Adama faces her, standing beside his son, and she speaks to the gathered Colonials. "The good news is that your President, Laura Roslin, is alive and well. As are your crewmates." Muscles relax, and faces. "She wants the four Cylons that are in this Fleet. She's gonna hold our people hostage until she gets them." That's the bad news; she spins it. "You don't have to do anything except stay out of the way. I'm already in contact with them. Now that they realize there's nothing to fear and that we only want to love and protect them, they should find a way of joining us. I just ask that you don't interfere with any of the shuttle traffic in the Fleet."
This is only an extraction, she's saying. You have our people, and you cannot be trusted with them, because the blood of twelve planets soaks the ground and you will never forgive. Cylons change their minds and Plans like so many ones and zeroes into the Recycling Bin, but humans need more time than that. And they will tell their children, and their children's children, to hunt the Cylon and to murder them, in recompense, long after all these plans and pains and stories are dust, locked in scrolls nobody even remembers. And still the echoes in her, of war and the time before, and the time before that. Her New Caprica plans: "We will love them and take care of them. And like God, our infinite mercy will be matched only by our power and complete control."
"So your plan is, you take these four Cylons and then you head off to Earth, leaving us behind?" Three nearly grins at Lee, because he doesn't know the Plan. She's only just thought of it. They are revered; she will not harm her own. What happens next, with the information the Four somehow possess, is entirely up to them. Share or do not share, war or make peace or find the 145s or lie down in the road: up to them. "All right," says Lee, hearing her finally. "If these four Cylons want to come to you, they're free to do so. I will not stop them." Bill agrees to this; Bill does not agree to this, and will kill every one of them, because he must shine too. "Then I will await them on the Baseship!" Three says happily, and turns to go. A voice rings out.
Tory is mournful and full of thoughts, but she still steps forward. She is perfect now, as she is, but how perfect can she be when at any moment she could become a prisoner of war? Not in name, not like now, but locked behind bars, hearing the music and desperate to follow? Best to make the jump now. It's what she said she wanted, isn't it? Brush all those niggling questions and fears and doubts and guilt into the bin and leave it all clean, a fresh start, a sister among her people, a saint among her brothers. The universe has asked, "What will you be?" And she responds, "I will be what I am, to the best of my ability, with every fiber of my being. I will turn my skin inside-out, and let go the burden of my guilt and shame and impatience, and the Cylon will tell me what I am and how to be it."