CHAPTER 20
THE HANGMAN
"You got them all? You're quite sure, Captain … you got them all?"
Gaius Baltar was on his feet, leaning across his desk, and a stray lock of hair flopped across his forehead. With an impatient flick of one wrist, he brushed it aside. Even in the muted light of his suite on Colonial One, the President's body language radiated tension. He swallowed hard, and then licked his lips while he waited for Marcus Lysander's response. Victory, he suddenly realized, had a taste peculiarly its own, and its bouquet was sweeter than that of the finest wine.
"Yes, Sir; we got them all. It's ironic, really; the whole operation went so badly wrong that hunting down the Elders turned out to be remarkably easy."
"Explain what you mean, Captain." Sharon Baltar was seated in her usual place, a nondescript chair carefully positioned just to the right and rear of the presidential desk. It couldn't compete with Gaius' comfortably padded and absurdly oversized throne, but it was the messy pile of paper heaped in front of Sharon that immediately drew the visitor's eye, not the vast but empty expanse in front of the presidential seat. Tory Foster had a small desk of her own a few feet to Sharon's right, and the mountain of petitions and policy papers that graced its surface easily rivaled the clutter surrounding the Cylon. If the supplicants who daily sought audience in this chamber wondered about the powers behind the throne, they didn't have to look very far in their search for answers.
"We expected the gas to catch the majority of the Sagittarons in their beds, but the tents were mostly empty—and a lot of them were booby-trapped." Marcus Lysander's expression was grim. "We lost several marines at the outset, but our people caught on quick and began exercising appropriate caution. Now, we knew that the root eaters hadn't fled the settlement en masse during the night, so they had to be there. The question was: where? The only realistic answer was underground, so that's where we started to look. We found a network of tunnels and bunkers, which is pretty impressive when you consider that they had nothing to dig with except their gardening tools. Personally, I'm interested in how they got rid of all the dirt without the rest of us catching on. That's just one of the many questions I want answered."
"It must have taken them a long time to shift that much dirt with shovels and hoes," Tory thoughtfully observed.
"Which tells us that Cyrus Uri and the rest of the leadership have been encouraging sedition for weeks," Gaius snapped. "The Sagittaron Brotherhood may have been keeping their community in line, but it's the Elders who were calling the shots."
"I agree, Mr. President. We found several hundred civvies in the tunnels, and the command bunker was well supplied. Nothing we did caught them by surprise." The marine officer grimaced, thinking about his casualties. Then he glanced to his right. "But it won't take us long to sort things out. Six has volunteered to interrogate the prisoners; she'll make sure that they cooperate."
The Six with no name, who had been sitting silently in the background, uncrossed her legs and stood up. "How long can I take, and how far can I go," she asked in a voice that was seething with rage.
Gaius involuntarily winced. Erin Mathias had died in surgery from an absurdly small piece of shrapnel that had become lodged in her brain. Cottle and Gerard had fought hard to save her, but one tiny blood vessel had been ruptured, and the resulting aneurism had claimed the Gunny's life. Now, the Six wanted revenge, and Baltar wasn't about to stand in her way.
"You can draw and quarter them for all I care," the President replied. He looked in his wife's direction for confirmation, and was pleased to see that her face was now set in stone. "But do make sure that they satisfy Captain Lysander's curiosity."
"You can count on it," Six hissed.
"Don't take too long, sister." Caprica Six couldn't even begin to measure the depth of her anguish, or her anger. "As we speak, the marines are putting up the gallows. The Elders are going to hang, and I'm going to tie the knots myself … make them nice and tight." She smiled fiercely. "It's one of the privileges of being the chief law enforcement officer around here."
"What about the Brotherhood," Six growled. "With them, I want to take my time."
"How many of them survived," Sharon interjected.
"Not as many as I'd like," Six replied, "but I'll make do. I'll uncover every weapons cache … find out who shot Three …"
"Take all the time that you need to question those bastards," Gaius soothed. "Do you need any … uh … special equipment?"
"No," Six promptly fired back; "Dino tells me that he can do amazing things with a vise and a simple pair of pliers, and Creusa is going to teach us the techniques that she used to question the Ones. We have everything that we need on the Prometheus."
"Why don't you film the proceedings," Tory suggested. "We'll make sure that the Sons of Ares get a copy. Why," she smirked, "I might even ask Anthia to deliver it in person!"
"Tory, you're all right," Lysander said with an admiring chuckle. Everybody in the room knew that the Six with the flaming red hair was just biding her time—plotting her revenge against Enzo Carlotti and the thugs who guarded him. Carlotti had a lifetime reservation waiting for him on the Astral Queen, but Marcus didn't think that he'd live long enough to get there. He figured there was a reason why Caprica Six hadn't taken the bastard down. She was giving Anthia plenty of maneuvering room, and Erin Mathias' death pretty much guaranteed that Dino Panattes would give the exotically beautiful Six whatever help she needed. Power in New Caprica's underworld was still up for grabs, but the Six with no name had been dealt a very strong hand. Her diminutive enforcer had been efficiently accumulating IOU's by doing endless favors for the prostitutes and the Sixes who shielded them. The gangster was determined to bed Anthia, and he'd eventually succeed; that was a given—but the Six was clearly going to make him work for the privilege. Marcus wasn't privy to all of the details, but if he was reading the terrain correctly, then it followed that the Six with no name was cleverly exploiting Dino's all too visible hard-on to secure the allegiance of the most dangerous group of females on the planet.
