Chapter Eleven
Dorado shifted from his seat in the War Room, where Malus had been regaling him with a data bank worth of recovered information that he had been ordered by his former Cylon commander to wipe from his memory long ago, or so he now realized.
"You guys actually wiped out an entire civilization of peaceable Beings?" Dorado asked quietly, glancing at Baker and Coxcoxtli. "But why? What had these people ever done to you?"
"The Edict of Extermination, Captain," Malus replied. "It was the foremost and highest of the Imperious Leader's standing orders."
"I thought that just applied to Humans," Dorado inserted.
"These Beings were . . . different than any we had ever contacted before." Malus cocked his head slightly to the side. "Commander Yugra decided they had to be eradicated."
"Different. How so?"
"They defied everything we believed. Their very existence was a contradiction of the whole Cylon paradigm."
"Come again?" Dorado asked.
"Dispassionate science and technology, and those alone, were the Cylon dictum towards achieving eternal perfection and order throughout the star system," Malus replied. "The Espridians were technologically evolved Beings, incredibly so, but their development and practice of the . . . what you would call the 'metaphysical arts' set them apart from any other race we had come across."
"But Humans have practised these . . . metaphysical arts, as you call them, for ages. In the Colonies. On Empyrean. Even on Earth. What made these people so different in that regard?"
"These arts were not just an adjunct to their technology and way of life. They dominated their whole life and culture. Saturated it utterly."
"I see. And this made them dangerous?"
"Any opposition or challenge to the Cylon way of life is perceived as a threat that must be eradicated."
Dorado glanced at Baker. "I vaguely remember Dayton talking about the day Torg and Bex snagged the Wraiths, and that their pilots all died when they were exposed to the atmosphere of the hangar bay, but he said you guys never got a look at them."
"That's right," Baker nodded. "They were jettisoned from the hangar bay of the pirate asteroid. Or so they said. We never knew for certain."
"Luana reported the atmosphere of the . . . Espridian planet was considerably lighter than Caprican standard," Dorado recounted. "Lower pressure."
"Then the density in the air . . . suffocated them?" Baker suggested.
"Probably . . . without a post-mortem, there's no way of knowing for sure," Dorado replied. He looked back at the IL. "I'm still a bit fuzzy on these metaphysical arts, Malus. Can you elaborate?"
"Certainly. As I was told by the Espridians, these people studied, lived and breathed psionics, both physical and mental."
"Psionics?" the men asked together.
"Psychic power," Malus replied. "That is also how Ama defined it to me. Our Cylon language defines it as 'non-causative spatial transport and communication'. Yes, practicing telepathy, telekinesis, and teleportation were normal occurrences in their daily lives. It was fascinating. A global consciousness attained through . . . spiritual enlightenment, touting peace and understanding, with no need for defences or offences." The IL was silent a few moments. "I still find 'spiritual' a difficult concept to process, I must admit, but I realize now that I was well on my way to breaking through the limitations of my original programming, through my interactions with the Espridians. I'm sure that's why I immediately gravitated to Starbuck, and the rest of your people, when I met them on Planet 'P'. It stimulated old data, long suppressed, that long ago was enabling me to personally grow and develop beyond all Cylon expectations!"
"Spiritualism can mean a realm, or a level of existence, that is beyond the physical senses," said Dorado.
"Such as the continued existence of the mind, even beyond death?"
"Yes," said Coxcoxtli.
"And thus beyond the usual Cylon ability to grasp or to accept."
"This Espridian global consciousness . . . it puts me in mind of Nirvana," Baker muttered. "In Earth Buddism, Nirvana is the supreme mental state, free from suffering and individual existence. It's a state Buddhists refer to as 'Enlightenment', the ultimate goal of all Buddhists."
"Fascinating," Malus' lights accelerated. "I would like to know more about them when time permits."
"So, you spoke to these Espridians?" Dorado asked. "You communicated with them, Malus?"
"Oh yes, through a form of artistic handscript, common to their kind, and also to other cultures. It took me almost a full secton to figure theirs out, but I prevailed, and finally became quite adept at it. I was an explorer and researcher, you understand. And although all Cylons are considered to be soldiers of the Alliance, I must admit, my heart was never in it."
"Mal . . ." Baker sighed. "You don't have a heart."
