BSG Fic: Beyond the Line (4/10)
Title: Beyond the Line
Rating: T
Word Count: 4,300
Chapter Title: Confrontation
Summary: Felix battles his demons, and his commanding officer faces a sobering reality.
Author's Note: As many of you have guessed, this chapter will contain much angsty angst, including scenes that may be disturbing. I almost increased the rating solely for psychological torture. Buyer beware. All credit for the things I did right goes to lls_mutant, safenthecity, and falafel_musings, without whom this chap would be utterly incomprehensible.
Felix sat perfectly still as Cottle and Ishay arrived in the brig with a mobile hospital in tow. Only his eyes moved-darting ceaselessly from the doctor to his aide to what looked suspiciously like a crash cart. The setup was dominated by a gurney equipped with leather restraints, clearly designed for use on a person who was either convulsing uncontrollably . . . or trying desperately to escape. Ishay pushed a large cart equipped with an electrocardiograph, blood pressure monitor, and other devices Felix didn’t recognize. Felix tried to catch Ishay’s eye-with his frequent visits to sick bay, he’d become quite friendly with her in recent months.
She wouldn’t look at him, and that, more than anything else, terrified him.
Adama stood by the hatch with his arms folded. His expression hadn’t changed since he’d first picked up the phone, but now his scowl was mirrored in Cottle’s weathered face. “Admiral,” the latter growled in a low voice that was far from his usual wise-ass drawl, “I want a word.”
Adama locked eyes with the doctor for a long moment. Finally, he nodded. “Outside, Major.” His rare use of Dr. Cottle’s rank escaped no one.
As the two stepped into the corridor, Felix drew a steadying breath and leaned his head against the bulkhead. If he listened hard enough, he could almost hear their angry voices echoing through the cold metal . . .
Ishay had her back to Felix as she spread a few instruments on a rolling tray, but even so, Felix caught a glimpse of a large, intimidating syringe made of steel and glass. Baltar’s words about agonizing drugged interrogations-stubbornly disbelieved up to this point-came rushing back. Felix swallowed. He’d wanted so badly to believe Baltar was lying . . .
Unbidden, a familiar accented voice crept into his mind.
“As perverse as it may seem, I may actually owe these people a debt of gratitude . . .”
The hatch swung open to readmit the Admiral followed by Major Cottle. Adama’s face still hadn’t changed. Doc Cottle, though, was wearing an expression of grim resignation. It was a face Felix had seen only once before: when the doctor was preparing to amputate his leg.
Adama nodded to the Marine. “Close the hatch.”
As metal clanged on metal, Felix sat very still and focused on breathing in steady, shallow breaths. Trapped. Cornered. Freeze. Don’t move-don’t bolt or the predator will see you.
“They forced me . . . to admit my failings . . .”
The Admiral’s voice was brisk. “Is everything ready?”
“Yes sir.” Felix almost missed Ishay’s soft reply.
“Open the cell.”
“And now that I have I feel positively liberated!”
Felix fought the urge to shrink back as the Marine’s key turned and his one remaining defense rolled away. His fists knotted in the blanket beneath him. Nowhere to go . . . just don’t move a muscle . . .
There seemed to be some confusion as to whose job it was to actually retrieve him from the cell. Felix made no move to reach his prosthetic. He wouldn’t make their job easier. After a moment, Cottle gave Ishay a curt nod and the paramedic started forward, her hands held out in a placating gesture.
Felix jerked away from her touch. Can’t bolt, can’t run. Just freeze, but if the predator sees you, you have no choice. You have to-
A new voice.
“You have to open your eyes . . . to what the world is really like . . .”
“Lieutenant!” Adama stared at him through the bars, his face impassive. “Don’t make us do this, Mr. Gaeta. We just need their names.”
Felix swallowed. He drew himself into a ball on the edge of the cot, his eyes darting ceaselessly between Adama and Ishay.
“You gave me the names, Felix . . .”
The Marine took a step forward. Adama held up a hand to stop him. The Old Man advanced to the threshold of the cell. “Don’t do this, Lieutenant. Don’t make this hard.”
“The rest . . . was easy . . .”
Felix stared down at his clenched fists. Adama nodded to the Marine.
“ . . . perverse as it may seem . . .”
“You didn’t see them?”
“ . . . admit my failings . . .”
“I’m sure you’ll see them tomorrow . . .”
“ . . . a debt of gratitude . . .”
“ . . . open your eyes . . .”
“ . . . positively . . .”
“ . . . you gave me . . .”
“Liberated.”
“Lieutenant Gaeta!”
Felix’s head snapped up at the sound of the Old Man’s voice. He couldn’t quite make out Adama’s features; his vision was obscured by a sheen of tears.
“Come on, Felix,” Ishay’s voice was a mere whisper. She still wouldn’t meet his gaze. Felix slowly slumped, his clenched fists loosening. He let Ishay put an arm around him and pull him upright. At a signal from the Admiral, the Marine backed away.
It was only a few steps to the gurney. Felix leaned his weight on Ishay and tried to forget the indignity of it. Reaching the reclining bed, he sat quietly and let them peel off his tanks to attach the EKG leads. As leather straps closed around his wrists, shoulders, ankle, and across his thighs, Felix noted that the mattress was surprisingly comfortable-there was even a pillow. Somehow, this small detail only increased his sense of foreboding. He focused on steady breaths-in and out.
“Lieutenant,” Admiral Adama stepped into his field of view. The craggy face was still set in what had become its default expression, but the grizzled hand was surprisingly soft on Felix’s forearm. “I’m going to give you one more chance. I don’t want to do this. But, I need the names of your co-conspirators.”
