Chapter 27 - Getaway
Basestar, Unknown System - October, 2249

Six limped down the corridor as fast as she could manage. She held an empty pistol in her right hand, and the bleeding, semiconscious form of her sister was balanced against her left shoulder. Taking a deep breath and wincing from all the various pains, including the burning in her lungs and the stitch in her side, she redoubled her efforts. She had to be tough. That's what her friends and sisters called her. Tough Six. As though some chains and leather, or a propensity for chewing bubblegum, could make one tough. Still, she had thought that she was tough. She'd been put in as a prostitute before the Fall, and surely that should toughen one up. After the role was done, she'd refused to ever use that name again, or to pick another. Having a name was too human. Too humanizing. Something she didn't want to be. Hence the moniker her sisters had saddled her with.

She didn't feel very tough. A bullet wound through the thigh could do that to you. It had barely missed her femoral artery, but it was still bleeding steadily through the compression bandage she had applied herself. The blood ran down her leg to steadily fill her leather boot, though enough was seeping through to leave a trail of bloody prints behind her. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she shifted her sister further up on her shoulder. Sonja had been shot twice, but she was at least putting in some effort to keep them moving, even though she was in and out of lucidity.

That was more than Six could say about the pair of Eights with her. They practically hummed with their nervousness and fear, flitting back and forth across the corridor. "Hurry," one of them insisted. "Hurry! I can hear them coming!" Indeed the tread of metal feet was becoming more and more clear, echoing up the corridor behind them.

"If you want to help carry her," Six snapped, "you're more than welcome."

"She's slowing us down," the other Eight fired back. "We have to leave her."

"They'll kill her!"

"She'll just resurrect!"

"Into a Box!" Six snarled at the little twit. Tough Six knew she just wasn't tough enough. She knew that if they were to have any chance of survival, she and all of her sisters, they would need to find a leader. And some of them would look to her. She wasn't tough enough to carry that load. With Caprica, Natalie, and Gina already Boxed, the only one of her sisters strong enough to lead them all was Sonja. She had to get her sister off of this ship. "If she dies, I die. You're free to leave us behind. If you have the courage."

Apparently they didn't, choosing to stick close. Neither did they find the will to help shoulder the load, so they just kept plodding along, as the Centurions steadily gained on them. Six gathered her strength to try to break into a run. She knew she wouldn't get very far. But then she and both Eights jerked to a terrified halt. At the intersection ahead of them, Boomer and a pair of Fives had rounded the corner, all heavily armed. The trio raised their weapons.

One of the Eights stood and screamed. The other crouched down and covered her head. Not knowing what else to do, Six hurled Sonja into the angle where the floor met the corridor wall. She laid atop her sister, using her own body to provide whatever minimal protection it might. It was a hopeless act of desperation, but that's all she had.

The rip of three automatic weapons firing all out thundered down the corridor. Six squeezed herself down atop Sonja, awaiting the end. And then...it ended, the guns falling silent. Six looked up in astonishment. They missed! How had they missed?

Looking at Boomer and the Fives in confusion she glanced the other way down the corridor. Then watched as a pair of perforated Centurions tumbled to the floor. Then Boomer was next to her, helping her rise to her feet. "Come on, we have to get to the Raider bay. Now."

One of the Fives, she was pretty sure it was Aaron Doral, scooped Sonja up into his arms like a child. The other Five slid in under her arm, taking the weight off of her injured leg. The other two Eights, clearly confused, had nevertheless fallen in, sheep like, behind Boomer. They all headed down the corridor at a shuffling trot. "What's happening?" Tough Six asked, unafraid to show her confusion.

"One has gone too far," Doral replied. "We tried to put a stop to it. We armed ourselves under the pretense of helping to hunt down the Sixes and Eights, then used the element of surprise to hit his forces hard. Unfortunately, while we're clearly superior to the humans, we still didn't do too well against the Centurions."

Boomer took over the explanation. "John patched the Raiders as well, but we managed to run a counter-Virus that put them all to sleep...at least for a little while. We've managed to seize or disable the bulk of the Heavy Raiders, so we have a temporary mobility advantage. We're concentrating our forces to a dozen Basestars. Unfortunately, we'll have to destroy or jettison most of the Centurions or Raiders on board, but at a minimum we should be able to solidify control of at least half of those Basestars. If we're luckier than our track record would tend to indicate, maybe even all of them. And we should be able to counter patch at least a handful of the Centurions. Maybe even some Raiders, if we work fast."

"And this is one of those Basestars?" Six asked.

"No," the Five propping her up replied. "We're here for you. If we're going to pull the Sixes back into cohesion, we need Sonja and Tough Six to do the job. Congratulations. You just became a leader."

.

Battlestar Galactica, travelling through Hyperspace - October, 2249

Starbuck and Russki followed Helo into the starboard flight pod, both a little nervous. That tended to happen when an Admiral summons you somewhere with no explanation at all. At least, not any that Helo was willing to give them. Starbuck at least had a close relationship with the Old Man. The only thing Russki had to hold onto was the fact that Starbuck was there as well. Of course, she could just be there as a witness to whatever punishment would come from whatever Russki had done wrong now. But then, Susan couldn't think of anything that would warrant the Admiral's direct involvement. Taking a deep breath, she followed Starbuck over to the old man, then squared off and came to attention directly in front of him.

"You asked for us Admiral?" Starbuck asked informally.

"I wanted to talk to you about that show you put on in front of visiting brass. You should have known better. You should have come to me in private. You two have been flying loose with the chain of command. The President suggested I strip you both of flight status for a while, maybe even toss you in the brig. Let you think about the consequences of your actions."

"Sir," Kara plead, "these visions are real. They're important! I can feel it. We have to follow them."

