The sound of voices on the other side of the AI Core's door caused Caprica to stop mid-sentence, heart fluttering in fear. She took a few deep breaths to try and dispel her anxiety. Logically, EDI would have let her know if there was any problem or threat. And despite the short time that she had known the AI, Caprica felt a sense of kinship and trust. Undoubtedly some of that was due to the inexplicable similarities in their voices, but - as their first conversation had revealed - there were deeper points of connection.
Caprica stood, glancing between EDI's projection and the door. "What's going on?" she asked.
"Commander Shepard has returned from Sur'Kesh. The mission was a success. The salarian scientist Mordin Solus is in the process of claiming the Infirmary for his work on the genophage cure. The female krogan that was rescued is immune."
"Immune. You mean she's fertile?" The krogan genophage had been a topic of great interest to Caprica, for … reasons she didn't care to discuss with anyone yet. Reasons she still shied away from, even in her own mind.
"She is, and Professor Solus will be using her as a basis for perfecting the cure."
The cure. The cure that made it so that more female krogan would be able to bring children to term. Could such a cure help to unlock one of the mysteries the Cylons were still unable to explain?
Caprica laid a hand on the flat of her belly, fingers spreading outwards as she had seen human women do countless times. "How good is he?"
"Professor Solus is considered one of the most brilliant minds of his generation and an expert on the genophage."
She had to say it out loud. There was no one to hear but EDI, and if she didn't say it out loud, it would still remain a ghost of an idea in her own mind.
"Can he help me bring this child to life?" Saul Tigh's child. If it lived, only the second child ever born to a Cylon mother. Before she had known what Saul was, she'd had more hope for the tiny life growing inside of her. Athena's child had been fathered by a human, which was part of the answer to why the Cylons could not, seemingly, reproduce amongst themselves.
But was Saul a human or a Cylon in this case? Where did the Final Five fall? Was she destined to lose this child? She was already further along than any other Cylon save Athena, though she was still early enough to lack the outward signs of pregnancy.
There was a long pause before EDI spoke, and there was almost … gentleness in the AI's tone. "You will not know unless you ask him."
Of all the things that Jason Shepard had expected to do in his career with the Systems Alliance and then the Citadel Council, comparing notes on deities and mythology had not been among them.
Sure, he was interested in the Ancient Greek myths; he'd grown up hearing all about them. The Iliad and the Odyssey had practically been bedtime stories that Professor Thomas Shepard had told his children. Jason knew all of the names of the Argonauts that his namesake had commanded.
But none of those things had been relevant to the life he'd chosen - a modern one, where the heroes were people he could theoretically pass on Arcturus Station or one of the other major Alliance bases. Where his older sister was the greatest of those heroes, the Normandy a modern day Argo with each member of her crew being or becoming famous in their own right.
Until Artie had turned his world upside down, again, by shoving him into the path of people who lived and breathed their own version of Greek and Roman myths - and suddenly his knowledge of all those childhood tales, all of the stories and epics that his father loved, became his greatest asset.
He'd been annoyed - was still annoyed, for that matter - that Artie never intended to take him into combat with her. She was his big sister and this was supposed to be his chance to join her in all those stories. He was supposed to be the Menelaus to her Agamemnon (without the drama of Helen's relationship with Paris, something his father had opined about at length); the Paris to her Hector (again, without the whole Helen thing).
Instead, he was Homer and Virgil, telling tales and comparing notes with the "lost cousins" of the Twelve Colonies. Jason had to admit that it was, to some degree, fascinating to see where the mythologies were nearly identical, and where they completely diverged.
Kara Thrace had been part of the discussion for a time, but she'd declared herself bored and wandered off - probably to sulk at being left behind by Artie, again, despite her loud and repeated protests. That left Jason to talk things over with Chief Tyrol. In a lot of ways, Tyrol was the better choice, despite being a Cylon; his fake memories were of religious parents, which meant he was nearly as conversant as Jason in the mythology they discussed.
Except, of course, that he didn't see it as mythology. Jason felt almost sorry as he watched the shock and dismay creep over Tyrol's face as he absorbed the idea that almost no one actually worshiped the Greco-Roman gods anymore.
"But - you said your father - you grew up on tales -" Tyrol faltered as Jason shook his head.
"In a purely academic sense," Jason explained. "He'd say he's agnostic, if you need to label it; religion just doesn't play a part in his life. Same for the rest of the family, and a good portion of the human race. As far as religion goes, you've got two big monotheistic ones - Christianity and Islam- the polytheistic Hinduism and Chinese traditions, the more spiritual Buddhism, and quite a few smaller ones."
"Monotheistic? One god? Like the Cylons?"
You're a Cylon, Jason thought, but he remembered what Artie had told him about Tyrol's allegiances and kept his mouth shut. "Yep. If you really want more detail, you need a religious scholar. Or you could ask Williams - Ashley, I mean, she's been pretty open about her beliefs."
