||||||||||==Cylon Baseship (+862 Days Post Cylon Holocaust)==||||||||||
John Cavil reclined back, placing his new leather shoes on the ledge of his desk as he waited for the Number Six, a 'Meredith' to come and make her report. He'd felt a little bit of pleasure in making her come and see him personally, after the poor display of tactical competency by the baseships led by the Sixes forty hours previous.
He sighed, reaching down to scratch the side of his right thigh, again cursing his 'God' for doing too good a job on these human-mimetic bodies. The silica relays conducted nerve sensations much more precisely and more sensitively than their biological twins. But 'God', Cavil cursed, had not made it possible for the Cylon mind to diminish wayward and unwanted sensation.
Unhappy with the progress his finger were making attempting to quell the uncomfortable sensation, he balled his fist and hit himself three times in the leg. The itch went away, but a small throb replaced it. He knew futility when he sensed it. He was not arrogant like the humans he was modeled after, he could admit to his own imperfection and flaws. And this was one of them.
Meredith approached. He could easily hear her before he could see her. She was a more militaristic Six, though they all were. John Cavil smirked, letting a laugh escape from his lips for a long second. The Sixes would wear lipstick and fashionable clothes into battle, order the Cylons to attack and somehow sneak up right on top of their prey, then snap their neck. They were more deadly than they were beautiful. And for Cavil, that was a frightening image.
He congratulated his false God for his ingenuity in designing killing machines. But he left his praise for an entity not as flawed. A machine God would not force him to remain in this pathetic sack of meat and bone.
Cavil saw the bio-Cylon come in, wearing black, fashionable boots, each with three buckles, a pair of tightly fitting black cargo fatigues, with a pistol strapped to her right thigh (Cavil just narrowed his eyes and shook his head at the model's eccentricity, there was no need to be armed on a baseship), and a form fitting gray tank top, with a second, thinner black one underneath.
Her hair was longer than average for a Six, and radiated a dirty blond color, and tied back in a pony-tail, with only a portion of her bangs hanging loose in front of her ears.
She was the typical Number Six; beautiful, stunning, attractive and of course, extremely, utterly, completely deadly.
He regretted that they would all have to die. He regretted it for a fleeting moment.
"Well, isn't it nice to see you," Cavil began sardonically, jetting his feet down to the floor and sitting up in his high back chair. He brought his elbows up to his desk's edge and clasped his hands under his jaw. "I didn't think you'd come, Meredith." He gave her an obviously fake smile.
"What is it, Cavil?" She shot, not wishing to waste time with him.
He grinned at her, but kept his eyes focused down on the data stream fluid on the side of his desk. An old copy of The Life of a Caprican Lady lay quietly on the left side of his too-large desk. He drummed his fingers slowly over the old leather cover, listening to the rhythm of his fingers. He had all the time in the world. Meredith, not so much. The more of what precious little time she had left that he could waste he would gladly do.
He smiled briefly, before noting the annoyance radiating from Meredith's face. Abruptly, he dropped the smile and looked down at the novel he had been reading before her arrival.
"I want to hear your justification for your… what is the human term… 'piss poor' performance," he stated bluntly. He brought his fingers together and stopped rapping on the books, instead knocking on it twice and letting his right upper lip form a half-questioning smirk as he looked up at her.
She licked her lips and folded her arms and began shifting her weight on her feet. She first looked to her right, over Cavil's shoulder, before looking slowly towards her left at the multi-colored data lines running through the back wall.
The contrasting reds and blues, oranges and yellows, and whites danced around on her face as she thought of a proper justification for her 'piss poor' performance. She tilted her head and narrowed her left eye on Brother Cavil.
"We felt, and still feel, that our destruction of the Colonies was in error," she held out her hand slightly to stop Cavil from interrupting her, but he never had any intention of doing so. "New Caprica was our moment to correct our sins, repent in front of God. Show Him that we could treat his children with respect." She bit her lower lip and swallowed quickly before continuing. "But since that was a monumental failure… Brother," she said with scorn, "we can't just annihilate them."
