Title: BSG: Ballad of Fallen Angels
Characters: Sharon Valerii with miscellaneous Cylons
Spoilers: 4.20 “Daybreak Part 2”
Summary: Part 1 of a WIP set on The Colony
Thanks to grey_sw for the beta read!
“This is love. These people love me. I love them. I didn't pretend to feel something so I could screw people over. I loved them, and then I betrayed them! I shot a man I love, frakked over another man, ruined his life, and why? Because I'm a lying machine, I'm a frakking Cylon!” – Sharon Valerii, Downloaded
Red light danced across the dark eyes of Sharon Valerii, beckoning thoughts of the hell she knew Athena would deliver her to. It seemed fitting to die here at The Colony, the beating heart of Cylon civilization and the inception of humanity’s children, now waging war against their predecessors outside the walls of the ship. Her life had slowly become a living hell, and the hue of the hall brought that ideal into her reality. The red illumination flickered across her idle, calm face as Sharon stared at her doppelganger who stepped into her life on the Battlestar Galactica as an enemy agent and was now indistinguishable from the Colonial officers who surrounded her. Both sides – Colonial and Cylon – battled fiercely outside the walls of The Colony for survival of the species in their endless waltz, vipers and raiders struggling against an ocean of stars like a ballad of fallen angels struggling for life immemorial.
Sharon knew she belonged to neither side. After being lost for so long, she felt she understood her place in the universe. She was a harbinger of death, destroying everything around her, and as she caught the gaze of her twin, Sharon realized her decision to return Hera to Karl and his wife would bring her to her end. There was so much left unfinished, so much she wanted to explain to them, to Adama, Tyrol, even to Cavil, but she knew it was too late…
“You can’t go back that way,” Sharon warned them, wondering if her former friends – her family – would heed the impending danger that was close to ensnaring them. Cavils, Simons and Dorals were leading squadrons of new and old Centurions across the tiers of The Colony towards the Galactica, their lives hanging by a thread against Cavil’s innumerable forces. She knew it was a miracle that the marines managed to infiltrate the ship as far as they did. The Colony was Cavil’s fortress, with the Cylons and Centurions ready to tear the Galactica apart for a little girl who meant the life or death of an entire race of people.
Kara said something to Athena, but Sharon didn’t hear them. She merely looked at them, remembering when she used to believe she was really human instead of a machine. Her mind flashed to the sloppy landings she made as a raptor pilot, her illicit affair with Galen, her friendships with Kara and Karl. As she looked at their faces now, seeing the distrust and hatred in their eyes, she wondered if they could even remember when she was once their friend. Sharon could still remember how torturous it was to think Karl had died on Caprica when she had lived, sacrificing his seat so Dr. Gaius Baltar could live. Despite the odds he stood in front of her, alive, his eyes staring at her with the same contempt as the marines surrounding him. They all had that wary look in their eyes as they stared at her, thinking her actions were nothing more than another Cylon trick. Couldn’t they see she was still Sharon Valerii, or did they only see her as a Cylon, as Cavil’s cohort? They all called her Boomer when she returned Ellen to the fleet, as if they were trying to say she was no longer Sharon Valerii, keeping her impersonal, thinking of her as nothing more than a mere machine so they wouldn’t have to remember that she was once a person to them. I’m no longer Sharon to them, I’m just Boomer, just another Cylon…
Her doppelganger looked back at her, no remorse, no regret, indistinguishable from the human soldiers behind her, the chasm between them a bitter reminder of the life Sharon could never return to. She had known there was no going back, and she was ready to accept her fate. Dressed in civilian attire, carrying no weapon, she knew the outcome of surrendering the child to her family. She would let her twin exact revenge. Seconds later, the shots rang out from Athena’s weapon, bursting into Sharon’s belly as the others looked on, watching as her mirror image focused the gun and kept ringing out white hot fire into her frail body. Sharon hit the floor with force, the pain of the past few years numbing her from feeling anything as she collapsed into the darkness.
~ ~ ~
Model number Four stared at the sprawled dead of his brothers that littered the corridor of The Colony. Ones, Fours, and Fives littered the halls of this living ship, built around the subluminal ship of the Final Five as a testament to their inception. The rational part of Simon understood their sacrifice, their willingness to risk permanent death for the sake of ensuring the survival of their race, but the emotional part of him couldn’t help but feel bitter and angry over the senseless murder that the humans perpetuated. They started this, enslaving their people, crossing the line and breaking the armistice, even their obvious attempt to lure them into a trap to infect the entire Cylon race with their diseased prisoners. Simon knew the treachery of humanity, and he wished now that he had made a different choice when they were at the Temple of Hopes. “We should have destroyed the Galactica like Cavil suggested.”
