Five-Minute "Battlestar Galactica: The Miniseries"

by Kira

Colonel: (tossing a ball against the wall) ...sixty-four, sixty-five, sixty-six...
Number Six: Hello. I'm going to make out with you, then blow up your station and nuke humanity.
Colonel: BOO-YEAH! Wait, what was that part after making out with me?
Six: Shut up and kiss me.

Tyrol: We've got a present for you, sir -- your old Viper.
Adama: Ah, this takes me back.
Tyrol: We've fixed her right up. She'll be able to fly in the decommissioning ceremony. And by the way, sir, it's been an honour serving with you.
Adama: (sigh) Hard to believe this old rustbucket won't be around anymore.
Tyrol: And the Galactica too, sir.

Tigh: I raise.
Boomer: I'm in.
Helo: Me too.
Tigh: And what've you got, Lieutenant?
Starbuck: Full colors. (KA-POW!)
Tigh: ...Oof.
Starbuck: Or at least black and blue.

Doctor: I'm sorry, Madam Secretary, but the cancer is quite advanced.
Roslin: I see.
Doctor: I'm glad you're taking this so well. Most people would be quite upset to learn they may only have a few months left to live.
Roslin: I'm not too worried. At the rate time progresses around here, I should be good until at least season five.

Baby: Goo goo ga ga.
Six: You're right, I need to boost my evilness. Hold still...
(SNAP!)

Kellan Brody: Today we have with us Dr. Gaius Baltar to share his views on modern technology. Doctor?
Baltar: Thank you. I believe our paranoia regarding artificial intelligence and advancing computer technologies is antiquated and unfounded. It's been decades since we've encountered the Cylons, and it's not like they're walking among us, disguised as humans, just waiting for the perfect time to strike.

Six: Honey, I'm home.
Baltar: Did you see me on TV today? No? Well, I was fantastic. But everything I was saying about the Cylons and my project on the defense mainframe that you've been helping me with got me thinking --
Six: Let's have sex.
Baltar: Exactly what I was about to say!

Tyrol: Welcome to the Galactica, Captain Adama. It's an honour to --
Apollo: If you're in charge of kissing up to the boss's son, you can shove it.
Tyrol: Of course, sir. Excellent idea, sir, and very well put if I may say so.
Apollo: I hate this ship.

Baltar: It sure was generous of you to re-write my entire navigation program. I hope unlimited access to the entire Colonial defense mainframe was compensation enough.
Six: It was. And besides, God wanted me to help you.
Baltar: Which reminds me, He called earlier and left you a message. "Bang up job on the defense project," He said.
Six: I find your lack of faith disturbing.
Baltar: You're so cute when you pretend to be evil.

Doral: Welcome to the Galactica, Madam Secretary.
Roslin: Thank you.
Doral: I'm curious -- why did they send the Secretary of Education to a military decommissioning ceremony?
Roslin: I'm not sure. At first I thought it was so they wouldn't have to invite me to some sort of secret government party, but I'm probably just being paranoid.

Apollo: Hello, Kara.
Starbuck: Hello, Lee.
Apollo: I brought you a present.
Starbuck: Is it angst? Please don't say it's angst.
Apollo: It's angst.
Starbuck: Rats.

Baltar: Darling, I can explain, I swear! It's not what it looks like!
Six: There was another woman in your bed, Gaius. You're an underhanded, two-timing slimeball.
Baltar: You said you liked that about me!

Apollo: Hi Dad. I brought you a present.
Adama: It's angst, isn't it?
Apollo: I didn't have a lot of time to shop.

Six: Do you understand what I'm telling you, Gaius? I'm a machine.
Baltar: A sex machine! Rrrowr!
Six: This could take longer than I expected.

Adama: The Cylon Wars are long over, or so they want us to think. We have played God, and we will have to atone for our sins. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday. Or maybe today.
Doral: Um, thank you, Commander, for those...inspirational words.
Tigh: Nice speech. The only way the audience would be more uncomfortable is if this ceremony were taking place in the vacuum of space.
Adama: It's a gift.

Reporter 1: ...it's unknown at this time the number of nuclear devices that have been detonated butKZZZZTT!
Reporter 2: ...no demands have been made despite repeatedKZZZTT!
Baltar: This is bad. This is very, very bad. I need a lawyer. Yes, yes, that's it. My laywer will convince everyone that I'm not a sneaking, conniving, underhanded --
Six: Duck.
Baltar: I was going to say weasel, but --
Six: DUCK!
(FWOOOOOOM!)

