Shift Change
Shift Change
Summary: With communications on line and contact made with Kharon's Viper recon, the repair crew gives way to their replacements.
Date: PHD080 (7 Jul 09)
Related Logs: The Dark Before Dawn, Daybreak

Roubani is sitting backwards on one of the rolling chairs, elbow braced on the back in front of him. The screens around him are on and scrolling data and he's watching it go by, thumb and index finger making arches out of his slender brows as they press into them. The portable wireless unit, its mate having gone out with the rescue party, has been silent.

Where only a few minutes ago the only noise from the com room was a hum of hushed tones and clanking equipment, the room has now turned into a beehive of activity. Consoles are beeping, and the repair team has formed an impromptu communications team, scurrying about and attending to their newfound jobs. Thorn sits at a console at the center of it all, alternating between punching commands into his console and snapping orders. "Cookies, make sure that secondary bus is holding. If there's an overload, we better have it dealt with inside the next fifteen minutes." He looks over to Roubani, the ensign's attention focused on a data screen. "We still looking good, Ensign?" Hey, one can never be too sure.

Thea stops in the doorway, short of making her presence known to the trio who are in there working. For the moment, she's there to observe. She's in the same clothes she's been wearing, sans the flannel shirt. The white bandage is somewhat visible beneath her tanks. Arms cross over her chest as she simply leans against the doorframe and watches.

"All systems go, sir." Someone with their eyes closed might barely recognise Roubani's voice right now, abused by sleep deprivation and cigarette smoke as it is. His eyes don't turn from the screen, where he's running some debugging program to track the source of their packet losses. "And nothing from McTiernan as of yet."

Thorn, for his part, seems oddly energized, but then the man's probably on his fourth or fifth wind by now. His voice is as scratchy as Roubani's, and his eyes are sunken and rimmed with circles, but he's stubbornly doing his best not to show it. He puffs on another cigarette as he returns to his work; somehow, he hasn't run out yet. He's slow to notice the new arrival, but when he does, he rises with a grin — a real, honest grin — on his face and waves. "Hey, Bosscat!" he calls out. "The comms are up, and we've just made contact!"

The Captain remains at the door, watching the pair as they work. She simply nods to Thorn, once. "Have you alerted Captain Marek," she asks quietly, voice low. There's no smile on her face, simply professionalism.

Roubani's eyes move up. His head moves after. "Sir. Captain Marek was here at first contact. He's gone with Lieutenant McTiernan…there was a report of a pilot down about a mile away. We're waiting to hear from them now."

Thorn's a little slap-happy, and it shows. He manages to rein in his sudden enthusiasm and deliver a more concise report, nodding at Roubani's words. "He detailed us to remain here and man the com system, Captain. We're using burst transmissions t' avoid being traced by the Cylons. Our next communication window is approximately three hours from now."

Thea nods, once. "Are we continuing with the other communications via wireless, or is this the only form we're using," she asks quietly, eyes going from one man to the other. "Has medical been alerted that we have possible incoming?"

"Other communication, sir?" Roubani shifts in the backwards chair, his lower back making a soft cracking sound. "We've two lines. The high-power channel and the portable." He nods to the set sitting nearby. As to the question on medical he lets Thorn answer.

"If you're referring t' wireless communication between parties on the surface, then yes, sir. We're using the dish as little as possible t' avoid any possibility of detection," Komnenos clarifies. He cracks his neck with a wince. "We didn't alert medical, no," the lieutenant continues. "I don't know if Captain Marek did after he left, but I'll call down there t' make sure."

Thea shakes her head to Komnenos. "I'll take care of that," she says quietly. "You two have your hands full up here. Ensign, I was talking about using the handheld out in the field, what you and Mr. Kostro were doing." She looks over the bits and bobs on the screens. "When was the last time either of you slept or ate anything other than tobacco?"

Roubani nods to Thea, again indicating the orphaned wireless set. "The rescue team has the other unit. It's been quiet, however." Which could mean everything's fine…or they're all dead. His tone gives no indication which one he may think it is. His screen suddenly flashes a boatload of data, and his attention gets tugged to it like a crying baby. The soft-spoken Ensign of course doesn't curse, but he does make a soft sound like he might've wanted to, setting both hands to the keys. Clackety clack.

Sleep. Komnenos has only the vaguest recollection of what that is. Or so it feels like. "I don't know, sir." Which probably means it's been far too long. He flicks an uneasy glance towards Roubani before looking back to Thea. "A while." Probably an understatement, judging from the bags under his eyes. It seems as though some of Ivory's bad habits have begun to rub off on Komnenos since they've been down on the planet. "We've been rather busy in here, Captain," he continues lamely, realizing what her response is likely to be.

