AWD #023: Perspectives
Summary: Rozzen offers Holtz her assistance with the sims project, and they share some of their thoughts on the Cylons and their ships.
Date: 29/01/2013
Related Logs: Playing Figure Out The CAG
Holtz Rozzen 
Ready Room
Capable of seating every member of the wing with space to spare in its stadium organization, the Ready Room has more than two hundred seats and is the largest room on the ship dedicated to single briefings. Sections of desks were manufactured specifically for this and wrap the width of each level of seating, rolling leather seats positioned at even points through each row. The walls have the tenant squadrons' patches painted on individual panels as well as a Kill Board up to the left side of the dais and podium, the Training Board on the other side to log progress. At the rear hatch, on a barren section of wall, is the framed and cased photo of 'Bad Dog' Ruegger.
January 29, 2005

The CAPs have been assigned and the day's briefings are long since over; this time of day, it's a good bet that the air wing's ready room will be deserted, or close to it. In this case it's the latter. Lieutenant Kurt Holtz is seated behind one of the desks at the front of the room, an open binder on the metal surface in front of him. He seems to be reading over something; there's a pen in his hand, but only every few seconds does he actually use it to mark something on the papers below. The power light on one of the room's video projectors is blinking in standby mode, as if it's seen recent use.

Maybe it's a long shot that brings Moira into the room, given the hour. Or maybe she's been asking around. In any case, the woman pushes open the door with an extended arm to scan the room from the threshold. It doesn't take very long for her eyes to settle upon the man seated near the front. She's silent a moment, taking in his pen and dodging a look towards that blinking light. "Lieutenant Holtz?" she queries, a touch more assumptive than hopeful.

Holtz looks up slowly at the sound of his name being called; the pen is placed down upon the dull metal surface of the table. "Yeah, you found me," he calls out, his sonorous baritone carrying throughout the room. He squints in Rozzen's direction; she's an unfamiliar face, and he doesn't see wings on her uniform. An eyebrow peaks curiously. "You need help with somethin', Cap?" The binder is closed as he focuses his attention on the newcomer.

The confirmation touches a brief smile to her lips. Moira steps through to let the door fall closed behind her. She has a slim notebook in hand, tucked statically against her left hip as she moves forward across the room. "In a way," she's round-about in words that fill the journey to where he sits. "I would like to offer my help," is sort of the same thing. "Captain Rozzen," serves as her introduction in aside. She stops with a light bridge of fingertips upon the corner of the desk. "I hear you are heading the effort to update your flight sims, given the data gathered on Warday?" Her gaze flicks towards the blank screen before dark eyes turn back to Holtz under the inquisitive lift of her brows.

Holtz' head tilts slightly to the side. "Yeah, you heard right," the burly pilot says with a wry expression. A finger is directed at a nearby chair. "You wanna pull up a seat, Captain?" He doesn't stand, himself. There's a pack of cigarettes sitting on the desk, not far from the binder. Holtz taps one out, but he doesn't light it immediately. "If you're wantin' an update, there's not really — " He cuts himself off abruptly, suddenly remembering she'd said something about help. There's a quirk to his lips as he falls silent, waiting for her to elaborate.

"Thank you," Moira says to the offered seat and rounds the desk smoothly. Rolling out the adjacent chair, she perches on its edge with a knee crossed towards him and hands folding on top of the notebook that settles to her lap. Her eyes are drawn to the motion of his hands, the tap of the cigarette. Or perhaps it's his gloves that her eyes linger upon. It's only once his words have cut off that her gaze lifts. "I would be interested to hear if there's any progress," she allows with a slender curve of smile. But. My background is in computer science, and I thought I may be able to lend assistance to your efforts."

There's a dull sound as those gloved hands of Holtz' tap a few times on the table, the cigarette momentarily forgotten. He nods. "Truth be told, sir, we're close to stalled for the moment. M'self, Lieutenant Karlsson, Captain Delacroix — " he names two of Orion's other Viper pilots " — we've gone over just about every scrap of video footage the wing's cameras took over Caprica. Although…" He taps his chin thoughtfully. "Computer science. You know anything about the programming of our simulator units?"

Rozzen is an attentive listener, particularly when it comes to the additional names offered. Her breath swells subtly in her chest as he trails off, a twitch of interest narrowing at her features, but any thought it may have stirred is left quiet for the moment. "Not particularly much about your simulator units," she admits with a tilt of her head. "Though I am not completely unfamiliar. The graphics would be a stretch to put it mildly, but the algorithms underneath may be a little closer to my skill set. I am rather intersted in how the behavior of these things might be modeled."

"Well. Graphics aren't the hard part. Most of that's been taken care of already, anyway." Holtz nods slowly as Rozzen speaks. "Buttons — Lieutenant Sava," he clarifies, "one of our ECOs, is working that side of things. Most of the basic, preliminary stuff has been handled, but it's recoding the behavioral algorithms that's going to take the most time." Lot of big words there for a guy who talks like a common dirt-eater from Tauron. He shrugs. "So, if you'd like to give him a hand, sounds like a win-win. You get a look at the behavior models he's workin' on, we get our sims fixed up that much quicker. Two sets of hands're better than one."

