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Chapter 11: The Skin-Job

The obtrusive beeping in her head subsided gradually. Sam groaned as she moved one arm and rolled onto her back. The light of the ceiling lamp flickered above her, bathing her surroundings in a scope light and making it difficult to detect something. Passing the time her eyes needed to adapt to the dim lightning conditions, she tried to rub away the dirt she felt on her skin. She squinted, focusing on the blurred outlines around her.

She was still lying on the floor of the corridor which, it seemed, had received no major damage from the various small explosions. Except for the broken light, a few scattered around boxes and soot smears from the flame, nothing else was demolished. She hoped, that the same was true for Major O'Neill. Sam closed her eyes again and concentrated on her body. Investigating her limbs mentally for injuries, but she couldn't detect any bad wounds. No lesions, no broken bones or concussion. That was good.

Still, her muscles protested as she forced herself on her knees. She wiped a few blonde strands out of her face and searched for the two men. The Major's uniform was clearly visible even in the flickering light. He wasn't moving.

Oh no, not again. She thought. God please, let him be alive.

The stranger was sprawled over O'Neill, so it was impossible to say whether the pilot's chest was still heaving.

Crawling over to them, she grabbed the aggressor by the shoulders and dragged him away from O'Neill. Carter had little interest for the captor's welfare, which was why she left him lying on the floor. Instead, she leaned across the CAG's torso, listening for any signs of breathing. A relieved almost sob escaped her lungs, when she realized that he was alive and breathing. Her trembling hands probed his body for obvious injuries.

Her examination must have lured his mind out of the unconsciousness, because his eyelids opened suddenly, blinking rapidly. Brown eyes met her blue ones in muddled confusion and he took his time to recall what had happened. O'Neill accepted her guiding hands to help him sitting up, and she rated it as clear sign that he wasn't fully recovered yet. Otherwise, he surely wouldn't have let her help him.

Only seconds later, his blackout was gone again. Behind them, the stranger had awoken and was coughing, attracting the Major's attention, and his anger.
"What the frak was that about?!" blustered O'Neill and lunged for the hostage-taker. The other man fell on his ass as the tall pilot grabbed him by the collar.

Carter managed to shove her body between the two men, keeping them from further wrangling. This was exactly how they had gotten in this messy situation in the first place. While she put one hand firmly on O'Neill's chest to restrain him, she gave the other man a rough shove, keeping him effectively out of the pilot's reach.
"Calm down! Both of you!" she appealed to her counterpart's reason and could see the exact moment he realized that she was right.

The Major raised his hands in a gesture of understanding and took a step back, his grinding teeth the only evidence of the towering rage that was still blaring in his eyes. She could understand his anger. The stand-off had been almost solved, when the stranger had carried out his cunning move, shoving the Chief and causing the explosions. Endangering them all, but what for? They might have to bemoan the loss of more crewmen and women, just because this sweating idiot couldn't accept that he was defeated. Nevertheless, aggressive temperament wouldn't help them. They needed to keep a cool head. Work together in case the unnamed man would try something else.

The stranger seemed to sense that he was about to get a sound beating, which was why he was making the effort of formulating something like an apology.
"I'm sorry, okay? It was a reflex. In my job, you have to be vigilant."
O'Neill didn't respond to the explanation, didn't even indicate that he had listened. He was much too busy wiping both hands through his dark hair. Dust, soot and small, burned, particles flying around, leaving his hair in a tousled mess.

"Aha, and what kind of job is that?" He asked at least, appearing a little more calm and controlled. Sam relaxed slightly. A hopping mad O'Neill wasn't easy to keep in check, that was probably a similarity in any possible universe.
The other man shrugged his shoulders meaningfully, but offered just an indirect reply. He nodded towards the cargo area.

"Okay, those warheads out there? Here's the deal. They would have brought a nice price on the black market."
"So, you're an arms dealer, huh? That's supposed to make it better?" replied the pilot and his tone left no doubt that he wasn't thinking very highly of arms dealers. Gun smugglers and terrorists seemed to be his definite enemy image. The smuggler grinned without honest emotion.
"People have a right to defend themselves. I just supply the means."
"Yeah, the means to kill each other. You ever been on a battle field once the killing is over?"
"What am I supposed to say, eh? I'm just a humble servant of the law of demand and supply. I sell nothing they're not willing to pay for."
The indifference with which the arms dealer justified his dubious business and blamed the victims of his guns for their own death, provoked nothing but disgust in Sam. She'd seen that too many times. On her own planet and foreign ones. Unscrupulous gun smugglers earning money with bloody conflicts and making sure that the violence didn't end. They couldn't earn money in peacetime.

