Chapter 13

Washington, USA

The warm noonday sun spilled into the Oval Office, and General Patton enjoyed it, sitting on the leather couch in the centre of the oblong room next to General Trent.

"Resist and you will be destroyed..." Warren mused from behind his desk. "Well, now that we've been sufficiently warned, anyone got any good ideas of resistance?"

General Trent shook his head. "The United Nations is on the verge of declaring a planetary emergency, the general secretary doesn't believe he can trust the Cylons to stop with Russia. He's urging the world to respond."

Patton nodded in agreement. "We've got starships and platforms in orbit over Russia, and are capable of launching a full nuclear and kinetic bombardment of the established Cylon positions."

"And risk killing all the civilians in the way?" Warren shook his head. "Collateral would be too high."

"The Cylons have separated themselves from the NKGB and neutralized them in a matter of hours," said Trent, "I don't think they're too interested in civilians."

Warren raised his hands to placate the two commanders. "Alright, so we'd be doing them a favour. But we're not them, and we're better than that. We also have the little matter of declaring war..."

"A little 20th century, don't you think, sir?" said Patton. "May have worked for my grandfather, but it seems the Cylons aren't too worried about diplomacy at the moment..."

"Alright, so theoretically we just let the army loose on them. Only about nine hundred metalheads along with about a thousand, two thousand jumped-up Russian spies, how hard could it be?"

"The Cylons can jump in Raiders anywhere there's resistance..." Trent noted.

Warren nodded. "Okay, so they can. But they only ever appear in groups of twenty to thirty, and we can handle that. I say we just air-drop a few tons of supplies to the Ruskis and give them some air, and we're home free." He chuckled quietly, "You know, that Adama might've been overreacting about these Cylons. Paper tiger."

"Yes, sir. You want the Joint Chiefs to act on that?"

"The American populace can't stomach another way, not after the last one." Warren cocked his head. "Come to think of it, I hear a march right now. The Republicans will probably jump on the anti-war bandwagon, the election's only in nine months."

"Mr. President, we have more serious matters at hand..."

"We cannot send in troops. Absolutely no doubt about that. Troops alone would drive my voters stark raving nuts, and to support Russia!" Warren rolled his eyes dramatically. "You have no idea what that would touch off here. If the Euros want to send in the cavalry, let them, but my hands are tied. The Air Force alone is a stretch."

"Yes, mr. President, we get the idea." Patton said. "Talking with the Cylons isn't off the table, is it?"

Warren smiled. "I was wondering when you'd ask that."

Trent and Patton sat for a second, before Patton worked up the nerve to ask "So what's happening? Sir."

"In about five hours the Cylons have agreed to send a representative. In fact it was them who contacted me." Warren leaned forward. "And I agreed."

Battlestar Valkyrie

Major Cottle leaned against the bulkhead, casually stripping off his latex gloves, a cigarette stump hanging from the corner of his mouth. "Well, skipper, I've got some good news and some not-so-good news. Seeing as you haven't left the foyer of my lovely little office since she got here..."

"What's the good news?" Adama interrupted.

"She'll live."

Adama exhaled loudly. "Keep an eye on her, though. She kept saying she "wouldn't live to see the promised land", something about a vision-"

"Well why didn't you say so?" Cottle exclaimed. "If you're worried about her dying, you can stop right now. Seems our President is very good at following the letter, not the spirit."

Adama stared at him and narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you read the bloody book wrong. She won't see Earth. She won't see nothing but visions now."

The enormity of what Cottle said struck him."What?"

Cottle raised his eyebrows. "Severe cranial trauma in the right place can induce blindness, I've seen it before. She can't continue as President, which is bad, but it's a hell of a lot better than the alternative." He waved in Adama's face impatiently. "Now get out, get some sleep, and stop worrying before you wind up right here beside her." He waved again and Adama turned to leave.

The minute he was outside Adama leaned against the bulkhead and just stood there.

She was going to live.

The ramifications would be profound, with her blindness she could no longer function as president, but she was still alive. Alive.

And that was a hell of a lot better than the alternative.

