Chapter 137 Percussions

As Lee Adama left Kara behind in his prior quarters, his thoughts were chaotic. And he realized he still hadn't removed his stuff and would need to return later for it. Perhaps after he'd had a chance to run his idea by his father.

Dodging around a crewmember that was servicing one of the hall's lights, Lee's pace slowed as he replayed the revelations of the past hours. He'd been both pissed and concerned when he'd followed Kara from the refugee camp. She'd seen him. He knew she had, yet she'd purposefully chosen to avoid him once again. This dance of theirs reminded him of something he'd once seen in a wild Caprican night club where people moved to the heavy beat, throwing themselves at others only to carom away again after each impact. This similar feeling that he was making progress with Kara only to have her recoil off onto another trajectory was so damned frustrating! Sure, he knew she was dealing with massive issues. As Lee had told her, he didn't need any special training to see how she was still reeling from all the frakked up things that had happened to her this past year. Why couldn't she understand that he just wanted to be there for her. Help her?

As guilt twisted his expression into a grimace, Lee stepped into a side corridor and stopped to draw a shaky breath.

Face it, it's not as if I haven't given her plenty of reason to doubt.

He knuckled his hands into fists as memories of the times he'd failed Kara flashed to mind. Why was he surprised that she had dismissed his father's hitting her as unimportant? Hadn't he chosen to push her into an exchange of blows…more than once even? And that wasn't taking into account her abusive childhood—the thought of which still made Lee want to smash something. And while it was true that Kara had caused her own share of emotional damage in this dysfunctional relationship of theirs, Lee couldn't ignore the verbal lashes he'd delivered over the years.

Fact was, he knew Kara was scared. It must seem that opening up her heart to another was the surest way to invite it to be carved out. He could certainly relate to that! A surge of anger at Kara stung him and Lee leaned back against the solid wall and fought it off. Things could have been—would have been—different if she hadn't run after their night together on New Caprica. And that knowledge still spurred a bitterness he had yet to fully master. In the wake of her breakdown, though, he'd had far too much time to struggle with it and his self-disgust at his own behavior. He liked to believe that he'd grown up a lot since then; yet there were still times when the ugly emotions reared their heads and caught him unprepared.

Like now.

Purposefully, he thumped his head back against the metal wall behind him, seeking to dislodge the resentment he felt at Kara's always having to make things so damned difficult.

He straightened then. This wasn't getting him anywhere.

Resuming his course, Lee approached the Admiral's quarters, only to find them empty. Changing direction, he set off for CIC. Yet, on entering and surveying the command center, he discovered that his father wasn't here either. Gaeta appeared to have the watch. Just great, Lee sourly thought, having rather avoided the junior officer after their last confrontation. Reluctantly deciding that it would be ridiculous to wander Galactica looking for his dad when all he had to do was ask, Lee strode forward.

Giving the man a nod in greeting, "I'm looking for the Admiral," he said, taking note of the hard glint in the dark eyes as they met his.

"He's meeting with the President and gave orders not to be disturbed."

Lee frowned at the innuendo in Gaeta's tone and choice of words. Had the man really meant to imply what he had? Not that Lee was blind to the shift in the two leaders' relationship since Kara's supposed death. It was true, that at first, he'd been too lost in his own grief to notice how Laura had made a point of being there for his father in the weeks after. Regardless of what might or might not be going on between the pair, that was their business. Most certainly not some jumped-up staff officer with an attitude problems.

Narrowing his gaze at the near-insolence of the Lieutenant's statement, Lee debated a reprimand. A sweeping glance of the other personnel in CIC convinced him otherwise and he held his tongue as the many heads quickly ducked back to whatever tasks they'd been doing before his entrance.

It dawned on Lee then that he didn't really have any official authority anymore. As much as he disliked the notion, he'd have to let Gaeta's insubordinate remark drop.

"Tell the Admiral that I need to speak with him as soon as possible," Lee said, making the effort to keep the censure from his voice.

