| Sampler and the Trimix |
| Summary: | Bannik reports to Cidra on the investigation into the poisoned trimix. |
| Date: | 10 Jul 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | As Flies to Wanton Boys |
| Players: |
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| Naval Offices - Deck 10 - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| 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. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #134 |
And into the belly of the beast. A clipboard clutched tightly against his chest and a pen slipped through the top, Tyr Bannik makes his way towards the office of the CAG. He raps lightly on the outside door, already at sort-of attention. This is going to be /awesome/.
Cidra is in her office. Hatch slightly ajar, as it tends to be. "Come in," her alto voice clips at the knock. There's a terser note to it than usual for her. She's sitting at her desk, smoking, combing through papers, and looking a mixture of bone tired and tight-jawed. Yeah, this may be very well be awesome. The cigarette is deposited briefly in her ashtray and she stands while Bannik makes his way inside.
Bannik wrinkles his nose slightly at the smell of smoke in the office, but does his best not to let it show /too/ much. He comes to attention, shifts the clipboard, and gives his best 'one and a half years out of Basic' salute. "Major Hahn, sir, I have the results of the investigation into the poisoned intermix for you."
There's always the vague scent of a smoker's quarters in here but it's definitely heavier at the moment. Normally, Cidra's polite enough to put out her cancer stick when she has guests. Her cig stays burning for now, however. The salute is returned fluidly and she sits at her desk, posture straightening. A short nod when he announces the purpose of his visit. "I do thank you for your efforts, Specialist. Close the hatch and take a seat. Would you like some water? Or smoke, perhaps?" She plucks her pack of cheap Picon cigs out of her desk again, in case he's of a want. At least she shares.
Bannik opens his mouth, as if trying to wet it a bit for what comes next. "Maybe some water, sir, thank you." Bannik dutifully pulls closed the hatch behind him, securing it tightly before taking a seat across from the CAG. "It turned out to be a fairly short investigation, once we figured out we were looking in the wrong place."
Cidra stands again to retrieve a carafe from a shelf just behind her desk. There are a few tin cups there, too. At times that carafe holds coffee or tea, but it's plain water at the moment. A cup is poured for Bannik and offered to the specialist. She gets one for herself, too, before sitting again. Then it's sipping, smoking, and listening to the deckhand. Cloudy blue eyes on him unwavering. "Tell me what you have found, please, Mister Bannik."
And here is where Bannik retreats to the safety of the clipboard which he carries. It's easier when you don't have to make eye contact. "Well, sir, the problem is everyone was wondering how someone got to the canisters. They didn't. They couldn't. After what happened to Snag, we were checking them in the sampler — that's the device that tests the trimix ratios — right before they went into service. So Morganfield did the next best thing. She sabotaged the sampler." He glances up. "We were adjusting our trimixes into the wrong mix based on our readings from the sampler. And she did it right after the sampler had its routine maintenance check, so we didn't notice it. Once we really took a look, though, it was easy to figure out how she recalibrated it." He's silent now. Wait for it.
Cidra nods short. "Yes. I do thank you for your diligence, Specialist." Her tone's a little flat as she says it, but it does not seem anything in particular aimed at him. Bone tired, she is. The thanks is sincere. "Is there anything me and mine can do to prevent incidents such as this in the future? I do have a few ideas. I would like to get my people trained so they can be more proactive in clearing their own equipment. It may require some extra time before CAP. And I…to be honest, I am not certain how much such procedures would have helped in this case." It is admitted softly. "But we do want to do what we can."
Bannik sighs. "I've wracked my brain, sir, but it's hard. We're not set up for protection against internal saboteurs. I mean, the ship itself can look out for bandits. And we have sign-out procedures to make sure we know who's worked on what. But so long as it's the people who should be there that are the ones sabotaging the materials —" He shakes his head. "It's not like nukes, sir, where we have one person watching to one person working. We never had the kind of personnel for that, much less now. And we need to balance that against our need to get the birds in the air now, not ten minutes from now. If anything, though, if pilots can at least cross-check their own equipment, it's at least another pair of eyes looking at things."
"We have none of us the time or manpower that we should. That we need," Cidra agrees soft. "That is what chills me about this so much, Mister Bannik. Raiders…you fly, you shoot, you trust to your abilities, you trust to your wingman. Sometimes…sometimes it is not enough, but you are prepared for that. On some level. This…I should be able to protect them. And I cannot." Her gaze drops as she just sort of expels all that in a muted tone. Perhaps not the sort of thing that terribly needs to be laid on the deckie. But she seemed to need to say it to *someone*. There's a beat of silence where she smokes, nodding to his last, then she raises her eyes and goes on again. "We shall get on it promptly. I have already requested Petty Officer Damon work with my LSO to coordinate additional training, if it is required. We shall do what we can, even if we cannot do all we should."
But even if this is being laid on the Deckie, it seems to be something that he was prepared to handle. He leans forward when she speaks, his expression taking on a gentler, softer smile. "We all can't do all that we want to do, Major," he says. "It's because we're fallible humans, not the Gods. If we thought we were all-powerful, like the Gods, that'd be Hubris, and that's the worst sin of all. Part of our challenge as mortals isn't just to do everything right, but also to know how to accept our own limitations with grace, hope, and faith."
"I pray mostly for the guidance to make the best of the bad choices before me, when I make my offerings to the Wise Lady Athena," Cidra says, eyes back steady on Bannik now. Gaze a little less penetrating, albeit. "I feel my mortality keenly these days, Mister Bannik. The wisdom of the goddess is not mine. But, we do as we can. And we remain. At least today." She clears her throat. "Is there anything further? This incident, while vile and horrible, seems a sadly straight-forward one."
Bannik shakes his head and rises, clutching his clipboard tightly once again. "No, Major," says the deckhand. "That's it. If there's anything else you need, just let me know." Then, softer. "Either about this or anything else." He comes to attention.
Cidra stands and salutes in acknowledgement, taking care of the necessary protocol. "I thank you for your service, Mister Bannik. You are dismissed. And…again, my thanks."