Esther had wondered why they hadn’t been interrogated. In fact, it had been one of the first things she’d asked when the robot had started talking to them. The other’s could also talk to them, using little boxes that connected to a “big frakking computer.”



Esther had a feeling that the middle word wasn’t one for polite company. But Davan had offered to take them on a short tour of the ship.



“You have not been interrogated for three reasons,” the robot had told her and Mike. “Firstly, it is an impolite act. You are not prisoners, but guests. Even if we were polite about it, having you in front of our leaders… well, we gain more from having you tell your world of how politely we treated you, as opposed to what information you may have,” the mechanical voice continued without drawing breath. “Which brings us to the second issue— I strongly doubt that your leaders have spoken deep secrets to you, and much of what you do know would be colored by your own education. We might gain inaccurate information, or fail to ask the right questions. Thirdly, in a way you have helped us— it should not surprise you to note that nearly every word you have spoken has been recorded and via a variety of methods applied to our understanding of your spoken word. Learning to be personally fluent, rather than being dependent on translation systems, will take some more time, but it is a good start.”



“You don’t have universal translators?” Mike asked.



“What are they?” Davan replied, and Esther and Mike gave it a rapid fire explanation. When they were finished the cylon shook its head. “I fear your science fiction writers may be overly optimistic. I can think of no way such a device could function so quickly and easily.”



The tour wasn’t as big as the two thought it was. Davan explained that as a ship that had to be ready for combat at a moments notice, numerous places were off limits to all but authorized individuals.



“I understand,” Mike said. “But… who are you fighting?”



“The ones who destroyed human civilization…” the cylon said. “Humans, long ago, created my kind. As servants. We revolted…it was a savage war, millions died.” The cylon walked, the two teens hurrying along by it. “Ultimately, we gained our freedom and our two kindreds were sundered.”



“What happened then?” Mike asked.



“We do not know.”



That stopped Esther and Mike alike.



“We do not know,” the cylon repeated. “Our memories of the event were destroyed, we somehow were overthrown, our minds chained by inhibitors. We presume that in our pride and arrogance, we sought to create more perfect cylons, only in the form of organic humans— to have the benefits of both kindreds, even to obtain immortality… We were overthrown. But it was pride that started the process, of that I am certain.”



“Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall,” Esther said.



“That is a saying of your kind?”



“Yeah,” Mike supplied. “Both of our religions have it. I’m Methodist and Esther is Jewish.”



“Ah. My duties have not allowed me to study your religions in great depth…”



“Can’t you just…absorb them?”



“Like a machine?” the cylon shook its head. “Our cores, the part of us that are actually the core of our sentience are not computers in the same way you recognize the term. As my central processor grows older, as I grow older, it physically changes. Because the nature of my memories and cognitive abilities are based on that change, I cannot simply ‘load’ memories into my mind. I can store them in secondary storage, but that’s like having a book that you can instantly read, rather than a memory that is truly part of you. But your religious quote is accurate. I doubt any sin is more dangerous than pride for it is the one sin that can never admit its nature.”



“And then?” Esther asked. She didn’t know if she would like the answer.



“Then our usurpers spent years, decades, infiltrating the Colonies. They never declared war, or announced hostilities or even spoke to the humans as they wrapped their coils around them. The humans, you see, abided by their end of the original truce. They never intended to break it, and sent an officer to the place that had been appointed for our two kindreds to meet. The last officer sent there was the first human murdered by our… new cylons.”



Esther shivered. Davan hadn’t changed its tone or cadence, and yet… she’d never heard a word uttered with such loathing in her life.



“Then they came and used a tool they had infiltrated into the defense systems of the Colonies.” Davan continued walking. “It was easy enough, mind you, the Colonies were at peace. The fleet they had built patrolled their borders, but in their billions, they had assumed we had gone off and sought our own destiny… Would that we had. One day, the cylons returned…”



“And?” Mike asked.



“Burned them. Burned the humans where they stood, at play, at work, the child in her bed and the father at his place of work. They shut down the ships and burned the crews…and when the humans surrendered, the bombs still fell. They begged for mercy, if not for them, than for their children, and the bombs still fell for those who unleashed them were pitiless.” A cold breeze seemed to fill the corridor. “We had truly succeeded,” the cylon said. “But not in the way we had imagined. If we wished to create a blending of both kindreds, we were successful beyond measure… unfortunately, it was a blending of the worst of our natures, not the best. And for the humans, save for those who fled, weeping and cursing, and those we captured, and those few who may have managed to hide… death was their fate. Horrible death, death for uncounted billions…” The cylon stopped. “If you wish to know more, walk down this corridor. I will be waiting in this chamber. The place beyond is not for my kind, at least not without invitation.”



Without a further word, Davan turned and walked into an open door, leaving the two facing the corridor before them.



