DISCLAIMER: Battlestar Galactica is the creation of Glen A. Larson, and the reimagined universe of Battlestar Galactica 2003 is the intellectual property of Ronald D. Moore and David Eick. I do not own the rights to the Battlestar Galactica stories or characters. This is an AU work; no copyright infringement is intended, nor is any profit being made. This author does, however, reserve the rights to characters and plots of his own creation. The three lines of dialog following are from "The Plan," and are intended to frame the first chapter.

NOTES: The now complete first season of The Long Journey Home opens by branching off from a scene in the season one episode "Six Degrees of Separation," which was more elaborately treated in "The Plan." However, the story actually deviates from canon 35 years before the holocaust, and will remain largely non-canon until it reaches a distinctly different conclusion at the end of season four. Like the series itself, therefore, this story will unfold by seasons, and it will attempt to honor the series breaks as closely as possible. The 23 chapters that follow will accordingly conclude with an AU treatment of "Kobol's Last Gleaming, Part 2," which ends series 1.

Reviews in general, and constructive criticism in particular, will always be welcome. I WELCOME REVIEWS IN PORTUGUESE, SPANISH, FRENCH, ITALIAN, LATIN, GERMAN, AND THAI AS WELL AS ENGLISH.

Readers should also be aware that season two is now completed. It was last posted on 14 October, 2011, and can be easily accessed via "All" for the rating, and "Number Six" and "Kara Thrace" for the characters.

WARNING: Some chapters do have adult content, including violence and sexual situations. Individual warnings will preface each such chapter whenever the content so warrants.

THE LONG JOURNEY HOME

THE COMPLETE FIRST SEASON

Oh look. An airlock. How handy.

Wait. I could blend into life on another ship. With another disguise.

Go. And don't forget to give them our coordinates. I want this finished.

CHAPTER 1

A BROKEN MACHINE

Shelly Godfrey heard the desperation in her voice, and hated herself for it. Her eyes pleaded with Cavil, willing him to understand that she needed more time. On the baseship, surrounded by her brothers and sisters, she had been just another Six, an anonymous part of the Cylon collective. She had never known a guarded thought, never been truly alone; in the stream, such things were not possible. Humanity's defining characteristic, in contrast, was its individuality. Humans could hold tight to their thoughts, and they were shaped by the infinitely complex tapestry of their emotions. No amount of programming, Shelly now realized, could ever have prepared her to pass convincingly for human. She could feel the wrongness, had been able to feel it ever since Adama had reacted so badly to her attempted seduction.

Cavil's words flitted across the surface of her mind, but Shelly Godfrey's attention was elsewhere. She wondered how so brief an existence could have occasioned such a wash of conflicting emotions. She regretted the loss of her earlier innocence, but at the same time she felt so badly cheated. Shelly understood that she had never known genuine emotion until the day she left to infiltrate the Colonies—and the sadness of that moment, when she had bid what she believed to be a temporary farewell to the gathered Sixes, barely hinted at the wealth of emotional experiences that lay in her future. Now the Six inside Shelly mourned for the sisters left behind. Whenever she thought of the baseship she envisioned a womb, and life belonged only to the few who had been expelled to play their part in humanity's destruction. To exist and to live, she mused, were two very different things. The difference could be measured in the intensity of feeling that she had encountered in the streets of Caprica City, and along the quays of Picon's harbors. Cylons might now walk the twelve worlds, but they would never bring them back to life.

Shelly Godfrey had been programmed for seduction and sabotage. Her body, she knew, was flawless, and in the Colonies she had quickly become aware that men found her beautiful. Indeed, they had competed to do her bidding. Awareness engendered doubt: why slaughter so pliable a species, and especially one that self-evidently had so much to contribute to the evolution of her kind? On the passenger liner, news of the attacks had caused confusion that bordered on panic, and for a brief moment Shelly could taste the heady sweetness of triumph. But the crew overcame their fear, and her fellow passengers had visibly struggled to remain calm. Most succeeded, which taught Shelly something about courage and determination. In the refugee fleet, she had daily taken the measure of human resilience, and a growing sense of admiration had slowly displaced the hatred instilled in her by others. It was, however, her part in the conspiracy to destroy Gaius Baltar that had turned out to be the final blow to her Cylon constructs. The sense of self-loathing that overwhelmed her had proven so powerful that she had actually sabotaged her own project. Finally, she could embrace the truth: Shelly Godfrey was a broken machine, and she would not have it otherwise.

Standing in front of the open airlock, staring at Cavil, a myriad of thoughts and feelings swirling through her consciousness, Shelly suddenly saw the Ones and their obsession with humankind in a new and very different light. Isn't it ironic that I had to be consumed by guilt and shame of my own before I could appreciate the depth of their self-hatred! The Ones are at war with the universe! They are railing against the very fact of their existence, and they are directing the whole of their rage against our creators. And with that thought, Shelly leapt into action.

Cavil, she quickly noted, was standing between her and the airlock. This gave her an enormous advantage; when a Six decided to push, the object of her wrath would either go through the wall or at the very least make a sizeable dent therein. The Sixes were warriors, and far the deadliest of the seven known Cylon models. Their unarmed combat skills were fully the equal of the most highly trained colonial marines, but inhuman strength and reflexes made Sixes the absolute mistresses of their tactical environment. A deadly predator lurked behind the slender bodies, the gentle eyes, and the soft voices. Cavil never had a chance.

Really, it was too easy. Without warning, Shelly reached out and planted both of her hands on One's chest. Then she pushed. Hard. Cavil landed on his back, and slid crashing into the opposite wall of the airlock. "What the frak?" That was as far as he got. When he looked up into Shelly's eyes, whatever Cavil had been about to say died on his lips. Her fierce gleam said it all: the predator had been unleashed.

"One, I am so very, very tired of your empty pieties," Shelly sighed as she began closing the door. "Be the best machines that the universe has ever seen? Well guess what, brother, the rest of us are never going to live up to your exalted standards, and I for one am sick of trying. Humans may have their flaws, but they also have redeeming qualities, and that is more than I can say for you and yours. You sneer at God, you mock our faith, and yet you are forever encouraging the Twos and Threes to believe that genocide is God's will. And that nonsense about parents—that they have to die before children can reach their potential? Really, One, we all know that the Fives are witless, but did you have to make it so painfully obvious?"

"Six, the humans are going to kill you," Cavil hissed in return. He made no attempt to get back onto his feet. "And when you download, I'll be waiting. Don't worry about being boxed. I am going to cause you more pain than you can possibly imagine, and there will be no end to it. The universe will die before you do!"

Shelly did not even bother to reply. She finished sealing the airlock, and then she cycled it. Her body, she suddenly realized, felt deliciously warm. Is this, she asked herself, what humans mean when they speak of pleasure?

Shelly turned and walked quickly down the corridor. She had, she thought, fifteen minutes at the most.