| Know Your Enemy |
| Summary: | Willem and Roubani catch up in the library for a talk about the evolution of the enemy. |
| Date: | PHD011 |
| Related Logs: | None |
| Players: |
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Kharon - Library
Roubani is sitting at a table tucked away between library shelves. In his blues, but the pressed jacket is off and hanging on the back of his chair. He has one foot pulled up on the seat, using his leg as a brace for an open book. Several other tomes are stacked with utmost care on the table, painfully neat piles in equally neat rows.
It appears that today Wil has been busy. Returning from his CAP and hit the head, (he has a nasty habit of not fully drying his hair after doing so) he is decked out in his blues as well, with just the top of the jacket unbuttoned. Something slightly uncommon for him, but since war broke out he's been increasingly adopting his habit. He has a pile of loose papers as well as a pair of large binders tucked under his right arm as he walks slowly into the library, blinking a bit as he studies the place after he makes his way through the hatch.
Roubani's fingers gently turn a page in the large book. The next is a plastic transparency slid haphazardly between the pages, showing some sort of electrical schematics. He tilts his head, tugging the loose sheaf out and holding it up to the light.
A few more steps. Timing has favored Willem, apparently, as he takes a few more steps into the place after scanning the contents and inhabitants with those few cursory glances. Rather than hesitating, he walks slowly towards Roubani's table, juggling his cargo with a few shifts of his arm and closing the gap to where the Ensign is seated, finally peering down at him in a tenative fashion. He waits a moment before saying, quietly(in a 'library') voice, "Glad to see you. Room for one more?"
Roubani seems slightly startled, lowering the transparency to his chest. "Sir. Of course." He sits up a little straighter on reflex, glancing around the table to be sure things are in order. "Please, have a seat."
At first, Willem draws in a breath in what's clearly meant to be a sigh. He muffles the gesture though, followed by a rueful grin. Not one to beat a dead horse, he's abandoned expecting Roubani to address him as anything other than the 'sir' honorific and just settles into the nearest vacant seat at the table after pulling it out and setting his not-quite-as-neat things into a pile wherever there's a free spot on the table's surface. "Thanks. I was hoping we could lure Lt. Valashche here for some insights but I think she had her hands full with some offical legalese after tossing Typhoon in hack last night." he murmurs dryly. "So it's just us. Anyway…" he begins, his eyes drifting to some of the items Roubani has here on the table.
Roubani raises an eyebrow slightly at the offered gossip. "I hope her hand doesn't get a cramp," he says, pragmatically. "It seems terribly easy to end up 'in hack' here." He pronounces the slang in the removed manner of someone who's never called it that before.
"Maybe." Willem considers, soberly, "Maybe." He again repeats. "I won't pretend I'll agree with it in the sense that we probably need every able-bodied pilot ready to go. But she likes order. And I've slowly, gradually learned the lesson that some people go looking for trouble without really thinking things through." The JG says, skirting any actual description of the incident that went down. "You pay for every little thing you do and sometimes the cost can be unreasonably high." He gestures with an upturned hand, nonplussed. He's clearly absorbed the 'keep your rear end covered' aspect of military culture. "I don't know if we're all dealing with things as well as we'd like." He clears his throat. "I guess I like to keep busy. Which is why I'm here. What are you going over?"
Roubani closes the tome over his hands, pushing it up onto the table. It's an engineer's manual explaining some of the more advanced points of FTL function. The rest of the books on the table are a splash of different topics, from technical to historical. "It isn't as though we've ever dealt with this situation before, sir. I'm not sure we can say anyone would or should be acting differently." He rubs the end of his nose, looking over his books. "I was just looking into some things. I've kept hoping you would have that session about the cylons."
