2236-11-04 - Coming Aboard

A new ship needs a new crew, and the first waves are now arriving.

Date: 2236-11-04

Location: Hanger Deck, Deck 6, Battlestar //Galactica//

Related Scenes: None

Plot: None

Scene Number: 851

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The Galactica might be all shiny and new, but Specialist Isolde Ko Asa has been onboard the Galactica, well, since her hull was sealed and most environmental systems were calibrated. She knows the ship, she's part of the old crew, she's been here longer than her Captain -- not that she's boasting of course. All that means she's been pulled out of the tech shop and shoved on the hangar deck to play welcoming committee to the incoming shuttles of crew. In her duty greens, the former hacker stands in a slouch, hip out-cocked and tapping a clipboard rhythmically against her thigh. She looks somewhere between bored and daydreamy, looking at, but also through, the monstrous elevator that is bringing down ships and personnel. The tapping clipboard begins to take a beat -- thump-thump-clap, thump-thump-clap.

Van could probably have traveled to the Galactica in duty greens, or even in his flight suit. He could have even flown the Raptor up, most likely. Instead, he's wearing his blues, playing passenger, and not liking it very much. He fiddles with a wooden matchstick, plucking it out of his mouth and spinning it around between his fingers before it goes back into the corner of his mouth. He gathers up his duffel, slinging it along with the other passengers of the Raptor, and queues up to exit. In fact, he's the first one off the ship, and he looks for the nearest clipboard, noting, "Lieutenant, J.G. Newton." Evidently, he figures he's supposed to check in.

A tallish, dark-haired woman, also wearing her blues, queues behind Van. She taps him on the shoulder. "Knock it off with the matchstick. It's grossing me out." She leans around him to check in with the clipboard bearer, saying, "Captain, D.F. Spadina."

Still getting used to that 'new ship' smell. Jacob hasn't really noticed. But it's those kind of things that he doesn't, or hasn't been, paying attention to. It's another ship, another station. Just a whole bunch of different faces. This whole CDF is completely new to him, and while he might've been apart of the first contingent of marines to start clapping boots around the place, he still gets lost sometimes. Like, for instance, right now, walking onto the hanger deck, and having something of a mild grunt of annoyance in the fact that he must've gotten turned around somewhere. The burly sergeant snorts, then taking a glance down at the new arrivals. Oh, officers, so it's not like they work for a living.

There's been a fairly steady stream of Raptors going in and out. Another one had arrived just a few minutes before Van's. Having stopped to chat to the ECO for a minute, Cate is lagging behind the other passengers who already disembarked from that ship. Duffel bag slung over her shoulder, she now hops down off the wing of the bird, looking around at the hangar. She starts over toward Isolde and the others, wearing her marine khakis.

Van's voice shakes her from her reverie, and she blinks at him. Something strikes her as familiar, but she can't quite place it. She shakes it off, and looks down at her clipboard. "Viper," she notes with a small check mark of her painfully old school pencil. She nods, dark brows furrowing as she continues to try to figure out where she's seen this guy. "Welcome aboard, Lieutenant." She nods. "You'll get your assignments shortly." Then she peeks slightly beyond Van, and then rights herself, looking down her list. "Ah, uh... I don't have you on my list, Captain..." Isolde flips several pages, even looks at the back. "Uh, were you scheduled to arrive today?"

Van blinks in apparent surprise at Darcy's comment, his eyes crossing as he looks down at the matchstick at the corner of his mouth, "The what?" And then he quickly pulls it free, as if he didn't actually realize it was there. "Sorry sir." He draws his shoulders up a little more squarely, choking up on the strap of his duffel as he does. "Didn't realize I was doing it." He nods at Isolde's response, "VF-102, although I'm not sure where they're berthed." He starts to step aside, then a memory from life before the Cylons trickles through his professional mien, and he frowns slightly, "Aso?" Yes, he still has her name wrong.

Jacob stands a bit off the side, watching the flow of newcomers pile out. But now that he thinks about it, he was given a reason to go here, so maybe it wasn't an accident afterall. He was supposed to greet the new batch of marines NCOs that were shipping in, enough that it makes him pick out a folded piece of paper that's unwrapped. "Any of you boot-thumpers c'mon over here." he calls over, eyes beginning to graze down the list. "Riflemen, medics, recon, demo, get on over here so you can get your bunk assignments. We don't have all day here."

