Helo reports to Adama in his office about how Gaeta is briefing Sharon and Racetrack on the scouting mission to the nebula. "You mean Athena and Racetrack," says Adama lightly, and Helo swells up to nearly twice his height with love and pride. Since he was already nine feet tall, this causes him to bust through Adama's ceiling and into the floor above. "Word travels fast!" he says. He and Adama are pleased together, and after the moment's passed, Adama asks -- vis-Ã -vis the relative speed of word -- about the morale dip on the flight deck. Helo assures him the crew can handle it, but Adama has more words. "I'm also told that Colonel Tigh is spending a lot of time down in the Pilots' rec room." Helo gives it up: "Both him and Starbuck, sir. They've been holding court. Second-guessing the rescue, bad-mouthing the crew that stayed up with Galactica. Suddenly, if you weren't in the ground war, it's like you can't be trusted." And people, Adama surmises, are listening. "They're destroying morale and unit cohesion." Adama's huge lie for this week: "They both know better." Rather than reminded the clearly senile Admiral that we are talking about Kara Thrace and Saul Tigh, Helo covers for his dementia: "... I don't think they care, sir."
Gaius stares at the Hybrid, the pale wet woman from his dream. She sits in a resurrection pool wearing a black snood, like a hearth goddess. Her body fades into ship and connections where she floats; Giger tubes and Craig Morrison rubber. And -- off the Pythia tip -- she says the following. "Two protons expelled at each coupling site creates the mode of force the embryo becomes a fish that we don't enter until a plate we're here to experience evolve the little toe atrophy don't ask me how I'll be dead in a thousand light years thank you thank you Genesis turns to its source reduction occurs stepwise though the essence is all one end of line. After your system check diagnostic functions within parameters repeats the harlequin the agony exquisite the colors run the path of ashes fifty-two percent of heat exchanger cross-collateralized with hyperdimensional matrix upper senses repair ordered relay to zero, zero, zero, zero..." If you know me at all, you know I did time in Tori Amos purgatory, so allow me to translate: Two protons with equal and opposite spin, moved any distance apart, react instantaneously to changes made in or upon each other. They are connected in a way that moves underneath the world we know (project); they are indivisible but opposed. One makes a move -- sometimes predator, sometimes prey -- and the other can't help but follow along, making a corresponding change. The trick is to live within that system, on either side, and remember that the essence is all one: we're here to experience, evolve, the agony exquisite, because in the higher level functioning of the Hybrids -- if Cylons experience our regular time and space as a five-dimensional solid, the Hybrids are the next step above that, which is why they sound crazy to us, because we're crushing their thoughts down into our smaller number of dimensions in order to process them -- there's no way to even recognize the division between the two protons. Cylons and humans all look the same to the Hybrid, the way that human conflict looks to the Cylon like one hand attacking the other. Chip Six and Chip Gaius, and now Athena and Gaius, are the dots in the yin-yang, the first physically observable steps toward reconciling this senseless division. Not that it will ever work, or we'd like it if it did: that's fusion, not synthesis. Goes splode.