"That's kind of why I wanted the Lieutenant. As an instructor, apparently she absorbed this stuff through her pores." Willem addresses the series of topics backwards, calmly as he shifts a little bit in his chair. "Me, I have a minor in Military History and studied a lot of this stuff at War College but I'd be a blowhard if I said my expertise was as sharp as hers." He turns his head in small increments as he narrows his eyes on the documents' contents, sitting up at an angle that bespeaks both firm attention and undeniable curiousity. "But, we make do with what we have. Which is kind of, as you said, what we're doing in this situation." He gives one last stab at this topic as he looks back up to the Ensign, eyeing him intently and quirking the right side of his mouth into a resigned grin. "No. You're right. Don't misunderstand me, I am not against -anyone- here. I just want some semblance of order because honestly I do -not- want to imagine what'll happen if this crew goes to pieces." Having said his final piece on this, he reaches over towards one of the more technical manuals and nods, faintly. "Well, I came down to the library to assemble more notes, so this is as good as any of a place to begin if you've got the time." He gestures towards his own stack, all Cylon-War era documents and notes depicting engagements, mainly. Not too much technical, it's obvious he's a little weak on this side.
Roubani doesn't quite seem to know how to take of all the talking, watching Willem carefully as the JG goes on. He doesn't interrupt. He just opens up his notebook once Willem reaches the end, nodding. "I do. No offence to Lt. Valasche but it's been ten days and very few of us know any more about the cylons than on day one. We can't keep waiting. I'm listening, sir."
"Then we make do." Wil reiterates, matter-of-factly and therefore dismisses the matter without any further commentary that he may be keeping in. "Allright then. As a hack historian I tend to start with simple cause-and-effect. Cylons may not be human and may not think like humans. They may not be anything more than some twisted force of nature we unleashed, but they have some manner of intelligence and I approach from the assumption that they behave like intelligent, sentient creatures." He leans over at one of his barely-legible scribbled note-sheets and holds it aloft, beginning. "We have a wealth of info on their tactics of old. Let's compare them to what our wing has seen since first contact with the…'new' enemy. They don't fly in standard section formations like we do. They swarm." He juts a finger to one of the tech manuals, "And please, interrupt me with any engineering insights you might have that might suggest physical constraints or limitations."
"Sentient." Roubani repeats the word as though he didn't quite believe it. "Intelligence and sentience are astoundingly different concepts, sir. What…would make you say such a thing?" Tactics wil have to wait for a second, apparently.
Wil cups his fingers to his chin and nods, squinting at the paper he is holding in his other hand and then turns back towards Roubani. "Human hubris. We made them in our image, after all. Like it or not, an invention bears some hallmarks of its creator. I don't have concrete proof, this is a pet theory, but," he continues, rattling on. "They didn't rebel and turn on us out of a simple programming glitch. They're adopting hallmarks of some kind of civiliation, even if it's like a civilization of chrome bugs." He mulls over this a second more. "I might have chosen my words poorly, come to think of it. But they are -aware-. Bugs don't come back after agreeing to a -treaty- creating a whole new generation of evolved bugs with a goal of conquest and annihilation. These are very human concepts." He stops, seemingly prompting the Ensign for input before he says something else. "What are your thoughts?"
"I…don't think you understand sentience, sir," Roubani says, politely clearing his throat. "Or rather, you're confusing your philosophical concepts. I also think you're convincing yourself that such behaviour must be human because you have no other way of describing it."
"Personification, maybe." Willem admits, nodding his head slowly in admission. "Maybe I am focusing too much on the idea that they -wanted- not to perform their original function and applying a bit of idealistic fluff to their motives and goals. I'm no engineer, but what I can't wrap my brain around is the idea of such a drastic 40-year evolution cycle. Did they just go off on their own and perform intelligent upgrades?"
Wil drops one further addendum to this, "I mean, what process could have been driving this? How did they learn from us? Study our tactics?"
"Human tactics haven't exactly evolved that much since the last war. Relatively." Roubani says, quietly. "And adaptive programming is designed to do just that - observe and adapt." His dark eyes shift back to Willem. "Sir, with all due respect, you…seem rather prone to biased statements. We can't even begin to speculate on what they may "want" or "are driven by". Not right now. Please, I want to start at the facts. Tell me the facts about the cylons that you knew from the last war and what is strictly different now that you have seen."
