Globalism with himself as leader."
"How exactly did we get pulled into this?" Dayton asked.
"Pierus?" Jess asked.
"Ready, Ma'am."
"This is coming in via NORAD," Jess said, looking up at a monitor.
The first image they saw was one Dayton had largely forgotten. Drawn in white on a blue background, it was a map of the world wrapped in a wreath of olive branches. The flag of the United Nations apparently hadn't changed since 2010, even though so much else had.
Then an image of a middle-aged man standing behind a podium appeared. Dressed in a classic blue suit and tie, he looked like any other politician. Behind him were the flags of the United Nations and the United States, leading Dayton to believe this particular broadcast was taking place on American soil.
"July 3rdand 4th, 2055 will be dates that will live on in infamy. July 3rd was the date that mechanical beings from another world, another star system, tried to oppose peace and liberty on Earth through the genocide of the human race. And July 4th, my friends, was when all of Earth stood against them, defying them, refusing to succumb. It was the day when our fellow humans, brothers in arms, appeared from across the galaxy, proving twofold that when brought together in purpose, mankind—with our very human capacity for fellowship—has the ability to unite as one. That's a belief the United Nations has embraced since its founding over a hundred years ago in 1945 when we came together to facilitate cooperation in international law, international security, economic development, social progress, human rights and the achievement of world peace. Those are fundamentals that will take us all, together, into our future."
"I am Albert Mason. I have the distinct honour of being appointed the fourteenth Secretary-General of the United Nations, and speaking on behalf of all world leaders. I wish to first congratulate the people of Earth for their courage, fortitude and fierce determination that they will never be dominated. I am proud to stand humbly among you, to call you my brothers and sisters. I also wish to thank Commander Dayton and his Colonial Base Ship for coming to Earth's assistance against the Cylon aggressors. I look forward to forging new ties and relations with our Colonial allies, and beg your patience and indulgence while we struggle to recover against the devastation that the Cylons have visited."
"That's him, huh?" Dayton murmured to his daughter as he half-listened to more of the man's speech, the words having that familiar ring of Earth politics that seemed to numb the mind and the senses.
"Yeah." The word was bitter.
"It's unfortunate that Commander Dayton could not be here himself, but I would be remiss if I delayed the following any longer than absolutely necessary. I would like to present the Romeo Dallaire Award to Captain Starbuck of the Colonial Star Ship, Endeavour, for his courage, his persistence and his determination throughout the conflict. His leadership and knowledge were integral in helping Earth's militaries prepare our defences for the Cylon attack," Mason said, stepping forward from his podium and extending his hand.
"Holy frack," Apollo murmured. "Lu, would you look at that!"
She nodded tensely, stepping a little closer to the monitor.
"I guess we found him," Dorado said with a smile.
"He looks good," Ryan said, watching as the young Colonial Warrior stepped into the frame, his immaculate uniform looking as though it had just been issued from Colonial Supply. His hair was cut shorter than any of them had seen before, and even the legendary Commander Kronus would have been proud of him for his mysteriously newfound—almost over the top—military decorum. Starbuck accepted the handshake, and then stood crisply at attention as Mason decorated him.
"Too good," Jess ventured.
Lu smiled in amusement.
"Oh God, not you, too!" Dayton groaned, rolling his eyes at his daughter.
"I mean they've polished him up for the camera," Jess clarified. "He took his fair share of lumps during interrogation before everybody realized he was for real, and the Cylons weren't just a WASA ruse for getting more funding. Remember, they shot him in New York."
"He often has that effect on people," Baker deadpanned.
"You love him or hate him. There's no in between," Ryan said.
"Shh!" Apollo hissed.
"Thank you," Starbuck said on screen, his voice brisk. "It's an honour to be recognized, Your Excellency, but what I did was nothing exceptional, merely my duty. I swore an oath long ago to protect humankind, and as far as I'm concerned, humanity has no borders. Make no mistake, each man and woman involved in Earth's defence over the last two days—from those issuing orders to those following them, from those in the very heat of battle to those in civilian support roles—deserves the same recognition and all of our gratitude."
"Who wrote that?" chuckled Ryan.
"Not Starbuck," Apollo replied.
