Chapter 25 - Music in the Dark
Cylon Heavy Raider, Unknown System - September, 2249
John Cavil sat at the controls of the Heavy Raider, a pair of his brother Ones sharing the cabin with him. They stared in eager anticipation at the astronomical event, filling the view out of the canopy. A White Dwarf and a yellow Main Sequence star tightly orbited each other, their orbital period having fallen to just under twenty three hours. The massive gravity from the White Dwarf was ripping and stretching material from its yellow companion, drawing a massive tendril of stellar material towards itself, and into the accretion disk surrounding it.
John glanced to the left, towards the Basestar hanging nearby in space. A Basestar practically filled with Threes; more even than his brothers. He was rather surprised some of them hadn't insisted on coming out here with him. But then, they weren't truly interested in the upcoming Nova, afterall. That was just a ruse.
Seeing the direction he was looking, the One to his left asked, "Are you certain this was a good idea? Especially given what we learned from Boomer? Their plan might work."
"But it doesn't matter. We've already taken all of the necessary precautions. In fact, allowing their plan to proceed is part of those precautions."
"Of course. Still, it's a risk."
"Yes, but we're machines. We don't allow worry to cloud our judgement. We simply calculate the course with the greatest likelihood of success, and work it through to completion."
"Of course."
His other brother chose that moment to speak up. "I'm reading a rapid buildup of energy. It's about to happen."
Rapt, they all watched, anticipating the moment they had all come to witness. It did not disappoint. With a flash, the gases which had been accreting onto the White Dwarf underwent runaway fusion, and with a giant flash the Nova erupted.
The Heavy Raider had been hardened against the massive photonic pulse which let them know the Nova was underway. Still, the exterior of the craft smoked and burned under the onslaught; and Cavil and his brothers, despite their Cylon resistance to most forms of radiation, felt their skin burning rapidly. Their eyes were very nearly blinded.
"I suppose we should head back to the Basestar now," Cavil said. "Shame." The Cylon vessels were far enough back from the stars that there would be a significant delay between experiencing the burst of lightspeed photons and the massive wall of accelerated gases...plasma really, which would be following it. Time enough to return to the Basestar and jump away. Which was the official plan.
"Yes, I would have preferred to be able to watch the wavefront as it rolls towards us and then burns us to ash," his brother agreed. "Especially since the Basestar won't be going anywhere."
"Of course," John replied. He too wished to see and experience the event in its entirety. The primal shout of one the most powerful forces in the universe. Part of the chorus of the stars, whose music included pulsars and hypernovae and a myriad of other such events, all of which John longed to experience for himself. "But we have to show the Threes just how surprised and dismayed we are when the hyperdrive fails. Give them their moment of victory. We each have our parts to play in ensuring all Cylons stay on the proper course. Just consider it another sacrifice for the common good."
"Still, it would have been nice to see the wavefront hit with our own eyes."
"Better yet if we could watch it with something better than eyes," his other brother corrected.
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Battlestar Galactica, Unknown system - September, 2249
Laura Roslin grimaced in discomfort, leaning back on the infirmary gurney and taking a sip of stale water from the small paper cup Doc Cottle had handed her. It made her mouth wet, but it didn't really make her feel the least bit better.
"Well, congratulations. You survived your third and final Doloxan treatment."
"Final?" she asked in surprise.
"I'm putting an end to it. All the tests show zero response from the cancer. Your body, on the other hand, is falling apart. If we keep going, the cancer is going to be all that's left."
"The chamalla…" she began.
"Is just masking the pain. And not very well, from what I can tell. It is no longer having any therapeutic effect at all. And before you ask, I've run more tests on Hera's blood. In case you missed it, Ms Agathon…. I guess she's going by Athena these days ... brought her in. They're both across the infirmary, sitting in another bay. After what we pulled with her child….you might try a 'thank you.'"
Laura ignored the last remark. "And the blood? Can it help me?"
He grimaced, looking at her disapprovingly, but chose not to push the point. "No. I've run the tests three times to be certain. Whatever it did before, it's not doing it anymore." He paused, hesitating. "I've got to ask. Why are you so hesitant to accept Earth Force help? They're already well aware of your cancer. It wasn't exactly a state secret. And I've spoken with Dr. Franklin about your case personally. He seems confident he can help you. Already gave me a couple pills to give you before you come and see him." Cottle pulled a small pill bottle out of his pocket and gave it a shake, rattling around its contents. "Their medical technology is impressive. Not miraculous like some of the people they've helped are saying...but damned impressive. And worlds better than the limited tools we were lucky enough to gather into the fleet. It's your best bet."
