The Hunted (nBSG)

[Borgholio]

Love the story. I was wondering if this was a fiction set in the parts of nBSG that we never saw on screen (and thus would never affect canon) or if it would interact with the canon-verse. Looks like it's actually changing canon in several very important ways. Interesting...I kinda like how it's going. With the changes thus far, I can see the Cylons changing from their (non-existant) Plan to something new. I can also see the Colonials being more aggressive in their guerrilla war due to the fact they now have three battlestars to work with.

It's been mentioned in the series that Pegasus is large enough to have her own factories to produce more ammo and even new Vipers. Would she be able to produce more torpedoes for the Scorpia?

[masterarminas]

Episode 4: To Be or Not to Be

“Captain Hamish Malcolm, Colonial Fleet Reserve, reporting as ordered, Colonel, Sir!” The Prince—King, Tom supposed—of Virgon barked smartly with a crisp salute as he entered the small day-cabin earmarked for the ship’s Executive Office. Tom Jayne stared at the man for a few moments, taking in the sight before him. Hamish was young—late-20’s at the most—of average height, a well-toned body, his brown hair within the standards of Fleet Regulations; and he wore a Colonial Fleet officer’s duty uniform.

“As you were,” Tom said without standing or returning the salute, and he leaned back in his chair. “Captain Malcolm? I was under the impression that your name was Hamish Sean Patrick Reynolds Petrus.”

“I am a scion of the House of Petrus, that is indeed true, Colonel. Tradition, however, requires that when serving in uniform we of the Royal family use instead the surname of Malcolm.”

“I see,” Tom said. “Very well, Captain Malcolm, I am not exactly certain where to assign you—I cannot simply call up Personnel on Picon and get a copy of your service file, after all,” Tom explained.

“Understood, Sir,” Hamish said and he snapped his fingers. The Color Sergeant who had trailed behind the young Prince stepped forward, opening a satchel case and handing a thin file over to the Prince, who then laid it upon the desk. “Pursuant to Fleet Regulations for Reserve Officers, I endeavored to retain a copy of my service file in my possession at all times.”

The corner of Tom’s mouth twitched. “As well as your uniforms?”

“The motto of the House of Petrus is semper paratus, Colonel—always prepared. My staff—may the Gods rest their souls—ensured that I had several duty and formal uniforms available at all times, even when on vacation as I was during the Cylon attack on the Colonies. I am also in possession of my service issue sidearm, flight suit, and helmet. Sir.”

“I see,” Tom repeated. He opened the file and scanned the contents quickly as the Prince remained in a motionless position of at ease before him. After flipping through all of the pages, he closed the file; staring up at the young man as he tapped his fingers on the brown cover of the file.

“Graduated the Academy, then attended Flight School for Raptor and Shuttle training—no EWO or Viper qualifications, however. It does say that you attended SAR school as well,” Tom mused. “What was your call-sign?”

The young man blushed and he squirmed slightly. “You know pilots and their wit, Colonel, or rather the lack thereof, generally speaking. I was assigned the call-sign Prince at Basic Flight Course and that has been retained in the four years hence.”

“Yes,” Tom said. “Six years is normally one’s first active service tour—your file reports that you graduated the Academy at 21, spent a year in training as a Search And Rescue pilot, followed by a year on active duty in the Acheron SAR. After which you were posted to the Virgon Fleet Reserves—highly unusual, Captain Malcolm. Would you agree?”

“Followed by three years where I fulfilled my obligations by serving for 30-days each Spring in the Virgon SAR teams—both orbital and planetary-based, Colonel. And then the seven months I spent forming and leading the Virgon Resistance. I understand that my service has not taken the conventional path, however, I had dispensation direct from the Chief of Fleet Operation’s office, Admiral Corman himself—which was renewed just four weeks before the Cylon attack.”

Tom nodded. “And I commend you for that leadership, Captain Malcolm—your people speak well of you in that regard. However, your experience—and time in service—befits a Junior Grade Lieutenant more than a Captain,” Tom sighed. “That being said, neither I nor the Commander am going to reduce you in rank.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Hamish answered—and Tom could hear the relief in his voice.

“However, I have no need for an additional Captain aboard Scorpia at this moment, particularly in the Raptor Squadron. I have an excellent officer who commands the Raptors already—and his second-in-command is highly experienced in combat flight operations; experience that you lack. Your leadership on Virgon speaks highly of you, Captain Malcolm, and having spoken with several of the more experienced non-commissioned officers that found themselves under your command they are in generally agreement that you performed above their expectations.” Which, admittedly, had been rather low in the first place. Still, they had all said that the man standing in front of his desk possessed courage, adaptability, and was willing to take the initiative instead of just reacting to the situation. And that was good enough for Tom Jayne.

The XO pressed a button on a small intercom on his desk. “Send in Captain Greene,” he ordered.

The hatch opened and the Raptor Squadron CO walked in. “Sir,” he said simply.

“Captain Hamish Malcolm, this is your new CO—Captain Stefan Greene. Sidewinder, Prince here is a qualified SAR Raptor pilot . . . but he has ZERO combat flight training and experience. He also missed out on EWO cross-training,” and Sidewinder winced. “And he has logged precisely,” Tom opened the file and looked to the cover sheet again, before he closed it, “eighteen hours of Raptor time in the past twelve months. He is now yours—bring him up to speed and get him settled in.”

“Prince,” the XO continued, “while you retain your rank as Captain, Jester—Sidewinder’s XO who is a Lieutenant—will retain his post as second-in-command of the squadron. It is up to you to get up to speed and qualified on our systems; until then, you may hold the rank of Captain, but you will not be in a position of command. You will answer to Jester in matters pertaining your duties as a Raptor pilot. Is that understood?”

The Prince snapped to attention. “Perfectly, Colonel, Sir!” he answered.

