Battlestar Galactica

Episode Report Card
Jacob Clifton: A+ | Grade It Now!
The Girl On The Cliffside

"What have I done? I'm so sorry. Oh, Gods..."

Tory touches her shoulder, and comforts her as she comforts her son. She speaks softly, promising to work it out with Cally, to save them both, to save the world. To wipe away the salt and put Cally back together. She clucks, taking Nicky from his mother so that she can compose herself, wipe off the dirt and tears. Tory sees her, an imperfect, a dirty girl, trying to reassemble herself, and wonders if she can trust her, and the tears in her eyes shine with the knowledge that she can't.

There's too much hate and fear between the known and the unknown. On the list you have an unstable woman with a grudge, famously and murderously unstable, whose entire life has just been destroyed. Whose life was built of weak straw and sticks at the best of times. A good mother, a loving wife. A small girl with small plans, who has potential and capacity, for love and for loyalty and for devotion. Who has potential for hatred and destruction and suspicion and whose love of her own victimhood insinuates itself into every motion, every movement, every decision. Who would have destroyed herself, and her own innocent child, out of hate. Out of anger and confusion, too, but mostly hate. Cally isn't on the list. Whatever purpose the Five, whatever the path of the angel, whatever the door you're begged to walk through, Cally represents a viewpoint that will not, cannot do it. After Tigh and Gaius, Cally's the most human of us all.

Tory knocks her down with Cylon strength; she skids on her face and blacks out against the launch tube floor. Who knows how long she lies there? She wakes later, grabbing at the baby's blanket. Nick is gone. Sick, she looks up, and the launch key is gone too. The light is green: the lock is active. Through the window Tory comforts the baby, the sweet innocent child, and turns the key in a panel. Her gaze meets Cally's eyes, then slides away and down. And she pushes the button.

We burn off what doesn't work. It hurts, or else it doesn't count. Cally's beautiful face fills the night. Chief sits in his quarters, with blood still on his temple. The Admiral sits quietly with him. His blood is on the floor. Inside everybody is a room full of delights and horrors, rages and pain and joy and sunlight. Mourn for a world that's ended. For a star that's just gone out.

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Battlestar Galactica




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