Of Tags and Security
Of Tags and Security
Summary: After being told to see Regas, Reed goes to the Genesis. Farkas gets his orders.
Date: 8 ACH
Related Logs: None

General Lounge Genesis - Deck 9
8 ACH 6735 Souls

This large lounge/recreation area is here for the personnel of the Genesis. As any place where Officers and enlisted seem to come together, there are places for each. The Officers areas are more lounge-like and the enlisted have a couple couches, tables and chairs. Various computer games are here as well, including some foosball, driving or flying, shooting, etc. Along one wall a long counter has been setup with snacks, drinks and a sink.
----< Condition Two - Public Area >----—-
Contents: Reed Triad Deck Wireless 228
Exits: [O] Corridor

Warwick comes in from Corridor 9C.
Warwick has arrived.

Reed is sitting at a table in the lounge, chained to his work. Literally. There's a metal briefcase on the table and a chain handcuffed to his left wrist as a cup of coffee steams in front of him on the table. He's in his duty uniform and fully polished up for something, just waiting.

Warwick steps in from the corridor outside, looking around as he heads over in the direction of something to drink. Pausing a bit as he sees Reed, and the metal briefcase. "Well, someone's quite afraid that his things will get stolen," he remarks a bit lightly, while still making his way over towards the drinks.

Reed looks over to Warwick, and snorts, "Something like that." He says, taking his coffee and taking a drink, "Just waiting for the moment. Sooner or later I'll be off and when I do, I need to be prepped."

Warwick nods a little bit as he hears that, "Important things then, sir?" he asks, as he gets himself something cold to drink, and making his way over towards another of those tables.

Reed nods, "Always something important going on. I don't know what my meeting's about though, so I brought all the paperwork that could be relevant, and hope that what gets discussed is in here." He pats the briefcase.

Warwick nods a bit as he hears that, "Then you have what you need, and much more, hopefully," he offers, taking a sip from his drink. "Ah, good…" he mutters to himself.

Reed nods, "Well, I certainly hope so." He says taking a sip from his coffee. "You know the worst part of these briefcases?"

"The chains?" Warwick suggests a bit lightly. "Or the weight?"

Reed shakes his head, "Nope, I'm left handed, but regs say you have to wear a briefcase like this on the left hand to keep the right free for saluting or acknowledging salutes."

Warwick snickers a bit as he hears that, "Remind me not to get into a situation where I'd have to wear one of those briefcases, sir," he offers with a bit of a grin.

Reed nods, sipping his coffee, "Oh, trust me, it sneaks up on you. But don't worry, we have a lot of these cases on the PAS, with and without handcuffs."

Warwick chuckles a bit as he hears that, nodding a bit. Taking another sip from his drink again. "How's things over on the PAS, these days?" he asks, after a couple of moments.

Reed nods, "Busy, we just went into final construction, and now we're reconfiguring for wartime running, so there's a lot of work going on. All in all, it's going well. It's just getting everything squared away to handle the threat of Cylon incursion."

"Makes us see everything the station can do, then?" Warwick offers, nodding a bit. "Not the easiest things to prepare for, though…"

Reed nods, "Not exactly, no. We have our construction specialists working overtime to prepare, and it's proceeding. But there's always things that we need, or could use more of."

Warwick nods a bit, "I think that's the story of our entire lives these days," he offers with a bit of a sigh.

Reed nods, looking to the clock, "Most definately." He says, finishing his coffee.

Regas comes in from Corridor 9C.
Regas has arrived.

"Still, all the busy things makes you realize how much you really treasure those few moments of peace and quiet, I guess," Warwick remarks a bit quietly, before pulling out a notepad from his pocket.

Reed is sitting at a table, empty coffee at hand, while the other hand is chained to a metal briefcase. He looks polished and prepped for review, down to the fresh caffiene rush. He nods to Warwick, "I'll go along with that."

In walks the man of the hour, or something. Regas steps into the lounge and notices Reed and his albatross. A half smirk crosses his features while he heads to grab some coffee. "Good morning."

Warwick looks up from his notepad as he hears the new voice, and looks over to the CO, nodding politely to the man as he reaches for his glass again. "Good morning, sir."