“You gave me the names, Felix . . .”
Felix looked away. The gentle pressure on his arm disappeared.
He sensed more than heard Doc Cottle approach to stand behind his head. He swallowed hard. “What are you going to do?” he whispered, hoping he sounded braver than he felt.
“Shh, It’s gonna be alright, son,” the doctor murmured heavily. Son . . . he’d called him that when he took his leg, too. Tigh had called him that just before sending him on that Raptor.
Cottle’s next words were directed at Admiral Adama. “I’m not doing this without a direct order.”
Unable to help himself, Felix sought out the Old Man’s gaze, knowing the other man would see the fear and helplessness in his eyes. Adama didn’t flinch-didn’t react at all. His voice was measured. “You are so ordered.”
Small hands-probably Ishay’s-closed around Felix’s head. Cottle’s fingers probed his neck, feeling for his pulse. Then . . . a sudden sharp pain followed by a wave of blackness that reached out to engulf him, and Felix let go.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Bill watched as Gaeta’s eyelids fluttered closed. Cottle took a close look at the monitor and nodded. “He’s under.”
They had about two minutes before the hallucinogens took full effect. Bill glanced from Cottle to Ishay. “You know the drill; limit physical contact, no loud noises.”
Ishay nodded. Her hands trembled slightly as she secured the heavy leather brace around Gaeta’s head.
The young officer began to spasm and stir in the restraints. Bill flicked his small flashlight on and stepped close. “Can you hear me, Lieutenant?” A muffled groan was his only reply. In the background, the quiet beep of the heart rate monitor increased in tempo. Bill directed the soft beam of light onto Gaeta’s face and watched his eyelids twitch in response. “Listen to my voice, Lieutenant Gaeta. Can you hear my voice?”
Dark eyes appeared, still half-lidded. The monitors began to beep even faster as Gaeta’s eyes darted back and forth erratically, clearly focusing on something none of the rest of them could see.
“Can you hear me, Mr. Gaeta?”
The young man’s throat worked. His hands clenched into fists. His voice was tight with anxiety. “Admiral?”
“Yes, it’s me. Can you understand me, Mr. Gaeta?”
Gaeta’s chest rose and fell in a breath that was almost a gasp. The beat of the heart rate monitor slowed ever so slightly. “Yes sir.”
Bill paused. “I need a sitrep, Lieutenant.”
Gaeta’s eyes resumed their manic motion and the tendons in his neck stood out as he fought the head brace. The beeping picked up, and this time it was joined by a low tone from the blood pressure monitor.
“Lieutenant?”
Gaeta’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
“Listen to my voice, Lieutenant. This is the Admiral. I need you to tell me where you are.”
“It’s . . .” Gaeta’s voice was a hoarse whisper. He swallowed. “It’s dark . . . dark and . . . cold. I can’t move!”
“Can you tell me anything else, Lieutenant Gaeta? Anything that would tell me where you are?”
“I can’t breathe!”
“It’s alright, Lieutenant.”
“No . . . no it’s not . . . I can’t breathe because . . . the air will run out . . . leave me alone in the dark . . . blood . . . blood everywhere . . .”
Bill looked away. He had a pretty good idea of what Lieutenant Gaeta saw. “There’s a light, Lieutenant. Can you see it?” He brought the flashlight a little closer to Gaeta’s face. “Look for the light.”
“Yes . . .” Gaeta’s heart rate slowed a little. “Yes, I see it . . .”
“Reach for the light, Felix. It’s okay. Just reach for the light.” Gaeta’s erratic breathing slowly stabilized. “Good . . . good . . .” His hands twitched in the restraints. “That’s it . . .”
The hum of the BP monitor was cut off as Gaeta’s blood pressure returned to safer levels. Bill looked at Cottle. The doctor studied the monitors carefully before giving the Admiral a curt nod. Bill took a deep breath. Best to get this over with.
“Lieutenant,” he began carefully, “We’re looking for you. We’re trying to find you. But you have to help us. You have to tell us what we need to know so that we can bring you back. Can you do that, Lieutenant Gaeta?”
The strain in Gaeta’s voice deepened. “You can’t . . . can’t track us . . . can’t follow. Alone in the dark and no one is watching . . . lost . . . can’t breathe-use up all the air . . .”
“Reach for the light, Lieutenant.”
“It won’t last . . . alone . . . all alone and the light is fading. One by one you fall asleep and . . . dead! They’re all dead!” Gaeta’s heart rate skyrocketed and he began to struggle against the restraints.
“Mr. Gaeta! Felix! Stay with us.” The man’s frenzied movements slowly subsided. “Mr. Gaeta, we’ll find you if you cooperate. Just tell us what we need to know and this will be over. Can you do that?”
“Yes sir.” His voice was almost lucid.
“That’s good . . . very good Lieutenant. Now, tell us about Zarek.”
“Down . . . down is up and up is down . . . At least he says it . . . Disaster’s coming . . . a reckoning . . . The numbers are wrong and they’ll drop us all straight into a star! The numbers . . . the numbers are wrong . . .”
“What numbers?”
“The numbers . . . the numbers can kill. Swap a six with an eight and it all comes undone. Don’t carry the one or we’re all gone . . . the numbers . . . they don’t work. They’re wrong.”
“Mr. Gaeta, are you talking about the Cylon model numbers?”
“Swap a six with an eight and it all comes undone . . .” Gaeta trailed off. Bill paused, hoping for more, but instead of speaking, Gaeta began to sing, his voice soft and strained.
