Scrap Metal
Scrap Metal
Summary: Salvage operations on the Persius uncover something unexpected. Watch for: Zombies; How to turn on an engineer
Date: 45 ACH
Related Logs: Dum Spiro Spero

Fade in on a shuttle craft carrying two work teams from the Genesis to the Persius as it lands on the deck. The ship is a wreck. Heavily damaged in the Cylon attacks on the Scorpia shipyards, desperately jumped after escaping Raiders and boarding parties, and then beaten from within by mutineers. It's held together through salvage operations so far but, as a working battlestar, it's beyond repair. Every team has a damage control specialist with them at all times, in case something gives. So far, not catastrophic accidents have taken place. So far. Fingers crossed!

The Persius' hangar deck is in full construction site mode. Shuttles ferry crew of snipes, deck hands and anyone else remotely qualified to help with the strip job back and forth from the Genesis. There's even a few stores accountants from Logistics milling about, taking it all down on ledgers. Easier to get the inventory done now as things roll in. Large rolling bins are scattered around the deck, filled with broken bits of battlestar that can be melted for scrap metal. The salvageable components - a hodge-podge of electronics, mechanical parts and random living items that've been taken from the berthings and lockers - are arranged in a more organized fashion. The break-down of the ship has been ongoing but the heavy lifting is slated for today. Dismantling and removal of most of the DRADIS and water reclamation system. Only the engines will remain after today, to keep the ship capable of its most basic life support and propulsion functions, until everything if off-loaded and it is ready to be laid to rest permanently. Then those too will be popped.

A big, beefy man in green work overalls is strapped into the shuttle. His name is Specialist Millen. People call him Two-Ton. He has a wide, sloping forehead, and it's possible that he could have a chromosomal abnormality. He stares at whoever is sitting across from him emptily.

CPO Rogers, of the Structural Engineer team recently bequeathed to the ChEng from the deceased PAS is here, his team having their duty assignments on the Persius at the will and whim of the Engineering Officers. Rogers is sitting in his chair in the shuttle, his toolcase between his feet, a few tools taken from the back of his belt held in his lap so he can sit. He's quiet on the transfer, reviewing things in his mind.

Shuttles. They're better than tombs filled with SNAKES, or so is going through Zaharis' head as the craft closes in on the Persius. In his hands is the last manifest of medical equipment and supplies that were identified by the scavenging crew, which some of the medics will have to shoulder and haul back with the heavy stuff. Lucky them, oh BOY.

Chase takes advantage of the shuttle ride to catch up on his sleep, managing to get some shut-eye while in transit. Yeah, he's good that way, and clearly confident he already knows what he'll need to do once he gets there.

Quill is sitting across from Two-Ton! One foot is tapping impatiently on the floor beneath his boots, willing the shuttle to make the short trip faster. Ostensibly he's reading a briefing, going over today's plan again, checking details that have already been checked because he is an engineer, and therefore anal about details. But there's a glance up every now and then at Millen, as though Quill can't believe the guy hasn't displayed an expression of any sort yet and wants to see if it'll happen sooner or later.

Melia was in constant motion during the shuttle ride. Sitting still? Yeah, no. Keeping her still is rather like trying to keep a flying flag still during a hurricane. She doesn't make a whole lot of noise, but seems to be a cheerful presence, quick to chat - or chatter - and just keeping herself occupied without being able to move far.

Jocasta is chatting amicably enough with whichever engineer lucked out by picking the seat next to the electronic countermeasures officer. However, instead of discussing the job at hand, the topic seems to be sports. Pyramid.

Nigel is sitting next to Quill, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees while he doodles something abstract onto the back of his hand with a rather advanced looking, permanent felt-tipped pen. Every once in a while, he looks up to regard the others, flashing a toothy grin at the chattering Melia in particular, before he gets back to his temporary body art.

Packwood has found himself a nice little corner of the shuttle, peering towards the cockpit as they fly in. Sure, he fixes them, but flying them? It's new and exciting and worth watching.

There could be two or three neurons behind Two-Ton's vacuous eyes, but they haven't been put to use yet. He shifts in his seat, straining the web straps desperately trying to keep his shoulders against the jumpseat. (He's in the engineering department).

Zaharis closes the file with the manifest, already having memorised most of it back on the Genesis. He sets the folder down on his knee and moves his head so he can see out one of the ports. Space, wow. Never seen that before. Drawing a breath he lets his back rest against the seat, looking across the row at Melia and then at Nigel. His look is briefly that paternal kind of Do-I-Have-To-Get-The-Shotgun? sort of thing.

Rhea is here, of course. Wouldn't be a salvage party without the ChEng. She's talking quietly to another structural engineer as the two of them go over some water reclamation specs. She has the tight-jawed look she always wears when forced to fly in something smaller than a battlestar. As they land (safely - for now) she unstraps herself and stands. Eager to be off. "All right! Double-check your gear and form up outside. We'll go over the particulars again before we split up and get to business." Out she goes, with no more ceremony. The ChEng has a full damage control kit, along with her sidearm. But the pistol's not unusual now. She's taken to wearing it whenever she goes off ship. The safety is on, do not fear.

Fearing Rhea isn't about whether she has a sidearm! Fearing Rhea is because she is Rhea. Nonetheless, Quill perks up when the ship lands and it's go-time, grabbing his equipment. On the way out, though, he tilts his head at Nigel and asks the Crewman curiously, "You know the medic?"

Rogers unstraps, rises, keeping out of the way, and starts reslotting his tools in his belt before reaching down to get his toolcase, nodding to the other Structural Engineers on his team who came along, nodding to the hatch before he falls in with the others leaving. He moves out, heading to find a suitable place to fall in, and his team members here at the moment fall in with him. They look ready, eager to be given the last brief and be turned loose on something big to swarm upon it like leaf cutter ants to strip it down and load it to transport back to the fleet, proper. That's what they're like now, leaf cutter ants. Take it apart, take it home. It's what they do.

As SOON as the shuttle's down Melia's harness is off and she's bounced to her feet. Then she does the absolutely unthinkable and comments, to Two-Ton, "Are we there yet?" She cranes her neck to see around the big guy, to look out, to try to see -something-. Probably difficult given her vertically challenged nature. The natural bounce in her step is tempered by the fact this is an Official Event, but bottled energy does, eventually, have to go somewhere.

Packwood reluctantly unfastens himself from his seat, filing out of the shuttle to fall in just outside on the flight deck. His tools are strapped to a somewhat unorthodox but nonetheless well loved toolbelt, or more accurately tool baldric, slung across his chest at the diagonal, rather than at the waist as a belt. The whole thing gives him rather a sort of mexican bandit sort of air. Minus the sombrero.

Nigel's eyes settle on Zaharis as the CMO gives him that 'git yer hands off my dotter' look, or its more subtle equivalent. Capping his pen, he slides it back into a thin loop of his toolbelt (which probably should have something useful like a screwdriver in it) and swiftly turns his attention away. Unstrapping himself, he regards Quill with a slight grin and shakes his head, letting the Ensign file out in front of him. "Nope. Pretty sure I'd like to, though." He doesn't lower his voice, but he's not leering or anything. Just making, you know, conversation.

Zaharis remembers the last time they did this. With luck the blood's been scrubbed off the walls by now. Maybe. He unclicks his belt and rises as the shuttle lands, pulling the strap of his kit back over his shoulder and chest and double checking his emergency supplies. "Medical form a line outside. Those not on hauling duty will dispatch according to engineering's needs."

Chase cracks open an eye as they land, and then unstraps himself. Yawning, stretching, he gets into the right frame of mind to do some serious deconstruction on the poor Persius.

"Seems so," Two-Ton says in a deep baritone to Melia. He takes a couple of lumbering steps and finds himself onto the Persius deck. He didn't bring anything with him — probably intending to rip the ship apart with his bare hands — and gathers around Rhea.

