Jan. 24th, 2015 06:40 pm
presidentpythia: (tired in the light)
She uses the brief respite after Tyrol leaves to rub her temples, trying to push away the headache. Even though Lee's taking more and more of the responsibilities of the office on his shoulders these days, there are still some things that she, herself, has to do.

Signing Boomer's transfer order -- or, to be realistic, her death warrant -- was one of them.

This is another.

There's a polite rap at her door from the Marine guard stationed outside, and she straightens in her seat and raises her voice, calling out,

"Send him in."
presidentpythia: (tired in the light)
Get me out of here, she'd pleaded, and Bill had done just that -- even shielding her from his own son when she'd refused to answer Lee's questions about her intention with regard to how to handle the Quorum.

He leaves her in his quarters eventually, once she's assured him she'll be fine, and goes back out somewhere, she presumes to CIC. Roslin doesn't care. Once he's gone, she goes to the shelf and takes down her copy of the Sacred Scrolls.

It falls open of its own accord to the pages of the Pythian Prophecy that Elosha had first told her of, so long ago.

And the Lords anointed a leader to guide the caravan of the heavens to their new homeland....

She's suddenly, viciously glad that Elosha is dead, that Billy Keikeya is dead, that so many of those who'd loved and trusted her are long dead and not here with the rest of them, left with the knowledge of the horrible desolation that's the death of all their hopes.

"You believe in that, right? You believe in the prophecies."

"I do. I very much do believe, Sam. With all my heart."

As tears begin to blur her vision, Roslin rips the first page out of the Scrolls, then the second, then the third. It doesn't take her long to find where Bill keeps his lighter.

One after another, each page falls into gritty ash that looks to her like the surface of Earth.

It seems fitting.

* * * * *

"Cottle told me that you missed your last doloxan treatment."

"I know."

Bill looks tired, she notes. He's still trying. It makes her heart ache, although distantly enough that she can ignore it.

"I didn't feel like going."

Physically, she feels better than she has in years, anyway. It's almost unfair.

"You can't mean to just lie down and quit," he tells her, halfway between an order and a plea.

She can't tell him the truth -- that the answer is yes, she means to do exactly that; that the sooner she dies, the sooner they can begin to follow someone else that they can trust -- so Roslin gives him a little smile and reaches to take his hand in hers. She squeezes his fingers once, then lets go.

"You were right, you know. We should have never left the Colonies behind," she says, and watches shock spread over his face. "You should never have taken my advice. So many people who died because of a fruitless series of visions..."


"Hush," Roslin interrupts. "Don't say it, Bill. Just... don't."

* * * * *

The tinny sound of the press conference crackles through the room. Roslin listens with one ear, focusing most of her attention on lining up her medications on the table, placing each beside the previous one with precise, deliberate care.

A thin smile tightens her lips as Zarek's flat 'No comment' echoes over the broadcast. It sounds like the press has gotten its collective teeth into the question of the proposed Cylon alliance. She hopes he likes being in the spotlight now that he's getting a real taste of what political responsibility means.

Perhaps that's not exactly fair, given what had happened on New Caprica and everything since as well, but it doesn't matter. It's not as though she's going to be giving him political advice -- or anyone else either, not even Lee. Not any more.

The thought reminds her, and she plunges her hand in her pocket and brings out a crumpled piece of paper. She sets it on the table next to the last of her medication and studies it once more, although she already knows it by heart.

Bill had been the one to bring her the message, which to all appearances had been received over Galactica's communications network and officially transcribed by Communications Officer Lt. Hoshi. She hadn't bothered to ask Bill if he'd recognized the name, but she's perfectly well aware that there's no 'Cordelia Vorkosigan' in the Fleet. The question is whether or not it matters.

So little does, these days.

The phone rings, startling her. Roslin spares it a single dismissive glance and ignores it even as it continues to shrill, turning her attention back to the line of medicines on the table and considering them instead.

With a sudden sharp sweep of her hand, she shoves the lot of them from the table into the trash bin. The message flutters down more slowly, finally coming to to rest atop the pile.

Roslin looks down at it all, then turns and walks away.
presidentpythia: (Default)
Roslin accompanies Bill and Lampkin back to Galactica, and handles the work of occupying Baltar's new attorney in conversation while the admiral informs his son of his new job as security detail.