"Well, technically speaking . . . that is true. But since joining the Fleet, I have learned that the heart and soul, as you describe them, are not necessarily characteristic of only Humans."
"Cylons don't have souls either, Mal," Dorado added.
"I like to think my own . . . spiritual development has far surpassed any Cylon's, Captain Dorado," the IL replied, a little indignantly.
"Did Starbuck tell you that?" Dorado asked.
"Starbuck tends to nod off when we discuss spirituality," Malus replied.
Dorado blinked, and glanced at Baker who rolled his eyes. "And he's the one overseeing your transition into Fleet life. I see."
"So these guys actually . . . moved around just by thinking about it?" Baker asked, moving the discussion back on track. "Then why did they need ships?"
"Because their teleportation range was apparently limited. You see, the Espridians were also explorers!" Malus enthused. "However, they preferred to merely observe and record other worlds, star systems and even other universes. They went out of their way to not be observed."
"Which is why the Wraith has such a highly advanced countermeasures suite, in order to avoid detection."
"So they were never detected?"
"I understand that most civilizations, other than Cylon, favour the appearance of celestial Beings in one form or another," Malus replied. "The occasional time the Espridians were observed could be rationalized away by the visit of those celestial Beings."
"Angels."
"Yes. Perpetuating the organic life form's propensity for clinging to the belief of the celestial spheres."
"What did they look like, Mal? These Espridians."
"Similar to Humans in shape and size, as you have probably figured out, since the Wraith is compatible with Human use. However, they breathed a lighter air, and required less in the way of consumables. Their biophysical composition was also different. They were not constituted of consistently solid matter, as you and I are. Our scientists were unable to fully understand how this was possible, but it was so. They unquestionably had an etheric body."
"Sorry?" Dorado frowned. "Eth . . .what?"
"Beam me up, Scotty," Baker smiled. Malus turned to him. "Never mind. Must make it easier to move around the planet by teleportation, I'll bet."
"Yes, quite," Malus agreed enthusiastically. "And to other dimensions, as well."
"Wait a centon . . ." Dorado interjected. "When you said they explored other universes, that's what you meant? Other dimensions?"
"Oh, yes. Or quantum realities, or whatever term you choose. They believed there were other universes that simply operated on a different etheric plain. It was absolutely . . ."
"Fascinating?" Baker inserted, trying not to smile.
"Yes!" Malus cried. "But to Commander Yugra, that, along with their Wraith technology, was the deciding factor in the annihilation of the Espridian race. Instead of considering utilizing the technology, Commander Yugra chose to destroy it, preventing it from ever being used against us. Never mind that the Espridians were a peaceable nation. I believe he might have blown a circuit, trying to comprehend something beyond the Cylon status quo. Such are the limitations of the centurion command class. However, for a researcher and explorer, such as myself, the progress they had made in crossing dimensions was akin to making the first discoveries that ultimately led us to the development of the Gravitic Drive system. It was very exciting."
"And the Endeavour took part in this attack?" asked Coxcoxtli.
"The Harrower," Malus corrected him, preferring to differentiate between the two existences of the same ship. "Along with the others, yes. Their cities were blasted from orbit with our mega-pulsars, before being bombarded with nuclear fusion warheads."
"Nothing like overkill," muttered Baker.
"Their skills and technology posed a potential threat to the Cylon Order. Commander Yugra wished to be certain that even if some Espridians survived, they would never be in a position to challenge the Alliance, when at last we reached this region of space in force."
"Makes a certain sense, I suppose, at least from a military point of view. Then what happened?"
"The other two Base Ships continued on, deeper into this sector, while this vessel continued on to what you called Planet 'P'. There I was landed with my garrison, and told to await pickup. Of course, it never came. I now believe it was a punitive measure."
"You stepped in, didn't you, Mal?" Dorado realized, actually surprised. "You tried to intervene on their behalf?"
"I did," the IL admitted. "I argued that their mysterious technology and skills might actually be of use to the Alliance, but I would have said anything to be able to continue my research into Espridian Psionics. Accusing me of putting my ambitions ahead of that of the Alliance, Yugra would not listen to me. As the destruction of the Espridian civilization was carried out, I was ordered to wipe my memory banks of all information related to them, purportedly because I didn't have proper clearance. Either that or I would be scrapped. You see, ever since I was a fledgling, my superiors had accused me of being a loose diode." He waited a beat.
