CHAPTER 36
IMPASSE
"Listen to me! Please … listen to me! At bottom, I agree with the President. I want to make that abundantly clear. We can relieve the overcrowding on our ships by transferring some of our people to the Cylon baseships, and I'm confident that it is now safe for us to do so. These Cylons are our allies, and I can't conceive of a circumstance that's going to change this new reality."
Tom Zarek surveyed his audience. He was on the Gemenon Traveller, openly canvassing for votes. He was a candidate for the presidency, but the election was less than two months away, and he wasn't about to kid himself. He was trailing Laura Roslin in every poll, and when he factored in the sampling errors, he was trailing badly. Roslin had the Caprican vote locked up, along with the Picon and Libran, but the one-time terrorist's grip on the Aerilon and Sagittaron blocs was just as secure. The election would turn on the Gemenese, and Zarek couldn't fathom why they would give Roslin the time of day. The Capricans were hard-core polytheists, and they scorned the Gemenese for their ongoing infatuation with monotheism. Over ninety percent of the Gemenese in the fleet were monotheists—the last followers of a religious tradition that had been ridiculed and oppressed for countless generations. The Gemenese and Sagittarons were natural allies. Or at least, Zarek mentally corrected himself, they should be. Why haven't I been able to make deeper inroads here?
"But the President is acting like a dictator," Zarek shouted as he raised his palms to plead for calm. "That's the difference between us. Roslin's issuing orders, telling us all that if you have a particular set of skills, then you're going to be sent to the baseship whether you like it or not. We're not being given a choice in the matter! Well, I happen to think that this is still a democracy … that we still have individual liberties … and that this is intolerable! My administration will never treat our people like slaves! We Sagittarons have a long history of being treated like second or third-class citizens … of being little more than chattels of the Caprican conglomerates—and I'm not going to forget my roots! I'll offer you inducements to move- bigger quarters, better food- but I'm not going to put a gun to your head! Even Commander Six has learned this lesson. She has more humanity in her little finger than Roslin has in her whole body! Our people on the Monarch and the Majahual work long hours, but thanks to Natalie Six they now have access to luxury suites on Cloud Nine. Natalie Six compensates us for our labor, but not Laura Roslin! Oh, no … the queen bee of the Caprican hive wants us all to labor at her command; she wants us to settle for whatever scraps she deigns to throw us from her well-stocked table. Isn't it amazing? We've left billions of dead in our wake; our entire civilization has been destroyed … and nothing has changed! The masters are still the masters, and the slaves are still the slaves. When are we going to wake up? When are we going to throw off our shackles?"
There was widespread murmuring in the landing bay, until a lone pair of hands began to clap. When Zarek looked around, he found that D'Anna Biers was studying him through openly skeptical eyes.
"You are an eloquent speaker, Mr. Zarek; I'll give you that. But you are preaching the wrong message to this particular choir."
D'Anna's eyes swept the bay in one all-encompassing glance. More than a dozen Twos and Threes had migrated to this ship, all of them seeking to live in harmony with their persecuted human brothers and sisters. Here, Cylons and humans had quickly discovered that their shared faith in a singular divinity trumped all other considerations. Beset by implacable foes, they had become a community with a single voice.
D'Anna saw people shaking their heads in agreement all around her.
"We seek only one thing from the Colonial government," she continued, "and that is the right to practice our beliefs openly and without fear of continuing persecution. We are willing to work for the common good … on this … or any other ship."
"Here, here," a number of the Gemenese called out.
"But we do not wish to be mocked and spat upon in return for our efforts. You are a member of the Quorum, Mr. Zarek. Would you be willing to introduce legislation to guarantee freedom of religion, as well as freedom of assembly? At present, we enjoy neither. At present, every official function opens with an invocation to the gods delivered by the high priestess Hypatia …"
"Idolatry contaminates our marriage and baptismal rituals," Sarah Porter fumed. "Laura Roslin's new legal code denies us the right to raise our children in accordance with our traditional beliefs …"
"And I voted against it," Zarek exclaimed. "Gemenon, Sagittaron, Tauron, Aerilon, Canceron, Virgon ... we all voted to uphold the judicial independence that is one of the basic liberties enshrined in the Articles of Colonization. But we lost. Why? People, there's no great mystery here; three of the delegates mysteriously died during the uprising—one of them among the most consistent and vocal of Roslin's opponents. Well, surprise, surprise," Zarek sneered; "she promptly hand-picked their successors. And at the very next session, she introduced a measure to put a Cylon and a centurion on the Quorum. She jammed it down our throats ... remember?"
The former terrorist repeatedly pounded his fist into his palm for emphasis. "The Quorum split right down the middle, which enabled Roslin to break the tie. So, now she's got eight votes in her back pocket, plus the support of the military. We're helpless. Roslin can do anything she wants, and the rest of us have no choice but to sit back and take it."
"But it doesn't have to be this way," Zarek cried. "D'Anna, I absolutely support freedom of religion, but I have no desire to be publicly humiliated. I'm willing to tackle Roslin and her gang of puppets, but only if the Cylons and the centurions back my play. Can you turn their votes around?"
"No," D'Anna reluctantly admitted. "Admiral Adama not only allows us freely to worship on Galactica but also attends our services without fail. The Sixes and Eights on Galactica's decks do not meet with prejudice at every turn, so it's easy for them to pretend that it doesn't exist. Even some of my sisters," D'Anna sighed.
"My model is also divided," Leoben confessed. "We all see the contempt in which those of us who worship the one God are held, but some of my brothers counsel patience. They argue that we must give the wounds opened by Demand Peace time to heal. I can see their point, but I also fear that we shall never be able to persuade the Sixes to abandon Laura Roslin. Natalie believes that our future in this fleet is narrowly tied to the President's …"
"It would be helpful if other prominent public figures openly recognized our claims to sentience," D'Anna pointedly remarked. "There are only so many battles that Natalie can fight at one time."
"Then we shall have to win this war at the ballot box," Zarek passionately replied. "If I'm elected president I'll send Hypatia packing, but legislatively my hands will still be tied unless we pick up one more vote in the Quorum. Leonis is a possibility, but it would be better all the way around if the centurions supplied the seventh vote. Adama will be far less inclined to carry out still another military coup if he can't control the centurions."
"We're talking to them," Leoben grudgingly conceded. "We're trying to impress upon them that they do not have to march in lockstep with the Sixes, but this is no easy task. There is a genuine bond between our machine brothers and Shelly Adama. Her appointment as the Cylon delegate to the Quorum was a masterstroke. She speaks for Natalie, but we are all to understand that she speaks for her husband as well. She gives the Admiral a political voice that he lacked heretofore, and she ties Galactica directly to the baseships. Shelly is the anvil upon which our alliance has been forged."
And I can't even assassinate the bitch, Zarek raged … not with that frakking resurrection ship parked right in the middle of the fleet!
. . .
"It's getting colder."
Marcia Case shivered, and huddled closer to the fire.
"The City of the Gods is well to the north of the planetary equator," Claudia Wang observed. The raven haired surgical nurse was the only medical specialist in camp, which also made her the only person with medical training on the entire planet. "And I suspect that the winter solstice is still some weeks away. Yesterday, the sun went down at 16:55; today, sunset was at 16:53."