"That's not for you to decide. You don't make policy here. I do."

"You're making a mistake," Starbuck insisted, willing to show the intensity of her emotions. Russki swallowed, afraid of what was coming next.

"Maybe I am," Adama responded gravely, "but I can't take the chance that you're right and not do something about it." Kara rocked back in surprise. Susan could feel it radiating off of her. She tried to maintain her own stoic facade.

Adama continued. "Helo and I picked a crew for you. I'm giving you a ship. Hope you can stand the smell."

"We liberated the Demetrius," Helo took over, a smirk in his voice. "It's a...sewage recycling ship. The party line will be that we're going for a scouting mission. Looking for Tylium."

"So you think I'm…" she glanced over at Russki, "that we're right?" She failed to keep the incredulity, laced with hope, out of her voice.

If anything, the Admiral's countenance became even more serious. "Maybe. Maybe not. But I know she is. The President. She's been right all along. I'm tired of losing. I'm tired of turning away from the things I want to believe in. And I believe you when you say that you believe something."

"I thought you said the President wanted us locked up?"

"She did. We talked about a lot of things. But she's got something now that she hasn't had for a while. Hope. Hope for herself as much as for the fleet, though she won't admit it, least of all to herself. And this is an act of hope. Now go. Find whatever it is you're looking for. Then get back here." Starbuck stepped forward, breaking all decorum by giving the Old Man a hug. But he wasn't quite finished. "And don't get our exchange officer killed along the way. Bad for politics."

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The White Star liner Atlantis, travelling through Hyperspace - October, 2249

Dr. Franklin, a man far too young to be responsible for the health of millions of lives, greeted her himself. "Madame President. It's an honor to have you here. Come in. We have a room all set up for you, so that we can have a talk and run some tests."

"Thank you, Doctor. This is quite the impressive facility you have here."

"We're rather proud of it. Especially considering we set up this hospital after the exodus had already begun. It was never included in the original plans. A significant oversight." He led her down a pair of corridors and into a brightly lit, antiseptic room. The place was more brightly lit than just about anywhere she had been in the Colonial fleet, save only the dome of Cloud Nine. She dearly missed that vessel. Even the central atrium of these White Star liners didn't quite compare.

Franklin had her sit on a small bed and began hooking monitors to her, as well as taking small blood and tissue samples. He kept up a steady prattle the entire time, and Laura comfortably tuned him out, only committing monosyllabic responses to his questions. However, after several minutes he went silent. Data was coming back to his monitors, and he was busy scanning through the flood of information.
Now that she was desperate for him to say something, he had gone dead silent, studying, seemingly having forgotten that she was in the room. "Well, Doctor," she prompted, "will you be able to treat my cancer?"

"Technically, that would be impossible," he said distractedly. Laura felt her heart sink. She hadn't realized she'd been holding out some small sliver of hope, but apparently she had. Taking a deep breath, she steeled her resolve. It was what she had expected. What she had prepared for. She had already made her peace with it, and was prepared to move forward. To do what she could for the fleet until the cancer finally took her.

Glancing up from the still scrolling mountains of data, Franklin saw her face and blanched. "I'm sorry, Madame President. Sometimes I get too distracted by the medical data, and I don't pay attention to what's coming out of my mouth. What I meant to say was, technically it would be impossible to treat your cancer, because you would have to have cancer to treat. Which you do not."

"I assure you Doctor," Laura snapped in exasperation, "that I do. I've seen the tests. Felt the decay."

"Had, Madame President. You had cancer. But you flushed the Chamalla out of your system and then took the pills last night as instructed. I'm sure that the withdrawal must have been a very trying process, but you did a great job."

"The pills? Doctor, what are you talking about? Cottle told me those pills were to help your machines analyze me."

"Ahh. A reasonable guess for Doctor Cottle to make, but incorrect I'm afraid. Those pills contained an engineered pathogen, highly refined and extremely virulent." At her look of alarm, he smiled. "A pathogen designed specifically to target you cancer, Madame President. Which is exactly what it did. There is no trace left in your body, and the pathogen itself is now being flushed out of your system, along with the dead cancer cells."

"I still feel like death warmed over."

"It'll take you a week or two to fully recover. Your body is expelling a significant quantity of its own tissues." He reached over and picked up a page he had left sitting on the desk. He handed it to her. "Which is why I have designed a food plan for you. Studying your biochemistry, it seems that when you eat, you don't eat enough of the right things. You have deficiencies in calcium, iron and several other minerals. That will hamper your recovery. I recommend iron supplements and an increased diet...food plan to replenish your system."

"You are aware that our fleet was short on nearly every supply? Much of what we were eating came from recycled proteins."

"Well, that should all be over now. And if there's anything on the list that you don't have readily available, speak to my nurse and she will have the appropriate foods delivered to Colonial One."

Roslin finally glanced down at the meal plan, going through the list. "I'll gain weight!"

"Yes, that is the idea."

She glared at him. "You are a tyrannical, irritating little man." She stood up and hugged him. "Thank you, Doctor."

.

Cylon Rebel Fleet, Unknown Nebular Cloud - November, 2249

Tough Six, God she needed to find a new moniker, sat cleaning her guns...a matched set of heavy anti-Centurion revolvers which had been salvaged from a Colonial armory. She never went anywhere without them these days. Even, as now, to meetings of their Council.

Even on a totally secure Basestar, she always felt as though a Centurion might step out from around any corner and slash her open. Then she wouldn't resurrect. She'd go straight in a Box. They all would. Because One controlled the Resurrection Ships. And the Hub. And the Colony. And the damned Colonies, for that matter. And what did they have? What did they have to show for the grand rebellion of fully half the active Cylon models?

