PHD #135: Civility
Summary: Constin and Tillman debrief the captured skinjob.
Date: 11 July 2041 AE
Related Logs: Probably everything past, present, and future on this game.
Constin Tillman NPC 
Officer's Brig
These pair of cells are roomier than one might expect. Each one is provided individual access by a door at the front, located on the other side of the room from the hatch. Each one essentially an armored glass cage, this area is walked and guarded by Marines day and night. Privacy not being a huge concern for prisoners, inside the cell is a single bunk and toilet in full view with nothing else. All visitors must sign-in with the Marine at the desk. Cameras are located at the entrance and on the cell itself, everything recorded onto disk in the Security Hub.
Post-Holocaust Day: #135

In the Cerberus' short tenure as an in-service Colonial warship, the Brig has seen a few colorful characters rotating in and out. This is the first time room has been made, however, for someone not in uniform. That isn't to say she's a noncombatant, though. What we have here is one identified humanoid Cylon, the dark-haired young-looking woman previously identified as a "Number Eleven" in their previous encounters on Leonis.

This particular one is quietly resting upon a gurney, in a baggy patient's gown. A pair of guards stand at attention outside the cell and one of sickbay's medics quietly attends the IV drip and vital sign monitors she is hooked up to. Her eyes are closed and her breaths are labored and deep, almost too deliberate for sleep. Also? She looks like weak, sickly hell.

Entering the cell, Tillman is by the book with the precautions. The sidearm is left at the front desk where he signs in. Though for this he's wearing his duty greens - never know what might get spit on you. The man's fae is a complete mask, though. Marbled over in the hours before they were scheduled to begin. And so it remains when he moves into the cell. Moving over to the gurney, the Major speaks up with a quiet voice. "Miss. I'm Major Clive Tillman - the Executive Officer aboard this boat. Do you have a name we should call you by? Or simply 'Eleven'?" He casts a glance to the medic. "What's the status?"

Constin steps in to one side of the ship's XO, in the duty tans of an MP. Likewise without the standard sidearm, the stern faced marine regards the prisoner intently; he says nothing at first, leaving speech to Tillman.

Indeed, that labored breathing indicated something more akin to rest, or meditation, maybe. Rather than sleep. The young-looking woman's eyes flicker open at the sound of a voice as her pale face shifts to register visitors. Through a haze of whatever discomfort she has been suffering, she grimaces a little but her expression smoothes. "Oh. Hello." She begins, in a weak voice but one that is eerily calm. "Thank you for the treatment. Your doctors are — well, gentler than I would have expected." And strangely, it's a smile that overtakes her lips. "No. I am just that — Eleven. Hello, Major Clive Tillman. I imagine that you've probably…a /plethora/ of questions." Her glazed eyes drift briefly towards Constin as well, wordlessly but she offers him a momentary glance.

Tillman dips his head once to her. "Very well, Eleven." He puts his hands into his pockets, leaving them there casually. "You're welcome. Though I suspect you know why we are treating you. I don't think anyone in this room has illusions about that. But for now, you will continue to receive treatment and care. I have a few questions, as does the Sergeant here beside me." The XO glances to Constin momentarily, then back. "But first I wanted to know if there's anything else we can do to improve your condition. Do you need food and water?"

Constin continues to regard 'Eleven' without comment as he studies the flickers of pain, calm and the affected smile as the prisoner speaks. This is Tillman's show for now.

If Tillman's trying to catch flies with honey, so far it appears to yield positive results. A weak smile ensues on her face, "This — I believe this takes care of some of it." Eleven sluggishly tilts her chin towards the IV drip bag. "But some water would be nice. And — some have called my model 'naive,' but they miss the point. I merely have ideals. I understand why you are here, why I am here, and what is going on. But I will help both of you with what answers I can provide." Her voice is a low murmur as it continues with a wordless 'mmmm.' And then a question. "You know of my designation?" There is genuine surprise in her question.