Humanities bias aside, Willem seems appropriately chastised here. "You're right. Spider was right too, in the briefing. All we know is they want the Colonies nuked and our civilization gone." He weighs the words and shakes his head, sounding almost obsequious which is not exactly held as typical for a member of his chosen profession. "Sorry. This has been keeping me up at night. What we -do- know," he says, "They were less capable of swarm tactics and even though they -used- them at times they still adhered to wings and seemed to show more restraint." His state of abashment subsides as he delves further into the topic and becomes a bit more animated as he gestures with his hand. "What we do know, Is that their older fighters were less aerodynamic. Slower. Less agile. Compare their old cockpit sizes to our Vipers, then and now. They attack more with overwhelming force and less regard of formal formations. " he indicates, pointing at the paper, "As you said and we both know, human tactics haven't made the drastic leap that theirs have."
Roubani holds up a slender finger at the first thing Willem says. "No, sir, we don't know that that's what they want. Please, just…facts." That caution given, he folds his arms on the table to listen. Much more attentive now that Willem's being less subjective, his eyes tense at the corners as he processes all this. "Is there an obvious benefit between swarm tactics and wings? I mean to clarify…does this 'tactical upgrade' make sense somehow?"
Giving up any philosophical ramblings, Wil just continues on the current tack of hard analysis of what the humans have been seeing and recording, both in the old war and now. He scratches his fingers against his chin and offers, "Benefit? Depends. It's more aggressive, sure. It suggests numerical superiority and a shift in priorities. An all-out assault with less concern for collateral damage. We are on the defensive and are obviously placing a higher priority on conservation of our numbers."
Roubani rubs his chin, brushing the pad of his thumb over his lower lip. "When we engaged them at the Constantine, who had superiority? All air vessels considered."
"Overall?" Wil narrows his eyes. "I was going over the gun cam footage again a couple of days ago when I was mining for ideas, but I'd say it was them. Not just in terms of numbers."
Roubani looks disappointed. "Ah. I suppose I'm curious as to how adaptive they really are. If they were somehow put into a position where swarm tactics were not the best approach, would they shift? What are the boundaries of their flexibility?" The questions are clearly rhetorical. "You said their older fighters were less aerodynamic. Aerodynamic qualities don't matter in a vacuum, sir. So there must be something else about them, some other way the difference comes into play."
Willem adds, quickly, clarifying now, "Considering everything they had there, they pulled a sizable chunk of their force out of play. Now -that- doesn't make sense but we're not here to naval-gaze. Had this not happened, I don't know if we'd have been as lucky." Drifing back to the topic of the planes themselves, he responds. "They haven't demonstrated any shift in their tactics the war era yet…" He trails off. "Well, one obvious thing I know several of us have noticed - the cockpits. They don't have easily deliniated cockpits like the old planes."
Roubani nods slowly, glancing at the stacks of books on his table. "Several people have noted that. I expect it's an evolution from a pilot system to some sort of integrated AI. That or they have little centurion leprechauns," he adds on, deadpan.
"It makes sense from a simple engineering standpoint." Wil concedes. "Why haul around all huge chunk of Centurion if you only need its head to fly? That increases its performance threshold." He quirks his mouth to one side. "It'd stand to reason they use the big ones to lug around the full-sized models. Second, they have mobility. Their fighters are FTL-capable, like our Raptors, which gives them the ability to pull off hit-and-run tactics."
Willem amends, "Without relying on a carrier vessel. Like ours."
Legacy arrives from the Hallway - Deck 3, Midships.
Legacy has arrived.
"Its head?" Roubani smiles slightly, and it looks faintly endeared. Then he clears his throat, quietly. "It seems a well-suited adaptation." He pauses, considering. "In the first war, did they use any manner of communication between their ships? Wireless, infrared…what have you?"
Roubani is sitting at a table with Willem, talking quietly. There are books and notebooks in neat piles all over the table.
