25 Days After Cylon Attack
Coordinates unknown
Bill's shoulder muscles protested at the jarring impact of his fist with the bag in front of him. Crawford takes third watch. He continued anyway. Crawford takes third watch. Another punch and another. Davis flies with Baker. A few more light jabs and a heavy cross. Davis flies with— Baker. His next hit faltered when his mind called up a name he'd been trying to avoid. Leoben.
He shifted his stance and tried to regain his focus. "It's not a him. It's an it." His breathing quickened with the pace of his strikes. "Anything it says cannot be trusted." Yet what Leoben said was hard to forget. The Cylon's words lingered in the mind, swirling and twisting like smoke.
"I'm an observer of human nature..."
Adama started to throw more weight behind his combinations. At least it's dead…Again.
That was the trouble of course. Death didn't matter to a Cylon. "When this body dies, my consciousness will be transferred into another one." Soon enough, another had appeared in their midst. And the president had wanted it interrogated! "Send someone who won't be easily confused, that's an order, Commander." So he had sent Starbuck.
"Your job is to make sure he doesn't achieve the goal." By whatever means necessary.
He knew what she would do. He knew, because he had once been in her place.
"I'm gonna ask some questions and you're gonna give me some answers."
A pilot unable to fly, in need of an outlet, of a way to stay in control.
"Here's your dilemma, give in, but that makes you a coward..."
Torturing a man never did achieve much in and of itself.
"...or you can resist. But it isn't gonna matter."
It did make it easier to get into their head.
"What you choose doesn't matter."
To turn their mind against them.
"Because you'll be in agony,
crying and screaming
and begging—"
Pain arced through Bill's arm from a misplaced blow and broke his rhythm.
"Sooner or later the day comes, when you can't hide from the things that you've done."
He started again, harder this time, trying to drive Leoben's words away, but his efforts only seemed to hammer them deeper into his thoughts.
"I'm an observer of human nature. When you get right down to it, humanity is not a pretty race."
There's no other choice for a solider but to follow orders, to use coercion when all else fails.
"We're only one step away from beating each other with clubs like savages."
It wasn't torture if they weren't a citizen. It isn't murder if it's a machine.
"Maybe the Cylons are god's retribution for our many sins..."
Bill let out a shout of frustration and struck the bag with a final wild swing. Another flare of pain lanced through him, sharp, like a shard of glass. He couldn't breathe. He had to stop. Frak.
When he'd caught his breath he worked one of his hands out of its glove and pulled off the other with a sigh. So much for trying to clear my head. Adrenaline gone and weariness sinking in he headed back to his quarters for a shower. By the time the water hit his skin he'd started to ache. He could already feel the consequences of his exertion taking its toll on his body, a stiffness in his shoulder, a twinge in his back, throbbing in a knee joint. When did I get old?
He tried to rub away as much of the hurt as he could, but he gave up when the water turned lukewarm. The commander of a battlestar enjoyed certain benefits over the rank and file, but even he didn't get an infinite supply of hot water. Nor did he get an infinite amount of time to relax in the comfort of fresh clothes and the cushions of his leather couch before the insistent buzz of the phone dragged him onto his feet.
Petty Officer Dualla's voice greeted him.
"Sorry to disturb you sir, but I have an incoming transmission from the Captain of the Rising Star."
"Regarding?"
"Wouldn't say sir, only that it pertained to fleet security and he requested to speak with you directly."
"Put him through." He waited for the characteristic silence and subsequent click of the transmission being momentarily dropped then routed through Galactica's comm board.
"Commander Adama?" Captain Ortega's thick Gemanese accent did nothing to hide the edge of fear in his tone. "Is this line secure?"
"Yes Captain, what can I do for you?"
"There is a woman aboard my ship that is not on my manifest and I have no record of transfer. I have questioned my people, but they don't remember her. She just...appeared last week among the injured. I thought perhaps she may have been overlooked in the chaos, but, now I'm worried that it's something else." There was a burst of static over the line as Ortega took a deep breath before he continued. "She's been asking for a man named Saul and says he is a Colonial Officer. I searched, checked records, I think your XO may be this man she asks for."
"Did she give her name? What does this woman look like?"
