Chapter 119 Choices

"Crap," Boomer quietly swore, "where are they?"

Straightening after the fruitless search of the bottom cupboard in the maintenance unit, she sidestepped to the next section and pulled open the top drawer. This was the third—and last—storage alcove…and she was quickly running out of places to look. Examining the contents, Boomer ran her fingers over the carefully arranged tools as if seeking the ones she needed by touch.

Not here. How can they not be here?

As she moved down to the next shelf…and the one after that, her frustration grew.

How could I be so stupid!

Grinding her teeth, she silently berated herself for leaving the instruments behind on the Heavy Raider when she'd hurried off it for her debrief with Cavil. When she'd gone back later, it was to discover that ship had already been cleaned and prepped for future use…and she hadn't dared ask where the missing items were put. Too many questions would have arisen.

At first she hadn't been worried, sure that the Resurrection Ship's maintenance units would have the ones she needed, but now, after close to three hours of searching, she was becoming desperate. What if she couldn't find them? Her entire plan hinged on successfully removing the inhibitors from Sam and Ellen's two guards, and if she didn't have the right tools…

Boomer shoved the bottom drawer in harder than she'd intended, and as the thud sounded overly loud in the alcove, she jerked around, fearful that someone might be near enough to hear…and come to investigate. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she silently repeated the story she'd worked up to explain her reason for being in this section of the ship. Unfortunately, it sounded dubious even to herself, better by far not have to use it at all.

Listening intently for the tread of shoes or clank of Centurions, she tried to calm her racing heart and fought back the insipid headache that seemed a constant now that she'd discovered the truth about the missing five humanoid models. When the only sound was the steady thrum of the ship's systems, she unclenched her jaw and took a slow turn around the room. They had to be here somewhere! If she failed now…

I can do this. Simon showed me how. I can do it, she silently chanted.

Boomer forced down the growing panic. There were too many people depending upon her: the two hostages hidden below, the rebels on their three basestars, and she had to believe that once they learned of Cavil's deceptions, the Fours and Fives would also join with her. But her plan relied on being able to smuggle Sam and Ellen off the Resurrection Ship.

And they first had to get by their Centurion guards.

After leaving Ellen and Sam the night before, Boomer had sought a place to think through all she'd learned from the pair…and consider what she might do with this new knowledge. It wasn't until the next morning when she'd met with Cavil and the representatives of the Fours and Fives to cast a vote on how to handle the rebels that an idea had finally come to mind. She'd been working out the details since.

The vote itself had gone surprisingly well. Despite the words of the Four she'd met earlier, Boomer had still been relieved at how agreeable the others were to opening negotiations between the models. Cavil had initially blown so angry over the removal of the Centurions' inhibitors that she had been sure he'd find a way to convince the Fours and Fives to follow his lead, yet they'd cast their votes to meet to discuss the rebels' concerns…and Boomer had quickly added her own to make it a majority.

She'd been prepared for Cavil to go off on to one of his biting tirades and had been disconcerted when he'd calmly accepted the three to one count against him. At his suggestion that he take a Heavy Raider and relay the decision to Natalie's group, Boomer had suspected that he was planning to somehow sabotage the talks. So, when he had also suggested that she fly over separately and see if she could 'talk sense' into some of the other Eights, she'd leaped at the chance. Not only could she make sure that the true results of the vote were relayed, but it would also give her the opportunity to pass on to the rebels the identity of two of the final five unknown models.

…And to learn how to remove the inhibitors.

The plan she'd devised would only work if she could somehow swing the prisoners' Centurion guards to her side, that or at least shut them down long enough to escape.

When she had landed the Heavy Raider on the basestar, Boomer had initially been greeted with hostility. She'd expected that, knowing that her sisters resented her for backing Cavil rather than holding firm with the rest of her own line. But once she'd explained about Sam and Ellen, they'd quickly pulled in others to hear her story: several Twos, a Six…and Simon.

Boomer refused to examine why it had been more difficult to meet Simon's skeptical look than all the rest combined. But she had managed to keep her voice steady as she had related her discovery a second time. When Simon's expression had sharpened with possibilities, Boomer had finally begun to believe that she could pull this off, find a way to heal the division that threatened them all. And maybe remove Cavil from his place in power. It was time that the Cylon race veered from the insane path of vendetta that the Ones had forced them upon; she'd said as much to Simon and had been rewarded by his approving nod.

After that, the Four had hurriedly demonstrated for her how to remove the telencephalic inhibitor, obviously concerned that Cavil would grow suspicious if she were overlong talking with the Eights. The actual procedure was relatively simple. Once Boomer had proven that she could do it, she'd bid the others farewell and moved to return to the flight deck. When Simon fell in at her side as an escort, she had given his dark profile a sidelong look, taking in his contemplative expression, her eyes lingering on the line of his lips.

She'd missed him. And until that moment hadn't realized just how much she had missed their discussions…and his suggestive glances. In the wake of her defection, she had thought she'd crushed the seedlings of that attraction between them, but when Simon had caught her look and had given her a brief smile in return, her cheeks had heated in response. Pulling her gaze forward, Boomer had tried to still the quiver of awareness of how close he walked at her side, knowing that there was no time for them to talk now.

