Battlestar Galactica

Episode Report Card
Jacob Clifton: A+ | 2 USERS: A+
This Is Not A Love Story

Pike is hit, and scared. He can't find his weapons or keep his bird's nose up. Seelix can hear it in his voice, that edge, that song calling him home again: "Pike, Hardball. Man, don't jump. You'll never make it to Galactica. You know how many jumps that is?" Pike's not trying to cause a fuss. "Look, I'm out of here, okay, I'm jumping back home." He's hit again. There's blood. His last act is a jump home. He becomes a signpost to Earth; he becomes a mystery. He bears Searider Falcon back to the Admiral, completing a loop of responsibility and relinquishment, of remembering our own humanity at the cost of our unassailable fa├žades. Tangible proof, that Bill can put his hands on: Pike brings her home to him. Pike's last act is the one we all most want to perform: to go home. He won't make it, because he's not ready; because the walk from the altar to the temple is a longer one than any course they've yet attempted, covered over with thorns and no relief. It is made of a million painful steps, and each one burns like five stars. But it's not futile. Even as all around the space he just was, the war continues: it's not futile.

Helo stares at the Hub facilities: this factory for women. Made to love, and to be loved in return: "Karl," says Twinset, and he looks at her, unsure who he is looking at. Who just said his name? She is a Hub. As she pulls him away, his eyes snag -- catch, hook, tear -- on an Eight, lying dead and insensate, in her coffin. She never lived, and now she never will. But who is she? Who is that girl to him? Does she exist? She looks the same and smells the same; apparently with an ill-advised peek behind the curtain she could even touch him the same way. Or if Twinset, or Sharon Agathon died, she could rise again, in the body of this girl, who now will never live. If he hadn't just taken that away from her, too.

Gaius keeps talking, to the Centurion; the battle music keeps going, so it's still happening, like a voiceover. It's neat, and portentous. I keep meaning to talk about the setup here: straight down, over the shoulder of the beast, catching what would seem to be the funniest angles of his funniest faces. He really is something. "...There was this dog, see, and the master had placed a bit of food on the edge of its snout. And the dog had to wait, until he was told he could eat it." That's what it feels like to be Gaius, all the time: it's why he's so good with the downtrodden and the lame and the butt-crazy: that's what it feels like to be Gaius, all the time. If he could just reach out and claim what he deserves, but no, they always tell him no.

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Battlestar Galactica




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