“Alone she sleeps in the shirt of man, with my three wishes clutched in her hand . . .”
Cottle gripped Bill’s arm with alarm in his eyes. “He sang that after his leg was amputated. It’s a pain-coping mechanism.”
“I know,” Bill growled. He moved the flashlight a little closer to Gaeta’s face. He gave no response except to murmur the next line.
“The first that she be spared the pain . . .”
“Mr. Gaeta?” Bill called softly, “Can you tell us anything more about your situation? Are you injured? Are you physically in pain?”
The singing cut off abruptly. Gaeta drew a shuddering breath. “No . . . no sir. It’s just the dark and the cold and the blood . . .”
Bill’s jaw clenched. Some gibberish was to be expected with this drug, but Gaeta was beginning to sound truly unbalanced. He strongly suspected that the Lieutenant couldn’t take much more of this. Get the information, he ordered himself sternly, Fix it so you can end it.
“You were talking about the model numbers?”
“Swap a six with an eight . . .”
“So what were you going to do about it, Mr. Gaeta? How were you going to fix the numbers?”
“Can’t fix the numbers. They don’t work. Throw them out . . . wipe the slate and start over . . . do it fast before it’s too late . . .”
“What were you going to do?”
“Throw them out . . . get far away . . . start from the beginning . . .”
“Mr. Gaeta, were you planning to execute the Cylons aboard Galactica?”
The young lieutenant’s body jerked slightly, as though startled out of a deep sleep. “Yes. No other way.”
For a long moment, Bill was silent. His hands trembled with rage even as he tried to hold the light steady over Gaeta’s face. He didn’t speak until he was sure he could control himself. “What about Zarek? He recruited you?”
“He’s the leader . . . the vision . . . the revolutionary.” Gaeta’s fists clenched as his momentary lucidity passed. “But revolutions are paid for in blood! Consequences . . . deadly consequences . . . for him, for me . . . the wound goes bad and the infection will spread . . . you have to cut it off . . . take the germs and the tissue closest to it or the whole person dies . . . but how can you cut off the head? Can you put a new head in its place?”
Bill rocked back on his heels. “The head? Do you mean President Roslin?”
“No. Inaction causes degeneration. Have to stimulate the limb. But the infected parts? The parts closest to the germs? Cut it off before the infection spreads . . . Numb it first, but stay awake. Watch it die . . . he can drop the bomb, but he can’t push the button . . . not the leader he was . . . Mutiny? It is mutiny. It’s an amputation.”
Bill struggled to make sense of the garbled confession. Cottle and Ishay were quicker on the uptake. Both were staring at Bill with expressions frozen by shock. Slowly, it dawned on him. He swallowed hard.
“Lieutenant Gaeta,” he began slowly, “This is Bill Adama. Did you plan my execution?”
The young officer strained against the bonds. His face twisted in an expression of agony. A single tear leaked from eyes squeezed tightly shut.
“But wish no more . . .”
Mechanically, Bill picked up a damp cloth and gently sponged Gaeta’s sweat-soaked forehead. Tactile recognition has the effect of reducing the subject’s anxiety levels . . . Only the slight tremor in his hands revealed his inner storm of emotions. “It’s alright, Lieutenant. You can tell me. Were you going to have me killed?”
His face crumpled even further. “Yes.”
Cottle swore under his breath. Ishay closed her eyes and lifted her fingertips to her forehead in an attitude of prayer. Bill, however, was suddenly numb.
“Who was helping you, Mr. Gaeta? Who were your co-conspirators?”
“It doesn’t matter! Put it all on me! I’m a dead man anyway . . . all alone in space . . . everything’s dark and the air’s running out . . .”
“Give me the names of the mutineers!”
“And the circuits were blown where cables meet blood . . . and the current and the blood are too much for the flesh . . .”
“I need names!”
“And you don’t want to look, but the blind man has to see!”
“They’ve kidnapped Laura Roslin! I need their names!”
“And they show you the math, and it bleeds . . .”
“Tell me their names! Tell me or I’ll leave you alone in the dark!”
“And the light burns your eyes and the truth bleeds out . . .”
“Tell me-“
“But wish no more . . . my life you can take . . .”
“Admiral,” Bill turned at Cottle’s low voice in his ear, “You’re going about this the wrong way. Let him tell you the why and the who will come out.”
Bill forced himself to take a steadying breath. Cottle was right, of course.
“What truth, Mr. Gaeta?”
“The truth about the lie. They look at you and you want to believe them . . . but the numbers don’t add up and the body count rises. You don’t want to see it, so you look away, but it’s still there. It looks at you . . . it bleeds, but it shouldn’t be able to bleed! And the blood’s all over like it has been all along, but you can finally see it . . . it shouldn’t be able to bleed . . . because the body count is rising . . .”
“The body count?”
“Draw the number on the whiteboard . . . different from before . . . Subtract how many? It’s the number nobody wants to see . . . but they’re not just numbers on a board, they’re names on a sheet of paper. Names . . . tell me names . . . No. They’re faces I never saw again. Rescued. Safe. But really gone. She said I was pardoned, but she didn’t know. Nobody knew . . . but me . . .”
“What are you talking about?”
“New Caprica! It came to me . . . It said it wanted to help . . . and it did. It helped them kill. I gave it their names and it said they were safe, but they died. Their blood was on me, but I didn’t see it . . . until the Eight pulled back the curtain and let in the light that blinds. Their blood was on me . . . and then her blood . . . its blood . . . why do they bleed?”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I’m not the only one who’s blind! It stands next to you and it wears the uniform and it hopes we will forget . . . but I can’t forget! I look at it and say ‘yes sir,’ but it’s not a man, however much you want it to be . . .”
