Warning: this chapter contains scenes with strong and suggestive sexual overtones.

CHAPTER 14

LÊ HÈ

"So, you're telling me that one of our doctors … one … of … our … doctors … is … what? A serial killer … would that be an apt description, Mr. President, or do you prefer the term 'mass murderer'?" Cyrus Uri was beside himself with rage.

"Why isn't this man locked up in the detention center?" Quentin Margus was glaring at Baltar, his own fury a match for that of the Sagittaron Elder. On the Quorum, Margus had tried to play the honest broker, defending the interests of his much abused people while at the same time being a voice of reason. He prided himself on his ability to see and articulate the larger picture, and he had staked his reputation within the Sagittaron community on a platform of compromise rather than confrontation. And this was his reward.

"The evidence appears damning," Gaius conceded, "but it is also completely circumstantial. There is nothing conclusive in the Agathons' report … nothing that would hold up in a court of law. Unless Doctor Robert does something remarkably foolish, like proudly confessing his crimes in a public venue, we have no grounds on which to arrest him. For now, therefore, the best that we can do is issue a warning: tell your people to keep their distance. Under no circumstances should a Sagittaron seek medical treatment from Michael Robert."

"Mr. President," Helo heatedly objected, "with all due respect, I have to disagree." He opened a thick file that bore the letterhead of the New Caprica Medical Center. "This is The Summary of Fatalities under Medical Care," he explained as he began to finger the pages. "In one week alone … look … a guy goes in for a cough, and he dies of heart failure. And here … this one: a woman had simple appendicitis, but she died on the operating table. Mr. President, I believe that Doctor Robert is literally murdering patients in the OR!"

"And to think that I let this monster treat Hera," Sharon said in disgust. "Twelve percent of the Picons he's treated have died. And he really likes Capricans—their morbidity index is less than six percent. But the mortality rate for Sagittarons? Ninety percent … ninety percent of the Sagittarons in his care have died!"

"And how many Sagittarons have died when Doctor Cottle was in attendance," Sharon Baltar pointedly asked. She lightly rested her hands on her beautifully rounded belly; the twins were moving around, but their quiet exploration of the womb wasn't causing her any discomfort. "I've had five appointments with Doctor Robert to date, and Tory has had two." Sharon glanced sympathetically at the young woman seated to her right. Morning sickness had hit the ambitious presidential advisor especially hard, but the concubine with whom she now regularly shared Gaius Baltar's bed was still quick on the uptake.

"That's right," Tory hastily agreed, "and he has been unfailingly courteous and professional."

"Doctor Cottle is a fine man," Sharon continued, "but his cigarettes make me sick, and his vision has become somewhat … unreliable. The Threes still swear by him, but Sixes and Eights prefer Doctor Robert. If he's been deliberately hurting Sagittarons, wouldn't it be reasonable to assume that he would also be targeting Cylons? But none of us have suffered at his hands."

"Sister, have you forgotten that there's a resurrection ship in orbit?" Caprica Six judged the evidence against the physician to be overwhelming. "There's little that he can do to hurt any of us."

"He could harm the babies," Sharon instantly shot back. She knew how badly Caprica wanted children, and she suspected that her stylishly blond sister fiercely resented the fact that Gaius had failed to impregnate her during the long months of their torrid romance. Eights had little use for Sixes, and Sharon delighted in twisting this particular knife. The average human male was willing to jump into bed with any Six, but the stupid sluts still hadn't quite figured out that said male typically ended up marrying an Eight.

I should nominate Caprica Six for the Dumb Blond of the Year award! She reminds me of that silly actress in those old films that Gaius likes … Marilyn something or other. Imagine … pining away for Sam Anders, who's probably frakking every female on the Adriatic! He'll never give any of us a child, so why doesn't Caprica move on? Besides, the world isn't ready for a celibate Six …

"I want that man in chains," Cyrus Uri yelled.

"Fifty-eight percent," Helo sheepishly confessed.

"What?" There was a wild look in Cyrus Uri's eyes.

"Doctor Cottle has lost fifty-eight percent of his Sagittaron patients," Karl amplified. "But for every other colony his numbers … and Doctor Robert's … they're almost identical."

"Mr. President, what more proof do you need?" Quentin Margus had heard more than enough. "You need to arrest this man, and you need to do it quickly. If you go on sitting on your hands, I cannot predict how our Council of Elders will respond, but I daresay that you won't like the steps we're considering."

"Are you threatening me again, Mr. Margus?"