Jocasta is consigned to a place somewhere near the end of the line to exit the shuttle, not that she minds. This gives her a few extra moments to double-check her borrowed tool kit and belt and make certain that she's got what she needs to see to good and proper DRADIS disassembly.

Quill grins at Nigel's response. "Just don't meet her by getting hurt today," he asks a favor as they forsake the shuttle for the deck. "I mean, not that 'Hello, I am bleeding profusely, may I borrow your tourniquet?' is a bad pickup line, but still." The chatter hushes as engineering's ducklings huddle around Rhea, and Quill awaits directions.

Rhea disembarks the shuttle, gladly. "All right!!" she bellows, clapping and gesturing and generally getting everyone to gather up around her. "Team One. Form up with me. Everybody remember their EVA protocols? Prepping the water rec systems for off-load might require some depressurization work." This is bellowed at a team of merry NPCs. All NPCs. "Ensign Quill! Take Team Two up to CIC. Analyze the comm system, see what's working, and get it broken down. Soft hands. The DRADIS is a delicate piece of machinery." Which is probably why she's delegating its popping. The ChEng is not a delicate creature. "Major Zaharis, you'll be following the lead of my snipes on this but if you come across any medical equipment in need of salvage, we'll follow your lead. Have fun in CIC. Remember people, glove-up before you hit the juice on any of those consoles. I'm sure our medics don't terribly want to deal with any electrocution mishaps."

"I've done stupider shit to meet women," Nigel admits shamelessly, wandering in his lanky manner towards Rhea to listen to her instructions. Once they're given, he remains where he is next to Quill, waiting for the Ensign to lead away. Something about the arrangement amuses him. He looks a little like a leprechaun with that strange grin.

Rogers nods, turning and sweeps a hand behind him, pointing to Rhea. The Structural Engineers with him move to Rheas flanks, forming up on her, gloving up as he himself moves to Quill, standing with his toolkit in a ready position. He's set to follow the Ensigns orders.

"Plata, Lehman, and Stiles," Zaharis calls to three medics, indicating them towards Rhea. "With Major Zimmermann and Team One. Sullivan, stay with me." Because nothing bad happened last time he and Melia stuck together, no sir.

Yep, Mellie heard the order given by her CO and hurries out to comply, everything she needs checked, double checked, patted down, then checked again. She falls just short of doing the sign of the cross check. Next to the CO she goes, quirking a brow to look up at him.

"But did it work?" Packwood asks Nigel quietly, intrigued. "I mean, sure, you can meet them, but you don't want them to think you're desperate or anything. Or don't they catch on?"

Where are all the other Engineering officers? Seriously, where are they? There is no one else that could lead wanton CIC dismantling? Quill looks far less amused about this situation than Nigel does, but the erstwhile civilian salutes Rhea crisply at the directions. "Yes sir." He steps off in the direction of their project, "You heard the Major, Team Two, let's go cause some careful and orderly dismemberment."

Jocasta musters up with the team headed for the CIC, still feeling something like the odd (wo)man out, even if she's dressed in her off-duty olives and not her officer blues. The ponytail she's swept her dark hair into is re-issused with a muted snapping sound as the elastic is twisted over her knuckles.

It's probably no accident the CMO and senior NCO Rogers are assigned to Quill's team. But Rhea doesn't call attention to that fact. Quill can take whatever small comfort in it he may. She does exchange a little look with Zaharis. See that her youngling doesn't get eaten, hmm? She also offers a grin to Jocasta. "Ensign. Before I go, on behalf of Engineering, I'd like to personally thank you for coming along with us today. We all can wire well enough, but we lack a delicate touch with the comms themselves. See that my snipes don't dent the DRADIS, will you?" She winks.

Chase drifts over to join the rest of Team Two as they mill about, taking a moment to toss a friendly wave to Melia by way of greeting. "Hey," he tells her, before turning to play follow the leader.

Zaharis gives Rhea a mild smirk. If her snipes blow things up he'll be there to stitch them. Medical haz t3h power. He looks at Melia — down at her, really, as he constantly forgets how short she is. "Sullivan." He gives her a nod. "Had enough sugar before we left? Wouldn't want you running out of energy or anything, there."

Packwood absently draws an adjustable wrench from his tool baldric, flipping it in one hand. Clank. Clank. Clank. "So what's the skinny? If it works, or could be made to work, we want it?"

"Nope!" Nigel informs Packwood unabashedly. "Wait - there was this one time I gave my computer a virus so I could take it into a shop where this hot tech girl worked to get serviced. I'll tell you what else got serviced…" But then it's time for work, and Nigel shuts up, ready to follow Quill.

Ha. Aw. A personal piece of thanks. That's not awkward or anything. All the same, Jocasta dusts off a genuine grin and says, "Will do, sir." before sweeping a look around to see if anyone else happened to overhear that or not. She spot a familiar face in Nigel but refrains from hailing or saying hello just yet.

Rogers nods to Quill, "Aye sir. Careful and orderly disassembly. No problem, sir." He switches his toolkit to the other hand and prepares to move on the order of the Ensign. All set here.

Rhea nods shortly to Packwood. "Precisely. The main goal today is dismantling, but I want every console checked to see if it's in working order before it's taken apart. Best to get an idea of what's usable right off, and how extensive any repairs will need to be. And we want everything we can carry. Even scrap metal is usable. I just want to know it it's scrap metal." That said, she's ready to roll. "Good good. You all know your business. Nothing sloppy and this should go easily enough. Get to it." Any salutes she gets are acknowledged with a minimum of fuss. With that, she and her team are off to wrench water tanks. Quill can take the rest up to CIC.


CIC Persius - Deck 7

45 ACH 6285 Souls

The CIC of the Persius has seen better days. While the layout of CIC is fairly standard, with a front facing control scheme, with the Command console and overhead DRADIS screens hanging down from above, the rear of the CIC is a stadium style tiered set of controls all facing toward command in the lowest part of the room. Half of the panels are either burned out, halfway dismantled, or riddled with bullet holes. The remaining functional panels flicker with damage reports or are being worked on carefully by Techs from Genesis.

Contents: Jocasta Melia Nigel Packwood Quill Reed Rhea Zaharis

Exits: [O] Out

The little Medic looks up at Zaharis as they walk with one of those wide-eyed looks. It's only 8 inches or so she has to cover in tilting her head back. "Sugar, Sir," she asks, head canting to the side. "I haven't had a bit, nor any caffeine. Both would make me a little hyper." Understatement, meet delusion.

Chase has arrived.

The blood and bodies have been cleaned up. That's a small favor. But CIC is still decidedly grizzly. Perhaps especially so, to a tech. This room is the electronic equivalent of a casualty.

Rogers moves in, looking about as the team forms up, and he looks to Quill, standing a little straighter as if waiting for orders. Which he is.

Packwood pulls a face as he steps into the room, noting quietly, "Ew, this is /grim/. Everyone just got /shot/. I mean, can you imagine it. You're standing here one moment, doing your job. Next thing you know there's a toaster at the door, spraying little lead presents around until there's claret everywhere and everyone's dead. Grim."

Zaharis gives Melia a sort of amused thumbs up, but is quiet as they approach CIC. The CMO pauses a step or two inside the entryway, his eyes flicker to the middle of the room and then to a space a few inches beside it. His face is unreadable and after a second he looks away. "That's enough, PO," the Doc says to Packwood, firm but not sharp. Yet.

Chase lags behind the others, but only because the Deck tech, already hard at work inside his mind, is looking around as they go, taking copious mental notes about the condition of what he sees and passes. He gets into the CIC and just winces. "It's like someone threw shrapnel in an engine. Kablooey," he comments. He eyes Packwood. "Not helping," he mutters.

