Chapter 5

The Rifle

My rifle had made me strong. I carried it and remembered when I'd first started using it. In the beginning I would get tired, my arms used to ache, but not anymore. Now my rifle was part of me. Now I was my rifle.

I left our deserted camp. I had no plan, just started hiking. I had anti-rad meds in my pack, a few ration packs, and ammo for my rifle, and I knew how to hunt.

I was walking across a fairly open area, site of a year-old forest fire, when I heard a strange noise. Familiar, but not… I turned, looked up, and saw them. It didn't register at first what they were—Colonial Navy Raptors, a bunch of them.

I watched as they flew overhead, then on. It didn't occur to me to wonder who they were, or where they were going. I watched them the same way I'd watch birds fly overhead.

But then they slowed, and the last one turned, landing nose toward me, 420 yards away. I kept on walking toward it as the hatch hissed open. A soldier jumped out, a real soldier, in uniform—a Marine. He stood there, holding his assault weapon across his chest, but I could see he was ready for anything. I just walked toward him, keeping my rifle in my arms.

I stopped in front of him.

"Dan Ellison," he stated.

"Yes," I was startled. "How did you know?"

He gave a slight smile. "We got a wireless message from, ah, a guy named Anders, in the lead Raptor. He said, dark haired young guy with a long rifle, that would be Dan Ellison."

I looked on toward the other Raptors. So that's where everyone had gone… Kara, the pilot from the Galactica, had returned to rescue us. I was impressed… all these Raptors—one hell of a rescue.

"Coming?" the Marine asked me.

I blinked. "Sure," I said. "What's your name?"

"I'm Corporal Rob Ames," he said. He gestured and I climbed into the Raptor with him, the hatch closing behind us. The Raptor was crowded, mostly Marines, but a few of our team were there also. I found a spot on the deck, leaning back against the bulkhead, propping my rifle against my shoulder.

"Is that thing loaded?" Corporal Ames asked me as we took off.

"It would be pretty frakking useless if I carried around unloaded," I replied with irony. "The safety's on." I turned it so he could see.

He looked like he was going to say something else, but he looked at my face and just nodded. "Have you ever jumped before?"

It took me a moment to understand he meant an FTL jump. I shook my head.

"It feels kind of weird to some people," he told me. "We'll be jumping a lot, to get back to the Galactica."

I nodded; but when we jumped the first time, it didn't feel that weird to me. It actually felt a bit familiar, like that short interval in between pulling the trigger and seeing the target go down. A moment of suspension too brief to measure.

I actually fell asleep during the journey, then jerked awake when Corporal Ames shook my shoulder.

"Yeah," I said, instantly alert, my heart pounding. I loosened my grip on my rifle.

The corporal looked like he was as startled as me. "We're here," he said. "Landing in just a couple minutes."

I took a deep breath and nodded.

"I can't believe you slept," he said, grinning. "You'd make a great Marine… are you sure you've never jumped before?"

"It didn't feel that strange to me," I shrugged.

We landed, and everyone got out. I stretched, a little stiff from falling asleep sitting on the hard Raptor deck, and looked around.

The Battlestar Galactica. It wasn't anything like I'd expected, although I hadn't known what to expect. A long landing deck, the walls narrowing as they went up, the Raptors neatly parked and orange-coveralled mechanics all over. There were a lot more people than I expected—not from the Raptors, but Galactica crew I guessed, pilots and officers and mechanics.

I didn't know what to do, but Sam had been in the lead Raptor, so I headed that way. There was a crowd of people, but I could see Sam because he was pretty tall. Some of our people were still getting out of Raptors…

Then without warning, one of the guys in orange coveralls attacked someone getting out of a Raptor, yelling, throwing him down. I was ready without thinking, had the safety off my rifle—the Marines all around were the same. I couldn't see what was going on and moved closer.

"He's a Cylon!" the Galactica crewmember said.

A high ranking officer said, "Back off Chief, we got it."

The Chief got up, backed away, and the person he'd attacked stood, catching his breath. I stared. The Chief had gone after the cleric… the older man who I'd talked to… the man who'd called the Cylons 'the enemy'.

He said, "Well, this is an awkward moment… yes, he's right, I am a Cylon, and I have a message. So… take me to your leader."

