Caprica S2 at Beginning of Line is brought to you with limited commercial interruption by Samuel: For Men
Previously on Caprica:
Tad, aka Heracles online, has pulled away from the holoband and gotten a grown-up job, but his search for Tamara continues... (Episode Nine - posted 4/12/11)
Caprica Season 2, Episode Ten
Gara Singh: Alley of Darkness
Part 1 of 2
By Dóra Kecskés
A lone man was walking down the gloomy streets of Caprica City. All alone in the dark, some would certainly suggest. In his view, though, he was never alone.
Gara Singh, Director of the GDD… but a select few knew – and perhaps still know – him as Alvo.
“Amanda Graystone, Daniel Graystone, you are under arrest for high crimes against the people of Caprica.” – he could almost hear himself shouting triumphantly in the face of these…
“Traitors,” Singh mused for a moment, allowing a little smirk to appear in the corner of his mouth. “After a fashion.”
Known for his quick thinking, there was absolutely no challenge in coming up with a plan to incriminate Caprica’s cream. It was a brutal, brilliant idea…with only one flaw. They were too close, all too close to the answers. In one word: underestimation. Well, two problems, really, he added in himself, thinking about his fellow Tauran’s bold move. There, for a moment, he knew it was in his eyes: fear. No, not of death.
The federal agent-turned-STO member was closing in on a busier part of town, but he wasn’t worried. People recognize Daniel Graystone ten times more easily than him, and the man slipped through every secure cam and checkpoint he came across earlier that day, even at his own pyramid stadium…with the wife!
“ Daniel, if you walk out of here with this man, you will disappear forever. I’ve seen it back home.” Singh passed the corner, mingling into the crowd, continuing to hide in plain sight.
Lesson of the day: you’re safer hiding in the crowd than on an empty street. He sighed at this irony then allowed his mind to wander off, taking up his previous train of thought. Fear of one thing or another. No matter how much he didn't want to go there, he wasn’t even afraid of some kind of prolonged torture session a’la Xander. Instead, knowledge was there, causing one tiny fracture on his perfect poker face. The knowledge hit him hard that the Graystones will escape and if he doesn’t do what the man in charge says, he’d be dead. Just like that. Clarice Willow’s virtual Heaven or not, he’d rather live in this world first. Though the bombing wasn’t the only frak up that day, so who knows… Maybe this shiny, upcoming new era is not so shiny at all. But Singh had to focus on a more imminent and urgent matter: getting off Caprica without anyone noticing…
As he passed the noisy buildings, he spotted a man somewhat familiar to him. From a distance he couldn’t exactly place the guy, but at the moment it was the least of his worries. A police car pulled over, right behind him.
“No sweat”, he murmured to himself.
Singh did everything not to look out of place. He even looked back, but just as an average bystander would: not caring at all and slightly stirred, only to lose interest quickly. It seemed to work, so he took a closer look at that guy across the street. The young man was showing off with his brand new motorbike to a lady-of-the-evening look-alike, who was swallowed by the crowd of the nearby pub’s guests at the sight of the policemen getting out of their car. Then, for a couple of very tense seconds, Singh and motor-guy made eye contact. Singh checked out the officers – the chubby one went across the street to buy a hot-dog, the other remained behind Singh –, while motor-guy threw his keys up in an exaggerated manner, tapped the fuel tank, then glanced at the former director once again. One thing for sure, things weren’t looking good, especially after these little signs started to get the attention of the policeman tailing the Graystones’ most hated Tauron monotheist. He was, by then, hundred percent sure what he was about to do: run across the street, fast as he learned to do on the streets of his homeworld, get on the bike and buzz off.
“Excuse me, Sir… Director Singh?”
“Director who? Is there a problem, officer?” Singh was smart enough not to turn around.