Gaeta: Commander, we've just received a message: the Cylons are back. And they've got nukes.
Adama: Make a note for the ship's record: sucks to be humanity.

CAG: Two Cylon raiders incoming.
Pilot 1: (over the comm) Oh frack! My onboard computer just froze up! I've got nothing but a blue screen!
Pilot 2: (over the comm) Hey, me too!
CAG: Everybody, just stay calm and press Ctrl-Alt-Del!
Pilot 1: I'm trying, I'm trying!
(BOOM!)

Helo: I told the Chief they should've loaded Linux on those Vipers.
Boomer: The Cylons are heading right for us! We're losing fuel -- let's head for that mushroom cloud-covered planet. It looks safe.

Doral: Captain, thank goodness you're here. Something needs to be done about that woman!
Apollo: Look, I know we're all upset that they changed Starbuck, but --
Doral: I meant Secretary Roslin.
Apollo: Has she done something?
Doral: She's taken charge in a calm, collected, and rational manner!
Apollo: Uh... huh. I can see why you're so upset.

Boomer: We're a military craft! We can't take you with us!
Crowd: The children! Won't somebody think of the children?
Boomer: Oh, all right.
Helo: Aw, man!
Boomer: Shut up. Okay, we've still got room for a few more people.
Helo: Especially if you shove lil' Boxey here in the overhead compartment.
Boxey: I heard that.
Boomer: Well, there's only one fair way to do this....

Boomer: ...eenie, meenie, miney, moe. Come on, get aboard.
Boxey: Are we there yet?
Helo: AARGH! That's the fifth time you've asked me and we haven't even left! That does it, I'm staying here on Caprica.
Boomer: You're what? It's a radiactive nuclear wasteland crawling with Cylons!
Helo: Still beats the ride all the way back to the Galactica.

Apollo: Where are you in the line of succession, Madam Secretary?
Roslin: Forty-third, but what are the odds that all the government officials preceding me are already dead?
Pilot: Excellent, I'm afraid.
Roslin: Oh my Gods... all of them?
Pilot: Yes, ma'am. According to this, they were all in the same place when the Cylons attacked -- some sort of party.
Roslin: I knew it!

Apollo: (over the comm) The President's ordering you to rendezvous at our coordinates for rescue operations.
Adama: And I'm ordering you to rendezvous at our coordinates for an FTL jump. We'll have to rock paper scissors for it.
Apollo: Over the comm? How does that work?
Adama: Easy. One, two, three.
Apollo: Uh, scissors.
Adama: ...Rock. I win. Hello? Lee?
Dualla: Sir, Colonial One just got nuked.
Adama: Damn. Does that beat rock?

TO BE CONTINUED....

Roslin: Captain, are you all right? What happened?
Apollo: Something I learned in War College. We called it "just an electronic device impulse made to infer nuclear detonation and trick really intelligent Cylon killers."
Roslin: Quite a mouthful. You should think of giving it an an acronym.
Apollo: Meh.

Tyrol: Okay, gang, let's round up the ammo and get it loaded. There's the warheads, the bullets, and the... crazy person pointing a gun at me.
Leoben: What, I don't get a "Hello"?

Baltar: There's no place like sanity. There's no place like sanity. There's no place like sanity....
Six: It won't work. I'm not going anywhere. And besides, what makes you think you're hallucinating?
Baltar: You... you did something to me? You did, didn't you! Tell me what you did!
Six: Ever heard of spyware?
Baltar: Lords of Kobol have mercy....

Boomer: We got a great big convoy, rockin' through the night, yeah, we got a great big convoy, ain't she a beautiful sight? Come on and join our -- uh oh.

Apollo: The Cylons have found us. We have to jump to Ragnar immediately.
Roslin: But what about the other ships that don't have FTL drives?
Apollo: We'll bring them along using technobabble.
Roslin: Really?
Apollo: No.
Roslin: Rats. I thought this President stuff seemed a little too easy.

Adama: Feeling all right? You don't look so good.
Leoben: It's this place. It does something to me. Either that or I'm PMSing like crazy.
Adama: How long have you been waiting for us, you Cylon piece of scum?
Leoben: Damn. What gave me away?
Adama: Any human male knows not to make PMS jokes if he values life and limb.

Dualla: Sir, a group of ships just appeared on our scopes.
Tigh: Cylons?
Dualla: No, sir, I don't think so. They... appear to be singing folk songs.
Tigh: They must be Colonial ships. Cylons hate folk music.