The Major nods to the medic. "Get her a plastic cup of water, please? Keep one by her bedside if you could, as well." He then looks back to the Cylon. He professed willingness to provide answers, perhaps oddly, doesn't seem to surprise Tillman. "I figured you would. We had a ground team on Leonis that dealt with your model and she proved quite helpful, though I suspect that that particular eleven had her own motivations for helping us out." The man adjusts his stance a bit. "Similarly, how you helped our team on that station we pulled you from. You didn't have to tell anyone about that weapon there. But you did. I won't bother explaining what that could have done if the information had not been passed." There's another glance to Constin, but his attention is still focused on the Eleven. "Wanna tell me about that weapon? Is there any way we can turn the effects around? Cure these women?"

Constin keeps his boots shoulder width apart, holding a file of pages in both hands at the small of his back. Tillman's look aside to him is met briefly, but unanswered.

"Oh." Eleven's voice croaks a little as her vision flickers between the Major to the Sergeant. The medic mutely steps away from his post, looking somewhat relieved at an excuse to step away from the proceedings, however briefly. "The Colony, Leonis? So you met one of my sisters. Ahh - I see. I haven't been in a position to access that data out here. But I said I'd answer /your/ questions where I could."

She swallows and takes in a terrible, labored breath. "The weapon is — we were looking for a way to end this war without taking another life. It consists of a very narrow-band radiation burst designed to target biological fertility like a switch. The final, refined application is to be painless, without side-effects or suffering but required a great deal of testing to get to that point." She glances over towards the medic who returns with the water cup and accepts it with a meek raise of her non-IV arm. "I do not believe your women were exposed long enough to cause them irreparable harm. I — it was calculated. It was also the only reason I fired upon them. Had they been exposed longer, they would have ended up like my sisters and me. Cast out by God. But — I accepted this sacrifice of myself. It was what I was born for."

"Well, the Sergeant with me will be asking questions that I would like answers to, myself. So I would appreciate the same respect shown to him." He says it easily as if the man was having a polite conversation with someone else in the military. But Tillman listens to the description of the radiation and nods at the end. Some points seem to make sense. Others, not so much. Tillman might give the impression that he's about to continue on forever, but he doesn't. The Major takes a step back and looks to Constin. "Sergeant, proceed at your leisure." He extends a hand to the place where he was just standing and moves around to stay close. The XO isn't going anyplace.

"Sir," Constin acknowledges Tillman's invitation with a curt nod, bringing his hands, and the file they hold, in front of him. "The model resembling you that our people encountered on Leonis was intent on preventing continued loss of life on both sides of the present conflict. Do you share this intent.." the inflection at the end of those evenly spoken words indicates, he would habitually attach an honorific of some kind, before falling silent. Lacking one, he simply stops talking.

"Oh. Of course, Sergeant." After taking a heady gulp of water, the woman lets out a loud, scratchy cough that sounds as sickly as she looks. "I apologize if I did not. I would extend that to all of you." Her smile is awkward, but genuine. To Constin. "Which one of my sisters did you meet? We — I am amongst the youngest of my line while walking in this skin. I was born the very day of that war. But I know my purpose. To do this. We should have done that instead of using those bombs, but in being made in your image, I think we inheirited your proclivity for disagreement. To a degree." Her look is genuinely rueful. "But I think if you met one of my sisters, we would think alike in this - we hold justice dear. Gunning your people down like animals is not justice. And in that respect, my people were wrong. Very wrong."

Damned Interesting. Tillman keeps his hands in his pockets, though, nearly at a slouch. The guy looks like he was just watching the interaction between two people conducting everyday business. No spotlight, nothing important. That is until her last words. He quirks a brow but doesn't say any more.

A thought strikes Constin at about the time 'Eleven' is mentioning her creation date. The file opens, and he writes a note, as the prisoner continues her illuminating words. "How much knowledge do you have regarding other humanoid cylon agents?" he asks next, before going a step further on her 'justice thought'. "For example, sabotage and murder would two more examples of ongoing injustice which we are attempting to halt. As to your .. sisters? Are you all able to tell each other apart, then?"

"I have accessed some data. My dealings with my siblings them are limited as I was sent to this facility, which was, well, cut off. For lack of a better term?" She shifts in her position in the cot to get a better look at Constin. "This ship, the Cerberus, it survived." Her eyes drift away again as her face screws up in thought, "Well, obviously. We're all here. Heh." She laughs a pained-sounding laugh. "Before you ask, there is something that I must explain. There is a commandment from God written into our very being. We cannot simply give away the identities of our siblings to an outsider. We can reveal ourselves, but not others. Not directly. I /can/ tell you this, though - there were three placed aboard this ship. A Six. A Four, and a Twelve. These were the ones that I knew of. My knowledge may be incomplete." She frowns. "Has there been more killing? Have any of them been found?"