"She's blonde, blue eyes, says her name is Ellen. But Commander, I don't believe this is all just a coincidence, that suddenly she is here and says these things. I don't trust coincidences."
"Neither do I," he replied. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I'll have someone look into the situation. Keep her under close observation and call me if you have any further concerns."
"I will Commander, thank you."
After the captain was off the line Adama returned the phone to its cradle and tried to think.
Ellen.
Another name he didn't want to remember. He hadn't even considered that she might have survived the attacks. If it really was her then Saul would need to know. But Captain Ortega was right, it was a little too convenient. What if she's a Cylon duplicate? What if she had been sent into the fleet to undermine the leadership, to turn them against each other like Shelley Godfrey had tried to do? Doctor Baltar's Cylon detector should be complete soon. I can have her tested to be sure. He just needed time to investigate before Saul found out...
Adama got Dualla back on the line.
"Commander?"
"I need you to delete the trace logs of that call," he ordered. "Any additional transmissions from the Rising Star are to remain off log and be received only by me until further notice."
"Yes, sir..."
"Also please have Doctor Cottle report to my quarters as soon as possible. That will be all."
-x-
"Something wrong?" he'd asked.
"No...nothing at all."
A lie.
"Something wrong?"
Only everything, she wished she'd answered.
She was dying. She shouldn't be president. She was afraid. Except she couldn't tell Adama any of that. Instead, Laura pretended and lied and it had been easy. Nothing at all. And as she lay awake in her bed on Colonial One unable to sleep, she realized she hated the answer she'd given him. Was it because it was a lie? Because it was Adama she'd lied to? Or was it because the lying had been easy? Gods, what difference does it make? She shifted her position in bed and tried to will her mind to sleep, but it refused to obey.
How many times had she lied to Richard? More than she could count. It had been easy then too. Easy to tell him there wasn't anything he could do while she lost the last of her family. Easy to tell him everything was fine, believing that he was still the same man, honest, charming and passionate, when they were liars both. The lies of her life that she told to herself, to him, to everyone, it was as easy as breathing. She didn't even have to think about them anymore, and how wrong was that? Even Gaius Baltar squirmed when he lied and said he was innocent.
All she knew was that sometimes the truth was simply too dangerous. Entrust it to the wrong person and it was like handing a knife to your executioner. That's what Leoben had done, after all. "The warhead doesn't exist. I made it up." His words became the signature for his death warrant. And of course, he was the real reason she couldn't sleep this time, why she stared into the dark unable to close her eyes. Because every time she did, she saw him, bruised and smiling, felt him, his arms around her like a lover's embrace, the smell of him, of sweat and blood, flooded her senses and his whispered secrets shadowed all of her thoughts.
"Adama is a Cylon."
Another lie. It had to be. Yet there was still that nagging doubt, insidious and persistent. What if it's true?
When the fleet had joined Galactica at Ragnor Anchorage Commander Adama had been missing. How could any of them be sure that the man who came back to them,who had been found covered in blood, was the real Commander Adama? With four little words Leoben had given a voice to her worst fear, that the man who protected them all was an enemy instead of a friend. Fear had poured into her like ice water and she'd resolved to be rid of it. "Put him out the airlock." It had almost worked, almost, until she saw a piece of her dreams, her nightmares, come to life as the Cylon was pulled away into space. It's just a side effect of the chamalla, she told herself. Like the insomnia she'd been experiencing for the last three hours.
Laura sat up, abandoning any further attempts at sleep with a sigh of frustration and wrapped a robe around herself. She took a moment to gather enough energy to stand, then shuffled out of her sleeping quarters toward her office. Once there, she found that all the lights had been turned off except for the lamp on the corner of her desk and sitting in her chair was Billy, awake, with a stack of papers in front of him and a pen rolling between his fingers. Richard had done the same thing when he'd been too stressed to sleep.
"You're up late," she said. Billy jumped at the sound of her voice and scrambled to stand.
"Madam President," he sputtered, "I—I was just going over some reports and..." She motioned for him to sit back down.
"It's perfectly all right."
"Uh, do you need—"
"No, no I'm fine. I just couldn't sleep, thought I'd walk around a bit, try to clear my head." She moved to face the whiteboard on the wall. Billy's gaze followed hers.
47,954.
"I wish that number would stop shrinking," he said.
