[ficlet: awake, bsg, leoben conoy]
Title: Awake
Author: Sionnain
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Character: Leoben Conoy
Rating: Teen
Summary: The night before the attack on the Twelve Colonies, Leoben Conoy is awake, thinking.
Word Count: 650
AN: This is a prompt response for Cylon_Prophet, for the Fandom_Muses prompt "Shadows."
Awake
Leoben doesn't sleep often. It's not that he can't, or that something keeps him lying awake at night, afraid to sleep--he understands the value of dreams--it's simply that he likes to walk, likes to be aware and awake when he's thinking.
The basestar is quiet and dark; it's late, most of the others are sleeping. They sleep at night and work during the day because it is what they have learned is expected, though time is a relative concept and there is no night or day in the vastness of space. They are not humans, but they have had have to learn human things; hunger, exhaustion, want, fear. They have had to adapt.
As Leoben walks through the hallways, he nods at the Centurions as he passes. They acknowledge him in a way that Leoben is sure his brethren would probably not notice; a slight shifting movement, a change in their light-patterns. It is simple, subtle. The Centurions have not had to adapt. They simply have to be. Leoben sometimes envies them for that.
He touched a Centurion, once, just to see what would happen. The Centurion gave no outward sign of noticing, and it didn’t react---Leoben certainly didn’t mean it any harm--but he could feel it respond, deep within, an answering metallic hum in his veins that said we are Cylons all. The other humanoid models, they have begun to feel themselves superior to the Centurions, to the Raiders. Leoben is not sure this is wise, but he has seen it is not the time to speak of it. It will happen one day. Not soon. But it will happen. They will know the folly of this.
Leoben notices things, knows things, that the other models do not. The Sixes seduce, the Threes are cunning, the Eights loyal. The Twos look into the darkness and know. It makes him strange, even to his own kind. It does not bother Leoben. He is as God made him, and his soul knows no sorrow for the gifts he has been given.
Leoben stands in the center of the control room, feeling the thrum of the ship beneath his feet, echoing through his body. There is a sentience here, an awareness, and he closes his eyes and hears it singing to him, feels the pulse of it in that part of him that is Cylon. It is a welcome respite from so much time trying to feel human. He is not human. He will have to pretend, but he does not want to forget what he is.
Cylon. Chosen of God.
And when the time is right, humanity will learn of their existence, and Leoben will be the one to tell them. He has seen it in his visions, ringed in death and blood. His own, perhaps. That is all right. He is not afraid of death. To be reborn is a gift from God, and Leoben will embrace it when the time comes.
His consciousness expands, reaching outwards beyond the basestar, touching against the blackness of space, cold and endless. Out where humanity sleeps in false comfort, unaware of their children's imminent return. We will put an end to your false gods, your imperfections. We will deliver you from the darkness into which you have sunken. Leoben does not hate humanity. He feel sadness for the genocide to come, he is no monster without a soul. But he cannot stand against God's plan.
No one can, Cylon nor human alike. Their paths will merge together through violence and bloodshed, and through it, something far more perfect, far more beautiful, shall be forged. Just as the universe formed from dust , so shall the future come forth from ruin. Before creation, one must destroy.
Leoben thinks about her, the one he has seen in his visions, the one who burns the brightest of all the stars in the universe of what will be. She is still unknown to him, just a name, a vision of fierceness and fury and love. In the darkness, Leoben whispers her name like a prayer. "Kara."
He hopes she is sleeping tonight, dreaming of simple things. There will be enough nightmares in the days to come.
Author: Sionnain
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Character: Leoben Conoy
Rating: Teen
Summary: The night before the attack on the Twelve Colonies, Leoben Conoy is awake, thinking.
Word Count: 650
AN: This is a prompt response for Cylon_Prophet, for the Fandom_Muses prompt "Shadows."
Awake
Leoben doesn't sleep often. It's not that he can't, or that something keeps him lying awake at night, afraid to sleep--he understands the value of dreams--it's simply that he likes to walk, likes to be aware and awake when he's thinking.
The basestar is quiet and dark; it's late, most of the others are sleeping. They sleep at night and work during the day because it is what they have learned is expected, though time is a relative concept and there is no night or day in the vastness of space. They are not humans, but they have had have to learn human things; hunger, exhaustion, want, fear. They have had to adapt.
As Leoben walks through the hallways, he nods at the Centurions as he passes. They acknowledge him in a way that Leoben is sure his brethren would probably not notice; a slight shifting movement, a change in their light-patterns. It is simple, subtle. The Centurions have not had to adapt. They simply have to be. Leoben sometimes envies them for that.
He touched a Centurion, once, just to see what would happen. The Centurion gave no outward sign of noticing, and it didn’t react---Leoben certainly didn’t mean it any harm--but he could feel it respond, deep within, an answering metallic hum in his veins that said we are Cylons all. The other humanoid models, they have begun to feel themselves superior to the Centurions, to the Raiders. Leoben is not sure this is wise, but he has seen it is not the time to speak of it. It will happen one day. Not soon. But it will happen. They will know the folly of this.
Leoben notices things, knows things, that the other models do not. The Sixes seduce, the Threes are cunning, the Eights loyal. The Twos look into the darkness and know. It makes him strange, even to his own kind. It does not bother Leoben. He is as God made him, and his soul knows no sorrow for the gifts he has been given.
Leoben stands in the center of the control room, feeling the thrum of the ship beneath his feet, echoing through his body. There is a sentience here, an awareness, and he closes his eyes and hears it singing to him, feels the pulse of it in that part of him that is Cylon. It is a welcome respite from so much time trying to feel human. He is not human. He will have to pretend, but he does not want to forget what he is.
Cylon. Chosen of God.
And when the time is right, humanity will learn of their existence, and Leoben will be the one to tell them. He has seen it in his visions, ringed in death and blood. His own, perhaps. That is all right. He is not afraid of death. To be reborn is a gift from God, and Leoben will embrace it when the time comes.
His consciousness expands, reaching outwards beyond the basestar, touching against the blackness of space, cold and endless. Out where humanity sleeps in false comfort, unaware of their children's imminent return. We will put an end to your false gods, your imperfections. We will deliver you from the darkness into which you have sunken. Leoben does not hate humanity. He feel sadness for the genocide to come, he is no monster without a soul. But he cannot stand against God's plan.
No one can, Cylon nor human alike. Their paths will merge together through violence and bloodshed, and through it, something far more perfect, far more beautiful, shall be forged. Just as the universe formed from dust , so shall the future come forth from ruin. Before creation, one must destroy.
Leoben thinks about her, the one he has seen in his visions, the one who burns the brightest of all the stars in the universe of what will be. She is still unknown to him, just a name, a vision of fierceness and fury and love. In the darkness, Leoben whispers her name like a prayer. "Kara."
He hopes she is sleeping tonight, dreaming of simple things. There will be enough nightmares in the days to come.