03 - Sagittarius is Bleeding (11 page)

Laura was still feeling more rattled than she cared to let on, and was
concerned that, the longer this went on, the more difficulty she’d have covering
that fact. “Speak with my aide. He will attend to your request. Ladies and
gentlemen, I’m afraid I have to cut this conference short. There are other
matters that require my attention.”

She turned quickly and exited the room, leaving behind her a chorus of “But
Madame President!” “President Roslin!”

Beating a retreat to her private study, Laura leaned forward on her desk,
resting on her hands with palms flat. There was a fast knock at the door and
Adama entered without preamble. “It’s customary,” Laura said wryly, “to wait
until the person inside the room actually says ‘come in’ before entering.”

Adama stared at her as if she hadn’t spoken. “Do you want to tell me what’s
going on?”

“No, Admiral, I don’t. And as it so happens, since I’m president, I don’t
have to.”

“But you admit there is something going on.”

“I admit nothing.”

He took a step toward her and there was none of the military officiousness in
him that she had used to think constituted his entire persona. “Laura… I’m
not an admiral asking a president now. I’m asking as a friend. Someone who’s
concerned about you. Something is wrong. Is it something relating to your
cancer? Or its treatment?”

I don’t know, I don’t know what’s going on, I can’t trust my own senses
anymore…

She wanted to say all that and more, but she did not. “As much as you might
want to pretend otherwise, Bill… you are an admiral. And I am the president.
And those simple truths can’t be set aside merely because we declare them to be
so.”

“Have you been to Doctor Cottle…?”

“That would be my business, Admiral. Yours is
Galactica.
I believe
you’re running an investigation, are you not?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Then you’d best get back to it. We both have expectations being made of us.
Oh,” she added as an afterthought, “were I you… I’d pay particular attention
to Vice President Baltar.”

Adama didn’t look at all surprised, merely interested. “Do you have reason to
believe he was involved somehow?”

She wasn’t certain what to tell him. Yes, she had reason to believe it… but
it wasn’t something she could convincingly convey, not to Adama, and not even
entirely to herself.

My life was flashing before my eyes, just as they always say it does, on the
cusp of death… and I was there on Caprica, and I saw Baltar… I saw him…and he was with this woman. They were nuzzling each other, and I haven’t thought
about it since that day because gods know I had other things to worry about. I
saw it, I thought, “She’s gorgeous, the lucky bastard,” and then it dropped out
of my mind like a stone. That’ll happen when the Cylons try to annihilate your
entire race and you wind up on the run. But I’ve seen that woman since. She’s a
Cylon operative. I saw Baltar locked in a passionate embrace with a Cylon
operative. Except I don’t know that that’s what I saw. The mind is a tricky
thing, and memory even more elusive. It’s possible that in what I thought were
the last hours of my life, everything became muddled together. That the
beautiful woman whom I saw with Baltar was someone else entirely, and that I had
just “inserted” the face of the known Cylon operative onto the woman.

But why would I do that?

Impossible to know. Who can possibly understand the depths of the human mind?
I never quite trusted Doctor Baltar, for reasons I couldn’t quite put my finger
on. So wouldn’t it make perfect sense for me to associate him with another
figure of distrust, a Cylon? Wouldn’t that be the simplest answer?

And yet…

“I… have no concrete reason, Admiral. Just a hunch. Just… instincts.”

Adama considered that, then nodded. “In our time together, Madame
President… I’ve learned to trust your instincts. On occasion they’re more reliable than my own.” He paused, then added with just
a trace of dry humor, “On rare occasion.”

“All right then.”

He nodded. Then he spoke once more, and she couldn’t be sure, but it almost
sounded as if there was a hint of hurt feelings in his tone. Only a hint, since
Adama was far too stoic to allow whatever he was feeling to rise to the surface.
The only time she could recall seeing pure, unadulterated emotions bubble over
from Adama was when he finally caught up with Roslin and company on Kobol and
had unabashedly hugged his wayward offspring in as pure a display of affection
as she had ever seen a father provide a son.

“I had thought,” he said gravely, “that we had been through enough… that
you could find it within yourself to be honest with me.”

