When he pulled her out into the hallway; it was completely clear. He changed his grip, shifting his hand until it encircled her bicep and used it to push her forward. He had tucked the gun against the soft flesh above her hip, pressing harder than was necessary to indicate its presence. She ignored that pain and the throbbing in her shoulder, burying both in that well used corner of her mind where all her demons slept. He was a heavy man and the exertion was making him sweat, the acrid scent intensifying as they entered a lift at the end of the corridor.

She didn’t see any use in talking to the man and knew that it would be impossible to overpower him even if she had any idea how to go about it. Time was what she needed now. Time for Adama to find a way to help her. Time for Bill … She took in a sharp breath at her mind’s slip and was rewarded with the gun digging further into her.

For as long as she had known him, Bill Adama had done nothing but give. This she had realised only in hindsight. She remembered their first handshake, her grip weak and inadequate, his warm and strong. In those early days, he didn’t speak much. She got a few hardened glares, a touch of professional courtesy and little else with which to build an opinion of the man. This was to be expected, trust was earned not given.

And so she trusted to her skills as a politician and observed how he treated the people under his command. Those unrelated by blood or shared pain were given the same support and, later she realised, love as those with whom he felt a deeper connection. Nothing expected in return.

Then Kara’s viper went down. As frightening as it had been to watch him endanger the fleet in a bull headed attempt to rescue Kara long after her air had run out, she found she liked what it said about the man. She couldn’t help but feel a desire to be loved in that way.

The desire she dismissed out of hand, not missing the irony as she reprimanded the man and his son for the utter selfishness of their actions. She rationalized that his feelings only made him weak, that they made him an unstable leader. And if he was unstable, then she had to be strong for both of them. If she became selfish and began to feel then humanity was truly lost.

Two bullets. Fired from the hand of a Cylon he’d called a daughter. They shattered his practiced, stoic façade and exposed the man beneath. And he came to her. With words of forgiveness, a new partnership and finally trust.

Then her cancer had become too painful, too immediate to be ignored. Her strength failed and she found his in its place. He gave it to her unconditionally and with it came something deeper. She’d seen it in his eyes when he watched over her bed on Colonial One, felt it in his touch when he supported her aching body long enough to help her drink a little water and had recognised what it was even before his lips found hers. He did love her and it was too late. Too damned late. She had nothing left with which to reciprocate, but he gave anyway and she loved him for it.

So, in the early days on New Caprica, free of pain, Cylons, and the burden of command she had given back. She made herself vulnerable, her feelings clear and when he’d tucked her body under his in the relative privacy of her tent, he gave all over again. Only this time she met him. Full measure.

Then the Cylons, pain like she’d never experienced before, and the most harrowing and risky rescue effort imaginable. The whole human race gambled on the strength of a single hand. In its wake she had pulled back, her presidency reinstated her ordeal too painful for him to bear. They had just started to open up to those feelings again when …

“Sit.” They had entered what had to be this ship‘s version of CIC. It was sparsely manned. A single terrorist sat at a blinking console. The heavy man pushed her down onto a rickety office chair. A line of about ten colonists stood along one wall all looking at her with trepidation, whispering nervously among themselves. A third man, also masked, stood towards the far end of the row, weapon in hand.

The third man approached slowly, trading places with the heavy man. She tried to discern what his face would look like by studying the only things she could see. Rich dark eyes and a full mouth. He spoke quickly. “We’re going to contact Galactica. You will speak only when spoken to. When prompted, you will read this statement.” He placed a short type written note on the console before her. She was not surprised by what she read. “Do not attempt to refuse; for every five seconds you delay, we will shoot a colonist.” A ripple of shock went through the line of Colonists. Protests were loud and shrill. The snap-click of a gun being loaded silenced them all. “Attempt to communicate anything other than what has been asked and we will shoot a colonist.”

She tried to reassure the frightened faces with her eyes, the slight nod of her head. “I understand.”

He flipped a switch on the comm board and spoke loudly. “Galactica, Galactica, this is the supply carrier Bounty. Respond. Repeat. Galactica, this is the Bounty. Respond.”

