AWD #080: Over Coffee
Over Coffee
Summary: Beckett spills coffee, Nadir helps him clean it up. Conversation is had.
Date: 03/27/2013
Related Logs: Current events on Picon
Beckett Samtara 
Battlestar Orion — Deck 3 — Rec Room
With several smaller rec rooms spread throughout the ship, this one is the largest by far and is the primary recretion location aboard the ship. Longer than it is wide, with several hatches in and out, the room is divided by load-bearing beams that section it off into even thirds. There are a dozen tables, couches, and coffee tables set up — though all of the tables and chairs are the drab metal of the rest of the fleet. The couches seem to have been purchased privately and moved in here at some point in the past, heavy use and careful patching evident. Magazines are strewn around randomly, as are racks of books, plus a couple flatscreen televisions set up. Along one wall are several billiards tables, along with a bar for coffee and snacks.
Wed Mar 27

It's late and as it is, the rec room is empty. Some old movie has been left on in the vid player, but it's nothing important. Some Caprican period drama set on Aerilon. A big white, sweeping house. Cattle. Men speaking with outrageous accents. It likely won some awards. Still with that going on, the Major, who is currently the lone denizen right now, doesn't even seem to notice it. Instead his focus is on the wall, as he lays out on one of the sofas in here, his coffee clutched. Well-maybe it's tea? Whatever it is, it's brown and cooling.

As, at present, there's no stampede heading for the sickbay - and those in recovery don't need a babysitter in the form of a surgeon, Sam takes herself - and a handful of reference books - into the rec room. She eyes the vid on the big screen, frowns briefly at it, and the odd accents, before shaking her head and continuing on into the room toward one of the big and patched couches. She spots the Major after a moment and seats herself on a nearby couch with the books set on the edge of the nearest table. She opens a notebook, clicks the ballpoint pen in her hand, leafs through the pages - finds her spot in the text - and resumes her place with a quietly spoken, "Sir," in greeting.

There's a glance up. Words working through the malaise of the movie and whatever thoughts the Major has drowned himself in, and Beckett is sliding up to sit. A look, as his drink also in that time manages to slip from his fingers, and hit his leg and the floor. "Shit!" hissed out, before he is standing up. A shake of his head, and he's looking over to Samtara. "Oh, Doc." a laugh there as hand brushes down his leg "Sorry…Dozed off. It's a shit week.." by means of explanation.

"Hmm, not the most effective delivery method for caffeine, Sir, but I suppose it'll do," Sam replies with a chuckle as she continues to work on the notes she's taking. "I'd recommend drinking it, however, but that's me. I've found it's more effective. Short of a IV drip that is."

Beckett raises a brow back towards Samtara, as his face almost takes on an amused, 'really' look. "Well thank you for the expertise, medical diagnosis for my drinking problem." he rasps along his his soft Aerilon twang. "What are you workin' on?" rattled out with a stretch, before he is moving to toss away his thick paper cup and grab some paper towels to see to the mess on the floor.

"Research," Sam admits as she turns the page. "I need to do a intricate and difficult surgery to repair some nerve damage. Normally I'd consult with a specialist, I'd bring a specialist in and map out several logical approaches and alternative plans should A fail and B not prove viable and so on and so forth. I'd have a specialist," she looks up from the text, "only the best surgeons in the field are either dead, missing or who knows. So. With no specialists to consult with I'm down to reading research texts from other surgeons in the field, books that are - on the lean side to begin with - and at least five years old, at the earliest of the batch." She turns the page, calmly, despite the words, "So I'm drawing up a surgical plan that will provide the most logical and viable approach with as many variables as I can construct. Then I'm going to throw it out and start over."

"I think." And there he looks back towards Samtara. "You're likely better at just cutting open what needs cutting, spraying some cleenex in there and then sewing it back up. And there he chuckles. "My dad used to think that window cleaner would cure all sorts of stuff. But, he hated the doctors..And the dentists.." And with paper towels in hand, he's moving down to his knees to start scrubbing at the floor. "I don't think I caught your name when you were cutting on me." Apparently she remembers him. "My first name, is Cyrus."

Sam gives a very small twitch at the notion of spraying cleaner into the wound, or - in this instance, the surgery site - and shakes her head slowly. "Window cleaner is a rather versatile product, I agree. Windows, non=porous substances, things that aren't cloth or of a similar nature. But wound cleaning would not be my first or even last option on it. Hmm. ammonia, cleaning solvents, it just has 'bad idea' written all over it." She sets the notebook aside and swings her legs down to the side of where he's scrubbing the coffee off of the floor and shakes her head, rises to her feet, fetches more towels and a spray bottle of - hah - a similar type cleaning product. "For instance, window cleaner would work just fine on the floor," she remarks as she swabs some of the moisture off of the floor then sprays it light - precisely - and scrubs the patch clean. "And I know, but then I remember the names of everyone that I work on. Nadir," she offers in exchange, "Samtara Nadir, resident surgeon and general physician now - or maybe that's combat surgeon, I'm not sure yet where the definition lies. Sam, though, suits me just as well."

