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Fic of doom Chapter Four
Chapter Four: In Which Cally Makes Another Decision, and More Cylons Abound
Anton was a Five. He wasn't an individual. Scowling down at his hands, he wondered what this Six would do if he convinced others to join his side: to see that fighting among themselves wasn't the way. Unity was better. Knowing you could rely on your model was a comfort.
Divisiveness would get them nowhere.
And yet, he couldn't quite bring himself to revive his brothers, to take that step towards another revolution (a counter-revolution, perhaps?). No part of him considered Natalie's ridiculous ideas right; yet he couldn't help but roll his name around his head, touch it and poke it, make it his own. He was a Five, yes. And he loved teal and burgundy, and a well-cut suit. But somehow, between the moment of his re-awakening and now, he'd become a Five named Anton.
There was something in that, something that he couldn't quite fathom. At least not yet.
-=-
"Richard," Anton said approvingly, shaking the hand of his newly-awakened brother Five. 'Richard' blinked at him, his lips pulling into a frown. Hastily, Anton addded, "Names, brother. We're taking names for ourselves now."
From where he was poking the controls of another Four, Simon chuckled, "Give him time, Anton. Names aren't just something we can walk into, you know."
It was strange to see Simon laugh, to think of his dour face with its lust for knowledge and logic to be filled with humor and amusement. Anton was beginning to think there were many things that would surprise him in the coming days. As much as Natalie seemed soft and a little silly, he wondered if she were far more right about a lot of things than he'd considered previously.
"Richard." Trying the name on, the other Five scowled. "You say that as though indviduality doesn't lead to things like this ridiculous rebellion."
"Talk like that will get you re-boxed," chided Simon. Then he flashed another grin, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Unless you repent your evil ways and decide that this is the right course of action. Either way, we might all die tomorrow."
"How fatalistic," said the Four sitting up in his tub. He made a scowling face, "What the frak, brother?"
"Shut up, Mitchell," Simon replied, his tone mild. "We need you to get an engineering crew together to help the Eights and Sixes working to patch our great ship back together."
Mitchell didn't object to his name. Instead, he frowned as he stood, searching through the still-un-released tanks until he pointed at one. "I'm going to need him. Also, a Two, if there's not one mooning around over Kara Thrace and her lamentably useless destiny."
"I'm sure one can be found." Anton left Richard to orient himself and started the process on the new Five. Arbitrarily, he decided to name him Alex.
There was more conversation regarding Natalie and the Sixes and their inability to strategise. But Anton noticed that Simon was careful never to discuss a counter-revolution, and Richard was mostly quiet. Mitchell didn't seem to care either way, more interested in making fun of the Twos and their lack of usefulness when it came to the grand scheme of things.
Finally, Alex was awake, and Anton was surprised to find that he was nearly as brusque and insulting as Mitchell was, though neither of them seemed to notice an issue.
"C'Mon, Alex," Mitchell smacked Alex's arm, nodding at the others, "We need to go start putting this crate back together."
"Bet them Sixes've frakked it up," muttered Alex, following him out the door.
Anton watched them leave and wondered about the differences that were manifesting. Differences he had never noticed before, or perhaps hadn't wanted to.
-=-
"What do you think he sees in her?"
Paulla didn't answer as she made another tally on her sheet listing their current assets. The sounds of Gaius and his new favorite concubine weren't exactly defeaning, but they were... there. Oh, God, yes, there, YES. Gaius seemed to enjoy being voluble.
"You would think they would have some dignity," Jeanne muttered, her expression one of distaste and jealousy.
After all, Gaius had loved her, once upon a time. Paulla finished her list, then looked up at her. "Men like him never change. You've known that since before the war."
Jeanne sighed. "I know." She crossed her arms over her chest, almost as though defending herself from the sounds of Gaius' love-making.
"We'll be down to half-rations, if this trend continues," Paulla changed the subject, her brow creased in worry. "I think we can get a new shipment before long, but it depends on if the marines can keep those frakking assholes from stealing all the food again."