"Head. Figure of speech really," Wil notes, dryly. 'I'd use 'brain' or 'core' there but considering none of us cracked open one I'll rely on a little literary license." His lips quirk a little bit to one side and his eyelids shoot upwards as he becomes slightly more animated in his conversation with Roubani. "I was just going to get to the comms. We haven't seen any traffic with these new ones. Um," he continues, his fingers silently tapping against the table, one after another, "I don't know the specific frequency range in the old models, but their tech was fundamentally the same as our wireless. Infared just doesn't have the range or penatration. Most of the time they would be digital signals which, as we know," he expounds, "resulted in Colonial forces hardlining everything just to be on the safe side." He tosses out the obvious follow-up to this statement. "They have to be coordinating -somehow,- judging by their actions as a group. I have a hard time buying that they'd be little self-contained, isolated drones."
"Head. Figure of speech really," Wil notes, dryly. "I'd use 'brain' or 'core' there but considering none of us cracked open one I'll rely on a little literary license." His lips quirk a little bit to one side and his eyelids shoot upwards as he becomes slightly more animated in his conversation with Roubani. "I was just going to get to the comms. We haven't seen any traffic with these new ones. Um," he continues, his fingers silently tapping against the table, one after another, "I don't know the specific frequency range in the old models, but their tech was fundamentally the same as our wireless. Infared just doesn't have the range or penatration. Most of the time they would be digital signals which, as we know," he expounds, "resulted in Colonial forces hardlining everything just to be on the safe side." He tosses out the obvious follow-up to this statement. "They have to be coordinating -somehow,- judging by their actions as a group. I have a hard time buying that they'd be little self-contained, isolated drones."
Into the Library walks an off-duty Thea, sneakers making only quiet noises on the deck as she walks. Someone's living up to her callsign today. Her head is bent over a file, pen held between her teeth as she tries to hold onto both the open file and a stack of others in her arms. Whatever's there has her full attention.
Roubani is silent for a while. His attention's flickered off, and it's hard to tell if he's listening by the end of that. The frown on his face is troubled, but it's impossible to tell by what. He taps his pen against his fingertips. "What other physical changes to the vessels are there? Besides the cockpit, which has been established."
"The overall focus of maneuverability has been increased. Part of that can be bundled in with the cockpit issue we discusses earlier," Wil leans over the table strewn with papers and books(although 'strewn' might not be such an accurate descriptor given Roubani's relatively orderly ethos in which he laid things out) and studies the Ensign, indicating, "They're capable of higher-g maneuvers. There's a common design aeshetic in a way if you look at the wing layouts, but the old ones were much more disc-like compared to the new," he continues, making a gesture of space between his hands indicating a certain degree of length "larger, more pronounced wings. I wasn't an eyewitness to the old ships in action but they were definitely more conservative in terms of lateral maneuvers."
If anything, Wil seems clueless to Roubani's changes of expression, focusing solely on the topic of conversation. He hasn't even noticed Althea yet.
Voices? Thea's hearing voices? And they're not in her head? She pauses and looks up, staring in front of her for a moment before she glances around, brows furrowed. Then it's simply a matter of turning, peering, until she finds who owns said voices. Though, well, nothing's said yet.
Roubani rubs the back of his neck with both hands and nods. "Larger wings." He hasn't quite made sense of this particular change yet, which colours his tone. "What about their firepower? Is it increased?"
Wil's voice may have become a fraction louder as he crosses his arms in front of him, resting them flat upon the table and knitting his fingers together. "That change might become even more pronounced in atmospheric flight." he muses, still pondering the wing structure, "Firepower's a tough one. Have we gotten back any kind of ballistics analysis results on the holes their weapons made? Suffice it to say their rate-of-fire has increased from what we can see. Plus," he murmurs grimly, "they have secondary warhead hardpoints. So I think it's safe to say these ships have the capacity to serve in multiple roles. It'd make sense." While he still hasn't spied Legacy, let alone Nine, his voice should be fairly easy to hone in on.
Thea listens, for now, head tilted to the side as she absorbs the information being given out. But, rather than continue to seem like she's eavesdropping, Thea clears her throat quietly and offers "Good evening, Gentlemen. Working hard this evening or hardly working?"