"Take him to the brig!" the officer ordered in a hard voice. He turned and pointed. "That, too."

I looked where he was pointing; at Sharon—well, a number eight model, I could tell right off it wasn't the same Sharon I'd seen in my brief captivity.

What the frak? It didn't make sense.

Things kept happening around me, but my body was frozen, my thoughts going in a thousand directions at once. I felt like I could hardly breathe.

Someone dropped a hand hard on my shoulder and I jumped.

"Relax, Dan," he said—it was Dare, Derrin Campbell, one of Sam's original Buccaneers.

I sucked in a deep breath and nodded, but it was a lot easier for him to say than for me to do. He put his hand over mine on the rifle. My finger was close to the trigger but not on it, and I suddenly understood what he was worried about. I lowered my rifle, clicked the safety on, cradled it in my arms again.

"Sorry," I said in a low voice.

"Hell, if I'd had a weapon, I would have done the same," he said quietly. He looked at me straightly. "Are you all right?"

"It's…," I shook my head slowly, unable to find the right words. "It's all too weird. Here, and, and—Cylons."

He looked around. "Yeah, I know," he agreed.

"So what happens now?" I asked him.

"Beats me," he said. "Sam would know."

Sam did know; we were all taken to some sort of briefing room, seats in tiers with a podium down at the front, and he came looking for me.

"What's going on?" I asked him.

"We're checking in and they're checking us out," he said, "medically, that is. Are you all right? What the hell happened?"

It took me a minute to realize what he meant. "Oh, uh, it was… I got captured. By one of the blonde ones. She locked me up and later on she came back with a dark-haired one." I paused. "They go by numbers," I said slowly. "The blondes are model number six, and the dark-haired ones are number eight. I thought they were going to kill me, but they didn't."

I stopped, remembering feeling the muzzle of Caprica's rifle behind my ear. It seemed like everything had been sort of… suspended, since then. As if I was watching a video instead of being in real life. "All they wanted to do was talk," I told Sam. "Not about us, the team, but to me, like they wanted to learn about me." I frowned. "It was—freaky. And after a couple days the six gave me some sort of drug and I was out of it for awhile. When I woke up, everyone was gone… all the Cylons, all of you guys, nobody was left."

He gazed at me. "You sure you're all right?"

I nodded. "They didn't hurt me, and once the drugs wore off I felt fine. What happened to the team, though?" I asked the last part quietly, because there were a lot fewer of us left now. Less than two dozen, and there had been more than twice that many when I'd left for that last mission.

Sam's expression got grim. "They found the camp," he said. "Bullet heads attacked, and we bugged out—that was the day after you headed out. They attacked probably about the same time you got in place."

I nodded. I'd left in the afternoon, taking most of the night to get in place, and hadn't started shooting until the next afternoon.

"They killed a lot of us right off," he went on, still grim. "It looked pretty bad, then Kara showed up."

I watched his face as his eyes automatically searched for her in the room, and I could tell by his expression when he saw her. I looked, too. She was talking to another Galactica crewmember, and I looked back at Sam. Even though he hadn't seen her for all those months, it was still there—whatever you would call it, feelings for her.

He looked back at me. "I thought we'd never see you again," he told me quietly. "It was pure chance we were flying over… Kara was checking to see if the Cylons really were gone, and there was no one. Until we saw you. I couldn't believe it."

"It was really weird," I said. "The whole thing… nobody there… and then all those Raptors."

"You look like you're still weirded out," he said soberly.

I shrugged. I couldn't really describe how I felt. "I'm hungry," I said.

He chuckled. "You're always hungry, lately," he teased me. "I'm sure they'll have something for us to eat."

I had rations in my pack, and ate some while I waited. It got to my turn, first a medic doing a quick check; took a blood sample, pulse and blood pressure, height and weight, and looked in my eyes.

"You look fine to me," she said calmly. "The doctor will be doing complete physicals of all of you in the next few days."

Next, I talked to a Galactica crewmember who introduced himself as Yeoman Cushing. He asked me the same questions he'd asked everyone else; my name, my birth date, which colony I was from, normal questions. When he asked 'next of kin', it was in a carefully expressionless voice, and he merely nodded when I replied in the same tone, 'none'.