Thea is standing just inside the room, watching Roubani and Komnenos, expression inscruitable. The flickering from Roubani's screen catches her attention for a moment. "Once Marek is back with the team," she says quietly. "You're both to name a suitable replacement so you can get rack time." It's not a suggestion. "I'm certain you've gotten things set up to the point where they can be monitored while you eat and sleep."

Alyssa looks around curiously as she walks into the coms room for the first time, finding herself in the odd position of having no moment-to-moment patients for the first time in weeks. "So… this is the nerve center. Nice of them to spend so much on coms… you'd think they could have spent a few of these cubits on proper medical machinery…" though a bit louder than usual, it seems possible that she is just talking to herself.

Roubani gives the wireless set an involuntary glance. Calm as he may be outwardly, the silence is a little nervewracking. Then it's back to the screen. "Don't you dare crash now…" Gets mutters to the monitor, and he nods absently to Thea's words without looking up. That is, until Alyssa walks in complaining. His dark eyes look at her for a few long seconds and then back to what he was doing, unreadable.

"Will do, Captain." And he'll only be too happy to do so, when the time comes. Only the adrenaline and the nicotine are keeping him going now; the latter seems to have been doing the job for a while, judging from the smoky haze still hanging under the ceiling. Thorn's attention goes over to Roubani, a sudden twinge of anxiety going up his spine at Poet's words. "Problem, Ensign?" He's a little too preoccupied at the moment to pay the doctor any mind.

Samantha has very possibly followed the scent of smoke in here, Thorn's chain smoking just enough for her to sniff it out like a blood hound on a good steak. She's in her track pants and sports bra, much the same thing she was wearing for her bird bath in the head earlier. It reveals the fact that her whole right side is basically a massive purple, yellow and green beneath the various bandages, but mostly in one piece. She blinks drowsily, apparently just having woken…"mm…nicotine?" She asks hopefully.

Thea's tone is just a touch dry as she responds to Alyssa without taking her eyes off the information on the screen in front of Roubani. "My apologies, Lieutenant. But I dare say the Colonial Military had other things in mind than the end of the world when they shut this bunker down. It's my understanding that it was on standby and not manned." She glances over as Sam enters, a brow arched ever so delicately. "Aren't you supposed to be in a bed somewhere, Lieutenant?"

Alyssa glances over at Samantha, a bit of a smirk on her face. "I don't envy Major Pike… it seems the Kharon crew are conditioned to consider orders from Medical to be optional or anathema… haven't decided yet." Walking over to the eltee, her smile holds. "Make you a deal. You stand still long enough to let me get a look at those contusions, and I see no reason you can't be getting some exercise around and about, ok?"

"I've got it, sir." Roubani murmurs, lips barely moving. "Just a glitch in the program bridges…" He shakes his head, continuing on working. Nobody else in the room is getting much attention, the young Ensign determined to focus on work instead of anything or anyone else.

For once in his life, Timon's not supposed to be in bed. He doesn't know what happened to his flight suit, but his new clothes — well, new in the sense that he dressed in them just five minutes ago — are a welcome change from that battered thing he was in. But off-duty sweats do little to disguise several ugly bruises on his arms and upper torso, and his left arm is cradled in a makeshift sling. The pillow from last night has long since been discarded. "Hey," he offers to those in the room, his voice still a bit hoarse from disuse.

Thorn tosses his pack up to Samantha. "Knock yourself out, Case," he responds. He's low, but he can always bum off of Roubani or scrounge for more later. Besides, given what they just accomplished, he'll be back on Kharon soon and have his own supplies back in hand. Or so he's hoping. He nods again to Roubani and sits back down in his chair, trusting that the pilot-turned-engineer has the situation in hand. Then, a wave to Ivory as he, too, enters the room. "Ivory, you get t' take my place as soon as the Captain here chases me off t' bed," he intones in a raspy voice. Happy birthday, guy.

Samantha looks up to Legacy, giving a long, slow smile, "The sweet scent of nicotine lured me like a lover's call. And see, doc there says I'm -jus'- fine." Sam chuckles huskily, before turning to Alyssa and resting her hands low on her hips, until Ivory is tossing the pack in her direction. Her eyes go wide and she catches. "Oh, Oh…Ivory, I owe you…" She admits, tugging one out and digging a lighter out of her pocket. Gods know where she got it from. She then looks back to Alyssa, "I'm still… but I'm fine, doc, trust me. I know this body. We're rather intimate, yanno…" She winks teasingly before grinning back to the others and lighting her cigarette.

There are suddenly a lot of voices in this room. Roubani's dark eyes flicker up and look over the edge of his screen, from person to person. Then back down at what he's doing.