"On behalf of the people of Earth, Captain Starbuck, I offer you our allegiance in good faith. May your people find a home and a future here with your Earth brethren," Mason again shook Starbuck's hand, holding it for a moment.
"On behalf of the Colonial people and President Torg, Your Excellency, I accept. When the day comes that the Colonial Fleet does arrive, we will be proud to call Earth our home."
"President T-T-Torg!" Dayton stuttered, immediately swept back to the pirate asteroid base and the sadistic, scum-sucking waste of skin that had had tortured him and his men for thirty years. "Torg?" he managed again.
"Who's President Torg?" asked Jess. She looked at her father, brows furrowed.
"It's a calculated tell," Lu insisted. "Just for us."
"Lu's right. Either our boy has a head injury or he's trying to tell us something," Ryan suggested.
Porter shrugged. "Or, knowing Starbuck, maybe both."
xxxxx
"Why do I keep looking over my shoulder, waiting for someone to shoot me?" Grae Ryan asked as he headed across the tarmac at Joint Base Andrews, a few paces behind General Roach. Eight miles east of Washington, D.C., the Naval and Air Force base had previously been the home base of operations for Air Force One, up until the President's plane had exploded in a fireball of fury in an assassination attempt.
Dickins grinned. "Are you having as much fun as I am, kid?"
"No, probably not," Ryan admitted, his lips quirking in amusement at the animation on the old astronaut's face. He glanced back at Hummer, who was tagging slightly behind them.
"Who's that up ahead?" Dickins asked, slowing his pace and nodding towards a suit standing beside a waiting car.
"Leon Goldman. He's the Vice Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff," Ryan replied, grabbing Dickins arm and looking around for a potential escape route. They were on a military base; it didn't exactly look promising. However, since it appeared that Jack Edwards, the Chairman of the Joint Chief of Staff, was working with Mason, chances were the Vice Chairman wasn't here to catch up on the good old times.
"Roach's boss?"
"Roughly," agreed Ryan, relaxing slightly as Roach stopped before Goldman, saluting him first and then shaking the Vice Chairman's proffered hand after protocol had been satisfied. Maybe they weren't about to get arrested, after all. "Why do I feel like I'm walking on egg shells? With nitro in them?"
"Because nobody's shot you yet?" Dickins replied, grabbing the younger man's arm and pulling him forward again when he realized both four star generals were waiting for them.
"General Goldman, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs," Roach started to introduce them, "this is Captain Richard Dickins, Major Graeme Ryan and . . . Technician uh . . ." He looked at the Colonial, grimacing.
"Hummer," the Colonial man replied with a faint smile.
"Chairman?" Ryan repeated. "Since when?"
"General Edwards wanted to play on the other team it seems. There was an opening, so I'm his successor," Goldman told them. "Captain Dickins and Technician Hummer, we need your help."
"Makes a guy feel suddenly left out," Ryan said.
"Don't worry, Ryan, we'll find something for you to do. Right, Hummer?" Dickins said to the Colonial, who as usual was missing most of the conversation due to the language barrier. He looked back at the Chairman. "What kind of help?"
"We've intercepted a message from Captain Starbuck and Secretary-General Mason requesting that the Endeavour's commander deal exclusively with the United Nations, 'for the sake of clear and effective communications'. Well, let's just say that portraying the Colonial commander as Mason's counterpart isn't exactly conducive to liberty, freedom and justice for all."
Dickins' eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
"From what we heard, Mason abducted Starbuck," Ryan reminded them. "I doubt they're on the same side."
"I wish I had your confidence, Major Ryan," Goldman replied. "Wait until you see some of the tripe the UN is spewing out about the Colonial Warrior. They've picked up where the armed forces and the major networks left off on their poster boy campaign. I've even heard UN emergency rations will have his picture and story on them."
"That's a US propaganda machine, not Starbuck," Ryan returned.
"He does appear to be cooperating."
"That's absurd," Dickins said.
"People love their heroes," Goldman replied. "Especially in a crisis. He seems to be relishing the role."
"You don't know Starbuck," Dickins told him. "I'd trust him with my life."
"Would you trust him with the life of every man, woman and child on Earth?" Goldman countered.