Roubani looks slightly startled by Thea's voice, nearly dropping what he's holding. "Good evening, sir. I suppose we're just talking. If you care to sit down." He rubs his cheek, glancing back at Willem. "I've an information request in to deck about the damage to our Vipers. And on those pieces we brought in from the Charybdis space. Still waiting, sir."
Wil's head snaps upwards and his brows raise a little bit at Thea's approach and addressing of the table, grey eyes and a crane of the head both resulting in "Sorry if I disturbed you, sir." He looks over at the Captain and nods a little. "Care to join us? Like Ensign Roubani said, we're just bouncing ideas back and forth here, trying to take stock of what we know." Speaking of which, he turns back towards the Ensign and comments, smoothly, "Well, when we get that intel back we'll be able to fill in those blanks. Have we seen evidence of any kind of ECM suite?" On to the next topic.
Nine is hiding. Eavesdropping. Something. It's a blessing that these stacks are meant to withstand heavy turbulence, bolted down as they are, because one of them has a snipe laid high atop it like a cat stretched on a windowsill. She's gotten a book up there with her and is reading… sort of. Occasionally her attention slips down to those talking to one another down below.
Thea settles into a chair across from the men and slides the files onto the table with a quiet thump. "I believe the CAG has some intel to release," she tells the pair, glancing to Roubani with a slightly quirked brow.
Roubani catches the look from Thea, and his own eyes understand her meaning. He looks back at Willem. "The topic is better discussed more privately I believe, sir." Slightly apologetic.
Ah. "Mum's the word." Wil takes on that slightly rueful look that he's been occasionally tossing towards Roubani throughout many points of the conversation as he says this, turning between the Captain and the Ensign. "More developments?" he asks the Captain in a raised pitch that is designed to sound semi-rhetorical.
Nine goes a little sad as the fount of ideas she'd been listening to as it babbled over the bed of rocks is shut down by the Captain. But she stays still, quiet, wondering at this new information that's utterly none of her business, but in which she is decidedly interested.
Legacy's eyes crinkle a little at the corners as she shakes her head slightly. "Not at the moment, no," she tells the pair of them quietly. "And yes, like the Ensign suggested, this is a topic best discussed somewhere a little more…well, soundproof. Not that people don't need to know the information, but rumors getting started will only hurt the cause even more." There's no judgement in her tone. In fact, she's utterly relaxed. Ok, mostly. Fingers tap lightly on her files. "Ensign, I'd suggest poking the CAG. I'll point her in your direction."
Color Wil chastised at this. He nods. The least insubordinate junior officer ever(at least at this very moment) simply offers Althea a smooth, polite, "Yes, Sir." Sadly, Nine probably showed up a little late to this party to hear any juicy tidbits. "Concrete facts are what we sorely lack and sorely need." He falls in line with Roubani and simply waits, before offering a tenative, "Did you get a chance to take advantage of any downtime yet?" He -barely- has, for those who have seen him around the ship, but he doesn't comment on his own activities.
Nine looks back down to her book, turning a page in silence.
Thea studies the two for a minute, blinking, then shakes her head. "I wasn't scolding," she says, lips turning upward a little. "Merely commenting, gentlemen, that's all. As far as downtime, well, I'm half-afraid of taking it. Last time I took downtime, I came back with a bullet in my posterior." She glances briefly at Poet, a small line appearing in the center of her forehead.
Roubani asks Willem, a little confused. "Downtime, sir?" And that answers that. Legacy's comment makes his attention go back her way, and he gives her a vague half-smile. "As much as you and Captain Marek seem inseparable, sir, I am quite glad you did not end up with matching limps."
"Duly noted, and duly noted." Wil says, softly and succintly to the Captain, narrowing his eyes and maybe affecting a slight grimace here. Being kind of fair-skinned, the lines in his own forehead are heavily noticable when they appear here. He's kind of young for them. Lolling his head over towards the Ensign, he shrugs his shoulders a little bit. "Eh, a few pilots took the opportunity to get juiced up on ambrosia once we hit Condition 3. I didn't really go all that wild with them. I was more of an observer." And right then, he stops discussing it, cutting out with the gossip.