"Hm, me too." He passed her a slip of paper from his collection, it was the revised survivor count. "I once told President Adar that I wasn't very good at math," she mused as she erased the 54 from the whiteboard and drew in the new digits. "The truth is, it just wasn't my favorite subject. Something about numbers that I've always hated..." She set down her marker.
47,941.
Especially when they keep getting smaller.
"They're the most important thing we have left now," he said as he took the slip of paper back. "How many ships, how many people, how much food, how much fuel. How long until—" He stopped himself with a glance at her and shuffled through a stack of notepads. "I keep having this feeling that I did the math all wrong." His pencil scribbled a calculation in the margins of a page. "Then sometimes I dream that one day I'll wake up and this is all in the past, something to just be forgotten."
"We should never forget our past, Billy. We don't have a future without it." She was proof enough of that.
He smiled, for just a moment. "I suppose I shouldn't argue with a history teacher. At least one of the captains in the fleet agrees with you," he said with a gesture toward the photo on her wall. The one of a soldier on his knees while Aerelon burned. Someone had titled it Lest We Forget. "Maybe this time we'll remember."
"I hope so." If enough of us survive. Maybe. She rested a hand on his shoulder. "Still, we won't be helping the number on that whiteboard if we're both exhausted tomorrow. You should try to get some rest."
"Of course, Madam President." He stuffed several sheets into a folder to take with him and vacated her chair. He paused at the curtain that separated her office from the rest of the ship. "Goodnight, Madam President."
"Goodnight, Billy." After he left she turned off the lamp and went to sit by one of the windows. There wasn't really anything outside the ship to see, Galactica's dark bulk obscured the stars and anything else that might be out there. Its presence should have been a comfort to her, but she couldn't help wondering, how many Cylons are on that ship? How many in the fleet? That was the number she really wanted to know and if Commander Adama might be among them. If Baltar's detection methods worked then eventually she might find out. Provided I'm still alive.
Laura closed her eyes just long enough to swallow the sudden knot of emotion in her throat. It was all she could do to stop herself from crying. A few shuddering breaths calmed her and alone, in the dark, she felt herself drifting, her mind and body both worn out at last. For the first time in days she dreamed of nothing at all.
-x-
"Rising Star, Raptor One requesting landing clearance."
"Acknowledged Raptor One, clearance granted for bay three."
"I thought we were going to Cloud Nine," said Cottle with a glare toward the back of the Raptor.
"Change of plans," replied Bill from the ECO seat.
"I don't suppose you'd care to explain?"
"Already told you, it's a priority medical inspection."
"That just had to be rescheduled for four in the godsdamned morning?"
Commander Adama didn't answer and instead waited for their pilot, Karma, to finish the landing procedure and open the Raptor's side door. The bay should have been deserted, but as they disembarked they were greeted in person by Captain Ortega.
"Doctor Cottle, good to see you again. Commander Adama? I did not expect—" He swallowed his surprise and gestured toward a hatch on the right side of the bay. "Please, this way."
Karma remained with the Raptor while Adama and Cottle followed the captain. The corridors were mostly dark, though it could have been as much from Captain Ortega's body blocking the lights as the generally dim illumination. The captain's height and broad shoulders forced him into a perpetual stoop and it seemed to Adama that perhaps the man would've been more suited to an outdoor career than becoming the administrator of a cramped space vessel.
"We observe a strict day and night cycle beyond this point," said the captain as they followed him up a step ladder onto the pitch dark main deck. Ortega paused to switch on a penlight that dangled from one of his belt loops and continued on his way with the surety of a man who knew the way by habit. The tiny spot of light bounced across the floor with the captain's every step and Adama found it easier to rely on the heavy sound of Ortega's boots to guide him as the captain led them past rows of beds. The occasional beep of the monitoring equipment echoed at random intervals that reminded Commander Adama of chirping frogs in a pond.
Cottle bumped into Adama with a stifled a curse when they stopped outside a hatch and Bill instinctively cast a glare over his shoulder before he realized the doctor wouldn't be able to see it.
"I had her moved here, to private quarters," whispered the captain as he opened the hatch and ushered them through. When the hatch was sealed he moved to turn on an overhead light that cast the room in a harsh blue glow. Despite the sudden illumination the woman didn't wake.
