On CIC, LSO Kelly approves Hotdog for a long approach. It's too quiet. Something's missing. "Never thought I'd miss all Starbuck's yakking," grumbles Tigh. Gaeta nods, agrees, stays quiet. The Admiral arrives and Tigh laughs, calling him "Your Honor." "You haven't heard? Where have you been?" Saying goodbye. "They just announced it, you won the lottery. You now own exactly one-fifth of Baltar's skinny ass. You're one of five captains picked to serve on the judge's tribunal." The Admiral takes this in: this tremendous responsibility that's suddenly so trivial.
Racetrack waits with Skulls and Athena, waiting for Gaius's lawyer. Alan Hughes is young and beautiful, a creepy waste of time and energy: "He sits back there and tries to whisper in my ear when he talks. I've got a helmet!" He leans in behind Racetrack, whispering in her ear: "Sorry." He's late. Cally helps him aboard the Raptor, calling him by name; down on the deck Racetrack swears, if he takes his shoes off again, on the way to Zephyr, she'll kill him dead. Skulls complains about the trial: "Everybody knows he's guilty, he gave the Cylons our location." Completely true, just not in the way Skulls or anybody can know. "Why even give the son of a bitch a trial?" Cally explains the justice system, in her usual way: "Um, because he's entitled. Even him. It's called justice?" Skulls clarifies that justice would mean Baltar dead and Starbuck alive, as Racetrack runs her flight check, and then jerks sideways as her Raptor explodes around her. Athena jumps into the smoke and coughing, calling for a medic. Racetrack is alive, Alan Hughes is dead. Is that justice too?