Maybe Alexander's got the right idea … and if he can pull it off, Sonja would certainly be one hell of a catch. Maybe I ought to get on board this train before it pulls out of the station …
"I'll have the centurions bring the prisoners to your ship," Caprica said as she interrupted Marcus Lysander's increasingly erotic reverie. "And I'll make sure," she viciously added, "that our brothers tighten their grip on the odd wrist a bit more firmly than necessary."
The Six with no name grinned in spite of herself. "That is more than satisfactory," she crowed; the two sisters understood one another perfectly.
"Well, now that that's taken care of," Gaius sniffed as he settled comfortably back down in his chair, "let's turn to other matters. Captain, will you be able to transport the surviving Sagittarons to their new home before day's end?"
. . .
A dejected Lee Adama opened the door to his apartment, and slowly entered. It had been a long and terrible day, and in his heart of hearts he was convinced that tomorrow was going to be even worse. All of their tomorrows, in fact, were going to get a lot worse if the leadership continued on their present course.
Creusa was sitting on the couch, and the sight of his enormously pregnant yet incredibly beautiful wife should have warmed his heart. She was cradling a life-sized doll in her arms—a gift from Shevon, who had never forgotten the touching moment on Cloud Nine when Lee had so awkwardly reached out to Paya, offering her a ratty looking doll that had made her quake with fear. Lee knew without asking that Creusa was using the doll to practice holding a baby. This was high on the almost endless list of mistakes that first-time parents made … only Ishay had scared Apollo and Creusa out of their wits with her graphic descriptions of the often deadly consequences that lurked in these particular weeds. Creusa was sensibly using the doll to develop muscle memory, while Shevon was daily tutoring them both in the fine art of parenting, with the ironic result that the prostitute and her daughter had once again become fixtures in his life. Apollo's family had grown very strange indeed.
Lee slumped down on the couch beside the Six, and absent-mindedly wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Abandoning the doll, she leaned in to rest her head on his shoulder, and to breathe in the scent of the man she loved. But Lee's dark mood hung in the air, and she quickly raised her head, looking at him worriedly. Anything that so powerfully affected Lee might threaten their daughter, and this caused Creusa's maternal instincts to kick in almost instantly. She would keep Cyrene safe, no matter what the cost.
"I hear it didn't go well," she said. "Erin …"
Her voice trailed off.
Lee nodded in agreement. "We took the Sagittarons down, but the cost was … high. They were far better prepared than we expected."
"Did the centurions …?"
"No … they never even came under fire … didn't take a single casualty. We kept them in the rear echelon from start to finish …"
Apollo vigorously shook his head. "Don't ever let it be said," the one-time Viper pilot bitterly added, "that we're such fools that we made the mistake of asking them to fight our stupid wars for us a second time! We've learned that particular lesson well!"
Creusa sighed, conceding a point that her husband had yet to raise.
"But Caprica Six …," she finally prompted.
"Yeah … we were taking enough casualties that we needed reinforcements … and when Mathias went down … gods, what a mess!"
"You ended up with more reinforcements than you could handle … and they were all Cylons …"
"We were stretched thin, and Lysander didn't blink twice. Your brothers and sisters wanted a piece of the action, and he gave it to them."
"Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing," Creusa lightly murmured. "Haven't you always counseled me that improvisation is the key to victory because battle plans begin to fall apart in the first minutes of any engagement?" She leaned in and kissed Lee on the cheek, a whispered kiss that at once tantalized and promised. Although she was now very close to term, Creusa's sexual appetite had not diminished in the slightest. Doctor Cottle, always mindful of the difficulties that had beset Sharon Agathon, had warned her more than once to take it easy. In truth, however, what the Six wanted was to ride Lee now, give birth to Cyrene tomorrow, somehow muddle through the mandatory six weeks of celibacy that everybody insisted upon (she didn't quite know why), and then resume their usual nocturnal romps across the bed that she had brought down from the baseship. On the whole, Creusa decided, she liked being pregnant, and she was already planning for their second child.
A boy would be nice. We could name him for Zak. The Admiral would like that, and Lee would certainly approve …
"It was the right tactical decision," Apollo admitted, "but where in the Articles does it say that the President of the Colonies gets to be judge, jury, and executioner? The Elders are guilty as hell, so why not give them a proper trial? Why is Baltar so intent upon subverting the rule of law?"
"He's afraid, Lee. There's a lot of ill feeling out in the streets, and the marines are not in the mood for a long drawn-out hearing at which the Sagittarons sanctimoniously claim to be the innocent victims of colonial prejudice. No one wants to hear them excuse their actions as a justified response to bigotry. Caprica says that he's trying to stay one step ahead of a lynch mob …"
"And she gets to play the hangman," Lee interrupted. "Caprica Six wants revenge for Erin's death, and the centurions have already transferred what's left of the Brotherhood to the Prometheus. We both know what's going to happen now that Six has got her hands on them. She's going to torture them to death, Creusa … which seems to be precisely what everybody around here wants."