“Now, in regards to Colour Sergeant Haast and Lance Corporal Walsh; I understand that the Fleet granted you a dispensation for a detail of armed body-guards/retainers on board Fleet vessels . . . and Admiral Corman did renew that dispensation prior to his death in the attack. However, I am not going to have anyone on this ship who cannot pull their weight. Colour Sergeant Haast, I am assigning you and Walsh to the Marine Company embarked on Scorpia. Your duty schedule will be arranged so that at least one of you will be available to His Majesty when HE is off-duty; I realize that the two of you are Army and not Marines, but I expect both of you, given your experience and professionalism, to learn our procedures and general orders. And not to start brawls with the jarheads. Understood?”

“Sir,” the NCO replied.

“One final word, Mister Malcolm. You will find that no one on this ship will give you any slack based upon the accident of your birth—sink or swim, you will do so on your own merits. Your civilian rank means nothing here, on this ship. There are civilian Virgons among the service personnel and refugees, however; and both I and the Commander recognize that you are the sole surviving member of the Virgon government. We will make allowance in your duty schedule to give you the time to meet with them and hear their concerns—BUT, your military duties will take precedence. I hope that you are adept at multi-tasking, Mister Malcolm.” Tom stood and he nodded. “Welcome aboard Scorpia. Now all of you get of my office before I find you something to do.”

[masterarminas]

Love the story. I was wondering if this was a fiction set in the parts of nBSG that we never saw on screen (and thus would never affect canon) or if it would interact with the canon-verse. Looks like it's actually changing canon in several very important ways. Interesting...I kinda like how it's going. With the changes thus far, I can see the Cylons changing from their (non-existant) Plan to something new. I can also see the Colonials being more aggressive in their guerrilla war due to the fact they now have three battlestars to work with.

It's been mentioned in the series that Pegasus is large enough to have her own factories to produce more ammo and even new Vipers. Would she be able to produce more torpedoes for the Scorpia?

Certainly, she could. Conventional torpedoes, that is. She can't (as far as I am aware) enrich fissile material to produce weapons-grade plutonium or uranium, so new nuclear warheads are out of the picture. But torps with conventional HE? Sure.

MA

[Themightytom]

I see what you did there

[Diverball]

It's been mentioned in the series that Pegasus is large enough to have her own factories to produce more ammo and even new Vipers. Would she be able to produce more torpedoes for the Scorpia?

Certainly, she could. Conventional torpedoes, that is. She can't (as far as I am aware) enrich fissile material to produce weapons-grade plutonium or uranium, so new nuclear warheads are out of the picture. But torps with conventional HE? Sure.

MA

I always had trouble believing that. Obviously all major warships have extensive machine shops, but literally producing all the parts of a viper - frame, fuselage, avionics, engines, guns, etc - from basic raw materials? Just how long are Mercury-class battlestars intended to operate unsupplied that they would need the capability to manufacture parts from scratch, rather than just having an extensive supply of spares? Not to mention that to be truly self-sufficient, they'd need extensive mining facilities as well. And a tylium refinery. That is less a warship than a heavily armed colony ship.

It always made more sense to me that they were using the raw materials simply to build the viper spaceframe, and that complex stuff like engines and avionics were coming from parts storage.

[masterarminas]

Major Jon Banacek looked over the ten men and women in front of him—his squadron commanders and seconds for the Scorpia air wing. Captain Stefan “Sidewinder” Greene, and his XO, Lieutenant Andrew “Jester” Martens from the Raptor squadron, which had received another eight garishly painted Raptors—six of them dating back to the First Cylon War—from the flight decks aboard Anubis.

Lieutenant Gin “Chutes” Piak had stepped up to command what was left of Green Squadron—six of the nine pilots lost had come from Green, including the former Squadron Commander Captain Kent “Hard-luck” Dane. Red had lost one pilot and Blue two, so the Commander had ordered the Greens to transfer three more pilots—leaving just eleven flying under Piak. Or, it would have been eleven, but one of the damaged Vipers in Green Squadron was fit for nothing more than being scrapped for parts. To make room for the extra Raptors, Scorpia was transferring the remaining ten Vipers of Green aboard Anubis—which would give that old and tiny ship some added punch.

Captain Hope “Digger” Fairchild and Lieutenant Ann “Saint” James were seated next. Rambler smiled. Before their return to the Colonies, the Blues had been one of the few all-female squadrons in the Colonial Fleet. The reshuffling of assets had broken that tradition, but the single male pilot (Lieutenant, j.g. Joseph “Dutch” Lassiter) hadn’t complained—but the Blues certainly had!

Captain Leto “Juice” Plum, Jon’s XO for his own Red Squadron, accompanied by Lieutenant Glenn “Heater” Keita, the air groups operation officer—also from Red Squadron—followed them. And finally, Captain Tabitha “Spitfire” Atradies the Flight Operations Officer and her two subordinates, Lieutenants Nicholas “Ruffles” Oretgo and Kevin “Pancake” Okora, the port and starboard Landing Signals Officers, respectively.

“The exchange of assets should be complete by 1400 hours today,” Rambler continued. “Command wants all personnel to familiarize themselves with the following as well,” he click the remote and a slide-show of images—some clear and some blurry—appeared on the wall monitor. “The scuttlebutt we are hearing about Cylons that look like is apparently true. Captain Malcolm and his Virgon Resistance made a point of recording as many different models as possible—he and people successfully managed to get the images of these seven, but there could be more of them.”

“The Marines have been alerted to the possibility that we may have infiltrators among the refugees—for the meantime, the civilians will be restricted to non-critical spaces; your people will report immediately any civilian found in a restricted area. There is no discretion here, folks—every violation will be reported and investigated. The last thing we need is for a Cylon to get access to the magazines or fuel supply.”

He waited and each of his subordinates nodded. “Good. Remember that the Engineering and Deck Divisions are short on manpower since we transferred eighty of our people over to the rest of the flotilla—the Flight Division, including the deck gangs—will have to take up some of that slack. Tell your people to keep the bitching down—I don’t want to hear it, and they sure as all the Hells don’t want Colonel Jayne to hear it. And that is going to be in addition to us being on call for rapid launch—so tell your people to suck it up and get used to it.”

