Slide 15: Lesson Plans

Laura Roslin adjusted her glasses as she read the open book on Bill Adama’s dining table. It was a tome on early Colonial history, probably the last of its kind, and it was in immaculate condition. Oh, it had some wear on the binding, but it had clearly been lovingly kept over the years, treated with respect and appreciated.

Of course, that really wasn’t a shock considering it was Bill’s book. He took care of his things.

Glancing up over the rim of her glasses at him, she saw him bending over, searching his shelf for another book. She smiled as he pulled his glasses down his nose a bit and cocked his head to peer down at the titles on the bottom shelf.

“You know,” she said, watching him. “Odds are good that your personal library is all that remains of Colonial history and literature.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, grimacing. “I’ve worried about that.”

Laura hummed softly in amusement. “Afraid they’ll discover your affinity for mysteries of dubious pedigree?”

He huffed out a laugh. “I’m more afraid they’ll discover I’m boring, considering most of these titles.”

“I somehow–” Laura began but silenced when the comm unit buzzed.

Righting himself with a grunt, Bill walked over and picked up the handset. “Adama.”

Laura studied his features as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the line, attentive to his reactions to whatever he was being told. He gave nothing away, though, not until the very end, when he sighed.

“Very well. Thank you for the warning,” he said then hung up the handset.

“What is it?” Laura asked.

His eyes met hers. Annoyance flashed in the blue depths but he quickly shuttered it away and adopted an expression of indifference.

“Baltar’s on his way,” he said then wandered back to the bookshelf he’d been perusing. “I know it’s down here somewhere,” he muttered.

Laura’s eyebrows shot up. She’d been dodging the president for the better part of three weeks and he was on his way to Bill’s quarters now, where she and Bill were, and Bill was acting as if it didn’t matter.

“I thought he went back to Colonial One hours ago,” she said.

“He did,” Bill replied, snagging a book and pulling it from the shelf. “Apparently he decided to slip back over here unannounced on a civilian shuttle.” Blue eyes glanced up at her. “I think it’s driving him crazy not knowing where you are or what you’re doing.”

“Crazy?” she said, an eyebrow arching higher.

“Crazier,” Bill conceded, opening the book he now held. “This is it,” he said, and laid it out on the table next to the other book.

“And we’re okay with him finding me here, now, with you?” she asked incredulously.

Bill shrugged and eased past her on his way to the service cart. “Developing lesson plans is part of a teacher’s job,” he observed. “And, as you pointed out, I have the only library available.”

“True,” Laura said as she planted a hand on the tabletop and bent over to look at the new book. “Oh my gods, I had no idea you had this,” she said, eyeing the title. It was a rare one, very rare. Before the worlds ended, there had been only a dozen known to be in existence. This copy was likely the last.

“It was my grandfather’s,” he said, returning to stand beside her. She took the glass of water he offered. “He was a collector.”

Making a show of glancing around the room, which was a veritable museum, Laura smiled. “Must be where you get it,” she teased and netted a grin.

“Must be,” he countered, his eyes gentle and filled with amusement.

Unfortunately, the look didn’t last. A whispered “sirs” from the doorway, courtesy of the marines standing post, sent it packing in an instant.

Ten seconds later, Gaius Baltar stepped into the room, stopping just inside the hatch, a haughty mask in place.

“Admiral … Laura.” The greeting was one of Baltar’s smarmy best, holding the barest of respect.

Laura pushed her glasses up her nose and acknowledged him with as much civility as she could muster, which was surprisingly more than she’d expected. It fit well with her goal of appearing to be nothing more than a school teacher, which, at the moment, is exactly what she was. “Gaius,” she said.

Bill, for his part, blandly addressed him as “Mr. Baltar” as he strolled across the room to another stack of books.

Baltar looked flustered at the less-than-appropriate greeting and lack of reaction. His eyes went from Bill to her and back again, tracking Bill’s path.

Laura turned to the table, hiding a smile as she took up a seat, admiring not for the first time Bill’s unflappability. She followed his lead, picked up her pen and resumed perusing the books he’d found for her. She made notes as she read.

“Plotting my overthrow?” Baltar asked once he’d apparently regained his composure.

Laura peered up at him, but it was Bill who responded verbally. “Not unless you’re in the third grade.”

“What?”

