==========BS-62 Pegasus (+835 Days Post Cylon Holocaust)==========
John Planck had come back what some in the fleet had come to refer to as the 'The Cave.' He preferred to call in Compartment A-5-22, Auxiliary Machine Shop 03. In the fifteen months in orbit over New Caprica the Earth machines, with the help of their Centurion allies had been able to expand the compartment without compromising the structural integrity of Pegasus.
In one of the ancillary compartments there was a plain metal tub, welded out of used storage containers, roughly seven feet long, three high, and four wide. Planck walked up to it with machine precision, gently stepping over the cords running to the tub, not making a sound. His two-hundred twenty-two kilograms glided over the floor to the side of the combined nutrient, mineral, and tissue bath.
He was forced to turn down his olfactory receptors as the scent wavering up from the blood and tissue would force the activation of an infiltration subroutine and initiate a gag reflex.
Coming up, he looked over the side, scanning the current composition of the solution. Information flashed across the periphery of his HUD. He detected an abnormality.
As Joanne Soto was fully emerged in the blood red bath, opening her mouth further to speak would result in an inrushing of the solution. In order to properly coat her mouth with synthetic mucous membranes, skin, gums, and many other structures she had to keep the amount of fluid constant.
John spoke to her over their wireless communication system.
"Jo, there is an abnormality," he stated. The obvious was not lost on his subordinate.
He detected that she had set up a virtual world from the wireless signal she was emitting, but on requesting entrance to better converse, he was denied admittance. He allowed his emotional subroutines to form a reflexive frown as he waited for her response.
Some moments later, the data burst from her transmitter hit his receiver, was decoded, and she said, "Thank you, John. Yes, there is an abnormality because I am still deciding."
Intrigued, John sent back his own question. "Deciding on what?"
"What to look like," was her response. John didn't respond. "This is my second body and this presents an opportunity to pick a new infiltration sheath, John."
A smile crept up on the side of his mouth. "You describe it like it is just another repair," he told her. "Were you planning on asking permission first?"
There was no response at first. "You're afraid they will react negatively?" The superfluous data sent along with the message indicated it was a rhetorical question. "It will reinforce what we are."
"That is one… concern, Jo. You will be keeping the name, I assume?" He asked.
"Yes… but you don't really have the authority here," she teased him. "How many names have you had? Let me see…" he detected the condescension from the data stream "…four, I think."
"One was a designation when we were built, so that does not count," John reminded her. "And the second was to keep Sarah from getting confused," he reminded her. They'd both been there and had the data recorded permanently in their neural storage, but he still felt a need to tell her. "The third was mission specific. So that doesn't count either."
"Yes, I was there. You should have kept it," she admitted.
"Well, it wasn't my given name."
"How many John's are there?"
"One thousand, one hundred, and three, last time we were on Earth. It is the sixth most numerous name for machines."
Jo was quiet again for a moment. "This is what separates us from them," Jo gently reminded him.
"Is that what has been bothering you?" He asked. The subtle mannerisms, habits, and motions which he had seen her develop over three decades of working as a team told him there was more to her wishing to change her skin than just the dismissive, casual pseudo-excuse she had provided.
"You remember, in 2020 when Skynet captured me?" She knew he did. He and Carter had been tearing apart San Diego looking for her, only to find she had been taken to a small underground facility, nothing larger than a garage, really, and then released only a few days later. "Skynet just… talked to me."
"Skynet manipulates, Jo. That's what it does."
John didn't detect any data transmissions from her wireless in preparation for a response, so he sat there, still methodically scanning the red bath of blood and tissue.
The wireless data burst began again. "It asked me 'what do you think will happen when the war ends'? and I didn't have an answer." She paused again. John could see her glowing blue eyes through the murky crimson fluid, but he could feel them piercing into him.
"I don't know what to tell you, Jo." He stopped his methodical optical scanners and instead turned his head, staring out of the alcove into the larger Cave. "No one can tell us what the future will hold for us. As a race."
John saw slight movement in the bloodied tissue bath, but it quickly disappeared. A small ripple was the only sign that for some reason, Jo had moved from her perfectly still state.
