03 - Sagittarius is Bleeding (22 page)

“Was concerned I’d try to stage a coup?” Adama asked humorlessly.

Tigh’s mouth twitched as he replied, “Well… it’s not like it would be
unprecedented.”

“I know, Saul. I was there… for some of it, at least.” He shook his head.
“My chickens finally coming home to roost. She’s afraid to come across as
unstable because she’s concerned I’ll take steps to ensure continued, strong
leadership. She doesn’t trust me.”

“Should she?”

Adama looked up at Tigh, and although the question irritated him, he knew
that it was also a perfectly valid one. Worse, he had no answer. He wanted to
feel as if she could… that she should… trust him. But based upon what had
happened before, there really wasn’t a reason for her
to
trust him.

He knew there was no real reason he should feel hurt about this. Yes,
granted, he and Roslin had been through a lot since those early days of mistrust
and accusations. He would never say it aloud, but in some perverse way, Sharon
Valerii’s murderous assault on him had been one of the best things that had ever
happened to him. Before the incident, he had tried to transform himself into
what he thought the last remnants of humanity required: a hard-edged,
hard-bitten, brutal-as-necessary commander who was perfectly willing to
steamroll over anyone or anything that got in the way of his very simple goal:
survival. He had even bald-facedly lied to his own people, telling them that he
had known the “secret location” of Earth. It was a preposterous lie, one that never would have survived even the
most minimal scrutiny. But that scrutiny was never applied to him, for two
reasons. First, because they all trusted him implicitly. And second, they
wanted—needed—to believe in something. They had to believe that the bleak
existence they had had thrust upon them was not all that was left to them. There
had to be something more, and Adama had provided it for them. He’d given them
hope when he himself felt none… and that knowledge had created a great
divide between Adama and his people. He would watch them soldiering on as if
from a great height looking down. It made him feel more detached than ever
before.

No wonder the gods had left them to their fates. No wonder they simply stood
by and let humanity be nearly annihilated by the Cylons. Legend had it that the
gods sat in residence upon a mountain and looked down upon humanity. If that was
the case, then they had spent ages beyond imagining becoming more and more
distant, to the point where they probably didn’t give a damn what happened to
human beings anymore. Adama would never have been able to understand that
attitude… until he had created a barrier between himself and the rest of
humanity that they didn’t even know was there.

All that had changed after the humanizing experience of being gunned down. It
had rattled his confidence about making correct decisions down to its very core.
After all, he’d been in the midst of congratulating Boomer on a job well done.
When she had pointed her gun at him, he had been staring straight at it but his
mind was unable to process what was happening. His instinct was that there was
some sort of threat directly behind him and she was acting to protect him. When
the first of the bullets had thudded into his chest, he had been astonished.
Before he’d lapsed into unconsciousness, it never occurred to him that she was a
Cylon. All he could think was,
She missed whoever she was shooting at behind
me. She’s going to be so embarrassed.

He had learned the truth of it later, of course. And the experience of being
at death’s door had humbled him, even humiliated him. There’s nothing that makes
one stop and take stock of oneself more than being face to face with one’s own
mortality. His decisions, and the fallout from them, had shattered the fleet. He
had put it back together… and discovered in the process, thanks to the
mule-headed determination of Laura Roslin, that the great lie wasn’t that at
all. There really was an Earth, and there really was a way to get there.
President Roslin had removed a huge burden from him, erasing the divide in one
stroke because the lie was the truth.

He owed her a debt so gargantuan that he didn’t think he could ever
adequately explain it to her. So he hadn’t even tried. He had, however, done
everything he could to support her. To be a friend and confidant to her.

And this was the result. She still didn’t trust him, even though he’d been as
supportive of her as he possibly could be, particularly since he’d learned of
her cancer…

“Maybe she thought I was pitying her,” Adama said softly.

Tigh looked at him in confusion, not quite understanding what it was that
Adama was talking about. “Pitying her?”

“Perhaps she thought that I was simply ‘pretending’ to be her friend. After
all, I knew she wasn’t going to be around much longer. So why spend a lot of
time arguing with her when time would solve my problem.”