Leoben: If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can ever imagine.
Adama: I don't believe you. If you could download yourself into another copy, you'd have done it already.
Leoben: I find your lack of faith disturbing.
Adama: Gak...ack...urk....
(WHAM!)
Leoben: I'll... be back. GAK!
Adama: Amateur. Everyone knows you don't mix movie catchphrases.

Gaeta: Here's the information on your program the Cylons are using to shut down Colonial defenses, Doctor, although it's never been fully installed on the Galactica.
Baltar: Ah, good. Well, I should destroy the evidence regardless.
Gaeta: You mean purge the faulty program from our databases?
Baltar: Yes. Yes, of course that's what I meant.
Six: You know, you really, really suck at this whole traitor business.

Tigh: Aw, crap. The Cylons look human now?
Adama: Which means that any one of us could be a Cylon, even you or me. Or even you.
Tigh: Stop doing that already, you'll tempt fate. What we need is some kind of secret passcode for everyone who isn't a Cylon. How about "I'm not a Cylon! Honest!"?
Adama: Something tells me that won't work as well as you think it will.
Tigh: I suppose you've got a better idea?

Adama: Doctor, since any one of us could be a Cylon spy, we need you to create some means of differentiating Cylon from human. You're the only person we can trust with this delicate mission and did you just snicker?
Baltar: Um, no sir. Pbbbbmmfft.
Six: Worst. Traitor. Ever.

Starbuck: Lee, before I go on recon, there's something I want to give you.
Apollo: Oh no. Please tell me it's not --
Starbuck: I'm responsible for your brother's tragic death.
Apollo: Crap.

Tigh: How do you know this guy is a Cylon?
Baltar: Nobody who's not evil wears suits that ugly, and I should kn-- never mind. If you want more proof... hey, Cylon: two plus two is five.
Doral: What? No it's not.
Baltar: See? His hard-wired Cylon brain can't handle a simple mathematical error.
Doral: But two plus two is NOT FIVE!
Tigh: Save your lies for someone who cares, Cylon scum. Take him away!

Adama: I have no intention of running, Madam President. I'm going to test this ship's three most important functions: fighting, abandoning helpless civilians, and stubbornly standing its ground beyond all odds or reason.
Roslin: What if I start making chicken sounds? Buk-buk-buk-buk-caaw!
Adama: We're running to the fight. That doesn't even make sense.
Roslin: Buk-CAW!

Adama: All right, we're going to take the civilians with us and get the hell out of this system.
Tigh: Does this have anything to do with --
Adama: No. Lieutenant Gaeta, I want you to plot a jump to this sector with the utmost secrecy and Madam President, can't you go do that on your own ship?
Roslin: That would defeat the whole purpose of the chicken sounds. Buk-CAW!

Doral: You can't leave me here! Have mercy!
Tigh: Relax. You've got food and water.
Doral: I'll go insane! Can't you at least give me a loaded pistol or something?
Tigh: There's a William Shatner CD in the bag. What you do with it is up to you.

Colonial Ships: FWISH! FWISH! FWISH!
Galactica: FWISH!
Cylon Basestars: Was it something we said?

Eloisha: ...and may the Lords of Kobol protect the souls of our fallen commrades. Commander Adama, do you have any inspirational words to give this dejected crew hope?
Adama: I certainly do. (singing) We got a ragtag fleet, boy, rockin' through the night, yeah, we got a ragtag fleet, boy, ain't she a beautiful sight...
Roslin: We are so doomed.

Starbuck: Drunk.
Tigh: Loser.
Starbuck: Cuckold.
(pause)
Tigh: I got nothin'.
Starbuck: We done here?
Tigh: At least until I get my thesaurus open to "B".

Six: You won't win, you know. We'll find you.
Baltar: I disagree. We humans are quite talented at hide and seek. Now, remember: you're it.
Six: Fine. We'll count to thirty-three, then come looking for you.
Baltar: Why thirty-three?
Six: No reason.

Doral: You're late.
Leoben: You look terrible.
Doral: I know -- the humans suck at math. Oh, and apparently we're "it".
Six: We'll find them.
Leoben: That could take decades.
Doral: Or until the series pilot. Whichever comes first.
All: Mwahahahaha!
Boomer: Mwahaha-- hey! What did we agree you guys would do whenever I enter the room?
All: Dun dun DUUUNNN!
Boomer: That's better.

TO BE CONTINUED....

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