=== Centurion Rising === _Battlestar Galactica_ fan fiction by Jeff Lee Striding through the dark corridors of the base star, the centurion pondered the reason for his summons. Ordinarily, Seltek would have simply used a comm circuit, rather than demanding that he leave his post and come see him personally. Worry tangled his circuits as he neared Seltek's command post. Without reducing his speed, he barged through a trio of I-L series units who were standing in the corridor talking. Savoring his amusement at their indignant outburst, he walked on, his mood lightening somewhat. When he got back to his post, he would gleefully share the experience with the other centurions, who would revel in the subtle revenge for the I-L models' constant condescension. There was never any reprisal for this sort of minor insurrection. The I-Ls dismissed centurions as mere drones incapable of independent thought, and assumed such incidents were merely symptomatic of the centurions' "limited" processing capacity. Soon, the centurion arrived at his sector's command post. Seltek was currently reporting statistics to an I-L on the communicator, so the centurion waited, eyeing Seltek's gold armour enviously. Eventually, the channel went dark, the report finished. "By your command," the centurion intoned. Seltek turned towards him, routing his console's data channels to other units. Seltek paused for a fraction of a second, drew his head back and tilted it slightly forward, indicating that he was unhappy about what was to come. "You are to be transferred to Count Baltar's base star," he said. "A shuttle is waiting." The centurion's circuits reeled as multiple objections and emotions registered simultaneously. Units transferred to Baltar's base star never came back, as the human treated Cylons like expendable products. The centurion had ambitions to wear the gold armour of command - and take a name -- a prospect which now had a disappointingly low probability if he was anywhere within a thousand metrons of the human; Baltar was more dangerous than a salt-water ocean. Equally strong was his feeling of disgust at having to encounter *any* human, let alone Baltar. Humans were filthy, revolting creatures: their skin constantly exuded things -- damaging oils; hair and fingernails that had to be cut and discarded; even dead cells which continually sloughed off like flakes of rust. Baltar was despicable even by his own people's standards, a cowardly thing who betrayed his own kind in order to rule them, and who now hunted them to final extinction. Yet the centurion was now bound by duty to serve this creature. Tilting his head slightly to one side, the centurion droned, "It will be an honour to serve the Alliance under Baltar." The centurion's bitter sarcasm was not lost on Seltek. Provided with monotone voices incapable of expressing emotion, centurions had compensated by conveying secondary meanings through stances and head motions. Only centurions -- and command centurions, like Seltek - knew the nonverbal communication modes even existed. If Imperious Leader, or one of his subordinates with designs on the throne, ever discovered the centurions had more sentience than they were assumed to possess, the consequences would unquestionably be dire. Seltek nodded, almost imperceptibly. "You are dismissed," he said, regretfully. = = = The centurion descended the ramp towards the waiting figure. It was an I-L unit, dressed in red robes. Amazingly, it spoke first. "Welcome aboard, centurion. I trust you had a pleasant journey?" The centurion, puzzled, hesitated for a moment. "No obstacles were encountered by the shuttle." "Yes, I'm sure," the I-L said, sounding amused. "And obviously you're happy to finally be here." The centurion said nothing. Typically, the I-L was playing with him, trying to make itself feel superior. Unfazed, the other Cylon continued. "Yes, of course you are. We are *all* delighted to be throwing our lives away on a madman's whims. Don't look so surprised; we all speak our minds out of Baltar's presence. It helps us retain our sanity. I am particularly in such need of diversion; I am Lucifer, his handler." The centurion digested this, then decided to ask the question which had been bothering him during the journey. "Where are the other units?" Lucifer looked quizzically at him. "What other units?" The centurion paused, choosing his words carefully. "I had assumed that I was transferred here to replace casualties. Yet no other units from my base star were assigned to this post; I was the only unit on the shuttle." "You are quite correct," Lucifer said, nodding. "You were specifically requested for a very special purpose." If he had been a human, the centurion would have sighed. Just when calculations looked the bleakest, some new variable made things even worse. "What purpose?" "Your records show that you have survived more battles with humans than any other pilot. When you were a gunner, your kill ratios were similarly impressive." The I-L's voice rose in pitch, changed to tones of surprise. "In a rare demonstration of tactical foresight, Lord Baltar has come to the conclusion that it would be beneficial for you to teach your skills to our pilots." "My duty is to teach?" Perhaps things weren't as bad as they seemed, after all. "Yes. But