Virgon

Deitra and Ortega had taken a longer time to transverse the distance between Kronus' compound and the city of Panna, even by spinner. They were also reduced by the craft's monotronic computer, easily dated by forty-odd years.

Panna, like all the urban areas of this colony, had suffered from orbital bombardment. Buildings still stood against the savagery of the times but people were noticeably absent. Another ghost town where the only moving objects were machine soldiers doing a sweep for any residue of humanity.

Avoiding Cylon patrols took patience, more than Ortega had but he was not the ranking officer. Deitra made it abundantly clear on the way that she would be calling the shots. He disliked it but at the moment only grumbled. Whether he would comply with her orders would only be known once they were on site.

Karibdis Cosmodrome was located north of the city, in an area the locals often simply called Karibdisville because his corporation invested heavily in the area. Many of Panna's residents were employed in some fashion to Karibdis's corporate empire.

The warriors used binoculars and a scanner – passive scans so as not to be detected, to recon the sprawling facility. A starliner was still smoldering from a direct hit and at least one heavy Cylon raider was visible. Centurions were not seen but both assumed that the heavy raider meant at least some.

Ortega was willing to get closer, check on the huge hangers and see if any starliner was serviceable. Deitra grabbed a hold of him. "Hold it."

He was clearly annoyed until he saw the Toasters for himself, marching in formation, much like their human counterparts. "Look at those frakers. Think they're fraking marines the way they carry on."

"History lesson, Wildcat, we designed them to be soldiers so that we could have bloodless wars against one another."

Ortega scoffed. "Who's fraking idea was that?"

She rolled her eyes. Flipping through the transvid channels one uneventful evening, she had come across one of those old documentaries about the early Cylons. That they developed sentience and began writing their own programming, resulting in the first war was never fully explained and until now, she had never gave it much thought. Seeing the new, improved centurions, brought that curiosity to the surface, if only to kick which ever scientist designed them, in the ass.

"We should be taking a jumper and rendezvousing with the Columbia." Wildcat remarked after a moment of silence. Her only response was a glare. He continued. "Even if by chance we got all those people out here and got us a starliner that could take them, how long would we last? No armaments in the thick of the enemy? We'd be a shooting star before we hit the stratosphere."

"So your plan would be to sacrifice them to save your own ass, am I hearing you correctly, Sergeant?" Her tone betrayed her disgust.

"You'd have to be as delusional as that old man back at the compound to think we could pull this off. Just look at the Toasters. The Gods only know how many are down there and what kind of rein enforcements they could expect if we even try to take them on." He sighed. "Look, we get a jumper, get back to the Columbia and inform the Commander."

"You heard Aurora. The Cylons will have this entire planet under their thumb in a matter of days. The sanctuary they have is an illusion, for now. They can't stay and the longer they remain, the tighter the noose and soon no one will be able to leave. So, as the officer here, I say we help them. If you want to be a selfish prick, do it on your own time." She looked through the binoculars and noticed that one of the centurions had stopped and was looking in their direction. She turned to Ortega to see that the scanner was still active. Looking back, the centurion's attention was still fixated on their general position.

She snatched the scanner from his hands and turned it off then pulled on Ortega's collar to pull him away from the edge of the rise, where they were spying on the facility.

"What the hell-."

"One of the Cylons must have detected your scans. We got to get moving." She hissed under her breath.

He unholstered his Clamshell, knowing full well that its three spare clips were not anywhere adequate to take on a dozen or more Cylons. Each clip held just six high-powered rounds. Ortega peeked over the edge. The curious Cylon was still remained focused on them and was now joined by a First Centurion, the gold-plated models. "Something is up."

"Like I said, we need to move. We'll come around to the south side-."

Ortega cut her off. "Shouldn't we just get back to the compound. This place is to well guarded for anything short of suicide."

"Just a moment ago, you wanted to sacrifice those back in the compound now you want to join them. Make up your fraking mind, Sergeant because I need you focused." Deitra shot back, her own pistol in her hand. She already started heading toward the south side of the facility which offered cover.

He looked back at the spinner. Their attempt to conceal it with brush and whatever they could find might not be enough if the Cylons took a closer look. In any event, there was little he could do about it now and proceeded to follow the lieutenant, choosing a few profanities that mirrored his mood.

It first appeared as a black dot in the sky, then as it got closer, it became more distinctive. A raider circled the area. The warriors were safely out of view and not in the scanning area but the spinner was. It fired a single missile which completely destroyed the craft. Once it completed, the raider soared back toward the northern sky and then made a steep incline and disappeared.

Ortega had watched what happened and was mad as hell. They were now stuck in Panna, a town crawling with Cylons. He only hoped there was something here that was worth all this trouble.

They entered one of the buildings by way of a rear door. It required a key card but Deitra simply played with some wires until the door unlocked. Inside was nearly dark except for some windows that casted rays of sunlight to pepper the interior. The building was massive in scale and contained two starliners. Only one did not have its hull plating removed here and there for maintenance. It meant nothing, only that the other starliner had not yet been serviced or had a different set of problems.