She kept her face a neutral mask, wanting to tell him what was going on, but
reluctant to because… she had no idea why.

Yes. Yes, she did.

Because she didn’t want to seem weak. Bad enough that she had been prey to
the frailties of her body. Now, if her mind was going… that was even worse.

Until she had a clearer idea of what was going on, she simply couldn’t bring
herself to tell Adama what was happening. How could she? She didn’t fully
understand it herself.

“Thank you for your time, Admiral,” was all she said.

Adama studied her for a moment with a gaze that she felt could bore into the
back of her head. Then he simply replied, “Thank you, Madame President,” gave
the slightest of formal bows, and walked out of the room.

Laura Roslin, with a heavy sigh, slid back in her chair, rolled her eyes
toward the ceiling, and prayed to whatever gods would listen to her that she was not, in fact, going completely out of her mind. It
was at that point that she realized that, even if she was, she might well not be
fully aware of it, and that was hardly a comforting insight.

Whenever William Adama stopped by his lab, Gaius Baltar always felt a deep
chill at the base of his spine. He became particularly concerned over the
uncontrolled appearances of Number Six during such times. He might be able to
cover up his occasional slips or comments to her when he was in the presence of
others. But Adama had that penetrating way about him that peeled away Baltar’s
defenses like the layers of an onion. He had to keep reminding himself that he
was a genius. One of the most brilliant minds in all of humanity pre- or
post-destruction. Adama was a glorified grunt, nothing more. In the end, despite
the fact that sometimes Baltar felt as if his upper lip was sweating profusely
in Adama’s presence, there was ultimately no way that Adama could really see
through him.

“So are you seeing a Cylon, Doctor?” asked Adama calmly.

Baltar almost knocked over an array of test tubes nearby him as he twisted
around violently to face Adama. The ship’s commander had arrived a minute or so
ago and made polite conversation with Baltar over meaningless political issues.
The sudden change in topic—and the question he’d posed—had

caught Baltar off guard. In spite of himself, he had reflexively looked
around to see if Number Six was standing there. He had no idea what he would do
if suddenly, magically, Adama could see her as well. Or, worse, knew not only of
Baltar’s connection to her, but all that he had done—unwillingly and
willingly—for the Cylon cause.

Baltar forced himself to maintain his composure, which was not an easy task
considering the baleful look that Adama was giving him. “I… don’t quite
understand your meaning, Admiral.”

Adama slowly walked the perimeter of the lab, but he never took his gaze from
Baltar. “My people inform me that you’re running tests on a young man—Andrew
Boxman, also known as Boxey—to determine whether or not he’s a Cylon.”

“He knows, Gaius.”

Her timing, as always, could not have been worse. Number Six was following in
Adama’s footsteps. Baltar couldn’t be sure, but she actually appeared concerned.
That alone was enough to alarm him, because most of the time Number Six
delighted in whatever problems were being thrown Baltar’s way. She was
conscience and tormentor rolled into one, enjoying watching him writhe in the
throes of his guilty conscience and his perpetual fear of being found out. Now,
though, in Adama’s presence, she didn’t seem to be taking any joy in it at all.
Which meant… what? That Adama was close to finding something out?

“You need to throw him off the track,” she insisted. “Tell him that the boy
tested positive. Tell him he’s a Cylon. You don’t want him sniffing too close to
you, do you.”

“That’s true enough,” Baltar said, addressing both Number Six and Adama with
the same comment.

“Are the test results finalized?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, they are.”

“Good. You see, Doctor,” and Adama ceased his pacing, “we have to remain ever
vigilant to any threats in our midst.
Any
threats. And any such threats
must be thoroughly investigated, if you understand what I’m saying.”

“Perfectly,” Baltar replied, but inwardly he was trying not to panic.

Number Six’s observations weren’t helping in the least. “What do you want him
to do, Gaius? Sing it for you? He suspects you. He doesn’t know what he suspects
you of, but it’s something. The best thing you can do right now is throw
suspicion elsewhere, and the boy is the most useful target. You’d be an absolute
fool not to take advantage of the opportunity that’s been handed you on a silver
platter.”

“He’s… just a boy,” Baltar managed to say between gritted teeth.