There's a pause as all that comes rattling out in such a quick fashion and he actually looks up and considers her for a moment. Apparently she can spray and clean all she likes, because Cyrus has ceased his own cleaning regimen there. Instead it's eye ogling and amused looks right now. "You know, Sam." the marine begins after a dry chuckle and he's back to wiping, (or smearing) the coffee up into his paper towels. "I do not believe you can take a joke." by means of the cleaner being sprayed in someone's wound. "Where are you from, what colony?" because he cannot tell from her own accent-or lack there of.

"I'm not very good at it, no," Sam admits in return. "but then there's a whole wealth of social intricacies that I'm not particularly good at. I am, however, a very very good surgeon. What I lack in social niceties I think are offset by my ability in the surgical theatre." At his question she is silent for a moment, wiping - spritzing - wiping again before she answers, "Picon."

"Or you need to read more magazines and calm down." Cyrus adds with a chuckle. "It's the end of the world. If you don't have a damned procedure, then you just do the best with what you got. Which is you." And there he is reaching up to press at his rib. 'See? I'm all good here. You know what you're doing." And there is is quiet for a second before nodding. "Well then we're in your neighborhood. I'm from Aerilon my self. Haven't had a chance to see her yet."

Sam turns her head slightly, a look of arch amusement in her eyes, "This is calm," she replies, "there's no room for anything other than calm, clear headed linear logic and practicality. Any surgeon that loses their cool when things go to hell in surgery isn't worth their weight in 3-0 silk." Her eyes drop to the press of his hand against his rib before she nods, "I know what I'm doing. Typically I always know what I'm doing. The exceptions are not the rule. And yeah, we are. I haven't managed to talk my way planet side myself yet," she admits. "Though I'm drafting a proposal that'll allow me and a handful of any other volunteers to go help triage and sort their wounded so that we can get those who actually stand a fighting chance up to the Hospital ship and do what we can to keep them alive." She sprays the floor again, methodically, "The word from Aerilon sounds like the resistance there is just as fierce as on Picon. The major cities though," she shakes her head again.

"My people." those from Aerilon "Love a fight. Hell they hated the Government in there and fought us in the eighties. Now I can't imagine them cottoning to this shit any more than they did us." And there's a brief smirk there from Beckett. "It's kinda funny, if you were to observe us talking." he adds as he looks over to her. "You sound all clinical and straight laced- and I sound like I frakked byway off a pig truck." A snort to that before he is falling quiet. Only now reaching over to take the towels from her so he can dump them in the waste. "I'm working on an op that's going to get non essentials out. Likely we'll need your expertise at the staging point." And there's aloof to her. "I wish I could give more detail, but right now it's not anything but a starting point."

Sam is quiet for a moment before saying, "If you're going to be on Picon there's something that you may need to factor into your plans." Her voice is quiet and for a moment her hands are curled, resting on her knees. "I'd planned to take this to the Lt. Col but.. things have been a bit hectic of late and I don't imagine that's going to slow any time soon. Um. From what I've gathered after the fleet HQ was destroyed the city is chaos and some of it is held by the Cylon's and some by the resistance, but Picon Laboratories is behind enemy lines at the moment." She pushes to her feet and cleans her hands off on a paper towel, "Um. There are a number of DoD projects that are housed in secure labs that require clearance to even be aware of. The sort that we may not want the Cylon's to get their collective hands on."

Now it is the Major's time to be silent. And he is looking back towards Samtara for a moment before he is whistling softly. "Yeah, Sam." he says after a moment. "I do believe that you're correct on that being needed to be told to the Colonel." Which means he will likely send a message up the chain to Petra as well. And so he is bringing a hand up to scratch at his chin. "Do you know exactly where?" In case he needs to come up with a whole nother op as well. Perhaps something to occur while his massive human train is going down.

"I can tell you where the labs are for the usual public trials, the stuff civilian and university staff normally use. It's a large laboratory complex, however, and if I could get my hands on a schematic of the building i can tell you which areas are civilian and which areas are blacked out. I can't give specifics that I don't know. All I know is that the lab is still standing. If it's still standing then the labs are intact and the trials are either on-going or they're not. There's no in between when it comes to this sort of research. It can't be paused, typically speaking, without losing all of the data. Millions of cubits are invested in a single trial run, millions. My parents work at the lab, so.. I know what I'm talking about."

"That'd work. If there's blacked out sites on the same campus, I am sure my team would be able to find them and get in." And likely terminate what is going on. Though, given the research aspect he is pausing before he is clearing his throat. "This is also, War, Sam." which he knows she is highly aware of. "It could be that they are done. If I was the govt, I woulda burnt that project to the ground or given the orders for it to happen. But, I can still send in people to check on it." And there he just kinda sits, before he's laughing. "Well, if this hasn't been a rains and pours week for information." And Beckett shakes his head. "Here I was going to try to invite you to the mess hall, but somehow I don't think that works as a good follow up."