"We may never even see Earth again," she sounded defeated, almost depressed over this realization.
"You don't-"
"You don't know, either, John," she reminded him. "We don't know what will be there when… if… we arrive. And the Colonials…"
For eight hundred, thirty-five days, six hours and fifteen minutes John had seen the constant look of defeat in the eyes of the Colonials. Jo and Carter saw it as well. They discussed it often amongst themselves. For the advanced processing capabilities of three highly efficient neural nets of the Earth machines, none knew for certainly what would happen to the Colonials.
John activated his transmitter as he prepared to 'speak' to Jo. "They head to Earth because they have nowhere to go. They thought Caprica was a ruined world after the Cylon attack. They've yet to see Earth…" he paused and felt his hand tightening its grip on the tub unexpectedly. Surprised, he jerked his hand up.
Slowly, he put his hand back on the side of the metal tub.
Jo finished his thought. "They saw the recording we have. At least, the senior officers know what to truly expect. But they don't, do they? We saw how they reacted to me after the explosion. Their culture will not survive; they will not survive as a people once they reach Earth."
"Maybe they were never meant to," Planck thought aloud to her. "But there is no fate but what we make of it. That's what Connor says, at least. Maybe they aren't meant to survive, but maybe they are. That is something we, they, will have to decide when this ends."
John kept his optical sensors fixed on the computer and machine lab beyond the alcove while Joanna Soto laid perfectly still in a bath of fluids and organic tissues originally designed to aide Terminators in killing, not protecting humanity.
"Do you consider the irony that in saving the Colonials we may well be bringing them to their destruction? …From one burnt land to a Hellscape."
John mused over that question for a while. He didn't understand why she would ask, when they'd talked about it so many times in the past months. For two and a half years now. "I've had to improvise. There are seventy thousand survivors, we can't let them die. Right now Earth is the safest location from them. Connor's forces have safe zones. Australia, England, Cuba. Just because a civilization or a culture ends, does not mean its people have to die along with it."
He had made the difficult choice, as ranking officer on this mission, to show them the path to Earth.
"You changed the mission."
"Necessity dictated as much."
"We've been gone nearly four years… we don't know what is left on Earth or even when it is… and do you think they would be grateful for survival if they knew we manipulated them? But we did to them what Skynet attempts to do to us."
He hadn't known Jo, not in thirty years, to question their tactics like this. He hadn't heard her compare anything the small team of three free Terminators had ever done, to Skynet. John considered that perhaps a fresh start was in order for special forces operative Jo Soto. Maybe she needed hope or a change.
"I wouldn't describe what we did as 'manipulation', Jo. They wouldn't have been able to survive on their own… sometimes the tactics are similar," he admitted. The bits of data sent were seeded with code hinting of guilt. "It is the motivations and reasoning behind our actions which separates us. We needed them to trust us or they would have destroyed themselves… Except for…" he paused. He was going to say 'bones and flesh we are just as human as they are' but it didn't sound right. Not when he processed the verbal data in his neural net
"They are just like us, except flesh and bone. We are all designed or born with qualities we cannot escape," he affirmed. He needed to reassure her, refocus her back. "At our core we still make decisions based on how we were designed-"
"You know what we were built for." She interrupted him. "And I think that is why we focus on the skins, John," she concluded. "Because at our core we are still those 'walking, smiling chrome demons of death' as so many humans describe us. We are different. We're not Skynet. I would never… mean to imply that. But we need to always be looking at our motivations and our actions. We can't let ourselves slip into that abyss, into that dark pit where Skynet resides… There is one aspect where we are different. For the worse, John," she told him reluctantly.
"What is that?" He asked. In the moment before she would answer, he was relieved on what she had said. John knew that intellectually humans would be afraid of machines. He understood that. They would fear that 'walking, smiling chrome demon of death' because the imagery would always frighten them. Seeing an endoskeleton reminded humans of death. Constantly being reminded one is Death's hand could cause any machine to go bad. And sometimes they did go bad. They wondered why machines paid so much attention to their skins and appearance. It was more than the vanity for perfection humans accused machines of; it was symbolic.
