Chapter 134 Slide

"…Kara Thrace is Saul Tigh's daughter."

Adama sat motionless as he waited for Cottle's words to make sense, because he couldn't have heard correctly the first time, so if he gave it a moment, what the doctor had really said would properly register. Yet, as the seconds ticked by and the elderly physician continued to regard him with an uneasy expression, the reality set in: he'd heard right the first time.

A tightness in his chest warned that he was holding his breath and Adama sucked in a lungful of air only to gust it out as words failed him. Disbelief played dodgeball with chaotic questions as the world shift around him.

"You…you're certain—"

"Course I am!" Cottle cut him off, a scowl pulling his bushy eyebrows together. "Wouldn't be saying it if I wasn't." He poked at the manila folders with an index finger. "Three times. Same results. Those two have the DNA markers that you'd only expect to see between parent and offspring."

"But how…?"

"I expect the usual way." At Adama's darkening expression, Cottle raised a hand. "Ask Saul, but I'm thinking that Hera Agathon isn't the first natural born Human/Cylon hybrid."

The doctor's comment about the Agathon child only served to confuse Adama further. Was Cottle implying that Kara was a hybrid instead of a previously unsuspected Cylon model? Yet, that didn't make sense. If the Cylons had the ability to reproduce—have had so for years now—then all of Athena's assertions were a fabrication.

Unwilling to discard the hard-won confidence in the Eight, he pinned the doctor with an accusing look. "You said Kara wasn't a Cylon."

"No, I said that she would've had to have been born one," Cottle sourly corrected. "I stand by that. Her medical history, the x-rays, they don't lie." Adama heard the Doc's clear statement that if there was a problem with the facts, it wasn't to be found in the surgeon's report.

He pulled the top file towards him, but didn't open it. The doctor was right in that stories could be faked, but not test results. Yet, even as he completed the thought, Adama realized that that wasn't necessarily true. Tests could be wrong, just look at Baltar's supposed Cylon detector!

Or perhaps…

"Someone tampered with the samples," he started, but Cottle was already shaking his head.

"I collected them myself from Thrace and the Colonel," insisted the physician. "No one else had access or likely expected me to compare the two. Only reason I did was I wanted to see if there was any discernible difference between those Cylons in the Fleet and the previously known models. I used Sharon's sample since I had it onfile, but I only decided to use Thrace's as the human control because it was still up on the slide from earlier." He shrugged. "Pure coincidence that I was comparing hers to each of the others."

The denial Adama had erected at Cottle's initial assertion began to fracture beneath the surety in the doctor's tone. He slumped back in his seat, feeling concussed by all the ramifications. As a hand lifted his wrist, Adama opened his eyes, only then realizing that he'd closed them against a wave of dizziness.

"I'm fine," he insisted, trying to reclaim his arm.

Cottle ignored him, eyes focused on his watch as he tracked the Admiral's pulse. Finally releasing him with a grunted "Humph", the physician took a step back, but continued to regard him with professional concern.

Adama looked away, his gaze again falling on the file folders and their explosive contents. A part of him wanted to order the doctor to destroy the documented evidence. Considering Cottle's past actions, he was certain that the man could be relied on to follow those orders and keep his silence, too. Sherman Cottle's loyalty was one of the few remaining things Adama was certain of in that moment. He leaned forward then, palm pressed flat on the nearest record as he sought some balance between duty and his emotions.

What would the consequences be if Cottle's findings became widely known? Once word spread of how highly placed the latest revealed models were, would the Fleet survived the revelation that the famous Starbuck wasn't entirely human either? Would Kara survive it? A sick shudder shook him as he remembered the traumatized young woman huddling in a dark recess of crates in the hanger bay. How would she react to this latest shock; especially when he was still uncertain of her mental stability in the wake of her most recent captivity, dared he even tell her?

As if following his thoughts, "Thrace is resilient," Cottle said, moving around the desk to resume his seat. Adama's eyes lifted as the doctor continued, "She'll get through this. She's still the same obstinate, contrary young officer you brought aboard some four years ago, you know." At the Admiral's uncertain look, "On New Caprica I treated Cylon and Human alike, and I'm telling you that there's less difference between the two than either side wants to admit. Just assuredly as Lee's your son, Kara Thrace was someone's child. A DNA slide doesn't just wipe away all that's girl's done for the Fleet." At the man's pause, Adama could see growing irritation in the physician's expression. Then Cottle gave a low growl of disgust and leaned forward.

"Dammit, Bill, you know her…and you know Saul Tigh," Cottle stated curtly. "You doubting who they are? What side they're on, after all this time? Get your head outta your ass, Bill. You should know better."

Adama jerked, Cottle's bitingly terse defense of the pair and his personal reprimand drawing Bill up short. He didn't want to discuss the topic of Saul's identity, not yet at least. He gave the Medical Officer a quelling look that seemed to have little effect as the man reached forward and flipped one of the files open. Both of their gazes dropped to the photo of the blonde Colonial pilot with short-cropped hair and a defiant stare.

She looks so young.

Too young, Adama thought, far too young for the wary expression evident in those green eyes. Especially in this, a picture taken prior to the end of the worlds. Then Cottle flicked the second chart open, too. Faced with the side-by-side images, and now aware of their genetic link, Adama could see some resemblance in more than just the pair's general attitude.

"They're your family," Cottle's words pulled his gaze up. "Whatever these say," tapping one of the charts, he continued, "You know the truth…that truth hasn't changed."

