Children of Gods: Chapter Thirteen
Title: Children of Gods
Authors: miabicicletta and olga_theodora
Summary: "New bodies are interesting, sometimes."
Pairings: Bill/Laura, Sam/Kara, Lee/Kara UST, Lee/?
Rating: MA (series) T+ (Chapter 13)
Warnings: Non-graphic allusions to non-con and dub-con, character death.
Authors' Notes: Apologies for posting later than usual. Real life- that cruel mistress- intervened. Many thanks to our readers and to leiascully!
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
CHAPTER EIGHT: FIRST CONTACT
CHAPTER NINE: MYTH MADE FLESH
CHAPTER TEN: TRIGGERS
CHAPTER ELEVEN: PAWNS, KNIGHTS AND ROOKS
CHAPTER TWELVE: PERCHANCE TO DREAM
---
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: BE ALL MY SINS REMEMBERED
My father survived my mother by five long, uncertain years; the circuits of his human brain continually crossed in a haze of confusion. He died with her name on his lips, while I sat at his bedside with my brother, so far past the point of tears that I could do no more than sit and wait. Five weeks later I began the bittersweet task of sorting through his personal possessions.
I cannot say that I was surprised by anything that I found. I knew my parents well, and like any schoolchild in the Colonies I was familiar with the accomplishments of prominent members of the Resistance, a group that my parents certainly belonged to. However, there is a great difference between knowing the facts and understanding them, and for me understanding did not truly come until I found one small scrap of paper jammed between the gears of his old-fashioned pocket watch, a watch that never worked but was always in his possession. It was a sketch of my mother in sleep, dated six months before the onset of the 50th Games in my father’s handwriting.
Such a small thing. My brother didn’t understand what I saw in that sketch, what I felt the first time I saw the skillful shading rendering the curve of her cheek. I myself cannot fully articulate the moment, except to say: I understood. After all the stories about struggle and longing and shadows, it was a pencil sketch that filled the mental gap in my understanding.
At the risk of sounding maudlin and trite, let me say this to our as-yet imperfect society: they fought for the hybrid children, too.
-From An Uneasy Truce: Hybrid Children in Colonial Society by Hera Agathon.
---
Oddly, Billy find himself free to wander the Hall of Government pretty much as he pleases. This doesn’t really say much, as the sprawling facility of buildings and gardens is essentially a lavish prison. Still, it clashes with the concept of being “kidnapped” as he has always understood it (an understanding heavily influenced by books and old pre-war films).
Zarek calls on him at least once a day, demanding his attention for meals or leisure time where he never fails to insert some lesson about dealing with uncompromising members of the President’s Consortium or the People’s Council. It is, Billy supposes, his way of reaching out, and it make Billy want to recoil.
“Your mother is faring well. She’s earned some favor in the betting pools, I’m told.”
Billy is silent. He does not know what to say to this; never does when Zarek brings it up. The Vice President has only ever known Laura Roslin as a Tribute and, later, as a Victor of the Games. While for the entirety of Billy’s life, she has avoided revealing as much information about her tenure in the Games as possible.
The worst punishment Billy and his brothers ever received had been when their parents discovered the bootleg copy of the 34th Games on Billy’s computer. He hadn’t been a particularly rebellious adolescent, but he was curious to a fault, just as Zak was impulsive to a fault, and had not blinked at tracking down a copy from the local broadcast station. A little lie about a school documentary about the history of Cylon educational reform and it had been theirs.
His father had thrown a fit, which was an awful, guilt-tripping ordeal to sit through. But his mother had only stared at the trio of them, face bloodless and pale.
“I just wanted to know,” Billy had said, justifying his deception. “You never talk about it. I wanted to know what it was like, and you keep everything secret.”
Laura had looked at him, her dispassionate, clinical expression so terrifying in its composure, and simply said, “Absolutely.” She had walked out of the kitchen, disappearing into the woods for such a long period of time that his father had eventually been concerned enough to go after her. She had emerged at his side some hours later, still grim, but looking far more somber than angry.
Billy had not apologized at the time, feeling his actions were entirely merited. Now, however, he wishes he could erase everything he knows about not just his mother’s Games, but every Game from his memory. Without the image of her watching a friend die in his mind, it would not be so easy to imagine his brother holding Kara’s hand as the life bleeds out of her. Or vise versa.
Zarek, however, loves talking about Laura and her Games, though he seems to have no great love for the spectacle itself (apart from the huge jumps in popularity he garners following a tournament). “Sticking with Lee Adama and Kara Thrace is very touching. I’m told her chances are catching up to Helena Cain’s. Which, knowing Helena, is saying something.” He smirks at Billy. “A showdown between those two would be a sight to see, wouldn’t it.”
“I need to go, er, study,” Billy says suddenly. “Mr. Lampkin gave me some assignments, until he finds a proper tutor,” he half-lies. True, Romo had given him some advice, but it hadn’t been to keep up with his studies, particularly as schools throughout the Colonies are put on an indefinite hiatus during the Games.
Zarek nods, and beckons over to a pretty Eight. Zarek puts a hand on Billy’s shoulder, saying, “My son is in need of our Library. Show him the way, Sharon?”
The Eight smiles vapidly. “Of course.” She turns to lead him down a nearby hall. “You are very dedicated to your studies,” the Eight says, a note of unfeigned warmth creeping into her voice.
The model is one that Billy is unfamiliar with outside of his research, as there are few Eights stationed outside of Caprica City. Why, Billy does not know. Perhaps there are more on the other Colonies, or perhaps their unique qualifications keep them close to the seat of government (what those qualifications are, Billy is unsure, though the gossip sites have interesting theories). The Eight leads him down another long corridor, her hand patting her abdomen in an absentminded fashion.
“Are you all Sharon?” he asks, spotting a different Eight turning a corner ahead, her gaze- intense and somehow angry- fixed on them.
The Eight pulls him suddenly into an alcove, away from prying eyes.
“We are all the Sharon model, but we’re not the same Sharon.” Her grip on his shirt relaxes. “Many of the Eights are so loyal to our line that they eschew adopting a name of their own. But I haven’t gone by that name for some time.” She smiles slightly and says with pride, “You may call me Athena.”
The Sharon-called-Athena releases him, and Billy follows her down another long, empty hallway, her high heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.
“Why did you choose a new name?” he asks.
“Because,” Athena whispers, pausing before a door that reads ‘Ventilation Matrices’, which Billy is quite certain does not lead to a library of any kind. “I chose a new side.”
---
The guard at the security checkpoint on the outskirts of Caprica City barely gives Cottle’s ID a cursory glance before turning his attention to Simon.
“Dr. O’Neill, may I congratulate you on your fine work this year,” the guard says enthusiastically. “The realism of that mermaid was awe-inspiring.”