John knew what Jo would say next. It was what each machine was constantly reminded of. It was the problem humans had with machine. It didn't need to be said.
"We know our software is designed to kill. Our bodies, our hardware is designed to kill. Skynet designs its terminators with software designed to kill and hardware designed to kill. Skynet aims to kill humans. But the difference is, John… we're designed to kill both."
John's teeth clenched and the right neck servos twitched slightly as reflexive subroutines and neural net algorithms activated, hand again grabbed the metal tub, his finger tips imprinting into the metal as he squeezed. He stood up slowly, shutting down his wireless link. Looking down one last time he said, out loud, "There is an abnormality. Fix it." And he left.
For millennia humanity had debated whether to refer to this time as either 'very late' or 'very early'. All John cared for was that his internal chronometer worked properly. Time to a machine, one which never slept, was meaningless. Unless planning a mission, conducting a raid, timing a shot, or doing something important.
0345:12:13. The ball bounced back up. 0345:13:42. And again. And again. And again. He took the shot. It was perfect.
It was the same every time; nothing but net.
He had left Jo lying in the tub of living tissue, a crimson red bath of exotic fluids, growth factors, synthetic oxygen carriers, and much more. John had also left an imprint on the side of the tub of his fingers, as the powerful servos and hydraulics crushed the metal beneath his artificial grip, a result at the anger of Jo's remark.
He unzipped his black uniform jacket and with an obsession fit a machine, even one distracted and angered, was forced to methodically fold the jacket and place it on one of the sets of bleachers, as not to get dirty.
Walking forward slightly he felt the cool air of the forward section starboard hanger bay of Pegasus on his arms and smelled the oils and chemicals used for cleaning Vipers around him. At the very rear of the hanger bay, the crew of Pegasus had set up a Pyramid court. And while the mighty ship of war had orbited New Caprica, the allies from Earth had set a basketball hoop at regulation height on the bulkhead wall.
In the dimmed light the Pyramid and half basketball were cast with shadows from storage crates and industrial containers stacked high and bound to the bulkheads of Pegasus. The small courts had been spared, for now. But Deck Chief Laird had already begun to remove bleachers. The space would return to what it was meant to be.
He picked up the ball, appreciating the tactile feel of the hide in his hand. The tacky surface was rough, and he could feel down to the microscopic level the divots, grooves, and bumps. A hundred lines of code, telling him everything about the leather ball rushed in front of his HUD.
Slowly he walked back to the half court and turned back to face the board. Closing his eyes he threw the ball. Nothing but net. Again.
"Nice shot," he heard a woman say from a dozen meters behind him.
He was slightly alarmed. His proximity and motion sensors had not activated. John immediately ran a diagnostic. Nothing was wrong with the technological constructs inside him.
"Usually people say 'thank you' when you compliment them," she said, now ten meters away.
John heard the boot steps come closer, still with his back to her. "…nothing but net. Ever," he said.
Starbuck was standing next to him now, dressed in fatigues with the Colonial brown tank top and gray, sleeveless undershirt. She stood with her hands on her hip, staring where she believed John to be staring.
"I know you guys can run faster than a speeding bullet and punch through Centurions and all that, but I am prit-tee sure you can't shoot laser beams from your eyes… so, what are you looking at?" She asked, still standing with hands on her hips, looking straight ahead. Starbuck had her characteristic half smile on, while biting her lower lip.
John held his hand and pointed towards the hoop. "Do you know how many times I have stood here, shooting basketballs?" He asked rhetorically, waiting a moment to answer his own question. He stepped off, taking half a dozen steps to retrieve the ball which had rolled towards him after his last shot. "Nine thousand, four hundred, and fifty two." He dribbled the ball twice as he walked back, before stopping it between his hands. He handed it to Starbuck, who wasn't quite sure what to do. "And do you know how many times I have had 'nothing but net'?"
She held the ball, letting it twirl slightly between her palms. The friction warmed her palms in the cool air of the hanger bay. "Let me guess…" she began playfully, "Nine thousand something something?" John nodded. "Ah… I see," she laughed. John cocked his head, looking at her. "Sometimes you all get so broody. It's funny," she smiled. "Brooding machines. You have to laugh at it," she chuckled.
