| Project Super-Secret |
| Summary: | In which classified stuff is discussed. Mega-secret. None of Your Business. |
| Date: | 18 Apr 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | The Ostent Evanescent |
| Players: |
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| Hangar Deck - Port - Midship - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| Post Holocaust Day: #50 |
| 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 |
"Yeah, I know the Manufacturing Facility is down. Just… Timon, for frak's sakes, just get 'em out here. We're gonna do it the old-fashioned wahy." Damon sounds weary as he waves off a Petty Officer, who looks pissed off herself. It's been tense on the Deck - and it shows. Knuckledraggers are going about their work well enough, but some of them look tired, others downright beat. As for Damon, he sighs and sits down on a bench next to BlackKnight-309, four different clipboards in hand - and he's ignoring every single one of them.
It's been a week since Bootstrap was last on CAP. Now that his shoulder has recovered, he's been cleared for patrol duty, which means he's pulling 8-hour stretches in a Raptor. The first such double-shift since his return has just concluded, leaving the ECO to complete his post-flight checks. "Uneventful," he tells the Specialist who becomes the recipient of the clipboard, "although the DRADIS loading time seems a bit sluggish. You might wanna look at that." Which is Trask-talk for 'you definitely should look at that'.
Damon glances up as he hears Trask's familiar voice. Specialist Nikolai Ganas takes the man's clipboard with a nod and a salute, climbing into the Raptor to chat with the ECO as he the post-flight is run. "Hey, El-Tee," he says, greeting the man with a chinraise. "I got your note when I woke up in the, uh, 'sickbay'." He grins sheepishly, hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Just wanted to say thanks."
Said ECO doesn't appear to have more to add for Ganas' benefit, so his attention is easily enough diverted towards the Deck's second-in-command. "How's it go, P-O?" Trask asks, starting to disembark. "Welcome back. I hope you had a hottie nurse." Flight boots hit the ground. "Thanks for not dyin'. Saves me the trouble of making Atreus cry like a little girl who realized that she'll never get a magical, sparkly, flying Princess pony."
"Good - good enough, anyway," Damon grunts, giving himself a little pat on the stomach now less four bulletholes. "I heard you got a warm Cylon welcome, too." A nod toward the Raptor pilot's shoulder. "I'm pretty sure I became a magical sparkly flying pony after I got shot up with morpha," he adds with a grin. "I sure as frak feel like one, sometimes, what with how hard they're ridin' us. Then again, all part of the job, eh, El-Tee?" Thrusting his hands in his pockets, he looks about the Deck for a moment. "Hey, listen - you were one of those working on the Heavy Raider, right?" His voice has suddenly taken a bit of a hushed tone to it. "Something's been driving me half-insane since the Eidolon, and I figure you might know."
"Well, as long as you have enough guts to keep pukin' 'em up, figuratively speaking, yeah," he agrees, "Good enough." As for his shoulder, "I think she was jealous that I was bangin' her sister." With bullets. "Don't let the Chief hear you say that," Trask adds, about being ridden like a magical, sparkly, flying Princess pony, "He might fashion a saddle. Better that than a riding crop, I suppose. Not that there's anything wrong with that kind of thing. Y'know, other than it being your boss." When Damon speaks more quietly, Trask draws closer, tilting an ear to what is being said. "Yeah. Primarily the electrical. Now heading-up the team analyzing the wireless antenna," for lack of a better term, "housed above the cockpit. That's kinda on-hold for another 2 days or so, though." That all said, "I'm no head shrink, but let's see if we can make you a little less batty. What's eatin' at your grey matter?" Instinctively, while talking, he is heading towards Atreus' office. Privacy and all that rot.
Zosime arrives from Midship.
Trask has just come off a CAP rotation and is stepping away from his Raptor with Damon, who's decked out in his ever-sexy orange jumpsuit. The two of them are headed toward Atreus' office. Damon fishes around in his pocket, looks over his shoulder for a second, and produces a small white disc, looking nervous. "This was in that corpse's hand on the Eidolon - on the bridge," he says to Trask. "And it looks so frakking familiar, I know I've seen it somewhere. I just don't know where. I think I saw it on one of the reports that came up about the Heavy Raider, but I never worked on it directly myself, so…" He holds it out to Trask.