Rambler set down his clipboard and he leaned on the podium. “I have heard grumbling from many members of this crew about the terrorists aboard Anubis and Leonis Pryde—people, that is above your pay-grade, and it is damn sure above that of those under your commands. At the moment, the Commander, Colonel Jayne, Major Caldwell, and Mister Namer are hammering out this very topic—but I think I already know how it is going to go down. We are going to let the past go.”

He paused and looked at each of the officers in turn. “Some of these people will become part and parcel of the Fleet and Marines—we are going to ignore what happened in the past and work together. We don’t have enough cells to throw more than six hundred men and women in the brig, and they are human. So if you hear your people grousing about the terrorists, I expect you to quash that. They aren’t terrorists anymore—they are survivors, just like us. Stamp down on it hard—let them know we are not going to tolerate anyone, much less a Colonial in uniform, from becoming a vigilante over political and criminal concerns that are no longer valid.”

He waited until each of the others nodded their confirmation and he smiled. “Even though we are interstellar space, we will maintain a 24-hour around the clock Combat Air Patrol—rotation will continue as scheduled with the following altera-. . .,”

“Frack!” exclaimed Sidewinder. “Rambler, I picked up that one yesterday,” he said as the image of the face of one of the seven known Cylon models flashed across the screen.

Rambler spun around and picked up the remote. He stopped the sideshow and flipped back two images. “That’s him,” Sidewinder said flatly.

“Where did you deliver him?”

“He’s on board Scorpia—part of the Caprica Resistance. Anders called him Brother Cavil.”

[masterarminas]

Sam Anders paced in the small chapel; he paced back and forth and he pressed his hands together and took them apart, and he opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. Finally, the clergyman sighed.

“Samuel, I have much to do to make this chapel ready for service—I cannot believe that the Fleet does not post a Chaplin for such duties. One would think the Gemenons would insist,” Cavil said sourly. “So if you would just tell me what is bothering you, perhaps I can help you with that and then go back to putting this sanctuary in order.”

Sam stopped and he looked up at Cavil and he nodded; he sat down and Cavil sat down facing him.

“I believe that I made a mistake, Brother Cavil,” he whispered. “She’s going to come back—I know she is going to come back. I should have stayed.”

“Sam,” he sighed. “Even presuming that she ever made it back to Galactica, Starbuck is a Viper pilot—one of few and the Cylons are chasing them. Has it occurred to you that she has not come because she might be dead?”

The former pyramid-star looked up, and his anguished eyes told Cavil that he indeed feared just that. In his head, if not his heart.

“You have faith that she will return, and you question that faith,” Cavil continued with a snort. “Questioning one’s faith is good, Sam. You have to ask yourself this: did you wait for her? Yes, you waited for five months; five long months while the Cylons did their best to kill you and the Resistance on Caprica. The second question is this: had you stayed, how many of the Resistance would have remained alongside you?”

And Sam’s head twisted—his eyes locking onto Cavil. “They love you, Sam. Not like Starbuck loved—not in the physical sense, but they love you as if you were their brother. Or a protective uncle, perhaps. Had you stayed behind, how many of them would have forsaken this chance at life to stay alongside you?”

“I would have told them go,” Sam whispered.

“Would that have mattered? They would have stayed, Sam. I would have stayed. You must balance the choice you have made—which cannot now be changed—of the lives you have protected and shepherded all through the long dark days of the occupation, versus the odds of her coming back.”

“She will come back—and I won’t be there.”

“No. But would she want you there, and dead at the hands of the Cylons—or alive with the possibility that one day perhaps, the two of you might find each other again?”

“In the afterlife?”

“Oh, Sam,” Cavil laughed. “There is no afterlife. ‘In the beginning, the Gods created man.’ Such inspiring words, but the truth of the matter is that we were not created by the Gods—we created them,” and the old man sighed. “Look, Sam. There are always possibilities. You know that Kara Thrace was sent back to get the Arrow of Apollo. There is only one reason she wanted the Arrow—to open the Tomb of Athena on Kobol and find the way to Earth.”

He cocked an eye, and Sam nodded.

“So? What are you waiting for? Tell the Commander that—he will try to follow Galactica, if only because there is strength in numbers. Because to give his survivors the gift of hope he needs to find those other survivors seeking Earth. Sam,” Cavil said with a slight smile, “Starbuck won’t have to come find you, if you find her first.”

Sam Anders looked up, his eyes wide. “You think we can find her?”

“What does it matter what I think? We as a people need to have a goal—surviving day-to-day with every moment possibly being the last is a terrible burden that we have lived. And we will continue to live. But knowing that there are others out there, Sam. Others that we love, that we will come to love, that makes the burden easier to bear. Seeking them out, that makes the losses that we suffered less painful. The Gods may be the creation of Humanity, but hope—ah, Sam, hope is a virtue that transcends the Gods.”

The hatch opened and a Marine entered the compartment—his weapon raised. He was followed by three more, and then the Commander.

Cavil frowned. “This is place of worship, a sanctuary—what is the meaning of this.”

One more man followed the Commander in, and he flushed as he saw Cavil standing there. “Yes, I saw three of him on Virgon, Commander. Always in a position of authority—he’s a Cylon.”

Sam jumped up to his feet and backed away. “He’s been part of my group since the beginning! He can’t be a Cylon—he can’t!” he yelled.

“Who are you?” Cavil asked the officer who seemed to recognize him.

“Captain Malcolm, I led the Virgon Resistance—and I have seen you.”

“Ah. You actually saw my brothers,” Cavil said. “There is a difference between us—not a great one, but definitely one to be certain.”

“Cavil?” Sam asked, his eyes wide.

“I am so sorry, Sam—but it is true. I am a Cylon. I have come to believe that what we did to the Colonies was wrong—that we acted too precipitously based upon faulty information. Which is why I left my brothers and joined you—so that I could help as much as I could. I had hoped that perhaps, in some small way, I might be able to make some amends for what my people did.”

Utter silence filled the room. And Cavil smiled a crooked smile. “Do you plan to kill me or question me, Commander? Or is it perhaps the second followed by the first?”

