(no subject)
Baptism
Humans are given a name, one name, and they cling to it for the rest of their miserable lives. That’s the first thing he learns about the differences between them, and it’s told to him by a perfect copy of himself; a blood and teeth and eyes brother, a shared number, for the Cylons had no need of names. Until now.
Something he never quite perfects is the flinch in the shoulders when somebody calls him; the small flick of the head won’t come easy and he has to be quick to simulate recognition. That’s how they notice you’re different - the little details.
Some Cylons make their names up. Some find a sort of humour in it - ‘Cavil’, because he’s always making some sort of sarcastic remark, and it’s the kind of word play he revels in - others draw on a long buried memory of life before basestars and resurrect a name that was once on the lip of every creature. Diana. D’Anna.
Most of them look into the data stream and select some dead and forgotten human to imitate.
‘Shelly Godfrey’, Virgon, died of blood poisoning a hundred years ago.
‘Aaron Doral’, Tauron, shot in the heart.
‘Leoben Conoy’, Picon, drowned ten years before the First War.
He likes it - it’s unusual, and he enjoys the look on someone’s face when they try it out for the first time, like tasting an unknown vegetable.
“And how do you spell that?”
Once or twice it’s even misheard as ‘The Omen’*. That tickles him even more.
Soon he gets used to it, and even starts signing off his reports ‘LC’. He feels like Leoben’s getting another shot at life - for everything he does was once an action of his namesake. It’s all happened before. Leoben Conoy eats breakfast. Leoben Conoy walks by the river. Leoben Conoy plants a dozen nuclear devices and kills millions. Okay, maybe not that one.
He keeps the name post resurrection. It might be a bit whimsical, but he feels like it’s part of him now…it’s part of his pattern. The Hybrid does not denounce him in her garbled prophecies, and he takes this as her blessing.
Later he learns the most important reason for a name. It’s so you can say, when you dare, ‘Leoben Conoy loves Kara Thrace’. He repeats it like a mantra each time he emerges from the wet cradle, and he goes back just so he can hear her say ‘Frak you, Leoben’, and it washes over him like a wave of elation. Numbers can’t love other numbers. Numbers can’t step out of line.
*I have to admit that's what I heard all through 'Flesh and Blood'. It seemed to fit.
Humans are given a name, one name, and they cling to it for the rest of their miserable lives. That’s the first thing he learns about the differences between them, and it’s told to him by a perfect copy of himself; a blood and teeth and eyes brother, a shared number, for the Cylons had no need of names. Until now.
Something he never quite perfects is the flinch in the shoulders when somebody calls him; the small flick of the head won’t come easy and he has to be quick to simulate recognition. That’s how they notice you’re different - the little details.
Some Cylons make their names up. Some find a sort of humour in it - ‘Cavil’, because he’s always making some sort of sarcastic remark, and it’s the kind of word play he revels in - others draw on a long buried memory of life before basestars and resurrect a name that was once on the lip of every creature. Diana. D’Anna.
Most of them look into the data stream and select some dead and forgotten human to imitate.
‘Shelly Godfrey’, Virgon, died of blood poisoning a hundred years ago.
‘Aaron Doral’, Tauron, shot in the heart.
‘Leoben Conoy’, Picon, drowned ten years before the First War.
He likes it - it’s unusual, and he enjoys the look on someone’s face when they try it out for the first time, like tasting an unknown vegetable.
“And how do you spell that?”
Once or twice it’s even misheard as ‘The Omen’*. That tickles him even more.
Soon he gets used to it, and even starts signing off his reports ‘LC’. He feels like Leoben’s getting another shot at life - for everything he does was once an action of his namesake. It’s all happened before. Leoben Conoy eats breakfast. Leoben Conoy walks by the river. Leoben Conoy plants a dozen nuclear devices and kills millions. Okay, maybe not that one.
He keeps the name post resurrection. It might be a bit whimsical, but he feels like it’s part of him now…it’s part of his pattern. The Hybrid does not denounce him in her garbled prophecies, and he takes this as her blessing.
Later he learns the most important reason for a name. It’s so you can say, when you dare, ‘Leoben Conoy loves Kara Thrace’. He repeats it like a mantra each time he emerges from the wet cradle, and he goes back just so he can hear her say ‘Frak you, Leoben’, and it washes over him like a wave of elation. Numbers can’t love other numbers. Numbers can’t step out of line.
*I have to admit that's what I heard all through 'Flesh and Blood'. It seemed to fit.