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... )
"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).
Either way, dinner and drinks sounded better than a fire and the ground, so she led the way. Inside, the joint was fairly jumping in a tame, local bar sort of way. The bar was populated with grizzly old ranchers and farmers, but there were a few younger people gathered round the jukebox and pool table. Neither Kara nor Calavicci earned more than a passing glance, so she assumed nightly drop-ins by travelers was the norm. Great - hopefully no one in Clinton would remember them if they laid low.
Tables were slim pickings and the three booths were occupied, but Kara found them a recently vacated spot far from the door and close to the bar. Best seat in the house, as far as Kara knew.
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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).
She leaned closer, grateful to stretch her back and her legs beneath her. With a lit cigarette and a drink, her fingers itched for cards to shuffle, and she glanced around for a game. Nothing was stirring (and even if something was, she wouldn't know the rules), but it didn't mean she couldn't find one later (and hopefully be able to glean the run of the game quickly).
Looking back to Calavicci, she quirked an eyebrow. "Let's talk about the space program - kind of a big deal, isn't it?" She hoped it was, but Kara had a feeling luck was on her side in this matter - nothing thus far had given her cause to think Earth traveled between worlds, at least not by rote. Anything rising on that horizon was bound to be pretty elite - and elite meant security clearance to Kara.
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When he lowered his beer, there was a coy smile behind it. "A bit of a big deal, sure." He thought she was leading him to boast but didn't call her on it. "I mean, it's not something that everyone can do. The waiting list's a bit ridiculous, but I'm coming in with some pretty decent rec's, so I'm hopeful, y'know?" And if ever there were a time a person could accuse Al Calavicci of having stars in his eyes, this was it. The prospect of being one of so few to travel out in space was just the type of thing Bingo wanted to add to his military record. Aside from that, chicks really dig astronauts.
"I figure it'll be five to seven years with all of the training. Navy's footing the bill -- joint service and all -- so I get to do double-duty whenever the higher-ups see fit." He seemed up to the challenge, face lit with the prospects of being the best of the best.
And now that he'd given freely, he leaned himself forward, mirroring her position. "Not that I should be telling you any of this, Kara," he mused. But hadn't they been through a lot together, already? And it wasn't as if a civilian wouldn't get the same information when applying to the same position. How could it be sharing secrets when the knowledge was openly available?
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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 to make quite an impact." And rightly so, he felt, though he worried he might change his mind in the event of questioning.
In the end, would it really matter? He would drop Thrace before the Cape and, with luck (and a little Calavicci,) she would disappear and they would have nothing to go on. It all worked out in his head.
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With a grin, she finished her cigarette. "That shouldn't be too hard - I won't exist in any military records even your superior's superiors would be privy to, so just tell them whatever they heard was wrong." She shrugged, trying to play it off as though her 'clearance' was so high, her origins could easily remain a mystery. Oh, if only that were true, Kara.
"Really, though, you shouldn't worry about it too much. Once we're on the coast, I'll go one way, you'll go another, and I promise you won't have to see me again." And she supposed she wasn't saying much for herself that it would be a point of relief for anyone to part from her company permanently, but she understood how the military worked - any seeds of suspicion one's superior officers that were sown were hard to overcome, so if no one could prove he'd taken Kara across the country, all the better for him. That was another thing on their side - no matter how on top of things the branches of the military were, when channels began to open between them, bureaucracy and competition tended to blur the lines around the truth. When the Air Force reported Lieutenant Calavicci's detainment with a mystery blonde to the Navy, the whole incident could be easily written off as an understanding by anyone with a ready arsenal of lies.
Of course, when Kara was looking at the back of Calavicci when they went their separate ways, she'd be on her own again. She wasn't looking forward to it in the least, and she was forced to light another cigarette just to distract herself from thinking on it too long.
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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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But, of course, this Starbuck was not a Quaker, and she hardly seemed the sensible, oil-hunting type. "Unless, of course, I'm being too... literal." Oh, Al. Pee-yoo! You call that a joke?
He relaxed into the corner, one foot up on the booth seat. The smoke curled around his head and Calavicci grinned. "'Course, it could just mean that filly likes to kick up the heavens."
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"No, no relation," she replied confidently just as the waitress returned with their midnight supper consisting of ten different fried things that smelled divine and would probably make them both sick. Once the food was settled and both had subsequently dived in, she continued her tale. "It started back in the Flight Academy." Even with just those words out, Kara smiled, genuinely pleased. A little escape back to her naive and (relatively) innocent younger self, so full of confidence and hope, was just the respite she needed from her current troubles. What was more, reciting the often-told story to a fresh audience pleased her inordinately.
"See, the flight instructor had been a pilot in the war -" and gods, she hoped Calavicci wouldn't ask which war "-and he was just crazy about this one old plane, the Starbird. We all called it the 'Starbucket' because the thing was just shot. Constantly being worked on and shuffled around engineering, it didn't look like it would ever see more action than kids taking field trips to the Air & Space Museum." She smiled vaguely, looking distant for a moment. She had such a strong sense of the first time she'd seen the old bird. It was the same model as the Mark II Viper she'd crashed in the desert, so it was as familiar as home to her, but that plane was special. A bright grey color with red striping that was peeled around the hatch, it had been half hidden under sheeting and illuminated by a hanging bulb and tucked into the corner of a hangar where the Fleet had kept Marks IIs and IIIs for training purposes. Even as ugly as it was, Kara had fallen hard for it - the only instance of love at first sight she could ever claim.
"Every year, he'd take his bunch of nuggets to see it, promising he'd eat his hat if someone managed to get it off the ground. It wasn't a challenge, really, as the bird was a lost cause, but I couldn't stop myself." She grinned and lit another cigarette. The pause wasn't entirely unintentional either, as she knew this was where the story got good. With a little gamine shrug and her bright, sparkling smile, Kara looked like the ghost of the green young jock she'd once been. "I said I'd do it." Everyone had laughed, of course - back then, no one knew anything about Kara Thrace but that she had a big mouth and a penchant for getting into trouble.
Naturally, once she was sure she had Calavicci's whole attention, she went on. "So I begged, borrowed, and stole to get that bird flight ready. I didn't know what I was doing back then, of course, but I learned every bit of that plane until I knew 'er better than I knew myself. Endeared myself to a few people, of course, but there were loads of people who didn't think I could do it." She shrugged, laughing. "Hell, I didn't think it'd work until I saw her unveiled on the day of my flight exam. Do you know how scary it is to fly a bird that's been so long out of commission, it was practically glued to the ground?" Kara was pretty sure that even if Calavicci had never done it, he had a good idea. After all, if he was going to be part of some fledgling space program, it had to be the same idea. But to most pilots, apples were apples as far as birds went. If you understood pitch and roll, you could fly most anything that would get off the ground.
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