“Are you talking about Colonel Tigh?”
“It’s not a man! But he wants to be . . . he can’t be trusted . . .”
“So who did you trust, Mr. Gaeta? Who were you going to replace him with?”
“The ones who know that the machines are our enemy.”
“Who?”
“It doesn’t matter now; I’m running out of air.”
“Who else was involved?”
“Why won’t it end? The air runs out and that’s it . . . they can bring you home, but home is dead and we’re all lost in the dark . . .”
“Who did you trust with this?”
Gaeta’s body twisted. He strained against the leather. He opened his mouth to speak, but a thundering voice cut him off.
“What the frak is going on here?!!!”
At the sound of the booming words, Gaeta lost his last shreds of control. The young Lieutenant screamed and twisted, the leather cutting into his skin. The heart rate and blood pressure monitors screeched in alarm. Bill abandoned his efforts with the flashlight and reached for Gaeta’s hand. “Lieutenant. Lieutenant! Felix! Listen to me.” Gaeta clutched his hand like a drowning man. His screams receded to a gasping whimper. Tears flowed in rivers from eyes that were fixed and unseeing. Bill kept his voice low and comforting. “You’re alright, Felix. We’re coming for you. We’re coming . . .”
Only when the Lieutenant’s breathing had slowed and his grip relaxed did Bill turn to see the source of the commotion standing by the hatch, dismay written in his lone eye. Bill handed his flashlight to Ishay and carefully extracted his hand from Gaeta’s. “Try to keep him calm.” He turned to Colonel Tigh. “Outside,” he growled.
Tigh turned stiffly and preceded him out the hatch. In the corridor, he spun to face his superior officer and hissed, “What the hell kind of mad science is going on in there, Bill?”
Bill folded his arms. “It’s an interrogation. Nothing more.”
“Like hell! You doped him. It’s that fear serum we gave Baltar, isn’t it?”
Bill looked away.
Saul’s eye narrowed. “We swore we’d never use that shit again, Bill. It practically killed Baltar. I thought you had it destroyed.”
“We kept some for extenuating circumstances.”
“Extenuating? Frak, what happened to not crossing lines you can’t come back from?”
“It’ll be worth it if he tells us who took her.”
“No. No it won’t.”
The Admiral’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
Saul sighed. “Look, Bill, I know how you feel about her-“
“What I feel has nothing-“
“Save it, sir. I know how you feel, but this is bigger than Laura Roslin. This is about your responsibility to your crew. That’s an officer in there, Bill-one of our officers. This can’t be what we do . . . because if it is then we’re no better than the toasters who took my eye. I won’t stand for that, sir. And deep down, you know you can’t either.”
Bill looked away. He peered through the crack in the hatch. Ishay was holding Felix’s hand and whispering to him in a motherly way.
“He tried to have us both killed, Saul.”
“Then he’s in good company.” Bill looked up sharply, and Saul rolled his eye. “Don’t act so surprised, Admiral; you know how mutinies work. Officers get scared and pull a nutty because they can’t cope with what they’re being ordered to do. Gaeta’s a mixed up kid, but he didn’t hurt anybody-Roslin included.”
Bill remembered his cryptic words about blood and body counts and wondered how true that was.
It didn’t matter. He sighed. “You wanted to see me about something?”
Tigh shook his head. “It can wait. See to the kid; there’s something I need to check on.”
Bill was too tired to inquire further. He turned without a word and stepped into the brig. Felix Gaeta looked very small under so many straps and wires. He’d wanted to see him suffer, Bill realized-for the planned mutiny, for Laura. For the realization that he could no longer trust his officers implicitly.
Trust was earned.
Bill carefully undid the straps and lifted the brace from Gaeta’s head. The younger man tried to move, but Bill placed a restraining hand on his forehead. The Lieutenant’s wiry curls were soaked in the same sweat that coated his face. Bill reached over and deliberately released his wrist from the restraints, taking the young man’s hand in his own.
“Can you hear me, Lieutenant? This is the Admiral.”
“I hear you . . . sir . . .” His voice, while shaky, had regained a shadow of its former strength.
Bill swallowed. He might not like the answer, but the question had to be asked.
“Do you trust me, Lieutenant?”
Gaeta didn’t hesitate. “Yes sir.”
“Then why?”
He closed his unseeing eyes. “The blind man has to see . . .”
Bill nodded slowly. He turned to Cottle. “Give him the antidote.”
The doctor already had a syringe ready. “Now, that’s the first good idea you’ve had all day.”
Bill ignored the slight insubordination. He held Gaeta’s head while Cottle felt for his carotid artery and injected the drug. The antidote worked as fast as its counterpart. Within seconds Gaeta’s breathing deepened and his face relaxed. Bill straightened slowly. “How long will he sleep?”
Cottle gave a half shrug. “It’s hard to say; these cocktails affect everyone differently.”
“I want to be here when he wakes up.”
“Then come back in three hours, but bring a book. Ishay can stay and monitor him until then. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a few legitimate patients in sickbay, and they’ve gone neglected during this grand experiment in oath breaking.”
“You’re dismissed. And Major?”
Cottle turned.
“We still have stores of that serum?”
“I wouldn’t call them ‘stores,’ but I kept a few doses as you ordered.”
“Dispose of them.”
The ghost of a smile tugged at Cottle’s cheek. “That, Admiral, is the second good idea you’ve had all day.”
