Mixed Signals
Mixed Signals
Summary: Roubani tracks down a comms officer, on the matter of the transmitter exorcised from the hull.
Date: PHD 222 (27 November)
Related Logs: 42. It's Always 42 (Air Wing Finale)

Kharon - Naval Offices

With CIC still under siege by engineering fix-it teams, Roubani took a search detour into the much quieter naval offices, taking a chance on being able to find any of the ship's tactical people working from home as it were. Carrying a folder under one arm and dressed in blues, the Viper pilot bypasses the air wing desks and heads for foreign territory.

Speaking of foreign territory, Neha really can't say that she's been in the Naval Offices since she was interviewing as an Officer candidate. Stepping inside, she scans about and offers a pleasant smile to the first person crossing her path. Lo and behold, it's Roubani. "Pardon me, sir. I was told that an officer was in need of someone from Communications." Perhaps he recognizes the somewhat velvety voice from the Tac channel. Perhaps not.

Roubani turns halfway around, the folder held against his chest. "Oh, yes." His dark eyes flicker to her collar. "Ensign. Just a quick question, really." One dark brow makes a subtle lift. "I hope I didn't pull you away from something."

Said Ensign appears to be the cordial sort, even as she assumes an appropriate stance. "Nothing that can't wait, sir. Please…" she says, with a mild dip of her head, inviting the pilot to continue.

The answer seems to satisfy Roubani. He opens the folder, keeping it cradled with the crook of his elbow, and flips a page or two. "A discrete time digitally quantised signal, with a sine wave asymptotic fluctuation pattern." One gets the sense he could've quoted that without the help of the papers, but he reads it anyway. Then looks back up. "Is that familiar to you, by chance?"

Blink-blink. That's likely not what she was expecting. It doesn't take Kavi long to recover, though. "You're inquiring about the beacon, I take it, sir." Such a reponse suggests some level of familiarity. Or, perhaps, she's simply making an educated guess.

"It's something we're looking into," Roubani replies, with a neutral sort of half-smile. Whether he means the signal itself or the beacon is anyone's guess.

There is nothing neutral about Neha's own smile, being the people person that she is. "Well, sir, it's commonly used in homing beacons and the navigation systems of spacefaring vessels, and pretty much what I suspected, with how rapidly it cycled through frequencies."

Roubani nods once, wrapping his arm back around the folder. "What we already knew, in other words." His fingers gently tap the folder edge. "And that is its only application, generally speaking?"

For a moment, the Ensign considers the question, her brow furrowing a touch as she harkens back to her University days. Finally, her expression smoothens, and she relays, "It could potentially be used to carry a small amount of encrypted information, besides positional data. As far as I'm aware, that's pretty much it."

Roubani's lips purse, fingernail flicking the folder edge. "That is what I was afraid of. But it seems conjecture as to exactly what else may have gone out. Unless that particular class of signal is only capable of certain things…in which case it might be at least narrowed down."

"Data is data, sir," Neha notes, meaning that pretty much anything can go. "It merely is a matter of size. It's possible that large files could have been broken down into smaller ones and then reassembled. Someone in ECM might be able t-" Oh, wait. ECM is currently hosed. All the same, she concludes her thought, "…to determine what data has been accessed and potentially transmitted." You know, once everything is working, again.

"Once it's back up," Roubani acknowledges, with a slight nod. He saw the chaos in there. There's a slight pause, then he says, "The cycle it was running consistently was too long for a simple navigational transmission. There was something else going out. If you'll alert us when ECM is ready to begin, I can provide some better details on the timing of the cyclic beats that we observed."

First comes a nod. Then confirmation. "Certainly, sir." A question follows. "Do you have a copy of the cycling data dump?" And then another. "Also, if you'll pardon my asking, sir, but with whom have I been speaking? I'd be remiss if I were unable to tell the XO that detail." And then, as a matter of politeness, she introduces herself, leaving her hands neatly clasped behind her back, "I'm Ensign Neha Kavi." There's that smile, again. Amiable, but not inappropriately so.

Roubani draws a breath, quietly. "I apologise," he replies, those words terribly grave. "That was rude of me. Lieutenant Junior Grade Nadiv Roubani. Air Wing." That done, he gives a moment and then goes on. "I do not have a copy, no. I have only recorded what we were able to observe visually of the device. It had external LEDs."

Neha's smile remains, evidently not offended. "Well met, sir." This is spoken most genuinely. To the rest, she explains, that smile quirking into a small frown, "In truth, I'm not certain if the data was lost in the assault. I did a dump of the cycled frequencies hoping a pattern could be deduced, and Captain Demitros printed a copy," which might well be cheesed, "and I transmitted a copy to ECM," which probably is gone, "and saved it to my console… So, hopefully, I can get you that information."

"We'll call it open source," Roubani says, with a subtle twitch of his lips. "What we've got and what you've got, and somewhere in the middle someone will make sense of it." He sounds quite confident of that, at least. "Well then, Ensign. Thank you for now. We'll speak soon."

The smile resurfaces, followed with a nod about finding answers. "You're very welcome, sir," said Ensign then relays, adding, "And thank you, for all you've done. It is very much appreciated… and, if you'll pardon me, for I don't intend to be untoward, but if there is something I could do for the Air Wing… I don't know, to help bolster morale or process their grief…" At that moment, Neha's expression grows quite uncertain, for she is a compassionate person, but she's also now realizing that this is probably not appropriate behavior for the military. So, she quickly adds, "I was — well, still am, circumstances permitting — a documentary journalist. If people would like to record their thoughts about the departed, I'd be willing to produce a memorial."

Whether Roubani thinks her behaviour is appropriate or not doesn't show in his guarded eyes. There's kind of an incline of his head. "That's kind of you, Ensign." He clears his throat quietly. "I will put a notice in berthings to be in contact with you, should anyone wish to participate. Would you find that workable?"

Kavi nods a little, thoughtfully. "It would need to be when I'm off-duty, obviously, and I probably should clear the idea with Captain Demitros." She's trying to be respectful of the Kharon's culture, even if the stringency of military protocol chafes her. Perhaps it can be gleaned from her expression. "If I may clear it with him, first, please, I will thankfully take you up on your offer, pending his approval."

"Of course." Roubani's voice is naturally soft-spoken, with a formality that isn't patronizing. "I would tell you good luck with the proposal, but I so highly doubt he would block it that it shouldn't be necessary."

"Thank you, sir," is the velvety-toned response, accompanied with a respectful nod. "If there is nothing further, I wish you a pleasant remainder of the day."

Roubani nods, just small movement of his head. "Gods bless your path, Ensign." Adjusting the folder in his arm, he turns on his heel and heads for the hatch.

"And yours, sir," Neha smiles, waiting a respectful amount of time before making her own exit.

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