The mermaid had been completely nude, and the guard is a young man who looks barely of age to be in the Peacekeeping Force. Cottle is not surprised that the mermaid caught his eye. Neither is Simon, judging by the expression on his face.
“Thank you, Private Anderson.” Other than the trace of cynicism Cottle sees on his features, Simon looks like any other member of the highest ranked echelon: important, pampered, and rather bored. His acting skills are excellent; the guard would never imagine that just the night before Cottle had found Simon examining the medical files of this year’s hybrids, sorrow in his eyes.
“She was only five,” he had said, looking down at the picture of the girl who had become the sphinx. “A Tithe.” He had dropped the file onto the table, pressed a hand to his face. “She was one of the curious ones.”
Those were the Tithes that upset Simon the most, Cottle knew- the lively ones, the ones who showed a more than average spark of intelligence.
“A Quarter Quell demands special hybrids,” Simon continues now, giving the guard a businesslike smile. “It is my pleasure to perform such a deed for the Colonies.”
Tearing him apart, more like. Thanks to Simon, Cottle now knows first-hand that enough stress can, indeed, give a Cylon an ulcer.
They pass through the security checkpoint easily, Simon’s presence enough to dissuade the guard from checking their vehicle closely. This was something they had gambled on, back in Qualai, when the initial problem of what to do with Daniel had surfaced. Knowing that Cavil’s loyal soldiers- lead by the resurrected Two, no doubt- would eventually find and infiltrate their hidden headquarters, they knew that leaving Daniel behind was not an option.
Admittedly, Daniel never would have allowed it. Kara comes by her stubbornness honestly, as Cottle well knows. In some ways it would have been safer to send him with Bill’s crew, with the hope that by sticking to the underground he would escape detection, but as Daniel had put it, “Bill’s going after his kid, I’m going after mine.”
Cottle grimaces slightly in remembrance of Bill’s similar words to him.
Even if Daniel were not hidden in their Raptor, they would have wanted to avoid an official search. After all, how could they explain away the golden arrow? A school-child would recognize that arrow, as would any adult who paid attention to footage of past Games. Laura Roslin Adama’s arrow is distinctive, even iconic. Cottle can vaguely remember the rash of arrow-inspired jewelry that popped up after the 34th Games.
Even with Simon along, the gamble never would have worked if Cottle’s credentials were less than above reproach. He might have a well-known friendship with one of the current Tributes, but as he himself had said to Simon, “If they red-flag every person who knows someone in the Arena, they wouldn’t have anyone left to kiss their asses.”
Simon’s answer had been less than charming.
Once back in the Raptor, Simon chuckles dryly. “They’ll be slogging through sewage at about this point.”
“Poor bastards.” Cottle toys with the cigarette in his hand. “At least they don’t have to be polite about it.” He glances over at Simon, noting his nervous posture. There is a price to returning to Caprica City as they have, one that Simon is obviously loathe to pay: the sphinx hybrid must be- as Cavil put it- “repaired.”
“Lobotomized, or worse, he means,” Simon had said roughly when he first received the message. “I left too much free will, even if I did build her to spec.”
Between dealing with the hybrid and tracking down Athena, Simon at least has his days full. Cottle would gladly deliver the arrow to Athena, but officially they are only acquaintances. Questions would be asked. Instead he gets a far more onerous task: assisting with repairing the hybrid.
It is not common knowledge- purposefully, on Cottle’s part- but his first meeting with Simon had been as part of a research team. He had been a young but proven doctor, fresh from his posting on the Athena and infamous for his curmudgeonly attitude. His excellent work as a surgeon and his military record had made him a natural addition to the team that would one day create the first engineered hybrid.
The work had been sickening. It took years before they perfected the process, and Cottle still rues the day when, after one too many drinks, he inadvertently let slip the theory that solved all of their problems: that children were better suited to the process of hybridization than adults.
He has not touched a drop of alcohol since. Nicotine is now his self-medication of choice.
Two Sixes meet their Raptor outside Graystone Industries, Caprica and Gina. The latter merely nods in greeting and takes over the controls of the Raptor. She will fly it to the closest private dock, whereupon she will escort Daniel in secret to Simon’s quarters, as previously arranged. Caprica remains with them. Having cultivated, over a period of some fifty-odd years, the reputation for being a kind of jack-of-all trades- always dabbling in new fields and researching a new area of study- she is one of the few people in the Colonies who can appear anywhere and do nearly anything without comment from Cavil. A useful ability in a double-agent. Over the past eight years she has ferreted out a great deal of information for the Resistance, learning as many secrets while on the arm of Governor Baltar as she has in hospital wards or in the great libraries of Libran.
It is also a well-known fact that she is friends with Simon. The fact that she has made time to meet with him and act as another assistant will not excite comment. The kiss she plants on his lips is a friendly one, and her eyes sparkle with amusement as she offers Cottle her hand in greeting.
“Sherman, it has been too long,” she says, leading them toward the grand doors. “When will you leave that quaint little town and rejoin us in the city?” They step over the threshold, and while Caprica is too in control of herself to show distaste as to what they find, her steps quicken slightly and her conversation veers into societal gossip. “You will have heard, of course, about D’Anna’s most recent party...”
The Graystone Industries complex holds not only the distinction of housing Arena Tributes, but also- in a separate wing, of course- of containing the facilities for the making and maintenance of Arena hybrids. “More convenient that way,” Cavil said so many years ago as he led the team on their first tour of the building. Then the labs had been a marvel of modernity, containing technology that Cottle had never even read about, let alone seen. That much, at least, has not changed.
It is the sections found at the entrance- the neatly appointed cells, the colorful common rooms containing the quietly playing Tithes- that have changed to fit their new purpose. From the beginning the cells had been located at the entrance (“No need to drag an uncooperative patient past the labs,” Cavil had said, “Not only would that be disturbing to those working here, but it would also increase anxiety amongst the other patients.” His sharp smile told everyone his true feelings regarding patient anxiety), but they had been bare, spartan, more like the prison cells that they actually were. After the patients themselves had changed, so had their surroundings.
Cottle was indecisive as to what was worse: throwing children into what was essentially solitary imprisonment with no comforts to speak of, or lulling them into compliance with the false veneer of comfort.
Even Caprica begins to look slightly discomforted the further they move into the children’s quarters. It is only when they leave the last playroom behind that she regains that tiny slip of composure, winding up her long story about D’Anna’s party and the scandal that ensued when Governor Baltar was found in bed with not only the hostess, but a Six (not Caprica herself, she stresses) as well. As they move into the area hosting the actual labs, she stops talking completely. Here are the cells with the unfortunates who have already been put to the knife: some rest in their tanks, eyes blank. Others- those given the more unusual forms- sleep on the floors of padded cells.
