BSG fic: Beyond the Line (3/10)
Here's part three. Thanks to everyone who's been following this story.
Title: Beyond the Line
Rating: T
Word Count: 5,000
Chapter Title: Resolved
Summary: Desperation drives Bill to make decisions he may regret.
Author's Note: safenthecity, lls_mutant and falafel_musings, Thank you for all your help.
There were a few hours left in his watch, and Bill was fighting the headache to end all headaches. He stubbornly resisted reaching for a stim pill, even when bright spots began to appear in his field of view. It wouldn’t do for the CIC staff to see a sign of weakness-especially now.
No one mentioned it, but the crew kept stealing glances at Felix Gaeta’s station, where Lieutenant Hoshi sat with his jaw clenched. Though there had been no official word, the story of Gaeta’s mysterious arrest had spread through Galactica’s rumor mill at a speed usually reserved for speculation about Colonel Tigh’s sex life. Theories abounded as to the charges, and far too many hit close to the truth. As far as Bill knew, the tale had not yet made the jump to the civilian fleet, but he suspected it was only a matter of time.
Hoshi cleared his throat. “Ah, DRADIS contact, bearing one-one-eight-karem-oh-six-niner.”
Colonel Tigh looked up from across the table. “What do we have, Lieutenant?”
“It’s hard to say, sir; no transponders, Cylon or Colonial. It’s pretty small-maybe fighter sized. The image keeps flickering out . . .” The lieutenant raised a hand as if to hit the console, only to be stopped by a glare from the Colonel.
An unfamiliar knot was growing in the pit of Bill’s stomach. He shook himself and glanced at the display. “Where’s the CAP?”
“Showboat’s four minutes away with two nuggets.”
“Order them to intercept. Alert the civilian fleet and put them on standby.”
“Yes sir. Ah, hang on . . .” This time, Hoshi actually did rap on the console a few times. “The contact just disappeared. There’s no sign of it on DRADIS.”
“Could it have jumped away?”
“It’s unlikely, sir; it was right on top of the Gemenon Traveler when it blipped out, and they’re not reporting any power fluctuations.”
“Get them on the horn to confirm.”
“Aye, sir.” The young petty officer at the communications station spoke softly into his headset, then looked up, puzzled. “Sir, the captain of the Gemenon Traveler confirms all systems are normal. Their DRADIS didn’t show anything.”
Tigh swore under his breath. “Frakkin’ equipment failures. Redirect the CAP. Looks like a false alarm.”
“Belay that,” Bill snapped out suddenly, “Order the air patrol to close to the bogie’s last detected position and conduct an eyeball search of the surrounding region.”
Bill’s XO shrugged, but got on the horn. It was a tense few minutes. The cold knot in Bill’s gut only seemed to grow. At long last, the new communications officer shook his head. “Showboat reports all clear.”
A relieved murmur ran through the CIC. Bill stared at the DRADIS screen. The knot didn’t loosen. “Order her to expand search parameters by a half a click. Tell the Baseship to come about, and have the civilian fleet spool up their FTL drives.”
Colonel Tigh looked up. “Over a DRADIS ghost? It’s an equipment failure, not an attack.”
“We don’t know that. It could be a trick, and I don’t want to be blindsided.” Bill stared down at his fists, clenched on the table top. “We can’t let them blindside us . . .”
“Showboat reports still nothing. The civilians are confused and the Baseship is requesting information. They’re launching Heavy Raiders.”
“Sir, the DRADIS screen is still clear.”
“Captain of the Gemenon Traveler is on the line again. He wants to know why the Baseship is closing on their position.”
“Launch the alert Vipers and order the civilian fleet to execute jump to emergency coordinates.” Can’t be taken by surprise . . .
“Belay that last.” Tigh’s voice was sharp now. “Admiral, we don’t have that kind of fuel to burn. Plus, our Air Wing is depleted-if we launch the alert Vipers we’ll have no reserves if an actual strike force arrives. Now, the CAP didn’t see anything. The Baseship didn’t see anything. Even the Traveler didn’t see anything, and the Gemonese are always seeing ghosts! The only evidence of this bogie is a blip on our forty-year-old DRADIS screen.”
Bill glared at Saul. The Colonel returned the look coolly. He was always calm when he knew he was right. After a moment, Bill had to look away. He sighed.
“Get on the horn. Redirect the CAP and tell the civilians to spool down their FTL’s. And, somebody explain to the Baseship and the Traveler before they start shooting at each other. Colonel Tigh, you have the deck.” Between the fire in his head and the ice in his gut, Bill just couldn’t think straight.
Heading back to his quarters, he wasn’t entirely surprised to hear the thud of boots behind him. After a moment, Saul fell in next to him.
“I left you the deck, Colonel.”
“Hoshi can handle it. You mind telling me what the hell went on back there?”
“Aside from one of my subordinates directly contradicting my orders in front of the entire CIC staff?”
“Give it a rest, Admiral, your orders don’t usually include wild goose chases that burn fuel and put the fleet at risk over DRADIS ghosts.”
Bill had no response. Saul paused. “It’s this thing with Roslin, isn’t it? Well, you need to get your head screwed on straight, Bill.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Never said it was, but have another little breakdown and the fleet will suffer.”
Bill almost didn’t respond. When he spoke, his words were pained. “I think I need some time-just until we get the President back. I want to devote all of my energies to the investigation.”
“That’s all well and good, but who are you going to give the stars to? The fleet’s a little short on qualified Admirals at the moment.”
“You’ve commanded before.”
“Bill . . .” Saul stopped and folded his arms, forcing Bill to halt as well. “When are you going to get it through your head that I am a Cylon? You can’t just hand over Galactica again; the civilians will go nuts and the crew will be calling for both our heads within a day.”
Bill glanced away. “Frak.”
“That about sums it up. Look, we just got off the horn with Lee. He’s landing right now with word from the Quorum. I told him to meet you in quarters. Now, I’ve gotta go back and keep the trains running. Get that lunatic idea out of your head right now. I don’t want to command, I’ve never wanted to command, and being a Cylon, it’s pretty damn certain that I’ll never get to command.”
Bill smiled faintly. “Understood.”
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Bill stared at his son as if he’d started speaking in tongues. “They’re expressing what?”
Lee ran a tired hand over his face. “Concern. The Quorum is officially expressing concern over the situation with President Roslin. They’ve also issued a statement publically condemning the use of violence and coercion as a means to a political end. I fought long and hard for a stronger condemnation, but they won’t do it, just like they won’t call out Zarek for this.”
“The President of the Colonies is taken against her will, and the Quorum can’t decide if it’s wrong?”