"I'll pass the message along," replied Gaeta and again there was an undertone of disrespect that made Lee wonder if his request would be conveniently forgotten. Delayed maybe, he decided, but he doubted that the man would dare to go so far as to risk a formal reprimand if Lee brought the matter before the Admiral.

Leaving the murmur of CIC behind, Lee made his way aft. He had skipped breakfast and his stomach was reminding him of that fact. And given that he was going to have to wait to speak with his dad, and was currently at loose ends for any duties, Lee decided to grab a bite from the mess.

A few crewmembers exchanged greetings with him as he took his allotted morning serving and then settled at a corner table by himself. He wasn't looking for conversation. What he needed was time to consider all he'd learned from Kara, and come up with a strategy on dealing with her. This obsession with Earth he could at least understand. The revelation of her feelings towards Leoben, though…that had come as an unpleasant shock. It had been a relief to learn that the Cylons hadn't harmed her further while she'd been held on the basestar, but that had quickly given way to dismay once she admitted not wanting the Two dead. Sure, he'd known that she still had issues with the Cylon male, but her apparent conflicting emotions for her captor had made him pause.

Forcing himself to take a step back, Lee had recalled his time in War College. The bonding of prisoner and captor wasn't particularly common, but it was well documented. And from all Lee had heard since, Leoben was just the sort of manipulative bastard to purposefully set out to foster that sort of connection. He'd had Kara so twisted around that she obviously believed that her feelings were real.

Who am I to say they aren't.

Stabbing a pseudo-sausage, Lee grimly chewed it, oblivious to the odd texture and taste. Then he shoveled a bite of what passed for hash into his mouth, and then another, suddenly in a hurry to finish the meal. He needed to get down to the hanger deck. Somewhere—probably still on the Heavy Raider—the cartridge with Leoben's last download was waiting. Since he couldn't get his hands on the Cylon directly, Lee decided he'd have to settle for smashing the repository of the that Two's essence.

Lee rose even as he swallowed his last bite.

He left the now-empty tray on the table behind him for someone else to clean up.

"At ease, Starbuck," the Admiral said, and Kara relaxed into a parade-rest stance, still uncertain of what she'd walked into and unwilling to let her guard down fully.

"We just have a few questions, Kara," Laura's smile looked strained as she continued, "and thought you might be able to help us."

More questions. Why wasn't she surprised.

Hiding a grimace, Kara studied the two people that could supply her with a ship to continue the search for Earth, and the same ones that seemed determined to disregard her claims of having found it in the first place. A quick scrutiny of Laura was enough to see that the woman's cancer treatment was already taking a toll. Roslin looked even paler now than when Kara had seen her in sickbay just the day before.

And the Admiral…

As her gaze met his, Kara thought she saw a flicker of—pity? sorrow?—in his eyes. Her unease ratcheted up another notch.

"Your personnel records," Roslin brought a file up from her lap and set it on the table in front of her, "state that you were born on Caprica?" At Laura's look, Kara nodded in confirmation. "And your father was a musician while your mother was in the Colonial Marines?"

"Yeah, so?"

Kara couldn't see where this was going. She figured the Old Man had to know her file front to back by now. She doubted there was anything it held that would come as a surprise to either of the Fleet's two leaders. So why was the President suddenly so interested in her background? Her eyes narrowed on a suspicion. Perhaps Roslin had been scouring her history for any discrepancies that might prove that Kara was a Cylon plant.

Are they back to me being a frakkin' Toaster?

She waited. Let them ask, she didn't have anything to hide.

"It says here," with her index finger, Roslin tapped the topmost page, "that your mother's name was Socrata Thrace?"

She started to nod when a sound from the Colonel made her glance his way. He was staring at her now as if searching for something. Kara's gaze quickly shifted back to Laura as the President repeated her question, asking for her to also verify her date of birth.

More bewildered than ever, Kara answered, only to turned again to Tigh as the scrape of a chair and a disbelieving grunt immediately followed as the man rose to his feet.

