He is again running and terrified. He is on Resurrection Island and trying to get to the boat. If he can get there before the lion catches him, he will be off the island and safe - only brush and trees keep getting in his way, slowing him down. He hasn't seen the big cat, but he knows it's there. It is always there because he has dreamed this before and he feels it, sometimes off to the left, sometimes to the right, or behind, always just out of sight.
Ma'am appears to his left, floating with ease. "You had better run faster. I thought you were supposed to be good at this, or have you lost it all; you're not half the man you were."
It's the same every time.
A glimpse to his right, Niki at fourteen, as she was the day they surprised the cougar with its kill. She winks at him. "Remember," and disappears like a ghost.
Close now, so close, hot, fetid breath on the back of his neck, next leap and a claw will have him . . . .
Lee wakes with a harsh hiccup. He can't breathe and pushes onto his right elbow, gasping, then coughing. It's the same dream. It's ridiculous; he hasn't had dreams like this since he was a child - chased by monsters and wild animals. What has she done? What has happened to him? Niki, now, along with the rest.
He's regressing. Dear gods, is that what it is? Have they done something he doesn't even remember?
Stop it. Stop it! He sits, draws his knees up and leans his elbows there, head in hands. A position to think in, get logical. It's easy to get carried away in the middle of the night, alone, after dreaming, especially in his position. Dreams are supposed to be your subconscious released, aren't they. So after what's happened, I've got the fear of a little kid. Guess that's not surprising. Ma'am, of course, she's there; probably she's the cougar, too. We've been talking about Niki, makes sense she would show about now. So, get over it.
He has spent his life adjusting to uncomfortable situations and he can adjust to this one. Since he was small he has been the one with the tendency to dream, to imagine, to over think. But his military upbringing has also taught him that he must face reality, be practical, do whatever is necessary to survive. He yawns. Within minutes he is asleep again.
She enters as usual in the morning, after exercize, breakfast and a shower. It is the established routine. If he had a watch, he expects she would arrive to the second. It takes him a few seconds to realize why he is bothered by her more than usual: She is dressed exactly as she was the first day - hair up, the black satin trousers. At least they sit in the accustomed chairs without that table. Is he expected to answer the question he never did the last time?
She sits with her feet flat on the floor, hands resting on her thighs. He no sooner notices than realizes he is sitting the same way.
"This basestar is in civil war with the other Cylons," she says. "We have made alliance with Admiral Adama and have destroyed the Resurrection Hub. Before doing so, he helped us retrieve D'Anna Biers, who is to tell us all the identity of the Final Five, who Kara Thrace says can lead us to earth. At least three of the Five are with the fleet. One is with us now."
He has forgotten to breathe and takes a deep breath now. There is no possible reason he can think of that she would lie about any of this. How could she expect him to believe such a story? It must be true.
"Why are you telling me this?"
She hasn't moved. She keeps looking right into his eyes. "Because you and I are finished."
She stands, takes a step toward him, leans over and reaches for his neck. He makes himself stay, stay, he thinks, like a dog, stay, and a displaced shift inside chuckles. She steps back with the collar in her hand and drops to her knees.
"I made a mistake," she says. "Natalie disagreed with the method, but I insisted. It took the learning to know the cost." She reaches behind and brings forward a gun, takes his right hand and places it in his palm. "She is watching, and there will be no punishment. It is your right. I am sorry; I cannot live with this." She bows her head and waits.
He feels nothing, at first. It's a trick. The gun isn't loaded. It feels loaded. What is the point of such a trick? Remorse? This one? She's not Sharon. She's a machine. A machine with remorse. What a laugh. Did she throw a switch, or what? After all that, she's sorry. She's sorry. Poor thing, she's sorry.
He stands, face flushing, breathing hard. Points the pistol at her head with both hands. Thinks of . . . and . . . gods. His hands tremble, not with fear, oh no, not this time. You sorry frakking piece of machinery I'll blow your frakking brains all over this frakking room you frakking piece of shit and I'll spit on you and puke on you . . . you . . . he pulls the trigger but the safety's on. He knew it was but it felt good to squeeze hard like that. Shit. He flips off the safety and pulls the trigger again and blows a hole in the floor three inches from her left knee. She jerks with the ear-clapping blast. Again to her right and another jerk. She's trembling at his feet and he images backhanding her across the face with all the force he's got. Instead, he flings the gun off somewhere and it rattle-cracks across the nice, warm floor.
"I hope you're not lying about not being able to live with what you did, because that's what you're going to do!" Spit sprays with the thrown words. "You wanted this, to know what it's like to be human, oh gods I want you to know, and you can't chicken out now! Humans deal with this kind of shit all the time, making horrible mistakes, wishing they were dead, dealing with results of their actions but knowing they can't start over. Welcome to the club."
He stares at the top of her head, that shiny, pale hair. His breathing slows, grasps at his own thighs. "I never liked your hair," he murmurs.
She raises her head a little. "What?"
"It looks fake, bleached."
"A mistake, then. We knew you were attracted to blonds. My pheromones were made to match, but you never seemed to notice."
"I expect your actions overrode that."
"Yes." She lowers her head again.
"You really went about this all wrong."