A loud crackle of static then -

“Bounty, Galactica. Stand by for Galactica actual.” Dee’s smooth voice.

“Adama.”

“Listen very carefully. I have the President, her pilot and the four members of her security team. They are unharmed and will remain so as long as no one attempts to board this vessel. Stand by for a statement from the President.”

Liar! Anger seared through her. All four security officers were dead. Starbuck was missing. She stared at the line of innocent humans as they stared at her. The heavy man had begun to count down five seconds with his fingers, his gun pressed against the temple of the first colonist in line. She was shaking

. Roslin clenched her fists so tightly that her nails broke skin, and started reading. “This is Laura Roslin, President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol.” She worked to keep her voice neutral. “At this time, I would like to announce my formal resignation as President and appoint my successor, Vice President Thomas Zarek. He is to have the full support of the Quorum of Twelve and the Colonial Military.”

The terrorist continued: “When we have confirmation that President Zarek has taken the oath of office, we will return the pilot and security team to Galactica. Laura Roslin, the citizen, will remain on the Bounty as our guest. As long as there is no retaliation of any kind, she will be allowed to live out her days freely.”

“That’s unacceptable.” Adama’s voice slid over her senses again leaving warmth behind as surely as if he had touched her.

The terrorist‘s voice filled with spite. “You, who would fix an election and keep Cylons on your ship, will not lecture us on what is acceptable. We will execute a hostage every hour until we have confirmation. Bounty out.”

***

“That was a mistake.” Colonel Tigh stepped in beside Adama at the Dradis console. “They have to know we’d never agree to those terms.”

Adama listened to Tigh and tried not to think about the missed opportunity that the faked photo represented. For an unknown period of time Laura, and probably Starbuck as well, had been free on that ship. If only he’d seen it sooner. The sound of her voice had started an ache in his stomach. He closed his eyes, pushing aside the guilt that had become his constant companion and pressed his fingers around the bridge of his nose. “None of it matters. We go in in less than an hour. Someone get me sickbay.”

“Done.” A petty officer handed him a phone.

“Life station. Ishay.”

“Adama. I need Major Cottle, now.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but he’s in surgery. Can I help in any way?”

“I don’t care if he’s having a smoke with the Gods, I need him now. Make it happen. I’ll be there in ten.” Adama slammed down the receiver and focussed on Tigh.

“You have the watch. I’ll be in Life station.”

“Yes, sir.” He pressed a ration bar into Adama’s hand and added quietly. “You’re not looking so good. Don‘t give Cottle a reason to keep you there.”

Adama took the bar and Tigh considered the action a thank you.

***

Life Station

“Don’t eat in here.” Cottle was pissed. “I’m gonna have to scrub again. I hate scrubbing. What’s so damned important?”

Adama shoved the half eaten bar into his pocket without bothering to rewrap it. “Can we use your office?” he asked already entering. He waited for Cottle to follow and shut the door behind him. “We have a problem.”

“Obviously.”

“You’re aware of the situation with the President?”

“I heard she didn’t return when she was supposed to. I’ve been in surgery the last three hours, so you’ll have to enlighten me on the details.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ve got a bunch of terrorists on a supply ship. They’re holding the President, Starbuck and four members of Laura’s security team. They’ve made demands but Lieutenant Gaeta has come forward with some troubling information.”

Cottle hesitated, shook his head slightly. “I’m listening.”

“Gaeta believes that the terrorists may be after Laura for information pertaining to the cure for her cancer.”

“Don’t call it a cure, Admiral. I’ve never seen a cure for cancer and I’m far from sure this isn’t just an extended remission.”

Adama paled a little. “Semantics. I need to know what’s possible here. Could Laura’s blood be used to cure others? Have you had time to study Baltar‘s research?”

Cottle shook his head. “Research? That’s what you’re calling those doodles of his? It’s all in his addled brain. Sir, I’m sorry. I’m one of few doctors and there are more than forty thousand people to care for. New Caprica was insane; it should have been named New Bacteria or New Virus. I didn’t have time for a decent smoke then and I still don‘t now.”