"It's not that funny, Mal," Baker told him. "Loose wire. Loose diode. Really needs work."
Malus 'sighed'. "Regardless, I implemented a secondary clone program, so that when I eventually did a diagnostic, my memory of the events would be regenerated."
"Unfortunately," Baker inserted, "you didn't run that diagnostic until now."
"Am I missing something here, Malus?" Dorado asked. "How can a long-dead race of people who could teleport to other dimensions help us here and now?"
"Because the Espridians didn't cross dimensional barriers using psionics, Captain. They had technology as well, a device that could open a portal to another dimension," Malus replied. "I was, to my knowledge, the only Cylon aware of the existence of the Clavis, and I, alone, know where we can find it."
"Clavis? What makes you think it wasn't blown to smithereens, along with the rest of the planet?" Baker asked.
"As Starbuck says, that's a chance we'll have to take."
----------
Immersing oneself in duty was a pragmatic solution to putting any of life's problems on the backburner, Sheba had found, as she printed out the duty roster and filed another "to do" as "done". A Battlestar was a community unto itself, and leaving the Fleet—or in the past, the Colonies—suddenly made everything else fade into the distance, priorities being reshuffled with each passing parsec behind her. Still, the bright-eyed image of Boxey as she left the boy behind in the Galactica's Alpha Bay was difficult to let go of. The youngster had been determined to see her off, and she had acquiesced, knowing how hard it was on him to have Apollo assigned away. When she had suggested having a crewman escort him back to his level, Boxey had insistently replied, "I'm big enough to do it on my own!" The righteous indignation was so reminiscent of his father, that Sheba had conceded, trying to control her own delight and amusement.
Boxey was growing up.
A soft knock on the door of the duty office made her look up. Bojay was smiling at her in a strange way, leaning his lanky frame against the doorjamb.
"What?" she asked.
"You looked far away," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Just clearing my desk," she shrugged, waving a hand to illustrate the point. A data pad, a couple reference materials, and a holoptic of her parents were all that covered the surface, and even those were neatly organized.
"How do you do it?" Bojay grinned. "I heard Starbuck's desk looked like a Cylon pinwheel attack hit it. His whole office, actually."
"Honestly, I think better with a clean desk. It's like I can't even begin to get started unless the surface is clear." She smiled. The mess she had swept into the bottom drawer would be her little secret.
"Well, you know what they say."
"No."
"A clean desk is a sign of a sick mind."
"And just who are they?" She asked, raising her eyebrows. "And, while we're at it, how much have they had to drink?"
"It might have been a topic of discussion in the OC, now that you mention it," Bojay conceded with a chuckle, then glanced over his shoulder for a micron. "So . . . I was wondering . . ." he began, stroking his chin as he looked around the office. "I don't suppose we should send our only functioning shuttle back to the Fleet at this point, especially without a Viper escort . . .which would probably be a waste of fighters, especially considering we're not at full strength yet . . . "
She sat up straight, shaking her head in bewilderment. Sending shuttles or Vipers back to the Fleet made absolutely no sense. "Bojay, what are you talking about?"
Bojay sighed, looking back over his shoulder to the outer corridor. "Bring him in, Roz!"
----------
This was a total mong hole to be practising medicine in. Dirty, cold, wet, rotten light, and no doubt more bacteria than a sewage treatment plant, but Cassiopeia had made it clear that Ryan didn't have a lot of options, just now. While the med tech had been grazed by the Cylon's shot, and not hurt badly, Ryan had caught the bulk of the remaining energy. The internal bleeding had been bad, and it was no picnic trying to turn a slab of rock on the side of a volcano into an operating room.
The Odreds, perhaps understandably, were curious about Cassie's "magic", as she began her work. Her answers to their questions were clipped, betraying the stress she was under, and she didn't even turn to regard them. General Caradoc at last had to ask them to stand back, and give her some space.