Legacy nods to Roubani, but it's not as if he's paying attention. She's standing not too far behind the Ensign and Thorn, arms folded over her chest. The light from the data on the screen plays off her features. She's not smiling. "Ivory," she asks without turning. "When was the last time you ate or slept?"

"On it." Timon steps over to where his ECO is sitting, only the slightest hint of a limp remaining in his step — though careful observers will note that he drags his left leg slightly as he walks. "And Captain — I've been in bed for however long it's been since two hours after last night's meeting ended." Convoluted math: take that. His gaze settles on her shoulderblades as he speaks. "As far as eating, I don't think you can count MRE granola as a meal, but the days of five-star restaurants are long over." Apparently, he's progressed so far along his path toward recovery that he can even speak in long sentences. Then: "Case: you owe me?"

A yawn's stifled by the splayed fingers of one hand as Dmitri steps along into the comm room, the hound that's usually trailing about his heels poking his head around his master to sniff at the smell of nicotine smoke. "So how's everythin' going in here? Any news 'bout anythin' just yet, folks?" People being busy? Pfth, they are nothing compared to his idle curiousity, for he is Dmitri! Wait, there's a chick in a sports bra. Naturally, he checks her out.

Alyssa gets to work, poking and prodding the various contusions while applying a cold cream to the worst spots. She grins as Dmitri announces his entrance. A redhead rubbing cream on a blonde… wonder what THAT did for the old hunter. "I think Phai still has some of his stew warm. I could bring some in if you want to snack while you work. No coffee, though. I don't want you all stimmed up just before you try to get some rack time…"

Komnenos sighs. "Thorn, Sam. Thorn. Quit mistaking me for this joker, or I'll cut you off." He's smiling as he says it, though, indicating that he's not to be taken seriously this time. Suddenly the people are just streaming in, Thorn realizes as Dmitri enters. "You could say that, Mr. Alexandros," he answers the outdoorsman's question, smile still on his face.

Timon equals Ivory! Timon EQUALS Ivory! Samantha has to remember this. She blinks as she realizes her mistake, looking back over to Thorn. "Shit, shit… Thorn. Thorn thorn. I owe Thorn. And now I owe him double, or triple. Dammit." She then looks to Timon. "Ivory Ivory." Then back to Komenos, "Thorn Thorn. Stick. Frakking concussion…" Sure, blame the concussion. Once she's done her best attempt at memory exercises possible, she gives Thorn another long, sweet smile around her cigarette…"make it up to ya later, handsome?" It's the closest thing she can manage to an apology, and it still manages to sound rather dirty. She then blinks at Alyssa as the woman says no coffee…"What?? No, no no. Coffee is necessary. I just got rack time. Got like two hours, doc. come on, yer killin' me here. Coffee is part of the healing process!"

Thea looks over her shoulder to Dmitri and cracks a smile for the first time since she walked in. "Kharon, apparently, has heard us, though there's a pilot down. A team went out to investigate. We're monitoring from here." There's a pause and the smile fades as she turns her attention to Sam and Alyssa, a brow arching pointedly. "Assuming work can get done with the show going on. Lieutenant Passi, go put some clothes on. There's a shirt on my bunk." There looks to be more the woman wants to say, but she bites it back. "Ivory, there is warm stew in the Mess that our hosts have been kind enough to share. I would suggest, at the next meal, you get a taste of it. It's fresh, and once we're back home fresh food isn't likely."

Roubani rests his elbows on the console table, behind his keyboard. His hands folded, he rests his mouth against them and keeps his eyes on the screen. In his tanks, he's got no sleeves to hide either the bold black mathematical formula tattoo on his left forearm, or the wooden prayer beads around his left. On his right wrist he's wearing his beige brace to keep it from moving around too much, the two mostly dead fingers on the end wrapped in their little straps.

"To owe Thorn a favor is a fate I would wish on nobody, Case." Timon's manner is flat — gone is his usual half-smile and twinkling disposition, not that he had much of one to begin with. But he does pat his ECO on the back as speaks — no harm, no foul. Besides, Thorn's heard worse from his pilot before. If Samantha's exposed body gives him any pause, he doesn't show it; instead, he seems more interested in the schematics on Roubani's PDA, which he stares at with both eyes even as his Captain announces two startling pieces of news: fresh stew and contact with the — "Gods." The pilot's legs become weak as he throws a hand out on Komnenos' back to prevent himself from falling. "They heard us?"

Standing straight again, Alyssa turns and heads to get a few bowls of the soup.

Hey! Dmitri's not that old, he's all of early thirties at the best… of course, that puts him above the average age around the bunker, but not by that much. Of course, he likes the view, so hey, no complaints here. "Damn, it's a regular show in here," he mutters under his breath, striding along fully within, Cerberus trotting in his wake, "They heard us, eh? Good, good news. I had no frakkin' clue what the hell you all were talkin' about yesterday."

