Skulls sees something, a ghost of a something on the long-range dradis. "Holy frak, we're right on top of a singularity." You always have been. They're already sliding toward it. Skulls spins up the FTL, to escape, but before he does he notices something else.
Lee's wearing his Major's uniform, but no insignia or wings. This is a special occasion. The most special, the final occasion. He's standing in the wardroom with the Final Five, and his family. Kara points to the Colony's location, and the Twins explain the singularity, trading lines and explanations as the rest of them watch. "It's within our jump range, but there's a sizable catch: It's located within an accretion disk of a naked singularity." The Colony's bound within the gravity well of the black hole, but maintains a stable orbit." (Quibble the terminology or don't, you know I don't have time for that stuff.)
There's no way to navigate the current, Kara explains: the "tidal stresses," meaning the gravity variances and weird radiation, make that impossible. The areas closer to the singularity rush forward faster than the parts of the ship that can't, and she's torn apart. There's one safe spot, however, that they've found. Lee points it out: while Racetrack and Skulls were taking pictures, they got to see two Baseships jump in and out. Saul points out that it is crazy close, and Lee nods. Less than a klick. He agrees with Saul on its tactical advantages: it's a bottleneck; it's going to be wildly, violently defended.
"All right," Bill says firmly. "Let's get to work."
And Three's looking at it all. Takes a host of moments -- fear, guilt, longing, secrets, love, hate -- and edits it down, combines them all into one living, beautiful thing. A memory of greatness, a ray of hope about the future.
"I came to Galactica to tell a story. In all honesty I thought I knew what that story was before I ever set foot there: how an arrogant military let their egos get in the way of doing their jobs, safeguarding the lives of the civilian population.
"But I found out that the truth was more complex than that. These people aren't Cylons, they're not robots blindly following orders and polishing their boots. They're people. Deeply flawed, yes, but deeply human too, and maybe that's saying the same thing.
"What struck me most is that despite it all -- the hardships, the stress, the ever-present danger of being killed, despite all that -- they never give up. They never lie down in the road and let the truck run them over. They wake up in the morning, put on their uniforms and do their jobs. Every day. No pay, no rest, no hope of ever laying down the burden or letting someone else do the job. There are no relief troops coming, no Colonial Fleet training new recruits every day. The people on Galactica are it. They are the thin line of blue that separates us from the Cylons.