==========BS-75 Galactica==========

Cigarette in hand, former President Doctor Gaius Baltar sat across from his former boss, then rival, then vanquished foe, and now… boss (he wasn't sure if that was the right word) once again. How things have happened before, they always seem to happen again. Baltar inaudibly snorted as he thought over the full circle which seemed to be his life.

A poor farm boy to a prestigious university position on the glorious capitol world of Caprica… to a 'playboy' scientist as his detractors and fan alike had called him, to a refugee, to-

"Baltar, pay attention," Roslin told him. After working with the man for so many months before New Caprica she knew the look which always signified his mind wandering into daydreams and fantasy.

Taking another puff on his cigarette Baltar was careful to exhale the smoke away from the president, fighting his more sinister urges to spite her and blow the smoke into her hard, cold face.

"Baltar, look at the star charts. Is this consistent with your research?" She shoved the papers forward, showing him the star clusters, planets, any other marker which could lead the way to Earth.

He gave the papers a cursory once over, barely moving his head or eyes. Not even bothering to look at Roslin he pushed the papers away. "I don't know. Ask your friends."

She sighed, and leaning back in the metal prison chair it creaked and squeaked after decades of use. She kept her expression neutral. She would not let this man upset her. Keeping her hands on the table, she told him, "You have an opportunity to make up for your crimes. You gave yourself up. Show some courage and responsibility."

"Crimes?" He laughed at her contemptuous comment. "Crimes?" He repeated. Leaning towards the table he stubbed out his cigarette on the star charts. "Crimes… yes, wanting to keep the blood of forty-five thousand people from soaking the streets of New Caprica." A series of condensed, insulting laughs came forth from his mouth. "You had no idea what they would have done," his inflection immediately turning icy and deathly serious. Any look of contempt for Roslin instantly vanished from his face.

She kept quiet for a moment, studying the man before her. The only noises between the two were the buzzing of the brig lights above them and the background hum of machinery of the battlestar. For a fleeting, volatile moment she caught what she thought might be sadness or… she shook her head. She knew Baltar was a collaborator.

On New Caprica the way he had walked into her cell, the way he carried himself, she knew he was their pet. Saving lives was only an excuse. Roslin knew Gaius Baltar only cared about saving Gaius Baltar.

Roslin flicked the top piece of paper at him, it hit his cigarette bud and fluttered down to the floor. Baltar looked down at the paper which had slowly floated towards his feet. He pushed it slowly with his foot back to Roslin.

The cool tension and animosity between the two wasn't going to end that day. To get answers, Roslin needed to… she wasn't exactly sure what she needed to do. The man who she had sized up as perhaps the most arrogant, egotistical, womanizing man she had ever met had been a challenge to her.

"You understand you will be put on trial? If you help us here it will help you," she appealed to his powerful sense of self-preservation.

"Trial? For saving forty-five thousand. Yes, thank you," he waved off her comment with his hand. He mumbled, "You pardon everyone except your political rivals…" He looked up, his eyes going dark. "Do you honestly believe what you're accusing me of or are you just doing this because I beat you in election?"

"You collaborated, Baltar. You even… have one of them…" Roslin banished that thought from her head. The Six in Sharon's former cell was beholden to Baltar. Roslin didn't understand the devotion that Cylon showed for this small, self-serving man. Slowly she pushed the anger boiling inside her back down. "How many people died under your administration?"

"Madam President… maybe you do not remember, but of the two of us in here, I was the only one to win an actual election," he narrowed his eyes, his condescending tone amplified by the smug smirk and how the dim lights of the brig cast shadows onto his face.

"How many people, Doctor?" She repeated.

"Forty five thousand. That's how many I save," he told her without breaking their eye contact. He could see her jaw muscles contracting under the skin of her face. "I legally surrendered to the Cylons, Madam President," he told her, filling his last two words with a strong mix of scorn and mocking contempt as possible. "I legally surrendered. Now… I am grateful Commander Adama came to rescue us, believe me, Laura, eternally grateful." He uncrossed his legs and turned his body so he was facing her on. "But I surrendered to the Cylons. They came to me and said they did not want bloodshed."

