presidentpythia: (working)
[personal profile] presidentpythia
She’d asked Tyrol if he was sure, and he had been. He’d recognized it from his father’s books, and given that Tyrol’s father had been a priest, he’d known what he was looking at when he saw it. Radiocarbon dating had confirmed it, placing the site at four thousand years old – a perfect match in timing with the exodus of the thirteenth tribe.

Which means there’s no question, and no room for doubt.

The Temple of Five is on that planet, and somewhere inside it is the Eye of Jupiter, just waiting to be found. The way to Earth is almost within their grasp.

All they have to do now is find it, and keep the Cylons from doing the same.

Laura Roslin sinks into the chair behind the desk in the space she’s using as a temporary office on Galactica, adjusts her glasses, and reaches once again for her copy of the Scriptures. The answer they need has to be there somewhere.

* * * * *


He affixes the charge to the central pillar and connects the detonator, then moves to the next one, trying to let his fingers do the work automatically so that he doesn’t have to think about what he’s actually doing.

Tyrol hadn’t been able to figure out what had been happening at first, but it had kept bothering him. It was only him, as far as he could tell; no one else noticed anything. Which makes perfect sense – it’s not like they didn’t all have a frakload of work to do to get the ships restocked with every bit of algae they can scrounge off this rock, and no one’d had time to spare for weird goings-on. Including him.

But it wouldn’t stop, like some kind of vibrating drone right at the edge of his hearing, or like seeing flickers of movement out of the corner of his eye – but whenever he tried to listen more carefully or turned to face it, it was gone. After the fourth or fifth time, he’d realized that he always ended up looking in the same direction, toward the same distant ridge, and had finally given in to impulse, gone to look – and found the Temple.

It’s not a far stretch to think that he might have been led to it somehow, which just makes what he’s doing now that much worse.

This is the Temple of Five, Tyrol thinks, as he sets the next charge. The holiest, most special, most true place I could ever imagine.

And I’m gonna blow it up.

Date: 2010-08-15 08:26 pm (UTC)
mr_gaeta: (and a star to steer her by)
From: [personal profile] mr_gaeta
You've seen stranger, Gaeta tells himself, and has to shake his head at how the familiar mantra has slipped across the door, following him home from Milliways.

Down the hall in the CIC, the DRADIS continues to bleat out the presence of the Cylon ships. They're all aware of the alert; they're leaving it be, for now. Gaeta sits before a monitor in Baltar's old laboratory to check what has become the more important of the two readouts: solar radiation, vibrational modes. Adama and Roslin stand behind him as he explains.

"...and sure enough, it appears to be highly unstable," he says. Glancing over his shoulder at the pair, "If you can believe it, on the verge of going supernova."

The Admiral fixes him with a look. "When?"

"Could be tomorrow, could be next year -- there's no way of knowing for sure, sir." He shrugs. "When it does happen, the only warning that we're likely to get is a fast helium flash, at which point we'll have to jump out of here before it obliterates the entire planetary system."

The beat's worth of hesitation lingers for longer than he means it to; when Gaeta continues, it has the tentativeness of a man testing recently discovered ground, uncertain of whether it will give beneath his feet. "Sir," he says. "I am not one to look for religious signs, but -- I can't get my head around these odds. That human and Cylon both converge on this planet, at this exact moment, just as the star's about to go supernova?"

All three of them, he knows, have seen impossibilities and wonders and things that shouldn't exist. And if it weren't for that, Gaeta knows he would never entertain the possibility: that maybe more than a simple mantra to get him through those impossibilities has started appearing here as well. He's seen stranger, he knows. He just hasn't seen it here.

"I'm not a religious person, Mr. Gaeta, as you both know," says Adama. His mouth thins. "So if this is the work of a higher power...they have one hell of a sense of humor."

Gaeta nods acknowledgment, and looks back to the oscillating readouts waving across the screen.

However this may end, he suspects it won't end cleanly.

Date: 2010-08-15 10:19 pm (UTC)
cbucsrule: (thinking things over)
From: [personal profile] cbucsrule
Along with everyone else, he's really learning to hate this frakking planet. It's hot and tastes as bad as it smells, and the algae gets everywhere, and thank the gods they won't be here too much longer. He can take out his anger and frustration on the planet's surface all he wants, of course, but that's not the root of the problem.

