"They're gonna execute the infected prisoners. But not until we jump into a Cylon region with a resurrection ship present." Athena begins to cry, laying her head on his shoulder. "The infection's gonna spread everywhere." Quickly, a logistics question: because I'm going with the physical representation of the Cylon as a network hubbed by the resurrection ships v. the open scattered radio of the Colonial Fleet, does... that mean he's asking her to kill herself? I know he'd do it, and it would be easy for her to download and jump in a Raider and come home -- assuming Starbuck or Kat aren't on the CAP, she'd probably make it -- but: is he asking her to kill herself? Or are they going to like, I don't know, email her antigens to them? It's weird. (Also, they already have Hera, and the only people that don't know that are Helo and -- probably but not definitively, and not for long -- Sharon. Making this particular line of thought just bleak and depressing enough to actually be on the show.)
Meanwhile, Adama and Roslin drink tea in his office; her feet up beneath her, body language easy and comfortable. "There's a point I'd like to make," says Adama. "The law forbids me to use biological weapons without a direct presidential order." Which, Roslin points out, means he's passing the buck. And yeah, that's exactly what he's doing. Covering his existential ass while not endangering their relationship by actively calling her out on yet another horrible, soul-sucking decision. "On this one, yes. Helo's right on one thing: we start destroying entire races -- even mechanical races -- we're liable to tear off a piece of man's soul." I think that parenthetical is purely for her benefit; I wonder how he would put it if Sharon were here, rather than freaking out upstairs with her husband. "The Cylons are coming to Earth. If they find us, they are coming for us. Those are the stakes. They always have been, Bill." All true. The right answers. But they're the answers to the wrong question.
"We're talking about the genocide of your entire race," says Helo, and Sharon whimpers, trying to keep her back straight. "Yeah. You think I don't know that? I made a choice to wear a uniform. To be a person." He's only hearing about half of what she's saying, and blundering again: "You were a person before you put on that uniform. Okay? You were a person before I fell in love with you. You don't have to prove that." (White people, straight people, men, are that maybe ten minutes out of the day; the rest of us get to be what we are twenty-four fucking seven. I'm really not trying to be the whiny liberal this week, but you talk about what's handed to you.) "I have to prove it every day," she spits, angry. And calmer: "Let me tell you something, Helo. My people may die, my entire race may be wiped out. But this Cylon will keep her word, even if it means she's the last Cylon left in the universe." Categorical imperative satisfied, in the most warped possible way. I don't agree with Sharon, for once: you don't get to take the easy way out and define yourself this way. You'll always be both, one foot her and one there, and that's your strength and that's your glory, but it's also your sucky life. Grow up. Or maybe she's just as good at looking at her options as Helo is, and seeing the right way to be: with malice toward none, and charity for all. Won't kill or turn traitor to save their race, won't move to help the other side either. And that really is her sucky life, and I guess I forgive her.