Knowing that every little second counts, he didn’t waste a single one. He heard the officer’s pace speeding up. Singh was about twice the rook’s age – he was a rook, no doubt, no one goes after a suspect alone, while their partner is stuffing a hamburger down his throat – but the agent could easily outrun him. In the meantime the motorbike’s owner, if he was the owner at all, was nowhere near the vehicle anymore, but the keys were miraculously on the ground. Either motor-guy was an idiot, or the guy was miraculously at the right place at the right time. This wasn’t the time for philosophizing, but for running like hell. Singh grabbed the keys, got on his new-found means of escape, ignited the engines and shot off, bullets flying after him, chasing him with about the same success as the rookie did. He was sure the young man was, by now, scolded by his superior for his grave stupidity, the older officer ordered him into the car and started chasing the lone bike rider. Singh knew he still had to get to the Caprica City Spaceport to sneak onto the first flight out to the other end of the system, so he didn’t let his guard down, but was slightly more relaxed than a few hours before…
Gara Singh, Director of the GDD… but a select few knew – and perhaps still know – him as Alvo.
“Amanda Graystone, Daniel Graystone, you are under arrest for high crimes against the people of Caprica.” – he could almost hear himself shouting triumphantly in the face of these…
“Traitors,” Singh mused for a moment, allowing a little smirk to appear in the corner of his mouth. “After a fashion.”
Known for his quick thinking, there was absolutely no challenge in coming up with a plan to incriminate Caprica’s cream. It was a brutal, brilliant idea…with only one flaw. They were too close, all too close to the answers. In one word: underestimation. Well, two problems, really, he added in himself, thinking about his fellow Tauran’s bold move. There, for a moment, he knew it was in his eyes: fear. No, not of death.
The federal agent-turned-STO member was closing in on a busier part of town, but he wasn’t worried. People recognize Daniel Graystone ten times more easily than him, and the man slipped through every secure cam and checkpoint he came across earlier that day, even at his own pyramid stadium…with the wife!
“ Daniel, if you walk out of here with this man, you will disappear forever. I’ve seen it back home.” Singh passed the corner, mingling into the crowd, continuing to hide in plain sight.
Lesson of the day: you’re safer hiding in the crowd than on an empty street. He sighed at this irony then allowed his mind to wander off, taking up his previous train of thought. Fear of one thing or another. No matter how much he didn't want to go there, he wasn’t even afraid of some kind of prolonged torture session a’la Xander. Instead, knowledge was there, causing one tiny fracture on his perfect poker face. The knowledge hit him hard that the Graystones will escape and if he doesn’t do what the man in charge says, he’d be dead. Just like that. Clarice Willow’s virtual Heaven or not, he’d rather live in this world first. Though the bombing wasn’t the only frak up that day, so who knows… Maybe this shiny, upcoming new era is not so shiny at all. But Singh had to focus on a more imminent and urgent matter: getting off Caprica without anyone noticing…
As he passed the noisy buildings, he spotted a man somewhat familiar to him. From a distance he couldn’t exactly place the guy, but at the moment it was the least of his worries. A police car pulled over, right behind him.
“No sweat”, he murmured to himself.
Singh did everything not to look out of place. He even looked back, but just as an average bystander would: not caring at all and slightly stirred, only to lose interest quickly. It seemed to work, so he took a closer look at that guy across the street. The young man was showing off with his brand new motorbike to a lady-of-the-evening look-alike, who was swallowed by the crowd of the nearby pub’s guests at the sight of the policemen getting out of their car. Then, for a couple of very tense seconds, Singh and motor-guy made eye contact. Singh checked out the officers – the chubby one went across the street to buy a hot-dog, the other remained behind Singh –, while motor-guy threw his keys up in an exaggerated manner, tapped the fuel tank, then glanced at the former director once again. One thing for sure, things weren’t looking good, especially after these little signs started to get the attention of the policeman tailing the Graystones’ most hated Tauron monotheist. He was, by then, hundred percent sure what he was about to do: run across the street, fast as he learned to do on the streets of his homeworld, get on the bike and buzz off.
“Excuse me, Sir… Director Singh?”
“Director who? Is there a problem, officer?” Singh was smart enough not to turn around.
