The fact remains that the Cylon can't trust the humans any further than the humans can trust them, and right now they're in the most vulnerable position imaginable: this alliance is about one thing and one thing only. Finding a place to rest and a chance to figure out how they can continue to live. They are brave, but not that brave, and there's no reason for them to be otherwise: if they're there solely for the protection offered by the Fleet -- having purchased that protection through the willing commission of genocide, on themselves -- why in hell would they stick around once the warranty's voided? If there's no Fleet, if it's turning on itself more hideously than it ever has before, killing itself out of aggregate social rage, in some kind of heavily armed hysterical tantrum, who cares what happens next? Humanity's not living up to its end of the deal, so what else is new.

And what's saddest about this whole movement of the story is how nobody has a plan. The Cylons couldn't find their own assholes with a flashlight and a map, and never could, and up until Earth even Bill and Laura pretty much wanted to leave humanity's children in a parking lot like a nation of homicidal Punky Brewsters. Trauma means depression, and depression could be pretty much defined as the inability to come up with a plan. Athena's arrow pointed nowhere, and everyone's drowning in the pain of that and refusing to come up with anything. Bill (and Laura, now, thank God) could think only as far as bringing the 268s on their next leg, which they then decided to nap on instead of figuring out. That's maddening on several levels.

It's just like post-industrial England: what now? What next? Everything is broken. And the mutiny still doesn't have their And Then Whats in place either. They're just committing ontological war on fate, expressing rage without going anywhere. The smartest kind of warfare is the kind where you become the enemy, love the enemy until the crinkly edges of complexity are all that are left. Even as the Cylons were splitting like the atom bomb, clustering around the little pockets of Gaius's taint, Laura was hardening into something scarier than the Cylon ever were, and that is a good thing. One nation, under the stars: The only good thing to come out of the revolution this time is the disbanding of the Quorum, and they manage to fuck that one up impressively too.