Pausing at the base of the Raider's ramp, she had turned to face him.

"Remember, counterclockwise first," he'd said.

"Yeah, I got it."

Then, before she could turn away to board the Raider, he had pressed the two instruments into her palms, his own warm as he'd given her hands an encouraging squeeze. Neither had said anything further. Maybe later she could explore the possibilities that had rekindled between them.

But that would have to wait.

Now, as her search of the Resurrection Ship's storage units continued, she cursed herself for not taking better care of Simon's gift.

In the second to last drawer she came across something unexpected. The black cartridge seemed out of place among the tools and she pocketed it to examine later. Then, staring at the final drawer's contents, Boomer's stomach clenched and the panic she'd shoved away earlier came flooding back.

They weren't here.

Neither the electrostatic disecculator, nor the circuit coadjutor were among the hundreds of instruments she'd examined.

Was there the chance she could substitute a different tool? Jury-rig something? She turned back and pulled open the closest cupboard, staring at the assorted gadgets that she didn't have the vaguest idea how to use. No. It was impossible. Shaking her head, she realized that even if she knew what any of these did, Simon hadn't explained how the instruments he'd given her worked, only how to use them. She simply didn't know enough to find an alternate tool.

Heedless now of being discovered, Boomer slammed the drawer closed and rushed from the alcove and back into the main section of this level. She paused, eyes adjusting to the lower lighting and taking in the rows of dark and empty birthing tanks. Her breath hitched as she noticed that each had several compartments inset into their exterior sides. Jerky strides carried her forward and Boomer's hand hesitated before sliding out the top small drawer. A dim florescent glow within lit the row of dark grey cartridges that mocked her surge of hope. With trembling hands, she moved on to the second drawer and slid it out.

They gleamed.

Boomer could swear that the two instruments gleamed, reflecting the light more than the five others that nestled in their brackets beside them. Carefully easing the two free, she turned them in her hands, comparing their lines to the ones she'd mislaid. They were identical. Releasing a shuddering breath, she clasped them tight.

She could do this. She could still do it.

With one hurdle behind her, Boomer strode off with more confidence to find the next. One level up, she stepped into the corridor, the precious tools now held obscured by her palm and forearm against the possibility of meeting one of the others. Luck was definitely shifting her way, Boomer thought as a lone Centurion hiss/clanked its way towards her along the otherwise deserted hallway.

Halting it with a raised palm, "Have you been given a task?" she questioned, not wanting to risk another model coming in search of his missing minion. At the negative swivel of its head, "Good. Follow me," then she quickly tacked on, "…please," before she turned and led the way back to the lower level. The alcoves there seemed a more private place, less likelihood that she'd be caught altering the Centurion.

Choosing the farthest unit, and whispering a prayer to an entity she wasn't sure she believed in, Boomer turned to give the Centurion a scrutinizing once over. It stood with the red glow of its eye steadily regarding her, awaiting her command. She could only add another prayer that after she finished, it was as willing to heed her orders.

Stepping close, "Please hold still, I need to access your transcapacitor," she said, pausing a beat before lifting her left hand towards its chest. When Simon had shown her where to access the inhibitor, she'd been surprised at its location, assuming that something that controlled the Centurion's higher cognitive functions would be situated within its metal brainpan.

Now, sliding her hand into the crevice under its shoulder shroud, Boomer crooked her fingers, feeling along the inner side of the protective plating for the tiny pressure button. There! A firm squeeze and she heard the snick of the latching mechanism's release. A push with her palm and the upper chest cover slid down over the lower, exposing the circuitry at the literal heart of the Centurion's anatomy.

Boomer raised the circuit coadjutor and, positioning its tip, slowly worked at the 'screws' that held the revealed inhibitor secure. As she finished on one side and switched to the other, she realized that it might have been possible—maybe—to find another tool that would've done the same job. After all, despite its name, the coadjutor really did appear to be just a fancy screwdriver. But, as she laid it and the screws on the decking and retrieved the second instrument, she knew nothing could have replaced the electrostatic disecculator. With her left hand, she grasped the inhibitor and, mindful of Simon's instructions, rotated it counterclockwise once before applying the forked end of the tool into two slots. Twisting the butt end one click at a time, she watched as the 'charge' monitor at the center of the inhibitor drained away. As it did, the crimson of the Centurion's 'eye' dimmed to slowly blinking amber. Once the indicator appeared to read empty, she gave it an additional ten-count before removing the desecculator.

Assuming the inhibitor's charge had been fully drained, all she had to do now was pull it free. But, if by some chance she'd failed to properly empty the unit, it would explode, probably shredding most of her hand in the process.

Reminding herself that Simon had said that that was the remotest of possibilities, especially if she took the necessary time to complete the discharge of the unit, Boomer gripped the cylinder and quickly twisted clockwise this time and pulled. The thing popped out with the smallest hiss of protest.

Clutching the oblong of metal at her side, she closed her eyes and breathed. She wanted to laugh…shout! Instead, Boomer let the slave unit fall from her fingers and the bare tink sound it made as it struck the metal floor seemed incongruent with the damage the thing had caused. For she couldn't help thinking that if the Centurions that had created the humanoid models had had a say in the matter, there never would have been a Second Cylon War.