"She'll question them … the same way that I pressed the Cavils. Yes, it will be ugly, but it will also be effective." Creusa's voice became more resolute, the warrior inside her surging unexpectedly to the surface. "And it will send a message."
"A message?" A bewildered look passed across Lee's face. "A message to whom?"
"Don't you know?" Now it was Creusa's turn to look puzzled. "Caprica wants to make sure that the Sons of Ares understand how far we're prepared to go. She wants to kill two birds with one stone … isn't that the human expression? Tory even suggested that we have Anthia deliver the message in person … although I think my sister may prefer to dump a few bodies on their doorstep. There's nothing like a few mangled corpses to get the point across," she gleefully observed.
"Has everyone gone insane," Lee angrily protested as he climbed to his feet. "We're going to torture the Sagittarons in order to push the Sons of Ares back into line? Why doesn't Caprica Six simply arrest the bastards?"
"That's not going to happen, Lee. We both know it, and we both know why. Now, husband," she said more sternly, "help me to my feet." She extended her left arm, silently commanding Apollo to assist her. Creusa could still manage- barely- but there were certain indignities that she much preferred to avoid. Waddling off the couch with her stomach jiggling uncontrollably to right and left was one of them.
Apollo laughed, and a devilish look crept into his eyes. His anger had already passed.
"And if I don't," he ventured sadistically.
"Then I will have to punish you … no frakking for the next two months!"
"Oh, the horror of it," he mocked. But he dropped to his knees, and leaned forward to kiss Creusa tenderly on the belly. He was equally eager for his daughter to be born, although in a tiny corner of his mind a mysterious voice was whispering insistently that one should be careful what one wished for. Still, he gripped Creusa's arm, slid his other hand behind her back, and gently propelled her to her feet.
"What's my reward," he whispered, in a voice charged with erotic tension.
"Non-stop frakking for the next two hours," she laughed. "But you will have to temper your enthusiasm because Doctor Cottle will get very grumpy if Cyrene decides to be born in the middle of the night."
"Oh, the horror of it," Lee repeated. Paying no attention to the lone centurion who stood silent guard in the corner of the room, he led his wife by the hand into their bed chamber. In Creusa's arms, he hoped to find a measure of peace, even if it was only for a few hours.
"I am so glad that you're nothing like Starbuck," he whispered when he had eased her into their bed. He began shedding his clothing while Creusa slid the loose-fitting blouse that she was wearing over her head. Silently, she urged him to complete the thought.
"About now, she would be accusing me of polishing my halo … calling me a hypocrite … when it came to ripping me a new one, Kara was never at a loss for words."
"She's insecure," Creusa said with a smile. "Cylons can be accused of many things, but we are not insecure!"
"I know," Lee laughed. "You don't need to score points at my expense. You never rub it in. You let me make a fool of myself, and then wait patiently for me to see the light." He kissed her lightly on the lips, while his hand rhythmically stroked her swollen belly. "You are not only the most beautiful woman on New Caprica," he murmured; "you are also the cleverest."
"A woman cannot criticize her husband without criticizing herself," Creusa sagely replied. "Besides, you are my conscience. You always try to do the right thing." She ran her fingers gently up and down Lee's cheek. "But Laura Roslin once told me that, in your eagerness to do the right thing, you sometimes fail to do the smart thing. She sees this as a character flaw; I find it … endearing."
"Like when I put a gun to Tigh's head in a vain attempt to save her presidency? Or smuggled her off Galactica in defiance of martial law?"
"Or fell in love with a Cylon … at a time when you still had every reason to hate us?"
There was nothing for Lee to say in response, so he settled for kissing Creusa again, while his hand drifted down her body, gently caressing everything that it touched.
. . .
"This sucks," Kara announced with a huge yawn. "I never realized how boring travelling through space really is." She leaned back in her chair, stretched out her legs, and brought her feet to rest on the control panel. There were a host of switches under foot, but she paid them no mind. If she got careless and nudged the wrong toggle … triggered an honest-to-gods emergency … why, so much the better.
Kara, you've gotta keep the crew on their toes. Dull routine saps morale and combat readiness …
"Do you long for the good, old days, dear? Are you hooked on adrenaline, alcohol, and meaningless sex?" The Three's voice was faintly patronizing.
"Don't forget the Triad games," Kara retorted with calculated indifference. "But what I'm really up for is a good, old-fashioned brawl—preferably alcohol induced." She glanced casually in Melania's direction, and was delighted to see the bitch stiffen.
Yeah, bitch, you're paying attention all right … which is good, because I'm not finished with you … not by a long shot …
"Kara, give it a rest," Sam said in an irritated voice. He was seated at the navigation console, which was the crown jewel in the roster of control room assignments. Melania was at the FTL console a few feet to his right—close enough to allow Sam to intervene if Kara suddenly went off the deep end.
"That's 'Captain' to you, Gramps." Kara didn't bother to conceal her own growing sense of irritation.
Gods, Sam, how can you be so frakking stupid? What in the name of Artemis do you see in the bitch? And why is it that everything I do to push you apart only drives you closer together?
"Maybe we should throw a party," Rachel said on a hopeful note. "You know … follow Kat's advice: get drunk, get high, and get laid."
"Six, don't encourage her," D'Anna admonished. "Child, you seem so restless. Why don't you go to the weight room and work off your frustration? Your presence is not really required on the bridge."
