Slate 7 + NordVPN NordLynx tip:
- Don’t hunt for WireGuard .conf on Nord’s site.
- Generate an Access Token in Nord Account (scroll past “Manual setup”; there’s a separate “Access Token” card).
- On Slate 7 (http://192.168.8.1), enter token in the NordVPN panel, pick Wireguard, choose regions, connect.
- Verify at https://ifconfig.co. For captive portals: disable VPN, log in, re-enable.
If Moore and Tricia Helfer/James Callis were willing to return, they’d be the perfect link between cycles.
Concept:
They exist as dual consciousnesses inside the ancient datacores — observers who evolved beyond physicality but still bicker like old lovers.
They act as the “Watchers” that Kara eventually encounters, two facets of the same post-human mind.
Callis could play them with weary self-awareness: “We thought we were gods once. Turns out we were just data that wouldn’t stop talking.”
Function:
They’re philosophical foils for Kara — she’s trying to break the loop; they’re terrified of what happens if the loop ends. Their scenes would carry the same flirty-theological energy as the original, but with a century of perspective.
Jamie Bamber has aged gracefully; in Moore’s world, he’d probably appear as:
A reconstructed echo — a recorded holographic log discovered aboard Galactica Station (Episode 9, The Long Watch).
Or a direct descendant, maybe a civic leader on the reborn colony who becomes Kara’s human contact once she manifests physically.
Either way, he embodies the Adama archetype: the man trying to hold the line between duty and belief.
If Bamber’s real-life son (Theo Bamber, for example, assuming he were old enough) resembled him, Moore would absolutely seize that:
Cast him as Elias Lee-Adama, a young pilot or engineer unaware of his heritage.
When Kara meets him, she experiences déjà vu — his voice, his bearing, the same stubborn compassion.
Later, when the older Apollo appears via archive or vision, father and son share a quiet scene: the original’s ghostly hand on the younger man’s shoulder, both played by real father and son.
It’s meta, emotional, and perfectly Galactica: lineage as recursion made flesh.
Tagline for that episode:
“The blood remembers.”
Edward James Olmos could cameo in a single archival scene — a fragment from Galactica’s logs that Kara accesses.
Jamie Bamber watches his own father’s hologram give the same speech he once heard in the CIC.
For one brief moment, Kara, Lee, and Adama share the frame again — across time, simulation, and memory.
Moore would frame it as the heart of the cycle: courage and love passed forward like genetic code.
These aren’t just nostalgic cameos; they’re the human fingerprints in the machine world.
Each return (Baltar/Six, Apollo, Adama) reminds the audience that this isn’t about gods or data — it’s about people leaving imprints so strong they echo through eternity.
If Moore had that ensemble, he’d probably build one mid-season bottle episode titled “Inheritance”, written by someone like Jane Espenson or David Weddle, where Kara interacts with all three legacies — Baltar, Six, and an Adama — and finally realizes that every cycle survives because someone loved someone enough to leave a trace.
Episode 2 → “Who Goes There”
replaces the earlier working title “Ghost Protocol”
Tagline:
“We opened the door to history. Something answered.”
A mysterious light emerges from a buried datacore. The team tries to access it, but when the first signal projects a human female face—and calls itself Kara—the crew must decide whether this is salvation or the return of the “fallen angel” who once guided and haunted them.
Act I — The Discovery
The expedition team unseals a chamber in the ruins. Data cores, crystalline arrays, archival nodes.
Power surges. A shard of luminescent energy projects into the central holo-sphere.
The projected figure asks, “Do you remember me?”
First reactions: fear, wonder, denial. Someone demands “shut it off.”
Act II — Identity & Tension
The projection identifies itself as Kara.
Personnel begin experiencing flash memory intrusions: dream fragments of Starbuck, voices in their heads.
Some followers begin to whisper this is a miracle, others demand proof (blood, DNA, continuity of memory).
A secondary plot: sabotage in the base—from someone convinced this is a trap.
Act III — Physical Manifestation & Test
The hologram ripples and phases. Cores around the room hum.
With a burst, she materializes for an instant — silhouette, half-formed, catching someone’s hand.
A collapse, blackout. When systems return, she’s gone — but one crew member is wired to her signal, now speaking like her.
Final shot: that crew member gazes at their hand, voice trembling:
“Hello… it’s been a long time.”
Fall / Rebirth — The title mirrors the myth of Starbuck “falling” from life and being reborn.
