03 - Sagittarius is Bleeding Read Online Free Page B

handy hints in
making himself scarce, his young heart thudded with the poundings of his first
crush.
    Boxey still continued to make his way over to the Galactica every
chance he got, snagging a ride on any shuttle that was going from the Peacemaker to the Galactica for some reason or other. All the pilots
knew Boxey by that point, and were perfectly happy to bring him over with a nod
and a wink to the regulations that said they weren’t supposed to give anybody
lifts. Boxey, nimble-fingered as he was, had also become deft at acquiring
hard-to-come-by items from the black market. No one questioned too closely when
Boxey was able to provide some particularly rare fruit, or a cigar, or a bottle
of fine brandy. Boxey didn’t believe in buying friendship, but there was nothing
wrong with renting it or bribing it into existence for periods of time.
    With all of those questionable talents at Boxey’s command, it was small
wonder that, while everyone was scrambling to the flight deck and leaping into
their Vipers, and the ship was in a state of high alert, Boxey was able to slip
into the brig. There were guards at the front, yes, but they were busy talking
to each other, speculating about how the frakking Cylons had found them yet again, and when the hell was this going to let up already, and what if it
never did, and what if sooner or later the luck of the last remains of humanity
finally gave out. With all of that going on, it was not all that much trouble
for Boxey to secure himself in a corner, wait until the proper moment presented
itself, and ease himself behind the guards and through the main door without
their even noticing he was there.
    The cell area was cramped, as was pretty much everything else on Galactica. It wasn’t particularly surprising; it was a battleship, after
all. There was very little in the military mindset that made room for comfort. Functionality was valued above everything, and if
the designers of Galactica didn’t hesitate to cram the ship’s military
personnel into as incommodious quarters as possible, certainly they weren’t
going to go out of their way to provide luxurious accommodations for prisoners.
    It was darker in the cell area than outside, and Boxey paused a few moments
to let his eyes adjust.
    He spotted her at the far end of the brig. Her cell didn’t look to be much
bigger than five by ten feet, and Boxey tried to imagine what it would be like
to have his entire life confined to such a narrow area. The brig didn’t have
bars the way that other cells did. Instead it had walls that consisted of metal
grid screens which appeared to be welded tightly together, reinforced by
Plexiglas.
    Sharon was in her cot, lying on her back, her arms flopped over her head. It
was difficult for Boxey to determine if she was awake or not, although the
steadiness of her breathing seemed to indicate that she was asleep. He also
couldn’t help but notice the developing bulge in her stomach. It wasn’t
especially large, but it bore the distinctive shape that separated the belly of
a pregnant woman from one who was just getting fat… a distinction that Boxey
had learned, but not before inadvertently insulting quite a few overweight
women.
    He approached her slowly, moving on the balls of his feet, applying
everything he had ever known or had come to know about the art of stealth. She
continued not to move. He couldn’t see her face clearly, and for some reason
that brought him a measure of comfort. He knew Sharon Valerii’s face as well as
he knew his own, if not better. He had stared at her the entire time that she
had flown him from beleaguered Caprica to the relative safety of Galactica. So as long as he didn’t see Boomer sitting in that cell, well, then…
somehow the entire business of her being connected to the Cylons—of her being a Cylon herself—was far more ephemeral
and easy to deny.
    And then, while Boxey was still a short distance away, Sharon abruptly sat