47 Days After Cylon Attack
Coordinates Unknown

"It's a puppet Quorum...I predict, every last one will be a Roslin lackey, handpicked by the power behind the throne, Presidential Advisor, Wallace Gray...He is a fatuous gasbag, who's made a fortune through kickback deals that members of this Quorum have profited from..."

Freedom of the press. There were some days when it felt like it wasn't worth the trouble.

When Laura Roslin was Secretary of Education she'd had her share of problems with the press, even endured a short-lived scandal where an overzealous reporter had tried to implicate her in a fraud investigation. By the end of it, three of her top aides had ended up in prison for embezzlement. She had been cleared of any wrong doing and her gratitude for Richard's support had left her involved with him again. At the time, she'd told herself that the reporter was just doing his job, sometimes it took a while before all the facts were straight. But now, as president, she finally understood how Richard must have felt having to sit by and listen to commentators dissect every decision without context and levy accusations of misconduct against anyone who was a proponent of the administration's goals. Never mind that the only goal of her administration was to keep everyone alive and that without Wally, the reporters trying to tear him apart would have probably starved by now.

But that was a minor problem compared to Tom Zarek.

Out of prison for a few weeks and already he was trading favors for followers. Did he think he could have his revolution now that humanity was composed of little more than a few dozen ships? Or was it just that he liked power and was intent on accumulating as much of it as possible? Regardless, it was clear he considered her an obstacle to be removed. If he only knew, there's no need for an assassin with a silenced pistol, all he has to do is wait... Surely twenty years in prison would have taught him patience. That's what makes him dangerous.

She'd told the people gathered in her office on Colonial Onethat Thomas Zarek was not going to be her Vice President, but it was easier said than done. When she turned to Wally for help he tried to back out, told her that he wasn't a politician. She'd said the same thing to Richard once and believed it, even after she'd been made Secretary of Education. But she and Wally had done this dance many times before. Offer him more responsibility and his first instinct was to evade it, but push and he'd accept. His loyalty would see it through.

"You've got me, Madam President."

He was all that she had left by the time her security team had returned to report the status of their investigation into Zarek's assassin.

Lieutenant Thrace spoke first and didn't waste time on pleasantries. "Valance is dead. His wrists were slashed with broken glass from the room."

"So was it suicide, or was it murder?" asked Billy from his seat by the president's desk.

"It wasn't suicide," answered Roslin. "Zarek had him killed." And that's the end of that.

While everyone else was still concerned with Valance's death, Laura's focus had shifted to the wireless, to Gaius Baltar's voice and his impassioned defense of her presidency.

"...History is full of examples of, of leaders, um, who have come from the most humble beginnings and have risen to meet the challenge posed by cataclysmic events. It's very easy for you sit there in your armchairs and criticize Laura Roslin and the tough decisions that she has to make every day..."

And as he spoke, Laura realized that she'd made a mistake. Despite the fact that her instincts told her Dr. Baltar was not to be trusted, he had a gift for persuasion and as far as the fleet press was concerned he was a genius, charismatic and popular—it's why he'd been chosen as Caprica's representative for the Quorum. Wallace Grey was an established name and the only one she could trust, but for many he was just another hold over from Adar's divisive administration. It was hurting his chances of success. Baltar on the other hand...

Lee's concerns tugged at Roslin's attention. "If he can get to Valance, he can get to anyone. Madam President, he will definitely try and take a shot at you now."

"Only if he wins the vote," she answered. Zarek was too careful to do otherwise.

"Madam President, I still worry the vote may be trending against you."

"Yes, it is." She reached to switch off the wireless. "But I'm going to win this thing and Tom Zarek is going back to his prison ship where he belongs." Roslin stood and put on her glasses. "But first, I have two very unpleasant duties to perform. I need a shuttle to Cloud Nine."

-xxx-

Laura waited for Wally outside the Quorum Hall, standing in the warmth of Cloud Nine's fake sun, shoes off so she could feel the grass, eyes closed, trying to clear her mind. How was the press going to interpret Wally's last minute replacement? He had been a candidate for barely a day. More importantly, how was she going to tell him, that even though he was her friend, even though she'd pushed him into this, that now he had to quit? She still didn't have an answer when he found her.

