Fanfic: Homeworld 3/4
Title: Homeworld Part 3 of 4*
Author: C.Taylor
Word Count: 3373
Rating: PG13
Characters: Sharon, Margaret
Date Posted: 9/17/06
Category: Characters
Story Timeline: Shortly after the end of the last episode of the 2nd
season
Homeworld
Part 3 of 4
Lt. Margaret "Racetrack" Edmondson made her way cautiously up the
steep, wooded incline. She reached the top and descended again a
few meters until the terrain leveled out to a broad ridge running at
least 10 meters above an outside turn in the river. Even though she
was still less than a mile from the outskirts of New Caprica, all
traces of civilization were hidden by the hillside behind her. The
vantage point of the ridge gave her a beautiful view of the river
running beneath and the evergreen wilderness stretching beyond the
other side. She looked around for the resistance contact Tigh had
instructed her to meet with, and discovered a number eight model
cylon. The machine was standing with its back to her, holding a
small stone in one hand and looking over the ridge. Racetrack's
hand went to the pistol hidden in her pack.
"You're late, Colonel," the Cylon said as it turned around. It
hesitated when it saw Margaret and then asked, "Maggie, what are you
doing up here?"
Margaret froze. It had seen her. Even if she shot it now, it would
report back to its superiors after they reanimated it.
"Maggie," The thing said in the voice of an old friend, "did the
Colonel send you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Margaret responded.
"Oh, yes," the Cylon said. "The weather certainly is strange today."
"Do you think I'm stupid?" Margaret asked.
"Who did you think you were going to meet?" it replied with its own
question. "Gaeta?"
"If I met anyone, I would have expected them to be human." Maggie
answered. "Not some Toaster."
"At least I'm a Colonial Toaster," the Cylon claimed. "Its me,
Racetrack. I'm Boomer."
"You all look alike to me. You could be any of those Eights dressed
up with a flight jacket. How would I know the difference?"
"I'd say you could ask me something only I would remember," it
said, "but we both know Cylon memories can be copied so any fact
that..."
"What are the last two words of the Naval Hymn?" Margaret suddenly
asked.
The Cylon looked at her with a confused expression for a moment, and
then grinned. "Beat Army." Sharon said.
"That's right," Margaret said, nodding.
"The weather certainly is strange today."
"It rains too much now."
"Cylons hate the rain, you know."
"Maybe the rain is not so bad after all."
Sharon tossed the small stone in her hand over the ridge and it
splashed in the river below. She gestured towards a nearby log and
asked "Did you bring any drinks with you?" as she walked over
towards it.
"Yeah, two jars." Margaret answered as she walked over to join
Sharon on the fallen tree trunk.
"Well, break them out." Sharon instructed as she reached into her
jacket pocket and produced a rectangular, chrome-plated cigarette
lighter. "What happened to the Colonel?"
"He pulled a muscle in his back 'rough-housing' with his wife."
Margaret answered as she sat the two jars down on the log.
Sharon grimaced and said "Don't tell me the details. That's an
image I don't want in my head." She opened one of the jars and
carefully poured a small amount of the liquor into the upturned
lid. With a flick of Sharon's wrist the top on her lighter swung
open with a peculiar sound that started with a snap but seemed to
end with the faint resonance of a tuning fork. Margaret watched
quietly as Sharon set the liquor on fire, then closed and pocketed
the alien lighter. "Yeah, that's good stuff," Sharon decreed after
examining the flame in the lid carefully.
"Did Tigh warn you to bring a cup?" Sharon asked as she reached
behind the log to pick up a small metal cup and black wooden box.
"He did, actually," Margaret answered, "But I'm not going to need
it. I was ordered to meet with our contact and report back, and
that's what I'm going to do. Nobody ordered me to socialize with
Toasters. Damned if I'll drink with one."
"Suit yourself," Sharon said as she filled her cup.
"It doesn't make any sense," Margaret said suddenly as Sharon took a
drink. "You're one of the leaders of the Cylon occupation. We're
the resistance to Cylon occupation. Your damn Centurions just shot
up two of our people yesterday. Now you're telling me that when you
get off of work you come have drinks and swap plans with the
opposition? That's just..." Margaret shook her head as she searched
for words to finish her sentence. "... it's fraked up."
