Chapter 3: Trapped In a State of Imaginary Grace

[mutantwrites]

Chapter 3: Trapped In a State of Imaginary Grace

"So it sounds like it was a success," Laura said, laying her head against Bill's shoulder. They were sitting on the sofa in his study. To Laura, it felt like a haven. She hadn't been able to be at the surgery today; the Quorum was demanding what little energy she had, sapping the remainder of her strength. She had accepted that she still had her obligations, but she was tired.

Bill nodded. "It was even a greater success than Adelle told us it would be," he said. "Not only is Anders recovering, but he regained the memories he had of Earth."

"Does he still remember anything that's happened since?"

"It's… damaged. He remembers parts of it, especially the things that impacted him deeply. But a lot of it is gone."

"That's too bad," Laura murmured, although to be honest, she was much more curious about what he could tell them about Earth. But that was for another day, another conversation. She sighed, nestling closer to Bill. "I've been thinking…"

"Should I be terrified?" Bill said, something like a laugh rumbling deep within him.

Laura smiled, but the smile faded quickly. "We meant to have two Actives," she said. "Gaeta and Zarek."

"Still can't find Zarek."

"I know. But…" she bit her lip, and then continued. "There are a lot of mutineers sitting on the Astral Queen." She sat up, holding out her hand and forestalling the objection that she knew Bill was about to make. "I'm not suggesting that we make becoming an Active mandatory. I don't like that as a precedent, and besides, no matter what Adelle and Topher say about the original personality being erased, I can't feel comfortable with some of those that are incarcerated wandering around in any shape or form. But there may be some mutineers- those that acted on principle and not just looking for a fight- that would be willing to become Actives. We could offer a deal. Serve as an Active until we find a place to settle, then be granted a clean slate once we arrive."

Bill looked at her. "You've been thinking about this, haven't you?"

"I have. There are so many skills we could use, Bill. We could upload someone with greater technological abilities, who might be able to fix some of our ships' problems. We could specially craft pilots for dangerous missions. Any medical issue we have, we could find an expert. There are so many places our civilization is lacking… so much good that could be done. And if it was voluntary on their parts…."

"Let me think about it," Bill said. He looked stern, like he hated the idea. But there were a lot of ideas that Bill had hated.

"All right, Bill. Think about it," Laura said, a small smile playing on the edges of her lips. After the success of today, she had no doubt as to what his eventual conclusion would be.

***

Tom had meant it when he told Levi to put him to work on the Hitei Kan, but he was still unprepared for the impact of joining the labor force. The press of people headed to work, the whistle, the smell of raw tylium… he remembered Sagittaron, and the squalid conditions in the factory where his father had worked. And more than that, he remembered a labor camp that had taken up decades of his life.

Most of the workers headed straight for the line, but Tom realized he didn't have the faintest idea of what to do there. He was just about to duck out and search for someone to ask when Marissa grabbed his arm, pulling him out. She didn't smile as he faced her, and her eyes raked him over.

"I see you at least had the intelligence not to wear your tie," she said. Tom nodded. He'd only had the clothes on his back, and nothing on his person that would be worth trading for a more appropriate set. He had removed the jacket as well, and rolled the sleeves of his shirt up. But Marissa frowned at that and pulled out a knife.

"Buttons can snag," she said, cutting the sleeves of his shirt short. "So can loose fabric. You want tight sleeves or short sleeves."

"I did have an undershirt on," Tom said, looking at his ruined shirt.

"Great. Now you have a change," Marissa answered. She gestured, and a young man came over. He had dark hair, pale skin, and large eyes, but the most striking thing about him was that his arm was amputated at the elbow. Between the lost limb and the betrayed expression, he reminded Tom very strongly of Felix Gaeta, even though there was no real physical resemblance.

"This is Danny Noon," Marissa said. "He'll show you the ropes."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Zarek." Danny extended his good hand.

"Start him on the sorting lines," Marissa ordered Danny, although she softened a little when she addressed him. "Make sure he doesn't get himself killed."

"Yes, ma'am." Danny smiled at her, and then looked at Tom. "Come on, Mr. Zarek. You'll get the hang of it."

Tom eyed the long conveyer belts, and Danny nudged him towards the one side. "We've got a lot to do these days," he said. "We're clearing up- I guess there's a mining mission due in three days."

Tom frowned. "I thought it was two."

"Well, the… whatever the frak was going on over on Galactica botched the schedule." But Danny grinned as he said it. "Did you really try to take over the government?"

"Yes."

"That is so cool." But despite the childish vernacular, Danny's eyes were hard even as they were bright. "You know, it just… this whole frakking trip or mess or life has been so…" he shook his head with frustration. "I know you stepped over the line. But at the same time, it means a lot that you'd do that for the people and that you'd try to get those toasters out of the Fleet."

Grateful that there was a like mind, Tom was about to answer when the whistle blew and the conveyor belt lurched into motion, and the conversation was halted in favor of Danny explaining the work, and Tom trying to keep up.

The work was not technically difficult, but it did require concentration and speed. He couldn’t think about anything else, and after a while his shoulders, arms, and neck grew sore. But the people around him shot conversation back and forth, implying that one day this would be second nature and he'd be able to think again.

He didn't realize just how much time had passed and the whistle blew. "Twenty minutes!" Marissa shouted, and the workers moved quickly from the lines.

"Come on," Danny said. "Let's get something to eat."

The dining hall was worn and shabby, with scratched industrial furniture that bore witness to years and years of use with no real replacement. It reminded him of the Astral Queen. Tom couldn't lie and say he didn't miss the relative luxury of Colonial One or his private quarters on the Astral Queen, but he had certainly spent time in worse. And no matter where you were in the Fleet, the food was algae and it tasted like swamp rot. He got his bowl and followed Danny to a table.

"Danny," an older woman said, ruffling his hair. "I see you got stuck with the new kid."