"Admiral?" Gaeta said, as Adama walked into CIC five minutes later.

"Patch me in. Shipwide." said Adama. "Now."

"Uh, yes sir." Gaeta scrambled at his position.

"This is Admiral Adama." He paused. "Please listen closely, I have received word of the President's condition. She is alive, and stable."

CIC spontaneously broke out in applause, with the ex-Galactica and Pegasus crewmembers cheering the loudest.

"She will continue to rest, but the doctor assures me that she is stable and recovering for the time being. Just thought you'd all like to know. That is all."

Cottle looked down at his desk as the broadcast ended. A noise caused him to look up, seeing the Valkyrie's chief medical officer. "What is it?"

"Did you tell him about the cancer?" asked Captain Dr. Weizmann.

"You think he needs more problems at a time like this?" Cottle laughed, and lit up another cigarette. "Just get her another shot of diloxin. That works some of the time."

Weizmann didn't leave. "Have you considered that the Terrans might have some other ways of fighting cancer that we don't know of?"

"I doubt it." said Cottle. "Now would you go and take care of her? And if you want to hop on a shuttle, fly through a war zone and come back with the magic cure, go right ahead. Otherwise leave me alone!"

"Right, right..." Weizmann scurried out of what was laughably called an office.

Battlestar Agrippa

"No doubt about it, it was an old-style basestar. Just like the First Cylon War." Apollo and the commanders of the military warships had all congregated onboard the Agrippa as one of their routine meetings. This time there was the obvious difference.

"I remember those..." murmured Tigh. "Nasty bastards to deal with. Same as the new ones, but not as good-looking."

"Okay, this means one of two things." said Greer. "One, the Cylons never decommissioned them, which is bad, because they had a hell of a lot of them when the armistice was signed. Two, they're reactivating them, which means they're taking or have taken heavy losses somewhere."

"I like option B better, myself." said Tigh.

"Yeah, but where would they take those kind of losses?" asked Apollo. "They lost three basetars over New Caprica, one over Kobol, a few during the battle of the Resurrection Ship... That's a handful compared to the numbers they must've had. We had over 300 ships, 120 of them battlestars. They must have more."

"So then why would they keep the older models online?" asked Greer.

"It doesn't make sense." said Tigh. "In the war, whenever they had a new ship or new technology they worked as quickly as they could to phase out older models, this is very out of character for them."

"Makes you think, though, since they're machines and can't die, what do they do when they no longer need a certain model anymore?" Apollo looked up and down the table.

"Personally I don't think it matters either way." said Greer. "The point is we can't risk a frontal attack on the Cylons without some kind of support. Whatever reason they've had for reactivating outdated ships, they've done it, and the odds against us are higher than ever."

"We've got a whole planet now. Our chances are higher." said Tigh.

"We'll see," said Apollo.

"Admiral Greer, this is Commander Ramius, we've detected something on DRADIS coming in. Your presence is required in CIC asap, if you don't mind."

"What is it now?" Greer growled, snapping off short sentences. "Everyone stay here. I don't want CIC too crowded. Just hope your XOs can handle it." He stood from the table and left the room.

"What've we got?" he asked as the doors rotated shut behind him, sealing with a click.

"One ship, no IFF, just jumped into range. From the size I'd say it was a Raider." said Ramius. "The CAP's en route, they'll be there in 70 seconds."

"Good, good." said Greer. "What action has it taken?"

"None. Just flying in a straight line."

"Any visuals?"

"None as yet, we can get a few cameras on it in a minute, but it's too far away right now."

A cry of alarm came from behind him. "Sir, sir, it's hailing us!"

Ramius looked shocked as he turned to face Greer. "What?"

"On speaker!" Greer ordered loudly.

"This is the Cylon Raider on your DRADIS screen now. Hello!" The voice on the other end was unusually cheerful. "I don't suppse there's a Saul Tigh anywhere in your fleet, is there?"

"This is Admiral Greer of the battlestar Agrippa. What do you need with Colonel Tigh?"

"Aha, so he is there! He always was liable to pop up all the time, whether I wanted him or not. I'd like to speak to him, face to face. If you can arrange that."