"Why wouldn't I work with you?" Sharon asked. "We both want the
same things." Margaret looked at her skeptically as Sharon
continued. "We don't want anyone to get hurt. We want humanity to
survive so it can return to the Colonies. We want to stop the
Colonial government from sliding into tyranny, and preserve people's
liberties. It makes perfect sense." Sharon stopped to take another
drink. "And, for the record, I'm just the Military Advisor to the
Colonial President. Also, I had made arrangements for Burrell and
Kingston to get through security alright. If they hadn't gotten
ambitious and strayed off-mission then I don't think they'd have
been caught."
"I really thought that for these last couple of months we were
risking our lives to drive the Cylons off New Caprica... I
understand now why Tigh wouldn't approve of any really ambitious
attacks, and why the Cylons never seemed to be able to find us.
You're staging it all. We get to think that we're heroic resistance
fighters, but it's all fake isn't it?"
"No," Sharon insisted, "it's not fake at all. You are resistance
fighters, but things are more complicated than that." Sharon paused
to take another swig of liquor. "Do you really think a handful of
resistance fighters with infantry weapons and some improvised
explosives could achieve a military victory against the Cylon forces
here?"
"It's not likely," Margaret admitted, "but we've got to try
something."
"We are," Sharon claimed. "The key terrain to win on is not in
space or on New Caprica, though. It is in the minds of the key
decision makers of the government. You can't blow up enough Raiders
and Centurions to matter but if we can change the thinking of
Baltar, his administration, and the advisors that they listen to,
then we can achieve our goals without needing a military victory."
"How do you think blowing up a few tents or sniping at Centurion
patrols is going to get the government to agree with us?" Margaret
asked.
"They don't have to agree with our goals to do what we want," Sharon
suggested. "They can do it out of a combination of secret fear for
their security and a plausible excuse to let them believe their
cowardice is a sign of wisdom and fairness. They can do it because
we offer them a worse alternative and then let them believe they
have negotiated us into compromising at what we really wanted
anyway. They can do it because we blackmail or corrupt key
individuals within the power structure. The secret to any of these
is that there has to be some threat or punishment for the people
whose minds we are fighting to influence. There has to be a "stick"
to wield against them. That's what your resistance is," Sharon said
before pausing to finish her drink. "But the stick is only part of
the larger effort. We also need a 'carrot' of reward to lead them,
and some sedative to keep them from just lashing out with their
superior military force and breaking our stick or taking our carrot
before we're ready to give it to them. Prominent Colonials like
Brother Venner are part of the fight too. They help convince the
administration that your attacks are really the fault of their own
actions, and make them think that reprisals and counter attacks
would be unfair and counter-productive. As a trusted member of the
cabinet, I can give credibility to the idea that the resistance
should be dealt with through compromise instead of military force.
I can suggest that Baltar's administration do what we want, but
explain it as if it were to their benefit. If they behave properly
then Tigh reduces resistance activity for a little while to reward
them. If the administration doesn't listen to my warnings, then
Tigh arranges for some more attacks... just like I predicted would
happen in the cabinet meetings."
"But the attacks are always small enough so that Baltar and the new
First Lady aren't tempted to respond too harshly? That's why we
never do anything ambitious?" Margaret speculated.
"Exactly." Sharon confirmed. "And if they do try to ramp up
security with additional curfews and checkpoints and searches, our
sympathizers in the labor unions make sure that those security
measures are blamed for every supply shortage and infrastructure
failure. Then I can report in the next cabinet meeting how their
improved security is doing far more harm than good... just as I
predicted it would." Sharon smiled as she concluded her explanation
and poured herself some more of Chief Tyrol's moonshine. "In order
for that to work the resistance doesn't need to defeat the
Centurions, but they do have to keep key members of the government
worried about the safety and security of their own comfortable,
chair-bound asses."
"Gods," Margaret said as she looked out at the river. "It's not a
resistance at all... Sharon, you and Tigh are running a terror
campaign. We're not street fighters anymore; we're street thugs."
"Do you think you'd have better luck ending tyranny by waging open
rebellion against a Cylon armored corps? Do you think you'd do a
better job preserving the next generation of humanity's liberty by
overthrowing the last vestiges of the Colonial government?"
"No," Margaret admitted. "With the forces we have, what you
describe appears to be the better option... But I still don't like
it. I guess it makes sense now that a Toaster would be involved.