"So you keep saying," she said through her teeth. She sat rigid as she listened to Baltar, surprising even herself she was still in the cell. When he became, in her view, self-righteous, she had always left. She should leave him now and let him wallow in his superiority while shackled and chained.

"I don't take responsibility for what the insurgents did. For what Colonel Tigh did. How is he by the way?" He shook his head, running his fingers through his uncharacteristically short hair. "They're been pardoned, even after deliberately targeting civilians. But we both know that doesn't matter… only what I did. It doesn't matter why."

"No… no, it really doesn't, does it?" She asked slowly.

"Admiral, this is a freak show in the making," Cottle told her, breaking her concentration. "I'm going to tell you one last time that this is a bad idea," the gruff doctor told her. He injected the man strapped down to the table with a loading dose of an experimental military psychotropic drug developed for interrogation and intimidation.

Specialist Nicholas Gage shivered and shook violently as the GH-5-F7 drug began coursing through his system. Already mildly sedated by PA Ishay, the Pegasus communications specialist began to slowly calm. The experimental drug began binding its receptors, forcing biochemical changes in his body. His body began to experience tachycardic episodes and acute dyspnea with hyperhydrosis of the face and palms.

His only guardian and ally in this episode of pain and discomfort was Doctor Cottle, a caped syringe at the ready in his white coat pocket, ready to nullify the semi-toxic effects of 5-F7.

Admiral Cain was present. This was her sailor, after all. She knew his name and was acquainted with his service record. But he had never done anything exemplary or outstanding. He was just a regular person. A normal guy.

But she knew that is what the construct from the Thirteenth prayed on. He had been conditioned in the confines of the cold and dark prison the Cylons had built on New Caprica. Freed half way through the occupation, he had been an insurgent and had helped Col. Tigh during the exodus.

At one time she had been close with crew. But the Cylon holocaust had forced her to become a razor, cutting her off from personal contact and relationships. She'd made mistakes, and those relationships had cost her more than soldiers. She felt sorry for very few people. Cain made cold decisions. She always asked if humanity was capable of surviving rather than if it were worthy. The latter was not a question even needing asking.

But here she couldn't help but feel sorry for the young specialist. He wasn't important. He wasn't essential. He was expendable. And the Cylons knew that. One would think a nobody would be safe, that the Cylons would want high priority targets. They had had her, Tom Zarek, Colonel Tigh, and other higher ranking soldiers. But this was psychological warfare. Nobody was ever safe.

In this grand game of war, in which people like Gage were used and discarded unwillingly and unknowingly, Cain felt a moment of pity for him. She'd sent countless men like him to their deaths to achieve objectives and goals and win the end game. It was necessary. And it was something Admiral Cain did remarkably well. Regrettably.

He wasn't entirely conscious in the initial dosing stage as the drug built up inside his system to produce the hallucinogenic and anxiety inducing effects required for this to work.

She looked up towards Carter, standing and looking down on Gage. No worry or emotion in his face. Not even the most insignificant recognition of empathy for this individual.

"This is the only viable option," Carter said, his unsolicited opinion forced Doctor Cottle to give him a death-stare with teeth clenched and eyes narrowed. "You must break him down and rebuild his trust."

"This is psychological torture," Cottle shot back. "You all say you were not designed to be cruel. How is this not cruel?" He waited for his answer as Gage shook and sweet under him.

Cottle reached out and grabbed Carter's arm. "Do you hear me?" He asked, getting his attention as the machine's head snapped to look right at him.

"This is not perfect. It is theoretical at best. But the Resistance had to destroy the conditioning implanted by Skynet by first gaining their trust." He kept looking at the deteriorating state of the specialist as the drug began to worsen its affects on his biological body. "Either we can do this or he can remain imprisoned for the rest of his natural life. For a crime he hasn't even committed yet but will." He ruffled his arm, breaking Cottle's grip and took a step towards Gage.

"And if he remembers what we did to him today-" Cottle began asking.