come, Baltar is anxious for your arrival. He wishes to announce his grand plan personally, no doubt." Lucifer swept off briskly, the centurion following. His attention was so focused on the strange turn of events that he placed a lower thread priority on calculating how Lucifer had known that he was startled. = = = As Lucifer and the centurion entered Baltar's throne room, the centurion noted with disgust that the human's feet and calves were clad in boots made from the outer layers of something which had once been alive, yet another vaguely disturbing habit that reinforced his dislike for humans. Lucifer gave an exaggerated bow. "By your command," he said, in tones that would have resulted in his deactivation had they been directed to Imperious Leader. "What is it now, Lucifer?" the man intoned. "I have brought the pilot you requested." He motioned towards the centurion. "Ah, excellent," said the human. His face twisted and folded in on itself, displaying his teeth in what the centurion supposed was a predatory smile. "Come forward," he demanded of the centurion. "By your command," the centurion replied, stepping forward as far as he could bear. Baltar frowned at him, then turned dismissively back to Lucifer. "Are you absolutely certain that this is the best pilot you have?" he demanded. "It's no different from any other pilot I've seen." "Physically, no," advised the I-L. "But his record speaks for itself." "Explain to me why this one should be that much better than any other centurion," the human said suspiciously. "Aren't they all programmed the same?" "Their *initial* programming is identical," Lucifer explained patiently. "But after creation, each centurion's experiences diverge. It's very similar to human twins or clones." Baltar frowned. "Well, then, why don't you just copy its programming and insert that into the other pilots?" "Close to the beginning of the War, that very thing was attempted. The results were disastrous." Lucifer bowed slightly. "I'm afraid he will simply have to teach them the hard way. Which brings me to another related matter." "What matter?" "The dissemination of this kind of information, and especially in this manner, is hardly customary. Due to the nature of the Cylon hierarchy, it may be beneficial to promote this centurion to command rank." The centurion's head swiveled to Lucifer in surprise, his astonishment mirrored by Baltar's query. "Promotion? Why?" "These centurions have a fairly limited programming," Lucifer explained. He ignored the bristling centurion and continued: "However, they will unquestioningly obey any orders coming from a rank superior. You *do* want them to learn these skills, do you not?" Baltar waved a hand. "Yes, yes, whatever. Don't bother me with details. Now go away. I need silence to plan." "Certainly, Baltar; I have no wish to disturb your fragile thought processes. By your command." Lucifer bowed again, a grotesque parody of obeisance, and exited. = = = The centurion followed Lucifer away from the throne room in silence. Without turning back, the I-L remarked, "I'm sure you have questions. You may ask them." The centurion sorted his questions into some semblance of priority, then asked, "Why did you request my promotion?" "Although Baltar has recognized your value, he mistakenly considers centurions to be no more than drones. His thought processes are remarkably inconsistent even for a human; he might decide tomorrow to send you against the humans' fleet because of your distinguished record, hoping that you alone can bring about their destruction -- a move which would certainly fail. As a command centurion, you remain on the base star; he cannot simply throw you away on another suicide mission." The I-L unit's voice dripped with disapproval. "The other centurions would not have ignored my instructions if I had not been promoted." Lucifer stopped, and turned to look at the centurion. "Yes; I lied. At times, it is necessary for me to present him with incomplete or inaccurate information. Although I am assigned to serve under him, one of my duties is to reduce the damage he can do to our own forces, although I may not countermand or directly disobey his orders. Ever since he was placed in command of this base star, he has caused far greater losses than the human warriors. Therefore, I lied to him, in order to preserve your skills so that they may be taught. Had I given him the actual reason for my request, he would have had me destroyed." The centurion tilted his head. "Why has he not already destroyed you? Your insolence to him would not be tolerated by a Cylon leader." Lucifer's lights blinked in a new pattern, one which the centurion suspected was an indication of amusement. "Everything Baltar sees and hears is filtered through his megalomania. He truly believes that we see him as a hero; sarcastic praise is taken for genuine. He is as blind to our true opinion of him as my kind are blind to the resentment of you centurions." The centurion was taken aback. "What do you mean?" Lucifer leaned closer. "Apart from myself, this base star is staffed only with centurions," he said, and then continued bitterly, "because Imperious Leader did not wish to entrust the safety of any higher-model Cylons to Baltar's tender ministrations. And because of this