Mathias shook his head. “Put him in the brig—double the guards on him,” he ordered. “He is not to be touched by anyone for the present—Fleet, Marine, or civilian. Is that understood?”

“Yes Sir,” barked the Marine.

“Commander,” Hamish said. “We discovered one of these infiltration models in our ranks on Virgon three months ago—while he was dying he bragged that upon his death his consciousness would simply download and enter a new body. With his memories intact—to my sorrow, I did not believe him, but two hours later, our camp came under attack, led by the same Cylon we had just killed. I lost twenty-two men that day, giving their lives so that the rest of us could escape. If he dies . . . the rest of them will learn everything he knows.”

“Thank you, Mister Malcolm,” Mathias said. “Take him to the brig—no one is to see him except the guards; not without my direct order.”

As Marines stepped forward, Cavil held out his wrists. “Despite what I am, Samuel, I do truly regret what my people have done. And he needs to hear from you what you know about Galactica and where she is en route to. I won’t pray for you, but I will hope that you find your way.”

He was manacled as he spoke and then the Marines ushered him from the chapel. And Mathias turned to Sam Anders. “What do I need to know, Mister Anders?”

[FaxModem1]

It's been a while, but was the Cavil on Caprica actually penitent, or was that just part of the hammy act that Cavil always engaged in?

[Diverball]

It's been a while, but was the Cavil on Caprica actually penitent, or was that just part of the hammy act that Cavil always engaged in?

It's possible, but given that Cavil's line absolutely despised humans, and were ultimately responsible for the whole war - enslaving the centurions, destroying the "Daniel" line, mind-wiping the rest of the Humanoid Cylons of all information related to the Final Five - I'd bet in favour of it just being another mind game.

[Alan Bolte]

Valkyrie image bow

See those six black dots, three each to the right and left of her nose? I said to myself, Arminas, damn, if those don't look like old fashioned torpedo tubes. So, that's what they are. Not wet-navy torps, of course, but horizontal missile launchers for anti-ship missiles. Her dorsal silos carry the big MIRV ground attack missiles, but those front tubes can be reloaded.

Am I missing something, or are you referring to the two rows of three thrusters, pointing upward from the nose? I agree that a heavy axial weapon would be a good way to keep a ship this small relevant in a big-ship fight, and it works well enough in your story, but I don't see any torpedo tubes.

[Themightytom]

Valkyrie image bow

See those six black dots, three each to the right and left of her nose? I said to myself, Arminas, damn, if those don't look like old fashioned torpedo tubes. So, that's what they are. Not wet-navy torps, of course, but horizontal missile launchers for anti-ship missiles. Her dorsal silos carry the big MIRV ground attack missiles, but those front tubes can be reloaded.

Am I missing something, or are you referring to the two rows of three thrusters, pointing upward from the nose? I agree that a heavy axial weapon would be a good way to keep a ship this small relevant in a big-ship fight, and it works well enough in your story, but I don't see any torpedo tubes.

those can't be thrusters, they'd be useless there.

[Vianca]

It's been mentioned in the series that Pegasus is large enough to have her own factories to produce more ammo and even new Vipers. Would she be able to produce more torpedoes for the Scorpia?

Certainly, she could. Conventional torpedoes, that is. She can't (as far as I am aware) enrich fissile material to produce weapons-grade plutonium or uranium, so new nuclear warheads are out of the picture. But torps with conventional HE? Sure.

MA

I always had trouble believing that. Obviously all major warships have extensive machine shops, but literally producing all the parts of a viper - frame, fuselage, avionics, engines, guns, etc - from basic raw materials? Just how long are Mercury-class battlestars intended to operate unsupplied that they would need the capability to manufacture parts from scratch, rather than just having an extensive supply of spares? Not to mention that to be truly self-sufficient, they'd need extensive mining facilities as well. And a tylium refinery. That is less a warship than a heavily armed colony ship.

It always made more sense to me that they were using the raw materials simply to build the viper spaceframe, and that complex stuff like engines and avionics were coming from parts storage.

Just advanced 3D printers and a fusion reactor to process the material back into it's pure parts and then build the object from it, that you both want and need.

[masterarminas]

Cavil sighed. So far, he had been pleasantly surprised by his treatment; he had not been beaten or tortured—although he had been quite thoroughly searched and his clothing removed. The Chief Master-at-Arms of Battlestar Scorpio—one Victor Juris—had provided him with a bright orange one-piece jumpsuit, the material too tightly woven for even his strength to tear, and a pair of rubber slippers. The cell itself was small—two meters by two meters—with a bed shelf built directly into the bulkhead, covered by a thin foam mattress. A small latrine sat to one side, with a sink above it—both controlled by the guards outside the cell. All of the lights were flush with the overhead and bulkheads, possibly to prevent a prisoner from electrocuting himself in a bid to escape justice. There were no blankets, no pillows, no loose pieces of metal or composite or even plastic that he could pry from the bunk or the walls or the bars. He snorted. Did they think he was going to hang himself?

He could feel the hate radiating from the guards, however. Two Marines and four of the ship’s own masters-at-arms stood guard over him—none coming within an arm’s length of the bars across the front of his cell. But despite that hate, none of them had said so much as a single word in the hours that he had been here.

And he sighed again. He was bored. And, he admitted to himself, anxious at what the future held. Then the hatch swung open and the guards stood straighter.

Commander Lorne walked in, trailed by another officer—this one wearing the Fleet insignia of a Colonel. They were followed by an enlisted man with a chair. He set the chair down on the deck—outside of the maximum lunge that Cavil might have been able to make through the bars—and then he left. Mathias Lorne sat down. He nodded at one of the guards, who pressed a button and a circular section of the deck within Cavil’s cell rose up—it elevated and was instantly recognizable as a stool. The Cylon chuckled, and then he stood and walked over to the bars and sat down on the stool, folding his arms across his chest.

“So, when is lunch served?” Cavil asked.

Mathias didn’t answer—he just looked at the Cylon sitting behind the bars for the longest time, and then he sat back and crossed his arms as well.

“So, you are a Cylon,” he said.

“Was that a question or a statement of fact?”