She knows Apollo won't be happy with the news. It doesn't matter. Even if she'd been inclined to argue, he needs something to focus on to distract him from Kara Thrace's death.

Once Lampkin and his reluctant escort depart for his quarters, she excuses herself as well, but she has no intention of returning to Colonial One just yet.

There's someone else she needs to see first.
presidentpythia: (I'm listening)

Once she's finally alone, Roslin breathes out a shaky breath and grips the edge of the sink, staring into the mirror. "Get hold of yourself, Laura," she tells her image. "One thing at a time."

The child is alive. Bill had been furious over the deception, she knows, and he'd had every right to be. She'd admitted as much to Captain Agathon when he'd accused her of being the one to blame.

But Isis -- no, Hera -- is alive, and back on Galactica with her parents. Given that Sharon hadn't betrayed them when she'd certainly had every chance, Roslin supposes there's no harm in it. It's far better than the little girl being on that Cylon ship.

It's a shame they couldn't have left Gaius Baltar there, though.

Her grip on the sink tightens at the thought, her knuckles whitening.

Still, she's able to look past her loathing to cold pragmatism. Whatever else Baltar may be, reprehensible or not, at least he's no longer a Cylon resource, but a human one. Hopefully he'll even have something of useful intelligence to share, whether he wants to or not.

"And even if he doesn't," Roslin murmurs to her reflection, "does it really matter? We're back on track, on the way to Earth. We know that now."

They do know it; she's sure of it. It can't be just a coincidence that the mandala in the temple was created to match the image of the sun going nova. Not when there was another nova four thousand years ago -- and thirteen thousand light years away.

A 'road sign,' Bill had called it.

Roslin lets go of the sink and turns on the water long enough to wet a cloth and dab at her throat and the back of her neck. She glances at the small glass vial standing nearby on a shelf, and a soft sigh escapes her.

...and the lords anointed a leader to guide the Caravan of the Heavens to their new homeland....

She picks the vial up and puts it safely in her pocket before leaving the room.

presidentpythia: (working)
She’d asked Tyrol if he was sure, and he had been. He’d recognized it from his father’s books, and given that Tyrol’s father had been a priest, he’d known what he was looking at when he saw it. Radiocarbon dating had confirmed it, placing the site at four thousand years old – a perfect match in timing with the exodus of the thirteenth tribe.

Which means there’s no question, and no room for doubt.

The Temple of Five is on that planet, and somewhere inside it is the Eye of Jupiter, just waiting to be found. The way to Earth is almost within their grasp.

All they have to do now is find it, and keep the Cylons from doing the same.

Laura Roslin sinks into the chair behind the desk in the space she’s using as a temporary office on Galactica, adjusts her glasses, and reaches once again for her copy of the Scriptures. The answer they need has to be there somewhere.

* * * * *

He affixes the charge to the central pillar and connects the detonator, then moves to the next one, trying to let his fingers do the work automatically so that he doesn’t have to think about what he’s actually doing.

Tyrol hadn’t been able to figure out what had been happening at first, but it had kept bothering him. It was only him, as far as he could tell; no one else noticed anything. Which makes perfect sense – it’s not like they didn’t all have a frakload of work to do to get the ships restocked with every bit of algae they can scrounge off this rock, and no one’d had time to spare for weird goings-on. Including him.

But it wouldn’t stop, like some kind of vibrating drone right at the edge of his hearing, or like seeing flickers of movement out of the corner of his eye – but whenever he tried to listen more carefully or turned to face it, it was gone. After the fourth or fifth time, he’d realized that he always ended up looking in the same direction, toward the same distant ridge, and had finally given in to impulse, gone to look – and found the Temple.

It’s not a far stretch to think that he might have been led to it somehow, which just makes what he’s doing now that much worse.

This is the Temple of Five, Tyrol thinks, as he sets the next charge. The holiest, most special, most true place I could ever imagine.

And I’m gonna blow it up.
presidentpythia: (Default)
All their preparation, all their planning, and now it's finally happening.

Adama's on his way.  Galactica is coming back. 

Oh, gods.  Bill.

It's been hard, so hard to hold on to hope for so long, but she'd never allowed herself to lose faith.  Not in this.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Isis is laughing; Maya murmurs soothing things and plays with her.  Roslin stands in the tunnel outside the small supply room, watching them.