"How are you settling in?"

Tom remembered the man addressing him as Asok, who had been the most vocal in his support for Tom at the meeting the other night. "Can't complain," Tom said, trying to focus on the conversation rather than his meal.

"You've got to be the only one who's ever said that about the Hitei Kan," the older woman said. She looked to be about Tom's age, and had dark skin and a cloth wrapped around most of her hair to protect it from the lines. She extended her hand to him. "I'm Claudia," she said.

"We've met before," Tom remembered. "You were involved in setting up the union on New Caprica."

Claudia smiled. "I thought you might remember." She smiled smugly. "Marissa owes me two cubits."

Tom was going to say something else when the big man who had spoken up the night before sat down at their table. Danny moved over on his bench. "What's going on, Dale?" Danny asked.

Dale leaned in. "Have you all heard?" When no one answered, he made a face. "Apparently, one of the mystic final five Cylons was shot in the head in the uprising on Galactica a few days ago."

"Haven't seen it in the papers," Claudia shot back.

"Yeah, well, the papers don't say what they don't know, do they? I heard this from my girl over on the Galactica."

"Anna," Asok leered.

Dale ignored him. "Well, you'd think a guy shot in the head would be dead by now, right?" The others nodded. "Well, Anna tells me he's not. That they brought some guy in and he did brain surgery and actually saved the toaster."

"You're kidding," Claudia said. Then she frowned. "I've seen the manifests. I remember them from New Caprica. There's no neurosurgeons."

"But there are surgeons," Danny pointed out. "Fourteen of them."

"Fourteen doctors," Tom corrected. "Seven surgeons."

"But the military one is the best, right?" Danny asked, scowling. "That's what they told me when…" his eyes dropped to his arm. He cleared his throat. "But if that's true, why bring in someone else?"

"Well, there's more. Anna said that the guy was in a wheelchair."

"Gaeta," Tom said, sitting back. Felix would not be happy to know that he had saved a Cylon's life like that, especially the one that had cost him his leg, if Tom had heard right. "They made him a brain surgeon and had him save a Cylon," he said bitterly.

"It's all just hearsay, but yeah," Dale said, frowning. "It sure sounds that way."

"You're awfully bitter about it," Marissa said solemnly.

"Spend four months in a Cylon detention cell, and you would be, too," Tom said.

Marissa made a face. "Two weeks was plenty for me, thanks, but that's not what I meant. Sam Anders was one of the leaders of the Resistance on New Caprica."

"That might have meant something before Earth," Asok said. "But now… and even without that, that's not the point. It's what she's done to Gaeta, what she's willing to do to people without consent."

"If that's really what's happening."

"I don't know," Dale said slowly. "I wasn't so sure the other night, when Zarek told us about this thing Roslin had. But now, I'm starting to wonder."

Claudia frowned. "Me, too. That's… it could be a coincidence, but it's awfully suspicious."

The whistle blew. Tom stood up, his muscles protesting. He stretched them into silence. "A brain surgeon," he heard Asok say. "I've got to give her credit. If she's going to do it, she goes all the way."

"Laura never does things halfway," Tom agreed. "That's what makes her so dangerous." He put his bowl into the basin of soapy water and followed Danny back out to the floor.

***

The marines stood at attention around the small conference room, and Laura took a deep breath. Next to her, Adelle seemed much more at ease. But then, Adelle hadn't been on Galactica when you didn't know who was going to turn on you and who was still loyal. Adelle faced the group sitting in front of them with considerable aplomb, wearing a worn suit that once was very fashionable and probably tailored perfectly. Bill stood on Laura's other side, his face carefully blank. Twenty-nine selected service women and men sat facing them, none of them looking happy.

Racetrack raised her hand. "So, let me get this straight," she said, speaking directly to Adelle and ignoring both Laura and Bill. "We do this thing, and what happens is we feel a bit of pain getting wiped, and then we don't remember anything until we're released? It's like we go to sleep and wake up when you put us back in?"

"That's exactly what happens," Adelle said, smiling at Racetrack. Racetrack frowned, but not in anger. She sat back, the look of someone doing mental calculations on her face. "You get a break, but your body stays in action."

"There's got to be some sort of catch." A handsome pilot that Laura was pretty sure answered to the callsign of Narcho leaned forward, his elbows digging into his thighs. "What is it?"

"I assure you, it's all quite up front," Adelle said.

"Is the work you'd be having us do dangerous?" Narcho looked at Adama for that one.

"Some of it will be," Adama acknowledged. "We might send an Active to do recon, and I'm positive we'll be having them do some structural repairs to ships. But nothing that's assured death."

"Of course not," Adelle said with a smirk. "Making an Active is an involved process, and once we have them, we really don't want to lose them. Back on Caprica, we'd call it protecting our investment."

Laura tried to gauge reactions from the faces. A lot of them looked closed and skeptical, which she had been expecting. She wondered how many of those asked had come to this meeting just to get out of their cell for a few minutes. She noticed that Skulls and Racetrack were having a heated whispered debate, Skulls shaking his head angrily. She was beginning to wonder if this was going to be a lost cause.

She was almost sure of it when Diana Seelix stood up. "I don't know what you're expecting any of us to say," she told Laura and Bill. "We mutinied because it was the right thing to do. Because everything you're asking of us- everything you've been dictating is wrong, and neither of you seem to get that. And now you're asking us to give up the only thing we have left- our souls- so we can basically become sleeper toasters for the Fleet? Well, frak you. Frak you both." She started to walk out, but a marine stepped into her path and she sighed. "Fine," she said, sitting heavily back down into her seat. "I get the point."