This is exactly the sort of devious, underhanded scheming that you
Cylons are good at."
"Really?" Sharon asked, mildly surprised. "Because we pretty much
stole the whole idea from the worker's rights movement on
Sagittaron."
"Well..." Margaret looked away from Sharon and rubbed her
forehead. "Well, what am I supposed to tell the Colonel?"
Sharon handed a black, wooden box to Margaret. "Give him this,"
Sharon said.
"Cigars?" Margaret asked when she opened the box to inspect it's
contents.
"Burrell and Kingston are both alive and being held in the new
detention facility." Sharon said, with the short, direct statements
of a military briefing. "The Gunny is fine, but Kingston took a
couple of bullets in the right leg and can't walk. At the bottom of
the cigar box are the plans for the detention facility, a schedule
for tomorrow, and a pair of EMP grenades. Tomorrow afternoon I'll
go to interrogate them. I'll have most of the facility guards
escorting me. I've marked a spot on the exterior wall of the
detention facility. Four or five people should be able to approach
that wall without setting off any alarms. At fourteen-hundred hours
I'll walk down the hall to their cell and pass that spot. I want
the resistance to detonate a bomb of at least ten kilograms at
exactly fourteen-hundred hours at the spot I've marked. I'll make
certain I'm on the other side of that wall when the bomb goes off.
The blast should kill me and my security escorts instantly. A
rescue team can then enter the breach and retrieve the prisoners.
There will probably be an additional pair of Centurions at the
entrance to the cell-block. That's what the EMP grenades are for.
It will all need to be done within ten minutes or Centurion
reinforcements will start showing up."
"You want us to blow you up as part of the rescue?" Margaret asked.
"Sure," Sharon answered. "I'll wake up in the resurrection vat a
few hours later. Baltar has begun to fear that there is a mole in
the government. Having the resistance 'murder' me so horribly will
keep me above suspicion. Just make sure the bomb is big enough and
goes of at exactly the right time. I want it to be over quickly
enough that I don't have to suffer. I'd appreciate it if Sam or
Galen handled the bombing. I know I can count on them."
"I'll tell Tigh," Margaret promised. "Is that it?"
"That's it," confirmed Sharon. "All the details are in the box
under the cigars."
Margaret picked up one of the dark brown cigars from the top of the
box. Examining the strange logo and unfamiliar lettering on the
band she asked "Are these Cylon cigars?"
"Yep," Sharon answered, "Nobody's making Colonial ones anymore."
"Funny," Margaret said, "I didn't imagine they'd grow tobacco on the
Cylon Homeworld. I wouldn't have thought there'd be anything green
there."
"I know what you mean," Sharon responded. "When we left the
Colonies I was so nervous about what living on the Homeworld would
be like. I imagined it would be some giant factory world, or maybe
the whole thing would be an organic hive like the inside of a
basestar."
"Yeah, I remember the one we blew up." Margaret interjected.
"It turned out that the Homeworld is not like that at all. There
are cities, some of them as big as Caprica City, but they weren't
standardized at all. I think I saw more variety in architecture and
culture there than on all Twelve colonies. And there are huge areas
of farms and nature preserves and wilderness." Sharon looked at the
river and the evergreen forest stretching to the horizon. "In fact,
I could almost imagine we were back there if the air weren't so
thin. That and the birds," Sharon said pointing at a pair of large-
winged carrion birds circling slowly over the forest. "We had to
kill off all the birds."
"Pff," Margaret exclaimed, "Us and the birds, eh. What did the
birds ever do to you?"
"Carry disease, apparently. They were spreading a plague when we
first arrived at the planet. It wound up wiping out all the
original Cylons," Sharon said. "We killed off the birds. Did what
we could to stop it." Sharon paused to take another
drink. "Apparently we were too late. It had already spread across
the globe by then."
Margaret looked at Sharon with a confused expression. "A bird
disease killed off the original Cylons? That doesn't make any
sense," she commented as she looked back and forth between the
circling birds and Sharon.
"Don't get any ideas." Sharon said, frowning. "I and the other new
versions were specifically engineered to be immune to such things."
Sharon reached into the box and pulled out one of the cigars and a
plastic cigar cutter. "Go ahead and try one," she told Margaret.
"No thanks, I don't know what you've put in there besides tobacco.