When he was done he said to the Marine who stood at his shoulder, "You can take his weapon now, Private."

The Marine had already taken a step toward me when the Yeoman's words sunk in.

"No," I said, involuntarily taking a step backward.

Both of them looked at me with surprise. "You can't carry a weapon on the ship," Cushing said.

"No," I said again in a low voice, my hands tight on my rifle.

The Marine took another step toward me, and I backed up more, right into someone, and I jumped as he held me strongly by the shoulders from behind.

"Dan!" Sam said sharply; the second time he'd said my name, I realized. "Dan," he said again, more quietly, letting go of my shoulders.

I turned to look at him; Kara was at his side. "They want to take my rifle away from me," I said to Sam.

"You don't need it here, Dan," he said gently.

I knew that. But I didn't want to give it up. I was angry and pushed the anger down. It was stupid to be angry, I wouldn't need my rifle here. Sam saw something on my face and he closed his eyes for a brief moment, then he looked at Kara. She was watching me, and she looked at Sam and nodded.

"Come on, Dan," Kara said with a smile. "I'll take you down to the armory myself, and you can lock it up."

Just like that, as easily as locking myself away.

"I'll show you the hatch code to unlock it," Kara pulled at my elbow.

I nodded, and followed her. They were right, of course, I didn't need my rifle here on the ship.

I locked it in a gun locker, putting the remaining rounds I had with it. Kara showed me how to set the code for the locker, then told me the hatch code for the armory as we left—and she made me try it, to be sure it worked.

I still felt lost without my rifle.

"Sam tells me you're really good with that thing," Kara commented as we headed back to the briefing room.

I nodded. I felt her looking at me, and said, "Yeah, I am." It wasn't anything close to being a boast. I couldn't see why someone would be proud of it… but it was strange, because in some ways, I was proud of it. It was confusing, to feel proud of such a sinister skill.

She was quiet for a moment as we walked. "Sam said you're one of his best troops," she finally said.

I looked up at her then, startled. "Huh?" I hadn't ever gone on raids with the rest of them… I was always a damn long way away, all alone. Then I understood what he must have meant. "Probably 'cause I never miss," I said, shrugging, pausing to let her go first back into the briefing room.

"Never?" she was surprised, looking over her shoulder at me.

I nodded, looking down again.

Sam was there and he asked, "Never what?"

"Dan says he never misses," Kara made it sound like a joke.

Sam was completely serious, looking at me, and he said, "He's right."

I didn't want to think about it, and brushed past them, going up the steps to a seat up in the back corner. I slouched down and tried not to think about anything and waited for whatever would happen next.

I was assigned to a bunk in a cold metal room, three double bunks across from each other, twelve all together. I got a top bunk and they put Dare in the same room, on a bottom bunk at the other end. Seven of the other bunks belonged to Galactica crewmembers, three were empty. Everything was square bare metal except for the blankets on the bunks, and curtains across the bunk openings for a little privacy.

I didn't like it at all. The bunk was actually pretty large, big enough for me to easily sit up, but I felt closed in, even with the curtain open. Nightmares woke me up and I lay there for a minute, my heart pounding. It wasn't entirely dark; it seemed like there was always some sort of dim lighting, so I could see pretty well.

But it felt like the bunk compartment was closing down on me, the walls moving in. I could see it wasn't moving, but I felt like I was being crushed.

I panicked and jumped out of the bunk, landing on my feet, crouched, ready to run, and I froze. The crewmember who had the bottom bunk across from me was sitting there, unlacing his boots, and he froze too, staring back at me.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "You're one of the resistance fighters, aren't you?"

I got a grip on myself. Resistance fighters? I hadn't thought of it that way. "Yeah," I acknowledged. "Uh, sorry, um, I'm not used to it here."

He nodded, but he was looking at me warily. I put my boots on and left without saying anything else, walking the passageways. I got lost. There were hatches with Marine guards and I didn't dare try to go in where ever it was they were guarding. The passages weren't much better than the bunk, too dark and close. Hard flat walls like a prison.

