Chapter One

The Vice President of the Colonies sat in the waiting room of Colonial One, passing the time in comfort until he was cleared to enter the ship. Standard quarantine at the present moment – not that it bothered him in the slightest. The grim prospect of the alternative made his head spin in all sorts of unfortunate ways. Besides, he thought smugly, there’s nothing like a good plague to take the heat of politicians’ mistakes.

He could see his Raptor through the glass in front. Technicians buzzed over and around it, scouring the misshapen metal for any evidence of the strange smell both he and the pilot had detected. It was probably just a simple fault, Zarek reasoned as he flicked his newspaper over, but there was always that chance that it might not be.

Glancing at his watch, he rolled his eyes in a dramatic fashion before scanning down to the obituaries. Now, these reporters were never very accurate and The Lion’s Star was not exactly the most classy paper around, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t useful information to be squeezed from its greasy pages. Indeed, sometimes the press were the only way to gauge the condition of their floating colony. On that note, he wished the President would read the paper more often. It would make her feel better, for one.

He heard the quick succession of a woman’s heals on the cement floor and shortly after, a suited woman with a girlish face beckoned him to follow. He walked several paces behind her as the unintroduced guide led him to the President’s door. Frankly, he was the last person who required guidance in finding anything, but he was not one to complain about a short skirt and pair shapely legs.

Zarek gave her a quick wink. She smiled with her hazel eyes before scurrying off down another corridor. He knocked firmly on the President’s door before entering – always three quick taps.

President Laura Roslin was seated behind her desk, heavy pen in hand. She shook it several times until a few drops of ink speckled the paper. From where he was standing, it looked as if she had been in meetings all morning. Her jacket lay unevenly over the back of her chair, pulled to one side. He could just see the crimson lining below the collar if he tilted his head slightly to the -

“Are you a good man, Tom?”

He was a little startled when she spoke. Laura had not openly addressed him, or even looked up from her work. Her tone was direct, and he couldn’t help but feel it was a little early in the afternoon for being chastised.

“Uh…” he purposely laid the open paper on her coffee table, hoping she would see the article entitled, ‘The Strengths of the Presidency’. “I guess that depends upon your definition.”

“It’s a yes/no question,” she said quickly, slipping her glasses up into her loosely curled hair.

Zarek thought about his answer for a moment. “I could be. What would you prefer?” he asked, as innocently as possible.

“I’m not sure. I haven’t decided what I need yet.”

“Oh,” he replied, lowering himself in one of the leather seats opposite her desk.

“Some of my advisers,” she began, shuffling reports into a haphazard pile, “tell me that above all things, I need someone inherently good to restore faith in the government. They argue that at times like these we need to play the moral high card in order to distinguish ourselves from the Cylons and – here’s the good bit, save our immortal souls.”

Zarek lowered his eyes, cruising over the titles of the reports. “And what do you think?”

A small smile crept onto her features. “I think I need someone who knows how to be the Vice President.”

“Which is code for?”

“Someone who can find out what the situation is down on the fuel supply ships.”

His head went up with an intrigued smirk. He was almost joyful, but couldn’t place why. “They don’t like you,” he said. “What specifically did you –”

“Of course,” she cut him off in a manner that suggested they were having several different conversations, one of which was covering for the one they were actually having. “I have no official influence over the union and no business in knowing their business.”

“Madame President.”

Laura looked up briefly from her sorting and fluttered her eyelashes dangerously. Zarek understood.

“That’ll be all,” she finished, as if she had told him to fetch coffee. Zarek nodded and turned to leave. He stopped mid stride when he heard a softer voice behind him. When he arched his neck to look back, he saw Laura rather than Madame President. “Is there anything that you want to tell me?”

Zarek eyed her suspiciously. “Nothing springs to mind.”

“They told me you had a few problems with your shuttle on the way over.”

If Zarek was not very much mistaken, there was a tone of concern etched into her voice which he found quite pleasing. “I honestly have no idea why anyone would try to kill me at this present moment.”

Laura’s eyes narrowed. “Comforting,” she said, flicking back into President mode with frighteningly little effort.

“I like to think so.”

*~*~*

Zarek found his Raptor third in line for departure. Busy morning, it seemed, and as he looked over the bay he saw several familiar faces. Most notably, the Admiral of the fleet was stepping into his own Raptor carrying a set of military files. Zarek had barely spoken two words to him since their little disagreement concerning the traitors in the fleet.

Also on deck, the Cylon Sharon was escorting a press group off their transport vessel. It amused him to see that they were nervous in her presence, no doubt terrified that she would fly them into a Base Star. Zarek grinned. Sometimes he really enjoyed people watching – he had had plenty of practice behind bars.

“Mr. Vice President, your shuttle is ready. Captain says you can board if you like. Better than out here I imagine.”

“Thank you Tony,” he laid a hand on Tony’s shoulder in appreciation. Zarek always made it his business to be friendly with all levels of society he came in contact with. People like Tony could be surprising useful in the strangest of times.

His head had just disappeared into the Raptor when that familiar rustle of heels returned, racing across the cement floor of the docking bay like eccentric hail. This was accompanied by a continuous down pour of, ‘Mr. Vice President! Mr. Vice President!’

Zarek listened as she scrambled aboard the Raptor and wormed her way past his security detail.

“I’m guessing this is important,” he said, as she moved awkwardly through the Raptor.

“Sir, I’m sorry about that but the President wanted me to tell you that she’s scheduled a meeting with you tomorrow afternoon.”

Ah, Zarek realised, now I have a deadline as well. “Was that it?”

The lady was quiet for a moment, drowned out by the sound of the Raptor spinning up its engines. “No,” she stammered, reaching under her arm to retrieve a folder. “This is from the President. In flight reading, she called it.”

“Thank you … do you have a name? Or do you prefer to go by PA …”

TBC