Note: This is the first chapter in a long series I am writing, to fill in the rather large gaps left in Daybreak's ending. 150,000 years is a long time, indeed.

A Colonial Sunset

"All of this has happened before, all of this will happen again... again... again..."

First Hybrid

150,000 BC

Somewhere in Africa

Lee Adama stood alone, as he always did, watching the wind slowly push the blades of grass like waves on the ocean. Soft wisps curled around him as his mind wandered, thoughts jumping from Kara to the future of humanity, to the end of the technological empire mankind had built, and finally back to Kara again. He should have been depressed, should have mourned the passing of the old, the end of the ragtag fleet. But he wasn't. After years of death, destruction and the very face of God, Lee just wanted to walk about, let go of those burdens which had weighed down upon him for so long.

He held his pilot's wings in his hand again, having accepted the restored rank in the moments before the final battle. The bronze felt light in his hand, comforting in a familiar sort of way. Flicking it about with his fingers, he pinned the insignia back on even though his career was at an end. Symbols were all they had left. With a soft sigh for the memory of his friend, his lover and the past that would never return, he smiled and began to hike back towards the camp. Behind him the wind continued to blow, howling into the light that surrounded the grassy field, the tortured memories of those who never survived, those who were left behind in the cold blackness of space.

1300 BC

Ithaca, Modern Day Greece

I am the last who remembers, the final carrier of that ancient journey across the stars. Thousands of generations have passed since those days, but the projection remains as it always was. In the recesses of my mind I see Galactica, in her ancient glory. I remember the caravan of the heavens, the trek across the vast reaches of deep space.

As I dream, I follow her corridors, empty save for my footsteps and the soft thrumming of the battlestar's core. Though I cannot see them, beyond the metal, the great armor of the flagship, I know the stars burn as they always have, through the eternity of space and time. The fleet awaits outside the confines of this final defender of mankind and her progeny, silently gliding, escorting the great vessel across the river Styx and into the Sun, burning brightly in the cold vacuum. She groans slightly every time, as if the very spirit of the ship senses her glorious end.

Long have I searched for another to share the projection, the data held within the withering resources of my once sharp mind. Only one who remembered could continue my sworn mission. None still remain who possess the ability, the Cylon trait having fallen into disuse and mutations in the genetic code. Not all of the genetic mixing could be rightly called good, after all.

All around me, men and women go about their lives, unknowingly beginning the cycle once again, awakening from the long slumber of mankind's scientific mind. Their ideas are small, their technology nonexistent, but they have nonetheless awakened to begin the journey again. The long night is over, and sunrise has begun.

None of them understand the old stories anymore, everything has fallen past even the vagaries of legend and into pure distant myth. Some of the names are known in a form the old colonies would remember, names of vague similarity, stories that seem to resonate just a little too much for pure coincidence. But it is all mythology now, all forgotten. And with that, the cycle begins anew.

150,000 BC

Somewhere in Africa

More than sixty years had passed since the end of the war and mankind's settlement here. Sunset was falling across the crimson sky, ending the long daylight. Approaching the settlement, if the village could rightly be called that, Lee Adama hobbled on his cane, carrying a small basket of fruits. A worn down piece of metal salvaged from a Raptor's wing declared this place as the settlement of Atlantia. Someone had come up with the idea of naming the few villages scattered across the world after famed battlestars lost in the war before radio communication was lost forever. There was even a Galactica settlement somewhere. Earth natives trudged out from the town, carrying trade goods, nodding to each other slightly and even exchanging a word or two here and there. The language lessons were beginning to stick with the simple people of this Earth.

Few of the original colonials and cylons still remained, but those who did were treated as almost demigods by their descendants. As Lee walked the worn dirt paths of the village, heads poked out from behind doors and tent frames, staring in an almost mystical awe.

"Sir, allow me to carry that for you." A child, no more than ten, reached out for the basket. Hera may have been the first human-cylon hybrid, but she was not the last. Reproduction among cylons proved difficult, but between humans and cylons it was all too easy. Most of this generation had some cylon and some human ancestry.

"What is your name, little one?"

"I'm William! Remember?" The small boy answered gleefully. The name was all too common, as was Lee or Kara or any number of heroes from the caravan. As he thought about it, he did remember the child. His memory was beginning to slip in his old age. The child look beseechingly up at him as he carried the fruit, anticipation clear on his face.

"Can you tell me again the story of the Colony?" William pleaded.

"But you have memories of all of it. You can project it any time you want." Lee answered. Most of the hybrid children retained that cylon ability, an obviously dominant gene. How long the ability would stay with the hybrid children, Lee could only guess. They shared projections of the Galactica, memories from the cylon mother, Athena, of the great journey. Sometimes Lee wished he could see things as they did, see the faces of his friends again. He could almost imagine seeing his father again, and Kara.

"It's not the same. I like it when you tell the story." William replied, snapping Lee out of his reverie.

"Okay, later tonight. I'm hungry." Lee answered as he hobbled to his makeshift cabin. William handed him the basket of fruit and skipped off down the dusty roads happily humming the old colonial anthem.

"Hello, sir." A mocking voice came from across the small cabin. Lee looked up to see the face of Caprica. He might have had trouble telling her apart, had any other sixes still lived.

"Enough with the sir." Lee replied distractedly.

"We swore an oath to the Admiral, to accept Colonial military command. I take it seriously." Caprica answered. "You are the last officer here."

"There is no more military, no more fleet, Caprica."

"That's not true. It remains in the minds of the children, in the legends that surround us. Like it or not, you are a symbol of that." Her wrinkled finger pointed to the bronze wings still pinned to his jacket.

"And that has become a symbol too." Caprica stated flatly.

"Yes, I see the children drawing them into their clothing, onto banners and the like. It is uncomfortable at best." Lee fiddled with the bronze insignia, thinking for a moment just how far it had traveled, from the mines of Caprica, across the universe and into this very room.

"I am dying." Caprica replied, changing the subject. "Soon, you will be the last here who took the journey."

"How do you know?"

"I am a Cylon. We know."

"I'm sorry, then, to hear that." Lee answered.

"Spare me your sympathy. I came here to pass on my authority to you. They will follow you, and no one else." Caprica continued. In the years that followed, she and Baltar had become leaders in the settlement here, teaching methods of farming to colonials, cylons and earth tribesman alike. Even after Baltar had died, she remained a powerful figure in the village. Even after all that, the cylon woman had a hard edge to her personality, even more so than was typical for her model.

"Somehow, authority always finds me, and seldom lets me rest in peace." Lee sighed.

"You are too much like your father." Caprica answered. That, at least, was true. Lee often wondered what became of him, how long Laura had remained with him, where he finally settled down or if somewhere in the sky he still wandered. He supposed that he would never know.

"Very well. I suppose there is some ceremony to attend, then?"

"Yes, tomorrow evening we will handle it. Thank you, sir." Caprica turned to the door, then paused for a moment, something else on her mind. "I trust you. They trust you. Do not let them repeat the cycle."

And with that, the door closed behind her with an air of finality even as Lee pondered her words. Thinking once again of the child soon to come begging for more stories, Lee began to have the first glimmerings of an idea.