Drop The Pilot

by Jacob Clifton November 2, 2009
The Plan

Do you know about the Plan?
The lessons of the Gods can help.
Private counseling, group prayer.
Contact Brother Cavil.

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.

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