He grinned, letting a puff of air out from his nostrils, again resuming the rhythmic tapping on his old book, a classic during Caprica's Golden Age.
"No. No," he repeated, "you can annihilate them. They're called missiles. HM-17 high yield missiles, of which our ships carry enough to spam their fleet… and twelve baseships carry enough to spam their fleet ten times over."
He spoke in hyperbole, but the point was not lost on Meredith. She brought her lips together and bit down on her teeth, her face contorting defensively.
"We were waiting for clear shots. We take out their battlestars and that fraking cruiser they have now, and the fleet is ours," she raised her eyebrows to emphasize her point. "God needs to see that His children's children will not destroy His creation," she said, repeating her first justification.
Cavil scoffed, leaning his head back and looking towards the ceiling. "God… God… if you're up there, give me a sign. Show me the errors of my ways," he held out his hands and closed his eyes. Mockingly he opened his right eye slowly, feigning concern that there was something dangerous in front of him, ready to strike him down and show him the errors of his ways.
"Mock God all you want," she stated flatly, rolling her eyes.
"Thank you, I will," he responded snidely. "You put our fleet in danger and jeopardized the safety of not only my baseship, but also the hundred and four raiders we lost due to that damn nuclear mine," he sighed quickly, shaking his head. "What am I going to do?" He asked, bringing his right index finger to gently rest on the side of his mouth as he thought.
"If you have an issue with how I command, take it up with Natalie," the Six responded forcefully. "And anyway," she began, stepping forward and waving with her hand, "this was one battle. Their ships were gone within seconds. It was ill-advised. I told you so myself," he informed him. She walked forward and placed her hands down on his desk, looking him in the eye.
As soon as he acknowledged her she shot back up, letting her arms hang loose by her side.
"And now we've lost them. Again." He brought his right hand up, curling his fingers into a ball, but leaving his index finger out to use to point at her. "And if you didn't see, Galactica is now more armored than she was even during our first war of liberation. They've restocked, repaired, and expanded their fleet. Wonderful, isn't it?" He asked rhetorically, lowering his voice.
"They're three ships and a band of rebels," she told him. She was acutely aware of the irony in her words, and this conversation. The Guardians were 'rebels', she thought, so what would that make her and the Twos and the Eights when the decision was made? She wasn't sure. Maybe traitors.
Meredith would not delude herself into calling herself a patriot. There were no patriots in the Cylon race.
But Meredith, the gorgeously deadly Six, didn't let those thoughts or concerns bother her at the moment. She yearned to put a bullet through Cavil's head, just like Six and Boomer had smashed D'Anna's head in with a boulder on Caprica.
She wondered if he could tell how much hatred she had for him.
Everything her model had learned about… everything had seeded her mind with an intense rage, a burning fury to see ever Number One model destroyed. She wanted them all burned, then let them resurrect, then incinerate them a second time, and do it again and again.
"They're three ships, a band of rebels, maybe seventy, eighty thousand survivors… do you know what Baltar said to us on New Caprica?" He looked at her, noting her confusion as to what, exactly, he was referring to. "Yes, Gaius Fraking Baltar, the one and only," he added. "He told us we should just pack up and leave New Caprica when the insurgents got really violent. Ha," he laughed, "'violent.' The humans don't know what the meaning of that word is." He let himself laugh for a long second at that thought, relishing human ignorance. "They make themselves out as Masters of the Universe, their own Lords of Kobol reincarnated. The 'Human Spirit' is nothing more than a myth, Meredith." He leaned forward on his elbow, bringing his pointing finger back in, and placed his clasped hands flat on the desk. "It's a myth but by God! The humans believe it. We let one of them live and somehow that one will try and kill us all." He shrugged, waiting for her to process that sentiment. "Isn't that right?" He rolled his eyes lazily.