TBC
Rating: T
Word Count: 4,300
Chapter Title: Confrontation
Summary: Felix battles his demons, and his commanding officer faces a sobering reality.
Author's Note: As many of you have guessed, this chapter will contain much angsty angst, including scenes that may be disturbing. I almost increased the rating solely for psychological torture. Buyer beware. All credit for the things I did right goes to lls_mutant, safenthecity, and falafel_musings, without whom this chap would be utterly incomprehensible.
Felix sat perfectly still as Cottle and Ishay arrived in the brig with a mobile hospital in tow. Only his eyes moved-darting ceaselessly from the doctor to his aide to what looked suspiciously like a crash cart. The setup was dominated by a gurney equipped with leather restraints, clearly designed for use on a person who was either convulsing uncontrollably . . . or trying desperately to escape. Ishay pushed a large cart equipped with an electrocardiograph, blood pressure monitor, and other devices Felix didn’t recognize. Felix tried to catch Ishay’s eye-with his frequent visits to sick bay, he’d become quite friendly with her in recent months.
She wouldn’t look at him, and that, more than anything else, terrified him.
Adama stood by the hatch with his arms folded. His expression hadn’t changed since he’d first picked up the phone, but now his scowl was mirrored in Cottle’s weathered face. “Admiral,” the latter growled in a low voice that was far from his usual wise-ass drawl, “I want a word.”
Adama locked eyes with the doctor for a long moment. Finally, he nodded. “Outside, Major.” His rare use of Dr. Cottle’s rank escaped no one.
As the two stepped into the corridor, Felix drew a steadying breath and leaned his head against the bulkhead. If he listened hard enough, he could almost hear their angry voices echoing through the cold metal . . .
Ishay had her back to Felix as she spread a few instruments on a rolling tray, but even so, Felix caught a glimpse of a large, intimidating syringe made of steel and glass. Baltar’s words about agonizing drugged interrogations-stubbornly disbelieved up to this point-came rushing back. Felix swallowed. He’d wanted so badly to believe Baltar was lying . . .
Unbidden, a familiar accented voice crept into his mind.
“As perverse as it may seem, I may actually owe these people a debt of gratitude . . .”
The hatch swung open to readmit the Admiral followed by Major Cottle. Adama’s face still hadn’t changed. Doc Cottle, though, was wearing an expression of grim resignation. It was a face Felix had seen only once before: when the doctor was preparing to amputate his leg.
Adama nodded to the Marine. “Close the hatch.”
As metal clanged on metal, Felix sat very still and focused on breathing in steady, shallow breaths. Trapped. Cornered. Freeze. Don’t move-don’t bolt or the predator will see you.
“They forced me . . . to admit my failings . . .”
The Admiral’s voice was brisk. “Is everything ready?”
“Yes sir.” Felix almost missed Ishay’s soft reply.
“Open the cell.”
“And now that I have I feel positively liberated!”
Felix fought the urge to shrink back as the Marine’s key turned and his one remaining defense rolled away. His fists knotted in the blanket beneath him. Nowhere to go . . . just don’t move a muscle . . .
There seemed to be some confusion as to whose job it was to actually retrieve him from the cell. Felix made no move to reach his prosthetic. He wouldn’t make their job easier. After a moment, Cottle gave Ishay a curt nod and the paramedic started forward, her hands held out in a placating gesture.
Felix jerked away from her touch. Can’t bolt, can’t run. Just freeze, but if the predator sees you, you have no choice. You have to-
A new voice.
“You have to open your eyes . . . to what the world is really like . . .”
“Lieutenant!” Adama stared at him through the bars, his face impassive. “Don’t make us do this, Mr. Gaeta. We just need their names.”
Felix swallowed. He drew himself into a ball on the edge of the cot, his eyes darting ceaselessly between Adama and Ishay.
“You gave me the names, Felix . . .”
The Marine took a step forward. Adama held up a hand to stop him. The Old Man advanced to the threshold of the cell. “Don’t do this, Lieutenant. Don’t make this hard.”
“The rest . . . was easy . . .”
Felix stared down at his clenched fists. Adama nodded to the Marine.
“ . . . perverse as it may seem . . .”
“You didn’t see them?”
“ . . . admit my failings . . .”
“I’m sure you’ll see them tomorrow . . .”
“ . . . a debt of gratitude . . .”
“ . . . open your eyes . . .”
“ . . . positively . . .”
“ . . . you gave me . . .”
“Liberated.”
“Lieutenant Gaeta!”
Felix’s head snapped up at the sound of the Old Man’s voice. He couldn’t quite make out Adama’s features; his vision was obscured by a sheen of tears.
“Come on, Felix,” Ishay’s voice was a mere whisper. She still wouldn’t meet his gaze. Felix slowly slumped, his clenched fists loosening. He let Ishay put an arm around him and pull him upright. At a signal from the Admiral, the Marine backed away.
It was only a few steps to the gurney. Felix leaned his weight on Ishay and tried to forget the indignity of it. Reaching the reclining bed, he sat quietly and let them peel off his tanks to attach the EKG leads. As leather straps closed around his wrists, shoulders, ankle, and across his thighs, Felix noted that the mattress was surprisingly comfortable-there was even a pillow. Somehow, this small detail only increased his sense of foreboding. He focused on steady breaths-in and out.
“Lieutenant,” Admiral Adama stepped into his field of view. The craggy face was still set in what had become its default expression, but the grizzled hand was surprisingly soft on Felix’s forearm. “I’m going to give you one more chance. I don’t want to do this. But, I need the names of your co-conspirators.”
