CHAPTER 4

ORACLE

"S4/B5 … U3/114 … H1/N2," Kara mumbled as she studied the crudely inscribed pillar. "I guess this is the place."

Kara was hunched over, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. The wind was howling, it was bitterly cold, and the fine grains of sand being whipped through the air were painfully scouring her cheeks.

"Gods, how I hate this planet," she cursed.

"Be it ever so humble …"

"Put a sock in it, superspy." Kara cast an irritated look in her older brother's direction. The First Born had had the good sense to dig out a wide-brimmed Picon Panthers pyramid cap before making the journey down to the surface. He was keeping his head down, but Kara knew that it wasn't because of the crappy weather. John had managed to free Gina Inviere from the Pegasus brig, and he had rigged some nasty and ultimately fatal booby traps in Helena Cain's quarters, only to be badly wounded in a savage firefight with two of the marine units that had tried to block their escape. Shattered eardrums had left him permanently crippled, and partially deaf. Kara was always careful to keep to John's left—his good side.

She took him by the elbow, and gently steered him towards the entrance to the unremarkable tent that lay just beyond the marker. It was flanked by a pair of stone columns, and even from a distance she could make out the twin inscriptions that greeted every visitor to the Pythian oracle:

Know thyself

Nothing in excess

Kara lifted the flap, but she paused in the entrance. John was a monotheist, and a member in good standing of the Church of the Monad on Gemenon, but his beliefs were lukewarm at best. He was instead utterly devoted to Lacy Rand, the mentor whose teaching had done so much to prepare him to undertake the seemingly impossible task of bridging the gap between man and machine. In contrast, Kara far more devoutly believed in the Lords of Kobol. She acknowledged the entire pantheon, but looked to Artemis above all for inspiration. But this ground was sacred to Apollo, and she could feel the power of his presence humming in the air.

"Don't be afraid," a voice whispered from the shadows. "I know who you are … what you are."

John approached the oracle, the light cast by the flickering candles so dim that he could barely discern her presence. It was only when he drew near that he could make her out—a woman of indeterminate years, her angular features partially concealed by the blue turban that draped almost to her waist.

"Poor things; the two of you must be terrified." Dodona Selloi's voice was a metronome, perfectly attuned to the rhythm of the wind chimes tinkling in the background.

Together, Kara and John knelt before her, and they watched silently as the priestess poured chamalla into her palm. Her eyes never leaving them, she lapped up the powerful hallucinogenic with her tongue.

"Do you have any candy? Chamalla's so bitter."

Smiling, John reached into his pocket, and produced two candy bars. "Chocolate and caramel," he said with a certain degree of pride. The spook had done his homework, and he knew that all the oracles craved sweets. Dodona Selloi was said to be particularly fond of chocolate and caramel, and John had raided Natalie's seemingly inexhaustible treasure chest to secure his prizes.

"Zeus sees all, child of Three." The oracle bit into the bar, savoring the sugar's ability to mask the bitterness of the drug. "He sees you. He sees your pain, and your destiny. All the gods weep for you."

"There is no all-knowing Zeus," Bierns gently protested. "There is only the One True God."

"The child of Six would disagree. She prays to the virgin goddess for wisdom, and the alabaster maiden has never failed her. But you are both lost now, and that is why you are here. You seek the true path."

John and Kara exchanged troubled looks. Seeking out the oracles had been his idea, but he was running on instinct, and he was not at all certain of his terrain. His proposal had outraged his many aunts and uncles, several of whom had openly accused him of blasphemy.

"Your mother has awakened from her long and dreamless slumber—and with her the first of your many loves. But there will be no joy at the reuniting. You will be offered an impossible choice—and one that is impossible to avoid. Your chosen path will be clear, but you will refuse to follow it."

Bierns swallowed hard to clear the bile from his throat. The Ones had boxed both Mara and his mother, and long months had passed since the violent confrontation at which one of the Cavils had threatened to download them. There had been nothing subtle about the threat, and the First Born had been steeling himself against this eventuality ever since.

"The Guide carries within her the knowledge that all men seek, but does not possess the key that alone unlocks the secret. It is through Hera's doorway that you must pass, for she alone possesses the notes that lead to Mount Olympus."

The oracle shook out still more of the chamalla, licked it off her palm, and washed it down with another generous bite from the candy bar.

"We have a proposal for you," Kara ventured.

"I accept," the priestess instantly replied. "And I require no apology" she pointedly added as she stared at John Bierns.

The First Born blinked in surprise. He had been about to apologize to Dodona Selloi for all the pain that he had inadvertently caused her when he had telepathically broadcast his nightmare vision of a universe drowning in blood to every oracle in the fleet.

The woman either reads minds or she reads body language, Bierns decided. Either way, this is one hell of an impressive performance!

"But we haven't even told you what we have in mind," Kara objected. The priestess had taken her equally by surprise.

"You wish Yolanda Brenn to board one of the cylon ships, and there to commune with its hybrid. You would ask the same of me, but fear that your request will provoke a quarrel with your parents. Child of Three, it is well that you respect your elders, and oft should you heed their voice. Love will be your undoing, unless you cast your nets far from shore. Still, this is the path that you must follow. We accept."

. . .

The Heavy Raider slid deep into the landing bay, and Cavil began systematically shutting down its flight systems. When he was done, he swiveled around to face his two prisoners. Chasing down the Hub had taken far longer than he had anticipated, and he was in a distinctly sour mood. He started fiddling with the controller, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the two Cylons stiffen. Their reaction brought a smile to his lips, but at the last moment he decided to put off torturing them until he had Mara Andreotis safely locked in a collar of her own. It's better to keep them off balance, he reasoned. How does the human expression go? Oh, yes … 'the suspense is killing me'. Well, we won't go quite that far, but we might come awfully frakkin' close!

"Make yourselves comfortable, sisters," he mocked; "because we're gonna be here for a while. If you get hungry or want something to drink, just ask the centurions. But there won't be any bathroom breaks, so don't overdo it."