"I see that now, but we didn't have much time."
"All that about the civil war and the alliance - it's true?"
"It is."
"My father knows I'm here and alive then."
"Yes. We believe it is why he sent Kara Thrace to us."
He sits down, takes a deeper breath and raises his chin a little. "Starbuck to the rescue once again, I see."
"Shall I leave?"
"You mean I have a choice?"
"Yes."
"Stay then." He stands. She is so close to his feet; he has to walk around her to walk toward the opening, and fights the urge to glance back to see if she has moved. The light rises as usual, and the Centurion is still there, silent as a statue.
This is me, Lee Adama, he thinks, this is what I do. Two little tests to begin with, one of her, one of himself, combined, really. He steps outside the confines of the room, stands hands at his sides and waits, settling his heart beat, checking both directions of the corridor, glancing at the glittering, red flow on the opposite wall. The Centurion hasn't moved. The first step left is like walking through mud, listening for movement from the Centurion at his back, but there is none. The second is easier; the third is like his first solo flight in a viper - scary but exhilarating.
Natalie is in the first doorway to his left.
"You observe from there," he says.
"Yes."
"We have one like it on Galactica. Only we have never done what you have."
"Perhaps not Adama."
No, not his father. But others would. Had. If they survived, could they be different? How long would it take humanity to truly become civilized?
"When do we go back to the fleet?"
"About two ship days, we think. I expect you would like a different room."
"Yes, and to see Kara, but not yet. I'd like regular clothes if you have them, and shoes."
"Of course."
He clasps his hands, moves his feet a little further apart. "Did you learn what you wanted?"
"We learned to feel what you were feeling. I believe you call that compassion. We learned that not everything can be defined or explained. We learned discontent, of ambiguity, intimacy, courage and honor. We are still learning."
He wishes he hadn't asked. Those words, some of them, don't belong to what happened to him. He won't think about it. "I don't want to see her. I'll talk to you. Not to her."
"I understand."
Tom Zarek slouches in a cushioned, comfortable chair in his quarters, tapping a small tape against his knee. He stares across the semi-darkened room, deep in thought. There is an old, scratched and dented recorder-player on the table at his feet; a tiny green light on top remains lit.
There are three taps on the hatch.
"Come in." He sits up, notices the light, and turns off the recorder.
A thin man enters; he looks to be younger than Zarek, plainly clothed, dark-haired, an unnoticeable type, easily forgotten.
"Did you listen to this?" asks Zarek, as the other sits across from him.
"Of course not." The man relaxes into the chair, arms and hands on its cushioned sides. Zarek looks for telltale signs of lying, sees none, and tosses the tape onto the table. So far, this individual has proved intelligent and reliable. He'll trust him with something more and see if it leaks. "I want you to call Tory and arrange a meeting with the President - in two days. I'd like to give a certain colonel time to talk to the admiral before we meet."
"That's it?"
"Yes . . . no. Anything I should know about Gaius Baltar and his new converts?"
"Not really. They like what he says about this new god, but life has taught them to be practical. They know from whence comes their bread and butter."
Zarek smiles. "You Aerelons sound like preachers."
The man returns a down turned smile. "Most of it is gone, and there's not many of us left. The next generation shall speak like the rest of you."
"The next generation. I'll join you in praying there is one, to whatever god."
It was fortunate they had jumped into the area from so far out or they might have taken damage from all the debris. Items of small mass are generally pushed away in a jump, but there were a few larger objects that were recognisable, like the remaining wing of a base star that was still travelling rather fast and would remain so unless it was hit by an asteroid or captured by the gravity of a planet or moon.
"Dear god," said Doral, looking vacant, mirroring where they had expected to find the Resurrection Hub.
"Indeed," said Cavil. He immediately placed his palm over the data stream to contact the ship that had arrived with them.
Cavil was nothing if not a fast thinker, able to change plans at a moment's notice. He had been made with this ability and had had to practice it more than once. In many ways, he believed his mind was the most adaptable, more like the humans' than his compatriots, yet he remained truest to their cause. He studied humanity and agreed with many of their military precepts, one of which was "know your enemy." It was how he had hidden among them as a minister, and it was how he would win this civil war against his own kind, then defeat Adama.
He was considering possibilities when Sharon placed her hand on his shoulder. "The heavy raider has returned; they have been found. It's just as you said."
Simon and Doral looked confused.
"I knew they would come for her," said Cavil, "and had a tracer placed within her body. I confess, I didn't think they would destroy the Hub. They must have joined with Adama in order to destroy two basestars and do this, and are traitors to their own kind."
Doral's face twisted with anger. "We can blow them up once and for all, then."
"We are two remaining ships," said Cavil. "In a fight, we could very well lose another and all those on board. Remember, we can no longer be replaced. Better we learn from the humans who cannot afford to risk their numbers.
"Natalie's ship will not recognize one heavy raider as an enemy. Neither will they know Sharon from any other Eight if she is first aboard. I and you, Doral, will follow with six Centurions who will protect us, even from their few remaining Centurions, if necessary. We will wipe them out from within and take the ship as our own. Only keep D'Anna alive; she and the ship will lead us to Adama."