Commercials. For some reason, I still feel weird every time I type that.
We come back to a shot of a TV show already in progress. And just in case that alone wasn't meta enough to suit your advanced, twenty-first century, Age of Irony tastes, the show in question features our old pal Baltar, checking his watch and looking really bored. Heh. He's apparently a guest on a futuristic version of the Barbara Walters show, and the host delivers so much condensed exposition about his background as Caprica's leading scientific genius that the camera has enough time to do a full 360-degree pan around Baltar's lakefront condominium before eventually settling down on Baltar himself, just as the Poor Man's Amanpour finally gets around to asking an actual question. Baltar blathers some sort of response, but we're obviously not meant to care about what he says, because Number Six has just walked into his house wearing nothing but a see-through dress and black pleather underwear. I'll say this for the Sci-Fi network: At least they know their audience. Baltar tells Poor Man's Amanpour that he thinks the Colonies should get back to the artificial intelligence research that was banned after the first Cylon war, and then we get a sudden jump-cut to Baltar and Number Six, macking future-style in the foyer. Incidentally, in the future, everyone will keep their goldfish in an Erlenmeyer flask. An octagonal Erlenmeyer flask, no doubt. Baltar and Six keep going at it, and he eventually leads her into the bedroom, where he rips off her dress because today's nerds have no patience for the merely see-through. I gotta say, Tricia Helfer is hot, but the black pleather panties aren't doing her any favors. They definitely looked better on Libby. Which actually brings me to the one good thing I can unreservedly say about Ron Moore's take on Battlestar Galactica: If nothing else, he's at least managed to bring over everything I like about Carnivale without any of that constant, pesky unwillingness to advance the plot. I mean, we've got hot pants, dirty people, characters coming back from the dead, inappropriate sexual relationships, and enough bizarre psycho-religious allegory to shake Moses' extra-phallic staff at. If they'd just made Apollo into a midget, it would have been absolutely perfect.
In any event, Number Six is having a distinctly human moment here, because all she really wants is for Baltar to say that he loves her. He, on the other hand, just wants the robo-sex. He wins, and she promptly throws him down onto the bed, climbs on board, and engages in as much simulated sexual thrusting as the basic cable censors will allow. She reaches up to pull off her poorly-fitted pleather bra, and the camera swings around behind her because nerds can't handle the sight of actual boobies without giggling and saying "boobies" over and over again. Heh. "Boobies." And then we get the big moment that you just know Ron Moore used in every single pitch meeting when discussing this project: the famous pulsing red Cylon light flashes up and down Number Six's spine just as she reaches orgasm. Classy! Somewhere out there, Lorne Greene is spinning in his grave.