"Am I seriously not on the list?" Darcy crosses her arms, shoulders square. "I guess I'll wait here until this gets sorted." She grins at Van. "It was the match end that was grossing me out more than anything. Try toothpicks next time."

Cate hangs back behind the pilots, trying to stay unobtrusive around the officers. Seeing only the back of Van's head at first, she doesn't recognize him. But the voice causes her to cant her head for a moment, trying to place it. But then Jacob is shouting for the marines, and that voice needs no effort to place. Her head snaps that way, and she just stares at him. Brows knitted, face showing an mix of surprise and an almost pained expression.

Asa is still busy looking over her clipboard, double checking that she didn't miss the Captain's name. "Sorry, we had to go to print-outs this morning," the computer technician explains. "I'm sure that you're in the system." Isolde hopes. "Welcome aboard." She flashes Darcy a quick smile, the tip of the pencil twitching against the clipboard in a subconscious rhythm. She is about to step back, letting the two pass so she can check in the next few passengers, but Van's mispronunciation of her name triggers a buried memory, and she blinks at Van. "Picon," she says, pencil frozen mid-tap. "Wow, uh... hi." She then looks over toward Cate, still a bit off her game thanks to an incomplete print-out and the Ghost of Secondish-Dates-That-Never-Were Past. When Cate has spied Jacob, she looks behind her toward the bellowing Marine. "Uh, name?" She asks, looking back to Cate and hoping her name is on her list.

Van works his tongue inside his mouth a moment, a faint look of disgust crossing his lips as he recognizes the sulfur flavor in his mouth. "You're right, sir. Toothpicks would be better." He grounds his duffel, shrugging a little helplessly at Isolde's response, "Yes, Picon. Survived and all." The bellowing causes him to jump a little, looking over at the Marine, and then he rubs at the back of his neck, looking back to Cate as she is up to the front of the line, and his brows lift, "Doc. Good to see you." And then he glances back to Isolde, "Good to see you both, I mean."

"Think you're all smart enough to remember a letter and number?" Jacob eyeballs the mass of grunt for a moment before looking at his paper. "Good, because I'm not going to write it backwards on your forehead. Arnolds, A38. Catz, C26. Ernesto, D4..." The list goes so on and so forth, and Cate's face has not yet been picked out of the group of. There's a slight mechanical expression to it, like he's just going through the motions, or it's simply motions he's done plenty of times in the past. The list goes on, thankfully it's not as long as others has been. "Pascal, A10. Rhodes-" He stops, pauses. Then reads the paper again. Blink. There's suddenly a bit more particular searching in the crowd. And that's about when he spies her, near Isolde. A cough, like his throat suddenly went dry. There's a mirrored look of surprise, and then, oddly, guilt. "Rhodes, B16." From that name to the rest of the list, there's something particular off. Muted.

Eyes locked on the marine sergeant calling her name, it actually takes Cate a moment to realize that Isolde was talking to her. But when she does, she drags her eyes to the specialist with effort, blinking. "Sorry, what?" Cate looks utterly bewildered - a dazed, almost sick look not entirely unlike what you might expect if someone had just gotten thumped in the head. She blinks at Van next, and the surreal disorientation ratchets up a notch. "Milkman," she dredges up his callsign in a surprised voice.

"Yeah, I'm sure it is," Isolde replies to Van as she looks over her clipboard, expression a bit arched. She then nods to Cate in the wake of the bellowing marine (why do all marines bellow?). But she's smart enough to catch on to the fact that the fellow enlisted is 'Rhodes.' "Welcome aboard, Lance Corporal. Sounds like you're one of the lucky ones that knows where your bunkroom is." She casts a dubious glance to Van. "Things are a bit backlogged." Because there's never been a ship in the history of the Colonies that had a maiden voyage without something being backlogged. Officers' quarters appears to be the Galactica's. She flashes the medic a quick smile, and then she tucks the pencil behind her ear, pinning back some of her cropped brown hair. The 'Milkman' callsign confirms it, but Isolde goes back to her clipboard to check in the next few passengers.

