Fake-out! The gunfire meant to execute the random innocents and insurgents was actually Chief's toaster-smashing backup; meanwhile, the Sharon/Anders meet-up involved some backup plans of her own. The survival of Cally, Roslin and Zarek, plus the whole HAVE HOPE thing we forgot to tell everybody last week, gives the denizens of New Caprica a bit of a future. For now. Gaius continues to bitch and moan and have weird marital moments with Chip Six, which are somewhat marred by the meaner Cylons' new theory where they blow everybody to kingdom come and let one god or the other sort 'em all out in a nuclear fashion, Tigh continues to rock the hell out and have weird marital moments with Ellen marred only by how everybody totally knows she sold out the entire Resistance; somehow she manages to live through at least this episode but things do not look awesome in her future. Speaking of soothsaying, Honey Bunny shows up as a chamalla-freak to make Laura look like a teetotaler, talking a big game about how both the Cylon God and the real Gods totally talk to her and tell her things. Things? Oh, like how Three's dreams about Hera are totally going to come true, and how she's going to love the Cybrid but also it will make her even more nuts than she's ever been before.
Speaking of nuts, though, Kara Thrace manages to take in every little detail about her horrible fake life except for how her child is whatever's worse than a Cylon, or else a totally awesome baby, and generally doesn't do anything we haven't seen her do this season, considering that amounts to losing it, losing it a bit more, and then seriously losing it. Lee and Bill say goodbye but they're totally going to see each other in a second; this doesn't change the fact that we finally get another trademark Adama Speech that makes you wanna do some unspecified but very inspired things of some sort that mean belief and the survival of mankind. Sharon -- loving Bill still -- goes undercover among the Cylons to get those gosh-darn launch keys, so the rescuees can do more than sit around staring at the eight-person Raptor she brought and then back at the scores of thousands of them and wonder if Cally was right after all. In prep for the Big Damn Rescue, Roslin goes into overload protecting Hera, which of course insured something HORRIBLE is going to happen with the baby, and you know it'll involve Three, Sharon, Roslin, Maya, and probably Boomer into the mix, and nobody will be happy.
Previously on Battlestar Galactica, Tigh could not figure out why they suddenly let him out of detention! But we knew it was because Cavil was screwing him and Ellen both. Doral, Three, and Roslin all agreed that Sharon's Cybrid baby Hera needed to be protected, but they all had different ideas about how this should happen. Roslin won, because she's Roslin, and they sent the baby off with pretty old Maya. The only people who knew about the switcheroo, as far as we knew, were Roslin, Tory, and Doc Cottle. Chief and Helo and Sharon didn't know, and Adama... face it, he probably knew. Anyway, there was a dead regular baby, and a secret Cybrid baby. And now there's Kacey, who was nearly both and is still mixed up and nobody knows for sure! Not even God(s), who have yet to weigh in on the Kacey issue one way or the other -- well, maybe they saved her last week -- yet simply cannot shut up about Hera. But then, that's been going on since the first season, hasn't it? Anyway, immediately previous to right now, Cally (and Zarek and Roslin) and Anders (and Sharon) were lined up and executed. Sort of.
ONE HOUR EARLIER THAN ALL THAT, though, Tigh is in his tent trying to replace his eye bandage. (Sigh. I thought we talked about that EIGHT MONTHS EARLIER THAN TODAY. And on top of everything else, Tahmoh Penniket hates me! So we got two in the loss column for the week, and it's... Tuesday.) Ellen helps Tigh sweetly with his bandage -- and yeah, there's no eyeball there, and it's weird -- and they are very tender and sweet with each other, as usual. Tigh laments his loss of depth perception and how he can't get it right in the mirror anymore. Two things I would think he would have noticed he's shitty at before now. At least now he's got the excuse of only one hard-boiled eyeball left. When I said I hated him, I didn't really mean he should lose an eye and his wife should raise her slut level to toasterfucker. (I'm not saying I wouldn't have. I'm just not creative enough to have come up with this, and also I love him now.) Ellen starts into her big apology-slash-admission of guilt regarding selling out the Sharon/Anders rendezvous (to be fracked up with gunfire IN ONE HOUR), but... Cally manages to fuck things up even from miles away and/or beyond the grave.
Chief comes running in, totally freaked out about how Cally's on the execution list. So totally freaked out is Chief that he... seems to have shaved and moisturized before running to her aid. (I'd do some grocery shopping, maybe get a manicure, just to make sure. Send some old friends a casual hello on Myspace; the kind they don't feel like they have to answer, so you come out on top. Plan Cally's funeral. Read some New Caprica Quarterly cartoons.) Tigh is like, "What now?" The "source," also known as "obviously Gaeta," left the list of execution detainees in the dead drop, and Cally's on it. Chief babbles at length, and Tigh ignores it all: "Cally's in the group heading for map coordinate x-ray seven." Babble babble. That's cool that he actually contracted her uselessness, like a virus, and can't think straight in even this minor crisis all of a sudden. (Remember when his last girlfriend spent weeks turning into an actual Cylon before his very eyes, and he got tortured to the point where he actually died for a second, and then his girlfriend shot herself in her own face, and then shot the military leader of the free world in a variable location? And he didn't even break a sweat the entire time, until his now wife shot this girlfriend in the chest and she died in his arms with his name on her lips? But he was still total class about everything? Remember when Chief was, for want of a better word -- relatively, I mean, taking into account the suicidal stuff and the physical assault of at least two other members of the crew -- phlegmatic? Don't you like this retard much better?)