As she opened her eyes and scrutinized the still form before her, Boomer certainly hoped that was the case. Natalie's people had assured her it was, but if she was mistaken, if this Centurion decided otherwise, Boomer and the others were never getting off the Resurrection Ship. With that outcome, they'd also be lucky to avoid being boxed once Cavil was finished with them.

One more thing to do here and then she'd know. But time was quickly slipping away and there were still the inhibitors to be removed from Sam and Ellen's guards, she reminded herself. Best get this one done and then she'd see what she truly faced.

Inserting the disecculator's tines into identical slots behind where the inhibitor had been seated, she reversed the power flow from the tool and, lifting her gaze, saw the amber eye change back to the ruddy glow of an active Centurion. Briskly now, she removed the tool and shifted the breastplate upwards and felt it latch into place. Then she took a pace back and waited.

At first nothing happened.

The Centurion was still except for the back and forth motion of its eye. Chewing on the already raw side of her cheek, Boomer wished now that she'd asked Simon what came next. But it was too late for that, so she began to silently count down from sixty. She'd give it a minute. Maybe it needed some time to reboot…or whatever. As she reached zero, she shifted uncertainly and then froze when the Centurion's gaze abruptly stopped, appearing to be focused on her now.

"Um… Can you hear me?" she hesitantly asked.

"Affirmative." It's voice sounded overly loud and Boomer had to restrain the urge to retreat several steps. Locking her knees, "Do you have a name?" she asked, then felt stupid. Of course it didn't. Maybe the original Centurion models had, but this one was undoubtedly assembled with the inhibitor already installed. It had probably never existed as a self-determining entity before.

So when it responded, "SX5998G6Beta," she was startled.

Ok, it had a designation, but did it understand what a name was? What it meant to have a name? Staring at this being made up of parts and programs, Boomer grasped why humans found it so difficult to accept that it was a sentient individual composed of the synergy of its components. Boomer was its descendent in so many ways, yet she was finding it hard to push past the notion that the Centurion was more than just a thing. Then she remembered the strange feeling of affection she'd felt towards the captured Raider. How, even though she didn't know what she was then, there had still been a connection. Looking at the metallic man before her now, she sought to form another.

"You have an…identification, but that's not really a name," she started. "A name is who you are, instead of what you are. An individual. Someone separate with value." She searched the figure for some sign of understanding, but was frustrated by its total lack of body language. She continued, "You can choose your own name now." Boomer's brows rose slightly as she found the path to what she needed to explain. "Choices. You have choices now. The thing I took out of you, the telencephalic inhibitor, it was put into you without your consent. Now you can choose. Do you understand?"

As the 'eye' began to oscillate again, Boomer could only hope that it was a sign that the Centurion was considering her words. And hope that whatever tinkering Cavil had done was limited to the inhibitors, and once removed, the Cylon would be able to adjust to thinking on its own. She wished again that there had been time to talk with Simon about what to expect, how to handle the freed Centurion. She was still reproaching herself for not asking more questions when the figure before her shifted. It was only a slight tilt of its head, and yet it seemed to convey the sense that it was pondering something.

Then it spoke. "I am Choice."

Boomer found herself blinking up at it in confusion. Was it asking her? Did it think she had called it Choices? No. It had definitely used the singular form…and the possessive, which might be even more important. It was referring to itself as an individual now.

Its next words shouldn't have surprised her, but they did.

"What is your name?"

Its uninflected tone made the Centurion sound bored, but somehow Boomer found herself unsettled by the question.

Who was she?

Who was she?

Was she Sharon Valerii? The daughter of Shannon and Dwayne? Or was she Boomer? The Colonial Raptor pilot that had tried to kill her commanding officer? She was also but one of many Eights, so what made her different? Staring up at the Centurion, she suddenly realized that she wasn't really Sharon, Boomer…or even just another Eight. Not any longer. So, who was she? What was her name?

Knowing that it—that Choice—was waiting…and suddenly finding that she needed time she didn't have right now to answer truthfully, she fell back on the one she'd been mentally calling herself because it had never been used by another.

"Call me Boomer," she said, then added, "For now, at least."

Setting aside her own issues, she focused on the task to hand. Now that the Centurion had shown itself to be ready to think for itself, she had to convince it to follow her orders instead of just assuming that it would. Deciding that the best way to do that was to treat it as an equal, she began by relating how the Ones had tricked the Centurions into letting him install the inhibitors. Then she gave an abbreviated version of the events gleaned from Sam and Ellen along with her own knowledge of their current circumstances. She was surprised when Choice would occasionally shift or quirk its head to the side. That is, until she realized that it was mirroring her own movements. It was vaguely amusing, and Boomer found herself suddenly tempted to stand on one foot or pat her head to see if Choice would mimic those actions, too. She pushed the notion aside as she remembered that they were up against a clock here.

Once she'd finished providing as much information as she deemed absolutely necessary, "Do…do you have any questions?" she hesitantly asked.

Again Choice seemed to take its time before answering. As the seconds ticked by, Boomer wondered if she should say more, something further in hopes of swaying it to their cause. As it shifted, assuming the Centurion's standard position of readiness, she had the impression that it was bracing for action.

"You have a plan."

