<> Cutler: And it finally happens. You are finally here, finally ready to face judgement for your actions. I only wish I could see your face. Baltar is standing in front of me. They called me in when he sent a direct communique to Adama wishing to board the Galactica. It's like the Atlantia all over again, Zeta and I standing guard so no one can hurt the traitor. He says something he wants to join forces with us, so that together the Galactica and the Cylons can defeat these so-called lightships. You ask me, he probably engineered the whole light show to try to scare us. Then, he tricks us by pretending to be as surprised as we are, convinces the Council that we must work together. And the base ships take us all out. As if the Council would believe a lame concoction like that. Would they? They fell for his story once before. Of course, that was an entirely different Council, who were all killed at the hands of the Cylons for daring to believe that peace was possible with them. And, so help me Lords, he tries to use that ‘the Cylons tricked me' felger I heard he tried to pull on Adama, back on Kobol, I'll burn him to the deck right where he stands. I wonder if Colonel Tigh knows about my failure to destroy this man when he detailed Zeta and myself to stand sentry here in the Council Chambers. If he did, I doubt I would be here. While the Council deliberates for what seems like sectons, memories flash through my mind. Memories of home. Of my fiancee, who was at work at the Caprican Civil Defense Headquarters when the Cylon warships fell in waves, obliterating any hope of mounting a defense against the onslaught. Of my own family, killed when, thanks to Baltar's tireless work, the Cylon craft were able to kill the population of the Colonies without any resistence. Of having this smug bastard in my own laser sights, unable to engage the weapon to end his treachery. I've often thought of that night, when I had the sniper rifle zeroed in on Baltar. What would have happened had I violated the orders and actually shot him? Could I have killed the traitor, then had enough time to eliminate Imperious Leader? Most likely, I think I could have. I'd always been good with weapons. On the other hand, the Cylons would have probably found my position immediately, the electronics in the scope had already alerted them to my presence. I undoubtedly could not have retreated, and been killed. From there, they most likely would have found the rest of the Team, and killed them as well, long before the squadron of Vipers could arrive from the Galactica to provide cover for their escape. Six lives would easily have been lost. All my comrades, the entire Eighth Colonial Assault Team. Perhaps several pilots from the Galactica, at most one squadron, as they moved in to cover the extraction. In exchange for uncountable millions of people killed in the attack on the Colonies. I think I could have lived with it. But it's a pointless exercise in ‘what ifs.' I didn't pull the trigger, because I had orders not to. At the time, no one had known of the deal Baltar had struck with the Imperious Leader, selling out his own race for Lords only knew what. All anyone had known was that Baltar was the liaison between the Cylon Empire and the Council of the Twelve for the historic peace treaty that would end the Thousand Yahren War. But now, everyone knew the truth. There wasn't a single person left in the Fleet who hadn't lost someone on that fateful night. In most cases, entire families were scattered, killed, leaving only a handful of survivors to carry on humanity. Sometimes I wish I'd been on Caprica when the bombs began to fall. At least then I would have felt justified had I survived. And I know I could have taken some of them with me. Lords know I tried. Now the President has risen, and he seems to be prepared to speak. I push my thoughts back, and listen to the proceedings. "Baltar," the President says, "You have been found guilty, of Treason against the State, and in violation of every code of moral and ethical conduct known to man! You are sentenced to spend the rest of your life in confinement, aboard the prison barge." "No!" Baltar appears startled. "I say you can't do this! I came to you under a sign of truce. You need me!" He moves closer to the table, and reaches for Adama. I almost move for my laser, but stop. "We need each other. There is a Power greater than yours, greater than the Cylon Empire! It will destroy us all, unless we unite!" A new voice speaks up, I realize it's coming from the mysterious Count Iblis. "May I address the Council?" Iblis waits for the President to nod his acknowledgment, then moves from his position of observation, and Baltar looks toward the Count, seeming to assess