"Look at the size of these things." Quipped Wildcat. "Do you still think that we could get one of these off the ground before getting blown to bits like the spinner outside?"

The starliner itself was a little more than an eighth of the size of a classic type battlestar. Streamlined and FTL capable, it could carry up to a thousand passengers and would be more than enough for what they intended. The problem, as Ortega had pointed out, was getting it off the ground, if indeed it was serviceable. Sunlight had illuminated the starliner's name, Karibdis Paradise.

"Let's take a look inside." She whispered, holding her Clamshell at the ready, always vigilant for the enemy. He simply followed, saying 'frak' numerous times under his breath. As far as he was concerned, all it needed was a bull's eye painted on its hull.

The service hatch was open and they slowly boarded the vessel. Flashlights were switched on when the interior was nearly in complete darkness. First class section was opulent beyond belief. Ortega leaned over the bar as he picked out a bottle of Ambrosia, one of many. It was an acquired taste since it cost more cubit than he was willing to part with. He panned his flashlight over the bar's inventory and let out a low whistle.

Deitra only glared at him and kept moving. She avoided the ascensior because of lack of power, and took the emergency stairs instead. She stepped out onto the Bridge and soon realized though it was not as complex as a battlestar's, it still required more personnel than just the two of them. She picked up a clipboard which had a report that had required a signature. The ship was to leave in three days for a run to Caprica, Scorpia and Canceron before returning back here. It never would complete its tour.

She went over to a console and turned on the auxiliary lighting. For a moment, Ortega's pessimism took hold of her. How could they hope to fly her out, get beyond the patrolling raiders and the basestars' ordinance in order to jump. It took 33 centons and they simply couldn't sit around to wait. No guns, no armor, no hope in hell.

The lieutenant sat in the captain's chair and began tapping the armrest. "I can't leave those people behind." She said out loud, glancing at her Atlantia patch on her sleeve, knowing full well that Admiral Nagala and everyone else aboard, her shipmates, had died and she could not do anything to have prevented it. She was not about to have it happen again.

Ortega finally arrived, still clutching the Ambrosia bottle. "We steal a jumper. You can see for yourself that we can't do this." He waved his free hand to encompass the Bridge.

She jumped out of her chair and grabbed the bottle from his hand. "What the frak do you think you're doing? By the Lords of Kobol, are you a fraking mindwipe?" She set the bottle down and pressed her fingers against her temple. "This is dereliction of duty, mister."

He stared at her a moment. "You going to file for court martial? Wait, Fleet Headquarters was destroyed and as far as we know, there isn't much of a Fleet left if the scattered debris in space is any indication." He folded his arms. "So Kronus' chosen is worth the risk? You know there could be thousands of other survivors here, little alone the rest of the colonies. You won't be able to save each and everyone of them. You're not even from Virgon."

"What's that suppose to mean?"

Ortega didn't answer, simply strolled off the Bridge. She didn't stop him, too angry to even deal with the man. "How could he possibly be a Colonial warrior?" She thought as she brought up the specs for the ship. It had a complement of 400 but much of these were geared to passenger service, such as stewards. What she needed were just a few techs for the Bridge and snipes down in the Engine Room; everything else was immaterial. The ten lounges, six restaurants and two pools aboard were but a luxury. It did have two shuttles in its landing bay but a working FTL drive was the most important feature and would make the most difference.

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Wildcat was mumbling obscenities as he went down one deck after another. His flashlight illuminated cabin 10612, a clone of dozens he imagined. Personal space, something he couldn't get bunking down in the Columbia's barracks, was very evident on this ship.

He was lost in thought, still entangled in his anger over the redhead lieutenant and almost didn't notice the half hidden body at an intersection ahead. He carefully approached it and saw that it was a man dressed in civvies with a knife protruding from his chest. Blood covered his torso and his eyes still looked toward the ceiling in death.

"What the frak..." He whispered. Toasters, at least these days, didn't go around stabbing their opponents when they had built-in machine guns to unleash enough lead to bring down a herd of pachyderms. On closer inspection, The knife looked to be a staple of practically any kitchen and not a De-Bar or other combat blade. One thing for certain, the man was killed not long ago, after the invasion.

His light illuminated a corridor and behold someone was standing there. Ortega aimed his Clamshell. "Stay where you are!" He couldn't contact Deitra about this development in case his transmission was picked up by the Cylons, or at least that was his excuse. "Put your hands on your head."

The man had been attempting to shield his eyes from Ortega's flashlight's glare but complied. This fellow was not splattered in blood, not even a few specks considering the corpse's state.

Ortega only heard something behind him and as he turned, the pipe connected, sending him to unconsciousness. His attacker scooped up the Clamshell and smiled. He glared at his companion who still had his hands on his head. He put the gun to Ortega's temple as if to simply end the ordeal instead but hesitated.

The intercom crackled to life. "Ortega, get down to the Engine Room and check on the turbodyne."

