ALT #317: Cylons were made by man
Cylons were made by Man
Summary: Samtara briefs Leightner on the state of Cylon Intelligence because he lets her.
Date: Sat Nov 19 23:09:41 2005 (Tue Nov 19 23:09:41 2013)
Related Logs: None specific
Samtara Leightner 
Battlestar Orion — Deck 3 — Sickbay
Serving as the ship's primary care facility, the Medical Center is a rather large, single room structure that has the same load-bearing structures to the walls that the halls do, as well as the same heavy hatch. There is a desk at the entrance staffed by a nurse as well as a small locker for single dose drugs like aspirin. Beds are lined up along each wall with EKG's and hangers for IVs in case of triage. Large cabinets at the rear provide ready access to lifesaving medicines and gear, as well as a ready supply of defibrillators. Not far from the primary entrance is the Chief Medical Officer's office and on the other side is a small hatch to the recovery ward. Towards the rear is a sectioned-off examination area. Opposite the hatch to recovery is a sealed doorway leading down a hallway to the ship's morgue.
AWD #317

Leightner is currently, sterilizing. It's one of those off times in Sickbay and the Corpsman is running the Autoclave, sterilizing instruments, making trays of instruments ready to go. Godsawful boring work, but he's working at it.
<FS3> Leightner rolls Sleight Of Hand: Success.

Instruments whisk around like they have a life of their own. holy crap.

Sam is ruthlessly organizing the filing cabinets to alphabetize all patient records and then - in each file - making sure that the most recent data is on the top sheet not shuffled somewhere randomly in the folder. The smell of coffee, as usual, drifts out of her office, accompanied by the sound of paper rustling and every once in a while a vexed sound of annoyance as Sam has to take apart the entire file and re-order it before moving to the next. Busy work.

Leightner moves to the door of an Autoclave, twisting the knob, and taking the tongs, opening the safe like door, and reaching in with the tongs, carefully. He pulls out, with delicate cate, one of the reuseable coffee filters for the CMOs machine, turning it with a critical eye, then sets it on a tray. He then picks the tray up and it's into the CMOs office, with the tongs and steaming filter. "Sir, Filter rotation." He announces as he heads to the machine.

Sam has a stack of files on her desk that's nearly as deep as the coffee mug she has in her left hand is tall. "Hmm?" as she glances up, blinking once, a brief squint before she rubs at her eyes the thumb and forefinger. "ah. Yes. Hmm. I should get something from the mess, ballast against the caffeine."

Leightner moves to the machine, and one thing about a Corpsman. he knows how to field strip the FRAK out of a coffee machine. But he doesn't drink it. Soon he has the… contaminated is a strong word, but used filter in the tray and nods, "Advantage o the Mercury Class, Sickbay an Mess are close. Seems no ones shootin each other RIGHT now." He smirks, "Tha I heard o."

"If people start shooting at each other on board this ship I'm going to be very vexed," there's that word again, and she sounds serious. "Of all the things, a running fire fight of some kind with marines sweeping from room to room would be noisy. and a sign that we've so badly lost the war that we're all in line to be processed to be host to centurion parasites." There's a reason she doesn't sleep all that often. "and it's a good thing, most days, but not on mid-week mystery meat days. The smell is a bit . . off putting."

Leightner chuckles, nodding, "Well, s'why we have cleaning fluid, eh? A good citrus-Hydroxy compound, freshen tha place a bit?" He smirks, but, it is a different scent, and the sanitation is not inefficent either, he knows his sterilization procedures.

"It would be better if the mess didn't serve soup as an option for every blasted meal," Sam adds as she finishes the cup in her coffee, closes the folder she's working on and turns around. "I saw that there were only two casualties from the most recent action on Picon. Yourself and officer Kalum bot returned, sans injuries. No fatalities. Barring objections that could potentially override my authority, I'm inclined to continue to task the two of you in tandem to work with the marine elements as needed. Opinion?" is asked, not demanded, but asked. Input.

Leightner tilts his head to one side, "He's fully integrated with Dog. I have no problems with him, don't know him tha well, but I have no problems with him joining any misson, the man's amazing an can save lives. Thas tha bottom line working together we can compliment one another an have sumone thar ta help me if I take a shot, aye sir." He shrugs. Me opinion is Aye." He summs up.