Roslin grimaced again. "I know. But if my treatment can only come from the Earth Force, that makes me reliant on them. Compromises my objectivity. We're already far too dependent on the Earth fleet." She hesitated, then admitted, "Maybe I'm just too stubborn. Despite everything he did for me, I don't like that Tom painted me into a corner."
"Well the fact that you're referring to him by his first name, rather than saying 'Zarek' like you just took a bite of something rotten, tells me that you can see why it was necessary. Look, I don't know if Doctor Franklin can help you. And frankly, it bruises my professional ego that someone that young might be able to do something I can't, but they're your last, best hope. The longer you wait, the further the cancer progresses, the less likely they'll be able to help you."
She sighed. "Fine. Give me the pills. What's in them anyway?"
"No idea. I've got a name, but I'm not a chemist, so I didn't bother with the chemicals, just potential interactions. He wants you to take them instead of eating anything, twelve hours before seeing him, and ingest nothing but water after that. Given that, it's probably a chemical designed to help them scan your body. Identify problem locations. Something like the Barium sulfate suspension I had you take a while back."
Laura grimaced, "That was awful."
"Nobody said having cancer would be a cake walk."
"Fine." She held out her hand. "Let's get this over with."
"Unfortunately, Franklin told me you would need to have the Chamalla entirely flushed out of your system first. That's going to take a few days. I know you remember how unpleasant that can be. We can start that now, and I'll give you the pills when you're ready."
"Joy. Talk about the cure being worse than the disease."
"Well, read a book, do some paperwork. Anything you can find to keep your mind off of it, and to also help keep your blood pressure down."
Laura chuckled as she leaned back on the gurney. "Yeah, right." A wave of exhaustion washed over her.
"If you'll excuse me, I do have some other patients."
She had already closed her eyes, falling backwards into slumber. She managed to raise a hand and wave at him, "Alright, go," but was already asleep by the time the sound of the curtain being drawn reached her ears.
Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. She opened her eyes, looking around. There was no trace of the pain, the discomfort she had lived with for so long. But that didn't matter. Her body was full of energy, vigor; her fight or flight reflexes ramping up to a fever pitch. She looked around, realizing where she was. The Kobol Opera House. Something was wrong here. Something that required her immediate attention.
She began to stride forward, looking for she knew not what. The light was odd here. Shadows danced strangely in the corners. Odd music reverberated through the halls. She was on an elevated walkway, high above the floor. Glancing to her right, she stopped in shock. Hera. Across from her, on a matching walkway on the opposite side of the building. Only, the child was neither on her own, nor being carried by her mother. No, the baby was in the arms of someone, something, robed and glowing brilliantly in white. It's face unrecognizable, too bright to look at. Laura was certain it must be a trick of the light, but she would have sworn she had seen wings stretched out behind the thing. And then it rounded a corner taking them both out of sight.
Hera had been crying.
Laura walked faster, determined to save that child.
It was a Six she saw next, also striding down an opposite hallway. She heard the voice of Athena shouting her child's name, echoing through the Opera House. Laura caught sight of the strange apparition again, still carrying Hera, making its way towards an exit. She broke into a run.
As she hit the main Opera House floor, she felt fear and anxiety welling up inside of her, overflowing. Glancing towards her right, she saw Athena right beside her, keeping pace as they charged after the apparition. To the left, the Six, it must be Caprica, was charging down a side aisle, also chasing the child.
A pair of large doors at the front of the lobby opened of their own accord. Blinding light flowed in from beyond them. Glowing even more brightly still, was the pair of figures standing in that doorway, robed and hooded, wings spread wide.
The figure carrying Hera strode between them, enveloped in their wings, and the doors slammed shut.
Laura Roslin jerked upright on her gurney, screaming at the top of her lungs. A simultaneous scream echoed from across the infirmary, accompanied by the wailing of a baby. Roslin, all the aches and pains having returned, levered herself to her feet as rapidly as she could and dragged her IV stand out of her little bay, sweeping the curtain aside.
"What's going on!?" Cottle was shouting, looking from her to Athena, who had stepped out of the bay opposite, and was desperately trying to comfort Hera. "You're both freaking out at the same time!?"
Laura glanced from Cottle to Athena, thinking frantically. "We need a moment. Will somebody get this off?" she asked, indicating the IV. "Take this off of me, please."
Cottle stepped forward, irritated. "Will somebody please tell me what the hell is going on?" When she didn't answer, he proceeded to remove her IV. Rather than answer, Laura just stared at Athena.
.
Half an hour later, the two of them, having cleaned up after their visit with Doc Cottle, were escorted by a trio of Marines into the prisoner's cell. Caprica's cell. The Cylon, who had just been shackled moment's earlier, looked up at them in surprise. Standing next to her, Laura was surprised to see Lieutenant Russki.