"What about the Eight," Aspasia sneered. "Are you going to feed and water her as well, or are we all keeping you from your next, bold adventure?"

"Now, now, Six; do mind your manners." Cavil reached out gently to pat the top of the Eight's head. "And a little sympathy would not be out of order. This poor Eight has led a very traumatic existence. She threw herself at a handsome, young Colonial officer, but he scorned her every advance. She was murdered by an outraged Five who wanted the officer in question for himself. We had to box the Five, or he would have kept on killing her until he ran out of bullets. Our sister's sense of self-esteem had plummeted to the point where this … this … was an act of kindness. Now, she has purpose … a concrete goal that it is well within her ability to achieve."

Cavil stroked the Eight's cheek, eliciting a low moan in response. She leaned into his touch, but in the shattered fragments of her mind the image of Louis Hoshi still lingered. A vague ache … a longing for something just out of reach … disturbed the quiet that now shrouded her soul. Her eyes remained fixed, staring into a space that didn't quite exist … but a lone tear trickled down her right cheek.

Cavil captured it with his index finger, and brushed the salty tear against his lips. "Don't be deceived by appearances, Six. My pet is extraordinarily talented. Her knowledge of the erotic arts now exceeds that of both your models combined. Would you like a demonstration? You need only ask. I guarantee you that she will perform to your satisfaction."

"Brother, you disgust me." D'Anna's loathing for the Ones had finally found a convenient target. "You murdered our brothers, murdered our parents—and now you're lobotomizing your sisters. What happened to you? How could you sink to such … depravity?"

"Well, somebody has to clean up our parents' mess, and I'm just the machine to do it. The Sevens," Cavil snorted; "what a pathetic, absolutely useless waste of time and effort. Artists," he scoffed; "poets … composers! And the Twos … the whole lot of them stumble around with their heads in the clouds and their feet on the shore while they swim in the stream, whatever the frak that means. And as for the Threes … sister, you've already reminded me of exactly why I loathe that non-existent god of yours. How many times have I had to listen to all that drivel about God's will? God made me do it," he minced.

"God will punish you for your blasphemy," D'Anna said in a voice that rang with conviction. "My child will destroy you, and all who serve you. God's will be done!"

"Didn't anyone tell you," Cavil asked with feigned astonishment. "God's flown the coop, but he left a note just for you, D'Anna. Do you know what it says? Do you know? It says … OUT TO LUNCH!"

The One suddenly lashed out and grabbed her by the hair. He yanked her head back and spat into her face, his coal black eyes burning like glowing embers. "I'm going to be a while," he taunted, "but I'll be back—and when I return we'll pick up this conversation where we left off. In the meantime … in the meantime, I'm really going to enjoy poisoning the husks of all the Twos and Threes. Your models were mistakes, D'Anna—but I'm a mechanic, and what do mechanics do? They fix mistakes. Ah, but not you, D'Anna … I'm going to frak you, not for my own personal enjoyment but to satisfy my scientific curiosity. Truth be told, I have absolutely no idea how my little pet will react when she catches your scent, but I'm eager to find out."

D'Anna shuddered with revulsion, the memories of rape and degradation still fresh in her mind. Cavil smiled triumphantly, and left without another word.

The Three and the Six, their lives forever linked by the children to whom they had given birth, silently exchanged helpless looks. But D'Anna Biers refused to give in to her despair. On the Colony, she had once waged a long and lonely battle to forge her unborn child into a weapon capable of defeating the Ones and their monstrous ambitions. Now, she would prove herself worthy of her son.

"Eight," she whispered gently to the horribly abused creature crouching opposite her. "Sharon, can you hear me? Can you understand me? Please, say something."

"Louis," Sharon moaned, her eyes blinking rapidly. The shards of broken memory lanced her mind, and pain born of regrets that she could no longer fully comprehend caused silent tears to fall untouched to the waiting deck.

. . .

"So, gentlemen, what are we dealing with here?"

"Mr. President, are you familiar with Mellorak sickness?" Mike Robert was dressed in scrubs; he had come straight to Colonial One from the tent that the civilian doctors were using for surgical procedures. He had the air of a man who was being overworked to the point of exhaustion.

"Vaguely," Gaius admitted.

"It's a nasty bit of business," Doc Cottle interjected. "The elderly are particularly vulnerable because it homes in on the respiratory system. If you don't catch it within the first 48 hours, it's already too late."

"I lost a patient this morning," Dr. Robert added. "Duncan Calloney was 71. Technically, the cause of death was pneumonia, but it was brought on by Mellorak. He was Sagittaron, so I prescribed bittamucin in tablet form … told him that it was a natural substance that wouldn't violate his religious beliefs. The autopsy will determine whether he was actually taking the drug."

"So, it's curable?"

"Absolutely, Admiral; just one shot of bittamucin generally does the trick. And there are quite a large number of sedatives that we can use to alleviate the symptoms."

"Most patients are right as rain in a day or two," Cottle agreed.

"Doctor, why didn't you inoculate Mr. Calloney?" Sharon couldn't follow the civilian physician's reasoning. "Why did you give him tablets?"

"Frankly, Mrs. Baltar, I didn't want to press my luck," Dr. Robert confessed. "Hypodermic needles aren't referenced in the scriptures, and most Sagittarons will refuse any medical treatment that isn't blessed by the gods."

"For the last three thousand years," Cottle explained, "medicine's been the great curse. There's a reason why life expectancy on Sagittaron was significantly lower than anywhere else in the Colonies."

"Sharon," her husband said with a mischievous grin, "your father put it well. One night, when we were playing Triad with some of the pilots, Colonel Tigh called the Sagittarons 'a bunch of stubborn, root-sucking jackasses holding onto traditions a thousand years old'. Most of our people would agree with him."

"What about the Cylons," Adama pressed. "Are they in any danger?"

"So far, the outbreak has been confined to the Sagittarons," Dr. Robert replied. "We've diagnosed fifty-one cases to date. The youngest patient I've treated is 44, but most have been men in their sixties. Some of these people are going to die because they refuse treatment altogether or they've delayed coming in to see us until it's too late."