"My Gods! You're Socrata's daughter?!"

As Tigh's incredulous statement registered, Kara frowned. What was the XO's frakking issue now.

"And yours, Saul," rasped Adama.

The Admiral's words didn't make sense, and as her eyes shot back to him, she again saw the flash of pity in his expression.

What the—

"Holy frakkin' hell."

As the Colonel's exclamation broke past her own silent curse, Kara's gaze was yanked around and she saw how the man's one good eye had widened to the point that the white showed. Shock had raised both of his thinning eyebrows high on his forehead, and he looked like someone had just shot him.

A growing sense of apprehension thinned Kara's lips into a scowl. And she blinked, perplexed by Tigh's reaction and still at a loss over what they were talking about, Kara twisted to face the two at the table. Her eyes flicked between them, trying to piece together what they were getting at. Attempting to make some sense out of what had been said.

"Kara," Adama said her name softly, yet she tensed as if he'd snapped at her. "Listen to me. The Doc ran some tests… Your DNA… Saul's." She was already shaking her head, "He's your biological father, Kara."

She waited, gaze fixed to Adama's.

Waited for the Admiral to crack a grin.

Waited for the Old Man to let out a guffaw and then share the joke.

Waited for her father-figure to let out a snort of laughter and say, 'Gotcha, Starbuck!'

She waited…and a roar slowly built in her head.

"No," barely a whisper. "No. I don't…" slightly louder, but still muffled by the white noise reverberating in her ears. She was cold. Why was it suddenly so cold in here? Blinking rapidly, Kara sought to make the puzzle pieces fit, tried to grasp the reality of what he was saying. But there was no reality here. It was impossible.

"No," she snapped then, her denial vehemently certain this time. "This is bull! I know what you're trying to do," sweeping the pair with an accusing glare, "You think the Cylons frakked with my head. Think I'm delusional. That I never found Earth. And you're frakkin' afraid that if they," hitching a thumb to indicate all those beyond the hatch, "hear that I have, then they'll believe me," she said, voicing swiftly rising. Focusing her hot gaze on Roslin, she bitterly said, "I trusted you on a vision. A vision!"

Adama slowly rose to lean with palms on the table before him. He caught her furious gaze and held it a moment before speaking.

"You are Saul Tigh's biological daughter," he said. "There's no mistake. No conspiracy to silence you. He and your mother were together for a time on Caprica."

Kara's eyes bored into familiar blue ones, searching for some hint of deception. On finding none, she faltered…and the brittle denial shattered into shards, slicing her world into unrecognizable fragments and leaving her to bleed out.

"I didn't know." The strained words brought Kara's head slowly around to the man at her side. She hadn't noticed Saul move. "Socrata… Your mom, she never told me. I swear I didn't know."

Tigh's words barely registered as Kara fought to stem the torrent of loss. Everything she knew about herself was wrong. Where she came from—what she even was—it was all a lie. Her sense of identity, of self, drained from her in rivulets to pool at her feet.

But Kara Thrace had been cut before. And if there was one thing she'd learned from a lifetime of physical harm, it was how to do a field dressing. A pressure bandage here. A tourniquet there. Bind the damage now and deal with the consequences later. And so, with practiced detachment, she clamped off the psyche wounds and shifted into evade and escape mode.

"You're all frakkin' insane," she said, adding a sneer to taunt the man—no, the Cylon—as his brows drew down into a customary scowl. Then, without sparing a glance at pair at the table, Kara spun and yanked the hatch open.

"Captain Thrace, you are not dismissed!" came the loud reprimand from behind. The three Marines just outside the door reacted immediately, moving to block her exit.

It felt like lava had replaced her soul's blood. The heat of it coursed through Kara and pushed a growing wave of rage before it. Something must have been visible in her face, for the guards instinctively recoiled before remembering their training and prepared to seize her.

