"Next time I see you in person, I'll tell you my home planet," Baltar proposed, moving across the room to ash his cigarette into the crystal tray by his bed -- the cigarette itself near burned to the filter, but he had a couple of inhales left in it to make it count. There had been a time when smoking the things merely partway before flicking them aside, but while cigarettes aren't so rare a commodity, you never do know.

He sat back down. "There's twelve of 'em to pick from, so she'd have to be an exceptionally lucky toaster."