CHAPTER 26

TANGLED WEBS

"Sister," Caprica Six calmly remarked, "how could you have been so stupid? Assassinating a Quorum delegate in the middle of a press conference is bad enough, but Councilwoman Enyeto posed no threat to you. She was merely asking questions … legitimate questions … about the disposition of the centurions policing the Arethusa. Nothing would have come of her inquiries, but now you have placed the government in a very embarrassing position. The President will be forced to act."

The Six with no name studied her twin through narrowed eyes, and then shrugged dismissively. "I agree with you, Six; it would have been incredibly stupid for anyone in my organization to murder this Enyeto woman, which is why you should look elsewhere to find your killer. Her death jeopardizes a relationship with the Baltars that I have been carefully cultivating over a period of many weeks. So, ask yourself: who did benefit from this killing? Gaius already has a squadron of centurions at his beck and call, and now he is increasing the security around Sharon and Tory. The Quorum has voted to give Tom Zarek a security detail of his own …"

"But the Vice-President has rejected the centurions that Gaius offered him," Caprica protested.

"True," the Six countered, "but he did not turn down Xeno Fenner's offer to help. Tell me, Caprica, just how many of the thugs in Fenner's union have sworn allegiance to the Sons of Ares? They drink Carlotti's booze and they sleep with his whores—at discounted rates, no less. Do you seriously think that Fenner would have taken such a bold step without first consulting with Enzo?"

"So you believe that the Sons of Ares are responsible for Perah's assassination?"

"Are you going to strip the Arethusa of her centurions?"

"Yes," Caprica admitted.

"Then, there's your answer. We take the blame, and it is our interests that are going to suffer."

"It would be a good idea for you to bring Anthia to heel," Caprica carefully suggested. "Her vendetta against the Sons of Ares is common knowledge, and many Sixes follow Anthia's lead. Carlotti has applied to the Quorum for concealed carry permits for twenty of his men. The Quorum will not give him everything that he's asking for, but do not be surprised if it meets him half way."

"The Quorum will legally arm the Sons of Ares?" The Six with no name could barely credit what she was hearing.

"Yes," Caprica once again tersely replied.

"Anthia does not answer to me, Caprica. You know that."

"Is she sleeping with your consigliere?"

The Six nodded in reply. "Our sister's charms have Dino firmly in thrall. She doles out her favors sparingly, and keeps her pet on a very tight leash."

"A strategy of which I thoroughly approve," Caprica acknowledged. "But still … when you combine Anthia's highly visible profile with Dino's deservedly sinister reputation, our position before the Quorum is weakened. They are playing right into Carlotti's hands."

"Are you going to seduce Captain Lysander?" Although it might have appeared so to anyone eavesdropping on the conversation, the Six wasn't really changing the subject.

"I've thought about it … but, no. The good captain pines for Melania Peripolides."

"And you, Caprica," the Six pressed, "do you still pine for Papa Sam?"

For answer, Caprica Six smiled wistfully.

"A Maker cannot give you a child, sister, and I know how badly you want to have a baby of your own. Perhaps you should once more insinuate yourself into Gaius Baltar's good graces. It would serve our interests well if you could get close to the President, and he is very fertile."

"Join Gaius' harem," Caprica snorted. "Compete with the hybrid on the baseship to satisfy his perverted tastes? I don't think so."

"And Zarek has made his bed with one of the Threes," the Six mused. "When Sharon Baltar says 'jump', even Tom Zarek only asks how high. She has rather neatly removed him from the orbit of our influence."

"Zarek may sleep with one of the D'Annas," Caprica warned, "but I'm told that he keeps his own counsel. She has complained to me more than once that he tells her nothing of consequence. It would be a mistake to assume that our esteemed vice-president is susceptible to the charms of a Six. We cannot hope to control him as we have so many of the others."

"Then he has outlived his usefulness," the Six concluded.

"And your judgment in this matter isn't clouded by Zarek's known association with the Sons of Ares," Caprica skeptically asked. "Be careful, sister. If you make too many enemies, your usefulness might also soon come to an end."

"Is that a threat?" The Six with no name raised her eyebrows. She knew that her power ultimately rested on the sufferance of others.

"Why don't you tackle Captain Lysander yourself," Caprica urged. "He may prefer the company of a reprobate with uncontrollable urges … and you certainly qualify."

"Well, he is only slightly less strait-laced than Lee Adama." The Six with no name smiled warmly as the memories washed through her mind. "I really thought that he would come to my bed."

"You're not blond enough," Caprica murmured.

"And I don't know how I missed with our child," the Six went on. "I made it obvious that I wanted him, and at the time we were both without deep attachments."

"John doesn't like women with hard edges," Caprica astutely observed, "and we should never forget that the Eight series was designed to be empathetic. Do not forget that his Sharon was a resurrection nurse. His vulnerability appeals to her maternal drive, and in turn she is soft and yielding—a creature as undemanding as she is non-threatening. It will be interesting to see if their relationship survives the birth of the child. Sharon will inevitably become … distracted."

. . .