"We should relocate to the tropics," Hector "Fish Bait" Greenleaf argued. The Raptor jockey was a native of Canceron, and cold weather was something that he could do without. "The game will be more plentiful, and fruits and nuts a lot easier to gather. If we settle along a stretch of ocean with an onshore reef, fishing will be child's play." The lieutenant had grown up on the beach, and he had spent countless hours fishing off one pier or another.
"We'd also have a longer growing season for our crops," Henry Avalon pointed out. At nineteen, Parsnip had fled the family farm on Tauron in favor of a career in the Colonial fleet. Now, at the ripe old age of twenty-four he was going back to the soil—and he had no illusions about what he was going to be doing for the rest of his life. Both his days and his nights were pretty well planned out.
"I tend to agree," Showboat said. "I thought that we could put all the loose building stone here to good use, but we have to get out of the Raptors before we exhaust our tylium supply, and we can't do that this far north. We'll head south in the morning. A coastal plain or a river valley in the tropical belt someplace with good soil, fresh water, and a stand of timber ... that's where we'll plant the colony."
. . .
"Caprica, you'd better get up here!"
Kara was studying the clearing in which Boomer had landed their Raptor. She had spotted seven centurions on the way in, and she could still see four of them in the distance. Either this Anders guy has been picking up strays, Kara concluded, or we've stumbled across a herd of lost mechanical sheep. Either way …
"Well, Agent Brandywine, sir … what do you think?" Kara gestured towards the clearing with a nod of her head.
"Not what I expected," Caprica acknowledged. "So, we should proceed cautiously. I'll go first; the worst that can happen is I wake up in a vat of goo."
"You're the boss," Kara grinned.
This was the fourth stop on what had turned out to be a very long day. Caprica's surface was being pounded by torrential rain as the planet fell ever more deeply into the grip of nuclear winter. No one was especially surprised that all of the resistance camps had shifted during Natasi's absence, but the perpetual gloom and inclement weather had made picking up the trail of the scattered human refugees difficult in the extreme. So far, Caprica Six had managed successfully to rendezvous with three guerilla groups. In each instance she had spread maps out across the Raptor's floor, and the resistance leaders had methodically ticked off the hospitals and supply depots upon which they had been drawing for food, medicine, fuel and ammunition. Colonel Phillips had questioned each of the leaders closely, and he had littered the maps with fresh notations, each of them pointing to heavy equipment and building material that might be salvaged for future use. Phillips had detached one of his officers to remain behind with each group, and Natasi had provided transponders and wireless communications gear that Leoben had slaved to the baseship now parked overhead.
Caprica was a big planet, and conditions were deteriorating rapidly. Evacuating the thousands of survivors and whatever supplies and equipment they could salvage was going to be a monumental task.
Natasi stepped off the ramp, and walked in the direction of a trio of centurions observing her from a distance. She was wearing one of the elegant white rain coats that her sisters so prized, but it had two functional purposes—to keep her dry, and to make her an easy target. When she got within range, she simply asked the closest machine whether its telencephalic inhibitor had been removed. When the centurion shifted its position so that she would be able to see the hole at the base of its skull, she breathed a deep sigh of relief.
Caprica turned to face the Raptor, and gestured for the others to come out and join her. Kara, Boomer, Alexander Phillips, Andrea Minor and two other lieutenants from the 3654th slowly trudged across the sodden field. Their clothes were soaked, and they were all thoroughly miserable. Everyone was looking forward to getting back to the baseship and taking a long, hot shower.
"Is Sam Anders with you? If he's here, please take us to him."
The centurion's lone red eye stilled. The machine stared at the Six for a moment, and then abruptly turned and headed for a stand of trees at the far end of the clearing. As they neared the verge, Caprica sensed movement in the undergrowth and she strained her eyes, looking for one intimately familiar face. And then he stepped out of the shadows.
"Sam," she cried. Caprica picked up her pace, and the two lovers scrambled across the wet and slippery ground to fall into one another's arms.
"You came back," Sam whispered repeatedly as he lifted her off the ground and twirled her in his arms. "You came back."
"To get you out of here," she whispered in return; "to take everybody home."
"As good as your word," he grinned. Anders glanced at the assembled officers, but he stared hard at Boomer: it wasn't every day that one saw a Cylon wearing a Colonial flight uniform. "So, is Galactica up there?"
"No. There are two baseships in the system. We've evacuated Picon, but we're just getting started here on Caprica. It's going to take time."
"Well, I hope you've got plenty of room on your ships. There are now over eight hundred people in this camp alone; we've been moving east for weeks, absorbing other groups as we go. Come on, let's get everybody out of the rain, and then we can sort out what to do next." Sam led them back through the trees, and now Caprica could see that the dense canopy hid hundreds of tents.
"You're living out in the open," she said with surprise.
"No ... not really; we're still using the intelligence you supplied to locate and tag supply dumps. The radioactivity has got into the ground water, and if you see any carcasses in the forest, it's best to give them a wide berth. Without the bottled water and food that your friends in the CSS stashed in hardened shelters, all of us would have been long since dead. The planet's dying, Natasi … and it's going to take a thousand lifetimes for it to heal."
"In here," Sam said as he directed them into a large tent that served as his makeshift command post. "Natasi, you remember Jean Barolay ... and this is Melania Peripolides. Together they run the civilian side of our operation …"
"I've met Melania before as well," Caprica interrupted; "and Captain Lysander ... you still look as intimidating as ever." She offered her hand in greeting to the dark-skinned Special Forces Officer.
"Your Highness," he chuckled; "it's good to see you again."
"Marcus, I'd like you to meet Colonel Alexander Phillips and Lieutenants Minor, Terence, and Jacobs of the 3654th—a combat engineering battalion. Their unit made up about half the evacuees from Picon. This Eight is Lieutenant Sharon "Boomer" Valerii of the Galactica …"
Caprica ushered Kara forward, and turned back to Sam. "And this is my daughter, Colonel Kara Thrace Six … our Second Born."
Marcus Lysander whistled softly as he studied the blond haired pilot in the flight uniform. He could see the resemblance, "So, you're one of the two hybrids," he finally remarked.
"Yeah, but I try not to let it go to my head. So, you don't have to bow and scrape, or anything ... and why'd you call my mom 'Your Highness'?"
Everybody in the tent started laughing. "Colonel, it's an inside joke," Melania finally admitted. "If this planet has a queen, your mother is it."
Melania turned to look up at the hulking centurion with a frown. "Henry," she said affectionately "let's get you dried off before you start to rust." She grabbed a stool, some towels, and got to work on centurion 114L43H7.
"You gave my brothers names?" Kara was incredulous.
"Hey," Sam protested, "they may be your brothers, but they're my kids … or at least that's what they all keep telling me."
"Well, does that make you my uncle or something?"
"We're not sure," Caprica intervened. "I want to get Sam up to the baseship so that we can analyze his blood and DNA. He's either one of our five missing Cylons, or he's still another hybrid. The tests are simple, but since we have your blood and DNA to use as a baseline, the results will be definitive."
"But first," Phillips added, "we have a lot of work to do." He reached inside his jacket and brought out a thick packet of ordnance survey maps. "We're in the market for equipment as well as supplies. I saw some trucks parked on the edge of the clearing; we could use a couple of hundred just like them."