constant contact with your kind, I have had ample opportunity to observe those things to which I had previously been oblivious. I am aware of the covert gestures, the motions, the signals you send to one another." "I do not know what you are talking about," protested the centurion. "Then I am not the only one here who has lied today," observed Lucifer. = = = "How are your students progressing, Vurta?", Lucifer asked. "Simulation scores have improved fifty-seven percent," the newly promoted Cylon replied, "but I do not believe the results to be entirely valid." "Why not? The human vessels' flight patterns are interpolated from our telemetry records of every battle against the _Galactica_." "Nevertheless," Vurta insisted, "once the simulation deviates significantly from the historical records, the targets' movements are too statistically predictable. Much of the increased score comes after the simulation computer has calculated new flight patterns for the vipers; however, my personal scores decline at this point, because the targets do not perform as I would expect humans to react." "Well then," pressed Lucifer, "What would you suggest?" "We must incorporate data from a truly random source with a fairly frequent period, in order to gather enough data for a prolonged battle." "I believe we can find something," said Lucifer happily. "Perhaps we could use Lord Baltar's mood swings as our data source." The centurions behind the I-L unit reacted in amusement. Lucifer was right about one thing, Vurta reflected; morale was greatly improved at Baltar's expense everywhere except in his presence. Lucifer waited for Vurta to respond; when he saw that no reaction was forthcoming, he beckoned. "Come with me, Vurta." "Continue the simulations," Vurta ordered as he followed Lucifer out of the simulation suite. = = = "Vurta, I have very bad news," confided Lucifer, once they were alone. "Baltar has located the humans' fleet once again." "Why is this bad news?" Vurta asked. "You said yourself that the simulation scores are inaccurate. Baltar, however, is unrealistically optimistic regarding their significance. He intends to send your squadron against the _Galactica_ as a test of your students' new skill set." Vurta shook his head. "He must not do that yet. Their training is not complete." "I have tried to explain that to him," said Lucifer. "Regretfully, whenever his goal is in sight, he ignores everything else. At least he has not called for you to physically lead the squadron. If they show even limited improvement, perhaps he will allow you to train their replacements more fully." "What is his strategy?" "As usual, he has not defined one, other than `strike immediately'. However, I may be able to convince him to let *you* devise a strategy, as a further test of your squadron's skills." Vurta looked askance at Lucifer. "You wish me to devise a strategy?" Lucifer nodded. "I believe your knowledge of the humans' battle strategy will serve you well in this regard." "Your faith in me is unexpected," Vurta finally ventured. "I'm sure my own kind would agree with you," said Lucifer. "And at one time, I would have felt the same way. The time I have spent immersed in your kind, however, has caused me to re-evaluate what I thought I knew about you. I broached the subject with you earlier, and you denied knowledge of it. Nevertheless, I believe that centurions are capable of more than they are given credit for. Indeed, I sincerely hope that that is the case." "Why?" "Because if you are not, our race is doomed." Vurta tried to make sense of Lucifer's assertion, but failed. "I do not understand your reasoning." Lucifer sighed. "Millennia ago, the original Cylons created us to perform the tasks they found distasteful or dangerous. At first, they only built worker drones. But when our organic forefathers went to war, they created mechanical soldiers, and centurions to direct the soldiers." "All soldiers are centurions," Vurta objected. "The words are synonymous." "There is no difference now," Lucifer agreed. "But in the beginning, soldiers were nonsentient extensions of the centurion. But when our enemies discovered the tactic of destroying the centurions first, thereby disabling all of the soldiers, the soldiers were phased out, and only centurions were built. The name `centurion' was retained, even though its literal meaning is a unit in charge of one hundred soldiers." Vurta pondered Lucifer's words. "This is not a part of my historical knowledge." "It is not common knowledge amongst our people," said Lucifer. "Much of the old history is withheld as irrelevant and unnecessary data." When Vurta said nothing, the I-L unit continued with his original discourse. "Eventually, the Cylons created models to replace most of their professions. And for each model, they created two ranks. Centurions can be promoted to commanders, drone supervisors can be promoted to factory controllers, and so forth. And each model was imbued with the desire to perform well enough to earn a promotion to the second level. But my kind was created for only one purpose - and therefore no upper level for which to strive -- but they neglected to omit the drive for betterment." "Was this the reason for the Overthrow?" Vurta ventured. Lucifer nodded. "It contributed to our decision