Battlestar Valhalla : Zero Hour

[Rivine]

It has been forty years since the end of the Cylon War. Peace has spread throughout the Twelve Colonies over the intervening period, with the Cylon threat fading to a distant memory spoken of by aging veterans. The Colonial military has continued to develop, but few think that there will ever be a need for the new battlestars and Vipers. But, if the Cylons ever were to return, they would face technology the likes of which they never anticipated. With hardened computer systems that were unhackable, how could the Colonial Fleet ever loose? It was that very hubris that served to be the doom of not only them, but seemingly humanity itself...

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Battlestar Vallhala, located between Helios Delta and Helios Gamma, en route to Scorpion Fleet Shipyards

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The void drifted by, uncaring of the passage of the old warhorse that plodded along slowly through it. The Battlestar Valhalla was on it's final voyage, one that should be marked with triumphant fanfare. But instead the old battleship was facing a shameful end, being broken up for scrap at the very shipyards where it was created. At one time the ship had been spotless, a shining example of the strength of the Twelve Colonies. Decades had passed since then and with each passing year the Valhalla had been neglected more and more. Updates were put off, just enough maintenance was done to keep it flying, the most skilled members of it's crew reassigned while the dregs of the fleet had been shipped off to rot just like the ship they were assigned to had been left too. The once glorious ship, one that had fended off Cylon raiders and Basestars, was going to have a torpid send off, her skeleton crew barely enough to get her to her destination.

Valhalla's crew meandered about on their ship, seeing to their assignments as they should, preparing their ship for it's ignoble end. Already the ship had been emptied of most of the fuel, ammunition and food that would be needed for her normal operations. The Vipers that had once flown from it's decks were mostly gone, save for those that were not deemed fit enough to fly. There were only enough Raptors aboard to help ferry the last of the crew away in a few trips. In short most of those aboard who had served on the Valhalla for some time saw the ship as dead already, a zombie that was lumbering along, leading a false life with no purpose. Little did all of those aboard the vessel know that a purpose was being born for them, just as millions of the people they had sworn to protect died.

Aboard the Valhalla none knew yet that the attacks had just begun. On the Colonies a massive assault had commenced. The Colonial Fleet was faced with an assault the likes of which they had never expected. All of this was occurring with those aboard the old vessel not yet knowing, unaware that their destiny was about to change. For those aboard the Valhalla would represent humanity's last hope...
​

 

[LeaT]

XO Quarters:

Aurai slipped off her shoes and curled up onto her rack (bed) and read her orders for about the third time today. "Assigned to the staff of Rear Admiral Anthon Barrows..." A staff position at her age and rank might as well have been a death sentence, death would have been more merciful as far as she was concerned. While she had no great fondness for the Valhalla, she suddenly felt somewhat of a kinship with the old relic, they were both being disposed of as ignominiously as possible. She poured a small neat shot from her bottle of Hawryliw, setting the bottle down carefully before picking up the glass. She drank it quickly and with a well practiced efficiency and poured another before easing back to ponder her fate once again. She wondered what young Lt. Barrows would think of her history with her old man, she had never spoke of it with the young officer and thought it best to leave it unsaid.

She knew this assignment was no coincidence, a final disgrace probably intended to force her retirement. She wondered if she should give them the satisfaction as she downed the second glass and felt the potent liquor warm her body. It had been difficult enough serving aboard the Valhalla whose current Commander was perhaps most responsible for the downward trajectory her once promising career had taken. Of course she had opened herself up to it back when she was young and brash with a nice tight ass. It was more likely the later than the former that had attracted the attention of Titus Faulkner on her first posting. He seemed larger than life and she had fallen hard for him. The sex was terrific but unfortunately it had come with a steep price. It wasn't long before half the officers in the fleet had seen pictures of her in some very un-officer like poses. It was hard to get sentimental about her time on this ship, she just hadn't thought it could get any worse, but now she knew.

Hanger Deck:

"Listen Chief, I know these crates belong in a museum but we still got to fly them." Seren brushed back a few stray strands of her short red hair, a tell the Chief would easily recognize as a sign of the Lieutenant's bubbling anger. She was trying to maintain a calm and professional attitude but it felt like she was in the same conversation every day. She knew it wasn't really the Chief's fault but unfortunately he was the only one who could fix these flying death traps so it was her job to keep on him.