Laura didn’t know why but Baltar’s voice always seemed about three octaves higher when he said that word. She would have laughed at him were it not for the sobering reality that the man was in charge of the civilian government.

With a sigh, she explained, “I’m working on a curriculum, Gaius. For the children. Early Colonial history.” Bill returned to the table with three more books as she continued, “The admiral was kind enough to allow me to utilize his private library.”

“I see,” Baltar replied. “And I’m supposed to believe that’s what you’ve been doing these last few weeks?”

Laura rolled her eyes and went back to work. “Believe what you want,” she said with a wave of her hand.

Glancing over her shoulder at Bill, who’d wandered away again, to the back of his quarters and the shelf behind his desk, she asked, “Did you find the one on the Articles of Colonization?”

“Yeah, right here,” he replied, standing with book in hand. He came back to the table with it and set it beside her.

“Thank you, Admiral,” she said with a smile. He nodded in reply then took off his glasses and looked at Baltar.

Laura followed his gaze back to the president, who still stood inside the hatch looking entirely clueless. For a genius, the man was a complete idiot.

“Did you need something?” Bill asked him.

Baltar started at the direct question, eyes darting to his left and then back to she and Bill. She’d noticed the scientist did that a lot for some reason. It’s exactly why Bill called him “twitchy.”

“Um, yes, Admiral,” Baltar stammered. “I’d like to review the schedule for when settlement can begin. As you can imagine, the people are quite anxious.”

“Has something changed since the briefing this afternoon?” Bill asked, his tone matter of fact.


“No … yes,” Baltar contradicted himself then regrouped, “I’d just like to be clear on some points.”

Hearing Bill sigh, Laura looked up at him. He was reseating his glasses. “You made yourself quite clear earlier, Doctor.”

“It’s Mr. President, if you don’t mind,” Baltar snapped.

“Very well, Mr. President,” Bill replied, his face becoming pure granite. “As I told you earlier, my crew is working around the clock to meet your schedule.”

“Yes, and I appreciate their efforts, Admiral. But, as you can imagine, the quorum and I are under increasing pressure. The people are ready–”

Bill cut him off, his tone clipped. Laura cringed at the heated glare he shot Baltar. “The people may be ready to settle, but they are not ready for this planet, or its weather.”

Laura looked at Baltar in time to see him swallow hard. “I realize conditions are not ideal, however, the sooner settlement begins the better.”

Beside her, Bill moved. She watched him approach Baltar, who actually took a step backward even though there was nothing menacing in Bill’s demeanor. The man, despite what he thought he knew about election fixes and otherwise, was clearly scared frakless of the admiral of the Colonial fleet. Laura found great enjoyment in that, though she probably shouldn’t have.

“I realize the pressure you are under, Mr. President, but we are on schedule,” Bill told Baltar, his tone raspy softness over unbreakable steel, “and we will finish on schedule. The people will just have to be patient until my crew finishes erecting the tents they will be living in for the foreseeable future. To do otherwise would risk their health, which would be foolhardy considering the limited medical supplies in the fleet. Explain that to them and the weather conditions you’ve elected to keep secret. It should buy you the time we need to complete the task you appointed us.”

Laura watched Baltar absorb Bill’s words, the subtle threat in them regarding keeping the people in the dark, as Bill stared him down. It was a study in contrasts. Bill just stood there, stark still, like a great stone, immovable, unflinching, while Baltar fidgeted like he had insects crawling all over him. Baltar might hold political power, but there was no doubt about who the more powerful of the two men was, in every respect.

Laura kept her own expression inscrutable when the president suddenly looked at her. He then looked back to Bill, recovering to pronounce, “Yes, well, I think we should not be having this discussion here.”

Bill said nothing and the silence clearly rattled Baltar further.

“I guess I’ll be going then,” Baltar suddenly decided, and exited without another word, not even a goodbye.

At a signal from Bill, the marines followed the president. Bill then picked up the handset from the comm unit by the door, asked for the CIC. “Let me know when he’s off my ship, and no more civilian shuttle traffic for the night,” he grumbled into the speaker then hung up.

Blue eyes glanced up to meet hers. Surprisingly, they held no sign of the frustration she knew he clearly felt, that she shared. Instead, they were gentle, wistful. She understood why when he finally spoke.

“I miss you.”

< Slide 14: At Last |  Slide 16: Balance and Counterbalance >