the new player, and a look of confusion crosses his face. "Baltar." "Who are you?" Baltar asks quietly, after a brief pause. "I am Count Iblis, and I will lead these people away from your ruthless pursuit," Iblis says with a smile. "That voice," Baltar nearly mutters. "There's something about your voice, I've heard it before." "It is the voice of Truth," Iblis replies, as though that answers everything. "It will lead these people, as it has led you to surrender to their justice." "I came here of my own free will," Baltar insists. "Just as you willingly drop to your knees, to accept your punishment," Iblis says. As Baltar slowly sinks to his knees, fighting with all his strength, I catch a look at his face. I see a mixture of fear, defiance, and confusion, and finally a flash of recognition. With the recognition, however, comes the distraction to Baltar's fight, and he drops to the deck. "Adama," Baltar chokes out. Adama bows his head, and utters two words: "Remove him." Zeta and I flank Baltar, and attempt to pull him to his feet. I look to Iblis, finding myself wondering the same thing, who is this man? Baltar seems completely resigned, unable to even bring himself the dignity of leaving the Council chamber walking. He is muttering about monsters, cursing Iblis. I wonder about that flash of recognition. Perhaps Baltar knows something about this Iblis that would be of interest. I don't have much time to ponder that one, as we are met at the hatch by a detachment of Council Security, with Captain Apollo and Lieutenant Starbuck. "Get him to the Galactica's brig," Apollo says. "Yes, and make sure we don't hurt him," I say, almost under my breath, and with a lot of sarcasm. We move through the passageways of the ship, and we see more than a few who have gathered to see the traitor as he is taken to his fate. I see the hatred burning deep in they eyes of my fellow shipmates, my comrades, my friends. I can tell most of them feel as I do. No words are spoken between the Chambers and the brig, until the armorglas slides closed, firmly locking Baltar in his cell. Zeta and I turn to leave, but are stopped by Apollo's voice. "And just what was that remark you made earlier, Lieutenant Cutler?" "Which remark was that Captain? I think I made several!" I shoot back. "That's enough of that!" Apollo nearly yells. Something must be on his mind, for him to completely bypass military protocol this way. "Enough of what? My being disgusted by the Council not having the guts to sentence this, this, this animal to what he deserves?" I realize I shouldn't say it, but I do anyway. "I only wish we could bring him back to life afterward, so we can kill him again, and again, a million times, for each million people that died in the Colonies!" "Lieutenant." Apollo speaks evenly. "You are here to carry out the lawful orders of your superiors, and the will of the duly-elected Council of the Twelve. And the Council says that he spends life in prison, NOT execution!" "Captain," I say softly, "if you have some sort of problem with myself, my opinions, or with anyone else on my team, then I suggest that you follow the chain of command and get yourself in touch with Colonel Howell, my commanding officer. Until then, I'll be on my way. Have a nice day, Captain!" I turn on my heel, and Zeta follows. I need a drink. The Officer's club is nearly deserted at this centar. I only see Callahan the bartender, at his usual spot behind the bar, and two warriors occupying a corner table, obviously taking advantage of the lack of patronage to snatch a few moments in relative solitude. I signal Callahan, who wordlessly places a shot of Avian's in front of me. I realize I probably shouldn't have challenged Apollo like I did, but if it came down to it, I am also sure that Colonel Howell will listen to Apollo's complaint of my conduct, and Howell will point out to me that I shouldn't do that. Otherwise, nothing will come of it, that I am certain. Especially while the Flight Crews are scrambling to find the missing squadron. "All is not lost, you realize," A voice speaks to me. I look up, almost expecting to see Callahan ready to offer some anecdote of comfort that bartenders throughout the galaxy are famous for. It takes me a micron to realize that Callahan is nowhere around, seeming to have vanished. I look back, and see the two warriors have also left their table in the back. A slight feeling of disorientation washes over me, as I finally spot the speaker of the words: Count Iblis. "All is not lost," he repeats. "And this concerns you because . . .?" I let the words hang empty between us. "I am concerned about all things in the Fleet, which may affect her people. I sense a great disturbance in your emotions." "Yeah, well, isn't