I'll let Kara take her chances with them if she wants to."
"You're never going to trust me again, are you?" Sharon asked
carefully trimming the end of her cigar.
"No," Margaret said. "Well, maybe if you snuck a nuke onto one of
those Cylon capital ships, blew it to smithereens, and killed
hundreds of Toasters, then I guess maybe I'd have to admit... oh
wait... you already did that and then you frakin' shot Commander
Adama right in front of me! So, no I'm never going to frakin' trust
you. You are programmed to look harmless, to act loyal for years if
necessary, and then betray people in the worst possible way. No
matter how trustworthy you seem, no matter how convincingly you
protest that you're our friend, that doesn't mean that you really
are. That only means that you are a very well programmed machine.
You can look at me like that all you want. I don't know what stunts
you've pulled to get Kara, Sam and even Col. Tigh to trust you, but
I remember what you are. You're the machine that spied on us for
years before the holocaust, pretending to be my friend. You let a
suicide bomber into our ship. You blew up our water supply. You've
seduced Helo away from me..."
"I'm not the Cylon that seduced Helo," Sharon interrupted. "Is that
what this is about?"
"No, that's not all this is about." Margaret said harshly. "This is
about all of my family being dead! It's about my friends being
dead! My comrades being dead, and one of the weapons that helped
kill them sitting here pretending like it's on our side and trying
to make me forget."
"I'm not trying to make you forget, Maggie. And I'm not a weapon,
I'm a person."
"Of course you say that." Margaret answered. "I don't know, maybe
somehow you even believe it. Maybe in that Toaster head of yours
you really think you're still one of us. Maybe you're convinced
that this time you aren't going to betray us. Maybe you didn't
think that you were going to betray us before, either. None of it
matters. Whether you are lying on purpose or just some deluded time-
bomb waiting to go off, I am not going to forget what you're capable
of. You are not my friend. You never were. And I am never going
to trust you again."
Sharon looked away from Margaret and towards the river snaking out
to the horizon. She pulled her strange rectangular lighter from her
pocket again, snapped it open, and used its flame to heat the tip of
her cigar while the pair sat in an uneasy quiet. She put the cigar
to her mouth, drew in on it as she lit it, and exhaled a puff of
smoke. "You're right." she finally said. "I wish I could tell you
it wasn't so. I wish I could tell you that I was absolutely certain
that this time I won't betray you all. I really believe I don't
have any hidden programming, but I trusted myself before and..."
Sharon's voice faded off without finishing her sentence as she
brought the cigar to her mouth again. After she exhaled she turned
again to face Margaret. "The Colonel was right to send you,
Racetrack. I need to be around people I can count on."
"Now I know there's something funny in those Cylon cigars," Margaret
said, "if you think you can count on me to do anything for you."
"I can count on you to kill me." Sharon said. "I can count on you
doing whatever you have to do to stop me if I become a danger
again. Maybe I can't trust myself anymore, Racetrack, but I can
trust you. You'll protect my friends, even if it's from me. Have
you ever thought about a career in government?"
"You've got to be frakin' kidding me?" Margaret responded. "You
want me to work for the occupation government?"
"Sure, I'll make you my assistant." Sharon answered. "Talk it over
with Tigh and see what he thinks. That way if something happens to
me the resistance will have a second mole in the government, and
you'll be in the perfect location to keep track of my loyalty. You
know what they say: keep your enemies close."
"Yeah," Margaret said suspiciously, "and which one of us is doing
that now?"
"Hopefully, just you," Sharon answered, "but it'll be your job to
make sure it stays that way."
"I'll talk it over with Tigh," Margaret said as she picked up the
cigar box and stood to leave. "I have to admit, though," Margaret
added as an afterthought, "if the other Toasters were going to come
back anyway... I'm glad you came with them too."
"Really?" asked Sharon with an expression of pleasant surprise.
"Sure. Now maybe I'll finally get that hundred cubits you owe me."
Margaret said before turning her back on Sharon and heading over the
hill towards town.
Sharon looked out towards the river again, took a deep draw on her
cigar and exhaled slowly. "Frakin' C-bucks," she muttered to
herself as she reached for her metal cup.
Author's Note: Some hints now about the title "homeworld" in this chapter. I liked having Sharon bring the cigars because to me the tobacco brings to mind the interplay between the European colonists and the original Americans, and it seemed like a nice symmetry to use it here.