Lee leaned forward. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear this-“
“What was your first clue?”
“-but no one has seen or heard from President Roslin since Earth. There were rumors that she’d died and you were covering it up to maintain power. As far as half the Quorum representatives are concerned, Galactica is holding the rightful President of the Colonies against his will. They’re too squeamish to do anything about it themselves, but they don’t mind seeing Command thrown in a bind by these terrorists. Some are even calling the Voice of the People an organization of freedom fighters.”
“Who’s saying that?”
“Nice try. Sessions are closed for a reason, and we still have free speech in this fleet. I’m only telling you so that you know what you’re up against politically. There are a lot of issues that need to be worked out before the Quorum can give you the support you need.”
“So fix it.”
“Dad! I’ve been trying to tell you it is Not. That. Simple! With Zarek in prison, there’s no clear successor to President Roslin, and if I try to take control it will just be seen as another proxy attempt by you to exert dictatorial influence over the elected government. I’ll do what I can, but it’s a mess over there.”
For a long moment, Bill didn’t respond. It wasn’t as though any of this were all that unexpected.
“Are you telling me that the civilian government is completely nonfunctional and there are no fallback procedures in place for selecting an interim president?”
Lee sighed. “Such a motion would never pass a vote-no matter who the candidate is. Some of the Representatives aren’t convinced that we even need an interim leader-they’re demanding Zarek’s release and inauguration. So, yeah, it’s pretty much broken.”
Bill slowly opened his desk drawer and removed two sheets of paper. He lifted a pen as though it weighed a hundred pounds and signed the top sheet. “Then, as of this moment I am declaring martial law.”
Lee’s head snapped up and his eyes widened as if he’d seen a ghost. “What?”
“In light of this crisis of leadership, I am temporarily dissolving the Quorum of Twelve and assuming complete authority in President Roslin’s stead.”
“Tell me that you’re kidding.”
“No. It’s not an easy call to make, but I won’t let the politics of this situation interfere with ending this crisis.”
“You’re insane! This goes against . . . your oath as an officer and . . . President Roslin’s wishes and . . . everything! What about the Articles of Colonization? Remember them?”
“I remember them very well. But given the choice between protecting the Articles and protecting the people, I’ll take the people any day of the week.”
“You can’t be serious.”
Bill removed his reading glasses and studied his son. “You’re not going to change my mind on this, Lee.”
“You can’t . . .” Lee trailed off and buried his face in his hands, clearly wishing he hadn’t gotten out of bed that morning. His next words were muffled. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
Bill pulled out the second sheet of paper. “Well, I’ve been thinking about that.”
Lee looked up. “Why am I not reassured?”
“Under martial law I have broad discretion to impose such policies as are necessary for the safeguarding of the civilian population. Among those powers is the policy of conscription.”
Lee stared at his father as if the Admiral had suddenly sprouted horns and a tail. “Conscription.” His voice suggested that he was humoring the dangerous lunatic.
“Obviously, it’s not practical as a broad policy, but at the moment, the fleet has some very specific needs.”
“Such as?”
“Such as a new CO for the flagship Galactica.”
Lee didn’t respond for a full ten seconds. When he did, his voice was laced with fury and disbelief. “I was under the impression that we had an Admiral. Arguably a Machiavellian lunatic, but an Admiral nonetheless.” All things considered, it was one of the milder ripostes he could have offered.
Bill stared at his battered desk. His voice was heavy. “I can’t do the job, son. This situation is clouding my judgment-affecting my calls on the most mundane events.” He looked up. “I’m keeping my rank in name, but I need an officer under me who can handle the day-to-day in CIC until this situation with President Roslin is resolved.”
“So, you want to supplant the civilian government, but you can’t be bothered to do your own job?”
Bill stared at Lee for a long moment. Then he signed the second sheet of paper in one swift motion. “That was your parting shot. You’re back in the military now; anymore talk like that and it’s insubordination.”
“And if I refuse to play your game?”
“Then it’s dereliction of duty and you can go keep Mr. Gaeta company.” Bill fished in his desk drawer until he found the small box he was looking for. Standing, he offered his son both the box and his hand. “Congratulations, Commander.”
Lee just stared at him with the familiar expression of anger, indignation, and disappointment written across his face. Bill sighed. “The Fleet needs you, son.”
Lee slowly stood and accepted the box containing his new insignia. Stepping back, he offered the Admiral a mockingly precise salute.
Bill returned it, trying to keep his hand steady and failing more than he knew.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
It was difficult for Louis Hoshi-sitting at Felix’s station. He’d already found the slight groove under the console, where the boot of the other man’s prosthetic had rubbed against the deck, leaving a slight indentation. The keyboard was so worn that the numbers and letters were barely visible anymore, and Louis knew that most of the fingerprints were Felix’s. Officially, command wasn’t commenting on what was happening with Felix or why he was being held. Trying to get information out of Sergeant Hadrian was like talking to a brick wall that liked to spout “classified” and “need to know” at random intervals.
Unofficially, the rumor mill had been after the scoop like a dog after a bone. Louis didn’t put much stock in the talk. It was the usual crazy theories, ranging from Felix being the final Cylon to Felix plotting a violent coup to take over the fleet-nonsense. But, Adama’s silence had entered its third day, and Louis was going mad with worry.
He just prayed that whatever Felix had gotten himself mixed up in had nothing to do with this new insanity over President Roslin.
Colonel Tigh’s barking voice pulled him out of his reverie. “Commander on deck!”
As Hoshi stood, turned, and came to attention, he took in a sight that was both expected and quite startling. Lee Adama was entering the CIC. He had abandoned his three-piece suits for the white-trimmed uniform he’d worn on Pegasus-or rather, one like it but several sizes smaller. The uniform was a familiar sight to Louis, though it looked slightly out-of-place when coupled with Lee’s longer-than-regulation hair. Tigh had announced the change in command at the beginning of this shift-that wasn’t what surprised Louis.
No, the shock came from the expression on Apollo’s face.
Serving on the Pegasus, he’d accepted the common wisdom that labeled the Adamas as somewhat soft-slightly too squeamish for command. This impression had persisted despite Admiral Cain’s death and the elder Adama’s ascension to Admiral. When Lee was appointed as Commander of the Pegasus, Louis, like most of his crewmates, had rolled his eyes and written it off as Adama’s nepotism.
Over his eighteen month tenure, Commander Adama had done quite a bit to overcome that perception. He had shown himself to be capable yet open to input, cool yet empathetic, tough yet fair.