Knowing that every little second counts, he didn’t waste a single one. He heard the officer’s pace speeding up. Singh was about twice the rook’s age – he was a rook, no doubt, no one goes after a suspect alone, while their partner is stuffing a hamburger down his throat – but the agent could easily outrun him. In the meantime the motorbike’s owner, if he was the owner at all, was nowhere near the vehicle anymore, but the keys were miraculously on the ground. Either motor-guy was an idiot, or the guy was miraculously at the right place at the right time. This wasn’t the time for philosophizing, but for running like hell. Singh grabbed the keys, got on his new-found means of escape, ignited the engines and shot off, bullets flying after him, chasing him with about the same success as the rookie did. He was sure the young man was, by now, scolded by his superior for his grave stupidity, the older officer ordered him into the car and started chasing the lone bike rider. Singh knew he still had to get to the Caprica City Spaceport to sneak onto the first flight out to the other end of the system, so he didn’t let his guard down, but was slightly more relaxed than a few hours before…
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And now, back to "Gara Singh: Alley of Darkness..."
“Frak-up after frak-up after frak-up” – he growled.
The sun was still up, and Gara Singh wasn’t pleased at all, as he watched Atlas Arena, with its patron saint still intact, from a distance as the four Graystone Industries carriers took off. Cylons. That cagey genius made it. He had to raise his hat to the man despite being and fighting on the other side; despite the fact that he was Tauran and the other was Caprican; despite his being a monotheist, while Graystone worshiped whatever god of the Pantheon smiled down at him with grace; despite wanting the man dead, as in six feet under, returned to the soil, dead. It was important for him to acknowledge accomplishments, especially in face of certain failure. This was probably the first time he wished Graystone would join their cause since he laid out what should have been his masterstroke to Sister Clarice. However, the thought flew away fast as the marine aircraft. He had one other thing to do before leaving Caprica behind. He had to take care of an inconvenience, having the possibility to thwart any and all attempts for the STO to regroup on this world in the near future.
His car parked just down the street. Upon reaching it, he looked at his watch only to ascertain there were hours until his flight to Wherever leaves for space. He knew all flights to Gemenon would be halted until further notice, so going straight to the hub of the Monad Church was altogether out of the question. The roundabout near the Riverwalk section of the city would’ve offered a magnificent view, but there was only one place his eyes were set on: Caprica General Hospital, where former agent, Jordan Duram, was currently fighting his way through his comatose state.
There was something amusing in the idea that he and Duram shared two distinct qualities: their dedication to their causes, and their membership in the GDD. His contact made sure he put the right access codes under the driver's seat before the Pyramid match. As soon as he pulled over near the backdoor entrance, he began studying the layouts, schedules and the overall plan one last time.
Objective: kill Jordan Duram.
Method: any means necessary.
He opened a hidden compartment and pulled out two old, Tauran knives. He smiled at the memories. No matter the circumstances, Gara Singh always had style.
The man got out of the car and made his way through a smaller crowd of protesters. He didn’t stop checking what they’re raising their voice for or against, but proceeded to the door as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Gamma-Theta-3-3-Omega.
Wasn’t that bad, he thought, now standing in the basement after entering the right codes. Several service tunnels ended up here. He chose the door about twenty meters ahead, on the right side of the hallway, as it was suggested to him. If everything went according to plan, he’d be in and out before anyone would notice there’s one patient getting less oxygen than required to sustain life. If everything went according to plan, his contact could pull off anything they’ve ever wanted on Caprica. Granted, both of them, especially the one staying behind, had to be careful.
Flickering lights were not uncommon below the level of the main entrance of any building, and this hospital was no exception. Singh had never before been through these doors, only the front ones, a couple of times with a big bad wound in his side. Still, there was something appealing in this undercover GDD/STO business that sparked his Tauron upbringing as he felt the rush of adrenaline flowing in his veins. One door here, codes input there, a few close encounters with several employees in the laundry or at some maintenance juncture points and he was soon up on the ground floor, looking just like another visitor, who passed through regular security checks, implemented by the GDD under his very own leadership.
Then he waited until the guard at the secure-cam room got out between shifts to buy something from the cafeteria, so he could slip in and mix the camera signals for enough time that the next guard won’t see him going up the stairs. This was almost too easy… or maybe they wouldn’t think he’d come here. After all, the Graystones passed through Atlas Arena’s main gate without being caught, and brought down Clarice’s grandiose ideas of fake Heaven.
“Finally.”
The guard opened the door, then closed it carefully, way too slowly. He’d almost yelled How in the name of the One True God could you be this sluggish! But “good manners” – as he put it – or more likely the need to be invisible prevented him from such pleasures at the moment.