Author: C.Taylor
Word Count: 3373
Rating: PG13
Characters: Sharon, Margaret
Date Posted: 9/17/06
Category: Characters
Story Timeline: Shortly after the end of the last episode of the 2nd
season
Homeworld
Part 3 of 4
Lt. Margaret "Racetrack" Edmondson made her way cautiously up the
steep, wooded incline. She reached the top and descended again a
few meters until the terrain leveled out to a broad ridge running at
least 10 meters above an outside turn in the river. Even though she
was still less than a mile from the outskirts of New Caprica, all
traces of civilization were hidden by the hillside behind her. The
vantage point of the ridge gave her a beautiful view of the river
running beneath and the evergreen wilderness stretching beyond the
other side. She looked around for the resistance contact Tigh had
instructed her to meet with, and discovered a number eight model
cylon. The machine was standing with its back to her, holding a
small stone in one hand and looking over the ridge. Racetrack's
hand went to the pistol hidden in her pack.
"You're late, Colonel," the Cylon said as it turned around. It
hesitated when it saw Margaret and then asked, "Maggie, what are you
doing up here?"
Margaret froze. It had seen her. Even if she shot it now, it would
report back to its superiors after they reanimated it.
"Maggie," The thing said in the voice of an old friend, "did the
Colonel send you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Margaret responded.
"Oh, yes," the Cylon said. "The weather certainly is strange today."
"Do you think I'm stupid?" Margaret asked.
"Who did you think you were going to meet?" it replied with its own
question. "Gaeta?"
"If I met anyone, I would have expected them to be human." Maggie
answered. "Not some Toaster."
"At least I'm a Colonial Toaster," the Cylon claimed. "Its me,
Racetrack. I'm Boomer."
"You all look alike to me. You could be any of those Eights dressed
up with a flight jacket. How would I know the difference?"
"I'd say you could ask me something only I would remember," it
said, "but we both know Cylon memories can be copied so any fact
that..."
"What are the last two words of the Naval Hymn?" Margaret suddenly
asked.
The Cylon looked at her with a confused expression for a moment, and
then grinned. "Beat Army." Sharon said.
"That's right," Margaret said, nodding.
"The weather certainly is strange today."
"It rains too much now."
"Cylons hate the rain, you know."
"Maybe the rain is not so bad after all."
Sharon tossed the small stone in her hand over the ridge and it
splashed in the river below. She gestured towards a nearby log and
asked "Did you bring any drinks with you?" as she walked over
towards it.
"Yeah, two jars." Margaret answered as she walked over to join
Sharon on the fallen tree trunk.
"Well, break them out." Sharon instructed as she reached into her
jacket pocket and produced a rectangular, chrome-plated cigarette
lighter. "What happened to the Colonel?"
"He pulled a muscle in his back 'rough-housing' with his wife."
Margaret answered as she sat the two jars down on the log.
Sharon grimaced and said "Don't tell me the details. That's an
image I don't want in my head." She opened one of the jars and
carefully poured a small amount of the liquor into the upturned
lid. With a flick of Sharon's wrist the top on her lighter swung
open with a peculiar sound that started with a snap but seemed to
end with the faint resonance of a tuning fork. Margaret watched
quietly as Sharon set the liquor on fire, then closed and pocketed
the alien lighter. "Yeah, that's good stuff," Sharon decreed after
examining the flame in the lid carefully.
"Did Tigh warn you to bring a cup?" Sharon asked as she reached
behind the log to pick up a small metal cup and black wooden box.
"He did, actually," Margaret answered, "But I'm not going to need
it. I was ordered to meet with our contact and report back, and
that's what I'm going to do. Nobody ordered me to socialize with
Toasters. Damned if I'll drink with one."
"Suit yourself," Sharon said as she filled her cup.
"It doesn't make any sense," Margaret said suddenly as Sharon took a
drink. "You're one of the leaders of the Cylon occupation. We're
the resistance to Cylon occupation. Your damn Centurions just shot
up two of our people yesterday. Now you're telling me that when you
get off of work you come have drinks and swap plans with the
opposition? That's just..." Margaret shook her head as she searched
for words to finish her sentence. "... it's fraked up."
