Drop The Pilot

by Jacob Clifton November 2, 2009
The Plan

Jean and Sam snuck up to a job site, where Cylons loaded bodies onto trucks, dumped them in mass graves. All the ugliness Three wouldn't have to deal with, when she came to plant her trees. There were body parts everywhere; Jean choked on the smell. The workers began to speak to each other: "I didn't think it would be so hot and dirty," Five said to himself; he commiserated with himself about the smell. "The Centurions should be doing this," he complained, and went back to work. Jean looked on the faces of the Fives, and began to lose it; she cried in his arms and he begged her to be silent. He carried her away from them, shushing softly to her, humming comfort as they went.

The next time Eight surfaced she was dripping wet. "I was underwater and I started to lose it -- to lose who I am. I didn't know where I was and... I started to panic, and I tried to breathe..." One told her to calm down, reminding her they shouldn't need to breathe. "I'm not sure if we should detonate the charges," she said, showing the weakness in her model once again. "I mean, these humans, there are so few of them. They're no threat." The thing that made her perfect for the mission is what made her such a liability. "They are manifestly a threat. They're a threat because of the power they have to make you do this. Of all Cylons, you should see that." She looked away; he advised her out of her clothes, prurient in his eyes and voice, but she was still too much Sharon to obey. "Fine," he said, bringing the elephant out of her pocket again, "Be a prude." As he walked away, she fell back into her wonderful dream.

Boomer stared at the water dripping down, onto the flooring, and was terrified. She ran to the Chief, who told her someone was setting her up. "You wake up somewhere, you don't know how you got there or anything? You're drugged. Or manipulated, or who knows what. Something." She was terrified; there was nobody to tell but him. "If I report what's happened, they're gonna think I'm a Cylon agent." He couldn't understand why they would think that; he was confused and terrified, but that would be crazy. "People are getting crazy, okay? You heard the rumors. Cylons who look like humans, sleeper agents hiding in the Fleet..." That's when the tank blew. Mission accomplished. The water vented out, into space. The Fleet was crippled. And later, she would heal it, bending herself against the Eight inside until she nearly screamed.

Jean and Sam led the Buccaneers back to the job site; the Fives' work trucks went beep-beep when they reversed. The team stared down at the bodies. One stood in the middle of the crew, wearing a leather hat and duster, but they didn't see him in the mass of bodies and stinking death; when the shooting started and the Fives started dropping, he jumped into the middle of a pile of bodies, waiting silently for the turkey shoot to end. The Buccaneers cheered themselves on, congratulating themselves as they took the crew down, one by one. And when the shooting was done, Cavil sent up one pitiful, hilarious hand, calling out piteously, "Help! Somebody help me!" And when Sam came down the hillside, to rescue him, Cavil couldn't keep the love out of his eyes.

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