"I know. I can speak to that marine sergeant again. Matthias, I think?"
"She's gone on that classified mission of Adama's." Which was a pity. Matthias hadn't believed in God, but she had believed in people getting equal amounts of food. Her replacement, a man who licked his lips every time he saw Jeanne, was less useful and more open to bribery.
Paulla refused to even consider that option. At least for the moment.
The sounds from the other end of the room quieted, and she stretched. "I should go and see how Freya's doing with those fliers we want to post."
Fliers might not get them food, but they would get them listeners. And perhaps that counted more, since listeners and bodies gave them power, a faction in the government. At least, Paulla was hoping that's where things would go. She wasn't sure Gaius was capable of bringing anything useful to the table, but he was a good speaker.
It would be up to Paulla to keep their little place running.
-=-
Boomer walked between the tubs filled with her sisters, sometimes stopping, letting her fingers brush a brow, a cheek, a shoulder. She poked noses and twitched at eye-lids, wondering if the minds that Cavil had trapped before they could resurrect would notice such indignities. It was just the Eights, in this chamber. Nearby were Sixes and Twos, none of them able to listen to the babblings of their ridiculous prophetess, the hybrid.
She should have felt pleased, vindicated. All along, Cavil had been right: humans were to be exterminated, Cylons had no souls.
But there was no joy, no triumph in simply turning them off after they'd been shot. No moment of glory in finding herself one Eight among many Ones, Fours and Fives. Their speech and cadences were so much more mechanical than hers, their ideas, their sympathies, felt almost alien.
Like a centurion, the metal coating their minds as surely as it coated their bodies.
She wondered if Cavil would enjoy that, if he would find more enlightenment in becoming a thing rather than being a person. For all his talk of wanting to be something different, she was beginning to notice that he still clung to his form, that he still walked in it as though it were a penance or an old habit he couldn't break.
Didn't want to break.
Stopping at the last tank, she bent over and kissed the forehead of the Eight, wishing a better life upon her.
Then she straightened and stepped into the corridor, her thoughts placid once again. Cavil might not be right, but there was nothing she could do about it. She was a lone Eight surrounded by those who saw gutting the minds of their brethren as a matter of course for the continued survival of their species.
And none of them saw the irony in their rebellion against humanity, when they did the same things to each other.
-=-
It wasn't like there were a lot of choices for attorneys left in the fleet. Still, Cally couldn't help but glare at Romo Lampkin as he studied her.
"You want a divorce."
"Yes." Keep it short and simple, Tory had suggested. Cally wasn't sure why the frak she was letting a Cylon (one who was hiding her nature from everyone) give her marital advice, but there it was.
"After you brutally attacked your husband."
The facts of the case. Cally continued to glare. "Yes."
Lampkin considered, then said, "Are you sure you don't want to just shoot him? Or would that be too easy?"
Closing her eyes, Cally found herself annoyed and wishing she had her wrench again. "He isn't pressing charges."
"So, what am I putting down as the reason for this request?"
"Irreconcilable differences." He's a Cylon. But Cally didn't say that. For better or worse, she wasn't going to break her half-sworn word to Tory. Cylon or not, Cally didn't believe in going back on things said. Except in the case of divorce. But then again, there was no precedent for being married to a Cylon and wanting out.
Helo had married Athena after she'd been outed.
"All right." Lampkin wrote, then looked at her again. "And what about custody? Will he fight you on that, or is there going to be some sort of mutual arrangement."
Cally stiffened. Nicky. She swallowed. "I'm taking custody."
"And does he know this?"
"No." But she'd be damned if she let her child get raised by a Cylon. The irony of his parentage was not lost on him, and Cally's lips tightened. "But I don't think he'll object."
"But he might. I need to be prepared for concessions. And you need to be prepared for the tribunal to rule in his favor."