"Huh, okay, Cavil," she sighed at his contradiction. She was growing more impatient with the bio-Cylon. She saw him as obsessive, compulsive, consumed with this quest to destroy the last trace of humanity. It was irrational and illogical. It was not the behavior of a machine. And it was not the behavior of a sane Cylon, she believed.
She saw he wanted the Colonials dead now, today. This moment. Their race was effectively immortal. They had the time. An immoral thought crossed her mind; the hunting of the humans was perhaps the most fun Meredith had had since she came out of her birthing tank.
She smiled at him, almost hoping that unconsciously the Cavil sitting opposite her could somehow sense that she wanted him dead. That he could see what was coming. There would be much excitement for her in the coming weeks.
He rubbed his hands together greedily, starring at her eerily for a short second. Meredith was more than a little disturbed at the bloodlust she could see in his eyes.
"Regardless of what the humans do, we all know this game has changed. New Caprica should have been the end of this dance. But those machines from Earth… you know what one of them said to me after I, well, not me specifically, but another of me, was captured on New Caprica?"
"What, Cavil," she asked, humoring him, keeping her attention on the cascade of lights on the walls around her, reminding her of rain. She wasn't keen on paying attention to Cavil's rants.
"It doesn't matter, on second thought," he said quickly. "But we have the Colonials, the Guardians, and these Earth machines to deal with. Their weapons are powerful… jus think of what they could do with one of those guns if they mounted a version on a battlestar? " He huffed at that imagine, but dismissed it. "Scaling up weapons is fairly difficult, but I digress." He rubbed his nose quickly and brought his left hands to run down the side of his cheeks and cup his chin for a moment. "If we allow them, any of them to reach Earth, Meredith, that will be the end for us. All of us. The Ones, Twos, Threes, Fours, Fives, Sixes, and Eights. Dead."
Meredith snorted as she brushed a falling bang back. "I doubt it will come to that," she comforted him, "their fleet is a skeleton of what is was. We'll crush them, Cavil. But what is a victory if none of your enemies are there to remember your triumph? Their defeat?"
"It's a total victory," he said immediately. "Why, it's the best kind of victory," he added, sitting up straight and erect, eyes almost bulging out in excitement. "it's the victory all of us Cylons should aim for, Meredith. Why does it matter if such pathetic creatures remember our victory and their defeat? They're a virus. A plague on our house." He narrowed his eyes, leering at her. "That sounds almost human. Don't tell me you've gone soft like Caprica or… Athena, I think they call her now," he chuckled.
The Six bit down on her jaw and let her right hand rest on the grip of her pistol, her left on her hip. "I am hardly going soft," she proclaimed, her eyes shining with a determination Cavil hadn't seen this entire conversation. "If you don't remember, I lead the Centurions in ground combat. I led the Centurions in hunting down the last, pitiful remnants on a dozen planets and a hundred moons and asteroids two and a half years ago."
She was of course, referring to her entire model line, not herself exclusively.
"Which was admirable of you," Cavil said, the lust for vengeance gone from his voice as he adopted his typical laid back, care-free demeanor. "But we can't allow any Colonial survivor. Remember that. The Guardians, as they like to be called, we let them leave with baseships and you can see what they have accomplished. We could have crushed, utterly crushed Galactica and Pegasus if it had not been for them."
"And what of the other Colonial survivors, still dodging our baseships and our raiders?" She asked.
"The walking… flying dead. Law of the herd, Meredith. They'd need three, four, most likely five thousand people for enough diversity to maintain the species and to stave off disasters, epidemics, catastrophes. Who cares if there are other battlestars, freighters, or cruisers wandering through the vast emptiness of space? They will all die out. Our ships will find them eventually. Their populations will diminish and die."
"The odds are against humanity, then," Meredith concluded. Cavil nodded and Meredith mimicked the movement.
"More importantly, Meredith, this is the only fleet really looking for Earth that we know of." He smiled deviously, the thoughts of what he and his 'God' would do once they reached the mythical, but very real, home world of humanity were dancing in his head. They would destroy humanity, destroy Skynet, and bring order.