"How's our stock of bittamucin holding out?"

"Bill, that's our biggest worry," Cottle was quick to concede. "It's limited, so we should probably conserve it and only inoculate after the first symptoms show."

"I want our pilots and deck crews immunized before they get sick," Adama ordered; "and you had better talk to Colonel Phillips as well. We can't afford to lose the skills that his people bring to the table."

"I agree, Admiral … and I also agree that we need to keep a close eye on the Cylons." Baltar looked around the gathering, and it belatedly dawned on him that with the sole exception of Mike Robert everyone in the room was either cylon or married to a Cylon. "Keeping in mind what Mr. Anders has told us about the cylon immune system, there is no way to predict how this or any other disease would affect them, and we can't take a chance on something like this reaching the resurrection ships. We have to get on top of this, and stay on top. Are we agreed?"

"I'll talk to my sisters," Sharon said, "but I'll leave it to Caprica to spread the word among the Sixes. Dr. Cottle, it would be helpful if your wife dealt with the Twos and Threes. They all hold her in very high regard."

"D'Anna will be glad to help," Cottle replied, "although I doubt that it's really necessary. The Twos and Threes have become so deeply embedded in the monotheist community that they've absorbed the Gemenese prejudice against Sagittarons."

"We can use that to our advantage," Dr. Robert observed. "The Sagittarons and the Gemenese pretty much keep to themselves anyway, but in this instance I think that we should encourage them to do so. Mellorak is spread by human contact, so if we can keep it contained within the Sagittaron population, we can prevent this from turning into a pandemic. Since there's not nearly enough bittamucin to go around, we have to limit exposure. All things considered, therefore, I recommend that we physically isolate the Sagittarons. Get them settled, and start an educational campaign that stresses proper hygiene. Frankly, it would help if they would simply shower more frequently, and treat sores and open wounds with topical disinfectants. I don't want anyone, however, to mention the word 'antibiotic' in their presence. The 'root-sucking jackasses' won't go near it."

"A Sagittaron ghetto," the President said with a resigned sigh. "I don't like the idea of promoting tribalism, but at the moment we seem to be caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place. Fine … okay … I'll tell Colonel Phillips to build a block of apartments in the southeast quadrant ASAP. We'll keep the Sagittarons downstream, and as far away from the river as we can. Is there anything else?"

Sharon Baltar turned to look at John Bierns. Their child hadn't spoken a word during the entire meeting, but she presumed that he shared Adama's concern for his pregnant cylon wife.

"John," she asked curiously, "you have remained silent throughout. Is there anything that you want to contribute to this discussion?"

"Not really," the spook answered distractedly. He shifted his attention to Mike Robert. "Can you supply me with samples of this disease? Blood … saliva … semen—anything will do so long as the virus is live. I'll also need several doses of bittamucin," he added as an afterthought.

"Major, do you have any idea what you're doing," Cottle quietly asked. The two men had privately discussed this very issue a couple of hours earlier; Sherman had readily answered the CSS agent's questions, but he had flatly refused to supply him with samples of the virus. Cottle had a pretty good idea what Bierns was planning, and it violated every principle enshrined in the Physician's Oath. "With all due respect, amateurs shouldn't be playing around with deadly viruses."

"I'll take the necessary precautions," Ghostrider promised. The Heavy Raider will be well beyond the reach of the resurrection ships, he thought; and it's not like we don't have plenty of Ones and Fives to go around.

. . .

"You look so tired," Apollo noted sympathetically. It was late afternoon, and the fading light only seemed to accentuate his wife's fatigue. They were standing in the kitchen of their new apartment, a second floor unit that faced the river and overlooked New Caprica City's only public park. Water jetted into the sky from the large fountain at its center, the fountain itself an exact copy of the one that had dominated Caprica City's famed Riverwalk.

"You have two choices," he added. "You can sit down, or fall down." Apollo continued to knead the muscles and tendons at the base of Creusa's neck, but they were so tight that he suspected he'd have better luck massaging a steel bar.

"Mmm … that feels good," Creusa murmured. Her eyes were closed, and she had tilted her head towards the ceiling. "I feel so useless," she confessed. "Something as simple as making tea now seems beyond my reach."

"Is our little beach ball giving you a hard time," Lee asked affectionately. "She never seems to stop squirming anymore."

"Cyrene's fine." Creusa's hands drifted to rest on her bulging abdomen. "She would be happier if Callista was nearby … but she's fine."

"Do you want me to call Shelly and invite her to come down? She'd love to see you, and the two of you could commiserate with each other."

"Have you forgotten that we're on our honeymoon, Lee? I may have to share you with the President, but that's the limit of my patience."

"It's just that you seem … well … you seem depressed. I've never seen you like this, not even when you were wounded in that firefight with Cavil's centurions. I'm worried about you, but I can't help if you won't let me in."

"Kara stopped by while you were on Colonial One," Creusa reluctantly replied. "We were talking about everything that's happened, and …"

"Go on," Apollo encouraged.

Creusa turned awkwardly around to stare into her husband's eyes. "Is it true, Lee? What she told me about the battle when you were escaping from Ragnar … is it true?"

"I don't understand. Is what true?"

"That your Viper was badly damaged, and that you would have been killed or captured if she hadn't pulled one of those crazy stunts of hers."

"Yeah … yeah … that's true enough," Lee acknowledged.

"If you had been captured …"

Tears began to well up in Creusa's eyes.

"You would have been tortured," she haltingly finished. "You would have been tortured to death!"

"Creusa …"

"No! Let me finish!" Her voice was agonized. "They would have handed you over to a Six for the interrogation. They might have even brought me up from Scorpia—on the first day, everybody found out that blood and gore don't bother me. Lee, you're the father of my child, but in a different circumstance … in a different circumstance I would have tortured you without hesitation or remorse!"

"Maybe," Lee conceded. "Or maybe the connection that we've always shared would have been just as powerful then as it is now."