Jocasta is no stranger to gore, either insinuated or apparent, but the ex-Marine still utters a lamenting, "Gods…" upon entry into the CIC. There's nothing heartening about standing in the aftermath of a mutiny. With a pair of insulated gloves pulled from her belt, the Raptor co-pilot heads for the DRADIS console and begins to make a visual inspection to see if it's salvageable. "Alright, let's see how bad off it is…" She looks over her shoulder for the Ensign-in-charge.

Once Team Two has arrived in the CIC, Quill pauses a moment to get his bearings. And take a deep breath. And quell inward panic. "Ensign Maru," he starts off addressing the ECO, "We bow to your superior comms experience. If you could start off checking the DRADIS to see how well it's not working, we are forever in your debt. Specialist Alderman, assist the ECO and start taking the thing apart when she's done. Stephanos and CPO Rogers, the starboard consoles are yours — check, dismantle, repeat. PO Packwood, you're with me, and we're doing the same thing to port. Major Zaharis, sir, and PO Sullivan… please keep us alive if we appear inclined towards the contrary." He takes a breath. "And try not… to think about anything but the wires and the bolts in here. Any questions?"

<Trait Roll> Chase rolls Electronics and achieves a degree of Good (4).

<Trait Roll> Nigel rolls Electronics and achieves a degree of Good (4).

<Trait Roll> Reed rolls Good and achieves a degree of Mediocre (2).

<Trait Roll> Packwood rolls Mechanics and achieves a degree of Good (4).

<Trait Roll> Quill rolls Mechanics and achieves a degree of Great (5).

"Check, dismantle, repeat," Packwood affirms, crouching down to begin painstakingly prising away the worst of the battered panels. "Keep any decent sized sheets of metal," he calls to the compartment in general. "We could always use them. Even with holes in."

Rogers looks at Nigel, and nods, "Okay, Crewman." He heads to the starboard consoles and gestures for Nigel to start working on the console next to the one he selects on the end of the bank, "Let's start with just checking them over for damage or why they're offline."

Chase eyes the DRADIS dubiously, and dons a pair of work gloves before tackling the tricky matter of activating it. Switches are flipped, and nothing catches on fire or explodes. The thing flickers to life, reluctantly, and he chances out a brief "It's alive! Muaha," before he gets serious again, making a tiny tweak to sharpen up the resolution marginally. "With a little bit of time I could probably improve the performance a whole lot. But for the immediate purpose, it's passable."

Melia looks around and, predictably, goes the color of freshly minted white paper. Oh, she doesn't swoon, nor does she sway where she stands. She just looks as though she'd quite happily find a corner to revisit breakfast.

Nigel scratches behind one ear as he surveys the damage, one corner of his mouth lifting in a half sneer, half sympathetic grin. He pats around for his gloves, looking panicked for a moment - until he finds a bulge under the fabric of his coveralls near the small of his back. Unzipping the top half, he peels the thick material away and reaches behind him, taking the protective gear out of the waistband of his fatigues pants, then zips back up and pulls them on. "Yessir," he rattles at Quill, jerking his head in a nod towards Rogers as he approaches one of the consoles they've been assigned. "C'mon baby, speak to me," he coos, tugging the blown front plate aside to reach in and perform a preliminary damage check. His tongue slips out the side of his mouth as he feels around. "Score," he says after a moment, reaching for a thin flashlight to shine into the guts of the thing. "Got a generator. Looks like with some TLC, we could get it back into working condition." He glances askance at Rogers to see if he's had similar luck.

Zaharis settles back to keep an eye on the room. Every so often his wireless set beeps and Lehman from Team One feeds an update into his ear in her tinny voice. "…how many are there?" The CMO asks into his headset, talking quietly. "Really. Get all three, let Zimmermann know they need to brought back…yes. Zaharis out." Click, set off. He folds his arms, watching the techies do their techie stuff, and watches Melia out of the corner of his eye. "It's alright, PO," he says, very under his breath as he keeps most of his attention on the techs. "Memories won't hurt you."

"Keep everything," Quill adds to Packwood's call. "If we can't refine it, reuse it, or repurpose it, we'll use it for ashtrays or make it into more desk ornaments for Major Zimmerman's desk. Just make sure you're recording existing damage before you rip and tear, so we don't have to test the systems over again."

<Trait Roll> Jocasta rolls Comms and achieves a degree of Great (5).

"Dude! Looks like we've got a genny!" Packwood calls out, faltering in his enthusiasm as Nigel beats him to it from the other set of consoles. He pokes his head back out from underneath the mass of twisted metal. "Anyone got a sniffer with them? I don't feel like blowing everyone up if there's a fuel leak anywhere. It would totally ruin my day. And my hair."

Rogers checks the panel of the console he has chosen, and shakes his head. Then he moves to the side of the console, crouching and gloves up, taking off the panel and looks inside. He makes a face, "Oh, joy." He reaches in and pulls out a mass of fused wires around a bundle leading into a box. He shakes the box, and a rattling sound, inside, as a bullet falls out and rolls to his feet. He looks at Nigel, eyebrows raised. "Outstanding, Crewman." He says, seeing the other mans progress, "This one's going to make a nice recycle piece. Smelt it down for new materials. Looks like a small internal fire before the breakers cut the power to it." He looks into the console, sigh. DOA.

Melia's distracted from the memories by Nigel and Packwood. For a moment, she eyes the pair of them as if they were some manner of utterly fascinating alien species. Then she looks up at Zaharis and nods, once. "It takes a little while to get used to. I promise not to vomit on your boots." Pause. "Sir."

Chase loiters impatiently while Jocasta plays with the DRADIS. There's a lot of broken stuff around him, and he's got the itch to fix it. Or take it apart. Or -something-. "Your hair is as impeccable as ever," he lies to Packwood blithely.

"Nice job there, Alderman." While Chase tends to the juice, Jocasta tickles the box and stands at the communications post in order to manipulate the four-screened Direction, RAnge, DIStance scanner while it boots up and kicks on. Her gloved fingers move smoothly and with a discernible dexterity over the various buttons and keyboard interface, as if this was the sort of thing she might be capable of doing in her sleep. "Let's see what we've got…" She looks down at the control console and then back up to the screens several times before quirking an eyebrow.

Satisfied that he's done being Officerly for the moment, Quill pulls on his gloves and joins Packwood at the consoles, concentrating on one that should be tied into the weapons systems. "Well, if you ignore the bullet holes, this is in pretty good shape," the ensign muses, recording notes. "Some tender love and affection, and we've got a backup." To Packwood's question, he nods, fishing around in a toolkit before handing a small device to the crewman. A grin, "Gods forbid we ruin your /hair/."

"Thanks, I appreciate that." Zaharis half-smiles, half-smirks at Melia. "Would give spit shining a much less classy image." He leans a shoulder against the wall, keeping his arms folded. Oh those techs, lookit them. They're so cute.

What Jocasta has is a red hot mess. The DRADIS is on but it can't properly be called working. The internal system is obviously severely frakked. The external sensor read-out flickers and beeps, making it seem as though it's picking up a lot of snow and squiggly-line ships outside the Persius. It's probably salvageable for some electrical parts but repairing it might be more trouble than it's worth. But something else also happens when Chase fires up the electronics around it. The handheld wireless unit on that console starts beeping. As if it were receiving a call, though it's not the robust ring of a working wireless system. More a sporadic buzz and vibrate of…something trying to punch through. Nevertheless, the handset is intact if someone wants to answer it…

Nigel's brows waggle at Packwood in an unmistakable look of good-natured competitiveness. "Mine's bigger," he predicts, gloved hands still against the generator inside the console. "I need one over here, too," he adds a bit more seriously, casting a glance around at the others at work inside the CIC room. Once again, he flashes a grin at Melia, though it is short lived as she sniffer is handed to him. He gets back to work, shining his light on the gauge of the device as he attempts to detect gas leaks.

