Children of Gods: Chapter Seven
Title: Children of Gods
Authors: olga_theodora and miabicicletta
Summary: “We gotta find Lee and Laura,” Kara hisses, but Saul is already scanning the field that is quickly becoming a melee as Tributes break off for the trees, into teams, and grapple for the scattered tools, weapons, and supplies that have been sprinkled along the field."
Pairings: Bill/Laura, Sam/Kara, Lee/Kara UST, Lee/?
Rating: MA (series) T+ (Chapter 7)
Wordcount: ~3300
Warnings: Non-graphic allusions to non-con and dub-con, character death.
Authors' Notes: Let the mayhem begin. Text from the Sacred Scrolls lovingly borrowed from Ovid.
PROLOGUE: THE SPARKS ASCEND
CHAPTER ONE: CHILDHOOD'S END
CHAPTER TWO: BEAUTY FOR ASHES
CHAPTER THREE: THE WIDENING GYRE
CHAPTER FOUR: A SHORT SHARP SHOCK
CHAPTER FIVE: ALLIANCES
CHAPTER SIX: JUMP POINT
---
CHAPTER SEVEN: IN THE ARMED MADHOUSE
---
And it was you, Romulus, who first mingled the cares of love with the public games,
that day when the rape of the Sabine women gave wives to your warriors who had waited so long.
Ever since those days, the theatres, faithful to this ancient custom,
have always been a dangerous lure to loveliness.
The mournful sands of the arena afford opportunities for a love affair.
Love often delights to try his strength there,
and many a man, who came to see another wounded, becomes wounded there himself.
-From The Sacred Scrolls
---
From the moment he was first slammed into the Raptor by Peacemakers, Billy begins composing a handful of likely and unlikely scenarios for the upcoming days in his head. The first thought that flashes through his mind is that this man- his biological father, as his research and the man he considers his true father attest, though ever fiber of his being wishes to deny that half of his parentage- will lock him in a secure cell and let him rot, cackling in glee.
Ever logical, he dismisses this as pure fantasy quickly, forcing himself to remember every shred of information he has ever collected about Thomas Zarek. Recently widowed and deprived of his only other child, Billy cannot imagine that he will let his only heir, an incredibly useful pawn in the current political arena, die in a freak or carefully orchestrated accident. Billy is useful to him, and not only because being in Zarek’s grasp will inevitably cloud Bill’s last moments alive.
This last thought is something Billy cannot dwell on; the concept of such a vital man descending to the dust is beyond comprehension. In all ways but one he is Billy’s father, and Billy chooses to imagine heroic, alternate ends to the scene he left behind him.
In the same vein, Billy cannot imagine that Zarek did not inform his mother of the actions he intended to take. Billy may be useful politically, but he is also useful as a means of drawing blood. Somewhere his mother weeps the same tears as Andromache, and while Billy’s own fall might be merely symbolic, it hurts all the more for it.
Billy can only imagine that Zarek intends to parade him about like the prodigal son, albeit one farmed out to unsightly relatives. He will be dressed appropriately, taught (possibly with force, Billy thinks darkly) the correct way of speaking and thinking, and gradually formed into the model of the perfect political son.
Thus Billy is not surprised when Zarek- so quiet in the Raptor, as he silently smiled over his success- chooses to bring him first to the towering buildings of government in Caprica City. He is out of place in his jeans and sweater, but Zarek leads him in with the same smile that he might bestow on an equal.
His father’s speech is full of honeyed words about true freedoms and civilization as he leads Billy through the winding corridors, and someone less studied in history might be swayed by the ideas Zarek puts forth so temptingly. Billy, however, has not only thoroughly researched the subject, but has his mother’s teachings to bolster his confidence.
Perhaps sensing that he is losing the boy’s attention, Zarek turns to him with a wistful look as they exit into one of the grand gardens bordering the government halls. “You look so much like your mother.”
Billy sees no reason to respond to such a ridiculous comment, and stays silent.
Zarek seems to take confidence from his silence, and places a firm hand on his shoulder. “I know she would never tell you about this- Laura is such a discreet soul- but I loved your mother from the moment I met her.” He flashes a charming smile. “And she loved me.”
If there was any shred of doubt left in Billy at the perfidy of Zarek’s behavior, it dies at that exact instant. He steps abruptly to the side, escaping Zarek’s hold. “She was sixteen,” he says fiercely. “You were what, nearly thirty? All the laws and statutes of the colonies are against you.”
He has not so much as dented Zarek’s self esteem. “Son,” he says in a parody of intimacy, “it depends on who makes the rules.”
The sound of the word son dripping from Zarek’s lips sends a ripple of revulsion down his spine.
