"We're joining the Baseship. All of us. We can jump away from the Fleet whenever you're ready." The Eight and Six thank her, overwhelmed with fear and gratitude and the promise of safety and Utopia. Saul begins to scream. "The vote is you and Anders, versus me, Tory, and Galen." Case closed: "Caprica, obviously that means you have to come too. Wouldn't you like to raise your child where it's safe?" Caprica's wary, bothered by something behind the bright rhetoric but she can't see it yet: "I want him to be safe, yes..." Saul shouts at Ellen, that Caprica can't know what it means: what leaving the Fleet will do to him, to his heart. What it means to the man he chooses to be. "I used to think Hera was the only hope for us. But clearly that's just not true anymore," Ellen muses, as Caprica learns to hate being her football more and more. More five A.M. philosophy.
"No. Her baby, he's pure Cylon. If we go off and make some pure Cylon culture... That's what happened on Earth, and it led to disaster. Pure human doesn't work. Pure Cylon doesn't work. It's too weak." Martha advances directly toward her point, the crisis she's been working toward, the thing you don't say upon which everything depends: "You just don't want to leave the one you really love." The red wheelbarrow. "We two boys together clinging,/ One the other never leaving." The things she'd say when she was too drunk to care anymore, when she wanted his anger. A little pull on the hair, when he had hair; a little nasty double entendre to spice things up, to goad. Caprica feels the mood shift, they all do; the air gets cold and stale and the line connecting her and her lover twangs softly, weakening. It smells like Colonial One, down in the gutter of the presidency, when they'd put their heads together and drink, their nasty little secrets. So much affected blindness on New Caprica, so many heads turned, it's a wonder they could ever see at all. What is she not getting? "Talk to me, what is this?" And Saul could not be more disgusted: "It's petty. And vile." And it is.
Tory, though, has had motherfucking enough. "She's voted. When's the jump? We can be ready in an hour." Saul decrees he's not going and she reminds him that -- without him ever agreeing to it -- they all agreed on majority rule. "Well frak, apparently we invented majority rule. But I don't remember it, so frak that." I don't know why all these ladies are in love with Saul Tigh but I know exactly why they should be. Caprica tries to calm him down, begging him not to be goaded. Unsure still what this is, but knowing Martha's pushed George clean over. He will not be calmed. "All right, go. Go. All of you. Caprica. Go. Go be pure, and safe, and whatever the frak. I'm not going." Which is exactly what Ellen wanted all along.