"Mine's bigger," Packwood argues immediately, grinning amiably as he waves the sniffer along the length of an exposed hose. "And I bet my genny is too."

Quill pauses in the middle of a safe power shutdown, looking over his shoulder somewhat worriedly at Ensign Maru. "Something's beeping." No shit. "Please tell me that's normal?"

Chase takes a step away from the DRADIS. Two steps. "I didn't do it," he immediately claims, looking worried. "And I'm not picking up. They tell stories about this sort of thing. Calls from beyond the grave. Telling you when you're going to die. I knew a guy whose cousin's girlfriend's brother answered a call like that, and it was from a pilot who'd died the week before." Yes, they tell ghost stories on the Deck.

Melia mmms softly as she watches the techs, head canting to the side slightly. "Sir," she murmurs, leaning toward Zaharis, rising up on tiptoe so that her voice won't carry much farther. "I…are they always like this," she asks, voice very low and quiet. "I'm used to dealing with pilots, mainly. They tend to be the ones voted most likely to do something stupid. But techs…Sir, I feel like I should be recording this for future generations as some kind of nature documentary." She seems serious, which is probably what's more frightening.

"I usually only see them when they're stoned, writhing around, and having delusions." Zaharis replies to Melia, wryly. "Which, granted, isn't much different from normal now that I look."

<Trait Roll> Nigel rolls Engineering and achieves a degree of Poor (1).

Rogers puts the mass of wires back into the console, and reaches around, pulling out a red marker and writes on the casing of the dead console, 'RECYC- ELE NON SAL' marking it for the smelting and recasting heap. He's putting this console to bed while the others are working on the viable salvages. The way it goes sometimes.

"There's no such thing as ghosts, Specialist," Quill notes to Chase, finishing the weapons console's shutdown before he rises and heads towards Jocasta's attention-demanding DRADIS. Packwood is abandoned to deal with the generator that may or may not be bigger than Nigel's on his own. "At any rate, there's no such thing as a good time to talk about ghosts when you're on duty. It's probably a glitch of some sort."

"Somebody pick it up, I'm nosy!" Packwood urges, before ducking under his console again, only a couple of orange clad legs poking out to indicate that he's there. It's like a 5 year old playing hide and seek. You can't see me! You can't see me!

The ECO currently taking a turn as a bridge officer can't help but look ever so slightly vexed. "No. That's not normal," she says, pressing buttons before pausing the eye the snowy screens and then pressing another button here and then one waaaaaaaay… over… there… and… if no one else is feeling so inclined, she'll step down from her high and mighty comms pedestal and pick up the incoming call. It's probably just cross-talk from the Genesis. Superstitious? Not so much.

"Gimme a break," Nigel calls out across the room. "The gods are far too ironic to follow up on the promise implied in the name Packwood." Oh, how the ginger-haired crewman amuses himself! So much so that he's not as focused as he should be on reading that sniffer gage. But nothing blows up, miraculously, as he slowly pulls out the generator. It's probably best, however, if no one lights a cigarette in here. "Clean," he states, moving the thing towards a clear spot for lugging later.

"Giggety!" comes the disembodied voice from under Packwood's console.

Chase continues to remain several steps away from the DRADIS. "Are you saying that the official word is that ghosts don't exist, or is it more of a don't ask, don't haunt, policy?" he wants to know. "Because we have a pool going on the Deck and would love an official answer." He fixes technology, not spirits.

"You could be waiting a while," Quill notes dryly, to Chase's request for an official answer. There's a nod to Jocasta, and he indicates his fellow Ensign can answer the phone. If she wants. "You're the ECO, I'll let you do the honors."

"Huh," Mellie says quietly as she watches the techs at work. "Please remind me to not make any sudden movements around them, and if I have to go down into their nest, to take a sidear…" Her voice trails off at the disembodied voice and she just blinks at Packwood's console. "Sir? What happens if they have alcohol? Is that one of those things I'm better off not finding out about until I have another fifteen years in? I'm not going to find out so that what's left of my innocence is preserved for as long as possible." She moves two steps closer to Zaharis. No, she's not standing on top of him, but she's certainly being a little cautious - and perhaps a bit spooked. The professional stance doesn't relax.

Phone call. Candygram. LAND SHARK! Zaharis remains in place keeping a vigilant medical eye on the techs. So far nothing's gone boom. This is good. He raises an eyebrow at the 'phone' over there, still listening to Melia with one ear. "If they have alcohol you start praying it's not moonshine. Can you imagine them trying to fix everything blind?"

Rogers rises from the dead console, moving around Nigel and his prize, smiling. as he moves around to another console, but he does pause, looking to the ECO and her phone call. Typical, if there was one person on this mission to get a wireless call, it'd be the ECO. But he's curious, so he watches for the moment.

With Quill officially handing off the 'honors' of playing operator to Jocasta, the comms officer picks up the wireless and holds it up to her ear to have a listen at whatever might be coming through on the other end. The following facial expressions are then tried on for size: Studious discerning. Brow-furrowed straining. Eye-popping startlement. At this point, she yanks the handheld away from her ear and those nearby can hear a remarkably shrill SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH! as if someone on the other end has turned their amp up to 11 and then strummed for feedback.

Chase sniffs a little. Maligned. "My moonshine has never blinded anyone. But it makes a great paint stripper and industrial lubricant. Viper turn ratio performance went up 2 percent after we applied it to the joints." The shrill noise is enough to send him diving for cover to the floor, hands over his head in an instinctive move for survival, accompanied by an indignant yelp.

Zaharis is on the other side of the room and even he winces at the screech curdling out of Jocasta's handheld. "What the hell? What is this, open mic night?"

Packwood shuffles out from under his console, noting aside to Nigel, "Hey, is that you singing again?"

Nigel's head is no longer stuck inside a console, so he hears Melia's query. "I'm one month, two weeks and six days sober," he informs her matter-of-factly, running a quick check over the generator before he stands out of his crouch. "Alcohol makes me cra-ha-haaaazy." His tone is jocular, sure, but his grin doesn't reach his eyes. He turns to amble back to the console, eyes flickering in the direction of Jocasta along the way and her screeching headset. To Packwood, he replies, "Nope. Just girltalk over the wireless."

Melia simply glances around at the techs, and the screeching, then comments quietly - to no one in particular, "I think it MIGHT be an improvement."

Quill winces, partly at the screech, more so in sympathy for the ECO being subjected to that screech. "What's the verdict? Wrong number?" Chase hits the deck, and Quill blinks, as though he never expected anyone would do this ever, and isn't sure how to respond. "Specialist, go assist Packwood with the consoles. It'll calm your nerves." He hopes.

Rogers narrows his eyes at the ECO, watching the facial expressions, and waits, a slow frown coming to his face, NCO senses.. tingling..

Well then. Who knew engineers were so paranoid and delicate? Jocasta share a brief look with Quill before she disseminates her expert opinion to be, "It's coming from another terminal somewhere on the ship." The call is coming from inside the house! "Check in with Team One and make sure it's not them. Otherwise, it's going to take a little more tinkering and electrical jiggering for me to be able to tell you which terminals are still active."

Chase sheepishly picks himself up from the floor, muttering. "Sure, mock me now, but my finely honed survival instincts will keep me alive long after space monsters eat the rest of you." He slinks over to join Packwood, giving his colleague a knowing look. Oh yes. If they were heroes, they'd be Marines or pilots. Heroes, or fools. And he's neither. "If you want me to try and patch through the systems to get a quick and dirty read on live terminals, I can," he offers. "I mean, no slouch with the electronics here."

Zaharis' thumb turns on the transmit switch on his wireless. He's not patched in to the engineers over there, but there are a few medics wandering about and gods know what they touch when Dad's not looking. "Lehman, Zaharis," he says quietly into the mic. "Any of you over there do something you're not supposed to do with a wireless set?"