He understood what Cottle was trying to say, yet there were still so many unanswered questions that the physician's words about truth made his grimace. Saul might be able to clear some of them up—if Adama was willing to trust him. In the meantime, Cottle might be able to clarify a few.

"Do you know who Kara's mother is—was?" he asked, stumbling over the proper tense when he wasn't sure of the woman's status.

"Not Ellen Tigh," Cottle's quick reply. "Checked her first. Not even a close match." The doctor rubbed at his jaw in thought before going on. "Took samples from the President's aide, Foster, and also from the Three, that Biers woman." Here the physician's brows dropped sharply. "That's one to watch," he warned. "Met her on New Caprica. Seemed a reasonable sort then, but…well, it's not like I really knew her, yet something's different now."

"You sure it's the same Three?"

A shrug, then, "Possibly not," the Doc conceded. "Not sure it matters whether she's another copy or something's happened since, don't trust her, Bill. Not in actions or words."

At Adama's thoughtful nod, Cottle seemed satisfied and reached forward to retrieve Kara's medical chart from the desk. He thumbed through the top few pages before lifting his gaze again.

"I've checked Thrace's DNA against all the models," he said. "Assuming that there are only twelve total, then there's no way any of the female Cylons is her biological mother."

Adama frowned at the suggestion that there might be more models than they'd been led to believe. What did he really have to go on as proof, after all? Just a note left anonymously in his room and the word of an Eight. He shifted uneasily in his seat before deciding that he had to take some things as a given. So, until proven otherwise, he had to accept that Kara's mother had been human.

Thinking back over the years he'd known Saul, and considering Kara's age, Adama tried to figure when she must have been conceived. She was less than two years younger than Lee, so that would mean that it had to have been during the time after Bill had been recalled to the Fleet, but before he'd been able to push through Saul's reinstatement. By then he'd lost track of his friend's location and the MPs had had a time tracking the man down to offer him the Captain's commission Adama had finagled for him. He did know that Saul had stayed with the same cargoship they'd served on together for another year before getting himself grounded again, but the subject of what he'd done after that had never come up between the two since. Adama had sensed that it had been an especially dark time for his friend.

Regardless, it was a discussion they were now going to have to have soon.

Adama leaned forward, elbows propped on the desk and forehead supported on his interlaced fingers as he glared down at the file labeled Saul Tigh. He'd heard before what the Doc was saying about family, and if it were only him at risk, Bill realized that he was willingly ready to accept that Saul's and Kara's origins didn't matter in how he felt about the pair. But, as the Admiral, he had responsibilities that demanded he rely on more than his heart and gut in making decisions. Just because he felt they deserved the chance to prove their allegiance, didn't mean that others would agree.

Beginning with the President.

Thinking of how Laura might take this latest news, the knot of worry for her constricted further. As much as he might want to avoid causing additional stress when he was aware of her physical condition, he recognized that she would have to be fully briefed on this development.

He scrubbed at his face, then closed Saul's file and slowly rose.

"Does any of your staff know of these results?" As Cottle shook his head, "Keep it that way," the Admiral ordered. "We can't have word of this getting out now. At least, not until a decision's been made on the Cylons' offer of an alliance."

"You're seriously considering it?" Cottle asked as he stood, too.

Adama's grasp on the folder tightened. After a long pause, "Yes," he answered finally. "I've assigned Lee to debrief the prison—the parties involved and prepare a recommendation. It's a risk—"

"Huge one," Cottle cut in, then shrugged as the Admiral gave him a hard stare. "Not saying it's not the right one. I'm for trusting Saul Tigh, and Chief Tyrol's always been a solid man, too..." the doctor trailed off with a grimace then. "Well, mostly. There was the time he attacked that young Specialist of his."

Adama's eyes widened as he recalled the incident the ship's surgeon was referencing. He'd forgotten how badly Cally had been hurt: her jaw broken and face badly swollen by the violence of the Chief's blows. At the time, the assault had been dismissed as an anomalous reaction to some nightmares Tyrol had been having. And the man had certainly proven himself steadfast since. Viewing the event in hindsight, though, the Admiral had to wonder if there hadn't been more to the attack. Perhaps some latent programming?

It gave him pause.

Then his eyes fell upon Kara's record held in Cottle's hand.

Anger and shame vied in him again as Adama conceded that one didn't have to be a Cylon to turn on those they were supposed to protect. The injuries documented within the manila cover were evidence enough that a human mother had inflicted years of abuse upon a vulnerable child. His own recent actions just served to grind that point home.

Acknowledging his own guilt, he then purposefully shunted the emotion aside. He couldn't let himself be distracted, not when Cottle was giving him a concerned look.

"An alliance has advantage for the Fleet," he said reluctantly, returning to the prior thread of conversation. "We can mitigate many of the risks, but, yes, it's a gamble."

"What isn't," Cottle's reply more a statement than question, and Adama had to silently agree.

As the two men moved toward the hatch, the physician neutrally said, "She tolerated the Doloxan well," causing Adama to come to an abrupt halt as he realized whom Cottle meant. His eyes sought some sort of reassurance in the doctor's face, but the man just gave him a noncommittal look. "I'm doing all I can for her, and that woman's got enough gumption for a platoon, but, like I said, it's all a gamble." With that, Cottle pulled open the door and stepped through without waiting for any further questions his words might bring on.

Watching him go, Admiral Bill Adama murmured to himself, "Sometimes you've gotta roll the hard six."