AWD #057: Making a Stand
Making a Stand
Summary: In the late hours, Petra and Rozzen catch up and talk Picon, refugees, and the choice to stay and fight.
Date: 02/March/2013 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: The Best Never Want It
Petra Rozzen 
Observation Deck
The Obs Deck is one of the more quiet areas on the Orion where people can come to get away from the hustle and bustle that goes with of the rest of duty on the ship. The front of the room is a very large armored glass window to allow a dominating view of whatever is out ahead of the battlestar. Seats rise up at even levels, plush chairs and couches provided for the crew to relax in. During Condition One an armored plate is lowered down to cover the view and prevent the room from becoming a hazard and seal tight.
AWD #57

It's an odd enough, late enough, hour on board that the observation deck is quiet. Rows of empty seats stand silent witness to the brilliant wink of distant stars. They may not be completely empty, but Moira isn't exactly disturbing the hush. She sits in the front row, sunk deep into the corner of one of the plush couches. There's a notebook open over her lap, but it's slipped to the side and looks forgotten. Her head, rocked back against the cushion, is at an angle that might suggest she's fallen to sleep. And yet, despite the darkness touching under them, her dark eyes are blinked open and angled out at the view beyond the thick glass.

In Petra's case, he was able to get out of Watch duty, but that's only because he was off the ship for most of the day. Nevertheless, he steps onto the Observation Deck to do a little stargazing himself, and is caught a little off-guard to find someone camped out already. Perhaps to test their level of wakefulnes, he slowly walks up to the front row and murmurs, "Is this seat taken?" He waits until she looks to smile at her broadly.

Rozzen doesn't notice him until he speaks, a fact likely betrayed by the sharp little intake of breath. Quiet as it is. She may not have been asleep, but it takes the rapid blink of lashes to chase the glassiness from her gaze. "Oh," is all she breathes out at first. Partially righting herself, she casts a gaze around Petra to see if anyone is accompanying him before meeting his smile. Her own is perhaps a touch bashful, though her voice is warm around the crack of disuse. "Colonel." A hand lifts, touching at her hair (still pulled back) and her throat (uniform still buttoned) before reaching to shift her notebook closed as she shakes her head. "No. Please." She gestures welcome. "How are you?"

Petra mmms softly, a little amusement creeping into his voice as he takes a seat at the end, giving her plenty of room, "Apparently not having quite as long of a day as you are, Captain. I guess we both had the same idea - short of grabbing a supply closet, one of the few places to grab some quiet. I assume you're working entirely too hard as well?" He glances at her notebook and lifts one brow in curiosity when his gaze returns to her face.

"Of those that don't need supplemental oxygen," Moira agrees with a deepening of that smile. She looks down at her notebook, too, favoring it with a bit of wryness. She lifts it between both hands in acknowledgement before tucking it away between her thigh and the couch's arm. "There are so many things that I want to know," she admits. There's ruefulness there, but she can't help but let a little bit of her fascinated wonder slip through as well. It's bright in her eyes when they shift back to meet his gaze. "Signals," in this case. "Finding them. Deciphering them." But as interesting as she finds that, she tips her head in greater curiosity towards him. "How was Picon?"

Petra rumbles softly, "It was interesting." He considers the rest of her words for a moment before elaborating, "I'm taking a bit of a gamble with someone else's life, so I wanted to talk to her first about it. She's on board, but we're going to hedge our bet a little to help her out." Just a single heartbeat of a pause, then, "What sort of signals…if its something I can ask about without going crosseyed over the technical details?"

"Colonel Spree," Moira assumes. "I hope there are enough within his forces who find a wake-up call in the clash." Not that she puts much stock in hopes. She takes her own pause, letting the stir of thoughts that situation dredges up settle and putting a long breath between them and her answer. It pushes her weight back further into the cushion and turns her eyes back out to the stars. "Well, for one, the signal tacked on to the Pulsar seen from Helios Delta. Someone put it there. Us, them." For now, the only answer she has for that is a shrug. "I think we need to get a better handle on their Basestars, too. See if we can't tell which one is showing up where. Does the same set stay in orbit around each colony? Do they cycle out? Surely they must each emit some distinguishing signature."

