| Dude, Where's My Raptor? |
| Summary: | Raf attempts to commune mechanically with a ship. Cidra is not pleased. |
| Date: | 2041.04.04 (PHD: 37) |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
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| Hangar Deck - Port - Midship - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| Post Holocaust Day: #37 |
| The single largest rooms on the Cerberus are the hangar decks. Each flight pod consists of two stacked landing bays with adjoined decks and hangars, which along with computer-assisted landings results in a faster Viper recovery rate. Mirror images of each other, these two huge areas are located on the flight pods. The inboard sides of the deck, closest to the ship's main hull, are lined with parking and maintenance bays for Vipers and Raptors based aboard the battlestar. The outboard side of the deck contains the launch tubes used by the Vipers for standard deployment. Huge blast doors seal the deck into four sections, each one containing an elevator that leads up to the flight deck directly overhead. The fore-most section contains an elevator system that leads towards Aerospace Fabrication. |
| Condition Level: 3 — All Clear |
Harrier-651 is a fine piece of engineering, all gleaming angles, high tech ECW suites, and the kind of thing they make you work really hard to get into so that not any jackass can break it. And Kahuna is in the middle of making a straight catastrophe of it's wiring. Somehow he's managed to wrangle a pair of deck snipes into doing the real heavy lifting, while he 'manages' them. The majority of the ECW pod has been opened up, and several dozen analysis leads connect it and a bank of diagnostics machines on rollers. To his credit, Lt. Cortez is all about poking around on *those*. 'Any luck, el-tee?' asks one of the snipes as yet another lead gets switched around. "Oh… Hey, man… That's pretty bitchin'. Can you up that by about fifty hertz, Crewman… whatever your name was?" Raf says, waving a hand absently at the snipe.
Cidra is making the rounds on the hangar deck. In her flight suit, so a CAP is theoretically not far away in her routine today. But, for the moment, she seems to be just prowling. And the sight of the Raptor in its state of mechanical undress rather quickly attracts her attention. Pivot of her heel, and her long stride takes her in that direction. Her footfalls sound on the deck plating but she does not verbally announce her approach. Yet. Raf and the Deckies he's wrangled are all eyed. Slim brows in a state of arch.
"Oh, *man*. That is some funky noise," Raf mumbles, flipping a few switches so that the diagnostics panel begins emitting a low DIT-DIT-BRANNNK sort of noise at regular intervals. He leans over, putting his ear closer to the diagnostic speaker; closing his eyes, he taps at the panel's surface in time with the sound. Be begins to slowly turn this dial and than, the frequency of the noise increasing in pace until it starts to melt into white noise. "Hey, bro… It's working, man! It's totally working!" Raf says, obviously excited about whatever discovery he's made: he jumps up and down and claps his hands a couple of times. 'Yeah, I guess…' says the snipe, staring past Raf toward Cidra, 'But to get that kind of power, you'd probably have to kill life support. Or the engines.' Raf stares at the snipe for a long moment, and then says simply, "Well. Frak. That blows. Can't we shunt FTL power into this baby?" He has no idea the Major is present - he is far to absorbed in his little project, and hasn't picked up on the fact that the rank-and-file are suddenly very nervous about what they're doing.
Cidra comes to a stop when she nears the Raptor. Lacing her hands behind her back. Just eyeing the whole shebang for a moment. The Deckie who spots her earns the barest hint of a smile. Hello. But the ECO is the main focus of her attention. "Lieutenant." That, finally, serves as an announcement of her presence. Her voice isn't loud but it's project well enough over the noise of the deck. "What seems to be the…trouble?" A pause, as if she's unsure that is precisely the right word to use for whatever has caused this bit of mechanics to be inflicted on the Raptor.
"Uh..bwuah!" Raf's response is less than elegant, as is his startled leap to the right - he very nearly knocks over a tray full of tools. He manages to get out a salute, albeit a startled and sloppy one. "Major! Uh… How'd you… what's…" he stammers, opting to start over after a moment. Deep breath, finger pointed at the EW pod on 651, and a proper response: "Oh, it's nothin' big, CAP. Just tryin' to fake out a Raider's EW signature. They got this crazy higher-pitched hum if you listen to it on headphones, right? So I slowed it down, and it's got this regular pop. Figured maybe if I could make active scans sound like them when we're far away, might give us some extra time 'fore they figure out what's up."
"Ahhh." It's a drawn-out and rather thoughtful sound, though it's difficult to tell what Cidra's reaction to that was from it. "That is most intriguing, and not an observation I have heard our personnel make before. You have, I trust, passed this on to our Deck Chief. Rather than just beginning to tear apart one of our Raptors?"
Raf stares. The wheels upstairs are turning, but the pulleys may not be making a whole lot of headway. "Uh," he ventures inelegantly, one hand scratching the back of his head. "Well.. Um… Yeah, there's some paperwork around here somewhere!" he says suddenly, seeming to remember at the very last minute. And indeed there is, and it says "ROUTINE MAINTENENCE CHECKLIST". Most likely he accosted the snipes as they were performing highly routine duties, and encouraged them to perhaps deviate from the standard process a little.
"Ah." The sound is shorter this time. Cidra fixes Raf with a level blue-eyed gaze. There is no particular recrimination in it. But it rather lasers in on him. "I see. While your initiative is laudable, Lieutenant, we have not so many birds right now that we can afford to sideline one for anything but the most high-priority…experimentation. And it is the Deck Chief that decides what qualifies as that, clear?"