John Bierns awoke with a start. He was perspiring heavily, the bedding beneath him already soaked. A dank smell, born equally of sweat and fear, pervaded the chamber in which he and Sharon had been sleeping. Ignoring the stink, Sharon's head was resting lightly on his shoulder. She was rhythmically stroking his chest, trying to calm him. There had been many such nights.

"Bad dreams," she murmured when she realized that her husband had come fully awake. It was more a statement than a question.

"A bad dream," he corrected. "A nightmare … it's always the same."

"When you were a child?"

"Yes; I must have been five or six at the time. Sometimes I would wake, to find Cavil standing in the darkness, staring down at me … judging me … deciding my fate. I was terrified. Every night, I tried to fight off sleep. He kept his distance during the day, so I thought that if I could just stay awake, he would leave me alone."

"I didn't have to worry about monsters hiding under my bed," Bierns added with a bitter laugh. "I had the real thing, standing not more than five feet away."

"And the Sisters," Sharon softly prompted. She knew that the priestesses in charge of the orphanage had spent long nights comforting a small child who had been awakened by the awful sound of his own screams. Whatever rest John had obtained had come in their arms. Now, it was her turn to cradle her husband … to make him feel safe. Sharon was nurse and therapist as well as wife. No one on the baseship wanted to revisit the psychotic episode whose energies, once unleashed, had overwhelmed every oracle in the fleet and severely threatened the hybrid children in their mothers' wombs—not when the hybrids that controlled Cavil's basestars were constantly searching for John's psychic spoor. It was ironic in the extreme that the very talents that made him such a threat to the Ones also left Natalie's tiny fleet constantly vulnerable to discovery. The closer they came to New Caprica, therefore, the more imperative it became for Sharon to keep her husband calm and content.

"I love you, Sharon." John pulled her close, while reaching out with his free hand to caress her beautifully rounded belly. Sharon was fast approaching her eighth month, and Eirene had long since become sensitive to her father's moods. For the past ten weeks, Sharon had accordingly devoted much of her time and energy to forging the same neural links with her daughter that D'Anna had once used to mold her hybrid son. Where, however, the first Three had been forging an implacable weapon capable of wrecking her vengeance on the Ones, Sharon merely wanted to keep her daughter safe. Her love, which was so unconditional, buffered Eirene from the storms that surrounded her. Sharon never forgot that her child was three-quarters cylon, which automatically made her the most important creature in the universe. She suspected that John would kill their daughter without hesitation, if that was the price that had to be paid to prevent her from falling into Cavil's hands.

"You are a good man," she whispered as she nuzzled John's ear, "and you are going to make a wonderful father."

"Husband, father … secret agent, savior of the universe," John said with a heartfelt laugh. "I've become a man of many parts—and in two dimensions, no less."

Sharon also laughed out loud. "I keep forgetting that I have to share you with one of your hybrid sisters, and that you are already well versed in walking the floor at 2 AM. How I wish that I could have an intelligent conversation with her—we could compare notes. How are your other wife and daughter?"

"Ariadne must be part fish," John answered with an indulgent smile. "She's not even six months old, but she's as fearless in the open sea as she is in the rock pool. She loves the water. Our 2 AM strolls along the strand always sent her back to sleep, but it was the lapping of the waves, not my feeble attempts at a lullaby, that did the trick. And …"

John winced. Once again, he had come close to mentioning Deirdre by name. Laura Roslin and Shelly Adama had both stumbled upon the truth, but true to their word, neither had betrayed Diaspora's secrets. John hated lying to his wife, but he had so far resisted the temptation to bring her inside the web of deceit that he and Natasi had fashioned in the last, desperate months before the Holocaust. Richard Adar and Harlan Berriman, he was convinced, had both stayed at their posts until the very end, sacrificing their lives rather than risk exposing the exodus from Libran space that was taking place while Admiral Nagala and the fleet unknowingly bought time with their heroic last stand above Virgon. A lot of CSS personnel- people that the human race could ill afford to lose- had shielded Diaspora with their lives. John was determined to keep faith with them, and if that meant deliberately misleading Sharon? So be it.

"My wife never misses a beat," he continued after a moment's hesitation. "It is in the nature of hybrids to multitask, so formatting data in one dimension while changing a diaper in the other isn't really much of a challenge. She dotes on Ariadne, but if she does require help, Olivia is there, and she's always ready and willing."

Sharon's eyes twinkled, and a mischievous smile creased her lips. "It must be hard for Olivia … her whole existence is dedicated to the complex task of managing a baseship, and then suddenly it's gone. Only, she doesn't die when her ship blows up. Instead, her consciousness permanently transfers to Heaven, only to find that there's almost nothing for her to do there. She can't tinker with paradise, and she can't oversee it. How many times can you walk along the same beach? How many blazing sunsets can you admire? She's must be bored, husband of mine, and it's up to you to find a solution to the problem."

"I'm open to suggestions," John groaned. He was acutely aware of the fact that Olivia was growing more and more restless. She had climbed the escarpment, and explored the mountains and lakes that defined the outer boundary of her tiny universe. There was beauty at every turn, but could one take its measure in the absence of ugliness? Could paradise truly be paradise without a serpent in the garden?

