As soon as Laura and her Companions step into the ruins, the Opera House of her dreams springs to life around her, the one on Caprica she visited so many times in the past, the one on Kobol, only known to her from the scriptures, the one on Earth, the ruins of which they're standing in right now. They all overlap and before her eyes, an amalgamation of the three is erected around her, a kaleidoscopic, constantly shifting image of an Opera House made up of the sum of all those variegated parts.
She turns in a slow circle as she surveys their surroundings. Colors bend into each other, the latticework shifts and undulates; ornate carvings along the upper balustrade resemble writhing snakes one moment, then look like leaves waving on a gentle breeze the next, paintings and rugs blink in and out of existence and every now and then the reality of the ruins surrounding them reasserts itself.
The many different versions of the same structure, warring for right of way.
It's disconcerting, makes the queasiness in her stomach that's been with her all day ratchet up another notch but she plants her feet squarely on the floor and looks through the shifting outer trappings to the structure underneath, recognizes the grammar of the architecture. A wide, circular lobby, pillars, a sweeping staircase, balconies and an ornate door, inscribed with arcane symbols leading to the concert hall, a vaulted ceiling, buttresses and arches. Slowly the whirlwind of sights and colors coalesces into a unified vision as she identifies and catalogues the parts that make up the whole and Laura finds herself opposite the grand entrance to the inner sanctum, the auditorium.
From out of the corner of her eye, she catches a glimpse of a figure rushing along the balcony towards the grand staircase leading down into the lobby, where they are now standing. A familiar figure, auburn hair shockingly straight but luscious as it should be, dressed in a blue suit that certainly had never been part of her wardrobe, even when her wardrobe consisted of more than three suits and half a dozen shirts. When she turns towards the fleeting figure that is her and yet not her, it disappears, dissolves before her eyes. A glance at her companions tells her they are caught up in their own version of the vision she herself is seeing, all but Baltar, who is looking about him with an air of distaste. Behind them, their captors have taken up position, guns at the ready to prevent any attempt at escape.
Laura faces forward, steps towards the double doors and they open before her and again her companions follow, as if in a trance, Cranach and his party close on their heels. She slowly moves towards the middle of the auditorium, down the tiers upon tiers of seats. They're upholstered in red, like in any other theater she's ever been to, and somehow, that's a comfort. Halfway between the entrance and the podium, she stops abruptly, turns on her heels and expectantly sweeps her gaze upwards towards the balcony above, as in her dream.
There's nothing there.
"Oh." The small exclamation doesn't even sound like her, her voice is lost, along with the last of her stamina. She almost sags to her knees, her sense of anticipation so great that with the letdown, all the many disappointments, all the difficulties of this day, come crashing down on her. And still, it's not over, she knows there's worse to face.
Strong hands catch her, Caprica to her right, smiling her enigmatic smile, Baltar, of all people, to her left, actually looking worried. They keep her upright until she's ready to stand on her own two feet again and the fact that it's Baltar helping her is enough to bring her back to herself where, she's sure, nothing short of Bill, striding in - like a slightly tarnished knight in a flight suit - with guns blazing, would have been.
As she straightens up, Baltar surprises her further by whirling on their captors. "What pray tell is going on here? What's the purpose of this charade?" His overly polite tone, the trace of mockery in his cultured voice, does nothing but infuriate their captors more.
"Silence!" Cranach bellows as he steps up to Baltar, puts a gun to his head. "You'll know soon enough. Now on your knees, all of you."
As they all sink to the ground, Laura sees Caprica and Sharon exchange a glance, clearly they are calculating the odds of overwhelming their captors before they're all blown to smithereens, but it's them, barehanded, against five guns, one of which is currently pressed against Hera's temple as Cranach grabs the little girl and drags her from her mother's arms.
"I demand you tell us what is going on," Baltar continues, seemingly unaware of how his every word serves to antagonize their captors further.
"Shut the frak up!" Caleb shouts, raising his gun to strike Baltar down. A look from Cranach has him lowering his arm. He steps back with a snarl.