Laura met the eyes of the young woman now glaring balefully at her. There was so much pain and anger and hurt there. If she hadn't helped cost the lives of over a hundred people on Galactica, Laura would feel sympathy for her. As it is, she had to struggle to keep her voice even. "You are perfectly entitled to say no. No one will be required to do this. However, anyone who does will be released immediately when we find a habitable planet to settle, and will be granted a clean slate. And I would like to point out that Lieutenant Gaeta has already accepted this offer." Bill shot a glance at her, but Laura continued staring straight ahead.

"What about the Vice President?" a former knuckledragger asked.

"He is in custody, still considering."

The mechanic who'd spoken sat back, crossing her arms and shaking her head. "No way," she said. "Zarek would never do that. And neither would Gaeta."

"I don't think I have to remind any of you that Mr. Gaeta is quite good at staying alive under hostile conditions," Laura said, eyeing the woman until she dropped her gaze. "No one has to do this, but those who do will not regret it."

In the back of the room, Skulls made a small gesture of throwing up his hands and turned away from Racetrack. He sighed, and then finally stood up.

"Look," he said, "when I was back on Caprica, I heard a rumors about the Agency. And the problem I've got is that it wasn't a group of doctors or mechanics or whatever all you're going on about. It was a fancy whore house. And who's to say that that's not going to happen to whoever takes this deal?"

"I'm to say," Laura said coldly. "That will not be happening."

Adelle looked offended as well. "Mr…" she glanced at the Admiral, who leaned over and whispered a name. "Mr. McCall. I can assure you that the Agency was far more than just a "fancy whore house", as you call it. Of course, that was one of our larger marketing segments, and of course, that is what you would hear about as people are so fascinated with sex. But the reach of the Agency extended far beyond such simplistic engagements. One of our biggest contractors was Representative Jacobs, and he never once used us for a sexual engagement."

"Enough talk," Adama growled. "This is what's being offered to you. Anyone who wants to take it, let us know. Anyone who doesn't," he turned to the marines, "get them back to their cells."

Seelix was the first to stand up, but Laura knew exactly where she was going. She left the room with her head held high, a marine at her side. Slowly but surely, the other people in the room stood up and left, one by one, until only three people remained: Narcho, Skulls, and Racetrack. And judging by the way Racetrack was arguing with Skulls, one of them would be leaving soon as well.

It was Skulls who left. He stopped right in front of Bill, his back ramrod straight. "I don't like this, sir," he informed Adama, "at all. But it's what she wants, and if she thinks she can find some peace in this crap, I'm not stopping her. But if I hear she's being hurt, I will find you someday." Bill didn't so much as blink, and Skulls stepped back. "Just to be clear, sir."

"There's no need," Bill said, a huge hanging gap where the word lieutenant should have been. Skulls nodded and left the room.

Racetrack stood up and came forward, passing Narcho, who was still sitting with his head buried in his hands. She stopped right in front of DeWitt. "I don't care what you do with my body," she said. "Rent me out, make me a pilot, make me a doctor, whatever. But put me in that wedge where I don’t have to think or remember or see them all shot down again and again and not be able to do a frakking thing to stop it. And if my body dies, crush the wedge. I'm dead. You got it?"

"Understood, Miss…"

"Edmondson. Margaret Edmondson."

Adelle extended her hand. "Welcome aboard, Miss Edmondson."

"Thank you." Racetrack still refused to look at Laura or Bill. Adelle smiled.

"Have a seat, Margaret. As soon as this last gentleman has decided, we'll head back to the Persephone." Racetrack nodded and sat.

The marines had thinned out, taking the other prisoners back to their cells, and there was no shuffling of feet or quiet conversation with the prisoners gone. The moments ticked by in silence, and they all stood watching Narcho. Finally, he looked up.

"All right," he said. "I'll do it. Just… can I ask you one thing?"

"The wedge will be destroyed if you die," Adelle said, kindly.

Narcho shook his head. "No, that's not it," he said. "There's someone on board the Galactica, and I don't really… I don't…."

"A partner?" Bill asked.

Narcho shook his head. "Not at all," he snapped. "My brother-in-law. Well, former. But he's the only family I've got left. I just… I'd rather he didn't know what I was doing."

"I can't promise that, Mr. Allison," Bill said. "A lot of your work is likely to be on Galactica."

"Who is it, Mr. Allison?" Laura asked, despite herself.

"Louis Hoshi," Narcho said.

Of course. That one was going to be a problem regardless. Laura glanced at Bill, trying to telegraph that this was one that needed to be dealt with anyway, so why not?

"We will deal with Mr. Hoshi, Mr. Allison," Bill finally said. "I can promise you that."

Narcho nodded. "All right," he finally said. "I'll do it."

***

The day had been too long already, and the last thing Saul wanted to hear was a knock on his door, especially since he had a damn good guess as to who was on the other side. But he put his paperwork down, sighed, and said, "Come in," despite his exhaustion.

As he expected, Hoshi opened the hatch. "I'm not disturbing you, am I, sir?"

"No. I asked you to come." Saul set his pen aside. "Have a seat, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, sir." Hoshi sat awkwardly. Saul pushed the papers aside and pulled out two glasses. As he poured the drinks, he studied the man sitting across from him. Despite the fact that Hoshi had extremely close ties to two of the mutineers, there wasn’t any trace of resentment on his face as he looked at Saul. Either he hadn't been recruited for a reason, or he was extremely good at hiding his emotions. Given that he was a CIC officer from the Pegasus, Saul assumed the latter. He pushed a glass across the table.

"You're going to be hearing some strange rumors," Saul said, diving right into the subject because frak, he was an XO, not a babysitter.

Hoshi frowned, not taking a drink. "Already been hearing a few about Felix doing brain surgery."

"Yeah, well, they're right."

Hoshi blinked. "Sir, I have no idea how-"

"Well, why do you think I asked you to get in here? Most people don't rate an explanation, but you're going to."