"No, Mr. President … I'm warning you. The Sagittaron community is seriously considering severing its ties with the rest of the settlement—and that means cutting off your access to our food supplies. We expect justice, not bromides!"

Baltar rose slowly to his feet, and leaned across the table. He favored the two Sagittarons with a long, appraising stare.

"I'm only going to say this once," he finally remarked. "Any attempt on the part of the Sagittaron council, or the Sagittaron community, to blackmail this government will result in stern countermeasures. If I have to declare a formal state of emergency in order to keep vital supplies moving, I will do so without hesitation—and I will back up the decree with military force."

"We're done here." Cyrus Uri also rose to his feet. "I'll give you until noon tomorrow to take that bastard off the streets. After that, it will be too late."

. . .

"Umm," Melania murmured as she nuzzled Sam's shoulder, "I'm not surprised that a Cylon would have such incredible staying power, but there are so many things about you that still manage to catch me off guard."

Sam and Melania were lying comfortably in Sam's oversized rack, their bodies still entwined and glistening with the slight sheen of their sweat. It was humid on the Adriatic, and their latest bout of lovemaking had been unusually passionate.

Sam's left hand was cradled behind his neck, but his right was idly gliding up and down Melania's spine. Unconsciously, the former resistance fighter arched her back, responding to Sam's every touch.

"Like what," he asked. Sam was genuinely curious. Before the war, and long before he had discovered that he was cylon, Anders had casually slept with hundreds of human women, most of them succumbing not to his chiseled good looks but to the charisma of the professional athlete. None of them had got close enough to penetrate his carefully manufactured persona; indeed, none of them had ever displayed the slightest interest in the man dwelling inside the pyramid star. Sam had tried never to kid himself about the women passing in and out of his life: in their eyes, he was a trophy frak, nothing more and nothing less. There was, however, nothing casual about his relationship with Melania Peripolides. She had come into his life late, and now she was a fixture … his lover in the truest sense of the word. She knew that he was a Cylon, and she couldn't have cared less. Still, he was curious. What did Sam Anders look like when seen through her eyes? What made him different?

"I'm surprised that Cylons sweat," Melania whispered. She leaned forward, and ran her tongue through the hair on Sam's chest. "But what really gets me is how salty you taste … and how much testosterone you put out. When we're together, all I wanna do is frak. I'm in heat … constantly … perpetually … in heat." Melania blindly reached down and began to stroke Sam's manhood. "And you're to blame," she laughed. She slid one of Sam's nipples into her mouth, and began gently to tease it with her teeth.

"Ah, that's nice," Sam commented with a contented sigh. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, breathing in the outpouring of pheromones that gave Melania her distinctive scent. Like all Cylons, Sam's sense of smell was acute, and in that moment he could all but taste the heady stew of estrogen and progesterone that signaled a female in heat. He knew, even if Melania did not, that she was now ovulating. At the rate they were frakking, there was a decent chance that she would be pregnant before week's end.

"I'm a child of Earth," Sam added, "and once we get there … well, let's just say that if we can make it down to the surface, I'll make sure that you get a chance to wade into one of our oceans. But be sure and bring a book, because after a while floating on the surface gets to be pretty boring."

"You're kidding me … right?"

"Uh … uh," Sam said with pride. "Our oceans are full of salt … much more than you'd find on Aquaria or Picon."

"Does that mean …"

Melania paused while she straddled Sam and guided him inside. A low moan escaped her lips as she eased forward to accept his waiting kiss, while her hips instinctively began to rotate in a timeless rhythm.

"… that we could … you know … frak … without having to worry about someone choking on a mouthful of water?"

"Half the kids on Earth were conceived that way," Sam snickered.

Melania pushed down hard with both hands, pinning Sam's shoulders to the mattress. She was the quintessential alpha female, and Sam's easy-going and accommodating nature both surprised and delighted her. In bed and out, they complemented one another beautifully.

Sam fell into her rhythm without complaint. A part of him still missed Caprica Six, but Melania Peripolides was an endlessly inventive tigress, and satisfying her required his undivided attention. Her competitiveness rivaled and possibly surpassed Sam's own inner drive, and it was the key to her psyche. A careless observer, watching Melania react to the Sixes prowling their decks, would have jumped to the conclusion that she was jealous and insecure. But Sam knew better. Melania wasn't possessive—she just hated to lose. She had never disguised the fact that she wanted him, and the fact that her principal rival was a Six well practiced in the arts of seduction had never discouraged her in the slightest.