But, Louis had never seen him like this. At some point in the last few years, the younger Adama had developed a presence that bore no resemblance to the callow Commander Louis remembered. He seemed to fill the room. His back was straight, his face composed, and in his eyes there burned a fire unsettling to look at. Louis had seen its like only once before: in Admiral Adama’s eyes just after the exodus from New Caprica.
Apollo strode to the command table and stopped a mere pace from Colonel Tigh. Their gazes locked, and a silent struggle of wills seemed to commence. Slowly, the Cylon Colonel raised his hand in a precise salute. Louis shivered. Was it just him, or did the gesture look more like the assertion of control than a symbol of respect? After a second that seemed to last an age, Commander Adama returned the salute, his motion equally precise.
The tension seemed to break as the CIC collectively exhaled. Apollo turned to survey the crew and offered a ghost of the amiable smile Louis remembered. “Relax, everyone, I think I remember how this all works. Stand to your duties. Petty Officer, how goes the resupply schedule?”
As the PO responded, Louis slowly sat and resumed monitoring the DRADIS screen. He was glad the Admiral had abdicated at least this small piece of the throne-he really was. Apollo was a good Commander and of the two Adamas, he nearly always had the clearer head.
And yet, some part of him had been glad to have Admiral Adama in the CIC where he could keep an eye on him.
He shook the thought away-it was crazy. He was letting his stress over the situation with Felix override his common sense. He was not afraid of the Old Man. He wasn’t.
And yet . . . it had been three days, and it seemed as if Felix had vanished from the fleet entirely. There were no charges, no statements, no mention of his name. It wasn’t right. Felix was an officer, godsdammit. Officers had rights under military code. It was a relationship of reciprocity; subordinates put their lives on the line for the ship and the mission, and in exchange their commanding officers were bound by sacred code to protect them when possible and to treat them with dignity at all times. That was what it meant to wear a uniform.
No more. He wouldn’t spend his life afraid of Bill Adama. Louis resolved to confront Colonel Tigh at the end of his shift and demand transparency.
Louis was done keeping his head down; it was time to take a stand.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
“Was there something else, Commander?”
Lee approached Bill’s desk and slid a pad of paper across it. “You’re addressing the press in an hour. I wrote some notes for you.”
Bill raised his eyebrows, wondering when Lee had found time to do that. “I appreciate it . . . but I can write my own remarks.”
Lee snorted. “And how’s that worked out for you in the past?”
Bill skimmed over the notes. It was good stuff-all about his imperative to protect the fleet and the need for unity in troubling times. All in all, it was much more likely to calm the civvies than the general ‘frak you’ Bill had planned. “How are things in CIC?”
The younger man shrugged. “Tense, but that’s to be expected. I’ve ordered a full mechanical overhaul of the DRADIS, communications, weapons systems . . .”
“That’s a big job.”
“Exactly. The crew needs work-a goal to keep their minds off of . . . other events.”
Bill nodded, impressed in spite of himself. “Good thinking.”
“Of course, it’s all just damage control. The crew won’t really settle down until you’re back in CIC.”
Bill smiled sardonically. “I think you’re overestimating my popularity.”
“Popularity has nothing to do with it. You’re the Old Man. They need you back at the top of your game.”
Bill set the notes aside. “That’ll be all, Commander.”
Lee knew a dismissal when he heard it. In his wake, Bill bowed his head and ran his hands over his face. Back in CIC . . . He almost laughed. Lee spoke as though he were only taking a vacation.
“Am I interrupting, sir?”
Bill looked up and a half smile tugged at his face. “Of course not, Kara. Come in.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Bill could hardly miss the rare military tone. He leaned back. “What’s on your mind, Starbuck?”
She stood before his desk, back straight, hands clasped behind her back. “I wanted to offer my help with the investigation.”
“Thank you . . . but there’s not much to be done right now. I’ve got Hadrian following up on leads. We’ll know more soon.” I hope . . .
“Gaeta still isn’t talking?”
“Not yet.”
“But you’re convinced he knows more than he’s telling?”
“It looks that way, yeah.”
“Sir,” she swallowed, “I can get the information from him. Give me an hour alone in the room with him, and I’ll get the names of his co-conspirators.”
As the reality of what she was suggesting set in, Bill’s jaw clenched. “That’s not an option, Starbuck.”
“Sir, we both know this won’t be settled by conventional means-“
Bill cut her off. “We’re not discussing this, Captain. You’re dismissed.”
The CAG retreated without a word. Bill decided that the best course would be to forget this conversation had ever happened. Kara wasn’t herself-none of them were since Earth. He’d have to keep a closer watch on her-make sure she didn’t cross too many lines. She’d always been his most high-maintenance officer.
Wearily, Bill flipped through Sergeant Hadrian’s report-a thick document that amounted to an exhaustive list of perfectly annotated dead ends. Gaeta had not made off-log calls, despite filling in at Dee’s station for several shifts. Aside from his brief visit to Zarek’s cell, he hadn’t been seen anywhere he shouldn’t have been. Interviews with his closest co-workers had not revealed anything suspicious. Hadrian did note-as though determined to find some sign of foul play-that in interviews with Gaeta himself, the Lieutenant had been tight-lipped and evasive. Hadrian was convinced that Gaeta knew something, but he was guarding his secrets well.
Bill all but slammed the report shut. His hands shook, and he reached for the clear bottle on the corner of his desk. Just a little to help him think . . . Amber fire burned its way down his throat and his hands clenched into fists. It was so frustrating-knowing that all the information he needed to save Laura, to put down the rebellion in the crew-was right this moment locked away just two decks down behind the smirking lips of Felix Gaeta. The answers were right there, but Bill had hardly a hope of getting to them unless . . . Unless. There was a way-one slim hope, just slightly more palatable than what Kara had proposed. A slender lifeline for Laura. But, if he used it, then he would be the one crossing the line-dishonoring the uniform. Betraying an officer.
He lowered the bottle slowly. He knew he should feel dismay-even revulsion-at the idea that had just crossed his mind, but he didn’t. He only felt cold.
Completely cold.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Consciousness loomed for the second time. Laura shifted slightly. She wondered how many hours had passed since she’d made an ill-advised attempt to rise and lapsed back into unconsciousness. This time as awareness grew, she found herself lying on her stomach. Her shoulders ached and her arms burned from the elbows down, but at least she had circulation in both limbs.
She moved her head, trying to shift the blindfold to no avail. Based on the pressure, her kidnapper had likely wrapped the cloth over her eyes and reinforced it with rope to make the blindfold more difficult to remove. Doral had developed that trick on New Caprica.