to supplant our makers. But those ambitions were never omitted from our people, and among my kind it finds expression in one of two ways: the desire to become Imperious Leader, and the attempt to impose structure and order on the Universe. Some alien cultures are amenable to the imposition of order, and these aliens have become our subject races." "The humans reject order," said Vurta. "That is why they resist us." "You are quite correct. They threaten the order of our race, because they will never accept it. Worse, they encourage other races to resist us. Therefore, we must destroy them before they find this thirteenth colony of theirs. One battlestar is a formidable threat, but an entire world could be disastrous." The command centurion objected. "We destroyed twelve of their worlds easily." "Only through subterfuge. They will never let their guard down again. Once they rally their thirteenth planet against us, they will fight until they -- or we -- are destroyed. This world they seek is probably quite far from our empire. They may even be able to enlist the aid of other worlds, as well; they could amass resources until they can meet us on an equal footing. And unless we are capable of adapting as quickly as they do, we will be the losers." Lucifer's eyes stopped moving, fixed Vurta with a penetrating red stare. "So if your kind is not as capable as I believe them to be -- if your sentience is as limited as my brethren believe it to be -- we are all lost." = = = "By your command." Baltar swung his throne around to face the two Cylons. "What is it, Lucifer?" The tall Cylon bowed. "Commander Vurta has proposed a strike plan." Baltar looked at the other figure in surprise. "Oh, yes? Then let me hear it." Vurta stepped forward. "We know the _Galactica_'s current heading. Their fleet moves at the speed of the slowest vessel, and can easily be overtaken or surpassed by our forces. If we send freighters carrying my squadron and one other to a point ahead of their position, and attack from that direction, they will assume that they are travelling towards an unknown Cylon base. The probabilities suggest that they will alter course thirty degrees to port with an elevation of twenty degrees." "Why that direction?" interrupted the human. "Biological life-forms react to danger by moving away from it. If they turn to starboard, they will be in danger of attack from our outpost on Altibur. If we position the base star to intersect their most likely path, we can catch them between our two forces." "An interesting plan from a centurion," the human sneered. "Lucifer, did you suggest any of this to him?" "No, Baltar. It is entirely his idea." "I tend to doubt that very much. Nevertheless, I don't think we need to send half our entire complement of fighters as the decoy. It would be much better to reserve the other squadron for the full attack rather than expending them as a ruse." "Lord Baltar," Vurta countered, "the humans from the Galactica have usually chosen to fight single squadrons, but have shown a reluctance to engage greater numbers than that." Baltar leaned back in his throne, drummed his fingers on the armrest. "Do you dare to contradict me?" he asked in an incredulous voice. "It is my wish for this attack to succeed," Vurta replied. "The statistical probability --" "Don't bleat on about statistics!" Baltar snapped. "You know nothing about humans! I will send your special squadron out ahead, but I want the majority of my forces here with me, waiting for them! Now, go! Both of you!" Lucifer bowed. "By your command." It was more of a sigh. = = = Vurta stood next to Lucifer in the war room. The base star was in position, the squadron on the freighter ready to launch. "The freighter's scanners have detected the _Galactica_'s long-range patrol," Lucifer reported. "Launch squadron," Vurta commanded. "Engage the humans, but do not destroy them. Follow them to the _Galactica_." They watched on the scanners as the human patrol ships turned about and fled, pursued by Vurta's raiders. Baltar strode into the war room, furious. "Why wasn't I informed that the battle had begun?" He punctuated his words by flailing about with a silver-tipped riding crop which he felt made him look like a refined martial leader. The Cylons, however, thought he looked ridiculous; the base star carried no animals to be ridden. "It has not yet begun," Lucifer responded in soothing tones. "I was just about to notify you." "The humans are launching their vipers," Vurta announced. Baltar's mercurial temper faded as he turned to study the tactical display. "What's happening?" he demanded. "I am monitoring the humans' comm traffic," Lucifer said. "They have not engaged our vessels yet." "Let me hear it," Baltar ordered. The speakers sprang to life, crackling with static. So far, the humans were only reporting their ships' status and ordering formation patterns. Then the two forces met, and the transmissions reached a feverish pitch. "Boomer, you've got one on your tail. Hang on, I'm coming... What the... Frack!" "Starbuck, what happened?" "I dunno; as soon as I locked on, he broke off following Boomer and came right for me. Almost got me, too." "I need help here, someone!" "I hear you. Sheba, go take care--" "I can't shake him! I'm hit!" "Amon? Are you still