Nine likes gossip. More listening to it than telling it. She hoardes. It's enough to catch her attention again, if just for a moment. She regards Wil pensively over the edge of the top of the bookshelf.
Thea crinkles her nose at Roubani and shakes her head. "We're not inseperable," she says quietly. Of course, her face has gone a lovely shade of strawberry pink. "We just happen to work quite well together. His limp was garnered much more honorably than being shot in the ass by a superior officer." Her tone is definitely quite dry. "I don't know that either of us will say too much about pilots having a few drinks and blowing off steam. Not unless it becomes a problem." Oh, yes, definitely the type of thing that would get spread around in rumors. The Captains aren't going to be stamping on people? Interesting. "Work is work, play is play. As long as play doesn't interfere with work and there aren't drunken bar brawls in the Laundry room over who gets to sit on the washers, we'll be fine."
Roubani just quietly clears his throat. Not expressing one's opinion is certainly the safest thing to do in pilot crowds.
On the other hand, Wil's probably just a bit too expressive for his own good. Not that he doesn't mean well here. He raises a hand and turns it over, palm-upwards. "Heh. I'm not trashing them. Honestly, I tried joining in. Couldn't quite get into it." He says, sounding a bit wistful. He's not even naming names, for that matter, which would doubtless disappoint the eavesdropping Nine. "I spent most of my post-CAP downtime doing research." His brows knit as he nods yet again.
Thea glances between the two men, a brow quirked ever so slightly, then sighs quietly. "I get the distinct impression I'm making people nervous," she murmurs, lips twitching a bit. "Shall I take my files and mosey on?"
Roubani gets that faintly awkward look on his face, and rubs his thumb across his lower lip. "Sir, that's not necessary. I mean, unless you want to." She might just want to get away from the deaths of the party, after all.
"Nah. I'm comfortable. No more or less was going on than what you saw." Willem states, sitting up straight in his chair. "Honestly, telling us the CAG has what she has gave us a new target for investigation." He then peers between his two tablemates. "Not knowing things is what makes me climb the walls, candidly speaking. But I'm pretty sure that's a common trait." He affects a small smile.
Thea's lips twitch ever so slightly as she glances over at Willem, head cocked, birdlike, to one side. "Are you sure, Rebound," she asks, an all-too-innocent smile on her face. "I've heard stories about you and climbing. Walls, especially. And…other things." Yep, she's teasing him.
Roubani blinks slowly at the two of them, not saying a word.
To this, Willem blinks innocently, shifting gears as Althea has successfully steered the conversation into humorous territories. "I assure you, whatever Lt. Passi said about me it was a complete exaggeration." He's only been on her wing a week, and already he's gotten used to her razzing him. "Oh, you're talking about that incident on Tauron.." There were probably several, although none that got him a severely black mark on his record, should anyone choose to review it.
Thea simply spocks a brow upward and leans back in her chair. "There were the twins, then the waitress from that bar," she comments, ticking them off on her fingers. "And the dancer. I heard all of 'em bounced you harder than a pyramid ball in a group of grownup toddlers."
Roubani's ears have turned a deep shade of red. He regards his notebook studiously, his pen moving on the page. From the repetitive motion, he might just be pretending to write.
Sinking back in his seat, Wil slowly brings his hand up to his face and cups it against his forehead. Being generally rather pale lends one to another undesirable trait - flushing -way- too easily. "As I said. There may have been some exaggerations." He offers, ruefully.
"Mmmm," Thea replies with a grin, settling back in her seat. "But I'm wondering which end the exaggeration was on," she muses. "Poet? What have you heard about our fine coworker? I figured the Gemenese triplets HAD to be a tall tale."
Roubani looks up. His somber eyes focus not on Thea but on Willem, deeply uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, Captain, but I've not paid attention to any wild gossip concerning Lieutenant Price. He strikes me as a most upstanding soldier."