“You gave me the names, Felix . . .”
Felix looked away. The gentle pressure on his arm disappeared.
He sensed more than heard Doc Cottle approach to stand behind his head. He swallowed hard. “What are you going to do?” he whispered, hoping he sounded braver than he felt.
“Shh, It’s gonna be alright, son,” the doctor murmured heavily. Son . . . he’d called him that when he took his leg, too. Tigh had called him that just before sending him on that Raptor.
Cottle’s next words were directed at Admiral Adama. “I’m not doing this without a direct order.”
Unable to help himself, Felix sought out the Old Man’s gaze, knowing the other man would see the fear and helplessness in his eyes. Adama didn’t flinch-didn’t react at all. His voice was measured. “You are so ordered.”
Small hands-probably Ishay’s-closed around Felix’s head. Cottle’s fingers probed his neck, feeling for his pulse. Then . . . a sudden sharp pain followed by a wave of blackness that reached out to engulf him, and Felix let go.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Bill watched as Gaeta’s eyelids fluttered closed. Cottle took a close look at the monitor and nodded. “He’s under.”
They had about two minutes before the hallucinogens took full effect. Bill glanced from Cottle to Ishay. “You know the drill; limit physical contact, no loud noises.”
Ishay nodded. Her hands trembled slightly as she secured the heavy leather brace around Gaeta’s head.
The young officer began to spasm and stir in the restraints. Bill flicked his small flashlight on and stepped close. “Can you hear me, Lieutenant?” A muffled groan was his only reply. In the background, the quiet beep of the heart rate monitor increased in tempo. Bill directed the soft beam of light onto Gaeta’s face and watched his eyelids twitch in response. “Listen to my voice, Lieutenant Gaeta. Can you hear my voice?”
Dark eyes appeared, still half-lidded. The monitors began to beep even faster as Gaeta’s eyes darted back and forth erratically, clearly focusing on something none of the rest of them could see.
“Can you hear me, Mr. Gaeta?”
The young man’s throat worked. His hands clenched into fists. His voice was tight with anxiety. “Admiral?”
“Yes, it’s me. Can you understand me, Mr. Gaeta?”
Gaeta’s chest rose and fell in a breath that was almost a gasp. The beat of the heart rate monitor slowed ever so slightly. “Yes sir.”
Bill paused. “I need a sitrep, Lieutenant.”
Gaeta’s eyes resumed their manic motion and the tendons in his neck stood out as he fought the head brace. The beeping picked up, and this time it was joined by a low tone from the blood pressure monitor.
“Lieutenant?”
Gaeta’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
“Listen to my voice, Lieutenant. This is the Admiral. I need you to tell me where you are.”
“It’s . . .” Gaeta’s voice was a hoarse whisper. He swallowed. “It’s dark . . . dark and . . . cold. I can’t move!”
“Can you tell me anything else, Lieutenant Gaeta? Anything that would tell me where you are?”
“I can’t breathe!”
“It’s alright, Lieutenant.”
“No . . . no it’s not . . . I can’t breathe because . . . the air will run out . . . leave me alone in the dark . . . blood . . . blood everywhere . . .”
Bill looked away. He had a pretty good idea of what Lieutenant Gaeta saw. “There’s a light, Lieutenant. Can you see it?” He brought the flashlight a little closer to Gaeta’s face. “Look for the light.”
“Yes . . .” Gaeta’s heart rate slowed a little. “Yes, I see it . . .”
“Reach for the light, Felix. It’s okay. Just reach for the light.” Gaeta’s erratic breathing slowly stabilized. “Good . . . good . . .” His hands twitched in the restraints. “That’s it . . .”
The hum of the BP monitor was cut off as Gaeta’s blood pressure returned to safer levels. Bill looked at Cottle. The doctor studied the monitors carefully before giving the Admiral a curt nod. Bill took a deep breath. Best to get this over with.
“Lieutenant,” he began carefully, “We’re looking for you. We’re trying to find you. But you have to help us. You have to tell us what we need to know so that we can bring you back. Can you do that, Lieutenant Gaeta?”
The strain in Gaeta’s voice deepened. “You can’t . . . can’t track us . . . can’t follow. Alone in the dark and no one is watching . . . lost . . . can’t breathe-use up all the air . . .”
“Reach for the light, Lieutenant.”
“It won’t last . . . alone . . . all alone and the light is fading. One by one you fall asleep and . . . dead! They’re all dead!” Gaeta’s heart rate skyrocketed and he began to struggle against the restraints.
“Mr. Gaeta! Felix! Stay with us.” The man’s frenzied movements slowly subsided. “Mr. Gaeta, we’ll find you if you cooperate. Just tell us what we need to know and this will be over. Can you do that?”
“Yes sir.” His voice was almost lucid.
“That’s good . . . very good Lieutenant. Now, tell us about Zarek.”
“Down . . . down is up and up is down . . . At least he says it . . . Disaster’s coming . . . a reckoning . . . The numbers are wrong and they’ll drop us all straight into a star! The numbers . . . the numbers are wrong . . .”
“What numbers?”
“The numbers . . . the numbers can kill. Swap a six with an eight and it all comes undone. Don’t carry the one or we’re all gone . . . the numbers . . . they don’t work. They’re wrong.”
“Mr. Gaeta, are you talking about the Cylon model numbers?”
“Swap a six with an eight and it all comes undone . . .” Gaeta trailed off. Bill paused, hoping for more, but instead of speaking, Gaeta began to sing, his voice soft and strained.