Samantha blinks as she gets told to put on a shirt. She smirks just a touch, looking down at the salves the doctor just put all over her various bruising. She smirks, "But…Captain…the doctor got me covered in all this shit. 'sides, this is comfortable. You sure you want all this stuff all over your shirt?" Sam does have tanks, somewhere, but they're blood stained, rather badly ripped in a few places, and not nearly so comfortable as just this. Best keep her clothing fresh while she can seems to be her way of thinking. She takes another deep drag of her cigarette, smiling just a bit as Timon nearly collapses at that news. "of course they did. You genuiuses and your comm skills. I didn't doubt this lot for a second."

Roubani clears his throat softly, eyes having glances at some clock showing the time down to miliseconds. "Lieutenant." His soft, scratchy voice is directed to Komnenos. "Proper time has elapsed, we can try another burst now."

Thea simply gives Sam a look. She's getting good at those looks lately. This one promises that Sam will be pulling a shirt from a very painful and delicate place sometime in the near future should she not cover up. If she had glasses, she'd be looking over the top of them. "Now," she says simply, quietly. "Then please help the good doctor bring food in." She looks over to Dmitri and nods, once. "We're waiting to hear back from the team."

"Bet your ass," Thorn replies to Timon with a smug smirk. "Talked t' Hale myself. There's a recon flight of Vipers up there. They know we're here now." He smiles at Sam's comment, holding her gaze for a moment before Roubani speaks. "Right," he responds. All business once again is Thorn as he goes back to the mic.

Dmitri's tongue clicks to the roof of his mouth. "You are no fun, Cap'n," he casually observes, turning his gaze to the sophisticated gear with a slight purse of his lips. Computers.

Roubani reaches out and starts flipping switches and tapping keys, lights going on here and there. It's like watching a carnival ride coming on, sans the creepy-ass music. "Green one. Green two." Data starts flashing over the myriad screens in the room, scrolling energetically. "…and…burst active, Lieutenant."

"When I went to bed last night — " Yeah, Ivory's not that awesome; he stayed just long enough to act as a backboard for a few of these techies' more brilliant ideas. " — we still were trying to figure out how to — " Well, that's that. "Glad we went back to the Raptor," he says at length. The catfight between his Captain and the shirtless woman he watches dispassionately. It's a spat he finds less interesting than the stranger whose dog now enters the room. "Hi." There's a wave to Dmitri, and another for his pet.

Samantha chuckles quietly and heads back for the door, about to exit for a shirt, but then it seems that Thorn and Roubani are actually transmitting. She looks back to Legacy, and ends up making a -fast- dash for a shirt, out the door and back within 10 seconds, still pulling herself sorely into the covering clothing, looking far more covered now, if a bit less comfortable. She doesn't say anything else, trying to listen, silent and worried.

Walking back into the room with a tray, Alyssa smiles as the comm unit comes on. "'bout time some of this stuff started working… good job, guys. Grub for anyone who wants it." On the tray are a number of mugs, full of steaming hot soup. She sets the tray down where risk of spillage on something electrical is minimal.

Roubani sits back a little, fingers touching the sides of his watch as he watches the numbers tick down for their available transmission time. It's about then that the wireless unit light starts flickering, and he quickly sits forward to pick up the earpiece. There's a few seconds. "Spider, Poet. We copy. Relaying message to medical and awaiting your arrival."

Thea's lips purse slightly as she listens to the transmission, then she makes her way back to Dmitri, arms still folded. "You're right, I'm not." There's a faint smile, though. As Sam comes back, the Captain nods, once, and comments, "Buttoned." Nope, she's not giving any quarter. "Thank you, Doctor." Then the message about medical comes in and the Captain's expression tightens slightly.

Roubani keeps the earpiece in, looking up as Alyssa comes back. "Sirs." That goes to Alyssa and Legacy it seems. "Team is enroute back to the facility. Captain Marek reports Sergeant Elder has been badly wounded."

To the food Timon goes, hobbling over to pick up one mug from the doctor who most likely saved his life. When he gets there, though, he realizes he's missing that most important implement a bowl of soup requires — a spoon. No matter: gloved hand reaches for the mug closest to him as familiar voices stream into the room. He takes slow, deliberate sips as he tries to calm his beating heart; the side of his face twitches as the unexpectedly rich stew hits his stomach.

Samantha frowns to Thea, wrinkling her nose in that 'but mooooom' kind of way as she reaches down and does indeed begin to button up the oversized flannel shirt she's been ordered to put on. That's the only teasing bit of interaction from Case otherwise, though, as she's continuing to listen to the varying communications between the crew.

"Dutch?" Alyssa asks, a bit startled. She tosses Legacy a look and then takes a deep breath. "Guess I didn't get those sheets changed for no reason, then. Do we have an eta?"

