Title: Stream of Consciousness
Author: RangerLord
Rating: K+
Summary: Lee Adama considers the events surrounding the destruction of the Cylon tylium refinery, and arrives at a frightening conclusion.
Posting Date: 26 January 2006
Word Count: 1475 w/title (Part I)
DRADIS Challenge Category: Short story
Spoilers: Hand of God
Archive: NO
Disclaimer: Battlestar Galactica and all related recognizable concepts are ideas belonging to Glen Larson, Ronald D. Moore and/or others involved in the Battlestar Galactica series on the Sci-FI Channel, 2003-2006. All other characters and references are copyright 2005-2006 RangerLord. Keep yer mitts off, without the author’s permission.

Publication History: Part I was originally posted on 30 November 2005 as a complete work on Worlds of Wonder, as an entry for the DRADIS Special Challenge: Lee Adama is a Cylon. Also posted, on 02 January 2006, on FanFiction.net.

This page has been viewed 0571 times since April 7th, 2006.

Author's Note: The idea that Lee Adama is a Cylon is not one to which I personally subscribe. This story was written for a challenge on ScienceFictionBuzz and Worlds of Wonder websites in which authors were asked to tackle this idea.

Stream of Consciousness

On the catwalk above the hangar bay, Captain Lee Adama supported himself with his elbows on the railing. From the half-shadows above the deck, he observed the few knuckledraggers on third watch as they worked on the battered fighters below. He held a bottle of ambrosia in one hand, dangling it precariously over the edge of the catwalk. The small amount of remaining liquid sloshed gently, making soft splashing sounds as the bottle swayed in his grasp. The sweet liquor odor drifted upward, outward, filling Lee’s nose with its honey-like scent. Down on the deck the mechanics continued their repairs, unaware of the pilot’s presence above them.

Lee stood upright for a moment, holding the bottle at eye-level to gauge how much ambrosia remained. Gazing into bottle, he spoke a toast, his subdued words lost in the echoing cavern of the hangar bay. “To fallen comrades, lost this day, may the Lords of Kobol take mercy upon your souls.” He took a long swallow, emptying half of the remaining liquid. It was not going to be enough to drown the memories of those he had lost.

He slumped once more onto the railing, the bottle held out above the deck. He thought about the mission, remembering what Kara had said. Don’t over think it. What did that mean? He shrugged it off again, just as he had done when Kara said it. Thinking was what had saved him, saved the mission. Perhaps in combat Kara was all passion and instinct, but for Lee it was totally different. In the terror and confusion of battle, Lee rode a steady undercurrent of thought and analysis. He locked onto those thoughts, and they guided him through.

When Fireball and Chuckles bought it, he had been ready to scrub the mission and tell his surviving pilots to bug out. His inner voice had calmed him, though. Steadied him, and showed him the opportunity that the trench ahead of him presented. Putting trust in himself, he had whipped his Viper around, down into that trench, and poured on the throttle toward the Cylon mining facility.

Then his inner voice had urged him into the conveyor tunnel.

He had balked at that. Taking Kara’s advice not to over think the mission might be one thing, but becoming Kara by pulling some damn-fool stunt like flying into that tunnel was quite another. For a moment, he had argued with himself. Then he’d lost, and the Viper was careening down the tunnel above the conveyor, twisting and dodging the protruding bits of framework and equipment that threatened to destroy him at any moment.

Suddenly he had reached the end of the conveyer, and his eyes sought out the exit to the surface level of the refinery. He took it, and seconds later he was on the asteroid’s surface, encircled by the machinery of the Cylon refinery. Keeping the Viper at a hover in the asteroid’s slight gravity, he surveyed his surroundings. The tylium precursor tanks dominated his view, the very tanks he had come here to destroy. The Lords of Kobol were with him! He prepped the explosive charge that was clamped to the lower fuselage of the Viper, preparing to drop it beneath the nearest of the cluster of tanks that Doctor Baltar had designated as their target.

But he held off, listening to the currents of thought in the back of his mind. His position in the refinery, where the Cylons couldn’t fire on him without hitting their own facility in a volatile spot, gave him a moment’s breathing room to consider his actions. “Don’t over think the mission,” Kara’s voice admonished him. Beneath her memory, though, swirled thoughts of danger and alarm. Yes, a blast beneath the storage tanks would be a crippling blow to the refinery. If the intruder were to detonate a weapon beneath the cracking tower, however, it would be devastating.

Suddenly Lee’s decision was made, his actions cemented by the warnings in his mind. He kicked the Viper upward on its maneuvering thrusters, gunning the main engines at the same time. The fighter practically leaped over the storage tanks and then dropped back into cover just above the surface of the refinery. Swinging the nose around, Lee fired the main engines again, pulling back on the stick to climb away from the Cylon base. As he did, he released the explosive charge, which bounded across the refinery to land under the cracking tower. Lee climbed away from the asteroid, toward safety, hoping that the defensive guns would be surprised by his maneuver. Below him, the refinery erupted in a series of explosions that dominoed across the facility. The defensive guns were silenced as the entire Cylon base fell victim to the devastating chain reaction.

On the catwalk, Lee looked at the ambrosia bottle. He had returned to the Galactica to a hero’s celebration. In the face of a crippling fuel shortage, his mission had secured for the fleet enough tylium to meet their needs for a long time. The crew treated him as though he had single-handedly saved them all. Several bottles of ambrosia had passed through his hands, as well as some of the Chief’s secret hooch. He wasn’t sure just how much he’d drank. Lee just knew he’d been high since the mission started. First the adrenaline rush of combat, then the thrill of success as the Cylon base was destroyed. After that came the adulation of his crewmates upon his return, and finally the onset of drunkenness as he celebrated.

He knew he was high. He also knew something was wrong.

His eyes narrowed, creasing his brow as he stared into the empty spaces of the hangar bay. He had always had an analytical mind. At various times before he had joined the Colonial Fleet he had considered such careers as legal prosecutor or police investigator. His nature, his tendency to seek out the answers and motivations for everything around him, had allowed him to dismiss the undercurrent of thought in his mind as something to be expected, something normal.

Now, he turned his conscious thoughts in upon himself, and he considered all that had happened this day. Despite the fog of ambrosia, or perhaps because of it, he didn’t take long to reach a conclusion. Revulsion and fear gripped him; waves of anger and denial washed across his mind. He searched within himself for something to refute his conclusion, something to prove that his self-realization was a horrible mistake.

The crash of glass echoed throughout the hangar bay, and Lee’s attention snapped back to the world around him. He found himself still standing on the catwalk, both hands gripping the steel railing so tightly they appeared white and bloodless. On the hangar deck, the mechanics stood silently looking at him. He glanced at the broken ambrosia bottle on the deck below , and then turned away, striding down the catwalk toward the hatchway. There was someone he needed to talk to, someone who could help him sort this all out.

Five minutes and a few salutes later, Lee was in the secondary containment room outside Sharon Valerii’s cell. He picked up the phone, waiting for her, and then said, “We have to talk.”

For Lee, time seemed to stop. He stood there, staring into Sharon’s dark eyes, clutching the telephone. He listened as she refuted his conclusion, assuaged his doubts. She told him he was simply projecting his fears onto himself. She said there was so much untapped power within the human mind, and he was just lucky to be using more of his brain than most people.

She told him he wasn’t a Cylon.

He was exhausted, and he was still drunk. Sharon told him to get some sleep.

Lee turned toward the door, preparing to summon the guard to let him out. He was brought up short when he saw Kara Thrace standing in the doorway.

“Lee, what are you doing?” Kara’s eyes had that hard look, her face revealing coiled anger. A few steps, and Lee was face to face with her. She put a hand to his shoulder, stopping him. “Lee!” she said, shaking him. “What were you doing in there?”

Lee shook his head, as though to clear it, and turned unfocused eyes toward Kara. “Nothin’,” he said, as a trace of annoyance crossed his face. “Jus’ talkin’ to our prisoner ‘bout somethin’,” he added.

“Stop it, Lee, you’re scaring me,” Kara said. Her eyes were locked on his, her face a shifting expression of fear and concern.