After he saw the man shuffle down the hallway, he began the second phase. He was a picture of no-nonsense professionalism, concentration and absolute self-confidence as his hands worked on the keyboards. First, the codes, then messing with the actual system. He looked up every now and then to check the perimeter, but for the moment, everything was fine. The rogue finished and was about to leave the room when the door swung open, the early warning beeping leaving Singh just enough time to get his act together. Having finished with the computer, he slipped across the room, behind the door. He had one chance alone. If he’d screwed up, everything would’ve gone south. He held his breath, preparing himself for the fight with the big man, but instead there was a small, manager type old fool, peeking in, murmuring something about unreliability and closing the door. Singh let out a sigh of relief while closing his eyes to regain his composure and prayed real fast for such good luck on the rest of his journey.
The rest should’ve been simple: passing the laundrywomen, the electricians, the guards and the manager. Everything was on the right track. He used his attained identity card to get through the door leading to the third floor’s ICU wing, gave his best performance about the nonexistent relative on the ward and as the woman searched for the results and made phone calls, he asked where the coffee machine was. That, he truly needed.
“Come on, you’re supposed to be the young titan of the ICU, Doc. You won’t live long enough to lead this ward, or any ward in the universe if you go on like this” Singh saw a nurse handing some notes to a doctor, who’s head he couldn’t see from the dense smoke surrounding it.
“It's just three or four a day, for frak's sake!”
“Yeah… Sure. Three or four packs.”
Singh looked into a room on the corridor, separately set up from the rest. It had to be Dunam.
“Cartons. It’s cartons, not packs”, added another doctor nearby.
And it was Dunam's room. As the agent pushed the door open, he finally arrived to his destination.
“It’s over, Jordan. Once again, your persistence landed on the losing side of this.”
He pulled his knives from his belt and was ready to strike down, when a shout came from behind.
“Open that frakkin' door!” the doctor, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, shouted full force to one of the staff assistants.
Singh was hit in the back at full force. He wasn’t sure if a syringe or a scalpel hit him, but he knew it wasn't serious. With a couple of hits taken he took down the guy, who must have been in his early 20s and showed no evidence of training.
“Next time I say I’m in a hurry override that damn program fas… faster… Is this your first day?!” the young guy mumbled to someone from the floor before hitting Singh’s lower body with a full-force kick, knocking him down to the floor. The doctor used his cigarette as his weapon of choice, burning an ugly, red mark on Singh's left hand, then kicked him out of the room.
The agent landed safely on his back, but the operation was already blown. The doors slid back to their places, security systems checked, there was nothing else but to run away and hide in the city until it’s necessary. He slipped past two nurses, stuck one of his knives into a doctor coming up against him, then pushed him toward two security personnel, preparing to attack. He soon found himself back in the entrance hall, almost everyone searching for him by now. Singh remembered this moment later that day: use the crowd to divert attention.
After he smashed the motorbike into a local store, creating all kinds of havoc, Singh made his way through the area of the spaceport. Looking up on the nearest billboard, he still couldn’t find any GARA SINGH – TERRORIST signs, but that was really just a matter of time. Backdoors, accessing computer terminals, and hacking his way through seemed to be the day’s recurring element. Darkness became his best friend The easy running pace turned into steady running, then an outright sprint after one of the guards saw his looming figure, deciding to “shoot first, ask questions later.” There was no chance whatsoever he could make it to the transport ship without having to kill further, but here he didn’t see any other option. Singh pulled out his gun and shot two men and their female companion in a calculated, cold-blooded manner, no emotions playing on his face.
The transport was in sight, so he doubled his speed to get to it, which was now the only way out of this establishment and off the planet, alive. One final jump, one final shot and it was all over… For now.
Caprica. A beauty. Fit as a fiddle, or bleeding and scarred, she has been and always would be a beauty. But all warfare is based on deception. The polytheists were blindfolding society, waging wars against themselves. In Gara Singh's eyes, this Caprica was a deformed, one-eyed golem, craving for salvation. One day, he will return. Perhaps not soon, but he'll be back to open their eyes to a dawn of a new era.