"So, there might be a place or two on Earth where a person could actually walk on water? Talk about a boost to the ego!" Melania's nipples were hard and pointed, her whole body responding to the feathery touch of Sam's fingers. Her breathing was becoming more labored, her hips gyrating faster and faster. Soon, now, he would carry her over the top, and she'd let him. With Sam, there was no reason to hold back. He wasn't going anywhere, and he was always ready.

"Oh, gods," she screamed. Melania's features contorted as she bore down, trying to time the wave, trying to catch it at its peak. Sam reached up and grabbed her shoulders, steadying her. With their bodies moving as one, Sam had morphed into a charging piston … a machine in search of its own pleasure. His eyes went wide and his head flew back as the heat traveled up and down his spine, demanding immediate release.

Sam's cries added a second layer to Melania's primal screams, and then they both went limp, Melania falling forward to rest her head on Sam's shoulder. He held her tight, her body still impaled upon his shaft. This was perfection, the universe in balance as God had willed it.

Slowly, Melania brought her breathing under control. "What fools we've all been," she hissed as she looked deep into Sam's eyes. "You could have conquered us so easily … so, so easily. Once a woman's had cylon, there's no going back."

Sam pulled Melania's head down, and drove his tongue into her inviting mouth. She was his woman, and this was no trophy frak. He had planted his seed deep within her, and soon enough, the seed would bear fruit.

. . .

What does he see in her?

Kara watched silently as Melania Peripolides came closer. It was impossible to avoid her- the Adriatic had just the one long central corridor—but it was even more of a challenge to avoid speculating about why the woman was so late reporting to her duty station. Anders was late as well.

She's not exactly ugly, but no one would call her pretty … not like my mom. Ordinary features … ordinary hair … what does Sam see in her?

"Good morning, Captain," Melania said as she strolled past.

Kara wanted to let it go, needed to stay out of it. But something snapped inside of her. The other woman was just too damned pleased with herself.

Starbuck pivoted smartly, and without a word assaulted the human from behind. She grabbed Melania by the scruff of her neck, and drove her head into the nearest wall. Letting go, timing it well, she watched with satisfaction as the brunette turned wildly about, trying to gauge the source of the attack and the degree of danger in which she now found herself. Kara registered the shock and dismay that washed across Melania's features, and the fear that she saw in the woman's eyes warmed the hybrid's heart.

"Shove it, Melania. This is the third morning in a row that you're reporting late for duty, and I'm not putting up with it anymore. If you want to frak Anders senseless, that's your business, but when your sex life interferes with the operation of this ship, then it becomes my business. Get your frakking act together or I'll assign one of the centurions to chaperone you … permanently."

"What's the matter, Captain? Do you want Sam for yourself … or is this about Caprica Six?"

Starbuck drove her fist into Melania's stomach, and stepped back to allow her to collapse to the deck. She grabbed her by the hair, and brutally wrenched her head back. "Leave my mom out of this," she warned. "Believe me … you do not want to go there!"

"Oh, yes I do," Melania managed to hiss. She knew that Kara could beat the crap out of her, but it didn't matter. She couldn't afford to allow Thrace to bully her … and in the short term a few cuts and bruises might work to her advantage. Guilt would make Sam twice as loving.

"Get it through that thick skull of yours, Captain … Sam's chosen me, not the Six. He wants children, and for that he needs a real woman, not some storefront mannequin!"

"You don't love him … you're just using him!"

"You're wrong! I love Sam. I've loved him from the first moment we met!"

"That's not love. That's lust!"

"I saw a locker room interview once. Sam and some reporter … she was asking him whether never winning the championship had taken some of the luster off his career. You know what Sam said, in one of those unguarded moments that defines a life? He said that he didn't care about stats or trophies … that he lived for the perfection of the moment. Finding the angle, getting the geometry right, making the perfect pass … he played the game to experience perfection. Kara, I was drawn to Sam long before I met him—and I probably had plenty of company. He's what every woman wants … a man who will never stop working to be the perfect husband … the perfect father … to get it all right. The fact that he's also the most beautiful man I've ever met, and that he's got the stamina and the know-how to satisfy me in bed—those are just bonuses."

"But he doesn't love you, Melania! He loves my mom! You … you're just a convenient outlet … one step above masturbation!"

"You're right, Kara … you're absolutely right. Sam doesn't love me. But he will. I'm going to give him a child. First he'll love the child, and then he'll love the mother. His sense of symmetry won't give him any other choice. In Sam's well-ordered universe, the equation can never be incomplete."

