The Dark Before Dawn
The Dark Before Dawn
Summary: In the pre-dawn hours, Komnenos and Roubani are working on getting the communication drone to work. Dutch stops by to mooch and bring news.
Date: PHD080 (6 July 2009)
Related Logs: Related Logs (Say None if there aren't any; don't leave blank)

Scorpia - Primary Communications Bunker

It's been focused chaos in this technology haven straight through the night. If computers could complain about second hand smoke they'd have a lawsuit ready to file by now. Between Fenix, Komnenos, and Roubani the air up near the ceiling has gone a light gray with acrid haze that none of them seem to notice. Across the boards, monitors are lit up and processing, papers strewn about with diagrams of schematics and a hurricane's worth of programming notes. Roubani is in a chair up on the second row, rolling back and forth between two consoles he's been prodding at, an ashtray settled between them with a cigarette burning away.

There's an opening of the Hatch, and in comes the marine, a helmet and all thrown in on a nearby table looking piece of shit. A raise of a brow as the Medic is looking back towards where Roubani has stationed himself. A pause as he is looking back out the door. He's got armory duty at the moment-but he can spare a minute or so for this, right? "Hey." voice in the same scratched up muddle, "You got a smoke, Ensign?" Dutch is nothing if not habitual.

Roubani looks up from the monitor, just his eyes visible above the screen. They're a touch reddened, either from sleep-deprivation or just the deadly haze in the room. "Yeah, of course." He pushes his foot against the floor, rolling towards the edge of the row where his gutted pack is lying. "Here. Help yourself."

Dutch moves his hand- taking time to snag the little rumpled shit. Cigarette picked out and he is looking back with a nod. "Thanks." muttered. He won't steal too many. One smoke will be fine since his cigars and extra packs are all ship side. Apparently someone didn't plan to be here long. "How's that computer shit comin?" asked as one of them white death sticks is slipped into his mouth. Roubani is luckily on the list of people that Dutch likes. There's not many folks on there.

"Good…good." Roubani's eyes tilt up and he even affords the Marine a brief half-smile. "There's still a bit to do, but the patches are all holding. The signal isn't going to go as far as we thought, but it's better than nothing." He picks up his own burning cigarette, gauging the amount left before he's smoking filter before taking a drag. "It's good to see you on your feet."

"Uh-Good." Dutch nods, as he takes time to light up, before looking back towards Roubani. "I'll take your word for it- don't nessecarily understand all that shit you're doing. Not like we had a lot of gods damned computers where I came from. Well, not ones that You could do more than basic shit on.." A grunt as he exhales a drag before looking back over. "Thanks-You too..though you weren't too torn up last I saw ya."

For all that curse words seem to have no place in Roubani's vocabulary, the marine's language doesn't appear to bother him right now. "No, I'm alright." He wiggles his left hand, where a bandage is still wrapped around the healing bullethole through his palm. "I was fortunate." He looks back at the screen he's closest to, entering a long string of keystrokes as he talks. "How is Swift?"

"Still critical as Frak. Don't know if that fool doc the Resistance has is worth her shit which she tries t' lord over." A snort there for a moment and another drag to ease the silence. " They got one of the resistance kids in there with Bullet holes that ain't closed yet and are weeping like a gods damned leper." a shake of his head, but for Dutch-bitching about something seems common place. "I am hoping they pull through.. Just too early to know on both of em." needless to Say Dutch believes if they get them onboard it'll help ease things considerably.

Roubani exhales slowly through his nose and nods. His eyes are still on what he's doing on the screen, but he seems adept at multitasking. Things need to get done, keys clack. He sticks the cigarette in his mouth and reaches for a set of schematics lying nearby. "We'll get him out of here one way or another." He glances at Dutch a moment, then back at the papers. If it were an engineer's place to promise such a thing, he sounds like he just did it. "Lieutenant's doing what she can." Alyssa, presumably. "They don't seem to have a wealth of supplies around here." He's sitting up on the second row, working between two monitors and a pile of schematics. Dutch is standing nearby. Both are smoking.