"Yeah, banish her to the playground," Melania muttered under her breath.
"Did you say something, Miss Peripolides?" Kara's feet were back on the floor, and her body now had the tension of a coiled spring.
"Not a thing, Captain," the brunette coolly replied. She loathed Kara Six. She loathed Starbuck. And she positively despised Kara Thrace. The prickly bitch had multiple personalities, but one was as ugly as the next. Fortunately, Sam saw his granddaughter for what she was … and that wasn't much.
"A workout sounds like fun," Athena mischievously suggested. "And if you want to box, I'll lace up the gloves. I enjoy being your sparring partner."
Kara sent a dirty look in Athena's direction: she knew a double-entendre when she heard one. But then she smiled sweetly as a bright idea began to form in the recesses of her booze besotted brain. She studied Melania, whose back was still turned, and her eyes narrowed as she thought about what she wanted to do.
"That's a good idea, Eight … in fact, that's a very good idea!"
Kara clasped her hands behind her neck, and her body visibly relaxed. "Listen up, everybody. Here's what we're gonna do. We're gonna build a boxing ring, and then we're gonna have at it. It's a fine fleet tradition … a way to deal with the frustration that builds up on ships in space. Out here, arguments can easily turn into grudges, and if there's no outlet for the resentment and rage, the next thing you know … somebody gets badly hurt … maybe even killed. This way, we all get to let off some steam because everybody gets to participate. Rank doesn't matter. As long as you throw your tags in the box, you get to dance with the partner of your choice!"
And maybe I'll get lucky, Kara thought, and Melania frakkin' Peripolides will be stupid enough to go for it. In which case I'll knock her sorry ass into the next century!
. . .
"Tiy, בוקר טוב," Twosret called out in her usual cheerful fashion. She pulled back the crude papyrus mat that served as a curtain, and the bright morning sun poured into the room. "זה הזמן לקום."
"Yeah, yeah … I hear you," Boomer groaned. Reveille sounded the same in every language in the known universe. She knew it was time to get up, although her body still cried out for sleep. The long hours of the previous day had given way to the even longer hours of the ensuing night. The language barrier notwithstanding, Sharon's colorful arrival in the village of Akhmin had immediately degenerated into the inevitable meet and greet—and in the beginning, it had not gone well. Twosret's younger brother, Anen, had regarded her with open suspicion, but his hostility paled alongside that of his mother, Thuyu. The latter had taken one look at Boomer, and then she had begun savagely to berate her daughter for bringing something called a Hyksos into their home. Sharon hadn't followed one word of the conversation, but it was pretty obvious that the Hyksos weren't exactly the flavor of the month in this riverside community. Taking a chance, she had rudely interrupted Thuyu's tirade to point at her own chest and yell out the word "cylon." She had repeated herself several times, only to be rewarded with a further burst of Thuyu's fury, the words "cylon" and "Hyksos" now being used interchangeably.
Mother and daughter had been going at it for several minutes, with Twosret emphatically arguing that the Cylons were not a wholly owned subsidiary of the Hyksos corporation, before it had finally dawned on Boomer that her friend's father, Yuya, was silently studying her and no doubt forming his own conclusions. He had thoughtfully fingered her flight suit before running his fingers over the smooth, cold metal of the fleet issue sidearm holstered on her right hip. He had taken an especially hard look at her boots, and it was at this point that Sharon reckoned he had put it all together and come to the realization that she was a long, long way from home. He had knelt on the hard packed floor, a piece of charcoal in hand, and had sketched a crude map of the entire region that she had overflown a few nights earlier. He had touched the western edge of the vast land mass to the northeast, and then a series of islands ranging westward across the inland sea into which, Sharon knew, the river outside would eventually flow. He had watched her expectantly, waiting for her to shout out that this place or that was "home." In the end, the increasingly frustrated Eight had pointed straight up at the ceiling, not expecting Yuya to understand that she had travelled far across the stars. But to her infinite surprise and deep, deep disquiet, he had grasped the point instantly—and accepted it without question. Hours later, after the others had gone to bed, and the two of them had consumed seemingly bottomless cups of some incredibly potent local wine, Yuya had led her outside and silently pointed up at the stars. It had taken Boomer several minutes to locate Aries; there were other, brighter constellations, but if the Eights could be said to have a home, Aerilon was it. He had nodded in understanding, never questioning what should have seemed an outrageous claim, before leading her back inside and sending her off to bed. The prickly straw mattress was uncomfortable in the extreme, but a Cylon could program her sleep, and Sharon had dozed off without difficulty.
To awaken to the worst hangover that she had ever experienced.
Gods, but what I wouldn't give to pit Yuya against Starbuck in a drinking contest!
Twosret dropped a tunic on the mattress- it was identical to the one that she was wearing- and she sat a pair of crude sandals on the dirt floor within Boomer's reach.
"אתה צריך ללבוש בגדים מתאימים יותר," the girl proclaimed.
"Sure, I get it … you want me to change my clothing … want me to blend in."
This has to be Yuya's idea. The old man is smart … smart enough to realize that a stranger draws attention to herself. And Thuyu won't be the only one who thinks that I'm one of these evil Hyksos …
Boomer disrobed without hesitation, but she paused when her fingers grazed her dog tags. They were the key to her identity, and having thrown them away once, she had vowed never to do so again.