"I - yeah. Maybe." Tyrol was still clearly absorbing the idea. "I just - we always assumed that you, the Thirteenth Tribe that is, would be like us."
Jason shrugged. "From what I understand, there's a lot about us you weren't expecting."
"Frakking understatement," Tyrol muttered, shaking his head. He looked out the window, sighed, and then turned back to Jason. "You said - some of the names we use are different? For the gods, the Lords of Kobol, I mean."
"More like you're using both the Greek and the Roman names for some of them," Jason said. "Considering that the Romans basically copied the Greek pantheon and made changes to fit their own particular mythos, it's not that surprising."
"Except for the fact that there's no explanation for why our mythologies are so similar when there's been no contact between our people for - thousands of years. Maybe more. If I were - if -" Tyrol stopped again, took several deep breaths. "Let's put it this way. This fact is going to convince a lot of the people with strong religious beliefs that our gods are real. It's an easy explanation. They're the same because they are real and have been communicating with us all along."
"Uh. That won't go over well with the rest of humanity," Jason said, turning over the idea in his head.
"I'm not saying that - I - that this is something I believe," Tyrol continued, and Jason wondered if he was trying to convince himself of that. "But a lot of our civilians will."
Jason shrugged. "I guess as long as they don't go super evangelical, it won't do any harm. From what I understand, they're pretty much all sticking to their own ships and not trying to mingle with any of Fifth Fleet, except for the Galactica crew and the, uh, friendly Cylons." He thought it through from a different angle. "I'm actually not sure it would do any harm even if they did start talking to other people out there. Most wouldn't take them seriously, and if anyone did - well, people grasp onto a lot of crazy things when they think their world is going to end."
"Yeah." Tyrol let out a long sigh. "It all comes back to how different things are. Being here instead of at home. Having a breather instead of running constantly, worrying constantly, starving for resources. There's really no telling what … what things will look like, in just a few months. But some people will try to predict it anyway. Try to find meaning in whatever they can; seize upon random connections between our people and yours."
"Sounds like you're glad to be away from it," Jason said.
Tyrol's laugh had more than an edge of hollow despair to it. "I don't know about that." He paused, looking out the observation window and seeming to think about something. "No. I am glad not to be a part of wrangling the civilian circus. I don't know if I'm glad to be away from the Fleet. I'm just not sure where I belong anymore."
Which hadn't been where Jason thought he would take the conversation, but it was painfully obvious that this was a topic weighing heavily on Tyrol's mind. "Well," he said, slowly, trying to find something that would be something more than a reassuring platitude, "you're not the first person to feel that way. When we … lost Artie, two and a half years ago, I began to question why I'd joined the Alliance Navy in the first place. It had just seemed like the thing to do, following her, following our mom. And then she wasn't there to follow. And she was still my big sister, but she was also so much more. A hero. A trailblazer. She made difficult choices that allowed humanity to be viewed as an equal to turians, asari, and salarians. It was a hell of a legacy for her to have. It felt like … someone needed to make sure it continued. Why not me? Why not another Shepard? So I left. But working for Udina was still following her, to a degree." He remembered a heated argument between himself and his twin Penelope on that front. "And I'm still just following her now, really. I left Udina's office the first chance I had, and I'm letting her tell me where to go. I'm letting her send me to Galactica. I mean, technically I agreed, but it's not something I'd ever have done without Artie paving the way for me. So do I really belong anywhere, if all I'm doing is standing in her shadow?"
He'd have to tell Pen, the next time he saw her, how much he admired her for bucking the trend and truly doing her own thing by becoming a civil engineer. Oh, she'd made her own concession to Artie's legacy by going to do the work on Eden Prime instead of another colony world, but that didn't approach the degree of 'following' that Jason had done. At least, he reflected, the Galactica post was going to be a synthesis of all of Jason's prior experiences. Of the three of them, he was the one who had absorbed the most of their father's passion; he had a level of diplomatic experience from working alongside Udina that Artie had never acquired. Of course, one might argue that Artie had never had the chance, but that was beside the point.
Tyrol was nodding slowly. "I see what you mean. I'm … a Cylon. A member of their Final Five, for whatever good that does me. But I can't run from it. No one will ignore it or let me forget who and what I am. I don't feel like a Cylon and I don't want to join them, but I can't continue with the Colonial military like nothing's happened."
"Is that why you're here?" Jason asked. "On the Normandy?"
"Yes. No. Sort of."
"Well, that's a comprehensive answer that still doesn't tell me anything useful." Jason regretted the words almost as soon as he said them; he was taking out some of his own irritation on Tyrol, and that wasn't fair to the other man. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Tyrol spoke first.
