Title : Soul-Catcher
Author : Pierre
Rating : PG
Genre : Drama
Word Count : 2850
Spoilers : Up to mid Season Two
Multiple beta-testing & pertinent suggestions : Opal
SOUL-CATCHER
It appears that I'm not such a liability, after all.
And:
He pointed a gun at me.
And:
The Soul-Catcher got them.
Sharon was back in the cell, sitting on the bed, and trying to protect herself from the voices in her head and the thunder in the room. Closing her eyes to shield her from the ceiling lamps took care of the second nuisance. That was easy, and Sharon almost regretted that it was, because now, she had no choice but to face her thoughts. The silver dots dancing in the dark, caused by the guards changing position and nervously holding their rifles, weren't enough to distract her. Pain remains pain, Sharon realized, as she pressed her fingers tighter against her wounded hand.
The return trip to the brig was adventurous. The phenomenon, probably due to the unorthodox - interesting euphemism - connection with the ship's computer, was already slowly decreasing in intensity. Sharon's seeing and hearing senses weren't totally mixed: she was aware of her surroundings, tainted in blue/green, like she was under water at great depth, only able to understand what people were saying if she listened very carefully and was lucky. But her perception was infected by parasitic roaring lights and sparkling noises. The synaesthesia wasn't complete.
What I did was frakking dangerous, tinkering with my own dataport/datastream interface. Maybe this is a safety mechanism triggered by my brain, to avoid the threat of insanity. Even if right now, the effect seems worse than its cause: like some weird projecting, which I couldn't do anyway, as there is no Hybrid nearby.
. . .
Sharon hadn't said anything, of course. The marines were holding her by the metallic leash, again, and she was still bleeding. Right here, Sharon. Of all the people in the CIC, Felix would perhaps have been more susceptible to give her something she could have used to stop the blood. But he seemed hypnotized by the sight of Adama pointing the weapon, and remained seated, even though she saw him hesitating.
So, as she walked, Sharon's confused brain interpreted the infinitesimal sound of the droplets reaching the metallic floor as geometrically shaped figures grouped all around her. At some point, one of the marines behind her must have discovered this, because she heard someone swearing, and even in her state, could guess anxiety in the voice.
Why are they afraid? Following a trail of Cylon blood, and stepping on it. Bad luck? Will an unholy army rise from these "seeds"?
Sharon played with those fantastic thoughts, remembering old legends she was told, until there was a halt. Someone took her by the shoulder, not really rudely, and made her sit on a pile of crates. There was a curious hissing sound in the air, as if someone was walking on grass: Her sweaty hair falling before her eyes. A wall phone was nearby, and when the marine corporal - "Martin" or something like that, she wasn't able to fully read his badge - used it, it was like a web was suddenly growing, dark curved lines spreading from the receiver. Strangely, the marines didn't immediately resume the journey after the phone conversation ended. Sharon was able to recover a bit before a tension on her collar signified that she had to stand up again. She sensed some indescribable expression on the soldiers' faces as she looked at them.
Maybe they saw an exhausted woman hidden within the Cylon dragon. And, that's true, I just saved them.
. . .
If they are coming for you, they are going to be very disappointed.
And:
They weren't hunting.
And:
I :m
What was that? Sharon was trying to get the ferocious taste of the sidearm against her head out of her mind, when she heard another voice. Simultaneously, the silver dots merged into entire moving lines, as the door of the cell opened. Sharon opened her eyes again. She saw Dr Cottle entering the room, and she was relieved as the noise of the closing panel seemed almost normal and that the actinic light provoked only a faint humming. It's almost gone. That last one was curious, though.
As Sharon made a move to stand up, the assault rifles followed her closely, so she sat right back down. I guess the scales are back. I can't really blame them for this; I would probably do the same, confronted by a dangerous and unpredictable enemy, and that's what they think I am. The physician gave her a quick look and then turned to the guards and Sharon realized that he wasn't alone: his assistant...Ishay, was also in the cell, carrying a medical kit.
"Do you mind if I examine my patient?," Cottle asked ironically. Without waiting for an answer, he approached the bed and designated Sharon's clasped hands.
"A hell of a stunt you pulled off. Now it's time to fix your wound. Let me see what you've done to yourself." Sharon couldn't avoid a slight moan as she separated her hands. The already drying blood on the right one stuck to the open cut for a fraction of a second, inflicting sharp pain. Red snowflakes dancing between her and Cottle's face were accentuated by each heartbeat, and there was a shrilling sound in her ears. Oh, great, the fireworks aren't over.
Cracks appeared in the Doctor's mask. Realizing he had dropped his guard, he quickly moved away towards the marines and barked, grumpy as ever, "It's getting crowded in here. Free her from her restrains, and give me room to operate. I'll be sure to let you know if I'm not feeling safe anymore, deal?"
