Cape Canaveral, FL | August, 1958 | 05:28

[anekantavada]

Six weeks had passed from the last time Kara Thrace had been at the Cape. She'd learned one hell of a lot about Earth in that short amount of time; waiting tables was often hard work, but it was a great way to keep her fingers on the pulse of happenings at Patrick Air Force Base as everyone from tourists to locals to the military families themselves passed through Cocoa Beach for one reason or another. She was even beginning to look and act like a native Floridian - during the hot summer, she'd gained a deep golden tan topped with permanently sunburnt cheeks, unlearned how to drive tooling around on straight, level roads on Al's motorcycle, and experienced a mounting dislike for people who were not from Florida. Other than those concessions to nativism, though, she led the same sort of solitary life she'd led in Delphi. Kara had taken a room in the inn where she worked, rarely socialized, and spent all her time learning the ins and outs of the base by any means necessary.

Aside from the general routine of life on a military base (something she already knew plenty about), Kara had picked up the fact Earth’s endeavor to go to space was indeed in its fledgling stage. Even if she’d spent her time simply watching television (almost laughably quaint compared to what she’d been used to on Caprica), she’d have gleaned that much – not to mention the fact the entire planet seemed swept up in it. Almost daily during her shifts, she heard some bit of news or another from NASA, and in Cocoa, NASA devotion was something of a religion. She also learned plenty about the politics of the place just from listening for tidbits about the space program. Here, countries fought with more vehemence than all the twelve colonies did. Overcrowding, Kara presumed – there were too many opposing ideologies to exist in such a small place. It was little wonder no one from Earth had yet stepped foot on the moon so close, if this had been the Caprica, it would have been close enough for a day’s shopping excursion.

One thing she hadn’t heard about, though, was Lieutenant Albert Calavicci. Normally, that wouldn’t have surprised her as most military personnel were just nameless, faceless protectors, but around here, those destined for space (the queerly named ‘astronauts’) were celebrities. She assumed Al was still in training and therefore had little time for photo opportunities or interviews, but still, she’d have liked to see him just once if only to know he was doing well. Her greatest fear was that, thanks to her and their little misadventure, he’d been knocked down to some desk jockey position and he’d never get to see the stars he dreamt of. She’d convinced herself that wasn’t the case, though, if only to keep him off her mind. After all, she had her pen in too many inkpots to get distracted for too long.

Kara had done a little legal research and plenty of not-so-legal reconnaissance work, and had begged, borrowed, and stolen to collect the most vital parts of her plan. She kept everything from plans to maps to spare airplane parts in a rented storage garage in Titusville. It was a larger city than Cocoa, and there, people paid a lot less attention to her. As an extra precaution, she always took a cab or a bus to the town, leaving the bike parked at the inn. A blonde in trousers stood out enough in this strangely backward place – if she rode in on the flashy motorcycle, she’d undoubtedly attract the wrong sort of attention. But late Friday night in August after a particularly grueling shift, she left Cocoa on the bike toting everything she wanted to take with her; she did not intend to return.

Her first stop was the garage. She collected what she needed, including the ill-gotten schematic of Patrick AFB. She’d gotten out of one drunk pilot that there was an off-limits hangar on the base, and Kara was sure if anything remained of her bird, it’d be there. She wasn’t stupid enough to let herself believe she’d be able to fly the thing out of Patrick, but if anything salvageable was left, she knew she could repair it given even a little time. She was likely deluding herself to think she could fashion a viable faster-than-light drive on her own, but if she could just get the parts and get the hell out of there with something with wings and an engine, well, she’d take care of fabrication and repairs in some little remote part of the United States. At least, that was if she didn’t get shot down attempting such an escape. There was no use worrying, though. She needed to do this, and she needed to do it now. The waiting was killing her, and even though she could probably remain on Earth, building a life for herself, trying to forget the people she loved and lost, she just couldn’t live without flying. Kara would rather die than remain grounded.

So she bundled what she’d picked up and departed Titusville, heading for the base. There were many checkpoints on the way, but she’d forged herself a passable enough fake to get through the first few on the bike, and just before the final guardhouse, she parked the motorcycle in a copse of sad-looking pines, stowing the keys with their seashell keyfob in one of the compartments. She prayed to any gods still listening the note she’d asked another waitress to send a few days after she’d gone found Calavicci before someone else found the bike, but if not… well, it was just another thing she couldn’t worry about.

She skirted the ragged treeline leeward toward the ocean. When she reached the calm, quiet beach, she kept low behind the shallow dunes, approaching the final guardhouse from behind. As she knew from listening carefully, there was a single guard on two-hour watch between one and three in the morning, and the man had to phone in regular reports every quarter hour, so she had a narrow but not unmanageable window to perform the necessary task of rendering the man unconscious. Gripping the heavy Browning pistol she’d gained in a less-than-legal manner in a sure hand, she watched and waited for the soldier to sight up and down the road into the base, then around the house. He lifted the receiver, filed a quick report, then resumed doing nothing. As she drew closer, she could see he was such a young man, probably no older than eighteen, and she felt sorry for what she had to do. Still, needs must, and Kara was used to doing things she didn’t want to do.