the first time, won't be the last," I say, and reach again for the glass of liquor, still untouched. "What if I were to tell you that I believe the Council made the wrong decision?" Iblis says speculatively. "Again, isn't the first, and most definitely won't be the last there!" I say with conviction. "But," I continue after a micron, "according to our great Strike Captain Apollo, we are here to serve the Council's wishes, right or wrong." "Yes, well, the good Captain does seem to be a bit stiff in some matters, doesn't he?" I put my drink down, again, and look at the man in front of me. "Sometimes," he continues, "sometimes, one must do what is right, not merely what they are told." He gives me a sly look that tells me that he knows more than he should. Or, at least, he wants me to think that he knows more than he should. "Well, Count," I place a slight emphasis on the title, "regardless of where you are from, or where you are headed, at this moment, to the best of my knowledge, you are nothing more than a passenger in this fleet. I am a member of the Colonial Armed Forces, and I took an oath that I believe in. No matter whether it is right or wrong, I will follow the lawful orders that have been handed down to me." After a micron, I add quietly, "whether I can live with it, or not." "Lieutenant," Iblis backtracks, "I was merely suggesting that some matters are so obvious, they should be beyond question. The fact that something sinister has happened to Silver Spar Squadron, the wisdom of Adama, or the guilt of Baltar!" Will this, this, man ever let me get to my drink? "Just what does Baltar know about you? I saw the look on his face. He knows something. I wonder if Adama would be interested?" Iblis' eyes take on a cold, hard set. He peers intently at me, but I refuse to back down. This man has rubbed me wrong. I don't know how, or what it is, but I don't think I want to trust him. "Very well," he says, then makes a slight bow, and leaves the Club. I watch him leave, never changing the expression on my face. After he is gone, I finally turn my attention to my as-yet still full Avian's, and ponder for a moment. I appear to have touched a chord in our "Savior." Just have to figure out how it is I did it. Unbidden, thoughts of Baltar return to my mind. Once again, as I have countless times, I see the image of him in the cross hairs of my sniper scope. I see him speaking to the two Centurions on the devastated surface of Caprica. I see his disgusting face as he sinks to his knees before the Council. Life in Confinement. Great. Not only do we have to put up with the fact he's still alive, we have to give up a portion of our own hard-fought-for resources to keep the bastard alive. Better we should waste a few laser ergons and put him out of all of our misery. I know, of course, what Iblis was trying to imply, that someone, correction, that I should do something about the Council's misplaced judgement. He felt I should execute Baltar myself. That alone is almost reason enough to disregard his ideas. Between the look of recognition on Baltar's face, and the Count's own semi-active measures to remove him, not to mention that smug Iblis' own evasiveness about his own mysterious past, I think I would at least want to question Baltar on what he might know. But once again, I find myself seeing Tisa's smashed apartment building, with everything that I had associated with her left in flames. I feel the familiar anger burning inside me. But this time, there is a difference. This time, I have a target. A living, breathing, treasonous target. Locked up like a caged bovine, just waiting for someone to slaughter him. I shake my head, determined to not continue that destructive train of thought. I turn quickly and leave the bar, completely forgetting that I still haven't even touched my drink. 2 Cutler used a soot-scarred boot to move a bit of debris off the object. With a combat- gloved hand, he reached down and picked up the object. It turned out to be what he expected: A flat-film likeness of himself and Tisa together. It had been taken shortly after his awkward proposal, right before the ill-fated mission to the peace conference at Cimtar. The gold-plated frame was scorched and chipped, one corner of it had been completely broken by falling debris. But the likeness itself seemed untouched, aside from the broken glass. Cutler fought back a combination of tears and anger, and removed the likeness from the remains of the frame, and placed it in a side pocket of his combat pouch where it would not be subject to excessive damage. Aside from a few broken and scattered items, including the remains of a fragrance bottle, there was almost no sign that his fiancee had ever occupied