Ron Moore reimagined Glen A. Larson's original idea; but then again, most people who would be reading this already know that. My use is in no way meant to challenge any established copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.
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XII – Ignorance is Bliss"I know we agreed not to discuss work, but how's the president doing?" Dualla asked.
"Fine," Billy answered. Dualla noticed that he did not make eye contact when he spoke; that was becoming a habit when they discussed the president's condition. She knew that Billy was hiding something, and she assumed that what he was hiding was the fact that the rumors were true – President Roslin had caught the Trojan Plague. It was on all the channels, though there had been no serious questions asked by the press. Amazingly, most every surviving reporter seemed far more interested in Tom Zarek's tour through the fleet. Surprising how many favors terrorists seem to be able to call in when they want to get some airtime, Dualla marveled.
"Anything you want to talk about?" Dee asked. Billy stared at his plate, poking at his re-hydrated beef with his fork, apparently oblivious to her question. And her presence. "Hey, Billy."
He looked up quickly, his eyes slightly glazed over. "Huh?"
"You awake?" Dualla asked.
"Sorry, I have a lot on my mind," Billy apologized.
"You don't have to explain yourself," Dee assured him. "I know what you do for the president, and I hear everything that people are saying in the fleet."
"Everything?"
"Everything," Dee assured him with a wickedly amused smile. "When I retire, I'm going to write a book and call it Stranger Than Fiction. You should hear some of the things that go on in the fleet."
"Like what?"
"You know Captain Renault?"
"On the Kimba Huta," Billy said. "I've met him once or twice."
"His daughter is on the ship, and she's apparently started shacking up with one of the paroled prisoners from the Astral Queen."
"Nice," Billy replied.
"Yeah, well, seems she's also two months pregnant."
"Good for her."
"She's only been seeing this guy for a month and a half."
"Okay, so maybe not so good for her."
"And her new boyfriend originally went to prison for killing his ex-wife in a jealous rage."
"Things like that make me wonder if maybe the universe wouldn't have been better off if the cylons had just finished the job."
"Thanks for cheering me up," Dee said. Billy turned back to his food, clearly depressed, and she started to wonder just how serious he was being. "Umm… are you sure you're okay?"
"Huh?"
"Are you okay?" Dee repeated.
"Fine," Billy assured her. "Just a lot of stress lately, what with the president--." He stopped in mid-sentence, something in his eyes aghast at what he had almost let slip out.
"The president what?" Dualla asked.
"The president has been on my back to do something lately," Billy said. "And I know she's right, but it's something that really… I don't know."
"What don't you know?"
Billy reached into his pocket and then placed a ring on the table in front of him.
"What's that?" Dee asked.
"It's a ring," Billy answered needlessly.
"What's it for?"
"It's for you," Billy answered. "It's a gift I'd like to give you, something to show how much I…"
"How much you what?" There were butterflies in her stomach, but she kept her cool. She knew that Billy liked how she remained calm and cool in almost any circumstances, especially since he also got to see the passionate side of her she kept hidden underneath.
"This isn't easy for me, you know," Billy stammered.
"What isn't?" Dualla was touched by the gift, but she didn't see why Billy should get so choked up.
"Willyoumarryme?" Billy blurted out.
"Huh?" Dualla muttered, her voice seeming to work on autopilot as she worked at decoding his question. Part of her mind had already figured out what he asked, she knew that much, but for some reason that information seemed to be having trouble reaching the rest of her brain. It was the weirdest thing she had ever felt, and she was certain that all of a sudden, she looked anything but calm and cool.
"Will you marry me?" Billy asked, this time having no trouble with the words. It seemed that speaking them once made it easier to repeat.
"I… umm… yeah," Dualla said, unable to say much of anything else. "Yeah."
"Whoa," Billy sighed, clearly relieved.
"That was… unexpected," Dee said.
"Good enough for an entry into your book someday?" Billy was quickly recovering all of his composure, though he had a goofy, lopsided grin that he seemed incapable of shedding.
"Maybe," Dualla answered noncommittally. "So, the ring," she prompted. "What's with that?"
"I wanted something different, something that's symbolic but has no connection to any of our traditional customs," Billy explained.
"So it's symbolic."
"Yes."
"Of what?"
"Well, it's a ring," Billy pointed out. "So it's a circle, which continues infinitely."
"Oh," Dualla responded. "But what about the stone? Is that diamond?"
"Yeah," Billy confirmed. "Diamonds are the hardest naturally occurring substance. They last forever."
"And you think we'll last forever?" Dualla grinned.