The problem, as always, is his wife. It's Kara, and the way she's thrown him aside for the other shiny toy in the corner, and that shiny toy happens to be the one in charge on this godsdamned planet. Sure, he's grateful to have been rescued and he's grateful he found Kara again after the hell she went through with Leoben and he understands a person doesn't live through something like that without it causing a fundamental shift in the way they see and deal with everything. He's been good: given her space when she's needed it, intimacy when she's demanded it, a shoulder when she's cried, and an ear when she's screamed for someone to listen. The one thing he can't give her is free reign to frak Lee Adama senseless in front of everyone. He might give Kara a lot, but he holds onto his pride like it's the last oxygen tank in a void. A man has to keep something.

When his wife shows up side by side with the Major with that heavy-lidded look on her face that tells him exactly what's been going on behind the scenes and Adama has the nerve to tell him he gets to form the civilians into fire teams with deployment orders, and then has even more frakking nerve to pull rank and only give information on a need-to-know basis, that's it. That's frakking it. He's had it. He could tape up Kara's mouth for having the nerve to shush him and call him honey, and he just might

Frak.


***


It all comes to a head the very next time Lee checks in to give him more orders. Little half-baked shrimp resting on his father's laurels, wearing the title Major like he actually earned it or something. Try surviving by yourself with a frakking pyramid team for months on a radioactive planet surrounded by toasters. Try taking down as many of them as you can without help from the godsdamned fleet. Try doing a frakking thing without Daddy's help. And stop telling him what a good officer he'd make: he doesn't want Lee Adama's opinion on a single godsdamned thing.

He knows exactly what's going on between Adama and Kara. He's known since the first time he saw them together. He knows what his wife is like and what she does, and who she likes and how she likes to spend her time. Kara might think she can be subtle about it, but he sees through her like the clearest piece of glass and still -- still -- he married her and loves her and he'd marry her all over again, warts and all. He sure as frak can't help the way he feels about her, but at times like this he really wishes he could.

Date: 2010-08-15 11:21 pm (UTC)
faithful_lt: (head cocked and listening)
From: [personal profile] faithful_lt
Six lights blink on the DRADIS; six Cylon heavy Raiders descending toward the planetary surface. Hoshi ignores the rest of CIC in favor of staring at the plot, willing it to change.

He hears Colonel Tigh declare that the Cylons are bluffing, hears the President remind them all that they are in fact bluffing, but it's the sound of the admiral's flat question that snaps his head up so that he's looking at Adama even before his name's called.

"Aye, sir," he responds.

Over a faint ringing in his ears, he hears Adama tell him to order the preparations for a nuclear strike against the temple site.

Gods, so many of us are still on the ground -- even Lee Adama's down there--

He feels himself go pale, but he doesn't hesitate. "Aye, sir."

"This is a nuclear mission order," he sends over the comm. "Activate launch tubes four through ten and load ground-strike missiles. Stand by for targeting coordinates."

Hoshi carries out his duty, ignoring the rising tension in the room and the frantic counterpoint of his thoughts, and silently prays that whatever universal power led them here in the first place is still watching over the Fleet now.

Date: 2010-08-15 11:38 pm (UTC)
cbucsrule: (nothing to do but pray)
From: [personal profile] cbucsrule
A long, long time ago he got a singularly good piece of advice from his father, who wasn't a bad guy at all. Proud of his son for going pro with the C-Bucs, at least, he got pulled aside for a father-son chat right after one of his first press conferences. Sam, his dad said, I'm only going to tell you this once. A world of opportunity just opened up for you, and your mother and I couldn't be more proud. You deserve all the good things you can possibly get, and a lot of people are going to throw themselves at you. There are going to be a lot of girls -- no, don't interrupt me, let me finish -- and one of these days you'll find the girl who makes you want to sing. My only advice to you is when you do, don't ever go to sleep angry at each other. Always make up before things get too bad. You never know when that chance might be taken away.

