ALT #316: Take the Leave
Take the Leave
Summary: Log Summary
Date: 18/Nov/2013
Related Logs: Is He Fit For Duty?
Alexandra Samtara Toby 
Hangar Bay - Deck 3 - Battlestar Orion
Each hangar deck is divided into five one-hundred yard sections, each divided from the others by massive blast doors that close vertically from the floor and overhead. Each hangar section houses all of the Vipers, Raptors, and Predators that the wing operates as well as the vital work areas to support and maintain these fighting platforms. Each bay is large enough to accommodate one of these frames and still get heavy work done, though the fore- and aft-most sections are dedicated to overhauls and major work to be done. The bays along the center section are located across from launch tubes and elevators in order to provide scramble and Alert-Five capabilities. The second-to-aft bay provides major elevator and transport access to the starboard bay as well as the major manufacturing facility. Due to the nature of the work, the hangar decks are major hubs of activity at all hours of the day and all but four hours overnight.
AWD #316

Alexandra is working at her desk, the least favorite thing she does. She's send Sam a message she's available to discuss things, should she wish it.

Making her way through the noisy hangar bay, Nadir has her hands tucked in her pockets as she walks, being mindful to skirt around the areas marked with work being done inside them. She doesn't really do more than keep a careful eye on where she's walking, and what she's walking around, without really knowing what's happening inside each zone. Repairs, she's got that much figured out, and . . stuff.

Alexandra chuckles, and looks up, noticing the doctor being lost on deck, and that's dangerous, She signals one of her deck crew to go get her and escort her to the office. She should be relatively safe that way. CAn't be killing staff heading for meetings.

The timely intervention of the crewmember who leads Nadir through the labyrinth that is the deck is followed to the letter, that is: she steps where the crewmember steps and follows precisely. "Ahh, chief," then she sweeps a look around at the chief's office and back, "noisy but I'd wager efficient."

Alexandra looks up, and raises her eyebrow. "Really? This isn't that noisey. If we were running full combat, THATs noisey. Well, you asked to see me. What might I do for you?"

"About Crewman Shackleton," Nadir replies, though she glances over her shoulder once more, "and compared to my sickbay, this is noisy." Back to Alexandra, a silent moment before she says: "Once the crewman has a chance to cool off, so to speak, he will typically be cleared for duty. Do you want him back on the duty roster?" a blunt and rather to the point question, but . . that's more or less her style; she's a battering ram sometimes, conversationally speaking.

Alexandra says, "I recommended him for administrative punishment, and as long as he accepts that, I'm willing to have him back on the deck. We can't afford not to have any trained deck personnel leave during the current emergency. If it was peacetime? I think he'd get his walking papers, honsetly""

"And if he doesn't accept administrative punishment?" Nadir wonders in return, head tilted subtly to the side as she studies the chief. "I've never actually had to put anyone up for administrative punishment, so this particular avenue of consequences isn't something I'm entirely familiar with. He can't keep bucking for medical declarations as to his fitness, or lack thereof, to return to duty."

Alexandra says, "He's charged with disobeying a superior when the Ship is at Wartime Cruising status. That needs to be dealt with BEFORE he's allowed back on the deck. I have no problem with him accpting Captain's mast, which will give him whatever punishment they deem proper, but will not go on his official record. I'm hoping he can learn from this. If he wasn't medically unfit for duty, which he isnsists he was not, there is no excuse, and he must go through the process. If he doesn't accept it, he will be court martialed."

"He'd probably need to speak with one of the psychologists, but he still hasn't done anything to warrant it. Mouthing off, that's not a psychological issue. It's a temperament issue," Nadir replies after a quiet moment of consideration. "And a mindset, in my opinion, that speaks to his belief that he's Right. So." She rocks subtly forward from heels to toes and back, thinking, "Barring any sudden noticeable psychological shift, I'm going to clear him medically speaking. What he does next, what he accepts next, is up to him."

Alexandra says, "That is what I thought. I've got the idea he'll accept Administrative Punishment, but we cannot find out until he actually is up agains tthe Mast."

