Some time after the attacks -- we don't know how long quite yet and neither does she -- Kendra's putting CIC back together. Literally, soldering circuit boards into cabinets and connecting wires and breakers. Over at Command, Belzen confirms 723 casualties, more than a quarter of the crew; twelve Vipers gone, some Raptors, seventeen ships beyond repair. Helena flicks her knife open, and closed, confining her nerves to one location, the span of a hand. But Belzen's less sanguine; he wasn't expecting this like she was. "Sir, we've tried to keep a lid on what we learned from comms traffic before it stopped, but rumors keep leaking out." They agree that facts, not supposition, are key here: Cain's Law, again. Not what if or how come, but simple "what happens" and "what happens next." Belzen points out that they're only four or five plotted jumps (my emphasis) from the Colonies. Helena sends two Raptors for recon, told not to engage, and Kendra readies the navigation and defense systems for reboot. Helena notices her, and draws close.
Kendra looks totally fucking nuts, blood on her face, hair worse than even Tory's, after the trial. Just looking like hell, and keeping it together, locked up tight. "Helms, weapons and FTL computer are back online, and I think I know how the Cylons took down our defense grid. These lines of code in the new navigation program were about to upload. They've been designed to create a backdoor that could enable an enemy to wirelessly access the program." Sound familiar? It should. It's not just because we're revisiting things we already know: these words, these particular rhythms, are pointing us toward another memory. Not Gaeta and the networks, not Adama saying no, but before, long before: we're meant to be thinking about Gaius Baltar, about his lover Sarah, down on Caprica. How he fell in love with her, and she fell in love with him, even as she was bringing his world down around him. How many people in Caprica City alone? Seven million. Gaius and Caprica spent a lot of time together in that city, working out the details for the Ministry of Defense. One thing led to the other. He has needs, just like the rest of us. No one can survive entirely on their own, not even Gaius Baltar. Trust me, in the end we're all just human. Even when we're not.
Caprica Six's story continues to work that out: how can you love someone at the same time that you're planning their destruction and extinction? How can you weep for a child after snapping its neck? How can you do both? How do you compensate, without the Chips come calling, telling you everything you need to hear and everything you don't want to hear? I don't know, but I know how you can avoid it: take all that ambiguity and stow it somewhere safe. Ignore the angel altogether, even as she's begging you to come back to life, and Helena's just a few minutes from figuring that out too. And there's no angel or Chip to help save her.