MONDO EXTRAS

Drop The Pilot

by Jacob Clifton November 2, 2009
The Plan

Oh God! Giver of life, earth and sky
That heavenly light which must be worshipped
Let us attain the radiance of God
May our thoughts bring us ever forward into light

The Gayatri Mantra was only ever One's plea: "I am a machine, and I could know more." When One looked at John, when One looked at Cavil, all he saw were the disparate pieces of an ugly, half-living thing. He would do anything, to outrun it: Any hate, or fear, or jealousy, to stop himself from seeing anything so hateful.

When Cavil looked at One, now, he only saw beauty. Anger, and rage, and passionate displeasure. Pilots he dropped long ago, watching God's love for humanity; never knowing she'd one day be another angel in disguise. He saw love outlasting death, and his jealousy turned to something more. And now when he looked at One, he liked himself. He loved himself, then. Congratulations on differentiating yourselves.

"The anticipation is really unpleasant," Cavil said to himself; he nodded. And just before the most beautiful version of the Gayatri Mantra begins to play, and intermixed with the Watchtower song, and those little boys went falling out into space, and were scooped up in the arms of their brothers and their sisters, and Cavil died like John before him, between five stars, a curious thing happens.

One is not the loneliest number. There are lonelier numbers than that. Self-loathing is not a pilot we can afford. But sure as Kara Thrace led the Fleet to Earth, not once but twice; and sure as Three returned, to stand and walk and love; sure as Caprica knew God's love, and motherhood, and Gaius found his peace, and Gaeta boned a dude; just as all pawns do become queens, and the angels will always rejoin what is broken: Love will ever outlast death. Ask Kara Thrace, who bested death and loved that Kore girl, across a river and a storm of pain and fear; Kara would recognize this next move, executed perfectly in angle and curve, just before the doors open, just before he meets himself again: Cavil reaches out to himself, with one perfect hand. And One is shocked. And One is grateful.

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