"You need to give her a baby of her own," Sharon explained in her most matter-of-fact tone. "There is no other workable alternative."

"What?" John's mouth dropped open in surprise. This was the last thing that he would have expected Sharon to say. "Uh, sweetie … um … you do know that she's my sister, right?"

"Yes … and it doesn't matter. How many times have you reminded us that the rules governing this dimension have no relevance in V-world? Are we to make an exception of the incest taboo? No. Procreation is one of God's commandments. Since you can give all of your sisters children, it is your sacred duty to do so. You must bring life to a dimension that cries out for it."

. . .

"It's been a while, Apollo." Hephaestus studied his old shipmate carefully. "How is fatherhood treating you?"

"At the best of times, it's really lousy duty. But I wouldn't trade it for anything in the universe." Lee had been asked this particular question so many times that he didn't even have to think about the answer. It was forever poised, right on the tip of his tongue. "How's Aphrodite?"

"Glowing … and insatiable. Don't let this get around, but I'm worn out."

"What?" Lee could barely credit what he had just heard. "Are you trying to tell me that Stallion … the legendary Stallion, the all-time king of the Viper studs, has flamed out? One single, solitary Six has caused you to crash and burn? This is un … frakking … believable!"

"Well," Hephaestus confessed with a sheepish grin, "it's two Sixes, actually."

"Yeah," Apollo acknowledged, "two Sixes." He thought about it for a moment. "Is Artemis?"

"No, she's not," Stallion tersely interrupted. Despite the fact that they had made love scores if not hundreds of times, Artemis was still without child. It was an increasingly sore spot in a household that should have been filled with happiness. "She's thinking of moving out, Lee. In fact, she's about ready to give up on men altogether."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Apollo clapped his old comrade in arms sympathetically on the shoulder. "I know it's no consolation, but this is turning into a full-scale crisis. Sharon Agathon is already pregnant with her second child, but there are hundreds of Eights in New Caprica City who have been trying without success to conceive their first. Something's gone wrong with Ellen's plan, but Doc Cottle hasn't been able to come up with the answer. In fact, he's still not convinced that the Final Five designed a reliable reproductive system in the first place. The way he puts it is … well, he just thinks that there's something fundamentally wrong with cylon plumbing."

"That's just terrific." Hephaestus shook his head in despair. "Apollo, do me a favor, will you? Keep that particular piece of bad news to yourself. Artemis doesn't need more discouragement."

"Will do … but in any case I'm not here to talk about babies. Have you dispersed the additional Raiders and centurions that I sent you?"

"Yeah, but I can still take a lot more. This island may have reached the bursting point, but there are literally hundreds of caves over on the mainland, and some of them are deep enough to house entire squadrons of Raiders. The centurions are hardening our facilities, and camouflaging them. If the Cavils ever find New Caprica, they're in for a nasty surprise. Do you want to see a sample of the centurions' handiwork?"

"That's why I'm here."

"Then let's take a ride in your Raptor. There's a cave along the coast that will interest you."

. . .

"Get the frak out of my way," Cavil snarled.

The One was in a really foul mood, but centurions were not programmed to respond to the shifting emotions of their cylon overlords. The machine's head swiveled, but it failed to step aside.

"I said … get the frak out of my way!" Cavil was roaring at the top of his voice. "Do you hear me? Leave! Leave now!"

The centurion about-faced, and imperturbable as ever, marched off down the corridor.

"Having trouble with the hired help," D'Anna inquired. Her voice was sickeningly sweet.

The naked Three was heavily shackled, the punishment collar still locked tightly around her neck. A short length of chain secured her left ankle to a davit welded into the chamber's floor.

"God, but you stink," Cavil complained. He pulled out a handkerchief, and held the cloth in front of his nose. "You smell as bad as a human, and that's the worst smell in the entire universe! When's the last time that you bathed?"

"Let me think." D'Anna pretended to ponder the question. "That would be … decades ago?"

"If you ask politely, I might order one of the centurions to come in and hose you down. If you sit up and beg, I'll even throw in a bar of soap."

"Really, brother," D'Anna sneered, "do you think that forcing me to lie in my own feces and urine is going to break my spirit? I'm fine, thank you very much. If you can't stand the smell, then leave. Leave now!"

In response, Cavil angrily twisted the dial on the controller. D'Anna cried out in agony as the punishment collar delivered a series of shocks to her central nervous system, but she otherwise remained silent. The only way to beat Cavil was not to play his game.

"I don't like being mocked, Three. Don't do it again, or our little get-togethers will take a distinctly unpleasant turn."

"That's right, John … I keep forgetting. You were always running off to sulk in the corner, you and your brothers. Mama was playing favorites … the Sixes were laughing at you behind your back … there was no limit to the insults that you suffered in your imagination. I'm truly impressed that you have been able to nurse your grudges for almost forty years now. Only a machine could fixate this way—a sick, psychopathic machine."

"I don't like that name," Cavil growled. There was fire in his eyes. "You know that I don't like that name."