Again the flatness of its words made it difficult for her to discern whether it was asking a question or making a statement. She answered anyways, proceeding to layout what came next and Choice's part in it. Truthfully, she hadn't really figured on any specific actions for the Centurion. The removal of its inhibitor was meant to be a trial run before she attempted the same on the two guards. Now she quickly revised her plan to include Choice, hoping that she wasn't making a mistake.

"Will you help me…help us," she asked, knowing that the removal of the inhibitor gave the Centurion the option to refuse, and its decision of its name made her aware that it recognized that.

As its eye ceased the back and forth motion and again fixated on her, Boomer tensed.

"Yes."

Simple and straightforward. No qualifiers like a human might make. And yet it hadn't answered with the detached 'Affirmative' as before. She didn't know whether to feel reassured—or worried—at how quickly Choice seemed to be coming into its sense of self. At least for now it appeared that she had made another ally. Knowing that she was going to need all those she could get going up against Cavil, Boomer decided to put her unease aside.

Next step, see if things went as smoothly with the Centurions below. Quickly disposing of the stagnant cylinder and screws, her hand brushed the hard outline in her pocket. Ignoring the impulse to take time to change into an outfit with suitable pockets to hide the long instruments, Boomer palmed the precious tools and led Choice from the alcove to the arching chamber of barren tubs. A few minutes there and then she moved on to the far stairwell.

She asked the Centurion wait at the top and made her way as quietly as possible down the steps. Pausing at the bottom, Boomer cautiously peered around the corner to make sure that the way was clear; last thing she could afford was to meet up with Cavil or one of his brethren returning from a visit to the prisoners.

The hallway was thankfully deserted.

Feeling the press of time, she climbed the stairs two at a time. A wave to signal Choice to follow her and she descended again, flinching at how loud the hiss/clank of its tread echoed within the stairwell. Too bad he didn't come with a silent mode, she thought, then realized she'd mentally dubbed it as a he. Somehow she doubted that Choice cared one way or the other. Maybe she'd ask him sometime. Sometime when they weren't hurrying to stage a coup that is.

Halting before the door, she hesitated. What if Cavil was inside? There wasn't any way to tell. A glance at the tall figure by her side made Boomer wonder if he'd follow an order to shoot his previous master? Hoping she wouldn't have to find out, she crossed the fingers on her left hand and touched the panel with her right. The click sounded and she pushed the door inward.

Releasing her held breath, Boomer gave the startled pair a tense smile as she entered with Choice a pace behind. Taking in the two trays of partially eaten food, she swallowed, uncomfortably aware of how close she'd come to meeting up with whichever One had delivered their meal.

As their gaze flickered from her to the form at her heels, Boomer's smile widened.

"I did it." Reading the confusion in their eyes, she gestured the Centurion forward. "This is Choice. I removed his inhibitor. Now he's decided to help us," she explained. When they still looked unsure, Boomer's grin slipped. "I can free you." Turning to the flanking guards, "I can free all of you," she fervently said.

The scrape of a chair and Ellen's sharp, "Sam!" gave her a moment's warning before the Centurions snapped together, blocking the door. She spun to face the ex-rebel leader, one hand waving him to stop.

"Wait, Sam." She caught his frustrated eyes. "Each Centurion has a device, an inhibitor that Cavil stuck in them. I can take it out of these two. But you've got to wait a little longer. I've a plan, but I need you to be patient."

His hands flexing at his side, "I want outta here. I want to make Cavil pay," Sam fumed.

"And we will," said Ellen, rising to join him. "Let Boomer tell us her plans, and then we can go from there."

As he retreated a few steps, Boomer heard the Centurions move and assumed that they had shifted back to their original posts. She lifted her other hand, showing the pair the tools.

"I've got to convince these two," a twitch of her head back towards the guards, "to let me work on them. Probably best if you both sit down. Don't make any threatening moves," she urged, hoping that the Centurions would be as cooperative as Choice had been.

As Sam sullenly returned to his chair, Boomer considered how quick tempered he seemed. During their short encounter back on Caprica, and with what she'd heard about Samuel Anders since, she'd thought he was a pretty laid back guy. And besides, anyone that could put up with Starbuck needed an almost limitless font of patience. Yet she'd seen little of that in this man.

Remembering her own difficult time adjusting, she supposed that the realization of his true nature would've had an impact on his behavior. And a brief glance around the spartan cell reminded her that he'd been cooped up here for a long time now. Between the enforced inactivity, the discovery that he was a Cylon and the taunting lies Cavil had told him, it shouldn't be surprising that Anders was wound so tightly.

Hoping to mollify him, "Once we're on the rebels' basestar, you can tell everyone what the Ones did. Expose Cavil's lies and even the Fours and Fives will come over to our side," she said.

He held her gaze for a moment, then said, "After all of this," starting to swing his arm in an encompassing gesture, but then aborting the move as he glanced towards the guards. Boomer saw him make the effort to tone down his anger, but it still spiked his next words. "After what Cavil's done, he's mine." And she heard the icy resolution and shivered.

Uncomfortable with Ander's thirst for retribution, Boomer shifted her gaze to the other chair and she returned Ellen's bemused smile with a tight one of her own. If the revelations had changed the older woman, she didn't know enough about her to be able to tell the difference…and it really didn't matter.

