"How many is that now?" asks Chip Six, a smile on her face. That's five. "Not including the thirty or forty who've written letters," she grins, scary, and he nods. He walks a line between wanting to believe and wanting to appear above belief; he switches back and forth between the Gods and the God, between atheism and prophecy. Whatever makes him look least silly, at any given time: "Well. I suppose it can't be helped. Celebrity trials invariably bring out the crazies." But Six knows better: Six always knows better. Six always knows how he'll twist and turn, how you give him the rope to hang himself with. How you tell him the words to explain it to himself; the inner dialogue he can repeat over and over until he believes again. He's strong, blameless, a hero: this is what he needs. "So you think they're crazy? See, I saw a woman in pain. I saw a woman who can see you more clearly than you can see yourself. Even if they kill you," she nearly whispers, "Your name will live on forever." Even if it was going to do that anyway, it's heavy stuff, especially for a man like this. When you don't know where you're standing, all you have are the whispers in your ear; he's a lot like Lee right now. I wonder how much Six had to say about this Marxist revolution?
Racetrack and Skulls sit in trailing position, in good old 289er. CIC tells her to have fun watching their asses; Racetrack tells Tigh to have fun watching Baltar's ass get nailed in turn. Twelve hours total, waiting on the enemy that never comes; "like bait on a hook," Skulls describes it. She laughs and they deal: twelve hours of Triad and then home.
"How do we measure loss?" Cassidy searches the faces of the tribunal: Adama, Franks (Tigh's real-life wife!), three other ship captains. They are not yet bored. "How do we measure loss? We measure it in the faces of the dead. The faces that haunt our memories and our dreams. How do we measure loss? We measure it in our own faces. The ones we see in the mirror every day. Because it has marked each of us. So how do we measure loss? When the scale of it becomes too hard to absorb any other way, we use numbers. How many killed. How many maimed. How many missing. And when those numbers become too vast to comprehend, as they did two years ago, we had to turn it around. We began to count the living." She turns to a whiteboard (!) and begins the cold equations.
"Those of us who survived to continue the saga of the human race: 44,035. The sum total of survivors from the Twelve Colonies who settled on New Caprica with President Gaius Baltar as their leader and protector." (This number actually includes the ~4,800 people who stayed in orbit, no matter what she says or implies.) "38,838: Our number the day after we escaped." (This number doesn't include the ~2,600 military personnel in the Fleet, based on the survival count for "Collaborators." You know I could give a fuck, but it's like, dude, you're writing a show with a serious Asperger's contingent, second only to like Lost -- think you could not send them screaming? Actual whiteboard, with actual numbers, which actual viewers obsess over every week. Come on. On the other hand, I'm so sure that they fought this out in the writer's room, or at least Taylor did some double-checked math on this, so it's presumably just another way of looking at them. Or Cassidy's as dirty as the rest of us. However: that means that around 5,523 were lost between Cloud 9 and the Year in Baltar's Hair, and only 2,592 died during the Occupation and Second Exodus: she's right by being wrong, because actually that's 8,115 people he's killed in the last two years alone -- besides, you know, almost the entirety of humanity. But given the charges, she can only indict based the civilian casualties of the Occupation and Second Exodus, so I guess that's where her numbers ultimately come from, and they're not that far off.) She subtracts one from the other: "And the missing number, the one that no one wants to face. 5,197. 5,197 of us killed, left behind, or simply disappeared. 5,197 of all that remains of the human race. Lost."