The still unnamed man was not impressed with the open dislike towards him. He answered them with stretching out his hands, apparently expecting some help from them. Well, he was grievously mistaken there. Carter crossed her arms consequently, O'Neill backing her up with a disinterested expression on his face. When the smuggler realized that he had to get up himself, he sighed. Supporting his body on the wall behind him, he came to his feet unsteadily.

He wiped his dirty hands on the trousers. "So, I can go now, right?"
A deep, dangerous laugh escaped the Major, accompanied with gloomy eyes.
"Don't think so. I know a cozy cell with your name on it."
The other man protested stubbornly, trying to impress the CAG with his physical appearance as much as possible.
"What are you saying? You promised you're not here to arrest me!"
This time, it was O'Neill's turn to shrug indifferently.
"Changed my mind. Besides, I don't remember promising you anything."

Before the two men could start another hand tight dispute, Sam steered their attention towards a more urgent problem. She had just noticed herself that the door they'd fallen trough was ripped out of its hinges. Instead of the door, a smoking pile of debris blocked the passage. They were locked up. Again. This day is getting better and better, Sam judged sarcastically.

"Hey, guys. I don't think anyone of us is going anywhere fast."
Both men stopped their staring and followed her outstretched arm to the barricade.
"Frak me!" Swore O'Neill, dragging out the vowels to emphasize his frustration. He took a step, standing in front of the rubble. Carefully touching the wreckage, but pulling his hand back immediately.
"Hot." He commended and took lead naturally. The Major looked around searchingly, finally picking up a charred iron rod like a baseball bat and tried to lever out some of the rubble.

His effort was unsuccessful, but therefore he'd managed to catch the attention of the rest of their team on the other side. The Chief's voice reached them past the stacked layers of metal. Sam would've almost laughed out loud. This was like a repetition of the episode in the flight pod. Them stuck in here, and the Chief on the other side.
"Major, are you all right?"
O'Neill threw the iron bar away, grinning when the captor had to hurry not to get hit.
"Yeah. Anybody hurt out there?"
"No, Sir. Just some superficial burns. We got lucky. I've got some equipment coming. We're gonna get you out of there right away."
The relief that this accident hadn't claimed another victim was short lived. The Galactica needed the ammunition urgently. No one was able to tell how long they could hide from the Cylons. This was about minutes. Their lives played a subordinate role. Jack shook his head vehemently although Tyrol, of course, couldn't see this.

"No! Get all the bullets and equipment to the ship. Don't waste anybody on anything else."
The pilot turned to the stranger, who was breathing calmly.
"Is there another way out of here?"
The hostage-taker nodded. "Sure. I know the way."

Satisfied with this answer, O'Neill continued talking with the Chief.
"Listen, we're gonna take another way out."
Tyrol answered cautiously. Sam could practically visualize his frown.
"Sir, I don't think that's a wise idea."
"Unwise ideas are my specialty, Chief." Jack seemed to be sure about his plan. "You got your orders."
"Yes, Sir. Good luck."

Carter felt the Major's gauging eyes on here, before his gaze turned to the stranger. He was assessing if they were fit for an extended hike through the station's innards. When he was apparently satisfied with what he saw, he motioned the other man with a broad hand gesture to go ahead.
"After you."

The aggressor squinted his eyes, glancing back and forth between Carter and O'Neill. A secretive grin sneaked into his face.
"Okay, here we go."

They followed the man, leading them deeper into the bowels of the station. While they passed the narrow corridors, something happened that Sam was very familiar with, but also surprising her. O'Neill and she harmonized their walking speed. Automatically, without coordinating it actively, they had occupied respective positions right and left behind the stranger. They walked side by side. Each of them alert, covering each others back as if they'd never been doing something else. And somehow, that was even true. At least for Sam. To outsiders, this might be only a nuance, but for Carter it was something big. A sign that her initial instinct was right and that this O'Neill wouldn't be a disappointment. They had just met a few hours ago, and jet they were already working as a team. Even if it was only on a subconscious level.

