Roslin Residence, # 6, Mauvaise Chance, Early Friday Morning
The phone woke her in the minutes just before dawn, a soft blue hue filtering into the room through the blinds. She frowned, reaching for the receiver. Her voice was groggy and still thick with sleep as she spoke. “Roslin.”
“Your wake-up call, Madam President.”
Instantly awake, a smile crept across her lips and lit her features. She was no longer President of the Twelve Colonies, but when he addressed her that way, it didn’t matter; she was still his president, and he took every opportunity he could to remind her of this. “Admiral Adama,” she replied. “I hope you’re having a good day?”
“Worse than average.” Laura could hear the smile in his baritone. “But getting better. How about yours? Just getting started?”
Tossing back the covers, Roslin nodded. “Mmhm,” she lied. In all honesty, her alarm wasn’t set to go off for another three hours. She rubbed her eyes wearily. “I’ve been staying up, reading, so my schedule is all out of proportion. Definitely looking forward to my coffee this morning.
“Oh, and I have some books for you,” she continued. “Not our usual favorite mysteries, but I think you’ll enjoy them. I’ll make sure to bring them next time I visit.”
“I look forward to it.” Adama paused. “About that next visit…”
Laura reached and switched on the bedside lamp, then headed for the kitchen. “What about it? There won’t be a problem, will there?”
“No, no; no problem. I…just wondered when that might be.”
The tone in his voice set off alarm bells. It was what she dubbed his “cautious” voice, the one he used when he was being guarded, when he needed a few extra seconds to determine how and what he needed to say. “Bill,” she said slowly, “I know that tone. Just say it.”
“Baltar” - he practically spat the name - “has requested to speak with you.”
“I see.” Roslin dumped a few tablespoons of coffee grounds into the filter. “I don’t suppose he mentioned what about.”
“He wasn’t inclined to share, no. He did seem amused that you have an admiral keeping your calendar these days.”
“If he wants one of his own, he’ll have to promote one. And I don’t think he has enough respect for anyone on Galactica to do that.” The bitterness in her own voice surprised her. She had thought that time away had healed most of the wounds. Not so much, I’m afraid, she thought.
On the other end of the line, Adama chuckled. “Well, the next in line would be Saul, and I don’t see that working out very well.”
Laura joined in on the laughter. Neither she nor Adama - despite his time in service with the crusty colonel - considered Saul Tigh “command material.” Declaration of martial law throughout the fleet after Adama’s shooting had proved that much. Still, the prospect of Colonel Tigh playing military assistant to Gaius Baltar provided amusing mental images. Most of them involved a black eye for the sitting president. “Ah, no,” she replied. “Definitely not going to happen.” Sighing, she shook her head. “Honestly, I’m not sure when it will be. The students are out next week, but I was planning on staying here so I could catch up on some research.”
“Could you bring it with you?”
“Some of it, yes. But I refuse to bring an entire library with me, especially at Baltar’s beckon call.” She switched on the coffee pot. After a moment, it gave a satisfying gurgle, the hot, dark liquid streaming down into the carafe. “He’s probably the one suggesting you have me locked up for your own nefarious purposes.”
“Takes a letch to know one?”
She frowned. “Something like that.”
“Just to clarify, Madam President, I have nothing but honorable intentions.”
“Something Baltar definitely knows nothing about.” Laura leaned against the counter, shaking her head. “All right, Bill. I’ll get what I need together and meet you in about twenty-four hours, then meet with Baltar the following afternoon. Rather than you delivering the message, though, I think I’d prefer if you sent it through Gaeta or Dee. Let’s make it perfectly clear that you’re not, ah, keeping my calendar.”
“I’ll speak to Dualla as soon as I hang up, and make sure the VIP quarters are ready for you.”
Pursing her lips, Laura nodded as though he could see her. “That’s fine. And, if it’s all right with you, I’d rather use your quarters to meet with Baltar.”
“I don’t mind,” Adama replied, “but I thought you might want to meet with him in the VIP suite or the ready room.”
“No. I need some place where I’m comfortable enough to deal with him, and some place where it will put him ill-at-ease.”
“Why do I get the feeling,” the admiral drawled, a hint of amusement in his voice, “he’s going to get quite a performance?”
“Because all the galaxy is a stage, Admiral. And right now, I feel like being the villain of the piece.” A devilish grin crept across her lips.
At the other end, Adama laughed. “I thought that was my role.”
