Playing Prepared
Playing Prepared
Summary: Zaharis fills Shem in on the fledgling Project Daedalus.
Date: 91
Related Logs: The Right Tool for the Right Job
Players:
Zaharis..Shem..

Chief Medical Officers Office Genesis - Deck 13
91 ACH 23817 Souls


The office of the Chief Medical Officer is a small room, used mostly for consultations and review of sensitive patient materials than the paperwork of the Medical department, which goes through the Naval Administrative offices. Still somehow it has file cabinets along one wall stuffed full of papers, two chairs in front of a desk behind which a large leather chair is set. On the desk sits a computer terminal.
Sitting on the file cabinet is a Rod of Asclepius carved from two different types of wood. The rod is made from lighter wood, while the snake is darker. The eye of the snake is inlayed with tiny crystals so that it sparkles in the light. It stands on a smallish pedestal with a legend: Do no harm to thyself nor to others.


Shem comes in from Sickbay.
Shem has arrived.

Zaharis is at his desk like one would expect him to be, working on something on his computer. The keys go tappity tap and pauses as he looks over towards the door.

The marine enters the office with his usual military bearing. He's taken to packing heat lately. For some reason. He closes the door behind him and takes a few steps up to Zaharis's desk. A salute is offered. "Evening, sir."

"Evening, Lieutenant." Zaharis pulls his hands off the keys, folding his arms lightly on his desk after returning the salute. "What can I do for you?"

Shem's shoulders relax after the salute, and he stands easy. "Sir, I just wanted to let you know that Sergeant Browne will be following up on that body from the Destiny." His expression makes it seem like that's not the main reason he's here.

Zaharis watches Shem as he listens. The burn scarring across the side of his face keeps his left eyelid more tense than the right one. "Alright. If there's something more we can do I'm sure you or Browne will let us know." He then waits for the rest.

Shem nods slightly. "Ensign Ramiro is looking into the incident in your lab, but it seems likely that somebody tipped the Cylons off to its location. Do you have a personal weapon?"

"It's in the weapons locker, usually. Should be there now," Zaharis replies. He's not wearing it. A frown has crested across his face but what Shem says doesn't seem to surprise him much.

"You'd probably be well-served to keep it someplace closer, sir." Shem nods to his desk and suggests, deadpan, "Maybe in one of those lovely drawers."

"I'll take that into consideration," Zaharis' voice betrays only a little of his reluctance. He pauses, then says, "While I have you here, Lieutenant. There's another research project about to begin, regarding the cylons." Regardless of the room's soundproofing and the wireless turned to receive, his voice is quiet. "Regas wanted you informed before things got fully underway. Just in case."

Shem lifts his eyebrows. He seems deathly still. "Sir?"

Zaharis lifts his chin towards one of the chairs on the other side of the desk. "Have a seat for a minute."

Shem tenses his neck for a few moments. He clears his throat and sits.

Zaharis waits patiently for Shem to do so before speaking again. "Are you aware of what we recovered from Deck 13 after the attack, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir," Shem replies.

"One raider and one heavy raider." Zaharis folds his hands on his desk. "From preliminary study, the raider appears to contain biotechnology. Human tissue. How exactly this may help us where deck 13 left off, I don't know yet. But it may."

Shem's eyebrows draw together. "/Human/ tissue, sir?"

Zaharis replies, "Or similar. Artificial perhaps, we don't know yet. That's what this project is going to find out."

"When you say biotechnology, sir," Shem asks, voice trailing off. His voice has a disbelieving tenor to it.

"I mean," Zaharis says, having to take a moment to say it himself. He doesn't seem like he wants to. "That these Raiders are a seamless combination of organic and inorganic material. Biorobotic…entities."

Shem looks off to the side and mutters, in a 'what else is new' tone, "Gods." He makes a face of disaste.

Zaharis' expression doesn't change. He goes on matter-of-factly, "The research will be conducted entirely on the Pandora. I'm going to forward you the names of those involved. This time we'll be more ready, should the cylons have sources they shouldn't." His voice hardens a little bit there.

"What types of security procedures are you setting down, sir?" Shem inquires.

Zaharis picks up his handheld, his thumb tapping over the keys. A very long code is entered, twice, and he turns the small computer around to hand it to Shem. "This is what the Pandora has available. The crew knows nothing more than that it's a classified project and high security. They put this into place. I'll forward that to you as well, and you do whatever you deem necessary."

Shem takes the device gingerly. He scrolls through the list, saying as he does so, "Honestly, sir, your procedures for the lab over here were on the bubble. I'd suggest hardening the compartment some more against electromag over on the Pandora, if anything."

Zaharis raises his folded hands, setting his elbows on the desk. "Engineering can get on that. Anything else right away? Otherwise I'll send it over and give you a day to review it. We aren't starting for at least 24 more hours."

"Yes, sir," Shem acknowledges. "That's all I have now, sir."

"Alright." Zaharis nods. "That's all I have now, too. You'll be kept up to date with relevant information from us. As I expect we will from you. Should there be a security…issue."

Shem nods. "Count on it, sir." He puts the device back on the table.

Zaharis picks up the PDA the moment it touches the faux wood, as if reluctant to let it pass even a moment without being in someone's grasp. Until he presses a few more buttons, sending the document to Shem's inbox with an innocent-sounding title. Looking back up, he then nods. "If nothing else then you're dismissed, Lieutenant."

Shem stands without delay. He tugs the bottom of his uniform tight. Then, he salutes. "Be safe, sir." That's a new one. And off he goes.

A brow arches slightly at Shem's back. Zaharis doesn't say anything, turning back to his computer once the door's shut again. The PDA is slid back into a drawer rather than left out.

Shem leaves for Sickbay [o].
Shem has left.

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