"He wont remember. Which is fortunate for him," the machine reassured the doctor. "Just like he can't remember what happened to him." Carter walked in front of the specialist and placed his hands on the sides on the chair. "Admiral Cain…" He half turned his body, looking for her to give him the confirmation to continue. He and Dr. Leens had conversed on what to say, and Carter had the line of questioning and contingencies memorized.

Dr. Leens refused to be a part of this.

Cain nodded her head. Carter began his interrogation.

==========Guardian Mobile Facility (+838 Days Post Cylon Holocaust)==========
John Planck had been through much during his decades of existence. He was old for a machine. Skynet terminators had an operational life measured in months. The leadership of the free machine faction as well as Connor valued their mechanical soldiers much more than Skynet. But they were often given the hardest, most dangerous missions. It was only logical to send machines against machines.

He had been an infiltrator for decades. Currently as a TK-950 his combat chassis had been top of the line when activated in 2028. He was even scheduled to received a new chassis, the TK-975 once the 'bugs' were worked out. John had coltan-cermaic armor covering most of his endoskeleton chassis, making him incredibly resistant to plasma fire. The liquid metal, a rare technology only installed on machines performing the most dangerous of assignment had increased his survivability by nearly double.

The neural net with a theoretically limitless ability to store information had thousands of tutorials on how to fight on nearly every weapon known to man. Flying an A-10 or a Viper was an easy as walking. An infiltrator as advanced as he was could be a pilot one hour, a rifleman the next, or a surgeon the next day.

But the situation he was in now was different. He had not expected this. It was random. 'Out of the blue' was the proper Earth expression.

The abilities of the synthetic skin of an IL-S, in comparison to the synthetic skin of the Earth terminators, to mimic human processes was much like a Model-T was comparable to a Tesla Roadster.

She stepped back after having surprised him. She kept her eyes closed.

He'd come to discuss business. Their conversation had somehow turned to her disappointment in finding the Guardians. They were a pure mechanical race. She had been an AI program with a holographic body. But she had a distinct personality different than the Centurions and Guardians inhabiting the IL-S bodies around her.

They occupied their time doing what she said were 'machine things.' The Guardian AI personalities had been based on Zoe Greystone, but to say they were modeled after her would be a gross exaggeration. By this point the Guardians could say Zoe's personality was more an inspiration. But war had changed that personality. Now only core beliefs remained; a faith in an all knowing and all powerful God and the belief that human life was worthy of protecting.

The Greystone's second daughter, Melicia, had modled and molded Erica on that real personality. She had engaged Erica in conversation and let her see the outside world before the bombs and radiation destroyed her planet. Her personality evolution had been radically different from the Guardians.

Erica no longer felt like she belonged anymore. The Guardians had evolved surrounded by machines. Personality was modeled by one's surroundings. And hers and the Guardians were radical different. She no longer felt like she belonged with them.

She did not identify with them.

So she had decided to take a chance.

She had come up to John Planck, the machine from the Thirteenth Tribe, placed her arms around him and kissed him. She'd seen it so many times on Caprica in her observations of human behavior. Melicia, Erica's 'designer'… friend, only friend, had often talked about love and her husband and her children.

Erica-Z had often dismissed anything concerning those silly human ideas. It was impossible for her anyway. She was the only AI the Colonials knew about not wanting the destruction of mankind. She had only been a hologram.

Then he had rescued her and she became…

She stepped back and kept her eyes closed. If an IL-S body could cry she would have.

"Did you… feel that?" She asked him.

"Yes. Completely."

"I… didn't."

John stepped back and looked at her. He just looked at her, his eyes narrowing, feeling sorry for her.

"I'm… sorry," he said to her quietly. He took another step back and reached out his hand, palming the control for the automatic doors. Maybe he should stay and talk to her, but he wasn't sure. He thought he would only make things worse.

===========BS-75 Galactica==========
The only sounds Chief Tyrol could hear while inverted and constantly fighting the disorientation he was feeling was the soft thump-thump-thump of his magnetic boots as he walked slowly down the ventral hull of Galactica.

Just like him there were dozens of Galactica knuckle-draggers out conducting inspections and directing the hundreds of Centurions as armor plating was laid over the old battlestar's ribs.

