03 - Sagittarius is Bleeding (15 page)

“I know that,” said Zarek, not showing the least sign of flagging in his
determination. “But every member of the Quorum has one thing in common: They
respect you.”

“Every member?”

The unspoken challenge was there, and Zarek rose to it. “Every member.
Including me. And my coming to you is my way of acknowledging that they will
listen to you before they listen to me. If you recommend this—”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “it’s
the right thing to do.”

Laura wasn’t entirely certain how to react to that. But, as always, whatever
inner questions she had weren’t reflected in her demeanor. Instead she peered
over the tops of her glasses as if studying a new form of bacteria. “That’s it?
That’s your whole argument? Because it’s the right thing to do?”

“I’d like to think that would be enough.”

“And do you think employing violence to get your way is also the right thing
to do?”

“You don’t see me employing violence here, do you?” he pointed out. “I didn’t
come in here threatening you. No one’s putting a gun to your head. I’ve no
blackmail. No way to force you into anything.”

What about what you’re doing to my head? What about the terrorist tactics
you’re pulling that have made it so I can’t sleep, and that are starting to seep
into my every waking moment? Are you doing it in order to tear me down?
Undermine my leadership? Make me easy to manipulate, get me to agree to
something out of exhaustion that I wouldn’t ordinarily have even considered?

She briefly contemplated hurling such questions at him, but she dismissed the
notion. There was no advantage to confronting him in that manner. First of all,
she still wasn’t completely certain there was an entity behind what was
happening to her. Second, even if she was certain, she didn’t know for sure it
was Zarek. Third, even if she was certain, there was no way to prove it. It
wasn’t as if a cool customer like Zarek was going to break down and admit to
anything just from a few probing questions being offered by her. Fourth—and the
greatest consideration of all—she didn’t want to chance admitting any weakness
to someone as untrustworthy and scheming as Tom Zarek. If he wasn’t behind it, he’d think she was losing her mind, and if he
was behind it, he’d take satisfaction in knowing that he was getting to her.

“No. You’re not doing anything like that,” she allowed. “But, given our
history, I find it difficult to believe you’d think that I would simply take
your recommendation on faith—”

“I’m not asking you to do any such thing,” he said immediately. He jumped on
this so quickly, in fact, that Laura mentally kicked herself, certain that she
had just walked into something. “All I’m asking is that you meet with one of
their representatives. One Wolf Gunnerson. He’s a very impressive, and very
charismatic, individual.”

“Why didn’t he simply come to me directly?”

“Because he believes in following a chain of command. He doesn’t feel it’s
his place to go straight to the president. That his representative should do
that instead. And since he and his people are from Sagittaron…”

“That representative would be you.”

“Exactly.”

Laura’s gut reaction was to say no. Except… based on what, really? She
was the president of the Colonies. She represented all the people. If one of
them felt they had a genuine grievance, fairness and conscience demanded that
she make herself available to hear it. How could she reasonably refuse to meet
with this Gunnerson person based entirely on her antipathy toward Zarek?

“Very well.”

As if she hadn’t spoken, Zarek said, “I think if you give any consideration
to fairness, Madame President, I…”

For all that Zarek annoyed the hell out of her—for all that she found it
aggravating to be in the same room with him—she had to admit to herself that she
would always treasure the look on his face when his brain finally processed what she had just said. His voice
trailed off for a moment and then he said, “‘Very well’?”

“My aide will set up a time to meet.”

Zarek’s face changed, and she realized that the patronizing, barely tolerant
smile had been inadvertently replaced by a genuine one. It surprised her to see
that he actually had a rather pleasant face when he wasn’t looking at her like a
fox sizing up a prospective meal. “Well, that’s… thank you, Madame President.
That was very unexpected.”

“Unexpected?” she said pleasantly. “Why so?”

“Candidly… I expected much more of an argument.”

She shrugged as if it were no big deal… which, stripped of her animosity
and distrust for Tom Zarek, it really wasn’t… and said, “One of my citizens
wants to speak with me. I’m the president of all the people, Councilman Zarek
… even the people with whom I disagree. Even my enemies.”