I found myself running, sweaty and out of breath, and totally by accident came out into the landing deck we'd arrived in. I stopped short and looked around… there were people here, working, but not that many and no one had noticed me. I took a deep breath and ran a hand down my face. At least it was bigger here, more open.

There were huge beams, supports, whatever you called them, at intervals along the bulkhead, and I went and leaned my back against the bulkhead next to one. There were a few tool boxes lined up nearby; I slid my back down the wall until I was sitting on the deck, and I was fairly certain that no one would notice me there.

I sat and stared off into nothing and calmed down. It was frakking stupid to have panicked like that. I sighed. I was tired, but I didn't want to sleep.

I wanted my rifle.

I dozed a little and woke up and dozed again. I could hear the mechanics working. I had no idea what time it was.

I was dozing again when a voice demanded, "What are you doing?"

I jerked awake and scrambled to my feet, my back against the bulkhead. "Uh, um…," I stammered, and saw I'd been challenged by the Chief, the man who'd recognized the cleric as a Cylon.

"Sorry," he said at once. "I thought you were one of my knuckledraggers, sleeping on the job." He regarded me, frowning slightly.

"No, sir," I said. "That is, yes, sir, I was sleeping, but I'm not a—knuckledragger." I willed my heart to slow.

"You came here from Caprica with the others, yesterday afternoon," he said, watching me. "The kid with the rifle."

I nodded slowly. More than anything I wished I had my rifle with me.

"I'm Chief Galen Tyrol," he said. "You want to come to the enlisted mess and have some breakfast with me?"

I told him my name. I didn't really want to be with anyone, but I was hungry and had no idea how to get to the 'enlisted mess'; and I couldn't think of a polite way to say no, so finally I just nodded.

He didn't say much, but it didn't feel awkward and I relaxed a little. We sat at a small table across from each other and ate. I was about halfway done when he said mildly, "Hey, slow down… nobody's going to steal your food."

I stopped in mid-chew and looked up at him. I swallowed. "Uh, sorry," I said with a sigh. "I was hungry."

He hadn't finished nearly as much as I had. He chuckled. "I remember being hungry like that when I was your age. You can get more if you want, you know."

"I can?" I was startled. He nodded, smiling, and I slowed down eating. "Food was getting pretty low, the last couple months," I said with a shrug.

He gave a nod and resumed eating.

After I'd gotten a second helping, I asked him, "How did you know he was a Cylon?"

He looked up at me, not at all surprised by my sudden question. "Cavil? There was already one of him here on the Galactica."

Cavil. I wondered what number he was.

"I'd… talked to him," the Chief said slowly. "About some problems. I was having."

Again I was startled. I stared at him. "Me, too," I said in a tight voice. I felt that anger stirring again and swallowed it.

He regarded me. "Did he help you?"

I thought back to that day. "He didn't really say much," I finally said. "Just made me think about things… it seemed to help then, but I don't know about now." Could I believe what a Cylon said? I didn't think so. "What about you?" I asked in response. "Did he help you?"

He started to shake his head, but stopped and shrugged. "Frak if I know," he said. "I guess he did make me think about things, too."

I wasn't sure that thinking about things was any sort of help, anyway. I had a sudden image of Cavil in a bright circle, crosshairs on his chest.

I wanted my rifle.

I wasn't hungry any more and pushed my tray away.

"Go sleep in your bunk," the Chief said, not pushy but serious. "It's a lot more comfortable than the hangar deck."

I shrugged and got up to leave and paused. "Thanks, Chief," I said.

"Sure," he replied. "Any time."

I was too restless to sleep, though, so I just wandered around the parts of the ship that weren't guarded. I started to get an idea of where things were. I went to the armory and cleaned my rifle. I wandered the passageways some more.

I was walking along one of the passageways late in the evening and paused to let a couple of Galactica crewmembers go into a room—it was some sort of gathering place, loud laughter and music. I glanced in and saw it was a rec room, there were people playing cards, and some others playing vidgames, and the music hit me like a physical blow. I hadn't heard music since… since the day of the attacks.

"Hey!" one of the crewmembers grabbed at my arm and I jumped. "You're one of Anders' fighters, aren't you!"

"Er… yeah," I said.

"You wanna come in and play some cards with us?" she asked.