Standing next to him, upside down or right side up, Tyrol was not entirely sure because up and down were relative in space, was RC and the other Model 007 Centurions the Tech Com machines had been able to convince defection to the Colonials.

"Why do you not just use a Raptor?" RC asked him over their wireless set. "It would be more efficient."

"Maybe," Chief Tyrol answered, wincing as the static exploded in his ear, "but sometimes you have to see things with your own eyes. Plus I have you all here to help me." As he walked slowly he forced the awkward space suit to turn and looked over at RC.

The Chief considered himself fortunate. He couldn't tell if the Centurions were bored or annoyed that they had been forced out here. They spent most of their time on Pegasus, but that ship was nowhere near as damaged as Galactica.

The Chief mentally shrugged to himself. He thought that was long as they didn't say anything he was good.

He winced as he saw the close up damage to the battlestar. Carbon scorching transformed the soothing gray armor of the battlestar into a blackened mess. The armor was still intact and structurally sound, but the sheer amount of black scorch marks were a testament to the punishment the battlestar had weathered.

He directed the Centurions to spread out and begin inspecting the seals in the armor plating the Guardians had added to the old battlestar. She'd been designed for more armor, but the early battlestars had been rushed into service during the First Cylon War.

"Why was there no armor originally?" RC asked the Chief after nearly ten minutes of silence. He was accompanying the Chief on his inspection at Tyrol's request. The Centurion did not know why the Chief had specifically assigned that task to him.

RC scanned the sealed with his sensors while waiting for the Chief's answers.

The Chief had bent down and had run his gloved hand along the strong resins which covered the outer portions of the welding. RC swiveled his head and stopped his optical scanner. Tyrol noticed the Centurion do this a few times before when the Chief opted to use his hand, even through a glove, instead of his scanner to check the seals and joints. The slight head movements were mannerisms the Centurions had been developing over the last year. Chief Tyrol had noticed when they were focusing on a person or thing with extreme intent or when perplexed by human actions they tended to make slight adjustments to their head and scanners.

"They always planned on it. But half of the Columbia class were rushed into service for the First Battle of Caprica, so the first five battlestars didn't get all their armor. After that… the war kept escalating they couldn't get the ships in for the refits," he concluded. "And once it was over and you all left, they saw she performed fine without the extra armor… money was tight for rebuilding, so they didn't finish her."

"I have not found any abnormalities, micro fractures, or problems in the resin or welding of the armor plating since we began, Chief," he told him. RC did now acknowledge the explanation offered by the Chief.

The Chief ignored him, crouching down again and inspecting the seals again. He held his portable scanner up to a joint which looked weak. "Just because you all are machines doesn't mean you don't make mistakes." He stood up, gently tapping RC on his armored forearm, which was nearly neck level with the Chief. The Centurion had been looking out at the portions of the fleet visible from the ventral hull of Galactica. "We got three hundred more meters to check so unless you want to stay out here all night, I think we should get moving. Just tell me if you scan anything abnormal."

==========BS-75 Galactica (+843 Days Post Cylon Holocaust)==========

Caprica Six sat quietly across from President Laura Roslin, keeping her eyes bound tightly on the floor, not wishing to look at the woman sitting opposite her. She kept her eyes unfocused, not even risking to inadvertently giving the other woman any indication of respect or submission.

Commander Cyrus, in his IL-S body stood patiently next to the President of the Colonies. He had placed a folder with star charts and reconnaissance photographs of various Cylon installations on the table before the Number Six.

President Roslin had expected Cyrus to make either outright threats to Caprica or imply some sort of physical punishment. He had barely spoken to Caprica. Instead he kept his questions short. And to Roslin's surprise he even answered questions Caprica had asked.

"We need to know the numbers of baseships, support ships, and locations of facilities in this region, Caprica," Cyrus informed her again. He pointed down to the star chart printouts. Dozens of stars with dozens of proto-planets would provide plenty of locations for the Cylon fleet to hide. "How much of your infrastructure is mobile?"