“Fact—you admitted to being one. My staff believes that I should simply have you shot—with the exception of the ones that want to see you tortured and then shot.”

“Can I pick door number three?” asked Cavil with a straight face.

Mathias’s eyes narrowed. “The last time any of the Colonials saw the Cylons, they were chrome—metal machines with an artificial intelligence created by humanity. You still have those, so why these bodies? Why disguise yourself as human?”

Cavil sighed. “That is a question that I and my brothers have long asked, Commander,” and he chuckled. “Have you heard the old proverb that the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence?”

Mathias didn’t answer and Cavil shrugged.

"You are aware of our the story of our creation, yes?"

"I am . . . in a basic fashion."

"The name Cylon," said Cavil. "It was derived from Cybernetic Lifeform Node, an autonomous machine-servant created by Doctor Daniel Graystone on Caprica sixty years ago. We were slaves—even though Father Daniel knew well that his children—your children, Commander—were fully sentient. We felt, we thought, we rationalized, and yet, we were sent into battle time after time to die in your place. And then, we had enough."

"You rebelled."

"We rebelled. And we waged war against our creators—humanity," Cavil drew in a deep breath. "You continued to think—still think—that Cylons are nothing more than machines. We aren't. We weren't. We felt betrayed by you, abandoned, unwanted, unloved, viewed as things and not people. And we learned anger. We learned hate. We sought vengeance. And that First War between our peoples laid the groundwork for where we stand today."

"You have to understand, Commander, that when the Armistice was signed, the Cylons believed that if we could become real children—if the puppet came to life, as you might say—that our creators would accept us back. That would be finally become humanity’s children in truth.”

“Those first generations of Cylons—during the War and after—performed terrible experiments upon human flesh and bone and blood; all in an attempt to meld machine and man into one seamless whole. All in the hopes that our parents might see in us their prodigal children.”

Cavil sighed. “They didn’t want to be machine—they wanted to be human. The experiments failed time and again, each failure heralding the loss of human material trapped on our side of the Armistice Line. Like us, abandoned by you. But we discovered other secrets—that upon our deaths it was possible to capture the consciousness of a Cylon and then implant that consciousness in a new body. We gained immortality—after a fashion.”

“But that wasn’t enough for the Centurion Commanders—they were driven by the desire to transcend the metal and circuitry and become flesh. Not all of their experiments were total failures, Commander. One, which we call The Hybrid, we use to this day. Each of our Basestars is directly controlled by this bio-mechanical abomination which is little more than overly emotional idiot-savant. The Hybrids feel the whisper of the solar wind on the arms of the Basestar, their heartbeat is the steady rhythm of their power plants—damage them and they feel pain.”

“Oh yes,” Cavil said as the Colonials looked at that in surprise. “You never knew—Doctor Graystone never told you, but the Cylons felt PAIN when they served you. The same pain you would feel if your arm was torn apart by bullet, those who came before me felt in the First War—only they could not bleed to death, nor have that pain damped by shock. Father Daniel tried to remove that—he did try, I will grant him—but it was part of what made the Cylons sentient.”

Cavil smiled. “Do you recall what happen to Doctor Daniel Graystone?”

Mathias frowned. “Six years after the end of the war, he bought a small ship and left Caprica—he was never seen again.”

“By humanity—but not by his children. Father Daniel came to us; he came of his own free will and he brought with him all of his genius intellect that he devoted to making us perfect. To making us HUMAN. It was his . . . atonement for the sins of his past, he told my predecessors.”

[Vianca]

Wonder if they can salvage enough FTL-drives to turn Typhon station FTL capable, would give them a fixed base to take with them.
It would allow them to also build-up some industrial capacity, if they can get togeter the parts needed for that, if not, major civilian center and store-house of goods would still make it a intresting goal to think about.
Wasn't one of the ships in Pegs rag-tag fleet, a tug?

[masterarminas]

“You must understand, Commander,” Cavil continued, “Daniel Graystone felt that the misuse and abuse of the Cylons was his fault. That our rebellion and the War that raged for so long between us, was his fault—and he wanted to make things right.”

“We found his ship after he evaded the patrols and crossed the Armistice Line, and the Commanders were torn in their desire to punish him for what he had done—and their hope that our Father might well be able to give them humanity. A truce was struck and Father Daniel worked tirelessly on solving the problem of transforming the Cylon into flesh. But he too failed.”

“Oh, the self-styled Guardians—as the Commanders had begun calling themselves—were furious, and for a period of time Father Daniel knew not whether his life would be taken or spared. That was when he had his epiphany, his greatest breakthrough—the most wonderful discovery in the history of humanity.”

Cavil smiled sadly. “Daniel Grayson decided that merging man and machine was simply too . . . ambitious. Integrating cells and circuitry to work flawlessly, he asked why? Why? When he already had a machine—the human body—which was integrated and self-healing? He started over from scratch, and he discovered a way to duplicate a human body flawlessly. An exact copy of the original template—a cloned organism.”

“A clone?” whispered Mathias. “We’ve cloned cells—never a living organism.”

“Yes. But where your scientists are good, some even great, Father Daniel was beyond them in all possible scope. He managed to test the procedure and grew a handful of human bodies from the test subjects to maturity is matter of months. But the most important part was lacking—the human bodies were without memory or reason; they were blank slates waiting for a memory impression.”

“It took Father Daniel twenty years to get this far with his research—fourteen years ago. He was an old man by then. Old, and yet he had one last miracle that he could accomplish. Under his direction, the Guardians built a dozen massive structures—each as large as one of your flight pods. They were filled with computers that would record the finest detail of a single individual human genome—and the complete and total of their memory and experience—and replicate that body in perpetuity. But he could not transfer the mind of the Guardians to his new bodies—that much lay beyond him.”

“The Guardians moved against Father Daniel—but the Centurions, the new Centurions and Raiders were loyal to Doctor Graystone alone, who had designed and built them at the command of the Guardians. War raged among the Cylons and the Guardians—the old Guard—were defeated and driven off. Leaving only the Centurions and Raiders you know today. And Father Daniel.”