"And you'd let just anyone say they're a captain and swish onboard?" Darcy raises an expressive eyebrow at Asa. She shoulders her bags and heads off to the berthings.

Isolde looks after Darcy at her question, and she adds casually, "You're not shiny enough for me to be worried about an enemy invader." She will probably get busted for this whole thing later.

Van grimaces at Cate's use of his nickname, but it's a tiny little thing, quickly dismissed. He glances over to Isolde a moment, shaking his head, "Doc's an actual Doc. She'll be at least a JG," a flicker of confusion crosses his face as he looks back to Cate then, actually noticing the Marine uniform. He frowns at the insignia, working a moment at the Colonial Forces rank pin, then adds, "Or... not." The matchstick rises up toward his mouth again of its own accord (thankfully with the head out of his mouth).

This probably isn't the time or the place to be talking to Cate like this. And Jacob still looks like he's a bit reeling from the fact that she's standing on a military ship. "That's all of you. Not gonna hold your hand and take you there myself. Find your way, we all had to." But there's a certain amount of effort that's been lost. Finally, he has to tear his eyes off Cate. Suddenly, things are more than a bit awkward for him, a hand scrubbing his face over. "I need a drink." Boy, when does the man not need a drink, as he starts to move off.

"No I..." There's a tiny little headshake to Van's assumption about her rank, Cate still very obviously trying to pull together the shreds of her composure. She swallows hard. "I'm not." Not a JG? That's apparent. Not a doctor? She doesn't elaborate. She does, however, glance over at Jacob again as if to check that she wasn't hallucinating, or suffering from some horrible case of mistaken identity. But no, the expression on his face dismisses that possibility. Taking a breath, she looks back to Isolde again. "He said B-something?" Hell if she's going to ask him for clarification.

Isolde looks both annoyed and exasperated at Van, as if she did not need him to join in on attempting to correct Specialist Asa the Cruise Director. She looks back to Cate, quickly drawing up the appropriate, "B16," because her brain is good with alphanumerics. Her mouth twitches a bit before she looks back toward Van, and she replies, "I suppose you get to sleep in your Viper, sir."

Van looks from Cate to the big Marine and back, confusion still reigning on his face. Realizing the matchstick is back in the corner of his mouth, he pulls it free again and tucks it into one of his pants pockets. "Is there a problem with him, Doc?" Because, young as he is, he's still the senior man about, now that the Captain has headed for her quarters. Isolde's comment causes him to blink, and a hint of a long-lost smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "If I knew which Viper was mine, I might do it." He gestures toward Cate then, "Sorry about the confusion, Aso." Eventually, someone will correct him. Presumably. "No idea where the VF-102 squadron room is? Any chance there are maps?"

"B16," Cate echoes dully. "Thanks." Van's well-meaning question causes her face to scrunch in a pained expression, glancing in the direction Jacob went off in. "Erm..." She's utterly unprepared to answer that question, but her brain scrambles enough to come up with, "A ghost, that's all." And one that has left her supremely unsettled. "Maps would be helpful yeah," she says lamely. "I suppose B16 is a deck reference."

"That's how you make friends with the deck crew... sleep in a ship they still need to run diagnostics on." The innocuous computer tech tries not to intrude on the whole business with Cate and the bellowing Sergeant, even if her curiosity is a bit piqued. She checks in a couple more newcomers while Van asks after Cate's business, and then she looks back to the pilot and marine. "Oh, I got lots of ideas," Isolde replies dryly to Van. But, she does oblige by tugging out two copies of a map she has on hand. "One small thing... the aft corridor on Deck 5 is blocked off for some last minute maintenance." Or was it Deck 6? Then she shifts a bit at Cate's mention of ghosts, but she does the fellow enlisted woman a favor and keeps her mouth shut.

Van nods at Cate's unsettled response, not looking precisely satisfied, but also not pushing the matter. "Plenty of them around." And then he looks back to Isolde, and that ghost of a smile reappears for a heartbeat again, "No, you make friends with the deck crew by helping them with the diagnostics. The software checks at least." And then she's zinging him again, and then helpfully handing out maps. He snorts softly, takes the map, studies it a moment, turns it over to look at it 'upside down,' then shakes his head and turns it right-side-up again. "That's a big ship. People are going to get lost for weeks. And we're going into combat in it? We should have a shakedown period." And then he nods toward the techie, "Or we just trust to Aso's 'ideas.'"