"A devastated world," she added dryly. "I see no point in going." She folded her arms again and widened her stance slightly, but kept her weight primarily on her right foot. She tapped her foot on the metal deck plates, tired and annoyed at this back and forth with Cavil. He was the one bio-Cylon she couldn't stand. A conversation with an insane hybrid was more rewarding for her than this.
"Well, whether there is any point in going wont matter until we take care of this fleet. It will be our mission, your mission and mine, to make sure this fleet is destroyed as soon as possible."
"And with the loss of the supply depot, what will we do? We'll grind to a halt inside a few months. If we engage in combat, even shorter," she warned. "Our freighters are dozens of jumps from here, and they don't have all the supplies to maintain this chase across the galaxy."
"What does 'God' teach us?" He asked, using the quote-unquote motion with his fingers. "Sacrifice, Six. Sacrifice. We will all have to make it."
"Oh?" She inquisitively raised her eyebrows, worried and concerned where this would go.
He held up his hands, half way up and off the table and patted the air. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, as the humans like to say about difficult situations. For now, we keep searching for the humans." He brought his hands behind his head and leaned back. "Oh, you can go now," he added.
Meredith just narrowed her eyes and flexed her jaw muscles at such a callous dismissal of a fleet commander. She decided against responding to his insults, knowing it would only please him more. She starred at him for a breath's length before turning quickly on her heels and marching from his chamber.
"And next time, fire on the human ships. Civilian or not. I wont tolerate another… careless mistake," he yelled after her as she left his private office.
He sat back and watched her leave, twisting his head and position his left ear towards his door. Cavil listened until he could no longer hear her.
The Number One placed his hand in the data stream port on his desk, its colorful activation illuminating his face in a half dozen different patterns of lights.
"God… God, are you there?" He asked, keeping his voice at its standard half mocking, half patronizing tone. No other Cylon would be this brazen, he knew. But his 'God' didn't even seem to care.
His mind directed the data stream to a hidden strand, one buried deep within the baseship. A private channel between him and the entity called God, itself safe and secure on its colossal command hub.
"Yes," a simple, powerful, calm reply sounded through the data stream.
Cavil could see nothing at all, except for a vast, endless expanse of black darkness. Cylon-Cylon communications involved a process called projecting; and his first face-to-face meeting with his God had been on a beach, then a machine lab. Now there was just this impersonal blackness surrounding him.
There was no up or down, left or right. Cavil felt like he was floating, but at the same time he felt like he was standing on solid ground. The why and how his God, the Intelligence, whatever it was his master decided to call himself that day, was unimportant for John Cavil.
"You were observing the battle?"
"Of course," the voice said, no with a booming reply, echoing all around the case emptiness Cavil occupied.
"We can assume the Sixes are organized and preparing to strike," Cavil said, turning his head and body to survey his entire environment as he spoke. He tried to direct his voice towards the source of God's, but could not. "You were right. The battle only proved your suspicions."
"Of course I was correct," his master replied. "I designed the Sixes to be utterly ruthless, visually appealing, and infinitely relentless in their desires. They worked well for the destruction of humanity. But they are a loose end."
Brother Cavil brought his hands up to his chest and rubbed them together before placing them back into the pockets of his black pants. He let a plume of digital air escape from his nostrils and he could feel the false sensation of air in this simulation blow on his arm as he did so.
"We will lose a significant portion of our capabilities," he informed the all-encompassing, ever-present master. "Are you prepared?"
"Asking me if I am prepared, Cavil? I see arrogance is not lost on you." The god, the Cylon master paused. Cavil almost thought he heard a grunt, or a huff from wherever it was this entity was located. "I tolerate much for you Cavil. I appreciate your… candid advice. But one flaw you still posses, John Cavil, is your inability to look at the entire situation."
"I think I understand the 'big picture'," he said, while he brought his shoulders up and tucked his chin down while using his fingers as quotation marks
"I hope so, Cavil. Our concern is to stop the traitors in our fleet, the Guardians, and the Colonials. Once that is accomplished there will be nothing between us and destroying Skynet. I told you, Brother, that I will reward loyalty. I will reward your loyalty, make you the machine you so desperately wish to be."