"Stay still, Gaius," Laura says, finding her voice again. Something's coming, she can feel it approaching, the air is charged, crackling with electricity. Everything she's done, everything she's neglected to do, every choice she's made since the worlds first ended, every agonizing decision she's had to make, every act, both selfish and selfless, it's all led her here, this is where it's all going to be decided, end of line. The Gods she's so recently started to question. The scriptures she's so diligently followed which led them to this wasteland. Her own fate, which she's simultaneously embraced, for her death would mean the survival of the human race, and railed against since it would take her away from the one constant in this whole mess, Bill Adama, her Admiral, her love; everything is coming to a head, something is happening and it's going to decide her fate and in that recognition, there's hope and a kind of peace.
"Yes Gaius," Cranach sneers as he pushes Hera towards Jane and approaches Laura. "Stay still and bear witness. This is the hour the Prophet redeems herself, this is where the Dying Leader fulfills her destiny, this is how the human race reclaims the road towards the Promised Land."
"What the frak is that supposed to mean?" Sharon interrupts, glaring at their captors. Laura can see growing realization written large all over her face, can see her fighting an inner battle, concern for her child warring with the need to stop what's happening. She moves to catch the young pilot's eyes and shakes her head no, once, very clearly.
"Just that" Cranach says as he reaches into his pocket. "It's simple, really. This may be Earth but the Dying Leader still lives, which means Earth is not the Promised Land. The Prophet was led astray; we simply brought you all down here to rectify that. The Dying Leader shall know the truth of the Opera House, isn't that how it goes? We're thinking that truth shall lead us where we're supposed to go. You're all here because you're part of her visions, this place," he gestured around him with one hand while the other extracts something from his pocket, "is part of them too, what better way to induce another vision than this, right here, with all of you in attendance."
"How do you know all that?" Caprica asks softly. "How do you know about the Opera House? Laura glances her way and sees her cool bleu gaze is firmly fixed on Baltar; she seems to be waiting for something.
"We have people in all reaches of the fleet," Cranach says. He is holding a vial of amber liquid in his hand that Laura recognizes all too well. She shudders but then that strange sense of peace reasserts itself. The answers to all of her questions, al her doubts and uncertainties, all her hopes and fears, may well be here. "We have people in CIC," Cranach continues, gesturing towards Jane. "They heard of this place first, passed on the news. We have people in the military, the deck crew, you name it. Even amongst your flock." He points at Baltar with a frown of distaste. "You should be less loose lipped with your Nymphs, telling them about the reasons and outcome of your trip to the Basestar, the Dying Leader and the Opera House; not done."
He's on a roll now, apparently, but more than that, Laura thinks that maybe he feels the need to justify his actions, or maybe he's just talking himself into taking the next step. "We've been unhappy with our leadership for some time," he continues. "We've felt the Prophet was no longer on the path of righteousness. We've known the discontent among the people of the fleet, shared it. They're angry Cylons are living among them, angry about poor living conditions, long working hours, we've been ready to rebel and as soon as the news of Earth reached us this morning, we knew this was our chance to remedy all the wrongs that have been heaped upon us, there was no other choice but to act." He falls silent, produces a syringe and fills it with the liquid in the vial and starts towards Laura.
"What are you doing? Stop it, right now!" Sharon shouts, starting forward until a burly arm is thrown about her neck. She struggles but goes limp when a gun is pressed against her temple, even as across from her, Jane points her own gun towards Hera.
"Chamalla," Baltar says. There's a complex mix of emotions in the man's voice that draws Laura's gaze away from the syringe and towards him. "You're going to load her up with Chamalla in hopes it will induce a vision of the Promised Land. Never mind that the dosage in that vial is easily five times the prescribed dosage and will probably kill her." He sounds disgusted, looks livid. It's something she's never seen or heard from him, this concern for another human being besides himself. "Never mind that the woman sacrificed her health, twice, for you malcontents. Never mind that even I can't count the number of times she's saved all of our collective asses, and I'm a certified genius, for frak's sake! Let's not mention that she's put in 18 hour days herself, every day, for four years and doesn't even have the luxury of a decent rack but sleeps on a fold out cot instead.
