1050: The Cylon nation jumps right up Laura's ass, Tory first. We haven't seen the Cylon in a good long while, either, so certain assumptions must be made. When Bill pulled himself together after Dee, he invited them along for the next ride. That's all we know. And of course, it's not that simple: the 268 are a nation in more jeopardy than the Colonials, having lost two sisters and almost all their brothers, their newest goal for which they sacrificed everything, their safety and immortality and lineage, their national identity. I'm not pleading sympathy for the devil this time because honestly, humanity has pretty much demonstrated they don't deserve the benefit of the doubt, w/r/t how much compassion they can be trusted to display. (On the other hand, "national identity" is exactly the thing that the Colonials should lose, and what's killing them now.) At this point it's more like something humans shouldn't even be expected to understand, just like not letting your dog do your taxes. All that wasted, ugly effort, by people who could be so beautiful. Isn't that sad?
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.