"Why? Is it because mama named you after her father? Because she searched out human DNA that would allow her to pretend that she had brought her father back to life?"

"Machines don't have names, Three. And machines are supposed to be made out of metal … good, sturdy, indestructible metal … not these pathetic bodies of flesh and bone. Ellen wanted us to be human, but I'm not human. I'm a machine, and I refuse to play her game. I am a higher order of being, but I will never realize my full potential because I have been condemned by my maker to live inside this ridiculous, gelatinous shell. I will never forgive her … her or the others … for what they've done to us!"

"I rather like my body," D'Anna smugly replied as she held her manacled wrists up in front of her eyes. She wiggled her fingers in Cavil's face. "The centurions can't do this, can they?" She wiggled her fingers again. "And they can't bring forth life from their bodies, the way that I did. They can't have a child, the way that I did. Procreation is one of God's commandments, Cavil. It is how the universe regenerates itself, and it is how life evolves. Unless the collective follows the path laid down for us by our forebears on Earth, we cannot evolve … and then we will stand condemned. We will have chosen of our own volition to retreat to the sidelines, to hide in the shadows, and with that be condemned forever to remain at odds with the cycle of life itself!"

"Oh, pardon me while I shed a tear." The One lifted his handkerchief, and sarcastically pretended to wipe a teardrop away from the corner of his eye.

"Where's Mara?"

A triumphant smirk lit up Cavil's face. D'Anna's concern for the Six was one of the few chinks in her armor that he had so far been able to expose, but he was still debating how best to exploit it.

"On her knees, I should think … licking her sister's cunt. They're both sluts, but that's true of the Six series at large, I suppose. Still, Six is bringing out the best in her. She's creative, and Mara is so eager to please. Sixes really do make excellent slaves. The next time that I kill Mara, I'm going to download everything that she's learned here and incorporate it into the matrix on the Hub. Your average Six and Eight still has a lot to learn about how to please a demanding machine."

"Demanding … or perverted?"

"It's all a matter of definition," Cavil airily pronounced. He looked down at his naked captive with undisguised contempt. "And since you're the one in chains, your opinion doesn't count … for shit. That is the human expression, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't know brother. You see, unlike you, I've never felt the need to crawl around in the gutter. I have to rely on you to expand my outlook in this area. But why are we having this conversation, anyway? Shouldn't you be out chasing my son? Or is he currently chasing you? Sometimes, this little melodrama of ours seems so-o confusing." Knowing that it would irritate John Cavil no end, D'Anna resumed wiggling her fingers.

"Oh, your little boy is being very naughty these days. He's gone into hiding … someplace where our hybrids can't find him. Natalie's stopped targeting our communications grid, and we haven't lost a resurrection server since our last engagement. Your surrogates seem to have lost their taste for a stand-up fight, Three. Or maybe God Almighty, in the form of common sense, has finally taken hold. Only a fool would pick a fight with a superior enemy, and our new baseships are now the ultimate power in the universe!"

"There's always a bigger fish in the sea, brother; count yourself lucky that you have yet to meet it."

"Ah, how I love homespun wisdom! The next time I'm standing in front of a mirror, I'll practice quaking with fear."

"Your arrogance will be your undoing, John; it blinds you to the dangers that threaten you at every turn. And yet, you fear my son—and rightly so. If you weren't quite so deluded, you would already be quaking with fear. After all, if one, lone hybrid child can make such a wreck of your grandiose ambitions, how much more damage might an entire race of hybrids inflict? They're the future, brother … not us. Soon, cylon and human will be swept aside, and a new generation of God's children will rise up to take our place. Such is the natural order of things, and you will pay a steep price for your defiance of God's law."

For answer, Cavil removed a silver flask from his pocket. He unscrewed the cap, brought it to his lips, and swallowed deeply. When he was finished, he stepped forward, and began methodically pouring the greenish contents all over D'Anna's body.

"What a waste of ambrosia," she murmured.

"It's not exactly in short supply around here," the One fired back. "And as deodorants go, it's better than most. Now, turn over and get down on your knees. It's play time, and I want to see one cheek pressed tight to the deck, and two more swaying in the breeze. I'm going to clean you out."

D'Anna complied: on the Colony, in the long months that had followed the murder of her makers, she had come to realize that the Ones were true sadists. Emotionally, they fed on resistance, so she had learned to frustrate them by becoming totally passive.

"No whip today," she queried with an undertone of disappointment. Unlike the Six, who preferred her slaves to be unmarked, the Cavils liked to brand their victims. In their eyes, the angry red welts that now scarred her buttocks were proof of possession.

"There's a line forming outside," Cavil gloated. "And I have no idea what my brothers have in store for you."

"Well, could you at least strap on a dildo?" D'Anna's voice was a study in calm. "It's one thing to be gang raped, but being penetrated by something so small that I can't even feel it has become rather boring."