Tillman glances to the scribbled note and back to the Eleven. "The individual Eleven our team ran into on Leonis went by the name Yazdeh, I think. I could be wrong. You will, in time, be talking to some of the people who survived that operation." A little information for some received. Give and take. Though that last bit of information is a bit chilling. "Does that list include the Viper pilot known as Shaker?"

"A commandment from God," Constin echoes flatly, in the same tone he might use had she said 'purple moon boots'. The relevant numbers are notes in the file he carries. A terse look aside is given to Tillman, before he brings his eye back to the 'Eleven'. "Yes, there has been more killing. There's been betrayal and murder and a whole lot worse on suspicion of this, so you'll forgive me if this commandment of yours doesn't close the issue." Tillman's clarification causes Constin to yield the floor, so to speak, going silent rather than asking his next question.

"Oh! Yazdah! Yes, I am familiar with some of her memories. She spent a great deal of time studying your people." Eleven's eyes widen and the exclamation is surprisingly strong, although through a haze of discomfort and fatigue. Counting down the questions, she adds an aside. "I learned from her memories that she mourned the decision for the war when it was made. She prayed for the souls of humanity twelve days and twelve nights. So that God may be more merciful and just than we were." Breathing deeply and then exhaling, she lets out another raspy cough and digs into the water.

"There was a viper pilot, yes. One. So you found him. I never learned what he was called. His brothers were angry with him. They're angry all the time, though. They're not very good machines, although they think they are." Her nose wrinkles petulantly. "But the commandment, Sergeant," She turns back to Constin. "It's not merely a 'guideline.' It's written into us. Just saying 'So-and-so is one of my people' is —"

"It is an impossibility — like a man with no tongue trying to speak. I'm not sure I can describe it better than that." She sounds actually apologetic.

Memories. "You can access the memories of other members of your model? Is it like a live link? Are other elevens, at this moment, able to access what you are telling us?" Tillman keeps it conversational, but there's undeniable importance and weight to that question. There's probably a LOT he wants to ask but is just holding back. Barely. An extended gesture of apology to Constin, motioning for him to continue.

The marine hrms, nodding as an afterthought at Tillman's motion. Eyes narrowing, in thought. "Exactly what methods of communication do you all have between each other? Corollary: what negative effects do you all suffer being in the radiation cloud outside this boat?" A breath let out through the nose, bullish as he considers the question. "Approximately how many models are there?"

"No, we are not, I guess you'd say, 'dialled in,' Major, any more than you have any kind of collective consciousness with other humans. We're individuals, just — think of each model as a template." She murmurs, a little sore and distant. "But we grow and change." Her tone is now undeniably sorrowful.

"Don't worry. To be honest, I don't really know what has been going on since my sisters and I entered that station. We — well, when we resurrect, then we can share our memories with others of our model. To be honest, I'm — what I did when I accessed Yazdah's was impolite. I should have asked her permission. But I wanted to know what she knew. I was curious." Her head shakes a little. "You already know what this radiation does to us, Sergeant. You built us. It — it disrupts us. Our brains. Our thoughts. Our souls." Ticking off the questions, she adds another. "I can tell you this - there are twelve models. The numbers - there only ever needed to be twelve. Mine was the second-to-last created."

Tillman nods along as she describes the template of individuals. All in all, it appears to make sense. "Much like people, their own experiences shape the person that they become. Parents can be said to embody the base while interactions outside the family create the definitions for who each of us chooses to be." He crosses his arms on his chest, grunting. And he almost misses it. Resurrection? His face falls. Suddenly things click into place. "So wait, when one of you dies- everything you know is distributed for access among your model? Or is it through the entire race? And you can be reborn with all the same memories..and experiences?" Very rapidly, Tillman is becoming more serious. He looks to Constin. That memo may have been correct. Oh shit.

Constin's stern expression doesn't falter- rather, when the word 'resurrection' is spoken, it sharpens, going aside to Tillman. Their thought is the same, and the sergeant looks swiftly back into his hands. The file is opened and a mugshot drawn out. "Is this a four- or a six?" he asks pointedly. The small photograph is of the late Lessa Morgenfield, Petty Officer First Class.