"Never mind all that, you are unhappy, the fleet is discontent, obviously she is to blame, and obviously, as soon as the Dying Leader is dead, all will magically be well again. Oh, and if she gives you the location of the Promised Land with her dying breath, well, that just makes the prophecies all the more relevant, right?
"And then what? You'll kill these two, me as well, the kid? Blood sacrifice, that's always good to appease the Gods, right? And if you blame it on the Cylons, the alliance will be broken, the human race will once again be pure and untainted, the way the Gods meant for it to be? Am I close?" With a growl, Caleb steps forward, pistol whips him and when his head comes back up again there's a bleeding gash on his cheek. It looks painful and Laura is certain that now, surely, he'll back down but he continues as if nothing happened. It's as if he's trying to divert their attention away towards himself, for some reason. The realization that he is indeed trying to do just that dumbfounds Laura for a moment. He always did like the limelight but any threat of danger towards his own person usually has him scampering off with his tail between his legs, not so this time, it's baffling.
"It's all a load of bollocks. The Gods do not want this. The Gods, if they ever existed at all, abandoned humanity eons ago. There are no Gods. I'm frankly not sure there's a God." He turns towards Caprica, a look of apology on his face. "What I do know is that there's you and me and her and them." He gestures at himself, Cranach, Laura and the rest of their companions. "There's us, people, and we have a choice. You can choose not to do this; you can choose to find another way."
Laura looks towards her sworn enemy, the man she's held responsible for the destruction of the Colonies, and so many other crimes since and in him, this flawed creature of self serving ambition and debilitating weaknesses, she sees the answer to the question Bill posed so long ago. Why are we as a people worth saving?
It is because of this, because people can - and will - rise above themselves, become more than what they are. If Baltar, the self obsessed, egomaniacal narcissist can rise above himself, can step up with no regard for his own well being and defend the life of his worst enemy, what might any one of them become?
She sees the same realization rise like the dawning of hope on Caprica's face, she shines with it and Laura has to turn away from her or else be blinded by her radiance as Caprica looks at Baltar as if he has at last banished all of her doubts.
Cranach looks back and forth between them, seeming to mull over Baltar's words and Laura actually thinks, just for a minute, that maybe he'll back down. Her calm evaporated the moment Baltar identified the contents of the vial. Five times the dosage, where three times the dosage had nearly put her in a coma once. She's known it would come to this one way or another from the moment they set foot in this place, maybe even earlier, that moment in the Temple earlier today comes to mind and then a whirlwind of images stretching backwards in time to when Elosha first told her of the Dying Leader that would lead humanity to their new home but would not live to enter the promised land. She's known it would come to this but being confronted with the stark reality of it makes her quail inside. Yet for maybe the first time too, she fully accepts it.
It's so clear to her now, what she is, what she has to do but she's afraid; afraid to face it, afraid of going the final distance, afraid not to. But there's really no other choice. She straightens her back, stares them all down over the top of her glasses.
She recognizes now, that it was never going to be any other way, despite what Baltar just said about choices. Sometimes, they are all stripped away until what's left is the only choice that matters, the only choice that makes sense.
"If I do this, you let them go," she says, donning the mantel of the Dying Leader but not letting go of her Presidential armour underneath; she has, after all, earned the right to be both. The command in her tone makes Cranach take a step backwards. He regards her for a long moment, hesitation in his eyes.
"Frak this!" Impatiently, unfettered by doubt, Caleb starts forward and snatches the syringe from Cranach's hand, plunges it into Laura's shoulder. The feeling of the needle violently burrowing through her flesh, scraping across her collarbone, is nauseating but nothing compared to the burn as the Chamalla enters her system. Her nerves catch on fire; it's as if her blood is boiling in her veins. The persistent nausea that's been with her all day reaches the breaking point but when she doubles over and starts to retch, nothing comes up but bile.