“She’s awake.” Laura froze at the sudden voice, accompanied by the metallic scrape of a chair on the deck. Male. Young. Some distant part of her noted. Traces of an Aerelon accent.
“Right. You know the game plan. Get out of here.” A second voice. Also male, though perhaps slightly older. Not much of an accent . . .
There was a faint shuffle of booted feet followed by the clang of a hatch. Left alone with the second man, Laura composed her face as best she could and willed her thudding heart to slow. She rolled onto her side and curled her legs up defensively.
Booted feet approached. Rough hands grabbed her shoulders and dragged her into a sitting position. The sudden motion made her head swim. She let out a muffled groan through a throat that felt like sandpaper. Her captor supported her with one arm and raised a straw to her lips with the other. Distorted memories flashed through her mind. The drug-induced haze made it hard to be sure, but she was almost positive that this wasn’t the first time she’d been given a drink since being taken, which made a strong case for the presence of sedatives in the water.
It didn’t really matter. Her throat throbbed, her head spun, and she knew enough of dehydration to realize that she had to drink regardless. She took a slow sip. Water. She swirled it over her parched tongue. It tasted clear, with none of the lingering tangs that would suggest drugs. She drank deeply. All too soon the cup was empty and her straw was pulling at air.
“Thank you.” She said it quietly, but was rather pleased at the steadiness in her voice. Her captor merely grunted and stepped back. Laura wavered slightly as the arm was removed, but caught herself and settled cross-legged on the mattress. “What’s your name?”
The man snorted. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” There were traces of scorn laced in with the nervousness. Laura smiled. She would like to know, but mostly she wanted to hear his voice again. She knew the voices of all twelve Cylons fairly well, so there was no mistaking it; this man was definitely human.
“Hmm. Well, I need something to call you.” Her voice held a composure that she definitely did not feel. “Can I call you Michael? Your voice . . . it reminds me of a young man I once knew named Michael. He was a student of mine . . . before I went into politics and everything started to go downhill.” She forced herself to smile slightly at her own joke-as though she and her kidnapper were merely shooting the breeze in a coffee shop.
“Whatever makes you happy.”
“I suppose. Still, I wonder if I know you from somewhere? Your voice sounds so familiar.” ‘Michael’ didn’t respond. After a moment, she shifted her shoulders and continued. “It’s funny, before New Caprica we hardly used these kinds of restraints. The military had a supply, of course; I think the deck gang used them to tie down equipment. They’re too flimsy to hold Cylons, and without a real police force we didn’t have much need to put humans in handcuffs.”
Still, the man did not speak. Laura didn’t let his silence deter her. “Of course, all that changed during the occupation. In the Resistance we used to joke that the Cylons brought in handcuffs by the barrel and food by the thimble. Everyone in detention felt these at one time or another. Were you ever in detention, Michael?”
“No.” Again, he didn’t elaborate.
“Still, you must have seen them used . . . Everyone lost so much on New Caprica . . .”
“Would you shut up about that frakkin’ rock?!”
Laura carefully kept the smile from her face, but she allowed a note of pleasure to creep into her voice. “I knew your voice was familiar. You’re Kevin’s father, aren’t you?” A strained silence followed. Laura kept her tone respectful. “I am so, so sorry for you. He was such a bright boy; I had him in my class for almost a year. Such a tragedy, what happened-”
The fist came out of nowhere-a vicious backhand that caught Laura across the jaw and sent her sprawling. She barely avoided crying out as her weight landed on her already strained shoulders. “Don’t you say his name-don’t you ever say his name!” His voice shook with rage. “My son was murdered on New Caprica by thugs masquerading as police and the toasters that gave the order? They might be strolling around the engine room right now.” The deck shook as the man advanced a step. Laura recoiled without thinking. Then, he seemed to regain control of himself. The footsteps receded. The hatch clanged open, then shut and Laura was alone.
With difficulty, she raised herself back into sitting position and felt carefully along the mattress until her stiff fingers encountered the cold bulkhead. Refusing to simply slump back onto the cot, she adjusted herself until she could partially lean against the wall. The cold bulkhead felt good against her throbbing head.
A veteran of both Cylon detention and months of diloxin treatments, Laura was no stranger to pain. Still, the past . . . however long she’d been here had been trying. A wave of fatigue hit her and for a moment she longed to just curl up and die. But, she knew she wouldn’t. Instead, she calmly began to catalogue her aches. Throbbing head. Burning throat. Shoulders that felt like they’d been ripped from the sockets. Wrists that were bruised, raw, and-to judge from the slow trickle down her right hand-bleeding. And now, a dull, fading pain in her cheek accompanied by the rapid swelling of her lower lip.
Still, it had been worth it. She’d earned at least two relevant pieces of information for her troubles. “Strolling around the engine room right now . . .” Well, that narrowed her location down to about twenty different ships, but since she knew for a fact that Galactica’s FTL upgrades were complete, she was definitely no longer on the flagship. That was neither good nor bad. Just . . . interesting.
More interesting . . . “Kevin’s father . . .” When she’d suspected her captor’s identity, she’d goaded him deliberately, and his response told her more than she could have hoped. His greatest weapon-anonymity-was now stripped away.
Her kidnapper was Charlie Connor.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
“Good morning, Admiral. Or is it ‘Supreme Leader’ now?”
Bill glared at Felix Gaeta. Word travelled fast. “Is this a game for you, Gaeta?”
“If it is, it’s not much fun.”
“Save the comedy routine, Lieutenant; nobody’s laughing.” Bill paused. “You know why I’m here.”
“Yes, and despite the lovely accommodations, I’m not so grateful that I’m willing to roll on my theoretical supporters in a theoretical conspiracy.” The words sounded rushed-practiced, almost. Bill realized that Gaeta saw this as his heroic last stand.
Somehow, that only infuriated him more.
His voice was deathly quiet. “I’m done frakkin’ around, Lieutenant. You will give me names right now, or things will get very bad for you very fast.”
Gaeta stared at him through the bars. It was a tactical, measuring gaze. Gaeta was judging Bill’s resolve, trying to predict just how far he was willing to go. Whatever he saw wiped all traces of sarcasm from his face.
Still, his own resolve didn’t waver. His response was soft yet definitive. “I have nothing to say. Sir.”
Bill stared at the young officer, trying to calm the storm of conflict raging inside him. The decision was made. There was no other way if he wanted to find Laura before it was too late.
Regret weighed equally with anger in his words. “Then, you leave me no choice.” Without breaking Gaeta’s gaze, he reached over and lifted the phone from its cradle on the wall.
