Title: Collective Memory
Author: walkingdaydream
Rating: R (a bit of violence)
Spoilers: Set during Season One, applicable spoilers apply. Nothing for Season Two.
Characters/Pairing: Galactica!Boomer, Caprica!Boomer, other!Boomers, (hints of Helo/Boomer and Tyrol/Boomer).
Author's Notes: 1,062 words. Constructive criticism welcome.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
i.
The Colonials' assumption that each incarnation of the same Cylon model is identical to its predecessors is false; each one is, at times, as unique as an individual human being. While each Cylon shares the basic traits of its base model, between uploads it evolves independently from the group and the experiences of its co-models.
She has the combined knowledge and experience of twenty-seven other Boomer models; twenty-seven lifetimes lived in the weeks since her activation.
It is the uploads of the active field agents that she anticipates most. Prior to the initial Cylon attack, fourteen Boomers had successfully infiltrated Colonial communities, and their lives are fascinating, different. She longs for that sense of independence, for the freedom to feel human.
ii.
She can sense the changes immediately following each blackout: tension, an inflexibility inside of her, a sense of purpose she can't place or control. Specific personality characteristics enhanced over others. She knows she isn't human, and the certainty that she must act is terrifying, because she doesn't know what to do.
It fades after a while, and she tries to act normal. As time progresses, she begins to feel ordinary again, more like herself, separate. It's easy to pretend everything is fine, as long as she can hide the blackouts.
She doesn't realize the futility of her efforts until she catches herself correcting Hot Dog's jokes. He's got a thousand of them and they're all bad takes on Cylon sex, tossed out over the card table for the amusement of horny pilots. They're inaccurate, and she's in a position to know.
He's halfway through a particularly graphic rendition of the one about a Cylon, a priestess and a vibrator, when she interrupts, "that's not how it is, you frakhead."
She covers the silence with a joke she heard from one of the maintenance crew, but she delivers it poorly, stilted. They're all so inaccurate.
iii.
Her job is to clean and inventory the weaponry after each operation. Everyone has a job here, a role to play. It reminds her of a Basestar – every Cylon produced has a well-defined purpose.
She turns the gun over in her hands, removes the clip, slides a new one into place. It's heavy, too heavy for her. If these humans ever decide to send her into the line of fire, this won't be the weapon they give her.
She's been with this group for two weeks now – the last human cell remaining on Saggitaron, according to her superiors. Her task is to watch and transmit, catalogue them, look for worthy templates.
She sets the gun down, picks up another. She's already chosen the one she wants for herself.
iv.
Her counterpart on the Galactica has known Helo for nearly a year, but little useful information about him could be gained from her periodic uploads. She's been too busy with the Crew Chief to notice her ECO, much less have any ideas regarding his sexual preferences.
Sharon knows it's only a job, a task she's been set, but she's looking forward to seducing Helo. She hasn't been around many humans, and she finds this one undeniably attractive. If there's a small part of her that wonders if it isn't just her nature to want him, something preplanned by another model, she chooses to ignore it.
"Back on the ship, I, uh…I knew what was going on – I mean, between you and the Chief –"
"I think everybody did."
She doesn't want him thinking about Tyrol right now. She hadn't been a supporter of her counterpart's choices, interesting though they'd been.
"And I respected it. Your feelings. His. But… I would have given anything to be him…"
Seducing Helo turns out to be easier than she expected.
v.
At first, she had trouble understanding why her predecessors made her this way, designed the Boomer model the way they did. Why create a Cylon that is predisposed to want to be human?
She watches the few humans left on Picon run from their Centurion-model pursuers, and wants nothing more than to experience that fear. She wants to know what it's like to be one of them.
Her handlers on Picon are two Nine models, designed to look like aesthetically pleasing Virgon males. They observe her behavior closely, as well as that of the human refugees, and will decide what her role will be in the coming weeks.
Boomer models have a tendency toward divided loyalty. They identify with humans too much. Boomers warrant observation, because once one switches sides, they can only be controlled remotely once or twice before their human companions catch on.
But the same flaws which make them vulnerable also make them ideal for infiltrating human groups. Boomers fit in flawlessly.
She'll get her chance soon enough. It's almost time.
vi.
She's always had a connection to the Raiders. They're like her children, or beloved pets, the Cylon equivalent of human concepts. They hum when she's near, a subtle change in sound, the vibration a caress under her feet as she walks by.
This one is injured – she's here to complete repairs on its mechanical components. The organic wiring has already begun to heal on its own, but sections will need to be taken out and regrown.
The Raiders die in a way that she cannot, their limited consciousness lost as tissue atrophies. Any useful information this Raider has ever obtained was transmitted instantaneously to its Basestar, so there's no need for uploads.
Its blood pools around her hands as she replaces several valves and a compressor. The organs nearest her have taken on a gray tint.
She thinks that, despite her appearance, perhaps its death makes this ship closer to human than she is.
vii.
The need is almost unbearable; the wanting not to be what she is, not to do what she knows she's going to do. It's useless to resist, to pretend. They can control her.
She turns the knife over in her hands, adjusts her grip. Watches him sleep just a moment longer. Kneels, and plunges the knife into her lover's chest.
He cries out, then goes still. Blood starts to seep out, staining his clothes, the sheets. The others wake.
She won't die, when the humans kill her. Her consciousness will be transferred home, into another body, and the other Boomer models will share this event with her.
Collective memory.