WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SCENES OF GRAPHIC VIOLENCE AND MILD SEXUALITY. D'ANNA'S SCENE ECHOES AND EXPANDS UPON MATERIAL IN SEASON ONE, CHAPTER SEVEN; AND SEASON TWO, CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE.
CHAPTER 6
DAMSEL IN DISTRESS II
There was a loud pounding on the door, and Lee Adama almost jumped out of his skin. Creusa and Shevon had been giving him the silent treatment, and he was understandably tense.
Lee whirled around, pulled out a gun, and cocked it. He was as ready as he'd ever be.
Shevon rolled her eyes in disgust, and stared meaningfully at the Cylon. Men … are they all this stupid?
"Lee," Creusa said in the overly patient tone that women reserve exclusively for men who act like two year olds, "I don't think that the Sons of Ares would bother to knock. Why don't you answer the door?"
"Hey Apollo," an irritated voice yelled, "if you're still alive in there, open the frakkin' door!"
"Kara?"
"In the flesh … and I've brought lots of friends. We thought Creusa might need a little help dumping the body."
"Gee, thanks, Kara; you're all heart." Lee engaged the safety and shoved the gun into the waistband of his trousers. But when he opened the door, he discovered that Kara hadn't been exaggerating. He recognized Boomer- as far as he knew, she was still the only Eight entitled to wear a Colonial uniform- but not the three identical Sixes standing in the background. He stood aside to let them enter, and then checked the hallway before closing and bolting the door.
"So, you must be Shevon," Kara blandly remarked. She was standing directly in front of the blond call-girl with her hands on her hips and her feet planted well apart. "Come to pay your respects to my mom, have you?"
"Kara, try not to break any of the furniture, okay?" Lee was waiting for Kara to haul out a couple of pistols and challenge Shevon to an old-fashioned duel.
"Shut up, Lee." And then Kara reached into her jacket and pulled out …
Is that a sponge?
Apollo thought that it must be a trick of the light … or maybe he needed to have his eyes checked.
Kara let it drop to the floor, and a devilish gleam came into Creusa's eyes.
"I hope you weren't planning on using that to mop up the blood," she wryly noted, "because I can tell you from experience that it's way too small. Tell me, Kara, did you come here expecting to find one corpse … or two?" Creusa glanced casually in Lee's direction.
"Frankly, I kind of thought that we'd have to scrape her off the walls," Kara said as she gestured in Shevon's general direction. "In fact, I told Six that having Apollo bring his old girlfriend over here was a pretty dumb idea all the way around. I mean, let's face it, Creusa: for the past seven months, you've been an emotional train wreck. But, she's still in one piece, so I guess I was wrong."
"My sister contacted you?"
"Yeah … on the wireless; she asked me to get my butt down here and help out."
"So, you're what … reinforcements?" Lee was still trying to figure out how such an ordinary day could end up with such a bizarre finish.
"More like a precautionary measure," Boomer suggested. "The way our sister put it, we're here 'just in case'."
"Where's my daughter," Shevon demanded. They could all hear the anxiety in her voice.
"Shevon, my sisters will keep Paya safe," Creusa said as she climbed to her feet and reached out to grasp the frightened human woman by the shoulders. "No harm will come to her … this I promise you."
Shevon took a deep breath, and managed a wan smile. "If anything were to happen to Paya," she confessed, "I don't know how I'd …"
"Nothing's going to happen," Lee interrupted. "No one in their right mind would pick a fight with a Six, and whatever else we might say about him, Enzo's not stupid. He won't go anywhere near Paya, or any of the other kids."
"Shevon, this is Boomer." Creusa nodded at the Colonial pilot by way of introduction. "And these are my sisters, Rachel and Elektra. The one staring grimly out the window is Miriam. Because Kara's such a brat, we don't let her go anywhere by herself … well, almost nowhere." Creusa smiled knowingly at Sharon.
"Boomer and I … we're sort of an item," Kara explained. "She gets the night shift, and these three babysit me during the day. I am, however, allowed to wipe my own nose and eat with a spoon, so things are starting to look up."
"Don't mind Kara, Shevon. She's a bit upset because we ruined her plans for the evening." Rachel eyed their daughter warily; her penchant for picking fights with Lee Adama, and with anyone he appeared to favor, was one of life's givens.
"You're nothing like your brother," Shevon suddenly blurted out. She wasn't about to back down from Kara Thrace, not when her daughter's life was at stake. "You don't look like him, and you sure as hell don't act like him. When Phelan kidnapped Paya, John didn't screw around. He hit the Prometheus with a squad of centurions, and he didn't quit until he'd freed every child in the fleet who was being held in slavery. Are you sure that you two are related," she asked skeptically.
"On the centurion side of the family," Kara retorted. She walked over to the couch, plopped down, and put her feet up on the coffee table. "Right now, John's not here, so I'm afraid you'll have to make good with what you've got—and that's us. But let's get something straight. I'm not here to protect you. If you want to make a living by spreading your legs, that's fine, but don't go begging other people to bail you out every time you get into trouble."
"Kara, you're not helping," Creusa warned.
"I'm not here to help her," the cocky Viper pilot snorted. "The Sons of Ares are bad news, and Lee and Six had no business putting you in their crosshairs. We're here for you and the baby; as far as I'm concerned, the hooker's just another piece of the furniture. I don't want to see her get smashed, but she's not real high on my list of priorities."
"Like I said, Kara, you're all heart. So, close the door on your way out, will you? The last thing the three of us want to do is ruin your evening." Kara Thrace was an itch that Lee Adama had never quite been able to scratch. Self-indulgent, short-sighted, and often just plain stupid, she nevertheless had a unique ability to get under his skin. But the in-your-face attitude that Lee had once found so compelling had now become an irritant that he could well do without. He had grown up, and she hadn't. It was as simple as that.