"Uh," I didn't really want to, but the music…

"I'm Sophia Longio, everyone calls me Sophie, and this is Rex Morgan," she said. She hadn't let go of my arm, and she pulled me into the rec room with her.

"Dan Ellison," I said.

"Here, sit here," Sophie pushed me toward one of the chairs around a table.

I sat, but she headed off right away. Rex sat across from me and rolled his eyes. "She's like that," he said with a wry smile. "Best thing is just to go along with her!"

I nodded, looking around. Some of the crewmembers here looked like they weren't that much older than me, but I still felt really out of place. I watched Sophie as she talked to a couple of others. She had light brown hair and was cute in a bouncy cheerleader kind of way, and I wondered what she looked like under the green utility uniform shirt she wore.

She came back with two guys she introduced as Tony and Yacker; and she had a bottle and some glasses. Yacker started shuffling cards and Rex asked me, "You know how to play Full Colors?"

I shook my head. I could smell the booze Sophie was pouring into the glasses. "I'll watch," I said.

"It's not hard," Yacker started dealing and Sophie handed the filled glasses around. "You'll catch on quick."

"Hey, are you over eighteen?" Rex asked as I picked up the glass.

I wasn't sure if he was joking or not, and said with irony, "Yeah, I am." By half a year.

Sophie snorted. "Like it matters?" she asked Rex, grinning.

He shrugged and grinned back at her.

The stuff tasted better than Gerry's rot-gut, although I still didn't like it. By the third drink, though, I started to relax, and listened to everyone talking. Some of the conversations were so… normal, it seemed bizarre. Stupid jokes, comments about some upcoming election, disagreements about the music or the cards, complaints about the food… I thought the food was pretty good, but these people hadn't been eating the kind of rations we had been.

And there was talk about some planet, a place where people could live? I listened more closely to that, but it seemed like nobody really knew much about it. When I asked, Tony explained, "When all the Raptors headed out to Caprica, the jump coordinates for one of them got confused, and they found a planet instead. Lucky break, huh? Maybe we'll get some shore leave… some people are saying we could even settle there. I sure wouldn't mind getting off this bucket."

I agreed with him wholeheartedly there. I'd been on the ship not much more than a day, and I already hated it.

It got late, and most everyone left… and I'd had too much to drink. I wasn't drunk, but I wasn't sober either.

But maybe I'd be able to sleep, so I went to my bunk and I did manage to sleep for a few hours, and when I couldn't sleep any longer, I went and wandered through the ship some more. I heard an odd noise around the corner in one of the passageways, and I stopped, ready for—whatever, but it turned out to be a group of Marines, running in formation. I stood up against the bulkhead to let them go by, and with a shrug, fell in at the back. It wasn't much different than the PT sessions that Jean used to make us do, on Caprica, and the Marines didn't seem to mind me tagging along.

The next days weren't much different. I learned how to play cards with the crew who hung out in the enlisted rec on deck G5, and I drank with them in the evenings. I found out that if I waited past midnight, the swing shift people would show up in the rec. I wasn't that thrilled about being with that many people, but it was better than drinking alone.

I cleaned my rifle.

It was an aimless existence for someone used to clear circles and sharp aim. I knew Sam wouldn't be happy if he found out I was drinking. At least I was doing PT with the Marines, even if it was really hard some mornings with my head pounding and my stomach queasy. I wasn't sure if I cared what Sam thought… I didn't have missions to do anymore.

After a long run with the Marines one morning, I went and showered and put on clean clothes. They weren't my clothes, but I'd had only what I was wearing when I'd come on board. These clothes were a uniform, but without any insignia. I needed to cinch the belt tight to keep the pants up, and everything but the underneath t-shirt was baggy, but it was comfortable and didn't have holes—and I didn't feel like I stuck out as much.

I went and walked though the ship, now my usual daytime activity. I'd found the right pace that made it look like I had someplace to get to, but it wasn't so fast that it made my head pound worse. If I kept moving, it didn't feel like the walls were closing in on me. I'd just focus as far ahead as I could, and keep moving. A lot of times I'd find myself someplace with no memory of walking there, but that was all right.

When it got real bad, when I thought I'd be crushed and suffocate, I'd go to the hangar deck… or I'd go clean my rifle.