"What?" Quill's shock transfers from 'why is my crew on the floor?' to 'why is the call coming from inside the house?', but his expression is more or less the same. Except now he's blinking at Jocasta instead of Chase. To the latter, Quill nods. "I'll keep that in mind, but hopefully our mystery will be resolved in about three seconds here." There's a grateful glance to the Major as Zaharis contacts his people, then Quill does the same. "Major Zimmerman, this is Ensign Quill. We've got an unidentified transmission from somewhere inside the ship, is anyone on Team One trying to contact the CIC?"

"Want to try firing this up before I drag it out of here?" Packwood suggests to Chase. "See if it's generating more than just noise and smoke?"

There's an audible grunt over the wireless before Quill receives anything coherent. "Zimmermann here," Rhea's disembodied voice gruffs. "What's going on, Quill? Right now I am on my back trying to figure out how to separate several tons of water pressure from this ship without giving myself a lethal shower. I assure you, I am not making personal calls. What's going on up there?"

Zaharis receives a more respectful, but no less clueless, message from his medic. Nobody's playing with the phones on Team One.

Nigel shines his light back into the console from which the generator came, poking around under it. "Man, my sister would get such a boner for this motherboard if it wasn't half melted. This thing has /ten/ DIMM slots." He's not really talking to anyone, and he is oblivious to the Wireless Mystery Theatre going on down the way.

"Copy that. Zaharis out." Zaharis flicks off his set. "It's not anyone in medical, Ensign." That's confirming to Quill. Obviously.

Rogers lifts his eyebrows and crouches beside the next console, checking it over, power breaker tripped. He proceeds to start working on the console, checking over the electronics, but keeping an ear out to the Phantom Wireless calls from beyond the grave, or whatever.

Yep, Mellie's officially spooked. She straightens, glancing around, eyes narrowing as if she could see something. Maybe.

"Dude, your /sister/?" Packwood queries. "What happened there? What, did she get the op? Doesn't that make her your brother now? Hey, I don't know… actually… if your sister becomes a man, does that make her an ex-sister? Or a brother? Or a what?"

Chase looks a little disappointed when his offer to do something interesting is postponed, and he nods to Packwood. "Why not? Let's turn her on and see what happens. Any bets as to 'shower of colorful sparks?'" Because shower of colorful sparks would be cool. And easier to grasp than the Phone Call From Hell.

<Trait Roll> Chase rolls Electronics and achieves a degree of Good (4).

"It's just an expression!" Nigel shouts into the guts of the console, then scoots back out to briefly level a gaze across the aisle at Packwood. "Nevertheless, hers is probably bigger than yours." Back he goes into the pudding. Still oblivious.

"Ew," Packwood comments, settling back on his haunches and wiping his hands down his overalls as Chase works on the genny. "Imagine it. You're in there with his sister, a few drinks, back to your place for 'coffee', nudge nudge, wink wink, get her out of her dress and OH MY GODS IT'S A TADGER!"

"Wish I knew, sir," Quill replies to his wireless, inwardly groaning. It's never simple! "Probably a short or some other electronic gremlin somewhere, we'll sort out where it's coming from." He ends his transmission, then pauses a moment. "Change of plans," the Ensign addresses the techs. "If you're not working on a console that monitors ship systems, find one. See if it works, and if it does, look for anomalies that aren't explained by damage within the console or by the dismantling that's already been done elsewhere on the ship. Needle in a haystack of errors, those things will report, I know. But it's that or start searching deck to deck. Ensign Maru, see if you can work ECO magic and get more information out of that transmission or find what it is. Specialist Alderman, I'm taking you up on the offer for that electronics wizardry, so Packwood will have to mourn your loss on the port consoles there." A glance flickers between CPO Rogers, and Major Zaharis. "If either of you have ideas on how to proceed from here, I'm absolutely listening."

"Did I just hear something about transgender surgery, Quill?" Rhea's voice barks over the wireless. She sighs audibly. "Well, find out what the frak is going on. Zimmermann out." Call ended on her end.

Chase eyes the generator with an experienced eye, and tells Packwood, "This sexy beast is pretty much intact. Let's package it up and take it back to our place where it'll be appreciated." He turns as he's mentioned specifically, and nods to Quill. "I'll do my best," he promises, wandering over to an intact station with which to make his attempts.

Dammit Quill, Zaharis is a doctor, not an engineer! The CMO arches a brow at the consoles and the wireless that had been so intent on deafening everyone. "I have no idea how someone accurately traces a wireless signal through a ship, Ensign," he says, a little amused. A little. But not really. He ponders a second. "Is that sound purely feedback?"

Nigel pulls the motherboard loose from its dock, sliding out from under it with one forceful push with the heels of his boots. "You shut the frak up about my sister, Packfudge," he grouses after he hears his ChEng sign out. He puts the motherboard somewhere inconspicuous and stands, looking around the room. Zoning in on what he figures is the systems monitor, he heads in that direction and has a looksee, mood visibly darkened.

"What, Stephanos' sister, the sexy beast?" Packwood queries with a grin, then nods amiably, powering down the genny and carefully easing it out from its housing. "Sir!" he calls out to Quill, to admit, "I don't know shit about ship systems consoles. I wouldn't know an anomaly in one if I found one in my soup."

All of this is going on around the woman who grew up in a fundamentalist, conservative religious background. Even though she's been enlisted for a few years, there ARE still a few things the young woman doesn't quite understand. Her brows pull together, forming a deep furrow. "Tadger," she asks quietly, head canting to the side. "Is that an engineering term?" She shakes her head a bit then pipes up, "Maybe walk around with it? If it's feedback, like Doctor Zaharis says, maybe it would get worse the closer we get to the source. Kind of like…well, the hot and cold game children play." (Melia)

Right. Magic. She'll get right on that. While the engineers trade quips and crack jokes, Jocasta momentarily laments her seemingly integral utility as she returns to the comms console to begin sorting out the skinny and searching for a ghost in the machine. "No, sir," she says, presumably in response to the medical officer's inquiry, all the while typing in a bit of this and that and keeping an eye on the snowbound DRADIS screens. "Something else somewhere in the ship is trying to send a call up to the CIC but the guts up here are so torn up that it's just looping back into the system — that's what's causing the noise."

<Trait Roll> Chase rolls Electronics and achieves a degree of Mediocre (2).

Rogers straightens from his console, looks at it, and then looks about, "Aye sir." He moves to the damage control panels, selecting the primary systems before he turns to Quill. As Zaharis speaks, he turns his head to the side, "Rogers." He says into his com. "No.. no. no no one here's getting transgen- No.. Yes, the CMO is with us but that's not what we're.. Damnit, priority traffick only, Rogers out!" He turns to look at Quill. "Sir, recommend environmentals. They're active, and the CO2 sensors and fire detectors might pinpoint any sparking or shorting in the case of an active malfunctioning wireless. Active malfunctions could start a fire, and best be on top of that."

<Trait Roll> Nigel rolls Engineering and achieves a degree of Mediocre (2).

Zaharis gives Rodgers a look. He heard that. Then he looks back at Jocasta, raising a brow. "So it is a dedicated transmission coming from somewhere?" He frowns, glancing up. "Does the shipwide intercom still work?"

Nigel begins futzing with the systems monitor a little bemusedly. Clearly, he is an electronics guy, for the dim lights just blink. The panel also sparks, and the crewman jumps back, even though he's wearing a flame-retardant coveralls. "Hehn," he grins, impishly casting a glance to either side of him before leaning back over it to just look and not touch.