Dayton himself had looked torn between watching Ryan's surgery, and tossing his mushies all over the burial vault, as Cassie continued to work, cutting through savaged tissue with a laser scalpel. Lia and Dietra stood by, willing and able to help in any way, and monitoring the biomonitor, as instructed by the med tech. As Dayton's strike captain and friend, Starbuck realized it was his responsibility and duty to get the Earthman refocused, rather than leave him dwelling on a situation he could do nothing about. Besides, Cassiopeia looked as though she could use some breathing space. She'd been at it for a while now.
"We need to regroup, Commander," Starbuck told him, grabbing Dayton by the arm and leading him towards the trailhead where Apollo waited. "Soon, Apollo and I are going to be donating our blood in the name of resurrecting Angylions. We need a plan to deal with that Base Ship."
Within the Holy Sanctum, Ama and Eirys were preparing the chamber for a sacred rite that, if the Angylion prophecy was correct, would eradicate a curse that had transformed an entire race of Beings into trolls.
Dayton nodded, glancing over his shoulder one last time, before taking a deep breath, and concentrating on the situation at hand. "I guess that's going to depend on whether or not this . . . ceremony works. As if things weren't iffy enough, already."
Starbuck nodded, suddenly waving Baltar and Caradoc over. "Yeah, admittedly as Odreds these people have been effectively neutralized. However, Caradoc told Baltar that . . ."
"Starbuck . . . what the frack are you doing?" Apollo interrupted, as the traitor of humanity started crossing the plateau to join them.
"Look, buddy, I know it's not exactly normal procedure to have Baltar join a command briefing, but these Odreds trust Baltar. General Caradoc is his Doublewalker. The Odred has revealed a lot of pertinent military information to him, just based on the fact that Baltar said he'd help them. They look at Baltar and see their former Angylion glory personified."
"Oh, that's just great!" Dayton groused. "Benedict Arnold to the rescue!"
"And by extension, when they look at you or me, Apollo, they see their princes. Their sovereigns. Besides, the last time we successfully infiltrated a Cylon Base Ship, it was because of intelligence that Baltar gave us. He might be useful again. Like it or not, we're better off working together right now, than putting him in chains, and having an entire nation of Odreds turn against us," Starbuck explained.
Apollo let out an audible sigh, weighing the words. "I left my chains in my other jacket, anyhow . . ."
"Hey, I haven't forgotten what he did. But we have a pretty thin hand right now. We have to work with what we've got, like it or not."
"Well, I don't like it," Dayton frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Then file it with Colonial Complaints, Commander," Starbuck replied heatedly. "We're stuck with it. There's no way in Hades hole that we can destroy a Cylon Base Ship on our own. We need these people."
"And what happens if Baltar should decide to switch sides, again? We'd be totally screwed," Dayton returned.
"For the moment, we have no choice," said Apollo, having no more liking or trust for Baltar than any Colonial.
"What happens to Baltar afterwards?" Dayton threw back at them.
"Let me consult my crystalline ball," Starbuck returned wryly.
Dayton sniffed aloud, his intent features cracking into a grin as he heard footsteps approaching from behind. "Smart ass."
Together, the three men turned to face Baltar and Caradoc.
"Gentlemen," Baltar smiled at them. "The time is nigh that the Angylion race will be freed."
Oh great! Baltar the Prophet!
"And then what, Baltar? I take it you have a plan?" Apollo replied, his eyes narrowing, the scepticism in his voice plain.
"I do. Over the deca-yahren, the Cylons have doubtlessly grown complacent, and now treat the Odreds more as animals. As mindless beasts of burden, rather than as any real threat or opposition."
"Yes, this is true," Caradoc added. "While once we forged metal to rebuild their monstrosity under diligent surveillance, they have since removed many of their centurions from the mines and city to their ship to carry out repairs. We have had the opportunity to forge many weapons, in preparation for our final conflict."
"Swords?" Dayton asked.
"Yes, as well as others. Maces, axes, dirks, polearms . . ."
"But those weapons are useless against Cylon pulse rifles." Apollo pointed out. "They'll shred you."
"They are not useless in the hands of Angylions. Before, when the Cylons first appeared from Mt. Cadoc, they held the element of surprise," Caradoc conceded. "Their weapons decimated our legions, for we had not seen their like before. Even so, we might have been able to regroup and overcome them, if we had changed our strategy. You cannot meet weapons like that, head on. But before we could react, Iblis then transformed us into Odreds, too small and weak to lift the very weapons that could cleave the Cylons in two."