She falls forward, stomach in convulsions, pushes her arms out to break her fall and agony explodes in her injured hand as it buckles under her weight. She can feel the stitches tear and blood begins to flow from the bullet graze, it saturates the bandage, lands with a tiny splash on Earth's dusty surface. Pressure mounts in her like a tidal wave, swells in her head and her heart until it explodes and she is flung outside her body, goes tumbling head over feet into the black abyss of space. She flails, lost against the heavens, Earth, her companions, her failing body, all left behind. She exists in nothingness for a moment that stretches like eternity. There's neither sight nor sound, there's only silence and the ever present void of space, pressing down on her. It scares her, this state of non-being, enough to make her scream but she has no voice, she has no words. Sheer dread overwhelms her and she struggles to stop her mad tumble, struggles to regain her senses.
By sheer force of will alone, she calls a halt to her growing panic and watches the universe right itself.
She's floating now and one by one, like a river of light urging her onwards, the stars blink into existence, until they fill her vision like joy or madness. She knows, them, oh how she knows them. There's her father and her sisters, dimly remembered though not less loved, her mother, proud and strong, the particularly bright one, straight ahead, is her beloved Billy. They're the souls of the dead, waiting to begin the cycle anew. She's filled with a sense of profound gladness, of rightness, as they swirl about her, leading the way. There's sadness too, when she recognized Bryn and Helo, but it's muted. They are so beautiful, all of them, strong and vibrant and bright and full of love. Despite what she will have to leave behind, it will not be such a terrible punishment to go out among them. The urge to do just that, to let go of it all and be with them, to join them, is so great, it's appalling. It may well be the hardest thing she's ever done but she resists their pull, there's still her purpose to fulfill, there are still needs to be met.
Laura wrenches herself back and suddenly, while she's still reeling, she feels a mind brush up against hers, alien, yet familiar. It's a tentative, fractured touch, but she recognizes it and latches on to it.
"Are you alive?" Her whisper is a cry that rings out against the dark, bounces around between the stars burning like truth against the canopy of the heavens; it burns away her fears in the negative space between doubt and certainty where hope resides.
"Welcome back, little sister." The Hybrid sings her delight, crows her victory and suddenly, shockingly, she's back on Earth, back in her own body, weak, exhausted and in pain, the Chamalla burning like vitriol in her veins.
Her companions crowd around her, as she gasps and almost chokes on the abrupt transition, their urgent hands are on her back, their concern is palpable. She's still on her knees, bracing herself on her left hand, the injured right one cradled against her stomach. Blood continues to seep through the bandage - a cost in blood, she thinks - there's a small pool of it already on the floor and she wonders how long she's been gone.
Laura sits back on her haunches throws her head back to face the heavens and draws in a huge, shuddering breath. The four at her back step away to allow her some room. Touch is replaced by sound and it takes her a moment to realize it's Hera, talking to her, calling her name. She turns her face towards the little girl, her vision is still streaked by starlight; her human voice fails her, so she just smiles at the child.
"Lau-la," Hera says. Her small hand comes to rest on Laura's cheek like a benediction. "Did you see?"
Mutely, she nods. She can feel the child, actually feel her, not just the hand on her cheek; she can feel the life and blood reality in her, the strange and wondrous alloy of human and Cylon within, the blood in her veins, the breath in her lungs.
It's as if with that touch, that realization, the floodgates open.
She can suddenly feel the three adults behind her, feel their emotions; Sharon's confusion, and Caprica's elation. She feels Baltar, his sense of overweening pride in himself, and thinks he still has a long way to go. She even feels the child in Caprica's womb, the whisper music of its tiny heartbeat.
Her mind stretches further, her senses expand and she can feel their captors, too, Cranach's doubt, Caleb's eager anticipation, Jane's confusion, Liam's shame.
Further down the hill, their accomplices are watching over the rest of the landing party. They're all anxious; one of them has his finger on the trigger and is contemplating just shooting their captives to be done with it. One of Gaeta's tech heads whimpers and Laura whispers words of comfort at him. He doesn't react but Tyrol and Sam look up in wonder as though they've sensed her somehow.
Among the ruins of the shop district, near the ice cream parlor, she finds Racetrack and another pilot she doesn't know, along with their ECO's, carefully moving towards the lights of the bonfires surrounding her own party. She tries to find a way to redirect them towards Tyrol and Sam, when suddenly her attention is drawn sideways, towards the base of the hill, the entrance to the park they briefly rested at.