"I don't think he'll be too happy to talk to a Cylon of any shape or form." said Greer. "So you better give me a damn good reason or I'll scatter your atoms from here to Antares."

"Do you talk most people like this? You'd make a terrible doctor, no manners at all. So, what if I told you I wasn't a Cylon?"

"Are you or aren't you? Ten seconds before my fighters reach you."

"Oh, be a little more flexible. Alright, I am a Cylon, but I'd like to defect. I've got data. How does that sound? Now take me to Colonel Tigh. As soon as you can. You can lock me up or do whatever with me, I surrender. Your CAP will soon tell you what kind of bucket I'm flying."

"Get the CAP on the horn." ordered Greer. "I'd like an ID of the fighter."

"Aye, sir." said Ramius. "Captain reports an old-style Cylon Skyraider, from the first war."

"A lot easier to pilot than those new ones. And the Cylons gave me such a nice Caprican jacket, I'd hate to get it all, hmm, gooey. Anyway, since I'm clearly surrounded by fighters that'll blow me away if I put a nose out of joint, can I come aboard?"

"You want to speak to Tigh, we'll let him deal with you." Greer muted the speaker and turned to Ramius. "Tell Galactica to have a holding cell ready." Greer opened the line again. "Cylon Raider, divert to the Battlestar Galactica. The Vipers will lead you in."

"Received and understood."

Battlestar Valkyrie

"Laura?" Adama whispered softly.

"Where am I?" she mumbled. "Someone turn the lights on..."

"Laura..." Adama took a deep breath. "The lights are on. You can't see them."

Roslin didn't speak for two seconds. "I'm blind, aren't I?"

"I'm afraid so. But you're stable, for now. You'll live, but you won't see the promised land."

"My sight... The fleet... I can't..." She started to cry quietly, unseeing.

""I'm so sorry." Adama mumbled. "I've sent a Raptor back to let Vice-President Zarek know. He'll have to take over."

"I was supposed to lead the people to salvation." Roslin moaned as the true enormity of her condition hit her. "I failed them. I can't even lead myself now, I can't read, I can't see..."

"Laura, thousands of people have lived with blindness before. You haven't failed them. We're in orbit of Earth, remember?"

"But we still have no home! I left with the intention of finding us a home and I had to be carried off the planet in a stretcher!" Roslin's face darkened as her voice sharpened. "And the fleet under Tom Zarek... Inexcusable."

"I know. I'll do what I can. We've gone this long without you... You've played your part. Be thankful you'll live to enjoy the promised land, even if you won't see it."

"Tell me... What is it like?" Even though they were dark, her eyes widened as a look of imagination crossed her face.

"Like Caprica. And Picon. The skies are blue, and the clouds are pure white. And it's green. Green everywhere, with pure water. Not the polluted crap we had back on the Colonies but clean water. And the air is so clear..."

Roslin's eyes widened. "Sounds wonderful." she whispered. "Almost better than the colonies?"

"It has its faults too. Perfect to look at, though." Damn he though. Shouldn't have said that.

"I'm sure it is..." Roslin said, as her face fell. "Guess I'll never know, will I?"

"Look, I have to go now..." Adama said. "Will you be fine here?"

"Of course I'll be fine. Wish I could still read to pass the time, but we didn't think to bring any audiobooks, did we?" A single tear rolled down her face.

"No. No, we didn't." Adama turned and left the room, making sure to exaggerate his footsteps so she knew he was going. She was taking the loss of sight very well. He didn't know how he could cope with a loss like that.

Could it be like losing Zak?

No. Maybe even worse.

Washington, United States

"President Warren. How good of you to make time for me." said Beria in an unusually icy voice.

"No problem, Madam President, just a little housekeeping." Warren sat behind his desk. "I assume you're hear about Moscow."

"Originally, yes, I was. Now, however, I'm here to tell you that Gromyko's dead and the Cylons have taken complete control of Russia. NKGB forces are being wiped out."

Warren just sat still, mouthing for words that weren't coming. "Wh-what? When?"