"Wait!" The shouted command, in a feminine voice, froze the tableau and halted the guards before they could engage. "Bill, let her go," Roslin said. "She needs time to process this all, and space in which to do so."

Kara heard the words, and the Admiral's reluctant consent that followed, but they came at her from a distance. Nothing mattered except those that blocked her escape. But then they parted, the black-clad figures moving to each side of the corridor to allow her to pass. Without further thought, she stalked from the room, tense and prepared to react if they suddenly moved against her. They didn't. Yet, as she made the first turn leading away from the conference room, Kara was aware of one presence at her back. A part of her mind knew who it was that trailed in her wake. Mathias, her constant shadow since that she'd again lost the Admiral's trust.

She didn't give a damn.

She didn't give a damned about any of it—any of them—anymore.

There was only the need to run.

Kara's mind was on lockdown, her path determined by habit rather than purpose. It wasn't until she stood outside the open hatch leading to the bunk quarters she used to share with the other pilots that she finally halted.

Inside, Kat looked up from the table, and Kara saw surprise and then relief in the younger pilot's expression.

"Hey, Cap, good to s—"

Without even giving the woman time to finish the greeting, Kara twisted away and strode on. She didn't belong there now. But where else was there for her to go? Pushing at the clotted mess of her mind, Kara sought a direction. Her stride carried her onward to the CAG's quarters. She closed and locked the metal door behind her. At least here she could triage the damage in private.

For that she'd need some anesthetic.

Moving to Lee's abandoned locker, thankful that he hadn't actually remembered to take his stuff when he was here before, Kara squatted to rummage in the bottom.

There! Just what the doctor—

She chopped that thought off. She didn't want to think about Cottle. About his lies and his tests. About the lies his tests exposed.

She grasped the bottle by the neck and stood. Kicking one of the chairs around, Kara straddled it and slammed her prize on the table before her. She didn't move to immediately uncap it, though. Instead, she glared at the amber liquid, finding herself unaccountably loathed to open the bottle. What the hell was she waiting for? This rotgut wasn't going to get any better with age, she told herself. Yet still she hesitated. Running both hands through her hair, she gave a yank and felt the sharp pain along her scalp. It felt good. There was a familiarity in the discomfort that was reassuring in a way Kara didn't want to examine. She toyed with the idea of breaking the bottle; it's jagged edges could be used to physically manifest the state of inner being.

A memory flashed forward then of blood dripping from her wrist as she gouged a path with a makeshift knife. She had come to believe on New Caprica that that was her only escape. Was that what she thought now? Was it what she wanted—a permanent way out?

Shaking her head, Kara grabbed up the half-full bottle and forcefully unscrewed the top. She welcomed the burn as she knocked back a long swallow. Not the Chief's best, she inanely decided, the capricious thought reminding her that there were others that had just discovered that their whole life had been some great cosmic joke. How the Gods must be laughing their frakking heads off. And they apparently had a sick sense of humor, too, she thought, and took another swig from the bottle.

Again the liquor scorched her throat, and she coughed.

Damn, forgot how disgusting this stuff is!

No one would've guess it from the volume Starbuck was known to put away in the past, but Kara really detested the taste of alcohol. Like so much else, though, she had learned how to push through the unpleasantness; the numbness on the other side worth the effort. She was determined to do the same today. After another swallow, she rested her forehead on edge of the chair back, waiting for the brew to do its work, waiting for the world to right itself while her physical equilibrium spun the other way. This is what it took, wasn't it? Surely with enough anesthetic, she could peel away the bandages and see what was left to patch back together, right? It's what she did. How she survived. Yet a part of Kara feared that this time, when the wounds were exposed, there wouldn't be enough remaining to stitch together into a semblance of a whole.

So sorry, this one's terminal. Nothing to save here. End of line. Black X on the forehead.

Sitting up, Kara touched fingertips to the skin above her brows and wondered if the mark was visible to everyone. Not that she cared what everyone thought. Just a select few…and they already knew…even without an X marking the spot.