“But that’s not what you were thinking,” said Tigh. “Not at all. I know
that.”

“Maybe she doesn’t.”

“Well, you can tell her…”

“Tell her what?” Adama said bleakly. “Tell her that I know of her situation
because we eavesdropped on her aide? How’s that going to inspire trust,
exactly?”

“Because
we
didn’t do it,” Tigh said.

Adama didn’t follow what Tigh was saying at first, but then he saw the look
in Tigh’s eyes and suddenly it was clear to him. “No,” he said firmly.

“I did it, unilaterally,” Tigh said as if Adama hadn’t spoken. “Then, when I
heard the results of this, I came to you and told you. You chewed my ass—”

“Saul—”

“—and then decided that, as President Roslin’s friend, you couldn’t simply
ignore this evidence that had been brought to your attention. So you’re coming
to her now, out of conscience.”

“Saul, you asked my permission and I gave it.”

“And no one needs to know about that except you and me,” Tigh said. “What’s
the worst that could happen? She’ll despise me? She already despises me.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because she’s met me. I’m a prick. Ask her. Ask Dualla. Ask anyone.”

Adama snorted in amusement at that. Saul Tigh might have had weaknesses—but
self-delusion certainly wasn’t one of them.

And Tigh, all seriousness, said, “Bill… you’re the one who needs to have
a solid working relationship with the president. Not me. Tell her that I acted
on my own initiative. She’ll believe it.”

“You really feel the way for me to gain her trust,” Adama said in a slow,
measured tone, “is to lie to her?”

“Of course,” said Tigh matter-of-factly “Have you got a better suggestion?”

He sat and waited, his hands folded on his lap, for Adama to reply.

“What else have you got?”

“Pardon?”

“What else,” said Adama, “have you picked up so far in the eavesdropping?”

“Oh. Well… Doctor Baltar was making some sort of noise about having to
recheck that boy’s Woodwork.”

“You mean Boxey? There’s some doubt now that his original results were
correct?”

Tigh shrugged. “That’s the impression I was getting.”

“Wonderful. Well, I suppose we’ll hear about that one sooner rather than
later. Find out where Boxey is, just so we have a clear idea. That way if we
need to take him, we can do so with minimal effort.”

“We never should have let him leave,” Tigh said in annoyance. “Counting on
the discretion of a teenager…”

“The alternative was to make him a permanent ‘guest’ in one of our luxurious
cells,” Adama pointed out. “At which point, child services was going to come
sniffing around, and presto, the media announces we’re arresting children for no
apparent reason. Let’s face it, Saul… sooner or later, word is going to get
out about Sharon. We can delay it, but not indefinitely. And throwing anyone in
the brig who knows about her and isn’t military issue is just going to expedite
it.”

“How can you keep calling it ‘Sharon’?” Tigh asked. “There is no ‘Sharon’.
There never was. There was just a thing pretending to be human.”

Adama said nothing at first, and then finally: “Anything else?”

Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, Tigh said, “Well… there’s one thing
that I find rather disturbing personally.”

“And that would be—?”

“Frankly,” he said in a severe tone, “several of our junior officers spend
entirely too much downtime engaged in self-frakking. Certainly there has to be
something more constructive they can be doing.”

Adama’s face could have been carved from slate. “Get. Out.”

“Yes sir,” Tigh said quickly and exited Adama’s quarters.

Laura slowly rose from behind her desk, her eyes widening in astonishment,
and Adama could have sworn that her face paled slightly. “Listening devices?”

He nodded. “I was shocked,” he deadpanned. “Not surprised. But shocked.”

Her gaze never shifted from Adama’s. “And Tigh just… just did this of his
own accord? Without consulting you at all?”

Adama took a deep breath and let it out slowly, ready to hang Tigh out on the
far end of the branch and then watch as Laura took a saw to it. He found, to his
fascination and disappointment, that he was unable to do so. Interesting,
considering how effortlessly he’d lied to far more people than one woman and
done so with facility. But, as he knew all too well, that was the pre-shooting
Adama. He didn’t have the stomach for it anymore.