“Huh?” Lee responded, still bleary-eyed.

“Lee, I was watching you, in there with that thing that pretends to be Sharon.” Kara’s expression was intense, her eyes searching Lee’s face. “You were standing there, staring at her,” Kara continued.

“But neither of you said a word.”

fin

Author's Note: Well, here it is - the story I never intended to write now has a second chapter.  This is to thank everyone for the gracious reviews (on FanFiction.net).  Reviews make this all worthwhile.

Stream of Consciousness

Part II

"Neither of you said a word.”

Lee Adama’s calm, born of alchohol and exhaustion and lulled into near-sleep by Sharon’s assurances, was shattered by the accusation that Kara Thrace’s words carried.

Lee had discovered another Cylon sleeper agent. Himself.

Anger, accompanied by fear, flared in Lee’s eyes. “What the frak do you know?” He fired the question at Kara, then shouldered his way past her and through the open hatchway. In a moment, all that remained of him was the sound of his footsteps as he ran down the corridor.

For a heartbeat, she remained there, staring at the spot where he had stood clutching the telephone. Then she wheeled about, stepping through the hatch past the lone guard and sprinting after him. The hour was late and the ship’s corridors were otherwise empty. Kara followed the echo of Lee’s footsteps until they ended with the slam of a hatch.

She found him at his locker, staring at the mirror. She started toward him, but froze when she saw the pistol he cradled in both hands. “Lee,” she said, drawing out the syllable. “What are you doing?”

Lee turned his head to look at her, his face twisted in anguish. His brow was knitted in almost painful concentration, the v-shaped furrows spreading outward like wings across his forehead. His eyes glistened wetly.

“She said I’m not a Cylon.”

“What? Frak! Lee….” Kara stumbled over her words. Moments ago, confronting him outside Sharon‘s cell, she hadn‘t wanted to consider what her observation implied. She had thrown that statement out wanting Lee to deny it, to tell her that everything was fine. She hadn’t expected this reaction.

“You say that like it‘s a bad thing,” she quipped. When he didn’t laugh, she went on. “What did that toaster do to you, Lee?”

“Jus’ answered a few questions, that’s all.” There was a trace of a slur in his response, a slur she’d also noticed when she first confronted him.

“Lee Adama, have you been drinking?” As she spoke the words, she forced a friendly tone and took a step toward him. In reaction, his arm snapped up and she found the pistol pointed at her forehead.

“She said I’m not a Cylon!” He was yelling at her, all traces of his drunken slur gone. “But I know she’s lying!”

For a moment he held his aim, his eyes locked with Kara‘s. Then he lowered the pistol to his side and looked back at the mirror. Bending his other arm, he placed it against the locker door. She saw his shoulders rise and fall in a sigh, and then he let his head fall forward until it rested on his forearm, his nose nearly touching the mirror. He was looking at the floor, or perhaps at the gun. Kara wasn’t sure.

From where he stood, leaning against the locker, he waggled the pistol in her direction. Without looking at her, he said “Step back, Starbuck. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Fear stabbed at her, its grip constricting her chest and threatening to close off her throat. That had sounded like a threat of violence toward himself. Focusing on the pistol, she took a backward step, then struggled to force out her words.

“Oh,” she started, “so now I’m Starbuck, huh?”

Lee didn’t respond. “Frakkit, Lee! Look at me!” He raised his head slowly off his arm and looked at her. His pained concentration was gone now, replaced by empty, lost eyes that searched her face as though seeing her for the first time. He was gripping the pistol tightly, but his gun hand was trembling.

“Lee, you have been drinking, haven’t you?” Kara asked softly. “That’s not like you, Lee,” she continued, purposefully repeating his name. “What’s going on?”

Pushing back from the locker, he placed both hands against the doors and leaned against them, elbows locked. His off hand was flat against the locker beside his, but his gun hand rested on the side of his palm, still gripping the pistol, one finger laid on the trigger. His gaze locked onto his image in the mirror.

“You should know,” he began, “you planned the op.” Kara’s eyebrows knitted together in puzzlement, but she kept quiet as he went on. “The whole ship thinks I’m a hero for knocking out that Cylon base. I’ve had at least one bottle in my hand almost from the moment I touched down on Galactica. Afterward, I was up on the catwalk in the hangar bay, and got to thinking about something. I had to go talk to Sharon.” He stopped, raising his head slowly, his expression suddenly distrustful. “But you know that. You were there.”

“Lee, the op against the tylium refinery was weeks ago.” His expression changed again, shifting to confusion. “Boomer was still on active duty, Lee. She didn’t end up in the brig until after…” Kara faltered, and Lee looked up at her as though remembering. “…until after she shot your father.”

Kara’s thoughts were racing. He thinks he’s a Cylon - where the frak did that come from? Kara figured that was Sharon’s work, but Lee had cast some doubt onto that with his comments about the hangar bay. How had he twisted his timeline, anyway, thinking that he’d just finished the tylium mine op that was now actually over a month past? She felt like she’d better help him get a grip on things, quickly, before he hurt himself.

First she needed to get the pistol. She turned her attention back to Lee, who still seemed to be absorbing her statement about his father. He took a backwards step, looking at his arms as though they were still covered in blood as they had been that day. Suddenly he dropped onto the bench behind him, lowering his head as he brought both hands, and the pistol, to his temples.

Kara stopped breathing. For a frozen moment in time, she was unable to speak or move, watching as her friend killed himself. Then a sob wracked his body, coming up from his gut as though he’d been struck, and she realized she was wrong; there had been no gunshot. He still lived. Elbows resting on his knees, he cradled his head in his hands, though he still held the pistol. His eyes were closed. Sobbing, whispering, his words drew Kara to sit beside him. He did not attempt to stop her, if he even realized what she was doing.

“My… father,” he rasped. “I can’t face him… can’t tell him. He’s lost… everything.” He drew in a long breath, and the sobs eased a bit. “How can I take away his last son?”

Kara placed her hand on Lee’s leg, moving slowly. Her slender fingers slipped across his thigh, offering him comfort and support. She leaned in slightly, watching as his eyes opened and focused on her fingers. Carefully, she placed her other hand on his back, pressing hard enough that he would know she was not trying to conceal the movement. She moved that hand upward and away, toward his shoulder. Toward the gun.

Lee seemed not to notice. His gaze still seemed locked on her fingers where they rested on his thigh. He was still sobbing gently, still speaking, though now so low that she could no longer make out his words. She looked toward his lips, and watched as they formed the word ‘how’ over and over. At that moment, she decided to go for his gun.

As she did, he turned his head toward her, and asked “How can I face his hatred?” The anguish was gone from his eyes, though, replaced by a hatred of his own.

She rose from the bench, pressing down on his thigh with her hand as she lunged for the gun. He was faster, though, twisting away from her as he stood, bringing the pistol around until it was pointed at her chest. She stumbled, then caught her balance and stepped away from him.

“What am I?” he screamed at her. “I remember everything! I remember you, Zac, Mom and Dad.” His voice dropped. He lowered his head, one hand pawing at his face like a madman, the other holding the pistol pointed rock-steady at her heart. Through it all, his eyes stayed locked with hers, boring home the message that he would not hesitate much longer before shooting her.

“I know things, Starbuck. I know things I can’t possibly know if I’m just Lee Adama. But I remember it all, my family, my friends, the Academy. Everything.” The hatred fled his face, replaced by fear and then sadness. His eyes were wet, glassy. Then the darkness of hate returned. “I’m a Cylon, Starbuck. I can’t be, but I am.”

“Too bad you won’t have the chance to warn them.”

Kara braced for the impact. She knew she had no chance to evade his shot. Her eyes were locked on his trigger finger, watching it as it flexed.

Behind Lee the shadows shifted, followed by the solid thud of something heavy striking flesh, cracking bone. Lee’s hand flew open and the gun dropped. It clattered across the bench and then hit the floor, spinning to a stop at Kara’s feet. Lee’s body seemed to fold up, dropping onto his knees before falling backward. The figure standing behind him caught his shoulders as he dropped, easing him onto the floor. Words followed, touched with concern and familiarity.