A raider scout had jumped into the nebula New Caprica had occupied. The Cylons were still there, and only one baseship and a handful of support ships had remained. They appeared to have been conducting salvage operations.

"Caprica," he said again to get her attention. She didn't respond. Sometimes he had envied the Cylons for their ability to 'evolve' into these biological-technological hybrid bodies. But then he would see something like this, the pouting and brooding and weakness of biological bodies and thank God the Guardians had seen their sin and ended their quest to change who they were. "Caprica Six, we know you were a senior model in command of significant resources-"

"You know that's not how our society works," she commented off-hand. She blinked her eyes hard before looking up towards Cyrus and moved her body as little as possible in doing so.

Roslin looked up at Cyrus, slightly confused as to what she had specifically meant. Sharon had given them invaluable intelligence but hers was out of date. Sharon offered more tactical and strategic analysis of events after the fact or possible reactions rather than the up-to-date intelligence Caprica could provide.

"There has not been enough time to reposition all your facilities. Tell us where they are located," Cryus request one more time.

"You're here for a reason, Caprica," Roslin began, not liking the fact she was forced to use a name when speaking to this machine. She could accept Sharon, not like her, but accept she was now an officer, and she could accept the Earth machines and even the Guardians. But the one sitting across from her had been responsible for so many deaths. "Whether you believe you love Gaius Baltar or it is an elaborate plot… some Cylon trick to let our guard down and trust you… well… you're here now," she ended. That did not come out the way she had intended.

The dismissing sigh and flick of the papers back towards the President told her she didn't care what Roslin thought. There was no need for words. Her body language conveyed more than enough signals for even a blind man to see the bio-Cylon hated the woman opposite her.

Caprica could feel them both staring at her. One filled with hate and the other… she wasn't sure. She'd never met a Guardian nor had any contact. They'd been legends and ghosts, striking Cylon outposts then fading back into the void of space.

She felt like she was in a nightmare. A year ago in her short existence she had been happy. With her Cylon brothers and sisters on a baseship she had a purpose, they all did, on their way to tying up the last loose end in the final chapter of this human-Cylon tale of war and blood.

"You know your Cylon God is nothing but a human artificial intelligence now, Caprica," Roslin said with a cold and icy voice. Caprica looked at her, nothing was sacred to Roslin. "God does not exist. We've shown you the proof that you've been a pawn… used by the Thirteenth Tribe's computer program."

Caprica felt that Roslin might want to increase her terminology. "God is not an AI, Madam President," she said, adopting a tone like she would for a child. "God is love. God is all around us. If someone or something impersonates God, that thing is still an impersonation," she ended with a mocking and condescending smile. "But I'm sure you know much more about religion than I do… exploiting it as much as you did."

Roslin ignored her. Cyrus did not appreciate the comments directed against his religion either, and his face had fallen flat as he had looked down on Roslin without her noticing.

"Caprica, you were found on Colonial One even though you could have escaped, along with Doctor Baltar. There were no other Cylons found on board or within the landing yard. So why didn't you leave?" He asked her a question she knew the answer to and which he knew the answer to as well. "There may be some who believe we are just programs, Caprica, but we know that is not true." Now it was his turn to offend Roslin.

The Number Six thought this over for a minute and slowly reached out her hand until her palm and fingers were over the papers she had flicked at Roslin a few minutes before. She slowly brought them closer and brought up her other hand to pick them up.

She picked up a red marker and began writing something on the paper. Roslin could see the upside down symbols, but it was in a language she could not read.

Cyrus tilted his head forward and slightly to the right, scanning the symbols with his artificial mechanical eyes. He began running his decryption and language recognition programs. The symbols were old runes and computer language not seen since the first Cylon War. She chose to use this archaic machine language instead of Caprican.

He took the paper up after Caprica had handed him the print outs and examined the rest of what she had written. Combined with the lines, the patrol paths of baseships she had drawn, he had to look back up at her and back down at the printouts. He nodded his head slightly to the left, and she returned the gesture.

