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.
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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.