Dmitri's hand drops down, fingers rubbing over Cerberus's ears as he listens to the general chatter about the broadcasts and other things— his manner might be informal and somewhat sarcastic, but he's actually paying attention to things. He glances back to Samantha as she walks in, and then as Thea ruins the view even further he murmurs to the nearby Captain in amused tones, "So I'm guessing the wet t-shirt contest is out?"

Roubani is multitasking like mad now, watching the computer screen, his watch, and listening to the wireless. He gives Thorn a pointed look, tapping his watch. Cutoff approaching, danger danger. Into the wireless he says, "Lieutenant Odysseon requesting ETA, sir…" Pause. "Copy that." His eyes go back to ALyssa. "Twenty minutes, Lieutenant."

Thorn smiles again as Alyssa brings in food. If he's not careful, he's going to overdraw his account at the smile bank. "Thanks, Doc." He sobers, though, at the mention of Dutch. The marine was just here not long ago, shooting the shit, healthy as a horse. Man must have a bullet magnet in him, or something. "No response on channel," he reports, attention turning back to his primary focus of the moment. "They've probably jumped out by now, now that they've made contact," Thorn finishes. Or that's what he hopes, at any rate, as he switches the com off once again.

Timon leans backwards against a nearby workstation as Thorn turns off the com, setting down his mug as he does. Steam wreaths his face as he turns back to the group now clustered around the others, still silent — deep in thought, it seems, though his internal monologue remains inaudible for now.

"They were about a mile out," Thea tells Alyssa. "So fifteen minutes, at the top. You might want to prep for surgery. Knowing Elder, he's got three or four new holes in him." No, there's little humor in her voice. "Or twenty." Then her attention turns to Dmitri, head tilting slightly toward him. "That happens at the pool party," she comments quietly. "It's slated for just after the limbo contest, but before the conga line." Then she's nodding to Thorn, once. "They know we're here and alive, which means they'll be back," she says quietly. "That's something." As she talks, her eyes move among those present, focusing on Timon and Komnenos for a bit longer than the others. "Passi, meet the team at the front and cover their way in. There are rifles for you to use."

Samantha nods curtly, her face suddenly quite serious and ready to work. "Aye, sir." She snaps off a fast salute before moving back towards the door. She pauses. "Rifles, where are they, and how many extra clips do we have, if any? Just need to know if ammo is as precious as gold or not. I'm suspecting so."

Roubani taps a couple keys, resetting the clocks to start ticking down until their next transmission opportunity. Red numbers start flickering, counting down to the miliseconds, and he gives a quiet exhale. It's only now that he notices the food, kind of, and looks at it blankly before realising where it came from. "Thank you," he murmurs towards Alyssa, quietly but sincerely.

Alyssa nods. "Thank you all. I'll go get scrubbed. Dmitri… if you would be so kind, could you get some really hot water into medical? Not boiling but as hot as you could stand to stick your hand into." And with that, Alyssa turns and heads for the sickbay.

"Sounds like a plan," Dmitri states gravely to Thea— and then he looks after Alyssa, rolling his eyes before stepping over to follow her, "Always with th'water. Why am I always fetching frakkin' water? Get a nice white shirt ready for the pool party, Cap'n."

Ivory doesn't offer to help out and shoot. Instead, he brings over to Poet his mug of stew — which has cooled slightly by now — to set it down by the ensign's side. The departing doctor is given an expressionless look, and Dmitri's crack — he's figured out the guy's name, at least — receives the same. "What happened to the days of running through sprinklers?" he asks, gaze settling on Roubani when he does. But the question is directed to nobody in particular.

"I'll have to borrow one of yours," Thea retorts to Dmitri, then moves over to Roubani. "Alright, Ensign. It's time for you to show me what needs to be done. I'll take the next watch while you sleep." Chances are good she's not been getting much herself, but she looks better than the other two. "Lieutenant," she says to Timon. "You'll be taking over from Lieutenant Komnenos. The Ensign and Lieutenant Komnenos are relieved for nine hours, unless we go to a Condition One situation. Passi, front hall. Marine on guard will give you one. Two. And more rare."

Samantha nods curtly, "Yes, ma'am." And with that, she heads out the door, going for the front hall.

In all fairness, though, it's not as though it would be much harder to look much better than Thorn does at the moment. After all, the man's been awake for over a day straight, as his bloodshot eyes, worn-out voice, and dark bags under his eyes can attest. He stands stiffly, taking his soup and his cigarette with him as he walks for the door. He doesn't leave, though, pausing a little over halfway towards the exit and turning back to look at the bank of consoles, as though he suddenly doesn't want to go. Despite the fact that he looks ready to pass out. Silly man.