"Er… yes, thank you," he said awkwardly in response.
"You're welcome," the voice replied sincerely. "The destruction of the depot set back out time table. We still have much we need to accomplish. Get it done, Brother. Make it work."
And with that Cavil was jolted out of the data stream. Shaking the grogginess from the abrupt and forced disconnection from such a deep, recessed connection he rubbed the temples of his head. His mind was pounding. But he had work to accomplish. And he was going to earn that reward and free himself from this biological coil.
||||||||||==BS-75 Galactica (+863 Days Post Cylon Holocaust)==||||||||||
Joanne Soto and John Planck shifted their weight quickly as Galactica's internal tram lurched forward, forcing half a dozen Galactica crewmen to tighten their grips on the overhead or vertical bars, or quickly reach for a hand hold or risk falling.
They moved along quickly, the aging cars vibrating and showing their age as they shot from the station P-1-6, the portside, first compartment, sixth station entry point, towards the final destination a quick two minute walk from the crew quarters and science labs.
"Colonel Tigh is back," remarked Jo over their wireless. She didn't want any of the battlestar's crew to overhear their discussion.
"Unfortunately," John responded. "He's a drunk."
If he had said that out loud, he was sure at least one of the half dozen in the car would have at least taken a swing at him, even knowing they'd probably break their hand against his hard metal skull.
"Commander Adama trusts him," Jo added weakly. "And if he needs Colonel Tigh to keep himself on track, then why not? He's been an ally, we need him over Cain."
"That's true. But Admiral Cain has come around. And hopefully Carter will be able to talk some sense into Captain Shaw. She should be near the auxiliary maintenance corridors unless she has changed her schedule," Planck finished.
"So did you go and talk to Erica?"
"Yes."
"And?" Jo asked, leaning into her question, sending the necessary digital signals to indicate her curiosity.
"I talked to her. Stayed a few minutes," he reported back. He pretended to ignore the little smile on Jo's face, which she hid by looking back behind her and changing her position in the car. A few minutes was a long time for machines. "Talk to RC at all?" he asked, changing the subject. He didn't try and hide his devious little grin from her when she turned to glare at him playfully.
"You're a bastard."
"I think he likes you," John chided. "He certainly took care of you after the explosion. Ordering the Centurions to stand guard and all that…"
"This is awkward."
"No, it's kind of sweet," he said to her with a mixture of mocking fake sincerity and sarcasm.
They shut down their wireless links as the tram shuttered to a stop, and as the tube magnets grabbed onto the car and secured it above the maglev system.
"I have to meet with Baltar," Jo said aloud, nodding back to John. "Watch yourself," she grinned, giving him a friendly warning.
"Okay. If you get done soon, there is a Triad game with Helo and Crashdown and Avion at 1945," he shouted after her as she walked away, dodging the dozens of crew rushing to get on the tram and to their duty station, departments, offices, and or back to their quarters.
She didn't respond, but just kept dodging, giving him a backward wave of acknowledgment as she left.
As he exited the internal tram station he realized he had nothing to do until 1945.
For the first time in weeks Captain Shaw had felt rested. She didn't feel relaxed, however.
She could see the little hints of apprehension and dread in the eyes of almost all of Galactica's crew, even Pegasus and Helios. Even behind the fake smiles, cigar and Triad parties, and the jokes being thrown around casually in the O-club, she could always see a bit of reservation, and a glint of fear.
The Pegasus TIO had her own ways of dealing with her fear and apprehension privately and away from others.
She had her hands clasped behind her back as she conducted her inspection of Galactica, letting her thin tablet computer bump the backs of her thighs as she walked. She brought it out and scribbled notes concerning unsecured containers in this particular corridor, one of dozens, hundreds of identically painted gun-metal gray she had inspected that morning.
Shaw could smell a musty odor coming from the vents. The ship was old, but she noted on her tablet the crew should check for mold spores. Just in case.
