01 - Battlestar Galactica (4 page)

All of this was visible right outside the window of the waiting room. Sitting
silently in a leather armchair facing an unoccupied desk was an attractive
forty-eight-year-old woman named Laura Roslin. She had a soft-featured, oval
face and dark, shoulder-length hair. She wore a conservatively cut dress of a
light periwinkle blue. Her gaze, deep and intelligent, was frightened. Though
her eyes were apparently focused outside the long bay window, Laura Roslin saw
none of the majesty of the great city. All she saw were the pale yellow saffron
blossoms just outside the glass.
So lovely. So fragile.
Her thoughts were
in turmoil.
When is he going to bring me those results?

As if in response to her thoughts, the door behind her closed with a
reverberating thud. She closed her eyes and listened to the doctor’s footsteps
as he crossed the long room toward the desk where Laura sat.
Who in the world
got the idea that a doctor’s office should be in a room the size of a small
gymnasium? Could it possibly be more impersonal?

The doctor came around the desk, glanced into the file folder in his hand,
then closed it before speaking. His expression was sober, and she already knew
what he was going to say. “I’m afraid the tests are positive,” he said quietly.
“The mass is malignant. We’ll do all we can, of course. But I have to be
honest—it’s advanced well beyond the point that we can have much hope…”

White noise filled Laura’s mind as she looked at him, nodded, looked away,
tried to hurl her thoughts as far away as humanly possible.
Get away, get
away from here…

“I’ll contact the specialists at the Caprica Institute—”

She couldn’t stand to listen anymore. Laura forced herself up out of the
chair, forced a pained smile. “Thank you, Doctor. If you’ll excuse me, I have a
flight to catch.”

“Dr. Roslin, please call me as soon as possible. Any further delay will
just…”

She barely heard him, as she hurried across that long floor toward the
exit.

Colonial Transport 798

Buckled in, waiting, thinking, waiting. Staring out the window at the
sunlight burning on the launch tarmac. She really had had a flight to catch. Off
planet, to meet a warship. If only she could fly away from reality.
Dear
Gods. Why? Why me? Why cancer?

There was movement beside her, and she looked up to see a slender young man dressed in a jacket and tie, with a large briefcase,
standing nervously in the aisle beside her. She tried to smile, but didn’t feel
as if she’d succeeded. “Yes?”

“Secretary Roslin?” He paused. “I’m Billy Keikeya.” Another pause. “Your new
assistant.”

“Ah.” That took a moment to process. Yes, the human resources people had
promised her a new assistant in time for the trip. She hadn’t thought she’d be
meeting him for the first time on the transport, though. “Well, then, hello.
Have a seat.” She rose to let him past to the window seat, and extended a hand.
He shook hands and sat down in one slightly awkward motion. He was a
good-looking boy, with curly brown hair and an alert demeanor. But he couldn’t
be a day over twenty, and he was probably overwhelmed to be making a trip like
this on his first day on the job.

As Laura settled herself back in her seat, Billy bent forward and extracted a
thick three-ring binder from his briefcase. “Sandra at the Education Ministry
main office sent this briefing book to give you.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, resting it in her lap without looking at it. She
looked back out the window, past Billy, eyes blurring. She was barely aware of
the captain asking all passengers and flight attendants to fasten their seat
belts:
“We are preparing for departure to Galactica, with an expected flight
time of five and a half hours
…”

As the transport lifted from the launch pad and roared skyward, she rested
her head against the cushioned seat back and shut her eyes tight.

“Uh—Dr. Roslin?”

