Fanfic: Sliver of Light Part 2
Galactica 0300
As quickly as it had begun, it was over. Suddenly back in his office, Adama’s military training kicked in automatically. He scanned the room for his Cylon captor, reaching for his personal sidearm and relishing its weight in his hand. His emotions he silently stored away, burying them behind his set jaw and icy glare. War was horror and if you couldn’t find a place for it and do your job you were no soldier. His quarters were not large and he soon felt anger rising as he found that the subject of his pursuit was no longer in the room. If she ever was. He slammed his fist against the wall beside his comm phone, jarring it out of its cradle.
“Umm…sir?” the deck officer’s voice sounded uncertain when Adama finally managed to maneuver the phone to his ear.
“Get me Colonel Tigh,” he growled his voice thick and dry.
“Yes, sir.”
The next voice he heard was Saul’s: “Yes, Admiral.”
“I need Starbuck and a unit of marines at my quarters. Now.”
“Is the situation secure?” There was an edge of worry in his XO’s voice. Getting old, Saul.
“For now. That Godfrey Cylon’s been here again. I need another full sweep of the ship.”
“Son of a bitch.” Tigh turned from the eyes of the officers in CIC. “What was she after this time?”
“Later, Colonel, just get me Kara and those marines, then contact Colonial One. I have to speak with the President.” There was an almost undetectable hitch in his voice when he used her title. He hoped Saul had missed it but the man had known him far too long.
“Yes, sir.” To Adama his voice became questioning but it was fleeting as he heard Saul begin to bark commands. He replaced the phone.
Kara Thrace must have double timed it as her blond head came around the corner sooner than he’d expected. Her weapon was drawn, as were those of the marines that flanked her. They fanned out into the corridor to either side of his quarters. He heard their clipped voices:
“Clear.”
“Clear.”
Kara couldn’t keep her concern completely out of her voice. “Are your quarters secure, sir?” she asked, glancing past him into the room. He caught her scanning his body for injury before she met his eyes. She can read me. She can gods damn read me. He knew that Kara had suffered greatly in her life and decided not to be surprised that she could see it in him.
“Secure. Captain, organise the marines and search every corner of this ship. You’re looking for the Godfrey Cylon model. She’s armed.” He kept his voice slow and steady. “Secure all outbound ships and issue parking orders for any ship that’s left Galactica in the last hour. I want them boarded and searched. Re-deploy the CAP if necessary.” His glare dared her to answer with anything but ‘yes, sir.’
She didn’t hesitate.
“Yes, sir.” She gestured sharply to her marines and moved quickly out of sight. Kara might have been able to see his heart but she knew which battle to fight. Most of the time. He picked up the phone again.
“Colonel?’ he asked, a little too much exasperation in his voice.
“Colonial One responding, sir” came Saul’s perpetually pissed off voice. “Raptor 269 prepping in bay 4.”
“Thank you, Saul,” he said quietly, hanging up before the man could react.
***
New Caprica Holding Complex
45 Days ago
The cell door opened carefully this time, light slipping across the room in a slow, careful arc. A solitary figure entered the room, pausing to reacclimate to the lack of light and the decidedly human odour in the room. She was lying on her side at his feet, body curled tightly in fetal position. As his eyes adjusted he could see the blood on her face, her hands and the floor. He looked at the matching stains on his own hands and regretted not cleansing them beforehand.
She didn’t seem to be aware of him until he knelt beside her, reaching to sweep the damp and tangled mess of her hair from her face.
“Mmm,” the small noise didn’t seem to be directed at him but he continued to stroke her hair gently. ‘Bill?” it had to hurt her to say the word around her swollen mouth and it didn’t take his highly advanced internal database to know that the Bill in question was Admiral Adama. The same man who’d beaten him to a pulp on Ragnar. Angered, he brought his lips to her ear and quietly but firmly said
“No.”
A sharp intake of breath and then the sight of her trying to move away from him, trailing a useless arm and smearing the blood on the floor. He put a hand on her bare foot as it receded but didn’t grasp.
It was cold.
“Don’t go,” he said quietly. She pulled her foot away and kept up the agonizing motion, stopping only when she made contact with the wall. “Tell the truth and you’ll live. That’s what you told me.” He raised his voice, trying to find her eyes. “No airlocks here, Madam President,” he mocked, easily closing the distance between them.
