"If you stay put, you give Adama a chance to save them." Tory and the Six take a breath, worried by complexity and fuzzy logic; worried because they've always liked yes/no, firm answers, easy binaries, lists of responsibilities: Capricorn and Virgo worrying at the idea that Adama in the box both can and cannot save them all. "Put your ship in the middle of the Fleet. Use the Fleet for cover. Give Adama some time." Tory's hurting, wanting to believe but crushed under a list of terrors. That's the opposite direction of what they want: that's connection on a level that endangers her nation. Gaius gets a headache as Laura explains that Gaeta won't jeopardize the Fleet: "He doesn't have the guts." She puts on her scary teacher voice, the one Tory remembers and the one the 268s have only begun to fear, and snaps them all into line: "Now come on, do it!"
Felix welcomes Bill back to the CIC with a backhanded compliment about how he wouldn't have left on the Raptor. Bill assures him he loves Galactica too much to "let it be overrun by rats." Felix turns this around -- "I quite expect to end my life caring most for a place" -- by wishing Bill cared as much for the people aboard. Bill finally looks at him, addresses him: "You have no frakkin' idea..." Felix cuts him off, ordering him to prove it by calling Roslin and telling her to surrender. He refuses; Felix affects boredom and lost patience: "I'll ask you one more time, Admiral." Bill's head snaps up, the glare like razor wire: "Admiral. Admiral?" No. Not for a while, not really. Certainly not now. She's tainted by his touch, now. Falling apart. "You're the Admiral now. So you call up Roslin. Make her laugh." He takes off his Admiral's pips, her first gift to him, and tosses them on the table. His pride in the idea of her is breathtaking. He knows she has faith, even if they haven't found the Lie yet to fill it with. Felix prepares to attack the Basestar, but Gage notices it finally moving into the Fleet. The Thirteenth Tribe, coming home to the only nation that exists now. Felix quarantines her, and sends Kelly to fetch Zarek. "Now you're going to shoot me, Mr. Gaeta." It's not really a question.
39,603 souls in the Fleet, including a memorably shitty CGI guy walking the hangar as Colonial One docks. 1116 hours, and Zarek's flirting, telling Racetrack an off-color joke about priests fucking children, and she laughs appreciatively. When this is all over there will be a reckoning, she's thinking, and you want to be on the side of the winners, the ones left standing. The Twins watch them go by, hidden away on the deck, and retreat to the shadows. On the Basestar, Laura continues her lifelong estrangement from technology, yelling her name into a Raptor wireless that's clearly offline, begging to engage again now that they're safely in position. In the brig, Caprica tends to Saul and Hera looks down at her wounded father, scared and confused. Athena assures her; Sam muses on what Felix is going to do to them. "In your case?" Tigh grunts from the rack, "Cut off one of your frakkin' legs." The humor is sort of underappreciated. Everybody shivers.