The sun was still up, and Gara Singh wasn’t pleased at all, as he watched Atlas Arena, with its patron saint still intact, from a distance as the four Graystone Industries carriers took off. Cylons. That cagey genius made it. He had to raise his hat to the man despite being and fighting on the other side; despite the fact that he was Tauran and the other was Caprican; despite his being a monotheist, while Graystone worshiped whatever god of the Pantheon smiled down at him with grace; despite wanting the man dead, as in six feet under, returned to the soil, dead. It was important for him to acknowledge accomplishments, especially in face of certain failure. This was probably the first time he wished Graystone would join their cause since he laid out what should have been his masterstroke to Sister Clarice. However, the thought flew away fast as the marine aircraft. He had one other thing to do before leaving Caprica behind. He had to take care of an inconvenience, having the possibility to thwart any and all attempts for the STO to regroup on this world in the near future.
His car parked just down the street. Upon reaching it, he looked at his watch only to ascertain there were hours until his flight to Wherever leaves for space. He knew all flights to Gemenon would be halted until further notice, so going straight to the hub of the Monad Church was altogether out of the question. The roundabout near the Riverwalk section of the city would’ve offered a magnificent view, but there was only one place his eyes were set on: Caprica General Hospital, where former agent, Jordan Duram, was currently fighting his way through his comatose state.
There was something amusing in the idea that he and Duram shared two distinct qualities: their dedication to their causes, and their membership in the GDD. His contact made sure he put the right access codes under the driver's seat before the Pyramid match. As soon as he pulled over near the backdoor entrance, he began studying the layouts, schedules and the overall plan one last time.
Objective: kill Jordan Duram.
Method: any means necessary.
He opened a hidden compartment and pulled out two old, Tauran knives. He smiled at the memories. No matter the circumstances, Gara Singh always had style.
The man got out of the car and made his way through a smaller crowd of protesters. He didn’t stop checking what they’re raising their voice for or against, but proceeded to the door as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Gamma-Theta-3-3-Omega.
Wasn’t that bad, he thought, now standing in the basement after entering the right codes. Several service tunnels ended up here. He chose the door about twenty meters ahead, on the right side of the hallway, as it was suggested to him. If everything went according to plan, he’d be in and out before anyone would notice there’s one patient getting less oxygen than required to sustain life. If everything went according to plan, his contact could pull off anything they’ve ever wanted on Caprica. Granted, both of them, especially the one staying behind, had to be careful.
Flickering lights were not uncommon below the level of the main entrance of any building, and this hospital was no exception. Singh had never before been through these doors, only the front ones, a couple of times with a big bad wound in his side. Still, there was something appealing in this undercover GDD/STO business that sparked his Tauron upbringing as he felt the rush of adrenaline flowing in his veins. One door here, codes input there, a few close encounters with several employees in the laundry or at some maintenance juncture points and he was soon up on the ground floor, looking just like another visitor, who passed through regular security checks, implemented by the GDD under his very own leadership.
Then he waited until the guard at the secure-cam room got out between shifts to buy something from the cafeteria, so he could slip in and mix the camera signals for enough time that the next guard won’t see him going up the stairs. This was almost too easy… or maybe they wouldn’t think he’d come here. After all, the Graystones passed through Atlas Arena’s main gate without being caught, and brought down Clarice’s grandiose ideas of fake Heaven.
“Finally.”
The guard opened the door, then closed it carefully, way too slowly. He’d almost yelled How in the name of the One True God could you be this sluggish! But “good manners” – as he put it – or more likely the need to be invisible prevented him from such pleasures at the moment.
After he saw the man shuffle down the hallway, he began the second phase. He was a picture of no-nonsense professionalism, concentration and absolute self-confidence as his hands worked on the keyboards. First, the codes, then messing with the actual system. He looked up every now and then to check the perimeter, but for the moment, everything was fine. The rogue finished and was about to leave the room when the door swung open, the early warning beeping leaving Singh just enough time to get his act together. Having finished with the computer, he slipped across the room, behind the door. He had one chance alone. If he’d screwed up, everything would’ve gone south. He held his breath, preparing himself for the fight with the big man, but instead there was a small, manager type old fool, peeking in, murmuring something about unreliability and closing the door. Singh let out a sigh of relief while closing his eyes to regain his composure and prayed real fast for such good luck on the rest of his journey.