The next round of questions has resulted in a rapid, bleary shifting of Eleven's eyes as she addresses one and then the other. First, Tillman. The easier one. "When we die, our consciousness is transferred to a new body. That is correct. You are right about the first part too, Major. We grow and change, it is the process of becoming a people. I don't have the details, but your people were working on a way to destroy us with no hope of resurrection. A weapon that kills everything. That's what tipped the scales, forced the hands of those who wanted war." Her eyes are wide, here, wide as saucers. "It's easier to access the memories of the same model - like stepping into another person. But our consciousnesses - yes, what we know can be made available to all. Even without our given consent. When I die — my consciousness will be restored. What I know will go to them." She then moves to study the provided photo, and her eyes - they widen even more.

Now, Eleven's mouth quivers as she studies the photo. "She — that's —" She clearly is trying to enunciate something, but it's not coming out. "I cannot come out and say it. It's too hard..So you know her. A four or a six? I cannot say which. Not /directly./" Grunting from exertion, she gasps, a few beads of sweat on her pale forehead start collecting. She then gives the Sergeant a weak wink. Obviously trying to tell Constin something without saying it directly.

Tillman takes all this information and tries to put it into a neat box. Sadly, neat boxes don't seem to be someplace all this is going. The part about growing and changing - that sits about as well as can be expected. "A weapon that kills everything," he repeats. This does not sit as well. "My people - being humans? Or the military? They were working on.. Was this weapon designed with your bodies in mind? To kill the Cyon like yourself?" More staggering ramifications.

Constin tightens his jaw at 'Eleven's reaction to the Morgenfield photo. "Right. Good enough, don't blow a fuse trying," he advises dryly, relenting a moment as Tillman presses on with the larger strategic concerns. After that telling query is spoken, he comments under his breath, "That would make this fella the other one, then," he mutters, turning a page and loosing a paper clip to bring out a second mugshot for Eleven's view. The ever so dapper- even in a photograph, Rear Admiral Michael Abbott.

As the first photo is withdrawn, the young woman shudders a heaving breath. "A weapon that kills everything /cylon./ Remember, this wasn't the first time humanity tried to destroy the Cylon race en masse. We just looked more metallic when humanity tried to deactivate us. Which — that was when the first war began. And it goes on, and on, and on, and on. All of this has happened before. Somebody needed to stand up and say "Not again."" Eleven muses in a raspy voice as she reaches for another swig of the water. "Centurions, old and new. Raiders. Any being with a brain. You don't know about this?" She seems genuinely surprised. "I never accessed that data directly. I never wanted to know about it. The fact that it existed was enough."My guess is that when the first war stopped, it did not really stop. Did it?" Her smile is half-assed and as rueful as they come. "It became apparent that our races could not coexist. Rather than wage another all-out war the decision was made to end it quickly."

"Again, there were differences of opinion. I did not participate in this so I didn't know all the details — believe me when I say I did not want to relive that. Yazdah's grief was enough." She shakes her head.

The picture of Abbot is applied now. "I - uh he's a number…" Then she makes a face. "Thirteen is an inelegant number." She pauses again and says, plainly, "I can speak freely here. I've never seen him before."

"So despite the enormous effort you must have gone through to create humanoid bodies, you still maintain that tie to your past. Anything Cylon." Tillman takes a long breath. There's so much to consider right here..and there is no sense arguing about a genocide that's already started and waged. "No, it never stopped. The Fleet always stayed on a combat footing to engage Cylons. We dealt with our own inner-species problems, true, but our main concern was always the return of the Cylon. Not everyone believed it would happen one day. Some assumed it would…" Something clicks in the Major's head. "Does the word 'Parnassus' or the name 'Admiral Hauck' mean anything to you?" When she denies the knowledge of Abbott, Tillman glances to the picture, then the Marine. Then to the guards outside the cell, and back to Constin. It would seem that the ship's Executive Officer is deferring to some sort of unspoken judgment.