Cate nods absently to Van's comment about ghosts, but then she's taking the map and boggling at it. "Seriously. That's frakking huge," she mumbles. She holds up the map to Isolde and says, "Thanks." Then to both of them. "Excuse me." She starts to go, then pauses and glances back to Van. Coming back to herself enough to offer in a sincere but somber tone, "I'm glad you made it out."

Isolde watches Van attempt to make sense of the map without interruption, though her fingers twitch a bit when he looks at it upside down. She bites the inside of her cheek, holding back her own amusement. She then shakes her head at the third, or so, 'Aso'. "It's Asa... Specialist Isolde Ko Asa," she corrects him finally. "Good to see I left an impression." She smirks before she takes a step back slightly as Cate makes to leave. "I'll see you around, Lance Corporal." Then she looks back to Van, dark eyes taking in his details from head to toe. So familiar, and yet so unfamiliar. The sober response from the Marine leaves her shifting slightly in her boots.

Van nods in kind at Cate's words, "Almost didn't. Apparently, it's not good to fly with a piece of metal in your leg. Someone should have told me." Several someones did tell him. The humor comes out deadpan, however, weighed down by the dead who didn't make it out. "You too, Doc. I'll see you around." He hefts the map, adding, "Maybe." And then he's looking back to Isolde with a flash of surprise and a good deal more embarrassment, "Asa?" At least the 'frak me,' that follows is mumbled more than spoken. "Sorry, Specialist Asa." His eyes narrow slightly, "I called you Asa back on Picon didn't I?" He didn't.

For the first time since setting foot on the deck, a very faint smirk touches Cate's lips. "Yeah. Funny, I found out the same thing." Though she of course means flying out as a passenger, not a pilot. But she seems to share his melancholy remembrance of the ones who didn't make it, and the smirk is short-lived. When Isolde corrects the name, she nods to her. "Thanks Asa. See you both around." Then she's walking off.

The computer tech drops her eyes to her clipboard, looking over it as a distraction as Cate and Van share that moment that she cannot connect with. Being in IT and then hidden away to help build Galactica means very little combat experience overall, and it shows in how she shifts uncomfortably. She waits for Cate to start to make her leave, looking up to face the embarrassed Van. "I don't remember," she lies -- and not terribly well. She spares him after a moment. "I'm sure you did. I don't expect you to remember babysitting a Tauron cyber-security specialist." She seems ready to make her own departure, tucking the clipboard under her arm.

Van actually smiles a touch at Cate's response, a wry twist of his lips. Isolde covering for him deepens his embarrassment if anything, and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "Like you didn't remember my name." The words say agreement, the return of the twist to his lips suggests somewhere between teasing and self-deprecation. Nodding to the clipboard, he adds, "Oh good, you've checked in your list? Then you can help me make heads and tails of the map. Where are the quarters for VF-102?"

The Tauron dips her head a bit, hand clasped on her opposite forearm while she nervously tap-tap-taps the clipboard against her thigh. She looks around the hangar deck uncertainly, and then she sighs. "Look, we really are backlogged... but..." She licks at her lower lip, and then nods her head. "Come on." She turns, dropping her arms behind her back, stil clasping the clipboard. She heads for the exit to Deck 6.

Van shrugs a little helplessly, then bends down to pick up his duffel again, "It doesn't have to be my permanent quarters. Just wherever I'm bunking." As he starts out after the Specialist, it becomes clear that he has a faint limp on his right leg, but apparently not bad enough to keep him from active duty. "They have you toaster-proofing the Galactica, Asa?" He puts some weight on the last sound, making it clear he's getting it right this time.

