Caprica smiles as Bill calls out, "They've got the little girl!" Everybody stares at everybody else just long enough for another blast; Gaius puts Hera down for a second and Cavil pops up out of nowhere, taking down a Marine or two before holding his gun to her head. Bill and Caprica take aim. "This makes it a lot easier," Cavil snivels. "I just take the little girl, and I'm out of here." Bill and Caprica promise him that's not happening, and he's like, "Um, or it will, and I will get to watch you chase your tails across the universe for another four years." Saul calls down, agreeing with Bill and Caprica on how that's not what's going to happen. "This thing is the key to my people's survival, and I'm not leaving without it," he shots, and Gaius goes, "Hera's not a thing. She's a child. And she holds the key to humanity's survival as well." Which he knows how?
Gaius and Caprica look at the angels, across the bridge, and Gaius goes for it. "I see angels," he says, as they smile. Shit gets super stupid. "Angels, in this very room. Now I may be mad, but that doesn't mean that I'm not right. Because there's another force at work here. There always has been, it's undeniable. We've all experienced it. Everyone in this room has witnessed events that they can't fathom, let alone explain away by rational means. Puzzles, deciphered in prophecy. Dreams, given to a chosen few. Our loved ones dead, risen. Whether we want to call that 'God,' or 'Gods,' or some sublime inspiration, or a divine force that we can't know or understand, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, it's here. It exists. And our two destinies are entwined in its force." Another rock of the boat, as Galactica herself protests this in-your-face attempt to bludgeon any questions we might have.
(I'm sorry, but what? I'm the first one to posit -- roll around in, frankly -- the strong religious presence(s) on the show, but we're back to the lecturing, answering-questions-nobody-asked, unsubtle lack of poetry. There's nowhere to go with this speech, as a viewer, because it is what it says, no more, no less: telling, not showing. The "makes sense don't it" to end them all; even more tone-deaf and insecure than the "Watchtower" lyrics, or Galen's embarrassing "and we have been from the start" coda. Cutting up your steak for you and constricting the moment -- which should be soaring, bright and fearless and powerful, inspiring of wonder and awe and above all questions -- to a simple wordy explanation. What does this story mean, what's it about? Let me tell you. No, just shut up and let me tell you. It's lazy, and it's gross, and it's story fatigue, and it's a bummer.)