“You’re an idealist,” Zarek smirks. “Don’t worry - we’ll cure you of that soon enough.” He looks to Billy as he takes a seat on a marble bench beside a low, gurgling fountain, hands clasped, elbows on his knees in a conversational posture. “I asked her to marry me. Many times, in fact. But she was young, headstrong, and she wanted to wait. My position on Saggitaron was all-consuming, kept me away from Caprica for too long. In the end, we drifted apart. Tragic, but common of such...tempestuous romances.”
Billy turns his head away, looking away from Zarek to the resplendent gardens, doubtful of his abilities to keep his tongue in check much longer.
“I’ve never stopped thinking about her. About what might have been.”
Above the gardens and government buildings, the clock tower reigning over the city begins to toll. Once. Twice. Three times and so on.
Billy doesn’t have to count the number of chimes. The midday sun is directly above, and his shadow is very small at his side. It is noon.
The Games have just begun.
---
The first thing Saul sees after the sickening sensation of the jump fades is a wide meadow surrounded by trees. A stark, gray building looms at one edge of the field, where wide steps lead to two heavy doors that have been flung open. He barely has time to take in more when another figure materializes on his right. He raises a hand to have at them when he realizes it is only Starbuck.
“We gotta find Lee and Laura,” she hisses, but Saul is already scanning the field that is quickly becoming a melee as Tributes break off for the trees, into teams, and grapple for the scattered tools, weapons, and supplies that have been sprinkled along the field. Just to their left is a backpack that will be full of... something. Hopefully useful. Just off to their right is a canvas bag.
“Get that!” He shoves Starbuck toward the canvas bag and dashes toward the backpack. It’s almost in his hands when a blow lands on his back, sending him crashing to the ground. He flips onto his back, ignoring the dull throb of pain across his spin, just as a foot comes toward his head. With a quickness that (truth be told) is surprising even to Saul, he catches his attacker’s foot, twisting it hard until he can hear and feel a sickening crunch of joints and ligaments.
There’s a howl of pain and Saul shoves the assailant (one of the younger Tributes, a loudmouthed kid he thinks was called Crashdown, whose yellow uniform tells Saul he’s from Aerilon) off of him and clambers to his feet, pack in hand. For a moment, Saul feels the tiniest shred of guilt. Whether he’s the one to kill the boy or not is of no matter; with an injury like that, he’ll never leave this field.
The field is chaos, though fortunately he’s materialized on the edge of the fray and not in the midst of it, like the unlucky soul who he sees leveled to the ground by one of Alastair Thorne’s heavy fists. He turns his head as Thorne’s animal instincts take over and, knife in hand, he lays into his victim with a gruesome lust.
“Saul!” He spins around, sees Laura at the edge of the woods beside the quick little girl from Virgon who was in the first tier of Tributes. He squints with his good eye and recognizes the Pyramid player is with them, too. They’re hunched behind an overturned humvee with Colonial military markings on it. He joins them quick as he can, taking cover.
As he ducks down, he spies Starbuck sprinting their way. He has to give her credit: she’s managed to hold onto the canvas bag and, what’s more, win a small dagger. Thrown, no doubt, by some remorseful competitor who missed his mark and is now a weapon short. The girl is nothing if not resourceful, he thinks, as she joins them behind the humvee.
Most of the bigger weapons are concentrated in the middle of the field, where -- just seconds into the Games -- there are several unmoving bodies as evidence of contests already won and lost.
From the field, screams of pain and the grunts of the Tributes in combat grow louder. Many have already scattered, but the fact of the matter is plain: this will be a bloody opening day.
“Where’s Lee?” Laura demands, eyes sweeping the field of battle, and Saul has to take a second to congratulate the unknown stylist who created her look for the Games.
Her bright hair is wound in a band of thick braids around her head, embedded with gold gossamer laurel leaves that most likely symbolize the crown that is presented to the winner of the Games. Her makeup has been done with a light hand, save for reddened lips to match her hair, which, on top of Laura’s soft-yet-severe features, give her an altogether intimidating quality. The effect is quite remarkable. Like an angry goddess, out for blood.
“I don’t see him,” Kara says, “Maybe he made it to the woods?”
“There he is!” The Virgonese girl points.
Saul knows the moment Laura and Kara both catch sight of him, because their breath hitches at the same time as he says, “Holy Gods...”
Lee has jumped exactly into the middle of the field, where four Tributes are advancing on him.
---
The after-effects of a jump do not lend themselves to the aid of quick reflexes, as Lee soon learns when he lands quite literally on a bulky pack in the middle of the field. It is tripping over the pack that saves him from being eviscerated on the serrated knife one Tribute bears, and sheer luck that he manages to grab a hold of one of the pack’s straps as he rolls away. While the quick move momentarily eliminates two of his opponents- the serrated knife has become lodged in the rib cage of one, and the owner of the knife is swearing as she tries to yank it free- two more are still barreling down on him: a lithe raven-haired woman a few years his senior and a man perhaps ten years younger than Saul.