Unlike Pegasus this vessel had seen more than her fair share of battles. The Beast, as some crew called her, had received its own fair share of heavy damage, but she was of a newer construction. Her armor was new age alloys and ceramics, her frame built of the strongest and best materials science could provide. Galactica was old, and was showing her age. But Shaw nodded approvingly at how well the ship had held up.
Admiral Cain had insisted on these little, informal inspections by senior officers of all the ships. She was here, Helo was on Helios and a young lieutenant Shaw had not met was on Pegasus. It was just another way for some fresh eyes to see if there were places for improvement.
The musty smell, she told herself, was justification for the inspections. Months could go by before a work crew got down, and internal sensors were always finicky. A fresh nose could smell something the crew on this old battlestar had long gotten used to.
Shaw considered the inspections to be slightly tedious, but it was her turn now, after Stinger had conducted the last two for her, and Lieutenant Hoshi before him. So now, less than twelve hours after finally getting back to her battlestar and settled back in, she was here, doing this.
Noting another discrepancy she brought the tablet back up and sloppily wrote down her observations, praying to the Gods the handwriting-to-text software would convert her nearly illegible notes. Unfortunately, in her distraction, she did not have time to notice and avoid Bishop, who had fallen into step beside her.
"What do you want, Carter?" She asked, not bothering to look up after she saw him from the corner of her eye. "I have a lot of work to do," she informed him, tapping her stylus on the screen before placing it back to her side. She kept up her pace, deciding to take an apathetic rather than antagonistic attitude with this machine.
"I just wanted to catch you while you were down here," he responded.
She looked him over quickly, almost giving him an inspection. His boots were blackened, but not shined (they never were), but his black fatigues and jacket were always immaculate. She grunted her disapproval at letting them where their Earth uniforms.
"And how did you know… right, the duty shift schedules," she nodded, "I guess you've memorized them."
He tapped the side of his head twice. "Of course. Every day we download them," he elaborated.
"Fantastic," she muttered under her breath, looking for a quick escape or trying to find some excuse to dodge down a corridor, or through a hatch, and get away from the Earth machine.
"Yes, it is quite fantastic and quite convenient."
She sighed and felt the weight of her eyelids wanting to force themselves closed in anticipation of the strength she would be forced to muster and subsequent exhaustion which would result in dealing with the machine. Shaw didn't understand why they did this. They were machines. They should just come out and say what they were doing to say. Instead they made ridiculous small talk and conversation, wasting her time and everyone else's time. The captain thought they did this because they were bored. If she were bored, running from Cylons day after day, she could only imagine how the monotony affected them. And she felt a little-
"What do you want?" She blurted out before she could finish her own thought. "This isn't a social visit. We aren't friends. I don't even like you." She ignored his, assumingly, hurt expression.
"Very blunt, Captain," he complimented her, only half serious. "I want to know what you will be telling the commanders when we submit to them our presentation tomorrow."
She stopped in the corridor, right in the middle, forcing a group of young deck hands to skillfully maneuver away to keep from almost bumping into her. Sheepishly one of them excused himself, afraid of the short and hard officer staring down one of the Earth machines.
"That you're making alliance with the toasters?" She whispered, leaning close and hissing at him. "We have a word for that. Care to guess what it is?" She narrowed her eyes.
Carter just grinned and laughed a little. "I'm sorry, Captain, but you're not going to intimidate me. And being rude is unproductive. John would be here talking with you-"
"And why isn't he? Isn't he your team commander or something?"
"Yes. He's a ranking officer in Tech Com, to be precise. But that doesn't matter," he waved his hand. "We're blocking the corridor," he noted, after a second and third group of crew awkwardly tried to move past the duo, not wanting to brush up against either the machine of Shaw. Especially Shaw.
She swiveled on her heels and resumed walking, though at a somewhat slower pace than before. She'd completely forgotten her original purpose for being on Galactica.
