Maaaaaaaad Science!
Crackfic ahoy! Inspired by "No Exit" and "Deadlock." Hell really is other Cylons. There's music, food, passion, destiny, and robots! What more could you want?
Oh yeah, plot.
I know this was supposed to be crackfic about Caprica's babyshower for infant-Liam-downloaded-into-Sam, but the thought that you lose your baby if a man doesn't love you enough was making me way too angry and sad to focus on that.
So, instead, I decided to explore this notion that the final Five are the people who they always were, just with mystic destinies and awesome powers of science. This is a 100% true narrative that fleshes out a little more of the backstory. The flashbacks just got cut from "No Exit." Honest.
BTW, if you need a primer on the whole timeline revealed in No Exit, this is a really fab visual.
LOVE IN LABCOATS: A BACKSTORY OF DESTINY,
OR HOW RESURRECTION WAS RESURRECTED (AGAIN)
***A few thousand years earlier**
**In Ellen Tigh’s Mad Science Lab, on 'Earth'**
Dr. Ellen Tigh (in a pink labcoat, raising a pipette): Resurrection is the goal.
Dr. Saul Tigh: I know, but…why are we doing this, again?
Dr. Ellen: I don’t know, I just have a feeling it’ll come in handy someday. Plus, my barren womb makes me aspire to artificial means of reproduction.
Dr. Saul: But you never even WANTED kids!
Dr. Ellen: And also, angels told me to do it.
Dr. Saul: I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…maybe you should lay off the booze a little, Ellen.
Dr. Ellen: Don’t you judge me! (Hic!) Just get me the blueprints for the new Brainscanomatic Downloadatron, and STAT!
Dr. Saul (taking a swill from his flask): Yes, dear.
Dr. Ellen (to the air): Don’t listen to him, angels. Someday he’ll understand.
**Later, in the main research station**
Dr. Saul Tigh: Where are those blueprints? The Alpha Bitch’s been askin’ for ‘em, and you know how she gets when she’s on her third gallon -
Dr. Galen Tyrol: Uh…
Dr. Tory Foster: Well…
Dr. Sam Anders: Saul! Saul! Check it out! Over here.
Dr. Tigh: And what in the hell is THAT--?
Dr. Sam (beaming): Isn’t it BITCHIN’?
Dr. Tigh: For the last time, Dr. Anders, we’re trying to build resurrection tubs here. We are NOT trying to create “The World’s Most Awesome Guitar”!
Dr. Sam: But it’s electric! It can send music in waves that vibrate across the UNIVERSE! Listen!
(Sam picks up his axe and does an awesome riff; all stand and watch)
Sam: Cool, right?!
Tigh: Oh yeah. I’m speechless. (swigs from flask)
Tory: For frak’s sake, Sam, could you get a new song?
Galen: Yeah, it's getting really annoying. And it makes no sense. ‘Said the joker to the thief’? C’mon, what were you smoking?
Tigh: Whatever it was, I’M gonna need some of it soon -
Sam: You just don’t know great art when you hear it. I’m gonna take this baby on the road. Be a big star. You’ll see.
Tory: Just don’t quit your day job.
Tigh: Speaking OF - your FRAKKING JOB is to get me my frakking BLUEPRINTS! Where are they?
(Tory and Galen exchange guilty glances)
Tigh: Oh, don’t tell me. You need to run more preliminary tests. AGAIN. No, no. That excuse ain’t gonna fly this time. It’s been five months. We need to see some real progress.
Galen: But it’s true, sir. We’re really close-
Tory: If you look at the last batch of reports we sent-
Tigh: Well, Ellen did look at them, and she is of the opinion that the data sets are too neat. She says they look…faked. Now, I know you all wouldn’t try to pull that again. Because that would have consequences. Serious consequences.
(A long pause; Galen and Tory turn on each other simultaneously)
Galen: SHE did it!
Tory: It’s HIS fault!
Tigh: FOR FRAK’S SAKE, PEOPLE! How could you do this to me again? What am I gonna tell Ellen?!
Tory: Okay, okay, don’t panic, just-give us a little more time. I’ll make this work, Dr. Tigh. Just stall her. You know how she gets. If not for our sakes - do it for yours.
Tigh: All right. I’ll try to distract her for as long as I can with sex. Just-make it happen! The navy's in town, and I don’t know if I can hold her attention for long!
(Tigh drains his flask and makes for the exit; soon, in the distance, ominous crashing sounds are heard)
Sam: Ew. They’re doing ‘table or floor’ again...