"Go outside," Laura ordered the Marines. "We'll be fine. Thank you. Shut the door." When Russki started to move, Laura paused for a second. "Lieutenant, please stay."
Caprica looked up at them in apparent bewilderment. Turning to her, Laura crossed her arms. "I'm sorry about the shackles." The Six just sighed, looking downward, so Laura continued. "Were you with us, a moment ago, in the lobby of the Opera House?" Caprica sat up straight in shock, looking back and forth between her and Athena. "I'll take that as a yes, by the look on your face."
"I was there too," Athena offered. "And so was Hera."
Caprica's apparent confusion only grew. "That shouldn't be possible."
"Add it to the list," Athena responded.
"Were you trying to reach Hera?" Laura asked.
Caprica shook her head. "I don't know." She rose from the cot. "I just knew that I had to protect her with my life."
"And what were those things?"
"I don't know. The wings….if they were wings….well, that might indicate they were angels of God."
Athena snorted, but Laura only asked, "And is there a reason your God would want to kidnap Hera?"
"I don't know. I just don't know."
Athena tried a different tack. "You said you needed to protect Hera with your life. From us?"
"No," Caprica said shaking her head. "I was there….I think I was there to help you?"
"From your angels then?" Laura asked, pressing.
"Maybe. But… I think there was something else in that Opera House as well. Something in the shadows.
Laura desperately wanted to scoff, but something in the back of her mind nagged at her about how the shadows in that place had seemed to dance to the ethereal music washing through the place. She glanced over at Russki. "Well? You're the walking lie detector, aren't you? So? Is she trying to deceive us?"
Russki looked back at her wide eyed, clearly wishing to be anywhere but here. "Madame President...I have no idea what any of you are talking about. But no...she's not lying. She's been nothing but truthful."
Laura took a deep breath thinking. Not caring if those thoughts might leak out to the Lieutenant. Coming to a decision, she nodded. "Alright Lieutenant. I assume you have the key. Remove those shackles. You'll have to remain locked up, Ms Caprica, but I'll allow you some limited movement about the ship. Under Marine guard, of course. At least for now. But at least you can take your meals outside of this room. If that works out...well, we'll keep our options open for the future.
.
Elsewhere on the Galactica, Samuel T. Anders found himself wandering up one hallway, and down another. He was getting some odd looks, but he couldn't be bothered to give a damn. He was hot on the trail of whoever was playing that damned music. He must be close, he kept just hearing snippets of it. When he finally caught up to that asshole, he was going to rearrange his face. Sam hadn't gotten a decent night's sleep in nearly a week, all because some asshat wouldn't stop playing that shitty tune over and over again. Lack of sleep left him in a daze. Too much confusion.
Only half aware of his actions, he passed a Marine at a secure hatch, absently waving his ID. He then continued chasing the barest hint of a sound floating to him from down the corridor. Taking a turn and passing through another hatch, he found himself on a busy hangar deck.
He stopped short, realizing that he most definitely shouldn't be there. About to turn and leave, he froze, hearing a snippet of humming coming from a nearby Viper. Something familiar.
It was Galen. Sam strode over, stepping right up to where the Chief was working. Galen looked up. "Hey Sam. How'd you get in here?"
"I've got a pass now. The Admiral put out a request for more pilots. Sounded urgent, but they didn't say why. Given my athletic career...well. They didn't even ask questions. As soon as they find a trainer, I'm gonna be a nugget."
Tyrol chuckled, having gone back to working on the Viper. "Doesn't mean you should be here now. But don't leave," he said, making eye contact. "We're busy as hell, and I could use a hand. Here, put your hand there, and hold this in place, while I secure it." Sam did as asked, and Galen started tightening connections, much more efficiently for the assistance. In return for the help, he offered an explanation. "Did you know that I was on the Nova and the Lexington, installing the grav plate they traded for?" He waited for Sam's response in the negative, then continued. "While I was there, I got a look at some of the supplies they have in storage. When I got back, I told the Admiral he needed to beg, steal, or borrow some of them. I think he traded instead. The supplies were delivered yesterday. Enough parts to build fifteen new Vipers." Sam gave a low whistle, and the Chief looked up with a broad smile. "Oh, every one of them will be as rough as the Blackbird was. But they should be able to match a Mark II at the least. And every one of them will incorporate Earth Force inertial compensation. If I can figure out how to get the damned modules to work properly, that is."
"That's really amazing, Chief."