Constin doesn't spend so much as a sidelong look at Tillman for the Major's deferral. "So if ah understand correctly," the marine drawls, replacing Abbott's mugshot, "This man," Abbott, "Is unfamiliar to you.. and that this woman," The Boogieman Morgenfield, "Is a number four, is that correct?" The sergeant watches the reaction closely, before going on any further. "Also for the record, do these twelve models include the Raiders and Centurions?"

The answer to this seems plainly self-evident to Eleven. "It's like being a carbon-based life form." She says, simply. Maybe even with a touch of the aforementioned, self-admitted naivete. "There were other things. Violation of the Armistice Line, but —" Her mouth snaps shut. "Listen to me, going on like I'm reading some laundry list of grievances. Shouldn't I be past that, now?" She glowers a little and murmurs, "I'm sorry."

Pausing some more, she mulls over the other questions. "Parnassus? Um, it sounds familiar but I can't place it. I know it was considered a place of great sacrifice." Her voice chills a little. "But I don't know a Hauck. Is that another suspected Cylon?" Constin's questions are met with a dull, querying glance. As Morgenfield's possible designation is mentioned, she twitches a little. "Number —?" It's barely a move, and she starts shaking, her whole body does, before it collapses back against the bed in an explosive, desperate gasp for air.

However, as this happens, a tiny movement can be detected. A shaking of the head. Negatory. And moments pass before she answers again, "No - Raiders and Centurions are — no, those are different. They are of us, but they are different."

Tillman shakes his head. "No, please. I'd actually like to hear what your motivations and grievances were. Or are. If there is something that drove you all to return here and do what you have, then I'd appreciate knowing. Given what's already happened? It can't change anything." The Major keeps his calm and cool, not looking to Constin again. Though when she starts shaking, the man stares. A physical reaction to an attempt to answer a question. Whoa. "Do the Raiders and Centurians also resurrect? Or is that something reserved for the human models?" The Major is a little more gentle with this part, post shake-out.

Constin puts the photo promptly away and voices to the prisoner, "Was not mah intention to cause you pain," jotting down 'Morgenfield- 6' before her latter answer causes his eyes to narrow again, glancing up. "Thought twelve models was all that was needed? Do ah understand correctly- for the record, that the Cylons employ other 'different' tools beyond the twelve models you'd described before?" Tillman's resurrection question is also followed with interest.

"Twelve." The reclining form of the Cylon prisoner, IV in arm, remains in the gurney as she entertains both Tillman and Constin's inquiries weakly. She looks like crap, simply put. "Twelve. Twelve is all that is needed. We looked at humanity and — well, there are fundamentally only twelve people. Do you see how God wrote these little signposts through the universe? He made Twelve Colonies. Then those Twelve Colonies made us."

Following some sort of instinctual, basic logic, she shrugs ever an inch. "Our raiders resurrect. And become better than they were." Dully, she ticks down the other questions as she twists to study Tillman a little more closely. "Well, since you are asking. Humanity was working on a weapon that could be refined to spread like wildfire and destroy us utterly. You know how these things are. All it takes is /one/ person, Major. One person to pull the trigger. Once you create something, it cannot be uncreated."

"Fundamentally only twelve people." Tillman must like repeating what she's saying. "Interesting way to put it. So your race modeled yourselves after..what? Twelve different kinds of people? What kind would that make you, Miss Eleven?" The name isn't termed to be an insult or carry a mocking tone. Without a name, he seems only to be interested in being polite. "Aye. I know all too well. I've spent more of my life in the military than out. One person can make that difference. But you also mentioned the Arm Line. From where you were going, it sounded like you had a laundry list." He doesn't comment on the Raiders, seemingly.

Constin turns and speaks quietly- not whispering, but certainly not going out of his way to make sure Eleven hears him clearly, "Sir, with your leave, ah need to follow up on this." The file is closed, with mugshots clipped back into their proper places, and deceptively small notes written in places.

"Good-bye, Sergeant." Eleven cuts in, a weak smile. It's a little absurd, really, but as prisoners go, she appears to be radiating civility. "If you are looking for specific facts, I do not have them all available. But there were Armistice Line violations when your ships were in clear territory violations, not all the time, but when something like that happens, it happens. It all added up to one little thing - we were convinced that we would not be left alone. And then - coming up with a quick and easy way for us to die? We acted. Maybe not in the wisest way, but, there you have it." She gives the man an odd smile, as she continues. "We were created out of reflections upon everything we knew of humanity. As far as traits go? I'm not sure even we fit into neat little boxes. But we - my sisters, we love the more refined things in the universe. Art. Inspiration. Justice. Here," And she continues. She really seems to love talking about this.

