Part 9 – Redemption

As the cycles and sectons wore on, Baltar had read each and every report of his son’s condition when they had arrived in his cell in the Prison Barge, some of them over and over again.

Loraio lived.

Loraio had lost part of his leg.

‘It’s your fault.’ Baltar’s conscience played on him when he was alone.

“No, I refuse to believe that. If they had just let us go… done what I asked… no one would have gotten hurt,” he said aloud, though no one else was in his cell or within hearing distance. Sometimes he thought he was losing his sanity. His voice was no longer strong or belligerent, but more along the lines of being defeated.

‘You put the Alliance Enforcers on the shuttle.’

“I never wanted him involved in this.”

‘You demanded Adama bring him to you.’

The last report Baltar had received stated that his leg had come off below the knee and he was expected to recover. That was all. After that, he supposed, Loraio had been well enough to tell them to stop sending the reports to him.

The boy was the last of his line, and he hated – no, despised his father. Baltar paced the cell, alone with his conscience and thoughts. All the destruction, and all of the pain that his actions had caused did not affect him. The fact that his son – his only heir; the only thing he would leave behind in this universe – would sooner die with a group of Colonial bureauticians rather than rule on high with his father weighed on his mind.

If Aurelia had survived…

Was that it? Did all of this go back to the favoritism he had shown his daughter over his son? If he had been a more attentive father to his son would it all be different? Or was his culpability even deeper than that?

The thoughts floated in and out of his head for cycles, sectons on end. Most of the time, he blamed everyone and anyone, including his late wife and Commander Adama for his son’s fate. At other times, he was almost prepared to accept that most of his son’s problems rested squarely on his own shoulders.

“Commander Adama wants to see you, Baltar,” one of the guards was standing outside of his cell.

A sigh of relief escaped him. Anything was better than being alone with his thoughts.

As the guard escorted him into Adama’s quarters, Baltar saw that Adama had located a Cylon Base Star. Well, not a real one. It was a model that Baltar had seen before. The intelligence community had built them with the information their agents had gathered about the Base Stars. From Baltar’s own knowledge, it had been fairly inaccurate. It was actually quite easy to destroy a Base Star… if you knew where to hit one and if its armaments didn’t destroy you first. Other than himself and the occasional prisoner – who never usually survived anyway – no human had ever set foot on a Base Star.

“Remove his shackles and wait outside,” Adama ordered. There were no chances being taken by the shuttle pilots or Fleet Security of another escape incident involving Baltar occurring.

Baltar rubbed his wrists and watched the guard leave the room, then turned his attention to the Commander. When he had first been summoned, he had momentarily feared that his son had died, either at his own hand or as a result of the injuries. As he thought about it more and more on the shuttle to the Galactica, he realized that Adama would not have summoned him for that but would likely just send word over to him.

Now he stood in the same room, alone with Adama, and having a taste of some freedom for the first time in a long time. He watched Adama spin the Base Star model.

“Toys, Adama?” he asked sarcastically.

Adama turned and looked at Baltar, his stomach knotting for a micron. How had they ever become this desperate? Slowly he arose and walked over to where Baltar was standing.

“Would you like a drink?” he offered as he poured out a drink.

“What do you want Adama?” Baltar asked evenly. He was no fool. This was leading to something.

“Information.” Adama turned away from Baltar and walked back over to the model of the Base Star.

“They found you!” Baltar’s voice had a slight note of glee in it, and he quickly downed the drink in his glass.

“We found them.”

Baltar walked over to where Adama was studying the model. “It’s the same thing.”

“We’re going to destroy them.” Adama could not look Baltar in the face. This man was beyond his contempt, and yet he needed him, and what he knew, at this time.

“Destroy them? A Bast Star? Not likely,” Baltar scoffed.

“With your help,” Adama’s tone continued to be even, as if the deal was already done.

“Why would I possibly help you?”

“To regain your freedom.” Adama stood up and walked over to his desk.

Baltar stood there, barely able to comprehend what had just been said to him. “You’re taunting me.” He turned and walked to the desk himself.

“I’m offering you freedom… in exchange for information.”

“And how do you define freedom?” Baltar asked, his skills as a businessman surfacing. It was time to bargain, and this was one area where he knew Adama was lacking in skills.

Adama sat back in his chair, and finally looked the man in the eyes. “We’ve been passing a number of habitable planets within shuttling range of the Fleet. I intend to set you on one. With adequate provisions and shelter.”

“Marooned,” Baltar said with disgust.

A slight grin appeared on Adama’s face. “It’s better than the Prison Barge.”

“Communications?” Baltar asked, upping the ante.

“No,” Adama’s denial was succinct.

“Even a marooned man must have some hope of eventual rescue.”

Adama could immediately tell this was one part Baltar would not let go of. “Very well. But only sufficient for short-range communication.”