Seeing her hesitation, Twosret gracefully removed a crude necklace from around her neck, and draped it over Sharon's. It wasn't much to look at- just a few, small, colorful stones strung on a leather thong-but she found the gesture infinitely touching. Twosret was giving her a piece of herself.
"Thanks, Twosret, but I've got to hang on to my tags. Without them, I'd be lost forever."
Twosret smiled with sympathetic understanding; Zwarun was truly a long way from home, and the polished metal that hung around her neck was her one tangible connection to all that she had lost. It was not right to ask her to surrender so much of herself. Twosret's own tribe had wandered far from the land of their fathers, which the songs of her people placed somewhere to the east of the rising sun.
She neatly folded up Tiy's meager but mysterious belongings, and stored then in a reed basket. Then she beckoned for her cylon friend to join her family for breakfast.
Boomer perked up when she sat down at the table. Last night's dinner had consisted of bread, fish, vegetables, and fruits—one of them soft, chewy, and incredibly sweet. And it was back again this morning … along with more bread, fried eggs, and what appeared to be a fishy kind of soup. But what really made the Eight sit up and take notice was the beverage. There was milk on the table … and there was homemade beer … jugs and jugs of humanity's single greatest invention!
Beer for breakfast! Kara would love this place!
Sharon politely bowed her head while Yuya offered thanks to his gods—one more entry in her rapidly growing mental catalog of ritual practices that seemed to transcend space and time. What followed could only be described as a culinary free-for-all: hands reached out with the speed of a serpent's tongue to snare bread and fruit, while ladles simultaneously dipped into the clay pot. Anen chortled with triumph when he scooped up the largest chunk of fish, which he proceeded greedily to devour. Twosret, however, shared her prizes with Boomer, who would otherwise have been condemned to eat everyone else's leavings.
After breakfast, the four of them had walked through the village, and Boomer had been amazed by the babble of different languages that had assaulted her ears while her eyes simultaneously tried to cope with the riot of color that passed her in the streets. A tall young woman had been dressed in a one-piece tunic with an intricate weave of red and gold in a precise diamond pattern. The garment, which stretched from her neck to her ankles, hugged her so closely that it revealed every curve of a sensuous body that would have made even a Six green with envy. The large wooden tray that she was balancing on her head never shifted as she wove her languid path through the surrounding crowd. Two middle-aged men were engaged in an intense conversation on a dusty street corner, their dark beards hanging down to their waists. Chickens and geese wandered everywhere, and donkeys, camels, dogs and cats completed the tableau.
They made their way to the riverbank, where a slender boat was beached and waiting. Yuya clambered up onto the deck, and reached down to help Boomer and Twosret board. With the help of several young villagers, Anen pushed their craft out into the water before being the last to scramble onto the deck. He grabbed the crude tiller while a servant set about hoisting the lone sail.
"Felucca," Twosret said as she patted the deck and the railing to her right.
"Felucca," Sharon murmured in turn, adding one more noun to her ever expanding native vocabulary.
The boat glided silently through the water, being quickly captured by the swift moving current. Boomer stretched out and leaned back, exposing her neck to the sun. She could feel the delicious warmth beating into her skin. And of a sudden, she realized that she was happy, and that life, with its manifold simple pleasures, was indeed good.
"זהו מספיק רחוק," Yuya barked. He picked up a reed basket, opened the lid so that Boomer could see its contents, and then carefully deposited it in the stream. She watched without fear as her flight suit and weapon were carried away. They were the detritus of another life, relics to which she could not cling if she truly expected to immerse herself in this strange new culture. In any event, she had replacements for both on her Raptor.
Although the technology seems far too primitive, it is at least possible that this planet is the Earth that Cylon and Colonial both seek. I hope so. I hope that our prophecies are, as so many of us believe, the word of God. I hope that Kara will discover this world and lead our people home. It's a good world, and we could be happy here.
. . .
It was late afternoon, the school day now finally behind her, when Laura Roslin sat down at the desk and opened her diary. She stared unseeingly at the blank page in front of her while her thoughts drifted back across the hours, summoning up vivid memories of the incredible scenes that she had witnessed while moving from one classroom to the next in their new educational facility.
Leaving Maya to take her own class of third graders, Laura had first dropped in on the volunteers who looked after the preschoolers. A Three and an Eight had been among those caring for the four and five year olds, and the children had responded to them no differently than they had to the clutch of human mothers who kept them supplied with crayons and finger paint. The Three was especially patient with her young charges, and Laura was powerfully reminded that Ellen Tigh had always intended for her eldest daughters to work as caregivers in many different settings. Quiet and unassuming, the Threes were welcomed into a human society that both needed and appreciated their service to the young and the old, the sick and the troubled.
In another classroom Laura had eavesdropped on a Four who was teaching physics, while across the hall a Leoben was instructing his students in the intricacies of spatial geometry. He was surrounded by eager learners: how could he not be when he had promised his students a chance to put their hard-won knowledge to use inside a Heavy Raider?
But it was the Sixes who most surprised her. In the settlement, mothers often walked their young children to and from school, but prostitutes who had been up all night needed to sleep during the day. The Sixes had taken up the slack, and several of the statuesque blonds had slowly graduated from protecting the children to teaching them. They were now in charge of physical education, and adolescent males flocked to their extracurricular classes in math, science, history, and religion.