"It's an amazing lot of work, is what it is. So I'm glad you stopped by to get Shanghaied." He stepped around to the back of the Viper, and began working on the plumbing back there, pointing out again where Sam could assist him. "Of course, you nuggets aren't going to be getting the new birds. Given their likely flight characteristics, those'll go to experienced pilots. And if any of those pilots came out of Mark VIIs, then the Mark II pilots will move up to those. And you lucky nuggets, well… you'll get the geriatric old birds."
"All I could ask for, Chief."
"Heh. So what made you want to be a pilot, Sam?"
"I don't know. Just trying to get Kara's attention, I guess."
Galen froze for a moment, then returned to his work. "Oh, yeah? How're things going there?"
"I'm not sure they even are. I've barely seen her in the last month. She's been buried in work, and I get the distinct impression she might be avoiding me. Except when she gets drunk and wants to play, which is pretty much the only time I see her. If she wants things to be over with, I wish she'd just come out and tell me already. What do you think, Chief?"
Galen paused in his work again, and made direct eye contact. "Sam, I'm probably the worst person in the fleet to ask for relationship advice. I don't understand women at all. But I do know one thing… and that's that Kara Thrace is pretty much about as mysterious and confusing as they come. So all I can say is...good luck."
Sam laughed, then figured it was time to take his chance. "Hey Chief, that song you were humming when I walked up? What is that?"
Galen paused again, then started scratching his brow, apparently uncomfortable. "Oh, ahh … you know what...I don't even know. It's just something… I can't get outta my head. Some kinda way out of here." Embarrassed, he started working again.
Sam wouldn't let it go. "I've been hearing that. Everywhere. The boombox. The mess hall."
Tyrol looked up in shock, then glanced around, almost guiltily, to be sure they weren't being overheard. He waved his finger for Sam to follow him, then stepped around behind the Viper, clearly seeking more privacy. "Come here." He motioned Sam in close. "You hear...that song?"
"Yeah! It's freakin' me out. I hear it everywhere. I mean I...but I can't… I can't really hear it. You know what I mean?"
"Yeah. It's like you can grab just a part of the melody, and then it goes away. Like it's from...childhood."
"Childhood," Sam agreed. "Exactly."
They stared at each other for a long moment. Then, with an unspoken agreement, went back to working on the Viper.
Sam stuck around for the next several hours. When the Chief finally let him go with barely a thank you, moving on to the next on his unending list of tasks, Sam took the opportunity to slip out as quickly as possible. He knew he should return to his bunk, get some rest. Instead, he went right back to hunting that damned music.
That was how, several hours later, he found himself in an empty storage room, having been listening to the walls for over an hour. He was on the verge of perhaps catching another snippet of the melody, when the hatch opened with a clang. Sam was more than a little shocked to see the President's aide...what was her name? Tory something? … walk in. She started when she noticed him, cleary not having been paying attention to where she was going.
"I'm sorry. I didn't realize someone was in here. Actually, I'm not really sure where here is."
"Are you lost? Where were you going?"
"I was consulting with the President, who has business onboard. But, I need to get back to Colonial One. I guess I got distracted and turned around in the hallways. There's too much confusion. But there must be some kinda way outta here."
He stepped closer, directly in front of her, making urgent eye contact. "What did you just say?"
"I… I don't know." She seemed distracted again. "Where's that music coming from?"
He was hearing the music as well, but for once he didn't care where it was coming from. He wanted… needed to know whatever she might have discovered about the music. Any information she might have...might just help him to solve the puzzle. He called her name. Twice. But she was too distracted, not paying attention to anything but the music.
So he kissed her. Hard. Shocked, she took a step back, looking up to meet his eyes for the first time. Staring hard into him. "I have to get back to Colonial One."
Sam felt a shiver run down his spine. "You don't have to go anywhere."
Tory crossed her arms and, in one smooth move, pulled off her top. Then she stepped forward into his arms.
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Cylon Resurrection Hub - September, 2249
D'Anna stepped forward, looking around in wonder, neither alive nor dead. She was in...she was in an Opera House. The Ancient Opera House of Kobol? Eyes widening in a combination of fear and anticipation, she ascended the stairs to the main stage. She spun about, taking in the richness of the polished wood floor or the gilded arches and wainscoting. But it really was just a delaying tactic. A means to stretch out this moment, for which she had waited so long, suffered so much.
She turned back to the figures standing before her, glowing with their own internal light. Six pristinely white banners, brilliantly luminescing, swooped down from above. Standing between them, robed and hooded in matching material, were five mysterious figures. Heads bowed. Hoods hanging low to cover their features.
"The Final Five. Is it really you?" she murmured softly, more to herself than them. She stepped forward, and they slowly raised their heads. Her eyes widened, swinging from one to the next, shocked.
She stepped forward, coming face to face with the one in the center. Their leader. "You." D'Anna found herself on the verge of tears. "Forgive me. I had… I had no idea."
.
With a noise halfway between gasp and scream, she opened her eyes to the ceiling of the resurrection room, struggling to lift her face up out of the amniotic goo. A One, wearing that stupid brown hat they all favored, hovered over her, holding her hand. "You know the drill. Looong, deep controlled breathing."
She rolled her head to the side to make eye contact with him...desperate to relay what she had seen. Oddly, there were no other models in the room. "At least you'll never have to go through this again. The decision wasn't easy but… the conclusion was inevitable. Your model is fundamentally flawed. Although the vote came down along gender lines. Yet another problem you introduced that I am going to have to fix."
She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Perhaps she was hallucinating. It happened sometimes, with resurrections. "No," she whispered hoarsely, trying to argue. "It's not a flawed question, our purpose, is it? The one who programmed us...the way we think, and why?"
"Well that's the problem, right there. The messianic conviction that you're on a special mission to enlighten us. Look at the damage it's caused."
"I would do it all again," she replied, smiling.
"Yes, we know. That's why we've decided to… Box your entire line." She stared up at him in shock, disbelieving. "Your consciousness, memory, every thought your model ever had, going into cold storage. Indefinitely."
"One must die to know the truth," she protested. "There are five other Cylons brother. I saw them. One day you're going to see them too. One day."
He sighed. "Goodbye." So saying, he slowly withdrew his hand from hers.
"Brother?" she asked questioningly...beseechingly. "Brother?"
She heard a button click, and with a winding down of power, the lights on the resurrection pod went out. Her consciousness went with them.
.
Battlestar Galactica, Unknown system - September, 2249
Caprica Six was seated on the floor of her cell, leaning against her bunk. Despite being allowed to take her meals elsewhere, and to occasionally walk the corridors for exercise, it was clear she was still a prisoner. Which was why she found it nerve wracking when the locked door banged open, and the ship's XO, Colonel Saul Tigh, sauntered in, surrounded by a trio of Marines. The only marginally friendly face was Lieutenant Russki, half a step behind him.
Tigh didn't so much as pause, but launched into some kind of speech, looking down at her from his secure position surrounded by armed Marines. "We just completed a transit via the FTL system the Earthers use. I'm told it took us farther in one hop than any five jumps this fleet is capable of making on its own. And yet...just a few hours after we had moved on again, an Earth Force cutter, left behind on picket duty, caught sight of a large Cylon fleet entering the system. Now...I'm not very good at math, and when Gaeta tried to show me the numbers...well, it was pretty much just gobbledygook. But what I did pick up from all that gibberish, was that your Cylon buddies shouldn't have been able to catch up to us like that. At least not that quickly. The odds against it are literally astronomical. Space is huge. Really, truly enormous. You just haven't got the ships to search that much territory, that quickly."
He paused. "Not unless you're tracking us. Now, our President, gods bless her sunny optimistic soul, thinks you might want to share how your buddies have been tracking us." Stepping forward to stand directly over her, he continued, "So I'm here to ask the question, and listen to your lies."
She hesitated, looking up at him. Finally, she began, "In the last battle we discovered your fuel ship… had a unique radiation signature. They must have found a way to track it."
"What else do you know? What other secrets are rattlin' around inside of that mechanical brain?" Fear flooded through her. She had no idea what to say, what she could give him to appease his evident anger.
It was the Baltar who never left her that came to her rescue. Squatting down next to her, he counseled, "Don't be intimidated by him. He's just using you to excise his own pain. Poor old sod. Lost his eye. Needed his wife to rescue him. Thought he was in control, a leader amongst his people, and suddenly he's powerless and at the mercy of his captors. Oh, well, you know how that feels, don't you?"
Caprica looked up to meet the Colonel's gaze. "I know a lot of things. You wanna know one thing I know? I know about your wife. What she had to do so save you. Hurts, doesn't it? You wonder how you can survive it.
Tigh's smirk faded. "I don't know what you're talking about. But it's not gonna work."
"She's his world," Baltar whispered in her ear. "Of course, it took events on the Basestar to remind him what he had. Events that twisted everything."
"Did you know?" Caprica asked, levering herself into a standing position. "Did she know? Did you know how much she means to you? Or did it only occur to you once she was frakking Brother Cavil to save your pathetic life?"
Saul stared at her, stunned. "What?"
She stepped right up into his face. "No, you made her think she was a burden. A millstone around your neck. She did what she did because you made her feel obligated. But then you humans always destroy anything good you have, don't you?"
Saul swung without warning, backhanding her across the face, spinning her about. Caprica wiped her mouth, and slowly turned back about. With a speed and strength that caught every human in the room by surprise, she threw an overhand right that connected with the side of the Colonel's head, tossing him a step backwards to bounce against the bulkhead. All three Marines cocked their rifles simultaneously, taking a half step forward to interpose themselves between her and the Colonel. Those rifle, aimed directly at her head, would kill her the moment she so much as moved. Caprica chuckled, smirking at Tigh.
"Easy, everyone," Russki cautioned. "Let's take a breath."
"Shackle this thing," Tigh ordered.
"The President restricted the use of shackles, Colonel," the Lieutenant advised. "We'll need to get her agreement first."
"Oh, to hell with it," Saul cursed, turning to leave.
Russki nodded to the Marines, indicating they should follow the Colonel. "I'll check on the prisoner. Make sure the Colonel's alright."
When the last Marine had stepped through the hatch, she swung it closed, securing it in place, then turned back to Caprica, walking back into the room. She glanced up at the lone camera in the corner, angled down to pick up everything happening in the room.
In a heartbeat, the camera lens slammed upward to point at the ceiling, as though it had been struck by a bat. Catching the movement, Caprica's eyes widened in disbelief. "What the frak?" Her voice froze as Russki glanced her way, and began to stride towards her. She wanted to shout, to run, but shock had frozen her in place.
Gaius stood in the middle of the room, looking at her, interested to see what she would do. He glanced back over at the Lieutenant with obvious curiosity. Russki was striding over to her. Fear spiked even higher through Caprica.
As she passed the Gaius in Caprica's head, Russki spun smoothly on her heel and drove the palm of her left hand up under his jaw. His head snapped backwards, stretching his spine and driving him up onto his toes. Dropping her left hand to his shoulder, she pulled downwards as her right knee drove up into his genitals.
All the air left his lungs with a squeak, but she wasn't finished. Threading her fingers into the long hair at the back of his skull, she took a tight grip and practically yanked him off of his feet. She swung him forward, hurling him across the room to bring him down, slamming his throat into the rail across the foot of Caprica's bunk.
Still placing pressure against the back of his head, strangling him against the rail, she squatted down close to speak softly into his ear. "Hey, asshole. The next time you want to whisper sweet nothings into your girlfriend's ear...maybe come up with something that isn't liable to get her head blown off."
Levering herself to her feet by pressing down against the back of his head, she finally released him. As he gasped for air, she spun about and strode for the exit. Caprica didn't realize she had been holding her breath, until she gasped with relief, seeing the woman she had been starting to think of as a friend walking out of the room.
She looked up in time to see the camera right itself, just as the hatch slammed shut. Looking over at Head Baltar, she found him staring at the door. "Well," he said with obvious disdain, "that was rude."
.
Cylon Resurrection Hub - September, 2249
Once more John Cavil focused on the arrival of additional Basestars, reinforcing this system. The local fleet had grown to thirty-two. As a precaution against the new human prowess, their forces had been consolidated more and more. Only the Colony and the Colonies were better protected, and not by much. That should be enough. But, who could say for certain how much firepower would be required to take out the combined human fleets?
There was even a Resurrection Ship in the system, in case they felt the need to break off a task force. As concentrated as their forces were getting, it wasn't like they needed those ships running around all over the place. Focusing in on that ship, he considered it for a moment. In any engagement, the light craft would be easy prey for the humans. Perhaps it would be best to get it...to get them all...out of harm's way. Maybe send them back to the Colony, where they would be safe. For that matter, it would reduce the maintenance and crewing requirements and probably ease the logistical strain. Yes, that was a good idea. He'd have to see about making one of the other Models think it was their idea.
The other models. It was time for him to finally consolidate his control. Or rather, to reassert it. He brought his attention back to the Council table at which he sat, and addressed the gathering seated around it. He noted with pride the absence of the Threes. That particular play was about the pay dividends. He began in his typical, calm voice, "We've all conferred with our models, and the results are in. The Fours and the Fives have joined us Ones, and voted to assault the human fleet… to resume the war."
"Gee, what a surprise," Natalie interjected acidly. "Well, the Twos, Sixes, and Eights voted against it, so we're deadlocked.
"Ahh, hopelessly," Cavil said calmly. "I know you've been working ceaselessly to bring the Twos over to your side. And you've finally done it. Congratulations." Turning his attention to the Two at the table, he said, "Leoben, you're going to have to let me show you the other side of that equation."
"Maybe later," he replied. "We've made our vote."
"Indeed you have," he replied dourly, then turned his attention back to Natalie. "And, as it turns out, you were right. And I'm machine enough to admit that I was wrong."