"You don't care about Sam!" Kara could see the truth; it was etched in Melania's eyes. The bitch wasn't even trying to conceal it.

"Act your age, Kara." Melania climbed to her feet, and studied her rival with cold contempt. "For a woman, there's always a calculus involved—or did you skip the biology lecture on estrus?" Melania laughed. She could afford to, now that she had won.

"I play for keeps, Kara. If I have to crawl through the muck on my belly to get what I want, I'll do it. I'm here because Sam's here … no other reason. He's mine … he's been mine ever since your precious Six decided to stay on New Caprica. A machine has needs … I'm surprised you didn't know that, Kara. Do you seriously believe that Boomer is pining away for you in a cold and empty bed?"

Starbuck saw red, and blindly lashed out with her fist. It connected with Melania's jaw, driving her once more into the bulkhead. A trickle of blood oozed out of the corner of her mouth, and the sight of it triggered something deep in Kara's brain. She slammed her fist into Melania's kidney, and the woman went down like a rock. She curled up in a fetal position, but it offered virtually no protection. Kara lashed out with her foot and viciously kicked Melania in the ribs.

"What the frak?"

Sam Anders raced down the corridor, grabbed Kara by the shoulders, and sent her spinning aside. She tripped, and went down hard.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Sam," Melania moaned.

"You stupid, bloody fool," Kara screamed; "she's using you!"

"Sam …"

"Melania … gods!" Anders rushed to her side, and began frantically looking around for something that he could use to staunch the flow of blood. Melania's chin … the whole left side of her face was a bright, crimson stain. He eased her onto her back, pulled his shirt off, and began tearing it into crude strips. He would need a first aid kit to set her ribs, which had to be bruised and were in all likelihood cracked. He pressed the makeshift bandage to her lip, and gently raised her left hand.

"Keep the pressure on," he instructed. "I'm going to pick you up, and it might hurt, but I've got to get you to the medic."

Scooping Melania into his arms, Sam climbed awkwardly to his feet. She moaned again, a pitiful wail that hinted at just how badly she had been injured. He hurried down the corridor in the direction of the Adriatic's infirmary.

"She's using you," Kara hysterically sobbed.

"She's using you!"

. . .

"`Love is the lightning's flash,

Two bodies consumed by a single sweetness'."

Six looked quizzically at her lover, the meaning of his words escaping her.

"Neruda … he's one of Sagittaron's most famous poets." Eric Lackey leaned across tenderly to kiss the beautiful, blond Cylon. This was their private time, and as long as they stayed inside Eric's tent, Six could pretend that the two marines stationed outside didn't exist … pretend that she was truly free.

"I think of those lines every time we make love because your hair smells of strawberries, and I taste them on your lips."

"So, I'm fruit, am I?" Six laughed with genuine delight—no one had ever recited poetry to her, and she found the experience intoxicating. Her hand drifted below Eric's waist, and her fingernails began to trace seductive circles on the inside of his thighs. "Am I ripe for the plucking?" Tiny devils were dancing in her eyes.

"'Tis the season when the north wind blows dark and pitiless,

And youth falls before Aphrodite's curse.

Love's storm-tossed waves stir my heart."

"Eric Lackey," he said with a smile; "your poet in residence."

"Fruit … lightning … the cold north wind …" Six frowned while she pretended to concentrate. "I seem to be a force of nature," she concluded.

"Her beauty cannot be tamed, nor should be.

Her demands are infinite, as is her right.

In the fullness of its measure,

There is no rest from love."

"I like that," Six said as she mounted him. "I won't allow you to rest, and there will certainly be no end to my demands." Her hips began to move in an intricate swirl, stitching a complex pattern that never failed to satisfy her. Eager to please but no less eager to learn, Eric dutifully followed her lead; the Six had taught him more about sex in a few stolen days than Sagittaron would have offered in a lifetime.

The sound of distant gunfire abruptly shattered his mood.

"What in the name of the gods … are we under attack?" His tone was more puzzled than worried.

"I don't know," Six conceded. "But their timing leaves a lot to be desired!" She dismounted, the magic of the moment already fading.

Eric hastily threw on his clothes. "Stay here," he urged; "I'll try and find out what's going on." He rushed outside—and nearly collided with one of the marines.