“This is the Admiral. Get me Doc Cottle.”
TBC
Title: Beyond the Line
Rating: T
Word Count: 5,000
Chapter Title: Resolved
Summary: Desperation drives Bill to make decisions he may regret.
Author's Note: safenthecity, lls_mutant and falafel_musings, Thank you for all your help.
There were a few hours left in his watch, and Bill was fighting the headache to end all headaches. He stubbornly resisted reaching for a stim pill, even when bright spots began to appear in his field of view. It wouldn’t do for the CIC staff to see a sign of weakness-especially now.
No one mentioned it, but the crew kept stealing glances at Felix Gaeta’s station, where Lieutenant Hoshi sat with his jaw clenched. Though there had been no official word, the story of Gaeta’s mysterious arrest had spread through Galactica’s rumor mill at a speed usually reserved for speculation about Colonel Tigh’s sex life. Theories abounded as to the charges, and far too many hit close to the truth. As far as Bill knew, the tale had not yet made the jump to the civilian fleet, but he suspected it was only a matter of time.
Hoshi cleared his throat. “Ah, DRADIS contact, bearing one-one-eight-karem-oh-six-niner.”
Colonel Tigh looked up from across the table. “What do we have, Lieutenant?”
“It’s hard to say, sir; no transponders, Cylon or Colonial. It’s pretty small-maybe fighter sized. The image keeps flickering out . . .” The lieutenant raised a hand as if to hit the console, only to be stopped by a glare from the Colonel.
An unfamiliar knot was growing in the pit of Bill’s stomach. He shook himself and glanced at the display. “Where’s the CAP?”
“Showboat’s four minutes away with two nuggets.”
“Order them to intercept. Alert the civilian fleet and put them on standby.”
“Yes sir. Ah, hang on . . .” This time, Hoshi actually did rap on the console a few times. “The contact just disappeared. There’s no sign of it on DRADIS.”
“Could it have jumped away?”
“It’s unlikely, sir; it was right on top of the Gemenon Traveler when it blipped out, and they’re not reporting any power fluctuations.”
“Get them on the horn to confirm.”
“Aye, sir.” The young petty officer at the communications station spoke softly into his headset, then looked up, puzzled. “Sir, the captain of the Gemenon Traveler confirms all systems are normal. Their DRADIS didn’t show anything.”
Tigh swore under his breath. “Frakkin’ equipment failures. Redirect the CAP. Looks like a false alarm.”
“Belay that,” Bill snapped out suddenly, “Order the air patrol to close to the bogie’s last detected position and conduct an eyeball search of the surrounding region.”
Bill’s XO shrugged, but got on the horn. It was a tense few minutes. The cold knot in Bill’s gut only seemed to grow. At long last, the new communications officer shook his head. “Showboat reports all clear.”
A relieved murmur ran through the CIC. Bill stared at the DRADIS screen. The knot didn’t loosen. “Order her to expand search parameters by a half a click. Tell the Baseship to come about, and have the civilian fleet spool up their FTL drives.”
Colonel Tigh looked up. “Over a DRADIS ghost? It’s an equipment failure, not an attack.”
“We don’t know that. It could be a trick, and I don’t want to be blindsided.” Bill stared down at his fists, clenched on the table top. “We can’t let them blindside us . . .”
“Showboat reports still nothing. The civilians are confused and the Baseship is requesting information. They’re launching Heavy Raiders.”
“Sir, the DRADIS screen is still clear.”
“Captain of the Gemenon Traveler is on the line again. He wants to know why the Baseship is closing on their position.”
“Launch the alert Vipers and order the civilian fleet to execute jump to emergency coordinates.” Can’t be taken by surprise . . .
“Belay that last.” Tigh’s voice was sharp now. “Admiral, we don’t have that kind of fuel to burn. Plus, our Air Wing is depleted-if we launch the alert Vipers we’ll have no reserves if an actual strike force arrives. Now, the CAP didn’t see anything. The Baseship didn’t see anything. Even the Traveler didn’t see anything, and the Gemonese are always seeing ghosts! The only evidence of this bogie is a blip on our forty-year-old DRADIS screen.”
Bill glared at Saul. The Colonel returned the look coolly. He was always calm when he knew he was right. After a moment, Bill had to look away. He sighed.
“Get on the horn. Redirect the CAP and tell the civilians to spool down their FTL’s. And, somebody explain to the Baseship and the Traveler before they start shooting at each other. Colonel Tigh, you have the deck.” Between the fire in his head and the ice in his gut, Bill just couldn’t think straight.
Heading back to his quarters, he wasn’t entirely surprised to hear the thud of boots behind him. After a moment, Saul fell in next to him.
“I left you the deck, Colonel.”
“Hoshi can handle it. You mind telling me what the hell went on back there?”
“Aside from one of my subordinates directly contradicting my orders in front of the entire CIC staff?”
“Give it a rest, Admiral, your orders don’t usually include wild goose chases that burn fuel and put the fleet at risk over DRADIS ghosts.”
Bill had no response. Saul paused. “It’s this thing with Roslin, isn’t it? Well, you need to get your head screwed on straight, Bill.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Never said it was, but have another little breakdown and the fleet will suffer.”
Bill almost didn’t respond. When he spoke, his words were pained. “I think I need some time-just until we get the President back. I want to devote all of my energies to the investigation.”
“That’s all well and good, but who are you going to give the stars to? The fleet’s a little short on qualified Admirals at the moment.”
“You’ve commanded before.”
“Bill . . .” Saul stopped and folded his arms, forcing Bill to halt as well. “When are you going to get it through your head that I am a Cylon? You can’t just hand over Galactica again; the civilians will go nuts and the crew will be calling for both our heads within a day.”
Bill glanced away. “Frak.”
“That about sums it up. Look, we just got off the horn with Lee. He’s landing right now with word from the Quorum. I told him to meet you in quarters. Now, I’ve gotta go back and keep the trains running. Get that lunatic idea out of your head right now. I don’t want to command, I’ve never wanted to command, and being a Cylon, it’s pretty damn certain that I’ll never get to command.”
Bill smiled faintly. “Understood.”
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Bill stared at his son as if he’d started speaking in tongues. “They’re expressing what?”
Lee ran a tired hand over his face. “Concern. The Quorum is officially expressing concern over the situation with President Roslin. They’ve also issued a statement publically condemning the use of violence and coercion as a means to a political end. I fought long and hard for a stronger condemnation, but they won’t do it, just like they won’t call out Zarek for this.”
“The President of the Colonies is taken against her will, and the Quorum can’t decide if it’s wrong?”