“There is a change of plans,” she says a few minutes later as they near their destination. “The Sphinx is to be left alone, for the moment. Apparently the viewers responded well to her. ‘Charming’ was the word used, I believe.” Her lips momentarily flatten into a thin line, a sure sign that she disapproves heartily of the rest of her news. “They have a new project for you, instead.”
She stops in front of a cell and gestures at the contents. “Cavil said you needed a challenge.”
All Cottle sees at first glance is that the inhabitant is far too old to be used as a hybrid, even one that will not be channeling an Arena’s worth of energy.
“Is that...?” Simon asks haltingly, and Caprica plucks the patient folder off of a nearby door. She pushes it at him with more force than is strictly necessary. Cottle reads over his shoulder as Simon scans the contents, growing angrier with each line.
There is a camera nearby, and it trained on them. Thus it is with every shred of acting ability Cottle has cultivated over the years that he keeps his face calm- intrigued, even- as he finishes reading. Simon looks up from the page, his face a pleasant mask. “I can hardly wait to begin,” he says.
“Good,” Caprica says, brushing her fingers lightly down her skirt. “Because we don’t have a lot of time.”
---
By the time they reach the beach it is an hour past sunset and they have run out of water.
“They wouldn’t dare build an arena without a fresh water source,” Laura says quietly, her previous hysteria gone without a trace. “Dying of dehydration? Too slow, too quiet. They’ve just hidden the source very, very well.”
She sways slightly, grateful for the cover of darkness and remembering with longing the streams of the first island. They are all eager for sleep, but the knowledge that the island could be gone at any moment and that a pack of blood-thirsty Tributes is somewhere nearby leaves Laura at least in a constant state of adrenaline-fueled wakefulness.
Even in the dark she can discern Kara’s stiff, still stance. “I don’t like the idea of swimming that stretch at night,” the girl says bluntly. Moon-tipped waves gleam in the distance. A silver-gilded stand of rocks juts out of the ocean at the halfway point. It is either an excellent place to take a quick nap or an exquisitely crafted trap, and Laura knows they will not know which it is until far too late.
Lee is studying the same rocky patch as well. “It looks like there is some sort of cave on the side closest to us,” he points out. “Do you think it will blow at the same time as one of the islands?”
“I’m not interested in sticking around and finding out,” Saul growls. “Move your ass, kid. We’ll contemplate the unknown once we reach that cave.”
The night is cooler than the previous one, and the water shockingly cold so soon after the setting of the sun. Laura wishes for a moonless night, or a sudden cloud to cover the sky. Though the light is helpful to pinpoint their destination, she is well aware that they are as visible now as they would be at high noon. Should anyone be watching from either island, they will be easily spotted.
At the cave Kara pulls herself out of the water with a nearly inaudible gasp, tucking her feet quickly beneath her on the rock like a small child afraid of the monsters beneath her bed. Her quick frown wards off comment.
At first glance the cave appears empty.
Sam digs out a pack of matches. “Too big of a risk?” he asks, staring doubtfully into the dark depths of the cave. Despite the abundant moonlight, not one stray ray seems to penetrate the rocky gloom. Laura cannot decide which is worst: lighting what might as well be a flare signal in the middle of the ocean or risking a nap near a venomous snake nest.
In the end, they don’t have to decide. From the depths of the cave a figure slowly emerges, unfurling itself like a serpent preparing to strike. As everyone readies their weapon of choice, the rock’s original occupant drags itself out into the moonlight.
A Six smiles slowly at them, appearing unconcerned by the scaled mermaid tail that has replaced the long legs typical of her model. “My friends,” she says, her voice mellifluous and honeyed. “Sit with me.”
Suddenly Laura’s knees feel weak, and in her muddled mind she begins to think that sitting down would be an excellent idea. Saul has already slumped to the ground, his knife slipping from loose hands. As the other members of the party fall to their knees with dazed expressions on their faces, a bored Kara Thrace stands back and says one word. “Siren.”
---
Ventilation Matrices, indeed, has no bookshelves and a great many pipes and computer screens. “It’s safe,” Athena explains, shutting the door behind them. “Maybe the only room in this entire complex that is safe.”
From behind a bank of screens appears Karl Agathon, perhaps the only person Billy has developed a fondness for during the past few days. A few well-placed words had saved Billy from succumbing to the stress of the second day of the Games, and he has often silently repeated Karl’s words in the days since. “As my mother used to say, keep calm and carry on,” he had said, then grinned nostalgically. “And stay out of my frakking kitchen.”
“Billy,” Karl says easily, shaking his hand. “I’m glad Athena was able to pull you away.”
Athena grins, one hand resting on the slope of her abdomen. “I didn’t even need to make up a reason; Billy found his own.”
Billy finds himself harboring a smidgen of doubt, wondering if this is some elaborate trick on the part of his father- or Cavil- to see where his loyalties lie. Can any Cylon model ever be trusted?
What would his mother do in this situation?
“You said you changed sides,” he begins hesitantly, turning to Athena. “Does that happen often?”
She shrugs. “Depends on the model. The Eights tend to be fairly evenly divided, and the majority of the Sixes work with your mother’s organization. As for the rest, you find a smattering of nearly every model- with the exception of the Ones, of course.” Her smile is strange and sad. “They all have a very similar world-view. We used to have the Sevens, but...”
Billy has a beyond basic understanding of what happened to the Sevens- he feels he can call his research skills exceptional without being accused of bragging- but he has a suspicion that has not yet been verified. “You still have one Seven, correct?” he asks in a low tone, not entirely sure that their faith in the security of the room is wise. “Kara’s father?”
Karl and Athena exchange a sharp look. “He’s been working with your mother for a little over four years now,” Athena explains. “Simon- a Four- brought him in- brought me in too, eight years ago.” There is a tall stool tucked in a corner; she pulls it close and sits. “I had always been good friends with Daniel,” she says simply. “I saw Kara grow up. Even before he disappeared I was beginning to change my mind about humans. After, I wanted to strike a blow against Cavil.” Her smile is slightly sheepish. “By the time Karl joined the Resistance, I was much more open-minded.”
“What exactly do you do for the Resistance?” Billy asks Karl, trying to keep the dubious note out of his voice. For all of his covert research, his sum total knowledge of Karl Agathon, professional pyramid player, is limited. He seems to spend all of his time on the pyramid court or escorting Athena to social events, as far as Billy can tell. The more rabid gossip blogs had some very interesting things to say about what else Karl might be doing with Athena, but Billy knows to take such sites with a grain of salt- though her pregnancy does argue that they are on the right track.
Karl grins, resting one hand lightly on one of Athena’s shoulders. “I may look meek and mild, but I’m a dab hand at arson.”
Billy stares at him for a long moment, face blank. “Bullshit.”
---
The Six tilts her head back to stare at Kara. “Immune, are you?” The slippery, honeyed quality of her voice does not dissipate, but her tone is dry and reluctantly intrigued. “We thought you might be.”