O'Neill either didn't notice this, or it simply wasn't that important in his perception. He was fully fixated on the stranger. Staring holes into his back. With eagle eyes, he followed each of the other man's movement as they advanced deeper into the station.

It wasn't hard to notice, that the hostage-taker was still struggling with the aftermaths of the detonations. He swayed alarmingly, his shirt wet with sweat. Although he was indeed leading them purposefully through the labyrinth of corridors, never hesitating at junctions, somehow he wasn't really healthy.

"You've got a problem?" O'Neill verbalized his observations as the other man paused briefly, breathing heavy and leaning his shoulders on the wall.
"I'm fine," he waved his hand dismissingly. "It's just something about this place…"
"What are you talking about?" Asked the pilot impatiently.
"Yeah, ever since I got here. Something in the air affects my allergies." Mumbled the captor, suddenly changing the subject. Sam found herself in his focus, she could practically feel his eyes patting her up and down, making her skin tingle unpleasantly. There was just something about this guy that gave her the creeps.

"You always keep me in front of you. Military training, right? Never turn your back on a stranger, that kind of thing? Suspicion and distrust, that's military life…that's your life, right?"
Carter swallowed hard, not just because of the stranger's attention, but also because she felt O'Neill eying her with growing interest. Bad for her that the stranger had suggested that she had some kind of military training. This was not her reality. There was no trace of a Samantha Carter in the Colonial Forces. If O'Neill asked her about it, it would be difficult to explain her abilities without being suspicious. He was, after all, still convinced that there was something wrong with Daniel and her. Sam didn't want to give his suspicion any more fuel. Surely, his thoughts were already travelling that way. He must've ask himself the same questions. How could she have learned military tactics if she wasn't a soldier or a police officer? And she could already picture the possible answers. If she was in Major O'Neill's place, she'd assume that she was part of some kind of paramilitary organization. Or a terrorist cell.

But the Major was doing her a favor with not responding to the almost unmasking comments of the other man. Instead, he made sure that the captor himself was in focus again.
"So, you're a philosopher, too? I'm barely controlling my admiration." Denying the sarcasm was pointless. The other man just laughed.
"I'm merely an observer of human nature. When you get it right down to it, humanity is not a pretty race. I mean, we're only one step away from beating each other with clubs like savages fighting over scraps of meat."
"Says the weapons dealer." Interrupted O'Neill clearly irritated, but the hostage taker continued on unfazed.
"Maybe the Cylons are God's retribution for our many sins. What if God decided he made a mistake? And he decided to give souls to another creature, like the Cylons?"

At the time the captor had finished his pessimistic speech, O'Neill stood still. Sam eyed him questioningly and was almost frightened, when she saw the intensity in his eyes. The smaller man stared back with something like challenging mockery. They were watching each other furtively. Like each of them was planning an ambush. Like predators.

Carter tried to understand it. But what was happening in front of her, what was stirring the Major's aggression, still completely eluded her understanding. She simply lacked the background knowledge to make sense of the words, and above all, understand what provoked O'Neill's extreme reaction.

Before she could even begin to scratch the surface of this conflict that was smoldering between the two men, Jack's piercing gaze was gone.
"The god's didn't create Cylons. Men did. And I'm pretty sure we didn't include a soul in the programming. Now, move." He sneered instead.
Carter frowned as she tried to conceive those words. She knew, at least she thought that she knew, that these Cylons were the aggressors. They'd started the war, destroyed the Colonies. But still, she couldn't quite grasp the meaning behind O'Neill's comment. How was someone 'made'? Could it mean that someone had driven these Cylons to start a war? And what about the constant allusions to God? Hopefully, Daniel and she hadn't stumbled into some kind of religious crusade. Religious motivated conflicts were the worst. Whenever religious beliefs turned into fanaticism, it was almost impossible to pacify both fighting parties.

The smaller man grinned knowingly. "How about you go first for a while?" He turned back to Carter. Perhaps he thought she was the weaker link. But he was mistaken about that, she was firmly on the Major's side and Sam thought she could sense that the tall pilot was backing her up too. At least in this situation.
So she retorted coolly, rebuffing his try to provoke her. "In your dreams."