"I want to find out," Billy replied. It was about the mushiest thing he had ever said, and Dualla found she loved him more than ever for it.
"So I guess I should start looking for a priest."
"Umm…"
"Or a qualified government official," she amended, remembering Billy's attitude concerning religion.
"No, a priest is fine," he assured her. "Whatever you want, that's what we'll do."
When Dee had been young and daydreamed about the day she became engaged – and the man who would someday ask her – it had never been anything like this. Never in a million years would I have dreamt up a scenario like this or a guy like Billy. But it's true: sometimes, reality is stranger than fiction.
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"Would you like me to rephrase the question?" Dr. Drake asked, tapping his pencil to the beat of some unknown tune in his head.
"No," Helo answered, still staring at the top of the table. "I understood the question." I just don't have the vaguest idea how to answer, he admitted silently. What do I expect our child to be like…
"What I mean is--"
"I understood you," Helo snapped. "You want to know whether I think our child is going to be human."
"Perhaps," Drake said. "To be honest, I'm not certain I can tell you what I expect from your answer any more than you know how to begin phrasing it."
"Huh?" Helo hated it when people seemed to speak in riddles around him, and he found that it happened more every day.
"Well, we know that you're human," Drake said. "So let's start with that."
"Fine."
"And any child you naturally father will receive human DNA – your DNA – from you."
"I got it," Helo assured him. "It's not like I missed that day in high school biology. Sperm, egg, presto, change-o, bada-bing."
"So to speak," Drake agreed. "You donate human DNA."
"We already covered this."
"What does Ms. Valerii donate?"
"Huh?" It was such a simple, basic question that Helo had never even thought about it.
"We heard from Lieutenant Thrace that the cylons are harvesting human ovaries and the reproductive cell within them," Drake explained. "If the cylons placed one of those ovaries in Ms. Valerii, then it's a safe assumption that your child will be human, although he or she may not look anything like either one of you."
"Because the egg may come from a mother who looks nothing like Sharon."
"Exactly."
"But then…" Helo's voice trailed off as he strained to consider all of the possibilities.
"If that's the case, then the child will be human. 100 percenthuman," Drake said. "I fail to see how that would advance the cylon cause at all. That's really nothing more than a test tube baby, with Ms. Valerii being both the test tube and the surrogate mother the embryo is implanted in."
"Okay," Helo said, reasonably certain he was following along. "So that would mean that our kid is 100 percent human."
"Which makes no sense," Drake said. "The cylons would only have accomplished creating another specimen of a species they've otherwise seemed rather intent on exterminating."
"So then what are they doing?"
"There must have been some kind of alteration of the eggs," Drake replied. "But the science behind that would be… unheard of. Unimaginable, even."
"That's just genetic engineering," Helo countered. "We have that technology."
"No, it's more than that," Drake explained. "Dr. Baltar's cylon detector has demonstrated that the cylons use some artificial tissue that reacts differently when exposed to radiation. Look, for a cylon to remain undetected within human groups, we would also have to assume that the cylons can heal minor injuries just as humans can. This tissue is otherwise indistinguishable from human cells, so it at least looks natural and grows naturally. "
"Sure."
"That means the cylons must have a way not only of genetically modifying the eggs they harvest, but of modifying them in such a way as to naturally produce cells that are biologically distinct from the rest of the surrounding tissue in the body."
"Huh?" Helo had thought he was following along, but all of a sudden he felt like he was much in need of a science refresher course.
"Think of it this way," Drake suggested. "A cylon is like a living cream-filled cupcake; on the outside it may be indistinguishable from a non-cream-filled cupcake. All of these humaniform cylons are like this – they are human in all outward respects, but at their core, there's something artificial, something cylon. What we have to assume they're doing with Ms. Valerii is constructing a cylon naturally, on the genetic level, with all of the cylon cells actually producing and replicating themselves right alongside natural human cells. This goes beyond nano-technology or mere genetic engineering, Lieutenant. This is actually constructing a completely new species – a hybrid of a naturally occurring one and an artificially constructed one – by starting with a programmed combination of nucleotides at the genetic level."
"Sounds complicated," Helo admitted, not knowing what else to say.
"It's far more than that, Lieutenant – it's impossible. At least according to our science. When Lieutenant Thrace was shot down, she was able to salvage a cylon raider and fly that back to Galactica."
"Uh-huh."
"And when the cylon centurions or raiders fire on Colonial forces, they do so with ordnance that's comparable to what we use."
"Yup."
"And when their basestars fire nukes at Galactica, the Galactica's hull is strong enough to withstand the blast."