"Sir, I'm sure you have far better things to do than be a computer monkey," Roubani's eyes tilt up as he talks. Legacy does stuff like lead people. He doesn't. "I'll get someone to take a few hours. But I can't miss a straight nine; the system can get unstable during transmissions." And the clock is ticking. Three hours, twelve minutes. "This is more important than anything. Or anyone." He stands up, rolling his shoulders.

"Captain." That's what Timon's here for, after all. His good hand slaps Thorn on the side as the man leaves his chair; brown eyes focus on the man's console, trying to figure out what the ECO's been doing. "Good job, Anton." Quiet approval is in his words. "And Poet, if you're not going to drink that — " Index finger points at the mug of stew next to the exhausted ensign. " — I'll gladly take it back."

"Captain Marek is less than 20 minutes out, Ensign," Thea says quietly, tone gentling a bit. The implication that he can handle things is there. "You need rest. If you're in sickbay, you're not of any use to anyone. No less than six." And that's her final offer, damnit. "Lieutenant Komnenos, same for you. Things will be handled in your absence." She doesn't state the obvious.

Obviously, there's a knock at the door if the door is closed. Knock knock. And there is no Cyrus just yet in that case.

Roubani glances at the clock. Six. That's one burst missed, which still makes him look anxious as hell. Yeah, he'll be back in three, if only for being unable to sleep. Timon's calling attention to his mug jarrs him and he blinks at it. "Oh, my goodness. Are you hungry, sir?" He looks at Timon. "I'll get another."

"It'll be there all night, Poet." Timon smiles reassuringly, though his expression doesn't reach his eyes — not that his eyes are visible, anyway, hunched over the console like he is. "You take it. I'll grab another when I feel the need."

Thorn returns Ivory's touch with a nod of his own, then hands the man his PDA. "Everything you need should be here," he informs Timon. "Be careful — like Poet said, the system gets a little touchy during transmissions, so make sure whoever's with you keeps an eye on it. The secondary relay bus on the drone has been acting up, too, but if it fails, the primary should be able t' take over long enough t' fix it. Also monitor the protector lock on the second voltage port — it flared up on us a couple times…" Under Legacy's gaze, Thorn is slowly moving towards the exit again, but slowly enough to offer Ivory what is probably a too-comprehensive overview of all the little things to keep an eye on.

It's like trying to kick the parents of a crying toddler out the door after dropping the kid off at nursery school. Roubani chews the corner of his lip, pushing the mug back at Timon. "Just keep it. You're hurt, you should eat. And yes, that protector lock…someone may have to check the physical board if it acts up. The remote access was being terrible earlier, sometimes it just doesn't want to work. Oh, and check the partitions about once every thirty minutes…we just caught a near crash from critical kernel process going haywire. It should be alright now, but we haven't been able to debug everything and gods know something else might act up."

Legacy looks over at the door as Cyrus knocks then calls a quiet, "Come in, it's open." She looks around at the men, then settles in, leaning back in the chair Roubani just vacated.

"Protector lock, relay bus, voltage port, touchy." Timon rattles off the technical details being thrown at him rapid-fire. "Got it." He doesn't argue with Poet, instead standing to grab his abandoned mug before sitting down once more. Because eating is good. "If something fries, I'll come get you."

Out with the old, in with the new. Cyrus dips his head in and starts looking around intently. "Looks like this is where the brains are." He muses, smirking. "Was just curious how this process was coming along. Looks like I stumbled in the middle of something."

"Alright." Roubani says. And then proceeds to simply stand there, as if not quite sure how to walk to the door. That way lies idleness, and that's ugly.

Thorn nods as Roubani adds his input. These two just won't go away, will they? "If you have any software problems, don't hesitate t' come and grab me," he continues. "I had t' program and code a lot of this shit on the fly myself, so there's still some rough edges." He takes a last drag before stamping his cigarette in an ashtray and taking a drink of soup. "Debugging won't likely get you very far unless you know what t' look for, and good luck trying t' navigate that code." He seems to share Roubani's thoughts about idleness. Who knew the man would spontaneously seem to develop a work ethic?

"Brains are going that way," says Timon to the newcomer — then, with a look to Legacy, he amends his statement, picking his words more carefully. "I speak only for myself, of course, but I expect to call tech support every ten minutes if this rig is as unstable as the eggheads tell me it is." Three, four more sips take down nearly half of his remaining soup. He's a hungry man.

Roubani glances over his shoulder as Timon address someone. He gives Cyrus a faint half-smile, glad to see the man. "It works."

"Gentlemen, bed," Thea says quietly, simply. "Mr. Korostri, welcome back. Kharon knows we're here, so we'll be out of your hair soon." She's keeping an eye on the screen.