"All that's missing is a breeze," he said and offered her his arm. She forced a smile and led him out of earshot of the Marine guards that had been assigned to protect her. "So, Madam President, I had an idea on how we might get Picon to flip back. I went over the supply transfer logs and while the press is accusing me of kickbacks it turns out Representative Sanne is the one who has been making deals—"

"Wally, stop. I—" Just get it over with. "Wally, I need you to drop out of the race."

"But you asked—" He swallowed his protest and sighed. "What am I supposed to say?"

"Health reasons." It's what she would say if she could.

"Oh, right, fine, health reasons." He disengaged his arm and turned to face her. He kept his voice low, but his tone of reproach lost none of its sting. "You know, all of those years I watched you working with Adar, you were always so quiet, so polite. So dignified. I never thought you'd fit in with the bare knuckle, backstabbing politicians. I guess I was wrong."

She didn't flinch, didn't argue and he hesitated, for just a moment, but when she didn't offer up an excuse or an apology, he turned and walked away.

She watched him go. That wasn't the only thing you were wrong about, Wally. She had been quiet because she had secrets to keep. Polite because anything else would give people a reason to pry. Dignified, so that no one would suspect that she was the reason Richard had stopped wearing his wedding ring. Not even Wally had guessed, despite being a mutual friend and the fact that Richard had never quite acquired her same knack for lying.

It was that skill that she fully employed once she found Doctor Baltar. A few more fake smiles, an appeal to his ego and she had a new candidate. But at what cost? She told herself it was a matter of survival, not just hers, but everyone's. Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that somehow she'd made another mistake. That's the problem with politics, there's no way to win. There wasn't time for her to regret the decision, however, the vote was tomorrow and she had a new candidate she had to promote. So she arranged for a press release, she lined up meetings with the Quorum delegates and when she finally returned to Colonial One, she ignored the empty chair in front of her desk where Wally sat every week when he went over his reports with her. And she ignored the fact that he wasn't on the shuttle with her the next day on her way to Cloud Nine.

She didn't allow herself a moment to think until she was left alone in the lobby to the Quorum Hall while her security made one last set of inspections and Billy had gone to prep Gaius for the vote. Laura paced from one end of the room to the other, but she knew she couldn't afford to show any signs of anxiety once she was in the hall, so she forced herself to sit down and she tried her best to silence the protests of her conscience by staring at one of the bland paintings on the wall that were the staple of every hotel and luxury liner. The painting before her was a reprint of a Montclair, at least that's what she guessed, since it shared the same color palette of browns and grays and the same impressionistic brush strokes as the Montclair in Commander Adama's quarters. Except the scene presented here wasn't any of the ones for which the painter had become famous. Instead of a ruined landscape or a battle, the painting was of a wooden ship, stranded in the shallows of some nameless ocean with the sun setting on the horizon behind it. A few months ago, there had probably been dozens of copies of this painting on dozens of ships run by whatever company had owned Cloud Nine and it was nothing special, but now that it was the end of everything, the copy in front of her was priceless. Funny how things change.

While Laura contemplated the artwork she heard the sound of footsteps on the carpet that came to a stop beside her. She knew without having to look that it was Wally.

"I uh," he cleared his throat awkwardly, "I thought I should be here so that the press doesn't get the wrong idea. That is, unless you need me to play sick, then I can go hide in my new suite..." He had moved back to Cloud Nine with his family now that the repairs had been finished.

"No, I don't think that will be necessary." She couldn't meet his gaze just yet. "Thank you for coming." Thank you for your loyalty. It was loyalty that comprised Wally's definition of who was a politician and who wasn't. He could still say that he wasn't and believe the lie, she could not. "You know, a long time ago, I used to be a painter, before I became a politician. Turns out it was just as messy and I gave it up, but this—" She stood up, straightened her jacket and turned to face him. "Wally, I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "We're all sorry for something."

A knock from the doorway interrupted their reconciliation.

"Madam President, we're ready when you are." Captain Apollo stood in the doorway with Lieutenant Thrace behind him.

"Thank you, Captain." She turned back to Wally. "See you in there?"

He nodded.

Lee and Kara followed her into the tiered hall where the Quorum waited, still bearing the marks of their recent brawl and Laura didn't know whether to be grateful or worried that she had Galactica's two best pilots as an escort. They were targets now too as they stood shoulder to shoulder behind her and if anything happened to them as a result— Laura pushed the thought from her mind and focused on the task ahead of her.