She'd kept an eye on them ever since the beginning, since Maya first adopted the child that was once known as Hera.  No matter how things might fall out, Roslin had been certain that it was imperative that someone who knew the truth watch over her, one way or another.  She still believes that.  

Born of a Cylon and a human together.  How is it even possible?

Whether the child is a blessing or a curse on them all, Roslin couldn't say.  But Isis exists, and right now that's enough.

Of course, right now that's the danger, too.  As Anders hurries along the tunnel to join her, Roslin turns to him.

"Sam.  Thank you for coming."

"It's no problem.  Really."  He shakes her hand when she offers it, saying,  "I don't know what else I can tell you, though.  We already plan to keep her on the move, same as other high-value targets."

Roslin shakes her head.  "It's not enough.  I need you to really hear me on this."  She meets his eyes.  "There is no one -- no one -- who is of higher value than Maya and her child.  We cannot let them fall into Cylon hands."

Anders stares at her for a second, then nods.

"I get it."  He glances into the room, then lowers his voice.  "How far do you want me to go?  I  mean, if it looks like the Cylons are gonna capture them--"

She cuts him off.  "Don't let it get to that point."

"Okay."  He takes a deep breath, then nods again.  "Okay."  He risks another glance into the room, then turns to her with curiosity he can't hide.  "I don't suppose you're going to tell me what this is all about.  What's so important about this kid?"

Roslin gives him a bitter, bitter smile.

"She may very well be the shape of things to come."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

They've all gathered in the insurgents' bunker.  This will be the last chance they have to plan, they all know it, and there's not much time. 

Pegasus isn't coming; no one knows why.  But Galactica is, and they intend to be ready.

"We've stored arms and munitions in key areas throughout the city," Tyrol says.  Mathias nods.

"I can add to that.  We've got mortars, RPGs, even a few shoulder-mount anti-aircraft missiles on the Raptor."

"Great."  Tyrol gives her a sharp grin.  "When we give the signal, our people are gonna attack the airbase, the detention center, the power station, other critical facilities.  The idea is to sow as much chaos as we can the moment Galactica and Pegasus arrive.  That should help cover the evacuation."

Mathias nods again.  "What about your evac plans?"

Roslin nods to Tory, who says, "We've designated and assigned five hundred block captains to cover each sector of the city.  Each captain is responsible for rallying and guiding the people in their sectors along the escape routes to their designated ships."

"Don't suppose you've been able to rehearse any of this," Zarek observes.

"Indeed we have."  It's not Tory who answers, nor is it Tigh, nor Tyrol, nor Anders; it's Roslin.   "We've had three full dress rehearsals under the guise of fire and natural disaster drills."

"Be different when the balloon goes up," Mathias puts in.  "There's likely to be some panic out there."

"They'll do fine," she says, and there's nothing but absolute certainty in her voice.  Roslin turns, looking around the room at them all, one by one.   "These people know that this is their chance.  We're all in this together.  All we need to do is be ready, and hope for the best."

One by one, they each meet her eyes, and nod back.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The scene above ground is one of mass chaos, filled with running people.   Guns bark and chatter as small, pitched battles break out all over the settlement.

As her group leaves the bunker to make their own run for it, Roslin draws to a stop, reaching for Zarek's arm.

"Tom, we need to split up, just in case.  You go that way.  Head to the shipyard."

"What about you?"

Roslin smiles at him, and points at Colonial One.

"My ship's there."
presidentpythia: (Default)
She's in the middle of a math lesson when it begins.

"Laura Roslin?  Come with us, please."

One look at their masked faces, at the way they're standing, and she can tell that this time is going to be different from the previous searches and trips to detention.  When she steps out of the school tent between her guards, zip cuffs binding her wrists, the sight of dozens of people being herded into transport trucks by the New Caprica Police gives her an idea of just how bad it's going to be.

She manages to secure a seat near the back of one of the trucks, where she has a good view of what's going on.  Some people are blindfolded, some aren't -- it seems to depend on the individual guards' preferences, from what she can tell.  She tries to keep track of who's being taken, but it's hard to discern a clear pattern.  Many seem to have been randomly selected.  Some, like herself, have been leaders or examples in one way or another in a time and place where it's dangerous to be noticed.

