just on my way, sir.
Hey, guys.
How's it going, Dee?
Good, thanks.
How's my father today?
Commander Adama's the same,
Captain. He's sedated.
Resting comfortably
since the surgery.
Trouble brewing
in the fleet, though.
Oh, l'm shocked.
What kind of trouble?
Martial law isn't going down
too well.
Protests, demonstrations...
some ships are even refusing
to re-supply Galactica.
And this is
the honeymoon period.
What's a dictator to do?
(chuckles)
Yeah, l wish....
(sighing)
l wish you were
in command, sir.
Dee....
He's hitting
the bottle. A lot.
Thank you for the company,
Petty Officer Dualla.
You're welcome, sir.
(gate opening)
(woman chattering
on PA system)
(Ellen sighing)
You okay, baby?
No, l'm not okay.
My head feels like it's gonna
roll off my shoulders.
What are you working on?
l'm trying to figure out
how to solve
our re-supply problem...
now that half the fleet
has gone out on strike.
Are you serious?
Yes, l'm serious.
l should probably
call a summit. Sit down
with all the ship captains...
and explain the situation
and tell them why l had to
declare martial law.
Screw them.
Like you have to explain
yourself to them.
lt wouldn't hurt.
Might cool things down
a little.
What?
Nothing.
No, No, No, it's....
You're the boss.
Far be it for me to tell you
how to do your job.
l know
that's one of your issues.
Just say it.
l don't know,
it just feels
kind of touchy-feely.
You know, ''Let's all sit down
and talk about how
we feel about martial law.''
Bill would
never do that.
But you gotta do
what you gotta do...
l mean, Bill may never
get on his feet again.
Honey.
Honey, you handle this
the way you want.
They'll respect that...
eventually.
This is the XO.
Mr. Gaeta, send the following
to all ships captains.
Message begins:
''Re-supply operations
of this ship are not,
repeat, not optional.
''All ships to recommence
scheduled supply runs
immediately.
''Failure to comply will result
in stern measures.''
Message ends.
You happy now?
(Starbuck)
l'll flank!
l'll draw fire!
(panting)
(gun cocking)
No, no.
Hi.
(guns cocking)
We're not Cylons.
Right. You're human.
You have a soul.
You swim in the stream.
We heard it all before.
Hey, Colonial Fleet.
Notice the uniforms?
Yeah, right.
We've seen Cylons
in uniform before.
We're human.
Yeah, right.
(Starbuck)
Everyone on Caprica is dead.
You're not.
l just got here.
l want to hear some names.
l'm Anders.
Samuel T. Anders?
Yeah, that's right.
That's Jo-Man, Rally,
Ten Point, Sue-shaun,
Crip-key, Morris Fink.
Kara, these are
the Caprica Buccaneers.
(scoffs)
l don't think so.
Give me a ball, little girl.
l'll shove it up your ass.
Please. Try.
Okay, since we're all
getting along so well...
can people stop
pointing their guns at us?
How does
a professional pyramid team
survive a nuclear holocaust?
We were in the mountains
when the Cylons attacked.
High altitude training.
We've been on the run
ever since.
Doing what?
Raiding military stores
for ammo,
anti-radiation meds...
and plugging toasters
whenever they show up.
Same as us.
Okay.
How many foul breaks
did you have in the play-off
against Aerilon?
You're kidding, right?
You either have the answer
or you have a bullet.
Three.
Wrong. Four.
Three. Last one was
called back on instant replay.
(Helo)
He's right, Starbuck.
l lost 20 cubits
on that game.
Fine, for now.
On three.
One.
Two.
Three.
(Anders sighs)
You know
you guys suck, right?
You can't shoot,
you can't pass, and you sure
as hell can't take a point.
Everyone's a critic.
Here's your medication,
Madam President.
And a little something
from the galley.
Thank you, Cpl. Venner.
Chamalla and licorice.
Would you like some?
l hate licorice.
Me, too.
lt's interesting
he still calls you,
''Madam President.''
You still have
a lot of supporters out there.
Something ugly is coming.
l can feel it.
Sir, the