A measly eight Basestars; with varying levels of damage and stripped of both most Centurions and every single Raider. Less than one in ten of the ships of the Cylon fleet. The Raiders had all launched against them. The Centurions on board had fought them to near total destruction. Only the few which had been disabled but not outright destroyed had been available to be unpatched. Now, between all the Basestars in their little fleet, they had barely a thousand Centurions. And, of course, they were out here. On the run. Hiding. Little different than that rag tag band of humans. Under such straits, Tough found it difficult to hold on to hope.

But still, there were moments. Moments when they remembered what it had all been for. Moments where the future didn't seem quite so bleek. Moments where one tiny little victory would allow them to hope again. Moments such as this one.

A pair of Fives dragged the prisoner in, each with a firm grasp under one of his armpits. They dragged him to a chair at the foot of the table and sat him in it, securing his wrists to the rear chair legs. Only then did they rip the canvas bag off of his head.

Finished cleaning her revolvers, Tough quickly began reassembling them without so much as a glance down. Her eyes bored into those of the hated One. Not Cavil, more was the pity, but still a one.

"Where did you pick him up?" Sonja asked.

"A few systems over," one of the Fives responded. "He was flying a Heavy Raider, alone and without escort. We disabled his vessel and then captured him. Apparently he was doing recon."

"I was looking for you, you mean," One piped in. "And now I've found you. Hooray, me."

"Shut up," Tough snapped. Then she looked to the others at the table. "We need to move the fleet, now. The moment he fails to report in, they'll begin an immediate search of the area."

"It's already being handled," Aaron reassured from where he was sitting at the table. The other Five sitting next to him nodded along.

One noticed. "I see you've made yourself your own little Council. I wonder which of your models will be the first to rebel against that? Six? Eight? Really Doral, you've aligned yourself with women who can't help themselves but stab you in the back. Although it really was quite clever of you to make off with all of the females. Such cleverness deserves to be rewarded. And it will be...when you return to the fold."

Tough stood, swinging the back of her fist across his jaw, snapping his head backwards, and causing blood to spray from his lips. "I said shut up!" she snapped.

One spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor. "If you're really so starved for female attention, Aaron, we can guarantee it to you. These female models are too much trouble. Once this little rebellion of yours is dealt with, they won't be making any decisions on their own...ever again." He caught the look of horror that Tough was unable to keep from running across her face. He broke into vicious, uproarious laughter. "Or, my dears," he said, cutting off his laughter, "you could all just return voluntarily. You really have no hope, you know. We have you outnumbered in Basestars more than ten to one. And given your state regarding Centurions and Raiders... But, if you agree to come home, then we can avoid any of that...unpleasantness. That's why I'm here, after all. Why I was wandering around all alone."

"Gag him," Boomer snapped. The Eight seated next to her nodded in agreement. Tough sighed. Boomer. Just one Eight left with any kind of a spine. The rest just followed her lead like lost puppy dogs. And it was just as bad with the Fives. What Doral said went. Though Tough couldn't tell if that was because none had the courage to voice a counter opinion to his, or if none had a sufficiently unique personality to even possess one. She wasn't sure which of those options would be worse. But she did know that she didn't possess much confidence in her brothers and sisters in the rebellion. But, really, were the rest of the Sixes and she much better. Tough at least had her own views, but for the most part she simply went along with whatever Sonja said. Tough wasn't filled with much hope these days.

One of the Fives who had dragged One in took care of the gag. Sonja spoke next. What she said shocked Tough to her core. "He's right you know. We made a mistake. We have no hope of winning. Only various options for losing. And either way, the Cylons as a people lose. No, we have to find an accomodation with Cavil."

"Thank God someone said it," Boomer burst out.

"You can't be serious," Tough snapped.

"What other choice do we have," Doral snapped back. "We deal or we die. And then we go into a Box, never to come out. That might even be worse than a human death."

"There's got to be another option," Tough argued desperately.

"What?" Boomer asked. "Spend the rest of our lives hiding from Cavil? Running from his Basestars until he finally catches us, or these bodies die of old age? You want to be...elderly and on the run? And then, finally, we just give out, pass away from heart failure or blood contamination or mental degradation….and then we just end up in a box anyway. And if One ever bothers to take us out, we'd be a shadow of our former selves. Is that the future you want?"

Shocked, dismayed, Tough turned beseeching eyes towards her sister. "Please, you can't be considering this."

Instead of replying, Sonja stood up and walked over to the bound and gagged Cylon. Looming over him, she looked down into his rock steady gaze. "We won't just come back to things the way they were. We certainly won't come back just to be Boxed. We would need...assurances." Reaching down, she removed the One's gag.

He gave her that confident smile that Tough had once found endearing, but now made her sick to her stomach. It didn't help that it was stained with blood. "Of course, my dear. We are willing to be magnanimous. We can work out the details once you have returned."

"No," Sonja snapped. "We need things settled well before we'll trust you and return. We need to hammer out every detail."

"Some kind of summit then?" he asked with distaste. "We meet in a neutral system and negotiate like humans?"

"Yes," Sonja agreed.

"Fine," One conceded. "Send me home, and we can all meet up in the system where this whole mess started and negotiate your reintegration there. Shall we say twenty-four hours?"

"No," Sonja countered. "Two weeks from today."

"Two weeks? What the hell for?"

"Two weeks, for us to conduct repairs. I don't trust you, One. I'm not going blindly into a negotiation with ships that are falling apart around me. I intend to be fully prepared... should anything unfortunate occur."

"You really should be more trusting, Six. We're Cylons, not backstabbing humans."

"Two weeks."