"Because of Gaeta," Hoshi said dryly. He looked away, and Saul had the oddest compulsion to reach out and touch the younger man on the shoulder. But he just sat back and took a sip of his drink. He involuntarily grimaced a bit at the bitter taste, then set the glass down.

"Not so much because of Gaeta," Saul said. "Narcho."

"Noel?" Hoshi flinched and then finally took a drink.

"Yeah. You're legal next of kin there."

"I know." Hoshi's knuckles tightened around his glass. "Sir, I…" he trailed off, obviously waiting for Saul to interrupt, but Saul hadn't planned on it. He waited, watching Hoshi try not to squirm. Finally, Hoshi sighed.

"Sir," he said, stretching the words out. "Is there a way we can not talk about this? I don't mean to be rude, but I would rather-"

"You think I'm questioning your loyalties, Lieutenant?" Saul asked. Hoshi's silence answered for him, and Saul snorted. "If I was doing that, we'd be down in the brig and I wouldn't be giving you any of my private stash." He leaned in. "Trust me, son. I've been where you're sitting, and I know what the view is like, you got that?" Hoshi looked down. "But enough crap. Let's get to the point, shall we? Like I said, you're probably going to be hearing a lot of strange rumors about both Gaeta and Narcho, and brain surgery is just the beginning. And this is one thing you've got to know up front; when they're over on Galactica, if you see them, they won't recognize you. They won't have the first frakking clue as to who you are."

Hoshi frowned. "Not to sound egotistical, but I find that hard to believe."

"Yeah, well, I found it hard to believe when a man that looked just like Gaeta called the Admiral 'Bill', knocked a cigarette from Cottle's hand, called Starbuck 'miss', and did brain surgery that saved Sam Anders' life. If I hadn't been there, I wouldn't have believed any of that, no matter who told me the story. But I was there, and let me tell you, it's true."

"I have no idea how-"

"Let me give you another drink, and I'll explain."

***

The blue light glowed around Racetrack's head, and there was an aura of peace about her. Bill watched, the experience nothing like watching Gaeta being wiped. He was growing used to the sight and the technology, Bill told himself. That was all it was. Besides, if Gaeta hadn't been wiped, he would have been shot, and at least this way, maybe someday… he didn't know what someday was. He excused himself and stepped out of the imprint room. Frak, he needed a drink.

He was just screwing the top back on his flask when he heard Helo. "All right," he was saying in a patient, encouraging voice. "That's the way. Now, move this one forward. There you go."

For a moment, Bill really believed that Helo had brought Hera over onto the Persephone, but as Helo rounded the corner, Bill saw he was helping Gaeta balance on his crutches. Helo was still in his uniform, but Gaeta was wearing tanks and sweats. "Good," Helo was saying. "Does your leg hurt?"

"Yes." Gaeta said it simply, in a blank tone of voice.

"Well, we'll see if we can get you something for it."

"All right."

"Come on. Not much further. I think- Oh. Admiral."

"Don't let me interrupt," Bill said.

"I didn't know you were over here." Helo stopped, and Gaeta did, too. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah. We've got a few mutineers who volunteered to be Actives."

"Oh." Helo glanced at the imprint room. There was a blue light around the edges of the door, or so it seemed. "Who's in there now, sir?"

"Racetrack." Bill sighed, wishing he could take another drink. "Is it really true they don't remember anything in this doll state?" he gestured to Gaeta.

"It's really true, sir." Helo sighed. "Who's Racetrack's handler going to be?"

"One of their guys, actually. Guy named Victor."

"Oh."

"You don't like that?"

"I've only met the man a few times, sir. It just…"

"What about it?" Bill demanded.

Helo looked at Gaeta, who was still just standing like a patient child waiting for his parent to be done with grown-up conversation. "The thing is, sir, everything you tell Gaeta to do, right now, he'll do. Or he'll try to- that's a part of it, too. If he was able bodied, he'd be able to take care of himself, but he's not quite able to deal with everything on one leg as well, although he tries. But my point is, you tell him to do something, he'll do it."

"What are you getting at?" Bill asked, not quite willing to admit he saw where Helo was going with this.

"I'm just saying you'd better trust that this Victor guy won't do anything to Racetrack," he said. "I know it sounds crazy, but she's still one of my people."

"She's a mutineer," Bill corrected Helo firmly.

"I know, sir." Helo's face was set. "But she's still one of my people."

Bill relented. "This Victor, he's an Active himself. They've got him imprinted with something that makes him completely trustworthy."

Helo made a face, but he didn't argue any more. Instead, he just touched Gaeta on the elbow. "I need to get him to bed, sir. He's going to be taking a look at the FTL room again, tomorrow, right?"

"That's right. We need a second opinion. Any problems with him today?"

"Nope. You saw the reports, right?"

"Right. All parts we don't have." Bill sighed. Today Gaeta had been Tim Reynolds, a genius mechanic from Aerelon, which had meant another accent and an overly detailed assessment of the breach in the hull by the FTL drives. None of the news was good. And although Topher had patched in a willingness to use the wheelchair again, Gaeta did look exhausted. Bill sighed. "Get back to whatever you were doing."

"Yes, sir."

He watched them go, and then quietly opened the door to the imprint room and re-entered. They were almost done; he remembered that the handler imprint process was the last thing that they'd done to Gaeta. The man standing over Racetrack and holding her hand had a concerned, pleasant expression, broad shoulders, and his eyes fastened firmly on her face.

"How's it going?" he asked Adelle, who was standing next to the procedure and watching like a wary teacher.

She shrugged. "Fine. Not that we had any worries with this one." She glanced over Topher's shoulder. "Just a few more minutes. Topher, did you want to do Mr. Allison tonight or tomorrow?"

"Tonight," Bill answered, before Topher could.

Topher didn't even look up from his screen. "Sure, no problems there. Not like I've got a hot date or even anything to watch on TV in this fleet." He shrugged. "Playing god is as good a diversion as anything else."