This time, Komnenos glowers at Timon. "It's not as unstable as it sounds," he mutters, his lips pursed. "It's not pretty, but it'll work." Story of his life. "Just… if you do have any problems, come get me, 'k?" Finally, Legacy's command takes hold, and Thorn shambles out.

"Only arbiter of success there ever is." Cyrus quips back at Roubani, smiling back at the quieter individual. It works, or it doesn't." He looks at some of the other assembled crew here. Timon also receives that amused look at his comment. "This is likely salvage-heavy. You have to expect a few kinks." Finally, Thea's comment earns a shrug and a quirk of his eyebrows. He stands to one side to allow Komnenos to pass. "Good. I'm glad this trip went -that- smoothly for you. At least. But you've been the best guests we've had in the past few months, so if you think you're -that- much of a pain, don't worry too much."

From Timon to the Resistance man: "Pardon me for eating all your food." Sip sip sip. "You come up to Kharon with us, I'll make you some delicious — protein, um, somethings. And Thorn — I know it works." Ivory's attention is fixed on his screen; his right hand reaches to pick up a small headset plugged into the array, the earpiece of which he plugs into his left ear. More quietly, in a voice that's almost a whisper: "Didn't mean anything by it."

Roubani is still standing there, looking more and more uncomfortable with being banished to the evils of doing nothing. He rubs the back of his neck and softly clears his throat, finally turning to go after a little nod to Cyrus and a quiet, "Sirs," to the rest of the room.

"Ensign," Thea calls quietly. "We could probably use a few prayers, or at least, Sergeant Elder could." That's all she has to say at the moment, her attention is on the data.

Thorn was halfway out the door when Ivory whispered his last, so he didn't happen to hear it. His pride in his bastardized creation is fairly obvious, though, which likely explains his earlier indignation. It might be sloppy code, but it's HIS sloppy code, and as he pointed out, it works well enough despite being written in merely the better part of a night. Hell hath no fury like an ECO's handiwork teased.

Cyrus balls his hand in his jacket pocket but doesn't particularly say anything here. He shrugs, lazily with a pensive look towards Timon. "This is a new world. It's a wrecked world, but it's a new one. Whether the food sucks or not, nobody should have to -pay- for it." He peers between Thea and Roubani for a moment, silently. Finally, "So, this thing is holding?" He eyes the departing Thorn as well, but, well, it's not like he has any clue what any of this is about.

Roubani glances back at Thea. He doesn't say anything but he does nod once, then drifts out the door. He'll be back.

"You know, the ancients used to talk about a duty of hospitality," says Timon to Cyrus, tapping his finger against the side of his earpiece in an attempt to put it in a more comfortable position. "Somebody shows up at your door looking for aid, you give it to him lest the gods strike you down." He allows himself a soft chuckle. "We're doing nothing in this new world but rediscovering what we used to do. And there's something to be said for that."

Legacy remains quiet, though nods to Cyrus and offers him a small smile. She's letting the other two do the talking.

"You people surprise me." A thick brow's arched on Cyrus' part. "I'm not ready to give up the creature comforts; you should -see- what it takes for me to light a campfire. But that was…insightful. Not that I expected anything less, but I remember the recruiting commercials. Join the Colonial Fleet. Meet engineers. Programmers. Scientists. Doctors. Historians and Philosophers. Then there's the whole 'see the galaxy' schtick." He pulls his hand out from his pocket, clutching something inside. Something small, obviously. "So, you're hitching a ride out of here?"

"That wasn't the pitch they gave to me," says Timon, sitting back in his chair while holding his mug with his good arm. "Recruiter found me coming out of a coffee shop, resume in hand, where I'd tried to get a job as a barista. Said — 'Son, you get to shoot things if you join us.'" His voice takes on a rough timbre as he tries to mimic the man's tone. "He was less than impressed when I told him about my degree. Political philosophy doesn't help one's aim."

"There are. Were. Many useless people in the world. A lot of them had MBAs. If you spent all that time in school and learned what you just said, at least you gained an insight." Cyrus says towards Timon, matter-of-factly. He's gotten a bit more relaxed around the military personnel now, at this point, which rings true with his 'we're all just people' approach. "I was a contractor." Which could mean anything.

Thea's head cants slightly to the side as she listens to the men talk. Her attention is focused, brow pulled together slightly.

"I learned a lot of things back then," murmurs Timon. "Some things are more useful than others, just like people. And just like people, no one thing is fundamentally worthless." The man has a habit of speaking in aphorism. Blame college. He's about to continue, but something catches his eye, and he speaks to Thea for only the second time tonight. "Captain, just caught a power spike in the — " The pilot squints at his screen. " — transistor T8, that is. Not sure which one that is. Do you have it?"

