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

[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]

Bingo, still quite unhappy, couldn't help himself from commenting on Kara's thrown punch. "That was a good shot. Foster'll remember that for the rest of his desk jockeying career." How could he sound so disdained and satisfied at the same time?

He wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. Things had spiraled out of control much quicker than Calavicci had expected, and now he was staring down at a future even more uncertain than the one he'd jeopardized the last time Thrace was around. Fortunately, her involvement this time registered as null in his mind. What involvement they'd had was already addressed and passed. With no contact since then, how could Al be held accountable? As far as he was concerned, they would release him, or charge him. Either way, he was seriously considering calling his old friend, Hugh Dobbs. Al never liked lawyers, but Dobbs hadn't been anything like the rest, and they'd managed to keep contact pretty regularly.

The thought struck him, and Bingo turned in his seat so he was facing Kara instead of the table, lowering his voice a bit. "Hey, did you call a lawyer or anything? Did they even charge you?" Because no one had read him his rights, and he was betting they hadn't done the same for Starbuck.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Kara gave him a spare nod, flexing the smarts out of the fingers of her right hand - no mean feat in hadcuffs. Gods, she should have asked for a cigarette before the young ensign had left them.

"I don't think they're too keen on following the letter of the law when it comes to traitors and spies," she tossed back easily, giving a shrug. She was just speaking generally and not referring to herself, of course, but she hoped he knew that.

Shaking her head, she added quietly, "You should get out of here, Bingo. However you can." Unsure of how he'd be able to do it now that he'd opted out of her plan, she shook her head miserably, lowering her gaze to . After the photograph of the motorcycle had been produced, the burden of guilt had trebled across her shoulders. And if he couldn't make some kind of break, she'd never forgive herself. Not that there weren't already things weighing heavily upon her, but she really didn't need any more.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

"Look, Kara, I appreciate what you're saying here, but you're making it sound like I have a choice in this matter. I don't. Now, I can try to walk back out that door and demand myself sent to Maine so I can complete land-based survival training with my classmates, but I've got a feeling I'm going to need a lawyer and two really high ranking pals between here and there before that's even a viable option. If I'd've thought it might work, I would have done it by now." It was a particularly verbose moment for Al considering he wasn't telling a story.

"You're stuck with me. We'll call it flyin' together." And that was how it was going to be for now. Besides, no one had even gotten to the point behind all of this questioning. So, Kara tried to take her plane, who cares? It was hers after all. Or... well, she'd taken one of their planes, okay, but that didn't mean she deserved to be a military prisoner accused of traitorous acts.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Kara set her jaw, biting back an immediate retort. Fine. If the man wasn't even going to try, that was just fine. It was true he had a leg up on her regarding his chances, so if he didn't think he could do it, she wouldn't press. All said and done, it wasn't like she hadn't tried to help him.

The door opened slowly, and Sterns and Foster entered the room. She was glad to see a dark bruise already blooming on the Captain's chin. The pain in her hand was certainly worth that.

Both men sat, Foster carefully keeping his gaze fixed beyond both Kara and Al. To Bingo, he said, "Lieutenant, there are no charges against you at this time, and nothing you say in this room can further incriminate you, so speak freely."

He turned toward Kara, still not looking directly at her. "Miss Thrace, you are being charged with possession of a stolen firearm, attempted grand theft, illegal entry onto a United States military base, assault and battery of an officer. You are not entitled to representation until your status as a citizen of the United States can be verified, but nothing said here today can be used against you in court martial proceedings."

Sterns chimed it gruffly. "Understand? We're just talkin', all right?"

Just talking? Kara wondered. She wondered if the man thought of an actual court martial as a nice way to pass an afternoon.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

"Talking, yeah." Al didn't like this one bit. Worse than being chewed out was being led along like a horse chasing a carrot. They wanted something from Thrace, he realized, and he figured it probably had something to do with all the parts hanging around. He picked one up and turned it around in his hands. For now, he'd keep quiet.

He recited the laundry list of charges against his companion in his head, trying to add up the years he thought she might serve. Couldn't she had just taken him up on his offer all those weeks ago? He would have weaseled her into some place for training and she could have come to fly for the Navy. It would have worked out so well. Of course, they might have still be sitting under scrutiny and awaiting punishment, knowing their ability to find trouble, but at least she wouldn't have had to steal to fly.

Foster moved some of the strewn objects compulsively, his expression tight and controlled at that moment. "Can you tell us where you were planning to go, Miss Thrace? You had to have had a destination. A motive would be nice, also. We didn't find any additional weapons. What were you planning to do with the aircraft?"