The rest should’ve been simple: passing the laundrywomen, the electricians, the guards and the manager. Everything was on the right track. He used his attained identity card to get through the door leading to the third floor’s ICU wing, gave his best performance about the nonexistent relative on the ward and as the woman searched for the results and made phone calls, he asked where the coffee machine was. That, he truly needed.
“Come on, you’re supposed to be the young titan of the ICU, Doc. You won’t live long enough to lead this ward, or any ward in the universe if you go on like this” Singh saw a nurse handing some notes to a doctor, who’s head he couldn’t see from the dense smoke surrounding it.
“It's just three or four a day, for frak's sake!”
“Yeah… Sure. Three or four packs.”
Singh looked into a room on the corridor, separately set up from the rest. It had to be Dunam.
“Cartons. It’s cartons, not packs”, added another doctor nearby.
And it was Dunam's room. As the agent pushed the door open, he finally arrived to his destination.
“It’s over, Jordan. Once again, your persistence landed on the losing side of this.”
He pulled his knives from his belt and was ready to strike down, when a shout came from behind.
“Open that frakkin' door!” the doctor, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, shouted full force to one of the staff assistants.
Singh was hit in the back at full force. He wasn’t sure if a syringe or a scalpel hit him, but he knew it wasn't serious. With a couple of hits taken he took down the guy, who must have been in his early 20s and showed no evidence of training.
“Next time I say I’m in a hurry override that damn program fas… faster… Is this your first day?!” the young guy mumbled to someone from the floor before hitting Singh’s lower body with a full-force kick, knocking him down to the floor. The doctor used his cigarette as his weapon of choice, burning an ugly, red mark on Singh's left hand, then kicked him out of the room.
The agent landed safely on his back, but the operation was already blown. The doors slid back to their places, security systems checked, there was nothing else but to run away and hide in the city until it’s necessary. He slipped past two nurses, stuck one of his knives into a doctor coming up against him, then pushed him toward two security personnel, preparing to attack. He soon found himself back in the entrance hall, almost everyone searching for him by now. Singh remembered this moment later that day: use the crowd to divert attention.
After he smashed the motorbike into a local store, creating all kinds of havoc, Singh made his way through the area of the spaceport. Looking up on the nearest billboard, he still couldn’t find any GARA SINGH – TERRORIST signs, but that was really just a matter of time. Backdoors, accessing computer terminals, and hacking his way through seemed to be the day’s recurring element. Darkness became his best friend The easy running pace turned into steady running, then an outright sprint after one of the guards saw his looming figure, deciding to “shoot first, ask questions later.” There was no chance whatsoever he could make it to the transport ship without having to kill further, but here he didn’t see any other option. Singh pulled out his gun and shot two men and their female companion in a calculated, cold-blooded manner, no emotions playing on his face.
The transport was in sight, so he doubled his speed to get to it, which was now the only way out of this establishment and off the planet, alive. One final jump, one final shot and it was all over… For now.
Caprica. A beauty. Fit as a fiddle, or bleeding and scarred, she has been and always would be a beauty. But all warfare is based on deception. The polytheists were blindfolding society, waging wars against themselves. In Gara Singh's eyes, this Caprica was a deformed, one-eyed golem, craving for salvation. One day, he will return. Perhaps not soon, but he'll be back to open their eyes to a dawn of a new era.
Caprica ©2010, Syfy. A Division of NBC Universal.
Beginning of Line is a fan site with no affiliation to Caprica, Syfy, or NBC Universal. You should totes know that.
And "Gara Singh: Alley of Darkness" belongs to Dóra Kecskés. No, the characters aren't hers, and she can't get paid for it, but if you want to reprint it anywhere, it'd be nice if you asked.
Beginning of Line is a fan site with no affiliation to Caprica, Syfy, or NBC Universal. You should totes know that.
And "Gara Singh: Alley of Darkness" belongs to Dóra Kecskés. No, the characters aren't hers, and she can't get paid for it, but if you want to reprint it anywhere, it'd be nice if you asked.