Feeling the passing seconds like a countdown, she outlined her plan to the pair. They were silent until it was obvious that she'd finished, then asked a few clarifying questions. All told, it had taken less than ten minutes, but a part of Boomer wished, despite feeling a growing pressure to hurry, that it had taken longer, for now she was faced with another decisive hurdle.

Steeling herself, she turned from the humanoid pair at the table and approached the metal ones by the door, choosing the guard on the left to address first.

"Please hold still, I need to access your transcapacitor," she said, repeating the same words she'd used with Choice earlier. But this time, as she raised her hand towards the junction between its shoulder and chest plating, the Centurion snapped up a hand in warning. "Lower your hand," she commanded, then ground her teeth when the guard didn't obey.

Just frakking great. Now what?

She'd been afraid of this, that they might interpret her actions as a potential attack. And they'd already shown that they wouldn't follow her orders. So now what?

As she heard Choice move to her side, Boomer realized that she'd almost forgotten him, so used to the presence of the Centurions about the ship that it was easy to ignore them. He didn't say anything now, not vocally at least, but she guessed that he must have communicated to the other somehow, for it abruptly retracted its hand back to its side. She supposed it made sense for there to be short wave capability between the Cylons. Boomer was more surprised at Choice taking the initiative himself.

"Um, thanks," she offered to him before shifting her attention back to figure in front of her. This time it remained still and she quickly followed the protocol laid out by Simon. Despite the growing sense of time slipping away, she was careful to give the disecculator the chance to fully drain the charge before risking removing the inhibitor.

One down, one to go.

She didn't even bother addressing the second Centurion, just asked Choice if he would speak to it for her. And like that, both guards were freed. Of course, that also meant it was now up to her to convince them to release Sam and Ellen.

Or maybe not.

Returning to the prisoners, she laid the cylinders and precious tools on the table between them.

"Look…I've got to go," she anxiously said, the fear that Cavil was about to walk in on them growing with each passing moment. At the confused look the pair exchanged, she repeated, "I've got to go, Cavil's expecting me and we can't risk him wondering were I've been. Make nice with our new friends here. Explain what Cavil and the Ones did to them and what we're trying to do." As Sam opened his mouth to protest, Boomer hastily added, "I'll meet with Cavil and then be back soon. Then we can make our way to the flight deck just before we head to the rendezvous point. With the others busy prepping for the jump, I should be able to sneak you aboard a Heavy Raider. We launch…and we're on Natalie's basestar before Cavil even knows we're gone."

"Ok, we'll do it your way," agreed Sam as he rose.

"We need the guards on our side," she warned, and was reassured by his brief nod of understanding.

Returning to the door, she gave the guards an assessing look. Like Choice, their eyes had stopped the to/fro sweep and Boomer could only assume that they were contemplating the internal changes within their systems. Neither attempted to block her as she palmed the datapad and opened the door. She was aware of Choice exiting behind her and also heard the click of the lock resetting as she strode purposefully away.

Another box ticked off her To Do checklist.

She had one other thing to follow-up on, then she was due to meet with Cavil, to see what the One needed from her while not giving away that she was making plans of her own. Her palms were damp again at the thought of how much rode on her ability to mislead her prior mentor. Abruptly wishing that she'd been better at Triad, Boomer counted the stairs as she climbed, reminding herself that there was no reason for him to suspect anything. Sure, during her debrief after visiting the rebels, she had noticed an undercurrent in his tone, but it hadn't struck her as anger. No, it was more like he was holding back on showing his annoyance, probably at her failure to sway any of the Eights to his side.

She was pretty sure that if he had discovered her visit to the pair below, he would have quickly moved to silence her. That's what she told herself at least. It didn't do much to calm the racing of her heart as she paused just before the archway entrance to Cavil's meeting room.

"Please, wait three seconds before you come in," she murmured to Choice, not wanting anyone inside to connect the Centurion to her.

He didn't respond, but did stay as she moved on and into the chamber to find Cavil just dismissing a Four. The tall man avoided her eyes as he exited and Boomer felt the unease in her chest tighten another notch. Forcing herself not to gnaw on her cheek, she approached the One and gave him a nod in greeting, then waited.

Cavil's expression was unreadable as he flatly said, "I've decided to board one of the basestars. You'll come with me."

What?

Confused, she glanced around the room. "Why not just stay here? We'll be as safe on the Resurrection Ship when we jump as one of the basestars."

"I'm—we're—not taking the Resurrection Ship." Her eyes widened, and he gave a grim smile before he explaining. "We show the rebels just who is in charge. We control the Resurrection Ships and Hub. Let them huff existential all they want, but if they're willing to trade blows, then they can damned well face the consequences."

What he said made sense, but Boomer still felt like he wasn't telling her everything and the spiked tension in her chest made the pretence that she believed him difficult. Willing herself not to look over to where she'd seen Choice take up a position just inside the arch, she gave what she hoped was a nonchalant shrug.

"I'm sure it won't come to that," she earnestly said. "The Eights I spoke with aren't looking for a war, they just want to be heard."

"And they will be," he said, "in about thirty minutes."