The bag is heavier than anticipated, but this is not a moment to consider whether or not to drag it after him. It may prove useful, even necessary to the preservation of a life, whether it be his or someone else’s. The seconds he loses slinging it onto his back prove to be near fatal.
The black-haired woman meets his eyes, raises a hand, and throws with disarming accuracy a sharpened star in his direction. As she turns to sprint toward the nearby building he feels the edge of the star skim across his cheek, and out of the corner of his eye sees it bury itself in the other man’s throat.
As his legs carry him quickly to where he sees Kara and Laura waiting, he feels blood begin to trickle down his cheek and wonders whether the Tribute- Archer, he thinks- had all along been aiming for the man behind him.
When he darts behind the humvee he finds that his stepmother has already gathered her chosen allies, and judging by her confidence as she directs them toward the treeline away from the area, she has a good idea of where she wants to gather her troops.
They skirt the edge of the battlefield as fast as stealth allows, crouching behind a clump of bushes with sharp-edged leaves that sting when a female Gemenese Tribute in bloodstained gear dashes across their path, heading further into the woods. Laura’s eyes follow the woman as she passes, and hastens them on.
Their cover quickly becomes thin as they approach the complex of buildings, making Lee anxious, but he supposes they have a tactical advantage. Without a weapon, its unlikely a single Tribute would contend with a group their size.
They are at the steps of the main building, heading for the same open doors that Archer disappeared through only minutes ago, but as they get closer, the doors slam shut. Helena’s face appears in an open window on the second floor.
“Change your mind, Aurora?” she calls, and hoists a quiver of arrows for all to see. “I saved these for you!”
Even Kara looks impressed by the obscene suggestion Laura offers Helena as they veer away from the doors to loop around the back of the building. Lee can hear Helena laugh behind them, a note of true madness in her voice.
The tumultuous activities on the field will not cease for a while yet; contenders like Alastair Thorne will not leave in search of fresh prey until the meadow is littered with corpses. Lee scans the woods on their left for a thick copse of trees, unnerved when Laura bears them off to the right. “They have the tactical advantage, we can’t take the building!” Kara calls out loudly beside him, not bothering for silence when the cries of those in the meadow are still loud enough to drown out the sound of their hasty passing through the back courtyard.
“I don’t want the hospital,” Laura replies grimly, not even out of breath. “I want something else. Cutting through the hospital would have been quicker, is all.”
They are pounding past the outbuildings, the former homes of generators and extra supplies and staff quarters. Lee sees that Cally- no, Hornet- is outstripping most of their small crew, a fierce light in her eyes. “The tower!” she says, and Laura glances at her with surprise. “The guard tower in the southeast.”
“Exactly,” Laura confirms, a slight frown on her face, and sends them into the trees.
---
The guard tower is nearly half a mile from the meadow, a short, squat building made of stone thicker than the length of Kara’s hand. Barring the building being rigged with explosives- not an unheard-of possibility- it is an ideal place to regroup in relative peace.
Saul locks the door behind him, and the first minutes are spent checking the locks on every window and door on the property. ‘Guard tower’ is a bit of a misnomer, Kara thinks, looking at the size and layout of the place.
“This was the Delphi Convalescent Institute,” Laura informs Lee as she locks a window. “When I was a girl the Cylons kept prisoners here. They said they were dangerous, but... the guards would live in these towers on the four corners of the estate.”
After the first moment of relief that comes with the securing of the doors and windows, the mood in the room turns cautious. It was one thing in the relative safety of the training room and the mindless first heat of battle to band together; now alone, the inevitable question is whether they have chosen their allies wisely.
Kara is the first to break the tension. Ostentatiously turning her vulnerable back to Laura and Lee, she faces the pyramid player in the corner. “What’s in the bag, hotshot?” she asks, and nudges her own bag with her foot. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
It is only when Kara sees his smile that she realizes she is in trouble, though in a completely different way than expected.
---
BANG!
The shot rings out through the clearing, causing Zak’s heart to leap into his throat. No...
But his father remains kneeling while the Two by his side crumples to the ground. One of the women strides forward, undoing his father’s bindings.
“On your feet, Commander.”
To his credit, his father looks more composed than Zak feels. The remaining officers salute him and quickly rush into an explanation. “We’re with the Resistance, sir. Undercover,” the dark haired woman says. “Lt. Margaret Edmundson, you can call me Racetrack. This is Lt. Louanne Katraine- Kat- and Chief Petty Officer Galen Tyrol.”
“Lieutenants, Chief,” Bill says, shaking their hands. “I’m damn glad to have you with us. Though a heads-up would have been nice.”
“I’ll remember that for the next time I hold you at gunpoint, sir,” Tyrol replies sardonically.
“What’s the sitrep. How many are you?”