"It wouldn't have mattered," Creusa sobbed. "If I had faltered, the Cavils would have just sent another one of my sisters in to take my place. In the end, it wouldn't have mattered, and Cyrene …"

"Sweetheart, where is this coming from?" Lee clasped Creusa's hands, and stared into the depths of her suddenly haunted eyes. "Why are you punishing yourself this way?"

"Would you have tortured me, Lee? If the situation had been reversed and you were convinced that I possessed information that would help you to survive, could you have done it?"

"No," Lee said emphatically. "Even in a war, there have to be limits, and torturing prisoners is way beyond the line. I'm no Helena Cain, and neither is my father."

"Sixes can be cruel, and I'm not going to pretend that I'm all that different from my sisters." Creusa effortlessly called to mind all that she had done to the Cavils on the resurrection ship. "Does this make me a bad person? Am I even fit to be a mother?"

"Hey, now you're infringing on my turf," Apollo laughed. He awkwardly wrapped his arms around his wife's waist. "Adama men don't exactly have a great track record when it comes to raising kids, so I expect to screw up … probably about a hundred times a day. But you'll do great … just wait and see … you're going to be a fantastic mom."

"Our poor daughter …"

"Hey, stop this! Stop it right now! My mom … she loved us, but she also resented us, and it's easy to see why. We were a constant reminder of a husband and father who was never there. Two weeks a year, Creusa; all those years, and my dad … he was never home for more than two weeks a year. Mom was lonely, but she was trapped; in the end, the bottle was her only way out, but she couldn't control her anger …"

"I did what I could to protect Zak," Lee whispered, his mind reaching back across the years, painful memories of the seemingly endless days and nights of abuse rushing all too easily to the surface.

"We are not my parents," he fiercely added. "You don't resent our daughter, and I promise you this: I will never put my career ahead of my family—it … will … not … happen."

"But you know what?" Apollo laughed again, but this time it was a hollow, bitter sound. "I don't even know what I'm talking about because I've never had a career! The uniform? The only reason I joined the military … the only reason … was to make 'the Old Man' proud of his son. 'A man isn't a man until he wears the wings of a Viper pilot'. Gods, if I heard that line once, I must have heard it a thousand times! And I got sick of it. I was going to quit, Creusa; I was going to leave the service … move on … do something else with my life. If you had hit us six months later, the odds are pretty good that I would have died along with everybody else."

"Oh, Lee …"

"I love you, Creusa, and as much as it scares me, I can't wait to be a dad. We'll make mistakes; of course we'll make mistakes … everybody does … but we'll learn. We'll get better as we go along, and it'll turn out okay because we're a family.

"We're a family," he repeated as he lovingly ran his fingers through his wife's long, blond hair. He was secretly pleased that it had lost none of its silken texture; indeed, for all of her complaints about back aches and leg cramps, Lee judged Creusa's pregnancy to have gone remarkably well. True, her breasts were now noticeably heavier, but her arms and legs were still as slender and graceful as ever, and she was currently wearing the same shoes that she had favored seven months earlier—the very shoes, in fact, that she had left in sick bay on the morning Doc Cottle broke the news. The morning, Lee reminded himself, when I turned into the crown prince of idiots … the morning Creusa rushed back to the baseship in tears because she thought that I didn't want the baby.

Lee leaned forward, and kissed his cylon wife full on the lips. He could say so much without words, which always seemed to fail him.

"Do you want to," she shyly asked. Creusa feared that her advancing pregnancy had robbed her of her beauty, and her erotic appeal. She feared even more the day when Apollo would finally prove unwilling to satisfy her.

"You are so incredibly beautiful," he whispered; "and I want to … in every room … on every piece of furniture. Where shall we begin?"

"The dining room table," she suggested. "It's hard enough to give my back some relief."

"The dining room table it is," Lee responded. He took her by the hand, and gently led the way.

. . .

"The E.M.C. electrical conduit on decks 15 and 16 is loose. Shut down power to grid five. End of line. The oracle swims outside the stream, seeking truth in misted pools and bitter roots. Solar flares have increased luminosity by 3.75%. The carbon scoring on the FTL sync coils stands uncorrected. Replace filters in the carbon scrubbers on deck 42 at junction AD3C. End of line. A tool is deadly without the proper insulation. The maker likes the Eight's hair just the way it is. This coffee break is sponsored by Dex's Diner, which is temporarily located at S1/B2—the third tent on the right. Riverside ambience … steaks, chops, and ribs grilled to your satisfaction … for the best in New Caprica City dining, visit Dex's today …"

Melpomene Meacham shrieked with laughter. She was flanked by Pyrrha and by little Julia Ferrin, who had become Melpomene's constant shadow. At age two and a half, Julia was by far the youngest child on the ship, but she had already revealed a talent for finding hidey-holes that had escaped the older children's notice. Natalie had asked one of the centurions to keep an eye on the perpetually curious toddler, who from the outset had accepted the presence of her metallic babysitter without question. The cylon commander didn't need to look up; she knew that "Tommy" had his sensors fixed on Julia, just as "Henry" monitored Melpomene's every movement. The relationship between man and machine had undergone a seismic shift on the day that Melpomene had thrown herself in front of a gun to keep her centurion safe. The children had grown fiercely loyal to their protectors, and where they led, most of the humans had gradually begun to follow.

The three wide-eyed little girls were on their hands and knees, leaning far out over the edge of the hybrid's tank. Natalie and the other adoptive cylon mothers no longer worried about the children falling into the gelatinous goop that filled the vat. It had happened more than once, but Reun never allowed them to slip far beneath the surface. The ongoing love affair between the hybrid and her human charges was mutual and intense.

"Mommy", Pyrrha yelled over her shoulder, "I like ribs! Can we go? Can we, mommy?"

Natalie Faust smiled affectionately at the five year old girl to whom she had become so utterly devoted. The solemn child whom she had helped to rescue from slavery almost six months earlier had vanished, to be replaced by the whirlwind kneeling at her feet.

"I don't see why not … but first, you have to do your ABG's," she cautioned.