“Not any more, it isn’t.” Her smile softened. “So...see you tomorrow?”
“See you tomorrow. Have a good day, Laura.”
“You, too, Bill.”
“Your wake-up call, Madam President.”
Instantly awake, a smile crept across her lips and lit her features. She was no longer President of the Twelve Colonies, but when he addressed her that way, it didn’t matter; she was still his president, and he took every opportunity he could to remind her of this. “Admiral Adama,” she replied. “I hope you’re having a good day?”
“Worse than average.” Laura could hear the smile in his baritone. “But getting better. How about yours? Just getting started?”
Tossing back the covers, Roslin nodded. “Mmhm,” she lied. In all honesty, her alarm wasn’t set to go off for another three hours. She rubbed her eyes wearily. “I’ve been staying up, reading, so my schedule is all out of proportion. Definitely looking forward to my coffee this morning.
“Oh, and I have some books for you,” she continued. “Not our usual favorite mysteries, but I think you’ll enjoy them. I’ll make sure to bring them next time I visit.”
“I look forward to it.” Adama paused. “About that next visit…”
Laura reached and switched on the bedside lamp, then headed for the kitchen. “What about it? There won’t be a problem, will there?”
“No, no; no problem. I…just wondered when that might be.”
The tone in his voice set off alarm bells. It was what she dubbed his “cautious” voice, the one he used when he was being guarded, when he needed a few extra seconds to determine how and what he needed to say. “Bill,” she said slowly, “I know that tone. Just say it.”
“Baltar” - he practically spat the name - “has requested to speak with you.”
“I see.” Roslin dumped a few tablespoons of coffee grounds into the filter. “I don’t suppose he mentioned what about.”
“He wasn’t inclined to share, no. He did seem amused that you have an admiral keeping your calendar these days.”
“If he wants one of his own, he’ll have to promote one. And I don’t think he has enough respect for anyone on Galactica to do that.” The bitterness in her own voice surprised her. She had thought that time away had healed most of the wounds. Not so much, I’m afraid, she thought.
On the other end of the line, Adama chuckled. “Well, the next in line would be Saul, and I don’t see that working out very well.”
Laura joined in on the laughter. Neither she nor Adama - despite his time in service with the crusty colonel - considered Saul Tigh “command material.” Declaration of martial law throughout the fleet after Adama’s shooting had proved that much. Still, the prospect of Colonel Tigh playing military assistant to Gaius Baltar provided amusing mental images. Most of them involved a black eye for the sitting president. “Ah, no,” she replied. “Definitely not going to happen.” Sighing, she shook her head. “Honestly, I’m not sure when it will be. The students are out next week, but I was planning on staying here so I could catch up on some research.”
“Could you bring it with you?”
“Some of it, yes. But I refuse to bring an entire library with me, especially at Baltar’s beckon call.” She switched on the coffee pot. After a moment, it gave a satisfying gurgle, the hot, dark liquid streaming down into the carafe. “He’s probably the one suggesting you have me locked up for your own nefarious purposes.”
“Takes a letch to know one?”
She frowned. “Something like that.”
“Just to clarify, Madam President, I have nothing but honorable intentions.”
“Something Baltar definitely knows nothing about.” Laura leaned against the counter, shaking her head. “All right, Bill. I’ll get what I need together and meet you in about twenty-four hours, then meet with Baltar the following afternoon. Rather than you delivering the message, though, I think I’d prefer if you sent it through Gaeta or Dee. Let’s make it perfectly clear that you’re not, ah, keeping my calendar.”
“I’ll speak to Dualla as soon as I hang up, and make sure the VIP quarters are ready for you.”
Pursing her lips, Laura nodded as though he could see her. “That’s fine. And, if it’s all right with you, I’d rather use your quarters to meet with Baltar.”
“I don’t mind,” Adama replied, “but I thought you might want to meet with him in the VIP suite or the ready room.”
“No. I need some place where I’m comfortable enough to deal with him, and some place where it will put him ill-at-ease.”
“Why do I get the feeling,” the admiral drawled, a hint of amusement in his voice, “he’s going to get quite a performance?”
“Because all the galaxy is a stage, Admiral. And right now, I feel like being the villain of the piece.” A devilish grin crept across her lips.
At the other end, Adama laughed. “I thought that was my role.”
“Not any more, it isn’t.” Her smile softened. “So...see you tomorrow?”
“See you tomorrow. Have a good day, Laura.”
“You, too, Bill.”