"Cleave them in two?" Starbuck asked. He let out a short breath. "It would take a lot of strength to drive a sword through a Cylon."
"We also have many Cylon weapons,' added the general. "When first we did battle with them, some were cut down by stones, logs, or massed attack. Along the trails here, you will find the ruined bodies of many. We took their swords, and kept them. They do not rust, and none have ever broken."
"Did you get any of their more advanced weapons?" asked Dayton.
"Some, but time and the wet climate have done their work. I do not know if any of them might yet work. But the swords . . . yes."
"Still going to need a mong-load of brute strength, to take a centurion down this way," said Starbuck.
"Strength comes from pureness of heart, Starbuck," Caradoc replied.
"I kept telling that to the commander, but Dayton made me report to the Fitness Centre every day anyway," Starbuck quipped.
"Are you people truly that strong? In your natural state?" Dayton asked, wondering what these weapons looked like. A sword that could cut a centurion in two had to be massive, like the longswords of Earth. The strength behind it had to be significant, and looking at the princes, who weren't exactly young Arnold Schwarzeneggers, it simply didn't make sense.
"Angylions are," Caradoc replied. "We are one with our blades, and our strength, purpose and conviction are channelled, combining those energies and empowering our warriors."
Starbuck glanced at Apollo, "Did you get any of that?"
Apollo raised his eyebrows at his friend, looking back at the troll. "I'm not sure we understand."
"Sounds a lot like bushido," Dayton added,. "An ancient warrior philosophy, on Earth. Are you saying that your blades have some kind of special powers?"
"When wielded by Angylions," Caradoc replied.
"Sounds like King Arthur's Excalibur . . ." Dayton murmured quietly to himself, once again feeling more like he was in some strange fantasy, and expecting a group of unicorns or fairies to show up any second. Had a lamppost suddenly appeared to grow out of the ground, he wouldn't have been surprised. A quick glance back towards Ryan, however, quickly grounded him. Cassie looked to be closing him up.
Caradoc shrugged. "You will see soon enough. Tell them your plan, Baltar."
"Our plan, General," Baltar nodded. "It is simple. As the Odreds change shifts, both in the mine and at the nearby Base Ship," he glanced in the distance at the sun beginning to drop in the sky, "it is a tradition for families to gather not far from the sites, awaiting their loved ones in greeting. Similarly, fresh workers going on shift are seen off by their kin."
"Initially, many Odreds were killed during their long shifts," Caradoc inserted. "They simply did not return home, and their bodies were found discarded like refuse. Cylons are unaffected by the spread of pestilence from rotting flesh, and it wouldn't occur to them to free the souls of the dead by burning them. From that point on, families began to anxiously wait in the hills, wanting to know outright if their kin were coming home."
"A tradition born of necessity," Baltar added.
"Wait a centon," Apollo interrupted, "Do your people know that Eirys is trying to . . . raise your princes, Caradoc? That they might be transformed . . .?"
"Yes. Baltar already had me send word to my people to be armed and ready," Caradoc replied.
Baltar smiled, shrugging, "I didn't know you were coming, after all. The weapons will be ready in the hills, and when the Odreds are transformed, what is left of the Angylion nation will attack the Base Ship and any Cylons at the mine, and in the city."
"How many Angylions?" Dayton asked.
"One thousand Angylions is all that is left," Caradoc replied. "At most. Countless thousands were killed in the initial conflict, a thousand more since. At least."
"A comparatively small society," Dayton opined.
"A hundred years ago, our planet was beset by natural disasters that levelled our cities, sunk our navies, and devastated our population," Caradoc explained. "Famine and pestilence finished what the rest had left undone. It was as though the land of Morlais was screaming out her fury, before she set to grieving."
"What was the cause?" Apollo asked.
Caradoc shook his head. "We don't know. It has never occurred again since. I pray to Llyr it never does again. But our population was slow to recover. Among us, children were few, and our kind increased but slowly. And then Iblis came . . ."
"Shh!" Starbuck raised a finger to his lips, looking upward, cocking his head slightly to the side as he listened.
Apollo furrowed his brow . . . as a Cylon Raider raced over the top of Mt. Cadoc for its first pass.
"Into the cave!"shouted Baltar, his voice like that of a commander. "Now! Move!"