A slight smile crossed her lips, "Why? Because I'm a husband-beating drug addict?"
"Pretty much, yeah."
"Frak them." She muttered. But she understood: if Galen fought, this could become an uphill battle. Still, she had an ace up her sleeve. "All right. I'm ready for that eventuality." And if it happened, she would simply hold Galen's heritage over his head. Tory be damned.
"And just so we're clear, my retainer must be paid in full before you can sign this contract."
Money. Cally scowled at him again. "I'm aware." She dug out the currency she still had, useless though it actually was. "I was warned you'd ask for it beforehand."
"Good. If we lose, I might even give some of it back."
"No you won't."
"Maybe not." He shrugged and bent back to his task. "I just need a few more particulars, and then we can call him and the arbitrator in here, have him give his case and then we'll be done outside of some signatures."
Good. Cally had hoped it would happen pretty quickly. She didn't want to spend one more day in Galen's company. Most of her stuff was already packed and ready to go, as soon as Tigh assigned her new quarters. She hoped it would be with the deck crew again, but she wasn't going to hold her breath. He'd probably think housing her with the marines would be a good joke.
-=-
It was impossible to believe that they were the only group of rebels that had escaped. There were nearly twenty base stars, and Cavil had control of more than half, but Natalie didn't--couldn't--believe that the rest had fallen so easily. And that was a problem. If they went searching, they could find base stars that might be on their side. More likely, though, they would be Cavil's forces.
She briefly considered letting one of the Ones on-board wake from stasis, but decided that giving him the chance wasn't palatable. Besides, she had the suspicion the centurions were slowly airlocking every body they didn't like. She'd had at least one report of mysterious disappearances in one of the holds.
"What do we do when we get operational?" Leoben was sitting across from her, watching her poke at her meal of tasteless algae.
"I've been thinking about that." Fiddling with her spoon, she finally set it down. "I'm not sure you're going to like it. I'm fairly certain Prudence won't." Raising her eyes, she looked at him. "I think we should destroy the hub."
-=-
chapter five
Anton was a Five. He wasn't an individual. Scowling down at his hands, he wondered what this Six would do if he convinced others to join his side: to see that fighting among themselves wasn't the way. Unity was better. Knowing you could rely on your model was a comfort.
Divisiveness would get them nowhere.
And yet, he couldn't quite bring himself to revive his brothers, to take that step towards another revolution (a counter-revolution, perhaps?). No part of him considered Natalie's ridiculous ideas right; yet he couldn't help but roll his name around his head, touch it and poke it, make it his own. He was a Five, yes. And he loved teal and burgundy, and a well-cut suit. But somehow, between the moment of his re-awakening and now, he'd become a Five named Anton.
There was something in that, something that he couldn't quite fathom. At least not yet.
-=-
"Richard," Anton said approvingly, shaking the hand of his newly-awakened brother Five. 'Richard' blinked at him, his lips pulling into a frown. Hastily, Anton addded, "Names, brother. We're taking names for ourselves now."
From where he was poking the controls of another Four, Simon chuckled, "Give him time, Anton. Names aren't just something we can walk into, you know."
It was strange to see Simon laugh, to think of his dour face with its lust for knowledge and logic to be filled with humor and amusement. Anton was beginning to think there were many things that would surprise him in the coming days. As much as Natalie seemed soft and a little silly, he wondered if she were far more right about a lot of things than he'd considered previously.
"Richard." Trying the name on, the other Five scowled. "You say that as though indviduality doesn't lead to things like this ridiculous rebellion."
"Talk like that will get you re-boxed," chided Simon. Then he flashed another grin, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Unless you repent your evil ways and decide that this is the right course of action. Either way, we might all die tomorrow."
"How fatalistic," said the Four sitting up in his tub. He made a scowling face, "What the frak, brother?"
"Shut up, Mitchell," Simon replied, his tone mild. "We need you to get an engineering crew together to help the Eights and Sixes working to patch our great ship back together."