“Anything you could tell me would be helpful.”

Cottle rubbed an exceptionally clean hand over his mouth. “The hybrid Cylon antigens are a part of the President’s blood chemistry, her very DNA. It’s certainly not impossible that it could be used in others.” He shook his head, his face contorting with distaste. “But I wouldn’t try it. It was dangerous when we tried it in the first place. The recipient would be looking at convulsions, fever, dyspnea, hypotension, tachycardia … the same as for any whole blood transfusion. You could kill the patient as easily as save them. And that‘s not mentioning the nuclear bomb that‘ll go off in the fleet if people learn it‘s origin.”

“Not impossible.“ Adama repeated.

“Glad you’re not hard of hearing.“

Adama ignored the comment. “Gaeta claims that Baltar traded the information to a man by the name of Karl Edom.” He dropped the passenger manifest from the Bounty in front of Cottle and pointed to two names. “There is also a Henry Edom. Do you recognise either of those names?”

Cottle grunted. He walked past Adama and lifted a heavily water and mud stained box from where it sat behind his desk. “New Caprica. I tried to keep records as best as I could. If I treated either of them, it’ll be in here. Look, I don’t have time to go through these. My patient is stable, but I have to get back.”

I know someone with a lot of time on his hands. “Don’t let me keep you any longer.”

“I won’t.” Cottle left the room. Adama hoisted the box and carried it out the door. He heard Cottle muttering a wide array of expletives as he worked to rescrub his hands and arms. Adama stopped the first officer he saw. “Take these to Lt. Gaeta’s quarters.” He grabbed the nearest comm phone and instructed the Lieutenant on what he was to do.

***

“Let her go.” The man who spoke did not wear a mask and she struggled to place his face.

The heavy man released his sweaty grip and Laura tried to rub some feeling back into her arm. He had taken her to a medical bay, albeit a crude one. There were about ten empty beds, one of which was cordoned off in what seemed intended to be an operating room. Medical supplies that should have been still in their sterilized packaging were strewn about the few metal counters and trolleys that filled the rest of the space. The corridor outside had been eerily quiet. Men with guns, their faces covered, were standing at the room’s two exits. Her eyes were drawn by the two empty isolettes in the far corner.

“What happened to them?” She addressed the man who had spoken. “The Alindas and their baby, were they ever even here?”

The man pressed his lips together and bowed his head. “The tape was old. When the Alinda’s needed you, you were in no condition to help them.” His voice was soft, the accent Piconian.

She folded her arms across her chest and regarded him warily. “What do you mean?”

“You were dying. The whole fleet was asked to pray for you and so they buried their sorrows and joined the voices in prayer. They never sent the tape. I doubt even they believed that their prayers would result in such a miracle.” He had started collecting items from the counters. A needle. A length of inch thick rubber tubing. “Sophia died of pneumonia within months of arriving on New Caprica. After the Cylons arrived, Andreas took a more … drastic way out.”

Laura felt sick. She used to complain that the news services on Caprica had always focussed on tragedy. Passenger ship accidents, kidnappings, the death of a child. Now there was never really any other type of news. She knew what was implied and she’d never been able to reconcile the idea of allowing people to commit suicide to further a cause, no matter how noble that cause seemed.

He started to move towards her. “Please, take your suit coat off and sit.” He indicated a well worn chair that was positioned beside a metal trolley and against one of the beds. She glanced at it, quickly burying the nervousness in her stomach. When she didn’t move he continued. “Please. Don’t make me ask one of these men to help you. They’re not the gentle sort.”

In that moment, she recognised him.

“Miss Roslin?” A man drew back his rain soaked hood as he stepped into the classroom tent.

Henry had never been back. She figured it had been because of the Cylons. Many parents were too afraid to let their children out of their sight, even for school. Now she thought it may not have been as simple as that.

She glanced at the armed man nearest her and removed her suit jacket with deliberate slowness. She set it carefully on the lab bench beside her. “How’s Henry?” She asked as she settled in the chair.

She had actually managed to startle him. “You remember.”