"Oh, well, you see, I just sorta figured that since the pod was *open*… And since they had… the machines… *nearby*…" Raf begins, words slowly losing steam in the face of Cidra's unwavering gaze until they drop off entirely. He just hangs his head after a moment, and says "Yes, sir. I gotcha." It's most similar to the tone small boys use when they are discovered doing something they *know* is a bad idea, but haven't explicitly been told not to do. Yet. Except now he has, and he even seems to be toeing the deck a little.
Cidra seems satisfied with that. For the moment, at least. "Get this back in flying order as soon as you are able, if you will," she says to the poor Deckies on-hand. "This shall not happen again. Do mention the ECO's observation to the Chief, however. It is most…intriguing. And anything about the enemy we can observe may be of use now." Back to Raf. "I must say it is good to see you up and about, Cortez. How is the leg?"
Kahuna's moods come and go as mercurially as the wind: he's already forgotten his chastizement, in his rush to unplug the control and analysis leads. "Oh, you know how it goes, CAP! You sit on your butt for like, a month, and then you get back in the cockpit. Gotta say I'm looking forward to doing something other than looking at old issues of CAPRICAN HOME, though," he says, shrugging diffidently as he coils up one of the cables around his arm. "Figure I shouldn't milk downtime, neither, since we probably need everybody in the air."
Cidra smirks, ever so slightly, as to 'Caprican Home.' "I always suspect Sickbay stocks such magazines to urge its occupants to vacate more quickly. In any case, it is for the good to have everyone flying that can. Though it is the Viper wing I am most concerned with. We're still down three injured pilots, though it is my hope at least two shall be back to proper flight status soon."
"Well, hell, I sure hope so too!" Raf enthuses, waving one hand down the way toward the more Viper-oriented areas of the hangar. "It's absolutely *bogus* to go out their and raise a ruckus if we don't have a full compliment of dudes waiting to bash the bad guys in the head while we do the song and dance number, right?" he continues, rolling first one and then the second diagnostics kit off to the side of 651. "Uh. We're still, like, doing okay, though, right? Not gonna explode in our sleep or anything?"
Cidra blinks at the word 'dudes.' It is unlikely such slang has ever been put to her tongue, judging from her prim Gemenese accent. "Quite…" she replies simply. Though the latter part of that earns a short nod. "We appear to have a bit of a respite, actually, though I would not get too comfortable. There has been no sign of Cylon presence here since we first broke through to Parnassus Anchorage." Not that she sounds particularly eased by that. On the contrary, it seems to tip a 'It's quiet…too quiet' sort of note with the CAG. "In any case, Command has us planted here for the moment, and it is hoped we can use the time for some much-needed salvage and repair. As well as gather our heads a bit as to what we know about our enemy."
Snagging a ratchet from one of the snipes, he mumbles, "Here, man, lemmie handle that." Proceeding to start re-attaching outer pod plating, he glances back over his shoulder toward Major Hahn. "Well, I hear that, sir. I'd love to get a crack at fussin' around with their eggbaskets a little, next time you need an ECO out there. Not doin' much but going stir-crazy down here anyways."
Cidra eyes Raf's work with the ratchet very narrowly. But the deckies are still on hand, so she objects to it not. "I'm sure we can find something to occupy you now that you are back in back-seating form," she says simply. "You are most eager, aren't you?" It is observed mildly, but she does not sound displeased by it.
Kneeling down beside the pod, Raf cranes his head around the backside of it. There is the sound of rapid ratcheting, followed by a muffled, "Well, hell yeah, sir! I'm not much of a mechanic aside fro rebuilding this one part I'm knockin' on right now… And there's not a whole lotta call for guitarists…" Sliding back over to the other side, he throws both hands up in the air with an expression of helplessness on his face. "Put it frankly, sir, unless I'm out there I'm a fifth wheel. The only gods-damned thing I know how to do, I hafta do in this tub, or you gotta give me a handheld wireless and stick me out with the marines."
Cidra places her hand on the frame of the Raptor. Almost caressing it. "The only thing. This, Lieutenant, is a thing I understand." She pauses for a beat. As if she got up in her own head for a minute. But then she clears her throat, lowering her hand back to her side. "In any case, you should be back on the CAP rotation now that Medical has cleared you. Our Raptors have had a good bit to do, with the salvage efforts to and fro from the station, as well as some EVA work on the debris around it. Keep your eyes sharp out there. I do trust this quiet overmuch."
"Yeah, well, I don't trust anything that's too quiet, either. Any time nothin's happening, it's cuz somethin' else is buildin' up. I'll keep a weather eye on the noise out there, CAP, you got my word on that," Raf says, placing the ratchet back into a nearby tool tray. Wiping his hands on his godawful shirt, he pushes himself back up to his feet to regard 651 with both hands on his hips. "I gotta feeling they're out there, just itching to get a peep at us, right now."
Cidra has avoided looking too hard at Raf's shirt. Though a glance at it prompts a subtle wince. "And I trust that when you are properly on duty you shall leave all civilian clothing *off* the hangar deck," she says firmly. Particularly the godsawful sort. "In any case, Lieutenant, have clear eyes and steady hands out there. A good hunting. I must get to my pre-flight check. My own turn on CAP is not far off."
Saluting, Raf cracks a crooked grin. The Shirt is always hidden away somewhere, yet always manages to find its way onto his back when he's actually *in* the Raptor - over the flight suit - along with the hula girl he suction-cups to his DRADIS readout. He may even regard it as a kind of game. "Oh, without a doubt, sir. And good hunting out there. You blast 'em good if you see 'em, all right?" he says, touching his brow with a wink by way of goodbye.
The salute is acknowledged, briskly. The shirt glared at. "Without a doubt," Cidra says firmly. With that, off to goes.