The bitchers -- who, after all, have their careers riding on this little coup -- throw up their hands and complain, and finally Daniel goes, "U-87? Make the circuit, please. Take a nice look at all these fine folks." Zoë walks around the table, staring each of them down one by one; the girl we know bucks at them adorably, like what's up, and the people all shiver like they've seen RoboCop and know what happens next.
"Looks a little uncomfortable, doesn't it? Do you find yourself wondering what it might be thinking? Or feeling? Well, that is the big leap forward, people. Do you sense it? Beyond artificial intelligence: This is artificial sentience! Do you feel it? I feel it, don't you? I feel like there is a being inside this machine, something alive and vital... And special."
She loves that part the best: "There is a brilliant mind in here." It's another, brighter garden. A father-daughter act, terrorizing the board, being adorable together. Working as a team. She always liked her father best. She's so close he could touch her, and he doesn't even know it. Not really. He feels it, like Philo, but he doesn't know it. Only Zoë knows it; Zoë who is so close to her father she could touch him, but can't ever let him see her true face. Zoë, who died, and died, and died again. Their looks are complicit and loving, prideful and gluttonous.
"Are you seriously asking me about the practical applications of creating another race that will walk beside us? Do you not understand the enormity of this creation? It's more than a machine. This Cylon will become a tireless worker, who won't need to be paid. It won't retire, or get sick. He won't have rights, or objections, or complaints. It will do anything and everything we ask of it without question. U-87?"
This is where it gets bad. Of all the scenes so far in this show, I have to say this one really got to me. It's just so well done, the sweet/funny shading into sad/terrible, so fast you don't see it happening.
"Rip your arm off."
Zoë stares at her father, hurt. She forgot what she was, for a second. Like dancing with Philo, but a million times worse. He can't be serious -- but she has to stay hidden, which means he has to be serious. It's the only power she has. And so, she's got to do it. And it breaks her heart. She's so close, and he doesn't even know it: "Go on. Go on!" She does, after prompting; she can't reveal herself, but at least she can hurl the arm, once it's off, onto the table among all of them. A little flourish to the father-daughter act; a sign of her defiance that he can't even recognize. He has no idea that it's a message for him. And he fights the feeling, that she's there: