With the Weapons of a Woman

by Soledad

For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the Introduction.

Author's note: These are pretty much canon events here – only seen through differently-coloured glasses. Serina's report is a rewritten version of that from the pilot episode. I changed the Presidium to Capitolium, as – in my understanding – Caprica was the leading power among the Colonies, so I assumed that the colonial government would be seated in Caprica City, too. The Presidium only means the seat of the Planetary Council here.

Chapter 01 – The Destruction

Serina stood in the middle of the Capitolium of Caprica City – a huge, open square, paved with flat quadrants of rough stone and surrounded by the enormous pyramidal buildings that housed the Quorum of Twelve, the Planetary Council and all sorts of governmental organizations. Her technicians were setting up the equipment for the holovid reportage she was about to broadcast to all the inner colonies – the ones with the capital C – and while they were working, she used the momentary calm to silently celebrate her private little victory.

Getting the job had not been easy. Every newswoman and political analyst at the network wanted to be the one who'd make the broadcast of the century; most of them older, more experienced and much better trained than her. But she had advantages none of the others had: a beautiful face, framed by long, shiny auburn hair, wide green eyes, a full, sensuous mouth that always seemed to smile faintly, with unspoken promises she never intended to keep, not to mention a slim, curvaceous body that matched the Caprican ideal of beauty to a degree that it was almost unnatural.

She hadn't had to do anything as mundane as actually securing this job by paying for it with sexual favours; she'd never do that. Being the maitresse of an aristocrat was one thing – even socially accepted to a certain degree – but selling oneself for the chance of professional progress was just not done.

But it hadn't been necessary, either. She had the art of subtlety on her side; the indirect ways of seduction she'd learned as young Sire Patroclus' maitresse. How to make vague promises by body language alone. How to ensnare people – and not only males – by looking vulnerable. How to use her beauty to make them want to do her bidding.

She'd been working towards this chance – the chance of her budding career – for over a yahren. It had not always been easy. It required patience, which wasn't exactly her forte, and besides, the studios were full of eager and ruthless people working towards the same goal. Now, however, she was on the threshold of the big breakthrough. When she'd made the broadcast of the century, she'd be a face known to millions.

Admittedly, she'd hoped to become one who'd make reports from the war. Appearing amidst death and destruction as an angel from home would have mead great effect. But being the face that would be the symbol of unexpected peace after thousand yahrens of constant warfare would perhaps be even better. She'd become a powerful symbol on all Twelve Worlds; one that people would never forget again.

Her ear-receiver announced thirty microns to air time, and she got into position in front of the cameras. She regretted a little that she had to wear the unattractive hooded tunic reporters usually wore when broadcasting from location. She'd have preferred to be etched into people's memory in a rich gown that would bring her beauty to full effect, but that would have been unprofessional. And she needed to appear professional and competent now. To prove that it had not been her looks – or her patron – alone that helped him to get the job. There would be ample chances to charm the audience out of their minds later.

As the count worked down to zero, she spot-checked the scene around her. She was pleased with the artistic flower arrangements adorning the row of residential pyramids in the background. She particularly liked the raised quarter-circle of brightly-coloured flowers spelling out the word PEACE in Old Kobolian. Above that word were spread all the flags of the Twelve Colonies.

It was an impressive arrangement, and would be a marvellous background for the celebrations that would immediately break loose, as soon as the peace treaty was officially announced. The Capitolium was slowly filling with people, wearing their festive garb, eager to celebrate the end of the era and the birth of a new, hopefully better one.

The count reached zero, and the red light on Morel's camera came on. Sarina focused her attention on her pre-prepared speech, schooled her face in an expression of well-controlled excitement and started to speak.

"Serina here, at the Capitolium in Caprica City, where preparations continue as they have continued through the night for the ceremonies as orchestrated by President Adar and Sire Uri to be commenced when the long-awaited announcement is broadcast here for the peace conference."

She gestured to her cameraman to widen the focus of the transmission, so that her viewers could see more of the place, while still keeping her in the centre.

"As you can see, even though it's early dawn here, large crowds of people are already gathering at the Capitolium," she continued. "Anticipation is growing as Capricans ready themselves to begin a new era of peace and prosperity. I can see Sire Antipas, the youngest member of the Planetary Council leaving the Presidium; he's agreed to inform us about the current stand of things."

She moved to the side just a fragment; just enough to allow the ambitious young aristocrat to move into the focus with her, but not enough for him to shut her out of it. This was her great day, and he – albeit unwillingly and most likely unknowingly – only served to emphasize her importance.

"Greetings, Sire Antipas," she turned to him with a brilliant smile very few men could have resisted. "Is there any news from the Pacifica?"

Antipas, handsome young twig of an ancient, though not terribly influential Caprican House, shook his dark head.

"So far, details of the armistice meeting going on at this very moment on the President's ship are not coming in as we had hoped for. It seems that this is due to unusual electrical interferences which are blocking out all interstellar communications," he explained.

"You mean we have no contact whatsoever with President Adar's ship… or with the rest of the Fleet?" Serina asked with a frown. "That's… unusual."

Antipas shrugged. "We've not even yet received official announcements regarding the rendezvous with the Cylon emissaries," he admitted a little reluctantly. "However, as soon as they are available, we will be showing you the first pictures of something which has been described as the most significant event in history since our ancestors left Kobol and moved to the Twelve Colonies across the Great Void in space."

He was good, Serina admitted sourly. She hadn't planned letting a politician with advanced rhetoric training steal her show, but she couldn't make a Council member – and an aristocrat at that – shut up and clean the scene.

She was still desperately trying to find a way to interrupt him without making him a lifelong enemy when the sound of some distant rumbling – not unlike that of an explosion – caught her attention. At first she thought it would be some unannounced military demonstration, a parade flight in tight formation perhaps, as part of the celebratory performances, and made a mental notice to protest by the commander of the Caprican Flight Academy at the first chance. How did they dare to disturb the broadcast of the century?

But when the rumbling was followed by the much closer, ear-splitting noise of shattering glass, she realized that something was very wrong. Taking a quick glance around herself, she saw glass door and window panels all around the Capitolium break simultaneously, sending glass shards flying everywhere. she was getting a really bad feeling about all this… it reminded her of old records of planetary targets being bombed.

"Are we under attack?" she asked Sire Antipas, switching off her microphone so that the question would not go out into the air. "But by whom?"

"Perhaps some sabotage from dissidents?" the young politician suggested vaguely. He was chalk white and his hands trembled.

"Are there such a thing as dissidents on Caprica?" Serina asked doubtfully. "And where did that explosion come from? Because it did sound like some kind of explosion to me."

"Behind you!" Morel, her cameraman, called out. "On the left!"

She turned around and looked that way. The people gathered near her followed suit, looking back toward the charred and smoking area where the explosion – because it had to be an explosion – had occurred. A few of the notorious onlookers hurried past her, towards the explosion site. Clearly, they were fracking idiots.

On the other hand, this was news, and she was the first one at the scene – no newswoman would ever let such an opportunity slip through her fingers. She beckoned towards her cameraman and soundwoman and switched her microphone back on, while still addressing the camera.

"Excuse me," she said. "It seems to me that something unexpected has happened. C'mon, Morel, Prina, let's see what it is. Excuse me, sir, madam, could you let us by, please?"

She shouldered her way through a group of stunned onlookers. "We cannot tell yet what it is, but it sounded like some kind of explosion. Listen to the crackle of glass underfoot. You picking that up, Prina? Yes? Fine. I really don't know what… wait, perhaps Sire Antipas could tell us what… no, I guess he isn't telling us anything else today," she corrected herself with thinly-veiled irony, seeing that the young aristocrat was still white and trembling with shock.

"Wait a minute, let's see if we can find a better vantage point… excuse me, pardon me…"

Elbowing her way through the forming crowd, while maintaining continual check to see if her crew was following her, Serina forced her way to an open spot, as close to the explosion site as she dared. Morel quickly set up the camera and nodded to her to begin.

"I still haven't figured out what…" she interrupted herself as she spotted a blinding light, just above her cameraman's right shoulder. "Oh, no! Morel, get that on camera, quick!"

Obediently, Morel pointed the camera where she directed: at the horizon beyond the city, where a huge, brilliant fireball was rising like a small nova. It was followed by another one, just as huge and every bit as bright.

"A tremendous explosion..." Serina looked at her soundwoman to make sure it had been recorded and waited for the aftershock rumble to fade, so that she could resume her commentary. "Are we getting this on the camera...? That's two explosions, actually. You saw them with your own eyes. People are beginning to panic, running everywhere and they... are running in all different directions. Ladies and gentlemen... It's terrible, truly terrible! They're bombing the city..."

She hoped her voice was not giving away the fact that she found it exciting, too. This was what she'd always dreamed of, all her life: to report in from the front line itself. She'd just never expected the front line to come this close to home.

"Nobody seems to know," she began again, but was interrupted by the flat, silvery disk of a Cylon raider streaking across the sky, shooting twin bursts from his overboard laser turrets into the panicking crowd. Around her, people started to fall.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she all but screamed into her microphone to remain audible over all that loud background noise, "I don't know how and why, but we're definitely under attack. It's real! The war has come to our very doorsteps. It's not just a disaster, it's…"

The thunderous roar of an exploding pyramid on the left caught off the rest of her sentence. Farther away, a monolithic building started to fall forward, braking away from its foundation, showering stone splitters onto the running people. The whole huge, open place, the heart of Caprica City, began to rock, and Serina was thrown into the bushes, followed – rather involuntarily – by Morel, who was still steadily aiming the camera her way.

"Not at me, Morel!" she hissed angrily. Sagan, but one really needed to spell out every little detail for these dumb technicians. "Show them the explosions, the fire!" She switched her microphone back on again. "Ladies and gentlemen, it's terrible… Someone's attacking Caprica City. It looks like Cylon raiders, but I don't understand…"

A trio of raiders swung low over the city, spouting laser fire of all their guns, making her duck into the bushes. One of the raiders was firing right on her direction. A small boy of perhaps six yahrens ran by her, chasing a scruffy little daggit, followed by a young woman – presumably his mother – who was screaming the child's name desperately, but the boy didn't hear it in all that battle noise. He was lucky enough to get away unharmed, at least for the time being, but the woman was hit by the laser fire and plunged to the ground.

Getting back to her feet, Serina instinctively moved to the woman's aid, but one look at her bloodied face made it clear that there wasn't any hope left.

"She's dead," Serina realized. "She's…" the woman couldn't be older than her, and the sight made her forget all the excitement about the broadcast and the danger they all were in very real. "Morel, Prina, we better get under cover before…"

She was interrupted by literal masses of hysterical people running by, jostling her, almost trampling her to the ground, and she had to fight very hard to keep her own increasing panic under control. This was not the first time she'd find himself in the middle of a Cylon attack – she'd been there on that agrostation where her mother had been killed – but having it here, in the heart of the Twelve Worlds, was infinitely more frightening.

There were more explosions all around her, more screams, and more raiders firing at the defenceless people. The sheer number of the attack vessels – they reminded her of a spectacular but deadly starfall – made it clear that this wasn't just a mere attack. This was a synchronized move of the Cylons against the central worlds, while the Fleet was away, to end the thousand yahren war once and forever.

Morel kept the pointing the camera at her, not knowing anything else to do, but Serina waved him away.

"It's hopeless," she said. "People are dying all around us – I don't even know whether we're still on the air. The best thing would be to get ourselves to safety, if we can. Hey, have you seen that small child with the daggit running by just… Look out! Look out!"

She screamed as another low-flying raider released a new volley of laser fire and Morel was hit along with his camera. Sparks flew from the exploding camera; Morel fell to the ground, her face charred beyond recognition. Prina fled in absolute terror, her soundboard trampled under dozens, perhaps hundreds of running feet, only to be trampled down herself microns later. The panicking crowd didn't even realize when she got underfoot. The chaos and confusion was complete.

Serina understood that her only chance would be to keep a level head. Fortunately, she wasn't one who panicked easily, and with the same single-minded determination with which she'd worked on her career she now began to look for a way out of this Hades. She was not giving the cursed Cylons the satisfaction of getting killed on the very day that was supposed to be her major breakthrough. If nothing else, she'd at the very least survive, no matter what.

She threw her microphone away and ran towards the Presidium building, which, she knew had a deep basement with a very sound foundation. It had been built to provide government officials with shelter in case of just such an attack, after all. There she'd be safe until the bombing was over.

She was almost there when she spotted the child she'd seen chasing a daggit, just microns earlier. Driven by instinct rather than by conscious thought, she grabbed the arm of the boy as another swooping attack fighter zeroed directly on then, its laser cannons at full blast. Diving out of the way of the burning laser path that scorched deep marks into the pavement, Serina dragged the child with her before it could have reached them. Hugging the trembling boy tightly, she watched an entire wave of Cylon raiders scream by, their weapons cutting down indiscriminately everything and everyone in their way.

This wasn't a mere attack any longer. It was a massacre, with the simple goal to kill as many people in as short a time as possible. Serina pushed the boy's face into her shoulder to spare him the sight.

A marble pillar was hit and crashed onto the pavement just a few feet away, splitting into heavy blocks and hitting several people, while raining marble splitters onto the others. Yells of pain and fear filled the smoky ear, and Serina frantically tried to bring herself and the child out of harm's way, when something hit her and she was buried in the rubble as well. She could not breathe; she couldn't see a thing, and all she could feel was the pliant, perhaps dead body of the child lying upon her.

Only one of her arms was still free, but at least she could move it. So she began digging towards the surface, holding her breath, as she knew it would only fill her lungs with dust, leading to her instant death. With burning lungs, she scratched a hole in the dirt, so that she could free her face, if nothing else. After taking a deep breath from the smoke-filled air above, she began coughing at once. That cleared her mind a little… just enough to crawl out of the hole and pull the child free, too. Checking him over, she was relieved to see that he was all right… just dirty and scared to death.

"M…mommy," he stuttered and began to cry.

Serina instinctively pulled him closer, trying to comfort him. She was not a sentimental woman, by any means, but this child reminded her so much of her little Maboc, whom she'd lost to a sudden fever just half a yahren before, that she couldn't resist.

"It's all right," she murmured soothingly. "Everything's going to be all right, sweetheart. I've got you. Mommy's here now."

But the boy didn't listen to her. His mind was preoccupied with other concerns.

"Muffit!" he cried. "Where's Muffit?"

"Who?" Serina asked, slightly taken aback.

"My daggit," the tears began running down the boy's dirty face in earnest now. "Where's he? He's run away from me…"

"Oh, I'm sure he's fine," Serina said convincingly, glad that the child was concentrating on the whereabouts of his lost pet rather than realizing that the young woman who must have been his mother was already dead.

Of course, he was probably in shock. After all, he didn't even seem to realize that Serina was not his mother.

Serina stood and looked around. There were no more Cylon fighters flying across the sky at the moment, but the dust and smoke from their recent attack was still settling around them. It was hard to breathe… or to see anything but vague shadows in that dark mist.

"Muffit! Muffit!" the boy sobbed.

"I'm sure he's fine, sweetheart," Serina repeated, trying to sound as if she'd believe it. She was a newswoman, after all. Making people believe her was what she did for a living.

What she'd used to do, that is. No-one could tell what the future would bring… if there would be a future at all.

A tall man in scorched and bloodied clothes came out of the mist, his bleeding left arm hanging limp and useless at his side, his face covered in dirt and sweat, dark hair plastered to his forehead. It was Sire Antipas, looking fairly competent for a change.

"Move, everyone!" he shouted. "Move! Evacuate the Capitolium!"

Serina was impressed, she couldn't help it. For a politician, and for one who'd never faced any danger in his young life, he showed amazing backbone, staying there and helping with the evacuation. Few of his fellow councillors would have done the same, of that she was certain. She knew them all well enough.

Antipas spotted him now and his eyes widened. "Serina! What are you still doing here?"

"I've tried to get into the basement of the Presidium," she explained.

"Forget it," he said. "The building has suffered several hits; it may come down any micron now. Move! You can't stay here, it's not safe."

"My daggit!" the boy was still sobbing. "Where is…"

"We can't waste time with this now!" Antipas shouted impatiently. Which was, of course, the worst possible thing he could have said, and only resulted in the boy bawling even louder.

"Leave him to me," Serina said, shooting him a baleful look; then she bent down and kissed the boy's face. "Come on, sweetheart, we've got to go. I'm sure your daggit is all right. Daggits are clever; he'll find a way out of here."

"Please, Serina!" Antipas screamed desperately. "The building here will collapse any micron now! We must go!"

Serina looked in the direction towards which the man's still functioning arm waved and saw that he was absolutely right. They needed to leave here, and they needed to leave now. Thinking feverishly, she finally got an idea that might work. Pointing in the direction away from the about-to-collapse building, she cried out in false excitement.

"There he is, that must've been him, running that way. Let's go and look out for him!"

The boy looked up at her, teary-eyed. "I want Muffit! Is he all right?"

Serina picked him up and suppressed a sigh. This didn't work as it was supposed to.

"Sure, he's all right," she said soothingly. "Everything is all right. Mommy's here now, sweetheart, everything's going to be just fine. Just fine."

Sire Antipas looked at them with a suspicious frown.

"Is he yours?" he asked doubtfully.

Serina wiped some of the dust from the boy's face. He was a sweet-faced child, with large brown eyes and silky brown hair, the bangs of which were hanging in his eyes. Had her little Maboc lived to reach the age of six, he might have looked very much like this boy.

"Yes," she lied softly. "Yes, he's mine."

"A lively child," Sire Antipas looked at the boy. "What's your name, kid?"

The boy glanced back at him, still frightened, but also curious now.

"B… boxey," he whispered.

"Actually, his name is Maboc," Serina intervened smoothly. "We just call him Boxey, because he can be so stubborn sometimes…"

"I can believe that," Antipas replied dryly. "How old is he anyway?"

Serina hesitated for a moment. Her little Maboc would only be five, but the boy clearly looked older. She didn't dare to declare him younger.

"Six," she said. "He's almost six," she added, a little defensively. "Quite big for his age, though."

More explosions rocked the buildings that were still standing. Sire Antipas realized that this was not the right time to investigate Serina's family status. He pulled at her with his good arm and, still carrying the child, Serina began to run. She did not look back at the sound of the crashing building behind them.

Sire

Antipas led them to one of the emergency shelters outside the city centre, where once the elegant mansions of the local nobility had stood – townhouses, mostly, to house the patrician families when they left their estates to spend time in the capital, indulge themselves in political power plays. It seemed logical that there would be safe places for those powerful and influential people to go, in case of an attack.

On their way there, Serina could see that not much of the city had remained. The once smoothly paved streets were now torn open by deep, scorched twin rows cut by the Cylon laser cannons. The few buildings that were still standing also bore scorch marks. Most of them were burning, too, the window planes broken, glass shards covering the streets several centimetrons thick and crashing under her feet. All the greenery of the public parks had been burned down, the water of the fountains and ponds evaporated by the heat of the laser weapons. Dead bodies littered the streets left and right.

Caprica City was thoroughly and utterly destroyed. Even if the Cylons did not return, the city would remain uninhabitable for a long time yet.

She was called before the custodian of the shelter to be registered. Only those with a registration number could hope to get limited rations of the food and water stored there for just such emergencies. She had the child registered, too, naming him as Maboc, her son and that of Boreas, giving a birth date a yahren earlier than Maboc's had been. She'd find a way to correct that small anomaly later. She was a newswoman, she knew her way around computers.

Had she revealed that the boy wasn't her son, just some nameless orphan of unknown heritage, Boxey would never have a chance to survive. Not even such a minor celebrity as herself would have, hadn't it been Sire Antipas who'd taken her with him. Such shelters were usually reserved for the nobility and their household. But beauty and previous contacts proved useful sometimes.

The custodian registered them as the dependants of Sire Antipas, which did make her a little uncomfortable, as it could mean a number of things, from being simply employed by him to being his maitresse. But right now, she could not be choosy. Antipas might demand certain… favours from her later, but that was a price she'd be willing to pay. There was no-one else she could turn to for help, and she was also responsible for the child now.

"What are we doing now?" she asked Sire Antipas as they were settling in. "We can't stay here forever."

"We don't have to," the young councillor replied. "We've sent the Fleet a distress call. They'll come and save us soon enough."

That piece of information did give Serina a little hope. The Colonial Fleet had fought the Cylons for a thousand yahrens and despite some defeats – like the Battle of Molocai – they always managed to beat the attacks of the homicidal machines back. They would come to rescue them this time, too.

~TBC~