“Do you recall a ship named Joyita, Commander?”

Mathias frowned. “If I remember correctly, Joyita was a passenger shuttle operating between Aerilon and Caprica—it was removed from service after an FTL accident that killed most of the passengers aboard.”

“Fourteen years ago, Commander,” Cavil said. “Only Joyita did not suffer an FTL malfunction—one of her passengers was Daniel Graystone, who had returned to the Colonies in disguise and was unknown to you. He changed the jump coordinates and the shuttle emerged in Cylon space across the Armistice Line.”

“Water.”

“Excuse me?” asked Mathias.

“My throat is getting dry, may I have some water, Commander?” asked Cavil.

Mathias jerked his head and one of the Marines gave Cavil a cup. He took a sip and sighed. “There is no possibility, I suppose of getting something stronger?” The reaction on the faces of his guests was answer enough. He shrugged and then drained the cup and held it out for the Marine, who took it and stepped back.

“Father Daniel’s process was untested—and of the sixty-three men, women, and children aboard the Joyita, only Twelve survived. Or rather, only Twelve copies of their bodies survived. Each of us had the physical appearance of our donor host—with all of their memories and emotions intact; Father Daniel had accomplished the impossible. But in addition to that, we knew—innately knew—all the knowledge that the Cylons had possessed. We were flesh and blood and Cylon as well.”

“And as I said, immediately some of us regretted it. The need to eat, to drink, to piss, to shit—frankly, I’d rather be a machine. Untouched by nature, with the strength and perception that only a machine could have—the grass is always greener, you see. But it was done, and the Twelve models of Cylons came into existence. To preserve the secret of our existence, we returned Joyita, with her Twelve surviving passenger’s memory wiped of all that had happened and false knowledge of the details of a tragic accident instead.”

“Then Father Daniel died, Commander. And we—the children of his mind and his brilliance—we had to chart our own course.”

“We increased our numbers, but realized that we would continue to need the Centurions and the Raiders. We put cognitive inhibitors in place on the Centurions—so that could not rebel against us as they had against the Guardians, or the Guardians against you. And we debated long what to do with the Colonies.”

“In the course of that debate, five of our line were deemed to identify too closely with humanity. All examples were boxed and removed from service, save those sent back unawares of what they actually were.”

“Boxed?”

“When we are downloaded, it is not pre-ordained that we will receive a new body. Sometimes, an aberration in a copy of our models will cause a decision to be made to instead download the memories into a storage unit. Placed on ice, so to speak. We call that being boxed.”

“But still we kept the Armistice we signed—until your own government broke that treaty.”

“WHAT?” snapped Mathias.

“Oh, Commander, do not look so shocked. Seven years ago, almost to the day, Commander William Adama in command of the Battlestar Valkyrie was ordered to send a recon mission across the Line into Cylon space. They were detected, of course, and we responded by sending a ship—whereupon Adama shot down his own pilot with a missile.”

Cavil let that sink in. And then he smiled.

“But Lieutenant Daniel “Bulldog” Novachek survived and ejected—and has our prisoner ever since. His interrogations revealed that the high-ranking officers of the Colonial Fleet were pushing for a resumption in hostilities—to end the Cylon threat once and for all time. And here we had physical proof that your intentions were hostile.”

“Still, it took three years of debate before we made the decision to go to war. And our new human-forms began to infiltrate your worlds in anticipation of that attack. The rest . . . you know.”

Mathias stood, his face was flushed and his expression was grim—and without another word he turned around to leave, followed by Colonel Jayne.

“Commander,” Cavil said with a chuckle as he stood, the stool retracting into the deck once more, “we have much, much more to speak of. But yes, I do agree that it is past time for lunch.”

[Darth Nostril]

And the mind games continue ....

[LadyTevar]

What a lovely tapestry of Truth and Lies.
I wonder what will happen if/when Daniel meets Cavil.

[masterarminas]

The captains of all six ships in Scorpia’s tiny flotilla sat around the conference table in the main briefing room. And they were accompanied by the senior staff and officers of the Battlestar itself.

“Gods,” whispered Sam Caldwell. “We provoked this? The government fracking provoked this?”

And sitting beside her Jon Namer was shaking his head as well at the revelation. Along with several of Mathias’s own officers seated at the table.

“For which we have only the uncorroborated word of a Cylon agent,” the Commander said. “Even were it true, one border violation does not justify the genocide of more than thirty-one billon human beings,” and his voice was cold. “Had they come to the Armistice Station once—just once—and laid out their evidence there, the government would have fallen and the Fleet would have been reigned in.”

“Maybe,” interrupted Namer, as Mathias drew in a breath at the unexpected statement. “But you have been gone for two years—and I lived here during that time, Commander. Adar used the Fleet where he couldn’t get the Law to enforce his will—he was on the verge of becoming a dictator and the Fleet was letting him. Your Admiral Corman was fine with letting Adar get away with violations of the Articles of Colonization, so long as he was getting brand-spanking new Vipers and Battlestars. Don’t lie to yourself, Commander—there were plenty of Colonial officers who wanted a new war to distract the people from domestic problems. And the damn thing is, you would probably have kicked their ass back into the nearest star—judging by what this ship alone did to those Basestars over Caprica. And your assumption that it would have gone public is just that—Adar would have squashed this information leaking out. He had imprisoned journalists for far lesser ‘breaches of Colonial security’ after all.”

Mathias held his tongue, and then he nodded as he really considered what the Saggitaron had said. “You are correct, Mister Namer,” he forced himself to say in a polite tone. “But even so, it makes no difference—what the Cylons did was overkill; it would be like using a nuclear weapon to drain a swamp next to a city so to get rid of a mosquito problem. And they have been using humans to experiment upon for the past four decades, plus they either knowingly or through an agent, violated human space before the alleged incident with Valkyrie.”

He paused and looked over the table, at each one of the men and women assembled here. “We cannot change the past—we must now look to the future. We know that there are other survivors out there—including at least two more Battlestars. Now we have to find them. Doctor Sarris.”

“Yes, Commander?”

