“How many of us are there?” The question is asked softly, almost a whispered prayer, as if Amanda was afraid of the answer. In truth, she was. They all were. This wasn’t how the Game was supposed to end.

Methos tossed a chip into the center of the table, not looking up from his cards as he commented, “A thousand. Maybe a few more.”

Silence reigned amongst the small clutch of Immortals sitting around the table. Finally, Connor broke the silence with an oath. Whether he was cursing the Cylons for their attack, cursing the mortals for their failure, or cursing their own kind for their blindness, none of them knew for sure. Each had their opinion but all kept them silent.

“What about pre-Immortals?” Richie was the one to ask that. The only one who dared.

“Don’t know.” Duncan put in morosely. “Harder to judge.” He asked for another card and reached for his drink. He didn’t take a sip or even move it toward his lips. Instead, he swirled the amber liquid around and stared as though it were the Oracle herself, ready to speak the truths of the ages.

“We need to find out.” Amanda insisted, her characteristic mercurial nature subdued since the attacks on the colonies. “If there are any more...” She didn’t speak about the Immortals potentially trapped on the now-Cylon-occupied colonies. The ones who had ‘died’ in the attacks only to revive later.

Those of their kind left behind.

“What about the Watchers?” Matthew drawled lazily, his assumed accent thickened with exhaustion. He was one of the few agents of the Colonial Bureau of Investigation to survive and, as such, found himself in a rather busy position. Stuck between President Roslin’s attempts to rebuild the civilian hierarchy and Commander Adama’s attempt to keep order. “Any of Dawson's people make it out?”

“A few.” Duncan agreed. “Joe’s been trying to track them all down.” He exhaled heavily. “He’s managed to find a few left in the fleet, a few more’ve shown up here...” He nodded at Amanda. “You’ve been...”

She waved a hand in a minute gesture, dismissing his thanks, “Someone has to serve the drinks and listen to the problems. They’re practically experts and I’d be crazy to turn down free labour.”

They offered the expected chuckle but none of them had forgotten the tenuous position Amanda was in. Running the only pleasure ship in the fleet had garnered her more attention than any Immortal liked. The President choosing to hold the Quorum on the ship certainly hadn’t made things any easier.

“Are we going to tell them?” Richie blurted out suddenly. It was the question none of them had ever wanted to ask but all knew had to be. The one they’d all been avoiding. Did they or did they not tell Adama. “They’re looking for Cylons...sooner or later...”

None of them spoke. None of them needed to. They all knew what would happen.

This wasn’t how the Game was supposed to end.

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