Boomer stiffened. She'd hoped for longer. Mentally counting off how long it would take to get back to the hidden room and lead her entourage unseen to the flight deck, she knew it would be cutting it close, especially if they were having any difficulty talking their guards around to their side. Then again, maybe having Cavil off the Resurrection Ship would actually make it easier to smuggle the pair away. The Heavy Raiders all had FTL capabilities, so she and the others could actually jump to the rendezvous point on their own.

Her locked muscles had just started to relax when Cavil added, "You'll be with me."

Trying not to betray her dismay, "I doubt I'll be of much use," she stated.

"You might yet be able to convince some of those simpletons to see 'the light'," he said, using quote-fingers to mock the religious reasonings of the Sixes and Twos.

"I don—"

"Enough! You're going," he snapped out, impatiently severing her protest. Then, "I want you at my side," he said, his tone calmer but the look he gave her forbidding further argument.

"Of course," forcing her hand to settle lightly on his arm, "you know I'm always at your side," she said, giving him a suggestive smile. Something flickered within his eyes, but was gone before Boomer could decipher its meaning. His lips curved up and he returned her look with a knowing one of his own.

"Perhaps later we can explore your side more…thoroughly," he said, "but now I've a few last things to attend to. We leave in fifteen minutes."

Giving his arm a last squeeze, she said, "In that case, I'll head down and make sure the raider's ready to go."

Moving away after his nod of dismissal, Boomer strode from the chamber and down the hall, only daring to breath once she heard the sound of a Centurion trailing at a distance behind her. She turned right along another corridor and, finding an empty alcove, entered with Choice only a few steps behind by that point.

"Change of plans," she said, addressing the Centurion. Tapping her fingers on her thighs, she ran through their options. Really, there was only one. She cleared her throat. "I need you to go below. Take our late addition to Sam and Ellen." Boomer frowned, frustrated at having to leave so much in Choice's hands, but it couldn't be helped. She wet her lips and continued, "Um, tell them that I have to go with Cavil. That they'll need to make their way to the flight deck without me." Giving the Cylon an assessing look, "Can you fly a Heavy Raider?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Ok, then. Uh, wait until our raider—Cavil's and mine—leaves, then get everyone else on another and jump directly to the rendezvous. Go to the Six that calls herself Natalie. She'll know what to do," she instructed. Then, "Ask for Simon if you have any problems," she added, hoping that the Four would understand that she hadn't had a choice about accompanying Cavil. Pulling her focus back to the tall form before her, "Do you understand?" she asked, wishing again that she could read his body language.

"I do," Choice replied, and then lifted a hand to grip her elbow. Boomer flinched, startled, as the cold digits closed about her flesh. The Centurion then flatly said, "The One that calls himself Cavil was lying. There were discernible changes in his physical readings."

Boomer swallowed as she considered Choice's warning. It hadn't occurred to her that the Centurions had the capability to read her, or any of the humans or humanoid models in fact. She knew of course that many of them—all?—were equipped with infrared vision, so it made sense that they could 'see' the physiological indications when someone lied. She had just never considered that use of that ability. Boomer was willing to bet that Cavil had, and she suddenly wondered if he's had his own 'pet' Centurion monitoring her all along?

At this late date, it hardly mattered. Her course was set and there wasn't time to worry about it now. Whatever the One was hiding, all she could do was ensure that his secrets were brought out into the open and give the rebels what warning she could.

Wetting her lips, "Right. Tell Sam to warn the rebels that Cavil's up to something," she said, wishing that she could be more specific. It would have to do. "I have to go now and prep my own ship. Go below and help the others," she directed, then hesitated, uncertain how to express gratitude to the Cylon and wondered if he could properly understand it anyway? Giving a mental shrug, "Um, thank you, Choice," she awkwardly said, and then hurried off in the direction of the flight deck, knowing that she had to beat Cavil there.

When she peeled off on the level of the launch bay, Boomer heard Choice's tread continue down the stairwell and could only hope that Ellen and Sam listened to the Centurion. It was imperative that they waited until Cavil was off the ship. If Sam acted precipitously...

She could feel the acidic burn as her gut twisted. So frakking much could go wrong!

What if the guards wouldn't let Sam and Ellen leave the cell? Would Choice be able to override their programming? And Cavil had changed his plans once, if he should decide to delay or to stay and send a surrogate One in his place?

Reminding herself that it was out of her hands, Boomer paused to calm her breathing before striding across to confront the Five that was in charge of the deck.

"Which ship's assigned to Cavil?" she demanded, ignoring the poorly concealed scorn in the man's expression. He didn't bother to answer, just pointed to the third Heavy Raider from the left.

Swiveling without giving any further acknowledgment to the Five, she kept her steps measured as she did a circuit about the large shuttle, checking its outer systems with a practiced eye. Completing her walk-around, she climbed the ramp and moved forward to the cockpit. A Centurion was already locked into place in the left seat, its 'arm' connected via a port into the ship's systems. She frowned, preferring to pilot the ship herself rather than just act as a passenger. Weighing the pros and cons, she decided to let the Centurion take lead and she slid into the second seat to run through her own internal checklist. It wouldn't hurt to confirm for herself the ship's integrity. Besides, it gave her something to do other than worry.

