Oh, the chaos of a Colonial One press conference, intruding suddenly on the engine-hum silence of the last scene. Gaius looks like a million bucks standing useless behind Roslin, who gives a tiny nod to Piconese Press Agent Playa Palacios, née Kohn, last legitimate journalist in the universe, in the din. Playa: "Madame President, your decision to criminalize abortion has created a furor." Roslin nods. "Do you think that's hurt your standing in the polls?" Roslin nods, sadly: "Absolutely." It's hurt her own standing in her own personal polls, man.
Gaius asks Roslin's leave to speak, and steps forward. "It is true, in the light of recent events, the President may have lost support in some quarters. I would ask the people to understand that if this is an extreme decision..." Six appears in the back, overjoyed by her boy. She always did like him on TV. I do, too; it's a totally different, hot, cool guy. "...We live in extreme times. The decision has been made with good faith." He smiles over at Roslin, and takes hold of the Fleet's ovaries with one hand and the concept of the republic with the other. "I, however, cannot with good conscience support it." Tory is shocked, apparently not being familiar with the vicissitudes of Gaius Baltar. "I am so sorry, Madame President." She looks down, sick, and I don't know how much of this is due to getting screwed by him, getting called out by him, or her own guilt about what she's done. I'm mostly pissed because Baltar told her to do it, total reversal of which is the only rule of thumb you can trust. "...But the Cylon have no understanding of the meaning of the word 'freedom.' How could they? They're programmed. Machines." Six is a little sad -- she and Boomer sure do hate that word, don't they? -- but what is 'freedom' to a person whose every action (whether she's imaginary or not, she means a part of Gaius) depends on Fate and the Hand of God? "Every time you take away one of our freedoms, every time you restrict or curtail one of our rights, we become one step closer to being like them." Roslin, beaten, stands for this. Cut to Six, still unhappy, but fascinated in that cruel, beautiful way she has. "As the Vice-President, I am bound to follow the administration's lead." It's possible that Roslin is right now more pissed than she has ever, ever been. It's so very scary. "I will airlock all of your asses, go down to the mess, airlock a bunch of motherfuckers down there, and then I will take a shuttle to Cloud 9, down several shots of whisky, and commence airlocking." Where do you go when you can't get out? I'm glad there's not a door for her to beat her head against, is all I'm saying. "As President, [however]...I should have no such strictures. Given the current situation, I'm afraid that I have no alternative but to announce that I am, as of now, a candidate for the presidency." Focus pulls to...Tory, who looks to Roslin. They vibe back and forth with immediate WTF, crackling like electricity, and Roslin cocks her head toward the door. She rolls her eyes a little bit -- I can identify so much more with funny rage than yelly rage -- and they bounce.