The blue glow faded, and Racetrack sat up. Her face had that same emptiness that Gaeta's had, and she looked dispassionately at Topher.

"Did I fall asleep?"

"For a little while."

"Shall I go now?"

"If you like." Topher noticed Bill's glance and sighed. "It's a script, okay? I know it sounds a little hokey, but it's important in the bonding process."

"I didn't say anything," Bill replied.

"Victor," Topher said. The handler gestured to Racetrack and led her out. She did look at Bill as she passed, but it was more because he was there. There was nothing in her face to indicate any resentment or disappointment; just emptiness.

"Well, then. Next!" Topher shouted, smiling. He apparently thought he was funny. Bill didn't really agree.

Narcho came in; a marine at his side. The marine stepped back against the wall. Bill watched Narcho sit, willing himself to feel some sort of compassion and failing. This man wasn't just one of the mutineers, but the one who would have commanded his firing squad. If Saul hadn't stopped him, Bill would be dead, riddled with bullet holes. He remembered those sharp, intense pains in his chest when Boomer had shot him, and his frown deepened.

The door opened again and the young woman that had been introduced to Bill as Sierra came in. She stood next to Adelle, her posture and expression reminding Bill of how Tory used to stand to Laura.

"All right," Topher said. "You ready for this?"

"No," Narcho said, but he sat back.

Topher laughed. "Yeah, that's what they all say. The joke gets old after a while." He began to strap Narcho down. "You have a problem with needles?" he asked. "I can't knock you out, but I can sedate you a little."

"Needles?" Narcho leaned forward. There was a tray of needles, cleaned and sterilized when Topher had taken them out of Racetrack.

"It's okay. They're not required for the whole time," Topher explained, "and they don’t hurt that much going in. Or so I've been told."

"Wait. I'm not so sure-"

"Aw, come on. You're a big, bad, strong Viper pilot! What's a few needles?" Topher teased. There was nothing malicious in his voice- he truly meant that, Bill realized. But Narcho shook his head.

"Maybe this isn't a good idea," he said, starting to move from the chair.

Topher's head snapped to face Adelle, and Adelle raised her eyebrows. "What?" Bill asked.

"Second thoughts," Adelle said. "It's quite common, I assure you. But since this is a… military project, I'm going to let you make the call."

"Let him?" Narcho tried to push out of the chair, but his wrists were already restrained. "Wait. I thought this was my decision. That's what you said in your offer. We don't do it, we just sit in our cells."

"Admiral?" Adelle said. "I need your decision."

Narcho looked up at him, not quite struggling but not quite still. At one time, Bill thought he might have seen the desperation in the man's eyes and responded to that. But when he looked at him, all he could see was the man facing him, a firing squad at the ready, prepared to execute him on Gaeta's command.

"Do it."

"No! Wait!" The chair began to recline, and a few of the marines stepped in to hold Narcho down. Bill watched, not realizing he was tense until the sedative that Topher injected kicked in and Narcho's body went limp.

"You didn't give a sedative to Gaeta," he realized.

Adelle shrugged. "The sedative that we are able to use is quite mild. Anything stronger knocks the person out, and that could be disastrous. For someone like Mr. Allison, it was effective; his reservations were surface deep. For someone like Mr. Gaeta…" she trailed off and shrugged. Bill wasn't sure what to think of that. He looked away.

He didn't notice the angry look on Sierra's face as she watched the scene in front of her.

***

Joe's was nearly empty and about to close, but Kara didn't care. What she needed- and needed badly- was a drink. The bartender saw her coming and poured a large one, and then pushed it across the bar to her before she even spoke.

"The bottle too," she said.

"Thought so," he said, pushing the bottle across to her. She slid a few cubits to him, more out of habit than because cubits were any use, took her glass and bottle, and turned to find a seat table. It was rare that she had her pick, but most of them were empty. But one that wasn't caught her eye.

Kara didn't know Hoshi very well in person, but she knew his voice. It was hard for pilots not to feel some sort of connection to the voice in their ear during battles, and to the people that called them home. Kara hadn't had the best experiences with the people behind the voices. But something drew her to his table anyway.

As soon as she approached, she regretted it. Hoshi had a few pictures spread across the table, along with a bottle and a glass. He was fingering one, and Kara nearly turned around and walked away, except that he looked up and caught her glance directly and scowled.

"Well, sit down," he muttered. "Let's get it out of the way."

Kara frowned. "Let's get what out of the way?"

"Well, I'm not comfortable calling either of them our husbands, but my partner was responsible for shooting your partner in the head, and then fixing him back up again. If that's not frakked up, I don't know what is, and I feel like we should either slug each other or frak each other. You're not my type, what with the vagina and all, and you'd easily take me down in a fight, so I'm thinking that drinking might be our best solution."

Kara picked up the bottle on the table. "Good gods, Hoshi. How much of this shit did you drink?"

"Not enough. I'm still conscious." He focused his gaze on her, and Kara had the impression he must be seeing more than one of her. "I've had a really, really bad day."

"Yeah." She sat down, and automatically looked at the picture in his hands. It was a younger Hoshi with slightly longer hair, unshaven and in civilian clothing. He had his one arm around an incredibly good-looking blond man, and the other around a little girl with platinum pigtails, who looked about four or six or something. Bigger than Hera, anyway. "Who's this?" she asked.

"Matthew," Hoshi muttered, and Kara found she couldn't meet his eyes. "Matthew and Julie."

For a moment, Kara thought that she might be a niece or something, but then the way Hoshi and Matthew were standing in the photograph sank through her like a slow revelation. "You were married?" Hoshi didn't answer, but he didn't need to. "Frak." Kara took the picture from him. "Your husband was smoking," she said lamely.

"I know," Hoshi sighed. "Gods know what he was doing with me." Kara wondered if she was supposed to argue, but Hoshi didn't seem to care. He was focused on the picture. "I still owe Noel for fixing me up with him."