“Are you hurt?” the figure asked.

Involuntarily clutching at her chest, she managed a only a single word through the shock that she had not been shot. Sinking to the floor, she breathed it out, barely more than a whisper.

“Helo.”

fin

Author's Note:  Posted 29 January 2006.  Raised the rating to T (PG-13).  Warning: Implied character death.  Oh, and I promise there will be a Part IV....

Stream of Consciousness
Part III

Seated in his laboratory chair, Doctor Gaius Baltar scowled at the task represented by the vials and equipment on the table before him. Designing a test procedure that could differentiate Cylons from humans had been a challenge for his brilliant mind. Executing the test on the entire fleet, however, was absolute drudgery. Sighing deeply, he slouched down in his chair, touching his fingertips together. His arms formed an arch across which he scowled again at his mammoth workload.

Abruptly, the touch of feminine fingers on his chin brought him out of his disgusted reverie. He fumbled with the papers on his lap as the blonde Cylon, Number Six, gently tipped his head until his eyes met hers.

“Gaius, I’m so pleased that you have accepted your role in God’s plan.”

As she purred out those words, Six stepped astride Doctor Baltar’s legs to sit facing him on his lap. Though she wore a long skirt, the deeply slit garment parted easily to allow the provocative maneuver. His papers fell, scattering on the floor, and his hands grasped the armrests of the chair.

“Well,” Gaius responded, squirming self-consciously, “you left me with no other reasonable explanation after the destruction of the tylium refinery.” His grip on the arms of the chair tightened involuntarily as Six’s hands disappeared into the gap between their bodies. Eyes widening, he sucked in a deep breath in response to her unseen actions. He fought for self-control, letting his breath out slowly, and added, “Unless I’m simply just very, very lucky.” As his words struck home her hands stopped, and Baltar’s face shifted into a smug grin to complement his verbal jab.

Fire flashed in Six’s eyes, and with a hand placed across Doctor Baltar’s throat she pushed herself backward and up from his lap. Slowly she circled his chair, her manner focused and predatory, as though trying to determine how much truth lurked behind Baltar’s words.

She completed her circuit of the chair, and stood once again in front of him. Baltar turned an apprehensive face to look up at her. Suddenly becoming demure and conciliatory, she sank once more onto his lap, although this time her legs were crossed to one side in a lady-like fashion.

“Gaius, you don’t truly believe that,” she admonished softly, almost as though speaking to a child. She stroked the side of his face with one hand; when she reached his jaw line she paused to brush her thumb across his lips. His moment of resistance was lost, and his eyes closed in pleasure at the touch of her hand.

“You have a visitor, Gaius,” Six announced softly. Once again she rose from his lap. “Your commitment to God’s plan is about to be tested.” Several taps sounded at the door to Doctor Baltar’s laboratory. Startled, Baltar opened his eyes, and discovered that Six was no longer present. He attempted to compose himself enough to tell his visitor to enter, but he saw the hatchway door swinging open. Whoever it was, they were not waiting for an invitation.

Colonel Tigh stepped through the doorway, his eyes scanning warily around the room before settling on the Doctor. There was no haze of alcohol in those eyes today, and nothing masking the distrust the Colonel felt toward Gaius Baltar. His eyes narrowed as they took in Baltar’s casual posture in the chair and his slightly agitated demeanor.

“Commander Adama requires your presence in the Infirmary,” Colonel Tigh said, and it was clear from his tone that this was not just a statement of fact, it was an order. Baltar’s immediate response was to attempt to stammer out an objection, but none of his usual battery of excuses were adequate to dodge a request from Adama. Defeated, Baltar grabbed his suit jacket and fell in behind the Colonel.

During their hurried passage through Galactica’s corridors, Baltar heard the announcement that the President’s shuttle was docking. He had not been informed that she was coming aboard today, and her arrival at this early hour was certainly unusual. It was still third watch aboard the battlestar. He was left with the sense that something very serious was going on, a sense that only escalated when he saw the two fully armed marines guarding the Infirmary entrance.

After saluting his marines, Colonel Tigh led Baltar into the Infirmary. Inside they found Lieutenants Thrace and Agathon standing by a curtained examination table, their faces grim. Both pilots were carrying their sidearms. A fully armed marine stood guard here as well.

“Such serious faces, and so many guns,” observed a suddenly re-emergent Six. She smiled silkily, as though she found the situation amusing. “That can only mean one thing, Gaius,” she said, as she placed her hands on his shoulders and peered expectantly toward the white curtains.

“Another Cylon has been discovered,” Baltar uttered aloud, the response intended for Six. However, she was suddenly absent from his presence, and his outburst was answered by a trio of hard stares from Tigh and the two pilots.

Tigh stepped up to him, well inside his comfort zone, and spoke in a low voice that was nonetheless clearly threatening. “What you’re about to see is to be mentioned to no-one. You’re going to take a blood sample back to your lab and analyze it, and you’re going to bring the results to Commander Adama the second they’re available.” Tigh didn’t even pause to confirm Baltar’s understanding. He simply parted the curtains and shoved the Doctor inside.

Within the oval barrier of white curtains, Baltar found himself standing beside Commander Adama. Across the examination table stood Doc Cottle, with Six beside him. Since his encounter with Shelley Godfrey, Six’s appearance in the company of others always startled Baltar, and once again his heart jumped for an instant until he realized that no one else could see her. He then turned his attention to the body on the table.

Lee Adama lay there bare-chested, apparently sedated but still in full restraints. The gray and black shirts that the pilots typically wore beneath their flight suits had been cut from neck to waist and laid aside. An intravenous fluid bag hung beside him, its line inserted into his left arm. Bloody bandages swathed the whole of his right shoulder. Arranged on a rolling metal tray beside Doc Cottle were the medical tools for setting bones, and an assortment of screws and metal plates.

Doctor Baltar turned toward Commander Adama, barely noting that Six had begun to pace nervously up and down the other side of the table. Anticipating Baltar’s question, Adama spoke first. His eyes speared Baltar’s, holding them unblinking. Baltar wanted desperately to look away, but he could not. He was transfixed by the Commander’s eyes and the quiet power of his voice.

“My son has somehow become convinced that he is a Cylon. He was so compelled by the idea that he held Lieutenant Thrace at gunpoint, and had to be subdued by Lieutenant Agathon.” Adama paused, his eyes still locked with Baltar’s. “Lee… a Cylon. I don’t believe that, not for an instant. I can’t accept it, but for now we’re not taking any chances.” Commander Adama looked away from Baltar to the restraints that held his son to the table. Baltar’s attention, however, was caught by Six’s nervous pacing.

“Doctor Baltar,” Adama said, and Baltar’s attention was forced back to the Commander. “I need you to test his blood, and get the results to me immediately. We need to resolve this question before it gets out of hand.”

“Of course, Commander,” Baltar responded. “I will give it my complete and undivided attention.” With that, he stepped around to the other side of the table. He gave the strangely agitated Six only a moment‘s questioning glance, and approached Doc Cottle. The Doc was already fitting a needle to a large syringe.

“How much blood do you need, “ asked Cottle.

-=*=-

Back in his laboratory, Doctor Gaius Baltar watched his main terminal screen as the analysis of Lee Adama’s blood progressed. It would not be long before he had an answer for the Commander. Swiveling his chair around, he grabbed another vial of testing fluid from the table behind him. When he swiveled back, his view of the terminal was blocked by Six. Behind her, a bar graph on the terminal screen flickered ominous combinations of green and red.

“Will you kindly move out of my way,” Gaius pleaded, annoyed. When Six didn’t respond, it suddenly struck him just how odd it was that he could not bring himself to simply push through what he knew wasn’t really there.

“Now is not the time for you to distract me with stories of God’s plan,” he began. Finishing that first statement, Gaius looked up at Six’s face. She was distraught, seemingly on the verge of tears. She sat on the edge of his work table, hands clasped together in front of her. Her appearance was very much at odds with the dress she still wore, with its split skirt and deeply plunging neckline. He could think of nothing to say, but “What in blazes is wrong with you?”