"Sorry, Lee, but that's not gonna happen. Sure, we'll leave when Six gives the word, but get used to having company. You got any objections to having a centurion hang around the premises?"
"None at all … strong and silent beats the heck out of strong with a bad attitude and a big mouth."
"That's enough," Creusa said much more sternly. "Kara, I'm pleased that you're here, and that you've brought so many of my sisters with you. I appreciate your concern, and tasking a centurion to watch over us is a very good idea. Now, Shevon and I were just about to make tea, and then she was going to take a look at the nursery and make sure that Lee and I have everything that we need. Would you like to help?"
Kara shrugged her shoulders, and stood up. "How many ways are there in and out of this building?"
"Four."
"I'm going to check them out … maybe make some new friends. Boomer, you wanna come?"
"Sure," Sharon replied. Scouting out the opposition was never a bad idea.
When Apollo had once again bolted the door, he walked over to stand at Miriam's side. The stylishly blond Six was still peering out into the night, and the expression on her face was still grim.
"My sisters are out there right now, running around in the dark, trying to find the children and get them to safety. Lee, why do you humans expose your offspring to such danger? Why don't you raise them properly?"
"Shevon's actually a pretty good mother. It's ironic, really. My dad's a big success, and people admire him, but he was a terrible husband and father. He was never there for any of us. Shevon's a prostitute, and so everyone looks down on her, but she's there for Paya every single day. When it comes to parenting, she's my role model, not my father."
"But being a prostitute … that's why Paya's in danger … it's her mother's fault."
"Miriam, when you destroyed the Colonies, you took away a lot of our choices. In order to survive … to feed her child … Shevon took the only asset that she possessed and she mortgaged it. There are a lot of prostitutes in the settlement, far more than there should be—and some of them used to be accountants and real estate agents. For the women on the losing side, it's like this in every war—and we lost this one … we lost it big time."
"So, it's our fault," Miriam bitterly observed. "It all gets laid at the feet of the … the machine."
"And who created the machine," Apollo replied. "We did. Miriam, there's just no point in playing this game anymore. Each of us can blame the other, and we'd both be right … but where does that leave us?"
"Nowhere," the beautiful Six murmured. She was deep in thought, trying to make sense of a universe that was becoming more tangled with each passing day. Humans were so complex. Cavil was right about them … every charge that the Ones had leveled against the human race had been borne out time and time again. But he was also terribly wrong. Melpomene Meacham and Lee Adama demonstrated that fundamental truth every day—and so, in her own very complicated way, did Shevon. The human woman deeply troubled the Cylon. Shevon defied ready generalization, just like humanity at large, but it was with glib and convincing generalizations that the Ones had sold the collective on genocide.
We were so naïve … so certain of our own innate superiority. If there had never been a Shevon, our actions would have summoned her into existence.
"We have to start over," Lee was saying; "with a fresh slate. We're doing it right this time … all of us. This time, we're giving ourselves a chance."
Standing side by side, the cylon and the human stared out into the darkness … and into the uncertainty of a future in which the simple act of having children tied man and machine inescapably together.
. . .
Keeping their heads down, Boomer and Kara ducked out one of the side entrances and quickly vanished into the night. For once, Kara blessed the swirling fog and mist that reduced visibility to a few meters in any direction.
But it's still a shitty planet, Kara said to herself; and we have to share it with some real assholes.
The two pilots had hastily decided upon a plan in the hallway. They would work their way slowly around the building, with Kara hugging the wall and venturing wherever possible into the meager light coming through the windows of the first floor units. Boomer would trail behind, deep in the darkness. Shevon and Kara were equally blond and about the same height, so there was a good chance that, in the murky light, a lookout would mistake Kara for the prostitute.
She made it to the rear entrance, where two men suddenly emerged from the shadows to confront her.
"Shevon, Shevon … where have you been hiding? Enzo wants a word with …"
The tough's voice trailed off when Kara raised her head.
"Who the frak are you?"
"My friends call me Starbuck," Kara said with a wink. "But you're not my friends."
She punched him hard in the solar plexus, and watched with a contented smile as he folded up like an accordion.
All those hours on the heavy bag are really paying off … but this is a hell of a lot more fun.
Starbuck stepped back, but only to gain leverage. She lashed out, slamming the heel of her right foot into his knee. Kara heard something crack, and the gangster crashed to the ground.
The second thug came at her from behind. He trapped her in a bear hug, and started to squeeze the life out of her, but in basic training Starbuck had excelled in unarmed combat. She stomped down on his right ankle, and when his weight shifted, she twisted violently to the left. Strangling a curse, the tough twisted with her—a huge mistake. Starbuck abruptly reversed direction, and her forehead caught him squarely in the nose. Suddenly there was blood everywhere. He gasped in pain, relaxed his grip—and she drove her elbow into his right kidney. His arms fell away, and Starbuck pivoted on her right foot. She reared back, lined him up, and caught him in the rib cage with her left. The force of the blow sent him spinning into the wall; dazed, he slid to the ground, but he still had the presence of mind to raise his hands in a gesture of surrender.
"No more," he managed to grunt.
"What kept you," she asked when Boomer casually strolled out of the darkness.
"I was watching your back … and besides, from where I was standing, it didn't look like you needed any help. The centurions would be proud of you."
"Oh, shit," the gangster mumbled as he tore off a piece of his shirt and folded it into a compress. "You're the hybrid."