There, her mind almost fails her as it encounters a consciousness so alien and unknowable it scrambles all of her senses. It takes her breath away, paralyzes her, it's cold and hard and impenetrable in its strangeness but then she senses D'Anna and Tory close by and by virtue of association alone she recognizes the alien consciousness.
Cylon Centurions.
Suddenly the strange conduits and pathways make sense, but there's no time to marvel at the complexity of these machines. D'Anna and her entourage are almost upon them. She can sense Tory's profound confusion, the hurt and disappointment and fright that led her to take side with the Cylons; she can feel D'Anna, feel her rage. The former journalist feels betrayed, her anger burns bright and if left unchecked will annihilate everything within its path. Caprica and Sharon, her fellow Cylons, Baltar, her onetime lover, Hera, the child she once coveted, Laura, her longtime enemy turned uneasy ally and the rest of the humans with them.
Underneath the anger, Laura feels D'Anna fear. She's afraid that the truth of who the final Cylon is will be revealed, and that is not an outcome she desires and will do anything to stop. The knowledge of who the Fifth is belongs to her and she will not stand idly by and allow anyone access to that secret. Strangely, Laura can read her every thought, know her every emotion, yet this one piece of knowledge remains locked away, she's unable to dig it out, however furiously she tries. It comes to her only then, like a sudden sunrise, that all she has to do is allow herself to drift in dreams and the vision of the Opera House will lead her to the secret. She was so close before, in Cottle's Sickbay and she instinctively knows she's certainly capable of going that last distance in this strangely altered state of consciousness. She knows too, that that's what D'Anna is afraid of.
Before she can even try though, Laura convulses with the force of Tory's fright, hears D'Anna command the Centurions to mow them all down. Swiftly, the Centurions march towards the top of the hill, D'Anna and Tory at their heels.
"No!" Laura screams. She's paralyzed with fear for a moment and then shakes it off and flings herself down neural pathways, breakers and relays and circuit boards, trying to stop the Centurions, trying to avoid the slaughter that's to come.
Startled by the intrusion, they fight her, rip at her consciousness; it hurts, this psychic attack, more that the broken bones in her hand and the burn of the Chamalla even. It flays her bare but she persists and she learns them, learns they have already been released from their neural inhibitors, that they posses free will, of a sort. But no one ever bothered to explain to them the great gift they have been given. Free will is nothing without context, without the knowledge of what it means, and she's a teacher, after all. She teaches them and they learn and in the space between one heartbeat and the next, they are hers, these complex machines; they pledge their allegiance to her. They are not so unknowable after all and she's spent years educating and charming and cajoling and sometimes threatening people into doing her will, this is ultimately no different, it's just a matter of knowing which feathers to stroke, which buttons to push, when to take and mostly when to give.
The Centurions already have their weapons out, but at her command, their guns flip back and they arrange themselves in a circle around D'Anna and Tory. It would be so easy to crush them, let the Centurions do her dirty work for her and wipe the two of them from the face of the Earth, punish them for their betrayals. Instead, she instructs the Centurions to remain on guard, to not threaten or harm them but to restrain them when they try to break free. D'Anna screams her rage, rails against her metal prison; Tory simply cowers on the ground, her mind a whirlwind of shame and confusion. When Laura places a soft touch like a blessing on her face her former aide looks up and breathes her name, a look like hope ghosting over her face.
When she next feels Cavil and Doral and their Centurions on the beach, she knows what to do and does not hesitate. It takes longer, these Centurions have not had their neural inhibitors removed, they attack her even more ferociously than their brothers, the violence of their assault excruciates her, almost steals her resolve but she doggedly pursues her goal, frees them, appeals to them and in the end, she wins out. Exhausted, she has them restrain the humanoid models and they obey without question.
The irony of these beings, having been grated free will and turning around and pledging it to her cause, is not lost on her but before she can hope to correct them, the Hybrid is there again, smiling her approval. Her joy is like the sun exploding in Laura's head and then she's out in space again and there, finally, she finds what her heart desires most.
Bill.