Her thoughts jumped then to Lee. Had he known? When he'd taken her hand on the couch, had be already been told? She shifted to squint at the offending piece of furniture, searching her slowing mind for any clue that Apollo had been aware of Cottle's discovery. No, he couldn't have. If Lee had been aware that she was some bastard knockoff of Tigh's, some frakked up mix of human and Cylon, he wouldn't have come within spitting distance of her. The Admiral must have decided to do her the one last courtesy of telling her before he exposed the truth to the rest of the crew. It was just the sort of 'honorable' thing the Old Man was known for. Not that it made a whole frakking lot of difference in the end.

She tipped the bottle back again, gulping rather swallowing this time. When she came up for air, Kara grimaced at the burn in her throat and stomach.

Glaring at the near-empty bottle, she wondered what to do once she'd reached the bottom. Did she want to wait here until they came for her? Wait for the President to give the order?

Kara pinched the bridge of her nose as a different ache started. She knew the Old Man well enough to guess that it'd be hard on him to follow through. Hadn't he once insisted that he viewed her as a daughter? She could even believe that he'd feel some pain at having to carry out Roslin's decree…but he'd do it anyway. He was the Admiral. He had a duty to protect the Fleet. She distantly wondered if she'd be expected to share an airlock with Tigh.

Her harsh laugh broke the silence of the cabin as she envisioned the pair of them waiting for the pressure door to pop open. Oh, yeah, what a perfect scene. She could just see how it would play out.

So, Starbuck, sorry about knocking up your whore of a mom.

No problem, Dad. I had a shitty childhood, but hey, it wasn't your fault.

Well, good then. Glad we had this talk.

Right, a real father-daughter bonding moment before their grand exit.

Gods, she hoped that Lee and the Old Man would stay away. Kara didn't want the last time she saw either of them to be at her execution. Maybe they'd offer the privilege of pressing the button to someone like Gaeta. She'd seen the way he'd looked at her the few times their paths had crossed since her return and he'd probably jump at the idea of payback. What a frakking punchline if Gaeta was the one to blow her ass out the airlock.

She was done with begging, though.

Rolling the bottle along her forehead, Kara wished it was chilled, it's cold surface would have felt good against her pounding head. She muttered an oath, frustrated that it was taking its damned sweet time bringing relief…though, ok, she took that back as she felt the first flush of its effects starting to infuse her body. Randomly, she wondered if being half Cylon had given her a higher tolerance to alcohol. Athena was supposed to be more resistant to radiation—or so the Doc claimed. Maybe it meant that a freak like herself wasn't as damaged by it either.

Crap, what did it matter anyway?

None of it mattered.

She hadn't found Earth; it had to have been some stupid ruse of the Cylons to use her to lure the Fleet into a trap. Just like the Admiral suspected, right? She wondered how long had they had been jacking her with false thoughts? Had it started on New Caprica? Or maybe even before then…perhaps on the Farm? Ah, hell, for all she knew, the Toasters could've been controlling her every move since she popped out of her mom's womb.

As a human, Kara had been able to convince herself that her memories were just that—her own. But now? She gave a bitter snort. Oh, yes, it all made a frak-load of sense now: the missing four days, her supposed jump into a spatial anomaly that no one else had seen; hell, it even explained her blackouts on New Caprica…and even earlier than that. Had any of it been real?

Lifting her hand, she frowned at the small, circular scar on the back; evidence of torture…or was it a byproduct of their programming process? Kara rubbed her thumb along the other wrist. The slight thickening of skin was still apparent to the touch and a bitter smirk twisted her mouth.

The bastards had still had to restrain her. Whatever else had happened, she hadn't always been a willing participant.

The proof that she'd fought them eased some of the tightness in her chest. Whatever of her memories were false, Kara decided that those of the Six's frustration weren't. At least Kara could believe that she'd had some control on New Caprica and had used it against the Cylons' attempts to subvert her.

Just like now.

Kara abruptly realized that she still choice in her actions.