Mirrors of identity — How do we know she is her? If the archives can spin her memory into our lives, is that “real”?
Divinity vs agency — Is she a messenger, a ghost, or a sovereign being?
Trust & fear — The crew must confront whether to worship her, fear her, or fight her.
She wouldn’t be front and center initially. The episode plays her more as a force than a flesh-and-blood person.
Her lines are sparse, cryptic, powerful — the “angel” tone. She speaks truths, not exposition.
She becomes the emotional core: the question “is this you?” matters more than the answer.
This allows her to be both mythical and human — not a returning pilot, but someone whose return means something much bigger.
If you like, I can sketch the next four episodes in that revival’s Season 1 arc (titles + core conflicts), using “Fallen Angel” as the emotional lodestone. Want me to map that out?
Not a ghost, not a clone, not quite human — but an emergent phenomenon left behind in the datacores.
How she fits:
The first team that breaches the ruins in the pilot finds a signal that calls itself Kara.
At first, she appears only as a projected voice and scattered visual fragments — like the Watchers in Mass Effect or Dr. Tyrell’s memories in Blade Runner 2049.
Over the first few episodes, her presence stabilizes: a full holographic embodiment reconstructed from overlapping Colonial and Cylon archives.
She doesn’t remember how she returned — because she never left. Her “death” at the end of the 2009 finale was the point where her consciousness was uploaded into the recursive simulation that the Watchers use to test civilizations.
Now, that program has rebooted.
| Role | Description |
|---|---|
| Guide / Skeptic | She knows fragments of the truth — that history is repeating — but doesn’t trust her own memories. |
| Moral Center | Kara is the only character who’s lived both sides — human and Cylon, believer and cynic. She becomes the conscience of the new explorers. |
| Mystery Catalyst | The more the team interacts with her, the more she manifests physically — suggesting she might not be a hologram but a quantum reconstruction. |
🎭 How Sackhoff Could Play ItMoore’s best writing for her was always about identity conflict — soldier vs. seer, flesh vs. spirit. A revived Kara gives Sackhoff:
Imagine her saying, almost under her breath:
🧠 Meta-Value for FansHer inclusion bridges continuity without erasing mystery:
Handled this way, she wouldn’t dominate every episode; she’d appear in bursts — sometimes a guide, sometimes a warning, sometimes a flicker of static on a console that says something prophetic before vanishing. If Moore wanted to go truly full-circle, Season 1 could end with the reveal that the datacore itself — the “Starbuck construct” — is writing the story we’ve been watching, trying to reconstruct what she once was. Would you like me to draft how the pilot’s closing scene might look with her re-emergence handled this way — something cinematic that would both shock and comfort old fans?
Exactly — and if you treat her reappearance with care, you can make it both thrilling and thematically rich. One of the biggest missed opportunities at the end of the 2009 series was that Kara simply vanishes after the “mission” is over. If Moore came back to it, he could invert that dynamic: instead of a mysterious arrival woven seamlessly into everyone’s memories (like Season 4), this time she appears from the outside, and everyone has to decide in real time if she’s “real,” “safe,” or even “Kara.” Here’s how that could work: 1. Arrival: From Angel to Artifact
2. Gradual Incarnation
This lets you do the “Baltar and Six in Manhattan” thing but in reverse: she starts as a “ghost” in the machine and ends as a walking, breathing being in the human settlement. 3. Social Integration as DramaYou’re right that the real story isn’t her powers but her relationships. In Season 4 of BSG, people automatically “remembered” her return. In the new show, no one does. She’s just a stranger with a familiar face and impossible knowledge.
This sets up identity as the battleground: it’s not “is Kara good or evil,” it’s “is Kara Kara?” 4. Evolving RoleIf Moore wanted Sackhoff to stay for multiple seasons, she’d arc from:
This way she’s not simply “back on the bridge of the Battlestar” but something new: the first being to live on both sides of the recursion and consciously try to change the outcome. 5. Thematic PayoffHandled like this, Kara’s return:
And you’re right: it would echo her Season 4 storyline but inverts the framing. This time we’re not tricked into accepting her as “real” until the reveal; we know she’s anomalous, and the question is whether reality itself can accommodate her — or whether her presence is the sign they’re still inside a simulation. That’s a hell of a hook for a pilot season.
|
Logline:
When a team of archaeologists breaches a glacial vault thought to contain early Colonial technology, they uncover a sealed datacore—and something that appears to respond to them. One of the researchers begins speaking in a voice not their own.