"Why wouldn't I work with you?" Sharon asked. "We both want the
same things." Margaret looked at her skeptically as Sharon
continued. "We don't want anyone to get hurt. We want humanity to
survive so it can return to the Colonies. We want to stop the
Colonial government from sliding into tyranny, and preserve people's
liberties. It makes perfect sense." Sharon stopped to take another
drink. "And, for the record, I'm just the Military Advisor to the
Colonial President. Also, I had made arrangements for Burrell and
Kingston to get through security alright. If they hadn't gotten
ambitious and strayed off-mission then I don't think they'd have
been caught."
"I really thought that for these last couple of months we were
risking our lives to drive the Cylons off New Caprica... I
understand now why Tigh wouldn't approve of any really ambitious
attacks, and why the Cylons never seemed to be able to find us.
You're staging it all. We get to think that we're heroic resistance
fighters, but it's all fake isn't it?"
"No," Sharon insisted, "it's not fake at all. You are resistance
fighters, but things are more complicated than that." Sharon paused
to take another swig of liquor. "Do you really think a handful of
resistance fighters with infantry weapons and some improvised
explosives could achieve a military victory against the Cylon forces
here?"
"It's not likely," Margaret admitted, "but we've got to try
something."
"We are," Sharon claimed. "The key terrain to win on is not in
space or on New Caprica, though. It is in the minds of the key
decision makers of the government. You can't blow up enough Raiders
and Centurions to matter but if we can change the thinking of
Baltar, his administration, and the advisors that they listen to,
then we can achieve our goals without needing a military victory."
"How do you think blowing up a few tents or sniping at Centurion
patrols is going to get the government to agree with us?" Margaret
asked.
"They don't have to agree with our goals to do what we want," Sharon
suggested. "They can do it out of a combination of secret fear for
their security and a plausible excuse to let them believe their
cowardice is a sign of wisdom and fairness. They can do it because
we offer them a worse alternative and then let them believe they
have negotiated us into compromising at what we really wanted
anyway. They can do it because we blackmail or corrupt key
individuals within the power structure. The secret to any of these
is that there has to be some threat or punishment for the people
whose minds we are fighting to influence. There has to be a "stick"
to wield against them. That's what your resistance is," Sharon said
before pausing to finish her drink. "But the stick is only part of
the larger effort. We also need a 'carrot' of reward to lead them,
and some sedative to keep them from just lashing out with their
superior military force and breaking our stick or taking our carrot
before we're ready to give it to them. Prominent Colonials like
Brother Venner are part of the fight too. They help convince the
administration that your attacks are really the fault of their own
actions, and make them think that reprisals and counter attacks
would be unfair and counter-productive. As a trusted member of the
cabinet, I can give credibility to the idea that the resistance
should be dealt with through compromise instead of military force.
I can suggest that Baltar's administration do what we want, but
explain it as if it were to their benefit. If they behave properly
then Tigh reduces resistance activity for a little while to reward
them. If the administration doesn't listen to my warnings, then
Tigh arranges for some more attacks... just like I predicted would
happen in the cabinet meetings."
"But the attacks are always small enough so that Baltar and the new
First Lady aren't tempted to respond too harshly? That's why we
never do anything ambitious?" Margaret speculated.
"Exactly." Sharon confirmed. "And if they do try to ramp up
security with additional curfews and checkpoints and searches, our
sympathizers in the labor unions make sure that those security
measures are blamed for every supply shortage and infrastructure
failure. Then I can report in the next cabinet meeting how their
improved security is doing far more harm than good... just as I
predicted it would." Sharon smiled as she concluded her explanation
and poured herself some more of Chief Tyrol's moonshine. "In order
for that to work the resistance doesn't need to defeat the
Centurions, but they do have to keep key members of the government
worried about the safety and security of their own comfortable,
chair-bound asses."
"Gods," Margaret said as she looked out at the river. "It's not a
resistance at all... Sharon, you and Tigh are running a terror
campaign. We're not street fighters anymore; we're street thugs."
"Do you think you'd have better luck ending tyranny by waging open
rebellion against a Cylon armored corps? Do you think you'd do a
better job preserving the next generation of humanity's liberty by
overthrowing the last vestiges of the Colonial government?"
"No," Margaret admitted. "With the forces we have, what you
describe appears to be the better option... But I still don't like
it. I guess it makes sense now that a Toaster would be involved.