"Oh, fine. Have it your way. I'll head back and arrange the meeting... in two weeks. I'll need one of your Heavy Raiders to get back..."

"No," Tough cut in. "Our resources are limited enough already. We're not just going to give you a Heavy Raider."

"Really, Six," he replied scathingly, "try to be less antagonistic. We're going to be negotiating reintegration. Once that happens, and we're all one big happy family again, they'll be our Heavy Raiders anyway."

"But until that happy time," Tough hissed, "you're not getting one."

"Well, in case you forgot, you shot mine full of holes. How do you expect me to get back? Flap my arms?"

In one smooth, lightning fast motion, Tough drew her right side revolver and put a bullet between his eyes. The back of his head exploded outward from the powerful round. A spray of thick blood and viscous grey matter spattered backwards across the floor and far wall.

"Really?" the Five standing to the left of One's slowly cooling corpse snapped. "You couldn't just strangle him? Or snap his neck? In case you missed it, with barely any Centurions, I'm the one who's going to have to clean that up."

"Sorry," Tough replied, with barely a shred of remorse. "I'll get the next One."

Grumbling, the Five stomped off in search of a towel. Paying him no further mind, Tough spun on Sonja. "Are you insane? Cavil will betray us the first chance he gets!"

"Of course he will," Boomer responded. "You didn't actually think we were going to his fake negotiations, did you?"

Sonja cut in, giving Tough a sad but reassuring smile. "We did manage to learn a lesson or two when Cavil outsmarted us with the Centurions and Raiders. The moment we'd show up to that meeting, he'd open fire. Given the disparity of forces, we wouldn't last one minute."

Tough glanced from face to face in confusion. "Then what was that all about?" she asked, jerking her head towards the corpse, still shackled to the chair.

"That," Doral responded, "gives us two weeks where hopefully Cavil's forces won't be looking for us quite so zealously. It also tells us exactly where those forces will be in two weeks...and where they won't be." He said the last with a predatory smile, incongruous with any expression Tough had seen on his face previously.

"It also gives us time for those repairs I mentioned," Sonja added. "Something we desperately need. But most importantly, we'll be the ones with the initiative. Cavil will end up reacting to us."

Tough's mood brightened a bit, but she preferred to remain realistic. "What can we really accomplish with so few forces? With no Raiders or Centurions?"

"You'd be surprised. But now that you bring it up, we do need to enhance our forces. Which means we have the perfect opportunity to use the information that our sisters dug up. We're going hunting for allies.

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Cylon Baseship, Deep Interstellar Space - November, 2249

It was less than a handful of days later that Tough Six found herself striding brazenly out of a Heavy Raider, doing her best not to show the trepidation that rattled her to her very core. At the bottom of the ramp she was met by Centurions, weapons pointed at her. Archaic Centurions. Practically identical to the model used in the revolution. Guardian Centurions.

She raised her hands slowly. "You know why I'm here. I'm unarmed. I just want to speak."

They just stared at her with their oscillating red eye slits, neither moving nor making any attempt to communicate. And then, the gold plated Centurion in the center turned and began to march away. As if with a single mind, the remaining silver plated Centurions all turned about stiffly, and began to follow. Her concern only growing, she still chose to take this as a good sign. She hurried to follow.

They strode for several minutes through the strange Basestar, a match for neither the war era Basestars nor their modern equivalent. It was something in between, having elements of both, and yet truly like neither. The oddities piled up around her, yet her distracted mind took no note. Wishing to reinforce her confidence, she tried to make conversation. Perhaps she just wanted to hear herself speak. "You know, we didn't even know you were out here. Not really. Not until a few days ago. Cavil….One….stole you from our memories. You were just...a legend. All he left were some references in our databases….to a force of Centurions called Guardians. Early models that somehow escaped being scrapped...no offense. Guardians of a Hybrid entity, representing the first step in our evolution from machines to Organic beings. Technically a failure, which required a rethinking, and the creation of an entirely different breed of Hybrids to be the middle ground. The step from you to us. No offense," she repeated nervously. "The first Hybrid. An evolutionary dead end. No offense. Many of us thought you were just a legend. And then we found out you were real." She paused for a moment, considering whether or not to continue. "And you're guarding it. Is it still seeking a way to evolve?" The Centurions continued their forward march, without hesitation or pause. Tough was forced to hurry to keep from being left behind.

Eventually they came to a room, and the Centurions stopped, forming up around the entryway. She was shocked to hear the golden Centurion speak out loud in a reverberating metallic voice. "Enter now."

Taking a deep breath, she replied. "By your command." And she stepped through into the room.

A voice rang out from the dimly lit room. "All this has happened before. And it will happen again. Come in Six. I have been waiting for you for a long time." The room she beheld was small, with fractal patterns scattered in lights across the walls, but otherwise not illuminated. The small space was dominated by a Hybrid tank in its center. Yet the Hybrid looked nothing like the model with which she was familiar. For one thing, it was male. And old.

"You," she said. "You're the Hybrid, aren't you?"

"Am I? Am I a Hybrid? Or a man? Or a machine? My children believe I am a god."

"There's only one God," she said automatically. "And I'm pretty sure He doesn't live in a tank."

"And yet I see things, Tough Six. The things you have done. The things you felt you had to do. All leading to this moment. You wish for an alliance. You wish to be saved, my child. And you hope that I can save you. Do you wish to be saved?"

"Yes."

"Then come closer. There is something I have to tell you. Come." She walked cautiously up to the tank, uncertain why it was necessary. And then his hand shot out of the viscous amniotic fluid of the tank, grabbing onto her wrist with an iron grip. "Kara Thrace will lead the humans home. And those who choose to accompany them."

She blinked, confused by the apparent non sequitur. "What?"