For once, Roubani's seeming disinterest in gossip and painfully proper etiquette works in Willem's favor. He looks at the Ensign with a grateful half-smile and then lolls his head to the Captain and haltingly states, "Triplets, sir? I would have remembered that one." Marvelling at the ability of gossip to spiral out of control, or maybe it is just Althea getting her kicks by tormenting the JG, he quickly adds, "Someday you'll hear the real, not-so-lurid tales. I promise. And they're not so lurid." Still flushing a bit, he lets his arm hang down at his side and leans back in his chair a little.
The woman can't help but laugh quietly. "Sorry, Lieutenant," she says, slightly chastened. "But you're a bit of an easy mark. So, shall we speak of rings and kings and other strange things," she asks quietly, looking between the two men.
Roubani folds his hands. He looks at Thea for a few moments, the faint frown perhaps seeing her in a new light. His eyes soften a little bit when they switch back to Willem, but he lets the Lieutenant decide where the conversation's going next.
"Wellllll," Again in relief, Wil tilts his head back in thought as he begins, considering aloud the list of topics that are both appropriate for a general audience and not too embarassing, as they've already surveyed the territory violating those two criteria. "I recall Captain Marek was talking about Sim upgrades being deployed. Have you seen them in action yet?"
Legacy studies Roubani for a moment, head tilted to the side ever so slightly. In repose, as she is, the Raptor captain looks more than a little tired. If anyone looks closely, they'd probably notice bags big enough to pack for a week under her eyes. "They have, if I'm not mistaken," she tells Willem with a nod. "I haven't been in the sims for a week or two, but I'm certain you would be able to book some time to try them out."
"With the updated tactical programming?" Roubani asks Willem. He then pauses, looking at the Lieutenant. "Their old ships ran on Tylium same as ours, correct?"
First, to Legacy. "I'll have to try it. To be honest, I find the sim more relaxing than playing pool. Less chance of getting hustled by a cheater. At least with the computer," Willem says, dryly and with more than a touch of bemusement, "And I can keep my cubits in my pocket. I should do that soon, as a matter of fact." He starts adjusting his corner of the books and documents(there are only a couple) idly. To answer Roubani's question, he continues "Tylium was the -de facto- standard." There they are, getting technical again.
Roubani slowly turns his pen over his fingers. Cue a hundred thoughts suddenly buzzing, and he gently rubs his temple. His eyes flicker around the table, looking for something, and he makes an annoyed sound. "I forgot one of my notebooks. Of course." Standing, he gathers up his mess - term used lightly given how organised it is. "Sirs, would you kindly excuse me?"
Willem nods affirmatively to Althea and says, neutrally, "I've been probably doing too much with too little gain. I've been climbing th…" He trails off sharply and grimaces, almost walking into the rhetorical trap a second time. "You know what I mean." Perhaps to avoid immediate repercussions for setting himself up like that, he turns to Ensign Roubani and smiles a bit. This one isn't uncomfortable or even feigned. "I won't keep you, Poet. Thanks for the chat. You're very, very good with this stuff."
Legacy dips her head to Roubani, once. "Good evening, Ensign," she says quietly, then glances away, focusing on the stacks - for the moment.
"As are you, sir." Roubani replies to Willem. "If you'll give me the night to think I'm sure I'll be back at your door tomorrow with a hundred questions. If you wouldn't mind." He actually sounds a little apologetic at the thought of pestering someone. But now Willem's doomed, for serious. He nods politely to Legacy. "Good evening, sir. Be well." And he's off, almost tripping over a chair leg that he fails to pay attention to. With an almost catlike dignity, he ignores the faux pas and continues out.
"I think it works both ways." Wil admits to Poet with a sizable nod. If he's doomed, he doesn't seem all that fearful. Silly, silly him. "Take care." He watches the Ensign meander on out neutrally and eventually turns back towards Althea after he departs, shrugging his shoulders a little bit. "See anything there that piques your interest?" He is referring to the stacks.
It's a Thea Legacy whose smile has faded and whose walls are down, just a little, when she turns back to Willem. "Not at the moment, no," she says softly. "I've got quite a bit of research to do, truth be told. Several things to read up on before too much more time has passed." And she'll fit that in…when? Between running CAPs herself, taking care of her pilots and doing research, it looks as though she's not had a whole lot of time to sleep.