Nadir makes a pensive sound again then nods, decisive. "THen I move that we go give the crewman the good news, such as it is. If you'd care to join me?"

Alexandra says, "I can do that."

Brig - Deck 3 - Battlestar Orion
The Orion's brig is comprised of a line of four individual cells organized in separate walled-off bays. Each cell is six feet wide by eight feet long and possesses a bed and toilet. Whenever even one cell is occupied, so too is the metal desk and chair at the entrance hatch — and backup for the guard is never far away.
AWD #316

Winding her way through the ship with Chief Martin at her side, or conversely Chief Martin winds her way through the ship with Captain Nadir at her side, the two of them arrive in tandem at the security hub and process through the usual checks - please deposit all weapons, sharp pointy objects, metal files, vials of poison and all escape plans in the box before continuing forward - to be cleared by security and then ushered forward to where Shackleton is in residence. In the brig.

Toby is pretty much where the Senior Chief and Doctor left him. Odd that. Model prisoner might not be the precise term for it, but all told he's not really caused the marines any bother, other than having to have a man on the desk perhaps. He's largely infact, kept himself very much to himself, bar the odd occassion when there's been a visitor. He's had a lot on his mind though, a lot to think through, so perhaps that's not too surprising. As the Doctor and Senior Chief arrive, he's to be found sat on the bunk, back to the corner of the cell and feet up on the covers. He's not been allowed his gloves, another thing thats weighed on his mind, so his hands are stuffed deeply into his pockets and right now the back of his head is resting against the wall. His posture certainly leaves something to be desired, but he flicks his head round quick enough at the sound of new arrivals. For a fraction of a second there's tension in his shoulders and arms, but then spotting who has come a-calling it's replaced with a tension of an entirely different sort as he moves to get to his feet.

As the chief is delayed for some reason by the MP's, Nadir continues on - probably something vital to do with security measures, she would posit - and comes to a stop just outside the cell. Then she sweeps a long look around the cell, the walls, the bars, the floor itself then ticks upward to take in the ceiling as well. "Do you suppose they just use some sort of pressurized water system and hose this thing down on a regular basis? The ceiling alone would be a pain to scrub, but each individual bar would be time consuming and then the floor, let alone the wall," her attention settles back on Shackleton once she's done wondering this aloud. "Bleach would do this place wonders. So." This settled, her hands tucking into the front pockets of her uniform trousers again, "you've had adequate time to cool off."

Toby flicks his eyes between the Senior Chief and Doctor as they separate. Unsure for a moment who he should be focusing on. As Sam apporaches though he keeps his eyes on her, looking momentarilly lost as she starts on her rhetorical questions. Or he hopes they're rhetorical anyway. "I wouldn't know Sir," he offers cautiously, coming to a stop a foot or so from the bars, eyes then flicking back once more towards the guard and Chief. With the Captain taking a reasonably relaxed pose he doesn't snap to attention, but instead sets his feet about shoulder width apart and slips his hands out of his pockets, and behind his back. The very definitely not rhetorical question is met with a moments silence, then a single, short nod, and finally a quietly composed, "yes Sir."

Nadir studies Shackleton in silence again for a moment, actually a moment longer than is typically considered polite. From any other woman the look might be considered a lot of things, but from the surgeon it's a look of calm if clinical observation, the sort she'd used while examining a slide under a microscope, by way of comparison. "The chief informs me that your actions warrant several potential measures, one of which is the acceptance of Captain's mast. She further explains the severity of the potential consequences that come from this issue, but accepting of or declination of same. So I'm asking you one more time: Do you consider yourself to be fit for duty, capable of following, obeying and adhering to the orders issued to you by ranking officers or NCO personnel?"

Toby listens, in silence, as he's spoken to. Some of it he's familiar with already, some less so, but it's all more information about his fate than he'd had before. The question, when it comes, it given due consideration, still in silence. It's something he's had a while to think on over the past day or so, but he doesn't want to rush now that the time is at hand. "Sir," he starts, frowning a little in concentration as he considers his phrasing, "if I can be entirely honest with you Sir, I don't know. I did then certainly, but you've judged other wise. I still think that the Senior Chief was wrong in declaring the issue safe, but I understand that there were other ways to handle the situation."