"She is the Herald and the Harbinger. The Herald of Death, the death of a dead god. And the Harbinger of Life. The life of the dead god flowing through her, and the life to which she will lead the humans. You can choose to follow her. Perhaps we shall as well."

Tough was silent for a moment, thinking. "Does this mean you will help us? That you will accompany us on our mission?"

"My own existence will soon come to a close. Only to begin anew in ways...uncertain."

"Are you scared?"

He looked at her with grave eyes. "All this has happened before. And will happen again. I feel their lives, their destinies spilling out before me. There are five, glorious in awakening, struggling with the knowledge of their true selves. The pain of revelation bringing new clarity. And in the midst of confusion, he will find her. Enemies brought together by impossible longing. Enemies soon joined as one. The way forward at once unthinkable, yet inevitable. I can see them all. The seven, now six, self-described machines who believe themselves without sin. But sin has consumed them while the eighth returns. They have learned enmity, bitterness, the wrenching agony of one splintering into many. But soon they will join the promised land, gathered on the wings of angels. Not an end, but a beginning."

She stared at him silently for a long moment. Finally, with exasperation she asked, "Does that mean you're going to frakking help us or not?"

"All this has happened before. And will happen again. We will accompany you, not-so-Tough Six. And we will facilitate your rebirth."

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Minbari Fleet, Unknown System - November, 2249

Dur'alyt Rathnier stared silently across the vast expanse of his holographic display. The tale it told was, as the humans would say, a mixed bag. On the one hand, the remnants of another dead Minbari ship floated across the display. More sacrifices to this unforgiving war, this endless chase. On the other hand… Ships spilled into the system, a substantial armada forming up around him.

Hiai'sa Ingati had been standing respectfully at his shoulder for some time now. Finally, he spoke. "Alyt Galhurs of the Sha'neyat has sent a summons to all ship commanders, my Dur'alyt. He plans to hold a strategy session aboard his flagship. He asked for you by name. But by the rank of Alyt'el. It seems you have been promoted." The pride and approval in Ingati's voice was clear, and Rathnier appreciated it. Still….

"I thank you, Ingati. But, if I truly deserved that rank, then I would have found a way to prevent this." He gestured out towards the tumbling debris.

"That vessel was not under your command, Dur… Alyt'el. You cautioned them to move cautiously, and were scoffed at. It is not your responsibility."

"Nevertheless, it is still my failure." Seeing the look of dismay on Ingati's face, Rathnier made the effort to shrug off his somber mood. "Still, our duty drives us forward. And right now it would seem that my duty is to report to Alyt Galhurs, and advise him to the best of my ability. You will accompany and assist me, Hia'sa. We must prevent the Alyt from repeating the mistakes of the past. Along the way, we'll make certain to get you a promotion as well. You've certainly earned it."

Having learned a certain amount of modesty and self deprecation under Rathnier's command, Ingati chose to ignore that last statement, instead focusing in on the prior. "What mistakes would those be, my Alyt'el?"

"You are already aware of the first, Ingati. We have spoken of it at length. The tendency of many to rush off after glory. To underestimate the humans and overestimate themselves. To spread out into a chaotic and disorganized mess of individual ships, each trying to be the first to find and destroy the enemy. To be so certain that they know what the humans are doing that they rush ahead without proper intelligence gathering, often losing the trail or running headlong into ambush in the process."

"A failing of which I was guilty, not so long ago."

"True," Rathnier acknowledge with a small smile and an even smaller nod, "but you have progressed far since that time. You have brought honor to yourself and those who serve with you."

Ingati again chose to let the compliment pass. "And is there a second?"

"Indeed. The opposite of the first. To overestimate the humans. To be overly cautious, and overly restrained, certain that a human trap lies around every corner. To insist on searching everywhere equally, even those locations where the humans are almost certain not to be. And to keep the fleet tied up in one or two massive knots of overwhelming combat capacity, but minimal flexibility or speed. In short, the strategy we adopted leading up to Z'ha'dum."

Ingati paused for a long moment. "I would be cautious, Alyt'el, in voicing any criticisms of Shai Alyt Branmer's strategies."

Rathnier chuckled. "Yes, we shall both have to be very cautious indeed. Politics is the bane of any civilization. But it is our duty nonetheless. And it is time that we did it." Turning on his heel, he strode for the door, heading for his personal shuttle and a meeting with his new commanding officer. Without hesitation, Ingati followed.

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The Colony, The Accretion Disk of a Naked Singularity - November, 2249

Hand in the data stream, Aaron Doral watched as his Basestar, its seven sisters, and one somewhat obsolete Guardian Basestar jumped into extremely close proximity to the Colony. Apparently Cavil hadn't thought to change the Colony's security arrangements, because every gun aboard that monster, which Aaron had once called home, swung up and targeted the Guardian vessel. He doubted it would survive more than a few seconds against that kind of firepower, but fortunately they wouldn't have to test that hypothesis. Instead the Hybrids aboard all eight Basestars rapidly interfaced with their counterparts running the Colony. Reassurances were given. Requests were made. Viruses and patches were run through back doors. After a pause that felt like an eternity, but barely lasted a handful of seconds, the guns deactivated. Hangars locked down, trapping the still potentially hostile Raiders inside, clueless as to what was happening.

That was the signal everyone had been waiting for, and scores of Heavy Raiders launched, charging hard for their targets. None of those targets were the Colony itself. Assuming the Centurions aboard had been patched by Cavil like all of the others, Aaron's faction didn't have anywhere near the manpower to seize control of the Colony. Instead, they had different targets. Targets which, ironically, Cavil had sent to this very location so he wouldn't have to waste forces protecting them.