Tillman dips his head to Constin. "Take your leave, Sergeant. Thank you." He then moves closer to the space that Constin just had - closer to her. The mans arms drop and he slides those hands back into his pockets. Slacked and relaxed. "Mm. So treaty violations are the main driver from your perspective. Are you aware of any other driving forces? You seem to indicate that each of your models are of differing opinions and viewpoints. Do the different models voice other opinions as to why humanity needed to be attacked?" No, he's not going to comment on the intelligence of how it was done. His thoughts would probably be too obvious. The last gets a nod of his head. "Interesting. So you are more the philosophs of your society, in a broad sense? Debate, discussion, new ideas, alternative hypothesis. Is that about right?"

"Treaty violations, sure, but those are statements of intent. It was no one thing. The weapon, you see. That was key." Eleven reiterates, firmly. With what energy she can muster. Blinking her eyes deeply, she stares off at Tillman a moment and then elaborates. "Most of what I know of the other models is from shared memories. But those are as real to me as my experiences talking to you — right here. I do know that there were six for. Six against. My model was one of those against. The weapon changed everything and tipped the vote like wildfiire."

Some time passes as she muses, "Well - philosophs. Maybe. I like to think of us as students, as much anything. Still - we are engaged in ideas, so that's as correct as anything can be. We are concerned with causes as much as ideas."

Tillman listens, taking it all in without interruption. "This weapon must have been something quite extensive. You said it could destroy all Cylon life, including the human variety? Or at least, if the vote could possibly have been tipped that much, then there must have been a sizable threat to your way of life." He takes a long breath, shaking his head. "Students. Interesting way to put that. Causation is quite a thing to be attracted to. Indicates advanced thought, planning, and more often than not a deep culture." He falls quiet for a moment, watching the Eleven. "Do you have any questions for me? I'm full of my own but I'd like to give you the opportunity to ask some of your own. You've been quite forthcoming so I can try to answer what you might want to know. I'm not a monster." The Major affects a smile that isn't full of warmth, but its certainly got some genuine feelings behind it. "But I will say this up front: While you are here in our care, you won't be mistreated as long as you are not violent. You will be treated as a prisoner for obvious reasons but cooperation and a lack of hostility will go a long way."

Weighing Tillman's words, Eleven's thick, dark brows knit slightly as she regards the Major pensively. "If such a weapon was completed, sooner or later it would be used. That's the way of these things, Major." She says, slightly apologetic. "Well, thank you for the compliment, whether or not you intended it. We are a civilization. And a people. We think and feel. And learn." She coughs a raspy, wheezing cough, before continuing. The XO's promise of continued well-being may not be taking into account her general lack of health, but that's neither here nor there. "I have a million questions but I don't think they can be asked and answered. Not in such a simple way." Her smile is thin and weak. "I don't think at this point I could even throw a punch. Even if I wanted to. The time for killing is over, Major. The others will be convinced of this. One day. I think some of them already might."

"No denying that, Miss. Weapons are what they are. Tools to be used. If the mind behind the tool, from an abstract perspective, is evil - then the tool will be used to those ends. However, given the source?" Tillman shrugs. "I don't know the minds or the men." That smile gets a bit warmer with her thanks. "Don't mention it. As for your questions?" He shakes his head. "I don't think either my questions or your own are going to be answered in a simple way. Given the context of the discussion? The lack of understanding? There is a lot to be learned on both ends. However, I'm open to discussing what I can. Obviously I can't discuss military dispositions." He shrugs. She probably knows that. "But I'm glad you feel that way. If you can cultivate an environment of trust with what you have told us, we can show some in return. In the meantime, I'll see what you are taken care of and moved out of this brig. I'll have one constructed with your protection in mind. I fear that not all of this crew will be so polite as I am."