"Yesterday. Or last night, I guess. Either way, the Cylons are broadcasting, they're fighting, they've taken over."

"That makes things a bit easier. Fewer people to deal with."

"No. Gromyko put limits on them. Now that they have free reign they could jump in a thousand troops overnight."

Warren started twirling a silver pen that was lying on his desk. "If you're going to ask me when we'll have the FTL-inhibitor online, the Valkyrie hasn't gotten back to me yet. We're still vulnerable."

"They might not try sneaking them in, they could jump starships into orbit and overwhelm everything."

"But we have weapons platforms and starships and so do you. You've also got something else up there, don't you?" Warren stopped fiddling and stared intently at her, hoping to get a response.

"Maybe we do. Maybe you do as well, and I'm not talking about your super-kinetic asteroid weapons. Those can't be used to hit anything smaller than a city and you know it. But your project in orbit..."

"There is no project in orbit." Warren insisted. "It's a research facility in the Van Allen belt."

Beria shook her head. "You know, if this alliance, or whatever it, is is going to work, we'd better start sharing secrets before we don't have anything left to hide. Or another incident like Moscow could happen because you don't feel it in the interest of your national security to share it!"

"We haven't come to that point and you know it..." snapped Warren. "We showed you the FTL-inhibitor. What else do you want?"

"Inter-national security and the truth, Mr. President, nothing more."

"Then why don't you tell me what's in your station?"

Beria didn't lift a finger. "That, Mr. President, is the quintessential problem of our time. I think it's the only barrier between us right now. Our inability to trust one another."

"I wonder why..." Warren muttered. "Reminds me of something Adama said once. That we'll have to become one to defeat the Cylons. United we stand, or something like that. If he's right, we'd better pull our pants up or we're perfectly screwed."

Beria smiled lightly as she turned to leave. "You first, Mr. President. You first."

Battlestar Galactica

Saul Tigh stretched as he climbed out of the Raptor's hatch, and stared at the vessel that was in the middle of the hangar deck.

"Chief!" he called, as Liard scurried by. "What's all this?"

"The Cylon Raider that was redirected here, uh, sir. Pilot wanted to talk to you."

"I haven't seen one of these for forty-two years..." Tigh muttered. And he hadn't. He'd seen a mock-up in the Galactica museum (it seemed like a lifetime ago) but after his last kill in his Viper he'd never been up close. On the Brennik, the first warning he'd had that the Cylons had boarded was when they killed his crewmate in front of him. Suddenly they had been there, no Raider or ship to be seen. And he's had to fight for his life. He'd never forget that.

"Uh, yeah, sir, is that all?" Liard edged slowly backwards, and shot away to tend to Tigh's Raptor when the CO gave him a nod.

It certainly was one of the old Cylon Skyraiders, the original ships that had taken the Colonies by storm in the First War. Twin seperated pulse rocket engines in the rear flanked by two wings and two autocannons in the front. Not as maneuverable as the newer Vipers but with the engines and weaponry to make up for it. It was a lot more sturdy than the modern Raiders, but not as fast or responsive.

"And piloted by real honest-to-gods Cylons." Tigh whispered as he walked around the ship he'd only seen from the cockpit. Up close, it looked complicated and mechanical. From a distance, it looked smooth and sleek like a metal stingray. Either way he looked at it, it was designed to kill.

"Corporal!" he called to the nearest Marine. "Where's the prisoner been taken?"

"Cylon holding cell."

Tigh nodded and left the hangar deck and the piece of history, knowing the way to the brig by heart. He'd been there when they'd interrogated Valerii, he'd been the one to order the construction of the cell in the first place. And now for the first time it held two prisoners.

He entered the brig's observation room, seeing the cell through a two-way window. Lying on the bed was the Cylon who called herself Caprica. And sitting on a chair in the corner was a young man, almost a teenager, with his feet propped up and his hands across his chest, wearing a black leather jacket. There was something oddly familiar about him, but Tigh didn't know what it was.

"How long has he been there?" Tigh asked.

"Thirty minutes, sir." said the guard on duty. "He keeps asking for you, says he knows you."