Themes:
First contact with one’s own past.
The horror of recognition—“we built this.”
The Thing-like paranoia: has someone been overwritten, or awakened?
Echoes of Starbuck, but not as resurrection—more like pattern interference.
What it sets up:
The re-emergence of Colonial and Cylon code, intertwining with human DNA (a literal merger of myths).
The “Deep Time” watchers realizing that the next cycle has begun prematurely.
Questions of identity: are the explorers the trespassers, or the descendants the vault was meant to find?
You could imagine the tone as halfway between Arrival, The Thing, and 2001: A Space Odyssey:
quiet, scientific, eerie, reverent.
The phrase “Who Goes There” would resonate both as the scientist’s challenge when the door opens, and as the watchers’ question when they sense life stirring again in the archives.
Ronald D. Moore’s instincts have always tilted toward the human-mythic side of science fiction—messy people, faith and reason clashing, technology as theology—so if he ever came back to Battlestar, he’d probably double down on that tone rather than reboot the war story.
Here’s one plausible projection of where he and a reunited DS9-style room could take
it, based on how those writers think.
The new series opens 100 years after the landing on “new” Earth. Most of the colonists are gone; the descendants have merged with the planet’s indigenous primates into early humans.
But beneath the ice caps are buried datacores—Cylon and Colonial
archives slowly re-awakening. Think of it as archaeology from the
future looking back on its creators.
A research team (our new cast) accidentally boots a residual intelligence that identifies itself as Kara Thrace.
Moore has said he regretted not defining her. With hindsight, he’d probably thread the needle between spirituality and science:
A quantum-echo entity. Starbuck is the product of Cylon resurrection tech cross-wired with the “angels” that guided Baltar and Six. She is both software and soul—literally the interface between carbon and silicon.
She doesn’t “return from death”; she collapses probability. Every version of her across prior cycles condensed into one pattern to steer the fleet. Now, centuries later, that pattern begins to re-assert itself in the re-awakening archives.
She becomes the show’s Miller-in-the-Protomolecule figure—half guide, half ghost, trying to understand her own purpose.
Picking up on your earlier thought, Moore could finally make the mythology explicit:
The “Him” that Baltar and Six heard was a network of ancient post-biological civilizations—successors of previous cycles that chose non-interference.
Their fear: direct contact causes recursion and collapse. Every time they intervene, they create religions that freeze progress.
The Cylons were one such intervention that went too far.
The re-awakening on Earth threatens to restart the cycle, so these watchers face the same dilemma again: act or abstain.
With For All Mankind experience behind him, Moore would probably build a multi-decade generational story:
| Theme | Treatment |
|---|---|
| Evolution | Each season jumps a few centuries—early humans, proto-civilizations, the rediscovery of technology. |
| Legacy & Memory | Myths about “the Sky People” evolve into religion, then archaeology, then rediscovery. |
| Contact | The watchers debate whether to reveal themselves when a new species of AI—built by humans—starts echoing the old Cylons. |
It becomes Battlestar Galactica: Deep Time—a cosmic-archaeology saga where faith, science, and recursion meet.
Bring in DS9 alumni (Ira Steven Behr, René Echevarria, Ronald Moore himself) and you’d get:
Serialized moral arcs à la Sisko vs. the Prophets.
Political texture—religions splintering over what the “angels” meant.
Character-driven myth instead of ideology: exploration of guilt, stewardship, and the right to create life.
They’d likely contrast two leads:
A scientist trying to prove Starbuck is a reconstruction program.
A believer convinced she’s
the returning herald.
Both are right.
The show circles back to the cosmic scale:
Starbuck learns that even the “watchers” are subject to entropy; they need fresh consciousness to keep the network alive.
Humanity becomes the next steward species—not by conquest but by
understanding.
Final shot: a probe—half-biological, half-digital—launched from a future Earth carrying humanity’s integrated memory into the void.
Echoing the pilot, a whisper:
“All of this will happen again… unless someone learns why.”
That’s probably where a mature Moore would take it: not woke or polemical, but mythic, cyclical, and curious about the responsibilities of creation.
Less a war story, more a meditation on legacy and cosmic humility
—exactly the kind of science-fiction television that used to dare to ask why
instead of which side are you on.