Deliver Us From Evil- Chapter 3
Felix walked into Gaius’ office and placed a stack of papers and a pack of cigarettes on the desk. “Here you go Mr. President, the cigarettes you asked for, along with today’s work.”
“And what am I supposed to do with this?” Gaius asked, taking a swig of ambrosia from his glass. It was 0900 and Gaius was already half-drunk.
“Same as usual, Mr. President,” replied Felix.
Gaius took the first sheet of paper from the stack. “Plans to expand the detention center? What, we’re not keeping enough prisoners already?”
“It’s what the cylons want Sir,” said Felix. Half the settlement would be in detention soon enough, Felix imagined. Apparently the cylons were here under the guise of a peaceful truce, so overt murder wasn’t okay. But locking people up indefinitely seemed perfectly fine.
“The cylons. You talk about them as if you weren’t one of them, Number Seven,” said Gaius, taking another drink. Gaius had started calling him Number Seven shortly after his confession in the bedroom. No one called him Felix anymore, not even Boomer. The humans were all too angry at him to use his name, and the cylons claimed it was part of the adjustment process, to take him away from feeling like a human. He hated it. To be detached from any sort of identity whatsoever, to be referred to not by a name but by a number, felt so humiliating, so…inhuman. Though he supposed that may be the point. However, it wasn’t making him feel any more like a cylon.
Felix stared out the window of Colonial One. It had been almost two weeks since the takeover. Humans were beginning to appear on the streets again. They were going to the market for food, sending their children to school again, and stopping by to chat with each other. Felix couldn’t see the faces of anyone from here, but he could tell just by the flow of the crowds that everyone was tense. It wasn’t life as normal, but it was probably as close as they were ever going to get.
Felix hadn’t left Colonial One since he arrived back on the ship. He was too afraid to, couldn’t bear to face them. Even if he was a cylon, those were still his friends down there living with Centurians standing over their shoulders and being dragged off into custody. People like Colonel Tigh, and Chief Tyrol, and Kara Thrace were living in fear for their lives in way more terrifying than before. Here on New Caprica, they didn’t have the protection of the Galactica to keep them safe. They could be shot or snatched off the street at any moment, and there was absolutely nothing anyone could do about it.
“Number Seven,” Gaius said in the tone that Felix knew meant he wanted something.
“Yes Mr. President?”
“I need you to go to Cottle’s tent. My prescription is getting empty, I need it refilled.”
Felix swallowed. “Sir, Cottle’s tent is in the middle of the settlement.”
“Yes, well, that just means you’re going to have to walk doesn’t it? Do you require a bullet proof vest or should I just expect the resurrection ship to contact me if anything’s happened?”
Felix winced. Gaius had also taken to making stabs at his immortality, words that felt like barbs every time they came from his mouth. “I’ll be fine Sir. I’ll be on my way now.”
“Good. And pick me up some ambrosia if you can manage it as well.” Felix rolled his eyes. Even in the midst of cylon occupation, Gaius hadn’t changed a bit.
Felix stepped off the ramp of Colonial One hesitantly. He took a deep breath in. It had been almost two weeks since he’d breathed fresh air. It still had the same crisp, cold taste it had before the takeover. It was probably the only thing left unchanged.
Felix walked cautiously through the streets. He knew he probably wasn’t in any immediate danger, but it still felt like he might end up with a knife in his back at any moment. People had become less tentative than the last time he was out here. They were not only pulling open their flaps, but they were willing to emerge out into the streets and openly scorn the cylons that walked by. “Skinjob!” “Toaster!” they sneered as he passed their tents. Felix kept his head hung low.
Felix reached Cottle’s tent unscathed, having nothing by a number of slurs and a couple empty ambrosia bottles hurled at him. Ishay was giving him a death glare as he entered.
“Is Doc Cottle here?” Felix asked. Ishay didn’t answer, just continued to glare at him, and disappeared into another part of the tent. A minute later, Cottle emerged. “You’re the third cylon I’ve seen in here today, you know that? I thought you people weren’t supposed to need medicine.” Cottle took a cigar out of his pocket and lit it up. “What is it you’re looking for?”
Felix scuffed his foot in the dirt. “The president would like a refill on his meds Sir. He says he’s getting low.”
“The president. You really should figure out a way to wean him off those, I’ve got better uses for these pills,” said Cottle over his cigar, as he grabbed a bottle from a nearby drawer.
“Well, I’m afraid the cylons have yet to implement a drug rehabilitation program Sir,” remarked Felix with a half-smile. Ishay’s glare got harsher. Cottle stared blankly for a moment, unsure of how to process the joke.
“What’s with the Sir?” asked Cottle. “I haven’t had any cylons use that around me.”
“Old habits die hard Sir,” said Felix.
Cottle removed the cigar from his mouth, a look of realization washing over his face. “You’re the Seven that was on Galactica,” he said.
“Yes Sir,” replied Felix.
“It’s not safe, you know. You should get out of here while you can. The whole fleet wants your head right now, and I can’t say I blame them.”