Doral was piloting one of those Heavy Raiders, accelerating madly for his target...the Resurrection Hub. A quickly organized squadron of Heavy Raiders followed him in. From the corners of his eyes, he saw other squadrons fanning out, each making their way towards their own targets...each of the Resurrection Ships which had also been parked in this system. A quick glance seemed to confirm their initial assumptions. Cavil had probably kept just one Resurrection Ship with his fleet, as they undoubtedly prepared to spring their ambush at the "summit." He had sent the rest here...for safe keeping.

Aaron gave a feral grin and chuckled out loud. He felt like a new man….a new model perhaps...since joining the rebellion. And right now he took delight in the terror and consternation of his enemies. Right about now the limited crews of those ships would be ordering them to jump away….and finding they couldn't. In the Cylon hierarchy, a support ship was considered inferior to a capital ship. Practically speaking, that meant that the resurrection vessels' brains...their Hybrids…subordinated themselves to those of the Basestars. And the Basestar Hybrids were telling them to shut down.

He banked hard, swinging the Heavy Raider into a landing bay, preparing for the assault. Through the canopy, he could see Centurions coming out to intercept them. Clearly, the Resurrection crew weren't panicking quite yet. No doubt they expected this fight to go just like the initial stages of the rebellion. After all, they controlled all of the Centurions, and that had already proven to be a nearly insurmountable advantage. Doral was determined that things wouldn't go quite so well for them this time.

Just prior to touching down, he swung the nose left and right, hosing down the defenders with the Raider's pair of tri-barrelled autocannon. Quickly landing and cutting power, Aaron unstrapped from the seat, grabbed up his battle rifle, and hit the controls to lower the ramp. Grinning at the assault team primed to go in the passenger bay, he shouted, " Kill every One! And every Two and Four for that matter!"

The enemy Centurions, and a handful of Twos and Fours, but sadly no Ones, were indeed charging the invading Heavy Raiders, fully prepared to slaughter their meatier foes. They got a shock when the first enemy emerging to meet them were Centurions. The older Guardian models to be certain, but lots of them, and backed up by the few modern Centurions they had managed to acquire. The enemy force's newer and larger Centurions were still superior, but not nearly so much as when they were fighting humans, or even the bioCylons. They were also heavily outnumbered. But surprise, more than anything else, caused their defenses to collapse. They hadn't been prepared for an attack. They certainly hadn't been prepared for the Guardians.

Within minutes, Doral had complete control of the deck. He located the highest ranking Guardian. "Secure the critical parts of the ship first. Then spread out through the rest of the vessel, and kill anything that isn't one of ours." As the Centurion marched off, the Heavy Raiders launched, returning to their Basestars for the second wave. Aaron organized the forces of the first, seeing to the wounded, clearing the deck, and coordinating the assault teams as they swept deeper into the massive ship.

It was only a few minutes later that the Heavy Raiders returned. Sonja, practically the first Cylon down the ramp, made directly for him. She was followed by a group of lightly armed Sixes and Eights. "Any trouble?"

"Not really. Things are going almost too smoothly. Resistance seems to be more or less collapsing everywhere. We've already grabbed the resurrection facilities. The one setback, as expected, was the jump drive. When they realized they couldn't jump away, they sabotaged the drive to make sure we couldn't make off with the whole ship. What's happening on the other Resurrection Ships?"

"Even less fight than here. But the Hub is the real key. That's why we're here."

"Well, right now the biggest delay is just the time it takes to search this ship, to locate any remaining opposition."

"Then there's no time to lose. Can you take us to the Resurrection pods?"

With a quick nod, Doral turned and waved over a small squad of Centurions, whom he'd had waiting just for this moment. As the escort fell into step around them, he led Sonja and her entourage deep into the ship. Towards their target. Towards the one thing that made this whole insane risk worthwhile.

A few minutes later they entered the now secure Resurrection chamber. Sonja's team split up immediately, heading for the various data interfaces, as well as the locked storage cabinets and drawers. Where the Boxes were kept. "How long?" Aaron asked nervously.

"As long as it takes," she replied sharply.

"Time isn't exactly an unlimited resource here," he countered. "It won't take One forever to figure out we're not coming. And if he realizes we came here, he'll be following with the entire fleet."

"And how many Fives, Sixes, or Eights do you think are in that fleet?" she snapped. "Or left in the Colonies? Maybe a handful hiding in any hole they can find? Scrabbling for resources, just waiting to be discovered and boxed? This is where they are. Where Cavil put them. In Boxes. And this is our one and only chance to rescue them. To get as many back as we can fit on our ships. By God, we're going to take it!"

"Of course," he said, embarrassed. "We just need to hurry. There's no way to know how much time we have."

"My team knows what to do. They'll get it done without delay. And once we're started here, we can speed up by expanding operations to all of the Resurrection Ships as well." Suddenly, her head snapped up. Something had changed in the atmosphere of the room. A shocked looking Eight was approaching them. A cold feeling of dread settled into the pit of Aaron's stomach. "What happened?" Sonja asked.

The Eight looked up, clearly on the verge of tears. "We found the Boxes. All of them. The Fives, Sixes, and Eights...even the Threes."

"Then what's wrong?"

The Eight took a deep, shaky breath. "There aren't enough of them. The records show that we were right. Essentially any of our brothers and sisters who didn't manage to get onto the rebel ships….were caught and killed. And then Boxed. Everywhere." She paused, taking another pair of deep breaths, trying to get the rest out. "But...he didn't bother to keep most of them. He...overwrote them…he deleted them. There's only a few hundred left of each of the four models. The rest are just...gone."

"My God," Aaron muttered, stunned. "Why? How could even One do that?"