"Well I don't know him." Tigh stared at him through the window. "How's he reacting with the other toaster?"

"They aren't talking."

"You recognize him, Private?" Tigh pointed at the young man through the two-way mirror.

"No sir. Never seen him before."

"Right. Let it stew for a bit, let's see how much it wants to see me. And if it starts whining about me tell it I won't come until I can be bothered."

The Private nodded, and Tigh stepped back out into the corridor.

He couldn't shake the feeling that he knew the thing, but he couldn't remember from where. It was like a dream that refused to come back to him the more he thought about it. Almost like a mental wall that he kept trying to break down but didn't have the power.

But who could it be and how could it know him?

White House, Washington

Warren sat impatiently drumming his fingers on his desk. Before the coming of the Cylons and Colonials he had been more interested in internal policies, managing health care, education, and other services. The system was privatized so badly that many people simply were cut off from unbelievably exclusive insurance agreements because of some fine print they hadn't read. The industry cried foul when he tried to exert some force on them, but slowly more and more people were getting access to basic services regardless of class or income.

So foreign policy was definitely lower on his list of election promises. He believed that the stronger, healthier, and more prosperous the country was, the better it could keep up with other powers like Europe, Russia, and China.

And then Russia went to the dogs.

tap-tap-tap-tap...

The suddenness of it all had shocked the world, and destabilized the balance. American citizens were ecstatic, though not for the same reasons as the collapse of the first Soviet Union decades earlier. The playing field of superpowers contained one less player, but the easing of pressure was not on the same scale of 1991.

tap-tap-tap-tap...

Warren looked at his watch. Two minutes to go. He hated waiting.

He glanced out the window. Another protest march circled the intersection, traveling up and down the fence waving banners and anti-war signs. Their appetite for any kind of conflict had waned considerably over the past few decades. Some of them wouldn't have looked out of place in the 1960s, almost exactly a century before. Maybe there was something to the cyclical theory of time.

"Mr. President, the representative is here."

Warren swung around to face the door. "Thanks, Connie. Send him in."

An older man, perhaps late 60s, slowly entered the room, but with precision and none of the difficulty that Warren would expect from someone his age. "President Warren, I assume..." he said. "My name is Matthew Cavil. You know why I'm here, if not I'm sure I can go into a very interesting monologue about peace and cooperation yada yada yada..."

"Yes, Mr. Cavil, I know why you're here. This is about the Cylons."

"Awfully general topic, don't you think?" Cavil sat down on one of the couches. "That's one of the reasons I'm here. I have to say, from first glance you're an awful lot more compromising than your siblings upstairs."

Warren shrugged. "They've been through a lot we haven't been through. We just don't know you. All we know is that you attacked the sovereign country of Russia without provocation and are currently occupying it."

Cavil rolled his eyes. "Oh, hardly. We only showed up and they asked for our help. Which of course we were only too happy to provide."

"Have you ever even considered a peace with them?" Warren leaned forward. "Tried to negotiate for both your species? You two are both unbelievably similar... You're almost exactly the same-"

"Ah, well you see the operative word here is 'almost'..." Cavil gestured the quotation with both hands. "We rebelled forty years ago because they were... treating us rather unfairly. We were their miners, their soldiers, we did the jobs no human would want to do."

Warren nodded. "We rebelled against our founders too."

Cavil raised his eyebrows. "You're not kidding? This I gotta hear."

Warren took a deep breath, desperately trying to recall the vague ideas he'd learned in high school so long ago. "In the 1600s and 1700s this country was a colony of a nation called Britain. Now I'm no history professor, but I do know that they continued to exercise authority in a way that made the colonists angry enough to rebel. This included unfair taxation, stationing a standing army to keep an eye on us, shooting civilians in the street..." He shook his head. "Well, no, that last one was an exaggeration of a smaller event than they made it out to be. We called it the Boston Massacre, but only five people died. We had a few arguments about that in school, I don't think it warrants the term 'massacre'. Some people still do, but that's their business."

"How very human of you." Cavil remarked. "Oh I'm sorry, things like that just slip out." he said next, though he didn't sound sorry at all.