"What are you talking about?" she asked, a note of caution entering her voice.
"Well, something extraordinary has happened." He raised his voice, calling out. "Eight."
The Eight seated to his right just looked at him in confusion, as did Natalie and Leoben. It was Natalie who finally asked, "What's going on?" John shifted his attention to the doorway. Simon and Aaron, having been forewarned, calmly following suit. A moment later, an Eight strode out of the hall and into the room, coming to a halt at the foot of the table. "Boomer," Natalie identified her in surprise.
"I'm not going to sugar coat this," John continued. "Uh, I'll just say that, this Eight has voted to attack."
"What?" Natalie all but gasped.
"You're shocked. I was shocked too."
"But no one has ever voted against their model. No one!" She looked directly to Boomer, meeting her gaze. "Is this true?!"
Boomer gave a shallow nod. "We have to be able to defend ourselves."
"No," Natalie protested, "this is unconscionable. This is wrong. She can't!" She gazed around at the gathered models, silently begging for their support. She spun on Cavil, accusingly. "You had something to do with this!"
"No, it was her decision, totally."
Natalie spun to her allies, desperately. "You cannot allow this!"
Leoben looked back in shock. "There is no law, there is no edict , there's nothing that forbids it. It's just… it's never happened before."
"Yeah," she nodded. "Try and remember you said that, when he boxes your line."
"Now don't be a sore loser," Cavil chided, taking a sip of his tea.
"If you do this, we all lose," she snapped back.
"We think it's for the best," Simon interrupted her.
"For the best? Have you lost your mind? Our identities are determined by our models. Each model is unique. We belong together!" She looked around, seeking support that wasn't forthcoming. "You know this better than anyone. Mechanized copies," she said, turning back to One, "those were your very words!"
"Something has changed," he responded. "Those are your very words. And I wholeheartedly agree."
Natalie tried one final argument. "The Earther's weren't our oppressors before and they aren't our enemies now. And the Colonials have suffered enough. Aren't tens of billions of deaths enough?! And the Final Five! The Final Five may be with the human fleet. There's a plan shaping the course of events. A divine plan! The humans are part of that!"
"Not for much longer," Cavil replied.
"You're not God!"
"No. I'm an architect. Designing our future. Planning it out. And when the humans are finished, when the fighting's all done, we can all go back to being happy, productive Cylons, building a universe we can be proud of. So let's move on, alright?" He poured himself some more tea.
Natalie realized that there was nothing more to be done. No possibility of changing anyone's mind. So, instead, she leaned in low over Cavil. "I'll pray for you," she said softly. "I'll pray hard." Then standing upright, she gave them all one final glare, and strode from the room.
.
Battlestar Galactica, Unknown system - September, 2249
Caprica opened her eyes once more, looking around the main hall of the Opera House. Athena stood next to her, a sleeping Hera cradled in her arms. "No Roslin?" she asked.
"Not this time," Athena responded. "At least, not yet."
Before them, six long and billowing tapestry like cloths hung down in parallel columns from the rafters and down onto the main stage. The brilliant white fabric glowed familiarly with its own internal luminescence. A pregnant humming buzz seemed to fill the air, pebbling their skin with goosebumps. Causing their heartbeats to accelerate. Walking in lockstep, the two Cylons approached slowly, cautiously taking the steps up to the stage one by one.
"What does this mean?" Athena asked.
"I don't know. It's not the same as before. No angels. No shadows. It's almost…"
"Familiar," Athena finished for her. "Or maybe familial."
"Maybe." It was Caprica who turned first and looked up at upper viewing deck. At the five figures in similarly glowing white robes standing there behind the balustrade. The robes and hoods were the same, but these figures had no wings. They were clearly human. Or, rather, they were clearly…
"The Final Five," came Athena's awed murmur from beside her. "What does it mean?"
"It means they're here, with us… in the fleet."
.
Chief Galen Tyrol, senior ranking enlisted on the Galactica, spun the locking wheel and ripped open the hatch to the large storage room, certain that he would finally find the source of that damned music. Striding through the door, he froze in wide eyed surprise, seeing Sam Anders already inside. Sam looked at him, trepidation clear on his face.
"Hey," said someone, touching him on the back. Galen stepped forward in surprise, turning about once fully within the room. Tory Foster stepped over the hatch without hesitation, purpose and determination clear in her stride. Still, her eyes darted about the room, as though seeking an escape; some way, any way, out of what was coming. Galen backed away from her, buying himself some space, and she turned to meet his eyes. "This isn't happening." She looked to Sam desperately, walking towards him. "Please tell me this isn't happening."