The man rubbed his chin. "A woman..." He smirked. "For Kobol's sake, put your hands down and tie this motherfraker's hands real tight. Don't want this warrior getting any ideas now do we." He gave Ortega a kick to the ribs. "A lot of good these warriors did us."

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Deitra figured using the intercom, with its closed circuits, would not be detected by the Cylons, unlike radio transmissions, however her choice was made when Ortega stormed off and she wasn't about to search for him. If he could tell her the condition of the turbodyne then she would have a better understanding, as far as her engineering knowledge went, of the chances for a jump.

What worried her was whether the Columbia would still be at the jump coordinates and if not did she move on or been destroyed. Either way, they could not hope to survive even a lone raider attack and she hadn't time to look at the navigational charts for a possible sanctuary if it came to that. Even with this, she didn't want to leave Kronos' refugees behind to a fate that was certain to happen here on Virgon. As for the other billions of people she could not save, as Ortega had pointed out, she knew the colonies had dozens of starships, most commercial, that could have taken thousands to safety. She had to believe this, that the human race hadn't succumb to a few hundred survivors.

She turned to the intercom and was about to request for Ortega to respond but sending out one message should have been enough if the man was a disciplined warrior. Sighing, she turned back to reading the multitude of instruments that gave her a preliminary status of the ship's systems. When the door opened, Deitra glanced over, ready to give the other pilot a piece of her mind when she saw that Ortega was being held captive and that one of the captors was aiming a gun at her.

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Cimtar Station

Cartel boss Aralt Sagremor was allowed to call his contacts for the parts and manpower needed for the major job of repairing the Columbia. All his calls were monitored by both Detective Inspector Hunter and Lieutenant Vega, who was quite the linguist. The cover story was that the battlestar was instead a Borellian superfreighter. Surely a lie but no one questioned Sagremor's motives and once the laborers were here, the station would be under lockdown with no outside contact.

The power converter continued to haunt them. The much needed part of their FTL drive, Sagremor, as expected, could not find anything similar. Chief Engineer Objo had tried but failed to build one that could take the immense energy needed to achieve a jump, without draining, for the 33 centons required. Normally they would have replacements since jumps created 'wear and tear' on the converter over time but as luck would have it, the storage room where they were kept was one of the damaged compartments of the ship that had suffered a hull breach during the earlier Cylon attack.

While all this was transpiring, Commander Vinn remained a transfixed object in Ops. He could still see his wounded ship through the windows but he knew that he could do more here. Forcing Sagremor to assist the repair effort was one of his more distasteful acts but not for the obvious reason of dealing with a criminal. The human race was on the brink of extinction and Sagremor was still only interested in himself.

Then there was the matter of the wounded crew members. The station's infirmary could not deal with such an influx and though the Columbia's Life Center was a state of the art facility, it just would not do during large scale repairs. Power could be disrupted, countless problems crop up and cost lives. The decision was made that the wounded would be sent to the agro world of Sectar via Sagremor's space yacht. It would take several jumps, but the planet's hospitals would best serve their needs. Dr. Antos had gone with them. It was a gamble, as they all knew, since Sectar's population was human and could have met with a similar fate as the Colonies. In the end, it was believed that being in the outer rim, may have protected them, at least for now.

"Commander?"

Vinn turned away from the window to see his CAG. "Jolly." He did not attempt conversation as so much had happened in less than 48 hours, that idle words had little meaning.

"Major Objo needs a power converter. As I understand it, the Colonies is the only place we can get one."

"Get to the point, Captain." Vinn furrowed his brow, knowing where Jolly was going with this. He had been wrestling with the idea himself since Objo brought up the converter problem.

"We take the raptor back to the Colonies and get the converter. We'll get much needed intelligence-."

Vinn interrupted him. "And you want to look for Sparky and Wildcat." The old commander sighed. "I lost over 500 officers and crew – including warriors – in the attack. Some may say that we got off lucky, could have been thousands. I don't take their deaths lightly nor do I forget those two warriors and I truly understand your loyalty to them. I too, a long time ago, sat in the cockpit of a viper...I know, I know that you want to do something to rectify what's happened."

"They jumped near Virgon. It's possible they're still alive. I just want the chance to bring our boys back home...As a secondary objective." Jolly added, wanting to sell his idea.

"Virgon..." Vinn seem to be lost in thought for a moment. "I was going to retire after this tour, live in Panna and write my memoirs." He smirked, remembering what he told Admiral Nagala several months ago. The admiral's retort was that Vinn couldn't sit still long enough to write anything. "You may proceed but under no circumstances are you to jeopardize yourself or anyone else. We lost enough good people today, I don't want to add to it." He paused. "Send a recon raptor in, get images first so we can get an idea what we're in for. I don't want you to go jumping into the dark."

"Rock and Storm are ready to go."

Vinn stared at Jolly, stroking his white beard. "I see. Best not keep them waiting. I want no heroics. If they come under fire, they are to jump back."

"Aye Sir." Jolly grabbed the commlink to pass on the order. Since Raptor 3 was already to go, it did not take long before it took off from Launch Bay Alpha and in a flash, made the jump.