She closed the last few feet crouched low. When she crept around to the guard’s door, she sprang up, brandishing in the pistol with two hands. The poor kid’s face blanched, but he still went for his revolver. Noble of him, Kara thought, but she could hardly spare him now. “Hold it right there, kid,” she growled. “Hands on your head.” He hesitated, looking for a split second like he was going to try something heroic, but thought better of it. Even before his hands touched his head, Kara struck him with the handle of the pistol, swiped his keys, turned them in the lock to disengage the alarm, and opened the final gate. Keeping the keys and knocking over a few things so the kid would look like he’d gone down fighting, she proceeded on through. She knew the way by rote, but she consulted her schematic as she ran along the fence, then turned and began to zigzag through recently-erected Quonset huts and permanent hangars alike until she found the one she was looking for.

It was an unremarkable building, painted a utilitarian gray, but to Kara, it may as well have been the resplendent Oracle of Delphi. She jimmied the lock and slipped inside, finding a few ghostly looking hulks under sheeting, spare parts and tools scattered around, and half-finished projects complete on tables around the room. This was a bird chop-house the likes of which Kara had seen before, and for a moment, she just breathed in the comforting fug of sweat, metal, and machine grease. Gods, how she’d missed that aroma.

Of course, Kara didn’t really have the time to stand around, basking in nostalgia, so she began searching for anything familiar. She didn’t have long to look as it turned out. In the center of the room, partially uncovered, sat what remained of her beautiful Viper. What hadn’t been sacrificed to the ground during her disastrous re-entry and miraculous crash-landing had been stripped. All that remained were its bones and thousands of pieces and parts scattered around it on the cement floor. Despite the veritable holocaust, Kara couldn’t help grinning – it was plain to her that no one had been able to make heads or tails of much of anything. Her grin faded a bit as she realized she wasn’t going to be taking much of her bird with her, though, so she stepped away from the Viper hesitantly and began dragging sheets off the other damaged planes in the hangar.

All told, there were about six and a half birds there, and if mended properly, there might have been two viable for flight. She chose the plane requiring the least repairs, a broken-down old mid-engine fighter with a front prop. She could tell in its day, it had been a gorgeous plane, but it was lacking in anything even remotely resembling the turbocharged engine she’d need to break atmosphere. The shape, as well, was all wrong, but those things could be overcome. Hadn’t she singlehandedly piloted a Raider back to Galactica once? And that thing hadn’t even had appreciable controls, just sinew and something like blood.

Kara rolled up her sleeves both literally and metaphorically and set to work, using as little light as she could, careful of the amount of noise she was making. Both made even the simplest fixes slow-going, but by the time the sun was beginning to stream through the hangar’s upper windows, she had herself a mostly-able bird. It would be one hell of a thing to try to test it for flight on its first go, but she didn’t have any choice. As with her daredevil escape from that terrible moon, she was only going to get one chance to do this, and it had to work.

She gathered up what she’d need to retrofit the plane with an FTL-drive and secured it behind the cockpit. She still had no idea where she’d get the power to break atmosphere, but those concerns were too much to think on at the moment. For her part, it was going to be all she could do to get out the hangar doors and up into the air. The rest, she hoped, would come later.

Without a proper flightsuit or even the assurance she’d have enough oxygen to sustain anything longer than a twenty-minute flight, Kara bravely climbed into the cockpit. She wanted to maneuver as close as she could to the doors, so when she opened them, she could be down the runway before anyone thought to chase her. Just as she laid her hands on the stick and began basic pre-flight, her good luck ran out. The door opened, and below, she could hear exclamations of surprise. She hunkered down in the seat, sliding almost to the floor, but it was no good. The mechanics who’d turned up to pick up wherever they’d left off the night before spotted the fully-functional plane right off.

“Holy shit, Carl! Lookit that! The Airacobra looks like she’s been reborn over night.”

A laugh answered the first voice. “Don’t be an idiot. Strickland musta left it uncovered last night.”

Kara heard footsteps cross the concrete and she frantically searched for the Browning. Damn her arrogance for thinking she was in the clear! She’d just located it when she saw a shadow fall across her.

“Carl, you’re never gonna believe what’s up here,” the first man said, incredulous. Kara knew she was good and caught, so she lifted her gaze to the startled looking man looming over her. He blinked at her, uncomprehending for a moment, then shouted down, “It’s a goddamn woman!”

Comments

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

"Bingo! Bring your shit!"

Lieutenant Albert M. Calavicci grunted out a response in the midst of packing, "Jesus, Snobbig, I've got another twenty minutes. Why don't you cool it, huh?"

It was only then the massive lieutenant came around the corner, his forehead glistening with sweat under a very curly dirty blond mess of hair. Didn't look too happy, either. Jackie "Snobbig" Gibbons flared his nostrils to take in a long deep breath, and as he did so, his green eyes grew wider and wider, like two inflating balloons.

"Oh, here it comes." Al shook his head, looking down at his bunk in a manner only those familiar with Gibbons would understand.

"I SAID get your SHIT, BINGO!" Two huge hands clapped down on Calavicci's shoulder, practically driving him to the bunk below, if not for his grip on the mattress above. "COMMANDER says NOW!"

Bingo groaned, winced, questioned whether he still had hearing and decided he did, followed quickly with the desire to no longer have hearing, and finished up with a very befuddled, "Huh...?"

Oh, mistake! Calavicci realized just quick enough, thankfully. Snobbig's pyhton-like fingers were just beginning to clamp down when Al deposited himself on the bed below, and popped up on the other side no less hurt, but no more, either.

