PHD #257: Rally Points
Rally Points
Summary: Linus Bran and Willem Justinian discuss areas of Tauron. Extensively.
Date: 10 Nov 2041 AE
Related Logs: None
Bran Justinian 
Recreation Room - Deck 9 - Battlestar Cerberus
This huge room spans quite a lot of floor space, the support beams crisscrossing at even points throughout the room. The two sides are divided fairly between the Enlisted and Officers with an unseen line more or less running down the center of the room. A couple pool and card tables sit in no-man's land with a series of regular mess tables at the rear of the room, nearest a counter full of minor refreshments like coffee and bags of chips. Magazines and reading material are spread out over the couched seating areas and a few televisions are set-up with a couple of video game systems made available.
Post-Holocaust Day: #257

Where can Sam Bran be found right about now? That would be the rec-room, the man settled in at a table of Triad with a couple of others from the Fighting Fourteenth. A game is just finishing up and he sits back with an eased grin plastered over his face. He hasn't lost any bets just yet this early afternoon. The place is active enough with off-duty officers and enlisted filtering back and forth, here and there, Sam pipes up: "Who's dealing this time?"

Justinian has been moving through the ranks of the Tauron officers on the ship, and the next name on his list is Lieutenant JG Bran. He enters the rec room in his duty blues, stopping an Ensign from the Harriers at the door to inquire after the man and getting a point in the right direction. The Junior TACCO approaches the table, offering a smile and a nod. He shifts the clipboard in his hands to his left hand, and offers out a hand, "Linus Bran? I'm Willem Justinian. I don't think we've been formally introduced." He glances around to see if anyone seems ready to take up the offer for another Triad game, then adds, "I was hoping to steal a bit of your time to talk a bit about Tauron."

Bran doesn't readily notice TACCO Approach but by the time that his name is called out above the other incessant noises of the background he surely does. He had begun to lift a drink from the table but the whole introducing bit leads the Lieutenant into settling the drink back down, temporarily so, and lifting his gaze to look to Justinian. "Don't think so, but uh, Tauron," he's slightly questioning but offers a bit of a smile, "Well, sure, I don't mind it. Care to join us or am I needed elsewhere?" He takes up his drink and gestures to an empty chair with a casual, nonchalant air.

Justinian lets his hand drop again, falling to the back of a chair. He glances about, then shrugs, pulling out the chair and settling down, "Here is just fine." His quiet voice is almost lost under the general hubbub of the Rec Room, but somehow he manages to make himself heard without either shouting or sounding like he's straining. He offers a bit of a smile, setting down his clipboard and plucking up a pen. "We're running tactical briefs on all of the remaining colonies, looking for areas that might hold survivors, safety, or useful resources." He shrugs a little, "Nothing like first-hand knowledge about the place though, so I've been trying to talk to at least some of the Taurons on the ship."

Bran glances down at himself and then to the sides towards the others, shifting within his seat for a moment before accepting his lot of hexagonal-shaped cards. He takes an eased pull from his drink and then settles down. It's just water though, nothing special. He begins to sit up when Justinian explains things and he nods, "Yeah, I heard a couple of things here and there. Uh. I read the details to the recon reports, about remote areas like Minoa." The ECO pauses for a lapsing beat and catches himself looking at the clipboard and pen. He turns his gaze to his cards and then the game itself, briefly. "Figuring out where to plant a base camp first, I take it?"

Justinian shrugs a noncommittal response to the first question, his quiet voice carefully modulated to match his gesture, "I've already picked out several suitable base camp locations from our recon runs. That's easier to pick out from scans and photos than areas we might find survivors." Tapping the butt of his pen against the pad of paper on the clipboard, he lets his careful facade crack a little, his features opening up, "Could I start with asking what areas of the planet yuou're most familiar with? I want to be able to weight the information I get based on how familiar people are with it."

"Good, good," Bran looks over his cards for a moment as he then calls and returns to the conversation with Justinian. Other than multi-tasking with the game, he doesn't bother talking and chatting with the other off-duty officers surrounding the table. "Black Country, born and raised," and there's distinct pride in his voice while he offers a broad grin. As confident as he is nowadays, the brightened expression lingers, "And despite the glassing, I wager there might be something there. I wouldn't suggest it. The continent's a lovely place, been all over it after joining Fleet. Couldn't speak of anywhere else, as much, though."