what was left of this building. He took one last look around, hoping he hadn't missed any sign. Then, he unshouldered his weapon, and moved out into the night. Once out in the rubble that was once the streets of the proud capital city of the Colonies, he looked around. Without the familiar landmarks standing, he had to think about the layout of the area to decide which direction to go. The first place he had to check was his parents home, on the outskirts of the city. With care, he picked his way through the demolished buildings. After moving a couple of metrons in the right general direction, his eyes picked up movement to his left. He quickly sought cover behind a pile of rubble. After making sure his laser rifle was charged and ready, he strained his eyes and ears to make out the source of the movement. Then, the sound came to him: the whine of Cylon armor servomotors. The anger and rage once again boiled inside the Warrior. After nearly a lifetime of professional training, he was still unable to take this one instance as another cold, professional operation. This group in front of him was partially responsible for the bombed ruins he was walking through. Responsible for the destruction of his home, his loved ones, most likely even his own family. He charged from his cover, driven by the anger inside him. Cutler brought up the rifle, and fired off two quick shots, taking down the first two centurions in the marching formation. As the first two fell, the ones behind them began to bring their weapons to bear. Cutler zeroed on a third target, fired, only to have the second victim absorb the shot as it fell. "Frak!" The professional in Cutler finally took over from instinct. He tucked the rifle close to his body, then dove and rolled to his left, seeking cover from the Cylon's return fire. As the Cylon laser blasts flew over his head, he reacquired the target range, and quickly dropped three more silver-clad centurions before ducking under the cover again. The numbers in Cutler's head told him he had only two more Cylons left to deal with. He moved further to the left, hoping to come up where the enemy didn't expect him. It seemed that a near-total victory had not made the Cylons any better at close-quarters combat. As Cutler came up to a firing stance again, the centurions attention seemed to still be on the position he last held. And there were three left, not two. No matter, he thought, as he snapped off several shots, and the three fell in a smoking pile of electronic overloads. Leaving his weapon at the ready, Cutler moved among the dead Cylons, putting a single, point-blank laser shot at the center of all of them. As he prepared to move away, he stopped, then gathered several energy packs from the Cylon rifles. In a survival course he'd had, he seemed to recall that a simple power transfer between the unlike cells could recharge his own Colonial-made weapons. Cutler doubted he'd be able to find a functional armory to properly recharge his own anytime soon, and a slow, clumsy recharge would be better than trying to handle the enemy rifles, designed for cybernetic systems. Without looking back, he moved on toward the suburb that once held his parents home. Cutler stood in what had once been his father's prize yard, realizing that it would probably be yahrens before the vegetation could be as green and pretty as it had been only days ago. It appeared that a squad of Cylon fighters had made several passes, throwing laser torpedoes almost at random on their run into the city proper. Most of the homes in the area had sustained considerable damage, with a few actually still standing. His parent's home had taken a hit, from the corner. Cutler realized it was the corner where his father's chair had been. In his career of service, Cutler had to deal with death on many levels. Death of the enemy was usually a good thing. At times, death of innocents, caught by the Cylon guns, seemed so pointless. Death of a fellow Warrior, while never easy, was not unexpected. It was something they had all had to learn to deal with. Nothing could have prepared him for finding the bodies of his family. They were supposed to have been safe. It wasn't supposed to happen here. He leaned on the shovel, his task nearly completed. The crude crosses he had fashioned from shattered building material would not stand for long. Cutler hoped he could return soon, and erect more fitting markers. Who am I kidding? He thought. I won't live long enough to do that. None of us will live long. Cutler stared at the mounds of earth. He knew there should be words, but none seemed to make sense. He tried to think of the many things he would have wanted to say to his parents. "Father, you should have seen the Fleet