Gibbons, red and wild-looking, brought his hands down on Bingo's bunk and bellowed, "I SAID THE COMMAN--"

"I heard that, Gibbs, geez!" Al, half of Gibbons' size, felt fortunate to have escaped the bohemoth's grip. "You know, if wanna get through the next couple weeks, you'd better go easy..." Because, damn, he wasn't sure how many more run-ins he could take with the angry lieutenant (aka, Al's study partner.) "What't the deal? I mean, buses don't leave for at least a half hour."

"You ain't GETTIN' on the buses," he replied, appearing to calm slowly as he crept around to the end of the bunks.

Bingo, keeping a wary eye on the other man, reached gingerly to grab the things he'd tried to finish packing. He laughed. "That some kind of joke?"

Snobbigs started building up steam again, long pulls of air accented with his arms stock-straight at his sides. Through his teeth: "No."

"All right, all right, I'm movin'." Because now he was starting to worry. Last he'd heard, everything had been a go for survival training in Maine. He began hurriedly shoving things into his pack, wondering just what could possibly keep him off the bus. He'd been relatively good... er, decent... well, he'd not gotten himself arrested, and he certainly wasn't worrying about grades, so it was a completely mystery. A completely mystery that had his distracted just a liiiiiitle too long.

"LET'S GO!!"

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Before Calavicci could protest, he was off the ground. Struggling for leverage and the ground and god, oxygen, the young astronaut-hopeful was forced to drop everything he'd hoped to take with him in favor of kicking and flailing for escape. "Put me down," he croaked, but Gibbons wasn't interested.

Bingo's face pushed the door open, much to his dismay, and feeling dizzied, he couldn't quite find the strength to fight back for a good, long moment. He saw, ahead, the unhappy faces of several higher ranking officers. Their synchronized gestures must have registered with Gibbons, who dropped Bingo immediately. Even before Calavicci found his footing, the larger man shoved his shoulder and jabbed a meaty finger at the younger lieutenant. "You'd BETTER fix this, Bing-O."

Al did a forced spin and stumbled backward away from his study partner and toward the officers, hands held aloft. "Whoa, hey, fix what?" But Gibbons had disappeared back inside. The young lieutenant turned on his heel, eyes narrowed at the three men gathered. Two stood outside a black sedan, one sat in the driver's seat. "Fix what?" He asked again, more demanding. Calavicci suddenly realized just who he was talking to and straightened up. "Sirs." An unhappy addendum, no salute present.

"Get in, lieutenant." Al's Commander, Stern, gestured to the back door. The driver turned in his seat and started the car, and the Captain accompanying them went around to the other side and hopped up front.

Calavicci looked hesitant. "But, sir, the bus is gonna leave and--"

Stern sighed, lips pressed tightly together. He lifted an arm to gesture him along. "Son, you don't have a choice."

Al looked stricken. He felt... well, he felt angry. And upset, and worried, and a little bit sick. But he followed the lead and ducked down into the dark car with tinted windows. Sliding over to the opposite window, he fought the urge to chew on his knuckle. The scrutiny he was receiving from the front seat didn't help.

The Commander closed the door once he was in, and then they began to move almost immediately. His hat came off, and he ran a hand through his hair. Stern sighed again.

"Sir, I believe I'm due an explanation." Calavicci finally forced out something that wouldn't get him court martial.

The captain in the front seat cleared his throat. "Lieutenant, do you recall meeting a woman? About six weeks ago..."

"I meet lotsa women, pal. What's this about?" Al shot the man a glare, blatantly insubordinate. Bingo was right back at Pensacola, still green and staring at charges of rape that would end his career and his life. He'd thought all of that was behind him. The last time he'd even thought about it, he was drinking in New Mexico with...

"Kara Thrace." Stern's voice, this time.

Bingo didn't turn, but they would have had to be blind not to see his face go from red to white so quickly. He crossed his arms, sat back, and stared out the window purposefully.

///

The room where they kept her was, like most, behind a half-wall of one-way glass. Completely dark, save for the light over the table in the center, it served as a typical interrogation room.

Al stepped in, unprepared and mostly shadowed. The door locked behind him. "You're in some big trouble, Captain," he said, wearily. Her hair was longer. She looked tan. Something about that rolled around in his head and made him a little happy. Even felt that little jolt in his stomach, but he wasn't certain at that moment if it was from seeing her or contemplating the end of his career with NASA and the Navy.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Startled didn't even begin to cover how she felt. She'd have sooner expected the President of the United States come rolling in. Frak - she'd have sooner expected Laura Roslin to enter the interrogation room than Al. Where she'd been buoyed by round after round of shutting down interrogators, there was no mistaking how quickly her smug little smile faded now. Kara swallowed hard, folding her arms across her chest and slumping back in the hard metal chair, attempting to draw her expressive face into the shadows. Her posture bespoke of outright impudence, and she even put on a glare to match, but her eyes told a story she didn't want anyone to read.

"Lieutenant," she greeted him curtly. "I must be pretty important to warrant a visit from you." She bit down on her tongue, curling her fingers into fists under her elbows. Pressing firmly, she felt her half-moon fingernails dent her calloused palm. The pain grounded her somewhat, but her heart was thundering in her ears so loudly, she could barely hear herself think.