Justinian reverses the pen in his fingers, starting to make notes in a neat block lettering. "From everything I heard, it might take more than a few nukes to keep folks there down." There's a mixture of amused respect and mordant humor in the words, and he leans back in his chair, "There any particular places you can think of that people might gather to escape something like the attack?" He frowns suddenly, a mix of curiosity and concern spreading across his features, "And I'm not asking you to break any private information here, am I?"

Bran calls once more before having to fold out of the current round, which leads to his attention focusing on Justinian. He reaches for his drink and holds it there at the table. "Lords willing," he replies, with regards to the folk that may or may not still be there. His expression settles down before he takes up the bottle and drinks from it, nodding into it. "You're fine. Don't worry. I'd say, well, I need a frakkin' map," he mutters the last bits to himself. "I'd try the coasts, maybe the cities, but the outlying areas would be best. Badlands of Halesworth might be good."

Justinian grins suddenly at the comment about a map, flipping a few pages down on his clipboard and pulling out a pre-war map of the Black Country area. It has several circled 'N's scattered here and there around industrial and population centers, and a few smaller circles with 'X's inside them in more remote areas. He slips the map onto the table between a couple of chip stacks, "It's lower res than our planning maps, but it's a start." His face and voice return to somber again as he points out one of the Ns with his pen, centered on downtown Flint, "These are the epicenters of nuclear strikes that we've been able to track. Most large enough to…" he pauses, studying the ECO for some sign of his reaction, "well, anything near the cities isn't likely to be a survivor rally point."

Bran sits up straight again now that there actually is a map around that he can use. The ECO takes a moment in dusting off his chest and then passing up the opportunity in playing another set of cards, just so he can focus on the area newly presented to him. He plucks it free from the table. "During the Cylon War," explains the man offhandedly as he reaches with his offhand into a pocket and produces a pen. That would explain his callsign. "Hells, before even that with the other Colonies - we've got plenty of shelters from those days to use. Most of them would be untouched, but." He clicks the pen active and gestures to the surface of the map while looking up to Justinian, "May I?"

Justinian nods his head at the request, "Please do. The Xs are areas to investigate." He pauses, leaning over the map to watch the location of the marks placed, "Anything you might have heard of from the Civil War would be useful too. Especially locations that wouldn't have been reported to Colonial authorities. With what the toasters did to the Fleet, anything that was in Colonial databases has to be suspect to one degree or another." He flashes a grin that strips years away from his otherwise dour features, "Which is why I'm talking to real live Taurons instead of scouring our libraries."

With the proverbial green light to place his own set of marks across the surface of the map, Bran nods in thanks and begins to do just that. He's slow at first but then there is an X here, and an X there, and he pauses over a third place before shaking his head thoughtfully to it. "Us real live ones are just full of might and wonder that it's no surprise, but I don't think this'll be much different than Sagittarron. Not that I'm going to compare the two," but he did, "And I'd definitely want to check this area out." He lowers the map in order to point to a recently-placed X before shrugging.

Justinian chortles softly at the reference to Sagittarron, "Hopefully whenever we get to Tauron," sure scuttlebutt has them heading there next, but there's no way that the Tactical Officer is going to confirm that, "we won't have locals launching banned munitions at us." He pauses, and then flashes his grin again, "Especially with you Taurons being so full of might and wonder, you might actually do more than a couple of WIAs and some bent birds." The JG's own accent, of course, is that flat, boring tone associated with someone who isn't really associated with any one colony — a diplomat or a military brat.

"It's both a boon and a curse, really, that we're so gifted," sarcasm thy name is Lieutenant Bran but there's still the general air of truth about him, as if he were speaking wholly and truthfully without meaning to, like he's telling a tale as old as time. "I like to think that only toasters get warm welcomes like that nowadays, Sag' being the single exception." There's a wry and low chuckle at that and he takes another drink, his last one as the bottle is drained, before setting it down and checking in on the card game. He then passes the map back, having marked four more spots on it. The pen gets tucked behind his right ear. "The place is rough, but Taurians are rougher."

Justinian takes the map back, studying the new marks. His pen taps rapidly against the edge of his clipboard as he looks it over, "Interesting…" His eyes scrunch up as he dredges details out of his memory, "Closed down mines out here, right?" He gestures to one of the marks, "And an old farming town, a couple of bunkers here?" He blinks, "And this one on the coast here. There are some tall cliffs there, right? Sea caves?" Evidently, the TACCO has been studying maps of these areas pretty intensively. Going back to his notepad, he readies his pen again, "Any of these have particularly good landing areas nearby? Or areas that could serve as marshalling areas if we wanted to call civvies into one area and pick them all up at once?"