"That's pretty generous and admirable." Cyrus says, parting his lips without missing a beat. "I don't know if I'd be able to have that kind of surety after working for a prison contractor." He trails off now, at the mention of technical difficulties. Coughing once, he continues, "Need a hardware replacement?" He gestures towards the door with a swipe of his thumb.

"I've got it," Thea says quietly. "Compensation isn't a problem for this one." She seems relaxed about the whole thing, laid back. Maybe if she's relaxed, others will be, too.

"Believe it or not, the Fleet still has idealists. I'm merely an idealist who loves playing around with semantics — for indeed, the fact that a person might be worthless in most situations does not contradict my advocacy in the slightest. Whatever that means." Timon chuckles under his breath as he eyes his screen, dredging up what computer science he's picked up over his thirty-two years. "Okay. Worst case, some calculation in Thorn's program must have snarled the power transfer algorithm. Linear time to quadratic, exponential, whatever. But we'll go with hardware first. Fixing code means waking Thorn." And waking Thorn, he doesn't add, is as painful as it sounds.

"Most. Most." Cyrus snaps his fingers of his free hand. "That's an agreeable compromise. I'll give ya that." That sort of shifty grin returns as he leans over to eye the array a little more closely. "Well, I don't want to steamroll over someone else's code, but to pitch in, I can go see if I can salvage a replacement. In the meantime. But I have a question. You mentioned going back to the Kharon, eh?"

Thea looks over her shoulder at Cyrus and offers him a smile. "If I haven't said thank you…thank you, for everything you've done. And yes, we'll be taking those who want to go back with us."

Legacy answers the question Timon's been trying to avoid — as if by speaking, he'll undo the very fabric of the universe and render the communication with Kharon naught but a pleasant dream. But when Thea talks first, Ivory tries to preempt what he thinks the next question will be: "That young girl — Angela, Angelica, whatever — wants the names of the people who want in." A pause; and then: "You should." Whether that means to go get another transistor or to come back to Kharon, the pilot doesn't say. Hey, it all makes sense in his head.

Not wasting any time, here. Cyrus opens the hand he's been holding closed and reveals a shiny, but plain cubit coin. Nothing fancy. Just a coin. He tilts his head downwards and his green eyes flicker towards the item a moment as he holds it aloft. Finally, he jerks his hand upwards and launches the coin into the air, catching it and slapping it onto the back of his hand. It's still covered. "Heads I stay, tails I go." He pauses, with it covered, and he continues to flash a wolfish grin. "Sorry if I take that as an offer. But thanks, well, you can spare your thanks, Captain." He juts his chin towards Timon. "It's like he said. Anyway, I have a relationship with the Goddess, here. She hasn't let me down, you see. Never will." Still, the coin is covered.

The Captain simply dips her head to Cyrus, watching him for a moment, then offers a very small smile. "There are times I envy you the choice," she says very quietly, then turns back to the screen.

"Captain's right, there," Timon observes blandly, face reflected in the transparent glass that covers the console before him. "I'll just add one thing. It's your choice. Not the goddess' choice — " Spoken with a lower-case 'g,' if that's possible. " — and certainly not that coin's." He thinks about saying more, but a sideways glance at Thea disabuses him of that notion. Whatever thought he's got on his mind will hold. Instead, he drains the rest of his mug in a single quick gulp, not bothering to chew the few small chunks of meat the cook saw fit to include, before going back to work.

"It makes as much sense as anything else had. There are pluses and minuses. For one - I've wanted to get off this rock ever since we got hauled off Aquaria when I was young. Even if I die up there, I vowed I wouldn't die here." A wrinkle of his nose. "No offense, but Scorpia…Was never my thing. Ever. Not so much Gemenon either which may have been another choice if things had gone a different way," He rambles a bit, Cyrus does, as he explains some details, omits others. "Second, I'm not much of a hardened soldier. I'm just -lucky-. Third, half of these people hate me." He chuckles a little as he inclines his head towards the door and outside. "Some have good reason. I just don't know what kind of use I'd be in the world left down here." His thick brows waggle. "On the other hand, what would I do up there? Do you honestly just pull people off the street and let them wear a uniform now? I'd probably piss off half the folks I wanted to impress just as easily as breathing." He shrugs a little.

Cyrus adds, "So really, it's not the coin's decision. It's not Aurora's decision. It's just easier this way." There's that smirk again. "Let me go back to get that part and I'll tell you how the coin landed."

"Rain check, Cyrus. We'll talk." And that's all Timon says to that, though there's no irritation in his voice: he's as prolix as the 'prison contractor,' whatever that means. "Anyway, T8's at red. Go get the part. Captain and I will monitor from here and scream really loudly if something else goes wrong."

"That old uplink standby will never know what hit it." Cyrus dips his head, flashing another grin as he meanders back through the door.

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