Tory: Shut up, Sam, it's for the team. Now, about this project-
Galen: No. You know what? You’re always bossing us around, Tory! "Let's just pretend to do the work," you said. "Those two crazy alcoholics won't even notice," you said. You see what happens? And now you act like it's OUR fault!
Tory: I had to fake the data, you nimrod! How could I run all those experiments all by myself? Sam’s a guitar freak and you’re never around! I was on my own! Maybe if you weren’t running off to the farmers’ market all the time--
Galen: Hey! I’ve almost perfected my recipe for the ultimate Kobolian guacamole! Don’t blame me for being excited about that!
Tory: Always making posts to your precious food blog and then expecting me to cover for you-
Galen: Why can’t you even try to understand how important this is to me? To the culinary world?
Tory: Well. If they’re so important, why don’t you just hook up with those damn tacos instead of me?
Galen: Dammit, Tory, the guacamole is for NACHOS. N-a-c-h-o-s, nachos! From an ancient, original recipe! You never listen!
Tory: Maybe I’m too busy doging the dirty clothes you leave lying all over our apartment to care about the way you natter on and on and on about your addiction to avocados. Which are SO BUTTERY AND FULL OF OMEGA-3s.
Galen: Oh, great. Here we go again -- blaming everyone but yourself!
Sam: Guys, guys. Come on now, don’t fight. Words can be so hurtful. You love each other. Think about it.
Tory: Hmph, I doubt it. He only loves his food porn.
Galen (beet red): How dare you tell him that?! Those are just-just-culinary magazines!
Tory: Uh huh. That’s why you dance around naked with them in the kitchen, huh?
Galen (tomato-red now): I buy them for the ARTICLES!
Sam: Um, gosh. It seems like you two have a lot to work out. I’m gonna…I’m gonna just go work on my guitar.
Tory (whirling around): Touch that damn thing again and I’ll ram it so far up your wannabe hiney you'll-
Galen: Whoa, whoa, hon. Hey. Easy.
Tory: I’ve had just about enough of covering for both of you! You know what we’re gonna do?
Galen: Take a lunch break?
Sam: Have a funky jam session?
Tory: NO! We are going to stop effing around and do these tests. TOGETHER. Because Ellen’s a crackpot, but she’s still the boss. And we gotta get paid.
Galen: But Tory, honey. You know there's no use in trying. This is crazy. She wants us to build a brain-scanner and a giant psychotronic wave transmitter. Reconstructing download technology that nobody’s used in thousands of years. WHICH NO ONE NEEDS ANYMORE. From SCRATCH.
Sam: And a spaceship, too. Don’t forget that!
Galen: Yeah, let’s just rocket back to the stars! Woo!
Sam: And none of us even minored in astrophysics!
Tory: Look, people. I know she’s crazy. YOU know she’s crazy. But she signs our motherfrakking paychecks every week. Face it, the job market sucks out there right now. Let’s just ride this gravy train for as long as we can.
Sam (whines): But I wanna be a ROCK STAR! And besides...she keeps sexually harrassing me!
Galen: Dude, she pinched your butt in the first interview. That should have been a clue.
Sam (miffed): I have to put up with that kind of stuff from women all the time. It still doesn't make it right.
Tory: Focus, here, guys. Now, Sam. Who’ll keep you in guitar picks until you hit the big time, huh? (to Tyrol) And don’t even get me started on the cost of artisan bacon! Do you REALLY want to give up bacon?
Galen: Hmm. She’s got a point.
Tory: You’re damn right I do. Now, help me out, here. I can't mock up a halfway plausible Downloadatron on my own.
Sam: Let’s just get out of the science biz. Let's all become travelling musicians.
Galen, Tory: NO!
Sam (crestfallen): But I have a great idea for band T-shirts.
(More crashing is heard in the distance)
Dr Ellen: Oh, Saul! You DO love me!
Tory: On second thought - let’s take that lunch break.
Sam (covering ears): Eww. Ew, ew, ew.
Ellen: Your love for me is HUUUUUUUGE!
Galen: I, I know this great taco joint!
Tory (sighing) Quick, before I lose my appetite.
Galen: But really, dear-how are we gonna handle this workload?
Tory: We’re gonna have to contract it out to the Centurion labor force. Keep it under the table. They're not too bright, but they still have their uses.
Galen: Tory, I love you.
Tory: Galen...I know.
Sam: Aww, you made up. This makes me wanna...write a love song! 'Two crazy Cyloooons...no one was to blaaaame...for their love on fi-iire...Galen 'n' Tory were their naaaames...'
Galen, Tory: NOT NOW, SAM!