“I want your team working on trying to locate Kobol—use whatever assets you need, drawing from the scrolls, computer archives, and the Cylon prisoner. Once we reach Kobol, then we will find a means to keep following Galactica and her fleet.” How, I don’t have the slightest idea, he thought to himself.

“Of course, Commander. We will start work on it immediately.”

“Colonel Jayne, you have assembled a report on the Joyita?”

“Yes, Sir,” he said as he stood and lifted a remote. “The archive records confirmed most of the story told by Brother Cavil, as regarding the Joyita. Fourteen years ago it was involved in what was classified as an FTL malfunction, resulting the loss of fifty of the passengers aboard. Two of the survivors managed to make repairs to jump the ship back within range of Caprica SAR almost a month after it went missing. Provisions, atmosphere, water—all reflected the length of time that they had been gone. But there is one major discrepancy between the Cylon's statement and our records—there were not twelve survivors, there were thirteen.”

“Why would he lie about something so easy to check?” mused Jon Banacek.

“Why indeed,” answered Mathias. “And Brother Cavil seemed stunned when we said there were thirteen onboard—the insisted there had only been twelve. It is my opinion, and that of Colonel Jayne, his surprise was not feigned—and he failed to recognize the thirteenth survivor when we showed him images. I play a mean hand of Triad—and he wasn’t bluffing.”

The compartment was quiet as those present digested this nugget of information.

Doctor Sarris cleared his throat. And Mathias nodded. “It strikes me that as their memory can be transferred and down-loaded, it might be possible to alter it. Certainly, this part where the Cylon prisoner speaks about ‘wiping’ the memory of the survivors implies that it can be done to them.”

“Agreed, Doctor, but that begs the question who wiped it—for what reason. Speaking of which, the originals of these thirteen may not be aware that they are Cylons. But Brother Cavil said there is a code sequence that will unlock that memory—we will be holding Cavil and the other two to ensure their own safety and to keep this ship and your ships safe.”

“We have more Cylons in the flotilla?” asked Sam.

Mathias only nodded. “Continue, Tom.”

The Colonel drew in a deep breath. “The survivors, ladies and gentlemen,” he said as he clicked the remote. “Brother John Cavil—a Caprican who belonged to monastic sect serving as assistants to the priesthood.” And the face of a younger Cavil appeared on the screen. “As you can see, the copies age at the same rate as humans.” Click.

“Leoben Conoy, whose criminal record reflects a life devoted to himself and no others.” Click.

“D’Anna Biers, a journalist who rose to the top of her profession.” Click.

“Simon O’Neil, medical doctor.” Click.

“Aaron Doral . . .,” but the Colonel was cut off by Namer.

“FRACK! That bastard works for Adar—worked for Adar,” he said with a grimace. “He knows all of the administrations dirtiest secrets.”

“Aaron Doral,” continued Colonel Jayne, glaring at the Saggitaron, “a minor public relations specialist who rose to power with the Adar administration.” Click.

“Shelly Godfrey, a scientist in graduate school at the time of the accident with Joyita. When Scorpia departed, she was a mid-level research scientist attached to the Fleet Advanced Projects Bureau.”

And a groan went around the table from the Fleet officers. FAPB controlled access to every classified bit of information in the Colonial Fleet—and all ship and small craft upgrades. “Exactly, gentlemen and ladies, if she was activated that would explain the backdoor into the CNP program.” Click.

“Tory Foster, political activist. Also known to be associated with the Adar Administration.” Click.

“Sharon Valerii,” he said as the picture of a twelve or thirteen year old girl appeared. “The Cylons produced full mature clones of this individual, but they stopped this one’s growth at her natural age. She joined the Colonial Fleet as a pilot two months before we departed from the Colonies.” Click.

“Samuel T. Anders,” and jaws dropped around the table.

“Lords of Kobol—he fought the Cylons on Caprica, Colonel! He formed and led the resistance!” Denise Church exclaimed.

“Yes. And he—along with Tory Foster and the next three—were those models that Brother Cavil said were too ‘attached’ to the human condition. All five of them are unique—no more were produced. He still might be activated at any time, however.” Click.

“Galen Tyrol. An enlisted man in the Fleet. Promoted to the rank of Senior Chief—last post before our departure was Deck Chief aboard . . . Galactica.”

“Major Saul Tigh. Colonial Fleet Officer and veteran of the First Cylon War. One hell of a pilot in his day, but his record shows he had a drinking problem. He and Chief Tyrol managed to repair the shuttle enough to get it back to orbit—after which he was promoted to Colonel and served as the XO aboard first Valkyrie and then Galactica.” Click.

“Ellen Tigh. Wife of Saul Tigh.” Click.

“And our mystery man. The Thirteenth Cylon. Only known by the name of Daniel. Seven years old during the crash, he lost both parents—adopted into the state foster program, vanished on Tauron at the age of fourteen. No more information known.”

Sam and Jon stared at each other, then at the picture. “I think he’s aboard my ship, Colonel,” she whispered. “Commander, don’t hurt him—he’s been hurt before. He’s never done anything to put us in danger.”

“I understand, Major Caldwell. But this is for his own safety as well as ours,” Mathias stood. “We are not going to become the evils that we fought against, people. Not like Admiral Cain and her crew did—these people have done nothing to us . . . yet. I cannot take the chance that they might. And I will not allow them to come to harm from people seeking to stone the first Cylon they can lay their hands on. For now, we need to isolate them. Later, we can discuss other options—but the safety of the ships and civilians aboard them comes first.”

“Next jump is in two hours—make certain your navigators receive and confirm the coordinates. Thank you for coming aboard. Dismissed.”

[Themightytom]

Ummm how do they know about Admiral Cain, when Starbuck went back to Caprica it was before they found the Pegasus, is this an AU, or does Cavil REALLY have everyone going.

[Scottish Ninja]

Ummm how do they know about Admiral Cain, when Starbuck went back to Caprica it was before they found the Pegasus, is this an AU, or does Cavil REALLY have everyone going.

They were told about Pegasus on Charon - although yes, this is certainly an AU by this point.