as they formed up for the mission. Five battlestars, it was quite impressive. I got you a fumarillo lighter from the Atlantia too, one with the peace conference insignia--" He choked on his words. "I'm sorry. I should have known. I . . ." Movement to his right caught his eye. Cutler drew his pistol, and spun to meet the potential threat. He stopped just short of pulling the trigger as he brought the sights into line, and realized he was looking at Raleigh. "Thought I might find you here," Raleigh said softly. "Careful--Cylon patrol about half a hectare over." Cutler nodded, and moved away from the fresh graves. "Where are the others?" "Siree and Zeta are checking the condition of the base, to see if we can salvage any hardware. Dee is trying to get a comm signal, find out if there are any fleet units in the system." "Any luck on that? If we have to, we can steal a ship to get to the rendezvous, meet up for the counterattack." Cutler saw Raleigh shaking his head. "I don't think that'll happen, Cut. We lost the main comm unit in the shuttle, so all she has is a civilian set. But it doesn't sound good. From everything we can pick on both civilian and military bands, there is nothing left. This scene is repeated 12 times." "They got everything?" Cutler asked doubtfully. "Probably not everything, but most likely everything that could be a center for resistance." Cutler took a deep breath. "You have any plans for the near future?" Raleigh shook his head. "Well, if we can't find any military forces to launch a counterattack, I guess we'll just have to do it ourselves!" 3 "I just don't understand it!" Athena exclaimed, the frustration in her voice obvious. "What's wrong, Athena?" Degeria approached the station. "What?" Athena looked up. "Oh, hi Dee." "What's going on? Looks like you sent a Team of Daggits into that system," she pointed to the open console with wiring and modules hanging out. "Well," Athena gestured with a diagnostic probe, "this wonderful piece of gear has decided to take on a mind of its own. And we can't find a thing wrong!" "What's it doing?" "Every now and then, it just blanks out. Loses everything. Then, it just comes back on, like there was never anything wrong." "Could it be variations in the power supply?" Dee speculated. "I know that a lot of systems need a constant, even voltage." "One of the first things we checked, actually. No problem there, and no evidence of any power problems from Engineering." "There was a lot of damage in that last Cylon attack. Maybe the antenna leads have an intermittent break in the line? Somewhere between here and the scanner array?" "That's always possible, and we wouldn't be able to tell for certain without a visual inspection of every mitron of cable, but every continuity check we run rings out every time. I don't know what to try next," Athena said. "Except . . ." "Except what?" Degeria asked. "Well, I noticed, no, that's just not possible," Athena shook her head. "What? Come on, it can't be any worse than anything else you've tried." "Well, now that I think about it, the only times I've seen it screw up, was when that Count guy that Sheba is showing around comes near." "Does he hit some switches or something?" "No, in fact, he's never come within arms reach of the panel," she shrugged. "I told you it was ridiculous." "I don't know," Degeria replied thoughtfully. "I've been watching, and strange things seem to follow that man around. People act funny, scanners mess up, all sorts of things." "Now that you mention it, I did notice Sheba doesn't quite seem herself. Acted like she didn't even know me the other night, just turned and walked away with Iblis." "Just a hunch, Athena, I'd say you could put that panel back together." "You just might be right. Meet you at the courts later?" "I'll be waiting," Degeria said as she left the bridge. Athena wiped the beads of perspiration from her forehead. She concentrated, then struck out with her right hand, followed by a roundhouse kick. "Getting better," Degeria's voice sounded muffled through the padding. "You need to work on that move a little more though, you are still off balance as you bring your kick up." Athena nodded, and brushed her black hair back from her face. "Just how do I do that? I'm putting the forward motion into the punch, and it's hard to keep from falling forward." "Step forward with your other foot as you start the punch. Remember, it is mainly just to cause a distraction. That way, you not only have the swing of the kick, but adds a bit more force from your body's forward momentum. Try that." Athena took a breath, then tried the maneuver again. Degeria easily blocked her hand, but staggered a bit from the connection of her foot. "Better!" Degeria