"Excellent," Sam replies, another slow but measured nod given, both hands now curled around the coffee mug. "Doctor's walker and Nasreen il continue to work in tandem here as the wounded arrive. Officer Cruz remains assigned to the air wing and specialist Aachen should be transitioning to active duty shortly."

Leightner grins widely, "I am so eager ta meet her, sir. I looked at her basics, as I was changin her bandages an askin tha marines o impressions, I think it'll work out.

She says it again, "Excellent<" with the tone of voice that indicates Sam is pleased by how things are shaping out, with the shift of personnel in and out of their division. "Just be careful as you're interacting with the civilian population or soldiers that were missing and suddenly return. We know that the entire crew of the Reese were taken, and we speculate that all of them were processed as centurion hosts. Not all of them survive the process, i gather, but enough of them do. They look like us, walk like us, talk like us, because they're parasites controlling the human host. Just pass what you know along. When in doubt, strip search as you go, modesty and social or cultural taboos be damned. Make sure there's a female soldier in each element that gets put in the field. Just in case."

Leightner listens, "Get this information out thar' I'll take tha as tha order sir. I know the Minosians are clean, checked em, an been tryin ta help em settle when I can." He shrugs, "Got ta know some here an thar. Interfacing wit civilians, I can do. I'll keep eyes open."

Sam is quiet for another of those moments before she says: "I need one alive," in a voice that is measured, reasonable, somber. "More than one, if possible. I'll be explaining this in the command staff meeting on at the end of the week. But I need at least one live 'jacked' to work with if I have any hope of determining a course of treatment. If the centurion parasite can be implanted then it can be extracted. It's just a matter of figuring out how to reverse the process. But I can't do that if I don't have any live hosts to work with. I don't need them in perfect health, broken limbs are fine as long as the core of their body and brain is intact it'll give me enough to work with. a broken arm or leg won't kill the host. It'll slow it down."

Leightner slooooowly sits. His expression is thoughtful and then he slooooowly sets the tray on the other chair. "Ye say, 'broken'" He makes the little quotes, "Whot about removed?" He looks thoughtful.

Sam studies Leightner for a moment in return before she says: "If you have to break an arm or a leg, or shoot a Jacked to take him or her down and sedate him or her before you can get them back to the ship, then do what ever is necessary. Your lives are more important than any particular Jacked you may find. But I know, we know, that the host mind is still in there, it's being suppressed by the Parasite, but it's still in there. One of my goals is to find a way to subdue the parasite then either kill it in the body and let the body break it down naturally OR extract it."

Leightner looks horrified, "Oh, I completely misunderstood tha process then, I thought they were basicly dead, oh." He waves a hand in front of his face, "Okay, I wipin tha mental slate, sorry. Tryin save em, completely independant o drugs?"

"Let me break it down for you," Sam offers, gesturing to the coffee pot, "you might want a cup or get yourself some tea."

Leightner snaps his fingers, "Three minutes," He takes the tray and rises, but doesn't leave until bidden, if not dismissed in this atmosphere.

Sam nods, "I'll make more coffee while you get some tea," she sets to work doing that. And organizing her thoughts.

Leightner leaves. And in three minutes and fifteen seconds, he comes in with a mug of tea and a steel bowl of fresh, washed bloodapples, pears, fruit. Also at hand is a small black book bound in leather and held shut with an elastic band sewn into it.

"The Cylon's used some sort of drug to neutralize the entire crew of the Rolend Reese. All of them, from what our intel has gathered so far, were taken to some sort of processing facility where the Cylon's implant the Centurion host that over-rides the host mind and takes control of the body. The host mind does one of two things, from what we are able to gather. The host mind is defeated or totally over-ridden by the parasite and gives up. Or the host mind fights back and holds on, but is unable to talk, speak, move, is trapped within his or her own mind, a 'passenger', in a way," Sam explains, taking the most linear route to explain what they've gathered thus far. "We have a Jacked in custody, he's been in a medically induced coma since we captured him and, as yet, have not been able to discern the exact how of the process. We know that the parasite requires a 'port' to be 'downloaded' into the body. We know where the port is located, as far as the Jacked that we have in custody. We know that the parasite can, if it chooses, allow the host to speak. We know this because the host begged us to kill him. A request that we did not comply with," her tone is level, grim, but level. "We know that they take not just crew captured but they take children as well, as was suggested by the Jacked we have in custody. "Ahh, provisions, thank you," and she lifts the pear from the bowl with a look of relief, "for some reason fresh fruit helps settle my nerves when talking about this. So." She exhales slowly. "We know that the cylon's are taking humans as hosts. Why? Pick a reason that makes most logical sense. But. They are using human hosts. And some of those humans are still In there. If we can get eh parasite out we can free those humans. But the number of jacked that survive the process is unknown. I speculate that the parasite must be comprised of the same sort of circuitry that a pace maker is made out of. which, in short, emits a jolt to the heart to regulate the beat. If this thing is somehow mechanical in nature perhaps we can use a defibrulator to jolt the thing into short circuiting and then extract it. But I can't test it until I have some Jacked to work on."