The big words in that accent do seem to pull a bit more curve at one corner of her mouth. Then again, perhaps Moira is just pleased that it all seems to fit together so nicely. "Perfect," she says with a satisfied incline of her chin. "I'll introduce myself to your - Lieutenant Sava?" She thinks she got that right. Her weight settles back a little in a pose that's fractionally more relaxed now that the offer has been made. Dark eyes drop a closer scan over the man before her. "I wonder what you have to say about their behavior, Lieutenant?" is wondered with less formal curiosity.

Holtz looks at her for a long moment, not saying anything as he finally breaks down and lights up. Technically, smoking is discouraged in the ready room, but as the senior(and only) pilot in the room, Holtz gets to make the rules. "Zander Sava, Ghosts," he says with the nod, giving her the younger man's full name and his squadron. There's another drawn-out pause, his eyes locked on her as he considers her almost-question.

"They don't act like anything we remember 'em havin'," he says finally. "40 years ago, it was different. When I was training Viper jocks on Caprica, I watched a lot of the old recordings of engagements from the first war. We used 'em to train our pilots, since it was the best information we had, yeah? They flew like we did. Oh, their Raiders didn't perform exactly like our Vipers, but the style was the same, tactics were the same. But these ships…" He shakes his head. "These are something new. They don't use conventional tactics. They come at you like a swarm of locusts, then they peel off into little groups and try to isolate you. Pick you off one by one." His expression gradually hardens, his voice getting somewhat distant as he describes what he's seen. "I dunno what drives the frakkin' things, Captain, but it ain't somethin' they had the first go-round, I'd wager a year's pay on it."

It's with tidy composure that Moira withstands his attention, only the slightest tick in her jaw betraying a press of teeth as flame catches his cigarette. But as the pilot starts his answer, there are little ways in which her rigidity lets go. Her hands slide to lace fingers more lightly over the cap of her knee, pulling her spine into a soft curve. The bright interest of her gaze falls under a lowered brush of lashes as his expression shifts. Thus looking at some point between them, she holds her reaction a moment with a thoughtful roll of her lips. "Before, they were mimics," she speculates, a low tone perhaps keeping her from sounding entirely academic. "But now, they've evolved. A swarm, like a hive mind." Her eyebrows have started to lift in interest, but she dampens down the expression before glancing up again. "Unsettling."

"More or less." Holtz watches her reaction, his own expression staying level, if somewhat pinched. "Much as I hate to think of Cylons evolving, that's as good a description as any." He jabs the cigarette towards an ashtray at the corner of the desk, and a few flecks of ash flutter down onto the glass. There's a throaty sigh, and then he changes the subject. "Right. One last thing… I assume if you're here talkin' to me, you've already been cleared by Major Sheperd, yeah?"

"Adapting," Moira will offer as an alternative. Not that that's likely any better. Again she follows his motions with the cigarette, done a sweeping glance since her chin stays in place. It makes it easier for dark eyes to snap back to the pilot for his one last thing. The curve of her smile paints into place. "I spoke with Major Sheperd first, yes. He gave me your and Lieutenant Karlsson's names as well as his blessing. It sounds like he'll also be allowing for some additional footage to be gathered." This last is said rather dry, an aknowledgement and clear euphemism for the upcoming missions. Her hands are shifting back, catching up her notebook as her legs uncross so that her feet may set more directly under her. "You won't be stalled for long." Like that's any reassurance.

Holtz inclines his head. "Didn't figure that was an issue. Just makin' sure all my ducks are in a row." He smiles thinly, finger again tapping idly on the desk. "Yeah, been told we've got some ops in the pipeline." His tone is more matter-of-fact than reassured, though there's a predatory glint in his cool grey eyes at the thought of giving the Cylons a kick in the teeth. "The more information, the better." Not that that's his only motivation, it seems. Finally, he stands, placing his cigarette between his lips. "Right, then. I'm off duty; gonna go hit the shower and grab some rack time." He offers a gloved hand in her direction. "Good to have ya on board, Cap."

That glint is mirrored by an appreciative spark in dark eyes. Let teeth kicking commence. "Indeed," she murmurs. Moira flows up to her feet alongside Holtz, the spine of her notebook bridged between the hang of her hands. "Thank you, Lieutenant," she shifts her hold to accept his hand, her motions naturally brisk. "It's starting to feel like home," she supposes with a wry twist to her lips. Stepping out of the way in the direction of the door herself, she nods a final glance over her shoulder. "Have a good night."

"Yeah, you too, sir." Holtz nods to Rozzen, and then grabs his notes, cigarette bobbing in his lips as he makes his way to the door. His free hand yanks the lever on the heavy metal door, pushing it aside. And then he's over the threshold and gone.

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