“He‘s a lovely boy, although something of a class clown.” She offered a small smile.

He nodded slowly. A wistful smile crossed his lips before he seemed to catch himself and it disappeared. “You know I always wondered, diseases spread faster and further than the sand and mud on that dreary rock. Yet I never saw you so much as cough. The only thing that ever seemed to hurt you was the Cylons.” He slid a gentle hand over her shoulder. It was unnerving, like meeting a stalker you didn’t know you had. He stepped back, removing his hand, a look of regret crossing his features. “Once you told the Quorum that you had cancer it didn’t take long for the news to hit the fleet. We all watched as you started to waste away. All the religious, we prayed for you. And then … a miracle. The cancer disappears. Questions were asked, but no answers were given. Thank the Gods, we were told. Thank them for this miracle.” His voice became cruel. “The last time I checked, Gaius Baltar was no God.”

Laura struggled with her revulsion at the sound of Baltar’s name. Her stomach dropped. The needles, the tubing, the bags, she suddenly realised what they were for. She had assumed that they wanted her because of her position.

“On that you have my complete agreement. You still haven‘t answered my question about Henry.” Her only hope lay in her ability to keep this man talking. Kara would come for her. Adama would come for her. She just had to give them time.

“Henry … I suppose you were going to let him die too. Like your security man.” For a moment, he looked distressed. “I should apologize for that.”

Roslin’s eyes flashed. “And that will make it … better?”

Karl shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “I was told we wouldn’t have to do that, but I can’t help the company I’m forced to keep. Though I suppose it’s not all on me, you could have surrendered. His life was yours to save. But Laura Roslin doesn’t have what? … the time? … the compassion? … to save anyone these days.” He looked over his shoulder and addressed one of the thugs. “We’re ready for Dr. Benson now.”

“Right.” One of them got up and left.

Roslin, used to listening carefully and watching for the subtleties of body language, noted an undercurrent of apprehension in Edom. A wariness that implied a lack of control, not of himself but of the situation. Something scared him.

Just keep the conversation going. Kara’s coming. Adama’s coming. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand,” she said even though she was beginning to. “What does this have to do with your son?”

His expression softened. “Everything. You see the Cylons finally gave us something worthwhile. Something good.” Karl gently lifted her hand at the wrist, turning it palm up. He ran his thumb over the bloodied crescent shaped marks her nails had made on her skin Letting go he put one hand on each of the metal armrests that framed her chair. He lowered his body until they were eye to eye. “It cost me a fortune in cigarettes to get it out of Baltar, but I know what’s flowing in your veins. Henry doesn’t need a President. He needs her cure. Cottle diagnosed him on New Caprica, said he couldn’t be sure but that it looked like leukemia. Do you know how long it takes to die of leukemia if it’s left untreated?”

Roslin struggled to make heads or tails of her emotions. Anger, fear, and empathy waged a quiet war for her attention. She managed a quiet “no.”

“Three months. The Cylons couldn’t treat him and Galactica and Pegasus were gone. He’s in his last month. Dr. Benson says it‘s too late now.”

“Where is he? Why isn’t he here?”

“There’s too many people on this ship, with too damn many viruses. He’s confined to our cabin. In quarantine. And in pain. It’s the way I always pictured him growing up.” His expression turned cruel and Roslin wondered if he might hit her. He didn’t. He did stand and back away from her.

“It isn’t as simple as you think,” she said in a measured tone, trying to calm him with her voice. She knew that boy’s pain intimately and part of her wanted to bring them comfort. To hold the father and the son and tell them that she could take their pain away. She felt more strongly that she owed them the truth. “Baltar’s cure is extremely dangerous. I nearly died. And for all we know it’s temporary; the cancer could return as easily as not.” Truly she felt horrible for him. Having to watch his child die of this terrible disease knowing that a cure was not only possible but within his reach. Part of her understood the lengths that he had been willing to go.

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t try.” Karl’s voice broke and he turned from her.

The door opened then and a middle aged man appeared in a well stained lab coat, the thug a few feet behind. Benson was a bit taken aback when he saw her in the chair, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. He looked at Karl.