“I don’t blame them either Sir.” Cottle cocked an eyebrow at him. Felix wasn’t going to explain it to him; he doubted any of the humans would believe that he didn’t know the takeover was coming. So he decided to make his exit now and just leave the doctor wondering. Cottle probably wouldn’t think too much over it once he was gone anyway. “Thank you Doc. Sir. For the advice, and for the medicine. I’ll send someone else next time.”
Cottle didn’t say another word, just put the cigar back in his mouth and continued smoking as Felix left.
He probably should’ve listened to Cottle’s advice and went straight back to Colonial One. But despite all the derisions and furtive glances, he savored being out in the open air again. It probably wouldn’t happen again for a long time, and he wasn’t ready to head back yet. Besides, he’d had just about enough of Baltar’s subtle remarks of disdain and unwillingness to do anything to help the people of the fleet. He’d grown tired of it a long time ago, only now he had no one to commisserate about it with.
His feet led him instinctively to his tent that he’d all but abandoned. He opened the flap to see inside. The place had been looted, crates overturned, and his belongs strewn everywhere. Whoever had done it hadn’t intended to rob it, just to trash it.
Felix picked up a picture off the ground. It was one of his family. Well, what he thought was his family. If they ever actually existed, Felix wasn’t related to them, probably had never even met them. He had memories of the man in the photo taking him fishing out on the lake, the woman reading him bedtime stories, and the girl pulling on his curls while teasing him. But the memories weren’t real. He’d never even had a childhood.
He thought about finishing the looters' job and tearing the photo the rest of the way to rid himself of the false memories. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. If these were real people, they deserved better than that. Instead he put the picture in his pocket, noting that there was sure to be tape aboard Colonial One. The colonists had already started a memorial wall down on New Caprica when people began dying from pneumonia a few months ago. He’d put the picture there.
Felix decided to stay in his tent for a while. It probably wasn’t safe, but he didn’t care. Something about being here made him forget about the cylons, about the way they were constantly around, calling him Number Seven and casually asking him favors as if enslaving the human race meant nothing to him. Here Felix didn’t have to be cylon or Chief of Staff, he could just be Felix. Felix picked up a book from the ground and began reading. The edges were tattered and worn and the pages were smudged with dirt, but the print was still readable. He’d read it a number of times now, but Earth: The Final Frontier was his favorite book, and he never minded reading it again.
Two hours and eight chapters later, Felix glanced at his watch and decided he had better hurry back to Colonial One. The President was probably getting angry wondering where his pills where. Felix wasn’t even going to bother with the booze. Felix tucked the book under his arm and stepped out of his tent. No one was paying attention, or if they were, they passed him off as just another cylon. He slipped easily back to his ship, not even the Centurian guards bothering him on his way.
Gaius was in a testy mood, just as Felix suspected. “What took you so long?” he snapped.
“Sorry Sir,” said Felix, handing Baltar the bottle of pills.
“It’s not prudent of you to the keep the President waiting, cylon or not. There is work to be done here Number Seven, I suggest you get to it before you cause this office to fall even more behind.” Gaius Baltar was lecturing him about not getting things done. He tried not to process the irony of that one.
“Fetch me this afternoon’s batch of documents, would you Number Seven?”
Felix bit his lip to hold back his irritation. “I have a name, Gaius.”
“A name which you are hardly deserving,” said Gaius. “That man, the Felix Gaeta I knew, was a good man. An honorable man.”
‘I still am that man,’ thought Felix. ‘Just because I’ve discovered I’m a cylon doesn’t make me change overnight. Who I was and who I am now are not two different people.’ But there was no point in arguing with Gaius Baltar. He’d learned that a long time ago.
After an afternoon of more underhanded comments from Gaius and a Five breathing down his neck about the water rationing litigation, Felix found himself wishing nothing more than to go back to his tent and curl up with his book. Seven, would you do this? Seven, go do that. It was like everyone had forgotten his name, or forgotten that he’d even had one to begin with. He’d lost his uniform, even his humanity, but dammit, he was not about to lose his name. He was still Felix Gaeta. Cylon or human, he was still Felix Gaeta.
Felix walked off Colonial One and glanced around the settlement. He had the urge to run by Colonel Tigh’s tent in order to get the man to yell at him, just so he could hear his own name again. But really, Colonel Tigh was the last person he could face up to right now, and he was probably the last person the Colonel needed to see as well. So he headed for his tent instead. There was a risk the looters might come back in the middle of the night, but he supposed he could resurrect if something happened, though he hated the thought of ending up back on that ship.
He walked slowly, ignoring both the glances of the humans and the cylons. It was disconcerting to see the differences between the way they looked at him, the humans flinching and the cylons smiling.
“Hello Seven,” one of the sixes greeted as she passed by.
‘My name is Felix,’ he wanted to say. ‘Please, call me Felix.’
Felix kept walking. He had almost arrived back at his tent when someone caught his attention.
“Hey Felix,” the voice said.