“Gaius, you have to kill him,” was her response.

“Kill him? I don’t even know if he’s a Cylon yet!”

“He’s not, Gaius,” Six answered. “But God wants you to kill him anyway.”

“God wants me to kill him?” Gaius responded incredulously. He rose from his chair and turned as he spoke, as though directing his questions to an unseen audience. “Have you, and your God, lost your frakking minds?”

“For what possible reason,“ Gaius continued, “would God want Lee Adama to die? Other than the fact that he evidently wants to get rid of all of the human race. Isn‘t there a better way than having me eliminate them one by one?“ He turned back to face Number Six. “Why Lee, and why now?”

Six stood up from where she leaned against the table. Anger, bordering on rage, filled her eyes. Face to face with Gaius, she gave him her answer.

“Because he’s an abomination.”

-=*=-

On the cargo deck of the star liner newly designated Colonial One, Lee Adama lies unconscious beside the electromagnetic pulse generators. The low hum of machinery is suddenly interrupted by the rhythmic sound of marching feet. The sound is metal upon metal, solid and heavy, accompanied by the whir of servo-motors. It is the sound of Cylon Centurions.

-=*=-

Outside, in the silence of space, the drifting Colonial transport liner is dwarfed by two Cylon baseships. Trailing behind them is a strange ship made of near-diamond shaped sections, stacked together like an alien skeleton. A Cylon heavy raider undocks from the Colonial liner and heads toward the strange new ship.

-=*=-

In a shadowy room, Lee Adama lies on a table, bathed in a circle of white light. Two Simon model Cylons attend to him, while Aaron Doral looks on. “Kill his mind,” Doral instructs, “but keep his body alive.” One of the Simons reaches for a device tipped with two sharp electrodes. A heavy power cable trails from it off into the darkness.

-=*=-

In another room, Aaron Doral stands with arms crossed, watching a heavy raider as it makes its way back to the Colonial transport liner. An angry Number Six stares at him, ignoring the Cylon ship’s departure.

“What you are doing is wrong. It is not part of the plan.” The anger in Six’s words is unmistakable.

Unmoved, Aaron Doral responds, “I used the human to create an empty soul vessel, no different from any other. Except that this one is entirely biological.”

“Sharon’s child is the next step in the plan. She may be a weak model, but it is through her that we will achieve our goal.”

“You are the weak, flawed model, Number Six. What I have achieved today makes the baby unnecessary.” The heavy raider reaches the Colonial ship, and Aaron Doral turns his full attention to the blonde Cylon. “Jealousy is a human trait, Number Six. Possibly the worst of all human traits, it is largely responsible for the worst of their downfalls, including crime and war.”

-=*=-

In a dark and shadowy room, an empty table is bathed in white light. Standing beside the table is a single Centurion. No light comes from its visor; the Centurion appears to be deactivated, or dead. Two Simon models approach it. As they do, Aaron Doral’s voice comes from the shadows.

“See to it that this unit is recycled.”

-=*=-

On the cargo deck of Colonial One, the pilot and President Roslin rush to check on Lee Adama, who still lies unconscious before the magnetic pulse generators. As they reach him, he begins to stir, looking from side to side and back again.

“Captain Apollo!” Roslin kneels beside Lee as he tries to rise from the deck.

“That was fun.” Lee struggles to focus his vision as he looks upward at the President. “I think it worked.”

Grateful for their apparent salvation, Roslin meets Lee’s unsteady gaze. “What exactly did you do?” she asks. [1]

-=*=-

Baltar‘s eyes opened, and an expression of realization and understanding washed across his face. Taking Six by one hand, he gently pulled her aside and slid his chair forward to the terminal. Surveying the results of Lee Adama’s test, he took in the telltale red bars mixed in with the green of a normal human specimen. He rose from his chair and stood for a moment, eye to eye with Number Six. They did not speak, but she read his intentions in his eyes and the look of relief on her face was unmistakable.

Baltar stepped to a table at the rear of his lab and rummaged through the items there. Laying out a variety of syringes, needles and chemical ampoules, he took several moments to assemble a set of items that satisfied him. Placing the others aside, he dropped his selections into the pocket of his suit jacket.

He walked briskly through the corridors of the Galactica, hoping he would not encounter anyone who wished to talk. Reaching the Infirmary, he nodded to the marine guards, who stood at attention while he entered. Inside, he saw no sign of Doc Cottle. Starbuck and Helo were gone, as well. Only the lone marine guard remained, keeping vigil outside the barrier of white curtains.

For a moment, Baltar stood still, his head turned toward the marine but his eyes locked on the curtains. When he spoke, he did so with what he hoped would sound like polite authority. “Private, would you relay a message to Commander Adama? Please tell him that I have encountered some anomalies with the blood test, and I require another sample.”

The young marine balked at the idea of leaving his post. “Mr. Vice President, is it wise for you to be alone with… our prisoner, sir?”

Gaining confidence in his play, Baltar responded. “I’ll be fine, Private. After all, we both know Captain Apollo isn’t a Cylon. He’s simply been under a huge amount of stress. Besides, you’ll only be gone for a few moments while you contact the Commander.”

“Aye, sir,” the young man answered, stepping away from the examination room to find a sound-powered phone. Baltar nodded reassuringly to him as he left. Then he stepped inside the white curtains, taking a moment to ensure they closed fully behind him.

As Baltar withdrew a syringe and a small bottle from his pocket, he spoke softly to the body lying silent on the examination table. “The Cylons must have had some mission of swift destruction in mind for you, because a Centurion could not have posed as Captain Apollo for long.” He inverted the bottle and plunged the needle into it, withdrawing several milliliters of the clear liquid.

“And you, my dear Captain Apollo, they never figured on you coming back. Interesting that you subdued your Cylon body snatcher and none of us were any the wiser, even you. The constant effort, conscious or not, must have finally made you snap.” Baltar carefully inserted the needle into the injection fitting on Lee’s intravenous line.

“Relax now, both of you. I am here to end your struggle.” With those words, Gaius Baltar pushed down the syringe’s plunger, emptying it into Lee Adama’s bloodstream. He stepped back through the curtains and found Number Six waiting. She looked at him expectantly, as he reached out and hit the switch marked ‘Silence Alarm’ on the equipment that monitored Lee Adama‘s life.

To Six, he said simply, “It is done.”

fin

Stream of Consciousness
Part IV

Number Six looked up at Gaius Baltar as he stepped through the curtains surrounding the table upon which Lee Adama lay. He had that odd look about his face, the one he always wore when he was up to something. It was halfway between self-congratulations and approval-seeking. He turned off the alarms on Lee’s life-signs monitor, and said to her, "It is done."

For a moment, the two stood facing each other but looking aside at the monitors while Lee Adama’s life slipped away. His pulse was slowing and becoming increasingly irregular, while his blood pressure was rapidly dropping. Six placed a hand on Gaius’ chest, and he looked away from the monitors toward her. She kept her eyes averted, but stepped closer to him until their lips nearly met. Gaius could feel the soft heat of her breath on the skin around his mouth. Six held this position for a moment, then broke the silent intimacy as she stepped past Gaius to stand at Lee’s side. Gaius turned, a fleeting look of confusion on his face, and then joined her beside the examination table. Behind them, monitor screens began silently flashing red as Lee’s blood pressure dropped to nothing and his heart rate flatlined.

Gaius stood silently at Lee Adama’s side as he died, watching Six intently. She seemed focused on Lee’s face, her manner reverent. The revulsion with which she had reacted to him previously was gone. Gaius allowed a few seconds to slip by, and then interrupted her with a question.

"Has the Centurion’s consciousness left the body?" he queried.

"Not yet, but soon," Six responded without breaking her concentration.

Gaius stepped away from Six, walking deliberately around the examination table until he stood facing her across Lee’s body. "I’m curious," he said, watching Six‘s face as she continued to regard Lee. "Do you… I mean do the Cylons…" Gaius’ face twisted with the effort of conforming his question with her unreality. "Do you practice emergency medicine? Trauma surgery, resuscitation? Or does the fact that you have a fresh body, ready and waiting, make that sort of thing unnecessary?"

