Five-Minute "Six Of One"
by Zeke

Starbuck: *points gun* Why won't you let me lead the fleet on a wild goose chase? Why? TELL ME!
Roslin: I've been trying to tell you, but you keep inter--
Starbuck: SHUT UP! God, I'm so mad I could just... here, take this gun and shoot me!
(BLAM)
Starbuck: Ah, you shot that photo. So it sounded like someone got shot, but in fact no one did.
Roslin: I decided to make things dramatic for anyone who might have been watching us before and after that moment, but not during.

Helo: *bursts in* Secure the -- oh, nobody actually got shot. Man that was dramatic.
Tigh: It's over, Thrace. Will you come quietly?
Starbuck: No, I'll scream incoherently about Earth some more.
Tigh: Fine. *shifts eyepatch to his ear* It's not a perfect solution, but it'll have to do.

Six: The precogs are trying to tell us something.
Cavil: Like what? They're crazy. All they do is ramble about things like baseball scores and what you get if you mix up the letters of people's names.
Leoben: Well, take this excerpt. "Final Five... among the humans... humming Dylan..."
Cavil: They're crazy! Nuts! Kabungled! Now get back to messing with the Raiders!
Boomer: We have some concerns about that too.
Cavil: Look, if you can think of a downside to making our defensive forces stupider, I'd like to hear it.

Tigh: I saw Starbuck, and she's definitely stupid enough to be a Cylon. But how can we be sure?
Anders: How about Baltar's Cylon detector?
Tyrol: *whack* Are you stupid or something? We don't have another nuclear warhead!
Tigh: He might still know something useful, but we'd have to get it out of him. And the way to Baltar's brain is through his pants...
(Everyone looks at Tory)
Tory: What? No! Anders, you do it!
Anders: Fat chance. I'm still recovering from when we needed information from Cottle.

Adama: GRRRRR.
Starbuck: What are you so mad about? It's not like I nearly shot the president or -- oh.
Adama: *whack* Get out of this cabin while you still can.
Starbuck: Really? Okay. *leaves cell*
(2 hours later)
Adama: Wait a minute.

Cavil: Okay, the vote's been taken. Three models for, three against, but Boomer switched sides, so I win.
Six: Hey!
Boomer: Sorry. It's just that you're acting kind of funny lately. I've been mistaking you for D'Anna all day.
Six: You won't get away with this, Cavil!
Cavil: *sigh* Ladies, we just made all the model numbers canon. We can stop inexplicably using each other's names.

Lee: Thanks for the goodbye party, guys. I just wish Kara were here.
Pilots: CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!
Some Female Pilot: Take it off!
Lee: Well, I guess she's here in spirit.

Adama: Time to look over my ship model and brood about things. Like the fact that I don't remember rebuilding it. And where this note that says "No more ad-libbing" came from.

Tory: Hey, good lookin'. Come here often?
Baltar: I know you. You work for Roslin. And if you were attracted, you'd have said so long ago. This is an obvious trick.
Inner Baltar: Just go with it.
Baltar: Gah! I have another me in my brain?
Inner Baltar: Hell, why not? You could have a Scorpius in your brain for all the sense these visions make. Don't worry about it.
Tory: A what in your brain?
Inner Baltar: And that hasn't gotten old at all.

Lee: Well, so long, Kara.
Starbuck: Don't go yet! I have a present for you.
Lee: Oh, you shouldn't ha-- wait. This is angst, isn't it?
Starbuck: Let me know if it doesn't fit.

Roslin: Having Kara back is blinding you to the fact that she's an obvious trap.
Adama: You mean she has a --
Roslin: No. Though come to think of it, it wouldn't surprise me. The point is, you're a sucker.
Adama: Yeah, well... you're dying.
Roslin: That's okay, the show's ending anyway. Besides, I still have my looks.
(Roslin's hair falls out)
Adama: That would have been even better if you'd said "locks".

Lee: Ah, the old flight prep room. So many memories...
Starbuck: Hey Apollo, you suck!
Boomer: I'll handle the basestar mission. What could go wrong?
Lee: Let's go fight the Pegasus. What could go wrong?
Anders: I'm a pilot now! Isn't that great?
Starbuck: Hey Apollo, you still suck!
Lee: Huh. I'd forgotten that was my callsign.

Tigh: Ten-SHUN! Or not, it's not like I like the guy.
Lee: Wow! My very own "Redemption"-style sendoff!
Helo: Hey, this is Adama drama. It wouldn't feel right not to utterly milk it dry.
Lee: Thanks, everybody. Especially you, Dee. I'll miss you so --
Dee: Get in the ship, close the door, and take off.

Cavil: No, I'm not going to stop fixing the Raiders.
Six: Say that again. With weird diction.
Cavil: Nnnnnnn-YOH.
(Centurions march in)
Six: Yeah, they don't like that kind of talk.

Baltar: Are you all right? I feel like you're not enjoying sex with me, and I don't understand how that's possible.
Tory: Do... do you think I might be a Cylon?
Baltar: Probably not. Your spine hasn't been lighting up.
Tory: You say that like it's even canon anymore!

Cavil: You took out the Centurions' encephalophalic inhibitors?
Six: Something phallic, anyway. They immediately became intelligent and agreed with me.
Leoben: But intelligence doesn't work that w-- GAK!
Doral: Hey! You can't fight in here, this is the -- GAK!
Cavil: Huh. My own "Redemption"-style enemy civil war. Who wrote that aga-- GAK!
Six: Good work, men. Now all we have to do is repeat this 100 million times.

Starbuck: Nooo! We're jumping! This is the worst thing that could possibly happen to me!
Helo: Hey Kara, your airlock's warmed up.
Starbuck: Whew. Maybe I'll at least float in the direction of Earth.

Adama: Surprise! What I'm really doing is giving you a ship and crew so you can follow your nose or whatever.
Starbuck: A "Redemption"-style first command experience? Thank you so much! Now all we need is Denise Crosby.
Adama: I'll pretend I didn't hear that. Good luck, and don't take too long.
Starbuck: No sweat. How hard can it possibly be to get across the galaxy to Earth?
Helo: I'll go set a course... for home.
(Starbuck's ship blasts off at Ludicrous Speed)

THE END

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