"Sir," Lysander replied, "there are plenty of trucks lying about, but fuel that hasn't degraded is getting harder and harder to come by."
"Have you found a cache of fuel pumps?"
"Yes, sir; there's an abandoned military supply depot about thirty ... thirty-five klicks northeast of Delphi that has a lot of spare parts for the transport pool. Fuel's the problem, not parts."
"Marcus," Caprica said with a reassuring grin, "fuel won't be an issue. The CSS has a supply depot tucked away inside an asteroid out in the belt. It will be our last stop on the way back to the fleet ... and I guarantee that you will not be disappointed."
. . .
"But the president is acting like a dictator. The queen bee of the Caprican hive wants us to settle for whatever scraps she deigns to throw us from her well-stocked table." Roslin took mental notes as she listened, but when the recording finished she looked up at the Six with no name. "Was anybody from the press pool in attendance?"
"No, Madame President; this was a closed meeting. The press was deliberately excluded."
"Now, that's interesting ... because as political rhetoric goes, this is pretty tame stuff. "'The masters are still the masters, and the slaves are still the slaves'," Roslin mocked. "Where have I heard that line before?"
"Madame President, I think that it would be a serious mistake to underestimate Tom Zarek."
"I agree, but I'd like to hear your reasoning."
"I have had ample opportunity to study the male animal, Madame President, and I'd like to think that I've taken his measure. Tom Zarek promises the people on the Gemenon Traveller one thing and the people on the Chrion another, and he always does so with convincing sincerity. He is adept at reading the mood of his audience; he plays to people's hopes in one setting, and to their fear and rage in another. He's a demagogue, but I do not believe that he seeks power for its own sake. He's still a terrorist and a revolutionary, and he will stop at nothing to win the presidency so that he can impose his vision of the model society upon the rest of us …"
"And he's not above purging the reactionaries to pave the way for his classless paradise of wonderfully equal but thoroughly mindless drones," Roslin sarcastically noted.
"Indeed, Madame President: a peaceful revolution is not his objective. Mr. Zarek will be disappointed in the extreme if he doesn't get to indulge in a little wholesale bloodletting. He'll welcome opposition; somebody has to pay for the twenty years that he rotted in prison."
"Well, it doesn't sound like he's made much progress on the Gemenon Traveller—and without the Gemenese in his camp he doesn't stand a chance in the election. I presume that you have operatives on every ship in the fleet?"
"Yes, Madame President; the black market may be less obtrusive under its new management, but we still have our fingers in every pie."
"Then I trust that you will continue to keep an eye on Zarek, and that you will let me know if he actually starts to score points with the electorate."
"You can count on me, Madame President."
"I do, Six and thank you." Roslin sat back in her chair and studied the ceiling while she collected her thoughts. "What concerns me here," she finally continued, "is the divides that are emerging in your own ranks. I did not expect this, or to put it another way … I didn't expect it to start happening quite so quickly."
"Madame President, the collective has never been the monolith that humans seem to assume. From the beginning, the Ones have belittled the religious beliefs that the rest of us hold dear. The Threes have long believed that they know God's will, while we Sixes preach that He constantly reveals himself to us in new ways, with the hope that we will be inspired to become better people. Once we began to infiltrate the Colonies, these fault lines necessarily opened even wider because we were isolated from one another and circumstances forced us to behave as individuals. What you are seeing here in the fleet is very much the same pattern. The Twos and Threes continue to seek their answers directly from God, while the Sixes and Eights hold that God wishes cylon and human to interact and to learn from each other. If there is strength in diversity, then our growing disunity may well be desirable."
"That may be true, Six ... but we still have a war to fight, and disunity is a weakness that Cavil might easily turn to his advantage."
"I believe that our people will continue to unite in the face of a common enemy who threatens to destroy us all. Still, once the enemy is removed from our midst …"
"Then the Capricans will go back to mocking the Taurons and sneering at the Gemenese, and the Sagittarons will isolate themselves and banish the rest of us to Hades." Roslin completed the Six's thought with a resigned sigh. "Plus ca change, plus c'est Ia même chose. Only now, the Twos and Threes will be reinforcing the already well entrenched Gemenese belief that they're being persecuted by everyone else in the fleet. I just hope that your brothers and sisters continue to stay away from the Sagittarons. We do not need to stir up that hornet's nest."
"There are limits to cylon tolerance, Madame President—but be that as it may, we should give some thought as to how we can use the existing divides to put Mr. Zarek at a disadvantage." The Six with no name had been waiting for precisely this opening. "As you are no doubt aware, there are ... rumblings within the fleet that have nothing to do with Demand Peace. A certain percentage of the population looks at Colonial One, and they see a solidly Caprican political elite. They look at Galactica, and they see Caprican officers at every turn. Tom Zarek is not well positioned to exploit this discontent because conditions are not so bad that a majority would vote to hand the presidency over to a terrorist, but …"
"Go on," Roslin encouraged. There was a hard look on her face.
"Zarek is a pragmatist, Madame President. Once he concedes that he can't win, he may well decide to put up another candidate … someone whom he can control from behind the scenes. An inoffensive candidate from one of the disenfranchised Colonies would be a safe protest vote."
"With," Roslin speculated, "Zarek serving as his or her Vice-President?"
"That would seem logical."
"Do you have any suggestions?"
"Bring something before the Quorum that we can vote against."
Roslin blinked in surprise. "I don't follow you."
"The Twos and Threes sense that they are being left behind ... and could either one of us honestly say that their fears are unwarranted? Madame President, the Gemenon Traveller is not an isolated case. There is an increasingly widespread sentiment within the fleet that a new political aristocracy is taking shape ... one that consists of Capricans and their trusted Sixes and Eights. We cannot afford to allow Zarek to tap into this vein. He'll focus anti-cylon resentment on our two models even as he postures as the defender of the oppressed, cylon and human alike. He can only win this election if he succeeds in turning it into a referendum on class and privilege. Hatred of the cylon will not be enough to see him to victory."
Roslin got up and began pacing back and forth behind her desk. "Hmm," she concluded; "you've obviously thought this through. What is it that you want me to bring up for a vote?"
"The question of forced migration to the baseships can be presented to the Quorum as a public health and safety issue. But we schedule a public hearing, and we encourage Zarek to believe that the outcome is a foregone conclusion. It shouldn't be hard to convince him that the usual eight votes will rubber stamp your proposal. We give him plenty of time to make the rounds and deliver his customary rant—and then we embarrass him."
Roslin laughed, but there was a malicious gleam in her eyes. "Don't stop now," she said.
"We allow a few Sixes and Eights to testify … a few very grimy Sixes and Eights. Let them explain how hard the maintenance routine is on the baseships. Let them plead for volunteers to help share the load, but also give them a chance to speak out against compulsory migration ... about how things will only get worse if we force people to move against their will. When the motion finally comes up for a vote, Shelly and the centurion join forces with Zarek's supporters on the Quorum to defeat it. It's democracy in action … the popular will being heard. You gracefully bow to the will of the majority; Zarek will look like a fool, and ..."
"Keep going." The Six had the President's complete attention.
"Kara's staff has drawn up a list of names. In the aftermath, we send these very same Sixes and Eights out across the fleet, dirty fingernails and all. We give them a chance to make individual appeals; if they succeed, so much the better—but our real purpose is to explode the myth of the emergent cylon upper class once and for all. Once the voters realize that Zarek has been wrong about the cylons …"
"… then it will be relatively easy to convince them that he is, in the immortal words of James McManus, 'a fatuous gasbag'! It's brilliant, Six truly brilliant!"
"Thank you, Madame President. In fairness, however, you should give credit to certain of my associates in the black market. It's self-interest, really. My friends see the Astral Queen as unwanted competition. They're so keen to defeat Zarek that … well … let's put it this way: Dino Panattes implored me to suggest that for the foreseeable future Capricans clean out their own latrines."
Roslin laughed some more. "I smell a photo op here. We stick a toilet brush in the hands of a certain Eight on the resurrection ship …"
"… and renowned presidential advisor Billy Keikeya will instantly drop to his knees; side by side, the two of them will begin enthusiastically scrubbing away."
"Another exclusive brought to you by Playa Palacios!"
"You win re-election in a landslide, and help us to keep Astral Queen out of the black market."
"Agreed," the President simply replied.
"Then we have a deal?"
"We have a deal."
"Congratulations on your re-election, Madame President. Once Zarek swallows the bait, it will take a miracle to bring him back from the political dead."
. . .
"Brother, I have to confess that I am truly underwhelmed. I swear … if I wasn't in on the plan, I wouldn't have the slightest idea what you hope to achieve here. It's one thing to be devious, but to design a strategy that depends in its entirety on a human having such acute powers of observation …" Cavil sighed deeply, his skepticism on naked display.
Cavil stared disbelievingly at his younger sibling. Machines were supposed to be logical- remorselessly so- but One was increasingly inclined to believe that a programming error of first-order magnitude had somehow corrupted the circuitry of his model's less mature copies. He had already concluded that most of his brothers would have to be boxed until he and a few others could isolate the glitch and jury rig an effective patch. He just hoped that the faulty copies hadn't all picked up a terminal virus somewhere along the way.
"Do not underestimate Doctor Baltar," Cavil replied with the slightest hint of impatience. "He's far more intelligent than the average meat sac, and he will not take the bait if it's too obvious. He prides himself on his subtlety, but once he's been hooked his vanity will keep him wriggling on the line."
The younger Cavil favored his senior with a raised eyebrow. There had been quiet discussions within his cohort about the onset of senility among his model's oldest copies. Faulty synaptic relays might possibly be repaired, but no one expected such increasingly temperamental machines to submit voluntarily to so novel a procedure. No … the only practical solution would be to box them all, and then download them into fresh husks.
"Really, brother," he protested, "I strongly recommend that you run a self-diagnostic. Do you seriously expect Baltar to find deep meaning in a few drops of blood scattered across the deck … in the odd bloody fingerprint fading on a corridor wall? The man is a sex addict; he is blind to everything except the charms of his precious Eight. I swear … you could litter the decks with bloody stumps and he would step over them without conscious thought. Of course, you could try stacking the decapitated heads of his once beloved Sixes in a neat pile somewhere … let the Eight guide him to it … but even that might not work."
A pained expression briefly flitted across Cavil's features. Cavil looked at Cavil in exactly the same way that the human scientist might have once used a microscope to examine an especially exotic bug.
"You're absolutely right, brother: Doctor Baltar is an addict. But you have misread the nature of his addiction. This particular meat sac has a keen sense of self-preservation. He sniffs out danger where it does not exist, and he sees the threats to his precious organic hide that others would consistently miss. You condemn me for an excess of subtlety, but I am worried that I am not being subtle enough!"
The One strolled up and down the corridor, studying the telltale clues. He was trying to see his handiwork from Baltar's perspective. "The Eight has been programmed to take the good doctor to the hybrid's chamber, and she will use this corridor and only this corridor when she does so. It doesn't really matter whether he takes the bait the first time out or the tenth. Baltar will fascinate the hybrid, and the idiotic machine will undoubtedly say something that strokes his ego. Human vanity being what it is, for the doctor it will be love at first sight. He'll become a repeat visitor, and it frankly wouldn't surprise me in the least if he decides at some point to frak his Eight right in front of the crazy creature. He's what humans call a 'show-off'. Letting the hybrid see what goes where, and with what results … trying to make it jealous … the temptation will ultimately prove too great. Doctor Baltar is a narcissist. I'll even go so far as to predict that he will frak the Eight while maintaining eye contact with the hybrid throughout. Personally, I'm looking forward to seeing how all of this plays out in the stream. From a strictly scientific point of view, I'm more than a little curious: could the hybrid possibly achieve a sympathetic orgasm of its own?"
"So, can we dispense with some of the other humans? Aaron is beginning to worry me. His failure to make headway with Colonel Hoshi is beginning to affect his mental state. He's so desperate that he's gone back to wearing striped ties with his striped suits!"
"Hmm … that is worrisome. Well, no matter; we can always box him, and tweak his programming a bit. A happy Five makes for a happy ship."
"Well, what about the Eight and her pet female lieutenant? Brother, things are really getting out of hand, and I am not speaking metaphorically. The human is insatiable, and I fear that the Sharon will not be able to keep up. Should we send in some more Eights … turn this into a committee assignment?"
"Absolutely not," Cavil roared. "In due course, our two resident lovebirds will make their way to the long celibate Lieutenant Novacek's chamber. The female scents … the lovemaking that's going to be taking place a meter or so beyond the bars of his cage … the agony of ecstasy … I want to rub his nose in it. I want him to think about all of the pleasures that he's been missing. When he goes back to the fleet, I want him to feel angry, bitter, and betrayed—so angry, in fact, that he'll break Adama's neck at the first opportunity!"
The One cackled triumphantly. "It's taken a long time, brother, and a monumental effort, but the results are undeniable. This Eight is a slut … a perfect role model for the rest of her line. And modesty prevents me from claiming all of the credit. Lieutenant Liu is a creative genius. I've been scrupulously recording everything I can for further analysis, but they're going at it in places where I've never even thought about installing cameras. In the end, if she survives our best option will be to terminate the Eight, and spread the download across the entire model. I might decide to keep Philista around to inspire the odd upgrade, but we can dispense with the rest of the human females. From now on, those of us who desire companionship will find the Eights more than sufficient."
"Well," the younger Cavil readily conceded, "when it comes to questions of sexual performance and entertaining perversion, you are certainly the ultimate authority, and I do respect your judgment. Still, Doctor Baltar worries me. Is there a plan B?"
"Of course there's a plan B!" Cavil's eyes were alive with malice. And, you twittering moron, it involves boxing!
. . .
"All right, Captain, this had better be good—in fact, it had better be better than good. Right now, I'm off duty, and you're holding up my dinner. D'Anna may be a miracle worker, but she can't bring the dead back to life, and in about ten minutes that's what it'll take to salvage my supper!"
"Sir, you don't appear to have missed many meals lately," Kat said with a nervous grin. She was staring pointedly at the buttons on Cottle's uniform jacket, which seemed on the verge of exploding.
"Captain," Cottle harrumphed, "do I have to remind you that I'm still the senior officer here? Now, what's so damned important that it couldn't wait until tomorrow morning?"
"How are you and the Three getting along, sir?"
"We have a mature relationship," the major grumbled. "She nags me about cigarettes, and I nag her about God. Then we kiss and make up. We don't exactly frak like bunnies, but we get by. And you're stalling," Cottle shrewdly remarked. "Do you want to spit it out, or do you want me to guess?"
Louanne looked carefully up and down the corridor. She had timed her arrival to coincide with the end of Cottle's shift. "I'm late," she quietly confessed.
"How late is late," the white-haired doctor asked with a knowing sigh.
"It's now a week, sir. I've always been pretty regular, but in space …"
"Yeah, I know. Without lunar tides to confuse things, your monthly cycle is regular as clockwork—yours, and that of every other female in the fleet. So, I suppose you want to take the test, but you don't want my staff to know about it."
"Yes, sir; Ishay has the worst Triad face I've ever seen, and the walls in sickbay all seem to have ears."
"Well, I keep a stash of kits under my bed. They're reserved for officers, and you'd be amazed at how many of them I've distributed over the years. But we can't exactly hide what we're doing from D'Anna; she knows my routine far too well. So, we might as well rely upon her discretion. You can use my bathroom."
Sherman led the visibly nervous pilot down the short hallway that separated sickbay from his office, a large space which also doubled as his personal quarters. They found D'Anna preparing dinner in the makeshift kitchen.
"I didn't make enough food for three," she warned. D'Anna's voice was neutral, but her eyes were alive with curiosity.
"I'm afraid that Captain Katraine is not here to sample the culinary delights," Cottle gruffly responded. He reached under the bed and pulled out one of the pregnancy kits. He handed it to the now thoroughly embarrassed young officer, who hurried off to the bathroom. Neither of them said a word.
D'Anna looked pointedly at her chosen mate, but Cottle simply shrugged his shoulders. They both knew that Kat was monogamous, and the entire fleet knew the identity of her partner.
It took longer than it should have … long enough, in fact, for Cottle to pull Kat's file and check one vitally important date. What he read on the seemingly innocent sheet of paper told the elderly doctor everything that he needed to know. When Louanne finally emerged, therefore, and wordlessly held out the test strip for his inspection, he knew what to expect. It was positive.
"Congratulations, Captain." Feigning ignorance, the doctor asked the inevitable follow-up question.
"Who's the lucky father?"
"Leoben. There hasn't been anybody else in a long, long time," she sighed.
"Another miracle," D'Anna breathed; "once more, we have been blessed by God."
"Well, that's two miracles in one day," Cottle snorted. "Maybe there's something in the water on that baseship which the rest of us should be drinking."
The two women looked at the grumpy surgeon, the same question forming on both their lips.
"It's Aphrodite," Cottle admitted. "I confirmed it earlier this afternoon, although how that young Six could possibly know at this point that she's going to have a boy is beyond me. She's planning on sharing the news with Artemis and Hephaestus when they retire for the evening, so for the time being treat it as privileged information. But I would imagine that there's going to be one hell of a celebration over there later on tonight or tomorrow."
"Two babies" D'Anna said enviously. "Oh, Sherman, when I think of how stupid we've been …"
"How about you, Kat," Cottle gently interrupted. "Are you going to keep the baby?"
"Yes," she tersely replied, cutting D'Anna off before she could get started. "But I'm going to airlock the father! This should never have happened!"
"Oh, come on, Kat! I just double checked your medical file. Your contraceptive patch expired over six weeks ago. You must have been expecting this."
"Are you kidding?" Louanne was thunderstruck. "Doc," she protested, "you told us that the Twos shoot blanks!"
"Katraine, what in the name of Hades are you talking about? Don't you ever read the memos that cross your desk? Yeah, for some reason the Twos and Fours can't impregnate their own women, but there's nothing wrong with their sperm. How in the name of the gods do you think Gianna O'Neill got pregnant?"
"I just assumed …"
"You assumed what, Captain?"
"I just assumed that … well, that … that she had something going on the side."
D'Anna and Sherman looked at Kat, and then at each other. It was hard for either of them to credit what they had just heard.
"Louanne," D'Anna remonstrated, "Gianna loves her husband. How could you possibly have thought that she was having an affair with somebody else?"
"I guess … I guess that I never really believed that a machine could … you know …"
"Conceive a child." D'Anna concluded the thought for the human, who had been reduced to utter misery. She shook her head, as the chasm that separated man and machine suddenly opened wide beneath her feet.
"Do you want this baby, Louanne?" D'Anna's voice, which was always so calm, now fell off to little more than a whisper. "Or are you going to resent it for the rest of your life?"
"Yes." The admission took Kat completely by surprise. "I want to have a baby … this baby. Boy or girl, I don't care … as long as the baby's healthy, I'll be fine."
"And Leoben," D'Anna gently pressed. "Will you allow him to be a father to his child?"
"We'll work something out." Louanne frowned. "Gods, listen to me! What am I thinking? The last thing on Caprica that this or any other baby needs is a Two for a father. D'Anna, I'm sorry, but … but … the Twos are just plain weird."
"Leoben might surprise you," Cottle interjected. "In my experience, the best fathers are often the ones whom you would least expect. You should at least give him a chance." He looked at Kat sympathetically. "So, are you going to make an announcement, or do you want us to keep quiet?"
"I'll talk to Aphrodite first," Kat decided. "Her pregnancy is a really big deal, and I don't want to cheapen the moment. But I'll tell Leoben tonight."
"I'll have to inform both Admiral Adama and the President," Cottle warned. "You're a pilot, but as of this moment you're off rotation. There's no reason, however, why you can't continue to serve as a CAG, and I'll recommend to the admiral that you remain at your post. But right now I'm tired and I'm hungry, and there's no damned reason why any of this has to be done tonight. I'll get around to it sometime tomorrow—and I want to see both you and Aphrodite in sickbay at 17:00 hours. Bring Leoben and Lieutenant Fears along as well," he grinned, "but only if they can actually stand on their own two feet. I do not need a couple of slaphappy drunks over here disturbing my patients! Now, go on, get out of here!"
Once Louanne had left, Major Sherman Cottle closed his eyes and thought for a time about the meaning of it all. When he finally turned to D'Anna, his sense of amazement registered clearly on his face. He was a physician and he didn't believe in God or the gods, but he did believe in miracles.
"Two in one day," he laughed. "It's incredible, D'Anna, absolutely incredible … two in one day!"
"Yes," the Three agreed, "God's plan for us all could hardly stand more clearly revealed."
. . .
"Gods on high, how long is this going to take?"
Sam Anders was nervously pacing back and forth across the spacious chamber that Natalie had assigned to Caprica Six. Kara and John were both sitting quietly on the bed, but Caprica knew that it was just a matter of time before her short-tempered daughter exploded.
"It's a mystery," Kara tartly observed. Her eyes were following the one-time Pyramid player around the room, and the irritated expression on her face made it clear that she had already reached the boiling point.
John looked curiously at Kara, silently bidding her to finish the thought.
"Honestly, Anders, I simply do not understand how you managed to survive down there. A bull in a china shop would attract less attention. There's really only one possible explanation: the centurions must have had orders not to shoot you."
"Kara, please," Caprica pleaded; "don't be so insensitive. This is the most important moment in Sam's life."
"Oh, now I remember!" Kara pretended to ignore the interruption. "My mom was covering your pretty little ass. And when she wasn't around, you had an entire squad of centurions to keep you out of trouble! Tell me, Anders, will one of them give you a hankie if you sneeze?" Kara nodded towards the entryway, which was under heavy guard. With Kara, John, and Sam all in the same room, the centurions weren't taking any chances.
"Simon is meticulous," John observed. "And Sam … you should overlook Kara's little temper tantrum. She gets like this when she's on edge."
"Well, at least I don't have nightmares that throw the whole damned fleet into a panic," the blond-haired pilot hissed.
"Kara, that's enough!" Caprica was starting to get truly angry. "You may be fully grown, but you're not too big to spank!"
Kara glared at the Six, but wisely chose not to provoke her further.
"We also have a highly qualified human nurse on board," John continued, "and no one is going to say anything until Larissa has had a chance to confirm the findings. We all want to get this right."
"We've got to be brothers," Sam suddenly exclaimed. He paused in front of the bed and stared down at John Bierns. "I mean, we're the same height … we've got the same build. You just look a little more weather beaten, that's all."
"But I don't remember you, Sam … I don't remember you at all." John's tone was gentle, but it left no room for disagreement. The spook knew exactly who Samuel T. Anders was, but he wasn't about to share that information with anyone.
"And you are choosing to ignore obvious distinctions," the Eight added. She was seated to John's left, hovering protectively close. Sharon never forgot that she was John's nurse, but the threat that Cavil posed to both John and her unborn child had given her a new sense of purpose. The Sixes on the two baseships might still be sniping at one another, but the Eights had deliberated among themselves and easily arrived at a new consensus. The huntresses had quietly decided to cast a steel net around Hera and Eirene, but overlapping layers of defense now cocooned Helo, John, Galen, and Adonis as well. The Eights would shield their men from outside threats, although it was understood that Karl Agathon was fair game for every copy of their model. Sharon would soon have her baby, and it seemed only just that the tall and ruggedly handsome ECO sire children for at least some of her sisters.
"Above all, you do not have John's eyes," Sharon observed. She wanted to say more, but she did not know how to explain the obvious: Kara and John were kindred souls, forever united by all that they had suffered. Sam Anders had no place in John's nightmarish visions of a universe gone mad.
Sam resumed pacing, under the watchful eyes of the assembled centurions. A lifetime seemed to pass, but when he next looked up Larissa and Simon were standing in the entryway. Sam's heart leapt into his throat; until this moment it had all seemed so abstract, even surreal—but now, it truly hit him. These two strangers weren't simply holding a few pieces of paper in their hands … they were about to dictate the terms that would govern the rest of his life.
Natalie, Leoben, and Lacy Rand slipped into the room, which didn't surprise Caprica Six in the least. But Gianna O'Neill and Melania Peripolides had come with them, and their presence disconcerted her. A confused look passed briefly across her face, and then she concentrated her attention upon Leoben. The Two was studying Sam in an oddly speculative way, and Caprica instantly concluded that their resident medical team had solved some but not all of the mysteries surrounding her lover.
"The results of the DNA test are conclusive," Simon O'Neill began. "You are not human, Mr. Anders, nor are you a hybrid. Everything suggests that you are pure cylon, but there are subtle differences between you and our seven models."
"Cylon and human clinically constitute two distinct species," Larissa continued, "but there is sufficient overlap in our DNA and blood chemistry for us to have children, and our hormones are an exact match. This is an important point, Sam, as you're about to see."
"The salt content of both human and cylon blood is on the order of nine grams per liter," Simon explained, "but yours measures out at twenty-eight grams per liter. There is a hormone called aldosterone, which is associated with the adrenal gland. It is released into the blood and lymphatic systems to counter undesirable shifts in saline balance. The amount of aldosterone present in your blood is also triple the cylon/human norm, which is consistent with the far higher percentage of salt in your blood."
"You were one hell of a Pyramid player, Sam … and now we know why." Larissa's eyes were full of merriment. "Your reaction times on the court were way above human norms, and your adrenaline surges must have been off the charts! How did you ever pass the random drug tests?"
"They were looking for steroids; I never used them … there was no need."
"I see." Larissa nodded, one of the lingering mysteries now neatly resolved.
"You also have an odd mineral balance," the nurse went on. "In particular, your potassium and magnesium levels are highly elevated—about seventy percent beyond the rest of us."
"We are now hypothesizing," Simon elaborated, "that you were born and raised on a planet whose oceans were far more buoyant than those to be found on the colonial worlds. Its soil characteristics would not closely approximate either Kobol or the Colonies."
"In short, Sam," Larissa grinned, "you're not from around here!"
"So, is he my uncle or what?" As always, Kara wanted to get to the point.
"That's a very good question, Kara, because it leads us right to the heart of the matter." Larissa had abruptly turned serious. "Is he one of the five missing Cylons, or is he something else altogether?"
"Why can't he be both," John asked.
"Interesting; please, elaborate," Lacy urged. All sorts of possibilities had begun to dance through her supremely clever mind.
"Lacy, the way the war ended never made any sense. When Columbia went down, Galactica was the only battlestar left. It was just a matter of time before the centurions achieved total air superiority. At that point, it would have been game over. They were already firmly entrenched on every planet in the system … hell, let's face facts … they controlled over seventy percent of Tauron when they signed off on the Cimtar Accords. The U-87's and the series 0005 centurions had humanity on its knees, and then they just walked away. Why? Why agree to peace when they were so close to total victory?"
"The Five suddenly appeared on the scene," she guessed, "and they offered the centurions something more important than victory." She turned around and stared hard at the elegantly designed soldiers standing in the entryway behind her. Once again, in Lacy Rand's resourceful mind the scattered pieces began to form a coherent pattern. "Oh, my," she murmured before turning back to confront Anders. "You really are their father, Sam; you gave life to this generation of centurion."
"And that's all it took to get them to agree to peace?" Sam's voice was laced with skepticism. "I don't think so. There must be more to it than this."
Sam stared at Caprica, a complex array of emotions sweeping across his handsome features, and then he walked over and knelt before John. "What else did I give them?" His voice was haunted.
Sam was thinking about John's visions, the shattered memories of a universe awash in blood—and he suddenly looked and felt much, much older. Sam Anders was pleading for absolution.
"You were born six years after the Accords, and a lot happened in those six years. The seven cylon models … the hybrids … so much blood … so much death." Sam's voice was quavering. "Was it me? Am I a monster, John? Did I orchestrate this … this obscenity?"
"I keep looking," Bierns replied, his voice so heavy with pain that Natalie's heart, already broken so many times, now broke yet again. "I keep hoping that one day I'll find a centurion who was there … who has all the answers. But Cavil must have destroyed them all … or he wiped their memories … I don't know."
"You're not the bad guy here, Sam; you can't be." Kara had slid close to John—if she could have completely erased the distance between them, at that moment she would willingly have done so.
"It wouldn't make any sense," she concluded. "Cavil must have boxed you, reprogrammed you with a detailed set of false memories, and then banished you into the Colonies just like … just like …"
"You must have fought him." Gianna O'Neill spoke up for the first time. Her hand caressed the child cradled in her womb. "You must have wanted a different future for human and cylon alike … the future that we're now embracing. You must have wanted us to come together and live in peace."
Sam Anders felt as if a thousand pound weight had suddenly been lifted off his shoulders. His gratitude to the strange mix of people now gathered around him was immense.
"I want to bring my children home … all of them." Sam was looking back and forth between Kara and John, but he was thinking about the millions of centurions who yet remained in slavery. "They deserve better … you deserve better." The two hybrids weren't his offspring, at least not in the conventional sense of the term … but when he thought of them that way, it felt right to him. He would become the father that they had never had.
"You can have more children, Sam." Melania was looking at him with eyes that were filled with hope. "A Cylon can't give you a child of your own," she noted as she cast a swift glance at Caprica Six; "but a human can. You can have hybrid children, and you should: that's the way forward for all of us."
Caprica Six looked appraisingly at the human female … looked at her with grudging admiration. Melania Peripolides was going to make a formidable rival. Caprica wanted Sam for herself, but Melania had a weapon in her arsenal that Caprica could never hope to counter.
. . .
"It's been quite a day," Louanne observed. "And I'm so happy for Aphrodite and Stallion. Now, if only Artemis …"
"This child is God's will," Leoben declared. "I will pray for Artemis, as will all of us, but ultimately it is God's purpose that must be served."
"So," Kat teased, "you think that it's God who gives us children, and not the lone sperm that fights its way heroically upstream against such heavy odds to that one waiting egg?"
Leoben and Kat were in her chamber, preparing for bed. Technically the Two still had quarters of his own, but he spent so little time in them that he was thinking about surrendering them to one of the human families that had recently moved aboard.
"God wishes us to reproduce," Leoben countered. "We are meant to fill His creation with life."
"But there's room here for free will, isn't there … free will … and a little thing called timing?"
The Two grinned sheepishly. Long experience had taught him that it was hard to win an argument with Louanne Katraine. His respect for the human female had grown steadily over time, and that sense of respect was the foundation for other, more powerful feelings.
"Would you like us to have a child, Leoben? Do you think you're up to being a daddy?" Louanne's voice was still teasing.
Leoben looked steadily at Kat, the question that he was afraid to ask hanging heavily in the air between them. He felt something odd going on in his stomach. A quick check of various files reminded him that humans associated this sensation with butterflies.
"That's right, Leoben." Kat's gaze was equally steady. "I'm pregnant. We're going to have a baby."
Leoben felt as if all the air had suddenly been sucked out of his lungs. He literally had to fight for breath. He reached out to take Kat's hands. "A baby," he finally whispered. His right hand drifted unconsciously to Kat's belly … to the source of life itself.
"And while I don't know about God," Louanne continued with a wicked smile, "I'm reasonably certain that your role in this little miracle of ours was a pretty big one!"
Leoben laughed, a sound of pure joy, and then he swept Kat into his arms and kissed her passionately. "I love you," he finally confessed.
"Why, Leoben Conoy," Kat laughed in return, "does that mean that you intend to make an honest woman out of me?"
"You'd … you'd be willing?" Leoben gulped, and looked at her more closely. It was frequently hard to tell when Louanne was being serious. "I'm weird, you know … or at least, that's what you keep telling me. Don't you think I'm too weird to be a good husband and father?"
"There was a time," Kat sighed theatrically, "when I had written you off as absolutely hopeless. Why, as little as six hours ago I would have thrown up if someone had been stupid enough to mention marriage. But then it occurred to me: what qualifies me to be a wife and mother? Absolutely nothing, because when you get down to cases I'm still as bitchy as ever. But in recent weeks you've been shaping up nicely." Kat stroked Leoben's cheek, and guided him over to their bed. "We'll just update your programming a bit more here and there, and you'll do fine. But if I ever find out that you've allowed some of your brothers to take your place …"
"Louanne … how could you?" Leoben found the very idea of sharing Kat with one of his brothers disturbing in the extreme. He rapidly opened some more files and analyzed their contents. Possessive and jealous, he quickly concluded; I'm both possessive and jealous. How … human of me!
Leoben decided to rush to the control room and spread the joyous news through the stream, but Kat read his mind and reached out to pull him firmly back to their bed. "This night belongs to Aphrodite," she explained. The gorgeous Six had been the first person Kat had sought out when she returned to the ship. After the obligatory hugs, Kat had solemnly promised not to intrude upon her moment. She would make Leoben wait until the morning.
And the morning came. In the control room, with Aphrodite and a still blissfully ignorant Artemis and Stallion at their side, Leoben and Kat first announced their wedding plans, and then the news of her impending delivery. For the second time in less than twelve hours, the baseship was reduced to delirious pandemonium—and before the day was out the word had spread to every corner of the surrounding fleet. In a starlit observation chamber on board Cloud Nine, Billy Keikeya responded to this latest revelation by wrapping his arm still more tightly around Rebecca Eight. And then he leaned over and kissed her.
The future Aphrodite Fears and Louanne Conoy didn't know it, but they had just planted fresh seeds in the garden that John Bierns and Caprica Six had been tending for so long and with such care.
. . .
John stood up, and walked angrily towards the piano. Kara was playing a tune that he vaguely recalled from his early days at university. He had never paid enough attention to memorize the lyric, but he knew that it was the usual chamalla induced nonsense ... something about jokers and thieves.
"Damn it, Kara, you're mangling that tune! I swear, the only thing worse than your singing is your piano playing!" John grabbed her glass of wine, and drained it in one gulp. It was white, it was cold, and it was exquisite—silk on the tongue that morphed into pepper at the back of the palate. He picked up the bottle, poured a fresh glass, and studied the label. It was a six year old Sandalford chardonnier from the Margarita river valley. The river coursed through a vineyard region about three hours south of Hedon, the largest city on the west coast of Leonis' principal continent—and its most aptly named.
"At least you know your wine," he muttered as he took a fresh swallow.
"Careful, superspy," she glared in return; "your frustration is beginning to get the better of you."
"Can you blame me? I am surrounded by women. I am outnumbered seven to frakking one! And none of you are making any sense!" He shook his head in despair.
"Have a cookie, John. They're fresh. I baked them this morning."
"Thank you, Cassie." The First Born politely accepted the peace offering, and obediently bit off a large chunk. He had innocently told his hybrid sisters that he loved pecan pie and macadamia cookies. They had been down on the beach, and he had been reminiscing about a lazy afternoon that he had once spent in a quaint little village called Boombera. It lay several thousand kilometers to the northeast of Hedon- indeed, it was not far from the opposite coast- and he had wonderfully vivid memories of the macadamia trees that had been growing like weeds in everyone's front yard. Like any well-trained intelligence agent, John had a keen eye for detail, and he had turned out to be a surprisingly good story teller. The hybrids loved his tales, and a completely enthralled Cassandra had responded to this one by putting him to work planting entire groves of pecan and macadamia trees. In the interim she had somehow conjured up the necessary recipes, and he was now happily munching on the results of their first harvest. John knew a bribe when he saw one, but he also knew when he was going to end up on the losing side of the argument.
"It was foolish of the Cavils to attack us," Lacy sighed. She was working hard to avoid lecturing John in front of the others. "We should all keep in mind that, while they knew exactly where to find us, we didn't know if the Cylons even had a home world. The long years of peace had lulled us to sleep. The President didn't think twice about taking an ax to the defense budget, but he still couldn't generate the funds that he needed to buy off the more militant elements in the public employees and teachers unions. Strikes were paralyzing a government rife with judicial corruption, and the fleet was hard pressed just to cope with the occasional act of piracy. Far from being a threat to the Cylons, we weren't even a nuisance."