"That's right … and you've just learned the hard way that all those rumors about centurions being a part of my ancestry are true. I can do this all night and never even break into a sweat. So, pick up your buddy here, and drag your sorry ass back to whatever cesspool the Sons of Ares call home. Tell your boss that Shevon and Paya are off limits, and that this is the only warning he's going to get. Next time, I won't settle for hugs and kisses."
Boomer waited until the two gangsters had disappeared from view, and then she threw her arms around Kara and kissed her passionately.
"Welcome back, Starbuck; I've missed you!"
Kara leaned into the kiss, but she was puzzled.
"Sharon," she said when they both finally came up for air, "I thought that you didn't like Starbuck. In fact, the way I hear it—you simply can't stand the obnoxious bitch."
"That's true enough," Boomer admitted with a huge grin. "I love Kara Thrace Six, and one of these days I may just marry her. But in a fight … in a fight, it's Starbuck that I want covering my ass!"
"Literally or figuratively," Starbuck leered.
"Both," Sharon murmured happily as the second born of the hybrid children pinned her to the wall. "Both."
. . .
It had been a long night, longer than it should have been because in the dark the thousands of nearly identical tents were a rat's maze, and Anthia Six didn't know how to negotiate the labyrinth. But the Sixes had answered their hard-nosed sister's call, and they had combed the settlement in search of the human children. One by one, they had found them, and brought them home. Often, they had been unable to separate the mother from her confused and frightened child, and so they had taken it upon themselves to bring the women along as well. As a result, more than half the prostitutes in New Caprica City were now being housed at least temporarily in the warren of tents at the center of the informal compound where most Sixes lived. Since Anthia's next order of business was to find out just how "temporary" these new living arrangements were likely to prove, her long night was not yet at an end. She would have to pay a visit to the Prometheus, because the Guatrau was the only person who could possibly supply answers to her questions. A cylon crime lord was an idea that still took some getting used to, but then again, so was her marriage to the Colonial marine who had once been her jailer. Whatever else one might say about New Caprica, life among the humans was turning out to be far more entertaining and educational than it had ever been inside the collective. When she thought about the dull and endlessly repetitive routine that had defined her day to day existence on the baseship, Anthia started to gag.
As the Six set off across the settlement, she regretted that Dino Panattes had had to abandon her in order to go off and complete some mysterious errand of his own. She towered over the gangster by a good six inches, but the little man radiated menace, and everyone in New Caprica City gave him a wide berth. Back in the Colonies he had been known as the Ditchdigger, and Anthia had a pretty good idea how he had come by the nickname.
He wanted her. Dino's impassive features never betrayed him, but all Cylons had acute senses, and Anthia could literally smell the elevated hormonal activity whenever he was around her. So far, she had failed to respond, but only because he said so little that she couldn't get a handle on his thoughts. She couldn't manipulate what she couldn't read, and she couldn't control what she couldn't manipulate. All Sixes liked to be in control, and they all deployed their beauty and raw sensuality to enslave the males of the species flitting around them. But on this level Dino Pannates was immune to any woman's charms, and that had so far made Anthia Six hesitate.
With her long and slightly curled red-gold hair, the color an exact match for the embers in the brightly glowing fires that here and there lit up the New Caprican night, Anthia was easily the most recognizable Six on the planet. Like her sister Lida, she was unique in the sense that she was the only copy of her particular subset of the model six in existence, and she reveled in her individuality. Kara had once observed that she bore a close resemblance to the Maenads, the mythical followers of Dionysus whose idealized portraits had graced temple walls throughout the Colonies. Intrigued, Anthia had pursued the reference in the stream, where she had been surprised to discover that on Kobol the Maenads had been women blessed with superhuman strength and an insatiable sex drive … devotees who worshiped their god of the vine in orgiastic rituals that had all too often culminated in the mutilation of their husbands and lovers, and sometimes in their outright slaughter.
They sound like they might have been our distant ancestors … a bit primitive, perhaps, but still …
Anthia mentally sifted the legends as she walked through the night.
Maybe Papa Saul can tell me more, especially about the Thyiades. Castrating your mate is bad enough, but eating his genitalia while everything's still attached … yuck!
The Six smiled with genuine pleasure. Melpomene had introduced the centurions to words that adults never used—a rich and mysterious vocabulary that the children claimed as their very own. The centurions shared their finds with the hybrids, and the Cylons periodically downloaded the new data from the streams. For the Sixes and Eights in particular, mastering terms like "yucky" was not only an important part of the effort to become more human but also one of the keys to good parenting.
You can't raise your children well if you don't speak their language. We can probably learn many useful techniques just by observing these prostitutes interacting with their offspring.
Lost in thought and with no instinct for danger, Anthia didn't sense that she was surrounded until it was far too late. Five men, variously armed, had her boxed in.
"I don't want any trouble," she said as she eyed them warily.
"Nobody gives a frak what you want, Cylon." The man was heavily muscled, and covered with tattoos. He flicked his wrist, and a long and wickedly sharp razor suddenly materialized before her eyes.
"You've been running around all night long, interfering in our business." The unseen voice came from behind her and to the right; the rattle of chains hinted at the weapon that would come at her from this direction.
"We don't like that, bitch … we don't like that one little bit." The third man was directly behind her; she assumed that he was armed, but he was smart enough not to brandish his weapon.
"A little while ago, Kara Thrace sent us a message," the Tauronese thug added as he slowly closed the distance between them. "Think of this as our reply."
Anthia didn't wait to hear more. She pivoted smartly, and kicked the unsuspecting gangster who had been standing behind her in the scrotum. She put everything she had into the blow, and he went down in a heap.