Chase mutters under his breath as he tinkers with the system, getting feedback and static. "Maybe if I readjust this… balance out this… pull up the gain on this…"

"Flirt with Stephanos on your own time, PO," Quill addresses Packwood, as another sister-comment comes out. "Fair enough about the systems. Carry on assessing and recording what you find in here, but hold off dismantling until we know what the frack is going on elsewhere." There is, alas, a headshake for Zaharis' question. "Intercom is well and truly fracked, sir." The ensign ponders what Rogers and Melia have said, and nods after a moment. "Searching for feedback… possible, but I still think going deck to deck is a last resort, and that's what we'd have to do. Environmentals could point us in the right direction, if we had a console stable enough to… hmm. We do. Thank you, Rogers." Back to that mostly-functional console he was working on earlier…

<Trait Roll> Quill rolls Engineering and achieves a degree of BeyondSuperb (7).

"Or heat signatures," Melia comments, perhaps a bit dryly. "I mean, there can't be that many things as hot as a human being aboard here. If there are, perhaps we're in a little more trouble than I first thought."

"Is that an order, sir, to flirt?" Packwood queries, returning to slide under the bank of consoles and continue salvaging what he can. His voice is somewhat muffled therefore when he adds, "Because Stephanos isn't my type. I like my dates without Adam's apples."

"It's an order to act like a professional while you're on duty, Packwood." Quill's only half-paying attention to the crewman, though, as he's tinkering with the console. Said console was probably never meant to endure said tinkering, but he seems sure of it, and… suddenly there's a pause. "Oh. Gods." The ensign just stares at the screen for a few moments, then looks to Zaharis. "Sir, we have an odd heat signature on Deck 15, with no reason for it to be there. I think it may be.. um, a person." Stepping away from the console, Quill turns to the rest of the techs. "Everybody get whatever you're doing to a safe stopping point, then we're moving out to find our anomaly. Bring your tools, expect the walls are down and the structure is fracked."

"Just one?" Zaharis raises an eyebrow and steps up closer to whatever it is Quill is looking at, trying to get a glance at numbers. "What temperature is it reading?"

Nigel continues to poke around on the systems monitor station, tinkering with this and that, carefully avoiding the panel that sparked forth earlier. At Packwood's comment, he snickers out of his dampened mood and flicks a switch that causes a light to go from orange to red. He's about to reply when Quill reveals that bit of startling news. He steps away from the monitor and pivots on his heel, brows arched expressively.

Rogers gives Quill a nod, and, rather than going back to a console, he moves to approach the console Quill's bringing back from the frakking dead. He watches, eyebrows going up and nodding in appreciation at the handiwork the Ensign displays. As Quill starts giving orders, he nods, turning, already at a stopping point and gets his toolbox, preparing to move out. Takes about ten seconds and he's back, looking at Quill, ready to go.

Chase stops fiddling with the console, looking disgusted at the lack of results. "Space zombies," he mutters to himself, as he gathers up what he needs. "Please don't ask us to split up. Because I'm not popular enough to survive for long. I know how these things go."

"Space zombies?" Packwood queries, pulling himself out and dragging himself upright, brushing off his overalls. "Nah, you'd be safe, anyway. They'd come lurching towards us all, looking for 'braaaains' and go straight past you."

As Melia moves to fall in next to Zaharis, she makes a very quiet choked sound in the back of her throat. Apparently she's starting to have quite a bit of trouble swallowing the words that REALLY want to come tumbling out." To balance the word-swallowing, she starts bouncing on the balls of her feet, rather like a terrier who knows she's going for a ride in the car.

"Just one. The heat signature seems about body-sized," Quill notes for Zaharis and Melia. He names them a temperature, as well, though it seems high. Too high to be human, though it doesn't appear that Quill necessarily knows that. "There were people on that deck, I… we'll find out what's going on." There's a brief glance to Chase, and a not-quite-fully suppressed smile. "No splitting up, no one left behind," he assures.

Nigel waves a hand at Chase and Packwood, "Guys, you're being ridiculous. That's nonsense." He falls in near them, then adds, "The undead are too cold to give out heat signatures."

Packwood murmurs quietly to Nigel, "Like your sister?"

Jocasta's own healthy paranoia is what keeps her attention held securely on the flickering DRADIS screens — and yet, ironically, that's also what lures it away as Quill delivers his curious news and she's compelled to let her gaze fall down to give the engineer a curious stare. Really. A… person? Believe it or not, that really wasn't what she'd anticipated hearing.

"That's not a human body temperature," Zaharis replies, frowning. "That's an /oven/, and I seriously doubt anyone's baking cookies down there. Wire over to Major Zimmermann and let her know what's going on. Everyone keep your mouths shut as you move. No firing of sidearms unless you hear an order."

Chase informs Packwood dryly, "I practice the way of the empty mind, for just such an occasion. So you want to stand behind me, where it's safe, or what?" He shakes his head, making a face and shutting up as Zaharis suggests it.

Rogers opens his mouth, before Zaharis speaks, then as the CMO gives his instructions, he closes it, nodding in agreement to the calling Team One.

Nigel bares his teeth at Packwood, his lips moving as though he is about to deliver something through clenched jaws. But, alas, Zaharis orders silence, and he complies. But he does elbow Packwood discreetly in the ribs before stepping around him, directly behind Quill.

Packwood grunts at the nudge, pulling a face briefly, before resuming his usual easy grin, withdrawing a couple of heavier wrenches from his toolbelt and hefting them in his hands in case of space zombie attack.

"What?" Quill blinks at Zaharis, as the Major dismantles his theory. So much for being totally awesome engineer-rescuers of some hapless mutineer that Command would have to toss out an airlock later. "That's either very good news, or very, very bad news. I can't think of any mediocre news that makes heat signatures like that." The wireless is readied again. "Major Zimmerman, this is Quill again. We've located an anomalous heat signature on Deck 15, taking Team One and the medical personnel to investigate." Please please don't let them start talking about genitalia again in the background.

Melia is quiet as she waits to move, but she turns to eye Nigel for a long moment. One finger comes up, as if to shake at him, and she mouths the simple words, "No bite." That, of course, is followed with a grin. Then her hand is on her firearm and she's ready to move.


Corridor 15A Persius - Deck 15

46 ACH 6285 Souls

The ship's corridors are universally drab yet functional. The walls slope a little bit to form almost a triangle. The decks are not entirely even, and most of the halls are dotted with a few stairs every few frames. White paneling lines the lower half of the walls, and in some places the paint has seen better days. Thin fluorescent light bars are spaced at regular intervals, running from shoulder level to the ceiling. Every so often, a wireless terminal is set into the wall.

Contents: Chase Jocasta Melia Nigel Quill Reed Rhea Zaharis

Exits: [P] Gun Gallery [UD] Stairwell

Packwood comes in from Stairwell.
Packwood has arrived.

Nigel returns Melia's grin a little dumbly; it's amazing what acknowledgment from a cute medic can do for the crewman's moods. He takes the cue and ignores Packwood for the duration of the travel through the corridors, remaining quiet, more or less. He does have kind of slappy feet, but he tries to keep it down.

Rogers keeps quiet as they move. Crouched forward slightly, toolbox held in one hand in front of him, he reaches back to his flashlight on his belt, ready to pull it in case there's somewhere dark ahead, and there's ALWAYS somewhere dark ahead.

Rhea's disembodied voice tells Quill she is on her way to meet them in said creepy corridor. Though it's a long jog from the water reclamation systems area, so they'll get there well before she does. Deck 15 has a strangely tornado-like atmosphere to it. Some area, such as the entry into the Gun Gallery, are large intact. In other places, causeways have collapsed and debris litters former hatchways. Quill's engineering foo would take them directly to the source of the heat signature. It's coming from one of the hatchways that's littered with debris, though the structure around it seems stable enough. Behind that debris is the funky wireless box.

<Trait Roll> Quill rolls Awareness and achieves a degree of Fair (3).