"Ah, the good old days," Kara sneered. Much to John's irritation, she continued idly to pick at the piano keys.
"Lacy, you've lost me. Granted, I'm not the sharpest stick in the bunch, but I just don't get it. It's been less than a year. Eight months ago our vulnerabilities made the Colonies an irresistible target, and today Gemenon is even more defenseless. But you want to remain here, and you're actively encouraging Cylons and humans alike to repopulate the planet. And thousands of them are going to take you up on your offer. I'm sorry, but this sounds an awful lot like suicide to me. We've been in colonial space for over four weeks, and Cavil knows it. He's just waiting for the baseships to leave. Once we're gone, he'll come back and finish the job. He'll nuke the planet from orbit, and then he'll send his slave troops down to mop up. You won't stand a chance."
"Men," Kara said in disgust. "Gods, John … how can you be so stupid?"
"What Kara is trying to say," Reun diplomatically interjected, "is that Cavil will start from the assumption that we are here to take on survivors and supplies. He will expect us to strip the Colonies clean, and he will be regrouping to tackle an enemy whose forces are now larger and far better equipped. Galactica and the baseships will monopolize his attention. Gemenon will become a safe haven precisely because Cavil has already checked the Colonies off his list."
"What has the war actually accomplished to date," Lacy asked. "It has inspired an exodus … scattered humanity across the stars. We are managing two refugee fleets, and we know that Pegasus ran across a third a week after the attacks. How many other ships are out there? We don't know, and neither do the Ones. It must worry them."
"Husband, you should spend more time talking to the Twos." Deirdre tried to sound encouraging. "They can teach you about the cycles of time. The Cavils are convinced that in this cycle the machine is predestined for conquest, but if they don't exterminate the human race, in their minds the resurgence of man will inevitably become the defining theme of the next cycle. They will concentrate on Galactica, and Adama will lead them farther and farther away from the Colonies. Gemenon will recede into the dusty pages of history, and the life that takes root here will flourish."
The hybrid was going to say more, but she suddenly gasped in pain. Her eyes went wide, and her hands clutched at her heavily swollen belly. She felt liquid trickling down her legs.
"Deirdre!" John rushed across the room, knowing that his wife was going into labor.
"It's time," she somehow managed to grunt. "Ariadne loves the water, so we need to get to the pool." Knowing that Kara and John might easily panic, Deirdre was trying her best to remain calm.
Lacy Rand had never delivered a baby in her life, and at her advanced age she wasn't about to try … not when there was professional help immediately to hand. She calmly removed her holoband, and a bare second later found herself back in Reun's chamber. Larissa was once again monitoring Kara's projection, and Lacy was profoundly relieved to find the nurse so close to hand. She held the holoband out for Larissa to grasp.
"One of the hybrids has just gone into labor, and none of us know the first thing about giving birth. Larissa, I need you to get in there and bring this pregnancy successfully to term."
"What? Reverend Mother, I don't … I've never …"
"Trust me, Larissa; it's really easy. This holoband is locked onto Galatea Bay. You will materialize inside the house. Just go outside, and walk straight ahead. You'll find everyone at the birthing pool. If you need anything, anything at all … all you have to do is ask John for help."
"But … but … how?" Larissa eyes were jumping back and forth between Lacy and Reun. For one of the hybrids to have a baby … "Reverend Mother, how is this physically possible?"
"Child, does it really matter?" Lacy let out an impatient sigh. "Larissa, how many times have you heard Leoben talk about the most basic article of faith … you know … his little sermon on these bodies not being all that we are? Well, he's right. You're about to meet Reun … the real Reun … for the first time. And you're about to make history. In my misspent youth, I wandered V-world for countless hours and I saw a great many things, most of them unspeakably vile. I didn't shed any tears when the Zoe Graystone avatar dismantled New Cap City … its demise was long overdue. But now, something wonderful is about to happen. For the first time, a child is going to be born in this dimension—a life form unlike any that the universe has ever seen. Larissa, you're not going to assist at a birth … you're going to participate in a miracle!"
Lacy Rand gently slid the holoband into place, and waited until the nurse had shut her eyes. When she opened them, Larissa Karanis was stunned. She was standing in the middle of a spacious living room, and through an open window she could see fleecy white clouds promenading across an intensely blue sky, beneath which lay a wine dark sea. Larissa opened the door, and stepped outside. She could hear a waterfall in the distance, and a well-trodden path led away from the house in its general direction. She hurried along the path, not really knowing what to expect.
. . .
Several hundred light years beyond the planet that had offered them temporary shelter, a fleet of human and cylon refugees paused in the dark. They were well below the galactic plane, following a course that would bring them closer and closer to the distant core. On the fleet's lone baseship, the hybrid had ceased her interminable and often indecipherable ramblings. For the moment, at least, conditions on the ship and throughout surrounding space had ceased to interest her.
Apart from the two metallic sentinels permanently posted to the hybrid's chamber, Eve Six was alone. She had never shared her suspicions with the others, but she had been waiting for this day, knowing with absolute certainty that it would eventually come. She knelt beside the tub, and offered her hand. Deirdre was glassy-eyed and perspiring, and every few minutes another wave of pain would contort her normally stoic features. The hybrid reached out blindly, seeking the comfort of another being's touch.
"Breathe, Deirdre! You can do this! Take deep, cleansing breaths, and try to exhale slowly."
Deirdre Bierns tried to concentrate on the voices, but the pain was unremitting, and it was getting worse by the minute. She couldn't speak; the effort was beyond her. It was a struggle even to breathe. Oxygen came to her in short, painful gasps—and now her moaning had morphed into full-throated screams.
"The baby will let you know … that's when you have to push, Deirdre!"
Eve squeezed the hybrid's hand, timing the contractions in her head. Now it was a matter of seconds, one contraction following hard on the next.
Throughout the baseship, those Cylons who were immersed in the stream looked at one another in open disbelief. They were all bearing silent witness to a miracle, and so it was easy to hear the numerous voices that were exhorting the hybrid to bear down. Eve's voice they recognized … but not the others.
"You're doing fine, Deirdre … you and Ariadne both. When I tell you to push," the confident female voice firmly instructed, "push hard!"
Deirdre screamed.
"Push," Eve Six yelled.
"Push hard," Larissa commanded.
Deirdre's cervix dilated a few more precious centimeters, and in the comfortably warm and crystal-clear waters of the birthing pool, Larissa could see the crown of Ariadne's head begin to emerge.
And suddenly, it was over. Larissa carefully eased the newborn out of the water head first, and watched with satisfaction as the little girl took her first breath. With the umbilical cord still attached, she placed the child in her mother's waiting arms.
Thousands of light years away, Eve Six looked at the hybrid in awe. She had never seen such complete contentment on another face. And in the stream, thousands of Cylons felt a powerful wave of emotion course through their minds. Once, John Bierns had taught them the meaning of guilt and shame; now, Deirdre Bierns permitted them to glimpse the ever elusive face of God—in the primal form of a mother's unrestrained love for her newborn child.