PHD #008: Favor for the Chief
Favor for the Chief
Summary: Atreus asks Damon to take over caring for Quinn's Raptor.
Date: 6 Mar 2041 AE
Related Logs: Red Head Surprise
Atreus Damon 
Chief's Office - Hangar Deck - Battlestar Cerberus
The room is fairly small, to maximize the area of the deck itself. It contains a smallish metal desk with locking drawers, a computer terminal, a file cabinet against one wall and metal shelves filled with tools, spare parts, and manuals. There are two chairs facing the desk, clearly scavenged from somewhere else. One area of the shelving, nearest the desk, has been cleared and is clean. This holds a coffee maker that constantly seems to have some brew or other in it. Above the chair behind the desk, in a position of prominence, a framed picture has been hung. It is an embroidered image depicting Hephaestus with his two metal helpers. The work is beautiful and almost lovingly detailed. The god is laughing, one eye bright where a patch covers the other. He is held aloft by his helpers, one done in glittering gold, the other in silver.
Condition Level: 2 - Danger Close

The hatch to the Chief's office is open and the scent of fresh coffee wafts out on small puffs of air. Within, he has cleared his desk of everything but the computer monitor and even this has been pushed to the farthest edge. A… something… has been disassembled and the pieces are spread over a swath of paper. Tinkering, yes, but in a constructive sort of way. Or, he would be were he looking at the stuff. He isn't. Seated behind the impressive array of potential, Atreus is leaning back in the chair. His feet are up on the corner of the desk, ankles crossed. He is looking intently at a picture of a very pregnant young woman.

"No, don't you frakking - I swear, I'll crack your skull open with a pipe wrench if you touch that while I'm away," Damon can be heard threatening as he nears the Chief's Office. His silhouette appears in the doorway, one hand hanging onto his belt and the other pointing at someone out on the hangar floor. "Don't. You, you've got my permission to kill him if he touches any part of that bird." Apparently, that's now settled, and he turns to knock on Atreus' door. "Chief, you called for me?"

The noise approaching his door is enough notice that Atreus has a chance to tuck the picture away in a drawer. By the time Damon is at the hatch, the Deck Chief is back to working on his whatever it is. "Come on in. Yeah, I need to talk to you for a sec." His gaze flickers to what he can see of the Deck through the hatch, "Who'se out there giving you shit? Need me to escort the frakker off the Deck?"

Damon laughs and shakes his head, waving away the idea with a hand as he steps through. "Nah, it's just - he wants to finish off the work for me, I don't think he believes me when I tell him that he can't score points with me that way," he explains as he moves over to take a seat, casting a curious glance over at what the Chief is working on. "No matter, I'm sure the Specialist will have him out an airlock in another… oh, three minutes or so." He sits down and leans back in the chair, crossing his dirty, greasy, oily arms. "What you need, Chief?"

Atreus nods, eyes narrowing just a little before refocusing on Damon. A piece is lifted from the 'filthy' side and he begins to clean it; oil, grease and dirt carefully wiped off with a rag. "I need you to assign Quinn's bird to one of your folk, Damon." His tone is thoughtful, low and vaguely troubled. "I'll take one of yours in trade."

The immediate reaction on Damon's face is one of protest. The word 'NO' just about screams across his face - understandably so, or so one may think, with all the irregular duties, extended hours, and side projects and assignments he's been assigning to his crew. Switching one out could be disruptive. But he doesn't say anything yet, just watches Atreus work for a moment before finally answering, "I can take the bird." He nods slowly, straightening up in the seat. "No need to change anyone around."

Atreus flickers a glance up in time to see that silent scream. The gaze is lowered, the cleaning of the piece in his hand slowing. He waits, perhaps anticipating a question that has not yet come. Finally, the Chief nods, "Thanks. I owe ya one, Damon. Maybe more than one." He places the piece he has been working on into a bowl of solvent, then sets the rag aside and looks up, "You are allowed to ask why, if you want. And I'll be taking one of yours. Next time Quinn flies in, we'll just direct her to your side rather than mine. That'll make the transfer less'f a pain in the ass."

"That's, uh, that's all right, Chief," Damon responds. "I remember the scene that happened in this room not too long ago when she walked in, I'm sure I can put two and two together on that one." He offers Atreus a wry grin, half ironic and half apologetic, and unfurls his arms. "I've been reading the notes from the other interviews, by the way, and they all seem to pretty much match up with my guesses and suspicions."

Atreus seems relieved that a rehash is not required. Relieved and grateful. Setting that aside, he lets it drop and focuses on the next topic. "Yeah. I think we're all coming to the same conclusions. Did you happen to see the note I sent you? I've decided that having a bunch of folk running around looking for the same needle in a haystack is stupid. We're going to put it all together on Monday. But… That said… Tell me your guesses and suspicions. I'll bet creds to doughnuts we're going the same way."

"Yeah, I actually just received that on the floor not too long ago," Damon answers with a nod. "I should be able to make it Monday so that we can all point out what's been increasingly obvious to those who've been looking into the systems." He licks his lips and crosses his arms again. "I probably wouldn't have thought of it if it weren't for the Admiral's announcement, to be honest - I'm not strong on avionics and that, so I was mostly blundering about. But after I heard that word, 'Cylon', it just all kinda… fell together."

Atreus draws a slow breath and releases it, "Yeah, there's that. Me? I think the culprit might be a whole lot nearer." He takes a pen and fishes his part out of the solvant solution. It is wrapped in a cleaner rag and works some tougher grit off. "But, I'm waiting until I get some hard evidence before making accusations. I just hope the gods damned frakker does not slip off somewhere. I want to wring his neck myself." The part, finally cleaned, is set with the other sparkling bits. "Anyway. Yeah. I think once everyone is in the same room, we'll have enough to have the MPs make an arrest."

Damon is about to say something in response when noise erupts on the hangar floor. The clattering of tools, the scuffle of feet, and shouting. Damon's name is called out, but abruptly silenced and masked by the sound of a dull thud. "Ah… he touched my bird," the Petty Officer says with a smirk, standing up. "I told him not to do that. If you'll excuse me, Chief, I gotta put a wrench through a Crewman's skull."

The sounds from without are startling and Atreus is on his feet in less than half a second. He is about to stride out onto the floor when Damon clears up thtet matter. Snickering, he nods toward the hatch, "Go commit murder and mayhem, Damon." And that is when the intercom crackles to life…

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