"Nobody likes it," sighs Three, "But we have to make a terrible choice. Do we attempt a rescue, and risk the lives of our Fleet -- even our species -- or do we leave them?" Simon shrugs. "The answer won't be found in science, because there's no cure in science." I... don't know what that means, but Eight's not having it. "Look at them, do we just leave them?" Leoben points out that this would be condemning them to death; Caprica is really upset. "Even the humans don't leave their own," she says. Leoben isn't on her side either: "They must be sacrificed for the greater good." Simon says there's a greater question, and Three agrees: "How did this happen?" Simon's answer: Gaius. "It's Baltar, of course," says Doral definitively. I love him out of nowhere this season just like Tigh and Gaius. This show is so weird. "It's his fault. He led us there deliberately. He's been working with Galactica the whole time... " Gaius whines and protests and the usual; Three draws the line of logic: "Baltar, we followed your coordinates and found a disease with no treatment or cure." Well, when you put it like that. "... They're doomed," moans Caprica. "Never to return." She's always had the strangest sense of pity. "Perhaps God would smile upon us for our mercy," says Doral, and Eight is disgusted: "Listen to you! You can barely even speak His name!" Three orders everybody to agree, and I think disagrees suddenly with abandoning "our brothers and sisters" (that sounds more like a Caprica line, though) and then they all descend into shouting and craziness. In its fashion just as terrifying as losing their link to the infected ship, I bet. Gaius continues to screech about his innocence, which does nothing productive but does add to the amazingly intense chaos going on right now. Three finally screams at them to stop -- just short of a Xena yip! -- and slams her hand into a data panel, shutting everybody up. "We have to leave them. We have to jump, and leave them to their fate. There is no other way."
The Hybrid screams in her chamber. "Mists of dreams drip along the nascent echo and love no more end of line." Those mists, the vapor of disparate memories and experiences, black-haired lives, won't ever coalesce back into their reborn rivers, now: Six, Three, Simon, Eight, Leoben, Doral, Cavil. All losing memories and shapes forever, shedding drops of memory and self, becoming less, to love no more. End of line.
"The Hybrid objects," says the suddenly merciful Doral, and Three smirks. "She doesn't get a vote. Jump the ship." The Hybrid's jumpgasm is... not as enjoyable, this time around. The price of being outside "control" is that you aren't ever in control; she's an angel, but an angel in an engine. Cylons are gross but they get the job done.