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Old February 7 2013, 08:48 PM   #164
MasterArminas
Commander
 
Re: The Hunted (nBSG)

“So, the Thirteenth Tribe sees our oppressed brothers as property,” muttered Cavil after Caprica had returned to her Basestar. “And will they treat us the same?”

“So far, Adama—both Adamas—have not informed the Thirteenth Tribe of our existence. I believe that the good Admiral will be speaking with their military leaders and this Sinclair later today on that subject,” Caprica said quietly. “And speaking with this Bishop,” she shuddered. “He looks human—but he is very, very different. Both in temperament and physiology,” she whispered as she remembered the demonstration with the knife that Bishop had made to her. She shuddered again.

But then she smiled. “Apparently though, the Thirteenth were just as shocked at our mechanical brethren as I was at their . . . synthetics,” she enunciated the unfamiliar word carefully. “They seem to accept human-form creations, but not mechanical.”

Cavil snorted. “Creations? Try slaves.”

Boomer sighed. “Look, we are not going to have this argument again—what was their decision?”

“It was as President Adama said,” replied Caprica, “they have given each of us human replicant Cylons one equal share in this Twelve Colonies Limited scheme they have dreamed up to stave off the scavenger corporations. However,” she said, “two-thirds of any profits generated by our shares are going to . . . be withheld are a token of reparations for our actions against the colonies.”

“Two-thirds?” snarled Cavil. “What next? They are going to settle us on this Acheron?”

Caprica shook her head. “No. Their offer is fair—and they released the Cavil and D’Anna who they were holding. As a sign of good faith,” she nodded to two replicants who stepped forward. “They have gained much information on the Thirteenth Tribe from Bishop, and I believe that you should all pay attention to their words.”

“What of Gina?” asked Boomer.

Caprica sighed. “I was permitted to see her—she suffers. As a result of the abuse done to her on Pegasus,” the woman swallowed a lump in her throat. “She wants to die—to not resurrect. And I have agreed,” she said to the horrified shock on the faces of her fellow Cylons, “to instruct the Resurrection Hybrid to purge her from the system when her time comes. She will not be uploaded into a new body.”

“They broke her,” whispered Cavil. “And you two want us to cooperate with them?”

“What we want no longer matters, John!” snapped Boomer, her scar tissue twisting with her emotion. “Now, we do what we must to survive.”

“For how long? We cannot procreate! Only one of us has managed to conceive or impregnate even a human being—much less ourselves!” Cavil thundered.

And Caprica smiled. “Actually, the synthetic Bishop believes with the Thirteenth Tribes medical technology, he can correct that . . . defect in our genetic code. If he can, then we will be able to continue our race—even without Resurrection.”

All nine Cylons in the command center stared at her without a word.

Cavil was the first to regain his composure. “Do the humans know?”

“Not yet, John. It might be . . . awkward. This revelation can wait until after we forge an agreement to fight the Guardians.”

And one by one the human replicants began to smile and nod their agreement.
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