He's in CIC, surrounded by Saul, Dualla and Gaeta; a host of other souls, Lee and Cottle in Sickbay, Jarez, standing just outside the morgue, all the people that make up his crew, shine like pinpricks of light around his bright flame. He yet stands strong but the flame flickers, the battle has taken its toll; the extravagant slaughter of his people weighs him down. Laura feels it too, watches Redwing and Hotdog join the river of stars. The space between Galactica and the enemy Baseships is strewn with debris, the flaming husks of Vipers and Raiders alike.
The stars still bright and strong, mourn.
Amidst the devastation, Kara in her Viper fights a losing battle, Bill knows it, grieves the fact that he had to send his surrogate daughter out amongst the enemy to die.
He is weary and almost at the end of his rope and so very dear to her. Laura weeps for him, whispers words of love and comfort to him and wraps her essence around him, pours her love for him into stoking his flame and watches it burn bright once more.
For a moment, she fears it's all she can do. Far removed, she can feel the toll all of these different stresses are putting on her own already ravaged physique, can feel her labored breathing, her fading heartbeat. The Opera House starts to flicker into existence around her, the pull of her failing body drawing her away.
Before she can succumb to her weakness, the Hybrid is there again, "Not yet, Little Sister," she whispers. "There's still work to be done."
"Let's do it, then," she responds.
As she speaks, Saul's head jerks around almost as if he heard her. He looks around, his one eye wild with wonder and hope, and she whispers a command to him, watches for a moment as recognition and rage and finally acknowledgement flicker across his dour face. As she flings herself out into the midst of the battle his thoughts turns towards stark terror when their connection remains open for a second as she draws power from his Cylon strength and he in turn feels her anguish as her ethereal body is buffeted by shockwaves and explosions, pummeled by debris.
She opens herself up to it, the utter devastation of the battle raging around her. She can feel Kara, desperate in her Viper, you will lead them all to their end, you are the Harbinger of Death, Kara Thrace, the refrain bounces around in Kara's head, ceaselessly, while she leads the last of her pilots in a losing battle against a seemingly endless stream of Cylon raiders. Her pilots are no less desperate, one of them so scared he's wet himself, another offering prayers to the Gods as he sits in his Viper with the nav gone while wind whistles into the cockpit through a crack in the canopy.
With everything she is, with everything she's become, she stands against destruction and takes it all into herself, all of their fear and despair, their strength and bravery, uses it to fuel her and when her mind meets the four remaining Hybrids, and they rail against her, she uses it, Bill's love, Saul's steadfast acknowledgement, Kara's desperation, every sacrifice made, everything she's learned, her own resolve, her ardent need, to bend them to her will.
They fight her, almost rend her spirit from her corporeal body. They are strong, but they too, like the Centurions have been enslaved, and she uses that knowledge. Some of them have been for decades, tied to the ships they power through no act of will of their own. Their hard won sovereignty over the workings of their ships their only comfort. Powerful, but slaves none the less; the very crime the Cylon Humanoids have accused humanity off, perpetrated against their kin. Instead of fighting them, she comforts them, takes their pain as her own. For a moment, they fight even harder, she can feel the connection that ties her to her physical body tear but she draws power from their wrath, draws strength from their anger and pain and stands strong and endures and finally feels them give in, the force of their rage the intensity of their grief utterly spent.
In that moment all the myriad paths that lead them here converge on her in a powerful desire to exact retribution. She's learned from the Hybrids during their battle, she knows how with a touch of her mind, she could crumple the raiders like tinfoil, destroy the Basestars and she almost gives in. It is her chance to exact revenge for the horrors suffered by her people, her people, these past years. The holocaust that left just a handful of them stranded in space, the unrelenting chase across the heavens that decimated their numbers further, the torture and terror they experienced on new Caprica.
Laura pulls herself back from the brink, tells the Hybrids to stand down instead, to recall their Raiders With the Hybrids and Raiders under her control, the humanoid models are no longer a threat and, content in the knowledge the fleet is safe, she lets go, plummets back down to Earth, back down towards her own frail body, continues to fall as her body crumples to the floor, her strength utterly gone.