“Perhaps,” Five says, walking next to him, taking in the devastation of the Centurion and Cylon bodies that their foes massacred. The green light lit against his face, highlighting the sense of loss etched on his face. “We should have destroyed them when we discovered where they were hiding instead of simply capturing the child, but we were weak – sentimental – because the Five were among them. If we only had the resolve...”
“That doesn’t matter now.” Simon said, trying to push the carnage out of his mind and focus on the situation at hand. “We’ll deal with the humans at the appropriate time, when we’re made sure The Colony is secure. I’ve seen some Centurions running down some of the corridors, I think our brothers are already working on our situation.” Despite his words of optimism, Simon felt the bitter irony of their situation highlight his thoughts, that the birthplace of their twelve models – the artificial world where the Final Five and the original Centurions gave them sentience, where they experienced their first downloads in extraordinary but frail bodies – would now house the death of their fallen brothers and any hope of preserving their people.
Simon watched for a moment as Doral walked towards one of his fallen models slumped against the wall. He looked for a moment as Doral held the dead Five’s palm, whispering softly to his fallen brother. Simon felt like an intruder, a wave of shame and guilt sweeping over him. He still had trouble grasping the concept of mourning, the finality of death. Refusing to intrude further, he walked away, leaving his brother to grieve in peace.
~ ~ ~
It seemed like a small eternity before Sharon coughed blood, gasping at her sides from the pain the bullets caused in her belly. Blood swirled with spittle, a trail dripping from her nose as she moved her head, wondering why she felt anything at all when she should be nothing more than a corpse. “Frak,” Sharon spit out. Memories flooded her mind, refusing to be held back as the life slowly ebbed from her body.
“It’s the rebel baseship,” Sharon said, fearful. “I think they’re gonna attack. They’re gonna blow the Hub.”
“That would be mass murder,” Cavil said, disbelieving. “Death would be permanent for all of us. They've gone insane.”
She wanted to give up, to give in, let go. Hopeless enveloped her soul. She wanted to die here, at the place of her birth, among her people; among the only people who ever accepted her when everyone else – even her own line who once claimed they loved her, and always would – coldly rejected her. She felt herself go cold as she slowly started to slip away; images and sounds started floating around her when she felt her consciousness had slipped into a rich, thick fog of colors and numbers. She extended her arm, trying to touch them as her cheek rested uncomfortably against the warm floor of The Colony.
Sharon turned on her back, still silhouetted in the darkness of the corridor, looking at the green and red lights that once blinked and illuminated with unbridled life from this magnificent ship. She could feel her heart slowly coming to a stop, the blood oozing out of her body. Caught up in her delirium, she saw the faces of her brothers and sisters in every little droplet, every one of the seven models dying all around The Colony; all dying with The Colony – their home once, and now their grave. Now the ship was broken and crippled, life subtly slipping from the living ship as it ebbed away from her own life, knowing that she would perish as the ship collapsed around her. She knew, confined here in The Colony, there was no hope out in the starry expanse. After what seemed like a small eternity, she spoke, softly but dignified. “I’m sorry,” she said, resigning herself to her fate. Anger and hate mixed together, burning her insides as her sorrow and sadness was doing the same to her heart. She knew that there was no time left.
“…I made vast improvements… you’d be astonished…”
“…teaching me to be a better machine… to let go of my human constructs…”
A small electrical impulse reached her heart. Sharon had tried to let go, but the pain was brutal, overwhelming. The current continued running its way through her entire body, reminding her how it had felt to download all the times she was murdered on New Caprica. The electrical current had run its way into her head, then down her back and through her entire body as it forced her back into vivid consciousness. She felt the throbbing pain when it turned into a subtle numbing coursing through her, running along her entire body. Desperate and alone, her lips had parted when she tried to let out a scream, but was allowed only silence. Sharon gasped out, her vision burry. Above her, she made out the faint images of several Centurions standing above her.
~ ~ ~
Four walked further down through the corridors of The Colony, turning his thoughts to what may have happened to their vessel. Despite any damage that the ship would have incurred, it was built to weather the storm, and it still held importance information – containing the original equipment the Final Five used to resurrect after the destruction of Earth along with the partial information they retrieved from the Final Five, before their betrayal. If the Ones could successfully dismantle the subluminal ship that lay at the heart of The Colony, perhaps it would yield more answers to the mystery of Resurrection, especially now that they had the fragments gleaned from their progenitors.