She blinked, realized they’d been talking and she hadn’t heard a word he’d
said. “What? Oh—I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

Billy looked a little puzzled at her lack of attention, but he said nothing
about it. Instead he continued, “I also sent the president a copy of your speech
for
Galactica’s
retirement. Hopefully he’ll have chance to review it.
But… there is a thirty-minute time delay between the
Galactica
and—”

“Excuse me,” Laura said abruptly. She jumped up from her seat and hurried up
the aisle, leaving a startled Billy behind her.
Too much. Too much.
She
ran into the lavatory and shut the door behind her. In privacy at last, she
leaned back against the door and breathed. Just breathed, and stared up into
nothing. Fear and despair rose in her like poison in her bloodstream,
threatening to choke her. She gasped, fought for air, each breath feeling as if
it would be her last. She desperately wanted to cry, to flood the room with
tears of grief and anger; but just as urgently, she fought against it, fought
against giving this thing even that much of a victory.
How dare you invade my
body, how dare you!

With a muffled gasp of anguish, she pulled open the front of her jacket,
exposed the white blouse that crisscrossed over her breasts. She thrust her
right hand under her jacket, covering her left breast, covering the lump that
was growing, the traitorous part of her that was devouring her body, devouring
her life.

Damn damn damn damn damn….

Riverwalk Market, Caprica City

Clear breezy day, bright sunshine in a blue sky. Crowds of people milled
about in the outdoor marketplace, enjoying the warmth of the perfect spring
afternoon. One person felt differently about it, however—though you wouldn’t
have known from the way she looked around the crowd, tossing her
shoulder-length, bleach-blonde hair with the movement of her head, or from the
look of the bright hazel eyes taking in everything around her. Most people, male
or female, would have called her stunningly beautiful. She wouldn’t have
disagreed, but she might have called it part of her job description: form
follows function.

She walked casually and with no particular destination for the moment—but
with a curious air of purpose, as though she did not yet know what she was here
to do, but knew that it would be revealed to her when the time came. And that
time, she had a feeling, would be soon. She brushed her fingertips along the
blossoms of a lilacan bush, and gazed over the reflecting pool that formed a
lovely interruption in the lines of the marketplace.

Something lay ahead for her; she sensed it. Her gaze wandered over the
pedestrians moving about, and fell on a very small child in a stroller.
How
darling.
She felt drawn to it immediately. She stepped closer and gazed down
on the helpless thing. The sight stirred something in her heart, and it must
have showed on her face, because the child’s mother, standing just a few feet
away, noticed and stepped closer with a tentative smile, taking the handle of
the stroller instinctively, protectively.

“How small they are,” murmured the blonde woman, more to herself than to the
mother.

“I know. But they grow up so fast,” the mother replied, casting her own
loving gaze down on her child.

The two shared a beaming moment together, and then the woman gestured. “May
I?”

There was a moment of hesitation, and then: “Sure.” It was the kind of “sure”
that guaranteed that the mother would be watching every move the woman made. As
she should. The blonde woman might have been unmarried herself, but she
absolutely approved of protective parenting—even if, in the end, parents had to
die to make room for the children.

The mother scooped her child gently out of the stroller, cradling it for a
moment before carefully placing it in the arms of the blonde woman. Such a small
bundle.

“So light.” The baby give a plaintive squeak, and she calmed it with a light
touch, stroking its cheek. “So fragile. Shh-shh-shhhhh…” She soothed it
again. “You’re not going to have to cry much longer,” she whispered.

The mother, nervous again, reached out. “We really should be going.” Nearby,
a man was looking over the heads of the intervening people, trying to wave her
over. The father, no doubt. The woman smiled and passed the child back to its
mother, who cradled it reassuringly, and then returned it to the stroller.

The woman leaned forward, to take one more look. “It’s amazing how the neck
can support that much weight,” she said, marveling.

“Yes—” the mother started to say, but was interrupted by her husband calling,
“Centura! Honey!” She looked away to catch her husband’s eye and wave. “Come
on!”

“Okay!” called the mother. “Give me a moment.”

The interruption was quite enough time for the blonde woman to reach down one
last time into the stroller, to slip her hand beneath the baby’s neck, and to
make one quick, silent movement.
You won’t have to suffer any longer.

She straightened and smiled sweetly, sadly at the infant. Then, not meeting
the mother’s suddenly worried expression, she turned and walked quickly away.
She could feel the tension behind her, the inexplicable fear, as she put
distance between herself and the mother and child.
No more suffering. Not for
you.