“Leoben,” another painful word.
“God’s prophet, Laura Roslin,” he tipped his head in mock salute and flashed a smile. “You’ve read Pythia?” he leaned towards her, trying to catch the gaze of her one eye that wasn’t swollen shut. She pressed back against the wall trying to put some distance between them. Her eye found his and he found himself caught in its depth. So much so, he was startled by the crack of her left fist against the side of his skull. Shaking his head clear he grabbed the offending hand and held it down.
“I’ll tell you the truth. You’re going to die.” He almost smiled.
“Everyone dies, Leoben. Every human, dies.” Her voice was a ruined whisper.
He held up a single finger. “But you’ve cheated.” He turned his attention to his hand in front of her, studying the dark bloodstains that were undeniably hers. “If I didn’t know better, I would say you were the Cylon.” He brought his eyes back to hers. “Pythia’s leader dies horribly, never having seen the promised land. Soon, the stream will run red with your blood. But,” he gently slipped his hand around her neck. “I can spare you that death. We can do it now.” He tightened his grip. She struggled but her good arm remained pinned. “It doesn’t say how you die.” He adjusted his grip on her, feeling the cords of muscle in her neck slide beneath his palm. “At the hands of a Cylon on a mysterious, hidden planet?” He leaned in and put his lips against her ear. “It’s almost romantic.”
“Frak off,” she managed, rapidly running out of oxygen.
He ignored her. “This begs the question: Where does your soul go when I‘m finished? I know God has given you visions. I have them too. And I know you can do this.”
He loosened his grip slightly and they were:
Floating.
Spinning head over heals in the dizzying emptiness of space. Pushed away by a current of air from a now empty airlock.
Resting.
Sitting under a rain soaked canopy on Kobol. Rich green foliage surrounding them, a thick musky odour in the air.
Submerged.
Achingly cold water surrounding her once again except instead of the child, Leoben in front of her, a fine blond halo of hair around his head. Adama’s arm, wrapping around his neck …
Then the shock of the cold cell.
“Where does your soul go? Human gods? Cylon God? Is there a difference?” he asked. “Pythia will be disappointed, I think.” He slipped his hand from her neck, sliding it slowly over her now cancer free breast and downward. She twisted her hips away from him as his hand settled low on her abdomen. His eyes followed his hand. “The womb isn’t the only way into this world. Mechanical, chemical beings, are they lesser in the eyes of God because they weren’t born? Were we denied souls? When we finally die, where do they go?”
“Go to hell,” she rasped, her breathing shallow, her heart pounding out a dizzying beat. She knew where this was heading as he worked his thigh between her legs, shifting his body weight onto her. She panicked, shaking with the realization that she wouldn’t be able to stop him. When she kicked at him he moved his hand to her injured arm and pulled on it. She screamed and her legs stilled. He put his body across hers, the pressure constricted her breathing and lit fiery pain across her already battered ribs.
“The others decided I should rape you,” he whispered into her ear. She turned her head away and screamed. He rode waves of panic so strong he could feel them from her. “I won’t. It’s not that I don’t want to,” he pressed his arousal against her abdomen. “It’s not that you’re special. You see, I don’t want to be human. The others don’t always understand this. I want to be better than human as is the Cylon destiny. I will not turn a gift from God into a weapon as the others would have me do. However for appearances,” he jammed his knee hard into her twice before shifting off of her. He backed off slowly, enjoying the smell of her fear, the sight of her tears.
Revenge was sweet indeed.
Still, he felt he should offer her something or perhaps he just didn’t want the fun to end.
“I know you, Laura Roslin,” he said quietly, standing by the door. “You’re the woman who never learned to truly love until her worlds fell apart. There’s so much death around you. Everything you love dies so you choose not to love. You have empty affairs, nights spent serving the primal need for sex, but no passion and never love. No family left. No children. Then comes the end of the worlds and God finds you through the prophet Pythia. And you listen. You accept Him, become His prophet and His instrument, and for the first time you allow yourself to truly love. Even though you know he’ll die too. Or will he? Maybe you love him because you know he can’t die.” He waited, listening, but could hear only her laboured breathing. “Because he’s one of us.”
***
Continued in part 3