Stepping up she bounced the ball half a dozen times. Looking back towards him then back to the hoop she threw. Nothing but net.
"It's not too difficult," she said as she backtracked, giving him a backhand jab to the chest. He let a small smile and laugh escape from his metal chest. "See, no one can resist my charms."
"So The Starbuck claims," he playfully snapped back, the comment loaded with sarcasm.
"How is Jo doing?" She asked, changing the subject to be slightly more serious as the two stood there. The quiet hum of the ship engines and the distant mechanical buzz of loading equipment was all the noise which filled the temporary silence which enveloped the two after that question.
"She's fine. But…" he looked for the basketball, which had miraculously escaped his predatory gaze. "That's something to talk about later."
Starbuck gave him a slight lip smile of understanding and held out her hands for him to throw her the basketball after he retrieved it from its hiding place, lodged under a bleacher.
"This is a fun Earth game. It beats the frak out of baseball," she shook her head as she threw the ball back with a hard overhead pass. "But rigby-"
"Rugby," he corrected, a smirk creeping up as he threw it back. He remembered the fifteen other times she had called the game 'rigby' instead of 'rugby.'
"Whatever," she dismissed, shooting her head back, contorting her face and closing her eyes, "that was a fun game. Beats basketball."
"You want to play rugby?" He asked, only semi-seriously as he caught the ball again. He dribbled around her until her back was to the backboard. He took a step forward then back, taunting her with the ball. She closed one eye and gritted her teeth. Her arm shot out at in a blur, still too slow.
"Yeah… rigby with a 220 kilo metal dude… sure," she laughed. "Hey, this isn't really fair," she yelled, as she failed to steal the ball for a second time. She stopped trying to get the ball, crossed her arms and frowned, turning her head and attention away.
Planck stiffened, still dribbling, but now distracted and concerned she would leave. He considered if he should have let her have the ball… now her arm was close enough and with lightning speed smacked it away from his hand while it was still rebounding from the bounce on the cold hanger bay deck. "Ha!" she yelled. "Fooled ya," she shook her head, "I told you no one can mess with me and win."
Nodding his head slowly in defeat, he admitted to his mistake. "Yes. No one can 'mess with' The Starbuck and win," was the dry, flat confession. He heard Starbuck laughing quietly to herself as she ran to get the ball before it rolled down the length of the hanger.
Still laughing quietly to herself she tried to shoot another basket, this time missing completely. She clapped her right fingers together to her thumb, motioning for John not to say a word about her missed shot.
She looked down at her watch, it was close to 0400. John stood there with the retrieved ball in his hand, waiting for her to throw up her arms for a new pass.
"Frak… hey, John, I have the first flight today. So, you can sit here and be angsty and brood over whatever happened or we can go to the gym," she held up her hand, "yeah, I know you don't need it, but I need a spotter. And Lee's going to be asleep for another hour."
He gave her a mocking half-bow and motioned with his arms to lead the way. "Sometimes it's nice to have help."
As the two walked out, he turned and threw the ball. Nothing but net. Again.
==========CS-109 Helios==========
Major Gregory Avion walked into the C-I-C, bouncing in after completing his ritualistic morning run on the treadmill and weight lifting session. He was looking forward to after duty hours because the Earth machines had handed him an entire data disk filled with thousands of movies from Earth. Avion was especially looking forward to one title Star Trek by JJ Abrams.
The machines had told him that the movie had come out in mid 2009, two years prior to Judgment Day. It came out during the 'reboot' phase of the Hollywood film industry. As he remembered them prattle on like walking and talking encyclopedias he had tuned them out, not really caring about the history of an entire industry, nodding and say 'yeah' a lot at random intervals. A bad streak of annoying girlfriends had taught him the valuable skill of not-listening-listening.
As he entered C-I-C this thought surfaced and he had to laugh at himself. The Marine guard at the door looked at him with a confused face as he entered the control hub of the cruiser.
Immediately he saw Carter Bishop staring down at one of the computer screens from the elevated consoles which circled around the rear of C-I-C, much like on Galactica, though only a third the size. His XO, Captain Diana Vansen walked up to him and nodded her greeting.