“Alone she sleeps in the shirt of man, with my three wishes clutched in her hand . . .”
Cottle gripped Bill’s arm with alarm in his eyes. “He sang that after his leg was amputated. It’s a pain-coping mechanism.”
“I know,” Bill growled. He moved the flashlight a little closer to Gaeta’s face. He gave no response except to murmur the next line.
“The first that she be spared the pain . . .”
“Mr. Gaeta?” Bill called softly, “Can you tell us anything more about your situation? Are you injured? Are you physically in pain?”
The singing cut off abruptly. Gaeta drew a shuddering breath. “No . . . no sir. It’s just the dark and the cold and the blood . . .”
Bill’s jaw clenched. Some gibberish was to be expected with this drug, but Gaeta was beginning to sound truly unbalanced. He strongly suspected that the Lieutenant couldn’t take much more of this. Get the information, he ordered himself sternly, Fix it so you can end it.
“You were talking about the model numbers?”
“Swap a six with an eight . . .”
“So what were you going to do about it, Mr. Gaeta? How were you going to fix the numbers?”
“Can’t fix the numbers. They don’t work. Throw them out . . . wipe the slate and start over . . . do it fast before it’s too late . . .”
“What were you going to do?”
“Throw them out . . . get far away . . . start from the beginning . . .”
“Mr. Gaeta, were you planning to execute the Cylons aboard Galactica?”
The young lieutenant’s body jerked slightly, as though startled out of a deep sleep. “Yes. No other way.”
For a long moment, Bill was silent. His hands trembled with rage even as he tried to hold the light steady over Gaeta’s face. He didn’t speak until he was sure he could control himself. “What about Zarek? He recruited you?”
“He’s the leader . . . the vision . . . the revolutionary.” Gaeta’s fists clenched as his momentary lucidity passed. “But revolutions are paid for in blood! Consequences . . . deadly consequences . . . for him, for me . . . the wound goes bad and the infection will spread . . . you have to cut it off . . . take the germs and the tissue closest to it or the whole person dies . . . but how can you cut off the head? Can you put a new head in its place?”
Bill rocked back on his heels. “The head? Do you mean President Roslin?”
“No. Inaction causes degeneration. Have to stimulate the limb. But the infected parts? The parts closest to the germs? Cut it off before the infection spreads . . . Numb it first, but stay awake. Watch it die . . . he can drop the bomb, but he can’t push the button . . . not the leader he was . . . Mutiny? It is mutiny. It’s an amputation.”
Bill struggled to make sense of the garbled confession. Cottle and Ishay were quicker on the uptake. Both were staring at Bill with expressions frozen by shock. Slowly, it dawned on him. He swallowed hard.
“Lieutenant Gaeta,” he began slowly, “This is Bill Adama. Did you plan my execution?”
The young officer strained against the bonds. His face twisted in an expression of agony. A single tear leaked from eyes squeezed tightly shut.
“But wish no more . . .”
Mechanically, Bill picked up a damp cloth and gently sponged Gaeta’s sweat-soaked forehead. Tactile recognition has the effect of reducing the subject’s anxiety levels . . . Only the slight tremor in his hands revealed his inner storm of emotions. “It’s alright, Lieutenant. You can tell me. Were you going to have me killed?”
His face crumpled even further. “Yes.”
Cottle swore under his breath. Ishay closed her eyes and lifted her fingertips to her forehead in an attitude of prayer. Bill, however, was suddenly numb.
“Who was helping you, Mr. Gaeta? Who were your co-conspirators?”
“It doesn’t matter! Put it all on me! I’m a dead man anyway . . . all alone in space . . . everything’s dark and the air’s running out . . .”
“Give me the names of the mutineers!”
“And the circuits were blown where cables meet blood . . . and the current and the blood are too much for the flesh . . .”
“I need names!”
“And you don’t want to look, but the blind man has to see!”
“They’ve kidnapped Laura Roslin! I need their names!”
“And they show you the math, and it bleeds . . .”
“Tell me their names! Tell me or I’ll leave you alone in the dark!”
“And the light burns your eyes and the truth bleeds out . . .”
“Tell me-“
“But wish no more . . . my life you can take . . .”
“Admiral,” Bill turned at Cottle’s low voice in his ear, “You’re going about this the wrong way. Let him tell you the why and the who will come out.”
Bill forced himself to take a steadying breath. Cottle was right, of course.
“What truth, Mr. Gaeta?”
“The truth about the lie. They look at you and you want to believe them . . . but the numbers don’t add up and the body count rises. You don’t want to see it, so you look away, but it’s still there. It looks at you . . . it bleeds, but it shouldn’t be able to bleed! And the blood’s all over like it has been all along, but you can finally see it . . . it shouldn’t be able to bleed . . . because the body count is rising . . .”
“The body count?”
“Draw the number on the whiteboard . . . different from before . . . Subtract how many? It’s the number nobody wants to see . . . but they’re not just numbers on a board, they’re names on a sheet of paper. Names . . . tell me names . . . No. They’re faces I never saw again. Rescued. Safe. But really gone. She said I was pardoned, but she didn’t know. Nobody knew . . . but me . . .”
“What are you talking about?”
“New Caprica! It came to me . . . It said it wanted to help . . . and it did. It helped them kill. I gave it their names and it said they were safe, but they died. Their blood was on me, but I didn’t see it . . . until the Eight pulled back the curtain and let in the light that blinds. Their blood was on me . . . and then her blood . . . its blood . . . why do they bleed?”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I’m not the only one who’s blind! It stands next to you and it wears the uniform and it hopes we will forget . . . but I can’t forget! I look at it and say ‘yes sir,’ but it’s not a man, however much you want it to be . . .”