“No,” sighed Adama, and he lowered his gaze. “I gave you the impression that
Tigh was acting alone, but he did not. He came to me and I approved it.”

She looked stunned at the admission. “Admiral,” she gasped. “How… how
could you—?”

“Because we still don’t know how the Cylons acquired our Jump coordinates,
and our security is at stake,” said Adama, sounding far more reasonable than he
thought he was under the circumstances. “We have to take a different approach to
resolving that problem, and if it means that some people’s rights are lost in
the process, then I for one have no trouble living with that.”

“And how about if
they
have trouble with it?” Laura demanded.

“Then I’ll live with that. Because the bottom line is that they want me to
make the hard decisions involved in protecting them. Whether they admit it to
themselves or not, they want me for that. They may grumble and grouse and cry
foul, but at the end of the day, they’re relieved that people like Saul Tigh and
myself are taking point in doing what needs to be done.”

“Just tell me if it was Tigh’s idea or yours.”

“What difference does that make?”

“To me? It makes a great deal of difference.”

He briefly considered stonewalling her on the matter, but rejected it. Once
upon a time, he could have done that without hesitation. Now, it wasn’t really
an option. “He suggested it; I ordered him to implement it. So if you’re going
to blame someone—”

“I’m not interested in issuing blame, I…” She hesitated, and then in a
rare display of anger, she slapped her palms on the desk in frustration.
“Dammit, Bill! Do you have any idea what a violation this… this program is? I
feel violated, and I wasn’t even among the ones bugged!” She paused in
mid-outburst and said slowly, “I’m not, am I?”

“No. Just the residents of
Galactica.
It’s a military vessel, and
frankly, Madame President, it’s understood that when you sign up for the
service, there are certain aspects of your life that you’re giving up. The
option to refuse to do what you’re told, for one. Privacy for another.”

“Not that much privacy. It’s wrong, Admiral, and you know it.”

“Yes. I do,” Adama said evenly. “I also know it’s wrong not to do everything
within my power to ensure the safety of the fleet. Whenever those two
imperatives come into conflict, I will always—always—err on the side of the
safety of the fleet. Frankly, I would think that’s a mindset you could readily
understand.”

“Don’t act like you’re taking the moral high road.”

“I’m not. I’m taking the only road available to me. I don’t care whether it’s
lofty or muddy. It’s what’s there. We don’t live in a world of what’s right and
what’s wrong. We live in a world of what’s necessary.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Really,” he said stonily. “With all respect, Madame President… where was
the high road when you wanted me to kill Admiral Cain?”

“That’s…” Obviously she was about to say that that was completely
different, but the protest died before she could complete it. Then she let out a
heavy sigh and said, “I suppose I did forfeit the moral high ground on that,
didn’t I.”

“You forfeited nothing, Madame President. I think we both concur that
sometimes we have to do things that are unpleasant in pursuit of the greater
good. We simply differ on the specifics of what and when.”

“I suppose that’s as it should be,” she admitted. “If we walked in lockstep,
we’d never be forcing each other to reconsider our positions. But,” and she
still looked none too pleased, “I still feel my privacy has been invaded.”

“Not intentionally.”

“A shot that goes astray and takes down an innocent is no less fatal due to
lack of intent. But there’s no point in harping on it. What’s done is done. And
… I suppose I should have told you.”

Adama considered all the reasons that he’d come up with as to why she had
felt she could not do that. As she had just said, though… there was no
point in harping on it. “One hopes that, should the need arise in the future,
you will. For now, at least, I do know.” He leaned forward. “Do you truly
believe that Valerii’s unborn child could be having an influence on you?”

“As we’ve already learned, we don’t know what the Cylons are truly capable
of. It’s one of the reasons that I wanted the pregnancy aborted. There’s too
many unknowns attached to its development.”

“I agree.” He paused and then said, as dispassionately as he could, “That
option still remains.”

“I know. And if I relapse…?”