Safe… She's safe now. And they were sent to protect us. I should have guessed earlier. It was obvious, given their formation.
. . .
Sharon concentrates on analyzing the structure of the virus, ignoring the reptant pain filaments crawling from her left palm to her elbow and further, when it hits her. Something is wrong. What are they waiting for? The Raider army is still, just out there, and the Tactical Officer erased the Battlestar's computer drives moments ago. Most consoles are blind, the DRADIS is down, but Sharon knows that the Fighters are spread out, forming a giant net, whose nodes are the individual ships.
This isn't a hunting formation. No, like Gaeta and I suggested, it is more likely they are preparing to send some kind of software-activating signal. But the virus is already enabled, no? So why is this complicated network necessary? Wait, I'm receiving something...
The Cylon Raiders are di.sa.bling the virus. Somehow, her Brothers and Sisters have learnt she is still alive, and aboard Galactica. They also have good reason to be wary of a viral attack. Sharon was on Caprica when this first became a threat. Now, as she is also endangered, what began as a military advantage has become a weakness, and a Cylon fleet has been sent to solve this problem. What the Raiders won't know is that the hardware systems of the battleship are already off-line. Although, they can't take any chances and "built" this enormous emitting-structure.
Perhaps the virus has the ability to "jump" to other ships' mainframes, and they want to cover the whole Fleet, Sharon guesses, as the crimson snakes reach her shoulder. Of course, my people don't want anything to happen to my child. The first of God's new generation.
And that's when she has a moment of hesitation, and then Adama's cold face materializes at the periphery of her clouded vision, along with the furious contact of a gun to her temple, even if the weapon isn't actually touching her skin.
Click.
. . .
Sh:lt:r
Cottle saw the surprise in her eyes and misinterpreted her reaction when she shook her head. His order had been followed, so now her hands were free from the manacles, as were her feet, and the collar also removed.There was only one guard left in the cell, but two others were at the door, suspiciously looking in at the scene.
"You know, that's exactly what you need in your condition: unnecessary suffering," said the Doctor, reprobation noticeable in his tone.
"Uh, no, Doc, it's not ..." Sharon started, realizing that as it was the first time she had spoken since the events in the Combat Center, the rusted tone of her voice frightened her.
My condition…Yes. Is it...? Are you speaking? Or is it the last remnant of this frakking experience? Oh, my head...
Cottle took the syringe that Ishay had prepared at his instruction and injected the anaesthetic in Sharon's left arm, above the sterile operative field. The Doctor let two minutes pass, lost in thought, until he was sure of the desired effect, before starting his stitching work. The Caprican paramedic gave Sharon a look which she identified as showing sympathy and compassion, and she was grateful for that. Ishay was the one who was able to calm her the day when Sharon nearly lost her baby and had totally freaked out, not wanting Cottle to examine her. Sharon tried to manifest her appreciation with a discrete movement of her head, and the woman apparently got the message, because she nodded back and smiled briefly. These things comfort me, Sharon thought, and tell me that I don't have to regret my choice.
She experienced again what happened on Caprica, it seemed now in another life. Helo, the few steps you made, when you approached me, gave the beast enough time to disappear. The woman you loved was back, I saw it in your eyes. And that night, when she was unconscious, Helo must have given her a massive painkiller shot, because the next morning Sharon just felt so well, her pain gone, and ready to affront the entire universe. "... and shove it up your ass," I said, Sharon remembered, giggling inwardly.
Helo, my beloved Human, my personal Soul-Catcher, you couldn't bear see me suffering, and you made me feel like a drunk. Later, the same day, I became sober again, and anxious, trying to find some way to tell you, about our baby.
Soul-Catcher.
The outside hull composed of repetitive geometrical structures with the characteristically vast antenna, extending the range even farther. In fact, it was almost looking like a cathedral. Sharon had memories about temples like these, on Aerilon, the main planet in the system where her home, Troy, covered with mining facilities, was located. Or Aerelon, as the outsiders called the colony for Aries was its ancient name. As Sharon liked history, she also knew that this derived from a more ancient word: Ares. The God of War, Mars, but in its bloodlust inclined incarnation. "When God's Anger awakens, even the Mighty shall fall". Comes in handy here. Ares had a half-sister, also personalizing War, but more closely associated with Wisdom: Athena.
So, yes, the Soul-Catcher, manifestation of God's clemency, love and forgiveness, holy to all Cylons, was a very particular ship. Unarmed: It was supposed to give Life, not to take it. It had to be protected, at all costs.
. . .
Click.