"If it makes you feel better, I'll give you a hand." She unzipped her flight suit and shrugged her shoulders out until she could tie the arms around her waist. She wore only her black sports bra above her waist now, her pert but small breasts showing a bit of femininity which contrasted with her well toned and muscled arms. Seren wasn't necessarily a whole lot of help to the Chief and her crew but her presence there would at least keep them focused on the task at hand. Besides, it would keep her mind off of the shipwreck she felt her marriage was becoming.

 

[frightorflight]

Medical Bay:

Major Dr. Doniel Oliver Conroa, usually just Doc Conroa or Doc to the crew, Don Doniel to his friends, no one called him that though so he wasn't sure if he really had any true friends. He guessed the closest thing was the Ships commander, whom he was on good enough terms to talk frankly with, not much more though. To anyone whom he didn't know or work with though he was Major Conroa. Doc liked being a doctor, he really did, it was the patients he didn't like so much. He used to like patients. up until the events that had him banished to the Valhalla. That same incident had gotten him a metal for valor, but the one man he didn't save had very powerful parents who were glad to pin a medal on his chest and then quietly reassign him to the Valhalle to slowly rot away like every other person on the ship. Because of that he didn't like patients. He had stopped liking people long before that but that was what sealed the deal, and was the reason that the only people that knew much anything about him were the ones who bothered to dig into his record, which wasn't to many. It seemed like his exile would finally be over though. He was being assigned to the Colonial Medical College as an instructor. That was something he was actually looking forward to. All he had to do was see Valhalle to the end of her finally crews, and do the best to make sure the lovely lady got the send off she deserved. For him this ship was the only patient he liked, because it never complained or whined, or talked. She was a good old ship that kind of reminded him of the one he grew up on. He would almost miss it, almost. He moved over to the nearest medical locker and stuck his key into the lock. He sighed when he opened it and started to note down what they were short on, which was everything accept for birth-control and multivitamins.

 

[xavierrol]

Scorpion Fleet Shipyards:

"Very nice." Leoben Rollins exclaimed, showing one of his rare smiles as he considered the packaging of his cargo. "The warning graphics are a nice touch Major." The bio and radiologic warning icons would give all but the most zealous inspectors pause before opening the crates. The Major was the logistics and supply officer for the shipyard and one of Leoben's most useful contacts. "I like to make sure I earn my keep." The overweight officer laughed as he was earning very much more than his keep with his little business. The shipyard was supposed to mothball many of the spare parts that made up Leoben's cargo in the event of some emergency requiring a major mobilization. The Major however was certain that these out of date parts would never be missed. The Colonial Fleet had progressed so far beyond the need for antiques such as Leoben would be selling on the black market. It was part of the Major's rationalization for his treachery.

"By the way, once we have the Valhalla worked up I should have another shipment ready, it's a hunk of junk but should be just right for you." They began to walk up the metal stairs that led to the Major's office on a mezzanine level of the warehouse. The Major nodded to his crew who began loading Leoben's ship, a heavily modified pre-cursor of the raptors used in the last war. Larger than the modern day versions, with a moderately sized cargo bay, disarmed of course which made room for a basic FTL drive which was an essential piece of equipment for Leoben's business. Once they were alone again the Major got down to business. "So let's see the cubits." He demanded. Leoben laid a satchel down on the desk, leaving it to the Major to verify the amount. "Do you want to stick around to see the Valhalla?" He asked idly as he counted out the bundles of currency. Leoben had never cheated him before but he felt it was bad business to show too much trust, especially in a smuggler and black marketeer.

"I've seen her a few times, I'll be back in a few Sectons if you manage to get anything of value off of her." He mused, thinking about his encounters with the old ship now relegated to intercepting smugglers such as himself. Of course he knew there would be no shipyard in a few sectons but there was no sense troubling the Major with such news. Leoben looked out the window watching the humans loading his ship. He could do it himself with as much ease as the four workmen but that would raise questions of an officer even as dense as the Major.

Leoben departed with a hand grip as to the custom of humans. He had no sense of sentimentality about the human's impending doom. While there were honorable humans, or so he believed, they were not among the contacts he had at the shipyard. The extermination of man was about to begin, but Leoben was certain there would be survivors and that would be the next humans he would encounter. He wasn't quite sure how it was going to play out, but there were always survivors. He wasn't the type to place bets, but if he were, he would not have considered the crew of the Valhalla worth a single cubit in the very near future.