Down in the hangar bay, Tyrol starts putting together some kind of spaceship with his bare hands. And a soldering iron. I guess we're meant to assume that he's been up all night, putting that thing I was just bitching about into perspective, but whatever, it would still have worked because the techs come in rubbing their eyes and yawning. There are lots of fun cuts of Tyrol working really hard, people staring, and lots and lots of plans. Given his opening by Jammer, Tyrol explains that they're going to be building a new fighter. Jammer, the voice of the people, complains that they're already backlogged on repairs, but Tyrol reassures them that it's "strictly off-duty" and that they're meant to continue doing their regular work. Everybody stares at him like he just suggested dumb old Hotdog for the new XO. (Which...hmm.) With some ribbing from that salty dog Figurski, Jammer points out that this is an incredibly daunting project. That's totally what I was thinking. I mean, I know it's their job, basically, but the concept of, say, building someone a car seems about as doable to me personally as the proof for Gödel's Uncertainty Theorem, or understanding the point of football, or explaining the concept of "reality" to Anne Rice. With due respect to Jammer's new role as vox populi, Tyrol tells them all to frack right off, and Cally gets all kicked-dog immediately, like she always does. Tyrol tells her to "forget it" (again), and sends them back to work. It's cool how dirty Tyrol is right now. He looks all demented and unshaven and generally desperation walking, but he's still Chief under all the crazy, so you still want to give him a hug, because you always want to give Chief a hug. ["Finally, something we agree on." -- Strega]
Roslin's all red-eyed in the Med Bay, asking Cottle how much time she has. Oh, hell. She's, like, my favorite actor on this planet and I really, really hate talking about her dying. No matter how Koresh Roslin gets, Mary McDonnell's still the shining jewel in a show full of amazing talent. Cottle's like, "Weeks. A month at the outside." Barf. Roslin paces, and runs behind the privacy curtain. I love how you have to shower with Apollo and Kara all out in the open, but in the doctor's office you still get a screen. Dr. Cottle is about as deflated as we've ever seen him. Roslin comes out of there with her resolute face: "Will I be able to work?" She starts to shake her head with horror as Cottle gives her a thumbs-up prognosis, with the caveat that if the cancer hits her brain, the outlook won't be so rosy. I hate this. I get it, but I hate it.