Fifth Column
Episode 27: Life and Death
22 March 3060
Basestar
New Caprica
Cylon Territory
"How are you feeling?" Boomer asked.
"Like someone set off a bomb in front of my face," Eleven replied an unwilling giggle. She winced. "Ow."
Amazingly enough, Eleven had survives just such a thing. She had been the pilot of the Heavy Raider that Boomer had bombed. Boomer had people examining the thing and she had already heard about how incredibly tough its armor was. The bomb Boomer had planted had only cracked it, but enough of the concussion had filtered through the armor to knock Eleven out. The landing had been rough.
Which was why Eleven was in traction.
Although Eleven was technically a prisoner of war, Boomer had decided to put her in standard sleeping quarters. It was spacious, allowing room for medical monitoring equipment… and two of the few surviving Centurions to stand guard. In fact, these two were the same Centurions that Boomer had used during her little stunt on Eleven yesterday. They were under orders to let no one but Boomer and Simon in. The former was because no one was going to deny her anything right now. The latter was because Boomer trusted Simon not to do anything untoward to Eleven.
Most of the other Cylons on board were understandably angry and scared.
"I think I'm going to have to abandon New Caprica," Boomer went on. "I don't think I can hold it with what I've got."
That was certainly true. There had only been one Basestar here when the survivors had straggled in. It had originally been tasked with making New Caprica more livable. There were bushes and grass growing down there now. But since the arrival of Boomer's little fleet, it had been busy helping to repair their damage and make up their losses. They even had a spare Five body for Doral. Joy.
"New Caprica?" Eleven echoed. "Where's that?"
"So you guys don't know where it is yet?" Boomer said with an apologetic smile. It wouldn't last of course. The Frakking Five – that was what everyone was calling them now, though Boomer wasn't sure who first used that term - only had to ask the Colonials for New Caprica's location. "That's good. It means we have a little time."
Eleven opened her mouth to say something. Then she shut it with an audible click and glared at Boomer.
"So, Eleven," Boomer said easily. "Maybe you can clear up a bit of trivia for me." Boomer held up a hand to forestall a protest… or more likely judging from Eleven's expression, an insult. "I'm not going to ask you about you guys' tech as much as I'd like to. I already know you're not going to tell me anything."
Eleven just continued glaring at her.
"What I want to know is," Boomer continued, "is why you guys are here in the first place. Why did you guys leave? Given your attitudes, I'm pretty damn sure you wouldn't have approved a sneak attack on the Colonies. It would have saved everyone - you, us, the Colonials – a lot of grief and trouble if you had stayed."
"You don't know?" Eleven asked with disbelief in her voice. "How can you not know? Aren't there records and stuff?"
"They're locked," Boomer said disgustedly. "Even 'the Hero of Cylon' can't get at them."
"Well, I ain't telling you anything," Eleven said. Boomer imagined she would have crossed her arms and pouted if she hadn't been in a body cast. As it was, Eleven settled for just pouting. "Go ask someone who was there," Eleven continued. "I'm sure they remember."
"Boomer," Simon said as he stepped into the room. "The command council is meeting. Do you want to attend?"
"You know," Boomer said, standing up, "I think I just might do that."
"Give them hell," Eleven offered grudgingly.
"Only if they piss me off," Boomer replied.
Basestar
New Saint Andrews System
Cylon Protectorate
As they approached the Type II Basestar, Athena studied it and compared its design to what she knew of the original Type II. The original had been a one off, a prototype that had never seen mass production. The 0005 Centurions had taken it and left Cylon space for parts unknown years before the Final Five had their own exodus. Eventually, the Colonial refugee fleet had stumbled across and destroyed the Guardians shortly before New Caprica had been discovered.
The Final Five's Type II was obviously based on the Guardians' Type II. Instead of saucers, the upper and lower assemblies were flattened, three-sided pyramids with their bases facing each other and rotated so that each pyramid's corner overhung the middle of each of the other pyramid's sides. But there were enough design changes – notably the addition of lots of external docking ports – that Athena wondered if it should have been called a Type IV.
Well, it wasn't Athena's problem, she thought as her Raptor and passengers cycled through the Basestar's airlock. She and her passengers here were part of a trade deal. Athena and Caprica Six would go through the raw, captured memories of their former sisters and format them into something the Five could read and understand. In return, the Colonials would get food, medical supplies, and most importantly, information.
In addition, there were two marines who were supposed to make sure Six didn't do anything… rash. She was still technically a Colonial prisoner after all. The marines were also supposed to protect the party in case of Cylon treachery, but anyone who gave it two seconds thought would have laughed at the idea that they would be effective.
Then there was Lee Adama. Officially, he was in charge as the President's official representative. Unofficially, he was a sign of how much trust the Final Five had earned with President Roslin and Admiral Adama. And that was amazing when Athena considered how paranoid the Colonials had learned to be about anything labeled "Cylon". Athena herself had spent over a year and a half in Galactica's brig before they trusted her enough to let her wander around unescorted.