Expertly camouflaged as just another background Deckhand in her own orange jumpsuit, Zosime's blonde hair is pulled back. She looks tired, as most people have lately. However, that's not about to stop her. With a glance about, she starts toward Atreus' office from the opposite direction as Damon and Trask. It's easier for her to spot the two men from her angle and she changes her course slightly so that she can greet the others. "Hey," she greets from a few steps off so she doesn't startle either of them. That nervous look that Damon has is enough to put a worried frown on her face. "Everything okay?"
Brown eyes flick to what's in Damon's hand. "Don't let Bannik catch you with that. If Cylons don't kill him, he'll drop dead to see that not bagged, tagged, and drowned in an ocean of paperwork." To be a bit more helpful, Trask adds, "From a cursory glance, it looks like a piece I'm analyzing." Left hand is extended to acquire the item for a better look.
Oh, but then there is Zosime, which means he and his fellow Taurian get pulled over en route to Atreus' office. Everything okay? There really is no way that Bootstrap could reply other than, "Other than the genocide of humanity via nuclear holocaust orchestrated by killer robots who have taken pages from the stalker handbook and would rather see us all dead before being happy without them, just peachy."
Damon almost jumps with surprise with Zosime speaks. He looks for all the world like he was just handing over a stash of drugs to Trask, not performing completely legitimate work-related duties. These… are legitimate work-related duties, right? "Hey, Zo," he says with a weak smile. The Whatever It Is is handed off to Trask so he can look at it. "Yeah, we're just, uh, there's this thing I found on the Eidolon," he says by way of answer. "Nothing important, y'know."
There's a bit of clunking a fair distance back on the Port-side hangar deck as flight-suited boots come clomping down the ladder, the figure of McQueen, a sweaty mess as his helmet is removed, exchanges a clipboard with a helpful Crewman, jotting down a few things and going through the general post-flight process. Duties performed, he inches along up the deck now, saluting once. He makes his general way towards Zosime and Damon. And by extension, Trask. If /anyone/ is ever looking for /that/ guy.
When Damon all but jumps out of his skin, the blonde woman can't help but be startled, too. She's surprised that he's surprised. Putting a hand on her throat, she takes a deep breath and attempts to go back to being calm. "Jeez, didn't mean to scare you." There's a bit of a blink at Trask's response to her innocent question. Zosime gives the man a weary sort of look and replies, "Yes, well, I did mean other than that. So, I guess that's good to hear." After a pause she adds, "But I meant more of the…" she trails off once she sees the object being passed from Damon to Trask. "Woah, what's that?" Her question is already answered before she gets a real chance to ask, which makes her just more curious. She takes a step forward to get a closer look. "If it's nothing important, then why would you say it's nothing important before I even asked?" She grins at Damon before adding her own professional opinion. "It looks…weird." The approach of McQueen is registered by a quick glance upward.
Although a bit of Saggie herb is nice to smoke, it is not drugs that Trask acquires from Damon. No, it appears to be a disc of some kind, which he regards more closely. Idly, he informs Zosime, "None of your business." Beat. "That's the official name." Cheeky ECO is cheeky. Despite that, he's not taking any steps to hide the item. After all, it's not like he has to disclose anything to anyone present. Answering the woman's other questions, though, "That's 'cuz Damon here is under the impression that that's what people are supposed to say when it comes to anything classified." An air of impishness then surfaces. "Or maybe it's just a red herring and the super secret awesome stuff is elsewhere." The viper jock seemingly is not noticed.
It takes a second for the redness in Damon's face to fade, having been caught completely off-guard. "This thing's classified?" he wonders aloud, blinking at the little white curiosity. "I've just been carrying it around in my pocket this whole time. Er, maybe I shouldn't have said that out loud." He shakes his head, glancing at Trask and Zosime with a hesitant look in his eyes. "It's not… dangerous, is it?" he asks the ECO.
As he closes in, McQueen's bootsteps echo against the metal of the deck rhythmically. He sways a bit as he walks, peeling his way out of the top of his flight suit, exposing the tank top below and starting to loop it around his waist. Eyeing the little assembled crew, his eyes suddenly go wide. "Careful!" He admonishes, with a loud, sharp yell.
"It might jump up and bite you. Having fun with Project Super-Secret out in the open?" His voice positively drips with amusement as his lips arc upward.
For secret agents making a super-sneaky drop off, Trask and Damon seem to be hilariously paired. The snark plus the sincerity of the two cause Zosime to glance between the two men with a half-smile. "I think the name needs work. It's a bit too long. You could possibly shorten it to NOYB." But, what she's really interested in is what this thing is, not just what it's called. "If you've been keeping it in your pocket and your leg's still attached, I don't think it's dangerous. Or, it's switched 'off' and you haven't accidentally hit the 'on' button." That may not be all that comforting, but it's something.