I'll have to pester Gaius to set aside resources for university-level instruction. It's easy to forget that Sixes have brains to match their beauty … and learning doesn't draw to a close at age eighteen. The next generation could very well be the best educated in the history of the Colonies. . . .
With a sigh, Laura picked up her pen, and began to compose her thoughts.
This is the three hundred and seventy-fifth day of the exodus, and as hard as it is to believe, it has been little more than two months since permanent settlement on New Caprica began. Progress has been nothing short of astonishing- a new hospital, a new school- every day sees another apartment block rising along the river bank. People are opening businesses, chasing their dreams. Life is getting back to normal. We have come so far, so fast, because Cylons and humans are living and working together—and a year ago, if anyone had told me that this would be our fate, I would have put them out the nearest airlock as a clear and present danger to the fleet.
And yet, for all that we have overcome, for good and for ill we remain true to our nature. It has become painfully apparent that we can forgive the Cylons far more readily than we can forgive each other. There wasn't supposed to be a trial, but Lee Adama kept badgering the Baltars, and he eventually got his way. How typical of Lee, who has a knack for doing the right thing at the wrong time! What a farce. Despite the best efforts of Romo Lampkin, who truly excels at turning trials into circuses, the tribunal needed less than a week to weigh the evidence against the Sagittaron Elders. Although their guilt was manifest and their execution for treason well deserved, I still fear that it will take generations to heal the wounds that they have opened among us. Does the prison that now confronts us on the opposite side of the river house criminals, or dissidents? Can an entire people stand condemned, or is this merely the latest entry in the long history of human oppression? Romo's passionate defense of the Elders failed to save his clients from the gallows, but the questions remain: how much doubt did he sow, and how bitter will the harvest eventually prove? I know what Lee Adama thinks … and for once I agree with him. Is hatred the only enduring legacy that we have to offer our children? Cyrene deserves better. All of the children, human and hybrid alike, deserve better.
. . .
Eric Lackey rested his arms casually on his knees, a huge grin spreading across his face. He was sitting on an outcropping of rock overlooking the river, watching while Six had her first go at spear fishing. She was stark naked, and concentrating intently. With the spear clutched in her fist and her blond hair glowing in the midday sun, she reminded him of the goddess Artemis.
"It's been a long time since I had a good laugh, Six! I know you're having fun, but remember … if you don't catch it, we can't eat it!"
The young couple had travelled more than a hundred miles upstream, and the day before they had finally located a cave that was perfect for their purposes. It had a sandy floor that would be kind to their feet, and a vent that would allow the smoke from their cooking fire to escape through the roof. It was warm and dry, and separated from the river by a stretch of alluvial soil that positively cried out for cultivation. The river itself was well stocked with fish, and there were a number of edible plants running wild along its banks. They had shelter and they had food, and life was filled with bright promise.
Six had her arm cocked. A large fish was swimming lazily towards her, unaware of the danger that now loomed so close. Sixes were fast on their feet, with incredibly swift reflexes. The fish didn't stand a chance.
She lunged, the spear a blur in her hand as it pierced the water.
The fish abruptly changed course, and the spear bit into the river bottom. Taken by surprise and thrown completely off balance, Six crashed head first into the stream. When she struggled back to her feet, she was thoroughly drenched. The water was cold, and now she was miserable.
"Bravo, Six, bravo," Eric clapped. "Now, if only we had instant replay!"
Shedding his own shoes and clothes, the Sagittaron waded out to stand at her side.
"I guess your creators didn't include basic survival skills in your programming," he said as her wrapped his arm sympathetically around her shoulders and hugged her close. "Gods, but you're beautiful."
"I'm just a city girl," Six replied as she twisted around to stare into his eyes. She pulled him close, and kissed him hungrily. "No one expected overseers to take up camping as a hobby."
"Not to worry … on Sagittaron, we all lived pretty close to nature. So, let me give you your first lesson. You need to spread your feet farther apart, and bend your knees a bit. But the most important thing … you don't aim at the fish, you aim at the place where he's going to turn. Let him come to you … like this."
Eric held the spear in a relaxed grip, and waited patiently. It didn't take long. A fish glided into the killing zone, and he struck. When he raised the spear, the fish was wriggling on its tip.
"Dinner," he shouted triumphantly as he lifted his trophy towards the sky.
Six laughed with delight, and clapped her hands with genuine admiration. Out here in the wilderness, she was no longer an anonymous cog in the great cylon wheel. She was a person, and she would have to evolve if they were going to survive. Cut off from the collective, she would have to learn by trial and error … she would have to learn as humans had learned from time immemorial.
"I love you, Eric," she confessed as she once more pulled him close. "And I want to frak … right here, right now."
"Nope," he grinned, "not until you've caught your first fish. Besides," he added as an afterthought, "this water is frakkin' cold!"
Eric tossed the fish onto the shore, and thrust the spear back into Six's hand. "Now get to work," he admonished.
Reluctantly, Six complied. But her aim quickly improved, and by sunset she had added seven more fish to their catch. There was plenty of work to do back in the cave- indeed, from now on there would always be plenty of work to do- but when they finally buried themselves under the blankets, they made love with the slow and intimate rhythm of children who knew that they had all the time in the world.