Reed looks to Regas as the man comes in, and rises, taking his briefcase and empty coffee cup, moving to set the cup where the dirty cups go and stands there, facing Regas. "Sir." He says. He doesn't salute, given the location they're in, but his posture is somewhere between at ease and attention. He looks ready for most any meeting.

Regas is stirring his coffee now as Reed tosses his dirty cup away. He turns his head slightly to look at the Major. "At ease, Major," he glances down to the briefcase, "I realize the meeting was a little abrupt, but there is no need for the secret squirrel attache today." He caps the coffee and then raises it up. "I want your Contractors to have some tag on them, now that we have civilians. There needs to be some way to differentiate. They may not like it, but they'll have to deal."

Most of his attention turning to his notepad again, Warwick can't help listening to what's being said at the moment.

Reed blinks, relaxing his posture a bit more, "A tag, sir? I'm afraid I don't quite follow. It would be easy to establish a differential at the moment, as the Contractors and civilians don't mix under the lockdown in Condition Two. Are you looking for a method of identification? I'm planning to ask JAG to go over the contracts to determine the options of the contractors at the moment, with regards to their civilian status."

"Tags, Major. Like we wear. One of your Contractors was in giving blood last night and I couldn't tell the difference. She's also confused about if she even is one right now." Regas takes a drink of his coffee and continues, "Right now we have no idea, do we? Some Civilian could be wandering around the station. So before I have the Marines brig everyone without an idea, see that it is done."

Farkas comes in from Corridor 9C.
Farkas has arrived.

Warwick mutters a few words to himself, as he looks around momentarily, then back down to the notepad. Shaking his head, he adds a few words, frowning a bit.

Farkas makes his way into the lounge and pauses just a step inside. His hands clasped behind his back as he lets his gaze sweep over the assembled personel.

Reed nods, considering a moment. "I'll have modified dogtags minted out and delivered to all Contractors by noon today, sir." After a pause, "I also think that JAG clarifying the terms of Contractors under wartime might be a good idea, as while they have signed the Colonial Secrets Act, they haven't taken an oath of service, which creates a sub classification we'll need to have defined properly."

"Just keep them busy for now. Your little comms girl sounds bored, see that she is kept busy. She commented she 'was grieving and shit'. Get them busy and they won't have time for that. We need those stations ripped out of the sublights. We'll be jumping out of here in 24 hours." Regas looks over and sees Farkas, "Master Sergeant."

Warwick raises an eyebrow as he hears that, his attention mostly staying on the notepad for now.

It may be just the fact that the Top dog adressed him, or something else that caught the Master Sergeants attention. Farkas steers his course over towards Regas and Reed, "Colonel…Major.", each is offered a slight nod in recognition.

Reed lifts the metal briefcase chained to his left hand to check his timepiece, starting a mental jump clock in his head. "Aye, sir." He considers, "If I may, PAS has been working to expand Tyllium storage facilities, using the Sublights tanks we've been pulling and integrating into the PAS. Process is still ongoing, but we have some of the tanks flushed and prepped, if we could tank off the refinery ship and allow them to grab whatever ore they can before the jump, it would allow us to bug out with that much more fuel." He turns noticing Farkas, "Sheriff," He says.

Regas nods to the words. "Anything we don't leave behind that can't jump, will be attached to the Flattop. The Tracer is working overtime right now." Setting the coffee back down he does another refill to make up for what he drank. "See that girl gets some decent clothing too, she is representing the Colonial Military, which she clearly disrespects. If she can't hack it, she'll be shuttled to the Carina." A frown touches his lips, "Telling me she is distracted because I'm 'hot', isn't going to cut it here, Major."

Farkas decides to linger at a respectable distance, with his hands behind his back in 'at ease'. Yet he is within hearing range of anyone not half deaf, but if he finds any personal satisfaction over what he hears then he keeps it for himself. His face is like carved from stone, as he slowly methodically eyes the lounge once again.

Reed nods, thoughtfully. "Aye sir, I'll see it's resolved in one fashion or another." Clearly noting the options presented. "I assume then after the jump we'll have the lockout lifted and the option of transferral of non contractor civilians to the Carina. the families of the contractors, for example?"