"Gaius, death is part of life," she responded. "We experience it, learn from it. We do not fight it." She looked up from Lee’s face, meeting Gaius’ eyes. "We live in the Stream. When death comes, it carries us back, and we begin life again…" She placed her fingers against the side of Lee’s face, and continued, "…just as this Centurion has done."

"Excellent," Baltar responded as he withdrew another syringe and ampoule from his jacket pocket. Moving quickly, he uncovered the needle and thrust it into the small bottle. Pulling back on the plunger, he withdrew nearly a syringe-full of the oily yellow liquid and injected it into a vein in Lee’s arm. He stepped around the table and once more flipped the ‘Silence Alarms’ switch on the monitoring equipment. Immediately the pulse monitor began the steady tone that indicated flatline, while the blood pressure monitor emitted a warbling alarm.

Baltar stepped through the curtains and nearly collided with the marine guard. "Get Doctor Cottle," Baltar ordered, explaining "We have an emergency!" Then he turned back and grabbed the defibrillator that was on standby near the examination table. Grasping the tube of cream used to improve contact with the skin and prevent burns, he shot some onto one of the paddles and rubbed them together to spread it. He hit a button on the front of the device and listened to the rising whine as the defibrillator charged. Then he placed the two paddles onto Lee’s chest and pulled the trigger. Lee’s body jumped as the electrical current shot through him, causing involuntary muscle contractions.

On the pulse monitor, the screen showed a spike as the defibrillator discharged, and then it began to record a weak but steady heart rhythm.

Gaius lowered the paddles to his sides, and looked up at Number Six. Her expression was unreadable, but her arms were crossed. Gaius replaced the paddles on the defibrillator, but did not approach her.

"Why did you revive him?" she asked, her voice neutral.

"Self-preservation," Gaius answered. "I eliminated the consciousness of the Centurion that was cohabiting this body and causing you so much distress," he explained, his expression defiant. "I did your God’s will. I could not, however, allow the son of Commander Adama to die while in my care, undergoing my tests. That would have irreparably damaged my position in the fleet."

At that moment, Baltar heard the hatchway to the Infirmary open, and a second later Doc Cottle swept past the curtains to face him. "What happened here?" Cottle demanded.

Beside Cottle, Number Six leaned forward, speaking coldly, "Yes, Gaius, exactly what did happen here? You may have saved the Commander’s son, but you still have a lot of explaining to do."

"Well, Major… er, Doctor… Umm… Which is it?" Baltar’s stammered question was met with only an upraised eyebrow, and he was forced to continue. Glancing at Number Six, he said, "My initial test results were inconclusive, but carried an indicator of some sort of Cylon presence in Captain Apollo’s blood." Baltar took a deep breath, and continued his fabricated explanation while Cottle regarded him warily. "I needed to treat him with an experimental antigen I’ve been working on, and then retest his blood." As he continued, Baltar’s gaining confidence in his story was reflected in his face and the flow of his words. "Unfortunately, Captain Apollo reacted poorly to the antigen, and it became necessary to resuscitate him."

"Reacted poorly? You nearly killed him! You should have alerted me before you gave him some untested drug," Cottle responded gruffly.

"I don’t think you understand the full scope of my work, Major," Baltar began haughtily. "And I doubt…."

"Wait a minute, Doctor Hotshot," Cottle interrupted. "You may be a genius, and the resident Cylon Expert, but I’m still the most experienced medical doctor in this fleet, and you’re not coming anywhere near one of my patients again without my supervision. Is that clear?"

Baltar scowled, while beside Cottle Number Six laughed. He was annoyed at Cottle’s impertinence, but in order to maintain his story Baltar would have to swallow his pride at this little incident. No one could be allowed to know that he meant for Lee Adama to die, although only briefly.

Baltar bent to the task of withdrawing another blood sample. Though he already knew what the results of this test would be, it was one more thing he had to execute in order to cover his true purpose. "I’ll be in my lab, Major," Baltar said, and he walked quickly past the curtains and out of the infirmary.

"Gods damned crazy, arrogant son of a bitch," Cottle said as he turned his attention to Lee, whose chest was slowly rising and falling with each breath. Cottle checked the monitors, watching them for a few moments, and then he reached for a cigarette and headed for a phone to call the Commander.

-=*=-

Billy Keikeya stood beside the open hatchway to Doctor Baltar’s laboratory, waiting until the Doctor gave him his attention.

"Mr. Vice President, you are requested to attend a private meeting with President Roslin and Commander Adama in the Commander’s quarters, as soon as you have the results of Captain Apollo’s blood work. You may present your results to the Commander there."

"Thank you, Billy," Baltar answered. "You may tell the President that I expect to have definitive results within the hour."

Billy nodded, and stepped through the hatchway. A marine guard pulled the hatch closed, remaining outside. Baltar raised an eyebrow at the marine’s presence; he hadn’t been placed under any sort of guard, so he could only assume that this was Adama’s way of keeping his son’s blood testing under wraps.

"You’re not out of this yet, Gaius." Six’s voice came from somewhere behind him, and her tone was still cold and tinged with anger. "The doctor didn’t press you for details because he was focused on his patient’s current condition. The Commander might be blinded by your act of proving that his son isn’t a Cylon. If he doesn’t ask the hard questions, though, the President will."

"I can handle President Roslin," he said as he stood and turned to face Six where she stood at the back of the lab. "What I have yet to figure out, however, is precisely why you seem to be angry with me?" He stepped toward Six as he spoke, ending his question as he reached her. Tilting his head quizzically, he tried to meet her eyes, but she avoided his gaze.

"I’m not angry with you, Gaius."

"Oh, but I sense that you are," he responded, still trying to meet her averted eyes. "And I believe that is not the only thing about which you aren’t being entirely honest." He reached up to touch her chin for a moment, then turned away, stepping back to his chair. He did not sit, but watched the terminal screen where Lee Adama’s test was progressing. After a moment he turned his attention back to Six. This time she met his eyes.

"After the Centurion’s presence entered Apollo’s body… if Apollo had not come back… if the Centurion were alone… would you still have asked me to kill it?"

"Gaius," Six admonished, but Baltar interrupted her.

"No, I don’t believe you would have." Baltar regarded Six with narrowed eyes. Stepping back closer to her, he continued, "The real issue, the ‘abomination’ as you called it, was the presence of both Cylon and human in the same body." Six did not answer, but the hard look in her eyes told Baltar what he wanted to know.

"There’s something more to this, isn’t there?" Baltar placed his left arm across his chest, gripping the elbow of his other arm with his left hand as he rested his chin on his right. Standing beside Six, he held his pensive stance briefly before continuing. "There’s a reason why you didn’t want Lee Adama to live through this experience."

At that moment, Baltar’s terminal signaled the end of the blood test. From where he stood confronting Six, Baltar could see that the test bars were all green, just as he expected. He glanced at the still silent Cylon as he returned to the terminal to print the results.

"No matter." With his back turned to Number Six, he waited for the printout and then gathered up his jacket. "It’ll be our little secret." He stepped to the laboratory’s entrance. Opening the hatchway, he requested the marine to inform Roslin and Adama that we would be arriving at Adama’s quarters shortly. As the marine stepped away, Baltar looked back into the lab where Six stood watching him.

Baltar smiled at her, quite obviously pleased with himself. He was taking great pleasure in turning the tables upon his enigmatic companion. "You’re not going to stay here, sulking, are you? We have a meeting to attend."

"After that, I really must speak with Lee Adama about his recent experiences," Baltar continued. "Somehow, I think you’ll want to be there…."

fin

Footnote: [1] This scene is taken directly from the miniseries.

Stream of Consciousness
Part V

Commander Adama was standing outside his quarters as Doctor Baltar approached. Beside him, a young deck officer stood at attention, evidently awaiting a signature on the clipboard Adama held. As Baltar reached them, Adama returned the clipboard. The deck officer saluted Adama, then acknowledged Baltar with the words, “Mr. Vice President” as he left.