For the next half hour or so, they followed the stranger through the innards of the station. It was obvious that he knew his way around here. But, why? The station was big, housing nearly 30 decks. How long was this guy here already, that he had found the time to memorize the corridors so well? A legitimate question, concluded O'Neill, but not one he would directly address. There were more urgent matters. Above all, returning to the Galactica as soon as possible. He was sure that they wouldn't leave without him, but the longer they had to wait for them, the more time for the Cylons to track them.

In the mean time, however, he could do some thinking. First, there was his companion of whom he knew little more than her name and that she and her friend were suspected to be terrorists. Although the two had been nabbed by the colonial security forces, Jack had a hard time to believe the accusations. After all, it wouldn't be the first time for a GDD agent to arrest the wrong people. After the Saggitarian Liberation Front had renewed their efforts to blow up everyone that dared to question their strict and antiquated religious interpretation of human life, the GDD had reacted with tightening measures for defense against terrorism. Up to the point, were they arrested almost everyone that was at least a little bit suspicious. As far as he knew, the Liberation Front didn't operate in secret, sending disguised teams in deserted museums to hide an explosive device. Suicide bombers, that was more their preferred approach. They wanted their attacks to be big, loud, dramatic, deadly, public and most of all, sensational. Many victims and the possibility to use the pictures and videos about the detonations for their propaganda. Hyping the suicide bombers as heroic pseudo martyrs. Normally, those bombers weren't blessed with particularly high intelligence, or self confidence. Otherwise, it would be almost impossible to persuade them to sacrifice their own lives for questionable ideals. Killing hundreds of innocent people, while the perverse manipulators were hiding like the frakking cowards they were.

The both suspects, Sam and Daniel, didn't fit this modus operandi. They seemed to be intelligent, too grounded and self assured to be manipulated into being used. Jack wouldn't call himself an expert in human nature, but he was pretty sure that there were no connections between Sam and Daniel and those ideologically transfigured Zombies who thought it was honorable to kill innocent people. If this was a puzzle, the pieces didn't fit. But if they were indeed completely innocent, why hadn't they offered the GDD people an explanation for their presence at the museum? It was a pity, that he didn't had the opportunity to take a look into the GDD files before the attack on Caprica had destroyed all data.

The woman next to him puzzled him. There was something about her, especially about the way she moved, carried herself, that looked familiar to him. He was almost sure that she had to have some kind of tactical training. A really good one. Not only had she realized long before him how the Cylons had possibly managed to paralyze the Colonial fleet and thereby indirectly saved his life by keeping him from activating the Raptor's systems. Also, her sovereignty during the fire in the flight pod was nothing less than impressive. She'd remained calm, not even a little bit infected by the panic around her. Quite the contrary, after saving her friend, she'd come back, putting herself in danger and trying to help the other crewmembers. And it had been almost entirely her credit that the fire extinguishing systems started to work just in time. She had not only saved his life a second time, but also rescued many deckhands. And as it seemed, without being part of the Colonial Forces and therefore without the benefit of military training or particularly detailed instructions. Instead, it occurred to O'Neill that she operated due to an unfamiliar reservoir of experience and a good dose of intuition.

Just like now. Walking beside him, mirroring his steps and following the sweaty guy in front of them through the long corridors. But she didn't just merely follow him. Carter watched like a hawk. Cataloguing and analyzing the hostage taker's movements. Jack knew she was doing it, because he was doing the same and he recognized her behavior from his own. Attentive and always on guard. Then there was her posture. She wasn't sauntering, not just walking or scurrying impatiently. Instead, she was sneaking, no gliding silently and elegantly along the floor. Like a big cat. She balanced her weight on the balls of her feet, ready to move immediately into combat mode, should they be attacked. And the mere fact that she seemed to be awaiting some kind of confrontation with the hostage taker, confirmed him in his assumption that she wasn't someone who thought it was justifiable to blow up innocent people. He wasn't dealing with a dump, misguided and inexperienced woman, but with someone on par with him. Although these were just his suspicions and he indeed had no way to knew if he was right or not, at the moment he was glad that she had decided to stand at his side.