Mitchell didn't object to his name. Instead, he frowned as he stood, searching through the still-un-released tanks until he pointed at one. "I'm going to need him. Also, a Two, if there's not one mooning around over Kara Thrace and her lamentably useless destiny."
"I'm sure one can be found." Anton left Richard to orient himself and started the process on the new Five. Arbitrarily, he decided to name him Alex.
There was more conversation regarding Natalie and the Sixes and their inability to strategise. But Anton noticed that Simon was careful never to discuss a counter-revolution, and Richard was mostly quiet. Mitchell didn't seem to care either way, more interested in making fun of the Twos and their lack of usefulness when it came to the grand scheme of things.
Finally, Alex was awake, and Anton was surprised to find that he was nearly as brusque and insulting as Mitchell was, though neither of them seemed to notice an issue.
"C'Mon, Alex," Mitchell smacked Alex's arm, nodding at the others, "We need to go start putting this crate back together."
"Bet them Sixes've frakked it up," muttered Alex, following him out the door.
Anton watched them leave and wondered about the differences that were manifesting. Differences he had never noticed before, or perhaps hadn't wanted to.
-=-
"What do you think he sees in her?"
Paulla didn't answer as she made another tally on her sheet listing their current assets. The sounds of Gaius and his new favorite concubine weren't exactly defeaning, but they were... there. Oh, God, yes, there, YES. Gaius seemed to enjoy being voluble.
"You would think they would have some dignity," Jeanne muttered, her expression one of distaste and jealousy.
After all, Gaius had loved her, once upon a time. Paulla finished her list, then looked up at her. "Men like him never change. You've known that since before the war."
Jeanne sighed. "I know." She crossed her arms over her chest, almost as though defending herself from the sounds of Gaius' love-making.
"We'll be down to half-rations, if this trend continues," Paulla changed the subject, her brow creased in worry. "I think we can get a new shipment before long, but it depends on if the marines can keep those frakking assholes from stealing all the food again."
"I know. I can speak to that marine sergeant again. Matthias, I think?"
"She's gone on that classified mission of Adama's." Which was a pity. Matthias hadn't believed in God, but she had believed in people getting equal amounts of food. Her replacement, a man who licked his lips every time he saw Jeanne, was less useful and more open to bribery.
Paulla refused to even consider that option. At least for the moment.
The sounds from the other end of the room quieted, and she stretched. "I should go and see how Freya's doing with those fliers we want to post."
Fliers might not get them food, but they would get them listeners. And perhaps that counted more, since listeners and bodies gave them power, a faction in the government. At least, Paulla was hoping that's where things would go. She wasn't sure Gaius was capable of bringing anything useful to the table, but he was a good speaker.
It would be up to Paulla to keep their little place running.
-=-
Boomer walked between the tubs filled with her sisters, sometimes stopping, letting her fingers brush a brow, a cheek, a shoulder. She poked noses and twitched at eye-lids, wondering if the minds that Cavil had trapped before they could resurrect would notice such indignities. It was just the Eights, in this chamber. Nearby were Sixes and Twos, none of them able to listen to the babblings of their ridiculous prophetess, the hybrid.
She should have felt pleased, vindicated. All along, Cavil had been right: humans were to be exterminated, Cylons had no souls.
But there was no joy, no triumph in simply turning them off after they'd been shot. No moment of glory in finding herself one Eight among many Ones, Fours and Fives. Their speech and cadences were so much more mechanical than hers, their ideas, their sympathies, felt almost alien.
Like a centurion, the metal coating their minds as surely as it coated their bodies.
She wondered if Cavil would enjoy that, if he would find more enlightenment in becoming a thing rather than being a person. For all his talk of wanting to be something different, she was beginning to notice that he still clung to his form, that he still walked in it as though it were a penance or an old habit he couldn't break.
Didn't want to break.