If the visions of Earth had been planted by the Toasters…as the Admiral and President obviously thought…then it didn't matter that she couldn't remember the coordinates. She hadn't failed because it had been a frakking sham all along. And it meant that now she could give up the fight to convince everyone that she knew the way to the home of the thirteenth tribe.

The breath Kara hadn't been aware that she'd been holdings eased out in a long gust of relief.

She was so frakking tired. Dragging her down was a fatigue the likes that no amount of sleep could ever relieve. With another long pull on the bottle, Kara felt the alcohol build on the effects of a soul exhausted by a lifetime of effort.

Rising to unsteady legs, she considered the unmade bunk. A temporary solution. What she needed was a permanent fix. Her gaze skittered around the cabin, the room's overabundance of furnishings—and history—abruptly made her feel claustrophobic.

She needed space to breathe.

She needed space.

Grabbing up the remains of the Chief's home brew, Kara unlocked the hatch and stepped out—only to be met with the presence of her constant guard. She saw the Sergeant's eyes glance from hers to the bottle and then back again. Concern flickered across the other woman's face.

Though Kara liked the Sergeant, she usually tried to ignore her, choosing to acknowledge the Marine as little as possible in silent protest at the Admiral's mistrust, but as Mathias' brows drew together, Kara bridled at the disapproval she read in her expression.

"Taking a walk," Kara snapped in answer to the unspoken question. She started to move past but felt a hand grasp her elbow.

"Captain, it might be best—" the Sergeant began, but broke off as Kara sharply thrust against her, the force of Kara's elbow catching her unprepared. Off balance, Mathias stumbled back and fell, her head striking the lip that ran along the base of the open hatch with a dull thud.

"Oh, Shit! Oh,Frak!" Kara stared in horror at the sprawled figure. "Frak no! No, no, no, no! You can't…" Kara trailed off, frantically dropping to her knees, the bottle falling forgotten from her hand as she scrambled for a pulse at Mathias' throat. The woman's head was bent awkwardly forward with her helmet tipped over her eyes. It took Kara long seconds before she felt the reassuring throb against her searching fingertips.

Alive. She was alive.

Thank gods!

A wave of profound relief swept over Kara as she felt the steady rhythm of the other woman's heartbeat. But then her stomach heaved and she swiftly turned her head to retch. The pounding at her temples reached a new peak as she expelled what alcohol hadn't yet been absorbed by her system.

Once the violent roiling her in gut had subsided, Kara sat back on her heels, eyes returning to the Sergeant's still unconscious form.

She had to get the Doc.

Kara stood then, and immediately swayed, reaching to catch her balance on the nearest bulkhead. Blinking against the dizziness, she checked the corridor but it was still frustratingly empty in both directions. She'd have to go find someone herself. Staggering only a little as she moved along the quickest route to sickbay, her reaction to Mathias' grabbing her arm replayed through her mind. She hadn't meant to shove her so hard, only intending to force the Marine to back-the-frak-off. And it had all gone wrong so frakking fast!

Finally!

Spotting a crewmember coming her way, Kara stepped in front of the man and quickly said, "Marine down in section B3Alpha," and hitched a thumb back the way she'd come. "Need the Doc and a pair of corpsmen ASAP." As the man blinked at her in startled confusion, she grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. "For frak's sake, go!" she snapped, and gave him a push for good measure.

After a last flustered look back over his shoulder at her, the crewman hurried away, and Kara was reassured that help was on the way for the Sergeant.

But now what? She'd made matters worse; hardly possible, she thought to herself, yet leave it to her to find a way of taking things to a whole new frakking level.

She took a moment to get her bearings. If she went left at the next junction, it would only be a short distance to the hanger bay. With a grimace, Kara realized that there was nothing there for her. She'd never get access to a Viper, even if she could snatch a jocksmock. And while she might bluff her way onto a Raptor, the Line Officer on deck would insist on getting clearance before letting her launch; all the prior obstacles in her plan to commandeer a ship to search for Earth readily applied now, too. And with her head reeling, she couldn't think of a way around them.