. . .
"This is the final report," Caprica said as she dropped it onto Gaius Baltar's desk.
Sharon fingered it, but she had enough to do in the present without worrying overmuch about the past. She was only interested in the final tally. "Is everyone present and accounted for," she inquired.
"No," Caprica admitted. She sat down gracefully on the couch to Sharon's right, and casually studied the Eight. The bulge in her stomach had grown noticeably larger over the past week. It was obvious that the twins were flourishing. "There are several Sagittarons in the military—people like Petty Officer Dualla. They remain at liberty, but we're keeping a close eye on them. If their loyalty should come under suspicion …"
"Just keep in mind that Admiral Adama regards everyone associated with Galactica as family," Sharon warned. "I don't want to have problems with the military, so be diplomatic."
"Understood, Madame President," the Six politely acknowledged. In private, Caprica and Sharon could dispense with the tiresome protocols of their respective offices. Human engineers were building New Caprica, but they both understood that Cylons were governing the planet. The humans were too unpredictable, and too unstable, to be allowed to look after their own affairs.
"A dozen Sagittaron civilians left the settlement of their own volition," the blond Cylon continued. "We'll track them down and talk to them, but we need pioneers, so I'm inclined to leave them to their own devices."
"Agreed," Sharon said with a curt nod; "now, what about the Six and her Sagittaron lover?"
"They've vanished,"Caprica conceded. "Karl Agathon told me that they're heading north, and that they're well supplied. They apparently intend to strike out on their own."
"What do you want to do?"
"Send out the centurions to track them down. Eric Lackey was affiliated with the Brotherhood, and my sister is a fugitive. Justice must be allowed to run its course."
"Yes, we don't want to leave any loose ends." Sharon smiled, but there was no warmth in the gesture. "Dino and Six extracted the Sagittarons' secrets quite efficiently. Weapons caches, food and medical supplies … it's amazing how much information these so-called toughs will disclose when you start cutting off their arms and legs with a hacksaw. Your sister was quite pleased."
"Shall I pass the word … make it clear that the Sons of Ares are now fair game?"
"Let's give Enzo Carlotti a little more rope," Sharon mused. "Tell Six to let the opposition make the first move, but then I expect her to cut those bastards off at the knees. After all, we can't have humans running the underworld."
Caprica laughed appreciatively. The Eights were easy to underestimate. The innocence in their dewy eyes belied the toughness and hard-edged calculation with which they approached life. Eights never lost sight of the ultimate objective.
"Where's Gaius," the Six wondered.
"Out in the fields with his centurion friends, I would imagine. Gaius takes a keen interest in our … medicinal plants. I'm curious, Six: has my dear husband always been such an enthusiastic student of pharmacopeia?"
"When I knew him, sex, booze and an impressively wide range of narcotic substances pretty much defined Gaius' universe. It's no wonder," Caprica laughed maliciously, "that he gets along so well with the hybrid. Is he frakking Zenobia as well?"
"I haven't asked," Sharon said with a shudder. "And believe me, I don't want to know!"
"Well, it may interest you to learn that at present Colonel Phillips is entertaining Sonja Six somewhere upriver. I gather that, in his own quiet way, the colonel is well and truly smitten."
"Excellent … this means that among those in a position of authority, Captain Lysander is the only one left who has yet to cultivate the proper attachment. Has he shown any interest?"
"No, but he is not on intimate terms with any of the human females, so he is at least vulnerable to our charms. It would not surprise me if he ends up the property of a Three."
"Men are so stupid," Sharon reflected, "so easily manipulated. But how can they remain so blind? You would think someone would notice that Threes, Sixes, and Eights hold this community together!"
"They probably do notice," Caprica retorted. "But they do not regard it as cause for alarm. How could they when they have been conditioned to bow down before the human female across millennia of time? We are behaving exactly as the male animal expects us to behave. More importantly, we are behaving just like they want us to behave. Men are happiest when we hold their leash gently but firmly in our hands."
"So, we have prevailed not because we're cylon but because we're female," Sharon concluded.
"Females in a near constant state of heat," Caprica ruefully observed. "In the final analysis, we are all Ellen's children … and she appears often to have used herself as the template for our programming. In retrospect, it seems obvious that her plan for our return to the Colonies would have succeeded brilliantly."
"If only mama had resisted the temptation to have sons," Sharon said with regret. "Everything would have worked out."
"Yes," Caprica agreed; "but we now know that mama has always liked her men."
"I'm just glad that we don't have mama's … temperament? Is that the word I'm searching for?" Sharon ran her hand across her belly. The life that she carried within filled her with a sense of purpose.
"I think so," Caprica laughed. She was in an unusually good mood. "We are all intensely monogamous. Perhaps we have papa Saul to thank for that; he prizes loyalty … and with good reason!"
"It might have been one of the others," Sharon opined. "I think about them a lot … wonder who they are."
"You can openly question the identity of the other creators," Caprica exclaimed with surprise. "How is that possible?"
"The babies," Sharon said with just a trace of smugness in her voice. "Whatever the Cavils did to us, getting pregnant sets us free. Doctor Cottle keeps reminding me that, at the level of basic chemistry, soon I will no longer be cylon in any meaningful sense of the word."