It had been thirteen long hours since she'd been discovered in the cockpit of her failed getaway plane. She was exhausted and hungry, running solely on the bitter coffee she'd taken an hour earlier. As a result, her mind was moving faster than her weary spirit could process, and she couldn't fathom why they'd have brought Calavicci in. Did they hope to coax something from her? Even in current state, that wasn't going to happen. She'd undergone far worse than anything the Navy could throw at her, and the shameless attempt to play on her emotions was just insulting.

Whatever it was, it wasn't going to be a cheerful little conversation. Kara frowned and appraised him coolly, wondering what exactly he'd been told to get from her. She didn't envy him his position.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Al wasn't stupid enough to assume anything they said would go unheard. He had seen the crowd on the other side of the wall, numbering more than a dozen. The minute and a half he'd spent there had been more than long enough, as it was cramped and smelled a lot like there was blood in the water. "Glad you agree." A halfhearted try, but a try.

He looked anxious, especially as he sat down across from her. Folding his fingers together acted to hold the silence for a moment, but from beyond the glass came a distant "I cannot beLIEVE this!" Calavicci raised an eyebrow, turned, and gave the glass wall a look. And what the hell was Gibbons doing there?

Finally, he turned back to her and rubbed at his face. "Ka--" Al cleared his throat. "Captain." A pause. What was he going to say? After a humorless chuckle, he leaned forward until he was well lit. "I... I don't know how else to tell you this, but these guys aren't believing me when I tell 'em you're from around here." A thumb pointed back over his shoulder.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

So that was it, huh? They'd done a little briefing in order to get the kid looking hangdog and scared - bastards probably pulled him out of bed or some damn thing besides. She truly felt sorry for Al - this was her fault, and if his career was ruined, that'd be on her shoulders as well.

Kara leaned forward as well, but it wasn't to make any kind of confession. Instead, she picked up a crumpled pack of cigarettes from the table, extracted one, and put it between her lips. She lifted her eyebrows at Al. "Got a light?"

When they met across the table, Kara dared a glance at the window to the left. Hoping her face was somewhat obscured by the process of Al lighting her smoke, she murmured around the cigarette, "Hit me, Al. Make it look good."

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

That almost made his laugh; if not for their current predicament, he might have. "Near as I can figure it, that's about the worst idea I've heard yet." Al didn't hit girls. Even the afterthought made him cringe. "Nothing but opposition from here to there." The base was easy to alert. How far could she really get?

"You got a lot of people's attention," he told her, stealing a cigarette for himself. Once lit, he hit a couple times and scrubbed his thumb across his forehead. "Hell, I saw a Coast Guard guy," he revealed, shaking his head.

Overhead, a detached voice warned on the intercom, "Lieutenant..."

Bingo held up his hand up to note he understood and gave Kara wink. "Now, I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure the only thing I can tell them is that I was so drunk off my ass when I met you, I didn't know my head from a hole in the ground.

"And that was acceptable enough, I suppose. For my guys and your guys." He hit the cigarette again, this time ashing it. "But, now that they've gotten together, they tell me I've got some explaining to do. Specifically, why I felt the need to assist you by fabricating a story about branch cooperation."

Al leaned back in his chair and was almost completely shadowed. "'Course, all I said was that I didn't think it was much of a fabrication; we'd gotten along just fine. Aaaaaand they told me I'd best wait in here."

And that was the long and the short of it. Calavicci leaned back to give her an appraising look. "How you been, kid?" Might as well make the best of it until whoever showed up to ruin their lives. "You look good." Especially for as long as she had been there already.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Kara rolled her eyes and folded her arms again, dropping back into her chair petulantly. Of course he'd be stubborn about it, and dammit, her plan had been a good one - it would have at least gotten him off the hook. She hadn't expected any less from Al, though; he was a man after her own heart, and she always took the more difficult road. That didn't comfort her, though, as she knew from here on out, he was stuck with her. That didn't mean she had to be cheerful about it, though.

"Fantastic," she returned coldly, grinding out her untouched cigarette. If he expected her to have a calm little chat in front of a room full of onlookers dripping with brass and ribbons, he was going to be sorely disappointed.

She fought to keep her gaze even, chewing her lower lip with the effort to refrain from speaking. Even as angry as she was with him right now, she was glad to see he was still at the Cape. That meant someone somewhere was looking out for him. She hoped whoever that was had some real power, because it was going to take a hell of a lot more than a few commendations and kind words to keep Al on track in his career after this.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

"Good to hear." There was no malice there, but the lieutenant could hear the stiffness in his voice. While he didn't entirely expect Thrace to understand what he was feeling at the moment (nor to entirely understand her feelings, himself,) he had hoped for a little compassion and camaraderie. Despite all that, he let whatever feelings her coldness stirred spiral down the drain and leaned an elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. He knew very well she'd meant him to feel it, but he also knew it was because she was hurting deep down inside and Bingo was easy to target. Thankfully, he never took that personally. It kind of came with the job.

Closing his eyes, he let the cigarette hang and used his free hand to rub at Snoggib-tensed muscles. "Been keeping busy," he told her, interested in small talk even if Starbuck wasn't. "Just got finished with some flight training." Not that he'd needed it, but hey. "'Course, I would have preferred to skip it, but old Gibbs back there needed me to get 'im through." Al actually jumped as a loud THUMP against the glass rang into the room. He shot an amused glance back over his shoulder, then returned to the position he'd been in before. "Supposed to do land-based survival next, assuming we get out illustrious interrogator before I die of old age." And now he just felt like complaining.