<Trait Roll> Jocasta rolls Awareness and achieves a degree of Terrible (0).

<Trait Roll> Zaharis rolls Awareness and achieves a degree of BeyondTerrible* (-2). *BOTCH*

<Trait Roll> Melia rolls Awareness and achieves a degree of Good (4).

<Trait Roll> Nigel rolls Awareness and achieves a degree of Terrible (0).

<Trait Roll> Reed rolls Fair and achieves a degree of Fair (3).

<Trait Roll> Packwood rolls Awareness and achieves a degree of Poor (1).

<Trait Roll> Chase rolls Awareness and achieves a degree of Poor (1).

Zaharis had Quill stop before they actually reached the deck, to be certain they weren't walking into a gas-filled chamber of doom or anything. Cause that would suck. As they do head into the corridor, the CMO's distracted by something in the shadows and manages to slam his shoulder directly into the hatchframe. Ow. OW. But dammit he's still absolutely silent as they get into the corridor, albeit with grit teeth. He motions Quill up closer to him. "Where is it?" He mutters to the Ensign.

Nigel's goofy grin remains in place even as they come through the hatch of the place Quill pinpointed. And, predictably, he is distracted by the person who put that ridiculous grin in place, and he slams into Zaharis' back as the CMO is momentarily stopped by the doorframe that came out of /nowhere/. He sucks in a breath, ready to apologize, but doesn't. He sucks his lips together and remains silent, backng away to give the Doc room to enter before him.

Rogers makes a face, it's the 'If I make this face, I can hear better' face. As he leans forward, tilting his head, pulling his flashlight, and holding it in a reverse grip, choked up on it to be able to turn it on, but he doesn't, he just points with the butt end of the big ole maglite thing towards the debris. No sound, no light yet.

….and, consequently, Jocasta abruptly piles into Nigel's back as their little wagon train comes to an all-stop. "Frakkin'…" is the only audible comment that she makes which might be discerned by other ears.

Chase is too busy looking out for space zombies, and not focused enough on watching his step. So he stumbles on something, loses his balance, runs into someone, bounces off them, gets turned around, almost bounces off someone else, regains his balance, and turns around once more, in time to miss anything of vital importance. Like space zombies. Or Reav- er… toasters.

Packwood, on the other hand, is quite happy to wind Chase up as they walk along. Or in Packwood's case, lurch along, arms out in front of his and best gormless expression on his face. Braaains.

Quill grimaces upon entering Deck 15… everyone understood the human carnage of the CIC. Everyone except for those medicos understood the level of disaster represented by the shape of the electronics and machinery there. But structural damage, walls out of place… that's a big environmental clue that things are irrevokably fracked up. The Ensign narrowly avoids becoming part of the Zaharis pileup, by stepping into the disaster area and indicating where the anomaly should be. Then stops, mid-gesture. "Frack!" Quill hisses. "Frack, do you hear that? There's not supposed to be anything /moving/ in here."

Melia is, thankfully, just ahead of Zaharis. Apparently the little medic has this thing about "protecting" the CMO. Imagine a Boston Terrier. With brown hair. Fiercely loyal, small, and hyper. Of course, there's a reason they're referred to as Boston Terrifieds, too. She holds up one hand as she hears something, pausing. Turning toward Zaharis, she points toward the area where the sound is coming from, pointedly, then brings the finger to her ear. Silent communication? From the Navy? Who'd have thought?

Nigel takes a look behind his shoulder at the person who slammed into him, and he breaks into another grin. It's obvious he wants to make some sort of comment, but, fortunately, any inappropriateness is cut off by Quill's hiss. He shifts his gaze back in front of him and leans to the side, attempting to discern… things. In the dark.

Rogers nods, and looks to Quill, reversing the flashlight, looking to Quill questioningly, now the lens of the flashlight pointed to the debris, as if questioning if he should shed a little light on the matter.

Now that everyone's attention has been called to it, the thudding and scraping going on behind that hatch is apparent. It has a decidedly metallic tinge to it. There's occasionally the added noise of something beating against the debris, but it's not doing it with a great deal of strength.

The medicos saw the human disaster, which was a lot bloodier. Zaharis shoots Nigel a Look of Death as the engineer crashes into him, but refocuses back on Quill. He removes his sidearm from its place but keeps it pointed to the floor, and motions for the people behind him to lower themselves to a kneel. "Put a light on the area." His voice raises slightly. "This Major Jesse Zaharis of the Colonel Medical Corps." No, they know it isn't human, but the sound of voice might accomplish something. "Ensign, is it giving off any other signatures?" He asks Quill under his breath.

Whatever it is responds to Zaharis' call by beating some more on the wall of debris separating it from the soldiers. The debris trembles rather ominously.

Rogers kneels as instructed, one hand placing the toolkit down, reaching behind himself to pull out a small hand cutting torch. Normally used for bolts, but it's vaugely pistol shaped, kinda. He clicks on the light at the Majors order, shining a beam of illumination at the debris. Being a recent transfer, raiding the small arms locker for this would be rude. Damn the CPOs good manners now, huh?

Chase holds his breath as the others begin to search for the, well, whatever it is, and pulls a heavy wrench out of one pocket instinctively. Maybe he can throw it and run like hell if all else fails.

"Shit," Nigel curses beneath his breath as the gravity of the situation sinks into that grinning skull of his. Incidentally, the grin fades, and he reaches for the sidearm at his hip, if a little uncertainly. With a very pronounced movement of his Adam's apple, he watches the debris.

Packwood settles to his haunches, one wrench casually resting over either shoulder. He fixes his attention on the pile of debris, using his super laser vision to… oh. Wait. No laser vision. Teh suck.

Hooray for Majors! Quill seems relieved Zaharis is here. When things get toasty, rank gets to deal with it. But alas, the CMO's question gets a shake of the head. Quill answers quietly, "No way to tell with how fracked up Persius's systems are, sir. All we got was heat and we're lucky we got that." A wince, as the pounding continues. "I'm thinking that can only be one thing in there, sir."

Melia places herself on one knee - slightly in front of Zaharis. She's not -directly- in front of the man, but in such a position that she can take aim at anything that seems to take aim at him. Yep, someone flipped her switch to "guard." Her sidearm is out and held in a grip that seems rather familiar. For a medical type, she knows how to handle a gun.

Zaharis purses his lips. Much as he'd love to just walk over and knock the box away, he doesn't like this. That's Centurion-sized. "Is there anything you can do remotely to short it out, if it's something electrical?" LIKE A CENTURION. "Anything you can do to interrupt a system?"

It's hard to see much through the debris, but the light catches a flash of metal. And, a moment later, a lazy, flickering, red-eyed glow swivels toward the light. Yes, it's a Centurion under there. And it's, at least a little bit, alive.

Rogers, focused on the beam, hisses, "Contact, Eye scanner, Centurion." He remains in his position, gritting his teeth now. Breathing quickening.

Once she's disengaged from what borders on inappropriate close quarters contact with a certain ginger-haired engineer, Jocasta slides a hand down to her hip and unsnaps the safety strap that binds her sidearm in its holster and slowly withdraws it from the mesh. She's even taken to trying to get a look at the goings on closer to the front of the line.

Oh, screw this. Interrupt, his ass. Zaharis motions backwards as soon as that red eye is visible. "Back up. Get back out that hatch! Turn that light off." He hisses, not loudly.

"Frak me with an arc welder!" yelps Chase, scrambling backwards rapidly. "Shoot it! Shoot it!" Then his instincts take over and he changes that to "Overload it! Electrical panel… 1.21 gigawatts should do it, if we cross the red and green wires, and loop the feedback to the wireless."