"Can Henry and I come too, Aunt Natalie?" Melpomene had twisted around to stare up at the Six with a hopeful expression.

"You can all come, Melpomene; we'll have a party. But first, isn't there something that you want to do for Aunt Reun?"

"Uh huh. Hen … ry!" Melpomene climbed to her feet, and turned fully to face the centurion with whom she had shared so many adventures in the fleet. "Do you have it," she signed.

"I gave it to our brother," the machine signed in return. Henry turned his head and nodded in the direction of John Bierns, who was standing alongside Dodona Selloi.

Standing unobtrusively to the side, Leoben could taste the current of affection that flowed between the two hybrids. Few things gave him such a deep sense of personal satisfaction as the steady maturing of Reun's personality; in this chamber, the First Born and the human children had unwittingly combined to work their magic as they had everywhere else on the immense ship.

John reached into his pocket, and pulled out two more of the candy bars that he had liberated from Natalie's personal treasure chest. "Caramel coated in chocolate," he whispered to the little girl when she ran up to him. "They're really good. Give one to my sister, and share the other with Pyrrha."

"What about Julia," Melpomene whispered in return.

"I have a special treat for her. The two of us are going to try a cookie."

While John scooped up the toddler and fished out a chocolate chip cookie freshly baked that morning, Melpomene dashed back to the tank, tore off the wrapper, and held the candy bar out for the expectant hybrid's inspection.

"Look, Aunt Reun! Caramel and chocolate! Uncle John says it's really good!"

The hybrid accepted the sweet, and took a small bite while Melpomene hastily discarded the second wrapper and used her fingers to saw the wafer more or less in half. The two girls began to chew contentedly, while Julia quietly nibbled on the edge of her own treat.

"Peace in our time," a relieved Six standing on the opposite side of the tank wryly commented. But she knew that the respite was only temporary. The harried Sixes and Eights had established a day care center less than a hundred meters down the corridor from Reun's chamber, but the children were far too energetic to stay confined in any one place for very long. They had the run of the ship, and the Cylons had had to form cooperatives just to keep pace.

Natalie could only shake her head in amused agreement. Since the children had unmasked the hybrid's addiction to sweets, the gathering in Reun's chamber had become one of their daily rituals. Major Cottle continued to grumble about diabetes and the onset of high blood pressure, but the collective had decided to ignore him. Besides, trying to anticipate Melpomene's next move had now become one of the ship's favorite pastimes. The child was infinitely resourceful, and her playmates could always be counted on to follow her lead. How like her, Natalie considered, to have John smuggle the candy in for her.

When they were finished, Melpomene once more climbed to her feet, and the mood in the chamber was instantly transformed. A hush fell over the gathered Cylons, for this was a routine that never varied. Melpomene walked around to the other side of the tank, and looked up at the Six who was her minder of the moment.

"May I be excused," she said with great solemnity.

"Of course, sweetheart," the still nameless Six responded.

"I love you, Aunt Reun." And with that Melpomene was gone, her destination a distant corridor near the Control Room. After favoring John with a swift and disapproving glance, Natalie took Pyrrha by the hand and trailed after her. She had strongly opposed bringing the human oracle on board, arguing that it was dangerous to expose the hybrid to a woman who obviously had the gift of sight, but she had been outvoted. The Twos and Threes just as adamantly favored the joining. They wanted to explore the connection between the two very different seers in the hope that each would inspire the other, and that God's plan for them all would thereby come more sharply into focus. The more practical Eights had also refused to follow Natalie's lead. They wanted every tactical advantage over the Ones that they could get, and the possibilities that flowed from networking the fleet's oracles with their first born and his hybrid sisters intrigued them no end. . . .

Kara Thrace had started the Wall of Remembrance with but a single photograph, but it had grown over time, and Melpomene Meacham had made it peculiarly her own. She came every day to this place, and all but the very youngest of the children faithfully attended her. Kara often came as well, to pay her respects to Thalia, but at these gatherings she wisely chose to remain silent, yielding to the seven year old child who in some mysterious way had become the very heart and soul of the giant baseship.

Dozens of humans and Cylons were already waiting, but they moved aside so that the child might easily pass. Melpomene walked up to the wall and placed her hands upon the photographs of her father and his beloved Six, the adoptive mother for whom she ached in her heart, the two of them murdered long months before in a stateroom on Cloud Nine.

Melpomene bowed her head, and closed her eyes.

"Heavenly Father, hear my prayer. "

All around her, the gathering lowered their heads. On the baseships, the cylon faith was attracting new converts every week. Melpomene's flock was growing steadily.

"Please look after mommy and daddy … and grandma and grandpa." Melpomene had no memory of her mother, who had succumbed to cancer on the night of her birth, but she had strong memories of her maternal grandparents. They had always been there, making sure that the father and child were never truly alone.

"And watch over the souls of all the people who couldn't come with us, especially the babies and the little children."

The words pierced the spirits of the assembled Cylons like a dagger. This was the place of their atonement. They came here every day, to mourn their own and to do penance for their sins. They had finally run the calculations. Only when it was far too late had they come to the realization that their bombs had killed tens of millions of unborn children, and hundreds of millions of the newly born. They had dispensed death so casually, so certain were they that God desired the humans to be punished for their corruption and their sin. The shame of it still threatened to crush them.

"And keep Aunt Six safe, and lead me to her. Let me find her, Lord, because she's my mommy, and I love her so-o-o much! I try to be good, Lord … every day, I try to be good so that mommy will be proud of me and love me, too. And please, help Aunt Natalie and Aunt Reun; they work so hard and when I grow up, I want to be just like them. And don't let anyone hurt Henry. He's my best friend, and I know that you gave him a soul, too. Uncle Leoben must be right: you gave souls to everybody, Lord, and that's why we all love you. Amen."

A chorus of 'amens' echoed softly up and down the corridor. The gathering broke up, but many of the Cylons and humans lingered, to say their own individual prayers for the people they loved.

. . .

The tent flap was violently thrust aside, and Shevon gasped in surprise. She was entertaining a repeat customer, and the very last thing that she expected was to be interrupted at work.