“About 1,500 active servicemen and women, sir,” the woman called Kat explains. “That’s just the Caprica cell of Peacekeepers and former Fleet. There’s a lot more of us when you count the civvies and the other Colonies. Doc will get you the exact numbers.”
“Arms?”
“We’re outfitted. Small, mostly, but we’ve got a heavy arms locker at each base of operations. We’re to take you directly to our HQ to get the full sitrep,” Racetrack says.
Bill nods. “Lead on, el-tee.”
Zak snaps out of his shock and scrambles over the hill, his feet and hands slipping on the mossy rocks and undergrowth. “Dad!”
He half-tumbles down the slope and jumps the gully at the bottom, running headlong into the clearing. His father pulls him into his arms, and for a brief moment, Zak feels the slightest bit of peace, the likes of which he has not felt since before Billy’s name was called those weeks ago.
“Zak,” his father says, “Thank the Gods.”
Zak can count on one hand the number of times he has heard that phrase from his father. “You don’t believe in the Gods,” Zak notes.
His father’s face brightens with a rare smile. “Then I’ll just thank you.”
Tyrol interrupts gently, his eyes scanning their surroundings. “Commander, we have to move. We have a lot to accomplish before that Two resurrects.”
Bill pulls back and nods, and they follow the double agents back toward the house, cloaked in the shadows of the dense woods. Zak looks up and catches a glimpse of the sun’s position between the trees: well past noon. The Games have begun.
---
Billy knows that the wisest course would be to sit back in his chair and affect a nonchalant attitude while his mother weaves her way through hell, but he finds the task impossible. As he sits on the edge of his seat, his knee bouncing slightly in channeled anxiety, his father lays a firm hand on his shoulder.
“It is difficult, I know,” Zarek says in a soothing tone. “I still feel a great deal of affection for your mother.”
There is no politic answer that Billy can make to this, at least not any he can make and still sound believable. He settles for staying silent, hunching over in his seat as if he is trying to escape his father’s hand. The suit he is wearing is of much better quality than anything he has ever worn before, and he feels shame in the fact that at some level he enjoys the quality of the material and the tailoring. At any other moment he would delight in the feel of the cloth, but doing so now makes him feel like a traitor to his mother.
The fact that the suit is so finely tailored makes him wonder how close an eye Zarek has been keeping on him. He begins considering every conversation he had in the few days before leaving with doubt, evaluating how likely it was that they were overheard. Did Zarek hear the conversation on the beach, with his mother? Or his frantic moments of research when she was chosen yet again as a Tribute?
Watching the footage of Kara or Lee is no easier than that of his mother. Lee’s narrow escape at the start of the Games was miraculous, and judging by the way Zarek stiffened when Lee evaded the initial blows, Billy thinks that it is likely that Lee was not meant to survive the first five minutes at all.
A priest watches from a seat near theirs, and as the camera lingers on Kara’s fleet escape to the guard tower both Zarek and the priest lean forward. Even the footage slows as it tracks Kara’s steps, highlighting her lean frame and the gold of her shorn hair as she breaks even with Laura.
“Pity they cut her hair,” Zarek comments idly. “The Thrace child?”
“Yes.” The priest touches his chin absently. “Who was her stylist? Her hair...”
Zarek proffers a list. “A Felix Gaeta, I believe. I’m told she has a powerful personality. Perhaps she overpowered his natural tastes.”
The priest smirks. “From her youth she was quite the individual.” He glances sideways at Zarek, his gaze both foreboding and challenging at the same time. “Much like Laura Roslin.”
Zarek smiles slightly, his hand curling tightly over Billy’s shoulder. “I like a passionate woman.”
Billy thinks he might lose what little he has eaten on the floor. “I grew up with Kara Thrace,” he says quietly, wishing he could just stay silent and unmoved by the entire conversation.
The priest and his father laugh at his comment, and his father’s hand lands heavily on his back in a congenial slap. “She may well win,” Zarek says in a consoling tone. “Perhaps you would like me to get her for you?”
Billy suddenly feels as if the weight of history is crashing down upon him. “Like father, like son?” he asks bleakly.
Before this moment every look Zarek has given him has seemed tainted by dishonesty or cynicism or downright smarminess, but for the first time he looks legitimately fond of his natural son.
The moment they took his mother away was the most frightening moment Billy had ever experienced. The shadow of that time still hangs over him, but to his shame it is eclipsed by the first true understanding of his own genetic inheritance. Zarek sits beside him, a veritable map of where he might yet go.
The terror of his mother’s abduction pales in comparison.
Coming soon in Chapter Eight...
They shake their heads in denial. Kara’s hair is mussed and her eyeliner has smudged. She looks haunted. Laura finds her body language interesting: she and Sam curve slightly toward each other even as they keep a safe distance. Laura can count on one hand the number of times she has seen Kara lean toward someone rather than away, and every other time has been with Lee. Generally chaos ensued.