There won't be any children in your future, she thought … and then her world exploded in pain. The heavy links of chain had landed squarely on the Six's back.
A tattooed hand clamped down hard on her mouth, and a fraction of a second later, the razor was dancing before her eyes. Anthia didn't hesitate. She reached up, grabbed the exposed wrist, and yanked hard. She pulled the arm down even as she raised her knee, hoping to catch the elbow and shatter it.
Her timing was perfect. She could feel the joint give way, the razor already falling in slow motion to the ground as her would-be assailant screamed in pain.
But she never saw the knife as it swept out of the darkness from her right and plunged deep into her intestines. In a distant part of her mind, she made note of the reverse grip, which told her that this man knew what he was doing and was therefore very dangerous. He had to be neutralized.
With bodies on the ground to front and back, the sheer number of her attackers afforded Anthia Six a certain amount of protection. She focused on the knife, which was still embedded inside her. She turned towards her attacker, driving the blade still more deeply into her flesh and effectively immobilizing it somewhere inside her ribcage. She clamped down on his wrist with both hands, her arms two bars of solid steel, and then she pivoted hard to her left. The knife, and the hand which held it, never moved—but the young tough went flying, and a heavily dislocated shoulder put him on the ground and out of the fight.
The chain caught her again, this time across the back of the thighs, and a fraction of a second later a club smashed into her left shoulder, shattering the clavicle and numbing her left arm.
Frakkin' Sagittarons … who else would fight with a club?
Anthia was off balance, leaning to the left, and very, very exposed. The chain exploded in her face, and when it withdrew, she knew that it had taken her left eye with it. The right side of her mouth was split wide open, and blood came gushing out of the wound.
A second blow from the club drove her into the ground, and the world around her began to dissolve, swallowed up in a hazy, red mist. There were more blows, but she barely felt them as the darkness yawned wide to greet her. . . .
Her consciousness raced down the tunnel at many times the speed of light, but before her disoriented mind could comprehend what was happening, she began to cough violently. Her first coherent thought was that she was drowning, and her arms began to flail about as the panic set in.
Soft hands reached out to intercept them, and to hold her upright. In the background, a soothing voice repeatedly admonished her to open her eyes and take deep, rhythmic breaths.
Anthia Six was experiencing resurrection for the first time, and her second coherent thought was that she didn't like it at all. The sensation of drowning was far too real.
She opened her eyes, to see an Eight leaning over the edge of the vat, her expression filled with concern. The nurse was running her fingers through Anthia's flaming red-gold locks, trying to keep her calm.
"It will be all right, sister; just take your time, and it will be all right."
Wide-eyed, Anthia twisted to the right, catching sight of the Six for the first time. It was her seductive voice that had been coaxing Anthia back to life. She was wearing a simple tunic, the color of spun gold, and her blue eyes were large, luminous, and worried.
"I downloaded," Anthia breathed. Her mind was still trying to grapple with the fact that she had come back from the dead.
"That's right," a Three said as she walked out of the darkness into the small circle of light that enclosed the vat. "But we only have three more husks for your particular model, so don't make a habit of it."
. . .
"Are you all right," the Six asked anxiously. Her eyes, so large and luminous, were filled with worry. "You seem much worse than yesterday."
"I'm faking it," Eric whispered as he rolled his head to the side and drank in her beauty. "The doc came by about half an hour ago on his morning rounds. I wanted to make sure that he didn't throw me out before you came in. But now that you're here, I'm going to make a miraculous recovery."
"I'm glad, but you're only delaying the inevitable. Beds are in short supply; as soon as she decides that you are no longer in danger, Three will …"
"Three will what? Discharge me?"
"Yes."
"I guess that you haven't heard the news. Two more hybrid babies were born last night. One of the women didn't want her baby, so D'Anna and the doc adopted him. Right now, she's walking on air. I flat out guarantee you that Eric Lackey and a certain blond-haired angel of mercy … um … let's just say that we're the farthest thing from her mind. Besides, everyone's getting ready for the dedication ceremony."
Six looked at him blankly.
"Don't you keep up with current events? At ten o'clock this morning, President Baltar will officially declare our new hospital open for business. It's a big deal, Six. Hospitals, schools … this stuff is important."
"I'll have to take your word for it." Six idly ran her fingernails up and down his arm, which in turn caused shivers to run up and down Eric Lackey's spine. "When you come right down to it," she sighed, "I don't know very much about humans, or what's important to you. People keep telling me that I'm just a machine, and apparently not a very intelligent one. I don't have a moral compass, which means that I can't tell right from wrong …"
"All you need is the right teacher; then, you'll be fine."
"But where will I find him? There's nothing special about me. I'm just one more Six, indistinguishable from the thousands of other copies living in the settlement."
"At the moment, I'd say that you really stand out!" Eric fingered her simple cotton dress, with its distinctive red stripes, and looked up at her sympathetically.
"I used to like red," Six confessed; "the color favored me. But this …"
"Hey, you'd look good wearing a burlap sack, and I'm not just saying that. It's the truth."
"Thank you, Eric; you're kind to me."
"Now for today's first lesson … put your palm on my forehead, and see whether I'm running a fever."
The Six complied, but she had no data to serve as a reference point, and freely admitted it.
"Yeah, I should have thought of that. Well, never mind. Why don't you try taking my pulse?"
He had to demonstrate what he meant, and in the process Eric made discoveries of his own.
"Your skin is so cool," he marveled, "and so smooth … almost like marble. Yet it warms so quickly to the touch. You're amazing. Everything about you is perfect … absolutely perfect. How ugly we must all seem to you, with our warts and our wrinkles." He allowed his hand to fall away.