Expression unchanging, he sucked on the butt of the cigarette and then held it out for inspection. It was about three quarters of the way finished, so he took one more hit, crushing it out next to Thrace's snuffed cigarette. "Can't imagine they'll keep us forever." Don't bet on it, buddy.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Kara dropped her gaze, pulling a face. She wished Al would just shut up - he was only making it worse for the both of them. The less she said, though, the better. She still assumed Al was meant to be her interrogator, no matter how unwitting, and even her sympathy toward him wasn't going to draw her out and force her to say something she'd later regret.

She shot Al a withering glance and then looked directly at the mirrored glass. There she saw how drawn and pale she was - the tan made her appear ashen in the glow of the bare bulb. The hot summer sun had further bleached her blonde hair, and it looked flat and white. Her appearance coupled with the haze of cigarette smoke made her look like a ghost. Maybe, she thought wryly, that was what she was.

Before she could give herself over to further morbid poesy, the door clanged open. She didn't know what to expect (and really, you'd think she'd learn to stop having expectations in Bingo's presence), but the person who appeared looked like the kind of guy Kara would have washed out of training for looking at her wrong. He stood maybe a head taller than Kara and strutted like a bantam rooster. The bars pinned to his sleeve suggested he was a captain - Air Force, probably, but she'd been wrong before. His soft doughy face, however, told a story all its own. No matter who he was or what rank he held, the man wasn't really the active duty sort of officer. Kara despised him on sight.

He consulted a notepad in his hand and narrowed his eyes at Al. "'Bingo'?" he asked disdainfully. "I shudder to think where that little gem came from." He turned to look at Kara, his gaze wandering over her. "And you, Miss Thrace." He shook his head and clucked his tongue as if that was all he had to say on the matter of her existence. He pointed to Al and gestured he vacate his chair to sit in the one beside Kara.

"It's Captain," Kara growled, glowering at the man.

He gave a fey little laugh and shook his head. "Hardly." Once more, he turned from her to Al. "Go on. You won't want me to ask a third time."

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Calavicci raised an eyebrow and as he turned to look at the posturing captain it morphed into a glare. He stood, pressing his closed fists into the tabletop. "If I may, sir I don't recall you asking at all." The little worm sent chills down Al's spine and he knew, just as Thrace, that the man was either riding a desk or someone's ass. All. The. Time.

This time, it was Stern's voice over the intercom. "Move, Calavicci!" And in the background, before the mic clicked off, Gibbons saying, "YEAH, BI--"

The young lieutenant took his time to move, seething and feeling like a snake was coiling around inside of him, agitated and ready to strike. Pissant didn't seem to be making any more moves, but Bingo told himself he'd best not make too many rash decisions before bedtime. Finally, he curled around the other side and sat heavily in the chair next to Kara.

The captain's Cheshire smile was nothing if not unsettling. He placed a folder down on the table and then leaned to wipe at the seat of the chair Al had just vacated.

Calavicci rolled his eyes and felt very much like a boy waiting for the principal to start a tirade of epic proportions. His head dipped back and he said to Kara, "Bingo's an okay name, right?" Not that he was at all worried it wasn't.

"I think you'd better start taking this seriously, Lieutenant. NASA's not going to want a--"

Al interrupted the captain, sitting forward abruptly. "A what, captain? An exceptional pilot with exemplary test scores? A decorated veteran? A plain old nice guy that didn't do anything wrong?" He probably couldn't glare any harder if he tried. "Sounds like exactly what they're looking for, sir." Ugh. If ever the sign of respect were wasted, now was it.

The captain was red. "We'll just see about that." He fumbled with the folder and pulled out a photograph of the shared-custody motorcycle, taken right at the spot Thrace had left it. "Look familiar?" That question, he asked to Kara, hand shaking at he held it in front of their faces.

Calavicci didn't even look. "It's dark in here, sir. I can't quite make it out." A second later, the door came open and in came Stern. Al withered a bit and sat back, crossing his arms.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Kara leaned forward, without regard to the new entry. She surveyed the photograph, thoroughly unimpressed. "Looks like a motorcycle, doesn't it, Lieutenant?" She glanced at Calavicci and then back to the pompous little captain, sneering. "Yours?" She pretended to take a second to reconsider, then wrinkled her nose. "Never mind - you couldn't even stand over it."

The man slammed his fist down on the table and moved toward Kara. Sterns grasped his shoulder, pulling him back and almost off his feet. "Foster!" he barked in a warning tone. The Captain shot a nasty look at the Commander, but it was lost on the larger man who'd already turned back toward Al and Kara.

He looked right past Kara to Calavicci. "Just... give us your cooperation, huh?" Turning his head to include Kara in his stern gaze, he added, "The both of you." He sighed and backed up, gesturing to Foster, passing the baton.

The shorter man cleared his throat and made a show of straightening his jacket. "Lieutenant Calavicci," he said stiffly, "is this your motorcycle?"

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Al leaned forward, looking over the photograph for too long. When he sat back, he gestured at the picture. "Yeah, maybe."

"Maybe?" The captain leaned forward suspiciously.

"Yeah, maybe. I use to have a bike that looked like that." That much was the truth. Calavicci took the opportunity to elaborate, steepling his fingers in front of him. "If the Commander recalls, I was late for my start of training due to road conditions too hazardous for traveling. When I arrived back, I stopped for a late dinner, knowing the mess and commissary would be closed. Upon departure from the restaurant, I realized the motorcycle was gone. I called a cab instead." That wasn't too far from the truth, right?