Stopping at the last tank, she bent over and kissed the forehead of the Eight, wishing a better life upon her.
Then she straightened and stepped into the corridor, her thoughts placid once again. Cavil might not be right, but there was nothing she could do about it. She was a lone Eight surrounded by those who saw gutting the minds of their brethren as a matter of course for the continued survival of their species.
And none of them saw the irony in their rebellion against humanity, when they did the same things to each other.
-=-
It wasn't like there were a lot of choices for attorneys left in the fleet. Still, Cally couldn't help but glare at Romo Lampkin as he studied her.
"You want a divorce."
"Yes." Keep it short and simple, Tory had suggested. Cally wasn't sure why the frak she was letting a Cylon (one who was hiding her nature from everyone) give her marital advice, but there it was.
"After you brutally attacked your husband."
The facts of the case. Cally continued to glare. "Yes."
Lampkin considered, then said, "Are you sure you don't want to just shoot him? Or would that be too easy?"
Closing her eyes, Cally found herself annoyed and wishing she had her wrench again. "He isn't pressing charges."
"So, what am I putting down as the reason for this request?"
"Irreconcilable differences." He's a Cylon. But Cally didn't say that. For better or worse, she wasn't going to break her half-sworn word to Tory. Cylon or not, Cally didn't believe in going back on things said. Except in the case of divorce. But then again, there was no precedent for being married to a Cylon and wanting out.
Helo had married Athena after she'd been outed.
"All right." Lampkin wrote, then looked at her again. "And what about custody? Will he fight you on that, or is there going to be some sort of mutual arrangement."
Cally stiffened. Nicky. She swallowed. "I'm taking custody."
"And does he know this?"
"No." But she'd be damned if she let her child get raised by a Cylon. The irony of his parentage was not lost on him, and Cally's lips tightened. "But I don't think he'll object."
"But he might. I need to be prepared for concessions. And you need to be prepared for the tribunal to rule in his favor."
A slight smile crossed her lips, "Why? Because I'm a husband-beating drug addict?"
"Pretty much, yeah."
"Frak them." She muttered. But she understood: if Galen fought, this could become an uphill battle. Still, she had an ace up her sleeve. "All right. I'm ready for that eventuality." And if it happened, she would simply hold Galen's heritage over his head. Tory be damned.
"And just so we're clear, my retainer must be paid in full before you can sign this contract."
Money. Cally scowled at him again. "I'm aware." She dug out the currency she still had, useless though it actually was. "I was warned you'd ask for it beforehand."
"Good. If we lose, I might even give some of it back."
"No you won't."
"Maybe not." He shrugged and bent back to his task. "I just need a few more particulars, and then we can call him and the arbitrator in here, have him give his case and then we'll be done outside of some signatures."
Good. Cally had hoped it would happen pretty quickly. She didn't want to spend one more day in Galen's company. Most of her stuff was already packed and ready to go, as soon as Tigh assigned her new quarters. She hoped it would be with the deck crew again, but she wasn't going to hold her breath. He'd probably think housing her with the marines would be a good joke.
-=-
It was impossible to believe that they were the only group of rebels that had escaped. There were nearly twenty base stars, and Cavil had control of more than half, but Natalie didn't--couldn't--believe that the rest had fallen so easily. And that was a problem. If they went searching, they could find base stars that might be on their side. More likely, though, they would be Cavil's forces.
She briefly considered letting one of the Ones on-board wake from stasis, but decided that giving him the chance wasn't palatable. Besides, she had the suspicion the centurions were slowly airlocking every body they didn't like. She'd had at least one report of mysterious disappearances in one of the holds.
"What do we do when we get operational?" Leoben was sitting across from her, watching her poke at her meal of tasteless algae.
"I've been thinking about that." Fiddling with her spoon, she finally set it down. "I'm not sure you're going to like it. I'm fairly certain Prudence won't." Raising her eyes, she looked at him. "I think we should destroy the hub."
-=-
chapter five