PHD 264: Diagnostic Virus
Diagnostic Virus
Summary: Leon starts his shift with Roland asking for a diagnostic. What do they find? Problems, of course… (With guest appearance by Tiera)
Date: PHD 264
Related Logs: None

Hunched over the Tactical console with a cup of lukewarm, watered-down(because it's -all- watered down nowadays) coffee and a small stack of reports in front of him is the figure of one Lt. Roland Girard. He absently pages through the reports with an ink-stained hand, frowning.

Slowly but surely, there's movement through CIC as a shift change occurs. From green-shirts to blue-shirts, people start filing out as those coming in replace them in their respective areas. Leon just happens to be one of the young officers coming on shift, as he steps through with a smaller wave, and makes his way to his post at the communications section of the centre. Recieving a clipboard of notes as the person he takes off, leaves with a relieved smile. The young Ensign nods as he takes over, and begins pouring through his own notes.

Fwip. Fwip. The Blueshirt on duty is currently buried in his piles and piles of paperwork, scribbling a few notes now on the margin of one of the papers he is juggling idly, looking up at the Nav console. Back down to the paper. Suddenly he freezes as his movements come to a dead stop. Straightens. Frowns with a thick knitting of brows. He didn't like what he just saw, that's for sure.

As Leon sits at one of the consoles, he starts tapping away at the computer, his eyes flitting back and forth between the screen and the papers on his board. Every now and then, he manages to look away as he waits for a load or a program. As he looks up, he notices their ever hard-working Tacco busy himself at the Tactical Console. The sudden freeze and straightening does catch the young Ensign's eyes, and he gets distracted as he watches the Lieutenant, wondering what caused such a reaction.

There's a bit of a twitch on Roland's part as he sets the papers down with an audible 'thump.' Another flick of his head from the reports to the console. He blinks, wearily. "Shit." comes the mutter under his breath and he gives a little shake of his head. "I must be losing my mind."

Finally the information finishes loading and Leon gets up as the information prints off. Information for the Tacco. As he gets the printed sheets, he gathers them together and steps around a few consoles making his way towards Roland. Well, good excuse to find out what seems to be bothering the Lieutenant. "Sir, just a few more Comm-Reports" the young Ensign announces as he nears the Tactical Console.

Tiera slips into the CIC, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands. She nods to Roland and Leon as she makes her way towards her station, settling into her seat, sipping her coffee.

The sheets contain nav data. Coordinates, stellar drift info, what -looks- like little circled hotspots highlighted in such a way that suggests they should avoided for some reason. Probably Cylon activity. "Oh. Uh, Ensign. I just misread something." He points to the nav console and then back down at the handwritten notes. Three discrepancies. Three. It looks like his handwriting, too. "Not comms data. You're off the hook." He smirks, but it seems humorless. He gives Tiera a sidelong nod as she ambles in as well.

Tiera setting her cup down she flips a few switches on her console watching the readouts.

"Something like that. Tired. Maybe." Roland mumbles as he brushes the back of his hand against his forehad lazily. The Lieutenant just shuffles the paperwork aside. "Anything amiss? When Barris went off-shift from Comms, he was slinking out of there like he was trying to avoid being seen. Can you run a diagnostic check to make sure the subsystems are functional?" This seems to be primarily delivered towards Leon, although he's not really looking at either crewmember - Leon -or- Tiera. He flips pages and moves to something resembling an organizational chart, with little boxes drawn around names of a few higher-level fleet officers. Including the Admiral.

Leon purses his lips in a moment of thought. "Not that I know of sir…" he mentions as he walks back to the Comms console, looking back at the Lieutenant as he sits down and starts tapping away. "…running diagnostic now. Should get some results soon." The young Ensign motions to one of the crewmen to keep an eye out on the diagnostic and report back if there's anything. He himself gets back up and walks back towards Roland. "Most of that report contains general traffic between the ships, as well as any 'odd' transmissions we've picked up. Most of it has been undecipherable static or noise. Some we believe may be Cylon, others sound, well, human. But nothing hard enough to confirm. We've got a few people working on trying to clear things up, see if we can't fiddle around with the frequencies a little, get clearer readings…" he says, nodding to the papers he placed before.

"Undecipherable noise." Roland mouths, almost-soundlessly as he steps away from his console to give an inclination of his head in a faint arc to study the Comms Ensign. There's a faintly-detected grimace present upon his features. "Well, don't let me keep you from the diagnostics, but would you do me a favor? Isolate those 'undefined' transmissions for me? I'd like a copy."

The young Ensign nods. "Aye sir" comes the acknowledgement of the favour as he turns and makes his way back to his console. As he sits down, one of the crewmen he ordered to keep an eye on the diagnostic gives him a sheet of paper, and Leon takes a quick look, thanking the crewman. There's a slight frown on the young officer's brow as he places the sheet infront of him. He quickly taps something into the computer. "Uh…Lieutenant" he calls to Roland.

"Yah?" Roland's head lolls about sharply to address the Comms Ensign. He strides on over at a decent clip without even inquiring further, brow still knit.

"We're still running the diagnostic on the subsystems and subroutines. But this already cropped up…" Leon mentions, a slight wince in his features. Not good. "There seems to be an underlaying code in one of the subroutines. Communications yes. I just rechecked it. It's there" he goes on as the Tacco nears. He lifts up the paper and holds it out to Roland. "Right now I'm checking the code itself. But it doesn't look good sir…"

"Just…" There's a heavy sigh on Roland's part. "Huh. Wonder what it's 'doing'. If anything. Our systems are hardlined, firewalled, and as locked down as one could ever want. Consider if you will, that's the way the Kharon was. And it's still out there, floating with us."

Leon nods solemnly. "Aye sir, but…" the young officer drops into a slight hush, "…we all recognise the code sir, it's definitely got the signature of 'metal' all over it. Right now it doesn't seem to be doing much, at least compared to other subroutines we've come across. But it looks like it's copying data and transmissions, also trying to eat its way through the firewalls. It looks like it's trying to transmit -out-" The Ensign shakes his head as he goes back to a normal voice, "We'll definitely keep an eye out sir, but my gut tells me this and the odd noise we've been picking up might have something to do in common…"

"Has the Admiral been notified?" Roland inquires, simply. In a tone that's fairly calm, to be honest. Even if he's clearly tense, crossing his arms in front of his chest, and pacing a couple steps away from the station.

Leon points to one of the crewmen nearby, and the signal is recieved. He himself enters a few commands into his console. "No sir, not yet. We only just picked this up when you ordered the diagnostic. It only came up because we're running a full, complete and deep diagnostic of /everything/" comes the curt reply, knowing that this means he's got to prepare a proper report on the matter. "I'll prep up the report sir, but this was just a prelim find. I have an inkling we'll find more like this one, and possibly in other systems as well…" He turns in his seat to face the Lieutenant, now a few paces away.

"Heh. Son of a bitching thing has probably been bouncing around for the better part of a year. If it -is- doing anything." The LT tosses out, absently. "Well, if the Admiral doesn't know about it, that needs to be rectified. Regardless. Sure I'll end up hearing about it -then-." With that, Roland starts loping back to his console.

"Probably…" comes the reply as Leon swivels back to face his console. As he does so, a few more greenshirts flit past his seat, dropping papers to which he says thanks, and takes a look. "…make that definitely…" the young officer groans. It's going to be a /long/ shift.

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