**Later, post-Cylon-civil war and apocalypse**
**In a ship traversing the far reaches of space**
Galen: Are we there yet?
Ellen (at the steering wheel): No. You keep asking me that every five minutes. Cut it out!
Sam (softly): Da daa da daa da OUT-TA HERE-
Tory: Quit humming that, Sam, it’s driving me crazy!
Sam: Well I HAVE to hum it, ’cause no one resurrected my guitar!
Tigh: Are you still harpin' on that? At least we’re all alive!
Galen: Yeah. And on the slowest-ass, most boring trip imaginable.
Tigh: Well, SOMEBODY could've invented FTL -- but noooo!
Galen: We were only three people! We’re scientists, not magicians!
Ellen: Quiet back there, all of you! Our job is to promote harmony in the universe!
Tory (darkly): Well, THEY started it.
Ellen: Oh, and Sam, dear? You look kind of bored back there, sweetie. Why don't you have a seat up here on my lap? Sing me a song. Come to Mama.
Sam: Um, uh, no thank you, Mrs. Tigh, I'm fine where--don't hit me, Saul!
Tory: And just why are we doing this, again?
Ellen: To stop the cycle of time. Because of the angels.
Tory: Oh great. That oughta be easy. “Hi, human colonists, we’re Cylon skinjobs. Learn from our mistakes. Please be nice to your robots.”
Tigh: I need another drink...!
Galen: And we're all out of snacks! (wistfully) Do you think they have avocados in the Colonies?
Ellen (smiling serenely): Hush, hush, let’s not get worked up, now. The important thing is we’re all alive. Together.
Tigh (swilling from a bottle): For ETERNITY.
Ellen: All this has happened before. But it doesn’t have to happen again.
Tory: Gods, I hope not. Immortality is seriously overrated.
Sam (singing): And the hour is getting…are we there yet?
The rest (in unison): NO!
**Later, when the younguns are finally asleep**
Tigh: I don’t know, lass. It's lookin' grim. We’re gonna need a lot more liquor to get through this.
Ellen: I see an algae planet on our sensors. The angels and my various scientific degrees say that stuff is fermentable.
Tigh: It’ll do. Let’s build a still. And, um-dedicate it to the God.
Ellen: This is holy work. Kiss me!
Tigh: So say we all!
Ellen: I just hope we're making good time.
Tigh: Uh...
…And they all lived happily never after.
Darn it.
Oh yeah, plot.
I know this was supposed to be crackfic about Caprica's babyshower for infant-Liam-downloaded-into-Sam, but the thought that you lose your baby if a man doesn't love you enough was making me way too angry and sad to focus on that.
So, instead, I decided to explore this notion that the final Five are the people who they always were, just with mystic destinies and awesome powers of science. This is a 100% true narrative that fleshes out a little more of the backstory. The flashbacks just got cut from "No Exit." Honest.
BTW, if you need a primer on the whole timeline revealed in No Exit, this is a really fab visual.
LOVE IN LABCOATS: A BACKSTORY OF DESTINY,
OR HOW RESURRECTION WAS RESURRECTED (AGAIN)
***A few thousand years earlier**
**In Ellen Tigh’s Mad Science Lab, on 'Earth'**
Dr. Ellen Tigh (in a pink labcoat, raising a pipette): Resurrection is the goal.
Dr. Saul Tigh: I know, but…why are we doing this, again?
Dr. Ellen: I don’t know, I just have a feeling it’ll come in handy someday. Plus, my barren womb makes me aspire to artificial means of reproduction.
Dr. Saul: But you never even WANTED kids!
Dr. Ellen: And also, angels told me to do it.
Dr. Saul: I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…maybe you should lay off the booze a little, Ellen.
Dr. Ellen: Don’t you judge me! (Hic!) Just get me the blueprints for the new Brainscanomatic Downloadatron, and STAT!
Dr. Saul (taking a swill from his flask): Yes, dear.
Dr. Ellen (to the air): Don’t listen to him, angels. Someday he’ll understand.
**Later, in the main research station**
Dr. Saul Tigh: Where are those blueprints? The Alpha Bitch’s been askin’ for ‘em, and you know how she gets when she’s on her third gallon -
Dr. Galen Tyrol: Uh…
Dr. Tory Foster: Well…
Dr. Sam Anders: Saul! Saul! Check it out! Over here.
Dr. Tigh: And what in the hell is THAT--?
Dr. Sam (beaming): Isn’t it BITCHIN’?
Dr. Tigh: For the last time, Dr. Anders, we’re trying to build resurrection tubs here. We are NOT trying to create “The World’s Most Awesome Guitar”!