Leightner speaks like a hillbilly, but is kinda bright. He's nodding, "So ye still need even corpses? Autopsy reveal much? some sort o implanted connection ta tha whole cerebro endricine system. I could expect a mortality rate."

"if you come across a processing facility and there's corpses," Sam begins then pauses, "no. If you come across a processing facility and it's even remotely secured by what ever unit is holding it, please let the CIC know and I'll get on a Raptor and come to you. I need to see the site. I can't un-do what I can't take apart, learn from and then process in reverse. I need to actually be in a processing facility. They have to have somewhere that they're holding the humans they've taken before they're processed. It's got to be either a camp or a ship, those are the only options logical. But. That said. If you come across the corpse of a jacked, yes, please, bring it back with you. And I expect a mortality rate beyond comprehension. It's not just enough to do genocide on us, they're taking the bodies of humans and walking around in us like . . like we're vehicles. Like we drove and rode around in machines all these years. they're returning the 'favor'."

Leightner smiles, "Aye sir, O course they're returnin the favor." He shrugs, "Cylons were made by man." Tada someone said it. "We taught em ta think, it's not a stretch, we are creatures o flesh an blood, they be metal an code. We made them as tools, they took tha knowledge o us, from every database in the colonies, ta tha genetic level an an fourty years MADE PEOPLE." He stops, then "From nothing." He nods, "Flesh is a tool ta them as metal is ta us, lookit. Thas tha methodology."

"If we could devise a way to shut down the centurion parasite, really shut it down, extract it and then kill it perhaps we can use what we learn from that to shut down the metal types, maybe the raiders as well. If we can shut down the metal and synthetic ones, maybe we can disable the skinned models," Sam says, her voice having dropped quiet again as she uses a scalpel to slice the pear into thin slivers which she arranges on a napkin in a precise fan shape. "Is it murder to shut off a machine. Is it murder to shut off a parasite. It is murder to shut off a skinned job. I believe that Knox is a real person. I believe that Ceres is a real person. But how real are they if there's a hundred copies sharing memories, then which one is real. Is it murder if we kill a product line. I don't know. But I want to know how to do this. I want to know where the Off switch is and how to pull it."

Leightner chuckles, "Haven't had a chance ta talk ta Knox yet, an Ceres, I dunno, I signed her off in tha brig after pullin three inches o canopy shrapnel outta her shoulder, next thing I know she's 'Whereabouts unknown' in thereport from Captain Grey." His voice drops in tone, "Swear pilots lose everything."

"Well, that's another break down then. In order? the one's are the leadership, from what we know. They're aggressive, violent, and kill on sight if you run into them. I already have two dead ones in my morgue, a third won't yield any new results. Model's two and three are unknown. Model four, those look like Agent Catriona Boyd, you can access her image if you pull her file, fours are apparent non-hostile and the one we have in the morgue was killed by another humanoid - skinned - model. Fives are unknown. Sixes are the Knox type, they're soldiers. Seven's and eights are unknown. Nine's are the Ceres model. She isn't lost, per se, she's on assignment. Ten's and twelves are unknown. Eleven's look like Dr. Tamsin - the Naomi's. There may be a thirteen but we're not sure. Then there's the Jacked, the Raider's, the metal skinned centurions as well."

Leightner nods, "So ye need jus anythin we can pick up?" He nods, "See whot we can bag ye. Centurion pieces.." He nods as he thinks, and nods, "I been in combat with some ones an fer a while thar we were shootin a Knox every other week." He smirks, shaking his head, then shrugs, "Aside me workin on Ceres, thas me exposure I know o."