Dutch grunts, because for him that is easier than listing many-many things in which to impart on one person or many. Like he just gave the meaning of life there. Eyes glance over to the schematics "Either on th' wings of angels- or in a raptor. I figure I'll be going home warm or cold..Made my peace with it a while back." And so now he is coming over to lean against the work space. "I ain't commentin' on her supplies. Just her knack to bein' a chicken head."

"Warm or cold, yes." Roubani sounds similarly accepting of the fact, as though he were talking about dinner. His eyes flicker up, slender brow raising. "…chicken head?"

Dutch nods "You know-clucks t' hear themselves cluck. All Bock-bock-bock." And yes Dutch even gives Roubani the grand theatrical performance there with his clucking, and arms added for emphasis. "Never known many docs like that, but I've been spoiled with Pike." The Corpsman adds one before he's turning his head to look over the schematics.. Cigarette leaned away so as not to ash on anything. "The division last night was gods damned thick.."

A figure emerges from one of the side offices; like most of the others that have been plugging away at the recalcitrant computer systems, Komnenos has a burning cigarette hanging from his lips. His eyes are bleary, but he walks without complaint as he goes to one of the control stations and begins tapping in a sequence on the keypad; he doesn't seem to have noticed Dutch's presence just yet. "Hey, Poet. I think we might have a couple frakked circuits in that drone; check it when you have a chance. Might explain why we haven't been able t' hook it in yet. I'm going t' have a look at the interface algorithms." He takes a long drag and finally looks up, noticing the marine. "Sergeant Elder," he says, with a hint of surprise. Not someone he'd expected to see here. "Something I can do for you?"

Roubani gives Dutch a brief and wryly amused look, but the clucking gets no outright comment. He looks back at the screen, continuing to work. "Yes…" He muses as to last night. But anything else to be said goes to the wayside as he hears Komnenos. His head tilts as he looks past his screen edge. "It must be the same one that was flaring up back at oh three hundred." He lightly sucks his teeth, reaching under the bundle of schematics to pull out one of their many, many notebooks of error records. "That one's got a deathwish. I'll look at it."

Dutch nods all the same, before there's a glance over towards Komnenos. Yes all them big words, that did just get used in order to describe the events needed to take place in this whole big mess, went right over his head. Well, with the exception of Frakked circuits. That makes complete since, just not the interface algorithms. "Nope." he finally responds to the Lieutenant before he is gesturing with his cigarette. He got what he came for.

"Feh. Just rip the frakkin' thing out, if you can find something t' replace it with. Sick of playing games with th' bloody thing," Thorn responds, an edge in his gravelly voice; more likely directed at the offending circuit than Roubani himself, though. He's never been one to shoot the messenger. "Hrm," he grunts in reply to Dutch. He turns back to the keyboard, then; after a few seconds of continued plinking on the keyboard, though, his head comes back up as though something's occured to him. "Just don't keep Mr. Roubani from his work, then, if you're t' be in here." Surprisingly, that's said with a hint of humor in Thorn's tone, not reproach; he knows Roubani well enough to know there's little that would distract the man from said work. There's enough space in the room that Dutch won't be in the way unless he tries to be, so Komnenos pays the corpsman's presence little mind.

Roubani is apparently not worried about being shot. The Lieutenant's gruffness, he lets whoosh by him as he continues to work. "Let me see if I can get a remote lock on the malfunction. It's probably the second voltage port again. The protector lock on it is shaky at very best." His brows drawn as he rolls back to the second computer he'd been futzing with, starting to bring up the report on whatever the hell it is they're nerding about. "And don't worry, Thorn." Much like Komnenos', Roubani's tone isn't really serious about having to reassure. "The Sergeant was just updating me on various situations about town. I trust a man with his ear to the pavement."

Dutch stares back towards Thorn for a long ass moment, as if trying to decide what smart ass line is going to come from his lips, or if he is still boggling over algorithms. All the same, he's looking back towards Roubani as it seems the talk's about circuits and shit of that nature. "That's what I do.." adds Elder with a half assed look back to Komnenos. "You know, figure out which way th' piss runs from the cow.." Tauron expression. Dismiss it entirely.