Zarek’s smile once again remained in place, but the warmth evaporated from
it. “I certainly hope you’re not referring to me, Madame President. I’m only the
enemy of those who would repress others. I’d hate to think you’d count yourself
among such individuals.”

“I was merely speaking in generalities, Councilman,” she purred. “Whether you
feel what I said applied to you… well, that’s certainly your decision to
make, not mine.”

“Understood,” Zarek said coolly as he stood. Laura did likewise. He extended
his hand and she shook it firmly. “A pleasure as always.”

As she watched him leave, her eyes narrowed, and she considered the fact that
meeting with Zarek was “always” something, all right… but “a pleasure” wasn’t
what she would have termed it.

William Adama had thought he had heard it all. But when Colonel Tigh told him
who had shown up out of nowhere, requesting to meet with the admiral as soon as
possible, it still took him a few moments to cut through the sheer incredulity
that seized him.

“She’s claiming to be her what?” he asked for what might have been the third
time. All eyes in CIC had turned to watch with interest, and it was obvious that
they were sharing Adama’s disbelief.

From Tigh’s expression, it was clear that he was not relishing being the
bearer of this particular news. “She says,” Tigh repeated, looking as if he was
ready to strangle whoever the “she” was that was the subject of his communiqué,
“that she’s her lawyer.”

Adama wanted to laugh. But he’d never laughed in front of his crew and didn’t
feel inclined to set precedent. “Her lawyer,” he echoed.

“Yes.”

“Motherfrakker,” came a murmured comment from Dualla.

Adama fired a glance at her and she quickly fell silent. He stepped closer in
toward Tigh and said in a low< angry voice, “How did she even find out the Cylon
is on board?”

“She said ‘sources’. You ask me, it’s that kid, Boxey.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” said Adama, who privately thought Tigh was
probably right. “What’s this woman’s name?”

“Gunnerson. Freya Gunnerson. From the
Bifrost.
I ran a fast check on
her and she is a genuine attorney.” Tigh shook his head. “If the frakking Cylons
had to destroy the bulk of humanity, you’d think at least they could have done
us the favor of making sure to take out all the lawyers.”

Adama considered the comment to be in poor taste at best, but he let it pass.
“Does she have any known affiliation to any terrorist groups or any Cylon
sympathizers?”

“Maybe, but nothing that a preliminary background check turned up. She’s a
Midguardian, though.”

“Yes, everyone on the
Bifrost
is.” Adama knew the ship was one of the
few privately owned vessels in the fleet. “They may be heathens, but they’re not
especially enamored of the Cylons in any way that I know of. So where in the
world is this coming from? Why would she be showing up here and claiming she’s
Valerii’s attorney?”

“Free publicity. She’s trying to make a name for herself. Get famous fast.”

“Sharon Valerii is a member of the race that’s trying to obliterate us,”
Adama pointed out. “Allying with her is a fast track to infamy, not fame.”

“For some people, that’s enough.” When Adama didn’t respond, Tigh said, “I’ll
send her packing…”

“Bring her to meeting room A.”

Tigh’s eyes widened. His surprise was mirrored in the faces of the CIC crew.
“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Tigh turned to a nearby functionary and said, “Please have the woman who’s in
the holding area escorted to meeting room A.” The moment the functionary was out
the door, he turned back to Adama and said, “I’m coming with you, then.” He saw
the look in Adama’s face, the understated surprise that Tigh would dare to issue
flat fiats to him. But Tigh didn’t back down. “She’s a Cylon sympathizer.
Perhaps a Cylon herself. For all we know, she wants a one-on-one with you so she
can…” He didn’t want to complete the sentence, still sensitive—even now—to the
bullets that had ripped open Adama’s chest and nearly killed him.

“I was taking it for granted she’s been screened for weapons,” Adama said
mildly.

“Of course. But who ever knows what we’re dealing with? What if she has some
sort of bomb that she’s got built into herself, and she can blow herself up? If
she’s a toaster, anything is possible.”

“If she’s a toaster and she blows herself up, do you really think the best
strategy is to put the ship’s commander and second in command in the same room
with her?”