Petra mmhmms at the first comment, "Its going to get very ugly on Picon next week." His brow furrows a little as he listens, "This is that signal embedded in the pulsar wave? You know, there was a reason why I got the hell out of SIGINT after three years." The furrow slowly turns into a wry smirk and a shake of his head, "Petty Officer Melpomene was going to research how the Cylons' communicate, but it never went anywhere as we were never able to grab an intact one to delve into. I would hypothesize they broadcast an ID signal their own craft can pick up on, but the million credit question is…how do we figure that out."

It is quite sobering, that first thought. Perhaps it drives her to retreat all the more into the more academic consideration of the signals. Moira tips a quiet grin back at him, sharing in an edge of that smirk. She nods about his initiated research with the PO. "Perhaps we'll be able to pick up more data in the upcoming missions, or be able to mine what ANVIL has recorded on Picon since the colony is monitored. Or from the logs at Pallas or the recovered ships we've brought in, for that matter," she speculates. "There's still the matter," of course, "of how to break out their signals. Such things benefit from the kind of processing power gained in networking that they use freely and we cannot. A jackpot with the long odds to go with it, much like the idea Ensign McBride is working on."

Petra purses his lips for a moment and nods slowly, "Oh, right, that reminds me. The recovered ships…their logs. I read the bit from the original AAR that talked about a new ship arriving, and it made me wonder." He takes in a deep breath and guestures a little with his hands, "Grab whoever you need to do the grunt work, but have people go through ALL of the flight and pilot logs for every single one of those ships, and write down every single ship they talk about being there at Hibernia. Then compare that to every ship we actually FOUND at Hibernia. I wanna know what ships are MISSING…and what the logs say about them. Can we do that?"

Rozzen rolls her lips under her teeth as he gestures, all part of a quietly held breath for his wondering. Her expression has smoothed as she listens attentively, a slight nod picking up as she follows along with where he's going with his request. "Of course," she says like a revelation. "Of course," the second time, is her firmer belief that she can make it so. "It should jsut take time, going through everything. There shouldn't be much issue with decryption or the like." Her eyes are roving, distant, as she thinks it through with a continuing vague nod. "Maybe situations like this are where those escorted ships going into the prison camps came from. And Hera - the ships found there, they may offer similar information?" It also serves as a question about the situation in general, her tentative tone marking it as one she hasn't come fully up to speed with.

Petra nods slowly, "It might. OR, it might be evidence of a group of people that got away and still need to be found. It will help us out if we know WHO we are looking for, not just 'anyone that might have survived', you know? Either way, if we can figure out what happened to all of those people, even if that answer is 'they all died on X colony', I'll feel better KNOWING." He takes a slow, deep breath and lets it go, "But yes, exactly. Im about to go enlist one of our refugees, Mr. Edison, as a new Engineer. Rope him in if you need the live body…might help him get acclimated to help dig through avionics logs."

The sense of what he says reflects within Moira's eyes as she cocks an ear to listen, still with the slow nod. As for knowing, that brings a wider flash of her smile. That, then, is something she certainly can empathize with. "Mr. Edison," she repeats like she's committing the name to memory. "I think I recall seeing his name come across my inbox. That's a good idea. It'll be a good place to start him getting his feet wet," she agrees. The force of the exhale of another long breath keeps the slow blink of her eyes from lingering closed too long. "At least that's the upshot of bringing in more people. There will be more work to do, but theoretically we will also be able to recruit more hands and minds to do it."

Petra nods slowly at that and offers a faint smile for a moment, "I'm going back next week with the Sister and some Marines. We're going to pick up a small group of folks that Spree wants to send over to check the place out and make sure her people are going to be safe here. Once she's satisfied, then we go in and start airlifting her wounded and non-coms out. We're going ahead with the plan I sent around to you and Zachary earlier, with one additional bit: We're loaning Spree a large chunk of our Marines, because its very likely that some of Bancroft's fanatics will try to take Spree's command post out, and if they do, we have to give her a fighting chance. If the bulk of Bancroft's Marines do the honorable thing and turn him in, that will leave Spree as overall Commander of ALL of the resistance forces, and she already trusts us."

The first is expected. The twist, that's enough to put some tension through her shoulders. Moira looks out the window again, her lips twitching a little under the snag of her teeth. "Even at the end of the world," she says under her breath. An inhale firms a shallow smile back upon her features. "She seems like a good ally. I can't imagine being in her position. I'm glad that I'm not." It's a blunt admission. After, her gaze slides back to Petra, searching over his features a little. Finding the wounds and wear of his recent trials. Perhaps in comparison they make her seem as neat, untouched, distant as the stars out the broad window. Despite those dark circles underneath darker eyes.