The sound of footsteps followed by the heavy tread of Centurions announced the remaining passengers' arrival. She twisted around and peered back along the narrow aisle to see Cavil, a couple of Fours and a Five she guessed to be Doral securing themselves in the seats that lined the aft section of the raider. Two Centurions had taken up station standing in slots specially designed to accommodate their frames.

Meeting Cavil's hooded gaze, "Ready?" she asked. At his nod, she started to turn back, but heard the noise of a late boarder. As a third Centurion reached the top of the ramp and moved to an open position to lock in, Boomer fought to keep the shock from her face. She shifted quickly around, feeling queasy as she wondered what had gone wrong, for she was sure that the Heavy Raider's final occupant was Choice.

"Close her up and let's go," she curtly ordered the Centurion pilot. As she settled back into her seat, fingers fumbling to tighten the restraining straps, Boomer's mind raced with the possibilities for why Choice was onboard rather than with the others. Her biggest question was whether he had relayed her revised plan; the delay in his boarding suggested that he had at least tried. But if so, then why was he here? Had he gone to Cavil instead?

Frak this!

Boomer wanted nothing more in that moment than to confront the Centurion and demand answers, but as the thrust of the raider's engines pushed her deeper into her seat, she knew how impossible that was. She was going to have to trust Choice's word that he was on her side, and that whatever his reasons for separating from the others, he must feel that they were valid. The frustration and fear of not knowing gnawed at what little confidence she had in her own leadership. With her hands clasped together in her lap, Boomer silently cursed. She frakking hated this! Hated knowing that the responsibility for the plan was hers, and yet she had so little control over its success.

A distant corner of her mind wondered if this was what Adama felt like as he stood in command in CIC? If so, then he could keep it…and Natalie, too. Boomer didn't want this clenched-gut feeling that apparently came with power; she'd experienced enough of it with the failure of hers and Caprica's hopes for New Caprica. Well, whatever was to come, the pieces she had set in motion were rolling and there wasn't anything she could do now to direct their course.

Accepting that she was only a passenger now, some of the tension eased from her muscles and Boomer settled back for the rest of the short ride over to the nearest basestar.

Less then twenty minutes later and she was in what passed for the basestar's command chamber. Fours and Fives were scattered about the room with their hands immersed in the datastream. Cavil and another One were discussing the ship's readiness a few feet away, leaving Boomer alone with her thoughts. As her gaze shifted again to the Centurions aligned along one wall, her focus narrowed to one. She was certain that it was Choice. Something very subtle way in which he stood; it was only because she knew to look for it, and that he was positioned beside the others, that she could pick out the difference.

On disembarking the Heavy Raider, she'd tried once to separate from Cavil, desperate for a moment with Choice to find out what was happening. But her mentor had insisted that she stay with him, and at the quelling look he'd given her, Boomer hadn't risked pushing the matter…or another attempt since.

Boomer was willing to admit that the Ones had always intimidated her. A part of her had been even drawn to the sense of surety that Cavil exuded, seeking something—someone—that appeared unmoved by the universe's perverse actions. But now, as her eyes shifted to him, all she felt was dread. Her instincts had been whispering that he was up to something, and since Choice's warning, every word from his mouth and every look Cavil gave her added to her premonition that the Ones had plans that bode ill for the rest of them.

Her attention was pulled further to the right when Doral lifted his head and announced that the other basestars were ready to jump.

"Finally!" Cavil moved over to stand beside Boomer and lowered his hand onto the datapad.

As she followed suit, she flicked a sideways glance at the One then away when the flow of stream infused her mind. Even as she opened her awareness, Boomer was careful to guard her thoughts, knowing how simple it would be to let slip her own secret. Reaching out, she felt the synergy of the organic and synthetic components of the vessel encompass her and shivered at the first caress of the Hybrid's consciousness.

It was so tempting to just let go, relax into the warm embrace of the collective, but Boomer resisted the impulse. Then she felt the surge of power and moment of union as the great ship jumped.

The loss of the connection as the basestar recoalesced carried the grief of separation, and it took Boomer a moment to bring her scattered focus back to the space that surrounded them. Through the ship's sensors, she could 'see' the staggered wedge of the rebels' basestars where they waited. She reached out, searching for a smaller contact. There was were only the rebels and the five basestars of Cavil's group.

It was too soon, she told herself. Hadn't she stressed to Sam not to come until he was sure that Cavil was safely away? Tonguing the sore tissue on the inside of her cheek, Boomer tried to find reassurance in that thought. Movement within the datastream distracted her as the other four accompanying basestars slid forward to flank the rebels.

What were they doing? Why would they…

Her questions broke off as she 'heard' the command to fire go out along the datastream.

"NO!" Shock ripped the protest from her throat without conscious thought.

She spun to face the figure beside her, fighting the double-vision imposed by the connection to the datastream.

"What are you doing!" she shouted.

Cavil didn't even bother to look at her as he answered, "What I have to. They're tainted by the humans. It's time to cut the diseased flesh away."

Staring at him in horror, the realization struck with the fangs of a viper.

"You never planned to talk. To negotiate. It was all a—" she choked as the depths of his deception really registered. "You used me," her accusation barely above a whisper.

"Of course I used you," he snapped. "You're a tool, nothing more. Haven't you learned even that simple lesson after all these weeks?"

