Galactica
Colonel Jon Randell, the executive officer of the Battlestar Avalon for the last three months looked up at the DRADIS screen over the central command table in CIC of the Battlestar Galactica. The display graphics were similar to those on his own ship with the exception of the color and some minor details. The DRADIS sweeps were a mock up with Cylon basestars and of their raiders advancing on the battlestar.
No one from the Colonies had seen the Cylons in over 41 years after the Cimtar Peace Accord, the armistice that ended the last war. They had gone behind their side of the Armistice line to be never seen again. Good riddance as Jon would say. The Cylons had killed his parents in the last year of the war and made him an orphan when he was one year of age. He was six when distance relatives from Gemenon finally found him and took him away from Sagittaron. It was not an improvement, they treated him like property.
Jon blended in with the rest of the visitors to the Galactica Memorial, the battlestar had been decommissioned for over a year. He wore a brown leather jacket, black shirt, and denim pants. He stood at the command table fixed on the DRADIS screen as it cycled through the attack simulation. It was educational to say the least.