Kara ignores Lee’s slack-jawed expression and the way he has begun to pull at her arm. She feels a slight tug at her mind, proving that she herself is not fully immune to whatever kind of attack the Siren is leveling at them. “Doesn’t that hurt?” she asks, gesturing toward the tail. “Not standard with the Sixes, as I recall.” She pulls her arm away from Lee’s grasp and steps out of his range. “Dammit, Lee, I don’t want to sit down.”
The Siren shrugs. “New bodies are interesting, sometimes.” She pats the gills on her neck with an almost fond expression. “Have you ever seen the ocean floor? It’s beautiful.”
“One of the hybrids tried to show me, but I’ve been busy,” Kara replies flippantly, noting that Laura is slowly but surely retrieving something from her pack. Either the Gamemakers had purposefully set this task with the males in mind, or Laura is exceptionally stubborn- or both, Kara thinks. Kara edges back toward Lee, hoping to draw the Siren’s attention away from Laura. “Lots of fish, I suppose.”
The Siren levels a flat stare at her. “Stop playing the fool,” she says bluntly, and in one quick movement she dodges the arrow Laura has clenched in her hand and rolls backward into the dark cave. There is a splash as she disappears into a unseen pool.
Lee seems to shake himself awake first. “I think that was my stylist,” he says dizzily, slumping onto his back on the rock. “Or maybe not. I feel confused.” He grabs Laura’s hand. “Can I have a glass of water and a story?”
Saul pulls himself to his feet with a grumble, but is otherwise uncharacteristically free of sarcastic remarks. Judging by the expression on his face, Kara thinks it likely that he is disgusted with himself for falling for such a trick.
Sam, still seated, pokes her hip with a dopey, drugged smile. “If Lee gets a story, can I have one too?”
“Sure, she’ll tell you the story about the stupid idiots who sat around in plain sight and got themselves killed,” Saul snipes. He grabs Sam by the back of the collar and in a show of impressive strength- born, Kara thinks, out of his utter disgust with himself- throws him off the rock into the chilly water. Kara breathes a quick sigh of relief when Sam resurfaces, the shock apparently having cleared his mind. Saul quickly dispatches Lee and Laura in the same fashion, ignoring Laura’s sputtered threats. Soon they are all in the frigid water, striking for shore.
Sam’s grin is slightly sheepish. “Do you think I’ll get that story, someday?”
Kara doesn’t even spare the energy to splash him.
---
Somehow Billy finds his way back to his father’s quarters. It proves to be a matter of luck more than skill at navigating the endless hallways that all seem the same. The sense of direction that had been such a boon while playing games in the woods and trail running with Jake is of no use at all here inside the Hall of Government, leaving Billy to guess at familiar markers and doorways, paintings he thought he’d passed before.
His mind is still reeling from what Athena and Karl had told him -- that the Resistance was large and successful enough to have infiltrated the highest levels of the government. Although Billy has always admired and respected his mother for all she had accomplished despite her catastrophic early life, he finds himself in awe of her now.
The guard allows him into the suite. From the dim lighting and silence, he quickly determines he is alone. Intending to think on the afternoon’s events in his room, he makes his way down one of the side hallways, passing Zarek’s personal office.
The door is ajar, and Billy steps backwards, angling his head through the space in the door. The room is large, its high windows framed by deep green curtains fastened with shining silver clasps. Before them, much as in Cavil’s office, is a desk of dark, polished wood. Unlike Cavil’s minimalist decor, Zarek’s office is cluttered with knickknacks. The long right wall is taken up by a massive oil painting. Billy does not recognize the scene, but from the rich brown pigments rendering fields and cliffs and towering mountain peaks, he surmises it must be somewhere on Zarek’s native Saggitaron. It strikes him rather suddenly that this world, this world and all its history, accounts for half his heritage.
And yet, the culture he knows (apart, of course, from that of Caprica) with any authority comes from the old Tauron stories his grandmother would tell on the rare occasion his father’s parents had been granted an inter-Colonial travel visa and were allowed to visit. Half-remembered folktales of oaths sworn in blood and ink, and even those are murky at best. He knows nothing at all of Saggitaron...
Billy shakes his head, dismissing the short-lived angst.
His blood may shared genetic similarities to the people of Saggitaron, but he will never, ever consider Tom Zarek a parent.
Rows upon rows of photographs stand out on the shelves and walls, showing Zarek with various figures of public esteem. Cylons as well as human leaders, thinkers, and scientists. In one ornate frame, Zarek stands at the side of a grim Daniel Graystone, the latter’s hair shot with gray, his features lined with age. Age, and so much more.
Billy continues his survey of the room and the large bookcase. One row in the corner catches his eye, as it bears neither books nor photographs. Instead, a collection of clear, thick cases lines the topmost shelf-- the kind that holds drives and data disks. Various numbers line the spines, which Billy decides must be years. The collection starts with 30 UE and extends until the present year. The year 34 is removed from the set, turned on its side; out of place, as though it has recently been retrieved.
The number rings a bell, and something nags at the corners of Billy’s mind.
Retrieving the case from the shelf, he takes it down and sets it upon Zarek’s desk. He hesitates a moment before opening it. At first, nothing much stands out. The first sheet of data discs are blank. One or two read ‘Tawa’, and ‘At Acheron Delta’. Nothing that speaks to his disconcert.
Billy is about to return the item to the shelf when he flips ahead a few sheets of discs. His eyes go round and his stomach turns at what he finds.
Two columns of three small, silver discs line the page of the storage case. Each disc bears a single name followed by a place. There are are a dozen alone tucked into the sheets open before him. On every one, the name is the same.
Laura - Caprica
Laura - Gemenon (Oranu)
Laura - Tauron (Hypatia)
Laura - Tauron (Minos)
Laura - Virgon (Boskirk)
Laura - Picon (Queenstown)
Horrified, Billy slams the case closed. Grabbing it with all the fervor of holding a dead animal, he shoves it back in place upon the shelf before backing out of the room.
It is only when he has slammed the door to the bedroom he’s been given, back pressed up against it, that he even registers the frantic way his heart is pounding.
---
Coming next week...
“This is our entry point,” Racetrack says, gesturing to a red circle on the map in her hands that is presumably their location. “These are sewers and flood tunnels from back before they built the seawalls and created barrier islands outside of Caprica City in the last century. The city used to flood regularly in the spring when storms were at their worst; the tunnels filtered some of the excess water to the surrounding areas, which is why there’s still so much undeveloped land outside of the city proper: up until a hundred years ago, it was all untouched wetlands.”
Kat leans against the truck, hand on her hip, and taps her foot impatiently. “Thanks for the history lesson. Are we gonna get this show on the road, or shall we sit on our asses and catalogue the native plants while we’re at it?”