"How wonderful for you … having Gaius' DNA rampaging through your body." Caprica's tone was studiously neutral.
"What about you, Six? Are you going to wait for Sam to return, or are you perhaps thinking of going after Captain Lysander yourself?"
Caprica Six thought about the question with a certain sense of nostalgia. She had somehow acquired a reputation for being a slut despite the fact that she had only slept with three men in her entire existence—and seducing Gaius and John had simply been a matter of doing her duty. No, she belonged to Sam; she had no desire to share her bed with anyone else.
"I'll wait for Sam to come back." There was real feeling in her voice.
. . .
"I'm hungry," Sam yawned. "What do you say we go get something to eat?" His legs were tangled up with Melania's, and their lovemaking had been so enthusiastic that the blanket on their bed had somehow managed to become knotted around one of his calves. He reached down and idly began to pry himself loose.
"I'm happy right here," Melania breathed before planting a kiss on his bare chest. "And if you want to eat something, you can start with me!"
"And we know exactly where that will lead," Sam grinned. "Mel, you're insatiable. Don't you ever get enough?"
"Uh, uh … you bring out the female in me … big time!" Melania ran her fingernails back and forth across Sam's stomach, and his thighs twitched in response.
"Well, if we're going to keep up this pace, I need fuel." He patted Melania playfully on the rump. "Come on, get dressed. We'll grab a bite, and then we'll come back here and write the next chapter in our unfolding saga." He nuzzled her in the chest, and grazed one of her nipples with his tongue. They were hard as rocks, and Melania emitted a low moan. Her body was on fire, and everything Sam did to her merely stoked the flames.
"Okay, you win. I'm not happy about it, but you win." Melania slid out of bed, and gathered up her clothes, which were scattered all over the floor. When they had finished dressing, they strolled down the corridor to the crew's mess hall. While Kara was an emotional wreck, even Sam admitted that she ran a reasonably tight ship. Day or night, there was always food to hand.
The cafeteria was unattended, but there were a number of covered platters laid out on warmers. Sam lifted the lid on one of them at random, and was greeted with the sight of a spicy Tauron sausage that was one of his favorite foods. His stomach began to rumble with anticipated pleasure because where there was sausage, there had to be beans. He quickly grabbed two plates, and began filling them.
"Life is good," he hummed. When he had finished, he turned around so that Melania could see the treats that awaited them.
"Look, Mel … sausage and beans. It doesn't get any better than this!"
Melania Peripolides took one look at the unappetizing mush that Sam Anders called food, and then she bent over and began violently to vomit all over the deck.
. . .
"So much for cylon physiology," Shelly sighed. "From morning sickness to leg cramps, I've had every lousy symptom in Dr. Stork's guide, but this is the worst. It never quits."
"Does this help," Bill asked. He was kneading his wife's sacral muscles, a nightly ritual that he had performed twice before during the course of his long life. But he had been younger then, and his own muscles had been firmer and stronger. Now his arms ached, and though he would never admit it, his fingers were screaming at him to cease and desist.
"Oh, you have no idea," Shelly murmured.
"It could be worse," Bill said in an encouraging tone. "You could be a mare. Have you ever seen a horse give birth … or a porcupine?"
"Are you trying to cheer me up?"
"Just trying to put things in perspective," he answered. "And then there's that spider on Scorpia and the deep water fish on Aquaria. I don't remember their names, but we studied them in school. After they give birth, their offspring promptly eat them. At least we won't have to deal with that problem."
"Nature is cruel … brutal, and cruel. Is that why you decided not to intervene down on New Caprica, despite Lee's rather transparent attempts to play on your guilt? Did you decide that disposing of the Sagittarons was the best way to keep the peace?"
"My son has spent a very large portion of his life trying to make me feel guilty about one thing or another, but I don't do guilt, Shelly. And I didn't intervene for the simple reason that the Sagittaron uprising was strictly a civilian matter. It's Baltar's job to deal with sedition, and it's my job to give the government whatever military assistance the President requires. We both did our jobs."
"And if Gaius had asked for more?"
"Within reason, I would have given him whatever he wanted."
The intercom buzzed sharply, and Bill excused himself to take the call.
"Adama."
"Admiral, it's Dionysia; Sir, we need you in the CIC … immediate."
"Is there a problem, Six?"
"I'm not sure, Admiral. We have multiple DRADIS contacts inbound, all flashing Colonial ID. But I've never heard of the Diana or the Delos."
"The Diana? Six, the Diana is a Gemenese transport, and it's been in cylon hands for more than forty years. Issue hostile challenge and ID, and if you don't get the proper response, go to Condition One and flash the baseship to launch Raiders. I'm on my way."
"Bill?"
"I don't know, Shelly. We've got incoming traffic, but this could be the Olympic Carrier all over again." Adama was still buttoning his tunic as he rushed through the hatch and headed for the CIC.
Author's note. Last night marked the third anniversary of The Long Journey Home. As the story enters its fourth year, I wanted to take this opportunity to thank the many thousands of readers in 73 countries who have come along for the ride. I am especially grateful to those of you who have taken the time to review. Many authors seem to give up on their stories, however creative and well written they may be, because of a perceived lack of interest. Supporting the community of authors will encourage them to keep Battlestar Galactica alive.