They'd be coming for her soon. Even if no one had already found the Sergeant, they would at any moment now…and then the hunt for her would be on. The Admiral might have settled for her being confined to quarters until a formal decision was made, but that was before she'd attacked the Sergeant. There was no way he'd believe that she hadn't meant to harm Mathias. Not now that he knew what she really was.

So, if stealing a ship was off the table, where to go then?

Kara wasn't giving any thought to a goal beyond evading capture, and it wasn't as if she were thinking particularly clearly; with a mind still muddled by alcohol and shock, she was acting on years of habit. All she knew in that moment was the pressure to run…or hide if there were no escape to be had. Thinking of the stacks where she'd retreated before, Kara quickly dismissed them. Undoubtedly they'd be one of the first places checked.

What she needed was some place secluded.

A place that the crew avoided if they could.

Her step paused as a potential location sprang to mind.

Ever since Cally and Galen's close call, no one went near airlock twelve. Of course, the Chief had insisted on having the entire section inspected and properly patched, and he'd even gone so far as to juryrig a separate door control inside the airlock, but the area had become a rarely visited storage space for broken parts and other assorted junk deemed too valuable to jettison because it might one day have a use.

Yeah, and that description fit her spot-on now, Kara thought; broken, but whose usefulness hadn't yet been determined. Whatever. It seemed a likely place to hole up. And that was all Kara was looking for now.

Her steps took her towards the distance section of Galactica. Her stride was a little unsteady, but it wasn't until the third person that she passed gave her the same startled glance before judiciously looking away that it dawned on her that she was drawing unwanted attention. Not that the sight of a drunk Starbuck wandering the battlestar's corridors was an uncommon sight, but that it was probably due to the fact that most had believed her dead just a couple of days ago.

Crap.

Muttering a string of silent curses, Kara realized that the Marine search party wouldn't have much difficulty following her path. Not to mention that she could expect the Admiral to issue a shipwide broadcast of her fugitive status at any moment.

She had to get out of the corridors.

Up ahead she spotted one of the ships many maintenance slots, a panel set low to the floor that allowed access to the interior systems of the ship. A glance both ways confirmed that she currently had this passageway to herself. Despite her lack of coordination, it took only a few seconds work to pry the covering off and shimmy into the crawl space within. After twice as long—and several scraped knuckles—she had managed to secure the screen back in place behind her.

None too soon as Kara heard footsteps beyond the metal wall that hid her. She took stock again of where she was within the massive ship's structure, thankful that her goal wasn't really that far from her current location, and she began to crawl.

If Kara had given it much thought, she probably would have realized that hiding within the superstructure of the vessel was a better option than even her original destination. But she was moving on instinct now, too caught up in evasion and escape mode to consider anything beyond the immediate need to press on.

When the expected announcement came, she paused, surprised at the Admiral's carefully worded command for her to report to his cabin immediately. She'd been sure he wouldn't waste time and would immediately issue the orders for her arrest.

And yet…

Kara rested her aching forehead on her arms, catching her breath as she debated giving herself up. The haze of alcohol and adrenaline that had been driving her forward to this point was starting to fade, leaving room for the hopelessness of her actions to settle in. She was just delaying the inevitable, wasn't she? The Admiral would order Galactica searched from stem to stern. She'd be found. Even these walls wouldn't provide protection from a determined pursuit.

So why push on?

As her thoughts shifted, she realized that her goal really wasn't to hide. She acknowledged to herself then that it had never been about getting away. Where the hell would she go, anyway?

There was nothing she could do to change her past, to change what she is. But she grimly knew that there was one thing she could still do for those she cared about.

Whether she chose to surrender or reached her goal, Kara believed that there was an airlock waiting for her in either case. At least this way she got to determine the when and where…and if in doing so she saved the Old Man the burden of ordering her execution she figured she owed him that much.

Lifting her head again, Kara crawled on.