| Seven-Point-Fives for Three |
| Summary: | Trask assigns Marko another sims assignment, this time involving the Areion's schematics for the dubbed Viper Mk VII.5s. |
| Date: | 28 Sep 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | We're All Friends Here precedes this; This Tape Will Self-Destruct... follows this |
| Players: |
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| Naval Offices - Deck 10 - Battlestar Cerberus |
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| Post-Holocaust Day: #214 |
| 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. |
| Condition Level: 3 - All Clear |
It's been a while since LTJG Scaurus has been summoned by his SL. Between all the recons, planetary excursions, and civilian recovery efforts, however, it's not as though Bootstrap has had much spare time to unsettle his underlings with his presence. Even so, he's a rather hands-off boss. (Until someone fraks up, anyway.) Today, however, is a day of reckoning, it would seem. A simple memo was sent to Marko with a date, time, and place. So, here and now, Trask is at his desk, poring over paperwork, and occasionally taking a drag from a smoldering cigarette of delicious Allegheny tobacco.
Marko raps his knuckles on the hatchcombing before slipping quietly into the offices, peering around him at the various underlings as a means of trying to take the room's temperature. If Trask is on the war path, this'll be a good way to tell. Seeing them all busy and quiet both relaxes and unsettles him. Busy's good, quiet, not so much. Fortunately, the Squad Leader's desk isn't hard to get to. "Lieutenant JG Scaurus reporting as ordered, sir." he says, coming to semi-attention in front of Trask's desk.
"At ease, Flasher," is said with the usual casualness that Trask dispenses with formality. Case in point: he's not yet looking at the JiG. "Have a seat." Only once he's finished highlighting something in a pale yellow that won't strain the eyes, said eyes finally shift to Marko. "I hear ya gettin' good mileage outta the virtual Heavy Raider." This appears to please the man.
Marko flops down unceremoniously in the chair and stretches out just a bit. "Oh yeah, Boss, she's going great guns." Marko beams proudly. "The more data I gather up, the smarter she's getting." he adds. "Been tweaking her fairly regular every time I find new material." he explains. "How are the pilots liking the sims?" he asks curiously.
Tap-tap goes some ash into the tray. "If by likin' 'em you mean hating 'em: a whole lot." The way Bootstrap smiles, that's a good thing. "Goin' up against that frakker shouldn't be a joyride." Puff-puff. Unlike the cheap-ass Picon brand crap the military issues, what he's smoking is arguably some of the best, if not the best, tobacco in all of the Colonies. Pre-Warday, no less. It certainly smells a whole lot better that what the Quartermaster doles out. "Got some new projects for you."
"Heh, that explains some of the looks I've been getting." Marko chuckles, nodding a little. "New projects?" he asks, cocking his head a little. "Sounds interesting. What is it you need done?"
"More models." Quelle surprise! "No footage, but I'll see about gettin' some. Been makin' notes and extrapolating from the data to give you a starting point, though." A folder is retrieved and lightly chucked on the desk, closer to Marko. "Snag Apostolos for number crunching. I'm gonna put Aydin on this, too, since she has a background in astrophysics that could come in useful." As for what's in aforementioned folder? Schematics for what have been dubbed the Viper 7.5s. Since his shorthand wouldn't make much sense to others, Trask typed up and broke down the relevant aerospace engineering details for the programming.
Marko picks up the file and starts looking through the data sets. "Hmm…this is interesting." he comments, reading through the file page by page, alternately pursing his lips and muttering softly to himself as he goes through it all. "Doesn't look like it'll be that difficult, Boss." he says, closing the file. "Lemme get Money Shot and Sweet Pea to take a look through it and gimme their evaluation, I can get you a rough timetable?" he asks.
Another savoring drag from the cigarette and a slow exhalation of smoke. "Works for me. Keep in mind that shit's classified. Make sure the others are aware." Which is Trask speak for 'You are the guy in-charge, Flasher'. "This is part of a larger project, so the framework needs to be solid. The aim is to get into fabrication." Which means people can die if the numbers are off. NO PRESSURE.
"Copy that, Boss. I'll keep it someplace out of the way." Marko nods. "I got just the spot for it." he smirks. "Well, I'd better go see if I can round one of 'em up. Is Money Shot on CAP right now?" he asks, starting to rise.
"Frakked if I know. Check the flight board. I'm already keepin' track of who we have on CAP, who's movin' merchandise, and who's doin' search an' recovery on the surface." It's not like it's the Harrier SL's job to off-hand know what's going on in the other squadrons. "Actually, hold on." Digging in a desk drawer, he pulls out a rotation schedule. Because, really, he likes to know who his peeps are flying with. "Both she an' Sweet Pea aren't in the air, at the moment." That said, "Lemme know if you need anything." Whatever complaints his subordinates may have about him, Trask is always willing to assist where he's able.
"Excellent, I'll go try to track one of 'em down." Marko replies, nodding as he stands. "I'll get back to you ASAP with a rough time line." he says. "Anything else, Boss?"
"Nope." See? Trask isn't /that/ difficult. Well, not /always/, anyway. Granted, when he's easy-going about something, some people get nervous. "Kick some ass, like I know you will." The jaunty scout-style salute that follows is his equivalent of saying 'dismissed'.
"Heh, I'll damn sure try. See ya 'round, Bossman." And with that, and a quick salute, Marko is off to the races.