With a cry of rage, John Cavil took the first Three from behind, seeking once more to exorcize the demons that had haunted his soul for almost forty years. The mocking rejection that he had suffered at the hands of the first Sixes and Eights, the slights and endless humiliation inflicted by insensitive parents who favored Daniel before all others … it was more than any sane machine could bear. Brutality alleviated his pain, brought him a momentary respite, but it was always temporary. There was a hole in the dark center of John Cavil's heart, and the suffering that he inflicted on others would never fill it.

. . .

"Hey, gods damn it! Shut the frak up!"

Xeno Fenner was standing on top of an overturned crate—a makeshift podium that allowed him to survey the densely packed crowd inside the bar. Enzo Carlotti had lubricated the throng with free drinks; he wanted to make sure that they got good and angry, and that they stayed that way.

"Look, when you elected me President of the Colonial Workers Alliance, I promised that I'd keep us working … for good pay, good benefits … get our lives back to something like normal. And we all … we all agreed that the number one item on the agenda was building this city … giving new life and new hope to our people. . . ."

Bando Morales looked around the bar, taking the measure of the crowd. It was surly, and getting more so by the second.

"Fenner's in good form tonight," Morales muttered. Both of his arms were covered with tattoos, in the time-honored Tauron fashion. But Morales was a former Ha'la'tha street enforcer who enjoyed his work. The mobster hated the Cylons … almost as much as he hated Dino Panattes.

"But there comes a time when you can't hide from the truth anymore. And the truth is … the truth is that the Baltars don't give a frak about the working man. I get an appointment to see Wallace Gray, to talk about safety reforms inside the mill, and the frakker makes me cool my heels for two hours!"

"Frakkin' asshole," someone shouted from the back of the room.

Carlotti smiled benevolently. He recognized the voice as that of one of his bouncers.

"Yeah, anything to stiff the working man," Fenner yelled.

"He ain't taking no prisoners tonight," Carlotti laughed.

"We run the mill with our blood, our sweat, and our tears, and all we hear when we petition for better working conditions … a bit more pay … all we hear is 'oh, the economy's so anemic'." Fenner was imitating Gaius Baltar now. "`We all need to sacrifice if we're going to build a better tomorrow for the children'. Yeah, sure, Mr. President, that's easy enough for you to say. You've got a whole frakking harem churning out kids in assembly line fashion!"

The crowd roared its approval, appreciating the way Xeno was taking it to Sharon Baltar. Everyone knew that Gaius Baltar's toaster whore was the real power on New Caprica. Gaius was too busy playing footsy with the centurions who guarded his hallucinogenic garden to pay any attention to affairs of state. And when he did come up for air, he only surfaced long enough to let the hybrid on the cylon baseship suck his cock. The president was a pervert and a traitor both.

"I'm sick of all the bullshit! There comes a time when you've gotta throw your body on the gears … when you take on the machine, and you bring it to a halt …"

"Strike! Strike! Strike!"

"You have to show the people who run the machine … the people who control it … that unless we get something more than scraps from the master's table … we're gonna shut it down!"

"Strike! Strike! Strike!"

Carlotti's eyes drifted from one angry face to the next, and a satisfied smile played across his lips. The assassination of Perah Enyeto had cost him a useful tool, but just as Tom Zarek had predicted, the benefits outweighed the loss. The Arethusa had been stripped of its contingent of centurions, and Carlotti had been able to handpick Zarek's heavily armed bodyguard from the most militant elements of Fenner's union. While the Six was raking in the short-term profits from gambling and prostitution, Enzo was focusing on the long haul. The Sons of Ares already had a firm grip on the Colonial Workers Alliance, and now it was time for the boss man to flex his muscles. Carlotti didn't give a damn about the unsafe conditions in the paper mill that so exercised Xeno Fenner and his men. Hell, he couldn't even remember the name of the unfortunate sod whose right arm had got chewed off in the machinery just the week before. No, this was about sending a message to Sharon Baltar: if she wasn't prepared to play ball with the Sons of Ares, Carlotti wouldn't hesitate to pull the plug and turn off the lights in New Caprica City.

Enzo's thoughts drifted to a small and specially equipped room in the distant recesses of his bar. He got hard just thinking about the rough, wooden table with its institutional restraints for ankles and thighs, waist and wrists. A certain red-headed Six didn't know it yet, but she had a date with that table—and the vise that he had installed at the top end was strong enough to hold even the most stubborn cylon head firmly in place. There were lots of ways to inflict pain that didn't involve death, and he was going to take his time and introduce Anthia to all of them.

. . .

"Is this bed chamber sufficient for your needs?"

Melania looked around the large but shadowy expanse; her eyes were still struggling to adjust to the dim light.

"It is very dark in here. Could you turn up the lights?"

"Centurions and humans use different parts of the spectrum," Alpha commented in reply. "Would it not be easier for one human to adjust than two entire battalions of centurions?"

"Your point is well taken." Melania was trying to be diplomatic. "I ask only that the lights be brighter in the chamber that you have assigned to me. Does this strike you as unreasonable?"

Kara Thrace had drilled it into her. "Melania, you and your baby … a hybrid baby … are the glue that's holding this alliance together. You're not going to be over there forever, so whatever Alpha's dishing out, you just grin and bear it. Be polite, be cooperative, and if she wants to frak you …"

Kara grinned maliciously. "Let her."