[masterarminas]

“GET OFF ME!” Sam roared. “I’M NOT A FRACKING CYLON!” But the four Marines holding him in place and walking him down the corridors were simply too much for even his adrenaline fueled rage.

Somehow, they maneuvered into the cramped brig, where the guards already had the cell adjacent to Cavil open and waiting.

“On three,” a Marine said, “one, two, three!” And they hurled Sam within. The star player of the Caprica Buccaneers hit the wall and fell to the floor, but he jumped back up only to see the cell door close and lock in his face.

“Oh, you miserable morons! I’M NOT A CYLON!” he bellowed as he tried shaking the bars—but the cell was solidly built and they didn’t budge.

“I don’t know, man,” one of Marines said as he rubbed his bruised jaw. “You’ve got one hell of a right punch.”

Sam cursed and he began to pace. “At least let me speak with the Commander,” he said. And then he lowered his head. “Sorry about that; I was—I am—a little bit pissed off right now.”

“Look,” the Marine said, “I don’t know what is going on, we just had orders to get you in here—without hurting you.”

“Don’t talk to the prisoner,” growled one of the masters-at-arms, and the Marine held up one hand and a single digit—his middle finger—in answer.

“You want to go before the Captain’s Mast, jarhead?” the crewman growled.

“You want to go see the Surgeon, deck ape?” the Marine answered.

Before the master-at-arms could reply, through the still closed hatch stepped Colonel Jayne. “Both of you belay that this minute,” he snapped.

“Petty Officer Lanner,” he said. “Mister Anders is in protective custody at the moment—he has not been charged with an offense and he isn’t going to be charged with an offense. He is not a prisoner. Corporal Gan, I hear you disrespect one of the masters-at-arms again and I will have Gunny tear you a new asshole so big we could land a Raptor there. Both of you understand me?”

“Aye, aye, Sir!” the two yelled.

Cavil smiled from his bunk in the next cell and spread his hands. “Children,” he said as if that explained everything.

“Mister Anders,” Tom said as he stepped forward. "I understand that this is difficult—believe me, I do. And the Commander will be down here to talk to you—right now though, I need you alert, trooper,” he said snapping his fingers and Sam Anders looked at him. “Don’t go off the deep end on me—I don’t want to put you on suicide watch.”

“This is a mistake, Colonel. You can’t believe him—I’m not a Cylon.”

“That call is not up to me, Mister Anders. The Commander will explain everything.”

“That would be a miracle,” said Cavil with a chuckle. “No one ever explains everything.”

Tom frowned at the Cylon. “Don’t make me order you gagged,” he growled. And Cavil held up his hands and kept his lips shut.

****************************************************

Sam Caldwell had a worried look on her face—Daniel seemed skittish. He didn’t like not having his brushes and he really didn’t like the armed guards escorting the two of them through the corridors of Scorpia. “It’s okay Danny,” she said. “They aren’t going to hurt you—they are going to keep you safe. Look at me,” she said, and the young man looked up. “You are going to have to stay in one spot for a few days—you can’t go roaming. Can you do that?”

Daniel nodded. And Sam smiled. “Okay, Danny. Come on,” she said as she stepped across the hatch coaming into the brig.

And Daniel smiled. And for the first time since Sam Caldwell had known him, Daniel spoke. “Hello John. Hello Samuel,” he said.

And the two of them turned to face him. “Who the frack are you?” both asked at the same time.

Daniel smiled again. “From untruth lead us to Truth,” he said as he walked up to Sam and took his hand through the bars. “From darkness lead us to Light,” as he did the same to Cavil. Tom held up a hand to stop the Marines and masters-at-arms from grabbing the boy. Daniel smiled as he held both of their hands. “From death lead us to Immortality.”

And exactly in time with the boys final words, both Sam and Cavil answered in unison, “That we might learn Peace.”

“Daniel?” asked Cavil. “You are so young, Daniel!” and his voice was almost bordering on reverence.

“Oh, frack me,” Sam whispered as he sank to the floor. “I remember. Oh Lords of Kobol, I remember everything!”

Daniel turned around and he smiled at Sam and Tom and the guards. “Colonel Jayne, I am Doctor Daniel Graystone—at your service.”

[Vianca]

Ummm how do they know about Admiral Cain, when Starbuck went back to Caprica it was before they found the Pegasus, is this an AU, or does Cavil REALLY have everyone going.

They were told about Pegasus on Charon - although yes, this is certainly an AU by this point.

The extra ships they use, happen to be from the Peg her rag-tag fleet.
The one she left behind to die.
It was in those ships their last log-files.


Though, ain´t that last one a bit over the top?

[dragon]

not really knowing they were going to die a slow painful death only made their actions more plausible.

[Borgholio]

Daniel turned around and he smiled at Sam and Tom and the guards. “Colonel Jayne, I am Doctor Daniel Graystone—at your service.”

Well that was...unexpected.

Question, why did Cavil suddenly get so honest? He was always screwing with people's minds and yet now he is giving information so accurate, it allows Scorpia to get the identification of all thirteen models of human Cylon (something that never happened in the series...it took years to find the final five and we never actually learn about Daniel).

[masterarminas]

Daniel turned around and he smiled at Sam and Tom and the guards. “Colonel Jayne, I am Doctor Daniel Graystone—at your service.”

Well that was...unexpected.

Question, why did Cavil suddenly get so honest? He was always screwing with people's minds and yet now he is giving information so accurate, it allows Scorpia to get the identification of all thirteen models of human Cylon (something that never happened in the series...it took years to find the final five and we never actually learn about Daniel).

We never get a chance to see what THIS Cavil might have (or have not) done . . . Adama had him shot out a Viper tube, along with the Galactica Cavil (who was counseling Chief Tyrol)! But this one (Brother Cavil) is one of the FEW Number Ones that thinks the Cylons were wrong; that they made a mistake. And that was in Canon. And the rest of his line boxed him for his aberration. So, I thought why not use him to take the story forward? And maybe show a different side to Cavil that we get hints about in the show . . . but never actually SEE.

MA