I wasn't paying any attention at all to where I was going, and when someone grabbed at my shoulder, I turned swinging without thought.

It was Sam, and he blocked my punch automatically then backed off fast.

I backed up, too, my heart pounding. "Frak!" I exclaimed. "You scared me!"

"Hell, you scared me!" he said back. He looked at me, frowning. "Where the frak have you been?"

I shrugged, looking away. "Around," I said.

He didn't reply right away and I glanced back up at him. He was still frowning, and looked—suspicious. "I do PT in the mornings with the Marines," I said defensively. "And I hang out in the enlisted rec and play cards." I was beginning to feel angry. "Anyway, where the frak have you been? I haven't seen you anywhere."

It was his turn to look away, and I saw the muscles in his jaw bunch. He looked straight back at me and said, "Okay, you're right, I should be around more."

That wasn't what I'd meant; I'd challenged him out of instinct. The last thing I wanted was him breathing down my back. I shook my head, and said in a low voice, "No, I know you've got stuff to do." He was spending his time with Kara, and the thought made me resentful. That was stupid because they cared about each other, why should I resent them spending time together?

I could feel him still looking at me, and I glanced up at his face.

"You're awfully pale," he said slowly. "Do you feel all right?"

"I'm fine," I said. My resentment was stirring up anger and I tried to keep it out of my voice.

"You don't look fine," he said.

"I have a headache, okay?" I retorted, and I couldn't hide my irritation this time.

He breathed in and out deliberately. Calmly, he said, "You were supposed to be in sickbay yesterday after lunch, for a physical. You need to report there now."

I nodded, my neck tight. I knew where sickbay was, and I brushed past him to head there.

"Dan--," he started to say, and stopped.

I turned to look at him. "What?" I asked flatly.

"The doc can help you," he said. "Tell him---,"

My anger boiled over and I interrupted, "You're not my frakking father, okay? Just leave me the hell alone. I'll tell the motherfrakking doctor what I feel like telling him!"

I turned away and strode off fast. My head hurt so bad I thought I was going to throw up. Once I was around the corner I stopped and pressed the heels of my hands to my temples for a minute.

In sickbay, it was the usual thing—hurry up just to wait. I sat on the end of an examining table with my shirt off and waited for the doctor. I stared without focusing, without even thinking much, and when he came in I jumped.

"I'm Doc Cottle," he said to me in raspy voice.

He was old, white-haired, but he looked exactly like a doctor should look.

"Dan Ellison," I told him.

He nodded, looking from me to the file in his hands. "Yep, that's what it says here," he agreed, reading whatever it said there.

I felt annoyed again for no reason, and I tried to squash it. Why the hell had I been angry at Sam?

Maybe I was going crazy.

"Blood work looks good," the doc said, regarding me again, looking me up and down. "You're too thin… are you eating properly?"

"Since I got here," I replied. I would not be angry at him, there was no reason to be.

He nodded. "Says here you get headaches," he commented, closing the file and putting it on the counter.

Now I was angry for a reason. I hadn't told anyone that—how did it get in my records? "Everybody gets headaches," I said testily.

"Do you have a headache right now?" he asked.

I relaxed my tight jaw and nodded. "So what?" I demanded.

He leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms. "What other symptoms are you experiencing?"

I stared at him. I felt like the room was way too small and I couldn't get enough air. "There's nothing wrong with me," I said hotly.

"I didn't say--," he began, but I couldn't take it any more.

I jumped off the table and headed for the hatch out. I hadn't seen the Marine guard there when I came in, but he was there now, stepping in front of it and blocking my way.

I looked at the rifle he held across his chest. He wasn't too much taller than me, but a lot broader, but I didn't even think. I just acted.

I kicked him in the knee, grabbing his rifle in both my hands at the same time, twisting it from his grip, and all in the same motion I brought the butt of the stock up under his jaw. He fell and I jumped through the hatch, running with the rifle feeling like home in my hands.

But then there were two other Marines, just down the passageway, and I turned fast, but the one I'd taken the rifle from was just a few steps away. There was another passage and I ran, followed it as it turned—and came up against a closed hatch. I tried opening it, but it was locked.