The loud sharp yell from McQueen catches the deckie off-guard and she jumps before swinging her head in McQueen's direction. That's the second time she's been startled in this conversation. Glancing from the newly arrived Viper pilot to the others assembled, she gives them all a skeptical look. "You know, for a Super-Secret project, there seems to be a lot of people who know about it."
"It is now." Classified, that is. "Ergo, why I said you'd better not let Bannik see you with it unbagged and untagged," is relayed to Damon. As for the item being dangerous, Trask lets off a faint shrug. "Dunno. Haven't had a chance to really crack open the one we have processed. Worst case scenario, it's actin' like a homing beacon." So glib when relaying nefarious news. "For all I know, it's not the same device. Judging by outward appearances, though, it seems so, which makes the worst case scenario seem more probable considering where and how this little baby was found."
And there is Queenie to add something oh so worthwhile to the conversation. "I didn't let the cat out of the bag," Boostrap idly notes. "I /am/ officially shoving it into a burlap sack and drowning it in a lake, though." While on the subject of the lack of Super-Secretiveness to the Super-Secret project, he quips, "Hey, I was all for striking blind, deaf, and mute anyone unauthorized to see, hear about, or discuss what we all know is being dissected next door." Is there even anyone who's unaware about the Heavy Raider? "Anyway, this comes from elsewhere, but I'm deeming it suspect because I can, which means it is now NOYB," which he pronounces as 'noyb' and not N-O-Y-B.
"Frakshitcuntwhore," Damon yelps, his hands coming up as McQueen yells. He's hell of a lot jumpier than usual, and most likely, the strange white disc doesn't account for all of it. Getting shot a bunch will do that to a person, too - especially someone who's not trained for real combat. When he sees that it's a joke, his eyes flash with a moment of anger before being subdued. It takes a second for what Trask says to filter through his brain. "A homing beacon?" he asks, frowning with concern. "Isn't that… er… the worst thing we could be carrying, twice over, on this ship?"
In response to this, there's a steady widening of McQueen's lips until he shows his teeth, in a wolfish grin. His gaze flickers from Trask to Damon to Zosime in turn, back to Damon, even though he addresses Trask's question first. "I don't know. I might be a betting man, but I'll wager that Centurions /blowing a hole in the door/ and leaving behind a big gaping view of the Repair Bay and a large, fat old Cylon ship sitting behind them might have caught a few eyes. But I always go for the obvious first, yeh?" To Damon, he actually backs off a bit. "Sorry, P.O. Didn't mean to frak with you." Really. "If it /was/ a homing beacon that had any useful range, think about it. If it was, and it /worked/, they'd be on top of us by now. We left the Anchorage and there's been nothing but silence. To prove a point, they even came in and seemed to focus on destroying the anchorage first. We were a secondary threat." He snickers a little bit. "Secondary, my /arse/. We lit that thing up like a fireworks show." Zosime finally gets a glance. "And you, well, you state the obvious. There's a cosmic reward for that. Somehow."
"Technically, Chief did," Zosime tilts her head at Trask about who let what cat out of the bag. "He's the one that officially briefed me on that thing we all know is being dissected next door. Hopefully, that means my eyes, ears and mouth are safe for now." Though she doubts there's anyone on the ship that doesn't know about the Heavy Raider, she's part of the crew who officially does. With a smirk, she adds, "And you stole my name for it." The yelp makes Zosime widen her eyes and she looks like she may put a hand on the man's shoulder. But, the moment passes and it may be more helpful to just move on. Men and their irrational need to be manly.
Chewing on her lip, she, instead, thinks through all the points that McQueen compiles and adds counterpoints to her own. "Well, if it was a homing beacon with any sort of amazing range, we'd be able to detect something strange about it, right? All it'd really need to do is to not have a lot of power so we wouldn't be able to figure it out, but enough so that if they got close, they'd know exactly where we are. They don't seem to be having much of an issue with finding our general area, but this could give them pinpoint accuracy once they were in the right sector. It'd make it easier for them to plan because they'd have an eye on us and wouldn't have to just jump on top of us. But, you're right. It may not be a homing beacon. It could just be a communication device, a store of information, a lot of other different things." Frowning, she looks at the thing and then back at McQueen when he tells her she states the obvious. "It's a gift I have."