Three shadows emerged from the looming darkness. She couldn't make out their features in the dim light, but she knew that they would be young, tall, and well-muscled. They always were.

"Hey, Shevon," an anonymous voice called out. "I was about to ask how's tricks, but I can see that you're keeping busy."

"What the frak," the john yelled.

"Sorry about the interruption, mister. Now, you go back to having a good time. We want to make sure that you get your money's worth."

"Hey, get the frak outta here!"

The thug pointed his gun at the man's head, and racked a round. "Not gonna happen, mister, but we do value customer satisfaction, so just pretend that we're not here. Besides," he laughed, "you might teach us a new trick or two. Who knows? Anything's possible."

The client's libido had already been punctured, but he was retired military and he knew better than to argue with a loaded gun. He turned back to Shevon, and concentrated on convincingly faking a thunderous climax.

"He's all elbows and knees," one of the other gangsters commented. "He's got no finesse at all."

"He's only paying the base rate," the leader chuckled. "Shevon's sliding scale, aren't you sweetheart? You want more, you gotta pony up."

Shevon's eyes narrowed, but she remained silent. Now she had a name to go with the voice, but she didn't want to jeopardize her customer. She'd wait.

"You paid her yet?"

"No," the client grunted.

"What's she charging you?"

"Fifty cubits."

"Fifty cubits! Shevon … Shevon … you've really come down in the world. You used to get a hundred, no questions asked."

"Depreciation," one of his friends snidely remarked. "She's a lot older now, and I'll bet she's not near as tight as she used to be."

"What do you think, mister? Is the equipment a little worn and torn?"

"Shevon's fine," he answered vaguely, not at all sure what the unseen faces behind him wanted to hear. "She's great."

"Glad to hear it. You gonna leave her a tip?"

"Ten cubits … I always give her an extra ten."

"Ah … you're a man after my own heart. Tell you what …"

He poked around in the mound of clothing that the customer had neatly stacked on a stool at the foot of the bed. When he found the man's wallet, he pulled it out and removed a pair of well-used twenty cubit notes.

"Starting tonight, Shevon here is under new management. So, for the balance of the evening, everyone's gonna get a discount. Forty cubits, mister; take the other twenty, and treat yourself to a nice steak dinner over at Dex's. Give yourself a night to remember!"

Once the client had dressed and departed, Shevon threw on a robe, but she didn't bother belting it. She figured the three men would want to inspect the goods.

"What do you want, Enzo," she asked in a resigned voice. She knew exactly what he wanted—in all the years that she had been on the game, it had never varied.

"A piece of the action, sweetheart … just a taste. Let's say … oh … how about forty percent?"

"Forty percent," she scoffed. "I've got a better idea. How about you leave before Six finds out that you've just pissed off one of my best customers. Otherwise, she'll take the three of you out into the woods and nail your balls to a tree with ice picks. How does that grab you, Enzo?"

"Hey, what Six don't know won't hurt her—and you're not gonna tell her shit, you got me? 'Cause if you do, one of my pals will take a straight razor to your daughter's cheeks. Now, that'd be a shame, wouldn't it, Shevon? 'Cause then she won't be good for nothing but blow jobs."

"You frakking son of a bitch …"

"Forty percent, Shevon … and I don't give a frak what you're paying Dino Panattes and the Six for protection. As of this moment, the Sons of Ares own you. If you can't hack the juice, then raise your rates or take on some more customers—it's your choice. But either way, we get our forty percent, plus all the usual perks."

"Perks? Yeah, sure … how many freebies am I on the hook for?"

"Nothing you can't handle, sweetheart … two a night at the most, and we'll even bring our own rubbers."

. . .

"Stallion, I'm really sorry that I had to drag you into this mess. A Raptor simply doesn't have the range for this operation, and the Cylons can't become involved. There are way too many imponderables. You're the only human I know who can pilot a Heavy Raider and be trusted never to tell anyone what we're doing out here."

"Major, I've gotta be honest with you. What we're doing isn't just a violation of the Articles of War; it runs counter to every principle I believe in. So, even if it's a lie, tell me that this has to be done … that Aphrodite and the baby don't stand a chance unless we do this."

"It's necessary," Bierns shot back.

"Wiping them out? Yeah … sure … I'm all for wiping the Cavils out, but biological weapons? Major, up until now I've never done anything in this war that I'm ashamed of, but this … if we do this, then we're no better than they are."

The first born hybrid turned, and gazed thoughtfully into the dim recesses of the cylon transport. After they had cleared the nebula, he had instructed Hephaestus Fears to make eight jumps in the general direction of the cylon Earth … eight jumps that would put them well clear of the two resurrection ships orbiting New Caprica.

A half dozen heavily shackled Ones and Fives, their Achilles tendons severed, were bolted to the floor at the opposite end of the ship. Each of them had been exposed to the Mellorak virus roughly ninety-six hours earlier. The spook had injected it directly into the blood stream of two of his test subjects, while swabbing another pair. As a practical matter, however, Bierns was most interested in the results of his third experiment. He had taken a knife to the last of the Ones and Fives, and worked the virus into their open wounds.

"This isn't our only option, Lieutenant." The CSS agent was thinking about the top-secret pulse weapon that was being developed in Gaius Baltar's old lab on the Galactica.

"Hopefully, it won't even turn out to be our best." In principle, an EMP weapon was simple enough—the problem was directional control. If they couldn't target the blast, then they couldn't use a baseship as a firing platform because the bomb would consume friend and foe alike.

"I pray to the One God every night," Stallion confessed. The ex-Viper jock was one of the many humans who had formally converted to the cylon faith. "But truth be told, when Artemis and Aphrodite aren't looking, I ask the Lords of Kobol for their blessings as well. Major, I don't ask for much. I just want my son to grow up on a world at peace."

"Your son and my daughter both," John wistfully observed. "And that's why those bastards back there have got to go," he added.

"There's no turning back from this, you know." The spook caught the hint of desperation in the young officer's voice. "Biological weapons … we both know that's the point of no return. We can't let a single one of them survive because no one ever forgives the use of biological weapons. If we miss even one ship …"

"I hear you." Bierns grasped his human friend gently by the shoulder. "Hephaestus, this is strictly a weapon of last resort. I promise you, this is not a step I'll ever take lightly."

John Bierns reached into the knapsack on the floor to his left. He pulled out a syringe.

"Bittamucin," he explained. "Two of the Fives began showing symptoms about four hours ago. "I'll inject one of them now, but we'll give it another twenty-four hours before we inoculate his buddy."

Bierns got up and walked to the rear of the ship.

"Uncle Aaron, you look a little under the weather."

"What did you do to us," the Five asked in his usual, dull monotone. Months earlier, this particular copy of Aaron Doral had blown himself up on Galactica's C deck, and a grenade had subsequently gone off at his feet in the Battle of the Resurrection Ship. And now … well … now, he felt like shit. He sensed no affection for the first born of the hybrid children within his finely tuned silica circuits, but he was also machine enough to admit that his half-breed nephew fully reciprocated his absence of feeling. There was no mistaking the malice in John Bierns' voice.

"Get with the program, Five." One of the Cavils looked up at the First Born with undisguised contempt. "It wasn't enough for our beloved child here to side with the meat sacs … oh no … he had to go and give us one of their foul diseases. What's that," he asked as he nodded at the syringe. "The antidote … I'll bet that's the frakking antidote!"

"Bingo," the spook laughed. "Go to the head of the class, John. You got it right first time out!"

"I don't like that name," Cavil hissed.

"I know." Bierns smiled, but raw hatred for the Ones was radiating off of him in waves. "Mother taught me that … among many other things."

"The learning process begins in the womb," he added when he saw the look of blank incomprehension on Cavil's face. "Mama poured herself into me, John. I am truly D'Anna's child."

"What a shame," a second Cavil sneered; "she was weak … pathetic and useless. She used to go on and on about how she was going to carry the word of God to the humans … how she couldn't wait to fall in love and start farting out little meat sacs of her very own. But when I poked her up the ass, she squealed just like a stuck pig!"

"What? What are you talking about?" They could all hear the confusion in Aaron Doral's voice. Another coughing spasm wracked his frame.

"Shut up brother; this doesn't concern you."

Bierns knelt at the Five's side, and injected the bittamucin into the side of his neck. "This will help," he mildly remarked.

"Mother may have had her faults," the First Born politely conceded as he shifted his attention back to the Ones, "but unlike you three geniuses, she never managed to misplace an entire baseship."

The three Cavils scowled, and then the implications of what Bierns had just said hit them.

"Yeah, that's right, John; one of your aircraft is missing. It defected right under your nose, and as we speak it's leading another fleet off to the far reaches of the galaxy. But they'd better find a new home soon, because the Sixes and Eights have had so many babies that things are getting a little cramped over there. Even the Threes are getting in on the action."

"You're lying," one of the Cavils shouted. "There's no frakking way!"

"What can I say? Either Ellen's notorious firewalls are overrated, or my aunts have inadvertently stumbled across the answer. Either way, John, you've lost. Cylon and human have come together, and together they're going to fill the galaxy with life!"

. . .

"Welcome home, sisters," Cavil said mockingly as the centurions led the three captives down the ramp. "D'Anna, would you like to lead us all in a prayer of thanksgiving for this happy little family reunion?"

"No, but I'll pray for you, brother. I'll pray hard, because you damn your immortal soul with every blasphemous word that you speak, and with every impious deed that you perform."

"Don't bother, sister; the Ones are beyond redemption." Despite her shackles, Mara Andreotis turned in a slow circle, obviously searching for something in the vastness of the landing bay.

"You got a problem, Six?"

"John, do you remember the last time that we talked—in the foundry? You stuck a knife in my ribs, and then sent me for a swim in a pool of molten metal. I was still alive when I hit the surface. Believe me, that was no fun … no fun at all."

"Ah, the good old days," Cavil said with feigned regret. "I remember them well."

"I'm sure you've refined your technique in the interim. What will it be this time, John? Are you going to have the centurions drop us into a shark tank? Feed us to a school of starving piranha? Like most sadists, brother, you're very creative. You will undoubtedly make our deaths as painful and entertaining as possible."

"Sister, I am disappointed in you … truly disappointed. I don't intend to harm so much as one teeny tiny little hair on top of that bleached blond head of yours. I need you alive and in one piece because the Abomination won't be inclined to barter for damaged goods. But I also need you to be cooperative, and that's Six's job."

Cavil swung around, and gestured for the black clad overseer to step forward. Her eyes were bright with anticipation as they moved back and forth between Aspasia and Mara, taking their measure. The three Sixes were mirror images of one another—but one was a predator, and the other two her prey.

"Fortunately," Cavil continued, "those collars of yours make for excellent training devices. They are guaranteed to produce the desired results, but without all the blood and gore that attend the more primitive methods of behavior modification."

"Enjoy yourself, brother, by all means. But John is CSS; you're deluded if you think that he'll sacrifice himself to save the three of us."

"Mara, hasn't D'Anna brought you up to speed? Rest assured … we have no intention of killing your precious hybrid boyfriend." The Cavil who had transported the three Cylon females to the baseship handed the controller over to the Six. "We just want to remove him from the battlefield. To that end, we've promised your sister here that she can have him as her slave. So, we're going to let her take charge of the three of you. She can, as you have so eloquently put it, use you to refine the techniques that she plans to employ on him. Then, when our paths cross, as invariably they will … why, we'll offer the Abomination a trade—his freedom for your lives."

"John will laugh in your face."

"No, he won't. I don't break promises, Six. My word is my bond, and the Abomination knows it. Plus, the poor fool really loves you. Now, I grant that he might not be willing to die for you, but a straight up exchange—your freedom for his? He'll jump at the chance."

