In Colonial One, Roslin and Cottle are having a Glaring Bee, Junior Division. Roslin: "This is not a debate. This child will not be raised by the Cylon, and I cannot risk Cylon agents getting their hands on it. I've made my decision. What I need from you, Doctor, is your help." Cottle makes that wonderful face he makes: "Fine. I don't like it, but have it your way." Roslin nods: "Airlock says I will, thanks." Cottle, playing for time, says, "We'll have to find somebody suitable. I'll have to work up a list of names." Hot chick? Check. Electronically efficient? Check. Fingerprints all over the disposition of the Cybrid? Check. Ladies and gentlemen, presenting Tory the Total Cylon, who just stuck her USB finger into a printer when we weren't looking and produced an octagonal list of adoptive parents: "Each of them is capable. Each of them is anonymous. And each can be trusted." Um, yeah! By the Cylons! "Thought of everything, haven't you?" grumps Cottle, taking the list. There's extreme and blurry foregrounding of Tory as Roslin says, "I hope so." Everything except your TOTAL CYLON AIDE, babe. Cottle leaves and Tory sits, her hair loose and looking very wavy and lustrous. It's possible that she's prettier than Billy.
In the rubble of the garage, Six lies unconscious. Biers calls to her, coughing, and Sharon asks just exactly what happened before the commercial. Biers lifts a huge piece of rubble off her worthless metal ass and explains the obvious: "An explosion? Building came down on us? Looks like the stairwell saved us." "Where's Six?" asks Sharon, and Biers shakes her head: "Her body's dead." Six's delivery of the next line is wonderful, so pained and matter-of-fact at the same time: "No, not yet." Almost exhausted. It's great. Biers and Sharon remove the debris covering Six, and her leg is like hamburger. "Would've been better if the explosion had killed her," says Biers. "There's nothing we can do about the pain until we get her out of here." They make a tourniquet out of Biers's scarf, and Biers applies pressure, even as she's being "comforting": "Six. I can get a cross beam and put you out of your misery." Six is not having that, of course, and Biers shrugs. They pop her leg back into place. Ugh. "Where the heck are we, anyway?" asks Biers, even though she just told Sharon. Sharon answers the question, since Biers just told her the answer: "Must be in the garage. North entrance might be that way," she says, pointing vaguely. "I'm going to start digging." I love that this episode -- which you had to know was going to be my all-time favorite based on the previews alone -- is basically about three hot chicks with superpowers having coffee and doing Mean Girls shit to each other. If only Roslin could have somehow shown up and they could all have a nice long chat about States' rights and abortion and Adlerian sociology and Passions and whether Cylons get cramps, and braid each other's hair while Chief feeds them grapes and Helo cradles a baby in the corner, shirtless and maybe quietly weeping. Add guns and girls kissing each other, and that's Appointment Television for me, which is why I love Farscape so much, because I totally just described that whole series for you. As well as most Scandinavian cinema.