"Then we better keep that from happening. Order the CAP back, and lock down the ship. As soon we can work through the jump coordinates from Leoben's Raider, we go." They stare at her, but she's just allowed them their safety measures, with a word. They are resistant and resentful. "...It's a chance to find Earth! I intend to take it." She sounds more like Starbuck than she has in two months.
Tory and Gaius laugh, post-coital. No tears here. "Not that I particularly care, but since I haven't been arrested recently, or beaten up, can I... Can I surmise that the President has not been apprised of my pirate broadcasts?" She laughs in his face. Nobody knows what she is. How can they? She doesn't even know what she is. "Actually, I told her all about them. I even suggested she speak to the Admiral. ... Guess you'll have to do something about that." This is the way we resist control; this is the way we convince ourselves of our own agency. "...Or not. Even Roslin and Adama must realize the movement's taken on a life of its own. It's gonna take them more than bashing in a few heads to stop this." Sensing he's ramping up toward another big speech on his own behalf, gearing up for another big gesture, she sighs and gets herself dressed, pops the balloon. "Truth is, you're not worth another confrontation in the Quorum. You may be drawing more bodies to your crusade, but they're from the fringes. No one of consequence." Except her, of course; it hangs in the air like her perfume. "Get some clothes on. They're waiting for you."
Poor shaven Galen Tyrol works a panel in the corridor on Deck 8, busted down to grunt. Tracey and the others make their way to the service, carrying food, hoping it's enough. "It doesn't matter," says Paulla.
"They're not coming to be fed. They're coming to hear Dr. Baltar's word, and learn from it, just like we did." Same thing. And Galen is hungry. He follows.
"The past is written. Impossible to change. Why are so many of us living in the past? Living with the shame of what we have done... When we could live in awe of what we might do. What we might do."
Galen approaches, covered in the past, Chief and Boomer and Cylon all over him. Impossible to change. Why is he living in the past, in the shame of what he is and what he's done? Why not reach out and glory in the flame, in the heat of what he is, in awe of all the things he might do? What's he going to do, just spin through the Fleet in self-destruction, watching his humanity burn itself away in rage and bitterness?