"This meeting of the Quorum of Twelve is to determine the Vice President of the Colonies," she announced. "The votes have been collected and will now be read."

She drew a slip of paper from the box on her podium.

"Caprica, votes for Doctor Gaius Baltar."

Another slip.

"Gemenon votes for Tom Zarek."

As with any close decision, the votes shifted back and forth, some predictable, some not...

Leonis, Doctor Baltar.

Canceron, Tom Zarek.

Libran, Gaius Baltar.

Scorpia, Baltar.

Sagittaron, Zarek.

Tauron, Gaius Baltar.

Virgon, Tom Zarek.

Aquaria,Thomas Zarek.

Aerilon, Tom Zarek.

Six to five in Zarek's favor. She looked up toward his seat on the second tier and tried to gauge his expression. He maintained a semblance of calm, but the way he fiddled with his pencil betrayed his anxiety. Just how patient are you?

The last vote was Picon's. Her gaze flicked over to Wally for a sign of what to expect but he only shrugged and she finally looked down at the paper in her hand.

"Picon, votes for Gaius Baltar." It was a tie. Zarek had just lost, but there was no accompanying rush of relief, only a continued sense of foreboding. She was about to incur the wrath of a dangerous criminal and hand a great deal of power to a man whose motives she believed were anything but pure...

"In the event of a tie it is my privilege to decide the casting vote," she said. "The President of the Colonies votes for Candidate Baltar. Doctor Baltar, congratulations, you are now the Vice President Elect of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol. The candidate will be sworn in following a brief recess. This concludes the current session of the Quorum of Twelve."

Laura Roslin couldn't help feeling that she had just sold her soul as the closing gavel strike rang in the hall.

-x-

William Adama was late. He'd lost track of time while supervising a training exercise and had just barely gotten out of the shower, toweled off and into his dress grays by the time Saul was knocking at the hatch. He moved to unlock the door and went back to buttoning up his jacket.

"Raptor's prepped and Ellen and I have a date with a glass of Ambrosia," said Colonel Tigh with a smile. Ellen was wrapped around her husband in a manner that made it clear she had already started celebrating.

"Come on Bill," she drawled, "if you don't hurry we'll miss all the fun."

"Yeah, just a second." Where had he left his sash? He went to the back room of his quarters and found it draped over a chair. He pulled it on on his way out the hatch. "Let's get this over with."

Colonial Day had lost its appeal after he'd made Commander and Saul had gotten married. Gone were the days of spending the holiday at an air show or at a boxing match with his friend, instead he'd spent the last several years of Colonial Days with politicians and high ranking officers, trying to survive the boring stories and keep Saul from starting fights when Ellen inevitably wandered away from the bar to dance with some foolish young Major. After he'd fallen out of favor with the Fleet Admirals and had been transferred to Galactica, Bill had found excuses to stay aboard ship and spend the day with his pilots.

This time he could have excused himself from going to the festivities by citing the security concerns inherent in having the leaders of the fleet and so many of Galactica's senior staff off ship during a war, but there hadn't been any Cylon contact for over a week and he trusted Captain Kelly to oversee things in their absence. Besides, he told himself, it couldn't possibly be as bad as the last year he'd attended one of the official events. Four years ago he'd had to listen to a gloating speech from Marcus Adar about his successful promotion to admiral, a promotion Marcus had gotten solely on account of his brother's nepotism. Look where they ended up. Probably nuked by the Cylons in the opening salvo. Thankfully, by the time they'd landed on Cloud Nine and made their way to the reception room outside the Quorum Hall they'd missed the victory speeches, but not the ensuing party. Ellen went straight for the brightly lit wall of liquor bottles with her husband in tow and after Saul downed a shot of something bright green she pulled the Colonel out onto the dance floor. Bill decided to skip having a drink and instead wandered around the edges of the gathering until he found President Roslin. Two Marines in plainclothes hovered nearby, but she was sitting alone at her table, her glass empty except for the lime at the bottom. Bill almost turned around to go back to the bar and order something for her when he realized if he did that then he'd have to guess what she liked. He opted for a different kind of conversation starter instead.

"Madam President, good evening."

"I thought you hated these things," she said.

"It's Colonial Day, where else would I be?" he countered. "I'm a patriot."

"You really are, aren't you?"

He met her gaze briefly and then looked back toward the crowd in search of something else to say.