"Noel?"

"Narcho. Matthew's his brother."

Kara put the picture down and stared at him. "You're shitting me."

"Nope."

"How the frak did that happen?"

"Well, last time I checked, his father frakked his mother at least twice," Hoshi said sarcastically.

"Oh, frak off. You know what I mean." Kara glared at him irritably. Hoshi didn't seem overly affected by it, but he picked up his glass and swallowed the remainder of the contents. He poured himself some more, and then held the bottle up for her. "Sure," she said, pushing her now empty glass forward.

Hoshi's hand shook as he poured for her. "I know," he admitted. "It's just you…."

"Yeah, I know. And you…" Kara mimicked how he trailed off. "So how'd it happen?"

Hoshi shrugged. "I met Noel on the Pegasus. We got along about as well as you'd expect." Kara snorted at that, and Hoshi smirked. "We spent a lot of time arguing, and then one day," Hoshi made a grand gesture, "he had had it with me and said I was just like his brother and it all fell into place. He fixed us up the next time we were on shore leave. I think it was supposed to be a joke, but Matthew and I hit it off right from the start. We were married after a year."

"Wow." Kara tapped the picture on the table. "So you and Narcho-"

"As Noel puts it, we got along a lot better once I was getting laid on a regular basis. And then when Matthew and I adopted Julie…" Hoshi shook his head. "Noel was absolute putty in her hands. She was just a baby, but gods…" He picked up his glass and swallowed the whole thing. "Can't think about her right now."

"No." Kara felt like the situation was slipping through her fingers.

Hoshi tried to focus his gaze on Kara again. "I'm jealous, you know."

"Jealous?"

"A little. Noel got the same frakking deal that Felix did. Just put themselves in a disk and don't think anymore."

That made Kara sit up and pay attention. "What do you mean?"

"Felix the brain surgeon," Hoshi muttered. "I know you know about that. He saved Sam."

"Only after getting him shot in the head," Kara snapped. Hoshi paled and pressed his lips together, and Kara sighed. "Look, I'm sorry. I know you didn't do it," she said, but she spoke through gritted teeth.

He dropped his head into his arms. "Yeah. I didn't."

Kara decided to get off the subject as fast as they could. "You said Narcho got the same deal?"

Hoshi peeked out from his arms. "Yeah. Tigh told me a couple hours ago."

"You supposed to say anything, Lieutenant?" He groaned and buried his head back in his arms. Kara smirked, but the smirk faded fast. She didn't like Hoshi much just on general principal, but she had never, ever had any cause to doubt his professionalism. If he was relaying confidential information like this, he must be extremely drunk. But as she looked at the other photos on the table - Narcho wrestling with the kid, Matthew in a suit and Hoshi in his uniform, both of them smiling, and Hoshi with his arms wrapped around Gaeta, that same loving smile on his face - she decided she was surprised he was only this drunk.

"Come on," she said, gathering the pictures up into a neat pile. "I think you've had enough, Lieutenant. You have anyone to get you back to your rack?"

"I can do it," Hoshi insisted.

"Right. If you can stand up without falling over, I'll sing the Colonial Anthem over the wireless my next CAP," Kara said, but there was no humor in her voice. She slipped the pictures into her pocket and came around the table, hoisting Hoshi up. He staggered, and then leaned against her. "If the brass could see you now," Kara muttered. "Gods, you're drunk."

He was heavy, too. For a moment, Kara debated just letting him pass out at the table. He wouldn't be the first to pass out in a bar, and even though it was the end of the world, he still probably wouldn't be the last. She sighed and steadied her grip, and began to lead him out of the bar.

A few people openly stared at her, and she couldn't blame them. But she glared back, because frak, she didn't need to answer to anyone for what she was doing right now.

"Would you do it?" Hoshi suddenly asked her.

"Would I do what?" Kara asked.

"Give yourself up like that. Let them erase you and just sit on some shelf, and let them use your body to play host to whatever the frak they want."

"Hell, no." The answer was immediate and easy.

"Yeah. Wish I could, but I wouldn't." Hoshi closed his eyes. "Frak. I need to-" he pushed away from Kara and stumbled away towards the head. Kara grimaced, figuring she'd give him a few minutes and see if he made it back out. If he passed out, she'd pass the word to some marines and they could get his ass into bed. She leaned against the corridor wall and pulled out the pictures again.

She'd never liked Narcho, not since the first moment he'd mocked her for not painting kills on her Viper. She couldn't respect him, and it had only gotten worse since the mutiny. And same for Gaeta, really. She tapped the picture of Hoshi and Gaeta against her hand, frowning and wishing she hadn't left that bottle back in the bar.

Gaeta looked happy in this picture. Well, goodie for him. Kara hadn't realized he'd had a boyfriend, but she'd never really cared enough about Gaeta to listen to gossip about him anyway. Sam had liked Gaeta well enough, but Sam liked everybody well enough. Kara never would have put cubits on Gaeta to mutiny, but obviously she was wrong and the frak deserved what was coming to him.

Mind-wiping, though. As attractive as not being able to think might sound, Kara had to admit she wouldn't have thought that Gaeta would take a solution like that. Gaeta was a lot of things, but Kara had learned the hard way that he wasn’t a coward, and he certainly didn't fear death. She frowned. After some of what they'd done, she wouldn't put it past Adama and Roslin to force it on him. And so what if they did? After everything Gaeta had done- after everything he'd cost the Galactica and all of the pain he'd caused people- she wasn't going to throw stones.

The head door opened and Hoshi emerged, sheet white and unsteady on his feet, but walking. Kara shoved the pictures back in her pocket, ready to catch him, but he shook his head. "I can make it back myself," he told her. "My bunk is just down the hall."