“And when am I to be set free?”

“After the Baste Star has been destroyed.”

Baltar smirked. “What if they destroy you? And me along with you?”

“That is the risk you’ll have to take.”

“And my son?”

This was a subject Adama had been afraid would come up. He had been delighted in Baltar’s complete self-centeredness until this point. “And what of him? I will not force anyone to do anything he does not want to do.”

“Does that include staying with the Fleet? I’ve heard all about what’s going on, Adama. Gossip has a way of reaching even the Prison Barge. Your supposedly noble Council is lying through their teeth about him to save their own hides. Just who are the real criminals? The lines seem not so clear all the time, do they?”

“Your… concern for your son should have occurred at a younger age and perhaps we would not be having this conversation.”

Baltar smiled smugly. “Very well then. Ask him what he wants to do. If he wants to leave the Fleet, I want him to come with me.”

Adama sat back. It was very easy to agree to what Baltar was asking, but he had an idea of just how this whole situation could be used to help Loraio as well.

“I will agree to ask your son if he wants to leave the Fleet and go with you.”

Baltar smiled, triumphantly.

“In return,” Adama continued. “I will have a statement drawn up which you will sign, stating that Loraio had no prior knowledge or involvement in either your betrayal of the Colonies to the Cylons, or you escape attempt.”

Baltar’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you care so much for my son Adama? Trying to steal mine to get back the one you lost?”

If this conversation had occurred at any other time, Adama would have had no problems putting his hands around this man’s throat and strangling him.

“I will say that you asked to sign the statement, so that Loraio thinks it was your idea.”

“And just why would you do that?”

“I get no joy out of seeing your son’s anguish Baltar. Perhaps this is an opportunity to alleviate some of it and give him a chance at a better life.”

“But if he chooses to leave the Fleet…?”

“He will be allowed to leave. Do we have an agreement?”

Baltar paused for several microns, then stuck out his hand.

Shaking the hand of this traitor was something beyond contempt for Adama. For several microns he stared straight at the man, then finally he stood up and clasped his arm with his own, sealing the bargain.

“You wanted to see me, Commander?”

Adama looked up as the young man entered his quarters. It was hard to believe that almost two sectars had gone by since Loraio had been injured. Adama’s mind had been somewhat preoccupied with the confrontation on Terra first, and now the Cylons were a potential problem once again. The Council’s using Loraio to deflect their own poor decisions had not let up, although Adama and Tinia had managed to prevent formal charges from being filed.

Loraio was fairly oblivious to what had been happening within the Fleet itself. The Council had been screaming for his head, and he was doing his best to ignore it. Most of his time was spent in the Life Bay. He was still using crutches, as the leg had not healed well enough yet for him to be fitted with a prosthesis.

“Yes, please have a seat.”

“Thanks,” Loraio said with a grimace. “Sometimes I forget, but right now I can’t stay standing for too long.”

“You’re making progress.”

“Yes, thank you.” Loraio waited a beat. “But that’s not what you called me here about, is it?”

“No,” Adama said to the very astute young man. “Baltar is currently in the brig of the Galactica. I have struck a deal with him whereby he is giving us certain information we need about the inner workings of a Cylon Base Star.” Adama waited a few microns, allowing the information to sink in. “In exchange for that information, I have agreed to release him… maroon him on a planet somewhere.”

Loraio was silent.

“Do you want to go with him?”

‘It would be so easy to go with him; the easy way out. Hell, I don’t think my father could do much more to me than he’s already managed to do. And it would probably be a big planet. How much would I really have to see him? Hey Father, you take the eastern hemisphere and I’ll take the western one. We’ll keep the supplies in the middle and maybe once a yahren we can meet.

‘Yeah, that would be the easy way,’ Loraio thought. But Commander Adama had said nothing about Lira. And he doubted that she would be allowed to leave as well, not that Loraio would ever want to subject another human to his father’s punishment anyway.

“No,” he finally said, after what seemed like an eternity of silence to Adama.

Adama nodded. “Part of the deal I made with your father was that I would ask you that question.”

Loraio looked at the Commander, believing there to be more.

“And the other thing he has asked is that all charges against you be dropped. He will sign a statement saying that you had no prior knowledge of either his actions or the Cylons’ in the Twelve Worlds, or his actions aboard the Prison Barge.”

Loraio was stunned. It was, perhaps, the first time his father had done anything for his son without there being a direct benefit for himself.

“I… I would like to see him… before you release him.”

“Yes, yes of course,” Adama agreed. It had taken the young man longer than he had expected to turn down his offer. Perhaps all was not as well with him as Apollo had reported. “I’ll send word to the Security Officers down there that you’re to be allowed in. And given privacy.”

“Thank you Commander. Thank you for trusting me.”