“So you actually pulled it off.”

Karl reached out and shook his hand. “Not in the way I would have liked. Please, I don‘t know how long we have, you have to get started.”

***

Kara pushed her way down the crowded corridor, not having to fake her annoyance in the least. Dressed in a well worn shirt and slacks, she twisted the cap further down her head trying to forget about the yellow sweat stain she’d noticed when she put it on. Her progress was helped by the squeaky laundry cart that she was currently pushing into as many legs as she could, forging a path down the hallway. She traded expletives with a few colonists but tried to avoid any eyes. Her flight suit remained buried under a pile of exceptionally ripe clothing. On top of the pile she’d placed the fire emergency schematic she’d “borrowed” from the cabin she had so rudely entered.

Her first priority was to get a message to Galactica. She knew the alert fighters would be out there, she just had to get their attention.

She caught something dark and round coming at her head from an adjoining corridor. Reflex brought her arm up and she felt the comforting weight of a professional grade pyramid ball slap into her hand. The corridor filled with giggles as two young players left their game to collect the ball. The “court” was crude, just odds and ends really, but the children were happy, their faces red with exertion. Unable to resist, Kara tossed a perfect pass back. At least somebody’s having a good time here. The corridor behind them ended abruptly. Kara looked at the schematic and verified that she had indeed reached the outer hull. She glanced along the row of space facing cabin doors, picked one and forced it. There was no one inside. Pyramid players and a lucky break, the day was finally starting to look up.

***

“What the frak?”

“Hot Dog, what is it?” Razor’s voice in his helmet.

“I’m not sure … no wait, I am.”

“Make sense, man.”

“Razor, can you see the view port in the top row, third from the end?” Hot Dog gestured at the view port from inside the cockpit of his viper. He watched Razor’s head spin toward the carrier’s hull.

“Yes, I see it. What the … you’d better contact Galactica.”

***

“How long are we going to let this go on?” Marshall Bagot, representative of Virgon, got up and began to pace the room. “The terrorists are demanding that we name Zarek President. We were considering this anyway and it would get some of our people back, I say we push Adama to do it.”

“And give in? Encourage every other would be terrorist that they can have their way with this council?” Sarah Porter’s voice was unusually sharp.

Bagot stopped and considered. “We’re not giving in. We’re making a choice to solidify the civilian government before the terrorists inflict any more damage. Roslin would never have read that statement voluntarily which means they can ask her to do anything. We would be bound to comply with her orders as long as authority remains with her.”

“Why not encourage the Admiral to free them by force.” Robin Wenutu, of Canceron, jabbed an index finger onto the desk. “Sometimes you have to take a risk. Yes, people will die and there’s no guarantee of success. Such is the world we live in now. Our priority is to survive, to find a place where we can rebuild our civilization in peace. People have to understand that we will not tolerate threats. People have to see what happens to terrorists; I don’t care if it’s all over the news. It will discourage others.”

“And you’re willing to sacrifice the President and the other hostages?” Bagot studied Wenutu’s face. “This civilization you speak of has to be built by the people who remain. And the Cylons are still out there. Can we risk losing someone like Laura Roslin? Like Kara Thrace?”

“We’ve survived the loss of billions, many of whom would have made a far better contribution to rebuilding society than those two.” Wenutu replied. “We’ll survive; we’ve done it so far.”

“What about Earth?” All eyes went to Sarah Porter. “What if President Roslin is the prophet Pythia spoke of? She has already shown us that Earth is real. I’ve heard it said that even Kara Thrace has a special destiny. We give up on them and we could be giving up on Earth as well. It’s too great a risk.”

“Adama’s never going to risk losing them. He drained more than half of our fuel reserves and ruined most of our Vipers to search for Starbuck and he wasn’t frakking her.” Safina Sanne of Leonis caused a wave of shock and dissent to fill the room.

Marshall Bagot held up two hands. “This doesn’t need to get personal. We all know better. I still say our best chance is to go ahead and put Zarek in charge. It saves lives and it buys us time. I, for one, am signing this.” He scooped up the folder containing the documents for official transfer of the powers of the President. “I suggest you all seriously consider joining me.”