Authors: olga_theodora and miabicicletta
Summary: “We gotta find Lee and Laura,” Kara hisses, but Saul is already scanning the field that is quickly becoming a melee as Tributes break off for the trees, into teams, and grapple for the scattered tools, weapons, and supplies that have been sprinkled along the field."
Pairings: Bill/Laura, Sam/Kara, Lee/Kara UST, Lee/?
Rating: MA (series) T+ (Chapter 7)
Wordcount: ~3300
Warnings: Non-graphic allusions to non-con and dub-con, character death.
Authors' Notes: Let the mayhem begin. Text from the Sacred Scrolls lovingly borrowed from Ovid.
PROLOGUE: THE SPARKS ASCEND
CHAPTER ONE: CHILDHOOD'S END
CHAPTER TWO: BEAUTY FOR ASHES
CHAPTER THREE: THE WIDENING GYRE
CHAPTER FOUR: A SHORT SHARP SHOCK
CHAPTER FIVE: ALLIANCES
CHAPTER SIX: JUMP POINT
---
CHAPTER SEVEN: IN THE ARMED MADHOUSE
---
And it was you, Romulus, who first mingled the cares of love with the public games,
that day when the rape of the Sabine women gave wives to your warriors who had waited so long.
Ever since those days, the theatres, faithful to this ancient custom,
have always been a dangerous lure to loveliness.
The mournful sands of the arena afford opportunities for a love affair.
Love often delights to try his strength there,
and many a man, who came to see another wounded, becomes wounded there himself.
-From The Sacred Scrolls
---
From the moment he was first slammed into the Raptor by Peacemakers, Billy begins composing a handful of likely and unlikely scenarios for the upcoming days in his head. The first thought that flashes through his mind is that this man- his biological father, as his research and the man he considers his true father attest, though ever fiber of his being wishes to deny that half of his parentage- will lock him in a secure cell and let him rot, cackling in glee.
Ever logical, he dismisses this as pure fantasy quickly, forcing himself to remember every shred of information he has ever collected about Thomas Zarek. Recently widowed and deprived of his only other child, Billy cannot imagine that he will let his only heir, an incredibly useful pawn in the current political arena, die in a freak or carefully orchestrated accident. Billy is useful to him, and not only because being in Zarek’s grasp will inevitably cloud Bill’s last moments alive.
This last thought is something Billy cannot dwell on; the concept of such a vital man descending to the dust is beyond comprehension. In all ways but one he is Billy’s father, and Billy chooses to imagine heroic, alternate ends to the scene he left behind him.
In the same vein, Billy cannot imagine that Zarek did not inform his mother of the actions he intended to take. Billy may be useful politically, but he is also useful as a means of drawing blood. Somewhere his mother weeps the same tears as Andromache, and while Billy’s own fall might be merely symbolic, it hurts all the more for it.
Billy can only imagine that Zarek intends to parade him about like the prodigal son, albeit one farmed out to unsightly relatives. He will be dressed appropriately, taught (possibly with force, Billy thinks darkly) the correct way of speaking and thinking, and gradually formed into the model of the perfect political son.
Thus Billy is not surprised when Zarek- so quiet in the Raptor, as he silently smiled over his success- chooses to bring him first to the towering buildings of government in Caprica City. He is out of place in his jeans and sweater, but Zarek leads him in with the same smile that he might bestow on an equal.
His father’s speech is full of honeyed words about true freedoms and civilization as he leads Billy through the winding corridors, and someone less studied in history might be swayed by the ideas Zarek puts forth so temptingly. Billy, however, has not only thoroughly researched the subject, but has his mother’s teachings to bolster his confidence.
Perhaps sensing that he is losing the boy’s attention, Zarek turns to him with a wistful look as they exit into one of the grand gardens bordering the government halls. “You look so much like your mother.”
Billy sees no reason to respond to such a ridiculous comment, and stays silent.
Zarek seems to take confidence from his silence, and places a firm hand on his shoulder. “I know she would never tell you about this- Laura is such a discreet soul- but I loved your mother from the moment I met her.” He flashes a charming smile. “And she loved me.”
If there was any shred of doubt left in Billy at the perfidy of Zarek’s behavior, it dies at that exact instant. He steps abruptly to the side, escaping Zarek’s hold. “She was sixteen,” he says fiercely. “You were what, nearly thirty? All the laws and statutes of the colonies are against you.”
He has not so much as dented Zarek’s self esteem. “Son,” he says in a parody of intimacy, “it depends on who makes the rules.”
The sound of the word son dripping from Zarek’s lips sends a ripple of revulsion down his spine.