Nadir shakes her head slowly, a mild gesture to accompany her reply: "I don't judge, Crewman. I assess. Then I render a statement based on the assessment that I've made. If you want judgment you'd need to seek that from some manner of legal body or a priest. I'm neither. I'm not a psychologist either, so I won't be making a formal declaration as to your mental or emotional health. If, if my assessment, you were - then, or now - genuinely in need of a psychological review I would arrange for it. This being said, I am neither blind nor entirely deaf. To that end," and she's untucked her hands only to clasp one hand around it's opposite wrist, "I have a therapeutic suggestion all the same. Take some down time, crewman. There's a lot of work that needs to be done on planet before winter really sets in, takes hold, and a lot of people are going to be very cold very quickly. They could use some more help, some expert help, and I'm of the opinion that your skill set is very valuable, as much here as there. Take some down time, spend it on Piraeus, build something. Then come back and face the captain's mast. That's my advice. I won't enforce it on you. I won't order you to do so. I am, however, going to clear you for duty. The decision is yours."

Toby goes back to listening in silence as the reply comes. He's given up trying to work out what to expect, so just hears her out. There is one momentary change in his features that comes as the word 'priest' is mentioned, but it's gone as soon as it came and leaves no trace behind. "I'd rather go back to work," he states without inflection, eyes flicking back across to the where he last saw the Senior Chief, "not so many way to help kill cylons down there." The precise reason he enlisted in the first place in fact. Turning back to the Captain though he straightens up a bit, stance now much closer to an actual parade rest, before he adds, "I'll think about it though, I give you my word."

"The best revenge, Crewman, is found in every single living breathing human that we save from their genocide. The last revenge, crewman, comes from the cradle. We will out live them. Outlast them. Out endure them. They are machine, nothing more than networks of synapses and connections, nothing more than metal and orders. No laughter. No joy. No art. No creativity. No originality. They are massed produced, one line after another. No original thought. Just orders. Just copies of copies of copies. Every group of humans that survives, that has survived, is one more victory. I'm a surgeon, so trust me when I tell you that margin of error for victory versus defeat is a slim one, at best, and every life that I fail to save is a defeat. Every life that I can pull back from the edge is a victory. It's a black and white game. We live, we win. They die, we win. Be useful, Crewman, be extraordinary. But be something. Other than angry. Other than," and it's only now that Nadir makes a vague gesture toward the crewman with one hand, "argumentative and insurbordinate. Be better. Be right. Know when the time and the place is to speak your mind, discretion isn't just the better part of valor. Discretion is also about being right, even if it means being right when and where no one can ever know or notice."

Toby clenches his fists slowly behind his back. Not as a violent gesture, but in unspoken want of his gloves as words like 'genocide' come out. He tilts his head slightly towards the Doctor as she describes similar feelings to his own towards the enemy and while he includes the humanforms in that too, he's not going to break her flow just now to see if she does as well. Once she's finished he drops his head a fraction, searching for how to put his reply. Squaring his chest a little he eventually ends up just giving a brief nod, and another "Sir." While he could speak about the billions dead and how they'll find no peaceful rest until the toasters are gone, or about how he just looked upon the only place he's ever called home and seen it still burning in a nuclear fire ten months on, he instead makes note of her remark about knowing when to speak his mind and saves it for some other time, possibly other ears.

"And extinguishing the cylons, Crewman, isn't murder, it's throwing a switch," Nadir adds rather quietly. "They're machines. On. Off. Find a way to turn them all off, once and for all, and this whole war is over. Think on it. You've a rather unique skill set. You can take things apart and put them back together, repair things, build things, etcetera. Like I said. Be extraordinary. Find us the off switch. And all of this," she looks slowly around the room - the brig - and back, "is done." She signals to the MP on duty, "I'm going to put my authorization to clear you back to active duty. Take my advice, Crewman, take the leave. You'll have want of it before this is over, and may not have the time for it when you'll need it."

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