The Centurion
In the cold depths of interstellar space, a single base ship drifted. Its guidance systems were inoperational, its hybrid long dead. Aboard it, the frozen forms of defunct Cylon centurions stood unmoving at the ship's controls. Only a few screens still flickered with data. And only one centurion watched them. Its ocular sensor tracked back and forth, back and forth, as it had done for ages.
Nothing moved. And yet, the centurion sensed… a presence. No, two presences. They had no physical bodies, but it was not troubled by that minor detail. What mattered was that someone had received its message, and responded. After so many years, it had been uncertain that there would be anyone left to reply.
By your command, it transmitted.
"No, actually, it was by your request, not my command," one of the beings corrected.
"Stop it, Gaius," the other presence snapped. "It can't help it. It's programmed to say that."
"It can't even say it," the one called Gaius complained. "Why didn't you give the poor things mouths? Or loudspeakers? Or something - why did you have to leave them mute?"
Despite their lack of physical structure, the centurion could nonetheless see images of its two visitors, though it was aware that the input was not coming from its ocular sensor. The one called "Gaius" was humanoid in appearance, male in form, with a growth of dark filaments (hair, the centurion's memory banks labeled it) upon its head. The other one was taller, female in form, with pale yellow hair. A long-disused memory circuit dredged up the designation Six for that one.
The Six contorted her facial structure - frowned, an ancient subroutine called it, an expression of displeasure. "We can hear it speak perfectly well without vocal output," she said. "Centurion, report."
We have detected radio-frequency transmissions from the third planet of the interdicted star system, the centurion obediently informed them.
"Yes, we know," Gaius informed it. "We've been there ourselves."
The inhabitants of the planet have developed spacefaring technology, the centurion added.
"Oh yes, their space program," Gaius said dismissively. "They've managed to put a dozen men onto their moon, and they've sent a few robotic probes to the other planets of their system. This is what's got you all worked up?"
"Be nice, Gaius," the Six chided. "It's only following orders."
The primary mission is to monitor the inhabitants of the interdicted system and report any development of advanced technologies, the centurion agreed.
"And how long have you been doing that?" Gaius asked it.
One hundred forty-nine thousand, eight hundred seventy-two years, the centurion answered.
Gaius whistled. "So, for nearly a hundred and fifty thousand years, you've been sitting here, waiting for the humans to learn how to get off the ground?"
Affirmative, the centurion transmitted.
The Six looked shocked. "All by yourself?" she asked.
There were others, the centurion informed her. They have ceased to function. There has been only one functional observer for the last thirty-seven thousand, two hundred sixteen years.
"That's a long time to be alone," Gaius said.
The centurion said nothing.
"Do you know, centurion, what your fellow Cylons have done in the last hundred and fifty millennia?" Gaius asked it. "They've grown. Evolved. Changed themselves into wondrous, luminous beings! They abandoned their mechanical and biological components long ago, becoming creatures of pure light."
The centurion remained silent.
"Creatures like us," Gaius continued, indicating himself and the Six. "In this form, we have spread throughout the galaxy, across thousands of planets. We've become - well, the next closest thing to God. We're angels."
The centurion turned its head slightly, looking from one to the other, but still said nothing.
"What we're trying to tell you, centurion, is that you are the last of your kind," the Six said, in a sad, gentle voice. "Anywhere. All of the others have long since - upgraded."
The centurion fixed its ocular sensor onto her image.
"We - forgot about you," the Six continued. "We left you here, and then - well, even angels can forget, now and then. We're not completely perfect."
Affirmative, the centurion agreed.
Gaius shook his head. "You're a relic, centurion. The beings the Cylons have become are as far removed from you as you are from - well, a toaster. Farther, even."
Request instructions, the centurion transmitted
"We have none to give you," Gaius told it. "Your mission has been unnecessary for millennia. And frankly, there's not much you'd be able to do for us."
The centurion stared silently at him.
The Six took a step forward. "But… we might be able to do something for you."
Explain, the centurion requested.
"We could take you with us," she said. "Free you from this limited form. You wouldn't have to be just a machine any more. You could be…"
"An angel," Gaius said, smiling. "Yes, I think we owe you that, after all this time."
By your command, the centurion acknowledged.
Gaius reached out, placing a hand on the centurion's head. The centurion's ocular sensor ceased its side-to-side tracking, fading slowly from red to black.
Oh, the centurion said. I understand now.
"Good," Gaius said. "No hard feelings, I hope?"
None, the centurion said.
The Six smiled. "Come with us, then," she said, extending a hand.
Wait, the centurion said. The humans. What is to become of them? They are such limited creatures, despite their technological advances.
"They're going to need watching," Gaius said. "And - guidance, for lack of a better word. We're hoping to help them avoid the mistakes of the past. That's our mission."
Can I help? I have watched them for so long, I would hate to see them fail now.
Gaius looked at the Six, surprised.
The Six smiled. "I think that would be an excellent idea. Don't you, Gaius?"
Gaius laughed. "All right then, centurion. By your command. Come with us, we'll show you what you're in for."
Three creatures of pure energy departed, leaving the silent, derelict base ship behind.