It was never as easy as you expected.
They should have learnt that lesson from the Colonies, from Galactica's first refugee fleet and the later, more power 2 nd fleet under Atlantis. They should have learnt that from the first human / Cylon war…
Apparently it was a lesson that needed to be learnt again and again and again.
If there was a God, then she was a vengeful bitch.
If there was a God, well, she didn't really think she could blame her.
They would never be forgiven, not for the heresy they had committed in the name of God, in the name of beliefs, in the name of falsehood, lies and treachery. Yet, they had to do something, they had to hold onto the idea that they could repent and perhaps, in time be welcomed into the bosom of peace. If they did not hold onto that then they had no hope and no hope would mean destruction, despair, failure, waste and death.
All that could not be, yet, the goal was always so far away, so difficult to grasp, so difficult to understand how they could make it become a truth.
And if they did not understand it themselves, how could they expect others too? Others like the humans. Not just the Tau'ri, the Colonials and the scattered tribes but the humans of the Unforgiven.
Twenty worlds under their thumb, twenty worlds of primitive, backward humans who often still believed in the false gods and considered indoor plumbing to be the height of technology and decadence.
They could teach, they could guide, that was all they would allow themselves to do but it wasn't enough. The Unforgiven were too few, they needed these humans to take up part of the mantle, to help them seek the destruction of all who would enslave and control and to bring strength and unity to the galaxy.
They needed the hope of knowing that some humans would stand at their side, that if they were destroyed, some other might finish the job for them.
Or perhaps… perhaps they just needed to know they could control somebody's destiny, even if they couldn't honestly claim to control their own.
A terrible dilemma, and an even more terrible burden, they who hoped for forgiveness but expected and deserved none were, more then any other group, alone and outcast in a harsh universe. In unity, they would find strength, in purpose a glimpse of hope.
All that was good, but some more and bigger guns would help their purpose too and it was unlikely they would get those.
Not yet anyways.
Still, never as easy as you expected…
The humans were on strike again; apparently their God had deemed a feast day in celebration of some ancient victory over another Goa'uld and the people wanted the celebration, still stuck to their older false rituals over the simple truths the Unforgiven had presented them. Hated that they had tried to stop the worship of Gods they knew to be false.
Hated the Unforgiven in many and viscous ways.
The hate was good, it was pure and honest, but it was also bad, it was disruptive, unpredictable, wrongly aimed. Humans, never quite one thing or the other.
They tried to teach but all they got was resistance and an aversion to change from what had proven itself to be the most adaptable species known to the Cylons.
But in that paradox, a certain truth.
The humans could not be controlled; they even resisted being controlled by themselves and their own, they could be herded but if they realised, they could be as vicious as a caged rabid dog.
They needed the humans… but they didn't know what to do with the humans.
They had to find the knot that would unravel that precious, dangerous paradox but they had to survive to do so. Nobody liked the Unforgiven, no-one trusted them.
More then anyone else, they were on their own.
"She thinks too much,"
"You do not think enough," the two Cylons shared a comradely grin, before glancing once more through the doors of the mediation room at the bowed, weary figure of the original Boomer, the one who had shot Adama, the one who, as much as the Unforgiven could be considered to have a leader, was their leader.
The one who had divined their purpose and more then any other, was forever burdened by it.
Her twins shook their heads sadly as they watched over their friend.
"She knows our purpose, she should be considering more the application of who we are and what we do, not worrying so much over things we can not control,"
A nod, they didn't need to guess what Boomer was flagellating herself over, they already knew but, changed as she was by her Colonial past, not quite as well as they knew themselves.
"Humans can not be controlled, yet they must be."
"No, control will not end our purpose."
"The humans know our purpose, why do they not accept and assist?"
"Perhaps they do not know theirs?"
"Excuse me," the two stood aside warily as an Eleven shouldered her way past them into the meditation room.
"We lost another basestar,"
"Frak," Boomer exclaimed, resisting with great difficulty the urge to slam her hands against the harsh plastic of the wall, "that three this month."
"The Secessionists are concentrating more of their forces on us now with the collapse of the Loyalists," the eleven stated, her expression worried as she walked up to her fellow Cylon, "the bulk of their forces are still engaged in rounding up as many Loyalists and their assets as possible, but they have still been able to increase their deployments into our sector by about ten percent."
"And as they round up and reprogram more Loyalist Warriors, Raiders, Basestars, they get even more toys to deploy against us," Boomer shook her head, "when they finish consolidating…"
She didn't need to finish the sentence; the former Geminon Schoolteacher knew the projections as well as any other, "then they will be able to bring overwhelming force to bear against us or the humans. Either way, one of us dies then they move onto the other."
"This must not happen,"
"I do not see how we can prevent it," she noted quietly.
"I know," Boomer shouted, her frustration coming through in the anger in her voice, then, more quietly, "I know."
"If God truly blesses our course…"
"There is no god, there is only falsehood and lies, hope and despair,"
"I know you lost your faith," the eleven sighed, "and it pains those of us who still hold faith that you are willing to blaspheme so, but anger will not help. You can not just lash out, not whilst you are our leader. You need to control yourself if you expect us to follow you."
"I know," she shook her head, "it's just so hard sometimes…"
"That we understand," the eleven smiled sympathetically, and then wiped the look of her face, trying for brisk, "but we need orders and direction if there is to be any chance of surviving the storm to come."
"I do not know what orders to give yet," the response was candid, but certainly not the one her fellow Cylons wanted to hear.
"You are going to have to figure that out," she noted, "you choose this path, we only choose to follow."
Boomer nodded, her eyes distant, "how does the training of the humans go?"
"It goes," a slight shrug, "the younger generation are accepting easier of course but it is still slow. We have finally got them to accept the concept of sewers, drains and a separate clean water supply and why those are needed,"
She barked out a laugh, "great progress, perhaps in a hundred years we'll finally have them up to crewing for us… if we last that long."
"Wishing will not make it so,"
"No it won't," Boomer replied, "but action might. Send emissaries of our own into Loyalist space; obtain as many of their former units as you can. Offer sanctuary and positions to any self-aware units who don't wish to join the Secessionists."
The eleven nodded, and started to walk from the room, "and eleven, gather a taskforce together for smash raids on Secessionists targets along the former Secessionist Loyalist border."
With a sigh, Boomer nodded, and turned back to her thoughts.