“I don’t trust Zarek. He’s got a lot of blood on his hands.” Wenutu countered.

“Better his than ours.”

When Zarek returned from the press room twenty minutes later he found the folder at his place at the table. Opening it, his eyes roved over the eight signatures on the paper. He took a deep breath, closing the folder and rising to his feet. “Thank you, you’ve made a brave decision. This will save a lot of unnecessary bloodshed. I’ll present it to the Admiral.” He walked the room, shaking the hands that were offered him.

***

“Have all four assault teams prepped and ready. When I give the order, I don’t want any delays.” Admiral Adama addressed his son. He walked over to Apollo and added under his breath. “Bring them home.”

Apollo and the captain of the marine guard saluted crisply and left the room. Playa took the opportunity to stand.

“Sir, the official record seems to be missing time codes 1800 to 1815. You had said-”

“We had some technical difficulties.” Adama said irritably, brushing by her as he saw Zarek approaching. “Lt. Gaeta assures me that they are fixed. Sit or leave, one or the other. ” She sat.

Zarek entered the room warily, a crisp brown folder in his hands. The Admiral looked anything but pleased to see him. He did not expect a handshake this time and did not get one. “I know what you’re thinking, Admiral,” he began carefully.

“I doubt it,” Adama snapped, his previous attempts at decorum gone from his voice.

Zarek sniffed, amused. “Point taken.” He joined Adama at the strategy board and set the open folder on top of the schematic of the Bounty. “I did some checking, like you asked. There are a lot of names here.”

Adama was surprised to see that the folder contained the passenger manifest for the Bounty. Four names were highlighted in yellow. “Who are they?”

“These four are known aliases for the following former inmates.” Zarek slid the pages of the manifest aside to reveal the police records of four former residents of the Astral Queen. “I guess this is what happens when all records of a civilization are destroyed. People can start new lives just by changing their names. Throw in the pure chaos of the exodus from New Caprica and a colonist could end up anywhere. Smart ones could end up together with a purpose. I can’t tell you if any of these men are involved but Soma is a brilliant software designer and a nasty hacker, the other three are your basic thugs. Assaults, theft, fraud, mostly trying to get money for drugs and other vices. Helpful?” Zarek looked expectantly at Adama.

“Can I borrow these?“ Adama scooped up the records of the four former inmates, taking the time to study each of their mug shots. Someone had manipulated that photo of Laura, Soma seemed an excellent candidate.

“By all means.”

Adama left the room briefly to hand the photos to the nearest enlisted man. He ordered that the man copy the photos and get them to Apollo’s assault teams as quickly as humanly possible. When he turned back to the room he could see that Zarek had something else on his mind.

“You’re planning to attack them, aren’t you?”

“We don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

“Yes, I know, I have a little experience with that.” Zarek had engineered a hostage situation on the Astral Queen just over two years ago. If not for the son of the man in front of him, he would have been the victim of a sniper’s bullet. “This just feels wrong. Your son has already indicated that the ship is overcrowded. You’re betting Laura’s life that they won’t kill her at the first sight of a marine. I don’t think I could do that.”

Stop calling her Laura. “It’s not your decision to make.”

“No, you’re right of course. But there is something you should know.” He pulled the final paper out from the folder. “I have the support of the majority of the Quorum. The people have spoken through their duly elected representatives. Which brings us to you.” He set a pen next to the open folder. “Don’t sign and you’ll show them that the military is the one true power in this fleet, that their voices mean nothing.” Adama’s face was unreadable. “Think about it, but don’t think too long. Something tells me there’s more here than we can see.”

And just what is it that I’m not seeing? What are you not telling me? Prick. “Are we done here?” Adama hadn’t even looked at the page. Just then, the comm buzzed loudly. Adama crossed the room happy to have an excuse to put distance between him and Zarek.

“Adama.”

“Sir,” Dualla’s voice. “We’re receiving a message from Hot Dog. It’s Starbuck …”

Continued in part 5.