Lee leaned forward. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear this-“
“What was your first clue?”
“-but no one has seen or heard from President Roslin since Earth. There were rumors that she’d died and you were covering it up to maintain power. As far as half the Quorum representatives are concerned, Galactica is holding the rightful President of the Colonies against his will. They’re too squeamish to do anything about it themselves, but they don’t mind seeing Command thrown in a bind by these terrorists. Some are even calling the Voice of the People an organization of freedom fighters.”
“Who’s saying that?”
“Nice try. Sessions are closed for a reason, and we still have free speech in this fleet. I’m only telling you so that you know what you’re up against politically. There are a lot of issues that need to be worked out before the Quorum can give you the support you need.”
“So fix it.”
“Dad! I’ve been trying to tell you it is Not. That. Simple! With Zarek in prison, there’s no clear successor to President Roslin, and if I try to take control it will just be seen as another proxy attempt by you to exert dictatorial influence over the elected government. I’ll do what I can, but it’s a mess over there.”
For a long moment, Bill didn’t respond. It wasn’t as though any of this were all that unexpected.
“Are you telling me that the civilian government is completely nonfunctional and there are no fallback procedures in place for selecting an interim president?”
Lee sighed. “Such a motion would never pass a vote-no matter who the candidate is. Some of the Representatives aren’t convinced that we even need an interim leader-they’re demanding Zarek’s release and inauguration. So, yeah, it’s pretty much broken.”
Bill slowly opened his desk drawer and removed two sheets of paper. He lifted a pen as though it weighed a hundred pounds and signed the top sheet. “Then, as of this moment I am declaring martial law.”
Lee’s head snapped up and his eyes widened as if he’d seen a ghost. “What?”
“In light of this crisis of leadership, I am temporarily dissolving the Quorum of Twelve and assuming complete authority in President Roslin’s stead.”
“Tell me that you’re kidding.”
“No. It’s not an easy call to make, but I won’t let the politics of this situation interfere with ending this crisis.”
“You’re insane! This goes against . . . your oath as an officer and . . . President Roslin’s wishes and . . . everything! What about the Articles of Colonization? Remember them?”
“I remember them very well. But given the choice between protecting the Articles and protecting the people, I’ll take the people any day of the week.”
“You can’t be serious.”
Bill removed his reading glasses and studied his son. “You’re not going to change my mind on this, Lee.”
“You can’t . . .” Lee trailed off and buried his face in his hands, clearly wishing he hadn’t gotten out of bed that morning. His next words were muffled. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
Bill pulled out the second sheet of paper. “Well, I’ve been thinking about that.”
Lee looked up. “Why am I not reassured?”
“Under martial law I have broad discretion to impose such policies as are necessary for the safeguarding of the civilian population. Among those powers is the policy of conscription.”
Lee stared at his father as if the Admiral had suddenly sprouted horns and a tail. “Conscription.” His voice suggested that he was humoring the dangerous lunatic.
“Obviously, it’s not practical as a broad policy, but at the moment, the fleet has some very specific needs.”
“Such as?”
“Such as a new CO for the flagship Galactica.”
Lee didn’t respond for a full ten seconds. When he did, his voice was laced with fury and disbelief. “I was under the impression that we had an Admiral. Arguably a Machiavellian lunatic, but an Admiral nonetheless.” All things considered, it was one of the milder ripostes he could have offered.
Bill stared at his battered desk. His voice was heavy. “I can’t do the job, son. This situation is clouding my judgment-affecting my calls on the most mundane events.” He looked up. “I’m keeping my rank in name, but I need an officer under me who can handle the day-to-day in CIC until this situation with President Roslin is resolved.”
“So, you want to supplant the civilian government, but you can’t be bothered to do your own job?”
Bill stared at Lee for a long moment. Then he signed the second sheet of paper in one swift motion. “That was your parting shot. You’re back in the military now; anymore talk like that and it’s insubordination.”
“And if I refuse to play your game?”
“Then it’s dereliction of duty and you can go keep Mr. Gaeta company.” Bill fished in his desk drawer until he found the small box he was looking for. Standing, he offered his son both the box and his hand. “Congratulations, Commander.”
Lee just stared at him with the familiar expression of anger, indignation, and disappointment written across his face. Bill sighed. “The Fleet needs you, son.”
Lee slowly stood and accepted the box containing his new insignia. Stepping back, he offered the Admiral a mockingly precise salute.
Bill returned it, trying to keep his hand steady and failing more than he knew.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
It was difficult for Louis Hoshi-sitting at Felix’s station. He’d already found the slight groove under the console, where the boot of the other man’s prosthetic had rubbed against the deck, leaving a slight indentation. The keyboard was so worn that the numbers and letters were barely visible anymore, and Louis knew that most of the fingerprints were Felix’s. Officially, command wasn’t commenting on what was happening with Felix or why he was being held. Trying to get information out of Sergeant Hadrian was like talking to a brick wall that liked to spout “classified” and “need to know” at random intervals.
Unofficially, the rumor mill had been after the scoop like a dog after a bone. Louis didn’t put much stock in the talk. It was the usual crazy theories, ranging from Felix being the final Cylon to Felix plotting a violent coup to take over the fleet-nonsense. But, Adama’s silence had entered its third day, and Louis was going mad with worry.
He just prayed that whatever Felix had gotten himself mixed up in had nothing to do with this new insanity over President Roslin.
Colonel Tigh’s barking voice pulled him out of his reverie. “Commander on deck!”
As Hoshi stood, turned, and came to attention, he took in a sight that was both expected and quite startling. Lee Adama was entering the CIC. He had abandoned his three-piece suits for the white-trimmed uniform he’d worn on Pegasus-or rather, one like it but several sizes smaller. The uniform was a familiar sight to Louis, though it looked slightly out-of-place when coupled with Lee’s longer-than-regulation hair. Tigh had announced the change in command at the beginning of this shift-that wasn’t what surprised Louis.
No, the shock came from the expression on Apollo’s face.
Serving on the Pegasus, he’d accepted the common wisdom that labeled the Adamas as somewhat soft-slightly too squeamish for command. This impression had persisted despite Admiral Cain’s death and the elder Adama’s ascension to Admiral. When Lee was appointed as Commander of the Pegasus, Louis, like most of his crewmates, had rolled his eyes and written it off as Adama’s nepotism.
Over his eighteen month tenure, Commander Adama had done quite a bit to overcome that perception. He had shown himself to be capable yet open to input, cool yet empathetic, tough yet fair.