"It was designed to," Helo pointed out.
"Cylon computer viruses are advanced, but we're able to sweep them out of our systems when given enough time."
"Yes." Helo was finally getting comfortable with the flow of the conversation when Drake threw him a curveball.
"In every way, cylon technology is based upon, and comparable to, human technology. In all cases but this."
"So?"
"So the cylons have demonstrated an amazing ability to adopt, adapt, even perfect human technology; but in this one area of science, they've shown an inconceivable capacity for invention. This accomplishment stands out, it doesn't mesh with what else we know about the cylons."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't accept that the cylons made this scientific leap on their own," Drake summed up. "If they could create technology this advanced, they would also have weapons that could vaporize Galactica rather than just scar its hull; they would have raiders that were too fast, too maneuverable, and too well armed and armored for any Viper to stand a chance in a dogfight; and their centurions would be able to overwhelm us rather than fall to our explosive rounds. The cylons found this technology somewhere – or they were given it – and I want to know where."
"And you think Sharon knows."
"Or she can provide clues," Drake clarified. "Clues might gain us a way to get our own hands on some of this technology. They may get us a weapon we can use to get back in the fight."
"And it all starts with Sharon," Helo muttered, now afraid more than ever for her safety and the safety of their child.
-------------------------------------------------
"You might want to wake up now," Six suggested, knocking Baltar out of a dream where he was celebrating his solo victory over the Caprica Buccaneers in a cotton candy eating contest. Once he had a moment to think about it, he decided that being awakened wasn't such a bad thing.
"What is it?" Baltar asked, not even worried about waking Tabitha Donner. She was sound asleep next to him, and he had found that she was the type of person who would have slept through the cylon attack if it had happened at night on her side of Caprica.
"You should probably wake her up, too," Six suggested, gesturing dismissively at the author.
"In a minute," Baltar said. "What's going on?"
"You're wasting time, Gaius."
"Fine," Baltar muttered, gently shaking Donner as it occurred to him that he should probably come up with a convincing lie. Obviously, I can't say I'm waking her because my secret invisible cylon friend told me that it was time to get up.
"Uhhh…" Donner moaned, grabbing her pillow and burrowing her head beneath it.
"I, umm… I need you to leave, now," Baltar told her.
"Huh?" That got her attention. Donner sat up straight, struggling to keep her eyes open as she leaned back against the wall. "What is it?"
"I just had an epiphany, I think," Baltar said. "It was in a dream." Don't mention the cotton candy. Don't mention the cotton candy. "I think I may have thought of a better way to detect cylons."
"Really? How?" Donner was definitely awake now, and Baltar started walking around the room, picking up stray items of clothing and either putting them on or tossing them to his guest. To his surprise, Donner did not seem at all offended that he was throwing her out in the middle of the night.
"It's just a thought," Baltar replied vaguely. "Probably won't even work, actually, but I have to get down to it while it's fresh in my head. You understand."
"Of course."
Donner had just finished pulling up her pants when the door to Baltar's quarters flew open. Both he and Donner looked immediately to the doorway, finding two men in suits and ties standing there in front of them.
"Doctor Baltar," one of them said curtly. "You need to come with us. Now."
"Excuse me, but I'm a little busy," he objected. Both men walked into the room, and the one who had spoken grabbed Baltar by the elbow while the other stared down Donner, almost as if he was daring her to say a word of protest.
"Now," the man repeated.
He forcefully led Baltar from his quarters and down the hall. It was almost a full minute later that Baltar realized he recognized the man. He's one of President Roslin's security team.
"What's going on?" Baltar asked, noting that he was being ushered through the hallways in his bare feet. His answer came moments later, and he didn't need anyone to say a word. He was ushered into a room where he saw Billy Keikeya, two other guards, and a young priest. "The president…" Baltar prompted.
Billy shook his head, and the priest closed a book he had been reading. A few seconds later, the door opened again behind them, and Commander Adama entered.
"Doctor Baltar," the commander said gruffly. Baltar was almost certain there was the hint of tear in Adama's eye, but he could not be entirely sure.
"Please repeat after me," the president said, gesturing for Baltar to place his right hand on the book he was holding.
Baltar hardly heard the words, and was not even aware he was repeating them. But not long later he felt every eye in the room focusing on him. Everything's different now, he realized. He tried to think of something inspirational to say, something that would solve everyone's problems and assure the handful of witnesses that he had a plan to make everything better. "Tell me what happened to President Roslin," was the best he could muster.
Commander Adama nodded and started the tale.
To be continued…………………………