“Yes. He is,” Adama agreed. “A boy who, by all accounts, is quite popular
with my pilots. They’ve taken him under their wing, so to speak. He comes and
goes freely here. So if he’s a Cylon agent, then that means he’s playing my
people for fools, and that is not something I take lightly.” He paused and then
added, “Nor do I appreciate being played for a fool. So… let’s have it,
Doctor. Is he? Or isn’t he?”

Baltar felt paralyzed by uncertainty. With every fiber of his being, he
wanted to lie to Adama’s face. Do as Number Six suggested. Throw Adama off the
scent. Except the man looked as if he could sniff out deceit with one nostril
tied behind his back. If Baltar were simply trying to cover his own ass, that
would be one thing. He’d lie as quickly and smoothly as he could and risk
everything in order to assure his own survival. But this… the deliberate
incrimination of an innocent boy, just for the purpose of providing some
distractions for Adama and his crew of busy-bodies… despite Number Six’s urgings, it was too much. Besides, there was
always the concern that Adama would see right through the lie, and that would
leave Baltar in an even deeper world of trouble…

“Don’t you pass it up, Gaius,” Number Six urged him. She was hanging on his
shoulder. “Don’t pass up the opportunity. They’re always looking for scapegoats,
and this is the perfect—”

“You misunderstood me, Admiral,” Baltar almost shouted. He realized belatedly
that he was, in fact, raising his voice, to speak above the urgings of Number
Six whom Adama couldn’t hear. Seeing Adama’s expression in reaction to his
volume, he instantly ratcheted it back down as he continued, “When I said he’s
just a boy, I meant… he’s just a boy. He is not, as near as I can determine,
anything more sinister than that. Although I admit that young boys can be,
indeed… rather sinister creatures.” He forced a laugh that felt as weak as it
sounded.

“You’re being an idiot!”
Number Six practically shouted at him.

“I know,” Baltar told her, then turned quickly to face Adama and continued,
“I know you were hoping to find another of the Cylon models so you could put
another face to the enemy. I feel as if, by getting a negative result, I’ve made
your job harder.”

Adama barely shrugged. “Then it’s harder. The difficulty of a job doesn’t
mean it’s not worth doing.”

“I feel exactly the same way.”

“Do you.” He arched a single eyebrow. “Would you like to know how you’ve
always struck me, Doctor?”

“I’d be fascinated to know that, Admiral,” said Baltar with a thin smile that
reflected no trace of amusement.

“As someone who always seems daunted by any job that he’s faced with, and
would rather simply fly below the radar at any given moment, rather than
stepping up to what’s expected of him.”

“Really.” Baltar’s smile remained fixed, although his tone was cold. “An
interesting assessment of a man who saved the life of the president when no one
else could.”

“Yes. Yes, you did, for which you have the thanks of a grateful citizenry… not the least among which is myself. And yet…” he added, almost as an
afterthought.

“And yet?” prompted Baltar.

“What remarkable timing that was. In one stroke, you not only avoided having
to take over as president… but you saved the life of a Cylon half-breed.”

Baltar’s instinct was to run in the other direction. To sprint out the door
and put as much distance between himself and Adama as possible. Instead he
walked straight toward Adama until he was standing less than a foot away,
practically nose-to-nose with the admiral. “And if the president had passed away
… and dear Doctor Cottle subsequently discovered somehow that the fetus’
blood had the restorative power to save her… you’d be standing right here
accusing me of holding back knowledge that could have preserved the life of
Laura Roslin. You’d be questioning my allegiances, my knowledge as a Cylon
expert, and quite possibly whether my parents were married at the time of my
birth. Isn’t that true?”

Adama studied him and then said, “Possibly.”

“Possibly,” echoed Baltar. “So what with this being a case of damned if I do,
damned if I don’t… then I might as well ‘do’, save Roslin’s life, and endure
your scrutiny, your suspicions and your veiled insults. But don’t worry about
it, Admiral. I’ve been insulted by the best.” His gazed flickered toward Number
Six, who was standing off to the side. She was no longer fuming. Although her
disappointment was palpable, she seemed mildly amused by Baltar’s standing up to
Adama.