As the mother’s scream of horror rent the afternoon peace, the blonde woman
did not look back. Her brow was furrowed, though, and her heart was filled with
a mixture of sadness and regret, but above all a certainty of the Tightness of
what she had just done.

I have spared you, little child.

Near Caprica City

Home of Gaius Baltar, Ph.D.

Overlooking the calm waters of King’s Bay Inlet, not far from Caprica City,
the residence of Gaius Baltar was a model of elegance and simplicity. Its clean,
modern lines harmonized beautifully with the shoreline and the breathtaking
expanse of the inlet waters. Inside, the clean design continued. The rooms were
spacious and light, decorated with an impeccably tasteful eye for detail.

In the living room, Gaius Baltar himself was seated in a comfortable
leather-upholstered chair, pensively sipping a glass of Olympia spring water,
while an attractive TV anchor introduced the interview segment in which he was
about to take part. Kellan Brody’s face could be seen in the right-hand half of
the TV screen that dominated the far wall of the living room; his own image was
in the left-hand side. Dr. Baltar was apparently lost in his thoughts, paying
little attention to the TV, while she completed her introduction:

“For those of you just joining us from the Pyramid Game on Geminon, welcome to The Spotlight—our weekly interview program devoted
to people making news on Caprica. Today, we’re talking with Doctor Gaius Baltar.
Doctor Baltar has been the winner of three Magnate Awards over the course of his
career. He is a media cult figure and a personal friend of President Adar’s. He
is currently working as a top consultant for the Ministry of Defense on computer
issues. But he’s perhaps best known for his controversial views on advancing
computer technology. Doctor Baltar—again, welcome.”

Baltar nodded with suave grace. He was a trim, narrow-faced man with dark,
collar-length hair combed straight back from his forehead. His relaxed posture
and body language spoke of one who was used to the spotlight and to attention
from admiring fans. He spoke effortlessly. “Thank you, Kellan. And firstly may I
say”—he smiled with just the right amount of debonair charm for the camera—“how
lovely you’re looking. And secondly, what an absolute pleasure it is to be on
the show.”

“Well, we’re delighted to have you with us.” Ms. Brody seemed to blush ever
so slightly. “Could you summarize your views for our audience?”

“Yes. I’d be happy to. My position is very simple. The ban on research into
artificial intelligence is, as we all know, a holdover from the Cylon wars.
Quite frankly, I find this to be an outmoded concept. It serves no useful
purpose except to impede our efforts…”

As Doctor Baltar spoke, the front door of the house opened quietly, as a
tall, slender, stunningly beautiful woman with shoulder-length blonde hair
stepped into the house. Her name was Natasi, and she was expected. She was
dressed in a sheer blouse and skirt combination that kept no secrets about the
jet black lingerie she was wearing beneath. She closed the door silently, so as
not to disturb the interview, and approached Baltar slowly from the side
living-room entrance. A mischievously seductive smile flickered across her lips as she watched him finish the
interview. She settled into a chair just out of range of the camera pickup, but
in perfect view of Dr. Baltar, and she crossed her legs provocatively.

She appeared to enjoy watching him squirm as he tried to keep his mind on the
interviewer’s questions. What was he saying? That it was only the irrational
fears of those who could not put the past behind them that was keeping mankind
from moving forward with the development of intensely interesting and useful
technologies. Just because robotic inventions of a superficially similar nature
had once gone awry didn’t mean that humankind should forever be fearful. So much
would be lost…

Baltar breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief as the interview ended, and his
visage disappeared from the TV monitor. It had been an easy enough interview…
until Natasi showed up and distracted him. “You!” he said, in a tone that he
hoped sounded more amused than reproving. He really was quite eager to see her.
Especially dressed the way she was.

“Me?” she asked coquettishly. She uncrossed her legs in a way that spiked his
blood pressure instantly. “What have
I
done?”