Sharon feels the pain isn't increasing anymore. The synaesthesia is at its maximum. Plugged-in, the biological nanomachines in her blood working with her like a myriad of symbionts, she stands in the CIC, seeing thunder claps, real and imaginary, hearing lightning flashes, imaginary and real.
I have to do it now. I don't have the choice. I can't - I don't want to - return with them, in one of the Armored Carriers. I want to be with Helo, (a feeling of guilt, as she remembers the black eye) It's my fault, and... it hurts, and... I feel this metallic breath just at my left, so just ... leave me.
Cylon Raiders are like tamed savage animals, trained for the fight. Some think they have evolved by themselves to be more than just that. There has been mention of totally unexplained behaviours, possibly involving some sense of honor. For example, a pack of Raiders will execute a killing dance before destroying a prey. Or a single one, often an "ace", will disable his guns or fire without really targeting and rush at maximal speed towards his opponent, to gauge him. Actually, it is considered bad luck to take a Raider down during or just after such a maneuver. Sometimes Raiders will mercilessly follow a fleeing opponent and finish him off, sometimes not. Two imbricated Vipers, flying slowly, trying to reach Galactica's flight-pod before it was fully retracted: a too easy target for a warrior?
This is different. Sharon isn't breaking some "rule". The Raiders have been sent to inactivate the virus, perhaps to retrieve her, and she will incapacitate them, leading probably to their destruction. Sharon feels almost sorry for them, and there is guilt too, once more, even as she knows they will resurrect. Is it ridiculous? You can't hurt a Raider?
- Do it! -
Sharon's mental shout has triggered something. At least that is what she wants to believe. Through the connection? Sharon's distress and fear must be perceptible. She is in immediate danger now. Suddenly, there is a way - why couldn't she see it before - to easily complete the re-compilation process. The counter-virus is ready. Are you helping me? Sharon takes several precious fractions of seconds to embed some sort of feeling in the software structure - forgive me...
- What are you waiting for? -
THIS
. . .
Kill the bastards!
And:
Take this thing back to its cell.
"Thank you, Layne," Cottle said, letting the paramedic take the metallic tray where he had put the suture instruments and returned the folded blue surgical drapes. Reading Sharon's mind or more prosaically analyzing her miserable expression he added, "Young Lady, thank you for saving us."
He looked at the remaining marine, the corporal - "Madsen", aha - , and Sharon wondered if the Doctor would also thank him for something, but he only followed her own glance, directed at the black assault rifle.
"Without you, most of us would surely have died today. All of us know that, even the Commander," the physician continued, looking into Sharon's dark eyes.
She lowered her head and put her newly bandaged hand on her belly, her fingers grasping the soft tissue on the top of the grey pants. How could he know what is eating at me? I can't forget this terrible look.
"Well, he didn't exactly show his gratitude, but that's only my opinion," Sharon answered, sarcastically. Why should you care? You weren't even there.
"You can think that. All I know, is I received this call from the CIC, didn't even get to finish my frakking cigarette, all because someone was eager for me to get here ASAP," Cottle replied, with a rough tone that didn't quite ring true. "I'm done here. You need to rest. This boy will end up shooting his own foot if he keeps playing with the safety like that, and I've had enough surgery for today".
Yeah. The safety, huh? On? Off? I'm pathetic. Or maybe not. Perhaps someday I will have the occasion to ask him. If I find the courage. Holy frak! I have so many other things to worry about ... When will Helo come to see me? I miss his voice...
As Dr Cottle prepared to leave the cell, Sharon got up wanting to thank him for taking care of her. She took one step, but then remembered where and what she was - a prisoner - and at the same time saw that Madsen had almost managed not to raise his weapon at her. She stopped her movement, just stood there and witnessed him slowly lower the rifle again, feeling ridiculous and possibly ashamed.
Perhaps it's the beginning. Very tiny things. Hope shards. Or maybe I'm too optimistic.
"Thank you, Doctor," Sharon said.
"It will take time, Sharon," the physician answered, disconcerting her until she realized he was pointing at the white bandage on her left hand with the slightly bent cigarette he had just taken out of his shirt pocket.
He stepped out of her quarters, rejoining his assistant who was already waiting by the door and was quickly followed by the soldier. Sharon was alone again in her realm.
. . .
Sl;;p
She lies on the bed, awake, her arms on her belly. She doesn't know how much time has passed, but her palm doesn't hurt anymore and she feels rested and relaxed. She is surprised to have been able to sleep, though. Maybe there was a sedative as well in the shot. The strange things that happened these last hours seem like dreams, now. Her daughter is there, under her hands, protected in the shelter of her body. Her eyes are aware of some movement. Someone has entered the brig area but seems to hesitate. Here, again. Then she sees him.
Your soul is caught, and you can't forget. You are still in love. I' m so sorry.
She slowly stands up and walks towards the phone.
.