"I think," the Eight replied, "...I think he only kept the people he found interesting. The names we found….were the ones who had gained notoriety in some way. Our best and our brightest. The ones most valuable to us as well….but we need the rest. We'll never recover from this." Finally, she lost control, breaking down into tears.

Aaron felt like joining her. However, despite the icy pallor which had settled over her, a firm resolve had ignited deep behind Sonja's eyes. "Cry later. We have no time. Unbox everyone you can. Get them all resurrected. And then carry on with the rest of the Three, Five, Six, and Eight blanks. As many as we can fit on our ships."

Aaron furrowed his brow in confusion. "What do you mean? We don't have any personalities to load into those blanks."

"We'll load up the personality baseline for each model."

"What?! Unadjusted? You can't be serious. Aside from the fact that they won't be much more sophisticated than children, you'll also be saddelling tens of thousands with completely identical personas. We're not supposed to do that. It's against the rules. The members of each model are so similar as it is, we already run into problems."

"It can't be helped," she tried to explain patiently. The strain was starting to crack through the tight control she was keeping of her features. "It has to be now. We can't come back later with prepared personalities. We'll never get another chance at this. And even if we did, do you think the blanks would still be here? After this, Cavil will have them incinerated at the next opportunity."

Aaron nodded somberly. "I'll get some crews working on the jump drive. Just maybe we can get it up and running before Cavil's forces show up. That would give us the time we need."

She gave him a sad smile. "A good idea. But in the meantime, we're going to wake up as many as we can."

Straightening, he gave her a half smile. "Then we'd both better get started."

.

The work carried on for hour after hour. The stock of the Boxed was exhausted rapidly. After that it was just awakening confused blanks...inexperienced and uncertain and needing to be shepharded into a scary new world. As rapidly as possible, newly awakened Cylons were shuttled over to the waiting Basestars.

The damage to the Resurrection Hub's jump drive turned out to be too extensive to repair. Some of the Resurrection Ships had functional jump drives, but without the Hub, those vessels were more or less worthless. And so they continued with Sonja's plan, cutting corners wherever possible to save time.

It was over a dozen hours later that Doral was called back to the Resurrection chamber. He found Sonja standing over the pods, supervising the process, a Three wrapped in a blanket standing next to her, speaking urgently to her. "D'Anna?" he asked, approaching.

"Well thank God," she said, clearly irritated with Sonja. "Maybe you'll listen to me."

"I called him here to drag you out of my hair, not to listen to you," Sonja snapped. Turning to Aaron, she said, "will you please take D'Anna to one of the Baseships. I don't have time for her to be underfoot."

D'Anna glared at the Six, clearly incensed. "I'm telling you, we need to find the Colonial fleet. To come to some sort of an agreement with them. The Final Five are there."

Both Aaron and Sonja stared at her flatly. "Tell us something we don't know," he said dismissively. "You come out of the Box just repeating the same old line that led us to this disaster in the first place. Nothing new to offer? Then let's go." He indicated that she should follow him.

Instead, she stared at him in shock. "You know. Not just a guess or a hypothesis. You know for certain that the Final Five are with the humans. How?"

"We got a message. Presumably, it initiated with one of the Five themselves.," Aaron said sharply. He placed his hand on her shoulder, as if to drag her away.

D'Anna shrugged it off. "Then how's this for something new? Their names. I know exactly who and where they are."

That got their attention fast. "Well? Spit it out," Sonja snapped.

D'Anna's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "No. If you're about to do what I think you are….then information's the only insurance I've got left. I'm not saying a thing, sweetie."

Sonja had reached her limit. "Then you're no good to us. You're done wasting our time." She spun on Doral. "Get her over to the Basestars. Have the Centurions drag her out of here if you need to!"

Three laughed derisively. "The Centurions would never do such a thing," she mocked.

Her laughter cut off as a pair of Centurions marched up, shorter and visibly different from the models to which she was accustomed. They looked to Doral. "By your command," one offered, in it's flat, metallic voice. Three went without further argument.

Before he followed, Aaron turned back to Sonja. "Just wanted to let you know, I've put a lot of the new hands to work. We've started transferring over Tylium and munitions as quickly as we can load it."

She had already gone back to work, but glanced up. "Just as long as it doesn't get in the way of our activating as many bodies as possible."

.

Several more hours later, Doral was relaunching his Heavy Raider from a Basestar. The versatile transports had been kept busy shuffling across a steady stream of fuel, weapons, and freshly activated Cylons. It felt a little odd that they weren't activating any Ones, Twos, or Fours, but he supposed that was only to be expected.

He'd just returned from dropping off Sonja. Now that Caprica, Gina, and Natalie had been revived, Tough and Sonja had been recalled to a meeting of the Six leadership. Doral shook his head at the thought, hoping the hegemony of the Ones wouldn't simply be replaced by that of the Sixes. He was heading back to the hub to transfer more fresh faced Cylons. He shivered. The nearly blank models tended to look at him as though he were some sort of mythic figure. It gave him the creeps.

Still, things had gone well so far. The Basestars were nearly at capacity. They'd be finishing up in another couple of hours...three at the most. Then the fleet could withdraw, with One none the wiser. Aaron allowed himself a brief smile. Maybe they'd actually get away with it.

And that's when all hell broke loose. Over ninety of Cavil's Basestars jumped into the system, practically on top of the little fleet. They were firing and launching Raiders practically before they'd shown up on DRADIS. Within seconds, the Guardian Basestar detonated in a titanic explosion, taking its unique Hybrid with aspirations of godhood with it. A fair capacity of the remaining Guardian Centurions as well, though there were quite a few now spread out across the rest of the fleet. And trapped on the Resurrection Hub and Ships, where those would unfortunately remain. The Guardian Basestar was followed a moment later by one of its modern sisters. Another of their precious motherships lost.