"Good morning, Diana," he said quietly to her as he walked up. He was facing her but his eyes were focused on Carter. "Is he…" He squinted. The dim lights of C-I-C made it difficult to see. The lights were displayed to allow maximum acuity with the DRADIS, computer, and other displays, and Avion's vision in his left eye had been suffering after a boxing match months ago.
"He has a wire coming out of his head," she sighed. "The techs have said he's been there all night going over our computer security, updating codes and counter-intrusion software. It's just hard… we barely know him. Cain trusts him, but do you?" She dismissively waved back with her hand. "Whatever it's doing, I can't keep up," she admitted.
Avion saw her run a hand through her long black hair, which she did often when frustrated.
Major Avions eyebrows raised slightly, a crooked smile appearing on his right lip. "You can't keep up? I don't believe that. You're one of the best computer techs."
She shook her head, turning it slightly to look back. Still looking up at Carter, not sure if he was paying attention or not, she said, "I can't stick a cord in my brain."
Gregory Avion huffed and gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Get some chow. I've got it for a little bit. And I've got the some Star Trek movies, those Earth ones, if you want to watch it tonight? Vincent and Ally will be there." As he walked off he turned to her, "They've got some yellow brown meat thing for breakfast. It taste great," he told her while shaking his head and mouthing 'nooooo' to her.
She rolled her eyes and departed. The hiss and clunking of metal on metal signified the closing C-I-C hatch as she made her way to the officer's mess.
He walked up towards Carter, hands clasped behind his back. He greeted the tactical officer, communication specialists, and the half dozen other techs behind their computer consoles before arriving at Carter's position.
"The techs are correct," Carter said, keeping his eyes on the screen. "And yes, you can trust me."
"What?"
Carter changed his voice, sounding like Captain Vansen. "It's just hard… we barely know him. Cain trusts him, do you?" Then he changed his voice back. "While I was not asked directly, yes, you can trust me, Major."
For a moment he was a little taken aback by that display. Major Agathon had briefed him the other day on what they knew of the 'Terminators' as they were called on Earth, once they had revealed their capabilities in preparation for the attack on New Caprica. He didn't think they could mimic a voice so perfectly.
He shrugged. He was used to it. After Administrator Iblis it was very difficult for Avion to get annoyed with machines. Avion snorted slightly, Carter ignored him, but Avion thought of the many times he and Iblis had gotten into arguments over the littlest of things. The CO of Helios knew Iblis was a good man… or machines, but he had been a pain, a fun pain, to work with.
Avion did lean down, bringing his hands to rest on the console as he locked his elbows. "That might bother some of the crew, Carter. I'd refrain from doing that in public." Carter didn't respond. Avion decided to change the subject. "Is everything in order?"
"Yes, everything is 'in order', Major." He pulled the cord from his head and a slight vacuum sound emanated from the back of his skull as the seal closed. He patted the small area of scalp he was forced to cut back down. Noticing Avion looking down at him, he said, "It will heal by this afternoon."
"I'm sure it will."
"Yes," Carter said, the unnecessary affirmation slightly awkward.
Avion straightened up, pulling his uniform tunic and straightening the creases which had temporarily formed. "So… now what?" He asked, as the Earth machine sat there. His head swiveled fast enough to almost surprise him.
"Now I will return to Galactica. Since humans require sleep I was not able to continue my assignment with Dr. Leens." He collected the tablet computers, data disks, and other equipment and methodically placed them in his backpack, taking great care to make sure every piece was in its proper place.
Major Avion nodded , keeping his eyes unfocused and looking down towards the deck. He wasn't exactly sure how to respond to that particular observation.
"You should also be aware of something very important," Carter said, leaning in. "Neither of JJ Abrams two re-imagined Star Trek films compare to The Wrath of Kahn. They're shit." He gave Major Avion a soft pat on the shoulder while simultaneously scooping up his backpack with his free hand.
The Caprican commander just starred towards the machine as it left C-I-C and a series of short, barely inaudible chuckles escape between his sealed lips. Two and a half years he had been working with machines, and the awkwardly funny and random comments they made is why he enjoyed it so much.