As they exited the Raptor, the Colonial party was greeted by a One, Nine, Eleven, Twelve, and oddly enough, a Centurion. Athena wondered where the Ten representative was.
"Greetings, welcome aboard," One greeted. "I am sure that we need no introductions, but I'm afraid the opposite isn't quite the same."
"Hello, I'm Lee Adama, President Roslin's representative," Lee said cautiously. His eyes were glued to the Centurion. "The marines are Private Simons and Private Grif. You know Six and, ah, Eight of course. Among us, Eight goes by 'Sharon' or more often her callsign, 'Athena'."
"Ah, thank you, Mister Adama," One said graciously. "We're delighted to meet you."
Eleven snorted derisively, glaring hard at Six and Athena. Nine on the other hand looked excited an ecstatic to meet them. Twelve looked… bored. And God only knew what the Centurion was thinking.
"Some of us more than others," One added quickly with a slightly pained expression.
"I'm sure we'll take your welcome in the spirit it was intended," Lee told him. Athena was impressed. He had only been working for Roslin less than a week and already he had mastered the art of political double speak. "So why isn't there a Ten here?"
"Why isn't…" One began, apparently confused by the question. Others were quicker on the uptake.
"I told you that you shouldn't have dressed up," Nine said to the Centurion as she nudged it with an elbow. The Centurion ignored her. Instead, it reached up and placed its hands on its head.
The Colonial party was dumbstruck when the head came off, revealing that it was only a helmet for the Ten underneath.
"Sorry about that," Ten said as he tucked the Centurion helmet under an arm. "I just wanted to be a bit cautious."
"Why…" Six said, the first who managed o speak. Even she had trouble finding words. "Why are you dressed like a Centurion?"
"Because it helps to have armor when you're in a fire fight," Ten answered, bemused.
"But… isn't that dangerous?" Six persisted.
"Yeah, it's dangerous," Ten replied. "It's dangerous, and tragic, and sometimes necessary. But fighting is also something you shouldn't do at the drop of a hat either. If it's important enough to fight over, it ought to be something worth risking your life over too."
The other Final Five Cylons nodded agreement.
Athena was beginning to get a glimmer of how different they really were… and how alike. Athena had a family now, something she would – and did on occasion – risk her continued existence for.
"So where do we start?" Lee asked.
"Six and… ah, Athena can begin any time they like," Eleven said.
"Oh, yeah," Twelve agreed. "We've tweaked the net permissions. You two guys have got access to the public database and we've set up your own subnets so you can get to work any time you like. We've also loaded translation matrices in the subnets you can grok the data on the public nets."
"That's nice," Lee said, nodding agreeably. He turned to Athena. "I hope to the gods you understood whatever he just said, Sharon."
"Don't worry, Apollo," Sharon reassured him. "Would you like me to translate what Twelve said into baby talk?"
Basestar
New Caprica
Cylon Territory
"No dammit!" Boomer shouted in frustration. She glared at Simon and dropped her voice to an icy gun patter. "I don't want to hear about what you think God wants." She switched the glare to the newly revived Doral. "I don't want to hear excuses and whining about how this isn't our fault." She turned on Leoben. "And I sure don't want to hear about any damned voices in your head." Boomer paused and throttled the urge to shoot someone… again. "What I… what we need are facts. What do we know for sure is actually true? Once we figure that out, we can get on with theorizing."
The others looked at each other.
"But… what facts do we have?" an unnamed Eight asked plaintively. She had been elected as the Eights' representative to the council. Somehow, Boomer was now considered 'too good' for the position anymore. "All we know is that the Five have somehow gotten superior weapons and armor. We don't know how."
"Let's start with something simple then," Boomer sighed. God, was she going to have to lead these idiots by the hand? "Fenton!"
"Er, yes, Boomer?" Fenton replied nervously. At Boomer's request, Fenton had attended the meeting. But so far, he had done nothing but play the wall flower. He still wasn't comfortable with other Cylons.
"What's the butcher's bill?" Boomer asked, her narrowed eyes locked on the rest of the command council.
"Two Basestars, two thousand four hundred Raiders, and the Resurrection Ship were destroyed out right," Fenton began. "Four more Basestars damaged, three of which have expended over ninety percent of their counter-missiles and sixty percent of their offensive missile load outs."
"Yeah, yeah, we already know that," Cavil said impatiently.
"Five thousand, six hundred eighty seven human model Cylons were killed," Fenton continued loudly. "Of those, the resurrection net logged all of them as being recovered by one ship or another, multiple times in some cases."
Several of the council nodded in satisfaction at the words. The resurrection net ensured that the Cylons would live on if their bodies died for whatever reason. Or at least it would if they had spare bodies of the appropriate model available. If not, then a poor soul – like Doral had – would have to wait until they were in FTL communications range of a Basestar or installation that did have the appropriate body.
"On inspection of the resurrection net," Fenton went on, "four thousand three hundred six human model and two thousand sixty five Raider memory sets are unaccounted for, meaning they are nowhere to be found in the local Cylon network."