"Damn right, I would."
Goldman studied the old astronaut for a moment, before nodding. "Fair enough. Regardless, the reason I've come is because we need you to be our liaison with Commander Dayton, Captain Dickins. If you think he'll talk to you," Goldman asked.
Dickins snorted. "Of course he'll talk to me." He glanced at the Colonial. "What about Hummer?"
"We have the Cylon and we were wondering . . ."
"Ah!" Hummer said, face lighting up at the word 'Cylon'.
xxxxx
Once the door closed, shutting out Miller, Lauren put a finger to her lips, effectively cutting off Starbuck's next words. She tapped her ear and then pointed towards the adjoining facilities.
Starbuck nodded in relief. She'd understood he just wanted to get her alone, and some time alone in the sleeping chamber was the obvious cover. However, she was thinking beyond that. Despite Miller's words to the contrary, there was still a chance that the room probably did have some kind of audio system rigged to pick up their words or their cries of passion, as the case may be. The Earth equivalent of a turbo flush, with its noisy running water and overhead rotary systems, would effectively mask their words. He hoped.
"You know, if I have to kiss you, I'd rather you wiped that war paint off your face first," she said aloud. "Up close you look like a clown."
"How about you wipe it off for me, Beautiful?" he countered, following her. The facilities were as grandiose as the rest of the suite, with a sunken marble tub, a stand alone shower for two, and one more turbo flush-like fixture than he actually knew what to do with. It put a different spin on the life of an American bureautician in Congress. Sire Uri would have fit right in here. "Hmm, this gives me all kinds of ideas."
"I'll bet," she replied, closing the door behind them.
A moment later the rotary was on and the water was running in the massive tub, steam rising up from it. Starbuck perched his astrum against the countertop, watching as Lauren wet a facecloth and then wrung it out, before turning to face him.
"Lay an actual hand on me, Buster, and you'll be swallowing your teeth," she warned him in no uncertain terms.
He grinned at her brazen words "Relax, I'm married."
"Really? Someone married you? Poor girl." She tossed the cloth at him, turning her back, wrapping her arms around herself in a female posture of vulnerability that made him realize he'd shaken her. "Wipe your own face, asshole."
Starbuck peeled the damp cloth off his shoulder. "Mason would have killed us both, Lauren. I had to do something. Making him believe I was siding with him and his maniacs and betraying your father was my only option at the time."
"Did you have to be so goddamned convincing," she returned, her right hand rubbing the opposite arm as though she was cold.
"I'm sorry." And he genuinely was.
She let out a small sniff, still not looking at him.
"I didn't want to scare you, but it had to look real. I was hoping you'd realized in there that it was just an act. You seemed to understand . . ."
"You said 'Pumpkin Girl'," she said to the wall.
"Your pet name. Your father told me." Starbuck shrugged, sighing. "Look, I've been here a couple days. You must have heard about me from your sister. I hoped that somehow you'd realize that you could trust me, despite the fact that I was acting like a mong-raking Boray."
She turned to face him again, letting out a slow breath and taking the cloth from his hand. "Mong-raking Boray, huh? I don't know what that is exactly, but it sounds sufficiently disgusting to be about right." She stepped forward, taking the cloth and rubbing methodically at the 'war paint' on his face, showing him the residue that came off before returning to the task. It was as though she needed something to keep her busy just now as she mentally regrouped from the last couple centars. "You know, I heard about how you saved Jess from the Cylons. And then how you helped turn things around at Baikonur with General Surkov. She trusted you. Believe me, with my sister, that says a lot."
"I need someone to trust too, Lauren," he replied, grabbing her hand and stopping her obsessive cleaning. "And frankly, Mason isn't my first choice, no matter what he said about how Earth might treat my people when they finally arrive here."
"I thought you swallowed that, hook, line and sinker."
