| Log Title |
| Summary: | Atreus reports problems with the CNP to the ChEng and CAG. Agreements smooth potentially difficult situations. |
| Date: | Feb 15, 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | Tech Tirade |
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[ Naval Offices ]----[ Deck 10 - Battlestar Cerberus ]
This area is set-up much like any standard office building. Cubicles have been constructed using cheap waist-high walls, their contents left neutral for whoever needs to use them. Inside each cubicle is a desk with a laptop and chair. Simple overhead lights bring dull illumination to the room except over the back wall where each one of the colonies twelve flags hangs from its own pole. Fake, potted plants dot the room and seem to be standard issue along with the water cooler and coffee machines. Off the main room are a few private offices such as that of the JAG or CAG.
Paperwork. A shitload's come in lately, all splatted on the Chief Engineer's desk. Gabrieli is sitting there poring over them, some glossy photos attached to one of the folders, his lips thinned into an unpleasant expression. A cigarette smolders in an ashtray on his left side.
After a moment of relative quiet someone invades the Navy Offices. Atreus' steps are crisp, but lack the harried snap of someone under pressure. When he reaches Gabrieli's desk, he stops and executes a perfect, if deliberate, salute. As he is a career man, he knows better than to speak until spoken to and keeps the salute in place until it is acknowledged.
Gabrieli is still paying more attention to the report than to anyone walking by. It takes him a few seconds to register that the deck chief's stopped in front of his desk, greenish eyes finally lifting. He shuts the folder with his thumb, returning salute. "Chief."
Lowering his arm, Atreus nods, "Captain. Thanks for letting me impose on you like this." He does not try to see what is in the report, being firmly of the mindset that if he is supposed to know someone will tell him. "We have a bit of a situation down on the deck, sir and I thought you should be informed." His hands move to the small of his back as he assumes the classic 'at ease' posture. "Mr. Strelokov has informed me that the software supplied to the Deck for installation into the birds was untested and potentially detrimental. He said that it would degrade the performance of the birds to the point where they are no more responsive than the Mark II training units. I am to receive the completed software in six days and will begin installation then. In the meantime, we are working to uninstall the software, sir."
Gabrieli puts the folder aside, picking up his cigarette. People tell him about 'situations' all the time. It's like a shipwide sport, make up your worst scenario and drop it on the ChEng. This one, however, really gets one of his heavy brows to go arching up, and he blinks slowly. "No kidding." He sits up and then back, motioning for Atreus to have a seat. "Where exactly did this piece of shit software come from?"
Atreus is currently standing at ease in front of Gabrieli's desk. When the gesture is made, he nods and moves to claim the offered chair, "No kidding." Crossing his ankle over one knee, the man shrugs "Good question, sir. That is where I was hoping you could help me. There is a work order to install the software in the logs, but no authority was recorded at the time. I just arrived aboard a few days ago, so I am trying to pick up the pieces, sir."
Cidra emerges from the CAG's little lair in the offices. Also smoking. There's a clenched quality to the way she holds the cigarette between her fingertips, though her manner has a carefully composed air to it otherwise. Outwardly, at least. She has a small collection of folders, latched into a clipboard, tucked under one arm. It's the ChEng's desk she strides toward, as it happens, her footsteps tapping with a measured stride on the floor as she comes. Click-click. Click-click. Click-click.
"Gods damn." Gabrieli's voice is surprisingly mild considering the epithet. The second word receives the low stress. "Alright. I'll have someone in our 3M run up and help your kids comb through the paper trails. We might have a record of it too, if the same company shipped other software at the same time. The CAG know about this?" And, hey. Lo and behold. He looks up and over Atreus' shoulder, exhaling smoke. "Major."
Nodding, Atreus half smiles at Gabrieli, "Thank you, sir. Much appreciated. We're going to be up to our ears in it shortly." Then, after the second, he shakes his head, though he starts to feel a bit like one of those unpleasant little bobble-headed dolls. "No, sir. I sent word to her that I wanted a chat, but have not heard back, yet." When the ChEng lifts his gaze and says that word, Atreus stands and turns to one side. The picture perfect salute is back in place in a trice, "Major."