Komnenos' lips quirk at the expression; he's never heard it before, but the farmers of Aerilon have their own fair share of similarly pungent epigrams. "Well, at least the thing's not going t' have t' go in orbit," he remarks with a sigh, in response to Roubani's diagnosis. "Do what you can," he finishes unnecessarily, as the ensign already seems to have the problem in hand. "So, anything interesting going on out there?" This to Dutch, with a crinkled eyebrow; he can't help but be curious himself, as his small group of technonerds has been holed up in here without interruption since last evening's briefing in sickbay. He takes another drag, using an idle moment to blow a couple hazy smoke rings.

"By the way," Roubani talks to Thorn without looking up, his fingers still moving on the keys. "Stathis and I did a preliminary analysis on our projected transmission burst rate using multiprotocol encapsulation. If we use at least one MPE or MPE-FEC datagram section with a monitored time-slicing parameter, we should be able to avoid them tracking the origin of the transmissions. It does mean we can't risk keeping an open comm." He quirks a finger towards Komnenos' screen. "The calculations are saved and stored if you want to have a look. They still need some work." He scratches his hairline and starts typing again, with an extremely faint smirk on his lips at Dutch. It passes quickly, and he's quiet to hear Dutch's answer to the JG.

Another long drag and the Marine is nodding all the same for a bit. "Yeah, we're planning on making three raids that'll probably frak us in the ass with a barbed stick." A shake of his head "I understand we need the stuff, but we're going to be running thin. I don't think some folks understand that. We've lost two marines and who knows what else, and I don't think some of them locals are too pleased we're around." a motion with his hand and looks back towards Roubani as the deep technical comes raging out "And what he said." Nice add on Dutch.

"The feeling's mutual," Komnenos snorts. "Not exactly thrilled t' be here myself, but I'm dealing. They can too." Another drag, and Thorn goes back to his computer station. He shrugs. "Rock and a hard place, Sergeant. You're right on both counts though, I'm afraid." He looks back to Roubani. "Go with the MPE-FEC. More built-in redundancy, and the encryption is better than the vanilla MPE. It'll be a bit more delicate t' set up but given the state of the drone, I want all the redundancy we can get. We won't get another shot." He spreads his hands helplessly. "Fenix did well just t' get the bloody thing working again, but it'd never pass a deck inspection, t' be sure." With that, he calls up Poet's work on his screen and begins to review it, nodding pensively as he puffs his cigarette.

Roubani glances up at Dutch again. More raids. He's quiet a moment, then, "I'll help if I can. With people down they'll need hands. Who is coordinating them?" He gives his screen an annoyed look as something flashes, the equivalent of giving him the finger. Pushing back from the console he stands up and nods to Thorn. "MPE-FEC it shall be, then."

"I think the Captain tight pants hisself is getting that all figured out. I might lead the distraction force..Don't know exactly, but I do know we need to hit the tylium refinery frakker- and the viper plant. Don't know what all we can salvage but its godsdamned worth it." Dutch offers with a sniff, and another drag of his cigarette before he is looking back towards Komnenos. "This thing gonna help us talk to the gods?" Meaning will this communications array work?

Thorn grunts in distaste. "Frankly, these bloody resistance types ought t' be the ones t' handle the distraction. They want t' get rid of us so badly, they can damn well help t' speed us on our way," he growls forcefully. It's obvious that whatever sense of wonder he had at the presence of a living Resistance has long since passed. His moment of anger passes, though, replaced by a quirky little smile as Dutch asks his question. "I don't know about the gods, Sergeant, but if there's anybody up there t' listen, they'll hear us," he explains, blissfully leaving off the pedantic technical details.

The viper plant. Roubani nods to that, silent as he considers. Then to Thorn, "Remote access looks boned. I'm going to check on that circuit myself, I'll be back shortly." A nod to Dutch. "Sergeant." He stubs out his dying cigarette and heads around the row of computers, down the steps.

"I don't think they got th' balls for it sir- Just sayin' As much as I would rather use them. Ain't a whole lot of training they do have..They got one Gunnery Sergeant I haven't seen..Spect he might re up, never knowing there. and a Military Doc. Their leader is a kid who is shot t' frak and back Its a gods damned mess-And then last night they got the Quorum delegate talkin about government." Dutch's outlook for the remaining survivors is rather slim at the moment. A nod is given to Roubani. "I'll see what I can figger out-if anything changes. Just we're about to get into deep shit-so you flying boys know. Deeper shit than we've seen since crashing."