Roslin thinks it's quite likely that they're all intended to be examples of a different sort.

When they shove Tom Zarek into the truck beside her, she has to bite back a laugh.

"Need a lift, Mr. Vice President?"

"I guess so," Zarek says, dryly.
* * * * * * * * * * * *

The rumbling sounds of the transport are too loud for them to have any further real conversation until the order comes for a five minute rest break.  As they stand by the truck, watching the others mill around, Zarek leans over and mutters,

"Tell me something, Laura.  You tried to steal the election, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did. Tom."

"I wish you'd gone through with it."

When the Centurion firing squad appears at the top of the ridge and trains its guns on the prisoners, Roslin very much wishes the same.

Tom takes her arm and pulls her back through the crowd, out of their executioners' line of sight. When the gunfire explodes from a different direction, she's the one who knocks him to the ground and off the road, out of the path of the bullets.

"You know," she says, dryly, as they untangle themselves and get back to their feet, "we make a much better team working together than I ever guessed we would."

He gives her a quick, surprised look. Roslin smiles at him.

If there's one thing Zarek knows how to do and do well, she knows, it's insurrection.  If he's fallen out of favor with Baltar enough to have been marked for execution -- well, then the Resistance can use him.

Whatever he sees in her expression is enough.  Zarek smiles back.

"You all right down there?"

As one, they both turn to look up at Tyrol. 

The news he has for them changes everything.
presidentpythia: (Default)
She'd never been willing to allow hidden weapons storage among the school supplies, declaring that the danger to the children in case of discovery was far too high. Other things, however, such as extra food and undocumented medical supplies, were deemed an acceptable risk, or at least one that could be explained away if the worst should happen.

In light of Gaeta's warning, however, it had seemed prudent to arrange for those to be relocated as well, at least for the time being. When a group of Cylons shows up on the riverbank on the seventy-third day of the occupation to interrupt her class with the presentation of a warrant, Roslin knows she'd been right.

The One leading the expedition mock-courteously offers to escort her to a more congenial setting for discussion to talk about what he'd termed 'her little educational endeavor.' She agrees, just as politely; not that there was any real question of declining, of course. Leaving the students in Maya's care, Roslin walks alongside her 'escort' with her head held high all the way to the detention center.

They pass by the school on the way; the One had made sure of it, she knows, wanting her to see the team of Centurions searching the storage tent and schoolroom space under the watchful direction of a pair of Fives and a Three.

It's not only the Cylons who are observing, though, she notices. A silent crowd has gathered in a circle around the area, watching every move. A sideways look at the One confirms that he's seen it, too.

She is released that afternoon, only a few hours later. For whatever reason, the interview had turned out to be fairly perfunctory after all; maybe the search was the real purpose, maybe the entire thing was a simple demonstration of authority, the gods only know. Roslin certainly can't say, although she can speculate. She returns to the school before going back to her tent, just long enough to reassure the children and Maya that everything's all right and that classes will continue as usual.

They do. Life goes on.

Roslin is straightening up the supply tent a few days later when she finds the note.

"Are you out of your frakkin' mind?" Tigh stares at Roslin in disbelief. "Lady, I've heard some crazy ideas in my time, but -- you know this has got to be a Cylon trap, and you're suggesting we just walk right into it?"

"I don't know that, Colonel, and neither do you," she responds. Anders and Tyrol are standing to one side, listening; she glances toward them to make sure they know that they're included in the discussion, as far as she's concerned, before directing her attention back to Tigh. "Given the number of people who were watching while the tent was torn apart and who Maya says helped to put things back together, any one of them could have found that scrap of paper and written the reply. Besides, if it is a trap, if the Cylons have cracked the encryption, don't we need to know that?"

Tigh shakes his head and swears under his breath. Anders nods, but he's frowning. "It's risky. Trap or not, whoever goes is likely to be watched, maybe even identified--"

"I'll do it." All eyes turn to Tyrol as he takes one step forward.

From Roslin's journal, entry dated the eighty-sixth day of Cylon occupation, New Caprica:

Information found in the notebook left by the unknown source has now been confirmed. While it's possible that we're still dealing with a cleverly-set trap, general opinion has begun to shift.

It appears that the resistance may have a new ally.


presidentpythia: (Default)
Laura Roslin

January 2015

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