Battlestar Galactica

Episode Report Card
Jacob Clifton: B | 3 USERS: B+
The Garden Of The Scar

Saul's voice is getting confrontational: This is hard enough without you helping it to hurt. It kills me to say it once, let alone repeating it again and again. The enormity of saying it: I am a Cylon. I am a Cylon. I am a Cylon. How dare you make me say it?

"On New Caprica, you were in captivity. They did something to you, they... An implant, a post-hypnotic suggestion that makes you feel this way. Let's go talk to Doc Cottle." Saul puts his hands on Bill's shoulders and looks him in the eye. "Listen to me! It is not a delusion. It is not a chip in my head. I am a Cylon. I've fooled you for months now. I didn't want to, but I did." Bill growls at him to remove his hands, and he does, instantly; empty palms, held out.

"If I had the guts to airlock myself when I first found out, we wouldn't be in this mess. But that's the way out, not this suicidal attack. I am one of the Final Five." His arms are thrown out, like Tory with Cally and Nick. "D'Anna will back down if you threaten to flush me out an airlock."

And this last with so much pride: that's the narrative controlling him now. He will save them, and in this is redemption. For the man he was, and for the thing he turned out to be. The snake in the garden.


Saul is marched by Marines to the airlock. His back is strong.

Bill stands all alone in his offices, at his desk, suddenly claustrophobic. The space is too small. Space is too small. He stares at the ceiling in silence, and erupts in a guttural shout. He sweeps everything off the desk in one spastic movement and begins to weep.

Saul walks. Every movement a study in control. He's been waiting for two things: to be a hero, and to die.

Bill loses control; the enemy is pressing in. On all sides. They look like us now. Down to our blood.

Bill stares at himself in the mirror: a double, a face he knows from every single day. Bill drinks scotch straight from the decanter in great galloping mouthfuls, feeling it burn. Bill stares at himself in the mirror, and strikes out: a double. A face he barely recognizes.

Saul stands in a circle of light, surrounded by Marines. He is calm, and he is beautiful.

Lee gathers his father, ungainly, in his arms on the bathroom floor, murmuring nonsense. Lee is pinned against the doorframe with his father in his arms, in his lap. "Okay," he says. As though anything can ever be okay. As though Saul didn't just kill them both. For children to reach their full potential, their parents have to die: you're not a man until you've seen your father, naked, off the pedestal and crying on the bathroom floor. Until the projection dies and you're looking at the blank, tired screen. Until you live through that. Bill weeps in his son's lap, flapping useless arms; his sobs rage from so deep a place they sound bloody.

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Battlestar Galactica




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