Dr. Sam: But it’s electric! It can send music in waves that vibrate across the UNIVERSE! Listen!
(Sam picks up his axe and does an awesome riff; all stand and watch)
Sam: Cool, right?!
Tigh: Oh yeah. I’m speechless. (swigs from flask)
Tory: For frak’s sake, Sam, could you get a new song?
Galen: Yeah, it's getting really annoying. And it makes no sense. ‘Said the joker to the thief’? C’mon, what were you smoking?
Tigh: Whatever it was, I’M gonna need some of it soon -
Sam: You just don’t know great art when you hear it. I’m gonna take this baby on the road. Be a big star. You’ll see.
Tory: Just don’t quit your day job.
Tigh: Speaking OF - your FRAKKING JOB is to get me my frakking BLUEPRINTS! Where are they?
(Tory and Galen exchange guilty glances)
Tigh: Oh, don’t tell me. You need to run more preliminary tests. AGAIN. No, no. That excuse ain’t gonna fly this time. It’s been five months. We need to see some real progress.
Galen: But it’s true, sir. We’re really close-
Tory: If you look at the last batch of reports we sent-
Tigh: Well, Ellen did look at them, and she is of the opinion that the data sets are too neat. She says they look…faked. Now, I know you all wouldn’t try to pull that again. Because that would have consequences. Serious consequences.
(A long pause; Galen and Tory turn on each other simultaneously)
Galen: SHE did it!
Tory: It’s HIS fault!
Tigh: FOR FRAK’S SAKE, PEOPLE! How could you do this to me again? What am I gonna tell Ellen?!
Tory: Okay, okay, don’t panic, just-give us a little more time. I’ll make this work, Dr. Tigh. Just stall her. You know how she gets. If not for our sakes - do it for yours.
Tigh: All right. I’ll try to distract her for as long as I can with sex. Just-make it happen! The navy's in town, and I don’t know if I can hold her attention for long!
(Tigh drains his flask and makes for the exit; soon, in the distance, ominous crashing sounds are heard)
Sam: Ew. They’re doing ‘table or floor’ again...
Tory: Shut up, Sam, it's for the team. Now, about this project-
Galen: No. You know what? You’re always bossing us around, Tory! "Let's just pretend to do the work," you said. "Those two crazy alcoholics won't even notice," you said. You see what happens? And now you act like it's OUR fault!
Tory: I had to fake the data, you nimrod! How could I run all those experiments all by myself? Sam’s a guitar freak and you’re never around! I was on my own! Maybe if you weren’t running off to the farmers’ market all the time--
Galen: Hey! I’ve almost perfected my recipe for the ultimate Kobolian guacamole! Don’t blame me for being excited about that!
Tory: Always making posts to your precious food blog and then expecting me to cover for you-
Galen: Why can’t you even try to understand how important this is to me? To the culinary world?
Tory: Well. If they’re so important, why don’t you just hook up with those damn tacos instead of me?
Galen: Dammit, Tory, the guacamole is for NACHOS. N-a-c-h-o-s, nachos! From an ancient, original recipe! You never listen!
Tory: Maybe I’m too busy doging the dirty clothes you leave lying all over our apartment to care about the way you natter on and on and on about your addiction to avocados. Which are SO BUTTERY AND FULL OF OMEGA-3s.
Galen: Oh, great. Here we go again -- blaming everyone but yourself!
Sam: Guys, guys. Come on now, don’t fight. Words can be so hurtful. You love each other. Think about it.
Tory: Hmph, I doubt it. He only loves his food porn.
Galen (beet red): How dare you tell him that?! Those are just-just-culinary magazines!
Tory: Uh huh. That’s why you dance around naked with them in the kitchen, huh?
Galen (tomato-red now): I buy them for the ARTICLES!
Sam: Um, gosh. It seems like you two have a lot to work out. I’m gonna…I’m gonna just go work on my guitar.
Tory (whirling around): Touch that damn thing again and I’ll ram it so far up your wannabe hiney you'll-
Galen: Whoa, whoa, hon. Hey. Easy.
Tory: I’ve had just about enough of covering for both of you! You know what we’re gonna do?
Galen: Take a lunch break?
Sam: Have a funky jam session?
Tory: NO! We are going to stop effing around and do these tests. TOGETHER. Because Ellen’s a crackpot, but she’s still the boss. And we gotta get paid.
Galen: But Tory, honey. You know there's no use in trying. This is crazy. She wants us to build a brain-scanner and a giant psychotronic wave transmitter. Reconstructing download technology that nobody’s used in thousands of years. WHICH NO ONE NEEDS ANYMORE. From SCRATCH.