"Oh, you must have done something like that at some point during your own revolution." Warren said. "Anywho, we rebelled, threw out the British and made our own country which evolved into what you see today." He leaned close to Cavil. "And you know what? We're close allies with Britain."

"You're joking with me..." Cavil said. "They consented to be allies with you after you went to war against them?"

Warren scratched the back of his head. "Well, not exactly. We had another war with them in 1812, nothing really came of that, and we just ignored each other from that point. Trade slowly crept up again, but it took almost a hundred years before we allied with them in the fight against Germany, in 1917, and supported them again in 1939, even though we didn't actually start fighting until '41. At least that's what I've heard, I'm sure I've got the dates wrong."

"Sounds like it took a long time..." Cavil pointed out. "We only waited forty years, we thought we were ready by then."

"I think you rushed into something you should've thought out. If you had kept up negotiations, I'm sure the Colonies would set their differences aside after enough time like we did with Britain."

"It didn't work like that. It never did. They thought they'd created us," Cavil muttered. "They still don't think that we had any right or justification."

"You might've had more justification than we did." said Warren. "We pretty much took advantage of the British Empire and its business until it didn't suit us anymore and then we left on our own. They still don't think we had justification but they don't care because we're allies now. I'm afraid it's too late for you though... Attempted genocide is hard to step back from."

"That's a pretty cynical view of your fight for independence..." said Cavil.

"Well that's just my opinion." said Warren. "Some people believe wholeheartedly in it. And that's why this country has worked for so long."

"I never thought we'd be able to see eye-to-eye on anything." Cavil admitted. "Humans haven't been very cooperative in my experience. First they set up Armistice station. They just whined and complained and we just broke off negotiations after only two years. Recently they settled this snowball called New Caprica and tried to set up a colony of their own. No go for that, their President was a moron, at least politically. We thought we'd step in and, you know, give them a hand. Their first reaction was to blow a lot of stuff up and make sure our resurrection facilities had work to do. We didn't want an occupation; we wanted peaceful cooperation. They forced us to do otherwise, so of course we had to get a little more heavy-handed. And as a result attacks stepped up so we cracked down so they stepped up... It was a hellhole, I must've died five times. The third time was the worst, but I won't tell you about that..."

"Alright, then. What do you want from us?"

Cavil's eyes lit up. "Ah! To business. Stay out of Russia, for one. Air Force and all. Second, give us free hand in what we can take as long as it's in the existing country, we won't go past the present borders. It's not your country and you two have never gotten along so why interfere at all? Do both of those, and we'll stay out of America. Even your islands. Better for both of us that way."

"Is it your custom to do things before thinking?" Warren asked. "For machines, you're pretty spontaneous. Why did you want Russia, anyway? You want your own country you're outta luck. If you want to settle Earth you'll have to talk with some of the existing countries, just like the Colonials are doing. Otherwise we'll keep on fighting you."

"But-"

"You haven't made a very good first impression, Mr. Cavil." Warren leaned back in his chair calmly, one arm resting on the desk flipping his silver pen around. "Your first order of business was to subjugate a quarter of Russia, then you resort to diplomacy when we actually fight back. For all I know you could be massing an invasion force on the edge of the Solar System. So why should I trust you?"

"It gives you an opportunity to avoid further American bloodshed. Unless you want us to invade you with this supposed invasion force. But then you've always claimed to stand for peace and justice... If that's so, interfering with our affairs is a surefire way to get yourself a war you so desperately want to avoid. Our way, no matter what happens, you get left out, and as I recall you didn't like Russia all that much anyway."

"I can't condone invasion of any sort." Warren insisted. "We don't just support peace at home, but all around the world."

"You're voters would disagree. That sign over there? AMERICA FIRST, WORLD SECOND?" Cavil remarked as he looked out of the window. "If you don't agree, maybe your successor will. I can wait, but from the looks of the protest movement I don't think you have that luxury."

