Battlestar Galactica: Orbital Defense Patrol. 380 days since Colonization. There are several shots of her dead hangar, dead steerage, dead hallways. Adama walks through a ghostly hallway, stops under a flickering, buzzing light, now wearing a mustache. It's creepy, the ghost ship. He stares up, then down: his girl is dying.
Voice-Over Adama: "I'm telling you to go, okay?" We're in his quarters, sitting at a table with Tigh. "No, it's not okay." Tigh's at a loss, lighting a cigarette and looking pained. "I feel like I'm abandoning my post," he says, but Adama smiles kindly. "It's time to pack it in, Saul. You know it. More than half the crew is down there on the ground already. We can barely put a squadron in the air to train, much less fly a decent CAP. We're not really doing too much up here anymore." Tigh protests that Adama's staying, but Adama just says that somebody has to take care of the lighthouse. That's what the Fleet is now. Tigh's never been just a guy. Adama pulled him out of nothing and gave him a purpose. And now Adama's taking it away again. Tigh's terrified: "Then I'll stay and take care of it with you!" Adama protests that there's "only one person per lighthouse," and I don't know if that's a literal Baltar decree or a colloquialism, but Tigh's not having it: "We both know the Cylons could still show up." Bill points out that they've now been on New Caprica longer than they spent running. "I don't think they're coming back anymore," he says. And I don't think he's being an idiot, or a pussy: his job was to get these people home, alive, and he's done that. Why should he go looking for trouble, or seeing ghosts in the shadows? The Big Lie worked. They lived. They're safe. Now, Saul, would be the time for a "What the hell?" But none comes. Adama stands, and they shake. He wishes Tigh luck, and hugs him so tight, Tigh nearly crying. Adama cracks a joke about how, if Ellen gives Saul "too much trouble," he should find himself "a younger one." Tigh laughs, almost cries, and heads out. Adama sits and takes out a cigarette. Crazy Olmos Improv Alert! He opens his lighter, then tears the filter off the cigarette and lights it. He's tired too.
We cut to New Caprica City, facing Colonial One sitting like a toad at the edge of the settlement. Population 39,192. I don't know how much of that drop is people Gina killed, and how many people are still orbiting. Somebody comes over the PA about food rations, and everywhere there are hippies in ponchos, big knitted scarves, silly hats. It's like if Burning Man and Sundance had a dirty, ugly baby: it looks like hell. ["That's certainly my idea of it." -- Wing Chun] A blonde woman emerges from the crowd, with long blonde hair, looking for "Sam." It's Kara! She finds Anders on a makeshift Pyramid court, coughing and playing. Kara starts yelling that she's been looking everywhere. He gets sacked and coughs and laughs from the ground. "Doc Cottle is here," she tells him. "You're sick. You're supposed to be in bed." She picks him up from the ground, pissed, as he complains that he'd rather work it out on the court than lie in bed all day. "I can't believe I married a moron," she harps, as he doubles over at her side. "Are you okay?" she asks him. He stands and protests that he's fine as she supports him across the camp, to their home.