His biggest problem was the other guy. Their 'guide' seemed to get worse. He was sweating like crazy, though it was rather cool in the station. Increasingly panting, he had to support his body on the wall. Something was wrong with this asshole, Jack just had to find out what exactly. He also doubted the story about the abandoned arms dealer. Where was his ship? Where were his accomplices? Why had they left him behind? And why the frak was he unaware of the ongoing Cylon attack?

His statements were bugging O'Neill, too. Well, there were many confused and religious misguided idiots. But his insisting on only one god, combined with the indicated worship of the so called Cylon soul, even though everyone knew that those toasters possessed no soul, rose an uneasy suspicion in him. He war fairly certain that the stranger was everything, but not a mere arms dealer.

"What did you say was you name?" Jack tried to engage the stranger in an innocent sounding conversation to learn more about him.
"Didn't tell you my name." He answered, running his finger through the wet and oily hair.
"Sooo?" O'Neill persisted.
"Loeben. Loeben Conoy."
"Hmm….Loeben? Is that Sagittarian?"
"No. I'm from Caprica."
"Really?"
"Yes, really." Loeben insisted, sounding slightly annoyed. Jack couldn't help but grin. That was good. Very good. Conoy, if that was his real name, seemed to be really sick. Sick people, especially if they were annoyed too, tended to make mistakes. And once Loeben made a mistake, he was toast.

"You a C-Bucs fan?" O'Neill went on.
Loeben came to a halt at a junction, bracing his hands on his knees. Left, a dark corridor led deeper into the Station. Right was a closed steel door.
"No. I'm not into sports."
If Jack hadn't been already convinced that Conoy wasn't telling the truth, he'd knew that something was wrong at this moment. Someone who was from Caprica and claimed not to love the C-Bucs. That was humbug! Such a person didn't exist. Pyramid was the best sport of the 12 Worlds. The only sport that combined fighting spirit, elegance and tactics in this beautiful way. In recent years the home team, the Caprica Buccaneers, had strained their supporter's loyalty beyond a healthy level. Nevertheless, or perhaps because of that, the Capricans and their Buccaneers were inseparable. The C-Bucs were simply the best, no matter if they were winning or losing. You could ask anybody from Caprica, the Bucs ruled! Whether it was teachers, street entertainers or politicians, everyone loved the team or at least had developed some sort of love-hate relation ship. Someone who claimed to 'not be into Pyramid' was just weird. It was unnatural, in Jack's eyes.

"What's wrong? Lost the way?" O'Neill probed for more revealing information, when it seemed that Conoy couldn't decide between left and right. The other man pushed his chin arrogantly forward.
"I know exactly where to go." He protested, opening the door purposefully and adding, "I always know where I am."

"Good for you. Now, are we going in or not?" Demanded O'Neill to know when Conoy remained standing in the threshold of the door. He looked away, shook his head as if to shake off his confused thoughts.
"Yes, yes. That's the way. We're almost at the exit." Loeben rambled on and coughed.
He walked, no, he staggered through the door, supporting his body on the railing.

They stood on a platform with a steep staircase leading down to a room. Hundreds of pipes and tubes of different sizes snaked along the ceiling and walls, disappearing into the floor. Moist steam filling the air. It was the pump room. Loeben was now practically hanging from the railing, sick as a dog and coughing up dark mucus. When he had calmed down a little, he straightened up and ran his hands through his face.

O'Neill could hear when Carter stopped breathing and instinctively clenched his fists. Her alarmed eyes searching him like laser beams. He couldn't blame her. If Carter was only half as clever as he assumed, she also knew that Loeben Conoy was far more dangerous than a simple arms dealer. With trembling hands, Conoy had not just wiped the sweat from his face, it also looked like entire parts of his skin was sticking to his hands.
Gods, is his face melting?

Loeben was starting to realize, wherever he was leading them, he wouldn't arrive alive. Something was happening to him. Almost as if his body was slowly dissolving. Like candle wax smoldering under the flame's heat.
"What about this place? What's it doing to me?" He whined and threw reproachful looks at O'Neill and Sam. As if it was their fault.
"You mean, besides the fact that your face is melting?" Jack stated dryly.

