Knowing they’d be jumping to Kobol in less than a week, Zarek set his plan immediately into motion. It wasn’t to painfully complicated. In his many years of imprisonment he’d seen more than one of the frailer prisoners fall prey to these merciless forms of entertainment. He wasn’t ashamed to say that he’d even taken part. On the Astral Queen, it was survival of the fittest. The only way to survive was to show that you were willing to sacrifice someone weaker for the sake of your personal well-being. Taking down Adama certainly qualified.

He would start out simple, moving a few stationary items from their usual places for just a day or so. Then, return them with no fanfare, virtually untouched in the same positions. This target would be left with no other option that to believe they’d overlooked them. Next, several more important items, especially those crucial to daily functioning would vanish. After suspecting foul play for some time, the person would have to assume it was the result of his or her own absentmindedness. The longer it continued, the more the hapless prey would distrust him or herself.

Nevertheless, Mr. Zarek had forgotten to take into account his intended victim. From the moment things began to go awry, his defenses went up. He knew he was more than a little compromised, but he was more than fairly confident that he wasn’t crazy anymore. He was also coming to realize that someone was going to great lengths to make him believe he was.

For instance, there was a moment in the CIC when he’d called for Dee only to find someone else, and then, she would return again with little explanation. Which was fine, because the lower crewmen were nearly interchangeable in position, but when a single crewperson kept coming and going and no one felt it pertinent to inform him of exactly why, he felt that maybe there was someone or some people out to get him. Then there was Saul, who had already been hovering over Adama’s shoulder since his greatly opposed return to duty, watching his old friend like a hawk for any signs of instability. It was hard to focus on his enemies when his friends were filling his vision. At least, he was praying they were friends; he’d already been deceived once.

Still, the shifting of his own loyalties was beginning to change him. The strain was clear across his brow and lips that thinned in an attempt to suppress the many grimaces that still hazarded. His skin was permanently ashen and his hair was turning gray and white with stress. He didn’t sleep at night.

Everything he touched came with a memory. Suddenly, all things held importance and life. His table held the remembrance of an anonymous note dropped on its top. His couch held fleeting recollections of Lee, of the President, and of Shelley Godfrey. His metals were embedded with every task he’d undertaken to earn them, and some he had not.

When he felt and saw these life experiences through new, fatigued eyes, he couldn’t rest. In addition, every time he did attempt to sleep, the darkness seemed to come alive with voices and touches that disappeared as quickly as he could switch on the light.

This time -- spent and worn-- he didn’t rush to reach the lamp and tugged the brass chain lethargically, having to exert extra force for it to respond. Eventually, it did and muted yellow light flooded his sleeping area. It showed everything and nothing at all, as he’d expected. But he still took a perfunctory look around the empty chamber.

Parched from a long sedative induced sleep, he left to get a drink of water before heading back to bed. He came back, the water in hand, but stopped upon reaching the doorway. Something didn’t feel right. The lights were still dim. It was still cold, if a little less so than before. It wasn’t what was the same, but what was different. It was the faint hint of a fragrance in the air and the rise in the temperature in the room. But, most of all, it was the stark white, folded square of paper on his nightstand.

He approached it cautiously, drawing awareness from every sense at his disposal. He lifted it with his fingertips. His mind surged to it and he saw the quick entry and withdrawal of a figure he could never quite get a fix on. He watched over his informant’s shoulder as it was typed and read it without bothering to unfold it.

As the last time he‘d received an anonymous note like this, it remained unsigned and was typed, not handwritten. It was also self-explanatory. He was to follow them to Kobol despite his great misgivings. His first mind would’ve been to do so, but upon further consideration, he nixed that idea. If the President and his son so chose to flee to their deaths, then he could not and would not stand in their way. Even if half the loss broke his heart and the whole of it broke him.

And if anyone wanted to follow with them…Then, Godspeed and Lords take their souls. This was a family and genuine family did not abandon each other. They stuck together.

Somehow, the unmistakable irony of that was lost on him.

~~~

She was standing beside Lee on the deck of the Astral Queen when the FTL drive was engaged. Soon, they’d be orbiting Kobol and would be that much closer to salvation. That was the idea she held to furiously, because if she let go, all that was left was an empty mission and a cold, lonely cell in Galactica’s brig. She had begun this journey with clean hands and now they were a mess with blood and tears. And though she was more aware of this than anyone else, she still had a job to do. She had to save her people.

If she couldn’t go the distance with them, she would take them as far as the Gods permitted. Allegiances and redemption be damned perhaps.

Zarek turned to her and her Apollo, looking unjustly smug and triumphant. “Two dozen ships are set to follow. Two dozen.” She went cold inside at hearing that. What percentage of the last of humanity was she taking with her? How was she to protect them should they encounter the Cylons?

“That’s nearly a third of the fleet.” Lee took the words right out of her mouth. “A third.” He seemed almost as troubled as she at the thought. “My father must be furious.” Somehow, she didn’t think furious even began to describe the man’s reaction.

“We’re doing the right thing, Captain Apollo.” Although, he appeared reassured, she wasn’t. She’d followed the Prophecy from the temporarily safe harbor of Adama’s fleet to the open risk of the path to Kobol. There was no telling whether it would ever be worth it.

But her only choice was to try. Alliances and trust most certainly damned. There was no going back.

She could never go home again. Home for her was gone.

Next Part

Last Part