Authors: miabicicletta and olga_theodora
Summary: "New bodies are interesting, sometimes."
Pairings: Bill/Laura, Sam/Kara, Lee/Kara UST, Lee/?
Rating: MA (series) T+ (Chapter 13)
Warnings: Non-graphic allusions to non-con and dub-con, character death.
Authors' Notes: Apologies for posting later than usual. Real life- that cruel mistress- intervened. Many thanks to our readers and to leiascully!
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
CHAPTER EIGHT: FIRST CONTACT
CHAPTER NINE: MYTH MADE FLESH
CHAPTER TEN: TRIGGERS
CHAPTER ELEVEN: PAWNS, KNIGHTS AND ROOKS
CHAPTER TWELVE: PERCHANCE TO DREAM
---
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: BE ALL MY SINS REMEMBERED
My father survived my mother by five long, uncertain years; the circuits of his human brain continually crossed in a haze of confusion. He died with her name on his lips, while I sat at his bedside with my brother, so far past the point of tears that I could do no more than sit and wait. Five weeks later I began the bittersweet task of sorting through his personal possessions.
I cannot say that I was surprised by anything that I found. I knew my parents well, and like any schoolchild in the Colonies I was familiar with the accomplishments of prominent members of the Resistance, a group that my parents certainly belonged to. However, there is a great difference between knowing the facts and understanding them, and for me understanding did not truly come until I found one small scrap of paper jammed between the gears of his old-fashioned pocket watch, a watch that never worked but was always in his possession. It was a sketch of my mother in sleep, dated six months before the onset of the 50th Games in my father’s handwriting.
Such a small thing. My brother didn’t understand what I saw in that sketch, what I felt the first time I saw the skillful shading rendering the curve of her cheek. I myself cannot fully articulate the moment, except to say: I understood. After all the stories about struggle and longing and shadows, it was a pencil sketch that filled the mental gap in my understanding.
At the risk of sounding maudlin and trite, let me say this to our as-yet imperfect society: they fought for the hybrid children, too.
-From An Uneasy Truce: Hybrid Children in Colonial Society by Hera Agathon.
---
Oddly, Billy find himself free to wander the Hall of Government pretty much as he pleases. This doesn’t really say much, as the sprawling facility of buildings and gardens is essentially a lavish prison. Still, it clashes with the concept of being “kidnapped” as he has always understood it (an understanding heavily influenced by books and old pre-war films).
Zarek calls on him at least once a day, demanding his attention for meals or leisure time where he never fails to insert some lesson about dealing with uncompromising members of the President’s Consortium or the People’s Council. It is, Billy supposes, his way of reaching out, and it make Billy want to recoil.
“Your mother is faring well. She’s earned some favor in the betting pools, I’m told.”
Billy is silent. He does not know what to say to this; never does when Zarek brings it up. The Vice President has only ever known Laura Roslin as a Tribute and, later, as a Victor of the Games. While for the entirety of Billy’s life, she has avoided revealing as much information about her tenure in the Games as possible.
The worst punishment Billy and his brothers ever received had been when their parents discovered the bootleg copy of the 34th Games on Billy’s computer. He hadn’t been a particularly rebellious adolescent, but he was curious to a fault, just as Zak was impulsive to a fault, and had not blinked at tracking down a copy from the local broadcast station. A little lie about a school documentary about the history of Cylon educational reform and it had been theirs.
His father had thrown a fit, which was an awful, guilt-tripping ordeal to sit through. But his mother had only stared at the trio of them, face bloodless and pale.
“I just wanted to know,” Billy had said, justifying his deception. “You never talk about it. I wanted to know what it was like, and you keep everything secret.”
Laura had looked at him, her dispassionate, clinical expression so terrifying in its composure, and simply said, “Absolutely.” She had walked out of the kitchen, disappearing into the woods for such a long period of time that his father had eventually been concerned enough to go after her. She had emerged at his side some hours later, still grim, but looking far more somber than angry.
Billy had not apologized at the time, feeling his actions were entirely merited. Now, however, he wishes he could erase everything he knows about not just his mother’s Games, but every Game from his memory. Without the image of her watching a friend die in his mind, it would not be so easy to imagine his brother holding Kara’s hand as the life bleeds out of her. Or vise versa.
Zarek, however, loves talking about Laura and her Games, though he seems to have no great love for the spectacle itself (apart from the huge jumps in popularity he garners following a tournament). “Sticking with Lee Adama and Kara Thrace is very touching. I’m told her chances are catching up to Helena Cain’s. Which, knowing Helena, is saying something.” He smirks at Billy. “A showdown between those two would be a sight to see, wouldn’t it.”
“I need to go, er, study,” Billy says suddenly. “Mr. Lampkin gave me some assignments, until he finds a proper tutor,” he half-lies. True, Romo had given him some advice, but it hadn’t been to keep up with his studies, particularly as schools throughout the Colonies are put on an indefinite hiatus during the Games.
Zarek nods, and beckons over to a pretty Eight. Zarek puts a hand on Billy’s shoulder, saying, “My son is in need of our Library. Show him the way, Sharon?”
The Eight smiles vapidly. “Of course.” She turns to lead him down a nearby hall. “You are very dedicated to your studies,” the Eight says, a note of unfeigned warmth creeping into her voice.
The model is one that Billy is unfamiliar with outside of his research, as there are few Eights stationed outside of Caprica City. Why, Billy does not know. Perhaps there are more on the other Colonies, or perhaps their unique qualifications keep them close to the seat of government (what those qualifications are, Billy is unsure, though the gossip sites have interesting theories). The Eight leads him down another long corridor, her hand patting her abdomen in an absentminded fashion.
“Are you all Sharon?” he asks, spotting a different Eight turning a corner ahead, her gaze- intense and somehow angry- fixed on them.
The Eight pulls him suddenly into an alcove, away from prying eyes.
“We are all the Sharon model, but we’re not the same Sharon.” Her grip on his shirt relaxes. “Many of the Eights are so loyal to our line that they eschew adopting a name of their own. But I haven’t gone by that name for some time.” She smiles slightly and says with pride, “You may call me Athena.”
The Sharon-called-Athena releases him, and Billy follows her down another long, empty hallway, her high heels clicking sharply against the marble floor.
“Why did you choose a new name?” he asks.
“Because,” Athena whispers, pausing before a door that reads ‘Ventilation Matrices’, which Billy is quite certain does not lead to a library of any kind. “I chose a new side.”
---
The guard at the security checkpoint on the outskirts of Caprica City barely gives Cottle’s ID a cursory glance before turning his attention to Simon.
“Dr. O’Neill, may I congratulate you on your fine work this year,” the guard says enthusiastically. “The realism of that mermaid was awe-inspiring.”