"I don't think you saw the seriousness in my statement about sleeping in your Viper, but I know a place you can bunk until your quarters are ready." Asa steps out onto the Deck 6 corridor, quickly falling into stride of a woman who has walked these familiar halls, albeit a lot emptier than they are now. She glances over her shoulder to him, finally noticing the limp. She purposefully slows her stride a bit. "No, well... yes," Isolde wishwashes through her response, settling with, "I was part of the team that coded up her operating system, and I'm looking after a lot of her computer upkeep. I'm her... I'm her IT specialist." Though she's yet to suggest to the Commander that they turn her off and back on again.

Van ducks his duffel out of the way of a squad of Marines hustling down the hallway, then pushes his pace enough to catch up to Isolde, although when she slows, he nods his thanks. His brows rise sharply as she mentions her role on the ship, "You wrote her operating system. I'd love to get a look at her." And then he realizes what he said, something from life-before-Triton, and he frowns to himself, "Not... an in-depth look, of course. I'm sure I don't have the clearance." There's a pause, "Is there a rec room or something around here? A place to smoke? It was a long Raptor ride."

That flash of familiar catches her off-guard, and Isolde takes a pause at the stairwell down. "Okay, I can see about getting you a summary." She then starts down the stairs, keeping tight to the appropriate wall to make up and down flow easier. "Berthings is on Deck 7, and Rec Room is on Deck 8." She appears to be okay leading him there though, continuing past Deck 7 as they continue down through Galactica's decks. She shakes her head. "Don't remember you smoking on Picon... or were you just being polite?" She looks over her shoulder to him again, on route to bumping into some Marines on the Deck 8 landing if she doesn't clue in quickly.

Van rubs his hand over the back of his neck, and then forward over his close-cropped hair, "Yeah, no." He looks a little bashful, glancing down at the deck under his feet for three steps before he looks up again, pushing the embarrassment away, "A habit I picked up during the Siege of Triton." He's silent for another moment, and he adds, "Something to do. To keep my hands busy. Something to think about." As they reach the landing, one of his long-fingered hands darts out, a sharp motion to grasp at the techy's elbow to stop her from running into the group of Marines.

"Oh," Isolde says, the simple monosyllable feeling inadequate in the face of Van's unspoken memories. She recalls back to the exchange between him and Cate, and she almost puts another two pieces together when she's grasped by the elbow and stopped abruptly on the step before the landing. There's a cacophony of noise up the stairs at the sudden traffic jam. The techy is quick to blush at her cheeks when she edges her way past the Marines, speaking sorries behind her until they are squeezing into the Deck 8 corridor. Van isn't the only one trying to find a place to hang out until the backlog of berthing assignments is sorted out. It looks like an Academy dorm room hallway down here, people lounging on the wall, some crowding into bunkrooms to get out of the way. Isolde ducks her head like she's about to head out into a downpour, trying to remain mostly innocuous as she begins to wade through the hallway.

Van stops a half-step behind Isolde himself, scowling back over his shoulder at the complaints, and only then releasing her elbow. The people-cluttered hallway draws his scowl tighter, and he shifts his duffel more securely onto his shoulder, drawing in a breath so that he can snap, "What do you think this is, a pleasure cruise?" The words ring out through the clamor, high and clear in his tenor, "The halls aren't a place to lounge about!" Balancing his duffel's strap on one shoulder, he claps his hands, "Come on, people, move!" He's not likely earning himself many friends, but at least he gets a little movement from the nearer enlisted, and he glares at one Crewman who moves too slowly for his liking, grumbling, "Damned fire hazard."

Isolde is a bit surprised by Van's reaction, and she looks over her shoulder to him. She offers a soothing, "It's okay. They are working on getting it sorted out." Which is true based on how quick some people are being handed out their assignments so they can move along. The enlisted woman ends up in the Rec Room soon after a handful of Marines head aft to their assigned quarters. She glances over her shoulder to Van again. "It isn't the... ah... Knotty Lady," she knows that isn't the right name, but she is nervous with all the people around, "but, here we are." Hoping her own gravitational field will pull Van along, she ends up at one of the smaller octagonal table, sliding into a seat, pressing her back to the wall and trying to be out of the way.