unfastened the protective padding on her head. "Get that worked out to perfection, you can actually knock a Cylon right off his feet." She took a deep breath. "I think that's about enough for one night. I know I'll be feeling this tomorrow, and I'm sure you will too." "So you learned all this from Assault Team training?" Athena asked. "All this and more. You've heard of Jarret Island, in the Western Bay?" "Yes," Athena nodded. "That's where all the Team candidates go, er, went, for the advanced physical training after Academy Basic." "That's the one," Degeria replied. "Fifteen sectons of pure, undiluted Hades! There was more than one time I wanted to ring that bell so bad I could taste it." "Ring the bell?" "There was an old bell at the main gate. They told us it was left from the original colony ship that landed on Caprica, you know, from Kobol. I don't know if that's true, but anyway, at any time during training, you could walk up, ring the bell, and it was over. No questions asked, and no second chances." "Why didn't you?" Degeria sighed. "I don't know, I guess it was just my stubborn pride. Not too many women ever got into Jarret Island, let alone finished. I swore at the beginning I would get through it, and that was that. Couldn't bring myself to quit, no matter how many centares they kept us up and running torture courses." She laughed a bit. "Guess that was good, I was too busy running and swimming and climbing to have much time to think about it. Otherwise I might have lost my nerve." "Don't think I could have made it," Athena said. "I had a rough time just doing Academy Basic." "I don't know," Degeria replied. "At the time, I did too. When they offered the chance to try out for the Teams, I figured that there was no way it could have been worse, and that if I could make it through Basic, well, I could make it through anything. Boy, did I get a rude awakening!" She smiled at the memory. "And every time some big bruiser of a guy would ‘Ring Out,' well, that just made me all the more determined to finish." "Now that I would love to have seen!" Athena smiled. "Just proves the point," Degeria continued, "that its not how strong you are physically. The training takes care of building that up. What matters is what you have inside you, that makes you grind down and get through it. "And girl, let me tell you, after all that everyone in this fleet has been through in the last yahren, I don't doubt for a micron that every single one of us could make it through Jarret Island without hardly breaking a sweat!" "What about Cutler? What's his story?" Athena asked. "Cut? What about him?" "I've tried to talk to him, he just never seems to open up to me." "And, he probably won't either. Don't worry, it's not your fault, so don't even think it was because of what you did on Caprica." Athena smiled sheepishly, and her face darkened slightly. "I didn't mean that," she said. "Well, here lately, he's had a lot of reminders of some bad stuff. With Baltar and all, you know." "What's that mean? Everyone has reasons to hate Baltar, we ALL lost someone." "Yeah, well, with us, I mean the ‘Daggits, it runs a little bit deeper. You remember that mission you pulled us out of, in the shuttle?" Athena thought for micron, then nodded. "Well, that whole mission was immediately classified, but bottom line was that we confirmed Baltar was talking to the Cylon high command at that point. Problem was, everyone thought it was just the peace negotiations, even if some of us were very leery to believe that." Degeria sighed. "I wish we'd been wrong." "So what was with Caprica? I sort of stepped into the middle of it, you know." "Seems that when we tracked Baltar back there, and found out what happened, well, Cutler had some fool notion that he was going to personally kick the Cylons off the planet. With our help, at least. And, I have to admit, we all had the same idea." She perked up a bit, and her voice found some pride. "And we were doing some damage, wouldn't you agree? "And, to make it worse, he never could find out if Tisa had been killed in the bombing or not." "Tisa?" asked Athena. "She was his girlfriend, prior to the peace conference." Degeria looked at Athena thoughtfully. "You know, now that I think about it, you do look a little bit like her. Dark hair, same build, more or less. That might make it harder for Cutler to talk to you." "I'm sorry, I didn't know," Athena said quietly. "Don't let it worry you," Degeria brushed it off. "He just goes through phases. After they get Baltar out of sight, and the IFB forgets about it for while, he'll be back to normal." "Or, at least what passes for normal nowadays?" Athena asked. Degeria chuckled. "Come on, I'll buy the first round. Let's get cleaned up."