But, Louis had never seen him like this. At some point in the last few years, the younger Adama had developed a presence that bore no resemblance to the callow Commander Louis remembered. He seemed to fill the room. His back was straight, his face composed, and in his eyes there burned a fire unsettling to look at. Louis had seen its like only once before: in Admiral Adama’s eyes just after the exodus from New Caprica.
Apollo strode to the command table and stopped a mere pace from Colonel Tigh. Their gazes locked, and a silent struggle of wills seemed to commence. Slowly, the Cylon Colonel raised his hand in a precise salute. Louis shivered. Was it just him, or did the gesture look more like the assertion of control than a symbol of respect? After a second that seemed to last an age, Commander Adama returned the salute, his motion equally precise.
The tension seemed to break as the CIC collectively exhaled. Apollo turned to survey the crew and offered a ghost of the amiable smile Louis remembered. “Relax, everyone, I think I remember how this all works. Stand to your duties. Petty Officer, how goes the resupply schedule?”
As the PO responded, Louis slowly sat and resumed monitoring the DRADIS screen. He was glad the Admiral had abdicated at least this small piece of the throne-he really was. Apollo was a good Commander and of the two Adamas, he nearly always had the clearer head.
And yet, some part of him had been glad to have Admiral Adama in the CIC where he could keep an eye on him.
He shook the thought away-it was crazy. He was letting his stress over the situation with Felix override his common sense. He was not afraid of the Old Man. He wasn’t.
And yet . . . it had been three days, and it seemed as if Felix had vanished from the fleet entirely. There were no charges, no statements, no mention of his name. It wasn’t right. Felix was an officer, godsdammit. Officers had rights under military code. It was a relationship of reciprocity; subordinates put their lives on the line for the ship and the mission, and in exchange their commanding officers were bound by sacred code to protect them when possible and to treat them with dignity at all times. That was what it meant to wear a uniform.
No more. He wouldn’t spend his life afraid of Bill Adama. Louis resolved to confront Colonel Tigh at the end of his shift and demand transparency.
Louis was done keeping his head down; it was time to take a stand.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
“Was there something else, Commander?”
Lee approached Bill’s desk and slid a pad of paper across it. “You’re addressing the press in an hour. I wrote some notes for you.”
Bill raised his eyebrows, wondering when Lee had found time to do that. “I appreciate it . . . but I can write my own remarks.”
Lee snorted. “And how’s that worked out for you in the past?”
Bill skimmed over the notes. It was good stuff-all about his imperative to protect the fleet and the need for unity in troubling times. All in all, it was much more likely to calm the civvies than the general ‘frak you’ Bill had planned. “How are things in CIC?”
The younger man shrugged. “Tense, but that’s to be expected. I’ve ordered a full mechanical overhaul of the DRADIS, communications, weapons systems . . .”
“That’s a big job.”
“Exactly. The crew needs work-a goal to keep their minds off of . . . other events.”
Bill nodded, impressed in spite of himself. “Good thinking.”
“Of course, it’s all just damage control. The crew won’t really settle down until you’re back in CIC.”
Bill smiled sardonically. “I think you’re overestimating my popularity.”
“Popularity has nothing to do with it. You’re the Old Man. They need you back at the top of your game.”
Bill set the notes aside. “That’ll be all, Commander.”
Lee knew a dismissal when he heard it. In his wake, Bill bowed his head and ran his hands over his face. Back in CIC . . . He almost laughed. Lee spoke as though he were only taking a vacation.
“Am I interrupting, sir?”
Bill looked up and a half smile tugged at his face. “Of course not, Kara. Come in.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Bill could hardly miss the rare military tone. He leaned back. “What’s on your mind, Starbuck?”
She stood before his desk, back straight, hands clasped behind her back. “I wanted to offer my help with the investigation.”
“Thank you . . . but there’s not much to be done right now. I’ve got Hadrian following up on leads. We’ll know more soon.” I hope . . .
“Gaeta still isn’t talking?”
“Not yet.”
“But you’re convinced he knows more than he’s telling?”
“It looks that way, yeah.”
“Sir,” she swallowed, “I can get the information from him. Give me an hour alone in the room with him, and I’ll get the names of his co-conspirators.”
As the reality of what she was suggesting set in, Bill’s jaw clenched. “That’s not an option, Starbuck.”
“Sir, we both know this won’t be settled by conventional means-“
Bill cut her off. “We’re not discussing this, Captain. You’re dismissed.”
The CAG retreated without a word. Bill decided that the best course would be to forget this conversation had ever happened. Kara wasn’t herself-none of them were since Earth. He’d have to keep a closer watch on her-make sure she didn’t cross too many lines. She’d always been his most high-maintenance officer.
Wearily, Bill flipped through Sergeant Hadrian’s report-a thick document that amounted to an exhaustive list of perfectly annotated dead ends. Gaeta had not made off-log calls, despite filling in at Dee’s station for several shifts. Aside from his brief visit to Zarek’s cell, he hadn’t been seen anywhere he shouldn’t have been. Interviews with his closest co-workers had not revealed anything suspicious. Hadrian did note-as though determined to find some sign of foul play-that in interviews with Gaeta himself, the Lieutenant had been tight-lipped and evasive. Hadrian was convinced that Gaeta knew something, but he was guarding his secrets well.
Bill all but slammed the report shut. His hands shook, and he reached for the clear bottle on the corner of his desk. Just a little to help him think . . . Amber fire burned its way down his throat and his hands clenched into fists. It was so frustrating-knowing that all the information he needed to save Laura, to put down the rebellion in the crew-was right this moment locked away just two decks down behind the smirking lips of Felix Gaeta. The answers were right there, but Bill had hardly a hope of getting to them unless . . . Unless. There was a way-one slim hope, just slightly more palatable than what Kara had proposed. A slender lifeline for Laura. But, if he used it, then he would be the one crossing the line-dishonoring the uniform. Betraying an officer.
He lowered the bottle slowly. He knew he should feel dismay-even revulsion-at the idea that had just crossed his mind, but he didn’t. He only felt cold.
Completely cold.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Consciousness loomed for the second time. Laura shifted slightly. She wondered how many hours had passed since she’d made an ill-advised attempt to rise and lapsed back into unconsciousness. This time as awareness grew, she found herself lying on her stomach. Her shoulders ached and her arms burned from the elbows down, but at least she had circulation in both limbs.
She moved her head, trying to shift the blindfold to no avail. Based on the pressure, her kidnapper had likely wrapped the cloth over her eyes and reinforced it with rope to make the blindfold more difficult to remove. Doral had developed that trick on New Caprica.
