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Commander W Adama
FOTC + 61 days.
Adama re-examines some of his beliefs.
Hatred.
That's what drove me, when Leoben's hands closed tighter and I felt the life ebb from me. The same burning, untempered hatred drove me on when I felt it's blood on my hands and emblazoned on my face, the old good, honest hatred that could only be sated by the resolute and rhythmic blow after blow I savaged on it.
Hatred is what blinded me to the danger when I saw Doral on the causeway. Nothing as noble as being prepared to die to defend the ship. It knew it was dead, but what's trading one life for hundreds? Thousands? Especially when that life will be recreated: downloaded into a new body? I saw the explosives and It smiled as I charged, even as it pressed the detonator. It smiled. They have nothing to lose; they never tire, know no fear and live forever. And I hate them for it.
A cylon. A cylon on my ship.
I can remember as the cold numbing sensation stole my body, as I lay wheezing on my CIC, I can remember not being filled with vitriol, not even being shocked or confused. I can remember being filled with regret: Kara was gone and Lee, there was chasm between me and my son as the darkness took me I remember my last thought being that I wouldn't get the chance to make it right. I should have hated Boomer for that.
And yet I find myself standing over her body. I know now it's not the green pilot who came onboard my ship for her first tour, I know it's not the young woman who's affair with my deck chief I turned a blind eye toward. And yet, even as the pain of her betrayal seizes me only one thought with any clarity is formed.
"Why?"
Even as the warm blood dripped from the edge of the command table she acted as if she didn't know what she had done. She begged the Gods that I wouldn't die, I'm told. Why? Why would she care? Maybe it was just a further deception. What strikes me to the core is the fact that I care. It should be that familiar, categorical hatred that I have harboured for most of my life. But she's robbed me of that too.
And I ought to hateher it for that.
FOTC + 61 days.
Adama re-examines some of his beliefs.
Hatred.
That's what drove me, when Leoben's hands closed tighter and I felt the life ebb from me. The same burning, untempered hatred drove me on when I felt it's blood on my hands and emblazoned on my face, the old good, honest hatred that could only be sated by the resolute and rhythmic blow after blow I savaged on it.
Hatred is what blinded me to the danger when I saw Doral on the causeway. Nothing as noble as being prepared to die to defend the ship. It knew it was dead, but what's trading one life for hundreds? Thousands? Especially when that life will be recreated: downloaded into a new body? I saw the explosives and It smiled as I charged, even as it pressed the detonator. It smiled. They have nothing to lose; they never tire, know no fear and live forever. And I hate them for it.
A cylon. A cylon on my ship.
I can remember as the cold numbing sensation stole my body, as I lay wheezing on my CIC, I can remember not being filled with vitriol, not even being shocked or confused. I can remember being filled with regret: Kara was gone and Lee, there was chasm between me and my son as the darkness took me I remember my last thought being that I wouldn't get the chance to make it right. I should have hated Boomer for that.
And yet I find myself standing over her body. I know now it's not the green pilot who came onboard my ship for her first tour, I know it's not the young woman who's affair with my deck chief I turned a blind eye toward. And yet, even as the pain of her betrayal seizes me only one thought with any clarity is formed.
"Why?"
Even as the warm blood dripped from the edge of the command table she acted as if she didn't know what she had done. She begged the Gods that I wouldn't die, I'm told. Why? Why would she care? Maybe it was just a further deception. What strikes me to the core is the fact that I care. It should be that familiar, categorical hatred that I have harboured for most of my life. But she's robbed me of that too.
And I ought to hate
Current Location: Commander's Mess, Galactica
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