Drop The Pilot
Shelly Godfrey took her flyer into a meeting room on the Galactica, where a very Tough sister was waiting with a Two and a Five. The nervous Five, in his teal PR-man's jacket, was excited by the very idea of a Plan; One was insulted that neither a Three nor a Four had shown for the meeting. Shelly dutifully raised her hand, noting the Four they saw. "What's the Plan?" asked the Five, and One spat, "The Plan is: Everything blows up a week ago." Shelly nodded. "All the humans are dead, and we Cylons all download, and the universe basks in justice. However..." Tough Six smirked: "It didn't frakking happen!" Exactly. So now, the Four understands, it's up to them. The Plan is murder. "We can all get weapons," the Two says dreamily, "Work separately." One approved. "Over 10,000 victims each," Tough said, with her hand on Two's knee: "We'll be busy..."
But obviously that wouldn't work. Not even Gina could do those numbers. So, Tough knew, they'd have to take out the Galactica herself. "With it gone, the Fleet's dead." Shelly, much to her sister's amusement, studiously noted that they'd also have to think defensively, and cover their tracks. "Very good, Sixes. Now I have assignments I'm gonna give to each of you, along with our sleeper agent... An Eight, I'll talk to her." One took Two out into the ship, and Genocide 2.0 began.
Sam's Buccaneers had been running so fast they became guerillas, with guns, crouching in the underbrush. They came to the edge of a Centurion outpost with their thigh, and waited for their pilot to take them to the next place.
On Galactica One told his Two to crack the military signal, so they could listen in, or communicate with the Basestars when they came close again. Two was good with codes and languages, Two loved the Centurions; Two was still waiting for his moment of clarity. Neither of them knew One was handing it to him. "Military are good about scrambling their signals," Two protested, and One scoffed. "The military built the Centurions. Functional, but hardly miraculous." Two didn't love that. "Crack their technology. And send in a Six, dealer's choice."
Jean Barolay spotted a Centurion, finally, as Sue-Shaun came down the embankment toward them. The young guy on the team proudly showed off a bomb he'd rigged: A Pyramid ball, with a detonator inside like a grenade. The woman beside him approved, and Sue-Shaun squealed over the walkie-talkies: The Centurions were taking the bait.
Shelly came to One with all her notes and her glasses, and he congratulated her on the Sixes' ability to differentiate themselves. "Love the look. But it doesn't do any good if there's a mechanism out there that can sniff us out." She nodded, and brought up the Cylon detector Gaius was building. If they destroyed it, she knew, he'd just build another one; her mission, she realized, was then to discredit him. "Well, if he sees one of us, he'll know what we are..." One nodded, and she was proud to have figured it out: "But he can't say anything without saying how he knows!" One calls his little sister smart, and she was proud; he took it away again -- "Or maybe it's the glasses" -- and she was appalled. She was so happy to see him, at first. She gathered her things, he watched her leave, she sent in the Five.