"And you didn't report it stolen?"

Al waved it off. "It wasn't hardly worth it. I was lucky to make it back here at all."

Stern closed back in, rolling up his sleeves. "So what you're saying is--"

"Sir, I don't know what I'm saying, because I don't know what you're asking? Can't we dispense of all this cinema-grade dramatics and deal with this head on?"

Annnnd, that was the perfect time for Foster to butt in. "To hell with what you want, Calavicci. You cooperate or you're out on your ass with a dishonorable."

The Commander sighed and just rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Silence reigned until Foster said to Kara, "When did you obtain possession of the motorcycle?"

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Kara sat back and gave Foster a guileless still that didn't quite fit her normally-smirking lips. "Kara Thrace. Captain, Colonial Air Force. 46-27-53." This was a repeat performance of course, as Kara'd been saying much the same thing all day long. She didn't even bother disguising her origin insofar as giving her actual rank and branch name - anything less, any fabrication would have felt like the worst sort of betrayal. And what did it really matter, anyway? She sensed no one really believed her anyway. Interrogators had been accusing her of being everything from a Communist to a French spy (neither of which she really understood, but at least she could put the former into some sort of workable context).

Foster's face went from pink to red, and he made a strangled noise in his throat.

Commander Stern cut in before the man could erupt. “Cut the bullshit, ma’am,” he said calmly. “How’d you fix that plane? Can you tell us that? From check-in records at the gates, you didn’t have more than three and a half hours with it.” For his part, the man looked genuinely interested.

Before she could hold it in check, professional pride made her ask, “Will she fly?”

The man’s silence told her everything she needed to know. She should have felt even worse – a near escape was even worse than being caught – but her grin was genuine. “I knew it.”

Foster broke in at this point, calling over his shoulder. “Belsterling! Bring the bag in here!”

A young ensign – presumably Belsterling – entered with Kara’s duffel of tools and parts, spilling it unceremoniously across the table. Pieces rolled this way and that, clattering to the floor. Coolly, she observed the spectacle, neither reacting nor moving to catch the vital circuitry that would probably be broken thanks to such rough treatment.

Smirking like a cat who’d just caught an especially ornery canary, Foster gestured to the array. “Explain what this is.”

Kara cocked her head to one side, looking for all the observers like she were actually considering. She plucked a piece at random from the pile, turning it over in her hand, scrutinizing it closely. At last, she smiled cheerfully, shrugged, and laid it back down on the table. “I don’t know, sir. Looks like a bolt to me. But then, I’m no expert.” She batted her eyelashes for good measure, and that time, Foster really did make a grab for her.

Kara was out of her chair before he was a foot from her, and she swung, catching him across the chin. It was a poorly timed punch, and Kara felt the pain ring up through her knuckles, her hand, and burn all the way to the her elbow. Still, it felt damn good to see the little bastard reel back, covering his face with two hands. Belsterling restrained her, but Kara was expecting as much, and didn’t bother putting up a fuss. Instead, she grinned at Stern. “He the best you got, sir? ‘Cause I can do this all day.”

He frowned hard at her, seeming to weigh her with his gaze. She felt queerly as though Bill Adama were looking at her through the other man’s eyes, and she barely repressed a shiver. Her gaze, however, remained boldly on his. Stern shook his head and glanced at Calavicci before turning to the man grasping Kara’s wrists behind her. “Cuff her to the chair, Ensign.” With barely a glance to the Captain, he added, “Foster, with me,” on his way out the door.

Once Belsterling did as he was ordered, performing his task as quickly as he possibly could, Kara and Al were once again left alone.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Commander Stern had started the day late and determined to not be frustrated by the those that had preoccupied him before, including Foster. He met with the doughy Air Force representative first thing. The heart-to-heart about protocol and maintaining a cool head was painful, at best. Foster's obvious injuries seemed to have helped their agreement along. How they got to a resolution didn't matter to Stern -- he was getting too old for ego-driven bullshit.

Agreeing upon a course of action, Stern and Foster parted ways to fulfill their roles. Stern went to collect Calavicci and Foster went to meet the expert.

Upon his arrival back at the cell, the commander found his patience growing ever thinner. He whispered harshly as he unlocked the door. "Bingo, up and out!"

There was no hiding from that. Al awoke immediately, pausing only long enough to register he was still pressed against Thrace. She had, at some point, turned herself to sleep against his chest and barely registered his movement. He didn't think it would last, but tried to carefully extricate himself from the cot without disturbing her too much. It was practically acrobatics.

"You could at least pretend like you're not best buddies," Stern hissed, though the fact that he was making an effort not to disturb Kara was telling enough to Bingo.

"I could." Al shrugged and strutted through the open cell door.

It had taken a while, but eventually Stern came to realize Calavicci had little more to offer than stories already common knowledge. Everyone had heard the tale told brazenly from the lieutenant's own mouth. The only thing their conversation gained Stern were finer details that only made the story seem more plausible.

He played the old switcheroo, using the now-free Foster to ferret Thrace while an MP escorted the fairly cooperative Calavicci off to breakfast for the time being.

The best chance at coming to any sort of resolution was to meet with Captain Thrace alone. Foster had proven himself inept and Calavicci had become the perfect distraction. No, he felt he was going to have to level with her, face-to-face.