Loeben stared at him startled, scratching even more pale, sloppy pieces of skin from his face.
"What are you doing to me?"
O'Neill eyed him without pity, because all of a sudden he knew exactly who he was. Or rather, what he was. Time to end this game. Conoy had played long enough with him.
"Me? I'm doing nothing. It's your silica pathways to the brain, or whatever it is you call that thing you pretend to think with. Not a pretty sight, you're decomposing as we speak."

Jack was surprised at how calm he sounded. He knew what he had in front of him, even though the experts denied even the mere possibility of the existence of these creatures for years. But right here was the proof that humanoid Cylons indeed existed. How cynical, Cylons that looked like real humans!
I'll eat my shorts, if those guy isn't involved in the attacks. Frakking skin-job!

The Cylon in human form was writhing in pain. His eyes gleamed with insane certainty. He looked miserable.
"It's the nebula, right? It puts out something. Something that's affecting Cylon technology. That's right, isn't it? And this…" he spread his arms unsteady, "…this station, it's a refuge. That's why you're here. You and the pathetic rest of you impotent fleet. Last ditch effort to hide from the Cylon attack."
His voice was mocking him and Jack had to restrain himself as not to screw off this guy's hollow head.
"Well, it's not enough. I've been here for hours. They'll come looking for me. You and your friends will be dead meat before you know it."

Oookay, that's enough bullshit for one day!
This asshole, pardon, this piece of scrap metal, had strained his patience long enough. Time to return to Galactica. Including the toaster.
"Sorry to tell ya, but you won't be here by the time your tinny pals arrive. The Galactica is ready to takeoff. Once we're out of Ragnar Station, we're gone. And you're coming with us."
Conoy grinned broadly, showing two rows of disturbingly white teeth. More artificial humanity, thought O'Neill.
"I don't think so." Murmured the Cylon mysteriously. Then he grabbed the pilot by the collar and threw them down the stairs.

Carter was so overwhelmed by the events of the last few minutes, from what she'd heard that she reacted too late. Everything happened in slow motion. She had to watch helplessly as the two men tumbled down the stairs, landing hard on the floor. The man named Loeben, who seemed to be neither man nor Cylon, mobilized incredible strength considering his poor state a few seconds ago. With a force adjoining to inhumane strength, he attacked O'Neill before the pilot had even a minimal chance to react. His hands closed around the pilot's neck, pressing his back against the hot pipes. Sam heard O'Neill moaning and groaning painfully as Conroy squeezed his windpipe. He'd strangle him !

Finally, she woke up from her paralysis. Sam rushed down the stairs, barging into the choking man. Somehow, she had to get Conroy away from O'Neill. But the man had anticipated her attack. Just before she reached the last stair, she felt a punch in her face. The force of the impact made her lose her balance, falling down. Her head collided with a thick pipe. That would leave an impressive bruise.

Lying on the floor, she was forced to watch as Loeben, whatever he was, worked out his anger. O'Neill was fighting back desperately. Ripping even more skin from the other man's face and arms. But Conoy didn't seem to feel the pain. With each passing second, the pilot's attempts at freeing himself grew weaker. His lips were turning blue and he visibly lost consciousness. She had to hurry. Now! A few more seconds, and this O'Neill would die too, before her eyes. But not this time. Not again. This time, she'd prevent it. Making up for that one fateful moment she'd failed miserably.

Sam bared her teeth. Her hands searching for something and finding a lose pipe. Frantically grabbing the metal with both hands, she got to her feet. She swung wide and mustered up every bit of strength she could find in herself, the pipe colliding with Loeben's head.

Conoy didn't seem to have noticed the first blow. He was far too gone in his madness to strangle O'Neill. The second blow made him falter, but not releasing his stranglehold. With each bash, more and more blood and hair sprayed through the air. She hit him. Again and again and again. Then, finally, the pipe literally cut through the thick skull.

A nauseating crack filled the room. Conroy's fingers slagging at once, his body staggering a few steps, hands feeling for the big hole in his head with something like wonder in his eyes. Viscous blood and other liquids running down his face. Then he collapsed.