The Commander turned to face Baltar. “Doctor,” Adama spoke in greeting. Their eyes met for a moment; it was a contact that Baltar found himself unable to maintain.

Baltar clasped his hands nervously together. “Commander Adama,” he responded. “Uh…”

Appearing at his shoulder, Number Six spoke softly into Gaius’ ear. “Now it begins,” she said. From the corner of his eye, he could see the smile spread across her face; she was expecting to enjoy his discomfort. He looked back at the Commander, whose face revealed that he had noted the Doctor’s distraction.

Adama spoke first. “Doctor Cottle has expressed to me his concerns regarding your treatment of my son.” Baltar was transfixed by Adama’s eyes, so penetrating he was certain the Commander could see right through him.

“I can explain…” Baltar began, but Adama raised a hand to silence him.

“Your judgment was perhaps in error, not having additional medical staff present when you used an experimental drug,” Adama said. “However, your results cannot be denied.” Adama’s face softened, and a hint of a smile crossed his lips. “You gave my son back to me, and for that I am thankful.”

Almost involuntarily, Baltar looked over his shoulder to check Six’s reaction, but the blonde Cylon was gone. Turning self-consciously back to Adama, Baltar smiled broadly. ”Commander,” he began, but again Adama stopped him.

“I’m eager to hear the details of what happened, Doctor Baltar. However, the President is inside,” he said, stepping toward the door to his quarters. “Let’s not keep her waiting.

Doctor Baltar scowled in annoyance at the Commander’s back as he followed the elder Adama into the room beyond the hatchway. This would be a critical meeting for him, as he spun his tale of what happened to Lee Adama. It would be a tale of lies, half-truths, and guesses; one which might easily collapse if someone looked too closely or asked the wrong questions. It was a tale he had to tell, and convince both the Commander and the President of its truth. If he did not, his delicate existence within the Fleet would be in grave jeopardy.

If Baltar was successful in this meeting, however, he still faced the real wild-card in this whole situation - Lee Adama.

-=*=-

Upon entering Commander Adama’s quarters, Doctor Baltar found President Roslin seated in one of Adama’s chairs, looking quite relaxed. She had evidently been reading one of the Commander’s many books; the volume now lay open, face-down on the desk in front of her.

Commander Adama offered him a chair, and then took his seat behind the desk. Stepping to the chair, Baltar judged that the informal nature of this meeting would only help him as he offered his explanation for the events surrounding Lee Adama. As he seated himself, Baltar managed a surreptitious look around the room. Six did not seem to be present. At least not yet. That was fortunate; he would get a much better start on his story if he was free of her side-bar commentary.

“Vice President Doctor Baltar.” President Roslin gave him the full, formal greeting, smiling as she did so. Baltar couldn’t help but think how her smiles always seemed so forced when they were directed at him.

“Madame President,” Baltar responded, then swiveled slightly to face Adama. “Commander,” he continued. He accompanied each greeting with a slight nod.

Baltar settled into his chair, carefully interlacing his fingers on his lap. He wanted to control his hand gestures during the upcoming conversation.

“Doctor Baltar,” Roslin began, “I was very concerned when I received the first report of the incident between Captain Apollo and Lieutenants Thrace and Agathon. Given that the initial indication was the discovery of another Cylon infiltrator, I immediately made arrangements to come to Galactica”

“Although it now seems that was not precisely the case, I find myself even more concerned about the possibilities presented by the preliminary reports on Captain Apollo’s blood screenings and your subsequent actions.” President Roslin straightened slightly in her chair, and went on. “Are you prepared to make a report of what you found?”

“Yes, Madame President,” Baltar responded, imbuing the comment with as much respect and confidence as he could muster. As distasteful as he might find it, a strong dose of ass-kissing should go a long way toward deflecting any doubts about his story. Baltar settled back into his chair, checked his hands on his lap, and prepared to weave his tale. He met Roslin’s eyes as he began.

“I was already in my lab, continuing the extended process of testing the fleet’s general population for Cylons when Colonel Tigh summoned me to the Infirmary. Along the way, I heard the announcement of your arrival,” Baltar nodded to Roslin, “and upon arriving at the Infirmary I found it to be under Marine guard. I immediately surmised that another Cylon had been discovered.”

Doctor Baltar looked at Commander Adama, only to find that Number Six now stood behind him. Six looked at Gaius, shaking her finger at him. A narrow, smug smile played across her lips, and then she turned away to peruse Adama’s collection of books.

“Ahem,” Baltar cleared his throat, and placed his hands on the arms of the chair, pushing himself into a more upright position. With Six present, he was going to have to concentrate harder to avoid being tripped up. He laced his fingers together again, returned his gaze to the President, and continued his report.

“In the Infirmary, I found Captain Adama on an examination table, evidently recovering from having broken bones set in his shoulder. At this point, I spoke with Commander Adama and was informed that his son had been injured after revealing that he believed himself to be a Cylon agent.”

“Although I shared the Commander’s personal sentiment that this was not possible, it was my responsibility both to the fleet and to my scientific discipline to approach this with an open, objective mind and to discover the truth.” A glance toward Adama caught the Commander nodding slightly in agreement, while behind him Number Six regarded Gaius disdainfully, looking over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow.

“Returning to my lab with the blood sample Major Cottle drew from Captain Adama, I pulled the Captain’s file from the original screening of all command personnel and reviewed it. Then I began immediate testing of his blood.”

So far so good, Baltar thought. The dangerous waters, though, still lay ahead. He paused for a moment, availing himself of a glass of water that Adama had apparently poured prior to his arrival. Setting the glass back down, he relaxed once more in the chair, and began the next phase of his story.

“As you may know, my Cylon testing procedure screens a blood sample for the presence, or in some cases the absence, of a variety of markers. These markers include human hormones, blood antigens, and protein complexes which evidence suggests are either altered or missing in Cylon blood, as well as a number of chemical compounds which seem to be indicators of the Cylon’s bio-synthetic nature and are not normally found in human blood.”

Doctor Baltar glanced from President Roslin to Commander Adama and back. He kept his focus on the President, not only because of the importance that she believe what he was about to say, but to avoid Number Six who now stood behind Adama, watching him intently.

“Captain Adama’s blood screening results were mixed, an outcome which I have never previously observed. Although the test did not indicate the presence of any of the markers indicative of Cylon physiology, the sample did show a number of human physiology markers that were severely depressed.” The President’s expression was attentive, but otherwise unreadable.

Baltar looked at Adama, carefully avoiding Six’s gaze. “Your son is not a Cylon, but the test revealed the presence of something of Cylon origin in his body.”

Commander Adama appeared contemplative during the delivery of that last bit of information, as though weighing Baltar‘s words against the events of the last day. Good, Baltar thought, the Commander believes my explanation so far. Roslin trusts him, so that can only help me. Baltar turned back to the President, preparing to deliver the statement that was the core of his explanation.

“The fact that all the affected markers are controlled by human brain function led me to the conclusion,” he said, moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue, “that Captain Apollo was under the affect of some type of Cylon bio-agent. Coupled with the report of his mental state, it would appear that the purpose of this bio-agent is quite probably a mental control effect - brainwashing, in the common vernacular.”

President Roslin leaned forward in her seat. “You are suggesting that the Cylons have developed a biological agent capable of giving them mind control over a human?” Baltar met her gaze, assessing whether she was doubting him, or simply expressing her amazement at his conclusion and asking him to verify it. When she glanced at Commander Adama to check his reaction, Baltar decided with relief that it was the latter.

“Can you prove this?” the President asked.

“Of course he can’t.” Number Six’s voice interrupted Baltar’s moment of triumph. He turned to find her speaking into Adama’s ear. The Commander’s head turned slightly to one side, as though listening to Six. She’s not really here, he tried to convince himself, but the image of her confiding his deception to the Commander left him shaken.

“It’s all lies,” Six crooned.

“It’s true,” Baltar asserted, momentarily flustered. His unsupported statement, coupled with his disturbed manner, drew quizzical looks from both Adama and Roslin.