The mermaid had been completely nude, and the guard is a young man who looks barely of age to be in the Peacekeeping Force. Cottle is not surprised that the mermaid caught his eye. Neither is Simon, judging by the expression on his face.
“Thank you, Private Anderson.” Other than the trace of cynicism Cottle sees on his features, Simon looks like any other member of the highest ranked echelon: important, pampered, and rather bored. His acting skills are excellent; the guard would never imagine that just the night before Cottle had found Simon examining the medical files of this year’s hybrids, sorrow in his eyes.
“She was only five,” he had said, looking down at the picture of the girl who had become the sphinx. “A Tithe.” He had dropped the file onto the table, pressed a hand to his face. “She was one of the curious ones.”
Those were the Tithes that upset Simon the most, Cottle knew- the lively ones, the ones who showed a more than average spark of intelligence.
“A Quarter Quell demands special hybrids,” Simon continues now, giving the guard a businesslike smile. “It is my pleasure to perform such a deed for the Colonies.”
Tearing him apart, more like. Thanks to Simon, Cottle now knows first-hand that enough stress can, indeed, give a Cylon an ulcer.
They pass through the security checkpoint easily, Simon’s presence enough to dissuade the guard from checking their vehicle closely. This was something they had gambled on, back in Qualai, when the initial problem of what to do with Daniel had surfaced. Knowing that Cavil’s loyal soldiers- lead by the resurrected Two, no doubt- would eventually find and infiltrate their hidden headquarters, they knew that leaving Daniel behind was not an option.
Admittedly, Daniel never would have allowed it. Kara comes by her stubbornness honestly, as Cottle well knows. In some ways it would have been safer to send him with Bill’s crew, with the hope that by sticking to the underground he would escape detection, but as Daniel had put it, “Bill’s going after his kid, I’m going after mine.”
Cottle grimaces slightly in remembrance of Bill’s similar words to him.
Even if Daniel were not hidden in their Raptor, they would have wanted to avoid an official search. After all, how could they explain away the golden arrow? A school-child would recognize that arrow, as would any adult who paid attention to footage of past Games. Laura Roslin Adama’s arrow is distinctive, even iconic. Cottle can vaguely remember the rash of arrow-inspired jewelry that popped up after the 34th Games.
Even with Simon along, the gamble never would have worked if Cottle’s credentials were less than above reproach. He might have a well-known friendship with one of the current Tributes, but as he himself had said to Simon, “If they red-flag every person who knows someone in the Arena, they wouldn’t have anyone left to kiss their asses.”
Simon’s answer had been less than charming.
Once back in the Raptor, Simon chuckles dryly. “They’ll be slogging through sewage at about this point.”
“Poor bastards.” Cottle toys with the cigarette in his hand. “At least they don’t have to be polite about it.” He glances over at Simon, noting his nervous posture. There is a price to returning to Caprica City as they have, one that Simon is obviously loathe to pay: the sphinx hybrid must be- as Cavil put it- “repaired.”
“Lobotomized, or worse, he means,” Simon had said roughly when he first received the message. “I left too much free will, even if I did build her to spec.”
Between dealing with the hybrid and tracking down Athena, Simon at least has his days full. Cottle would gladly deliver the arrow to Athena, but officially they are only acquaintances. Questions would be asked. Instead he gets a far more onerous task: assisting with repairing the hybrid.
It is not common knowledge- purposefully, on Cottle’s part- but his first meeting with Simon had been as part of a research team. He had been a young but proven doctor, fresh from his posting on the Athena and infamous for his curmudgeonly attitude. His excellent work as a surgeon and his military record had made him a natural addition to the team that would one day create the first engineered hybrid.
The work had been sickening. It took years before they perfected the process, and Cottle still rues the day when, after one too many drinks, he inadvertently let slip the theory that solved all of their problems: that children were better suited to the process of hybridization than adults.
He has not touched a drop of alcohol since. Nicotine is now his self-medication of choice.
Two Sixes meet their Raptor outside Graystone Industries, Caprica and Gina. The latter merely nods in greeting and takes over the controls of the Raptor. She will fly it to the closest private dock, whereupon she will escort Daniel in secret to Simon’s quarters, as previously arranged. Caprica remains with them. Having cultivated, over a period of some fifty-odd years, the reputation for being a kind of jack-of-all trades- always dabbling in new fields and researching a new area of study- she is one of the few people in the Colonies who can appear anywhere and do nearly anything without comment from Cavil. A useful ability in a double-agent. Over the past eight years she has ferreted out a great deal of information for the Resistance, learning as many secrets while on the arm of Governor Baltar as she has in hospital wards or in the great libraries of Libran.
It is also a well-known fact that she is friends with Simon. The fact that she has made time to meet with him and act as another assistant will not excite comment. The kiss she plants on his lips is a friendly one, and her eyes sparkle with amusement as she offers Cottle her hand in greeting.
“Sherman, it has been too long,” she says, leading them toward the grand doors. “When will you leave that quaint little town and rejoin us in the city?” They step over the threshold, and while Caprica is too in control of herself to show distaste as to what they find, her steps quicken slightly and her conversation veers into societal gossip. “You will have heard, of course, about D’Anna’s most recent party...”
The Graystone Industries complex holds not only the distinction of housing Arena Tributes, but also- in a separate wing, of course- of containing the facilities for the making and maintenance of Arena hybrids. “More convenient that way,” Cavil said so many years ago as he led the team on their first tour of the building. Then the labs had been a marvel of modernity, containing technology that Cottle had never even read about, let alone seen. That much, at least, has not changed.
It is the sections found at the entrance- the neatly appointed cells, the colorful common rooms containing the quietly playing Tithes- that have changed to fit their new purpose. From the beginning the cells had been located at the entrance (“No need to drag an uncooperative patient past the labs,” Cavil had said, “Not only would that be disturbing to those working here, but it would also increase anxiety amongst the other patients.” His sharp smile told everyone his true feelings regarding patient anxiety), but they had been bare, spartan, more like the prison cells that they actually were. After the patients themselves had changed, so had their surroundings.
Cottle was indecisive as to what was worse: throwing children into what was essentially solitary imprisonment with no comforts to speak of, or lulling them into compliance with the false veneer of comfort.
Even Caprica begins to look slightly discomforted the further they move into the children’s quarters. It is only when they leave the last playroom behind that she regains that tiny slip of composure, winding up her long story about D’Anna’s party and the scandal that ensued when Governor Baltar was found in bed with not only the hostess, but a Six (not Caprica herself, she stresses) as well. As they move into the area hosting the actual labs, she stops talking completely. Here are the cells with the unfortunates who have already been put to the knife: some rest in their tanks, eyes blank. Others- those given the more unusual forms- sleep on the floors of padded cells.