"We can only hope," Regas comments, "Alright, that should be it for now atleast. I'll assume you had some good reason for hiring her in. So that is around your neck," he glances to the Sheriff a moment, "Sheriff have you got most of the civilian Security organized?" Might as well pick on everyone he can while he is out and about.

Farkas turns his head to look at Regas, with a slightly arched eyebrow. "Civilian Security, Sir?" he pauses for a moment and then shakes his head. "I have not, I rely upon the Marines in the Military Police to uphold security, sir..Truth be told, I have not ventured to the new ships at all, they are civilian vessels and out of my juristiction..Unless things have changed..Sir."
<Newbie> Sora has connected.

"You are the Military Police, Sheriff," Regas watches the older man for a moment. "Right now, that is your job. You coordinate with them, since we don't have the amount of MP's needed for that. I was sure I sent out a memo about that to Captain Gaelan."

Reed falls silent, looking to Farkas, and Regas, holding his position and remaining quiet.

"Perhaps you did Sir, I am not informed that I am to work alongside no gods damn civilian, Sir." Farkas mutters as he stands there with his hands behind his back. "If I may speak freely sir?"

Regas watches the MaA for a long moment, "Feel free, Sheriff."

Reed focuses on the MAA now, listening as the man gets permission to speak.

Farkas nods his head quickly. "We are at war Sir..We are on short supply of even the most basic demands. In due time, you will need as the Superior Commander tighten the leash which no Civilian will find comfortable. The Marines and the Navy can understand it, they have a grasp of reality, the Civilians are in general malcontents under the lead of any form of Military." he clears his throat and sighs. "To even have a Civlian Security force is, counter productive as they will become the spear tip of any malcontents. Draft those we need and deem fit, shape them into proper soldiers sir..In due time, blood and flesh will be the only commodity we have surplus of."

"I'll take it under consideration, Sheriff. But for now, you will coordinate with them. We don't have time to start shoving people into spots and figuring out if they work or not. Until we are not going to be on the move every time we turn around. Anything else?" Regas asks.

Reed looks between the men, remaining silent and listening.

Farkas nods his head slowly. "If I may, I am a little hazy on the reason behind coordination between Military and Civilian Security..They are just that, Civilian vessels..Who superceeds who. In short, the picture is not clear there is no logic in it..It is in their interest to follow us, and be under our wings. I do not see what I am to coordinate really."

"Master Sergeant, do you know what being under Martial Law means? I think you have been in the military long enough to understand that," Regas eyes the Sheriff critically for a moment, "You've had a long record of being in the military and I suppose you were ready to retire. If this is too much of a burden on you for now, I will take your resignation and assign someone else in your spot. You can train or find a spot on the Carina with a rocking chair."

Reed listens, brows going up slightly as he listens and looks to Farkas, left thumb slowly moving over the handle of his briefcase.

Farkas narrows his eyes as he studies Reed. "That is your call Sir..not mine." he wrinkles his nose. "The Carina that is…I'll bring them into compliance, Sir."

Regas makes a sidelook at Reed and then back to Farkas, "Good. Back to work then, we have alot to do in the next 24 hours," he begins to head out of the Lounge.

Reed looks to Regas, and lifts salute as the Colonel makes his exit, dropping it once the CO has turned away to leave.

"Sir." Farkas mutters as he offers a quick salute in the direction of Regas. Another brief look towards Reed along with a nod of his head before he turns to head outside aswell. It is time to setup the meeting, and bring the civilians into compliance of the Military might.


Modified dogtags are minted and distributed to all Civilian Contractors holding current employment status on the PAS. Along with the following notification.

As of 1300 hours, station time, all civilian contractors are required to wear personal identification tags at all times denoting them as being in the employ of the Colonial Navy. failure to wear these tags at all times will be grounds for disciplinary action under paragraph 2, section 4 of the Civilian Contractors Naval Contract.

Copies of the modified dogtag format are sent to PAS JAG offices and the office of Military Police, Battlestar Genesis.

<OOC: Time to add a little dogtag to your descs, kids.>

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