Mentally, Baltar was scrambling to regain his composure. “What I mean,” he said, looking quickly back and forth, “is to say that my subsequent treatment of Captain Adama has prevented me from isolating the Cylon bio-agent.” Baltar gave a tight-lipped smile and did his best to appear embarrassed. “It seems that in saving Lee Adama’s life, I have destroyed any chance of studying the substance used in the attack.”

“Ah,” Roslin responded sympathetically. “Don’t apologize for saving Captain Apollo’s life.” She glanced over at Commander Adama, then returned her attention to Doctor Baltar. “Every life in this fleet is precious, and Captain Apollo’s position as a protector of the fleet…”

“…makes him even more precious?” Baltar asked, an eyebrow raised.

Appearing momentarily chastised, Roslin answered, “No, but it honestly makes me more relieved that he is still alive.” Putting on a neutral face, Roslin laid her hands together on crossed legs and looked back at Doctor Baltar.

“Doctor Baltar.” Commander Adama interrupted their exchange, “Can you isolate the Cylon bio-agent using the blood remaining from the two samples you took from Lee?”

“I think the Commander has found a hole in your story,” Six observed, standing behind Adama, one hand laid on the back of his chair.

Doctor Baltar leaned forward, his fingers still interlaced. Taking a position of assertion, he hoped to lend additional credence to his answers. “A good question, Commander,” he said. “Unfortunately, the samples are nearly useless for that purpose. I may be able to glean a small amount of additional information from them, but to truly know what was happening to Captain Adama I would need a sample of spinal fluid, one which was drawn prior to his recovery.”

“Doctor,” began President Roslin, her brow knitted in thought, “just how did you counter this Cylon bio-agent when all you had to go on was a suspicion of its presence?”

“I told you she would ask the hard questions, Gaius.” Number Six moved to President Roslin’s side, taking a seat on the edge of the desk. She faced Gaius expectantly, as did the President.

“Truly, Madame President, it was a fortunate accident,” Baltar stated. Stalling for a moment, he reached for the glass of water and took another drink. His pride raged against what he was about to say, but his need to preserve his place in the fleet demanded it. Swallowing his pride, as well as the water, he continued.

“In an attempt to understand Captain Adama’s mixed results, I decided to administer a drug that I have been researching, fitting in a few tests between screening the rest of the fleet for Cylons.” He glanced at Number Six, who gave him a look of mock sympathy, and then continued. Rather than looking at Roslin or Adama, he took on an introspective air and spoke toward the desk in front of him.

“In its normal application with humans, this compound stimulates the production of certain chemicals in the brain which I found were significantly reduced in the biosynthetic Cylons we have autopsied. Its typical use is in the treatment of certain very specific mental disorders. Administered to a Cylon, I believe it would result in a physiological reaction which would immediately reveal the nature of the subject. In other words, it could provide an instant and accurate test to reveal Cylons.”

“Don’t you wish that were true?” purred Number Six. “Another breakthrough in Cylon detection by our beloved Doctor Baltar!” Six looked at him, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. “Instead, you gave him a neurotoxin, intended to stop his heart. There is no wonder drug.” Six gave Baltar an haughty smile.

Seeming impatient with Baltar’s odd pause, Commander Adama asked, “So you administered this drug to Lee?”

“Yes, Commander,” Baltar responded, nodding his head. “I acknowledge it was a mistake on my part, not having any Infirmary staff present.” Baltar looked toward Adama, his face set in what he hoped was a look of regret. “I did not anticipate the effect it had upon your son. Fortunately he responded to standard resuscitation procedures.”

“Yes, fortunate indeed.” President Roslin’s comment drew Baltar’s attention back to her.

His anger flared at what he took to be a veiled threat from Roslin, and it was only with great effort that Baltar held it in check. He did not respond to the President, fearful that his words would reveal his irritation. He desperately wanted to vent his rage at her, to let her know that she had no right to doubt his methods or his decisions, that she wasn’t worthy of questioning Gaius Baltar.

He held his tongue, though, knowing that the safest path out of his predicament was to claim he had made an error no matter how preposterous that seemed. He simply hoped the meeting would end soon, or at least provide him with a opportunity to exit.

He received that opportunity almost with his next breath. “Doctor Baltar,” the President said, “I’m satisfied with your report, and confident that the next time you’re faced with a similar situation you will alert the Infirmary staff.” She smiled stiffly at Baltar, then turned to Adama. “Commander, do you have any questions?”

“No, Madame President, “ Adama answered.

“Well then, Doctor Baltar, I assume you have some follow-up work to complete on Captain Apollo’s blood…” President Roslin looked at him across the desk, smiling thinly. “You may return to your lab now, if you wish.”

Thankful at the opportunity to cut this interrogation short, and simultaneously angered at his dismissal by the President, Baltar stood and forced himself to speak a civil good-bye to her and the Commander. Once he was out of Adama’s quarters he lowered his guard, and walked Galactica’s corridors toward his laboratory as he carried on a seething tirade about the President and her various failings and deficiencies.

As he entered his lab, he encountered the blonde Cylon again, wearing a look that said she was about to gloat over his miserable performance in the meeting. He stopped, momentarily, locking eyes with her in uncharacteristic defiance, and then he brushed past her toward the lab table.

“Shut up,” he said, before she could speak.

Then he dropped into his chair, placing his elbows on the armrests and lacing his fingers together, forming an arch over which he stared at the computer and the hundreds of bloods samples which still awaited him.

Back in Adama’s quarters, the President leaned back in the chair she occupied. Sighing gently, she looked across at Commander Adama. “He’s hiding something,” she stated.

Adama’s face bore a look that Roslin had come to know meant that something was gnawing at the Commander, lips pursed in a straight line that wasn’t quite a scowl, eyes focused intently as he poured himself another glass of water.

“He always has been,” Adama answered without looking away from the glass.

fin

Stream of Consciousness
Part VI

Captain Lee Adama stood on the catwalk above the hangar deck, resting lightly on hands laid upon the steel railing. Below him, silent rows of Vipers stood ready to meet the Cylon threat. The only sound drifting through the cavernous hangar bay, barely meeting the threshold of his perception, was the echo of Chief Tyrol’s voice as he gave out the day’s assignments to his crew.

It had been nearly thirty-six hours since he last stood here, a bottle of ambrosia in one hand. That is, if he had been here at all. Had it been real? Glancing at the deck below, he could see no trace of the ambrosia bottle, no shards of clear glass, no honey-brown stain. That meant little, though, for the Chief and his crew might be few in number and constantly working near the breaking point, but they still had pride in their work and their workplace. Tyrol would never have allowed the broken bottle to remain, if the third watch had even left it long enough for him to find.

So had he really been here, reliving a mission long over, toasting the memories of those he had lost? Lee squeezed the railing, feeling its solid steel reality, and he stared at the Vipers below him. Squinting his eyes, he attempted to resurrect the memory of his last visit here, to recall the fighters as he had seen them then and compare that to their current array. It was a vision he could not bring back. Instead his mind was filled only with the image of the broken ambrosia bottle and the eyes of the mechanics as they stared up at him, uncomprehending.

The ache in his shoulder, however, was quite another thing. It throbbed with reality, every movement reminding him of the truth it symbolized. He slipped his left hand under his uniform jacket, feeling the ridge of the stitched incision beneath his undershirt, sensing the ache that came from deeper within his shoulder where Doc Cottle had patched together the bones which Helo had crushed.

Helo had attempted an apology for the raw force of the attack. Hearing the exchange between Lee and Kara, he had seen the drawn pistol and heard Lee’s assertion that he was a Cylon. Helo didn’t believe that, and so he had directed his attack against Lee’s gun arm instead of his head, but he had been concerned enough to give the blow sufficient force to bring down even a humanoid Cylon. Lee had brushed off the apology, telling the Lieutenant that he had done the right thing. Then he quipped that the next time Helo decided to strike a superior officer, he’d need a better excuse than ‘that tired old Cylon agent crap’.