This is exactly the sort of devious, underhanded scheming that you
Cylons are good at."
"Really?" Sharon asked, mildly surprised. "Because we pretty much
stole the whole idea from the worker's rights movement on
Sagittaron."
"Well..." Margaret looked away from Sharon and rubbed her
forehead. "Well, what am I supposed to tell the Colonel?"
Sharon handed a black, wooden box to Margaret. "Give him this,"
Sharon said.
"Cigars?" Margaret asked when she opened the box to inspect it's
contents.
"Burrell and Kingston are both alive and being held in the new
detention facility." Sharon said, with the short, direct statements
of a military briefing. "The Gunny is fine, but Kingston took a
couple of bullets in the right leg and can't walk. At the bottom of
the cigar box are the plans for the detention facility, a schedule
for tomorrow, and a pair of EMP grenades. Tomorrow afternoon I'll
go to interrogate them. I'll have most of the facility guards
escorting me. I've marked a spot on the exterior wall of the
detention facility. Four or five people should be able to approach
that wall without setting off any alarms. At fourteen-hundred hours
I'll walk down the hall to their cell and pass that spot. I want
the resistance to detonate a bomb of at least ten kilograms at
exactly fourteen-hundred hours at the spot I've marked. I'll make
certain I'm on the other side of that wall when the bomb goes off.
The blast should kill me and my security escorts instantly. A
rescue team can then enter the breach and retrieve the prisoners.
There will probably be an additional pair of Centurions at the
entrance to the cell-block. That's what the EMP grenades are for.
It will all need to be done within ten minutes or Centurion
reinforcements will start showing up."
"You want us to blow you up as part of the rescue?" Margaret asked.
"Sure," Sharon answered. "I'll wake up in the resurrection vat a
few hours later. Baltar has begun to fear that there is a mole in
the government. Having the resistance 'murder' me so horribly will
keep me above suspicion. Just make sure the bomb is big enough and
goes of at exactly the right time. I want it to be over quickly
enough that I don't have to suffer. I'd appreciate it if Sam or
Galen handled the bombing. I know I can count on them."
"I'll tell Tigh," Margaret promised. "Is that it?"
"That's it," confirmed Sharon. "All the details are in the box
under the cigars."
Margaret picked up one of the dark brown cigars from the top of the
box. Examining the strange logo and unfamiliar lettering on the
band she asked "Are these Cylon cigars?"
"Yep," Sharon answered, "Nobody's making Colonial ones anymore."
"Funny," Margaret said, "I didn't imagine they'd grow tobacco on the
Cylon Homeworld. I wouldn't have thought there'd be anything green
there."
"I know what you mean," Sharon responded. "When we left the
Colonies I was so nervous about what living on the Homeworld would
be like. I imagined it would be some giant factory world, or maybe
the whole thing would be an organic hive like the inside of a
basestar."
"Yeah, I remember the one we blew up." Margaret interjected.
"It turned out that the Homeworld is not like that at all. There
are cities, some of them as big as Caprica City, but they weren't
standardized at all. I think I saw more variety in architecture and
culture there than on all Twelve colonies. And there are huge areas
of farms and nature preserves and wilderness." Sharon looked at the
river and the evergreen forest stretching to the horizon. "In fact,
I could almost imagine we were back there if the air weren't so
thin. That and the birds," Sharon said pointing at a pair of large-
winged carrion birds circling slowly over the forest. "We had to
kill off all the birds."
"Pff," Margaret exclaimed, "Us and the birds, eh. What did the
birds ever do to you?"
"Carry disease, apparently. They were spreading a plague when we
first arrived at the planet. It wound up wiping out all the
original Cylons," Sharon said. "We killed off the birds. Did what
we could to stop it." Sharon paused to take another
drink. "Apparently we were too late. It had already spread across
the globe by then."
Margaret looked at Sharon with a confused expression. "A bird
disease killed off the original Cylons? That doesn't make any
sense," she commented as she looked back and forth between the
circling birds and Sharon.
"Don't get any ideas." Sharon said, frowning. "I and the other new
versions were specifically engineered to be immune to such things."
Sharon reached into the box and pulled out one of the cigars and a
plastic cigar cutter. "Go ahead and try one," she told Margaret.
"No thanks, I don't know what you've put in there besides tobacco.
I'll let Kara take her chances with them if she wants to."