"Captain Gabrieli," Cidra replies to the 'Major' acknowledgment. A respectful, "Chief" is offered to Atreus when he is noted, and she acknowledges his salute with a quick "As you were." Getting that out of the way. "I was just coming to speak with you, Captain, about the liaison you had requested from among my Raptor personnel. For the FTL work." It's not a subject she immediately pursues, however, Eying Atreus. "I am CAG aboard this ship. Major Cidra Hahn. I heard mention of some need of me? What word are you referring to, Chief?"
"It can wait a second." Magnanimous, Gabrieli is. He puts out the stub of his cigarette and picks up the ashtray, dumping it out in the trashcan just by the desk. "Have a seat, Major." He's got -two- chairs in front of his principal's desk. That's how you know he gets paid the big bucks.
Lowers his arm as the salute is acknowledged and magic words spoken. "Thank you, sir." Moving a bit to one side, he claims the chair farthest away to give Cidra the one closer to where she stands, "Uh. Well, I wanted to introduce myself first, sirs. But, a couple of issues have come up that I need some assistance with. One, the ChEng here is going to assist with. The others? Are right in our joint courts, sir." Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. "The short of the first, sir, is that I now have word from Mr. Strelokov that the CNP software just installed is faulty. It will cause the degradation of performance to the point that the birds using it perform on par with the Mark II Training ships that we have. He says that he can get me the correct software in six days, give or take. So, I need to work with you all to schedule the ships back to the Deck to have the CNP software uninstalled, then again to have the new installed."
Cidra sinks into the offered chair, long legs crossing. Still smoking. A thin stream is exhaled as she settles in, though she's polite enough not to blow it /at/ either of the men near her. "Ahh. You are the new Chief of the Deck, then?" Cidra is pleased. "I apologize that I have not had time to attend to our meeting properly. Chief Atreus, is it? Things are most hectic now, with the personnel settling as we prepare to leave drydock. The CNP software, you say?" This, it does not please her. She bites off a curse under her breath, followed by a deep, slowly-exhaled breath. "There is no luck aboard this ship. The omens…" It's said in a low tone, more to herself than the others, though it's audible. She sighs. "What needs to be done, Chief? Much will be expected of my pilots during the upcoming war games and we will need those birds."
Gabrieli softly sucks his back teeth. Some stringy bit of lunch, maybe. Or he's just thinking about chewing on the bones of whatever software engineer is about to get his head ripped off. He flicks the ashtray closer to Cidra and then sits back in his chair, folding his arms. "What were they running on before? You can't temporarily revert to the old software suite?"
Atreus nods to Cidra, "Hectic. Yeah, that's a good word. Might borrow it from time to time, if you don't mind." Leaning a bit more, he extends a hand to the CAG, then the ChEng as he can, "Yes, sir. That's me. Constantine Atreus. Though Chief is fine. Even preferred." Then, he returns to his former position, "I need a copy of your deployment rotation please, Major. It would work best if we can schedule the birds based on your need. I figure we do it as a cycle that has overlapping rings. Sort of. I get as many converted back as possible, then when the new software is available, cut my crew in half. One works on the remaining uninstalls while the other works on upgrading the birds that have been downgraded. Make sense?" Turning to Gabrieli, he nods, "We can. But, the upgrade required a new frameboard. So, when we reinstall the old CNP software, we'll also be putting the old frames back into the ships. So each uninstall requires a downgrade and each reinstall an upgrade in hardware. See?"
Cidra sets her cigarette in the ashtray before taking Atreus' hand. She does not shake it, precisely, but rather clasps it firmly for a moment, blue eyes seeking to meet his. She holds longer than is normal for a regular 'shake,' but he is eventually released. A short nod, as to the rotation roster. "You shall have it on your desk promptly. As for the installation, that is not my department. Do it however you think best, Chief, and whichever way is fastest or more efficient for you. I am not opposed to operating without the latest CNP during the games if reverting is simpler for you. My pilots have all flown on the old system. We shall adapt as needed. As I say, do it however you think best."
