Memoir: Recollections

Written in the new personal log of Andrea Demarcos

I've been reinstated, and with that action it seemed important to start writing my logs, again. It has been an interesting time, my fear at discovery, my joy at discovering my discoverers to be Colonial, followed AGAIN by fear when Spiral refused to vouch for me. He can be such an asshole

No. That is not what this for. And if you are reading this, Spiral, frak you. You are not my inquisitor. Get out of my personal affairs, or I will trounce you five ways from Feastday. Paranoid or not, you are not entitled to invade my privacy on your own volition.

In any case, I managed to preserve my diary from the bunker. It was the old one I used to write in while I was traveling for Miss Teen Aerilon, and so I didn't want to pull out a notebook with princesses on it every time I entered my log. The Princess Diary will go somewhere not easily seen, but I think it is important to save some of my entries from my time on Aerilon after Warday where I can find them quickly.

Why these? Not sure. Just seemed right.

Day 5

I do not know where to begin. The World has ended. In every direction I can see the mushroom clouds of atomic blasts devastating this world, and radio chatter speaks of Cylon attack before being silenced. Most of the major information channels are down, now.

I got home yesterday. I was in the transport when the bombs hit, and though Pilot and Co-Pilot had been blinded I managed to land the hunk of metal. Everyone scattered. Four of us aboard were eltees but no one pulled rank. I don't know where the others are. It took four days of traveling under cover to get here, and every day I wonder if my luck in dodging the blasts will be up. I hope Ma and Pa get here soon, I think I'll need Pa's help to refit the bomb shelter.

Day 7

I don't think they're coming. Ma and Pa would have stayed in the spaceport to watch me launch, and I am almost positive the spaceport was among the first places hit.

Lords of Kobol, hear my prayers, and take those lost this week into your care, especially my parents. And ma, pa, if you can hear me… I am alive and safe, for now. You were right, pa, building that shelter. I'll get it up to snuff on my own. What radio chatter is left talks about crews of Cylons harvesting people… I don't think the farmhouse will be safe much longer.

Day 8

This Bomb Shelter is AMAZING! I remember hiding down here as a little girl but I never imagined how much Pa put into making it liveable. He was always waiting for the next Cylon attack. I think he'll be glad to know I have it to use. There is a fair amount of food, a good supply of anti-rads, as well as well that is separate to the one from the house to pull water up from deep, where it should stay rad-free, at least for awhile.

There is also a radio complete with a broadcaster, Pa's old HAM set. I met someone who goes by the callsign "Northern Lights," and gave her my own callsign in return. She was mourning someone else dying, a suicide due to radiation. But there are others, these HAM units are a bear to triangulate, and have amazing range. There are others as well, I look forward to meeting them. The loneliness in here gets oppressive awful quickly.

Day 22

Radio Free Aerilon went down today, what used to be that old Zerrek-supporter station on the south continent. I am surprised it took so long, given how it urged us to 'fight the Cylon oppressors'. Then again, maybe people marching against the Cylons is just what the Cylons wanted, they mopped up the Resistance cells, and then plugged the final hole. It's easy to find an army on the march. In any case, with Radio Free Aerilon went the last of the mass media outlets on the planet, leaving only us HAMers. We've started calling ourselves Skytalkers, I think mostly in respect to Northern Lights, who keeps tabs on us all. I don't know how many of us there are. Not everyone uses callsigns, and some are almost impossible to make out. One idiot gave his location and urged us to rally there, called himself Apollo, as if the God of Suns would bless him for it. Instead, we got to hear as the Cylons raided his compound while his mic was turned on, at exactly the same time Radio Free Aerilon went down.

Northern Lights is right. Information exchange and communication are important, but anything specific and we might as well go and paint a sign on our rooftops. Of course the Cylons are listening, those clanky bastards.

Day 62

They're gone. It's been nearly a week since some sort of transport landed near the farm, and only today did I get up the courage to look outside. No Cylons, that I could see, and if they'd seen me I wouldn't have been making this entry. Something left the burn marks, though, and the heavy footprints say the Centurions had been around the place. Lucky Pa thought to camouflage the entrance… it's hard to spot unless you know what you're looking for.

I have never been so scared as I was when I heard them up there, though. I need to contact Northern, tell her I'm okay. Nearly half the Skytalkers have gone off the air, and she worries about us the way she worries about those children she finds.

Day 123

Happy birthday, Pa. I made your favorite, Bean n' Bacon soup. Course, I am only assuming that is your favorite, as it makes up nearly a quarter of all my food reserves.

Day 146

Rescue isn't coming. If there was a force out there, fighting the Cylons, we'd have heard something by now. Instead, nothing but the remaining Skytalkers. If the Cylons had only taken Aerilon, then a Colonial force would be fighting the occupiers. They aren't there, which means one of two things; They are needed elsewhere, or they do not exist any longer.

Aerilon would be a relatively easy target to hit. But we are also unimportant, save as a breadbasket, and Aquaria's algae beds could serve that purpose in a pinch. If a war was on elsewhere, the Centurions would be fighting it. Instead? They are free to make their sweeps. I suspect this war is over, and that no one else is coming.

I can't tell the Skytalkers. Hope is all that some of them have left.

Day 175

Northern Lights went off the air, and so I am now last of the Skytalkers. Suicide, disease, technical difficulties and the Cylons have done for us all, though no one had seen any of the death squads lately. Food is running pretty low, and the rad level of the water is now starting to raise steadily, and I do not have the anti-rads to combat that consistent a rad intake for very long.

I have a plan, though. If there is a fight elsewhere, it will need pilots, and so I will go and find a ship, do what it takes to get it flying again, and then take it to the fight, wherever that may be. If I can locate Northern's beacon, I will take her and the children with me.

First, though, I have to find a ship, and that means the spaceport. First, I will take a look at the transport I crashed in. It seems too much to hope, but maybe I could repair it. There is only one way to find out.

Thank you, Pa, for this place, but I am leaving now. It isn't home anymore, anyway, with you and Ma gone. I hope your deaths were quick and painless. But if I am to be so lucky as to share that fate, I can't just wait here to die slowly. But don't worry, Pa… I have your pistol, and it is loaded. If the Death Squads do find me, I will be sure to take a few of them with me…

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