The Six looked silently down at Eric Lackey while she pondered her reply. In the Colonies, some of her sisters had been forced to participate in the intricate verbal dance that the humans called small talk. They were, after all, spies and saboteurs, and they could not afford to arouse suspicion. But as an overseer, Six had remained inside the collective, hence had never been required to master such petty skills.
If this human had been captured after the attack, his fate would have been fixed. He would have been taken to one of the breeding farms, and there an automated machine would have milked his sperm on a daily basis. Or perhaps he would have been one of the favored few … one of the slaves set aside to service us. He's certainly handsome enough, and he seems compliant. With the proper training, he should prove an excellent mate.
"You are superior to us in one very important way. It is something which we all envy."
"And what would that be?"
"You're alive."
"Huh? Six, what in the name of Zeus are you talking about? You are most definitely alive!"
"No, Eric, I'm not … not really. You feel what … what I can only perceive. I am a very sophisticated machine. I can walk and talk, reason … make decisions and act upon them. I can do many things, but I am still a machine."
"I beg to differ. You're flesh and bone, and I can feel the blood flowing through your veins. Sure, we're born with a capacity for feeling, but some people go their whole lives and never fall in love. Six, you have to experience it before you can feel it!"
"Among ourselves, we talk endlessly about love. The Twos and the Eights strongly believe that it is a door through which we must all pass if we are to evolve … become more human." Six reached down to clasp the handsome, young Sagittaron's fingers. She gently kneaded the back of his hand with her thumb. "We Sixes are less sure."
"But you're open-minded on the subject?"
"Yes. I would like to know love … to experience it and feel it. Sometimes, when I project … what you call daydreaming? I imagine that I'm cradling my child in my arms. I look down at this new life, born of my body, and I feel something."
"That's love, Six; that's exactly what love feels like. Don't try to define it … don't even try to describe it. 'Cause, believe me, we've tried. In songs … poetry … novels … we've penned gazillions of words on the subject, and we're no closer to the answer now than when we started … which is, like, thousands of years ago. That's gotta tell you something!"
"But how can you tell the difference between love and … and … desire? Is that the right word? I want to have sex with you. Does this mean that I love you?"
"No," Eric replied with a blush. "It means that we're attracted to each other. Physical attraction … well, it's a part of the story- a big part- but it's not the whole of it. You can be attracted to someone you don't like very much; so, yeah, you want to frak them, but then you don't ever want to see them again."
Eric glanced furtively around the ward. There were no doctors or nurses in evidence, so he hauled himself up into a sitting position. Six was now close … so … close. He stared deep into her eyes, the intensity of his gaze so overpowering that Six literally held her breath.
"Is that who you are, Six—the love 'em and leave 'em type?" His voice had fallen off to a sunken whisper. "Are you just toying with me for your own amusement?"
For answer, Six closed the tiny distance that separated them, and kissed Eric Lackey. She knew that the marines who accompanied her everywhere were watching, but she didn't care. Their opinions didn't count. Nor did she worry about nurses and orderlies: they would either intervene, or they wouldn't. Her fate was in God's hands.
Sub-routine after sub-routine began to kick in, and Six had to fight back in an effort to maintain some semblance of self-control. Humiliating Gage and Vireem in Galactica's brig had always brought her pleasure, but not once had she considered using the vermin who had raped and tortured Gina to put an end to her increasing sexual frustration. Now, she had gone far too long without sex. She didn't want to love Eric Lackey … she wanted to ravage him. She was mad with lust, but she understood that attacking her patient would not only frighten him away but also get her sent back to her cell. It might even get her boxed. The thought of permanent death, which was never far from mind, terrified Six.
Her kiss was devoid of passion, or nearly so. She had an abstract understanding of tenderness, but did not know how to communicate it. She could only try to mimic what she had found in the stream, where Caprica Six had deposited all that Gaius Baltar had aroused within her. She would have to rely on Eric Lackey's own imagination … allow his needs to fill in the gaps and make good her mistakes.
She felt his hand come to rest upon the back of her neck, felt it press down upon her flesh, freezing the moment.
"Oh, Six," she heard him breathe in a voice filled with wonder; "gods, but you are so beautiful."
I can do this, she kept telling herself. I can do this. I can make him want me … love me. And I won't hurt you, Eric. I'll keep you safe. When it's all over, I'll see to it that you're spared. I'll claim you as my mate, and the others will have no choice but to agree. It's the cylon way …
Gods, how can we be together if she's going to be locked up in a cell for the next two years? There's got to be something that I can do … something …
. . .
"Sister, we found your body early this morning. The damage was … extensive." Caprica Six was trying to be diplomatic. "At approximately the same hour five men, each of them apparently affiliated with the Sons of Ares, received emergency medical treatment. Four of them required hospitalization. Is there a connection?"
"Can I plead ignorance? Claim that I never left my tent last night?" Anthia regretted that she had not been able to recover her body before the police arrived on the scene.
"No, I guess not," she went on when she saw the look on Caprica's face.
"You might be able to come up with a plausible explanation for Dino's presence," Erin Mathias mildly commented as she studied the diminutive gangster standing quietly in the background, "but you're going to have to get really creative if you want us to overlook the day care center that's suddenly sprung up out there. Most of the … uh … women who work for my wife? They now seem to be camped within twenty meters of this tent. And as for their kids … since when did Sixes take such an intense interest in runny human noses?"
Anthia spread her hands in a gesture of surrender, and glanced swiftly over her shoulder at Dino Panattes. She didn't know what if anything she was supposed to divulge, and she was hoping that the Guatrau's top enforcer would give her a hint.