"You going to be able to remember the combination?" Kara asked. Hoshi gave her the finger and staggered off. "Same to you, asshole!" she shouted after him, but he ignored her. To be honest, she was more impressed that he was still managing to remember which finger was the rude one than she was offended. The bastard was drunk.

She had intended to return to the bar, but after that, she didn't feel like it anymore. She headed instead to the infirmary. She doubted that Sam would be awake at this hour, but she just needed to see him.

She was wrong; Sam was awake. He was sitting up in his bed, writing smoothly. "Hey," she said, lingering in the door of the cubicle.

Sam looked up. "Hey. You're here late."

"Yeah." Kara shrugged awkwardly. "It's been one of those days. Mind if I come in?"

"Not at all." Sam gestured to the visitor's chair.

"Remembering more about Earth?" Kara asked.

Sam nodded. "A lot more," he said. "And more about the resurrection process. I've integrated some of the new data that I've received from the Cylons, and I think I have a few new theories about the inability to conceive."

"Great." Kara didn't know if she was ever going to get used to her husband talking like Gaius Baltar.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." She shoved her hands in her pockets, and pulled out the pictures. "Just ran into Hoshi."

Sam's brow furrowed. "Refresh my memory?"

Kara rifled through the pictures and handed him the one of Hoshi and Gaeta. "There you go."

Sam looked at the picture and cringed. "Oh."

"I take it Gaeta is more than a vague memory."

"That one did stick with me, yeah." He sighed. "Something wrong with Hoshi?"

"Nothing more than you'd expect." She didn't feel like clarifying. Instead, she leaned her elbows on her knees, lacing her fingers together. "Sam? You made the Cylon personalities, right?"

"Right." He put the paper he was writing on aside. "Why do you ask?"

"Just… what Roslin and Adama are doing with Gaeta… it sounds a lot like what the Cylons did to Boomer."

"It's not quite the same," Sam said, frowning with concentration. "But yeah, from what I can tell it's broadly similar. Does that bother you?"

She glared at him. "What do you think?"

Sam just shrugged. "It did save my life," he pointed out. "And it gave me back my memories."

"Yeah." She took the picture back from Sam and shoved it back in her pocket. "Sam? Do you think they could have done that to me? That that's why I can't remember anything between when I saw Earth and when I came back?"

Sam frowned. "Probably not," he said, finally. "Nah. Adama and Roslin were too shocked that you were back. They didn't know. And from what that Brink guy told me, what they do is different enough from what the Cylons…"

"Yeah. It was a long shot," Kara sighed. She settled back in the chair. "Mind if I stay here a while?"

"Of course not," Sam said. His smile was warm, but it was still missing something, something that Kara couldn't define. But she settled back, closing her eyes, and let the scratching of his pen on his paper soothe her until she forgot about Hoshi and Gaeta and Actives and Cylons and fell into a fitful sleep.

***

A bright cell… no place to sleep, no place to hide. He tried to stretch his legs out, but they hit the other wall. The stench in the cell was strong, and the cuts on his hands stung.

The scraping of metal on stone, and a face, grinning in the bars. "I have your food."

He wanted to push it away, to turn away in indifference. But the sight the moldy bread and the tepid water set his stomach churning so badly he had to pull it to him, to eat, to devour every crumb before it could be taken away again.

The Two smirked, standing over him, smug in his superiority. "Somehow I know that today will be the day. You'll be talking."

"Good," Tom rasped, his throat raw from dryness. "I love proving you assholes wrong."

A foot, directed at his head and-

Someone grabbed his arm. Tom threw them off, and then collected himself quickly as the detention cell faded and the Hitei Kan snapped back into reality.

"You all right?" Dale asked him with genuine concern.

Tom breathed deeply, collecting himself. "I'm fine," he said, relieved to hear his voice didn't shake, because this was not something he showed anyone if he could help it. "What is it?"

"I've got news for you," Dale said.

"The Cyons took off?" Tom asked hopefully.

"I wish. No, it's news from the Galactica."

Tom perked up considerably. He followed Dale out of the path of the majority of the workers, to one of the bunkrooms. A few children were playing quietly in the corner, and two men were sitting in the room, a watchful eye on the toddlers as they worked their way through a pile of mending, but no one really seemed to pay attention when Tom and Dale entered. Dale led Tom over to a mattress on the floor, a neat pile of clothes beside it.

"All right," he said, his voice low and urgent. "According to Anna, there's been a lot happening. First of all, that Cylon- Sam Anders? He's got his memories back from Earth. They aren't talking about it much in the press, because I guess he's still putting stuff together. But whatever they did during the brain surgery, Anders can remember Earth."

Tom nodded. That was interesting information, but frankly, it was also dead information. Who cared about Earth anymore? "What else?"

"Well, she heard about Gaeta being around on the Galactica, and he's in a wheelchair every time. The thing is, Anna says, she doesn't know Gaeta well, but she does work with him. And when he came back on duty, he refused to use a wheelchair."

"Unfortunately, it's explainable," Tom muttered, sighing and running his hand through his hair. "If asked about that one, Adama and Roslin would say he just finally saw reason. Does she know what he was doing on Galactica?"

"Just that he was down in the belly of the ship and with Tyrol a lot. Maybe something about upgrading the ships' FTL drives." Dale's disgust for that idea was apparent. "But the big thing was yesterday. They brought Racetrack and Narcho back."

Tom leaned forward. "Really?"

"Really. They ended up doing some repair work on the outside of Galactica. But even though Racetrack and Narcho are two of the top pilots in the Fleet, know who was piloting the Raptor?"

"Gaeta," Tom said with certainty.

"Yeah. Anna was listening to the whole mission on the speaker set. She said that Narcho and Racetrack were in the suits, doing the repairs, while Gaeta was holding the Raptor steady. She said that the kind of flying Gaeta was doing is pretty difficult, holding a Raptor so close for so long. And Gaeta doesn't fly Raptors."