“She’s awake.” Laura froze at the sudden voice, accompanied by the metallic scrape of a chair on the deck. Male. Young. Some distant part of her noted. Traces of an Aerelon accent.
“Right. You know the game plan. Get out of here.” A second voice. Also male, though perhaps slightly older. Not much of an accent . . .
There was a faint shuffle of booted feet followed by the clang of a hatch. Left alone with the second man, Laura composed her face as best she could and willed her thudding heart to slow. She rolled onto her side and curled her legs up defensively.
Booted feet approached. Rough hands grabbed her shoulders and dragged her into a sitting position. The sudden motion made her head swim. She let out a muffled groan through a throat that felt like sandpaper. Her captor supported her with one arm and raised a straw to her lips with the other. Distorted memories flashed through her mind. The drug-induced haze made it hard to be sure, but she was almost positive that this wasn’t the first time she’d been given a drink since being taken, which made a strong case for the presence of sedatives in the water.
It didn’t really matter. Her throat throbbed, her head spun, and she knew enough of dehydration to realize that she had to drink regardless. She took a slow sip. Water. She swirled it over her parched tongue. It tasted clear, with none of the lingering tangs that would suggest drugs. She drank deeply. All too soon the cup was empty and her straw was pulling at air.
“Thank you.” She said it quietly, but was rather pleased at the steadiness in her voice. Her captor merely grunted and stepped back. Laura wavered slightly as the arm was removed, but caught herself and settled cross-legged on the mattress. “What’s your name?”
The man snorted. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” There were traces of scorn laced in with the nervousness. Laura smiled. She would like to know, but mostly she wanted to hear his voice again. She knew the voices of all twelve Cylons fairly well, so there was no mistaking it; this man was definitely human.
“Hmm. Well, I need something to call you.” Her voice held a composure that she definitely did not feel. “Can I call you Michael? Your voice . . . it reminds me of a young man I once knew named Michael. He was a student of mine . . . before I went into politics and everything started to go downhill.” She forced herself to smile slightly at her own joke-as though she and her kidnapper were merely shooting the breeze in a coffee shop.
“Whatever makes you happy.”
“I suppose. Still, I wonder if I know you from somewhere? Your voice sounds so familiar.” ‘Michael’ didn’t respond. After a moment, she shifted her shoulders and continued. “It’s funny, before New Caprica we hardly used these kinds of restraints. The military had a supply, of course; I think the deck gang used them to tie down equipment. They’re too flimsy to hold Cylons, and without a real police force we didn’t have much need to put humans in handcuffs.”
Still, the man did not speak. Laura didn’t let his silence deter her. “Of course, all that changed during the occupation. In the Resistance we used to joke that the Cylons brought in handcuffs by the barrel and food by the thimble. Everyone in detention felt these at one time or another. Were you ever in detention, Michael?”
“No.” Again, he didn’t elaborate.
“Still, you must have seen them used . . . Everyone lost so much on New Caprica . . .”
“Would you shut up about that frakkin’ rock?!”
Laura carefully kept the smile from her face, but she allowed a note of pleasure to creep into her voice. “I knew your voice was familiar. You’re Kevin’s father, aren’t you?” A strained silence followed. Laura kept her tone respectful. “I am so, so sorry for you. He was such a bright boy; I had him in my class for almost a year. Such a tragedy, what happened-”
The fist came out of nowhere-a vicious backhand that caught Laura across the jaw and sent her sprawling. She barely avoided crying out as her weight landed on her already strained shoulders. “Don’t you say his name-don’t you ever say his name!” His voice shook with rage. “My son was murdered on New Caprica by thugs masquerading as police and the toasters that gave the order? They might be strolling around the engine room right now.” The deck shook as the man advanced a step. Laura recoiled without thinking. Then, he seemed to regain control of himself. The footsteps receded. The hatch clanged open, then shut and Laura was alone.
With difficulty, she raised herself back into sitting position and felt carefully along the mattress until her stiff fingers encountered the cold bulkhead. Refusing to simply slump back onto the cot, she adjusted herself until she could partially lean against the wall. The cold bulkhead felt good against her throbbing head.
A veteran of both Cylon detention and months of diloxin treatments, Laura was no stranger to pain. Still, the past . . . however long she’d been here had been trying. A wave of fatigue hit her and for a moment she longed to just curl up and die. But, she knew she wouldn’t. Instead, she calmly began to catalogue her aches. Throbbing head. Burning throat. Shoulders that felt like they’d been ripped from the sockets. Wrists that were bruised, raw, and-to judge from the slow trickle down her right hand-bleeding. And now, a dull, fading pain in her cheek accompanied by the rapid swelling of her lower lip.
Still, it had been worth it. She’d earned at least two relevant pieces of information for her troubles. “Strolling around the engine room right now . . .” Well, that narrowed her location down to about twenty different ships, but since she knew for a fact that Galactica’s FTL upgrades were complete, she was definitely no longer on the flagship. That was neither good nor bad. Just . . . interesting.
More interesting . . . “Kevin’s father . . .” When she’d suspected her captor’s identity, she’d goaded him deliberately, and his response told her more than she could have hoped. His greatest weapon-anonymity-was now stripped away.
Her kidnapper was Charlie Connor.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
“Good morning, Admiral. Or is it ‘Supreme Leader’ now?”
Bill glared at Felix Gaeta. Word travelled fast. “Is this a game for you, Gaeta?”
“If it is, it’s not much fun.”
“Save the comedy routine, Lieutenant; nobody’s laughing.” Bill paused. “You know why I’m here.”
“Yes, and despite the lovely accommodations, I’m not so grateful that I’m willing to roll on my theoretical supporters in a theoretical conspiracy.” The words sounded rushed-practiced, almost. Bill realized that Gaeta saw this as his heroic last stand.
Somehow, that only infuriated him more.
His voice was deathly quiet. “I’m done frakkin’ around, Lieutenant. You will give me names right now, or things will get very bad for you very fast.”
Gaeta stared at him through the bars. It was a tactical, measuring gaze. Gaeta was judging Bill’s resolve, trying to predict just how far he was willing to go. Whatever he saw wiped all traces of sarcasm from his face.
Still, his own resolve didn’t waver. His response was soft yet definitive. “I have nothing to say. Sir.”
Bill stared at the young officer, trying to calm the storm of conflict raging inside him. The decision was made. There was no other way if he wanted to find Laura before it was too late.
Regret weighed equally with anger in his words. “Then, you leave me no choice.” Without breaking Gaeta’s gaze, he reached over and lifted the phone from its cradle on the wall.
“This is the Admiral. Get me Doc Cottle.”
TBC