As soon as the hands came loose around O'Neill's neck, he sank powerless on the ground. Leaning his upper body against the wall and stretching out his long legs, his breath was rushed and labored. But he was definitely alive. When Carter was sure that Conoy wouldn't get up anymore, she dropped the iron bar and sank down on her knees beside the pilot. With guiding hands on his shoulders, she helped him sitting up some more so that he could breathe easier. O'Neill watched her through half-closed eyelids, his eyes surprisingly alert and a grateful smile on his face.

"Are you okay?" She inquired, noticing with relief that the color came back to his skin. Because he was too busy filling his lungs with air and therefore couldn't speak, he just raised his hand and gave her a thumbs up.
His breathing was still erratic and already a hematoma was forming around his neck where Conoy had relentlessly chocked him. But he was okay. He would survive it.

He's okay. He'll survive. He'll stand up again, sharing one of his stupid jokes.
She repeated these phrases like a mantra, like a prayer, in her head and sat down beside him. Granting herself a few minutes of rest. It had been a terribly long day.

"C…Con…?" she heard him croak. He had not yet recovered fully, his lungs protesting as he tried to speak. Frustrated, he nodded towards the bleeding man with the big hole in his skull.
"He's not going anywhere fast." She answered his silent question, receiving a wry grin in return.
"Sweet."
Carter squinted, her pulse vibrating in her chest. Sweet. Some parallels were calming, other simply hurt. At that moment she realized how hard it would be in the future to deal with this O'Neill, without having to think about her O'Neill. Just that he had never really been hers.

When his breathing had returned to normal and the color of his face wasn't resembling a smurf anymore, he picked himself up and staggered towards the ponderous heap of what once had been a man. Taking care not to step into the puddle of blood and other body fluids. Careful, he tapped Conoy's lifeless form with the toe of his shoe, recoiling when the other man –despite his pitiful state of health- opened his eyes. His gaze was damned clear and he even managed to laugh at them.
"Damn. Why can't you just die?" O'Neill muttered to himself.
Loeben breathed in, spraying fine drops of blood from his lips when he spoke.
"Soon. It won't take much longer. Once they find you, it will not take them long to destroy the rest of you. Then your worlds will truly belong to us. The more advanced race."

O'Neill rolled his eyes. Although he was just a few minutes away from meeting his beloved creator, Conoy insisted on babbling some more nonsense. As if that was impressing him. After all, he'd just survived the screwhead's murder attempt. Thanks to his more than capable support. Now there was one more thing he knew about the blonde woman. Her name was Sam. Her training was first class. And her blow was killer. He asked her silently what she was thinking of all this. Her facial features displayed annoyance. So she was sick of Loeben's horseshit too.

"Yadda, yadda, yadda. Guess what, you won't find out, because you'll be dead in a few minutes. How does that feel? If you can feel."
Loeben grinned, albeit painfully, even wider. Like someone who knew a secret no one else was supposed to know.
"Oh I can fee more that you could ever conceive of. But I'm not afraid. I won't die."
O'Neill frowned. This guy's circuits must've melted. But Conoy's clear eyes and haunting look made him believe that some disturbing truth was hiding behind the dying Cylon's crazy words.

Conoy chuckled when he realized, that the pilot was starting to understand. His eyes fell on the tall, blond woman who had brought him down. She was standing up now, taking up a position next to O'Neill. Silently showing her support. That was good. The two Colonists would certainly need the mutual support once he'd revealed the truth to them. The certainty that human race couldn't hide anywhere. That the fight wasn't finished until the last man and woman and child had received their just fate. Death.

"That's right. When this body dies, my consciousness will be transferred to another one. And when that happens, I think I'll tell the others exactly where you are and I'll think they'll come and kill you all. And I'll be watching it happen. I am immortal. I can't die. No one of us can. You may shoot us, but we'll simply come back. You'll never get rid of us."
Loeben could literally study how the mind of the tall pilot fought against what he had just heard. He watched satisfied with himself how the blonde woman with the big blue eyes stared at the Major. Confused and bewildered. It was wonderful! The chaos in their heads, the fear in their eyes. The worry of no longer being the powerful, all-knowing and all-dominating race. Pity that he wouldn't be here any longer to bathe in their despair. His body was getting weaker and weaker. A disadvantage of the human design.

"You know what I think? I think you're lying. If you could have transferred outta here, you would've done it long before. Right after you saw us docking. But you can't, because all this resurrection shit you're talking about is frakshit." O'Neill spat words full of scorn. But Loeben wasn't upset. A pleasant calm had settled over his body. He couldn't move any longer and he felt his lungs filling with blood. But he wasn't hurting. It would be over soon. Well, not really over. Not for him. He would come back in a body just like this. Young, fresh, unconsumed and full of life.
"Doesn't matter if you believe me or not. Sooner or later, you'll realize that you've got no chance. The day will come when you can not hide from the things human kind has done."
No sooner than he had uttered those menacing words, his head rolled to the side and his eyes closed for the last time.

The next few minutes Carter and O'Neill stood wordlessly, staring at Conroy's dead body. Jack's mind was totally messed up. Part of him refused to believe anything the toaster had said. But another part, getting stronger every second, was increasingly aware that Conroy had certainly told them the truth. Not that anything of that shit sounded even a little bit logical in his ears. He had no fraking idea how this resurrection thingy could be technically possible. Still, the certainty sat like a stone in his stomach, correlating with the sardonic eyes of the human form Cylon. The way Loeben had grinned. Bold and challenging. But also satisfied….triumphant, even as he was dying. And indeed, O'Neill was the one still alive, although he felt like he'd lost some sort of confrontation.

"What does he mean by that? 'The things human kind has done'?" Asked the woman next to him. Her voice not more than a stunned whisper. There was no great desire in him to respond. He felt sick.
"I don't know." He replied truthfully.
"Do you believe him? Resurrection? What if he's right?"
Wow, she possessed a really curious mind. But her eagerness to know things and subtle demand that he was supposed to know all the answers irritated him.
"I don't have a fraking clue!" Jack retorted with more fury than he had wanted to display. Abruptly she looked away, hiding her face and biting her lip. He sighed. No matter what situation, he always managed to transform in a rude klutz. Her curiosity was a bit annoying, but she had saved his ass. More than once. She didn't deserve to be the target for his bottled-up rage. Jack raised his hand apologetically.
"I'm sorry, okay? Blame it on the lack of oxygen?" He offered her a roguish pardon and received a indulgent nod in return.
"It's okay."

"I don't know what he meant." O'Neill began, because he somehow felt the need to share his thoughts with her. "And I don't now if this resurrection thingy is for real. But I do know, that I don't want to stick around and wait for his buddies to arrive and roast our asses."

Carter thought about that briefly. She wasn't arguing with him, thus he assumed that she agreed. Jack stretched his body to get rid of the tension and grimaced, when his back crackled.
Yes, age made itself noticeable occasionally.
"Well, let's head back to Galactica." He suggested to the door at the other side of the pump room. A big, green sign over the doorframe saying 'Exit'. At least the dead bastard had kept his word to show them a way out.

Jack had taken a few wobbly steps, when he was stopped again by Carter's absence. She was still standing beside the Cylon's lifeless body, staring at it with not concealed fascination. Like it was a puzzle she wanted to solve. O'Neill shook his head. The woman's curiosity would get her in trouble sooner or later.
"What about him?" She asked, enlightening him about what was going on in that brainy head of hers. "We should take him with us."
"Why?"
"Because we could examine his body. Maybe we'll find some hints whether he told us the truth."
The CAG sighed, shoulders slumped. Just what he needed! Dragging the cold guy through Ragnar Station. She was right, of course. And he was a bit annoyed, that he hadn't thought of that. But like he'd said, the lack of oxygen.
"I was afraid you'd say that."
"You know I'm right."
"Fraid you'd say that too."

A good-natured smile appeared on her face.
"I'll take the arms, you'll take the legs? Are you fit for that?"
He snorted defensively. What a question! Of course he was fit. He was always fit. Even if he was not fit, he was still fitter than most. After all, he was Galactica's CAG and fitness was part of the job description. If he had to, he'd carry the lifeless body all by himself.
"Yes, sure! What are we waiting for? Let's go. I'm bursting with energy." Jack understood that, perhaps, he'd praised his physical prowess a little bit too enthusiastic. When he bent down to grab dead Loeben's legs, he could see out of the corner of his eyes how superwoman was biting her lips to keep from laughing.