Gabrieli's department doesn't touch Viper engines, and so with that he's content to listen to how the other side lives. "And you've got whatever you need from us to make it squeak faster, Chief. I've got a few software guys handy if you need the added manpower; you'd just have to give them a crash course in what buttons to push on those things."
Atreus nods once, "Thanks, sirs. Major? When I have the roster and rotations, I'll get you a timetable. Captain? If I can borrow one of your software guys, I'd like him or her to tear into the trouble ticket software and try to determine who authorized the installation in the first place. If it is in there. It could be that the acting DC before me just didn't enter it." With that, he moves to rise, then pauses, "Oh, Major?" His gaze turns to her and he slowly sinks once more, "The other thing. I would take it as a kindness if you told your pilots to keep hands off the birds? I do not mind if they want to do maintenance down the road, but I'd like to clear them on basics first. Until I can see what they know, only those who report directly to me are authorized. I hope you do not object to that? I figure that you and I can sit down after the wargames when things are a bit calmer and determine who has the skills and the time to be doing their own maintenance. Does that fly with you, sir?"
Cidra looks quite pleased with Atreus' last request. She nods firmly. "It is most fine with me, Chief. The LSO, Captain Hellicon, had a rather liberal policy toward involvement of Air personnel in maintenance. Before consulting with me." She grits her teeth, expression somewhat wolfish. "I do not object to pilots who wish to know more about the innards of their craft, but I would not want a Deck hand flying my Raptor. And I do not want a pilot repairing her. We all have our jobs. I shall see that my pilots and ECOs are clear on this. There may be a few who wish to pursue it with you, and they shall be free to do so. As for the situation with the Vipers, keep my apprised. Will this affect our Raptor contingent as well?"
Gabrieli picks up his battered cigarette pack, a few bits of brown tobacco littering his desk as he fishes out a new smoke. Those are brushed unceremoniously onto the floor. His lighter scritches, flame turning his chin a warm orange in the second or two before it's clicked off.
Atreus' expression turns neutral and he nods, though keeps his tone neutral, "Well, Major… I am not as liberal as Captain Hellicon. I tend to be of that same school of thought. We all have our jobs. I certainly wouldn't be able to fly a raptor or a viper. Wouldn't want to try. It would be a disaster." His lips quirk into the faintest of smiles, though there is no mirth there. "Anyway. I need to see what my crew is capable of. Assess strengths and weaknesses. I can't do that if I don't know who is working on what. After the wargames, I don't mind talking to your folk about helping out here and there, but in truth? Even that will be pretty strictly limited. Maintenance is one thing, but if they want to work the deck? They need to apply for and get a transfer." He finally stands and snaps off a jaunty salute, "Thank you both. Don't hesitate to come down to the deck. My office is open and I usually have coffee."
"I am not as liberal as the LSO, either," Cidra says simply, the barest hint of a smile coming to her lips. She retrieves her cigarette, doing some more smoking. "I may take you up on that coffee sometime. I will have the flight roster sent to you promptly. Get as much of a head start as you can. Things are still rather sedate with the Viper wing while we're in drydock." She stands to acknowledge his salute properly, then fluidly sinks back into her chair.
Gabrieli snorts quietly at the talk of pilots. Wanting to be deckhands. Or something. He taps two fingers against the side of his head, crooking wrist back at Atreus. "Chief." He's standing up, himself. Launching means the ChEng needs to be working. "Major…" That more quietly, once he's moved. "I'll, uh. See you after launch."
"You will. We should speak, Dominic," Cidra says, putting out her cigarette and standing. She regards the ChEng a beat, then stands fluidly and takes her leave of his desk area.
Atreus nods to the ChEng, "Sir." Turning on his heel, he pauses briefly, "Uh. Yes, Major. The raptors are involved as well." He inclines his head to both, the respect in his glance deeper than when he arrived. "Excuse me. I'll get out of your hair." Turning once more, the man strides purposefully out of the office.