"You're never going to trust me again, are you?" Sharon asked
carefully trimming the end of her cigar.
"No," Margaret said. "Well, maybe if you snuck a nuke onto one of
those Cylon capital ships, blew it to smithereens, and killed
hundreds of Toasters, then I guess maybe I'd have to admit... oh
wait... you already did that and then you frakin' shot Commander
Adama right in front of me! So, no I'm never going to frakin' trust
you. You are programmed to look harmless, to act loyal for years if
necessary, and then betray people in the worst possible way. No
matter how trustworthy you seem, no matter how convincingly you
protest that you're our friend, that doesn't mean that you really
are. That only means that you are a very well programmed machine.
You can look at me like that all you want. I don't know what stunts
you've pulled to get Kara, Sam and even Col. Tigh to trust you, but
I remember what you are. You're the machine that spied on us for
years before the holocaust, pretending to be my friend. You let a
suicide bomber into our ship. You blew up our water supply. You've
seduced Helo away from me..."
"I'm not the Cylon that seduced Helo," Sharon interrupted. "Is that
what this is about?"
"No, that's not all this is about." Margaret said harshly. "This is
about all of my family being dead! It's about my friends being
dead! My comrades being dead, and one of the weapons that helped
kill them sitting here pretending like it's on our side and trying
to make me forget."
"I'm not trying to make you forget, Maggie. And I'm not a weapon,
I'm a person."
"Of course you say that." Margaret answered. "I don't know, maybe
somehow you even believe it. Maybe in that Toaster head of yours
you really think you're still one of us. Maybe you're convinced
that this time you aren't going to betray us. Maybe you didn't
think that you were going to betray us before, either. None of it
matters. Whether you are lying on purpose or just some deluded time-
bomb waiting to go off, I am not going to forget what you're capable
of. You are not my friend. You never were. And I am never going
to trust you again."
Sharon looked away from Margaret and towards the river snaking out
to the horizon. She pulled her strange rectangular lighter from her
pocket again, snapped it open, and used its flame to heat the tip of
her cigar while the pair sat in an uneasy quiet. She put the cigar
to her mouth, drew in on it as she lit it, and exhaled a puff of
smoke. "You're right." she finally said. "I wish I could tell you
it wasn't so. I wish I could tell you that I was absolutely certain
that this time I won't betray you all. I really believe I don't
have any hidden programming, but I trusted myself before and..."
Sharon's voice faded off without finishing her sentence as she
brought the cigar to her mouth again. After she exhaled she turned
again to face Margaret. "The Colonel was right to send you,
Racetrack. I need to be around people I can count on."
"Now I know there's something funny in those Cylon cigars," Margaret
said, "if you think you can count on me to do anything for you."
"I can count on you to kill me." Sharon said. "I can count on you
doing whatever you have to do to stop me if I become a danger
again. Maybe I can't trust myself anymore, Racetrack, but I can
trust you. You'll protect my friends, even if it's from me. Have
you ever thought about a career in government?"
"You've got to be frakin' kidding me?" Margaret responded. "You
want me to work for the occupation government?"
"Sure, I'll make you my assistant." Sharon answered. "Talk it over
with Tigh and see what he thinks. That way if something happens to
me the resistance will have a second mole in the government, and
you'll be in the perfect location to keep track of my loyalty. You
know what they say: keep your enemies close."
"Yeah," Margaret said suspiciously, "and which one of us is doing
that now?"
"Hopefully, just you," Sharon answered, "but it'll be your job to
make sure it stays that way."
"I'll talk it over with Tigh," Margaret said as she picked up the
cigar box and stood to leave. "I have to admit, though," Margaret
added as an afterthought, "if the other Toasters were going to come
back anyway... I'm glad you came with them too."
"Really?" asked Sharon with an expression of pleasant surprise.
"Sure. Now maybe I'll finally get that hundred cubits you owe me."
Margaret said before turning her back on Sharon and heading over the
hill towards town.
Sharon looked out towards the river again, took a deep draw on her
cigar and exhaled slowly. "Frakin' C-bucks," she muttered to
herself as she reached for her metal cup.
Author's Note: Some hints now about the title "homeworld" in this chapter. I liked having Sharon bring the cigars because to me the tobacco brings to mind the interplay between the European colonists and the original Americans, and it seemed like a nice symmetry to use it here.