“You’re an idealist,” Zarek smirks. “Don’t worry - we’ll cure you of that soon enough.” He looks to Billy as he takes a seat on a marble bench beside a low, gurgling fountain, hands clasped, elbows on his knees in a conversational posture. “I asked her to marry me. Many times, in fact. But she was young, headstrong, and she wanted to wait. My position on Saggitaron was all-consuming, kept me away from Caprica for too long. In the end, we drifted apart. Tragic, but common of such...tempestuous romances.”
Billy turns his head away, looking away from Zarek to the resplendent gardens, doubtful of his abilities to keep his tongue in check much longer.
“I’ve never stopped thinking about her. About what might have been.”
Above the gardens and government buildings, the clock tower reigning over the city begins to toll. Once. Twice. Three times and so on.
Billy doesn’t have to count the number of chimes. The midday sun is directly above, and his shadow is very small at his side. It is noon.
The Games have just begun.
---
The first thing Saul sees after the sickening sensation of the jump fades is a wide meadow surrounded by trees. A stark, gray building looms at one edge of the field, where wide steps lead to two heavy doors that have been flung open. He barely has time to take in more when another figure materializes on his right. He raises a hand to have at them when he realizes it is only Starbuck.
“We gotta find Lee and Laura,” she hisses, but Saul is already scanning the field that is quickly becoming a melee as Tributes break off for the trees, into teams, and grapple for the scattered tools, weapons, and supplies that have been sprinkled along the field. Just to their left is a backpack that will be full of... something. Hopefully useful. Just off to their right is a canvas bag.
“Get that!” He shoves Starbuck toward the canvas bag and dashes toward the backpack. It’s almost in his hands when a blow lands on his back, sending him crashing to the ground. He flips onto his back, ignoring the dull throb of pain across his spin, just as a foot comes toward his head. With a quickness that (truth be told) is surprising even to Saul, he catches his attacker’s foot, twisting it hard until he can hear and feel a sickening crunch of joints and ligaments.
There’s a howl of pain and Saul shoves the assailant (one of the younger Tributes, a loudmouthed kid he thinks was called Crashdown, whose yellow uniform tells Saul he’s from Aerilon) off of him and clambers to his feet, pack in hand. For a moment, Saul feels the tiniest shred of guilt. Whether he’s the one to kill the boy or not is of no matter; with an injury like that, he’ll never leave this field.
The field is chaos, though fortunately he’s materialized on the edge of the fray and not in the midst of it, like the unlucky soul who he sees leveled to the ground by one of Alastair Thorne’s heavy fists. He turns his head as Thorne’s animal instincts take over and, knife in hand, he lays into his victim with a gruesome lust.
“Saul!” He spins around, sees Laura at the edge of the woods beside the quick little girl from Virgon who was in the first tier of Tributes. He squints with his good eye and recognizes the Pyramid player is with them, too. They’re hunched behind an overturned humvee with Colonial military markings on it. He joins them quick as he can, taking cover.
As he ducks down, he spies Starbuck sprinting their way. He has to give her credit: she’s managed to hold onto the canvas bag and, what’s more, win a small dagger. Thrown, no doubt, by some remorseful competitor who missed his mark and is now a weapon short. The girl is nothing if not resourceful, he thinks, as she joins them behind the humvee.
Most of the bigger weapons are concentrated in the middle of the field, where -- just seconds into the Games -- there are several unmoving bodies as evidence of contests already won and lost.
From the field, screams of pain and the grunts of the Tributes in combat grow louder. Many have already scattered, but the fact of the matter is plain: this will be a bloody opening day.
“Where’s Lee?” Laura demands, eyes sweeping the field of battle, and Saul has to take a second to congratulate the unknown stylist who created her look for the Games.
Her bright hair is wound in a band of thick braids around her head, embedded with gold gossamer laurel leaves that most likely symbolize the crown that is presented to the winner of the Games. Her makeup has been done with a light hand, save for reddened lips to match her hair, which, on top of Laura’s soft-yet-severe features, give her an altogether intimidating quality. The effect is quite remarkable. Like an angry goddess, out for blood.
“I don’t see him,” Kara says, “Maybe he made it to the woods?”
“There he is!” The Virgonese girl points.
Saul knows the moment Laura and Kara both catch sight of him, because their breath hitches at the same time as he says, “Holy Gods...”
Lee has jumped exactly into the middle of the field, where four Tributes are advancing on him.
---
The after-effects of a jump do not lend themselves to the aid of quick reflexes, as Lee soon learns when he lands quite literally on a bulky pack in the middle of the field. It is tripping over the pack that saves him from being eviscerated on the serrated knife one Tribute bears, and sheer luck that he manages to grab a hold of one of the pack’s straps as he rolls away. While the quick move momentarily eliminates two of his opponents- the serrated knife has become lodged in the rib cage of one, and the owner of the knife is swearing as she tries to yank it free- two more are still barreling down on him: a lithe raven-haired woman a few years his senior and a man perhaps ten years younger than Saul.