Sam gives a slow shake of her head, "There are layers upon layers of protocol in place. There are burn orders, there are destroy orders, there are protocol and procedure in place to destroy projects or deny same, as necessary. If someone of sufficient authority were to give such orders then yes. But you don't understand researchers. They pour their lives into these projects. It's not just money. It's not just the leading edge. It's the bleeding edge of science and technology in some cases it's work that goes above and beyond what civilian or even industrial or corporate laboratories can get into. Like I said. Millions of cubits, decades of research. You can't just walk in and shut things down. If the labs are still standing, and the Cylon's haven't hammered their way through doors, then you'll either need a pass and several layers of codes. You try to blow through doors and likely you'll see fail safe protocols enabled as well. This is DoD research territory, sir, they don't.. do things in half measures."

Beckett stares at Sam. "I get what you're saying, Sam. However-I am also taking in the account that hopefully with the end of the world the researchers would do the damned right thing." BUt, what is he kidding we all know that scientists are not going to stop poking things with sticks just because they have to. "We've got people onboard, whom I am sure are capable of getting in." He won't go into detail there, but the Major just sighs for a moment. "How come you waited this long?" to tell someone, obviously.

"At first, I wasn't sure the labs were still standing," Sam replies. "There wasn't a lot of clear news coming out until after Spree took command and news become news, not just rumor or suggestion. Even then, no one was looking at that section of the city specifically so it was tough to get a concrete answer. I don't deal in 'theory', Sir, I deal in viable verifiable data. That," she draws a breath, chin lifting subtly, shoulders also squaring just as subtly, "and a iron clad unbreakable confidentiality clause, sir. My parents are virologists. As you can imagine they sometimes brought their work home with them and as soon as I was of age I was required to sign a limited version of the sort of security clause. As to why I've waited," she tucks her hands into her hip pockets, "it's been busy of late, and it hasn't been the very top thing on my list. Between wounded, dealing with more wounded, drafting plans to help settle refugees on planet, drafting a plan to try to get on to Picon to help sort the wounded and doing research for other surgeries - it's been a bit busy. I'd planned to tell the Lt Colonel at the next planning meeting, it just got shelved due to other pressing matters."

"Despite confidentiality clauses and all that shit." Yes he did just call the DoD red tape/security measures, shit. "This is something that needed to been known yesterday. If said place is operational, it can't be any longer. Nor, can the installation be allowed to continue it's work no matter how much frakkin' money is thrown in there." A beat. "There are not enough people alive to have that fall into enemy hands." And Beckett rocks back on his knees before he rises up. "I have to let the Colonel know now. I hope." and he shakes his head "I hope you understand that. I'll even direct him and his boys to you-but this needs to be told." A glance to the younger woman. "Guess I don't need that coffee after all."

"Every cubit that is spent on DoD research, Sir, yields all manner of things to the civilian market. It's not just guns and bombs that make the world tick, not even the best ships and tech are found in pure civilian research. There's a reason advances come the way that they do. I'm not arguing, mind, I'm .. offering data. Do with it what you will. And I don't know who has the authority at this point to just shut it down. I don't know that all of the potential projects can be shut down. There are some things that can't be shut down with a flip of a switch, the pull of a plug or by simply walking away. And I do understand. I'll give the Colonel all the data that I have, that's relevant, when he's ready for it." She glances down at the floor then at the coffee stain on his attire before she offers another of those calm and utterly somber nods, "I suppose not, sir."

Beckett is quiet for a moment, before he offers a bit of a nod. "Don't worry about it." he says finally after that silence. A nod down to the floor. "You know, the Coffee. Shit spills all the time." apparently he is not going to press on the DoD stuff or the various monies that could be lost in all of this. Instead he rolls back into quiet. Something men on Aerilon are good at. "Tell you what. You owe me a coffee." And there he offers a hand to help her up. "And I'll go write that report."

"Hmm, logically I didn't make you spill the coffee and I did help you clean it up," Sam counters. "However, a argument could be made for the fact that if you hadn't been asleep and if I hadn't startled you then you wouldn't have spilled the coffee and it wouldn't have needed cleaning up. Thus.." she glances down at the offered hand, her expression carefully obscure before she sets her right hand lightly in his and rises to her feet, lifting her hand free once she's standing. "it's a draw, on that. But, you're writing the report, and I'm not, so it's a fair trade."

Beckett nods his head. "That'll work." And once she's up he drops his hand carefully, before making on for the door. "I'll let you know when they have it, Sam." And with a small wave, the Marine Major is moving out into the hall way. And yes, there is a leg jiggle.

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