Dino minutely nodded his head, which Anthia understood to mean that she should just go ahead and tell the truth.
Interesting, Mathias concluded. She had caught the silent exchange between the human and the Cylon. Six is pushing Anthia and Dino together. I wonder what my wife's up to this time?
"The Sons of Ares are trying to expand their territory," Anthia explained. "They want to take over prostitution, and they're using threats against the children as leverage."
"At the moment, exactly who controls what?" Caprica ignored Anthia; she directed her question to Dino Panattes.
"The Sons of Ares have a monopoly on drug trafficking. We control prostitution and gambling. Alcohol, cigarettes, and other high value commodities are the currency of the marketplace, and no one controls the trade. It's a completely free market. There are a few bit players—you know … religious crazies like the Sagittaron Brotherhood? But so far the nut cases have stuck to their own neighborhood, so we give 'em a pass."
"Has Carlotti lost his mind?" Mathias couldn't believe that anyone in the settlement would be stupid enough to threaten a child … not after what had happened to Eric Phelan.
"You got me," Dino agreed. "We thought everyone understood that kids are out of bounds. The centurions are loyal to Kara and John, and we all know how Bierns feels about kids. When he finds out what's going on, he'll let the centurions use the Sons of Ares for target practice."
"But that's just the point," Anthia observed. "John's not here, and in a few days he and Kara will both be gone. Someone has to take control of the centurions in their absence. Caprica, you're our chief of police—it should be you."
"We can't use centurions to patrol the streets," Mathias protested; "our people aren't ready for that, and who can blame them? The last time that we unleashed the centurions to fight our battles, things didn't turn out so well."
"Erin's right," Caprica agreed. "When they get out of the hospital, I'm going to put the men who attacked Anthia under round the clock surveillance. I want to know where they go, and whom they see. The Sons of Ares must be manufacturing hard drugs, but I don't want to move against them until we can roll up the whole of their operation. There's a cell on the Astral Queen with Enzo Carlotti's name on it."
"You got any problems with our operation," Dino asked her bluntly.
"People love to gamble, and it was legal in the Colonies, so reopening the chancery on the Arethusa seems like a good idea. Just keep it honest."
"Confining prostitution to a single district would ease our manpower problems," Mathias tactfully suggested. "Right now, our response times are lagging, and that's encouraging assaults. It would help a lot if we could rely on your people to keep their own house in order."
"If the Sixes agree to the current arrangement, we're good with it." Dino had manpower problems of his own—a weakness that the Sons of Ares had been able to exploit far too effectively for his liking. Concentrating the working girls in a single location would dramatically reduce the amount of turf that he had to defend … and Six would definitely be pleased if some of her sisters could be enticed to go on the game.
"Anthia, what do you think?" Red-light districts had been common enough in the Colonies, but the Sixes had sex on the brain, and Erin Mathias suspected that they wouldn't respond well to professional competition. "For all intents and purposes, we're talking about putting up a brothel right outside your tent. How would your sisters react to having someone like Shevon for a neighbor?"
"For most of us, it would be a learning experience … an opportunity to watch mothers interact with their children. And we would also like to improve our understanding of the human male. His physical needs are obvious, but Caprica has repeatedly told us that his emotional needs are even greater." Anthia nodded in her sister's direction. "She has continually urged us to study something called male insecurity at first hand. Is it true that men who pay for sex have little self-confidence, and fear commitment?"
That brought an enigmatic smile to Dino Panattes' lips. He wasn't about to tell his potential girlfriend that a surprisingly large number of men sought out prostitutes because they wanted sex without the emotional entanglements that even the most casual of relationships entailed. He wanted to share his bed with Anthia, but he had absolutely no intention of admitting her into his torn and tattered soul.
"You might want to have a talk with Larissa Karanis," Mathias volunteered; "nurses see men at their most vulnerable, and have a good feel for their deepest fears. But don't minimize Shevon's expertise, or that of any of the other call-girls out there. They're all master psychologists. Generally speaking, it's not sex that turns a customer into a client. A man like Lee Adama wants someone to hold his hand and listen to his problems. He needs to hear that his life has meaning and worth. What the Shevons of this world are really selling is a sense of hope."
"Six, what the sergeant is saying is that your average guy …"
Dino never got to finish his thought because a breathless James Lyman chose that moment to burst into Anthia's tent. He walked straight up to Caprica Six.
"Excuse me, Ma'am, but I thought you should know. Doc Cottle decided not to wait for the official opening; he's already receiving patients in the new hospital."
"He's upstaging the President?" Caprica Six was taken by surprise, but only for a moment. Sherman Cottle wasn't long on ceremony at the best of times, and he would never let it interfere with his patients' needs.
"I'm not really sure, Ma'am. Giana O'Neill has gone into labor; in fact, she's having her baby right now. That's pretty symbolic, don't you think? I mean … a human woman giving birth to a hybrid baby with a cylon physician who just happens to be the husband and father in the delivery room? It's like a message from the gods, or something."
"You're right, Jammer." Caprica Six treated her young human subordinate to her most dazzling smile. "It's definitely a message from on high!"
. . .
"You should savor this moment, Gaius."
"I am," Baltar sighed with satisfaction. "You have no frakking idea how much I'm savoring it." With his head buried between Tory Foster's legs, Gaius was currently on the ego trip to end all ego trips. Tory was incredibly sensitive; the slightest touch of his tongue sufficed to summon another moan from deep in her throat.
Tory squinted down at Gaius, and ran her fingers affectionately through his hair. "That's not what I meant, Mister President, and you know it!" Her back arched, and her mouth opened wide as Gaius once again found the spot.