Sam: And a spaceship, too. Don’t forget that!
Galen: Yeah, let’s just rocket back to the stars! Woo!
Sam: And none of us even minored in astrophysics!
Tory: Look, people. I know she’s crazy. YOU know she’s crazy. But she signs our motherfrakking paychecks every week. Face it, the job market sucks out there right now. Let’s just ride this gravy train for as long as we can.
Sam (whines): But I wanna be a ROCK STAR! And besides...she keeps sexually harrassing me!
Galen: Dude, she pinched your butt in the first interview. That should have been a clue.
Sam (miffed): I have to put up with that kind of stuff from women all the time. It still doesn't make it right.
Tory: Focus, here, guys. Now, Sam. Who’ll keep you in guitar picks until you hit the big time, huh? (to Tyrol) And don’t even get me started on the cost of artisan bacon! Do you REALLY want to give up bacon?
Galen: Hmm. She’s got a point.
Tory: You’re damn right I do. Now, help me out, here. I can't mock up a halfway plausible Downloadatron on my own.
Sam: Let’s just get out of the science biz. Let's all become travelling musicians.
Galen, Tory: NO!
Sam (crestfallen): But I have a great idea for band T-shirts.
(More crashing is heard in the distance)
Dr Ellen: Oh, Saul! You DO love me!
Tory: On second thought - let’s take that lunch break.
Sam (covering ears): Eww. Ew, ew, ew.
Ellen: Your love for me is HUUUUUUUGE!
Galen: I, I know this great taco joint!
Tory (sighing) Quick, before I lose my appetite.
Galen: But really, dear-how are we gonna handle this workload?
Tory: We’re gonna have to contract it out to the Centurion labor force. Keep it under the table. They're not too bright, but they still have their uses.
Galen: Tory, I love you.
Tory: Galen...I know.
Sam: Aww, you made up. This makes me wanna...write a love song! 'Two crazy Cyloooons...no one was to blaaaame...for their love on fi-iire...Galen 'n' Tory were their naaaames...'
Galen, Tory: NOT NOW, SAM!
**Later, post-Cylon-civil war and apocalypse**
**In a ship traversing the far reaches of space**
Galen: Are we there yet?
Ellen (at the steering wheel): No. You keep asking me that every five minutes. Cut it out!
Sam (softly): Da daa da daa da OUT-TA HERE-
Tory: Quit humming that, Sam, it’s driving me crazy!
Sam: Well I HAVE to hum it, ’cause no one resurrected my guitar!
Tigh: Are you still harpin' on that? At least we’re all alive!
Galen: Yeah. And on the slowest-ass, most boring trip imaginable.
Tigh: Well, SOMEBODY could've invented FTL -- but noooo!
Galen: We were only three people! We’re scientists, not magicians!
Ellen: Quiet back there, all of you! Our job is to promote harmony in the universe!
Tory (darkly): Well, THEY started it.
Ellen: Oh, and Sam, dear? You look kind of bored back there, sweetie. Why don't you have a seat up here on my lap? Sing me a song. Come to Mama.
Sam: Um, uh, no thank you, Mrs. Tigh, I'm fine where--don't hit me, Saul!
Tory: And just why are we doing this, again?
Ellen: To stop the cycle of time. Because of the angels.
Tory: Oh great. That oughta be easy. “Hi, human colonists, we’re Cylon skinjobs. Learn from our mistakes. Please be nice to your robots.”
Tigh: I need another drink...!
Galen: And we're all out of snacks! (wistfully) Do you think they have avocados in the Colonies?
Ellen (smiling serenely): Hush, hush, let’s not get worked up, now. The important thing is we’re all alive. Together.
Tigh (swilling from a bottle): For ETERNITY.
Ellen: All this has happened before. But it doesn’t have to happen again.
Tory: Gods, I hope not. Immortality is seriously overrated.
Sam (singing): And the hour is getting…are we there yet?
The rest (in unison): NO!
**Later, when the younguns are finally asleep**
Tigh: I don’t know, lass. It's lookin' grim. We’re gonna need a lot more liquor to get through this.
Ellen: I see an algae planet on our sensors. The angels and my various scientific degrees say that stuff is fermentable.
Tigh: It’ll do. Let’s build a still. And, um-dedicate it to the God.
Ellen: This is holy work. Kiss me!
Tigh: So say we all!
Ellen: I just hope we're making good time.
Tigh: Uh...
…And they all lived happily never after.
Darn it.