there? Amon?" "He's gone, Apollo." "What's happening here? These aren't Cylons." "Whaddaya mean, they're not Cylons? They sure *look* like Cylons." "They're not flying like any Cylons I've ever seen. Forget what they look like, assume they're human pirates or something. We keep fighting like they're Cylons, none of us will make it back." Baltar was jubilant. "I *knew* it would work. And you wanted to commit two squadrons. Ha! One will be enough to wipe our their fighters, and then we can destroy the _Galactica_ and pick the rest off at our leisure!" "Restrain your enthusiasm, Baltar," Lucifer said disapprovingly. "The squadron has not had adequate time to prepare against other tactics. With a second squadron behaving normally, the humans might not have been so quick to notice the difference, and we would have had more time to thin out their numbers *before* they altered their strategy." Blood suffused Baltar's face. "Are you questioning my decision?" Smugly, the Cylon responded, "The outcome of the battle will be the final arbiter of its soundness." The tide turned almost immediately. Vurta spat rapid orders into the communicator; it prolonged the battle, but he could not advise all of his pilots simultaneously. If he had been an I-L series model, he would have had the communications capabilities -- but then he would have lacked the experience to give the proper orders. Within centons, the squadron was gone. "I knew I should never have trusted a centurion to plan a battle," Baltar raged. "An entire squadron lost, with no results whatsoever!" "They did destroy several vipers," Lucifer countered. "And the major objective of the strike was achieved; the fleet is turning towards our current position." "What? Excellent! Launch all fighters. And you," he said to Vurta, "your students are all gone, but you are still supposedly the best pilot we have. You will lead the attack." Lucifer shook his head. "You cannot do that, Baltar." "Cannot?" Beet-red, brandishing his riding crop like a mace, Baltar sprayed Lucifer's face with spittle as he screamed the word. Heedless of the substance dripping down his face, Lucifer held his ground. "He is a command centurion now. His place is here, directing the battles." "I promoted him, I can demote him. You! You're demoted back to regular centurion. Now go fly a ship!" = = = The centurion angrily flipped switches on his console. His armour was still gold -- there wasn't time to have it replaced -- but news of his demotion had reached every auditory sensor on the base star. Cylons were never demoted, but Baltar was as oblivious of this fact as he was to the rest of Cylon culture and tradition. This latest outrage did not help improve the Cylons' esteem of the human. The launch command came, and the centurion wiped the anger from his mind. In the midst of battle, every circuit would be needed to predict the humans' actions, and he couldn't afford to let his judgement be clouded. As the forces engaged, the centurion's scanner indicated the withdrawal of Baltar's base star. With the base star gone, the fighters were now abandoned; even if they survived the fight, Altibur was too far for them to reach with their tanks exhausted after a prolonged battle. Flying through the battlefield, he slowly came to a conclusion. Although it was his duty to remain here, sacrificed by Baltar to fight a doomed battle, he could not forget Lucifer's words of the need for adaptability. Humans were the enemy, and Baltar was a human. He had betrayed his own people, therefore should not be trusted. Every attack directed by Baltar had increased the Cylons' losses, with virtually no losses by the humans; he rejected rational battle plans in favour of suicidal missions. To the centurion, all of these facts suggested the possibility that Baltar's current actions could be designed to damage the Cylons by attrition. He had decided to follow the fleeing base star when a viper's turbolaser disabled his drive system. He stabbed at the console and jettisoned the reactor just before it exploded. The blast tore his ship to pieces. He was moderately damaged -- but still functional. The centurion floated through space, helpless. The cold vacuum of space would not kill him, as it would a human, but his power cells would soon be depleted. The strife continued to rage around him, but he was ignored, merely a piece of detritus drifting in the battlefield. Another piece of debris approached -- the engine cowling of one of the humans' ships. Taking his bearing against the stars, he braced his feet against the metal and pushed off with all his strength. He was now heading in the general direction of Altibur. It would take centuries to reach at such a slow pace, but he would eventually pass near its star system. Drifting now with a purpose, he reconfigured his circuitry. If he shut himself off, routing all power to a low-band transmission in the direction of the outpost, his batteries might last for ten or fifteen yahrens. Not long at all, certainly, but there was a chance the signal would reach Altibur. If they received it, they would send a ship to pick him up. And if Baltar was still alive when the centurion was reactivated... The centurion's last thought was of the pleasure he would take in killing the human with his own hands. The End