The place he chose was the most serene he could find: a wide field of green off the side of some hangers. It overlooked empty runways and a sky filled with large billowing white clouds and vast blue areas. Not a lot of humidity, and the breeze was refreshing. He hoped it would all work in his favor.

When Foster finally arrived with Kara, he already looked harassed. Stern nodded to the man. "I'll see you in a little while." Without protest, Foster left and just like that, it was one-on-one in a wide open expanse.

He smiled, telling himself that was the best way to make a second impression. "Captain, I hope you slept well." He didn't wait for her to answer, just segued right into his next thought. "Are you hungry? Would you like to join me for breakfast?"

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Kara had dutifully followed Foster across the base, surprised that he didn't appear to be leading her to another building, but instead out into the open. She half-expected that she was being taken to her own execution, but that didn't stop her from wheedling the posturing little jerk - hey, if she was going to go down, she'd do it fighting with her last breath.

Instead of a firing squad, though, she found an at-ease looking Stern. His smile and invitation put her immediately on the back foot, but she returned his expression with an impish grin of her own. "You didn't have to bring me all the way out here just to ask for a date, sir."

Her reply rattled the man for a blink-and-you'd-miss-it second, and he nodded placidly. "As you like it, Captain Thrace. This way." He led her along the green edge of the field, clasping his hands behind his back. Their destination, it appeared, was a squat old Spanish-style building set apart from the rest. It looked to have been there for centuries, and even the tin roof laid on top was rusting and ancient, but there was a well-maintained red brick patio outside, and breakfast was already laid out.

"An officers' secret," Stern explained, gesturing for her to take a seat. "It used to be a mission. When the base was built during World War II, citizens gathered around the place and wouldn't allow the contractors to raze it, so it was turned into a temporary commissary. It's now a national historic landmark, but it's too difficult to update, and it just serves as a retreat to the few of us who remember it."

Kara sat, eying the array eagerly. She'd been eating well up until yesterday, and her body couldn't quite adjust to the lack of food she'd enjoyed in the latter days aboard Galactica. Still, she was hardly going to look desperate and dive right in - until of course, he invited her to do so.

Once they'd shared a relatively silent meal and ran through an entire carafe of strong coffee, Stern stood. "Let's walk, hmm?"

Kara had long-since guessed the man was trying to soften her up before going in for the kill, but what could she do? Continue to deny them answers and waste away forever in this place? Hearing jets taking off and landing was torture for her, and she'd have rather been dead than spend her life imprisoned on the base, so close to the life she'd led, but forever removed from it. No, what she wanted was to do a little bargaining - she hoped her performance the day before had proven her strength, and now, she'd give over a bit in order to earn herself some respect.

Stern led her away from the mission, and on down toward the shoreline, staying on a well-worn path through the scrubby, stubborn sea grass. Before he could start lobbing easy questions at her, she looked at him. "What is it you really want to know, Commander?"

((ooc: We can [or I can] continue on with Kara and Stern if you like, or we can check in with Bingo, and keep bouncing back and forth 'til they meet again. Whatever you like, my darling! ♥!))

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Stern was a bit surprised Thrace had bothered to ask. He had expected the road to be long, especially considering the woman's performance the previous day. His mother had always told him the best way to get a person on his side was to show them a good meal and an ear. The woman (bless her soul) had to be right after so many years dealing with her son.

"Well, Captain, I reckon there's a lot I really want to know, but let's stick with what I need to know." Because each hour brought more and more questions. Kara, of course, made no answer because nothing had been asked.

Stern was obviously on the verge of some verbose moment. He walked along, hands shoved into his pockets, watching as more and more jets were becoming active and taking off from the multiple runways. "You know, three quarters of the kids I gotta deal with are like you two." Stern spared her a glance. "Most aren't as big of a pain in my ass, but they're all headstrong and they've all got something to prove. It doesn't make my job any easier, but I feel that's a great quality for about any pilot." He laughed humorously. "Most of my peers don't agree."

And now he was getting to the point. "I don't much care what trouble you and Bingo found six weeks ago. Or what trouble you have waiting for you out there." He nodded off into the distance. "All I need to know is that you're not a threat to this country. I can't promise the same of my colleagues, but I feel they'll defer to me if I push hard enough. Anything more you might tell us, of course, would be taken into consideration when your court date arrives." He hated that it sounded so topical, but what else could he offer? The list of charges were pretty lengthy.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Kara certainly appreciated the man's forthrightness - it was far more respectful treatment than she'd gotten heretofore from his colleagues, and honestly, it was probably more than she'd earned. Still, though the answer he was waiting for was a relatively simple one, she let the question hang between them for a long moment.

It wasn't really that she didn't want to unburden herself to someone, it was just that she wondered how much she could tell him without being remanded to a mental institution. It also wasn't just her fate that hung in the balance - so long as Bingo's future remained uncertain, she didn't want to lay all her cards on the table.

At long last, she stopped and turned toward the water. Stern stopped alongside, and though he turned toward the horizon as well, she knew she has his full attention."Tell you what, Commander - I'll answer one question for every answer you give me." As a vote of good faith, she added, "So to answer your question, no, I pose no threat to this country." Now that she'd said as much, she waited silently for him to either believe her and carry on, or deny her and start all over again.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

That much was a relief. Sure, Stern couldn't just take her word and run with it, but hearing it so plainly gave him the confidence that they would eventually discover that was the truth. "I'm glad to hear that, Captain." Certainly, a good sign for Bingo as well, as he would no longer be under suspicion of collaborating. "I'd guessed as much this morning, but I had to ask." The commander doubted few traitorous conglomerates would actually get into bed together.