“Are you talking about Colonel Tigh?”
“It’s not a man! But he wants to be . . . he can’t be trusted . . .”
“So who did you trust, Mr. Gaeta? Who were you going to replace him with?”
“The ones who know that the machines are our enemy.”
“Who?”
“It doesn’t matter now; I’m running out of air.”
“Who else was involved?”
“Why won’t it end? The air runs out and that’s it . . . they can bring you home, but home is dead and we’re all lost in the dark . . .”
“Who did you trust with this?”
Gaeta’s body twisted. He strained against the leather. He opened his mouth to speak, but a thundering voice cut him off.
“What the frak is going on here?!!!”
At the sound of the booming words, Gaeta lost his last shreds of control. The young Lieutenant screamed and twisted, the leather cutting into his skin. The heart rate and blood pressure monitors screeched in alarm. Bill abandoned his efforts with the flashlight and reached for Gaeta’s hand. “Lieutenant. Lieutenant! Felix! Listen to me.” Gaeta clutched his hand like a drowning man. His screams receded to a gasping whimper. Tears flowed in rivers from eyes that were fixed and unseeing. Bill kept his voice low and comforting. “You’re alright, Felix. We’re coming for you. We’re coming . . .”
Only when the Lieutenant’s breathing had slowed and his grip relaxed did Bill turn to see the source of the commotion standing by the hatch, dismay written in his lone eye. Bill handed his flashlight to Ishay and carefully extracted his hand from Gaeta’s. “Try to keep him calm.” He turned to Colonel Tigh. “Outside,” he growled.
Tigh turned stiffly and preceded him out the hatch. In the corridor, he spun to face his superior officer and hissed, “What the hell kind of mad science is going on in there, Bill?”
Bill folded his arms. “It’s an interrogation. Nothing more.”
“Like hell! You doped him. It’s that fear serum we gave Baltar, isn’t it?”
Bill looked away.
Saul’s eye narrowed. “We swore we’d never use that shit again, Bill. It practically killed Baltar. I thought you had it destroyed.”
“We kept some for extenuating circumstances.”
“Extenuating? Frak, what happened to not crossing lines you can’t come back from?”
“It’ll be worth it if he tells us who took her.”
“No. No it won’t.”
The Admiral’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
Saul sighed. “Look, Bill, I know how you feel about her-“
“What I feel has nothing-“
“Save it, sir. I know how you feel, but this is bigger than Laura Roslin. This is about your responsibility to your crew. That’s an officer in there, Bill-one of our officers. This can’t be what we do . . . because if it is then we’re no better than the toasters who took my eye. I won’t stand for that, sir. And deep down, you know you can’t either.”
Bill looked away. He peered through the crack in the hatch. Ishay was holding Felix’s hand and whispering to him in a motherly way.
“He tried to have us both killed, Saul.”
“Then he’s in good company.” Bill looked up sharply, and Saul rolled his eye. “Don’t act so surprised, Admiral; you know how mutinies work. Officers get scared and pull a nutty because they can’t cope with what they’re being ordered to do. Gaeta’s a mixed up kid, but he didn’t hurt anybody-Roslin included.”
Bill remembered his cryptic words about blood and body counts and wondered how true that was.
It didn’t matter. He sighed. “You wanted to see me about something?”
Tigh shook his head. “It can wait. See to the kid; there’s something I need to check on.”
Bill was too tired to inquire further. He turned without a word and stepped into the brig. Felix Gaeta looked very small under so many straps and wires. He’d wanted to see him suffer, Bill realized-for the planned mutiny, for Laura. For the realization that he could no longer trust his officers implicitly.
Trust was earned.
Bill carefully undid the straps and lifted the brace from Gaeta’s head. The younger man tried to move, but Bill placed a restraining hand on his forehead. The Lieutenant’s wiry curls were soaked in the same sweat that coated his face. Bill reached over and deliberately released his wrist from the restraints, taking the young man’s hand in his own.
“Can you hear me, Lieutenant? This is the Admiral.”
“I hear you . . . sir . . .” His voice, while shaky, had regained a shadow of its former strength.
Bill swallowed. He might not like the answer, but the question had to be asked.
“Do you trust me, Lieutenant?”
Gaeta didn’t hesitate. “Yes sir.”
“Then why?”
He closed his unseeing eyes. “The blind man has to see . . .”
Bill nodded slowly. He turned to Cottle. “Give him the antidote.”
The doctor already had a syringe ready. “Now, that’s the first good idea you’ve had all day.”
Bill ignored the slight insubordination. He held Gaeta’s head while Cottle felt for his carotid artery and injected the drug. The antidote worked as fast as its counterpart. Within seconds Gaeta’s breathing deepened and his face relaxed. Bill straightened slowly. “How long will he sleep?”
Cottle gave a half shrug. “It’s hard to say; these cocktails affect everyone differently.”
“I want to be here when he wakes up.”
“Then come back in three hours, but bring a book. Ishay can stay and monitor him until then. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a few legitimate patients in sickbay, and they’ve gone neglected during this grand experiment in oath breaking.”
“You’re dismissed. And Major?”
Cottle turned.
“We still have stores of that serum?”
“I wouldn’t call them ‘stores,’ but I kept a few doses as you ordered.”
“Dispose of them.”
The ghost of a smile tugged at Cottle’s cheek. “That, Admiral, is the second good idea you’ve had all day.”
TBC