“There is a change of plans,” she says a few minutes later as they near their destination. “The Sphinx is to be left alone, for the moment. Apparently the viewers responded well to her. ‘Charming’ was the word used, I believe.” Her lips momentarily flatten into a thin line, a sure sign that she disapproves heartily of the rest of her news. “They have a new project for you, instead.”
She stops in front of a cell and gestures at the contents. “Cavil said you needed a challenge.”
All Cottle sees at first glance is that the inhabitant is far too old to be used as a hybrid, even one that will not be channeling an Arena’s worth of energy.
“Is that...?” Simon asks haltingly, and Caprica plucks the patient folder off of a nearby door. She pushes it at him with more force than is strictly necessary. Cottle reads over his shoulder as Simon scans the contents, growing angrier with each line.
There is a camera nearby, and it trained on them. Thus it is with every shred of acting ability Cottle has cultivated over the years that he keeps his face calm- intrigued, even- as he finishes reading. Simon looks up from the page, his face a pleasant mask. “I can hardly wait to begin,” he says.
“Good,” Caprica says, brushing her fingers lightly down her skirt. “Because we don’t have a lot of time.”
---
By the time they reach the beach it is an hour past sunset and they have run out of water.
“They wouldn’t dare build an arena without a fresh water source,” Laura says quietly, her previous hysteria gone without a trace. “Dying of dehydration? Too slow, too quiet. They’ve just hidden the source very, very well.”
She sways slightly, grateful for the cover of darkness and remembering with longing the streams of the first island. They are all eager for sleep, but the knowledge that the island could be gone at any moment and that a pack of blood-thirsty Tributes is somewhere nearby leaves Laura at least in a constant state of adrenaline-fueled wakefulness.
Even in the dark she can discern Kara’s stiff, still stance. “I don’t like the idea of swimming that stretch at night,” the girl says bluntly. Moon-tipped waves gleam in the distance. A silver-gilded stand of rocks juts out of the ocean at the halfway point. It is either an excellent place to take a quick nap or an exquisitely crafted trap, and Laura knows they will not know which it is until far too late.
Lee is studying the same rocky patch as well. “It looks like there is some sort of cave on the side closest to us,” he points out. “Do you think it will blow at the same time as one of the islands?”
“I’m not interested in sticking around and finding out,” Saul growls. “Move your ass, kid. We’ll contemplate the unknown once we reach that cave.”
The night is cooler than the previous one, and the water shockingly cold so soon after the setting of the sun. Laura wishes for a moonless night, or a sudden cloud to cover the sky. Though the light is helpful to pinpoint their destination, she is well aware that they are as visible now as they would be at high noon. Should anyone be watching from either island, they will be easily spotted.
At the cave Kara pulls herself out of the water with a nearly inaudible gasp, tucking her feet quickly beneath her on the rock like a small child afraid of the monsters beneath her bed. Her quick frown wards off comment.
At first glance the cave appears empty.
Sam digs out a pack of matches. “Too big of a risk?” he asks, staring doubtfully into the dark depths of the cave. Despite the abundant moonlight, not one stray ray seems to penetrate the rocky gloom. Laura cannot decide which is worst: lighting what might as well be a flare signal in the middle of the ocean or risking a nap near a venomous snake nest.
In the end, they don’t have to decide. From the depths of the cave a figure slowly emerges, unfurling itself like a serpent preparing to strike. As everyone readies their weapon of choice, the rock’s original occupant drags itself out into the moonlight.
A Six smiles slowly at them, appearing unconcerned by the scaled mermaid tail that has replaced the long legs typical of her model. “My friends,” she says, her voice mellifluous and honeyed. “Sit with me.”
Suddenly Laura’s knees feel weak, and in her muddled mind she begins to think that sitting down would be an excellent idea. Saul has already slumped to the ground, his knife slipping from loose hands. As the other members of the party fall to their knees with dazed expressions on their faces, a bored Kara Thrace stands back and says one word. “Siren.”
---
Ventilation Matrices, indeed, has no bookshelves and a great many pipes and computer screens. “It’s safe,” Athena explains, shutting the door behind them. “Maybe the only room in this entire complex that is safe.”
From behind a bank of screens appears Karl Agathon, perhaps the only person Billy has developed a fondness for during the past few days. A few well-placed words had saved Billy from succumbing to the stress of the second day of the Games, and he has often silently repeated Karl’s words in the days since. “As my mother used to say, keep calm and carry on,” he had said, then grinned nostalgically. “And stay out of my frakking kitchen.”
“Billy,” Karl says easily, shaking his hand. “I’m glad Athena was able to pull you away.”
Athena grins, one hand resting on the slope of her abdomen. “I didn’t even need to make up a reason; Billy found his own.”
Billy finds himself harboring a smidgen of doubt, wondering if this is some elaborate trick on the part of his father- or Cavil- to see where his loyalties lie. Can any Cylon model ever be trusted?
What would his mother do in this situation?
“You said you changed sides,” he begins hesitantly, turning to Athena. “Does that happen often?”
She shrugs. “Depends on the model. The Eights tend to be fairly evenly divided, and the majority of the Sixes work with your mother’s organization. As for the rest, you find a smattering of nearly every model- with the exception of the Ones, of course.” Her smile is strange and sad. “They all have a very similar world-view. We used to have the Sevens, but...”
Billy has a beyond basic understanding of what happened to the Sevens- he feels he can call his research skills exceptional without being accused of bragging- but he has a suspicion that has not yet been verified. “You still have one Seven, correct?” he asks in a low tone, not entirely sure that their faith in the security of the room is wise. “Kara’s father?”
Karl and Athena exchange a sharp look. “He’s been working with your mother for a little over four years now,” Athena explains. “Simon- a Four- brought him in- brought me in too, eight years ago.” There is a tall stool tucked in a corner; she pulls it close and sits. “I had always been good friends with Daniel,” she says simply. “I saw Kara grow up. Even before he disappeared I was beginning to change my mind about humans. After, I wanted to strike a blow against Cavil.” Her smile is slightly sheepish. “By the time Karl joined the Resistance, I was much more open-minded.”
“What exactly do you do for the Resistance?” Billy asks Karl, trying to keep the dubious note out of his voice. For all of his covert research, his sum total knowledge of Karl Agathon, professional pyramid player, is limited. He seems to spend all of his time on the pyramid court or escorting Athena to social events, as far as Billy can tell. The more rabid gossip blogs had some very interesting things to say about what else Karl might be doing with Athena, but Billy knows to take such sites with a grain of salt- though her pregnancy does argue that they are on the right track.
Karl grins, resting one hand lightly on one of Athena’s shoulders. “I may look meek and mild, but I’m a dab hand at arson.”
Billy stares at him for a long moment, face blank. “Bullshit.”
---
The Six tilts her head back to stare at Kara. “Immune, are you?” The slippery, honeyed quality of her voice does not dissipate, but her tone is dry and reluctantly intrigued. “We thought you might be.”
