I mean, you know? That's impressively fucked up. I think the Lords of Kobol just revealed that I need to marry Bear McCreary as of ten minutes ago. Anyway, all the little Batshit Anythingers stand up and try to look nubile, but won't meet his eyes. Which is a funny journey for him to take: he started out as a celebrity with all the eyes on him, and then he was hidden away on New Caprica and started to look kind of diseased because he never went outside and just hated himself more and more and did a bunch of drugs and had unwise sex, and then after the Trial people pointedly wouldn't look at him, but now he's so...whatever is simultaneously the opposite of famous and notorious, accessible and frightening, consumable and poisonous. Taboo? Holy? Now he's so holy, to this self-selected group of sadsack weirdos that nobody will look at him again.

There's a shrine to Gaius Baltar, made with cardboard and Christmas lights, candles and pictures and little corn dollies, whatever's scraped together from what's come before, detritus and flotsam, a six-pointed star drawn in marker, random beads strewn and hanging. And Gaius, who is after all, a genius, nods and basks in the absolutely pure irony: "Right." So this is the situation I get to deal with now. These are the raw materials at my disposal. This is where Gaius Baltar ended up, the anything he demanded, for his guilt and his disappointment; the way his spiritual destiny was snatched away in the Rapture, only to express itself anew, in revolution and sedition, and prose. This is the man he chose to be.

THE CALCULATION OF ACCEPTABLE RISK

The Admiral and the Colonel look down from the balcony in the hangar bay: Zeus and Ares, standing at the very Gates where Hephaestus threw himself to death, over and over again, every night, afraid of the end of everything. Grieving for the exodus of his humanity.

But that was when he didn't have any choices, just fears and suspicions. Now he's got choices, and he's got the man he's chosen to be, and that man is watching Kara Thrace climb down out of a Viper shinier and newer and in better shape than anything we, as viewers, have ever seen. She's talking a mile a minute, obviously, because she doesn't remember yet. Not the storm or what she did, but everything after that. When she brought them Earth: a gift, to replace everything the Cylons took from each of them. The morning star and a fair wind. A fresh start.