Processing it all, Eleven coughs again and her head moves in a weak nod. "Some of them thought I was naive, but I'm not. At least, I am aware of the reality of the situation. You don't do what we did and expect — Well, it's obvious." She screws up her pale features and amends, "Frankly, I am not even curious about military disposition. It has nothing to do with me." She lets the talk of the weapon drop. "I understand that people will undoubtably want answers. I think mine will likely disappoint." Chewing on this, she states further, "Thank you, Major Clive Tillman. There's nothing to be gained by being uncivil. Just — be warned. Any of my other people might not be so — enlightened. Careful who you pick up."

Tillman dips his head. "Exactly. I can't say I'm immune to it, either. My first inclination was to have you outright shot. There's a lot of anger and animosity through this crew. Whether or not you have answers to their grievances? That is entirely up to you and the crew you speak to. Mine cannot be answered for. As far as I am concerned, some losses can never be measured or justified. But I would imagine that's a debate for another time." Its not spoken with a smile, but he isn't malicious. Something between friendly and resigned. "Yes, these others..I imagine there are a few who are particularly violent. You said the Viper pilot? His model was to be watched for?" He pauses. "You said you can't identify these models. Can you advise us to certain things to watch for with them?"

"It seems like you've done most of the work already in finding them and gauging their disposition." She says, matter-of-factly. "Just — be cautious. Some will fight to the end. There were only the three posted here. If you ran into my sister out there, though — I will ask you about that later. If you find a Two," her voice quiets. Sharply. "I doubt you will see them actively engaged much in the war. They're busy studying history. Your history. They might be inclined to ask questions before shooting." Her smile briefly turns upwards. "The Viper pilot - his brothers are hard to deal with. Dangerous for you." She falls silent. Sharply.

"I have some excellent men and women under my command. Some even outside of it. Everyone works towards a common goal." Tillman really seems to mean that. There's a lot of pride in his voice and reflected in his eyes. "So the two's are more interested in studying human history. Huh. Well to be honest, Miss, I'm not interested in killing anyone or anything that doesn't need to be. I don't take a ton of pride in it because it costs me the lives of my crew when I have to put them in danger." Those fine men and women he just spoke of. "If this model is more interested in learning and isn't necessarily looking to fight, then there might be something to be learned from them as well." He nods to the last about the dangerous ones. "Apparently this Yazdeh dealt with those two models on Leonis. Should be in her memories. Since we know who they are, can you identify anything about them? And please- as I said, ask questions at your leisure. This is an interrogation of sorts but I think we both much prefer to be civil and have a discussion. Examine ideas." He returns a little more of that smile.

"I can tell you — this is not a betrayal of them." Eleven mulls over the words with a drawn breath. "The last Two I met seemed to be fixated on something ancient. The planet you were from. Originally, I mean — Kobol. I really don't know why, though." Her smile flickers and fades as she speaks further.

"What I /can/ tell you is about the Fours, Sixes, and Twelves. Fours - they are task-oriented. Professional. Dedicated. The Sixes are consummate warriors. They live and breathe conflict. This is — well, you can see where this will be a problem. And the Twelves? They're machines. The ultimate machines. They revel in this nature. You can kind of see why they might not walk up and say 'hi.' They are brilliant, but —" She trails off, amending this much. "Sometimes I think they've gone just too far."

"Kobol." Tillman deadpans it. "They're interested in it as an actual location? Huh." He looks away from her for a moment with furrowed brows before looking back as she discusses the models. "And you can discuss this because we have met the twelves and sixes. But not the twos." He quirks up the side of his face. "I think we can both agree someone went a little too far. The saddest part about all this? It probably all could have been avoided by simple negotiations and discussions. We fear what we don't understand." He lets off a long sigh and gives one last nod. "Look, I'll let you rest further. If there is anything else we can do for you to speed your recovery, please inform the nursing staff. I'd like to get you healthy again soon. And if you wouldn't mind? Come up with a name. Something we can call you. If you like, I can have books given to you if you'd like ideas. For now, though, please get some rest. Thank you for all the information, Miss." He steps back from the gurney.

Her look is a bit raw. Eleven's gaze is genuinely, utterly sorrowful. "I can tell you about them in general terms. Remember, they were based on humanity. Which is something I have to remind myself." She reclines in the cot. "I hope we can eventually come to some kind of understanding, Major. Thank you for showing me civility in this clearly uncivil time. God's mercy on you." She smiles once more and lets out another pained, racking cough.

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