"Doctor Baltar... interesting choice."

"I figured, the devil you know."

"Politics. As exciting as war, definitely as dangerous."

"Though in war, you only get killed once." She watched Baltar, but she sounded as if there was something else on her mind. "In politics, it can happen over and over."

"You're still standing." And you deserve to have a break from your worries.

"So are you."

He smiled. "And I can dance." He swayed a bit from side to side to prove it. She let out a laugh that made him smile wider and Bill offered her his arm.

She accepted and they fell in together with ease, having both attended formal events often enough to acquire the right steps as a matter of habit. When the song changed to something slower Bill Adama held her a little closer than what might have been appropriate for the Commander of the Fleet and the President of the Colonies, but he wasn't thinking of what was appropriate. He was thinking it was Colonial Day and instead of spending it being miserable he was dancing with a beautiful, intelligent woman and he wanted to make her forget everything but this moment, this moment where nothing mattered except for the fact they moved well together. And as he held her hand in his and felt her pressed against him he thought, if only we'd met in another time and place...

But he didn't let himself finish the thought and the moment was over when the song ended and she let go of him.

"Thank you for the dance, Commander," she said, her tone disappointingly formal. "I'd love to continue this, but it's been an exhausting day and I should probably get back to Colonial One."

"Allow me to escort you to your shuttle." When she hesitated, he added, "I insist."

Laura nodded her assent and he guided her off the dance floor. The commander waved off the Marines that had moved to escort them and led her arm in arm, toward the nearest exit.

"Aren't you still worried Zarek's going to try to kill me?" she asked after they had left the room and they were out in the chill of Cloud Nine's simulated night air.

"He's not that stupid."

"Zarek's not the only threat in the fleet."

"I won't let anything happen to you. I don't want Gaius Baltar to be my president any more than Zarek."

"Tell you a secret?" She leaned into his shoulder with a conspiratorial whisper. "Neither do I."

"Well then Madam President, if you could pick anyone you wanted, who would it be?"

"Billy," she said without hesitation. "I think he could make a good president someday. He's dedicated and honest, almost to a fault. He reminds me of Richard when he was running for his first office."

"President Adar was honest?"

"President Adar, no. But when he was just a mayor..." She stopped walking, released his arm and took a deep breath. "Can I ask you a question?"

He stood at ease under the glare of one of the lamps that bordered the sidewalk and took the change of subject in stride.

"Sure."

"How do you do it?" Her gaze traced the line of Cloud Nine's horizon. "How do you stay on a ship for months at a time without going crazy? Don't you miss the sun and the breeze and having solid ground under your feet?"

Now it was his turn to confess a secret.

"I could ask how you can stand to stay on the ground. Being planet-side is too quiet, too—still. You see, every ship has a certain vibration," he explained. "Some of them hum, some of them rumble, some of them feel like they're gonna shake themselves apart, and then there are ships like Galactica...Galactica's special because she sings."

"Sings?" Her tone betrayed the skepticism of every other planet bound civilian he'd met, but he didn't take it personally.

"Like a siren crooning a lullaby. Once you get used to it always being there, you can't go back."

"Hm, what about this ship? I don't hear anything."

"Cloud Nine is a luxury liner so everything's been dampened, but it's still there. This one sounds like the drone from a pyramid game." He could tell from her expression that she didn't believe him. "Close your eyes." She cast a look at him as if to say this is stupid, but she did it anyway. "Now, stop trying to imagine that you're on Caprica and instead concentrate on what's below you. If you relax, you'll feel the vibration and then you'll be able to hear it."

After a few seconds he saw her shoulders drop a bit and her posture loosen.

"Ah, you're right, there it is," she said with a smile. "Though it sounds more like an angry swarm of bees to me." And then her smile faded. "I don't want to get used to being on a ship, Commander."

"Then I guess we'll just have to find Earth."

"We better find it soon."

He didn't ask her what she meant by that, just assumed she must be feeling homesick and they resumed their walk to Cloud Nine's shuttle bay. Bill wished her a good night before she departed for Colonial One and with his dance partner gone, he didn't feel compelled to return to the party. He had a Raptor take him back to Galactica. He went to his quarters, sat down on his couch and poured himself a drink. To Colonial Day, it wasn't half bad. At least it was over already. After he'd emptied his glass he leaned back, closed his eyes and let Galactica sing him to sleep.