I could hear the Marines behind me. I turned, my back to the bulkhead. I was breathing hard and there wasn't enough air. The three of them slowed to a walk, then stopped, the one I'd hit in front.

"Just take it easy," he said, sounding a little nervous.

I watched him, watched all three of them, my thoughts so fast and jumbled nothing seemed to make sense. I had a rifle in my hands, it wasn't my rifle, but it was a rifle all the same, and I was strong. I could feel the rifle in my hands and realized the safety was off, so I clicked it on. I killed Cylons, not Marines.

He held one hand out. "Give me the weapon," he said, sounding calmer.

I licked my lips and watched him. I knew it wasn't my rifle, but I didn't want to let go of it.

He took a step closer and I backed up; my back hit the bulkhead. My head hurt so bad I couldn't think straight.

"Just take it easy," he stopped. "I'm Mike Ford, what's your name?"

I breathed. "Dan Ellison," I said. My voice sounded tight.

He took another step closer. He was very close now. I could feel sweat between my shoulder blades. I could hear my breath rasping in my throat. I wanted to run, but I was cornered.

"Let me have my rifle," Ford said persuasively.

That's right, it was his rifle.

He took that last step and put his hands on the rifle. I couldn't let go. He tried to take it, and I panicked; I fought him. My rifle had made me strong, but he was stronger. He was a lot bigger than me, and he wrestled me down and got the rifle away. Then the other two Marines were there, holding me down, and I tried to fight them, they were crushing me, I couldn't breathe…

They got manacles on my wrists and dragged me to the brig, but I couldn't stop fighting them. I was furious, I was terrified, my head was killing me.

They put me in a cell and slammed the door closed.

I found out that you can panic for only so long. After awhile, there's no energy left. I hardly had enough energy to pick myself up off the floor and sit in the hard metal chair, bolted to the floor by the hard metal table, also bolted to the floor.

I put my manacled wrists on the table, and rested my head in my arms. I hurt all over. My head felt like someone was pounding on it with a sledgehammer.

What the frak had I done?

I was going crazy.

I wanted my rifle.

The door rattled and I jumped, but I didn't look up.

"Dan," he said. It was Doc Cottle.

"Go away," I muttered into my arms.

He put a hand on my shoulder and I jumped again. "Come lay down on the bunk," he said.

I breathed. "Leave me alone," I said.

He wouldn't, though. He took my arm and made me lay on the bunk. I rolled away from him, faced the wall.

"I have something to help you rest," he said.

"Leave me alone," I repeated.

He wouldn't leave me alone. I felt the needle in my shoulder, sharp, then burning.

After awhile I fell asleep.

When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was that they'd taken the manacles off my wrists. I felt like I'd been beaten up, but not woozy like when Caprica had drugged me. I still had a headache, but it wasn't as bad.

I didn't move, just laid there on the bunk, facing the wall. I felt… despair.

I heard voices, recognized Sam's right away. He was talking to—that high ranking officer, who I'd found out was Admiral Adama. They stopped outside my cell and Sam said quietly, "Dan."

I didn't move. How could I face him?

He said my name again, but still I didn't respond.

"Doc Cottle gave him a pretty good dose," the Admiral said, sounding somber.

Good, they thought I was still drugged.

"Oh, frak," Sam said softly, and he sounded despairing, too.

"It's not your fault, Sam," Adama told him.

What wasn't Sam's fault?

"He should be in school," Sam was bitter, his voice harsh. "He should be cutting class and kissing pretty girls and driving too fast in his dad's car. He's just a frakking kid! But I made him into a sniper, a killer, and this. Is. My fault."

"The Cylons attacked unprovoked, Sam," the Admiral said quietly. "We have all done what was necessary. None of your team would have survived if you hadn't done what was necessary."

They were both quiet for a long moment; then they left, not speaking again.

It wasn't Sam's fault. I was the killer. I could have said no, not done it. I had done it, though. Ninety-four times, proud of my skill, ashamed of my pride.

I felt the cell closing in on me and gripped the blanket on the bunk tightly with both hands.

My rifle had made me strong. I had carried it cradled in my arms and made it a part of me. I was my rifle, but now… I was nothing.