"Well, good. You were supposed to," he replied, releasing her hand. He turned to look in the mirror, taking a brief moment to wipe the rest of the make up off his face, once again exposing various colours of bruising with the odd scrape thrown in for variety. "One thing I know for certain about human nature is that we have a large capacity for tolerance, especially when you throw a megaload of sociopathic Cylons bent on the destruction of mankind into the mix. We're at our best during adversity, and we shine brightest when our survival as a race is threatened. Right now, there's a lot we can learn from each other. Earth is isolated way out here. Your solar system is on the backside of beyond, and for now anyhow, that's an advantage. With our technology and your resources, we'll make sure we're ready for the next Cylon Base Ship that comes your way."
"That's all very noble, Starbuck, but right now the future of political rights and freedoms that we've taken for granted for hundreds of years is being challenged three floors down in Congress. I'm guessing that Mason's motion to move towards a Universal Government is going to receive an overwhelming amount of support, especially when they see that you're backing him."
"I thought your President could veto anything in Congress."
"Hmm, is that what you were thinking? Not just a pretty face, are you, Flyboy?" she said. "But a two-thirds majority vote in both the Senate and the House of Representatives can override a Presidential veto."
Starbuck winced. "Didn't know that."
"I thought not."
He sighed. "Do you think Mason has that much support?"
"It's a bit sketchy. I don't know exactly how many Anakim are in Congress. Then there are always those politicians who can still be swayed one way or the other by the right words. While Mason claims that your Colonial warship is with him, maybe he has enough support."
"And if I publicly withdraw my support?"
"Mason would kill you if you did that, Starbuck. You make a fool out of him, and I guarantee it will be the last thing you ever do." She put a hand on his arm as he considered her words. "Before you do anything crazy, there's another group of unknowns out there calling themselves the Brothers of Eden. They helped me when I thought I was a goner. Two of them gave their lives for me. Do you know of them?" she asked.
Brothers of Eden? He shook his head slowly and she looked disappointed. Then it hit him.
"Eden. Wait a centon." He knew that name. Adama had mentioned it at some point. So had Mason. In fact, Mason had referred to the Lords of Eden. "Eden was one of the principle cities on Kobol."
"Kobol? That's your planet?"
"That's the planet the thirteen tribes emigrated from. Twelve to our colonies, the thirteenth to Earth. But I haven't heard of these brothers."
"Then what the Guardians told us is true," she said.
"The Guardians . . . oh, the Beings of Light. The tribunal's still out on that one," he replied.
"Sorry?"
"Let's just say they haven't always been as forthcoming as they could be," Starbuck replied.
She looked surprised by that, and a little troubled. He didn't bother to mention his godmother-in-law was probably one of them. At least, that was what he thought. Maybe.
"So if our long lost brothers, the Anakim, want world domination, what do these Brothers of Eden want?" Starbuck asked.
"They oppose the Anakim," Lauren replied, lost in thought for a moment. Suddenly, she looked doubtful. "They told me my ancestors go back to the first settlers, that my grandfather was a Brother of Eden."
Starbuck nodded. "Your father was told he was a descendent of Kobol by a . . . a Guardian. According to him, your family really are descendents of the thirteenth tribe." He left out the part about the Oculus and how Dayton's ancestor was its Keeper. That was hardly relevant at this point.
"Seems unbelievable."
"But nevertheless that's the story," Starbuck said.
"Interesting choice of words. The 'story' not the 'truth'," she observed.
Silently, he reflected on her words. Truth. It had seemed so black and white when he was young. Now truth was an elusive commodity most often looked for in shrouds of mystery, misunderstanding, perception or lies. He shrugged. "Blame it on my Earthspeak. It seems to me that the first thing we need to do is get out of this gilded cage and somehow get word to President Gibson or maybe even these Brothers."
"Exactly," she crossed her arms over her chest, looking suddenly inspired. "Hey, I know! Let's fly out the window on our magic carpet!"
"Magic . . . cute, real cute," he replied with a sigh.
But she was right again. Miller was in the suite and there were two more goons in the hall. Security had been omnipresent throughout the building with cameras, alarms, irradiated checkpoints and even a meticulous pat down that had left him wondering if he should either pause for a fumarello or ask for a telecom number. Only the box of disposable gloves on the security table and the private examination room had curbed his tongue.
"Well, we have to try something. I'll figure something out. I always do," he replied confidently, reaching forward to open the door into the sleeping chamber.
Only to find Miller's ugly mug staring back at him.