| Tech Tirade |
| Summary: | Kiryl gives Atreus some bad news. |
| Date: | Feb 15, 2041 AE |
| Related Logs: | None yet. |
| Players: |
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-[ 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.
The deck is a busy place, what with one thing and another. Birds and snakes are both in for maintenance as usual. There is a faint air of tension out there as rumor begins to circulate about various projects that might or might not be coming down the pike. Atreus is in his office at the moment.
Atreus is seated at the desk with paperwork in front of him. He has a list or a spreadsheet on the terminal before him, and he reads from the terminal, then makes a check mark on one of the many boxes on the sheet in front of him.
A knock, and then an immediate entry. "I am sorry for interrupting," comes a sharply accented voice in a rush, "But I need to speak to chief officer of deck. Is matter of great urgency." The tang of sweat and smoke follows in the little man's wake, and he looks indeed like he's been through a night that takes a full pack.
Glancing up at the knock, Atreus is about to shout something, but the door is opened right away anyway. Closing his mouth, the man takes in the other's appearance. "That's me. Chief Atreus." He flashes a glance toward one of the chairs, "Take a load off before you fall down." Rising, he moves the step or two to the coffee maker "Want a mug? It's fresh." Only then, with a glance over one shoulder does he add, "Who are you and how can I help you?"
"I really ought not," the satyrine fellow sighs, but is drawn to the gravity of the drink regardless. "Maybe just one," he says quietly. "Have been up all night, all night, because of some imbecile going ahead and installing the program on my cluster. I could strangle a dove!" he declares in a final crescendo, a finger raised like a concert conductor's. No, he hasn't answered the question.
Atreus begins to pour a mug, stops, then finishes. "Just enough to get you to your rack." Turning back, he returns to his chair. The mug is set carefully closer to the opposite edge of the desk, closer to you. "So. I take it that you are some kind of… programmer. Maybe one of the folk here for the wargames. You have something to do with the… navigational software?" Looking up, he steeples his fingers, elbows on the desk, "But, that does not tell me who you are or why I should interrupt my extremely busy schedule to listen to a rant about someone who isn't in my department. So. Either fill in the blanks, or go to bed and come back later after you've slept. And, in any case, calm down. You're going to blow a frakin' gasket at that pace and it's a long way to sickbay from here."
"Mm, ah-hah, yes-no," he stammers quietly, the sipping of his coffee stifling most of the mumbling that follows. Seriously, the edge of the cup doesn't leave his lips for some time, until he's collected enough to explain. "I am Kiryl Strelokov, I work for certain ship-building concern you may have heard of. We build this vessel. I am System Integration Compliance Lead for all information system on ship and I cannot-" He stamps a foot, beginning to rant again as some dark coffee splashes onto his polo. It joins quite a few similar dark stains in the same spot. "I tell you I cannot in good conscience certify this systems. You must remove Command Navigate Programme, and, and find culprit who does installing it and… and make…" Teeth clink against the edge of his mug suddenly. "Is terrible," he mutters quietly. "Take week to fix."
Atreus listens, his calm unruffled, though he winces in sympathy when the hot coffee stain joins its brethren on the man's shirt. When he begins to get the gist of the problem, he turns to his computer and flicks through some screens. "Remove it? According to Deck records, we just finished installing it." Which is, he realizes, what his guest just said, "Why should we remove it?" His tone implies curiosity rather than a challenge. Settling back a little, he pulls the keyboard into his lap. A new screen is opened and he begins filling out what amounts to a 'trouble ticket' for the Deck, "I'm putting you as the client on this one, Mr. Strelokov. Keeps it neater and gives me a contact person who is an authority on the project. As for who installed it? I just came aboard, sir, so can't say. I can, and will, find out who authorized it, though."
"Because my niece could programme better network stack for one," Kiryl mutters around the rim of his cup. He sidles around the edge of the desk, trying to get a view of the screen… then rubs at his eyes as they protest at focusing on another monitor. "My contract state I cannot install any softwares on production system until is verified to no degrade other system performances. This CNP, is like… what is called…" The man snaps his fingers, trying to think. "The holiday pie, with nuts and vege-no, fruit pieces… Think, think…"
Atreus tilts his head to one side, an incipient and entirely unwarranted amusement fighting with a growing horror at the implications of what the contractor is saying. "Fruitcake." The word is supplied without hesitation. After a fraction of a moment, he sits forward, his gaze fiercly focused, "Are you telling me that some frak-tard released untested code on the fighter squadrons of this ship?" Now, his tone has softened, though not faded. "That we could have been given code that could destroy our fighters systems? Is that truly what you are telling me, Mr. Strelokov?"
"Yes, fruitcake!" he cries in excitement. "The parts, the parts standing alone are good, but put together…" Kiryl shrugs just in time for Atreus to come to a conclusion. It has the coder wobbling from side to side. "Is close. Am saying that this CNP make so much data noise that, that…" He waves a hand out the door, causing some more coffee to splosh - impressive, considering how much he's drank. "The shiny new fighting, fightey…" The extended hand waggles in time with a frustrated growl. "You take good pilot, clone him, put in new one and in the old museum pieces you use for training, yes? With this CNP on new one, will be equal match. You understand?" Mr Strelokov nods quickly. Hopefully.
Atreus nods slowly, "Yeah. The current software makes the new ships on par with the old training units. Fabulous." Lifting a hand, he scrubs his fingers through his hair, "A'right. We'll take it off. Not going to worry about who authorized the installation just yet. I'll get to that later. Right now, I've got to figure out how to pull the code. When is the new code going to be ready?"
Kiryl takes a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out as he eases into one of the chairs. "And I assure you, is not solely client side with problem," he says at a more leisurely pace. The question of how long it will take keeps him from going into detail; with a tired grunt Kiryl offers, "Real problem is way network handles session keepalive. Is very basic, have no idea why fool decided to re-invent the lever. Is constantly call on event handler and error flow, mnyunglabahh…" No, that's not a placeholder for technical speak, he really does make that noise. "If you really pressing for time, I can have network rewrite in four, five days. Six," the man quickly corrects, jerking as if startled awake. "I need sleep on it first."
Atreus licks his lips slightly and nods, though he focuses an intent look at the man when the bizzare noise takes the place of what should be technospeak. "Six days?" Again he turns to the computer. This time, he pulls up a schedule, "Six days. Okay. I'll get the crews started stripping out the old code. I'll have to coordinate with the CAG, but I don't see why we can't do the job in cycles. The ships we take the old code from first can have the new code first. Yeah, let me coordinate with the CAG and ChEng." He eyes the man briefly, then nods toward the door, "I can take off if you want to pull the chairs together and get some shut eye. Or, I can draft one of my hands to walk with you to your bunk. You're about to crash hardcore right here, sir."
Something makes the cranky cracker groan into his empty coffee cup. "Ohh you've got to be joking. No," Kiryl says sharply, rising to his feet. "Thank you for the drink." Setting the cup on the table as he goes the contractor mumbles, "If I knew ChEng still here, never would have wonder who installed… is out to ruin Kiryl reputation…" The rest of his mad mutterings are lost in the din of the Hangar Bay.
Atreus lifts a brow slightly, then rises as though to follow the man, "Wait. Get some sleep, sir. You don't want to risk making a mistake because you're too tired to…" But the man has wandered off. "So not good." Striding around to the door, he pokes his head out and motions for a nearby tech. "Hey, Phiggowitz? Get the other leads and get in here. Remember that pile of work we were looking at? Yeah? It just tripled."