"believe me when I tell you that doing a field autopsy on a Six model was very surreal," Sam says with a slow shake of her head and glances out through the door to her office, seeing the quiet sick bay as she eats the pear slices. It's a few moments of quiet before she says: "I don't hate the Cylons on a individual level. THe ones in our fleet are soldiers, like us. The ones in their fleet are soldiers, like us. But obeying an order to commit genocide is a war crime. And we are at war. But genocide is genocide, and they've killed more of us that we've managed to kill of ourselves in al this time. that's not a c compliment on their death dealing abilities. It's just fact. We need those pieces because you marines are going out and getting shot at. What if we could figure out what metal alloy their skins are made of, composition wise. What if we could make better bullets or just know what type of round is actually useful. I'm no engineer, but I know how to dissect anything that comes across my table. So yes. More parts are good. Eventually captain west will have enough pieces to map out a complete model. Then we'll get to work"

Leightner flips his clipboard up and starts writing, filling something in. He nods, "Aye, sir." He leans back his head, tightening his eyes in concentration then nods and looks down and continues writing, "Jacked responces ta drugs comperable ta humans or is thar a dosage boost required?" He asks, then, as if switching to a different frequency, "It is a fight for survival. Sir I spent tha first several weeks after Warday fighting, cut off, then tha news came o how bad it really was. An I believed tha we were gonna become extinct. An tha was the tempo o tha war fer me fer a long time. Until I rejoined a proper Colonial unit. So tha may be me bias, an consider it as tha. Pull tha switch. I have grieved enough I can grieve fer two more friends. " He mimics pushing a button. He would do it.

"The dosage we are using to keep the Jacked in the coma is staggering. He's incredibly strong, violent, and whether he can shut off his pain receptors or if the body is disposable to the parasite, he does impressive damage before being sedated. So. The drugs that I acquired on the run we made to Picon were selected for a reason. I believe that with enough experimentation we may be able to sedate the parasite and speak to the host. I just don't know." She rubs at the back of her neck with one hand, appearing tired, sounding tired. "And . . what is a very carefully guarded bit of data is that we can run a test that sorts human from Centurion. You know the saying, about how the chemical difference between butter and spreadable margarine is merely a chemical or two off? The measurable difference between human and cylon, between cylon and ape or baboon or chimpanzee . . it's numbers, Leightner. Why is a Cylon a Cylon but for the fact that they can't procreate, only copy upon copy upon copy. They can't have children, Leightner. So they're taking bodies of humans, walking around in them. They're making . . bodies, why go through the messy process of evolution if you can just plug in and go. Walk around. breathe. eat. Live."

Leightner nods, "An all ye have ta do is put a human inta basicly hell." He nods, "So, Win/win. Is tha hardware downloadable? will tha cylon flitter off ta come back in some other poor sod?"

"I don't know, but that's a very good question. Here's another one," Sam offers in return, "if we can disable the parasite, will the human have access to all the data that the parasite was using while driving the body around. I'm hoping yes," she admits. "because it's a data mine that we need rather desperately."

Leightner tilts his head, "So these data ports, can they be hacked?" He shrugs, "Accessed somehow?

"Another good question. So far, we haven't tried," Sam answers with another slow shake of her head. "we'd need someone with the skills, and the willingness to actually attempt. I'm not a network engineer let alone any kind of computer technician. We need an expert. What we probably need is a scrawny teenager who can hack into multiple networks from his built from scratch computer. But we don't have any, at present, aboard the Orion."

Leightner tilts his head to the side, nodding. "Alright." He nods, and pulls the sheet off, and sends it with s deft flick of the wrist sliding through the air to settle on the DMZ of Sams desk. Oh, a requisition request, for a compact camera and micro recorder, this would be field equipment, but his outfitting in his medical pack. "Got room." He says, shrugging slightly, "Now tha I know whot ta look fer better."

Sam scans the requisition form and … laughs quietly before picking up a pen and signing it in all the right places, initially as well, all it doesn't needs is a thumb print in blood. The forms haven't quite gotten that far along. yet. "I'm going to get a few hours of shut eye and be back on watch for the afternoon shift. If anything rolls in, send someone to wake me," she says as she stands, taking the last few pieces of the pear with her, neatly wrapped in the napkin. "And thank you for the pear."

Leightner nods, "Ah, thankee fer tha briefing." He takes the form, "And tha gear." He moves to take the bowl to whisk it out of the CMOs office and of course, leave it neat. On pain of death.

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