Everyone but Fenton and Boomer was shocked. Then a clamor began, questions being thrown in and running together into a growing roar tinged with panic. And it wasn't just in this room. The chat networks were rapidly becoming clogged with messages being directed at Fenton and Boomer. Boomer let it build for several minutes, let the implications sink in; let everyone check the resurrection net to verify Fenton's statement. Then she put a stop to it.
"QUIET!!" Boomer roared.
Blessed silence reigned.
"Fenton?" Boomer said softly. "Continue."
"Of the missing memory sets, all of them were logged as recovered," Fenton said nervously. "However, all of their recovery acknowledgements came from Final Five ships." A general feeling of relief swept through the Cylon network. There were significant exceptions though, Boomer noted. "In addition, we have five hundred and twenty three sets of memories that don't belong to any of us," Fenton added. "Their ID codes mark them as mostly Nines and Tens."
"That's good," Leoben said, relieved. "That's good, right?"
"We could set up a… a prisoner exchange, right?" Shelley added, also relieved. "People do that during wars right? Right?"
"No, we can't," Cavil whispered. Of those present, only he and Doral were the only ones who didn't look relieved to hear that a good chunk of their brothers and sisters hadn't been lost beyond recovery. In fact, they looked down right nauseated.
"Really, Cavil?" Boomer asked loudly. She had been waiting for a slip like this. "Why can't we?"
"What?" Cavil said startled. "I didn't say anything."
"Yes, you did," Eight said. "I heard you. You said we can't trade with the Five to get our brothers and sisters back. Why not?"
"I don't know what you're talking about!" Cavil said half-heartedly.
"Yes, you do," Boomer said with complete certainty. "You and Doral here were around when the Five left us to begin with. You know – not just heard rumors, KNOW – why the Five originally left us. You knew what they were like when we first set foot on New Saint Andrews. You knew enough about Nines to be scared about getting in a bus that one of them was driving! And now we're at war with the Frakking Five. We can't afford denial and willful ignorance anymore. Now tell us what you know!"
Cavil and Doral looked at each other.
"You can't tell them!" Doral pleaded. "You just can't…"
BOOM!
Doral collapsed to the floor, dead again. The resurrection net chimed receipt.
"Cavil," Boomer said evenly as she holstered her gun. She was wearing it openly on her hip these days. "I'm waiting."
Cavil slumped in misery and began speaking.
Basestar
New Saint Andrews System
Cylon Protectorate
God, it felt wonderful to immerse herself into the Five's network. It had been ages since Athena had last "net surfed" as Twelve had put it. Before coming across the Five, linking into a network meant giving away her position to her sisters. Given that Athena was a hunted traitor, linking up would have been a bad idea. She missed this.
And given the choice between networking and her family, Athena would choose her family again with no hesitation at all.
Still, it wasn't good as it could be. The Eight subnet was… silent. Of course it was, Athena told herself. She was the only Eight connected to it. There were also a number of firewalls set up around her virtual self. The combination of silence gave Athena mixed, simultaneous feelings of being squeezed in and of a ball bearing rattling around inside a very large can.
Aha! There was the translation matrix. It was… huge. Cautiously, Athena examined it for anything that resembled a virus or hidden command. She couldn't find any, but she had learned why the matrix was so big.
The dialect of the Standard spoken by the Thirteenth Colony had drifted enormously from the Colonial version, so much so that it had split into dozens of… "languages" was the Earth word for it. Each language was likened to a completely separate computer code as different as the computer codes used by the Colonials before and after the Cylon rebellion; the Colonials had to basically reinvent computer technology from scratch after the Cylons rebelled and the new code still wasn't as sophisticated as the pre-rebellion code.
The Inner Sphere had hundreds of languages, a mind boggling figure to Athena. The translation matrix only had the six most important ones, two of which were completely unrelated to Colonial Standard at all. Luckily, the most dominant language, English, was related to Colonial Standard. But it was a complete oddball from the others, both in grammar and vocabulary. The grammar was… incredibly sloppy, but it had the advantage that you could convey a huge amount of meaning with only a few words if you didn't mind sounding like an idiot to fluent speakers. The vocabulary… The Five had inserted a joke about English mugging other languages for words; it was a quote of some sort from someone named Franklin.
"This is odd," Caprica Six murmured, breaking Athena's concentration.
"I take it you've checked out the translation matrix?" Athena asked dryly.
"What? No, I haven't yet," Six replied. "I was referring to the way Five stored the memories of the other Sixes. They're all… jumbled. It would take a little work to sort them all out by individuals, but why didn't the Five's resurrection net sort them out automatically?"
Athena did a quick check. "Huh," Athena said, puzzled. "The Eights' memories are all jumbled together too." She looked around and spotted Ten. He was still in armor nearby talking with one of the marines, Grif. They were apparently exchanging jokes and gripes about military life. "Hey, Ten! Can we ask you a question?"
"So what can I do for you two lovely ladies?" Ten asked.
"We're wondering why all the memory files have been lumped together," Athena told him. "Doesn't that make it harder to resurrect than it needs to be?"
"Not really," Ten said with a shrug. "We don't bother to resurrect."