For his part, Sam backed away, half raising his hands; uncertain if the gesture was meant to reassure her, or tell her to keep her distance. She must have taken it for the latter, for she stopped and looked away; unwilling to see whatever might be hiding behind his eyes.
Galen snorted. "So that's it." The other two turned to hear what he had to say, not that he was paying attention, speaking more to himself. "After all this time. A switch goes off, just like that."
The hatch on the far side of the room clanked open, and a disheveled looking Colonel Tigh entered, holding on to his wife Ellen's hand and half dragging her into the room. They both froze upon seeing the prior occupants. Saul uttered a surprised "whoa," looking around. Ellen merely pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide above it.
"Ahh, no way," Sam uttered in disbelief. "I don't believe this. I'm not buying this. This is a… is a trick! Come on! We're not…" He trailed off, unwilling to say the word.
Saul was dragging a reluctant Ellen further into the room, but then all eyes were drawn to Tory. The President's aide was humming to herself, ignoring them. "Come on," she muttered under her breath, "what is it? This song..." And again she began humming to herself, a short snippet, over and over, trying to get it right.
Ellen stepped forward, joining her, already knowing the rhythm. She waved Saul forward imperiously, and the man joined them almost reluctantly. His own hum matching theirs, awkward but insistent. Sam joined in next, followed shortly by Galen.
It was the Colonel who snapped first, breaking into a shout. "Alright, that's enough godsdamnit!" He looked around at each of them, at all of them. "Deadbolt that frakking door!" he ranted, pointing at the hatch through which Tory and Galen had entered. Sam moved to comply as Saul spun about and moved to pull shut the hatch through which he and his wife had entered. Turning back he looked at each of them again. When he spoke he was no longer shouting, but his voice carried no less intensity. "Forty years in the service. Forty years. Two wars. Combat. Locked in that dungeon on the Basestar. Ellen, my gods, Ellen. What about us?" he asked turning beseeching eyes upon his spouse.
"No, no, no, no, no, no," Sam muttered, shaking his head in refusal. "Not after all this. Not after the Resistance. And the Occupation. After watching my friends die one after another. For frakking this!"
Galen stood frozen, but Tory stepped towards Anders. "Sam," she tried to say reassuringly, but he took a step back.
Raising his hand, he pointed directly at her. "Stay the frak away from me." He swept the finger around to indicate each of them. "You all just stay the frak away from me."
"Sam," Galen said softly, "it's true. We're Cylons." He looked around at each of them. "And we have been from the start."
Finally saying it brought silence to the room. A silence into which dropped the distinctive sound of a bolt being drawn back, then rammed forward, stripping a heavy round from a magazine and slamming and locking it into the breech of a rifle. A very large rifle.
They each spun and looked up at the shadowy parapet running around the upper level of the room. An upper level made up of a balcony running all the way around the room, providing extra space for storage. A level filled with crates stowed up and out of the way. A perfect place for hiding. As someone had apparently done. That someone now stepped forward, out of the shadows. Stepped up to the railing. He was carrying a very large sniper rifle. A rifle which he casually leaned on the railing … not quite pointed directly at them, not quite aimed safely away. "One, two, three, four, five," he counted. "Looks like the gang's all here."
They looked up at him in shock. It was Colonel Tigh who found his voice first. "I know you. You're that Marine from the Pegasus. You were part of the raid on the Basestar. Sergeant…." Tigh flogged his memory, trying to come up with the name. "Sergeant Leo Iglesia."
"That's the name on my dogtags," he replied.
"What the frak are you doing under arms and skulking around here? For that matter, what the frak are you doing here at all? I didn't see a transfer order bringing you to the Galactica. You're tight with Athena, but there's no current visitor pass for you either. That sounds like you just might be AWOL. Better get back to your post Marine, and hope I forget all about this."
Iglesia actually laughed. "You've got to be kidding me. You're actually trying to intimidate me with your authority? Really? Standing here surrounded by the rest of the Final Five? Not the smartest move. But, tell you what, I'll answer your questions. Why am I under arms? Well...I happen to like this rifle. This sniper rifle and I...we've got a purpose. We're gonna kill a mother frakkin' Cylon."
Saul stepped rapidly in front of Ellen. The others looked ready to bolt. "I wouldn't," Iglesia warned casually. "You're going to want to stick around for this. And Saul? You should know that a round from this gun would go right through you and Ellen both. So if my plan is to kill you all, then stepping in front of your wife...it only makes my job easier." He gave the rifle a little wiggle, reminding them all of its presence. Not that any of them had forgotten for a single second. He looked each of them over, making sure they weren't about to run. Satisfied, he resumed, "As for why I'm here… Well, I imagine for the same reason you are. I'm trying to find the source of that Goddamned music."