"Sir … sir, you want to stay in your tent. It's not safe out here." The heavy set, dark-skinned marine was dressed in standard combat gear. It was clear from the wary look in his eyes that he hadn't been expecting trouble.

"What's happening, uh … Parr, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir; and the short answer is that I don't know. That's why you need to stay inside. Give us a chance to get a handle on the situation."

"That firecracker noise … it was small arms fire, wasn't it?"

"Yes, sir; the popping sound you just heard … that's a hand gun set for manual fire."

Eric turned, but just as he was about to press the second marine for more information, another staccato wave of gunfire washed across the settlement. The two marines tensed, and released the safeties on their assault rifles.

"Sounds like it's coming from somewhere around the medical center," Parr muttered.

"Yeah, and that can't be good," the other marine agreed. "The frakkin' place is crawling with skin jobs."

. . .

Erin Mathias knelt beside the shrouded corpse, and gently lifted the white sheet. A single, small-caliber hole had been drilled neatly in the center of D'Anna Cottle's forehead.

"This will not go down well," Caprica quietly observed. "D'Anna's record of service to the community has garnered her enormous respect, and as the public face of our faith, she is a source of inspiration for every human who has converted."

"Not to mention that Doctor Cottle is going to be seriously pissed at losing his wife," Gaius muttered. The President turned to his wife. "We need answers: how long until she downloads?"

"Another hour," Sharon replied. She looked to Caprica for confirmation, and the tall blond silently nodded her head in agreement.

"Well, we know who the primary target was." Dino Panattes gestured vaguely in the direction of Mike Robert, whose bullet-ridden body was still dangling from the end of a noose on the opposite side of the room. The diminutive gangster had been called in to consult, as he often was in murder investigations, but for once he deemed his services unnecessary.

"And," he chuckled, "it's safe to say that the killers were Sagittaron. I mean … that sign hanging around the Doc's neck- BUTCHER—that's what we call a big, frakkin' clue, especially since you're gonna find that it's written in the Doc's own blood. Nah, the only mystery here is whether the Sagittaron Brotherhood took matters into its own hands, or whether the Elders authorized the hit."

"I disagree," Adama countered. He looked around the ER before continuing. "There are seven dead in this room, all of them affiliated with the hospital in one capacity or another. Whoever did this either got very lucky, or they timed it well: there were no patients, conscious or otherwise, to be silenced. If it's the Sagittarons, we may be dealing with terrorism rather than murder."

"Ah, come on, Admiral. The three Eights, and the two human nurses … they just got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time." Dino walked over and nudged one of the dead Cylons with his foot. "Look, you can see it for yourself—the bullets are all over the place. This is collateral damage."

"Dad, I agree with Dino; there's no pattern here." Lee Adama was staring pensively into D'Anna's sightless eyes. The Three had taken the time to attend each of Creusa's appointments, and the three of them had spent a lot of time chatting about the uncharted shoals of parenthood. D'Anna was so painfully honest about her shortcomings as a mother that Lee counted himself among the many who held her in high regard.

"And yet, in the midst of all this carnage, there lies one corpse with but a single, well-placed wound." As a professional enforcer, Dino was almost embarrassed to have to point out the obvious. "I'd say that this was an execution. What say you, young Mr. Adama?"

"Yeah … it sure looks that way."

"Well, that's it, then," Baltar said decisively. "I'll wait until I've had a chance to speak with D'Anna personally, but if her death was intentional, I'm going to follow the Admiral's lead and treat this as an act of terrorism. Admiral, I may have to declare a formal state of emergency. Will I have the military's backing?"

"You shall have it, Mr. President."

"Good. At this point I'm inclined to send in the marines rather than the centurions, but I'm tired of Cyrus Uri's thinly veiled attempts at extortion. It's time for the Sagittarons to learn that this government has teeth!"

Author's note: while it might be argued that the wounds the Sagittarons suffered in season three were largely self-inflicted, The Woman, King vividly depicts a Colonial society that is rife with bigotry and prejudice. It has always been my intent to explore this aspect of the story in some detail, but I was astonished recently to discover that, in the original draft of the script for Crossroads, Baltar's trial centered on the brutal military suppression of a Sagittaron riot on New Caprica. In the script, this plays out in the context of a Sagittaron refusal to share their food supplies in the midst of a famine, and it culminates with Baltar personally executing a number of Sagittaron citizens in what appears to be an act of cold-blooded murder. It is an eerie coincidence that I have long been planning to use what turns out to be abandoned BSG plot threads to reach the climactic moment in my own version of season three.