| Heavy |
| Summary: | Bannik and Trask discuss the Heavy Raider and the weight of being a project lead. |
| Date: | 29 Mar 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | Breadcrumbs |
| Players: |
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| Repair Bay - Hangar Deck - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| Post Holocaust Day: #31 |
| When engines need to be rebuilt or other heavy but short-term work needs to be done, this is where it happens. Large, red hand-mobile cranes are situated along the wall beside stacks of toolchests. Carts with various computers and electronics are dispersed around the area for quick access. A very conspicuous yellow locker at the rear holds a sizable amount of firefighting gear, as well. Sturdy metal stands are available to hold all sorts of parts from gun systems to the FTL drives of a Raptor. Big enough to accommodate quite a few Vipers and Raptors at once, this area sees extensive use and is usually attended by at least one crew at all hours of the day and night. |
| Condition Level: 3 - All Clear |
The moment he set eyes on that relatively unscathed Heavy Raider in the Parnassus' hangar, Trask had been itching to pop Big Bertha's cherry. On-site, he and Marko managed to hot-wire the entry ramp to open, and then went to town bringing the electrical systems off-line, as befits men of their respective backgrounds. It's not good enough that the more senior ECO was the first non-Cylon inside her. Indeed, he keeps coming back for some cold Raider loving, which consists of breaking down the mysterious minx. As he is currently not on CAP, he's here in the Repair Bay.
"Sir." Tyr Bannik, the eighteen year-old newbie deck crewman who is ostensibly in charge of this little investigation enters the Repair Bay, a digital camera in hand. He's in his deck uniform, taking a pair of goggles off of his eyes and placing them on his forehead. "Taking tour of our new guest?"
"We have history," Trask idly replies to the young'un, before adding, "She's a very kinky girl, just so you know." Finally, glancing Tyrwards, he greets amiably enough, "Crewman." His left hand is offered for the traditional forearm clasp common among knuckledraggers. With an amused smirk, it's noted, "I hear you're some sort of prodigy."
Bannik returns the gesture, but somewhat hesitantly, like someone not all-too-versed in the rituals of the Deck quite yet. "I don't know about that, sir. I think the Chief just likes picking on me. Cerberus's is my first posting out of A-School." He nods to the Heavy Raider. "But he gave me the project, so I'll do the best I can with her." A pause. "Uh. You got the memo I sent around?" As if realizing that he was outlining a plan to someone WAY older than him. And who can quite likely beat him up.
It's true that he's something of a jerkass, but Trask also doesn't bite when he doesn't feel it's warranted. Granted, he gets to define 'warranted'. "Shit. How old're you, kid?" The tone is rather casual. "Don't sweat it. We were all whelps, once. Speaking of which," he adds as an aside, "shake like you mean it." That tidbit of advice given, he continues, "I know the Chief well enough to know that he wouldn't put a frak-up as project lead, which means you're some sort of prodigy." Despite being close to twice Bannik's age, the Jig doesn't seem perturbed to be deferring. As for the memo, he nods. "Solid work, that. We just frakkin' went nuts, back in my day." Word around the Deck is that he had worked Avionics for 6 years and was an AE Lead and second-in-command during the final one.
"Yeah. Well. Lords knows when we'll get another opportunity like this, so I figure we ought to be pretty methodical about it." Bannik peers at the craft, frowning to himself, as if trying to figure out where to begin his picture tour of it. "And uhm. I'm eighteen, sir." Yeah. He's under twenty. He said it. What are you going to do about it?
"I enlisted on my 18th." Birthday, presumably. That also appears to be all he has to say about the age issue. "So," Trask turns his attention back to the Raider, "where you wanna start this?" Even though he's older and more experienced than Bannik, the JGLT isn't inclined to step on Atreus' toes, which means the teenager isn't about to be sweated for no good reason.
"Well. The first thing I want to do," says Bannik, finding a bit more of his voice and perhaps a little confidence to go along with it. "Is get photos of the gross features of the aircraft. It seems dumb, but it's still an important start to our record. Next, then, I want to focus on interesting details. In particular, I want to take a look at the aspects that make it aerodynamic and that differ from Colonial design. So wings, exhaust vents, that sort of thing, and take measurements to see if we can try to reverse-engineer the principles behind it. For all the Cylons can do, I doubt they can defy physics." He nods to Trask. "But that's where I'll need some of your help, sir. I'm a mechanic, not an engineer, so it'll take some work to pick out the relevant features." He pushes his glasses up on his nose.
Nonchalantly, Kal quips, "Lucky for you, I'm both." Tilting his head this way and that, he ponders the beast before them. "It's not dumb; it's thorough." A sidelong glance is cast towards Bannik. "Crewman, chill. Seriously. You don't have to hedge things with me. If I think something's stupid, I'll let you know. So, really, no need to preface. I've read the memo; it's solid." That would be Trask's equivalent of a pep talk.
Bannik allows a small smile to touch at the edges of his features. "You got it, sir." Bannik nods once, moving in front of the nose of the Heavy Raider. No place to start than the front, he seems to suppose. He turns on the digital camera, snapping a picture, and then beginning to move to the left, beginning his circle and documentation. "So how did you even get her over here?" he wonders. "Tow-line?"
To the front it is. "Yup. Usually do it in, y'know, space, but we managed to sink the Raptor's claws into it." While Bannik starts to take pictures, Trask reaches into one of his cargo pockets and pulls out a hand-held electronic device. "Popped her open and deloused her. Made sure she had all her shots," he glibly adds, starting to type.
"Not sure I understand the metaphor, sir," confesses Bannik as he takes another picture, the flash going off as he does so. "You mean you brought the electrical systems offline?" He sounds like he isn't sure if that was the 'delousing' or the 'shots.' "How did you get her open, then?"
Still typing while examining the exterior, the ECO confirms, "Yep. Did a sweep for transmitters, bugs, other assorted fleas and ticks. Ensign Scaurus did a diagnostic to make sure there wasn't some sort of code that would make the frakkin' thing some kind of Trojan Horse. An' then, yeah. I cut the power. Tricky that, I gotta say. Not like Colonial craft. The Navy is undoubtedly pleased that putting me through a distance-learning university program wasn't a waste of cubits."
"Did you find anything on the sweep or diagnostic, sir?" Bannik is methodically moving around the heavy raider, taking pictures as he goes. It's slow work, but it'll make for an impressively thick report when he's all done with it. "I guess not, since you don't seem concerned about it, but."
"*I* didn't find anything." That one word is slightly stressed. "I'm not a hacker, though," Trask explains. "EE and CS have some overlapping, but electrical engineers aren't taught to be hardcore coders. Flasher, though? That being Ensign Scaurus, by the way," because non-Air Wing peeps tend to get lost with callsigns, "he gets off on that kind of thing."