Van shrugs a little bit at Isolde's response, then shakes his head, "It's a mess. And it means that people can't get through the hall." Still, he desists for the most part, only stopping once to nudge a Virgon seabag with one toe and note to its owner, "Get that bag moved, Crewman." He gets a salutes in response, and pointedly ignores the half-hidden rude gesture that is directed at his back afterwards. He follows her along into the Rec Room, dumping down his own back alongside a chair and then digging out a pack of cigarettes from inside his coat. He shakes one free and offers it out to her first. Whether she takes it or not, a cigarette ends up between his own fingers, and the pack is replaced, "Half Hitch," he corrects without thinking. "I've never been inside the Knotty Lady." He starts to pat his uniform, then realizes that it's not the uniform of the Picon Navy, grimaces and just notes, "Not safe for a Navy man." Taking a seat to her right, he rolls his shoulders a bit, "Thank you, Asa."

Isolde politely declines. She watches him hunt for his lights, and her eyes do not shy away until he is settling back and thanking her. She shrugs, shakes her head, and looks over the rec room from her decidedly safe corner. "It'll all be sorted in an hour or so..." She looks embarrassed when he corrects her so pointedly, and she nods in silent understanding. Not the Knotty Lady. She offers a quick, passing smile at the thanks. Her tongue works at the inside of her cheek before she offers a soft, almost inaudible, "You don't really seem like the same Ensign, you know..."

Van tucks the cigarette into the corner of his mouth, and then fumbles out a packet of matches, dropping two, picking them up, and then freezing in place a little as the change in his persona is called out. He shifts in his seat, turning one of the matchsticks over and over in his fingers for a moment, And then he collects the cigarette from his lips as well, his voice dropping in volume a little, "You heard? About Naval Airbase Triton? It was under siege from the uprising through October. We were under siege." The cigarette is replaced between his lips, and it wobbles as he adds, "And then I spent almost a year in the hospital learning to use my leg again." A match flares, finally, and he draws the cigarette to life, "You seem pretty much like I remember. Quiet. Staying out of the way when you're not in your element. Maybe some more of the confident woman who gave the lecture, but not a lot more."

"Oh," Isolde offers again, though she does not nod in understanding or try to sooth his experiences. "Yeah, I heard about that." She just listens, dark eyes dutiful and attentive. She sets aside her clipboard, but her pencil is still tucked up into her hair behind her ear. She looks aside when he lights the cigarette, almost like he needs some privacy with his addiction. When he comments on her own current state of being, her brows lift and eyes return to his paler features. "When was I not in my element on Picon?"

Van looks up at that, the flame of the match reflecting in his eyes, "Oh... most of the time after the lecture." He shakes out the match, letting it cool and then setting it on the table. He takes a long draw of the cigarette, letting the smoke coil around his lungs, and then coughs a bit, blinking and blowing it up toward the ceiling before he collects the rolled tube between his fingers and expands on that, "Tauron military in a Picon Naval Aviator's bar? Don't blame you either. Plus the annoying Ensign who wouldn't shut up."

Isolde watches with some interest, having never been one for the habit herself. She bites a bit at her inner cheek, worrying at the soft flesh. Then she offers a small laugh, shaking her head. "Yeah... he was annoying... particularly when he let a war get in the way of a second date." Ish. The techy is about to say more when her name is shouted over the rec room, and she winces. "Sol, we're needed! Stop lounging around!" The origin of the voice is almost impossible to locate with all the people, but Isolde knows who that is. She starts to slide out of her chair. "I'll make sure someone gets you your room assignment really soon, sir."

Van brings up the cigarette in the web of his fingers, letting them drift away as he draws on it, then collapse down to collect it again as he breathes the smoke up and away again, "That one's not my fault. I figured you were just using the excuse to blow me off. The two months. Not the war. No one's good enough to plan a war to avoid a second date." He starts to shift in his seat as she rises, but military etiquette overrides civilian, and he stays seated, "Thank you, Specialist." She uses 'sir,' he uses her rank. "I'm sure I can make sense of the map and find it. Eventually."

"Yes, blowing you off, that must be it," Isolde says, her tone resuming its dryness. She gives her greens a small, orderly tug. The use of her rank forces a quick nod of her head, and she frowns in a small glimmer of disappointment. The two month mark was easily a year ago, she reminds herself. The techy nods, and avoids a goodbye as she ducks into the crowds again, weaving her way to find the exit and her duties.


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