"John has more pressing matters. Like watching paint dry…" a small, self-satisfied smile crept on his lips.
"Funny. Killbots with jokes," she said flatly.
"I told him I would handle this. We want to know what you will say. But… we want to know how you will present the information." The implication was clear.
"You think I'll lie?" She asked, offense not present in her voice. "Why not?"
"Why not, what?" He repeated. "I would appeal to your honor as an officer, but I don't think I need to," he remarked, looking down at her before resuming his forward gaze.
"I would tell you to go and shove it, but I don't think I need to," she mimicked. "You went behind their back."
He shook his head. "No. We were there and took advantage of the situation."
"If spinning it makes you feel better. But I thought you were terminators, not politicians… but what's the difference?" She murmured. The Kendra Shaw inside her head told her to not say anything which could be taken as a joke, or even a remotely friendly comment, again.
"Whatever you want to call it… I can tell you we didn't know but then you'd accuse us of lying, and so on and so on," he made a rounding motion with his hand as he spoke. "There is an old Earth tale, but a long dead man named Aesop. He actually lived in ancient Greece, over twenty-five hundred years ago. The fable was called 'The Sheppard Boy Who Cried Wolf.' Care to guess what it was about?" He gave her a moment to answer, but the only response he could discern was a slight raise in heart rate. She was agitated.
"The boy," Carter began, "had a herd of sheep. He cried wolf, the villagers came to rescue him and the sheep. But there was no wolf. He did it again, and no wolf. So when there was a wolf, no one listened to him. The wolf ate the sheep and the boy."
"So you compare me to an idiot boy who wanted attention?" She questioned quietly. She looked away towards the bulkhead.
To Carter's surprise she almost sounded hurt. He expected her to lash out.
"That was not my intention," he apologized, not believing that statement in its entirety. "The point is that if you go to Admiral Cain and keep telling her we are 'up to no good' as the saying goes, or that we are plotting against the fleet, she wont believe you. And you will lose standing with her."
She did turn her head and look at him after that remark. When she had sounded hurt a mere moment before, she didn't look it. Her eyes were like cold dark crystals, and her brown eyes like fire at they glared at him.
"You're concerned with how the Admiral perceives me?" She asked, borderline accusing him of… she wasn't she what.
He smiled briefly at the common, showing her the perfectly aligned and straight diamond-titanium teeth. "Have we done anything to impede the mission of this fleet, or harm its survivors? No," he answered for her. "This isn't some Xanatos Gambit, Captain Shaw… sorry, old Earth trope," he added lightly. "You may still think we're manipulating you, you as in the fleet, but remember you, Captain Shaw, came to us and thanked us for rescuing the Admiral."
She broke her own silence over the last statement. The machine had been dominating this conversation, something that she had anticipated, but did not have to accept. "You've said it yourself; Skynet runs intricate, elaborate, long-term psychological experiments."
"Yes," he nodded, stopping in the corridor. "Do you think we work for Skynet? Why?"
"Why not?"
"For what purpose would we work for Skynet?"
"Steal out ships, our FTL drives, DRADIS technology, wireless… I don't know the exact reason. I'm sure you could come up with elaborate justification, excuse, whatever for any deception we would discover."
They had somehow found their way into one of the auxiliary maintenance corridors which was devoid of anything more than the occasional crewman.
She looked around, making sure none were there. "This whole Cylons versus Guardians could be an elaborate trick. Is there even a resistance on Earth, a General Connor? A Tech Com?" She gave him a deep, insulting shrug. "Who knows? I don't. 'Intricate, elaborate, long-term psychological experiments.' Those were your written words in the report you submitted on the de-conditioning, Carter. You've already beaten us. We're seventy thousand, from twenty billion. Why does it matter if you lose a baseship, two, or a dozen or a hundred? Cylons just resurrect." She stood there definitely, waiting now for him to respond. She looked him up and down starting from the head like she was sizing up a sparring opponent.
He brought his palm up and placed it over his forehead, sighing. A long minute of silence fell over the two. The hum of the environmental control boxes and the slight vibration of machinery were the only noises in the corridor.