"And she's sure it was Gaeta and Racetrack and Narcho? Absolutely positive?"

"She's positive. She said that Tigh and Adama were refusing to answer questions, but that their communications guy recognized the voices."

"Did she say who was on communications?" Tom asked.

"Yeah. Something like Ashi or Hosho or-"

"Hoshi."

"Yeah."

"He'd know Gaeta's voice." Tom turned the information over in his mind. "Have there been any other people that mutinied that have returned to the Galactica?"

"Not that she knows of. Just those two."

Narcho had been Gaeta's second-in-command. Knowing Gaeta, the brass likely knew that by now. If they were so bent on mind-wiping prisoners, he would be a likely pick. And Racetrack had helped Tom escape, as well as bringing Lee back to the Galactica. "Who's next?" he wondered.

"Huh?"

"Whose mind and will are they going to take next? Who else will be turned into a Cylon sleeper agent, their soul wiped away so they can function at the will of the artificial aristocracy that exists within this Fleet?"

"Well, they've only done two of them so far," Dale pointed out.

"That your Anna knows of," Tom argued. He sighed. "I need to talk to Levi. Thank you, Dale. Is there anything else?"

"Nope."

"Well, if you hear anything more, let me know," Tom said, his face setting into grim lines. "Whatever they're doing, Laura Roslin and Bill Adama need to be stopped."

***

"The FTL drive upgrades are completed on four ships," Lee was saying. Laura tried to keep her eyes open and stifle her yawn. The couch in Bill's study was so comfortable, and the day had been long. The prospect of just going to sleep was an enticing one. "Once the first one was done and proved that the FTL upgrades are effective, some of the resistance has quieted," Lee continued.

"We knew that would happen," Laura said. She sat back, rubbing her temple and sighing. "With the improved drives, we have a better chance of finding a habitable planet and getting everyone there."

"Right." Lee pinched his nose. "Although that will be no guarantee of safety."

"It's the best we can do," Laura said. "The Fleet is…" she grimaced. "We don't have a lot of long-term options."

"Is it-" Lee began, but the hatch opened and Bill came in. Laura looked up. He looked a little better today. The heavy lines of sorrow and guilt still hung around his face, but there was a little bit of a spring in his step.

"What happened?" she asked, smiling.

Bill smiled back at her. "We finally got the CDM sensors fixed from the outside. That should help considerably with both our DRADIS pictures and our communications."

"You got the CDM sensors fixed?" Lee said, brows furrowing. "Without being docked? I didn't think there was anyone alive who could do that anymore without killing themselves."

"Yeah, well, there isn't." Bill sat down next to Laura. "Fortunately, we had help from a few dead people."

Lee shook his head. "I still don't like this plan of yours," he said. "It's…"

"What we like and what we need aren't always the same thing," Bill reminded him. "You'd be the first to say that."

Lee nodded. "I know," he said. "But I still don't like it."

"I'm liking the results," Bill admitted. "There was no other way we were going to get those sensors fixed." He pulled out a bottle and poured three drinks. Lee wrinkled his nose and looked back down at the papers that he'd been discussing with Laura. Laura couldn't blame him.

"You find Zarek yet?" Lee asked.

"No." Bill took a deep drink and handed a glass to Laura. Laura set it aside without comment. "He'll turn up."

"Maybe. It bothers me that he hasn't." Laura cocked her head in curiosity and Lee shrugged. "Look, everyone knows what he did to the Quorum by now," he said angrily. "And there's a whole ship of people out there still willing to hide him, even after what he's done? We've still got problems. Big problems."

"Tell me something I don't know," Bill said.

Lee sighed with frustration. "It's just that-"

"We know," Laura overrode him. "And if we don't have anything else to discuss, perhaps we should call it a night."

Lee huffed his discontent, but took the hint and stood up. "Very well. Madame President… Dad…." He nodded to them both and left the room.

"He's still in a snit," Bill said, watching the hatch his son had disappeared through.

"Did you expect anything else?" Laura asked. She sat back and picked up her drink, taking a small sip. She knew she shouldn't drink; she didn't have much longer and she wasn't sure what the alcohol would do to her system. She reached up and eased the wig off her head; it itched abominably "Did you talk to the other three today?"

Bill nodded and sat down beside her. "Tory is all for it. She's got an appointment with Topher tomorrow morning, after he sets up our actives. She wants her memories back. Tyrol is considering."

"And Tigh?"

Bill shook his head. "Saul's not so sure," he admitted, taking another sip. "He sees how getting his memories of Earth back has affected Sam, and he's not so willing to risk losing any of his memories that he's got now."

"He's afraid of losing Ellen," Laura said.

Bill rubbed her knee. "Can't say I don't know how he feels."

She ignored that- she couldn't think about anything like that right now. "It doesn't really matter," she said. "With Sam having his memories, and if the restoration of Tory's memories is successful, that should give us most of the information that we need. Memories of Earth are all well and good, but they aren't very relevant in staying alive now."

"Guess not," Bill said. Laura sighed and leaned against him. Even though the scent of the whiskey clung to him, the warmth and solidity of his chest under her cheek still felt good, felt real. His arm wrapped around her shoulders and she closed her eyes.

"Are we doing the right thing, Bill?"

Bill was silent for a moment, but when he spoke, his voice was calm. "In the week since we've had Actives, they've saved several lives and made vital repairs to the Galactica that we couldn't have made otherwise. Tomorrow, Narcho is going perform crucial heart surgery on an infant, Racetrack is going to do high risk repairs on the Monarch's mag locks, and Gaeta is going to be a food scientist examining our algae supply to make it more edible. They're saving lives, they're saving our ships, and they're doing more than we ever thought they'd be able to do. And that's only after one week. It might not be right, but it's what we need."

"Right." Laura sighed. "It might not be right, but it's best."

On to Chapter 4