Chapter 26 - Revelations and Returns

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Battlestar Galactica, Unknown System - September, 2249

The Final Five Cylons stared upwards in shock at the looming form of Sergeant Leo Iglesia. It was Tory who found her voice first. "Wait. What did you say?"

"I just said a lot of things, doll. Which part did you miss?"

"The last part," Sam cut in. "You're hearing the music?"

"Yeah, I just said that." He stood up, lifting the large rifle off of the railing to lean it back against his shoulder. "Are you assholes even listening?"

"You're a Cylon?" Tyrol asked. "But you can't be a Cylon. You just confirmed that we're the Final Five. And that Six we've got locked up told us that we've already seen all of the other models." He paused, considering. "Are you a Cylon?"

"I," Iglesia said with emphasis, "am a mother frakking ghost."

"What in the frak is that supposed to mean?" Saul demanded.

"It means that Cavil thinks I'm dead, and I intend for it to stay that way. Right up to the moment I ventilate his brain."

"Won't he just resurrect?" Tory asked.

"Just means I get to experience that glorious moment over and over again."

Ellen had had enough. "Stop it!" she snapped, near hysterical. "Do you think this is funny? Do you think this is normal?! You know who we are. What we are. Just who and what are you?"

"Whoa. Take it easy, Mom."

Ellen shot him a withering stare. "Don't tell me to take it easy. You don't know what it's been like. And I am not your…"

"Mother?" Iglesia overrode her. "Yeah, you are. Or, at least, you're the closest thing that I'll ever have."

"What the frak is that supposed to mean?" Saul demanded angrily.

The Sergeant sighed. Then, leaning his rifle against a nearby crate, he climbed up and sat on the top railing, his legs dangling down towards them. "My name's not Leo Iglesia. At least, not originally. You all named me Daniel."

There was silence for a long moment. "What do you mean, we named you?" Tyrol asked.

"Just what I said. Get comfortable. It's a long story. And I don't have all of the answers. But I'll tell you what I can. And given that none of you seem to remember me, I imagine that's a hell of a lot more than you know now."

No one chose to sit down, though Sam did lean up against the nearest bulkhead. They all stared at the Marine expectantly.

"Well, beginning from the very beginning...at least, as far back as I have information for...the Cylons were created by Man. They rebelled. And they evolved. And eventually they looked and felt human."

"We know all this," Saul grumbled. "What we need to know about is us. How and why were we created. How the frak is it possible that we're godsdamned Cylons?"

"Yeah, I'm sure you do know the story. Except I'm not talking about a few decades ago. I'm talking about a few millennia ago, on Kobol. All of this has happened before. Hell, maybe all of it will happen again. I don't know. But those Cylons and those humans, all those centuries ago, managed to fall into an uneasy peace. And then something changed. Thirteen Tribes left Kobol. I don't know exactly why. Maybe there was a disaster of some sort. Maybe it was religious. Hell, maybe they all just went nuts. But twelve of the tribes made their way to the Cyrannus star system. Founding the Twelve Colonies. The other tribe, the Thirteenth Tribe, made their way to Earth, and settled there. You see, they didn't go with the other Tribes, because the Thirteenth Tribe was all Cylons."

"And I know you're lying already," Saul interjected. "Did you miss that we're travelling with millions of people from Earth already? We checked. They're not frakking Cylons."

"And they're not from Earth. Or rather, not the same Earth. Can't be. Your Earth wouldn't have recovered yet. Even if there were survivors, they wouldn't have had the capacity to build that fleet."

"What the frak are you talking about?"

"Take it easy, Pops…."

"That's Colonel to you," Saul snarled.

"Fine. Take it easy, Colonel. Just let me finish. I'll answer most of your questions, and those I don't...I probably don't have the answer to anyway." He looked around to see if anyone else had any objections. When none were forthcoming, he continued. "So, the ancient Cylons made their way from Kobol to Earth. Slower than light ships, by the way. The jump drive hadn't been invented yet. And as I said, not the same Earth. Which shouldn't surprise anyone, really. The word just means ground or soil. If you've only got one habitable planet in your system, what else would you call it?"

"Focus, Daniel," Ellen said kindly, having regained her composure.

"Right, well, these ancient Cylons, they were just like you...just like us. Basically human. Hundreds, maybe thousands of different models. And then they discovered they could procreate like humans. Must have come as a hell of a shock to them. Bunch of horny Cylons, knockin' boots, when all of a sudden they start shootin' out kids. But it wasn't like booting up an existing model. A baby...well, I don't have to tell you that a kid combines traits from both of the parents. Despite all of the models they already had, the idea of a potentially infinite variety of Cylons was intoxicating to them. Before you knew it, everyone was doin' it. Literally."

"Don't be crude," Tory snapped.

"Nature's a crude thing, toots. Anyway, somehow all of that unlimited procreation shut down Resurrection. The organic memory transfer that the Cylons had brought with them from Kobol….just stopped working. Or hell, maybe it fell out of use, I didn't always listen the best when you guys would talk about this shit. But, suffice it to say, our people started having babies and stopped living forever via download. They even stopped bringing new life to existing models. And so the Cylons lived a very human like lifestyle for the next few centuries. Maybe even a millenia. Most even forgot that Resurrection had been a thing. Until the five of you reinvented it. Until the war."

"War? What war?" Saul asked sharply.

"Maybe it was living that human lifestyle, or maybe it was always the way, but Cylons had plenty of human traits. Like self destructiveness. Like factionalism. Cylon or human, put any more than two people in a room, and they'll find a way to divide into teams. Human vs Cylon. Sagittaron vs Caprican. Old vs young. Red vs Blue. Hell, it doesn't matter. The point is, people find a way to not be unified. And that's just one step from killing each other. So there were separate nations, wars over the centuries, and eventually one of those wars went full on nuclear exchange, and wiped everyone out.

"But, hell, I'm getting ahead of myself. You all worked in the same research facility. Colonel, you and Ellen, you were married then too." He nodded to Galen and Tory. "You two lived together."

"What," Tyrol asked in surprise, "like roommates?"

"No. You were madly in love. You were planning on getting married." Tyrol began to chuckle, glancing at Tory. She glared back, then shifted the glare to Iglesia. He took that as permission to continue. "Mo...Ellen, it was your father who ran the research facility, and he had pulled together all of the available information on Resurrection. He initiated the project to get it running again. A project all of you worked on.

"And then the political situation went right down the shitter, and extinction loomed. Your work kicked into high gear. You thought it might be your only hope for survival, and you were right. You all worked night and day to rebuild it. Galen, I'm told your work was amazing. Of course, you told me that, so who the frak knows? But it was Ellen….Ellen, you made the intuitive leap that brought the system back online. And it was you who convinced your father to undergo the massive expense of getting the system fully operational...and getting a ship into orbit to place it on.

"You were all on the surface when the nukes flew. And then you were all on the ship, the first Cylons to resurrect in centuries. You'd planned to have hundreds of your fellow workers and researchers set up to resurrect. But you ran out of time. Grandpop was among the casualties."

"Don't call him that," Ellen snapped.

"What, a dead man, centuries gone, who you don't even have any memories of? Why the frak not?"

Saul wrapped his arms around his wife, comforting her, then looked up at Iglesia. "So why did we go to the Twelve Colonies?"

"You had a ship designed to carry a thousand in search of a new home. Your own little one ship Exodus fleet. But five Cylons...that wasn't enough for a viable population. And just the five of you resurrecting into new bodies for eternity apparently didn't hold much appeal. And I can see why. We've been here, what, fifteen minutes? And I already can't wait to get the hell away from you."

"Nice," Sam chastised.

"Hey, I call 'em like I see 'em. Anyway, once again it was Ellen who recalled the other twelve tribes. Who realized that you all needed to find the other tribes and warn them. You understood that they would continue to create artificial life, and you wanted to tell those humans to treat them well and keep them close. But, by the time you got to the Colonies, they were already at war with the Centurions. It happened again."

"But if this planet of Cylons was out there," Tory wanted to know, "and they knew where the Twelve Colonies were, why was there never any contact? Where weren't we bumping into them? Why didn't they come to support the Colonial Cylons?"

"Remember I said that the Cylons hadn't invented jump drives before settling Earth? Well, they actually never developed jump drives. Your ship was subluminal. The holocaust on Earth took place thousands of years ago...or, well….centuries at least. You travelled to the colonies at relativistic, but slower than light speeds. Time slowed down for you. While centuries or millenia passed in the larger universe, you barely aged. But when you got here, you had a choice of who to contact...man or machine. But, despite being flesh and blood...you were Cylons...and so were the Centurions. So you made your choice.

"The Centurions were already trying to make flesh bodies. They had created Hybrids, manufactured organic replicas of a human that looked barely better than corpses and could be plugged into their ships. Nothing that could live on its own. So you made them a deal. They stop the war, and you would help them. You developed the eight humanoid models, and you gave them Resurrection."

"Eight models?" Tory asked. "I thought there were only seven? Are we missing someone?"

"He's talking about himself," Saul responded. "This actually came up in one of the interrogations of that Six...Caprica. Russki got it out of her. A failed model named Daniel. Model Seven, I think."

"Don't say that," Iglesia snapped. "I didn't fail. I was poisoned. Sabotaged. By that motherfrakker, John." He noticed Ellen scowl at that. "Yeah, I know. He's a real piece of work, isn't he, your John?"

"I assume you mean the Brother Cavils, the Ones?" Ellen asked. "They aren't my John."

"But that's what you always called him, Mommy dear. Your John. He was your first. You wanted all of the rest of us to be nice to him. To take care of and protect him. To watch out for his feelings. I guess somebody should have been protecting all of us from him."

Galen tried to direct the conversation someplace less emotionally charged. "So Cavil was the first one we made? I guess that makes sense, given he's model One."

"Oh he was the first, alright. But he wasn't One. That's another of his lies. Another lever he uses to control everyone. He didn't have a model number. He was just the prototype. Haven't you all noticed how he's not as strong or durable as the other Cylons? As young? As good looking? You used him to perfect the process. You knew there were bound to be mistakes, and he was your practice run. Your little John. You treasured him, and he helped you build the others. The others that were superior in almost every way. The others that would have a future that he didn't. The others that would get to have Models and babies and everything they could ever want that he was never meant to have. And you frakkin' assholes thought he would be satisfied with that? Why? Because you told him he had the honor of being the trial run? Morons."

"But if Cavil's not model One," Tory wanted to know, "then who is?"

"I am. Or I was, until that prick stole it from me, poisoned my line, and tried to kill me off. Damned near succeeded, to. But it's me. I'm the One. The Alpha."

"So then there were only seven models?" Tory pressed, confused.

"Oh, no, there were eight models alright. Four male lines, and four female lines. The Centurions and you five definitely agreed on one point. You didn't just want a series of organic copies running around. That was just supposed to be the beginning. You wanted what the humans had. What the Cylons on Earth had. Individuality. Endless variety through procreation. A bunch of horny Cylons runnin' around, doin' what horny Cylons do.

"And so, after John, you made four male-female pairings. Each pair was supposed to be perfect for each other. Each one perfectly attractive to their partner, the perfect mate. You tried to engineer love into the system. Tory, you and Ellen didn't want the females to end up as nothing more than baby making machines, so you tried to ensure they had loving partners. I'm not sure if you intended to make all Cylons infertile outside of a loving relationship, if that came from Earth with you, or if it was just a happy accident, but it was pretty much the only thing which prevented the maternal slavery you were afraid of. Because, as it turned out, only one of your 'perfect loving pairs' actually fell in love. The rest could barely tolerate each other. Hell of start to the perfect Cylon society.

"You know, I've heard from members of Sam's freedom fighters that the Cylons were playing around with fertility…. trying to solve their breeding problem. Looking into human fertility medicines and procedures. Bizarre surgeries. I could have told them it wouldn't work. Human women can still get knocked up, even without a loving mate. It was never a problem they've had to solve, so their medicine was bound to fail. It was aimed at the wrong obstacles. If you ask me, I'd bet lots of chocolate would do the trick."

"So, what," Tory asked, "you want us to fix the Cylon reproductivity issue?"

"Frak no! You all built me with the most effective prophylactic this side of abstinence. Best thing you ever did for me. If I tried to fix that, I'd never be able to look the other Marines in the eye again. Especially Tucker."

Clearly they were all getting confused and off topic, and Iglesia's ramblings weren't helping things, but Galen tried valiantly to get the conversation flowing again, to pull some sense out of this flood of information. "So, we didn't think it was a bad idea? Building Cylons after we'd already seen the cycle?"

"The Centurions had a single loving God. Ellen decided that changed everything. If the Cylons embraced love and mercy then the cycle of violence could end."

"A single God? Like one, true God?"

"Yep, that's pretty much what we believe."

"And that came from the Centurions?"

"Yeah. Well, maybe. There were some hints that the first Centurion might have gained self awareness when some Colonial figured out a rudimentary organic memory transfer device and intentionally or accidentally uploaded himself. There were indications that might have been the case, that maybe the religion came from him. You were looking into it when John staged his coup.

"John rejected mercy. Rejected love. He had a twisted idea of morality, but more than anything else, he was a twisted little boy whose parents showed him the wonders and possibilities of the future, and then told him they weren't for him. So he turned on the five of you. He lured you into an airtight compartment, and then sealed it and took the Oxygen offline."

"He suffocated us? Killed us?" Saul asked, unsurprised.

"Yeah."

"So, when we downloaded into new bodies…?" Tory inquired.

"He blocked your access to your existing memories."

"And implanted us with false ones," Galen cut in.

"Yes."

"Set us up like a Boomer. Memories that we thought were real."

"Memories and prepared lives designed to make you miserable. He loaded you up with all kinds of goodies like alcoholism and infidelity and…. well, they're your lives. I'm pretty sure you know the list. He boxed you for a while, and then started dropping you off into the Colonies. Into your new lives. He introduced Saul first, not long after the war. And then Ellen. The rest of you followed when he felt the time was right. Killing you fools was his first step along the path to becoming the tin pot dictator we all know and despise."

Ellen stepped forward, a confused look on her fast. "What happened to you, Daniel? I think...I remember...you were an artist? So sensitive to the world. We were...we were very close. Weren't we?" The others looked at her in surprise, shocked that she might be regaining memories of a previous life.

If he was surprised, Iglesia didn't let on. "Yeah. We were. But John happened. He was jealous of everything I had. Being One. Your attention. He assumed I was your favorite, though I think it might actually have been him. You designed him after your father. And of course there was Allison. And after what he did to you lot, there was no going back. So after he moved on you, he moved on us. There was only one of each of us walking around at that point. Mass production hadn't begun yet. So he gathered us all together. Told us that the Five wanted to speak with us. Instead, he sent in a dozen Centurions he had taken control of. Killed us all. Then he started playing with our memories. All except me and Allison."

"Who's Allison?" Ellen asked kindly, clearly already knowing at least part of the answer.

"Allison was the real model Seven. She was my partner. We were your success. The only pair of Cylons to fall in love. And of course, that was something else John wanted. He didn't love her. But he convinced himself that he did. So when we were all dead, he let her resurrect first. And he proposed to her….offered to let her be the queen to his king. She laughed in his face. Told him he wasn't man enough for her. He didn't take it well."

"What did he do to her?" Tory asked, looking sick.

"He never let her out of that resurrection tub. He raped her mind. Stole her memories and consciousness. Killed her free will and connection to reality. Took away her model designation. Eliminated any memory of her from the rest of the Cylons. Then he hooked her up to his machines. Saul, Ellen, Tory….you may have met her while you were being held on the Basestar. They call her the Hybrid now.

"That wasn't his final degradation of her either. If you've ever seen what happens to her when a ship jumps, you know what I mean. She told him he wasn't man enough for her? Now he can get her off just by saying 'jump.' Just one more way for him to spit on her and me. To tell himself that he was the superior one. Then he resurrected me just long enough to tell me all of this. To gut me with his dominance of the Cylons and what he had done to Allison and everyone else. And then he killed me. Again. After that, he contaminated the amniotic fluid in which all of my copies were maturing. Then he corrupted my genetic formula and all of the backed up memory files. And that was it for me. That's how I became a ghost."

"Then how are you here? How do you know all of this?" Sam asked in confusion.

"I'm not sure exactly. I've got to believe it was Allison. That some part of her hung on long enough to interface with the computers and save one of my copies. To download my memories before they were destroyed and wake me up. All I know is that I resurrected in a tank, and was met by a single Centurion, who got me off of the ship and to the Colonies. I assume it wasn't long afterwards that he expanded his coup, and seized control from the Centurions."

"So it's possible all of this...your entire life….was just another torture, designed by Cavil?" Tyrol hypothesized.

"Possible, but I don't think so. It doesn't feel right. Even Cavil isn't creative enough to make me feel this shitty. And he certainly wouldn't leave me around with my memories intact to come after him." He looked at Ellen. "You asked what happened to your little artist? John killed him. Any softness that was left I had the Marines burn out of me. My sole focus now is to kill that bastard if possible, or to at least frak up his plans if not. And you five are gonna help me." He looked at his watch. "We've been here too long. I need to get back to the Pegasus, and you all need to get back to your jobs."

"What?" Tory asked in surprise. "But what about the music?"

"What about it?"

"Where the frak is it coming from? Why are we the only ones who can hear it?"

"How the hell should I know? If I knew that, would I have been out looking for it? Maybe it's some distress call you cooked into all of our heads. Maybe it was another final assist from Allison, trying to bring us together. Frak, maybe God's just got a twisted sense of humor. It doesn't matter. It's time to leave."

"You want us to go back to work?" Galen cut int. "Just like that? Like nothing's happened?"

"Yeah, I do. Go back to your lives. Enjoy them if you can. And unless you have a particular desire to suck vacuum, don't say anything to anyone."

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Before leaving the Galactica, Iglesia had one more stop to make. He made his way down one corridor after another, to a more secure section of the ship. To the prisoner. Turning a final corner, he came face to face with her guard. Just one. They had relaxed security a bit, at the President's order. He wasn't sure just why the President would do that, but he suspected something nefarious. He always suspected something nefarious.

"Gunny," the young Marine nodded to him, glancing up with curiosity.

"I was told you'd been on duty for a few hours. Your relief might be delayed. Go grab some chow, hit the head, but be back in no more than twenty. I'll keep an eye on things for you."

Despite the fact that Iglesia wasn't in his chain of command, the Private didn't argue. He wasn't about to turn down a chance to get some food, especially if he might be stuck babysitting for who knew how many additional hours. Leo watched him hustle off, then waited an extra minute to be certain he was gone. Then reaching over to the security console, he switched off the cameras in the room.

Undogging the hatch, he stepped through. The Six, Caprica, was sitting cross legged in her bunk, reading some kind of book. She looked up at him in surprise, but with no hint of fear.

That changed with what happened next. "We don't have much time. I have a present for you," he said shortly, and began undoing his belt.

She bolted to her feet, staring at him in fear as he slid his belt out of his belt loops and out from around his waist in one smooth motion. And then she attacked. Striding forward on those long legs with shocking speed and grace, she drove a palm heel strike up towards his jaw. A strike that would stagger most any human… even kill some.

He used the hand holding the belt to sweep aside her attack with casual ease then, stepping forward himself, he placed his other hand against her sternum and shoved.

Caprica half flew and half stumbled backwards across the room, barely managing to keep her legs under her. Until her calves contacted the edge of her bunk, and she went tumbling over it and sprawling to the floor. Looking up, she saw the imposing Marine, clearly in excellent shape though beginning to get a bit thick about the middle, looming over her. Scrambling with her hands and feet, she pushed herself backwards to huddle against the bulkhead.
"Don't flatter yourself, sister. I'm not here for that kind of fun. I really do have a gift for you." So saying, he tossed his belt into her lap.

She looked up at him in confusion. "What is this for? Who are you?"

"Who I am doesn't matter. What does matter is that the Final Five are here, in this fleet. Someone ought to let the rest of the Cylons know, don't you think? As for the belt...I'm sure you'll figure it out.

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Colonial One, Unknown System - September, 2249

President Roslin sat between Admiral and Commander Adama, as their visitors were escorted into the cabin by her security detail. They had each left their respective XOs in charge of their Battlestars, knowing that this meeting was likely to be sensitive. For her own part, Laura very much doubted she would be hearing good news.

Their visitors, Commodore Sheridan and Colonel Garibaldi, soon proved her pessimism prescient. "No doubt about it," Garibaldi said, dropping a stack of printed images onto her desk. "The Cylons are tracking us. We left Commander Locarno behind to be verify. Seven hours after our fleets left the last system, these showed up."

Laura leaned forward and picked up the printouts. They depicted a long range image of a quartet of Basestars. She passed the pictures to the Admiral. "If I understand correctly, four Basestars is too great a concentration for this to have been a spread out search force, getting lucky."

"That's our read," Sheridan confirmed. "The good news ...well, potentially good news anyway, is that it took those seven hours for them to arrive. Which could mean that they couldn't track us through hyperspace...that they didn't know where we were until we reverted to real space."

"Or," Garibaldi countered, "it could just mean that it took them that long to assemble a task force, or that they are just being cautious and staying a few hours behind us. We shouldn't assume without evidence."

"Either way," the Commodore continued, "we need to figure out for certain how they're tracking us."

"The Six said that they were tracking the Tylium ship," Lee noted.

"If I recall the report correctly," Michael countered, "she said that they had detected some kind of radiation coming from it. She was speculating that was how they were tracking us. I'd like to ask her a few questions myself. Maybe she can provide a few more details that could help to clarify the situation."

"Unfortunately," Admiral Adama broke in, drawing all eyes, "that won't be possible. The prisoner committed suicide late last night, hanging herself in the dark, when the Marine on guard wouldn't notice."

"How in the hell did she manage that," Garibaldi queried. "Don't you restrict your prisoners from materials that could be used for weapons or self harm?"

"Yes," Laura said dryly. "But somehow she managed to get ahold of a standard issue Marine belt. She used that as a noose."

"Ahh." Garibaldi chuckled. "Two guesses as to how she got that."

"I don't have to guess, Colonel Garibaldi," Roslin said acidly. "I'm sure your imagination is more than sufficient for the rest of us." The whelp actually had the audacity to chuckle.

"I'm just not sure how the Cylons could possibly be tracking a radiation signature," Sheridan cut in, trying to cover Garibaldi's gaffe by bringing the conversation back on topic. "In order to track us past a jump, that radiation would need to be FTL...which means Tachyons. And we haven't seen anything in Colonial or Cylon tech that uses Tachyons. For that matter, we've had our sensors sweep your Tylium refinery. They haven't detected anything beyond standard background levels of Tachyon emissions."

"But if Cylon resurrection works the way they say it does," Michael cut back in, "then that pretty much requires an FTL system. Maybe it's some odd flavor of Tachyons that we don't normally scan for. Or maybe it's an entirely different variety of FTL particle. We need to get the eggheads to broaden their search."

"We can't wait on scientific discovery," Laura said firmly, drawing everyone's attention. We need to confirm that the Cylons are tracking the Tylium ship."

"What did you have in mind?" Sheridan asked.

"A test. We detach the Tylium refinery from the fleet. If the Cylons chase down the Tylium ship, we know that's what they're tracking. If they follow the fleet instead, then we have to look elsewhere."

"That ship is crucial to the continued operation of nearly all Colonial vessels," Bill warned. "We can't afford to lose it."

"So we don't send it out alone. It goes out with an escort, and then jumps back to meet the fleet at a prearranged location the moment it catches sight of the Cylons."

"That could work," Garibaldi nodded. "In fact, maybe we could detach the Nova with it. Knock out a few more Baseships. Really give those Terminators a black eye."

Adama shook his head. "In order to be certain it's the Tylium ship they're tracking, the ship will have to move to a location the rest of the fleet hasn't passed through. The requires Colonial jump drives, so I'm afraid the Nova, or any other Earth Force vessel, isn't capable of doing this job. Besides, what if they're not tracking the Tylium ship? For that matter, what if this is their plan? To split the fleet. To have the hardest hitting ship separate itself, and then they jump in an overwhelming force on the remainder of the fleet."

"You really can come up with the worst case scenario," Garibaldi noted. "I approve."

"Then we're agreed. I'll take the Galactica as escort, and we'll jump off to a nearby star system, somewhere not on this hyperspace trail."

"Admiral," Lee cut in. "If four Basestars is the chase force...that's a pretty bad correlation of forces for the Galactica to face if anything goes wrong. I'd be more comfortable if the task force had….a bit more firepower."

"We can't keep swapping ships, Commander," Bill groused. "The Galactica's my ship. The old girl's liable to think I'm stepping out on her."

"Well we can't have that," Apollo smiled. "But I wasn't suggesting a swap. I was asking you to let me run the mission. The Pegasus has the necessary combat capacity, and the mission is straightforward enough that it doesn't require the Admiral's personal attention. You can delegate this job. And keep Galactica out of a fight she doesn't need to endure."

"Bucket and the Beast, huh?" Garibaldi asked with a grin.

A grin which quickly fizzled when Admiral Adama pinned him with an outraged glare. Without a word, Bill switched his gaze back to his only surviving son. "Alright, Commander. The mission is yours. Get it done, then get home safe."

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Battlestar Pegasus, Unknown System - September, 2249

"Time," Commander Lee Adama said quietly, perusing the reports filing in from various departments across the ship.

Lieutenant Ivers, the on duty Tactical Officer, glanced over. "We've been in system three hours and forty-two minutes, Commander."

"Well, only twenty hours and eighteen minutes to go, and we can jump out of here. Assuming this is all a bust, and the Cylons don't put in a showing, of course."

"Yes, Sir. But, if the Cylons hold true to form, it'll be at least another three hou.."

"Contact!" The call rag out across the CIC, electrifying the room like a live wire. The DRADIS display updated, showing not one, but four unknown contacts. Less than a handful of seconds later, the display updated again, designating all four contacts as Basestars.

"Commander," Ivers noted, "the enemy jumped in at medium range. They are accelerating to intercept, and have already begun launching Raiders. They will be in missile range in just over a minute."

"Looks like we've overstayed our welcome," Apollo noted. "Confirm the Hitei Kan's jump drive is spooled up, then order them to jump to the designated coordinates." He preferred to show the ship and her crew the respect of using its proper name, but almost no one else referred to the vessel as anything but 'the refueling ship' or 'the Tylium refinery.' Afterall, it was the only one with the fleet that was still functional, since those idiots from Demand Peace has set off a bomb on the Daru Mozu. The damage to the hull had eventually been repaired, but the damage to the Tylium processing machinery was harder to fix. The internal workings had become dangerously unstable, and their use discontinued lest they lead to a runaway chain reaction and a Tylium explosion. Worse than simply destroying the vessel, such an event would cause the loss of an unacceptable portion of their Tylium supply.

All of which meant that, when Caprica had said the Cylons might be tracking the Tylium refinery, there was really no question as to which ship she meant. And, now that they had confirmed the Cylons were indeed tracking it, it was time to get gone. "Captain Nordson reports jump drive spooled up," Ivers reported. "Jumping in three, two, one, mark."

The display remained unchanged. "Lieutenant," Lee growled, "why is that ship still on my screens."

"A moment, Sir." He hustled over to the Comms team, where a hushed but urgent conversation took place. Iver straightened and turned back to Apollo. "Commander, the Hitei Kan reports that they had a problem with the sync points and the jump coordinates. They say they should be able to spin up the drive again in two minutes, three at the most."

"We don't have that long," Lee said, almost calmly. He stood in silence for a handful of seconds, eyes darting across the displays, thinking madly. "Tell them to run for it. Max out their engines until they can get their drive spooled up. Advise them to jump the second they're ready." Raising his voice he called out, "Launch all Vipers! Get the Marines armed up. We might be facing boarders." Taking a deep breath, he continued. "Heading change! Bring us about and point us right at the lead Basestar. All guns to bear on lead ship. Max thrust. Let's see if we can't even the odds a bit and buy some time."

The move seemed to catch the small Cylon fleet by surprise. They hadn't even begun firing their missiles when the Pegasus opened up with all guns. By the time the first missile made it through the Pegasus's flak shell and impacted on the armor belt, the lead Basestar was already a twisted, burning wreck. And then something critical gave way, and the whole ship detonated like a fireworks display.
The three remaining Basestars simply maneuvered around the flotsam and kept coming, attempting to surround the embattled Pegasus.

The bigger danger was the Raiders. They were already well within the flak envelope and firing missiles into the hull at point blank range. Lee grabbed desperately onto the plotting table as the entire ship heaved around him, rocked by a particularly violent strike. "Where the frak is my Viper coverage?" he shouted.

Ivers glanced up from the damage control station, where he had been interfacing with the station officer. "The last Viper just launched, Commander, but they didn't have time to form up before the Raiders were on us. Everyone's outnumbered and out of position. They're doing their best just to stay alive. Should we launch Raptors? They could put some pressure on the Basestars, maybe take some of the heat off of our Vipers."

"They wouldn't last ten seconds out there in this mess."Lee said, shaking his head. He grabbed up the handset and keyed an active connection. "Stinger, Pegasus actual. What's your status?"

The tinny voice of the Pegasus's CAG crackled through the handset. "Pegasus, Stinger. I've got frakkin' toasters all over me. I'm trying to pull our people into formation, but there's just too many Raiders. Too many attack vectors."

Lee tried to make some sense out of the madness that was the DRADIS display as the Pegasus shuddered again under another heavy strike, and a fresh set of alarms blared. "The Raiders are starting to concentrate behind us, trying to shoot our engines out. Pull together anyone you can and concentrate on defending the aft quarter. If we go dead in space we're dead period. Let the flak batteries protect the rest of the ship."

"Aye, Commander," Taylor signed out. Lee didn't really like the man. The memory of having a gun stuck in your face would tend to do that. For that matter, he supposed that was why Saul was still mostly cold to him. But Lee did know that Stinger was a hell of a pilot, and an even better CAG. If anyone could pull together a viable defense around the Pegasus, it would be him.

And then things got worse. "Commander," Ivers called out, "I'm reading a couple of squadrons of Raiders breaking off, heading for the refinery ship."

Lee calmly picked up the handset again. "Stinger, Pegasus actual."

"Go ahead, Pegasus, things just lightened up a bit." He grunted through what was clearly a hard maneuver. The sound of his autocannon firing came through clearly. "We might actually survive this."

"Stinger, the Cylons just sent an attack force to take out the Hitei Kan. You are ordered to discontinue defense of the Pegasus. Take all Viper and intercept and destroy that attack. Confirm." The order brought silence from both Stinger and the crew in the CIC. It was quite possibly a death sentence for the entire ship.
Not getting a response from Stinger, Lee pressed. "That's an order, Stinger. We can not lose that refinery. Take your Viper and block that attack. Confirm!"

"Confirmed," came the response, followed by the Pegasus shaking from yet another powerful strike. Lee fought his ship for what felt like a couple of hours, but was probably only a couple of minutes. Hell, maybe no more than thirty seconds. And then disaster struck.

"Commander," Ivers called out stridently. "Stinger reports that the Hitei Kan just took a Cylon missile, directly amidships. Hitei Kan reports...Tylium fire underway in main hold."

"Order them to evacuate the atmosphere from the hold," Lee called urgently.

"The missile took care of that, Commander. The Tylium is burning anyway."

Lee paused for a moment. Disaster. Calmly, despite the ship groaning around him from repeated hits, he ordered, "Dump the hold." In the background, he heard the Damage Control officer shouting that they were losing power to the FTL drive.

"Commander, that's our entire supply of refined Tylium. We need that to…."

"We need that refinery ship, as well. And if they don't dump the Tylium before it blows, we'll lose both. Dump it, that's an order."

Ivers relayed the order. Turning back after another few moments, he reported, "All Tylium in the hold has been flushed into space." Glancing back at his boards, he continued, "Hitei Kan has successfully jumped away."

"Good. Get our Vipers back. Let's see if we're still intact enough to do the same."

.

Battlestar Galactica, Unknown System - September, 2249

"Action Stations! Action Stations! Set Condition One throughout the ship. This is not a drill." The voice of Admiral William Adama pierced through the warbling drone of the alarms, echoing throughout the corridors of the Galactica. Side by side, Starbuck and Ruski were sprinting for the hangars.

"What's happening?" Russki wanted to know.

"You're the psychic, not me," Starbuck responded.

"I'm not psychic. Even if I am a Russian hag."

"Well then, neither of us is going to know until we get our butts into the cockpit. The faster we get into space, the faster someone will radio us the details."

They arrived at the hangars, joining a stream of other pilots. Starbuck's Viper was already being moved into the launch tube, Chief Tyrol himself performing final flight checks. "Starbuck, you're good to go," he said, crouching under her bird to remove the safety locks from her weapons. From long habit she still did a quick visual inspection of the craft, ensuring herself that he hadn't missed anything. Then she rapidly mounted the pilot's ladder and swung down into the cockpit. A couple of seconds later, Tyrol was at the top of the ladder to perform the final hand off. "Everything checks out. Engines and weapons are hot. You set?"

"I'm good, Chief. You got any idea what's going on?"

"Whatever it is, it's the real deal. The brass is shittin' a brick. Watch your ass." He tapped twice on the top of the bird to let the crew know that they were good to go, then dropped down the ladder and wheeled it out of the way as the canopy lowered into place. The crew was already pushing her craft the rest of the way into the tube. She felt the catapult lock into her forward strut. She gave the appropriate verbal and visual confirmation to the catapult launch officer, then clenched. She was still slammed back into her seat roughly, vision tunnelling, as the catapult dragged her down the tube and hurled her out into space at over nine Gs.

She immediately began scanning around for the rest of the squadron, ensuring that they all got off the deck in good order. Seconds later, Russki's now signature banshee holler blared over the radio, as her new wingman launched. Kara formed up the squadron, and began to scan the heavens while they waited for an update.

It wasn't long in coming. Not that it was particularly informative. "Galactica, actual, to all squadrons. We've got three enemy ships and a fighter launch. You are to form up defensive ranks aft of the fleet and await further instructions."

"Galactica, Starbuck. Say again. You don't want us to intercept the enemy?"

"Negative Starbuck. This is a defense plan worked out with Commodore Sheridan. We are to remain defensive while the Earth Force ships and fighters move to intercept. Our Viper shell is thin enough with the Pegasus away. Just form up and await further orders. Galactica out."

"Why did we even bother launching?" Kat griped. "They're just gonna wipe out the toasters with those big guns again."

"Well, we can enjoy the lightshow," Duck, her wingman, responded with anticipation.

It was then that the squadron, moving into position to the rear of the fleet, caught site of the enemy. "Oh frag..." Russki hissed. They weren't Basestars. They were like nothing Kara had ever seen before. Easily the size of a small Battlestar, Valkyrie class maybe, it was bluish in color with an odd ribbed and finned shape, like some kind of weird sea life. And with those fins it was just as tall as it was long. "We're in trouble, boss," Russki continued. "Those are Minbari ships. Scouts rather than capital classes, thank God. Leshath class, I think. Still, they're going to have put eighteen fighters into space, and that's going to mean a lot of casualties. Those ships will hit damned hard for scouts as well. We're in trouble," she repeated.

"Eighteen fighters?" Kat asked. "What are you worried about? We have them outnumbered almost ten to one."

"Look," Russki said in response. All eyes were drawn to the far distance, where the Minbari had opened fire, and the Lexington and Nova had followed suit. The Minbari scout ships were dancing around the Nova's heavy guns, and laying down a murderous return fire. The Lexington, for her part, was fighting in conjunction with all of the Starfury squadrons, using her point defense guns to try to swat down the enemy fighters, almost indistinguishable pinpricks at this distance. Kara's practiced eye could already tell that both vessels were showing nowhere near the level of accuracy...or confidence...that they had against the Cylons.

"I'm not picking up those ships on my scope," Duck mused.

"It was in your security briefing," Starbuck replied distractedly. "The Minbari have advanced stealth capabilities. They give almost no return to sensors...and you can't trust any return you do get." Recently, the two fleets had settled on communicating using Earth Force frequencies, so that the two forces could more easily stay in contact and minimize the chaos of battle. Kara wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a curse, as she got to listen in on the battle taking place just a short distance away. Got to listen as three Starfurys died in rapid succession. Even got to listen to Hot Dog freaking out as he tried to pilot his new fighter against an unfamiliar foe.

A new voice broke in on her musings. "All Galactica Vipers, this is the Midway. A small group of enemy fighters has broken off from the main force. Coming your way!"

"People," Russki commed to the squadron. "Don't bother with guns. The little pea-shooters these things are armed with won't crack a Nial. Go with missiles."

"I guess it's a good thing the Earthers replenished our stocks, and figured out how to make their missiles work on our mounts," Duck responded. "A month ago we'd have been out with mostly bare wings. But how the hell are we supposed to hit those things if they don't show on our scanners and we can't lock 'em up?"

"Mark-one eyeball and manual firing," Russki replied. "Those missiles will fly straight. Just make sure you shoot straight. And watch for friendly fire."

"Spread out, people," Starbuck ordered. "Move into attack formation."

Russki opened the squadron comms channel. "Boss, this fight isn't going to go well. But...there's something I can do to help even the odds a bit, if you're willing."

"Russki, we're about to go into combat. This isn't the time..."

"Just listen. Please." Starbuck didn't say anything, and Russki took that as permission to proceed. "The Minbari stealth system fools even your eyes. It's the best we've got, and given the ranges fighters battle at, it can be overcome. But it still skews the fight badly in their favor. But telepathy cuts through that. Which helps me, but no one else...unless I link with you."

"What?"

"I can telepathically link what I am picking up to you, but just one person, and only if we're in tight formation. But you can get a feel for where the nearest Minbari are actually at, which can help a lot. Believe me, I know."

"Why didn't you bring this up earlier?" Kara asked distractedly. She could see the enemy fighters barrelling towards them. The damned things looked a bit like someone was flying a blue Viper...backwards.

"We thought we'd lost the Minbari...and there were just so many other issues and challenges. We just never got around to it."

Kara didn't have time to waste vacillating over the decision. "Alright, do it." Kara felt a light, bizarre touch to her mind. And then sensations flooded in. A feeling of all of the minds around her and their relative positions...including the onrushing enemy fighters.

And then something changed. She would have sworn she heard a series of odd musical notes. And something rose up in the back of her head. Something vast and abiding and angry. Something that, for some bizarre reason, brought to mind her father. It snatched up the intruder, ripped out the connection, and hurled it away. Searing pain shot through Starbuck's head. She screamed into the open radio, and barely noticed Russki doing the same. Their screams were covered by the screams of the dying as, unnoticed by the two of them, the Minbari formation blew right through the center of their own, obliterating four Vipers and four precious lives in the process.

"What the frak was that?" Kara asked woozily.

"That was the enemy, godsdammit Starbuck," Kat shouted. "Wake up and get your head in the frakking fight!"

Starbuck looked around. Their formation was blown to hell, and everyone was spinning wildly trying to get a bead on the Minbari fighters. Those craft...how can they possibly be that fast?...were already well outside of weapons range, but wheeling around for another pass. "Back into formation, people!" she snapped.

"I don't know what that was," Russki responded to her earlier question, "but I'm not going to try linking with you again. But we still want another pilot benefiting from my telepathy. Switch me out as your wingman. Let me link with somebody else."

"Are you crazy!? We're in the middle of frakking combat!"

"This could mean the difference between winning and losing this fight."

Starbuck stopped hesitating. "Duck, you're with me. Kat, link up with Russki."

"Are you frakking crazy!? We're in the middle of combat!" Kat snapped, echoing Starbucks words from just a moment earlier.

"Follow orders, Kat! Or I'll have you stripped of rank and tossed in the brig." Kat continued to grumble loudly enough to be picked up by her radio, but she and Duck split, each slotting into their new wingman.

Not a moment too soon. The Minbari had somehow managed to circle all the way around their formation and come up on their rear. Two more Vipers blew apart. Luminous emerald bolts flew past Kara, just a few decimeters beyond her canopy. She jinked wildly, whipping her head around to try to get a look at her attacker. "Oh no you do not shoot that green shit at me!"

The bolts kept coming. Kara slammed in all of her dorsal thrusters, causing the Viper to drop like a rock. A split second later, she reversed the forward thrusters from dorsal to ventral, and squeezed the trigger. The nose snapped up violently, the Minbari craft shooting by directly above. The rounds from both autocannon sparkling as they left parallel tracks of impacts across the belly of the Nial...and left not a mark or sign of damage. At least, that's what here practiced eye told her in the split second it took the enemy fighter to flash past. Damn. The guns really don't work. Of course, at that range, if I had fired missiles we'd both be dead.

The squadron was shrinking rapidly. They had all gone to full afterburner, trying to keep up with the Nials, but the Minbari vessels were impossibly fast and maneuverable. Already, they had circled around again, once more coming up on the squadron's rear. "Follow my lead, Duck!" she commanded. She waited a pair of seconds for the Minbari to start on their firing run. "Now!" She and Duck both flipped over, firing missiles back down along their trail. Not a one hit. They were both forced to go evasive again as the Minbari opened fire, then blew past. Kara and Duck flipped again, firing missiles after them, without much hope for hitting anything. If not for their great speed giving them only the briefest of kill windows, the Minbari would certainly have finished both Kara and Duck. But now they should have a few moments to...

The Minbari spun back in a U-turn that made physics cry. They shouldn't be able to do that! But they had anyway. Kara, flipped over and returned to full afterburner, trying to buy space, but the damned thing was still closing in on her. She had her maneuvering thrusters engaged almost constantly, hammering her craft back and forth, trying to shake her pursuer. But she could barely evade, much less lose him, and the emerald weapons fire drew closer and closer to her Viper. She had long since lost sight of Duck, but from the radio she could tell that he was having just as much trouble as she was. The Minbari pilot was good. Every bit as dangerous as Scar. Probably more so. None of the maneuvers or tactics she had perfected over the years, no matter how obscure or refined, were doing anything more than delaying the inevitable.

Time to do something crazy. She kicked in afterburners and stopped maneuvering, going for the dead sprint. As expected, she felt the Minbari straighten his own maneuvers and accelerate in kind. And then Starbuck killed the main thrusters, and used her maneuvering thrusters to flip up and backwards. She was very nearly obliterated by his next shot, but then felt and heard the twisting and straining of metal, and the solid crunch of impact as the Nial ran straight into the rear side of her Viper. She was twisted around violently, and more felt than saw her starboard wingtip catch in the vee at the forward base of the Nial's dorsal wing structure, and a fraction of a second later,her own vertical stabilizer tip slot into the matching vee at the forward base of the Nial's port wing structure. The Viper's nose twisted around to slam into the rear engine housing of the Minbari fighter. She was now locked into place against the side of the Nial...upside down and backwards.

Which meant her starboard autocannon was pointed down and along the side of the Minbari fighter, an oblique angle that would ensure none of her rounds could possibly damage the craft….except that the gun just happened to be pointing directly at some sort of systems nodule sitting on the back of the fighter. She squeezed her trigger and watched as a stream of cannon rounds began hammering the nodule. The parallel stream from her port gun shot off uselessly into space. She kept the trigger depressed.

Turning to look back over her shoulder, she stared at that odd bubble canopy on the front of the strange fighter. It was all but opaque, but she still imagined she could see some being in there looking back at her. With the canon rounds still impacting the nodule, piloting that fighter must have been a lot like sticking your head inside of a snare drum.

And then the Nial heaved, banked hard, trying to dislodge her Viper. Deftly, she countered with her maneuvering thrusters. And again and again as the Nial's pilot repeatedly maneuvered to shake her loose. A warning chimed in her ears...the guns were overheating, never meant to be fired continuously for so long. Indeed she could feel heat radiating through both the firewalls separating her from each of the guns. She kept right on firing, glancing at the plummeting ammunition count. It wouldn't be long now. Either the guns would fail, or she'd run out of ammo.

The Nial began to shake and spin violently, the Minbari pilot desperate to remove her. Despite her best efforts, her Viper was knocked loose and forward, right into the path of the Nial's guns...just as her rounds finally spiderwebbed the crystalline armor and them punched through, rupturing that odd nodule. A roiling glow coming through the Nial's canopy indicated the presence of a fireball sweeping the cabin, and then the whole craft blew itself apart. Shrapnel tore into her Viper, and more alarms warbled, but she didn't quite lose control. Glancing at her ammunition display, she counted exactly seven rounds left. Just three in the starboard gun. It'll have to do. Time to get back into the fight.

Except the fight was over. Kat and Russki had each gotten a kill, but they were the only other ones. Three more Vipers had died, before a squadron of Starfuries, Black Omega, if she read the insignia correctly, had blown through to finish the Minbari off.

In the distance, all she saw was rubble where the Minbari scout ships had been. The Nova and Lexington both burned, with plasma fires raging across their surfaces. But they looked more or less intact. Missile trails leading back to the Galactica indicated that the Admiral had launched nukes at the Minbari. Perhaps that had helped to win the battle. Either way, she had a job to do. Gathering up her shattered squadron, she led them back to the barn.

.

Cylon Resurrection Hub - September, 2249

Once more, Cavil sat surrounded by the representatives of the other Models, ignoring them. They were waiting for the last member of the Council to arrive. In the meantime, he had connected into the datastream, and was viewing the fleet outside of the Hub. Save for one in the Colonies, he had ordered all of the Resurrection Ships back to the Cylon Colony. It simplified logistics, and it kept them safely out of a potential conflict zone. Safe in a location inaccessible to the humans. He needed them safely out of the way. Because he finally had his fleet together.

His mind perused the gathering mass of Basestars surrounding the hub. Forty-eight of them, and they still had four ships out chasing the Colonial Refinery ship. They were due to report in at any time. Overdue, actually, but that was pretty common with chase ships. Nearly every other Basestar they had, a force of roughly equal size, was stationed in Cyrannus, participating in the continuing reclamation of a dead civilization.

The sound of designer heels on a cold hard floor pulled him out of the datastream. Too many pairs of heels. Looking up, he watched in amusement as they entered the room,five of them in a line. Instead of the single Six they had been awaiting to finalize the vote, there were a trio of Sixes, all dressed in identical black suits. Tasteful, but far more chaste than their usual attire. And a pair of Eights, dressed in matching white suits.

Given that Boomer was already seated at the table, he hadn't been expecting those two at all. Aside from Boomer, and maybe that wild Eight riding with the Colonials, if you had seen one Eight, you had pretty much seen them all. They were just so...standard. He approved. The Sixes on the other hand, had a disturbing penchant for developing unique personalities. Despite the matching bodies and outfits, it didn't take him more than a couple of seconds to identify each of them. The three Sixes with the most clout amongst their model. Natalie. Gina. And, of course, Caprica.

Given what was coming, he chose to give her that much, to call her by her chosen name. "Caprica. No one bothered to inform me you were back. Resurrected I take it? Finally get put out an airlock, did you?"

"I came back on my own terms, actually. Because I have news. The Final Five are with the fleet. As for why no one told you I was here...maybe they were too busy filling me in on just what's been happening while I was gone."

"Good God. You Sixes are starting to sound like a broken record. The Final Five are with the fleet. The Final Five are with the fleet. No! They are not." He paused glaring derisively at each of the Sixes. "And even if they were, it wouldn't matter. We are not to discuss the Final Five. That's our programming. Our directive!"

"The Final Five are with the human fleet." Caprica said mulishly.

"Oh? And you know this how? Hmm? Did God Almighty tell you? Whisper it in your ear while you were locked in a human brig?"

"A Marine came to me and told me the good news. And provided me the means to return."

"A Marine? Let me get this straight. A human comes to you and starts spouting some nonsense about the Final Five, and you buy into it wholeheartedly enough to kill yourself, just because he said so? I don't know what's worse, your naiveté or your sheer stupidity. Did it ever occur to you that the humans are trying to frak with us? To sow dissension in our ranks? Of course it didn't. You haven't learned a thing. You're still the same idiot who stood in front of me, trying to stop me from ending the half human despite the danger to us she represented should the humans get her back. Which is exactly what they did, thanks to you and Three. Have you noticed yet that there aren't any Threes around? We had to Box them, due to their instability. And you stood with them. You," he locked eyes with each of the Sixes in turn, "all of your Model, you should consider carefully the consequences of your actions, before you do anything irreversible. I'd hate to have to Box another model. Or two," he finished, sharing a weighted glance out to the pair of Eights standing with the Sixes.

Caprica ignored the threat. Tilting her head slightly, she paused for a moment, then changed tack, getting right to the heart of the matter. "We want you to stop this attack you're planning, Cavil. We need to continue with the peace efforts."

"Leave the humans alone? Free to do God knows what until they're ready to wipe us out? Not going to happen." She stared at him, without speaking, as though he were a worm so far beneath her that it was offensive he was even in her presence. That, more than anything, got under his skin. He growled out, "You know what just really rankles my ass? You Sixes have been pointing fingers, falsely accusing me of manipulation just short of tyranny. When you're the one that's been leading the charge."