His derisive words hammered at her and Boomer swallowed bile at how blind she'd been. Cavil was right. He'd never tried to hide his belief that she was—that all of them are—nothing but machines, cogs within the great Cylon infrastructure. Disposable. Replaceable. Sam and Ellen's revelations had just confirmed how little value the Ones placed on any single individual.

Reports of explosions blooming across the spindly arms of the rebels' basestars drew her attention back to the stream. Her siblings were dying, really dying, and the feeling of impotence choked the breath from her lungs. Through the shared stream of consciousness, she could feel each of their deaths, like stars that flashed and then were gone, their lights extinguished forever.

Rage at the pointlessness of their loss suffused her. There had to be a way to end this massacre. Boomer didn't bother trying to plead with the One, instead, she sought the core of the basestar. Sought the tendril of the Hybrid's being and grasped it.

STOP! she screamed and felt the Hybrid respond.

The outflow of missiles ceased as it answered to her command, and Boomer knew a moment of relief as the other basestars halted their torrent of fire, too, as she felt confusion echoing throughout the stream. Then her ears rang as she reeled away from console, the backhand to her head sending her stumbling back a step.

"Fool!" Cavil yelled, his face redden in rage. "You have no say in what happens here." Then, flinging his hands up, "Gods, I'm surrounded by idiots!" he ranted, his gaze raking the other models that had jerked around at the sound of his blow. As each quickly resumed their duties, Boomer understood that they weren't even questioning his order to attack, the Fours and Fives had known all along what the Ones intended to do about the rebel 'problem'. The vote had been a sham, they had decided without consulting her. Had in fact used her to mislead the rebels as to their true intentions.

The pounding in her head grew worse.

Boomer stumbled again, this time from the impact of warheads striking Cavil's basestar. Hope stirred again. She'd distracted them long enough for Natalie's group to return fire. If she could do it again, it might give the rebel ships time to jump away.

Raising her voice, "Cavil lied. He lied to all of us," she said. "The Five—" Her teeth rattled with the force of his strike. As she lifted her arm to ward off the next, she saw his eyes widen at something off to the side. Before Boomer could glance that way, she was yanked in front of Cavil. Thudding impacts drove her forward into his chest and they fell together to the metal decking.

Around them, Boomer could hear the sound of projectile rounds striking metal and fought to make sense of what had just happened. She tried to slid her hands forward, to lift herself off the body beneath her, but her muscles didn't seem to be getting the message. Even raising her head was beyond her and Cavil's hoarse gasps and curses filled her ear. Then a loud clang sounded to her side and she was able to shift her line of sight just enough to make out the bullet-riddled chassis of a Centurion sprawled out by the wall. As the pieces fell into place, the pain held at bay by shock swamped her and Boomer gasped in agony. The flaring torment worsened as hands rolled her off the One and onto her back.

Choice had tried to protect her. He'd shot at Cavil as the One had threatened her again. Only Cavil had reacted with the lifelong instincts of a coward, using her as a shield against the attack.

There wouldn't be another.

Boomer had glimpsed the fading of the Centurion's eye to amber and then had seen it blink out. Choice was as surely dead as she was. He'd just beaten her there. For Boomer could feel the blood filling her lungs, could taste the copper tang on her lips and knew that she only had a few last moments to rail at her failures.

She was done. Her body broken and Cavil had won. She didn't even have enough breath left to warn the Fours and Fives of his duplicity.

"A Heavy Raider just jumped in. It's heading for the rebel basestars." Doral's voice sounded overly harsh in a chamber silent except for her ragged gasps.

Rising from the floor with a pained grunt, Cavil said, "Let it go." Then, as another rebel barrage shook the decking, "Jump us clear," he ordered, and just as quickly amend it, "Tell the others to stay and finish them," he added.

Maybe she hadn't failed, Boomer thought, realizing who had to be on the rogue Heavy. And she could tell by the way he gripped his side that Cavil hadn't gone unscathed afterall. Perhaps sensing her regard, the One leaned close enough to ensure that only she would hear his words.

"I know whose on the Raider. You think you found them on your own? You were meant to," he mocked. "You should've taken them over with the rest of the bleeding hearts when I first sent you before. I planned on making it a clean sweep." Boomer swallowed bile and blood as she realized how thoroughly she'd been played. But he wasn't done yet. "Took you long enough to figure out that any order that you said came from me would be obeyed by the Centurions. Guess you're not as stupid as I was beginning to think." As he straightened, "Just stupid enough," he spitefully added.

Boomer closed her eyes against his cruel look as she felt the wave of dislocation that signaled an FTL jump. Sam and the others were away. Maybe not safe, but out of Cavil's hands. That would have to be enough, she told herself, for she was so tired. The cold of the decking had invaded her body and all she felt now was the beckoning of its chill as the pain receded before it.

It was hard to breath now. But she opened her eyes and calmly locked with Cavil's as she forced the words out. "My name is…Shane." As her vision narrowed, she saw his perplexed look. "My…name is…Shane." At his vexed expression, she gave him a bloody grin.

It was enough.

She had found herself in these last moments. Maybe her parents, Shannon and Dwayne Valerii, had never existed, but they were real to her. She was whom she choose to be. And Shane finally found peace as the darkness claimed her for the last time.