This, Al wanted to hear as well, so he turned his attention to her and rubbed at his temple. He had some guesses about Starbuck, but most of them were completely wild conjecture thought up while reciting stories to fellow officers. Whether she knew it or not, she'd become a bit of a talking point for two weeks or so before fading from the Bingo-fostered limelight.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Gods, these people were dense – or at least, they were sure playing the role of idiots well. Where did they think she was going to go on as little fuel and oh-two as the plane had been supplied with? She couldn’t have even made it to Cuba (as they’d suggested more than once), if her rudimentary knowledge of the globe was correct. The best she was hoping was a nice, empty field where she could finish the repairs and get more fuel. And as for motive? Frak – she just wanted back what rightfully belonged to the Colonial Fleet! She looked pointedly at the ceiling, slumping down against the metal back of the chair.

“Kara Thrace,” she began quietly, her voice barely audible even in the quiet room where all the attention was focused on her. Then, with a touch more volume, she added. “Captain, Colonial Air Force. 46-27-53.” She turned her dark, unyielding gaze on both Foster and Stern, smiling terribly. She spoke her name again, louder, repeating her rank and the serial number on her tags. And then again. And again.

Foster pushed away from the table, coming around to loom over her. “Listen here, you little bitch, you couldn’t have repaired that plane on your own. Who’s helping you? Where are you from?”

She grinned up at him, calmly repeating her credentials. Couldn’t he see how much it delighted her to get him so heated and angry? Despite the cheap thrill, though, she was a little disappointed. If she’d been the CO in this situation, the impudent little man would have been pulled off the questioning as soon as it was apparent how easily he was rattled.

She looked at Stern in time to see him exhale a weary breath and lean across the table, not even bothering to call Foster off. “Fine. You’re uncrackable. Good show, Captain Thrace.” The use of her proper title should have felt like a victory, but it didn’t. Rather, it rattled around hollowly within her, and she fell silent, glaring at the older man insolently. She wanted to scream that she had nothing to lose, that she was already lost, and if they wanted to throw her in prison, that was just frakking fine with her. But she couldn’t. She was holding onto the fading hope she’d still make it back to the Fleet somehow, and she even she couldn’t manage that from the confines of a cell (or worse, an institution).

Kara straightened up as much as she could with her arms bound behind her, fixing Stern with a level look. “You ever think you’re just not asking the right questions, Commander?” So this was it – it was tit-for-tat time. She still didn’t intend to give anything over, but she was sure curious as to what they’d gathered about her base on her dearly departed Viper.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Stern sighed for the umpteenth time and rubbed at his face. He didn't say anything as he looked through his hands, but he was turning gears in his head. Maybe Thrace was right -- maybe they were asking the wrong questions. Sadly, it was late and nothing was coming to mind aside from the obvious.

Foster piped in: "Are you a citizen of the United States of America?" That was pointed enough, was it not? The doughy man had lost a lot of his edge thanks to Kara, but the way he was looking between the two interviewees, he almost appeared shark-like.

Al rolled his eyes. Back here again. He felt like this was an utter waste of time, but Stern kicked him under the table and he forced himself not to speak up.

Perceiving the young lieutenant's movements as a form of anxiousness, he leaned forward and added, "Please, tell me for which 'colony' you pilot your aircraft. Certainly not for the United States, or my Air Force. We haven't been colonies in hundreds of years."

"Oh, come on, can't we just stick to questions?" Bingo implored, mostly to Stern (who looked wearier by the second.) "Why's he gotta give this two-bit education with every ques--"

"That enough, lieutenant." The Commander was on his feet, his chair clattering to the floor behind him. He didn't seem to care how surprised Bingo looked because he'd had enough. Grabbing Calavicci by a fist full of shirt, he pulled and growled to Foster, "Stick to the basics." It was as much a command as any, but Foster seemed to take it.

Al complied before he was taken all the way to the doorway, tugging himself out of Stern's grip and shrugging his shirt back into place. On his way out, he nodded to Kara, mouthing "I'll be back." The door slapped closed behind them leaving the other two alone.

Foster leaned back. "Please answer the questions."

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

She forced herself to keep her gaze neutral as Al took his leave. Kara didn't dare hope the man was going to be dismissed, and she shuddered to think where they might take him. Beyond those concerns, though, she was sorry to be left alone with the little prig studying her closely.

Once the door closed, she didn't even bother to favor Foster with a look, let alone an answer. As expected, the little man's ire rose quickly. "Listen here, lady," he snarled, leaning close, "if you don't answer the questions put to you, you'll see much worse than court martial."

Kara snorted at the weak threat and shook her head as though feeling sorry for the man. She was growing more and more exhausted as the lieutenant continued to question her uselessly. He repeated all those who'd come before him as though reading from a script, as as before, Kara sat silently. Even tired and worn of spirit as she was, though, she was nowhere near her limit - she'd endured four months of mental and emotional torture, and before that, had withstood worse for years as a child. One pompous ass in a poorly-lit room was a vacation by comparison.

