Tigh gives Adama the latest, in his quarters: "A hundred marines too weak to work, two hundred more ready to drop." Adama worries that it'll slow down the algae harvest and Tigh points out as well that "the last batch of passengers kicked up some trouble." He repeats his bitching moan from "Collaborators" about how they all think "there's a diner and a chef waiting to take their order," on the other side. Which is how the bullshit started last time, but even Bill's had it: "Ohh, when are they gonna learn they gotta process the thing first, for frack's sake?" Tigh takes their part: "Try telling that to a bunch of empty stomachs." He's learning. I love him. "I hear they're still eating paper," says Bill. "Is that true?" It's not: "Paper shortage," Saul deadpans, and then they both laugh. It goes from funny, to sweet, to awkward, to hysterical, to scary, to where all you can think about is the word "dentures." Bill says it's not a good sign, and Tigh agrees, and I don't know if they're talking about how they're clearly going nuts or what. Because that laughing was both.
Sparks and repairs on the hangar deck; Starbuck watches Kat yelling and pushing Enzo off the higher observation deck from Chief's nightmares, and gets suspicious. She recognizes Enzo somehow, I guess from when she was a gumshoe.
"So when you resurrect you see the faces of the Final Five Cylons? The ones that no one's seen." Three's exasperated by Gaius, to say the least. "Why do you want to know about them?" And get a load of this shit right here: "I could be a Cylon. I would stop being a traitor to one set of people, and be a hero to another. And have a place to belong." And that's why I can't fully hate Gaius Baltar, and why I can't stop hating him either: if this episode's about anything, it's that you are the only fucking one in charge of whether or not you're a hero. The mass hallucination that New Caprica was a good idea was really just his smoke-and-mirrors way of trying to get everybody else to tell him he was okay. Even the Presidency was emotionally equal to finally bedding Gina, which was in turn a fracked-up plan to find the most damaged girl in the universe and "save" her, and now you're going to add "Hero Of The Cylon" to that futile list? Like Cylon accolades mean anything. They can barely tie their shoes at this point. They have more authority figures and Gods and Heroes and bossy ninnies than Adama's got fake daughters. Just stop already. Your neuroses are starting to develop neuroses. You're like a fractal of fracked. "You would help me understand my destiny. Have you seen my face?" Because of course he can't just be any old Cylon, he's gotta be one of their angels, or saints, or demons or whatever it is.
Three pulls out a bunch of pictures -- if you recontextualize it in terms of an artificial intelligence's socialization, then ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny in exactly this way: this is just Lascoux wall-drawings, which lies somewhere on the evolutionary scale between binary circuits and bumfight videos -- and gets more flustered than we've ever seen her. She's clearly frustrated by her inability to create a proper representation the divine with simple pencil and paper: "I try to get it all down while it's still fresh in my mind, but...nothing much comes out. It's just rubbish. I don't remember... " Oh my God religion is so hard. Poor Three. And isn't Gaius fucking helpful: "Cylons, humans. We're all just trying to discover who we are. Aren't we?" Not all of us in quite the same ass-backwards fashion as you, Gaius. But yeah.