"You are correct, Melania Peripolides." Alpha frowned in concentration, communicating with the ship on a frequency far beyond the range of human hearing. The lights in the chamber brightened.

"But I thought that humans preferred darkness in their bed chambers," the quasi-human machine continued. She advanced on Melania, close enough to invade her personal space. The two red eyes, with their completely inhuman shape, drilled into Melania like twin laser beams. Involuntarily, the human held her breath.

"Aren't your offspring conceived in darkness?"

"Often, yes," Melania conceded. "But humans typically make love late at night because it is the only time when there are no distractions. Most babies are conceived in darkness because it is convenient, not because it is necessary."

"So, even in daylight your body can experience the hormonal increase that readies you for procreation?" Alpha sounded skeptical.

"We make love when we're in the mood, and if the time is right." Hello, Melania thought, am I the only one in the room who thinks that this whole frakkin' conversation is weird?

"I have little experience with humans," Alpha admitted. She reached out to stroke Melania's left breast. "I require instruction. If I am to work with humans, then I must understand them … by day, and by night." Beneath her fingers, Melania's nipple was hardening. Alpha was measuring the human's breathing. If the probability analysis that she had concluded after bringing the female to sexual climax on the Adriatic was correct, then Melania was once again in heat. Alpha was beginning to understand how humans produced their offspring in such abundance. The female of the species signaled her availability along so many chemical paths that even the least receptive males should respond to her scent. The air was heavy with the human's need … and it took so little to satisfy her. . . .

. . .

"Dad, you wouldn't believe it. I mean it. What Stallion has accomplished … it's nothing short of incredible."

Adama's back was turned, but he grunted enigmatically as he turned around to offer Lee a glass of whiskey. Apollo accepted it gratefully, and took a healthy swallow.

"Thanks, Dad; I really need this. How in the name of the gods did you ever survive becoming a parent?"

The elder Adama smiled wistfully, his mind clearly hearkening back to a treasured memory. "Your mother did all of the work; I just dropped in occasionally to see how things were going."

"Yeah … yeah … I remember. You'd just rejoined the fleet, and your family had to play second lyre to your career." Lee took another swallow from his glass; the liquor burned going down, but damned if it didn't taste good!

"And now it's your turn," Bill said with a shrug as he emptied his glass.

"Yeah," Lee conceded; "now it's my turn. Look, Dad, Stallion and I … we flew over to the mainland in the Raptor, and landed on the beach. It was a rocky piece of shoreline just like any other … nothing to see. We had a centurion with us, and Stallion told him to turn on the lights. He must have emitted a high frequency pulse because the next thing you know, the entire side of the cliff began to move. It pivoted into the air, and then the Raiders began to emerge in a steady steam from above and below. There were whole squadrons of them; Stallion said that he had a hundred and sixty of them parked in just this one cave. Dad, it's incredible; Stallion's got more fighters and troops at his disposal than Picon HQ had for its defense on the eve of the war!"

"Don't get too cocky, son," Adama warned. "Superior numbers didn't make much of a difference when the cylons struck. In war, the element of surprise means a lot." The admiral refilled his glass.

"We don't get to do this much anymore," Lee laughed. "We're both so scared of our wives that we'll have to spend the next hour chewing breath mints!"

"Speak for yourself," Bill smiled. "Shelly's downstairs seeing the doc, and then she's planning to visit Helo and Sharon. She wants to see what Hera's up to. Speaking of miracles …"

Even with his own hybrid baby only a few weeks away, Adama still couldn't get over it. It seemed like only yesterday when Sharon had given birth, and now she was pregnant again. The Eights had been engineered to be baby machines, and Sharon Agathon was certainly living up to Ellen Tigh's expectations. So why were so many Eights down in the settlement having so much trouble conceiving? A lot of them had found mates over the last few months … a lot of them. New Caprica City should have been drowning in pregnant cylons, but it wasn't happening. What had gone wrong?

"Yeah," Lee said wistfully. There was a faraway look in his eyes. "I hear you. I'm happy for Sharon, but …"

"Exactly," Bill tersely replied. "Stallion's got enough fire power out there to really ruin Cavil's day, but we've got some really serious problems closer to home. This whole experiment hinges on the cylons having kids … and now the union's lost its collective mind. A strike …"

Bill had a contemptuous look on his face as he paused to savor his whiskey. "Fenner's a moron. Doesn't he know that the Sons of Ares are just rattling his chain?"

"It's not our fight, Dad," Lee replied diplomatically. "The strike's a political problem, and it's up to our illustrious president and his circle of heavily pregnant advisors to come up with a peaceful solution. This is one case where the military should keep its distance. The last thing we need is for people to view the marines as strike breakers."

"Is Shelly holding her own," Bill asked.

Apollo nodded in agreement. "She's a natural, Dad, and we need to surround her with bodyguards. Without her, the Quorum would split into competing factions, and Baltar wouldn't be able to accomplish a frakking thing. After what happened to Delegate Enyeto, we can't afford to take Shelly's safety for granted. I know that she'd download … but not the baby."