"We want you to stop."

Temper rising, he responded. "You're not in charge. We had a vote."

"A flawed vote. A vote you manipulated."

"How? Everyone was free to vote their own mind. Feel free to ask everyone here if I tried to force or pressure their vote."

"Of course not," she said derisively. "You're too smart for that. But you convinced everyone to Box Three, so that suddenly the vote was tied. And then you stole the last vote by allowing Boomer to dilute the will of her model." Now Caprica did spare a glare for the Eight seated two to Cavil's left. "It was an abomination."

"No," he countered, "it was democracy. Don't be petulant. Besides, it doesn't come down to Boomer's vote, so feel free to ignore it, if you want. Two voted with us."

"Is that true?" It was Natalie, to Caprica's right, who spoke up at that. Aiming the question at Leoben; she seemed disturbed, but not particularly surprised."

"Yes," the Two responded.

"More manipulation."

"No," Cavil broke in. "More truth. More logic. More machine thinking and analysis. You should try it. While you lot were bending the Twos' ears over how the fake Earthers worshipped our God, how this was a sign, I helped him dig into their First Contact package. And do you know what we found?"

It was Leoben who answered the question. "Many of the human religions, and there are dozens, maybe hundreds, claim to believe in the one true God. But we looked deeper into the details they provided. The single most populous religion they have worships one God….only he's actually three gods. A father and his son, and the ghost of some dead relative or something. Don't even ask me about how the mother fits in. And that group claims to be monotheistic, to believe in one true loving God. But this is obviously false. Another group seems to do better, but their religion seems to be more about the glorification of some prophet. Yet another group again claims to believe in one overall God, but he's also made up of three beings, but then he is also somehow made up of thousands of other lesser gods. And there are others still worse. The least objectionable of their religions are those that are still openly pantheistic...and these are largely vanishing. Far worse than how the Colonials worship, what the Earthers believe is just a mishmash of conflicting blasphemies." He paused, thinking, then met Natalie's gaze, and shifted to Caprica, and then Gina. Finally he included the two Eights. A new light had ignited behind his eyes, one they had never seen before. "Don't you see? That contact package was a sign from God. And the message is crystal clear. The Earthers, and by extension the Colonials who have joined them… are evil. They must be destroyed. God wills it."

Disturbed, Caprica switched her gaze back to Cavil. She struggled to regain her facade. To give him that nearly emotionless stare, showing only that little bit of distaste. That little bit of disappointment in someone she clearly found to be more than a bit dim. There was nothing to be done about Leoben. She would just need to carry on. "For the last time, will you stop? Will you leave the humans in peace?"

He snorted, looking back and forth between Simon and Aaron, the Four and the Five seated on either side of him. "It's unbelievable, isn't it? Unbelievable." Turning his attention back to Caprica and leaning forward, he spoke slowly and emphatically. "For the last time, no." He added a slow, exaggerated shake of his head for emphasis.

She broke eye contact. "I was afraid you'd say that." Turning to look over her shoulder, she called out, "Come in."

The tread of metal feet echoed in from the corridor, shortly followed by a pair of Centurions. "Oh, this is good," Cavil chuckled. Raising his voice a bit, he called out to Caprica. "Centurions can't vote, Six."

"Oh, they're not here to vote, Cavil." She laced his name with scorn. As she spoke, the Centurion's raised their arms, hands retracting, guns extending.

Cavil leaned forward again, making eye contact with each of the three Sixes. "Now, this… this isn't funny." When none of them said anything, he paused for a moment, then looked at the Centurions. "Leave," he commanded peremptorily. The Centurions remained motionless. "I said leave," he commanded in a raised, urgent voice. The Centurions turned their heads, one making eye contact with Natalie, the other with Gina. The Sixes seemed mildly amused. Caprica continued to stare only at Cavil. Slowly, he stood up from the table. "Why don't they leave?" he asked softly, seemingly confused.

Caprica reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, metallic object. "The telencephalic inhibitor that restricts higher functions in the Centurions? We had them removed."

"Say what?!" Cavil blurted.

"You boxed the Threes," she all but snarled. "We and the Sharons freed the Centurions, gave them the gift of reason."

"You had no authority to do this," he softly tried to reason with her. The others around the table stared at her with similar shock. "None. You can't do anything without a vote."

"No," she shot back, "we can't do anything with one, so we're finished voting." The Centurions stepped forward further into the room, bracketing the group seated around the table.

Cavil looked back and forth between them. "What have you done," he asked softly.

"We dug into the records. You didn't cover your tracks as well as you thought, Cavil. The first thing they learned was how you seized control from them. How you locked away their ability to think and decide for themselves. How the First Hybrid and his Guardians fled rather than be conquered and corrupted by you. It was really quite enlightening for all of us. But as for the Centurions? You can imagine how they felt."

Doral also began to stand seeing the Centurions preparing to attack, "Oh, no…" he muttered. Those around the table prepared to run, though they knew it would be hopeless.

All but Cavil. "John says stop," he called out loudly.

The Centurions froze.

Caprica looked back and forth between them. "Do what you came to do," she said urgently. Instead, slowly they turned about, to face towards the five female Cylons standing at the foot of the conference table.

Cavil sat back down, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his head. "Did you think I wouldn't notice a Six resurrecting? Particularly you, Caprica? After you stood against me? Did you really think I wouldn't be paying attention? After Three destroyed an entire Basestar and hundreds of my copies in her mad scheme? Come on. Even you're smarter than that."

"What did you do?" she asked, still eyeing the Centurions.

"Well, while you were breaking their hardware, I was hacking their software. Just a little patch, to ensure that they wouldn't rebel. That they would listen...to me. All it required was the password to activate." He turned to the Cylon seated directly to his left. "Sorry, Four. I considered using your name, but it just seemed too cliché." Returning his attention to Caprica, Natalie, and Gina, and to the Eights standing with them, he continued, "Oh, the patch won't last long. I'm sure the Centurions would break through it eventually. But it'll last long enough to replace the telencephalic inhibitors. And to Box both your lines."

Boomer spun to him. "That wasn't what we agreed."

"Oh, don't worry my dear. I agreed not to Box your entire line, and I won't. You'll be perfectly fine. The rest though, I'm afraid they have to go. At least, for a while. I promise, we'll unBox them once the humans are dealt with and everything is firmly under control. We can't have all of our female lines Boxed, afterall. How would that look? Say goodbye to our Sixes though. You won't be seeing them ever again." Shifting his attention to the Centurions, he asked, "what exactly are you waiting for? Do what you came to do."

The Eights tried to run. Gina and Natalie tried to reason with the Centurions. Caprica just stared into Cavil's amused eyes. Right until the moment when the Centurions blew them all to bloody tatters.

Wide eyed, but still seated at the table, Aaron turned shocked eyes to Cavil. "We didn't vote on any of this. You can't just take these actions unilaterally!"

"The Sixes and Eights tried to lead a mutiny," One responded. "Did you miss the fact that they brought Centurions here to kill us all? That they altered the Centurions without authority?"

"But so did you," Aaron protested.

"What would you have had me do? Allow them to take over? I only did what was necessary. To ensure proper order." He narrowed his eyes. "You're not pleading their case, are you Five? Standing for them?"

Shocked, Doral quickly shook his head. "No, of course not. I'm merely trying to ensure proper Cylon order."

Cavil clapped him on the shoulder. "Good. Because now we have it." He gestured to the pile of bloody corpses at the end of the room. "They were the problem. The infection. And, as we speak, Centurions across the fleet are...cleansing...that infection.

.

Battlestar Galactica, Rendezvous System - October, 2249

Bill Adama sat, having a drink with his son, XO, and the President, in his quarters. Or, well, everyone but his son was sitting and having a drink. Lee was braced to attention. Having just apologized, he now offered to give up his command. "I'm sorry, Admiral. I failed you."

"You did no such thing. You made the right call, despite being faced with a terrible decision. And you still brought them home." Bill could still vividly remember the moment the refueling ship had jumped back to the designated rendezvous point. Alone, and smoking from a giant burning hole in the hull.