Petra glances off out the viewing glass when she talks about Spree's position, "She didn't want to hear what I had to say. After what she's been through, I'm sure she didn't want me dropping this kind of a lead weight on her, but Bancroft's backed us into a corner and she's already stuck her neck out. If we do nothing, he knows she knows what he tried to do…he'll try to quietly replace her. If we stand up, he knows she helped us, but this way, we have her back, and if we can help her come out on top, then we all are better off." He pauses, and finally glances back at Moira's face, "We aren't going to have any chance at all of surviving this if we sit here and play it safe. Work out some targets for me with that plan of McBrides. Lets find the super dreadnoughts. Lets catch the Cylons off guard and bloody their frakking nose. I want to wipe out a supply or staging point behind their lines and leave a beacon that tells them 'This is for Gememnon. Wait till we find out where YOU live.'"

"I hope so," is what Moira says softly for Spree's predicament, for the possibility of being better off. Exhaustion has crept upon her features while her thoughts are distracted, slipping past the cool control and leaving her looking merely drawn and worried. Her head has fallen to rest against the couch again. As Petra continues, her lashes brush so low with the fall of her gaze between them that it may look as if sleep is claiming her. But she's listening, even if the heaviness of it all seems to weigh her down motionless. "There is a different kind of chance for survival," she is compelled to point out, though she does with a soft and hollow voice. "We could leave." Her lashes lift to bring her gaze up once more. "Run. Hide. It's an infinite universe. Survive. Start over." And this brings her around to what is perhaps closer to her point: "Fighting is a choice."

Petra falls quiet for a moment, and takes in a slow, deep breath, then lets it go. He falls quiet for several seconds after she finishes, then focuses on her face, "I know. And…at first, that was sort of my opinion as well. The Cylons won…people are dead, we should pack everything up and flee to the stars where they'll never find us." He falls quiet again, then adds, "But Jameson is right. We aren't mercenaries. We are the Colonial Navy, and our first responsibility is to protect and save the people of the Colonies. Can you tell me right now that they are all dead and we cannot save them? You and I both know that's not true. There are millions of people on Picon. Wounded and non-combatants. People hiding and stranded, just like the ones we found recently. We're staying. And we are going to figure out how to keep everyone we can alive and safe, and we are going to make the Cylons pay for everything we can, while we do it, and hope Intel or Research finds out a way for us to bring this to an end."

With her head rocked against the couch, dark hair pushing out of its tight ponytail, Moira can meet his gaze with little effort. It leaves the cool gears of her thoughts exposed, the vast expanse of inqusitiveness as open as the view before them. She weighs his words, cataloging and tucking away along with the shifts of his voice and features. Finally, her own lips lift into a small curve. "We're all dead. We cannot be saved from that," she answers with level honesty. She doesn't say it out of defeat, but in abstract fact. "We can," however, "in all the moments we have before, do what we can to give them meaning. To snatch order and goodness from chaos." This said, with a steeling inhale she draws herself from her nook on the couch to perch more precipitously upon its edge. One hand catches up her notebook while the other sets to the cushions, closing the distance between them. "I should hit my rack if I'm to be any good to you tomorrow."

Petra watches her as she speaks and moves, sucking on a tooth while he listens. When it looks like she's getting ready to go, he nods slowly, "Personally? I don't think we're going to win. But. I'm not going to quit, and I dont think the Admiral or the Commander plan on doing that either. We aren't abandoning anyone…not the people on Piraeus, or Picon, or Aerlion, or even the ones in the camps on Leonis." He pauses and nods again, "Yes, get some rest. Dont make me do what the Admiral did to me, and force rack time on you." He smiles a little more at that and sighs, leaning back into the seat for a moment, "See you tomorrow, Moira."

"No," with a wan little smile, Moira doesn't believe they will. It brightens a fraction under his well meaning threat. "You, too, sir," she says with soft warmth. It takes her a moment longer to really gather herself together and shift up to her feet. Her eyes linger a moment as he reclines. "Have a good night." And like a ghost, her steps a drift instead of their often purposeful stomp, she floats from the room in search of what sleep she can find.

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