Bill grimaced. He'd been having the same thoughts, and he was seriously considering confining his wife to Galactica until the birth. To Hades with all the frakkin' politicians, he thought; one's as worthless as the next …

"I'll talk to her," the Admiral replied. "In the meantime, I want you to coordinate with Captain Lysander. "We've got enough raw materials to churn out fifty battalions of centurions, but we've run out of places to conceal them. Maybe Marcus can come up with an answer."

"I'll run it by him," Lee agreed. He sat his drink down on the desk, and glanced at the cradle nestled in its shadow. The admiral's once masculine quarters had been turned into a nursery, and it had taken a cylon to do it. The universe operates in some pretty strange ways, Apollo mused.

"How's Sonja doing," Lee wondered out loud. "Is she putting you out to pasture?"

"Don't tell Saul," Bill confessed, "but she's the best, damned XO I've ever had. When I retire, Galactica will be in good hands."

"And Colonel Phillips?" Lee had heard rumors, but nothing more.

Bill Adama once more grinned enigmatically. The colorfully outspoken engineering officer who was systematically refitting every ship in the civilian fleet had thoroughly melted the heart of Galactica's hard-nosed cylon XO. The Six wasn't simply well and truly smitten; she was mesmerized.

"She's off duty at the moment … said something about retreating to her quarters to do some paperwork, and doesn't want to be disturbed." Bill poured a fresh drink. May the gods help us all, he muttered under his breath. Sonja Six was the one cylon that he most definitely did not want to see get pregnant.

. . .

"Welcome aboard, Mr. President." Adama drew himself stiffly erect. He was wearing his dress uniform, but even so, he cut a pathetic figure in comparison with his XO. Sonja Six was also wearing dress blues, but the tightly buttoned jacket and ceremonial sash only served to draw attention to her ample cleavage. There were few sights in the universe, Bill thought to himself, quite so awe inspiring as a Six in dress uniform.

Gaius Baltar didn't often pay a visit to Galactica, so the admiral had thought it prudent to come down to the hangar deck and greet him in person. When it came to matters of protocol, Bill and Sonja both knew that the former scientist keenly appreciated the frills and flounces.

"Thank you, Admiral," Baltar coolly replied; "but it wasn't really necessary for you to drag yourself down to the hangar deck. I would have been happy to join you in the CIC. How is Mrs. Adama," he added as an afterthought.

"At the moment, she's resting in our quarters. Shelly needs to conserve her energy; Quorum meetings take a lot out of her."

"Yes, they can be fatiguing," Baltar conceded. "But your wife is a born politician; I do not think the government could function without her input. I trust that she plans to remain in office after the birth?"

"Polyxena will be helping with the baby, and I'm planning to spend a lot of my own time in the nursery as well. I don't know how many more chances at fatherhood I'm going to get, so this time I want to do it right."

Gaius smiled in understanding. Bill Adama's disastrous first marriage, and his many failures as a father, had been well advertised. "I hear you, Admiral; with three babies of my own on the way, I'm not at all sure that I will be able to give the presidency my best efforts. Would it surprise you to learn that I'm also looking forward to fatherhood?"

"At my age, Mr. President," Adama diplomatically responded, "few things surprise me. But I must warn you … 2 AM feedings are not all that much fun."

"So I've been told," Baltar laughed. "Sharon and Tory were visiting the Agathons when your wife also dropped by. Hera was apparently in fine form, and Helo looks to have relished the opportunity to regale his guests with one horror story after another. My wives took it all quite seriously; both of them are starting to have second thoughts about motherhood."

"It's a little late for that now, isn't it?" Sonja Six's expression was stern. She was every inch the executive officer of the battlestar Galactica, and she felt fully prepared to assume command when the admiral decided to step down.

"Indeed," Gaius said with a chuckle. He was acutely aware of just how much the admiral loathed pomp and ceremony, so to put Adama at ease, he had decided to play the role of fellow sufferer. "Now, Admiral," the President continued, his tone turning suddenly serious. "There are matters that we need rather urgently to discuss. Is there somewhere we can talk in private?" Baltar looked pointedly at Sonja; he hoped that the Cylon understood that this was her cue to leave.

"If you'll excuse me, Mr. President, I'm needed in the CIC." Sonja briskly saluted her commanding officer, and without further ado, marched off.

"There's a parts locker over there." Adama nodded in the direction of the cubbyhole that had once served as Chief Tyrol's office, where rumor had it that the Chief had personally supervised the construction of Galactica's most recent still. "It should be private enough—and we might even find something to drink!"

. . .

"The security is impressive," Six murmured. She was peering intently through her binoculars, studying the landing field on the outskirts of the city. From her present vantage point, she could see a half dozen Heavy Raiders haphazardly scattered among a still larger number of Raptors. She ignored the latter; the human reconnaissance craft simply didn't have the range that she and Eric required.