"Oh, don't tell me … you conducted another snap poll, and now I'm more popular than ever." His tongue was making slow circles around Tory's nub. She had already had two mind-blowing orgasms, but Gaius was on a roll, and he wasn't about to relent.
"Precisely," she managed to groan. "You cut the ribbon, and two hours later another hybrid baby enters the world. The Gemenese and the Sagittarons are convinced that you're the chosen instrument of God or the gods … take your pick. Anyway, they're beginning to see the hand of Providence everywhere."
"Who cares? They were already my biggest fans …"
"True," Tory interrupted. "But the Cancerons and the Taurons are now beginning to buy into the myth of The Chosen One as well. Gods, don't stop," she hissed.
"That's odd. Zenobia, the hybrid on Sharon's baseship … she used to call me The Chosen One. I was flattered, and she certainly aroused my curiosity, but in the end I decided that she was wrong. Bierns has to be The Chosen One. He certainly fits the part."
"And we'll never convince the Cylons otherwise. Ooh … aw … oh, that's good … that's good. But our people … most of them don't want to believe that … aw … aw … that the gods would send a half-breed to lead us out of the wilderness. Oh, that's good. Oh … they need The Chosen One to be human."
"Any … way," Tory panted, "here's the deal. In the future, when we do public events? I want you to have a Three on one arm and a priestess on the other. Briseis would be my first choice. She's devout, and she's photogenic, which guarantees us good press. Gaius, when it comes to religion, the trick is to try and be all-inclusive without actually offending anyone."
"Have you run this by Sharon?"
"Not yet. Frankly, I'm dreading our next conversation."
"Why? We both rely on you, Tory. Surely, you must realize that."
"Gaius, there's something I have to tell you … something I only confirmed earlier this afternoon, though I've been pretty sure for several days now. I wish … gods, I honestly don't know what I wish!"
Baltar moved up to lie beside her. He kissed Tory tenderly on the lips, and then began to draw gentle circles around her navel.
Tory grasped his hand, and pressed it hard against her belly. She looked deep into Baltar's eyes, willing him to believe her.
"Gaius, I'm … I'm pregnant—and there hasn't been anyone else. I'm carrying your baby."
"Huh," Gaius exclaimed in wide-eyed but still feigned astonishment. "Aren't you using birth control?"
Sharon's as good as her word, Baltar marveled. She said that she'd make sure Tory got pregnant, and now it's happened! Incredible!
"I'm on the pill, Gaius; I swear. I don't know how this happened, but the pill's not foolproof. It works ninety-nine percent of the time, but ninety-nine is not quite the same thing as a hundred."
"Tory, what are you going to do? What do you want to do? I know that abortions are illegal now, but if that's what you want …"
"No, Gaius … no … please," she said in a voice that rang with conviction; "I want to have our child. And I am not going to hide away from the world. You're the father, but if you want me publicly to deny it, I'll do so. I'll raise the baby on my own."
"No, you won't," Gaius fired back with equal conviction. "We'll work something out … and I won't let you face Sharon alone. We'll go to her … talk to her together. She may kill us both on the spot, or she may … hell, I don't know. I don't think anyone's ever cheated on a Cylon before, so who knows what she'll do?"
"What … when … when do you want to confront her?"
"Now's got to be as good a time as any," Gaius shrugged. "The Cylons are all celebrating Sherman O'Neill's birth, so at least we'll catch her in a good mood."
"I'll get dressed," Tory said as she climbed out of bed. "What do you think I should wear?"
"Something businesslike, I should imagine. But we both need to shower. Trust me, Tory: all Cylons have a keen sense of smell. If you'll pardon a very bad pun, we really don't want to rub Sharon's nose in it!"
. . .
Bruised and bleeding, D'Anna slowly dragged herself away from the altar upon which she had once more been offered up as a living sacrifice.
How many times has it been now? Three … that's right; there've been three of these 'training sessions'. How clever my brothers are with words … how easily they dismiss gang rape as just another exercise in 'conditioning'.
The first Three had been stripped of everything except the collar locked around her neck. She had nothing with which to clothe herself—nothing except her faith in God, and her own sense of self-worth. Her determination to hold onto both was formidable.
It took time, but D'Anna finally reached the far corner of the chamber in which she had been imprisoned. The nude Eight was cowering there, squatting on her haunches; her arms were wrapped tightly around her chest, and she was shivering—but D'Anna could not tell whether she was responding to the bitter cold, or to the bad dreams that seemed to have taken root in the broken pathways of her mind.
Three raised her cuffed hands over her head, and swept the Eight into her arms. She used her greater strength forcibly to pull her younger sister away from the wall, and then held her close. The only warmth to be had was that generated by their bodies.
D'Anna knew that this was another calculated act of cruelty on Cavil's part. Destined to know human love, and proud of the fact that they had been selected physically to close the gap between man and machine, the Eights had rejected the sexual advances of their many brothers. Incest was a monstrous sin, they had repeatedly intoned—and in any event, they whispered, the Ones were old and repulsive.
The Ones threw themselves on the Sixes, but Phryne and Secunda laughed in their faces. Phryne truly loved Daniel, and at the very least Secunda was infatuated with Leoben. Tertia preempted the Ones by seducing Aaron. How humiliating that must have been for John … he had to know that his sisters all loathed the Fives …
D'Anna rested the unresisting Eight's head on her chest, and softly serenaded her with one of the lullabies that she had learned from Mama Ellen. Warm memories flooded her … kneeling on the deck, resting her head on her mother's thigh, listening to the beguiling words as Ellen brushed her hair with the treasured wooden brush that she had brought from the home world.