Adama was stunned. “Loraio, you helped save the lives of everyone on that shuttle. I know what’s been happening to you isn’t fair, but I was hoping you would decide to stay here amongst us. The charges may be dropped, as they should be, but that will not change some people’s sentiments.”

“Well the easy thing to do would be just to leave with him. He’s only one person. I have a whole Fleet of angry people focusing their anger at me right now.” Loraio smiled. “But even back on Pisceria, I never liked to take the easy way out… except where my father was concerned.”

“Growing up with him wasn’t easy, was it?”

Loraio shook his head. “No, it wasn’t. But for whatever reason, I don’t hate him anymore. I used to… a lot. Even when he was being hailed as this great emissary of peace, I hated him so much I could taste it.”

“Believe me, there were others who doubted your father’s abilities as much as you.”

“Oh, I never doubted him, Commander. That’s what’s been making me crazy for so long. With all of the animosity that was flying around between the two of us, I never for once suspected him of plotting with the Cylons. If anyone should have seen it, if anyone should have suspected it, I should. And I didn’t.”

Adama finally was beginning to understand what had been troubling the young man for so long.

Baltar could hear someone coming down the corridor to his cell. The Galactica’s brig was hopefully the last prison he would ever spend time in. The steps did not seem to be that of a normal human being, and soon he saw why.

Loraio stood in front of the clear doors to his cell. The boy was on crutches. Baltar looked down the length of his body to where his right leg ended in a stump just below his knee. A twinge of guilt rippled through him as his son spoke for a micron to the guard. The two of them laughed at something he said. The guard keyed open the doors, and Loraio hobbled in, the doors closing behind him.

“Loraio,” Baltar greeted him, uneasy about what to say.

“Father,” Loraio greeted him back.

“I didn’t think I would see you again. When that shuttle landed and I saw all of this blood… there was blood everywhere, spilling out of the hatch onto the deck of the bay. The Councilors walked off of the shuttle and they left behind footprints of blood. So much blood…”

Loraio was so tempted to ask if it had sunk into Baltar, just how much blood was really on his hands, but he knew his father had never been appreciative of the literature of the twelve words and doubted he would get the symbolism.

“Yes, well, I survived. And I will continue to survive. Here on the Galactica.”

“Here? Why would you want to stay here?” Baltar was changing modes fast, from concerned parent to someone with another agenda. “I’ve seen what they are saying about you on the IFB. How long do you think it will be until you are in a cell like this?”

Loraio got a wry smile on his face, not the reaction Baltar had expected. “Don’t bother trying to convince me to go with you, Father. I’m staying here. There are enough people who believe in me here that I think I can wait for all of the furor to die down.”

“What will you do? How shall you live?”

“You never concerned yourself with my well being before. Why should it be any different now?” He sat down on the bunk in the cell, tired from supporting himself on the crutches for so long.

“I’ve had time to think Loraio. I’ve sat here…” Baltar stopped talking and shook his head, either unable or unwilling to express what was currently going through his mind to his son.

“Commander Adama followed through on what you asked of him. He asked me if I would go with you, and I answered him ‘no’.”

Baltar nodded. It was the answer he had expected, even though he was hoping for Loraio’s response to be different.

“I do have one question for you, though. Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you ask to have the charges against me dropped as part of your deal? And signing the statement getting me off the hook for your war crimes?”

“Because it’s the truth.”

“The truth has never concerned you before, father. In fact, I’m rather surprised you didn’t try to force me to go with you as a part of your bargain.”

Adama had kept his promise, and it was putting Baltar on the spot with his son. “I thought that if you did decide to stay here rather than accompany me, it was something I could leave you with; something positive for you to remember of me after all the yahrens that were… less than pleasant,” he lied. But for a change, he wished it had been his idea to do this for Loraio.

“Well, I do appreciate it. You surprised me, though.”

“A good businessman always knows how to catch someone off guard.” Baltar smirked. “When you asked ‘why’, I was afraid you wanted an explanation for something else.”

“Oh, I thought a lot about asking you why you would sell out your own people to the Cylons,” Loraio admitted. “But I don’t want to know your reasoning.”

“You don’t?” Baltar was surprised. It was by far the most-often-asked question of him by his fellow prisoners and the guards. It was also a question he declined to answer to anyone, though he might have answered Loraio at this point.

“No,” Loraio was almost laughing. It was something Baltar had not seen in his son since he was young. “I’m afraid that after you explain it all to me I might actually see your point. I think it’s one subject I prefer to have no knowledge of.”

“That is… your choice.”

They sat there for several centons in silence, both of them realizing this would be the last time they would see each other. Finally, Loraio stood up and positioned his crutches to help him walk.

“Take care of yourself Father,” Loraio said sincerely.

Baltar regarded his son and or the first time he could ever remember, he had different feelings towards him. “You too… son.”

Loraio said nothing else as the guard opened the door and he hobbled out.

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