Sam laughed slightly. Yes, the moonshine had been frakking awful, but people had still been happy when they got together in the bar to drink it, or what tiny scraps of Ambrosia they had left. The bar had been put together from scrap metal and was dingy and falling apart and crew had loved it.
"Everyone did, pretty much," Sam sighed, his eyes looking into space. "Where I'm from humanity was living across twelve colonies, Caprica, Picon, Tauron, Geminon," his voice trailed off as he looked at Fred with a faint smile, wondering if she'd got the connection with the names. "Then one day the Cylons came and bombed them all. A few ships, ones that were off worlds at the time, escaped. I was on Capric at the time, doing high altitude training with my Pyramid team so we survived the nuclear blast. We gathered the few survivors there were and set up a resistance movement. About a year or so later the rest of the Fleet came back for us and I trained as a Viper pilot to keep fighting. The Cylons kept chasing the fleet. Frak, even when we tried to settle on New Caprica they came after everyone and enslaved them. Had to do the resistance fighting all over again."
The silver chain from Mirta around his wrist felt warm. Ramik'ad. Mando for resistance, fighter, commando.
He half laughed. "Running a bar is pretty different in comparison."