Cape Canaveral, FL | August, 1958 | 05:28
May. 10th, 2010 12:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anekantavadaSix 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!”
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!”
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no subject
Date: 2010-05-11 02:48 am (UTC)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!!"
no subject
Date: 2010-05-11 02:57 am (UTC)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.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-11 03:44 am (UTC)"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.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-11 04:21 am (UTC)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.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-11 04:34 am (UTC)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."
no subject
Date: 2010-05-11 07:24 am (UTC)"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.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-11 03:51 pm (UTC)"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.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-11 06:04 pm (UTC)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.
no subject
Date: 2010-05-11 07:03 pm (UTC)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."
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Date: 2010-05-12 01:34 am (UTC)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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Date: 2010-05-12 02:20 am (UTC)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?"
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Date: 2010-05-12 02:52 am (UTC)"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?"
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Date: 2010-05-12 06:40 pm (UTC)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.
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Date: 2010-05-13 12:22 am (UTC)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.
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Date: 2010-05-13 12:54 am (UTC)"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.
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Date: 2010-05-13 01:23 am (UTC)"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.
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Date: 2010-05-13 01:55 am (UTC)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.
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Date: 2010-05-13 06:46 am (UTC)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.
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Date: 2010-05-13 05:23 pm (UTC)“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.
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Date: 2010-05-13 11:24 pm (UTC)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."
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Date: 2010-05-14 12:15 am (UTC)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.
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Date: 2010-05-14 01:11 am (UTC)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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Date: 2010-05-14 01:35 am (UTC)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.
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Date: 2010-05-14 01:56 am (UTC)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.
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Date: 2010-05-14 02:10 am (UTC)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.