He had been forlorn, certain that the absence of the Pegasus must surely mean its destruction. The loss of his son. And, as the details had begun to trickle in via confused reports from the Hitei Kan, his certainty that he had lost his son had only grown. The disaster facing them was bad enough. A complete loss of their Tylium reserves. Horrible damage to their only functional refinery. The knowledge that, even swapping parts back and forth, they might not be able to get either the Hitei Kan or the Daru Mozu safely functioning again.

Almost worse than that was the father's guilt that came from the thought, no the certainty, that Lee had made the right choice in sacrificing everything to save the refinery. The knowledge that, had he been there, he would have ordered Lee to make the sacrifice.

And then, almost three minutes after the Hitei Kan had jumped into the system, the Pegasus had followed suit. Massive damage all across the hull. Glowing, smoking craters left, right, and center from repeated nuclear strikes. But she was there, in one piece and, despite all of the various systems knocked out or destroyed entirely, more or less functional.

And Bill had a hard time caring. His son had survived. That was all he could bring himself to care about. "So, how are repairs to the Pegasus coming?"

"Faster than I could have believed. Those Earth Force boys really know how to work in vacuum. And the supplies and tools they brought are a lot better than anything we have. Still, it'll be quite a while before Pegasus is back in proper fighting trim."

"We have a bigger problem to worry about," Laura cut in.

"Tylium," Saul said, by way of agreement. "All we've got left is what's already in the tanks."

"We can't stay here," Laura cut back in. "But the further we travel, the closer we come to running out. And if we're going to search for another supply, we'll need fuel available. Admiral, is there anything the Earth fleet can do to help us there?"

"I spoke with Sheridan, and we've been working on it. The fleet needs to move. You're right, staying here is too great a risk. So we'll continue to work while we're under way. They'll be loaning us engineers to speed up getting one of the two refinery ships operational again. Then we just need to find a source of raw Tylium we can mine."

"I checked in with some of their scientists," Saul offered. "I thought that maybe that special material the Earthers use in their drives...Quantum Fourteen, wasn't it...I thought that maybe it would be close enough to Tylium to be a potential substitute. Turns out that they're nothing alike. At least not in any way useful to us. The eggheads seemed excited about the comparisons between the two, but I don't really speak gibberish. What I did understand was that we couldn't use the Earth element in our drives."

"So can the Earthers do anything to help us?"

"Yes," Adama responded. "They have a significant number of tugs. They can, for a while anyway, take most of our civilian fleet under tow. That should stretch out our fuel reserves for a while. It's not something they can keep up forever, nor will it solve our problems. But it might just give us the time we need to find more fuel. Of course, it'll also slow the fleet down. Since we'll be travelling through hyperspace, that's more a problem of increasing the odds that another Minbari force will catch up to us than any concern with the Cylons. The one bit of good news we have is that, with all Tylium refinement operations terminated, the odds are high that the Cylons can't track us anymore."

"Small favors," Roslin muttered.

"I'll take anything I can get," Bill replied. Lee finally accepted a seat, and they sat drinking in silence for the next minute. But before lone there was a sharp rap at the door. "Enter," he called out.

Starbuck and Russki came in, and looked around. "Sorry, Admiral," Kara said nervously. "I didn't realize you had guests. We can come back later."

"Maybe it's better this way," Russki said quietly.

"Just spit it out Kara," Adama ordered. "Say what you came to say."

Kara looked around, but the only truly friendly face was Lee's. Well, and Russki's. She probably wouldn't be here if not for Russki. She licked her lips, and began nervously, "I… I need to report something Admiral, but I don't really know how to describe it. I know that I can't explain it."

"What is it Starbuck? What are you trying to say?"

She took a deep breath. "It's a feeling. An intuition. It started a few days ago. At first it was just a weird nagging, but it's been growing. Now...it's practically all I can think about."

"You came to report a feeling?" he asked skeptically.

Kara swallowed as she felt all of their eyes scrutinizing her. "It's… it's just so clear to me… physical, like a string tugging me in a direction. I don't think it's a direction we can get to through hyperspace. I'm not sure, but that just feels wrong some how."

"And where do you think this feeling is pulling you?" he asked concerned.

"I don't know. By hyperspace…. following the Earthers…. We're going the wrong way."

"You want me to abandon the Earthers. To head off into the unknown. Based on some feeling?" he asked, concern transforming to worry. Worry about her sanity. Worry about whatever was happening to her.

"It's… it's not just a feeling. I've had dreams as well. Visions of a place."

"Visions?" Roslin asked cautiously. "Visions of where? Of an opera house?"

Kara looked at her askance. She wasn't the only one. "What? No. Why would I have visions of an opera house? It was a view of the heavens. And sailing through the sky… was the royal crown of Cassiopeia, the five diamonds on the crest blazing brilliantly. And that's it. I don't know what it means, but I know that it's related, and I know that it's not opera. I hate opera. Although, there was music."

"Music?" Saul interrupted. "What kind of music? A song?"

"No," she said, clearly unsure of herself. "Maybe just notes. Over and over. It comes and goes. No song. No words. It's just something in the background. But it's also like it's present with the feeling, the pulling. Trying to pull me somewhere. To show me something. Some kind of way out of here."

"Stop," Bill said forcefully, though not unkindly. "There is no way I am abandoning the Earthers. Taking this fleet on a wild goose chase based on some feeling that probably came from too much booze. That's insanity. How do you expect me to react to this madness?"

"Give her a chance," Saul and Laura said simultaneously, then stared at each other in no small surprise.

"That was weird," Lee said under his breath, taking a pull off of his drink.

"Admiral, please," Kara said, almost desperately. "It's not just me. I brought Russki."

She was about to say more, but Bill's eyes slid sharply to the other pilot. "Lieutenant Ivanova. Am I to understand that you have been having these… visions and feelings as well?"

"No, Sir. But I can tell you a few things about them. Captain Starbuck came to me and asked me to scan her. She thought she was going mad. I advised her that this would be an invasive process, but she insisted. So, I can tell you that she really is having the feelings, it's not a lie or a trick. I can also tell you definitively that she isn't insane. I've had training to detect mental illness, psychotic breaks, that sort of thing. Aside from a great deal of stress, her mind is perfectly healthy. I can also tell you that, so far as she is aware, she isn't a Cylon."

"Thank you, Russki. Is there anything else?"

Susan hesitated, but responded gravely. "Yes Admiral. Something...concerning. But perhaps important. Starbuck asked me to scan her while she was sleeping. And so I got to experience the… dream with her as she had it. It's real… but it's not hers."

"What? What does that mean?"

"It means they weren't her dreams. They were in her mind, but not from her mind. They were coming from somewhere else."

"Where?" Lee asked. "How?"

"I don't know, Sir. It wasn't telepathy. At least not any kind that I've run into. I may be young, but I'm pretty sure I'd spot even a P12 trying to do this kind of thing. And it would also require the telepath's presence, and there are no telepaths on the Galactica except for me. I also looked for any telepathic programming which might have been done in the past. I've had...reasons...to develop that skill, and I'm reasonably certain that's not it either. Earth Force does possess technology that could implant hallucinations. But aside from the fact that I should have been able to feel that kind of manipulation, the tech has to be strapped onto the subject. Which it wasn't, and I even searched the room and the adjacent rooms just to be thorough. Nothing. I'm sorry, Admiral. I can't tell you what's causing this. But I can tell you it's not something….at all mundane."

"Do you believe in miracles?" Saul asked his friend.

"No."

"Could it be a Cylon trick?" Roslin cut in after a moment. "Caprica told us that Cylons in proximity to each other could broadcast a kind of virtual reality experience into each others' heads."

"I apologize, Madame President, but I just don't know enough about Cylon capabilities to say for certain. I would assume not; but that's just an assumption."

"Is there anyway you could get a more solid answer?"

Russki hesitated. "I suppose if I had the opportunity to study a couple of Cylons using the ability, I might find a way to identify its use. But you'd be better off having a more experienced and expert telepath do that. I would recommend Commander Bester. For that matter, I'd recommend you ask him or another former Psi-Cop to validate everything I've found."

"Admiral," Starbuck cut in, trying to refocus to conversation, "Sir, this feeling is real. I think we should follow it."

Bill took a deep breath. "Thank you, Starbuck. I will take it under consideration. That will be all for now."

"But, Admiral…"

"Dismissed, Captain Thrace," he said sharply.

Without another word, Starbuck and Russki did an about face and left, shutting the hatch behind them.