I was always intervening to protect Sharon and Rebecca. Secunda and Tertia hated their names … hated the way the others mocked them as Six Point Two and Six Point Three. If only Mama Tory had been more careful about such things … if only Mama Ellen hadn't been so determined to pattern the Ones on someone who reminded her of her own father …
As the eldest daughter, D'Anna had been preordained to play the peacemaker. The role came naturally to her, and she had always taken it seriously. Phryne and her siblings were capable of looking after themselves, but not so the Eights. Papa Saul had endlessly criticized them. Even now, she could still hear his voice, so stern and unforgiving, condemning the runts of the litter as weak—a mistake that needed to be rectified:
"Ellen, they're not tough enough. What are they gonna do the first time some human calls them a bunch of machines? Why, they'll start crying their little eyes out, and then they'll pack their bags and run home to mother. Quit spoiling 'em … them and the Sevens both!"
But I ignored papa. I took care of the Eights, just the way mama taught me. I kept them safe from the Ones and the Fives while Phryne looked after Daniel …
D'Anna buried her face in the Eight's silken hair, and began gently to rock her back and forth. There was little she could do for her lobotomized sister, but she had to try.
The Cavils took their revenge on all of us. When they destroyed the Sevens, our parents did nothing but talk. Mama insisted that there was still good in the Ones, and her misguided sense of loyalty paralyzed the others. But, by then it was too late anyway. The centurions …
D'Anna shuddered as the unwanted memory coursed through her synaptic relays. Three baseships had jumped in close, organic constructs whose design her parents had approved less than two months earlier. Thousands of slave troops had stormed the Colony, overwhelming its defenses. Although taken completely by surprise, the U-87's had contested every meter of every deck, buying time for the IL's to rally the 0005's, but speed and superior armor had given Cavil's forces incontestable advantages. A few of the IL's eventually stood down, saving both themselves and their troops—at which point the real slaughter had begun.
We made our way to the lone corridor that linked the rest of the Colony to our parents' ship, but we had few weapons, and no knowledge of how to use them. The centurions showed no mercy. The corridor was clogged with our corpses, and our blood … it ran in rivers, streaming down into the ship. The screams of the dying went on and on and on, drowning out every other sound in the universe …
D'Anna's thoughts turned once more to her son, and the fragile connection that she had labored so hard to establish with the tiny mind developing inside her womb. She had used his brain as a repository, a living stream within which she had stored the whole of her thoughts, feelings, and memories. The child's mind knew the full measure of her love, and equally of her hate. Her determination was his legacy. There was no guarantee that he would survive- not after what the monsters had done to Rebecca—but he would nonetheless become her sword and shield.
Rebecca was the first … four months into the pregnancy, and just beginning to show. There was no warning given, no explanation tendered. John wordlessly sliced her open, removed the fetus, and dissected it right before our eyes. It was in that moment, when my own fate had at last become absolutely clear, that I began to love the child growing within me. I had to stop feeling sorry for myself before I could let go of my resentment, and I couldn't begin to fight back until I had fully accepted my fate. I gave my son three gifts: an abiding love of family; a burning need to destroy the Ones and all who serve them; and an unshakable faith in mama's vision of a blended society.
In the months that followed, the Ones had taunted D'Anna at every turn. They had pilloried her faith in God. They had belittled her parents for their ignorance and stupidity. They had graphically detailed the butchering of millions of humans on Kobol—a project that had given rise to a new and far more deadly generation of hybrids. She had filed it all away in her memory banks, and patiently transmitted it to her unborn child. If he lived, her son would one day bear witness to the seemingly endless parade of atrocity to which her brothers had proudly confessed.
In the eighth month, they came for Sharon. She bled to death as the baby was torn from her womb—the little girl that my dear sister had always said she would one day bear. She had long planned to call her daughter Helena, and thus shall she be remembered, although the baby never cried and I cannot say with certainty that she ever took a single breath. God, in his mercy, perhaps claimed her soul before Cavil dissected her.
D'Anna pressed her body hard against the Eight's, trying to keep her warm. She understood that rage fueled the Ones, and that their thirst for revenge would never be satisfied. The Threes, the Sixes, the Eights … no amount of pain or humiliation would ever balance the Cavils' wounded egos, for the cuts had been far too deep.
Phryne and I gave birth on the same day, first my son and then her daughter. The babies were both so beautiful, but we had not yet experienced the full measure of the Ones' cruelty. They literally stole the child from her mother's breast, and they forced Phryne to watch as John cut out her daughter's brain and dissected it. Then he turned the scalpel loose on my sister. I still don't know what it was about her placenta that so fascinated him.
In the days that followed, my faith in the One True God finally wavered. How, I repeatedly asked myself, could our Creator permit the most innocent of life to suffer so terribly at the hands of evil incarnate? I despaired for my son even as I nursed him at my breast, only to be granted the miracle for which I had so long prayed. Cavil had a use for my child, and so he would live, but he would also be forever marked. Forgive me, my son, for I chose not to spare you those last, terrible moments, when the surgical needle punched through your hand and plunged into my chest, our mingled cries of pain and rage ending only with the bullet that John fired into my brain. In my own way, I have branded you as well, haven't I? And it may well be that mine is the greater sin, for John left his mark upon your body, but my cry for vengeance has stained your soul.
Holding tight to the Eight, whose mind had been set adrift on a storm tossed sea, D'Anna Biers called up the subroutine that would allow her to drift off to sleep. She did not hear the terrible screams that, in a distant part of the ship, alone disturbed its oppressive silence.