"Well, shooting the frack out of it would interrupt its system," Quill says dryly. "Other than that, I'm sure we could rig something." Looking back to the rest of the techs, he invites, "If you've got ideas on rigging an electrical overload, speak up quickly and con—" Oh. Red light. Not good. He concurs with the Major, interrupting Chase with, "Hatch! Out!" They can continue this discussion somewhere less cylony.

Melia waits until Zaharis has gotten a few steps back before she rises and starts backing toward the hatch, keeping her eye on that … thing. She's not shaking. Yet.

Nigel steps back instinctively at the flash of that red eye, sidearm shaking in his grip. He stuffs it back into its holster when Chase speaks up, and nods rapidly. Clearly, he's more comfortable with that suggestion than with his own abilities as a marksman. "Yeah," he agrees, casting a glance between Quill and the CMO.

Rogers clicks off the light, and gritting his teeth as he starts backing out, "Siiirs.." He motions to the Gun Gallery, "It cannot get in there.. It reaches the Ammo, it can blow the ship." He hisses, but he is falling back.

"Get the frak out," Zaharis hisses at the engineers in the back. "Quill, wire Zimmermann and wire the Genesis." He motions to Jocasta and Melia, the only two besides him, apparently, who are armed. "Two of you get into cover."

Rogers backs out, tense as he lowers his arms, he leaves his tool box where it lay and moves out of direct line of fire, and out to the hall.

"We can rig—!" Nigel protests, before he's shuffled back behind Rogers as the CPO retreats. "Seriously, we can," he mumbles to his fellow engineers and techs, crouching down behind the wall.

The scraping and clanking from within the debris continues, but it's more flailing than robust punching out of the pile.

Chase nods in agreement to Nigel. "Totally," he agrees. "Fry that toaster like it was the chicken in a midsummer picnic. Preferably very soon, just to be on the safe side."

The little medic that could seems to make herself smaller as she takes cover behind a medium-sized piece of debris. There's a brief glance away from her target to see where the others have found cover, but then she finds the red-eyed monster again and just studies it.

"Do it from cover," Zaharis whispers to Nigel. He's not leaving unarmed people in here. He also gets the heck down and trains his sidearm on the thumping pile, ready to shoot if these engineers don't get something cooler done in time.

It only takes the order for Jocasta to shoulder her way into position, sidearm at the ready just in case the wounded Centurion rubs two fuses together and figures out how to open the hatch. She passes a sidelong look to Melia and then makes a gesture with her chin in a sort of wordless salutation.

"Major Zimmerman, do not bring Team One to deck 15," Quill contacts the ChEng, as he exits cylon danger land for the safety of the hatch. "We found a Centurion." To Chase, Nigel and Packwood, Quill nods his agreement that they electrocute from afar. "Find a circuit panel, make it happen. Toast that fracker and don't spare the gigawatts."

Chase, Nigel, Packwood, and Rogers. I forgot Rogers.

Rogers looks to Nigel and Chase, then looks to Quill, and nods, looking around to try to figure out where a routing point is on this class of Battlestar. "Aye, sir."

Zaharis only glances back long enough to be sure the scheming engineers are gone, then he looks back where his sidearm is pointing. "Come on frakker, I dare you…" He mutters under his breath, keeping watch.

<Trait Roll> Chase rolls Electronics and achieves a degree of Good (4).

<Trait Roll> Reed rolls Good and achieves a degree of Superb (6).

<Trait Roll> Nigel rolls Electronics and achieves a degree of Great (5).

"Understood." Rhea's voice is clipped over the wireless. "Stay there. Keep your head down. Do you require Marine assistance? If so, I'll get Genesis on the horn…" Her voice is interrupted when the Genesis electricals start fiddling with the wall panels. Lights flicker. There's an audible *BZZT!* sound as the charge zings through the wall panel. Right on target with the wireless unit behind that debris. The scraping noises abruptly halt, followed by what can only described as a high-pitched metallic SCREAM as the wounded Centurion's internal systems are fried. A moment later, there is a solid metal *thump*. And all sound ceases.

"Ha ha haaaaaaa…" Yes, Zaharis makes those exact sounds. Burn, baby. He doesn't lower the weapon yet, flicking his wireless on. "Quill, Zaharis. That was orgasmic. You get in here and tell the others to stay back a minute, we're gonna clear." Flick. He motions wordlessly to Jocasta and Melia to head closer, and stands up a little himself to start forward. Carefully.

Chase gives a satisfied, quick grin. "And once again, the day is saved through the power of high voltage. There are times when I really do love my job. How often am I allowed to electrocute something?"

Rogers looks at the burnt up routing station they hacked the mains through to surge the wireless, looking at the thing he supplied to use as a fuse. Nothing as elegant as all that, just his heavy gauge screwdriver, jammed into the fuse connections. As the box starts to cool, he looks at his half melted tool. He then looks around to Nigel and Chase, "That was the ugliest routing job I've personally ever ben a part of, men." He grins, "Fine work." He looks to Chase, "Not often. Feels great though."

Melia doesn't smile, doesn't give any sign of victory - not yet. In response to the CMO's order, she breaks cover and starts forward, slowly. Yes, she keeps low. Apparently she doesn't trust even a dead Centurion.

"Guys, I think I just jizzed in my pants," Nigel confides as he hears the thump, and then confirmation from the CMO. He even makes a shuddering movement with his body.

"Genesis needs to know about it whatever the case, but…" Quill pauses mid-communication, cut off by the Centurion's death wail. That satisfying scream, with such relief washing into its silent wake. "I'm pretty sure your snipes have rendered the threat inert, sir. Quill out." The Ensign grins at the heroes of the hour, "Stay here and bask in the moment. On my way," the latter is to Zaharis over the wireless, and Quill disappears through the hatch in time to avoid hearing about pants-jizzing. Or maybe that's what he's running from.

Zaharis is waiting for Quill, getting ever closer to the nasty smell of burnt electronics. He aims his sidearm down at the covered thing and nods to Jocasta. "Get the stuff off it. Quill, get over here. Make sure that thing is fried. If I see a red light come on I'm going to be ticked."

Rogers looks at Nigel, and straightens, pointing to the far end of the hall, away from everyone, "Go stand over there."

"It's just an expression," Nigel is quick to assure people. Tauron. Really.

Melia continues to put herself between the CMO and the threat, apparently planning on covering Jocasta as she does the debris removal.

Jocasta makes with the debris removal and absolutely does not inquiry as to Stephanos's need for a new pair of trousers, in which case, hers would be available. Insert heavy lifting grunts and metal-on-metal noises here. Carry on.

Chase ignores Nigel's pants mishap. That's just more than he needs to know, and there's a lot left to be done around here. "Least it wasn't zombies or ghosts," he mutters in vague relief, once it's all said and done.

"And I'm going to be dead," Quill points out to Zaharis, about the red light. He doesn't seem worried, though, and a careful examination of the deceased robot does indeed confirm its red light will no longer scare the shit out of anyone. "This toaster is toast," he informs Major Zaharis. "The damage is irreparable, it's over here." A call goes out to the pants-jizzers and/or normal people beyond the hatch, "If you want to look at your handiwork, coast's clear."

Nigel's pants are in no way compromised, even though he'd probably gladly take Jocasta's. With his lanky legs and noodle arms, he starts a-hauling with the others, picking through pieces of Cylon and debris with a vaguely childlike wonder.

Rogers stares at Nigel for a few more seconds, pointing down the hall, before dropping his arm and just going into the lightning strike area.

Zaharis exhales through his nose and clicks the safety back on, sliding the gun away. Really, thank gods he didn't have to use it, or they'd all be dead right now. "Excellent, Ensign. Exxxxcellent." He flicks the switch on his wireless. "Threat clear, Major Zim. Your snipes can take the candy back to the factory. Let's haul out till the Marines can clean this place out proper."

Melia finally tucks her gun away and humphs quietly. "I always get to play with it, but it never goes off," she complains. She is, however, smiling with relief.

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