The bag is heavier than anticipated, but this is not a moment to consider whether or not to drag it after him. It may prove useful, even necessary to the preservation of a life, whether it be his or someone else’s. The seconds he loses slinging it onto his back prove to be near fatal.
The black-haired woman meets his eyes, raises a hand, and throws with disarming accuracy a sharpened star in his direction. As she turns to sprint toward the nearby building he feels the edge of the star skim across his cheek, and out of the corner of his eye sees it bury itself in the other man’s throat.
As his legs carry him quickly to where he sees Kara and Laura waiting, he feels blood begin to trickle down his cheek and wonders whether the Tribute- Archer, he thinks- had all along been aiming for the man behind him.
When he darts behind the humvee he finds that his stepmother has already gathered her chosen allies, and judging by her confidence as she directs them toward the treeline away from the area, she has a good idea of where she wants to gather her troops.
They skirt the edge of the battlefield as fast as stealth allows, crouching behind a clump of bushes with sharp-edged leaves that sting when a female Gemenese Tribute in bloodstained gear dashes across their path, heading further into the woods. Laura’s eyes follow the woman as she passes, and hastens them on.
Their cover quickly becomes thin as they approach the complex of buildings, making Lee anxious, but he supposes they have a tactical advantage. Without a weapon, its unlikely a single Tribute would contend with a group their size.
They are at the steps of the main building, heading for the same open doors that Archer disappeared through only minutes ago, but as they get closer, the doors slam shut. Helena’s face appears in an open window on the second floor.
“Change your mind, Aurora?” she calls, and hoists a quiver of arrows for all to see. “I saved these for you!”
Even Kara looks impressed by the obscene suggestion Laura offers Helena as they veer away from the doors to loop around the back of the building. Lee can hear Helena laugh behind them, a note of true madness in her voice.
The tumultuous activities on the field will not cease for a while yet; contenders like Alastair Thorne will not leave in search of fresh prey until the meadow is littered with corpses. Lee scans the woods on their left for a thick copse of trees, unnerved when Laura bears them off to the right. “They have the tactical advantage, we can’t take the building!” Kara calls out loudly beside him, not bothering for silence when the cries of those in the meadow are still loud enough to drown out the sound of their hasty passing through the back courtyard.
“I don’t want the hospital,” Laura replies grimly, not even out of breath. “I want something else. Cutting through the hospital would have been quicker, is all.”
They are pounding past the outbuildings, the former homes of generators and extra supplies and staff quarters. Lee sees that Cally- no, Hornet- is outstripping most of their small crew, a fierce light in her eyes. “The tower!” she says, and Laura glances at her with surprise. “The guard tower in the southeast.”
“Exactly,” Laura confirms, a slight frown on her face, and sends them into the trees.
---
The guard tower is nearly half a mile from the meadow, a short, squat building made of stone thicker than the length of Kara’s hand. Barring the building being rigged with explosives- not an unheard-of possibility- it is an ideal place to regroup in relative peace.
Saul locks the door behind him, and the first minutes are spent checking the locks on every window and door on the property. ‘Guard tower’ is a bit of a misnomer, Kara thinks, looking at the size and layout of the place.
“This was the Delphi Convalescent Institute,” Laura informs Lee as she locks a window. “When I was a girl the Cylons kept prisoners here. They said they were dangerous, but... the guards would live in these towers on the four corners of the estate.”
After the first moment of relief that comes with the securing of the doors and windows, the mood in the room turns cautious. It was one thing in the relative safety of the training room and the mindless first heat of battle to band together; now alone, the inevitable question is whether they have chosen their allies wisely.
Kara is the first to break the tension. Ostentatiously turning her vulnerable back to Laura and Lee, she faces the pyramid player in the corner. “What’s in the bag, hotshot?” she asks, and nudges her own bag with her foot. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
It is only when Kara sees his smile that she realizes she is in trouble, though in a completely different way than expected.
---
BANG!
The shot rings out through the clearing, causing Zak’s heart to leap into his throat. No...
But his father remains kneeling while the Two by his side crumples to the ground. One of the women strides forward, undoing his father’s bindings.
“On your feet, Commander.”
To his credit, his father looks more composed than Zak feels. The remaining officers salute him and quickly rush into an explanation. “We’re with the Resistance, sir. Undercover,” the dark haired woman says. “Lt. Margaret Edmundson, you can call me Racetrack. This is Lt. Louanne Katraine- Kat- and Chief Petty Officer Galen Tyrol.”
“Lieutenants, Chief,” Bill says, shaking their hands. “I’m damn glad to have you with us. Though a heads-up would have been nice.”
“I’ll remember that for the next time I hold you at gunpoint, sir,” Tyrol replies sardonically.
“What’s the sitrep. How many are you?”