Doc Cottle had kept him overnight, for observation, and then released him at the start of the Infirmary’s day shift. Cottle had prescribed a painkiller, on an as-needed-only basis, and directed Lee to start physical therapy on the shoulder only after a two-week waiting period, to allow the breaks to begin knitting. Lee wasn’t sure, but he expected he’d be off flight status for at least a month, perhaps two.

He realized there would be little he could do beyond paperwork to keep himself busy, and the idea of spending long hours alone with his thoughts left Lee with an apprehensive knot in his gut. He headed down the catwalk toward the hatchway and the corridor beyond, anxious to get away from the hangar deck and the odd, insistent memories it brought back.

Galactica’s corridors were alive with activity, and Lee’s thoughts were soon taken up recalling the faces of the crewmembers he encountered. He nodded acknowledgement to those who met his gaze, and those who spoke to him he greeted by name. It was an exercise in distraction. His feet carried him through the great ship’s passageways, his destination unknown to him and equally unimportant.

Some time later he found himself near the Infirmary and the labs. Here the corridors were nearly silent, save for the noises of the ship. Finding himself alone momentarily, Lee’s eyes searched the passage ahead. He noticed movement reflected in the glass panel of one compartment door, and his heart jumped as the image became clear. It was the face of an enemy, the blonde Cylon they had known as Shelley Godfrey. Lee’s hand went to his gun, only to find that he was unarmed. As a shout began to form in his throat, he looked quickly around for a Marine guard. The corridor was still empty.

He returned his attention to the reflection, but it was gone, and the shout died away, He ran to the corner by the compartment door, seeking the source of the image. As he rounded the corner, he nearly collided with Gaius Baltar. The Doctor appeared engaged in a conversation with himself, his expression distracted and angry. Lee brought himself up short, stepped around the Doctor, and peered down the corridor searching for the blonde Cylon. She had escaped, if she had been there at all. Lee looked back at Baltar, who seemed to be regaining his focus and appeared to be about to speak. Lee held a hand up, stopping him, and then turned, continuing down the corridor at a near-run.

Unwilling to raise the alarm over something he wasn’t certain he had seen, Lee continued to search Galactica’s corridors for nearly an hour. Finally, resigned to the idea that his vision had tricked him, he gave up his search for the blonde Cylon. Picking his way back through the ship, he thought to head for CIC.

Moments after setting out for the Combat Information Center, though, Lee changed his mind. He was off the flight roster for now, and there were no active missions for him to oversee. He really had nothing to do in CIC, and it wasn’t a place you visited casually. If he wanted to speak to Commander Adama, it would have to wait. After the change of the watch, his father would be in his quarters. Lee would have to catch him there.

Having dropped the idea of going to CIC, Lee did not hesitate in selecting his new destination. He was nearby Doctor Baltar’s laboratory, and the Doctor’s presence in the hall when Lee saw - or thought he saw - Shelley Godfrey was still fresh in his mind. It took only a few moments to arrive at the hatchway to Gaius Baltar’s lab. Lee raised his hand, preparing to rap on the hatch, but he stopped when he heard voices inside. Lee recognized Gaius’ voice, obviously agitated and seemingly on the defensive, but his words were too muffled to hear. The pauses between the Doctor’s outbursts clearly indicated that someone was speaking to him, but Lee couldn’t be sure whether he heard them or not. He very nearly decided to leave, to return later, but then Lee recalled Doctor Baltar appearing to talk to himself in the corridor. His mind made up, he rapped his knuckles on the hatchway and waited for the Doctor to invite him in.

“Doctor Baltar,” Lee greeted Gaius, as he closed the hatchway.

“Captain Adama.” Smiling nervously, Doctor Baltar glanced to Lee’s left where Number Six stood in an alcove of the laboratory, idly examining some blood samples.

Lee noted Baltar’s wandering gaze, but for the moment he did not follow it. “I saw you in the corridor - you were talking to yourself. Is everything all right, Doctor?”

Number Six turned to face Baltar, relaxing against the counter where she’d been standing. “This should prove interesting,” she purred.

“Yes, it should,“ Baltar responded, his voice low, his gaze still on Lee Adama. Realizing his gaffe, his eyes went wide and he began sputtering. “I mean… no, nothing’s wrong… or rather… yes, everything is all right.” Baltar’s face took on an embarrassed smile, and he relaxed a bit, sitting back in his chair. He was silent for a moment, contemplating Lee’s face. “Yes, Captain, I’m fine,” he reiterated. “Really, though, I should be asking you that question, given the events of the last two days.”

Lee’s face took on a puzzled expression at the disjointed outburst from the Doctor. The look faded quickly, replaced by a hard look that was part of Lee Adama’s armor - a look that he adopted whenever any weakness or frailty of his was under discussion. “I’m fine,” he said, a bit too quickly. “Really.”

“Gaius, you seem to have struck a nerve with the Captain,” Six said, her voice carrying softly from the alcove behind Adama.

“Doc Cottle told me you used an experimental drug… that it countered a Cylon bio-agent I’d been exposed to…” Lee said, his eyes questioning. “He also said it nearly killed me.” Lee paused as Baltar made abortive attempts to begin a response. “Actually,” Lee continued when the Doctor did not respond, “he said ‘that arrogant son of a bitch damn near killed you, son’”. Adama’s eyes narrowed as he awaited Baltar’s answer.

“I believe the Captain is a bit upset, Gaius,” said Six. “Be careful, he might intend to harm you.”

“I… I…” Baltar stammered. “I never meant to kill you, it was all an accident. I wasn’t sure how you’d respond to the drug, but I never expected you to die.” Baltar glanced nervously about, then settled his eyes on Number Six. “I just needed to remove the Cylon influence from you mind. It was a gamble, I know, and one I had no right to make. I took the chance, though, and it worked. It worked!”

Lee Adama took two strides forward to the edge of Baltar’s desk and slammed both hands down upon the surface. “Yes, it worked,” Lee yelled, “but I want to know why it worked, Doctor. I died on that table, and I don’t’ think that was an accident, a side effect, or a reaction to your drug. I think you meant for me to die!” Adama leaned in closer to Baltar, his voice low but still menacing. “You meant for me to die,” he repeated. “You needed me to die, to get rid of them, didn’t you?” When Baltar did not immediately respond, Lee reached across the desk and grabbed him by the collar, his voice raging again as he repeated the question, “Didn’t you?”

“He knows,” Six hissed from behind Adama. Her enjoyment of the show, of watching Baltar’s physical and mental discomfort, had ceased. Worry creased her brow as she watched Baltar‘s response.

With fear in his eyes, Baltar focused on Lee’s hand at his throat. Rising slowly to his feet, he spoke evenly, “Captain, yes, I knew what I was doing was dangerous, but it was also necessary. I never meant to harm you, and my quick thinking saved your life when you reacted to the drug.” Slowly, Baltar placed a hand on Lee’s, where he gripped Baltar’s collar. “Please, you should be grateful to me.”

In the alcove, Six remained leaning against the counter. She clapped slowly, smiling slyly as she said, “Well done, Gaius. You’ve managed to stick to your story, even under duress. There may be hope for you yet.”

Lee Adama made a disgusted noise as he released Baltar, throwing him back into his chair as he did so. “You say I’m wrong,” Adama stated. “In that case, I owe you an apology, Doctor. I’m not convinced, and I’m not done with this either.” With that, Lee turned and stormed back across the lab. “You won’t get that apology from me today.“ With that, he stepped out of Baltar’s lab, slamming the hatchway hard.

“He’s dangerous, Gaius,” Six now warned, her smile gone. “You should have let him die. He’s more a threat to you now, alive, if he discovers what happened to him.”

“He has no idea that a Cylon intelligence was cohabiting his body. The concept is beyond him,” Baltar scoffed. “Even if he were to hit upon the truth, who would believe his wild tale, when compared to the scientific explanation I can offer?” Baltar shook his head. “This will all go away, when Captain Adama realizes he knows nothing, and can prove even less. Who would believe him?” Doctor Baltar gave Six a self-satisfied smile. The smile vanished, though, when Six answered his rhetorical question with a single name.

“Sharon.”

fin