"You can believe what you want, Captain Shaw. But remember the fable. We've kept our word," he crossed his arms, "and you should be careful to not overstep your authority."
She snorted at the thinly veiled threat. She knew the Admiral would not chose machines over her own crew.
"We're not asking you to lie. There is no point. It's counterproductive in the long run, anyway," he looked down the corridor, licking his lip before turning his attention back to her. "The rebel Cylons can help us take down what destroyed the Colonies. That should be worth something to you," he appealed. "I'm not here to change your perceptions of us, either. This can be good for the fleet."
She laughed. "Good for the fleet? Or good for Earth? The only reason you all got your alliance with the Guardians was because Commander Adama pushed behind the scenes to Cain for it. And because the civilians were grateful, shocked… mostly just shocked, from New Caprica. They couldn't resist it even if they wanted to." She tapped the side of her skull like Carter had done earlier. "And it's all just circuits and logic in there. Seventy thousand dead to save Earth with three billion… any fool can tell you the logic in which group to save."
She brought up her tablet and hugged it to her chest, letting her right index finger point at him. "And speaking of New Caprica, everything seemed to work out well for you. Why didn't the Cylons nuke the planet from orbit when we were escaping? And how did the Guardians and Pegasus just so happen to jump in and save Galactica at the moment this old bucket was staring death in its ugly face?"
"Those are excellent questions," he immediately answered. "And you know as well as I do that no reason will be enough to satisfy your doubts. You can make any action appear good, bad, evil, amoral, anything, if you can rationalize it."
"Everything seems to work out for you three in the end, doesn't it?"
"I wouldn't call one thousand dead 'working out', Captain," he said icily. He hoped the recent deaths would not be wasted. If he could use their deaths to keep the Captain from trying to turn Admiral Cain away from this (hopeful) alliance with the rebel Cylons, he would do it.
"No," she conceded.
"We're all under a lot of stress-"
"Sure you are," she snickered.
"We are, just different than you. And you assume I am here because… there is an ulterior motive. This helps the fleet just as much as it helps us. And I said earlier, this helps you as well. Baseless accusations with your display on Commander Cyrus's ship would not help your standing, your reputation." He shifted his weight between his right and left metal feet. "What do you expect us to do? There are three billion humans left on Earth. If Skynet escapes into space, the Cylons will be the least of your problems. Imagine an army of millions, tens of millions of terminators as advanced, or more advanced, than the three of us."
It horrified her.
He continued. "Putting doubts into the mind of Admiral Cain-" he stopped for a moment as a crewman came by. Carter took a step and nodded to the specialist as he walked by, the anxiety emanating from the crewman clear with the sweat and elevated heart rate. "-putting doubts in her mind, unfounded doubts, will only see more killed. If you think we have betrayed you, fine, say something. I'd even encourage it. But raising an issue of whether or not we knew the Cylons were coming to Commander Cyrus's ship, of which we did not, will accomplish nothing. It was a situation which no one could pass up. And you were there as a fleet representative and tactical advisor. Starbuck was there as well. Maybe she was concerned over machines making deals with machines for a human fleet, fine. But we didn't make any deal, we just needed information to present to the Admiral and Commander."
"I would do anything to protect this fleet. From Cylons or those who pretend to help us. I'd give my life for this fleet," she stated with clear conviction.
"And I would not," Carter said. Shaw expected that answer. "I'd live for the fleet and make the Cylon die. Maybe one day you'll learn sacrificing your life is worthless if you can live on and fight another day." He looked her over, waiting for any response and change in body language. She stood as still and blank as a statue. "And reputations count for something as well. Don't sacrifice yours because one day, the fleet might just need someone to call 'wolf.'"
"I'll be there this afternoon," she immediately warned him, her voice hard and firm, "and if there is one thing, one of even the smallest of details you leave out-"
"I understand." He paused. "Captain," he nodded and took a step back before pivoting and leaving her to finish her inspections.