Then the signal came. Not words. A pressure behind his eyes. A single line of code lighting up his spine: Begin.

But then he heard it. A child’s cry from a collapsed transport tube.

Simon tried to answer. The words came out wrong. “She recites poetry. She saved a moth from a fire. She cries for her mother even though her mother is atoms now. I don’t know why that matters.”

“No,” Simon said. “But I think I’m broken.”

Admiral Adama read the note. He looked at the raven. Then he ordered it burned.