Finally, after an unending hour, Stern returned, instructing Foster to leave Kara via the loudspeaker. After the man removed himself, Belsterling was on hand to collect the prisoner, and he uncuffed Kara only long enough for her to stand. Once she was on her feet, stretching as best she could, the ensign fasted the bracelets around her wrists and led her from the room.

She hadn't seen the hallway in about six hours since the last time a female officer had been on hand to take her the bathroom. Where it hadn't exactly been awash with activity then, it was dead as a doornail now, and their footsteps echoed down the corridor. "Where ya takin' me, fella?" she tried, but as she'd guessed, it was no use. Belsterling was as silent as she'd been.

At last, they arrived at their destination, and oh, look! It was equipped with bars! All the comforts of home. Kara turned and waited for the cuffs to be removed at the door, quipping, "Bet you do this for all the girls," before proceeding docilely into the cell. When she turned, she swore she caught a blush on the man's cheeks - well, she'd just have to remember that for later, wouldn't she?

Taking a seat on a narrow, hard cot, she stretched her arms over her head and prepared herself to stretch out and catch whatever sleep she could. Her plans were derailed mid-yawn as a clatter arose from the opposite end of the corridor. A familiar face appeared at the cell door, but not under its own power. Al was being pushed by the scruff of his neck by a large blonde man who was as red as as if he'd run Bingo all the way from... wherever on Earth large blonde men hailed from.

The lieutenant opened the cell and shoved Al inside unceremoniously, giving him a glare that would have cowed a lesser man before stomping off down the hall, muttering loudly to himself.

"Your boyfriend's charming," Kara put in helpfully to fill the sudden silence.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Al had one hand on his neck and the other in a threatening fist for longer than couple seconds, but unfurled when Snobbig was out of sight. "Yeah, real fucking charming," he spat, voice hoarse and obviously overused. He turned to Kara an pointed a thumb back over his shoulder, "If I was saddled with that guy for a boyfriend, I think I'd just as soon quit all together." Not to say that was Al's choice, but just a comment on how very little that idea appealed to him.

There was hardly a pause. "You okay?" He'd been worried that she might have taken a beating in the aftermath of the terrible and vicious death he'd imagined for Foster after he and Stern had left. It was a bit dark, but she looked like she was moving well enough.

As he awaited her answer, he curled his fingers around the smooth, cool bars and looked out to gain as much information about the space as possible. They were hidden in pretty deep and escape was most definitely not an option. Just to check, he rattled the bars and confirmed Gibbons had locked the door. No easy escape for them.

Al turned and surveyed the cell now that his eyes had adjusted. Cozy. And wasn't it interesting they'd put them together? This stinks he thought to himself.

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Kara shifted on the bunk, offering an unspoken invitation. "I'm fine," she returned wearily, folding her arms and stretching her tense shoulders.

She was really hoping he had a smoke on him, because where her stomach had stopped noisily nagging at her hours before, she was nearly out of her skin with the sort of buzzing agitation only a cigarette would cure.

Still, there were more important matters at hand. "You all right?" He looked no worse for the wear, but that didn't mean there weren't things he couldn't see.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

"Yeah, I'm okay." He took up her invitation and slowly lowered himself down onto the cot. "Could sure use a beer, though." And, as if he were fulfilling her dreams, he produced a sly cigarette from a pocket and straightened it out purposefully in between the two of them. Stern's doing, though if anyone asked, Calavicci would claim he'd found it.

Somehow, despite the knowledge that things had gone so awry, Bingo felt good to be within close proximity of Starbuck, especially without eagle-like supervision. He passed the smoke off to her. "You don't think they're hoping we'll pal up, do ya? Because I can't think of a real good reason they put us in here together other than that. Not sure what they expect me to tell them. Don't know anything except what you told them." Not that they had believed him.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

She took a long, appreciative drag, exhaling a sigh of pleasure. She was certainly grateful, and she passed the smoke back to him. "Thanks."

She let his questions hang between them for a moment, mulling them over - it was quite a departure from the tone of the day. At long last, she turned to look at him. "I really don't know," she confessed neutrally. In bringing Bingo to her cell, they'd finally out-maneuvered her. Kara had really not seen it coming.

It was nothing she couldn't handle, though, and she have him a half-smile. "I'm not gonna complain if you're not, though. 'S been a long day, and a familiar face is..." she left it dangle, shrugging. If he was still the man she'd met six weeks ago, he'd know what she meant.

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

He smirked. "Comforting." It may not have been the word she'd chosen, but he liked it. The cigarette went back and forth between them a few times. Al shifted himself on the cot a little so his back was pressed against the cool wall. It felt good after the ridiculous manhandling he'd received at the paws of Gibbs.