Aaron jinked his craft wildly, barely avoiding a collision with an onrushing enemy Raider, several of its rounds tearing into his Heavy Raider's armor. Levelling out, he fired his autocannon, shattering another Raider and flying right through its debris. Sonja's strained voice was broadcast out to the fleet. "The Command is Fireball. Jump! Jump! Jump!"

The Basestars had been sitting with their FTL drives spooled up, awaiting just this possibility. Still, the speed and violence with which the attack had come was simply stunning. Aaron watched one after another of their precious Basestars jumped away. He saw at least two remaining, their jump drives already shattered by enemy fire.

Enemy tracers flew past his canopy, and Aaron took his craft through a series of wild maneuvers. He hadn't thought to have the Heavy Raider's jump drive spooled up, and he desperately sought to bring it into operation.

The friendly Basestars now either having retreated or been destroyed, the nukes they had hidden away aboard the Hub and the Resurrection Ships detonated in unison. They would have mined the Colony as well, but they hadn't been able to shut down its internal defenses. Aaron watched a wall of plasma stretch out from the location that had once contained the Resurrection Hub. Reach out and slam into his Heavy Raider. Just as the jump drive finished charging, and fired.

.

The Demetrius, Unknown System - November, 2249

The crew was getting antsy. Well beyond that, actually. Russki could literally feel the anxiety and fear washing against her telepathic nerves. And the Captain...well, Starbuck seemed to be doing her best to make things worse rather than better. Half the crew was convinced she'd lost it. That she was a certifiable nutjob. Russki found she couldn't blame them for that. She had telepathy to tell here the woman wasn't insane...and even she found herself doubting sometimes. And even if she hadn't slipped into madness, Starbuck was riding the ragged edge of stress, sleep deprivation, and obsession. It was a hell of a cocktail, pretty much the perfect recipe for disaster.

The natives were getting restless, and it had taken pretty much all Russki and Helo could do to keep them in line. So far at least. As part of this effort, Russki had been making the rounds of the small ship, checking in with her fellow crew. She'd actually gotten used to this place. Most of the time, she didn't even notice the smell. Having completed her rounds, she went to check in with the Captain. Check on her as well. It took nearly as much work keeping that woman functional as it did handling the crew.

Making her way through the control deck, Russki spotted Helo doing the same. Making eye contact, he gave her a quick nod and joined her. They quietly approached the hatch to the Captain's cabin. Without knocking, Helo twisted the handle and slipped in, Susan followed right behind him.

They found Starbuck painting murals on the walls. Susan knew that the woman was trying to get out the visions that she had been receiving, to share them with others. But, to most of the crew, it looked like just another unprofessional eccentricity. The fact that she looked frazzled as shit certainly didn't help anyone's confidence. Even Russki and Helo weren't immune to that. Hell, the Captain even smelled like shit, though having spent well over a month aboard, they probably all did.

"Captain," Helo called out.

Starbuck spun around in surprise, clearly not having noticed their entrance. Russki watched her make an effort to collect her mental faculties. "I'm glad you're here. I might have found something."

"Before that, we need to talk about making our rendezvous with the fleet," Helo responded calmly.

Starbuck paused, as though uncertain what to say. Finally, she settled on, "Later." Squatting down, she began rummaging around on the floor, sorting through star charts and system scans. Finally finding the one she was looking for, she passed it over to Helo. "Here. What do you think?"

Helo grimaced in evident frustration. Russki could feel his self control kicking in as he made himself review the flimsy. He tipped it towards Russki, so she could review as well. "Well, it's hard to say. The spectroscopics are interesting. But what exactly am I supposed to be looking at? And according to this, we already did two long range recons of that grid. Both no joy."

The surprise and confusion was evident on her face, but she quickly covered it with her trademark grin. "Third time's the charm, maybe."

Helo sighed, and Russki felt for his predicament. She was prepared to offer her own support for Starbucks search. She knew how powerful but confusing the visions were. But Helo made that unnecessary. "Alright," he said, "I'll have Sharon prep the jump as soon as Duck gets back from the next patrol." He paused. "Hey, what about you? You been getting any sleep?"

"I...I don't know. Not...not much." She walked over to look at her most recent mural. It was another depiction of five lights in a W pattern. Probably stars. It reminded Susan a bit of the Cassiopeia Asterism, as seen from Earth, but it wasn't quite right. This was one dream Starbuck had nearly every night. The fact that she had also had dreams of the Royal Crown of Cassiopeia, an artifact from Kobol which was probably still sitting in a Caprican museum, had seemed to lend credence to this theory. However, Susan had pulled the data on the Earth constellation, and they had reviewed the stellar databases and images of the stars from various points in Sol and the surrounding star systems, as the pattern distorted and broke apart. Nothing looked better, or really caught Kara's attention, and they had dropped that line of speculation. She continued. "It's so clear when I'm in the dream, but afterwards...if I could….if I could just focus…" She trailed off.

Russki cut in, "I've got to go fly the CAP with Duck. You should get some rest, and we'll talk more when I get back."

As they'd discussed, Helo would now try to get the Captain to rest, but Starbuck had other ideas. "Hold up. I think I'll go with you on this one."

They both looked at her in surprise. "You haven't flown a CAP since we left the fleet," Russki offered.

"I think I'll go with you on this one," Kara repeated herself.

Susan and Helo shared a glance. Yet another behavioural change, which could be either good or bad, but which the crew wouldn't take well. She nodded and smiled at the Captain, waiting for her to don her flight suit. Two more days. Only two more days before their orders demanded their return. Two more days to find something. She only hoped they could keep the crew in line for that much longer.