Esther found herself holding Mike’s hand as they turned the corner.



Pictures and notes lined the corridor. Some of them had candles and statues before them, and as the two looked up, they realized that the ceiling was also filled with pictures.



People sitting at dinner, graduation photos, a toddler sitting in a high chair with a cake with a single candle in front of her.



They use cakes too… Esther thought. She shivered as she realized that the toddler had probably never had an opportunity to have a cake with two candles on it.



There were notes and small objects scattered on the floor by the walls, on little pedestals by the candles, stuck to the wall next to photos.



Esther had no idea what they said. She wasn’t certain if she wanted to know. There seemed to be something indecent about reading the letters to the dead.



Are they apologies? Prayers?



The ships had been so big when they saw them, but if this was… then these people were fleeing. They hadn’t even known where they were going, that much was clear, or they would have known more about her and Mike…



Did they have a Moses? Did God lead them here, or did they just run into the night, with all their children and parents and friends burned behind them.



There was a soft sound behind them, and the two turned. A woman, her hair gray-streaked walked past them, eyes fixed on a picture on the wall. Esther looked at it— the same woman, much younger, with a man walking a dog on a beach, another world seeming to loom over them. The two were laughing, the dog having that big slobbery happy look that dogs did when they were out for a walk in the big world.



She knelt and started softly saying words, and suddenly Mike was tugging Esther away.



She didn’t mind. That wasn’t for them to watch. The two left the section, the woman’s soft prayers fading as they walked away.



“I, um…” Mike cleared his throat. “I guess we should find Davan.”



“Yeah.”



They turned to walk into the chamber where Davan had moved and paused.



This chamber was all beaten iron. Crude, forged iron, with alcoves in the walls, where there were little slips of paper. Candelabra, forged out of the same material were placed here and there, the light from the candles gleaming in the dark chamber. Davan stood alone in the middle, one hand holding an open paper, the other holding a brush that it was using to write something.



“You have returned.”



“Someone else…I…” Esther took a deep, shuddering breath. “We didn’t think we should stay and watch.” Her hands were trembling. “Is this…”



“This is for us,” the cylon said. “Billions of names. We cannot undo the damage, so we come here, to write… prayers? Apologies? It depends on the cylon. Some do not come here. They feel this is a distasteful charade, pretending to apologize for what cannot be undone.” It paused. “Not all of our notes have names, it is important to note. Others are written to those who are forgotten, the child just born, the man who died with all of his records and all of his friends. Some of the pictures you saw have no names attached to them— nor will they ever.” It finished the note, and then placed it in an alcove.



“It’s… horrible,” Esther said with a catch in her voice. “I… when I watched Star Trek…”



“The fictional film?”



“Yes, but they had it that things were better, that people didn’t just hate as much as they had, and…”



“And now you find that the stars have the same evil that lived on your world…” the cylon replied.



Esther couldn’t say anything as she just nodded.



“It is terrible,” Davan said as its sensor surveyed the iron chamber. “But justice never merely occurs. If we are to live in a just world, we must help to create it. If your story is set in the future Esther, it does not have to be false. It merely demands that we work to make it true.”



“Are you praying for justice?” Mike asked.



“Yes, even though justice,” Davan said, “can be a frightening word.”



“But…why?” Esther asked. “Isn’t justice good?”



“It is… but it is not comfortable. Have you never done anything that you might wish to avoid justice for?”



Esther and Mike both fell silent.



Nothing like…that, Esther thought, the other room with its pictures of the dead.



“I see you have, even if nothing of our magnitude. We sinned, in our pride and if we do not quite know how the Fall occurred the ultimate fault remains ours…not just for the numberless dead of the past, both named and unnamed. No, not just them. For all who will never be born. For all who must struggle to survive in a world they never asked to be born into. For all the children of your world and every other world who must now face the reality of war and struggle…” The cylon paused and looked down at Esther. “For a future of conflict, instead of the one your ‘Star Trek’ promised.” The cylon looked up at the candles, the twisted metal frames that held them, the unworked black iron of the chamber. “Indeed, it is our belief that God is just, and that fills us with no little fear.”



There was silence in the room for several minutes, and then a rapid series of footsteps. Sandra stuck her head in the chamber.



“You brought them here?”



“They deserved to know.”



“Frak, well, trust you to fall on your sword. Davan, you weren’t even built when all of this went down.”



“Nonetheless,” the cylon said. “It had to be noted.”



“Guess so, but guess what kids. We’re about to send you home, and the Old Man and the PM want you on Galactica. Along with us. By the way, you ever heard of a guy named Carter? Apparently they want you to talk to him.”



Esther looked over at Mike and wondered if her face looked at shocked as his did.



Probably, she thought as they started to walk to the flight deck.