Al felt tired. Felt like curling up in the bed in Nashville and waking up in the sun. Felt like sleeping anywhere, and holding her sounded like a really great idea. A woman, soft and (in this case not) sweet, could chase away about any trouble he might think of. Settling for what he could get for now, he maneuvered until he could reach an arm around her shoulders, offering the cigarette again. "We got a couple legs to stand on, Kara. I can make this right."

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Kara shouldn't have settled against him, but on the long, long list of things she'd done that day, taking a little comfort in shared warmth and a cigarette was a minor offense.

"No," she replied soberly. "You just need to find a way out of here, and keep out for good." She shook her head, turning so she could see his profile. There was a tension in his face that hadn't been there before now, and it tugged at her heart. She'd never regret having met him, but Kara couldn't forgive herself for bringing him down with her now.

"Lie to them," she went on, her tone more vehement than she'd intended. "Tell them anything. It doesn't matter about me." And she wasn't being a hero - she truly meant it. She was through, or best case scenario, she was out of there. Forcing herself to calm down, she relaxed against him once more, forcing a smile. "I'll be all right. I keep surviving, don't I?"

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Calavicci thought for a moment that most anyone would be tempted by Thrace's words. Having such a convenient (albeit difficult) out was something most astronaut-hopefuls would quickly seize. He did have the confidence that she would survive -- they were the type to make their whole lives about just that -- but he wasn't sure how he would if he just left her there. Likely not well.

"I didn't leave you out in that desert and I'm not going to leave you now." He leaned his head so he could try to catch her eye. "Got it?" She might as well put that right out of her mind. Sure, Al could be just as self-serving as the next guy, but when it came to his friends, he was as loyal as loyal can be.

Pressing his face into her hair, Bingo was immediately struck with the rushing memories of their time together. It felt distant, far from this place and time thanks to a rigorous schedule he'd maintained for the six weeks since. Not so idly, he wondered what Kara had done with her time. Obviously she'd kept herself busy.

And, because he was intensely curious: "You really make all those repairs that quick?" He was impressed. More than impressed, in fact, since he'd been informally debriefed by Stern earlier.

[[*Memphis up there <.<]]

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

Kara gifted him with an enigmatic grin, but neither confirmed nor denied that she had gotten that bird flight ready so quickly. As used to working against the clock as Kara was, it wasn't that much of a feat to her, but that she'd accomplished it on foreign soil after breaking into an Air Force Base? She'd deserved to be a little smug, she though. Or a lot smug. Whichever.

"You know more than I do about what I may or may not have done, Bingo. Why don't you tell me?" Because hearing from him what his commander had told him about the circumstances under which she'd been caught and taken into custody would help her a whole lot. It would at least give her some clues as to how to proceed as they continued to question her, which they surely would.

((ooc: I hadn't even noticed XD ILU for correcting it, though!))

[bingo-faced.livejournal.com]

Bingo took one last satisfying hit from the smoke and passed the remainder back to Kara to finish. She'd probably needed it a little more than he did, anyway. "Well, let's see," he started, looking away from her and studying their surroundings a little better than before. "He said that as far as the engineers were concerned, that thing would hold up at least through take-off." Which was damn impressive, even if they didn't seem so certain she'd stay together once up in the air. "A few less than half seemed interesting in betting on a safe landing, though." He winces. The last thing he thought Starbuck needed was another crash landing.

And what else? Oh, yeah. Calavicci cleared his throat. "Mm, and they're sending in a specialist tomorrow to evaluate the parts you took from your old bird. Guess they figure now that they know which are important, they can try to cobble 'em together and figure out what the heck they're for." One thing was certain: Al'd never seen a lot of the parts she was messing around with. It was just as much a mystery now as it had been the day they'd met.

[anekanta.livejournal.com]

His news warranted another smile and she finished the cigarette gratefully. If no one had come close to figuring out the disassembled jump drive and its accompanying interfaces by now, she doubted they would be able to do so for a long, long time. She wondered if anyone on Earth had even considered faster-than-light travel yet. Unlikely, Kara thought, if they hadn't even walked on the surface of the moon yet.

She wanted to press for more, but seeing no real reason to hurry, she ground the cigarette out on the cement wall and tucked the butt behind the leg of the cot. Leaning back up, she resumed her place at his side. "So what about you? How's the training?" Though her tone was teasing, there was genuine curiosity there. She wanted to know what he'd been doing for the six weeks since he'd handed over his keys, gave her a kiss, and returned to his life. Though she'd had plenty of things to keep her mind occupied in the time intervening, he was the sole person on the entire planet she felt any connection with, any really affection for, and Al Calavicci was never far from her thoughts. And anyway, she'd just spent almost fifteen hours dodging questions - she couldn't really deal with any more, even those unspoken ones in those dark, expressive eyes of his.