Funny what a man remembers in times of duress. Lee's words don't make the least bit of sense: Kara's ship's gone down somewhere out there, and no one's going after her? Worse, he's not allowed to go after his wife? He's no frakking commissioned officer. He's a tag-along, a stowaway, a godsdamned pyramid player whose wife just got shot down by toasters, and frak if he's not going after her. If no one else is, he's going, because he didn't get the chance to make up before things got too bad. He didn't have the chance to follow the best piece of advice his father ever gave him.

Adama gives the order; Mathias trains her gun on him.

"Are you kidding me? Are you gonna shoot me now?" Someone has to go get Kara. He's not going to leave her to check out alone: who knows what shape she's in or how surrounded she is by Cylons? He's not giving up on her. If he has to kill people or get shot at to make that happen, he will.

"I can't let you go. I need you on the line. I need you commanding those civilians. I'm sorry, Sam, but you can not go."

Sometimes -- more often than not -- Lee is so frakking full of himself. Too full of himself for his own good. "I'm sorry too, Major, but you can't stop me."


***


It's small comfort, poetic justice, and one frak of a bad idea combined when Lee sends Dualla out to recon Starbuck and bring her back. Tactically, it's pretty smart but emotionally it's about the messiest thing he could have picked to do. He's been kept on a leash this whole time and he hasn't liked it, even though he gets it. He gets it about doing whatever the frak you need to do to get the job done; he learned that lesson a thousand times playing pyramid and a thousand more times in Delphi kicking toaster ass, and he's learned it a thousand times over being married to Kara Thrace. The timing on her proposal might have come as a surprise, but despite everything, he's never regretted going along with it. Not even at times like this when loving her hurts worse than losing a godsdamned limb.

He has to swallow a lot of pride to finish this mission with Lee, but they do it. His heart's with Kara but his attention's with the ground troops. Their lives matter too, and it's up to him to make sure they all know they don't matter less. That's what makes a good officer, right?


***


All he can do is wait. That's all he can do, and every frakking second is an eternity, and once they're back on Galactica he waits for every frakking Raptor to land, and looks at every frakking body and body bag and when his wife finally steps out and into his arms -- his, not Lee's -- it's like he's breathing again for the first time in hours. It might not mean anything to her -- he might just be the first convenient body to cry against -- but it means a frak of a lot to him. And right now, that's what matters.

Date: 2010-08-15 11:56 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] six-ofone.livejournal.com
It was another unprecedented act - boxing one copy, let alone an entire model.

The Threes were obviously no part of it, the Sixes and Eights weakened by acts of their contaminated copies, the first of the new generation once again lost to the humans, it wasn't difficult for the Ones to seize on their chance, asserting their will with little resistance. This deviation to a near-nova star had yielded them nothing, as they had predicted. Whatever could have been gained from Baltar was lost when they abandoned him on the planet. The Threes had been babbling nonsense, had done nothing to explain whatever guide this temple was meant to yield. Sharon Agathon and her daughter were gone, aided by a Six copy who had already proved a fallible leader.

Whatever the Threes had witnessed, it was counter to their programming – a stream of irrelevant data no better than a virus infecting their systems. Or sacrilege, if one preferred the word. The Threes had evidently not only thought about the Final Five, but obsessed over them, sought them out. It was a defect in their model, a curiosity that prevented them from operating correctly. The knowledge even one copy now possessed would spread through the model, and eventually, if not immediately, taint the other models as well. The potential for destruction was as great as a threat posed by any germ or disease.

They didn't have any choice. Their sister had to be ended.

That's what the Ones told them, in any case. Not an easy decision, but inevitable.

If her absent presence was felt, the other models were silent. Six siblings gathered at the data font instead of seven. A few of the Two and Sixes commented that The Hybrid's words might discuss dissent, but as Three herself had claimed once, she doesn't get a vote. The Ones dismiss this. The talk of the Hybrids, of God, of Earth, had led them to enough failures, at least for now. Even the Ones weren't ready for a vote of permanent separation from the humans, as their threat was still too great, and the others not ready to give up Earth.

But the planet was destroyed with the star now a nova, their sister was swept away to cold storage. For now, agitation among the models no longer disturbed the halls of the Cylon fleet.

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Laura Roslin

January 2015

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