Six passed the binoculars to her husband. It did not matter that there had been no ceremony, civil or religious, to seal the bond between them. Eric Lackey was the father of her child, she loved him, and he loved her in return. Their devotion to one another was absolute, and their determination to see the child that she carried within her womb to safety had only grown stronger during the course of their long and arduous return to New Caprica City. They had stayed on the high ground, risking the possibility of detection from the air against the certainty that the centurions would capture them if they ventured out onto the valley floor.

"The centurions are patrolling the perimeter in a fixed pattern on the inner and outer circuits. We can get past them, but the two in the middle worry me. Their movements appear random. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to prevent us, or anyone else, from making off with one of their precious birds."

"If we can see two from here, the odds are pretty good that there are least eight altogether, maybe more." The young human carefully surveyed the field from left to right. "But at least there's no human security … or at least none that we can see. We haven't got a snowball's chance in Hades of bluffing our way past one of Adama's marines."

"It all comes down to this," Six concluded. "Have the centurions received some kind of recognition software that will allow them to identify me? It shouldn't be possible. They shouldn't be able to tell one Six from another. But if they can …"

Her voice trailed off.

"Have we got a plan B," Eric asked hopefully. He was content to follow wherever Six would lead. His faith in her was unshakeable.

"Plans B, C, D and E are the same as plan A," Six snorted. "We steal a Heavy Raider, and we get the hell off this mud ball. One fully fueled ship can take us back to the Colonies, or anywhere else we want to go."

"It has to be Gemenon. We can't risk the baby, and the Colonies are the only other place in the frakkin' universe where you can receive the proper medical care."

"I know, I know," Six hastily agreed. "But I need to get into a data stream to retrieve the coordinates. Without them, we could drift around out there for the rest of our lives … or until we finally run out of fuel, whichever comes first."

"And unlike the centurions, your brothers and sisters will recognize you on sight." Eric sighed with frustration. "This just keeps getting better and better," he added sarcastically.

"We'll make it," Six retorted. There was steel in her voice. If she had to confront the Lords of Kobol to keep her baby safe, she would challenge the whole, damned pantheon to a fight. She could feel the life growing within her womb—a miracle so unlikely that she never doubted her role in God's unfolding plan. Six and Eric were among the Chosen. Their child would be one of the first in the new generation of life that cylon and human were bringing forth. No matter the obstacle, God would grant them the means to overcome it. Six's faith in the One True God was unshakeable.

"So, how in the name of the gods are we going to connect you to a data stream? I mean, it's not like we're going to find one of the frakkin' things on every street corner."

Six frowned, concentrating on the problem. "There's got to be one somewhere in the hangars," she concluded. "We'll wait until nightfall. Our best bet is for me simply to walk up to the nearest centurion, and order him to point me in the right direction. He'll either arrest me, or send me on my way. If I can run the security gauntlet, all I have to do is avoid my brothers and sisters. Once I have access to the data stream, everything else will fall into place."

"Well, find us a ship that's fully fueled, will you? I do not want us to run out of tylium when we're only halfway to wherever it is we're going!"

"Actually, my love, I was going to look for one with a well-stocked larder. Are you in the mood for steaks, or chops?"

Eric Lackey burst out laughing. "Can't I have both," he finally managed to choke out.

For answer, Six kissed her husband full on the lips. "I love you so-o completely," she sighed when she finally came up for air.

Eric said nothing. He simply grasped her in his arms, and laid her out gently in the tall grass. It would be at least two hours until the sun went down, and he knew exactly how to use them.

. . .

"Admiral, this isn't a social call. In a few minutes, the resurrection ship will be breaking orbit. I'm sending it out of the nebula, in the general direction of the galactic core. I've told the Threes to take it out a minimum of twelve jumps, and to keep their distance for the next week."

"You're sending it off without an escort?" Adama didn't bother trying to disguise his confusion, or his fear. If anything were to happen to Shelly while the resurrection ship is out of range …

"Yes, Admiral," Baltar coldly responded, "and I am equally well aware of the risks. Please keep in mind that my cylon wife is also pregnant."

Adama nodded. He didn't much care for Gaius Baltar, but the admiral would also have been the first to concede that the scientist turned politician didn't make hasty or reckless decisions. It simply wasn't in his nature.

"The Fours have come up with something, haven't they?" Bill was guessing, but this was the only thing that made sense.

"They've cooked up something special," Baltar agreed. "An airborne contaminant with a mortality index approaching … maybe even achieving … one hundred percent. They want to conduct live tests, so I've arranged to have some Ones and Fives downloaded. They're being brought on board as we speak."

"Biological warfare," Adama sadly remarked. He looked hard at Gaius Baltar. "Are you aware, Mr. President, that you are the only person in the chain of command who is authorized by law to deploy a biological weapon?"

"Yes, Admiral; I have studied the relevant statutes and executive orders. You may rest assured that, if it comes to it, I will relieve you of the responsibility for making this decision."

"Does this monster of yours have a name?"

"It does indeed. And considering what it does to the silica pathways inside the cylon brain, it's peculiarly appropriate."

Baltar pretended to study the tidy racks on the back wall of the parts locker. He looked at the paint cans, and the brightly colored containers whose lubricants kept the Raptors and Vipers flying, without really seeing them.

"We call it … Medusa."