"You're right." Tyrol was clearly working on some thought, so Jason closed his mouth and schooled himself into a neutral expression. "It was supposedly my engineering expertise that got me chosen. That's at least partially true. I'm sure being a Cylon factored in too. A Cylon that's still loyal to Galactica." His face acquired a look of determination. "I am loyal. I might've lost my position on Galactica, but that's my fault. I deserved that demotion. I'm here because … because we need to figure out how to survive. My people. Yours. And if there's any way that being a Cylon can help with that, I'll find it, and I'll use it."
Jason nodded, trying to look encouraging. "Then here's the best place for that. Artie's going to do whatever it takes, and she'll take whatever help you can offer." And even if he was still following in Artie's footsteps, to some degree, that was his answer too. He was going to Galactica to help them have a better chance at surviving. The Alliance, the Galactica and their allies, and all of the other races in the Milky Way. He was the best person to go, too; he had his sister's full trust and firsthand knowledge of both military and civilian power structures.
The rest of his existential crisis would have to wait until after they defeated the Reapers.
If they defeated the Reapers.
Shepard slammed her hands down on the table in the briefing room, rage showing on her features. "Your son, Primarch. You lost your son because you held back that information on the bomb."
She almost regretted her harsh words, as they clearly made Primarch Victus feel that much more grief over his son's loss. But Shepard was tired of the turians holding on to information that might've helped, of everyone still viewing the krogan as a threat to be dealt with instead of a potential major ally in the fight against the Reapers.
And, yes, part of that anger related to the fact that she was having to stop herself from checking her omni-tool obsessively, to see if Hackett had any more information about her mother and the Orizaba.
Please be okay, Mom. Please.
"I am aware, Shepard," Victus said, sounding very, very tired. "I will have to live with that for the rest of my life, however long or short that may be." He looked down at where his hands rested in his lap, fingers intertwined and clutching at one another. "Is there anything else you need from me right now? Where will you be going next?"
"No, and out to the Attican Traverse," Shepard replied, seeing no reason not to tell him. Wrex had his reasons for being cagey and not wanting to disclose information about Aralakh Company and their mission, and Shepard would respect them. In part because she agreed with the caution where the Rachni were concerned; she'd gotten a lot of pushback from those who knew that she'd let the queen she'd found on Noveria live. However, it wasn't like she could keep the destination completely hidden from Victus while he was onboard. "There are some allied forces that need aid."
"They must be fairly important forces for us to be going that far out," Victus said, his head tilting to the side in a way that Shepard had come to recognize as a request for her to elaborate.
He'd just have to live with the disappointment. "If you'll excuse me, I should begin preparing for that." Shepard turned, leaving without giving him a chance to say anything else.
"Next," Baltar drawled, waving the young man aside as the middle-aged woman with a babe in arms stepped up to take his place. A challenge. They had thrown a challenge at him, Felix Gaeta and Admiral Adama. Well, perhaps only the Admiral, knowing that it would motivate Baltar.
And, in a way, he was grateful for it. It had been too long since he had been able to dive into a project like this. Most of the biology he knew came from creating a Cylon detector, and, loath though he was to admit it, from watching Gaeta work beside him.
The woman handed him the forms that all the volunteers had to fill out; a copy for herself and a copy for the babe. Baltar put hers on top and held out the cotton swab. She opened her mouth, and he got his sample. He closed the lid and put it down, then offered her the next one. "No doubt your daughter will cooperate more for you than for me," he said dryly.
"She's not mine, but -" The woman shook her head. "My sister's. I'm all she has."
Baltar didn't need to hear it. All he needed - all Gaeta needed - was contained in the forms the woman had filled out. He watched as she coaxed the infant's mouth open, taking a quick swipe before handing the cotton swab back to Baltar. He nodded, closing the lid, taping it to the child's forms before doing the same for the mother's. Aunt's. Adoptive mother. The exact relationship was unimportant, and he put them aside both figuratively and literally as the forms and closed sample containers went to the "complete" pile.
"Next." Baltar wasn't the only one collecting samples. Anyone with a lick of medical training had been asked to assist, and nearly all of them had fallen over themselves to volunteer. The idea of figuring out exactly how they were related to the Thirteenth Tribe was an exciting one. More than a few conversations he'd overheard had been about how this person was a direct descendant of one of their colony's important founders; or this person had no lineage at all and was hoping to find out more.
He tuned out the babbling of the elderly man in front of him while he took the sample, offering what he hoped would be taken as a polite nod as he finished the collection process. It had been agreed by Adama and that other Admiral, Hackett, that the Normandy was the best place to conduct the analysis. Apparently some medical doctor there had enough knowledge to be of use, and, of course, there was Gaeta.
Baltar took a deep breath, calming the tremor in his hand before he waved the next volunteer forward. He was going to have to get over the anxiety he felt whenever he thought of his one-time protegee and aide.
Because when those samples went to the Normandy, so would he.
He'd make sure of it.