Kara ignores Lee’s slack-jawed expression and the way he has begun to pull at her arm. She feels a slight tug at her mind, proving that she herself is not fully immune to whatever kind of attack the Siren is leveling at them. “Doesn’t that hurt?” she asks, gesturing toward the tail. “Not standard with the Sixes, as I recall.” She pulls her arm away from Lee’s grasp and steps out of his range. “Dammit, Lee, I don’t want to sit down.”
The Siren shrugs. “New bodies are interesting, sometimes.” She pats the gills on her neck with an almost fond expression. “Have you ever seen the ocean floor? It’s beautiful.”
“One of the hybrids tried to show me, but I’ve been busy,” Kara replies flippantly, noting that Laura is slowly but surely retrieving something from her pack. Either the Gamemakers had purposefully set this task with the males in mind, or Laura is exceptionally stubborn- or both, Kara thinks. Kara edges back toward Lee, hoping to draw the Siren’s attention away from Laura. “Lots of fish, I suppose.”
The Siren levels a flat stare at her. “Stop playing the fool,” she says bluntly, and in one quick movement she dodges the arrow Laura has clenched in her hand and rolls backward into the dark cave. There is a splash as she disappears into a unseen pool.
Lee seems to shake himself awake first. “I think that was my stylist,” he says dizzily, slumping onto his back on the rock. “Or maybe not. I feel confused.” He grabs Laura’s hand. “Can I have a glass of water and a story?”
Saul pulls himself to his feet with a grumble, but is otherwise uncharacteristically free of sarcastic remarks. Judging by the expression on his face, Kara thinks it likely that he is disgusted with himself for falling for such a trick.
Sam, still seated, pokes her hip with a dopey, drugged smile. “If Lee gets a story, can I have one too?”
“Sure, she’ll tell you the story about the stupid idiots who sat around in plain sight and got themselves killed,” Saul snipes. He grabs Sam by the back of the collar and in a show of impressive strength- born, Kara thinks, out of his utter disgust with himself- throws him off the rock into the chilly water. Kara breathes a quick sigh of relief when Sam resurfaces, the shock apparently having cleared his mind. Saul quickly dispatches Lee and Laura in the same fashion, ignoring Laura’s sputtered threats. Soon they are all in the frigid water, striking for shore.
Sam’s grin is slightly sheepish. “Do you think I’ll get that story, someday?”
Kara doesn’t even spare the energy to splash him.
---
Somehow Billy finds his way back to his father’s quarters. It proves to be a matter of luck more than skill at navigating the endless hallways that all seem the same. The sense of direction that had been such a boon while playing games in the woods and trail running with Jake is of no use at all here inside the Hall of Government, leaving Billy to guess at familiar markers and doorways, paintings he thought he’d passed before.
His mind is still reeling from what Athena and Karl had told him -- that the Resistance was large and successful enough to have infiltrated the highest levels of the government. Although Billy has always admired and respected his mother for all she had accomplished despite her catastrophic early life, he finds himself in awe of her now.
The guard allows him into the suite. From the dim lighting and silence, he quickly determines he is alone. Intending to think on the afternoon’s events in his room, he makes his way down one of the side hallways, passing Zarek’s personal office.
The door is ajar, and Billy steps backwards, angling his head through the space in the door. The room is large, its high windows framed by deep green curtains fastened with shining silver clasps. Before them, much as in Cavil’s office, is a desk of dark, polished wood. Unlike Cavil’s minimalist decor, Zarek’s office is cluttered with knickknacks. The long right wall is taken up by a massive oil painting. Billy does not recognize the scene, but from the rich brown pigments rendering fields and cliffs and towering mountain peaks, he surmises it must be somewhere on Zarek’s native Saggitaron. It strikes him rather suddenly that this world, this world and all its history, accounts for half his heritage.
And yet, the culture he knows (apart, of course, from that of Caprica) with any authority comes from the old Tauron stories his grandmother would tell on the rare occasion his father’s parents had been granted an inter-Colonial travel visa and were allowed to visit. Half-remembered folktales of oaths sworn in blood and ink, and even those are murky at best. He knows nothing at all of Saggitaron...
Billy shakes his head, dismissing the short-lived angst.
His blood may shared genetic similarities to the people of Saggitaron, but he will never, ever consider Tom Zarek a parent.
Rows upon rows of photographs stand out on the shelves and walls, showing Zarek with various figures of public esteem. Cylons as well as human leaders, thinkers, and scientists. In one ornate frame, Zarek stands at the side of a grim Daniel Graystone, the latter’s hair shot with gray, his features lined with age. Age, and so much more.
Billy continues his survey of the room and the large bookcase. One row in the corner catches his eye, as it bears neither books nor photographs. Instead, a collection of clear, thick cases lines the topmost shelf-- the kind that holds drives and data disks. Various numbers line the spines, which Billy decides must be years. The collection starts with 30 UE and extends until the present year. The year 34 is removed from the set, turned on its side; out of place, as though it has recently been retrieved.
The number rings a bell, and something nags at the corners of Billy’s mind.
Retrieving the case from the shelf, he takes it down and sets it upon Zarek’s desk. He hesitates a moment before opening it. At first, nothing much stands out. The first sheet of data discs are blank. One or two read ‘Tawa’, and ‘At Acheron Delta’. Nothing that speaks to his disconcert.
Billy is about to return the item to the shelf when he flips ahead a few sheets of discs. His eyes go round and his stomach turns at what he finds.
Two columns of three small, silver discs line the page of the storage case. Each disc bears a single name followed by a place. There are are a dozen alone tucked into the sheets open before him. On every one, the name is the same.
Laura - Caprica
Laura - Gemenon (Oranu)
Laura - Tauron (Hypatia)
Laura - Tauron (Minos)
Laura - Virgon (Boskirk)
Laura - Picon (Queenstown)
Horrified, Billy slams the case closed. Grabbing it with all the fervor of holding a dead animal, he shoves it back in place upon the shelf before backing out of the room.
It is only when he has slammed the door to the bedroom he’s been given, back pressed up against it, that he even registers the frantic way his heart is pounding.
---
Coming next week...
“This is our entry point,” Racetrack says, gesturing to a red circle on the map in her hands that is presumably their location. “These are sewers and flood tunnels from back before they built the seawalls and created barrier islands outside of Caprica City in the last century. The city used to flood regularly in the spring when storms were at their worst; the tunnels filtered some of the excess water to the surrounding areas, which is why there’s still so much undeveloped land outside of the city proper: up until a hundred years ago, it was all untouched wetlands.”
Kat leans against the truck, hand on her hip, and taps her foot impatiently. “Thanks for the history lesson. Are we gonna get this show on the road, or shall we sit on our asses and catalogue the native plants while we’re at it?”