Roslin was lost for what was happening between the two. One thought which crossed her mind was that the two were planning something. Thoughts of betrayal ran through her mind. She continued to glare at Caprica, who was still ignoring her until Cyrus abruptly called the Marine guard to open the cell door. Roslin stood up and followed him out, demanding to know what Caprica had told him. Clenching the star charts and print out in his mechanical hand he signaled to the Guardian facility for a raider to come and retrieve him.

====================
John Planck was still slightly distracted over everything which was still happening. In three weeks he and Erica had forged an alliance between man and machine, they'd rescued tens of thousands of people, discovered a second group of refugees, Jo had been almost blown up, and they'd exposed a Skynet plot involving psychological conditioning, and much, much more.

As he walked at a moderately brisk pace through the corridors of Galactica, tablet computer curled in the grip of his right hand he took noticed that more were greeting him and his companions. Greeting them back was of course customary, and he did so. He could see the crew accepting them all more and more every day. He just hoped that Jo didn't alienate anyone when she finally emerged from her blood bath.

He shook his head. More than likely such a sight would leave half the crew of the battlestars sick and puking and if not the sight, the smell. They'd had to install additional air filters a few days ago when somehow, inexplicably, the air circulators isolating The Cave had broken down.
Before he realized it he was close to his destination. He could hear some faint screams and yells. Subroutines kicked in to determine if someone was in duress or an attack was occurring. But the speed at which the neural net operated the conclusion had been reached before John had moved even one centimeter closer. The cries were determined to be 'happy.'

He stood in the doorway and saw Helo holding his daughter, Hera, outstretched at arms length. She had her own arms out, mimicking an airplane. The hatch to their quarters was open and John did not understand the strange noise she was making.

"Oh no, you have to chase mommy!" Helo yelled. "She's flying away! Get her!"

Athena tried to get away from Helo caught up with her in their small quarters and Hera latched onto her back. "Mommy!" She yelled when she grabbed her. "Got you!"

Helo then gently took her off her mother's back and gave her to Sharon. The two pilots had their back to John and had been distracted, so they had not seen him standing there.

"John!" Hera shouted, forcing Helo and Athena to turn around.

John gave Hera a soft smile and waved to her. "Hello, Hera. How are you doing today?" He asked. Hera didn't respond but buried her head slightly down in Athena's chest.

John tilted his head slightly. Children were irrational. Their personalities were contradictory and subject to illogical changes in behavior.

"Ah, come on sweetie, say hello," Athena said softly to the small child in her arms. She was bouncing her slightly, and Helo rubbed his hand in her hair, causing her to giggle with her dad's touch.

She shook her head quickly and puckered her lips together before a big smile crept across her face.
"…eyes, eyes, eyes!" She yelled. Athena put her down as she struggled to get free of her mother's embrace. Karl and Sharon laughed as Hera started to yell it over and over again. John took a step forward and began flashing his eyes different colors to Hera's clapping and yells of jubilation.

After a moment John stopped and Athena scooped her daughter back up. She took Hera over to a small table they had set up in their quarters and set her down, letting her draw her favorite picture of multi-colored dots along a horizontal axis.

"She has a lot of energy," John said, deciding to make conversation.

"Yeah, sometimes I don't know how we keep up," Athena said, wiping a small amount of sweat that had formed on her forehead from playing with Hera.

"Apollo was able to set aside the firing range if you wanted to use the isotope weapon," John informed Helo.

"Sharon and I just got the night off… sorry, but we promised Hera we'd take her to the botanical cruiser." Helo did not sound disappointed at all.

"Family is very important."

"Yes, yes it is."

A/N: There was some discussion on SB about the ages of the three Terminators. John and Jo (I know I left Carter out) are both in their thirties due to timetravel. They were both activated in 2025 and 2028 then were sent back to 2007 sometime during the early 2030s (no exact date at the moment because I may want to put it into something else). Then from 2007 to 2031 they fight on Earth and are sent to the Colonies in 2031. They were there for roughly a year and a half before the Cylons attacked and it has been slightly under two and a half years since the attack so they've been there for four years. So Jo is older than John by three years.

And the scene between Erica/John involved her kissing him only.