"I'd have to say that Cylons in the frakkin' hull is the worst thing we could be carrying, but that's just me." Even though that resulted in getting shot in the shoulder (oh, and Damon getting his innards vented), Trask remains as facetious as ever. To what McQueen said, he points out, "We found this before the battlestar was redecorated. It's possible that the trashcans were gonna hit the Anchorage regardless of whether or not we were there. It's also possible that this wee frakker here was some kind of calling card to let 'em know we were in the neighborhood." As far as Zosime being officially in the know, "Chief's call on who he tells what about what transpires in his domain." At least until Command says otherwise.
"No, don't worry about it, sir," Damon says to McQueen with a weak smile. All hints of that flash of anger are gone. "I'm just a bit jumpy lately, is all." He stays silent during the speculation, slowly crossing his arms as he listens. "Well - I mean, whatever it is, I figured you and Bannik were the go-to people, right?" he asks Trask, nodding to the item in question. "I'll leave it in your capable hands, El-Tee. I have to say, my curiosity's piqued, but… I'd probably end up busting the damn thing if I tried to do anything with it."
"And I cannot /imagine/ why." McQueen nods easily at Damon, waving a hand a little. Almost looks like he's about to clap his hand on the man's shoulder, but doesn't. His arms falling at his sides for a moment, his right comes up as his spread fingers move to cup his chin and start scratching at it. "Huh. So it's a gift. Well, I almost took a job with Minos Telecom before I went with the Fleet, and that makes me think —." Falling completely silent, he continues his ponderous expression. "Oh, I agree. It's a gift." He says encouraging towards Zosime. Addressing the entire group now, he goes back to his original topic. "Anyway, I don't see Centurions shootin' through the bloody walls so I think for now, we have a reprieve. That was a nasty piece of work." He says in agreement with Trask. "But remember - if these things are communication devices, they're probably digital. Not Analog. I didn't hear Cylons chattering with each other so whatever Wireless signal's they're sending back and forth are probably computerized by nature. I don't know a damn thing beyond that, but if you're trying to figure out what it /does,/ don't treat it like a Wireless voice and sound transmitter. Not a frakking thing analog about these bastards. Probably need to hook it up to a computer, pull some kind of telemetry, and — oh. Well, it's your show at that point, people."
The mention of Cylons pushing through the hull makes Zosime shiver at the memory. "We'll just have to figure it out, then." She raises an eyebrow in McQueen's direction. "Your 'not knowing a damn thing' actually seems like knowing a lot." Once again, using her gift of stating the obvious. "The both of you would be useful in picking this thing apart, it sounds like. 'Course, that's not my call."
Without missing a beat, Bootstrap tells Queenie, "I don't presume to know how /any/ of their crap works, apart from 'in ways I have yet to understand'. For all I frakking know, they could be transmitting on a frequency too high or too low to be audible to human ears." Like dolphins in water, or bats navigating. With all the biochemical goo, it's not outside the realm of possibility. "Anyway, thanks for the token of your appreciation, Damon. I'll put it to good use."
"Knowing what you don't know is a form of knowing a lot. I know my boundaries." McQueen inclines his sweaty head towars Zosime not unkindly. "And I've spent a lifetime of figuring out what I /don't/ know. As long as you learn where to contain that, you'll come out ahead." His smile flickers. "Or, it might kill ya. Who's to say?" There's a mirthful chuckle that gets tossed out there. "I tested out as an 'intuitive' type in those personality tests, after all. But, mm." He falls silent now as his eyes get dragged back on Trask. "Now you're getting out of the box. Good. Good." He pauses. "I suppose I'm late for an arse reaming. Captain's looking for me. That is /never/ what I want to hear."
Whatever it is that they found, it's bound to be something nefarious. That just seems to be the luck of this place. Zosime nods at both Trask and McQueen. "Well, I hope it's not the latter!" Always the optimist. "Good luck with that. It's true, that's never a good announcement." Glancing at all the damaged equipment still about, she takes a step backward. "I should really be repairing things and making sure nothing is catching on fire, myself."
"Well, what I /do/ know is that CAP is over but my workload isn't. Oh, and that I'd take pretty much any box over the proverbial pine one." With disc still in hand, the ECO offers a nod and a simple farewell of, "P.O.s." McQueen gets a, "Queenie," and an, "Odds are that your hands'll be spared. Make sure he doesn't damage your brain, either. Y'know, just in case I need to pick at it."