Her face was pale and the evidence of what had once been an array of cuts and bruises had mostly faded to a faint yellow tinge streaked with red lines. Bill tried to remember the last time he'd seen Ellen Tigh. It was at least a couple years ago, they had been in a club, celebrating Bill and Saul's possible retirement, but the specifics of that night still escaped him on account of it being spent in a drunken haze. Before that, it was Ellen and Saul's second wedding anniversary, when Bill was looking forward to having two sons in the Colonial Fleet and Ellen hadn't yet learned to resent her husband's devotion to his commander and friend. The woman he remembered looked different from the one he saw before him now, but it was the differences of time and context, not identity. It was her, it was Ellen.
"Mostly superficial lacerations, bruising, but no evidence of major hemorrhages," said Cottle while he reviewed her chart. "She seems to be mostly healed. The head trauma she sustained is really the only thing to be concerned about. Does she still spend a lot of time unconscious?"
"It's probably the sedatives," replied the captain from where he stood in the corner of the room.
"Sedatives? Were you trying to put her into a coma?"
Ortega glanced in Adama's direction before answering the doctor. "The dosage is minimal and necessary I assure you. We have kept close watch."
"Doctor Cottle, I need you take some blood samples for further analysis," ordered the commander.
"Just what the hell is going on here?" When neither the captain or Adama offered an explanation he shook his head in disbelief. "You think this woman is a Cylon, don't you? Well I hate to tell you both, but there isn't a whole helluva lot I can do with a blood sample to prove things one way or another."
"Just do it." Bill knew that Cottle's results would most likely be inconclusive and that he'd have to wait until Doctor Baltar's Cylon detector was ready before there would be anything resembling a definitive answer as to whether Ellen was a Cylon copy or simply an overlooked survivor. Still, Adama had reservations about Baltar's methods and wanted a second opinion he could trust, even if that opinion turned out to be worthless.
By the time Cottle was finished with his ordered task and had repacked his medkit, Ellen stirred with the beginnings of awareness, blinking and squinting in the light and mumbling a few incoherent phrases.
"Captain Ortega please escort the doctor back to the Raptor and let me know when it's ready to launch." He wanted a few minutes alone with her.
"Of course, Commander."
Once the hatch had closed Adama moved closer to Ellen's bed and tried to get her attention.
"Ellen, can you hear me? Ellen, it's Bill." She looked up at him, her expression uncertain.
"Bill?" Her voice was still thick with sleep. "What happened? No one will tell me. What happened? Where am I?"
How much should he reveal? Just keep it simple. "The Cylons attacked us, you're on one of the ships that escaped. Can you tell me the last thing you remember?"
"I was on Picon. Where's Saul?"
"Do you remember anything else?"
"No. Where's Saul? Why isn't he with you?" Her eyes started to fill with tears. "Something happened to him didn't it? You're here to tell me he's—"
He rested a hand on her shoulder to calm her. "That's not why I'm here, Saul's fine. He's on duty right now so he couldn't come." A lie. Bill had chosen this time specifically because Captain Kelly would be the officer on watch and Saul would be asleep. No one on Galactica except Karma and the doctor would ever know that the commander had left his ship.
"When can I see him?" She tried to push herself up into a sitting position and only half managed it. "I wanna see my husband."
"Travel between ships was restricted after a suicide bombing on Galactica, I can't make exceptions to the security protocols right now." How much time could he buy without her becoming suspicious? "Maybe in a couple days, when you're feeling better, okay?"
"Please, Bill—"
"I'll make the necessary arrangements and you'll see him soon, I promise." There was a soft knock on the hatch. "I have to go. If you need anything, the captain will take care of it."
"Wait—" She reached for his hand too late, Bill had already withdrawn and was across the room pulling open the hatch. He closed it behind him to find Ortega waiting in the corridor, his penlight a thin line of illumination against the shadows.
"What do you want me to do?" He asked as he led Adama back toward the Raptor.
"I'll be back in a few days, until then, she's the wife of Galactica's XO, make every effort to fulfill any reasonable requests that she has. Knowing her most of them will be unreasonable," he said with a sigh. "But do your best and keep me apprised."
"I will. Lords grant you answers and a safe journey, Commander."
"So say we all."