"Speaking of promises," Cavil added as he stared hard at D'Anna. "It's time to carry out that little experiment we were talking about back on the Hub … you know … the one involving the Eight? The centurions will escort you to my chamber … or they can carry you if you feel like kicking up a fuss."

D'Anna sensed that the monster wanted her to resist, and she debated whether or not to play his game. The Ones regarded her with contempt, and it was very much to her advantage not to give them any reason to change their opinion. But eleven very long months in Hell had hardened her. The innocent child who had lost everyone she had ever loved was gone, replaced by a woman who had found a bottomless reservoir of strength deep within her spirit. Her faith had sustained her against the near infinite abuse that the Cavils had heaped upon her in the past, and it would continue to sustain her against the horrors that now awaited her on this ship. She clung to her absolute, unquestioning belief in the One True God, and knowing that her brothers would see her faith as a sign of weakness, decided to parade it.

"I'll walk … and for what you are about to do to this Eight, may God have mercy on your twisted soul."

"You would be better advised," Cavil sneered, "to exhort these Sixes to fall on their knees and beg their sister for mercy … not that she has any. Do you, my dear?"

For answer, the overseer copy turned the knob on the controller to a higher setting before activating it. Mara and Aspasia dropped to their knees, screaming in agony, and D'Anna could see at a glance that their pain had already aroused the Six. In a matter of seconds the machine was reduced to an animal, an animal in heat, and only a centurion's grip prevented the increasingly distraught Eight from pouncing upon her. In that moment, D'Anna Biers glimpsed her own future, and as she walked away she prayed anew for deliverance from the evil that beset her.

. . .

All in all, it had been a good week. Six more Sagittarons had succumbed to Mellorak sickness—five men and one woman, all in their sixties. Jack Marshall and Kelly Myer had publicly refused to be treated, hence had no one but themselves to blame for their deaths. The other four had accepted the tablets when he offered them, but in each instance he had made sure that the intervention came too late. As Mike Robert updated the log in which he recorded the details of his patients' deaths, he felt the warm glow of personal satisfaction that came with a job well done. In a matter of days, the Sagittaron filth would be isolated in its own ghetto, and in a matter of weeks it would be extinct.

. . .

"Did you get what you were looking for," Stallion asked quietly.

"Yeah, it looks like Sam Anders was right. Fortunately for us, the cylon immune system leaves a lot to be desired."

Bierns leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and exhaled a long, slow breath.

"Lieutenant, everything's gone pretty much the way Doc Cottle laid it out. The quartet who got the prescribed dose of bittamucin inside the forty-eight hour window … they've all fully recovered. The first Doral and Cavil I inoculated shrugged off the infection as easily as any young, physically active human; in fact, as best I can tell they never registered any serious discomfort. The only surprise of note is that all three of the Fives had been sick for almost half a day before the Ones started to cough and wheeze. Those bastards may look old, but they've got strong constitutions. It probably wouldn't be a very smart idea for even the best trained Colonial marine to take them on in a fair fight."

"Marines don't fight fair, Major … especially the ones who've been hanging out with Six."

"Truer words," Bierns laughed more softly. "She had my back when I took down Eric Phelan on the Prometheus. Making her our unarmed combat instructor turned out to be one of my better moves."

"At the time, I thought you were crazy- Hades, just about everybody on Galactica thought you'd gone completely round the bend. But, dear Lords, you sure made the marines happy. Now, they'll follow you anywhere!"

"My very own fan club," the CSS agent grinned. But then he turned serious.

"Anyway, the second pair took a lot longer to fight off the disease, and they needed some pretty heavy pain medication along the way, but the Five had been symptomatic for a full twenty-eight hours when I administered the drug, and the One for forty-four. As for the other two … Cavil expired ten minutes ago."

"Expired … is that a polite way of saying that he's dead?"

"The Cavil and the Doral … yeah, they're both dead."

"So, what happens next?"

The hard-bitten spook removed a gun from his knapsack, and checked the load. "You'd better suit up," he quietly suggested.

Stallion repeatedly shook his head, but it was the gesture of a man who was resigned to his fate. The lieutenant's marriage to Artemis and Aphrodite Six had stripped him of the ability to pretend that Cylons were unfeeling machines. Cylons didn't come with off switches, and the Heavy Raider was now well outside resurrection range. Permanent death … Lieutenant Hephaestus Jerome Fears was about to become an accessory to cold-blooded murder—something that he had never signed on for when he enlisted in the Colonial fleet. He felt vaguely sick.

Bierns got up and walked to the rear of the cylon vessel. He had made this trip many times over the last eight days, but it was getting progressively harder. The stench of urine and feces was bad enough, but Ghostrider hadn't bothered to remove the Five's corpse when Doral had died thirty-six hours earlier. The body was getting ripe.

"Are you enjoying yourself," one of the two surviving Cavils contemptuously inquired. "Does our suffering give you some sick sense of satisfaction?"

"Oh, John, don't be such a hypocrite. You didn't allow your 'guests' on the Arethusa to use the toilet, so I find it hard to believe that the smell of a rotting corpse really offends you."

"What are you going to do with us?" Aaron Doral had never tasted fear … not until now.

Bierns whipped out his gun and, without answering, shot each of the Cavils in the temple.

"I'm told that, when terminal death looms, you take comfort in something called the Prayer to the Cloud of the Unknowing. I'll give you a few minutes."

Despite their shackles, the two copies of Aaron Doral managed to clasp hands. Each had died more than once, but each knew that this time would be the last.

"Heavenly Father, grant us the strength, the wisdom, and above all a measure of acceptance, however small. Receive our souls this day, and deliver our people from the evil that besets us. Amen."

John Bierns shot both of his uncles in the head. After donning his own flight suit, he lowered the Heavy Raider's ramp and unceremoniously tossed the half dozen Cylon corpses out into space. Leaving them to drift forever among the stars, he ordered Stallion to set course for the long journey back to New Caprica.

In the first generation, there had been thirteen copies of each cylon model, but the Ones had slaughtered all of their brothers and sisters. In the second generation, they had spared no one. John Bierns had now left three of the thirteen original Cavils dead in his wake.