Dawn of Man
The Aquila landed next to the Raptor in Markus' private hangar. The hangar was unusually occupied, full of Raptors and other shuttles that had recovered the last of the Colonials from the surface. Roslin stepped from the Aquila, exhausted and wounded. She saw Adama there, as he rushed over, followed closely by Markus. "This is Markus. Initiate fleet jump to Daidalos. Prepare for operation exodus."
"They killed the children.." Roslin said collapsing into Adama's arms. He turned to look at Markus.
He nodded. "We've been taking census of every ship in the fleet, Roslin's Scholam for primary and secondary education was the a location Cylons used to hole up, according to our men, three hundred and sixty five children were murdered." The number quietened the bay.
Suddenly channels across the fleet opened wide. Receiving the broadcast from the Dawn of Man's hangar. Both across the wireless audio communications, but also across televised and even holographic communications. Markus stood plainly, regally, blood spatter on his collar from where he had set foot upon the surface himself and put enemies of mankind to death. Behind him, Radfael stood, a demigod of death.
"Sons and Daughters of mankind. Colonial and Imperial. Born of one culture or both. I stand here now, on the Dawn of Man and I hearken to you to harden your hearts. To stand resolute in the face of this atrocity. During the near full year of Cylon occupancy under the auspices of the arch-traitor Gaius Baltar, you have withstood hardships."
"The men and women of the mining corps continued their great works as the Cylons watched on in confusion, distracted by the Orks. The men and women of the agricultural corps continued to harvest and grow our very future. No matter your roles you all rose to the occasion while maintaining pressure against the Cylon occupation." Markus' expression fell.
"During that time, we could do little but prepare, unaware of your circumstances due to the unfortunate loss of the Hellstar. But soon we learned of the occupation from Captain Anastasia Dualla, of the Saggitaron's Revenge. And so it was we prepared and came to liberate our people from this world."
"And we came. We came with the full might of mankind charging at our backs. We came and scourged the unholy machines from the stars. But it was you. You sons and daughters of mankind, stranded behind the lines of control. It was you who rose up from the fastnesses of the fortresses. It was you who rose from your homes to bring bolt and blade to the invaders. You who took back your streets."
His face dropped, head bowed.
"You who paid the unfortunate price of the war on Colcha's soil. Your freedom, and the fire in your hearts cost two thousand, one hundred and nine lives. Of which, seven hundred and ninety three were children murdered in their scholas by the machines. Some of you have questioned the necessity for this war. You have spread the myth that it was the actions of man that brought this on us all. You know who you are."
The words chilled. They were not filled with remorse. But with accusation.
"Speak to those among you who once lived on Colcha under the occupation of the Cylons. Speak to Laura Roslin of the murdered children that she avenged. Speak to the empty spaces among you where once loved ones, treasured friends and heroes once sat. Listen for the sound of joyful children who will never utter a sound again. For your complacency has damned them as much as Cylon bullets."
He stared into the cameras such that all who could see or hear it felt like he stared at them, or spoke to them.
"Humanity is not responsible for the crimes done against us. Do not allow yourself the luxury of ever believing that. President Zarek surrendered to the Cylons and served them for near a year, subverting their actions, turning what he could. And even assassinating Baltar himself. But his actions show you the truth. Even surrendering peacefully, we were murdered, oppressed and enslaved." Across the fleet there were mumbles and murmurs of assent, agreement.
"And so, we resume our journey for Terra. We return to our quest to claim the ancestral, future, home of mankind. Earth." His words took on a rising cadence from the lows of what they had suffered.
"We will find Terra. And no longer will we fall back before the menace of the machines. We will rise once more. We will reach for the skies, we will reclaim the destiny that is the stars, we will march forward into stars. WE WILL RISE IN A SINGULAR CRUSADE TO BURN THE STARS OF THE CYLON. DO YOU STAND WITH ME."
Across the fleet hundreds of thousands of human voices cried out in unity.
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Colonial One
Roslin woke in a cold sweat in a bed she hadn't occupied for years. After the heroic death of Zarek assassinating Baltar it hadn't taken long after rejoining the fleet for her to be named President once more. But the nightmares continued regardless, childrens faces haunting her every night. Billy and Tory Foster did their best to help her, but there was nothing they could do about the faces in her dreams.
She had joined the others in her cry of support. But privately she seethed at Markus. He had drawn on the horror of what happened there, not to call for mourning and support those who had lost their lives and children. But as a call to arms. An oath to war. She saw it whenever she saw Starbuck or Dualla. Or worse.
Tigh.
The culture of the Colonies was being subsumed by the Imperial culture. Their status as survivors of a concentrated genocide. Of being haunted every step by the prospect of enemy ships jumping in and escorting them to annihilation. And she couldn't help the fear that maybe, just maybe, they were right. She had paid close attention over Zarek's presidency, her position giving her significant access to government files.
Those deemed 'unsuited' were all recorded before being shipped back to the fleet where they were once more classified as burdens on the supply. Those who served as PDF were recorded, and honoured. And that was where her own worries became more evident. Less than twenty percent of the Gemonese population had moved out of the 'unsuited' category, and her own questions yielded the answers.
The Gemenese had largely declared the Imperials a literal threat to the faith. The near twenty percent that were acceptable or honoured for their part in the PDF universally consisted of the younger Gemonese. And it was only getting worse. Heading for her desk she began to pick up reports, often on dataslates these days.
And the reports she was seeing were not ones she wanted anything to do with.
Index Collabatorii
Familia Mortuorum
...
The items went on. The first she glanced at with barely concealed hatred. A list of collaborators. There was a line to be drawn on it though. They had all continued in their assigned roles waiting for the day of vengeance to come. So where did the true Collaborator roles begin?
The second she actually feared. Family members of those who had lost people down on Colcha. People who needed to be notified and told news nobody wanted.
Moving over to a window she watched as transport ships moved produce between craft. All the new Imperial made ships had the domes of their arboretums. Even their escort ships, built for nothing but combat had them. With recycling technologies, it meant that food was for now not an issue.
Turning, she once more looked at the numbers, updated after the battles.
250'271 COL-Nat
291'012 IMP-Nat
346'000 IMP-IRN
The numbers did not comfort her, though the Ironborn crewing their own transport ships had been trained in Colonial cultures. The fact the Imperials had not even noticed Zarek that escorts were being built, and crewed, told a story of its own about how highly they valued him as President.
But the deaths of naturally born citizens was a pain that she hadn't expected to feel again so soon. Let alone wi...
The tears came back.
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Cloud Nine
Nina moved along the upper level of the Cathedral they had built while rebuilding the agri-dome. She looked down at the congregation of the faithful below. Colonial, Imperial, she didn't give a damn. They were her people. They couldn't see her observing them in the shadows, the light play designed to conceal the upper level from view.
They mingled, spoke and consoled each other over the events that had taken place on Colcha. Spoke of the anger, the hate, the need for vengeance.
There was no talk of peace or discussion of how to seek a truce with the Cylons. There were no needless tears shed.
There were, she noticed still, no Gemonese.
The heretics clung to their faith refusing to acknowledge that the gods they had so long worshipped were Imperial Saints. Their idolatry leading towards heretical rejection of the only true faith. She knew they feared her. The prospect of a true saint, a living saint. She could barely contemplate the honour herself.
But she could feel him.
He on Terra. They had changed something. Brought a fragment of him with them in their hearts. A flash of light from the Astronomicon. Insight and knowledge.
Nina frowned. Atheists she could ignore.
But wilful heresy?
It was time she spoke with them.
Whether they liked it or not.