“About 1,500 active servicemen and women, sir,” the woman called Kat explains. “That’s just the Caprica cell of Peacekeepers and former Fleet. There’s a lot more of us when you count the civvies and the other Colonies. Doc will get you the exact numbers.”
“Arms?”
“We’re outfitted. Small, mostly, but we’ve got a heavy arms locker at each base of operations. We’re to take you directly to our HQ to get the full sitrep,” Racetrack says.
Bill nods. “Lead on, el-tee.”
Zak snaps out of his shock and scrambles over the hill, his feet and hands slipping on the mossy rocks and undergrowth. “Dad!”
He half-tumbles down the slope and jumps the gully at the bottom, running headlong into the clearing. His father pulls him into his arms, and for a brief moment, Zak feels the slightest bit of peace, the likes of which he has not felt since before Billy’s name was called those weeks ago.
“Zak,” his father says, “Thank the Gods.”
Zak can count on one hand the number of times he has heard that phrase from his father. “You don’t believe in the Gods,” Zak notes.
His father’s face brightens with a rare smile. “Then I’ll just thank you.”
Tyrol interrupts gently, his eyes scanning their surroundings. “Commander, we have to move. We have a lot to accomplish before that Two resurrects.”
Bill pulls back and nods, and they follow the double agents back toward the house, cloaked in the shadows of the dense woods. Zak looks up and catches a glimpse of the sun’s position between the trees: well past noon. The Games have begun.
---
Billy knows that the wisest course would be to sit back in his chair and affect a nonchalant attitude while his mother weaves her way through hell, but he finds the task impossible. As he sits on the edge of his seat, his knee bouncing slightly in channeled anxiety, his father lays a firm hand on his shoulder.
“It is difficult, I know,” Zarek says in a soothing tone. “I still feel a great deal of affection for your mother.”
There is no politic answer that Billy can make to this, at least not any he can make and still sound believable. He settles for staying silent, hunching over in his seat as if he is trying to escape his father’s hand. The suit he is wearing is of much better quality than anything he has ever worn before, and he feels shame in the fact that at some level he enjoys the quality of the material and the tailoring. At any other moment he would delight in the feel of the cloth, but doing so now makes him feel like a traitor to his mother.
The fact that the suit is so finely tailored makes him wonder how close an eye Zarek has been keeping on him. He begins considering every conversation he had in the few days before leaving with doubt, evaluating how likely it was that they were overheard. Did Zarek hear the conversation on the beach, with his mother? Or his frantic moments of research when she was chosen yet again as a Tribute?
Watching the footage of Kara or Lee is no easier than that of his mother. Lee’s narrow escape at the start of the Games was miraculous, and judging by the way Zarek stiffened when Lee evaded the initial blows, Billy thinks that it is likely that Lee was not meant to survive the first five minutes at all.
A priest watches from a seat near theirs, and as the camera lingers on Kara’s fleet escape to the guard tower both Zarek and the priest lean forward. Even the footage slows as it tracks Kara’s steps, highlighting her lean frame and the gold of her shorn hair as she breaks even with Laura.
“Pity they cut her hair,” Zarek comments idly. “The Thrace child?”
“Yes.” The priest touches his chin absently. “Who was her stylist? Her hair...”
Zarek proffers a list. “A Felix Gaeta, I believe. I’m told she has a powerful personality. Perhaps she overpowered his natural tastes.”
The priest smirks. “From her youth she was quite the individual.” He glances sideways at Zarek, his gaze both foreboding and challenging at the same time. “Much like Laura Roslin.”
Zarek smiles slightly, his hand curling tightly over Billy’s shoulder. “I like a passionate woman.”
Billy thinks he might lose what little he has eaten on the floor. “I grew up with Kara Thrace,” he says quietly, wishing he could just stay silent and unmoved by the entire conversation.
The priest and his father laugh at his comment, and his father’s hand lands heavily on his back in a congenial slap. “She may well win,” Zarek says in a consoling tone. “Perhaps you would like me to get her for you?”
Billy suddenly feels as if the weight of history is crashing down upon him. “Like father, like son?” he asks bleakly.
Before this moment every look Zarek has given him has seemed tainted by dishonesty or cynicism or downright smarminess, but for the first time he looks legitimately fond of his natural son.
The moment they took his mother away was the most frightening moment Billy had ever experienced. The shadow of that time still hangs over him, but to his shame it is eclipsed by the first true understanding of his own genetic inheritance. Zarek sits beside him, a veritable map of where he might yet go.
The terror of his mother’s abduction pales in comparison.
Coming soon in Chapter Eight...
They shake their heads in denial. Kara’s hair is mussed and her eyeliner has smudged. She looks haunted. Laura finds her body language interesting: she and Sam curve slightly toward each other even as they keep a safe distance. Laura can count on one hand the number of times she has seen Kara lean toward someone rather than away, and every other time has been with Lee. Generally chaos ensued.