Battlestar Galactica
Crossroads, Part I

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That Old Song They Used To Play

Tigh lies on the floor of his quarters, sound through the static, broken. Too much music and too many memories, and hurtling closer to the nebula with every drink.

Gaeta welcomes Helo to the CIC -- a new day, a new job for Helo. XO! That's hilarious. I'm serious about the lunch lady thing now. Helo swears it's temporary and assures Gaeta that the Colonel's going to pull it together. In all his time aboard Galactica, Gaeta has never seen anything remotely like that, so he's being as nice as he can when he expresses as little suspicion as possible about this theory. Down on the war table, Gaeta explains Part Two of Two. The tylium ship leads the Cylons to X place, opposite the Fleet, then recalibrates their FTL and jumps to rendezvous at the Ionian Nebula. No Cylons following the fuel ship -- so I guess the whole five-basestar freak-out was successfully avoided by 289er's jump, which explains Bill's order to leave a bigger space than usual between 289er and the Fleet on that last jump -- and they've forgotten about Galactica and the Fleet, too. We're down to three jumps 'til they presumably lead the Cylons straight to the Nebula, and thus the next road sign to Earth, and everything goes haywire and changes forever, like every season.

Yep, I was right. I can tell from the look on Helo's face. So can Gaeta: "Uh, anything else, sir?" No, he was just thinking. Thinking about the weather on Caprica, how sometimes you'd get this smell in the air: "I mean, the sun could be out, not a cloud in the sky, but you'd pick up this smell and you knew that, um, something was just over the horizon. Weather's changing, Felix. We need to be ready for it. There's a storm coming."

Well, Jesus, is it a storm of anvils? Cute, can't exposit for shit.

And in Tigh's quarters, the trial continues: He scrabbles around in his cell, curled and skinny, scrabbling with his hands and fingers. His hands scratch out the beats, on his cell wall. His eye is gone. He scuttles like a spider. The song's coming, louder and louder, so clear you can almost hear it. The camera goes sickening, swooning again, all over, Hitchcock-style. He smells like shit and torture. He finally knows where the sound is coming from: it's coming from the ship.

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Battlestar Galactica




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