"Damn politicians. I've read about that one, and she's naiver'n a 12 year old girl in a Gemenese convent." Komnenos' eyes roll sarcastically at the mention of the Quorum delegate. "Most of 'em are just civilians playing at war, anyway." Thorn continues severely. "They've got some solid people on an individual basis… but as a group, I'm starting t' think this whole resistance idea is a clusterfrak of death waiting t' happen. That damn doc of theirs is an even bigger fool t' stay behind. Pike could use her on the ship, and she's turning her back on th' uniform t' stay and patch up these poor bloody townies." Thorn's accent becomes more pronounced as his reply turns into a rant; seeming to notice this, he pauses and takes a drag, letting his ire subside. A detached part of his mind notes with bemusement how his attitude towards the military has done a total 180 since he joined the fleet. He shakes his head as his eyes return to his work, though his ears are still listening to the sergeant. "Yeah, things are coming t' a head, alright."

"Don't get me started. Hell last night is any indication, it means that they'll frak shit up-when it comes to distracting. Any of em that Sign up or come back have straight assed heads on their collective shoulders." Dutch is then pushing off from where he is sitting. Ahh so Thorn's from Aerlion, where as the Sergeant is straight from Tauron-the hayseed twang just showing his roots as a miner. Poorer side of things. "That fool Doc's got power issues. Watch her pull rank over a gods damned cigarette."

Thorn probably shouldn't be badmouthing a fellow officer with an enlisted marine, but at the moment he's too tired and frustrated to care much about protocol. And in this officer's opinion, everything Dutch has said thus far has been spot on, more or less. He smiles thinly. "So I've noticed." He, too, has evidently been on the recieving end of one of her remarks about smoking in the sickbay. "T' be fair, I understand where she's coming from — Pike doesn't want people smoking in her sickbay either — but yeah, I know what y' mean." Komnenos frowns at something on his screen; he quickly consults something on his PDA before hammering a sequence into his keyboard. "I'll just be happy t' leave this circus and get back t' the ship."

Dutch normally saves this shit for his fellow enlisted, because really who doesn't bitch about a CO every now and then. Its one thing if its gods damned mutinous talk, and another if its bitching. But right now it seems like its needed on both fronts. "Pike's got a better way about her." is all that Elder is commending on. A look over to the computer screen and then back to the Lieutenant. "I wonder who'll we'll have enlist."

"No idea. I just hope the real chuckleheads all stay right here…" Thorn's remark is both full of and devoid of sarcasm at the same time. "More power t' them, though, if they're smart enough t' want off Scorpia." He breaks the conversation for just a moment to address one of the other techies currently working. "Hey, Cookies, that damn secondary bus is acting up again! Take it out of the network and see what you can do with it. Route everything through the primary if you have to; it can handle the load for a while," he calls out to his fellow ECO.

Dutch nods. Another one of those grunts for agreement and Dutch is pushing away and making back for the hatch. Perhaps time for him to get back to watching the Armory door, though highly doubtful anyone has been slugging around in there. "Can't last long when the place is nuked t' frak and back."

"Surprised they lasted even this long," Komnenos mutters to himself as the Marine gets up to leave. Watching him go, he suddenly calls out, "Oi, Dutch!" The use of the marine's nickname is a first for him. He removes a cigarette from his pack and tosses it to the corpsman. "One for the road." He takes a final drag of his own before stamping it out on the floor. The place is enough of a mess that no one will notice… besides, officer's privilege. "Thanks for the updates. And give my regards t' Corporal Swift, when you see 'im," he continues, before going back to his work. He's still grateful to the pair of Marines for helping bring his group back from Paros in one piece, even if he'd be pained to admit it out loud.

Its rare enough when folks call him John. The nickname though is appreciated or so the half grin that is given back may indicate. Cigarette is caught and slid behind his ear, before he's grabbing his rifle and helmet and trucking back out. "Thanks Eltee." grumbled along, as for giving his regards to Swift? He will. He'll by gods see to it, th' boy gets em.

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