Be like a homecoming for you. The other Eights talk about you all the time.
Yes, she was trying to ignore it. Her Raptor was damaged. The fact that she'd damaged it while landing it in an even more damaged Cylon baseship was something that is going to have to wait. Some kind of wall was moving behind her, but despite what would probably be the proper precautions, Sharon ignores it, circling her ship with a flashlight in one hand to assess what hope of salvage there was for her.
She's examining the underside of the starboard wing when something presses against the back of her flight suit. Her heart pumps into overdrive, and before she's even spared it a thought, her sidearm is out, and she's spun around.
"Get the frak away from me!"
It's not just one Eight, but a whole group of them, all watching her intently. It doesn't feel anything like a homecoming. The glares and threats from the Galactica crew when she'd first boarded felt more familiar. These Eights, even if they watched her with her own dark eyes – she'd never felt more like a stranger.
Two of them, undoubtedly the most daring, are standing only a few feet from her, unfazed by the sidearm that Sharon quickly lowers. "They call you Athena now," says one, a note of restrained excitement in her voice. "You even wear the uniform like you're one of them. You were the first to say no."
Sharon slips the sidearm back in her holster. "No to what?"
"The entire plan," the Eight explains. "You joined the humans. Had a child. You showed us that we don't have to be slaves to our programming."
Sharon nearly rolls her eyes. She doesn't have time for this, more than anything doesn't want to share her experience with these women who keep staring at her as though she were an exhibit in a museum. Still, she also doesn't reply, and the Eight, as though building up her courage, begins to let the words spill out before she loses her nerve.
"We wanted the same thing, but it turned out to be a disaster. The Sixes have made one mistake after another. They have to be stopped before they get the rest of us killed."
She pauses, and turns back to the Eight behind her. "Ask," the Eight prompts.
The first Eight turns back to Sharon. "You could help us."
It takes Sharon a moment to even fit the pieces of this together in her mind. The absurdity of it. "You want me to lead a mutiny against the Sixes."
"It's the only way," the Eight insists.
We've got to do something before she takes us all down with her.
The words had come out of her own mouth hours ago. Hours. And yet, Sharon doesn't hesitate in her answer.
"You guys make me sick."
"Why?" She even sounds slightly hurt.
"Because you choose your side and you stick."
It was like looking into a frakkin' mirror. Petulant. Fickle. Slaves to their programming. There was nothing more unknowable and loathsome than her own face.
"You don't cut and run when things get ugly. Otherwise you'll never have anything. No love, no family. No life to call your own."
Hell yeah, let the Cylon go.
Sharon walks past them, not sparing a glance back. It's time to acknowledge it. She knows where to look for supplies on this ship. "Now you guys can either help me or get the hell out of my way."
no subject
Yes, she was trying to ignore it. Her Raptor was damaged. The fact that she'd damaged it while landing it in an even more damaged Cylon baseship was something that is going to have to wait. Some kind of wall was moving behind her, but despite what would probably be the proper precautions, Sharon ignores it, circling her ship with a flashlight in one hand to assess what hope of salvage there was for her.
She's examining the underside of the starboard wing when something presses against the back of her flight suit. Her heart pumps into overdrive, and before she's even spared it a thought, her sidearm is out, and she's spun around.
"Get the frak away from me!"
It's not just one Eight, but a whole group of them, all watching her intently. It doesn't feel anything like a homecoming. The glares and threats from the Galactica crew when she'd first boarded felt more familiar. These Eights, even if they watched her with her own dark eyes – she'd never felt more like a stranger.
Two of them, undoubtedly the most daring, are standing only a few feet from her, unfazed by the sidearm that Sharon quickly lowers. "They call you Athena now," says one, a note of restrained excitement in her voice. "You even wear the uniform like you're one of them. You were the first to say no."
Sharon slips the sidearm back in her holster. "No to what?"
"The entire plan," the Eight explains. "You joined the humans. Had a child. You showed us that we don't have to be slaves to our programming."
Sharon nearly rolls her eyes. She doesn't have time for this, more than anything doesn't want to share her experience with these women who keep staring at her as though she were an exhibit in a museum. Still, she also doesn't reply, and the Eight, as though building up her courage, begins to let the words spill out before she loses her nerve.
"We wanted the same thing, but it turned out to be a disaster. The Sixes have made one mistake after another. They have to be stopped before they get the rest of us killed."
She pauses, and turns back to the Eight behind her. "Ask," the Eight prompts.
The first Eight turns back to Sharon. "You could help us."
It takes Sharon a moment to even fit the pieces of this together in her mind. The absurdity of it. "You want me to lead a mutiny against the Sixes."
"It's the only way," the Eight insists.
We've got to do something before she takes us all down with her.
The words had come out of her own mouth hours ago. Hours. And yet, Sharon doesn't hesitate in her answer.
"You guys make me sick."
"Why?" She even sounds slightly hurt.
"Because you choose your side and you stick."
It was like looking into a frakkin' mirror. Petulant. Fickle. Slaves to their programming. There was nothing more unknowable and loathsome than her own face.
"You don't cut and run when things get ugly. Otherwise you'll never have anything. No love, no family. No life to call your own."
Hell yeah, let the Cylon go.
Sharon walks past them, not sparing a glance back. It's time to acknowledge it. She knows where to look for supplies on this ship. "Now you guys can either help me or get the hell out of my way."