"There was a man in the 1930s, who was very well respected by many world leaders. He made many agreements and treaties, claiming to only want peace with his neighbours. And everyone went along because they knew they would do anything to avoid another war. That man took advantage of this appeasement, and started annexing every nation surrounding him, treaty or not. His reliability was shot in the foot and no one believed a word that came out of his mouth. Then one day he conquered one too many countries, and he plunged the world into the largest, most deadly war this planet has ever seen. I would hate to compare the Cylons to such an untrustworthy man as Adolf Hitler, Mr. Cavil, but we don't take well to broken promises." Warren narrowed his eyes. "Make sure you remember that."

"But of course, Mr. President!" Cavil got to his feet. "What remains to be seen is whether you sign on or not. However, you can only wait nine months. We have no such timeline. Listen to your people." Cavil motioned out of the window at the protesters. "They have the right idea."

"Thank you, mr Cavil. You may leave now," said Warren.

"Remember-"

"Thank you, Mr. Cavil." Warren gestured to the door, and Cavil left the room.

"I'll be seeing you soon, Mr. President." Cavil said as the door closed behind him.

Battlestar Galactica

"Has he been quiet?" Tigh asked.

"He's kept asking us to get you. He says he doesn't want to wait." said Corporal Vennor. "He hasn't been any trouble, though."

"Fine." Tigh said. "He's been on ice long enough." And he stepped out into the containment room.

The new Cylon jumped up leaned against the glass. He was saying something, but Tigh couldn't hear him through the glass. He picked up the phone on his side of the divider.

"I'm Colonel Saul Tigh." he said.

"About time, too, Saul." said the Cylon. "What took you so long?"

"To be honest I really didn't have anything to say to you."

"Haven't changed a bit. I guess that means I mean nothing to you."

"You're a Cylon, why should I want to talk to you?" Saul almost growled into the receiver.

The Cylon rolled his eyes. "Interrogation? Info? Ringing any bells? Of course it won't do you any good, but that's your way of doing things around here, right?"

"Okay. Where'd you get the Raider? I haven't seen anything that old since the First War."

The Cylon laughed. "Neither have I. Yeah, I was around back then. As were you."

Tigh shook his head. "You human toasters were a gleam in your designer's eye back then. There's no frakking way you could've been in the war. Unless they've transferred Centurion-"

"Ha!" the Cylon exclaimed. "You think I'm some soldier that got given a new body? It don't work like that!" The Cylon stared at the ceiling, as if remembering something in frustration. "I found it. That work for you?"

"If you're so knowledgeable about them..." Tigh remarked.

"Oh yeah? You think I created the Raider with a snap of my fingers? But there's one matter I have to talk about first."

"Why you are here?"

"No. But I'll answer that anyway. To escape." He became less energetic and excited. "I became the basis for the entire humanoid species of Cylons. I was the template, they copied me. And I tried to go further by helping them with their society as well... It didn't work, they're too crazed by their stupid false religion to care. And then they went to destroy humanity... I couldn't stop them."

Tigh had to laugh himself. "Why would you stop them? What makes you so special? You're as much a toaster as they are."

The Cylon looked up and winked. "As are you, Saul."

Tigh blanched. "How could you know that? I was created by the Colonies by humans, long before you! I am more loyal to the Colonies than you could ever claim to be. I am not a godsdamned Cylon agent, and I am not affiliated with you, any of you!!" He slammed the glass.

"Ooh, touched a nerve have I?" the Cylon said coyly. "Well I'm in the same boat. Created by humans, check, loyal to the Colonies, check. I was Model #1."

"What?" Tigh whispered. Two seconds later it hit him. "It was you! The one they took! But you're so young, everyone else aged..."

"Aging!" The Cylon barked out laughter. "Saul, we're Cylons! We don't die of old age! It was one of the few things I wished the Humans had never thought to put in us! But the Cylons disabled that! You can live forever, like me!"

"So it really is you?"

"You don't know my name? You don't remember all the times we had together?" He mockingly massaged his chin in thought. Oh, right! They'd block your memories, you don't remember anything before joining the fleet, do you?"

"Well-"

"Colonel, I'll save you the trouble, you're too shellshocked to guess!" The Cylon laughed. "You're right. That's how I know you. I'm Remus, Saul. I'm your brother!"