Simon walked into one of the chamber, looking towards the data-font. He noticed, to his surprise, a One lying either unconscious or dead on the ground. He saw a small stain of blood at Cavil’s lower left side. Simon placed four fingers on Cavil's wrist, placing his index finger towards the base of his elder's hand. Despite their inherent nature as machines, their progenitors had based them on their human counterparts. Feeling the artificial pulse from his elder’s wrist, Simon had been able to breathe a sigh of relief. He knew that the Ones had altered their own programming, with the Cavils insisting that they needed to be stronger – better – than the original programmers had intended. Simon suspected this was the reason that the Eight known as Sharon Valerii had survived the assassination attempt made on her life, her heart still beating despite a belly full of metal. Never underestimate the Cavils.
“One,” Simon stated, knowing Cavil’s preference for their numeral identification rather than their humanizing names.
“Has there been any contact with the Basestars?” Doral asked as he entered the room, a slight bruise on his forehead that Four hadn’t noticed before. Simon turned his head, watching as his brother entered the room with confidence, jubilation, no longer possessing the melancholy that, only moments before, seemed to topple him emotionally and physically. Simon knew the Five had grown bored sorting through the remains of Kobol for any remnant of the original Cylons’ resurrection technology. Perhaps the unknown situation they found themselves in had given this Five a new sense of purpose?
“One,” Simon stated as Cavil stirred awake. “Stay still for a minute, One, let me examine your wound,” Simon said sternly, realizing their current dilemma would force Cavil to try to get the matter under control, despite the risk to his health. Simon lifted Cavil’s shirt carefully, allowing the unnatural lighting of the room to aid his examination, allowing Simon to see the extent of the wound that his brother had endured. “It appears to be a nothing more than a superficial wound, but you'll need to control the bleeding to keep it from getting worse.” Simon took off his jacket, ripping off the sleeve to bandage Cavil’s wound, applying pressure on the blood vessels above the wound to halt the blood flow. “We’ll need to disinfect the wound, but just keep pressure on it for now.”
“That can wait,” Cavil motioned Simon towards the data-font while Doral watched, anxious to hear their next move. “First, we need to assess how much damage The Colony suffered from the nukes,” Cavil spit out through the pain, clutching his side as blood seeped through his fingertips. “Make sure we don’t get blind-sided by those back-stabbing frakkers again…”
“I’ll check,” Simon stated, motioning for Doral to stay put. Given the situation, Simon knew the potential danger the data-font could pose if the Hybrids were still confused, or if the Final Five or the rebel Cylons managed to infect their systems with a virus. Anything was possible after downloading the data straight from the Galactica. All he knew was that he was tired of watching his brothers die.
Simon placed his hand on the data-font, connecting to the neural network of the ship, taking in the information as it seeped into his mind. “As expected, we’ve suffered substantial damage to the outer hull,” Simon explained. “The Centurions have been evacuating the injured from the damaged areas of The Colony to make-shift medical stations the Fours had set up during the truce-”
“Our primary concern should be the safety of The Colony,” Cavil interjected. “If we don’t-”
“Our people are still spread out throughout the ship,” Simon acknowledged, “but there are a sufficient number of Fours and Fives working on the weakened parts of The Colony with Centurion assistance. They've been successful in preventing any hull breaches while a few of the Ones seal off the areas too damaged to maintain.”
“Where are we?” Doral asked while Cavil looked on, keeping his hand securely at his side.
“The readings aren’t clear,” Simon said. “None of our surroundings are familiar. It's possible the Hybrids managed to jump us out of orbit before we were destroyed by the singularity and we’re in uncharted space, but we can’t jump anywhere given the damage we received from the nukes.”
“We never should have trusted the humans to keep their word,” Doral said bitterly.
“Four, why are we the only ones here?” Cavil asked. Doral moved towards Cavil to help him stand, but Cavil brushed him off. “Why the frak hasn't anyone tried to contact the basestars? We’re drifting in space, unprotected. There are several fully armed basestars in our armada, and not one of them is here?”
“Messages have been sent, but most of our people have been focusing their attention elsewhere. Besides the ones dealing with the fallout of the attack, the Fours are tending to our wounded, the Fives are dealing with the dead,” Simon took a moment before speaking again. “The Ones are near the base of The Colony, at the subluminal ship.”
Doral stared at him. “What are the Ones doing at the Final Five’s ship?”
“Simon,” Cavil interjected, “did you figure out where we are?”
“Four, what happened?” Doral asked, seeing the fear in Simon’s face. “Did we avoid the singularity?”
Simon paused a moment, then looked at them starkly, retracing his hand from the data-font. “No… we passed through it. We’re on the other side.