Tigh started to reply, and realized that he didn’t have a ready answer to
that.

“I’ll be back shortly,” Adama assured him, and headed to the meeting room.

Before he left, though, Tigh called after him, “Admiral. Be careful. They can
be incredibly evil bastards.”

“Cylons?”

“Lawyers.”

* * *

Adama hadn’t been certain what to look forward to when meeting Freya
Gunnerson, briefcase in her hand and determination in her face. Horns, perhaps,
or a large single red eye strobing from one side of her head to the other. He
certainly hadn’t anticipated the tall, impressive-looking woman who was waiting
for him. She didn’t seem especially devious. Of course, she wouldn’t have been
especially devious if she’d looked that way, now, would she. She had been
sitting, but she rose and extended her hand. “Admiral. This is an honor,” she
said. Her voice was musical, and she genuinely did sound as if she was honored
to meet him. None of which served to put Adama off his guard, but it certainly
ran contrary to his expectations. “I’m Freya Gunnerson.”

He shook her hand firmly. “William Adama.”

“Yes, I know. The military genius who’s kept us alive in the face of
adversity.”

“I’ve had some help. Please sit.”

She did so, placing a briefcase on the table. She snapped the latches open
and saw Adama’s cautious expression. “Your people have already thoroughly
inspected this, I assure you.”

There had been no question in Adama’s mind that was true. The caution had
been automatic after a lifetime of military experience. Nevertheless, he tilted
his head slightly in acknowledgment. She opened the briefcase and removed a
notepad and a file folder, which she placed on the table and proceeded to flip
through. “I assume,” she said, “that your XO told you why I’m here.”

“I prefer to hear it with my own ears.”

“I am here,” she said patiently “to represent the interests of Sharon
Valerii.”

“In what sense?”

“In the sense that I would like to know what crime she’s committed.”

Adama stared at her gravely. “What
crime?”

“Yes, Admiral. What crime has she committed that warrants her being held
indefinitely?”

“Attempted murder.”

“I assume you’re referring to yourself as the attempted victim.” Adama’s nod
was barely perceptible, but she went on as if he had readily bobbed his head.
“My understanding—and correct me if I have the facts wrong—is that the person
you are holding indefinitely was, in fact, on Caprica at the time of the
assault.”

“It
is not a person.”

“Really.” She seemed genuinely interested in his opinion. “And on what do you
base that assessment?”

“She is a Cylon. Are you disputing that?”

“Not at all. I’m simply asking on what basis you declare that she’s not a
person.”

Adama could scarcely believe he was having the conversation. “The Cylons,” he
said very slowly, as if addressing someone who was having trouble understanding
him, “are machines. We created them.”

“Humans routinely create other humans. Does that make them machines?” Before
he could answer, she leaned forward and continued, “I am simply a person of
conscience, Admiral. I see someone’s rights being trampled upon, and I feel the
need to step in and see that those rights are restored.”

“I’m not interested in fencing with you, Counselor,” Adama said in an icy
tone. “Sharon Valarii is one of an identical series of creations, transferring
all her knowledge from one to the next to the next. She was constructed for that
purpose. Cylons are not humans. Sharon Valerii is not a person. Sharon Valerii
is not human. Sharon Valerii has no more rights than the chair you’re sitting
in.”

“Really.” The edges of her mouth turned up. “And how many pregnant chairs
have you encountered?”

“That’s a ridiculous comparison.”

“Actually,” said Freya, “it’s a perfectly valid comparison. In case you never
got around to taking basic biology in school, Admiral, one of the determinations
of whether two beings are part of the same genus is their ability to reproduce.
I will grant you that Sharon Valerii may be a different species from humans…
but certainly she’s part of the same genus. Otherwise how else can she be
pregnant by your lieutenant…” She glanced at one of the sheets of paper,
“Agathon, I believe?”

“Yes,” he growled.

“My contention is that she is at the very least of the same genus, and quite
possibly of the same species. Or at least near enough to be indistinguishable
from humans. And if she’s indistinguishable from a human, on what basis can we
contend that she’s not?”