New Mexico / June, 1958 / 07:22
When Calavicci awoke, it was early. Too early to mention. Morning loomed as a concept -- darkness lingering in the pre-dawn hours. The horizon was just taking on some color, showing the contrast between the earth and the sky.
The drinking the evening before, coupled with the ridiculously long day they had shared sent Thrace to bed early. Albert had ( Read more... )
The drinking the evening before, coupled with the ridiculously long day they had shared sent Thrace to bed early. Albert had ( Read more... )
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She walked to the edge of the short lot and stretched her leg. From the low throb of music coming from the bar, she presumed this was the only game in town if someone wanted a drink. No matter - she wouldn't need it to sleep tonight; after all day spent clinging to the bike as they flew down the highway, she was exhausted. Still, she wouldn't turn down a drink should the lieutenant offer.
He rejoined her a few minutes later, a cloud of smoke and noise erupting from the doorway behind him. Kara lit a cigarette of her own, shaking out the match and taking a drag. "All set, Mr. Fox?" she asked, struggling to see his features in the dark.
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Bingo solicited the pack of cigarettes and lit one, tossing the bar match to burn out in the dirt of the parking lot. After a drag, he spoke up again. "Fellow inside said there's a campground here. Couple miles north. We could rough if we don't find anything in town. Or," he added, enticingly, "we could dig up some chow, scare up some drinks and just call it a settled. I'm not real picky," he admitted, though he probably left off "in this case."
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"Let's go inside," she said, nodding toward the bar. "The night's still young." And it wasn't, not really, and if they were going to travel all day tomorrow, she presumed they'd have to sleep at some point (though Kara could remember quite a few times she'd reported after an entire night spent out ( ... )
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He clasped his hands together and leaned his elbows onto the table, looking across at his companion. The beers arrived and the tender went away. "So, anyway, I was thinking we wouldn't have to even get that early of a start tomorrow if you're feeling like you can make the ride without stopping to much. I don't have to check in until Friday morning, so I've got some wiggle room." At least he was trying to be mindful of her plans.
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"That's fine," she said. Anything bearing her further from the crash site was probably in her best interest, no matter how long it took. During the long ride, she'd mourned her dead bird silently, but she knew she couldn't go back for it. The best she could do was reconstruct the means to return to Galactica on her own (which would be one hell of a feat without coordinates anyway ( ... )
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It sounded absurd, but Kara had heard from a few Marines that some of the Special Forces had been through training exercises that included such odd guerrilla tactics as testing while the Marines weren't even expecting it. It was for only the very elite groups, something that Kara had never aspired to, but the notion had stuck with her.
Not that she expected Calavicci to buy it, not when she was smirking at him, clearly making a joke. And anyway, the lieutenant was brighter than he looked.
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Finally settling, he dropped down, losing a few inches to the comfort of the booth. When he felt their legs touch under the table, he moved again to give her the room she needed to stretch out her leg. He reflected that the last time he'd spent so much time in the company of a woman, he had been hopeless and hapless and so much younger than he felt now. Not that he felt old -- just better seasoned.
"Although, I think I'm going to have some questions to answer when I do finally check in. The Navy has a way of hearing things," something not unheard of for any branch, "and they're going to be interested in everything I've been doin' since the goal is to shove me into a tube strapped in above enough rocket fuel ( ... )
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He sat back and nodded. "Yeah, okay." As if that was the end of his doubt. For as little as it made sense, he had to believe that even the least likely answer still had the chance to be the right answer.
Tipping back his beer, he gulped down a bit, then eased a little more into the seat. "So, Kara. That's a nice name." He looked as if he was thinking back. "Can't say I've ever met a girl with that name before. I've heard it, but you're the first girl I've met - actually met - with that name. Kinda interesting, right?" No, Bingo, not really.
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A harried-looking waitress swung by, plunking a paper menu on the table and swiping Kara's empty glass. Kara looked it over briefly, able to decipher most of the handwritten fare. Kara planned on ordering the first thing that came to mind when the time came, so she passed it to Calavicci without a second glance.
"Speaking of, you got a callsign?" She was banking on the fact he would - it was the one thing all pilots shared, the origin of which none of them ever tired of relating. She was sure the man would launch into a soliloquy, saving her from discussing too much of her past (or her uncertain future).
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Aaaand, Bingo?
He sipped his beer, not telling. "You got one, too," he observed, because every pilot did. "Bet it's something good." Grinning, he tried to imagine what it might be, her name playing games in his head.
What was he thinking? What he said was, "Kara 'The Face' Thrace?" Doing his best not to laugh, he tightened up his face into what could pass for a serious expression (in low lighting.) And then he leaned forward, an eyebrow raised. "How about it?" He knew he was wrong. Pinned her for something more original (being that she was so damn cocky and elite,) but thought she would be amused by his ridiculous guess.
Really, though, he was hoping he could get something out of her. He'd been doing most of the talking, anyway.
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She leaned a little closer. "Lemme guess, they call you..." she trailed off pretending to ponder. They were interrupted by the arrival of the busy waitress and momentarily distracted by the ordeal of ordering.
When they were on their own again and Kara had her fingertips wrapped around a fresh, cold beer, she resumed with her guess. "I think I'd call you Afterburn. You look like you don't know quite when to quit." She smirked and took a sip. Undoubtedly, she was wrong, but that was half the fun, wasn't it? And if anyone could use a bit of fun, it was Kara.
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This was likely one of those times when he didn't know when to stop. She had already set the bar pretty high, so any call sign he did come up with (following his failure of a joke) would have to be pretty spectacular.
The pause he enforced probably left Bingo feeling inadequate, but when it finally came to him, he tilted his chin up. "Ether." It fit in with all he knew of her, and as much as he imagined he would ever learn of her the way things were going. And then he pulled out his keys and cracked his second beer, satisfied with his answer.
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She shook her head, already enjoying the new looseness in her shoulders. "In either case, you're wrong." She lifted her bottle to her lips, looking at him as she took a sip. Telling him her callsign wouldn't hurt either of them - she would never be identified no matter what she told him. Plus, let's just be honest, Kara liked telling the story.
Setting the bottle down and making a big production about peeling the label from the glass, she said, "It's Starbuck." She ventured a glance at the young lieutenant, wondering if the name would have any resonance.
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