Bran leans forward against the table and comes to rest his forearms against the edge, loosely locking his hands there after a sidelong glance to nothing in particular. He nods once and then once more, following the words of the TACCO. "Those farms should be isolated enough to check," he adds, falling quiet soon upon that. There's another nod and this one is regarding the coast. "It's out of the way, but the place was famous for its spelunking and diving," and surfing, all those fun maritime activities. "That one spot you marked." He leans further and reaches up for his pen to use it as an extension, pointing to one X that's inland. "I'd say about two klicks south-southwest, there's this old town. Right… here, I forget the name of the place, used to be a mining town but was cleared out when the ground dried up. The buildings might still be intact for storage and it's fairly localized."

Justinian leans over the map, nodding slowly, "I had been thinking that maybe some people could have gotten supplies into those caves — they would be protected from blast, and maybe even some radiation. Plus they're out of the way. Good to have it confirmed by a local." He leans back again, tapping the butt of his pen onto the stack of paper topped by the map and his notes, "Ghost town sort of place, right? Name started with a G… Gany? Gana?" He shakes his head, tapping his temple with the pen, "Too many names swirling around in here, apparently." He shuffles through the stack then, pulling out another map, "How well do you know Mycenaedd, Lieutenant? I've been looking at some images, and a few of these outlying and abandoned industrial areas jumped out at me. They weren't nuked, because they've been abandoned and shut down for decades. A few of them actually looked promising for possible base camp locations though. Anything you can add?"

Sam Bran lifts up his pen with a nod in agreement. "Good to have an inkling on my own home," he wryly grins and begins to sit back. Something is offhandedly stated and he looks over to the pilot in order to pass over his chips. He's not playing, might as well make himself useful and not be a further distraction. "Yeah, uh, frak," he reaches up to rub his forehead, "Ganymede." He pauses in order to try and verify that with his own mind but then he shrugs somewhat and tucks his pen back. "I'm pretty sure that's where Decoy's from. It's the great Middle of Tauron, nothing particularly grand, nothing dirt-rotten-poor. I haven't been personally but the place, if like you say now, would be definitely good. If there are still any military bases left intact, that's where I would go. We've plenty of them, after all."

Justinian points to the scatter of circled Ns on the maps, "So far as we know, not a single military base survived without at least one nuke." He smirks just a hint, "Of course, if you Taurians were hiding anything back from the Civil War, it might have slipped through." He frowns for a moment, then lowers his voice, choosing his words with evident care, "Or some hidey-hole for the…" he pauses again, massacring the next words, "hah-lah-thah, if I haven't been watching too many crime dramas and they actually have that much power."

"I make no promises," with regards to hiding things, that is. "I haven't been on Tauron soil in a long while." Bran trails off further in order to just listen and not be talkative on things, which means he's just sitting there and taking a moment to glance around at the things on the table. As he opts to join in on the next round of Triad by betting a wristwatch, his gaze lifts and aims back in Justinian's direction. He creases his brow and opens his mouth though doesn't readily chime back in. "I guess," he starts, "There's only one real way for the lot of us to figure that out."

Justinian watches the other man's reactions, and immediately backs off, both physically and verbally. He straightens up in his seat, and starts collecting his reference materials, "Sorry, Lieutenant. Presumed too much. My mistake. Thank you for the assistance, however. Hopefully the information you've provided will help us find more survivors." He tucks the pen into the breast pocket of his jacket, then rises, "If you think of anything else, I would love to hear it, but I'll let you get back to your game."

Bran only just now notices how tense he's become about possibly being offended and he exhales with a rolling shrug of his shoulders. "Nah, that's just me and my, well, pride, sorry for that." It's a weak explanation but he tries and with Justinian rising so does the ECO. He had missed the previous handshake but this time around he dusts off his hands before extending the right one over the table in offering. "I'll be sure to tell you of anything I think of about this, Lieutenant. You've my word on that." He then offers a light grin.

Justinian lets his own shoulders relax as the other man offers out his hand, taking it in a brief clasp, "Not to worry. I pushed a little harder than I probably should have. Again, thanks for the information. I'll fold it into what I've gotten from other sources." A smile breaks free from the duty-bound sobriety, and he nods toward the triad table, "Good luck with the game."

"Thanks, beating these boys and girls is nothing but good times." Bran nods once the handshake has been sundered and he looks to the others near to him, some laughing sarcastically or otherwise continuing the card game, and then he moves to sit back down. He's still got a good hour or so left in being off-duty.

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