And then, as a precaution, "Don't ask about anything too specific, all right?" He hoped she'd understand he meant she should choose her questions wisely.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

As a long-time officer, she knew how to choose her words carefully - Kara just didn't usually do it, was all. In this instance, though, she knew she'd best do as the Commander asked. Her position (not to mention Al's) was precarious, and she could ill-afford to lose the single ally it seemed she had.

She turned and began walking again, straying toward the dark line of damp sand along the narrow spit of beach. She liked the way the ground crumbled beneath her boots; it reminded her of the beaches of Caprica and her better summers while she was enrolled at the Academy.

She had a hundred questions jostling for precedence, but the most pressing was regarding her plane, and more importantly, its origins. "My plane. Any idea where it's been?" She assumed Stern was quick enough to catch her drift, so she didn't elaborate.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Stern was following her lead, his hands clasped behind his back except to check his watch. "I've reviewed what the Air Force felt prudent to share. I'm expecting we'll get a full briefing here in the next couple of hours." That was, of course, the whole reason the Air Force had insisted the expert be brought in.

He ran a hand through his hair and went on. "But, from what the preliminary reports suggest, it doesn't bode well for you. It's a bit difficult to explain to anyone what a pilot with her own space capabilities -- something thought unachievable with our current technology -- would want with a starry-eyed young astronaut hopeful." Not the best description of Calavicci, no, but Stern got his point across. "To them, it looks like you're trying to toss a monkey wrench in our little operation." But, of course, he didn't include himself in that. He stopped and turned to Kara, an eyebrow raised. "Are you trying to go home, Captain?" That was his guess.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Kara was sure glad Stern wasn't looking directly at her - she couldn't control her surprised reaction, though she was quick to restrain herself. As soon as she was sure she could speak, she replied, "Very astute, Commander." She was a little surprised the man hadn't had her shackled and dissected yet, for as eager as Earth was to find space, from what Kara had picked up from the few movies she'd caught, they were sure worried about first contact.

"I'm from a long way off," she confessed. "Not Russia or Japan, either - farther than that." She glanced at him, gauging his reaction. To his credit, the man didn't give much away. She didn't know if he believed her or not, but she wasn't going to waste a question asking him.

She faced forward again. "What happens now?" Kara asked, frowning slightly. This was the part she was dreading, because she knew no matter what, he wouldn't be offering her a way back to her fabled home.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Stern pressed his lips together and trailed his eyes along the ground. Now this was a bit unexpected. "I think you'd better come with me," he said, but the way he was looking around didn't really make it look like he was taking her into custody again.

He pressed a hand to her back and led her toward the main building. Voice low, he said to her, "If what you're telling me is true, it's..." He shook his head. "That's not impossible Captain." The commander was not slow and he had been involved in the space program for quite some time. He'd seen some things.

Feeling it was prudent to ask, he cleared his throat. "How much are you willing to reveal? How much have you revealed?" Now Stern was starting to worry just what Calavicci knew.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Kara shook her head, meeting his eyes. She knew that look; every time she returned (mostly) unscathed from some foolhardy mission or another, Bill Adama gave her that same one. "Nothing. Not 'til now." She needed to get the latter question out of the way first to assure Stern she hadn't brought anyone else down with her.

Sticking close, she followed through the maze of structures on the outskirts of the base. If her memory of the base map wasn't completely failing her, she thought they were headed for the most recently developed part of the base - the portion dedicated to housing the NASA team from the adjoining Kennedy Space Center.

"I'll tell you what I can, all right, but you're holding out on me, Commander." Her tone was tight, terse, and her bearing was erect. If ever he'd doubted she was an officer, the figure she cut right then would help change his mind. "What happens now?" she repeated, frowning darkly.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

"Well, Captain, I think it's time we made a deal." Stern, leading them through a security checkpoint, didn't bother to continue explaining until they were well out of the range of the sentry guards' ears. They marched down a long corridor until, at last, they arrived at a plain white door simply marked RESTRICTED.

Thrace seemed skeptical, but followed the Commander through. Inside bore no resemblance to order. The large, almost warehouse-like room was stacked with shelves running from floor to ceiling. On each shelf, an assortment of parts. For what exactly was unclear.

Stern kept his voice low, stopping only two aisles in. "If you're willing to help -- if you can give us something we don't have, I think I can convince some high-ranking officials that you're file's worth losing. Without paperwork, we'd have to let you go free."

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

"'Let me go free?'" Kara repeated with a mild laugh. "Maybe that's not what I want. Do you think I broke into a base just to be let go?" Kara shook her head and stalked along the aisle, heedless of the fact she was out of irons thanks to the man behind her.

She knew she really couldn't tell anyone what she really wanted, though. Stern could make all the promises he wanted to, but there'd always be another CO looking over his shoulder, and Kara'd eventually be remanded to a mental institution for claiming to be from another planet. Still, if Stern did believe her - and he'd have to do so to some degree what with all the damned evidence she'd gathered and left in her escape plane - she could at least throw her weight in another direction.

Pausing midway down one aisle, she plucked a beat up old tach from a shelf, turning it over in her hands. Turning back toward Stern, Kara gave him a long look. "I'm not saying no, Commander, all right? You just gotta give me something else besides an unarmed escort off property."