Entrepreneurship 2: A Guy's Gotta Make a Living, Kara…
Entrepreneurship 2: A Guy's Gotta Make a Living, Kara…
Every time he thought he had hidden that – monstrosity – 'it' ended up appearing in the worst places.
When he got his hands on one Kara Thrace and was finished wringing her neck, the deck crew was going to have to make her a new name-plate: SpaceJunk.
It was one thing for – it – to show up on his desk, in his locker, or, even, attached to his last pair of clean briefs. But today… By the Gods, Starbuck was SO going to get it for what she pulled today!
Marching down the corridor, every half-concealed snicker, every smirk, every knowing look he got only added to the scale of what he was going to do to his 'best friend'.
The day started fine – albeit his eyes were a little heavy from playing Triad the night before. The call came down that Starbuck had drawn the short straw and had to go out on a long patrol to scout for a new source of tylium, leaving him to take her nuggets out for hands-on training. Fine, done, whatever – like he couldn't manage a group of trainees and drill Basic Flight information into their skulls? Sure he knew that Kat had a big mouth, Hot Dog was a little short on brains and that Chuckles earned his call sign the hard way – the kid laughed at anything and everything, it was damn annoying! – but being trapped in a lecture room would be the equivalent of being sent to Tartarus. Although, as he listened to Katraine snap her chewing gum in between comments as she tried her best to mirror Starbuck's natural insubordination, had him thinking that spending eternity in Tartarus might not be such bad price to pay for airlocking one of the nuggets before the day was done. After all, he and Old Tantalus could talk about cooking if nothing else.
Setting down the pointer, he looked at the next segment of Starbuck's lesson plan and herded her nuggets out onto the Flight Deck. A quick word with Tyrol, a nod to Cally and a raising his eyes to the ceiling with a 'thank the Gods' expression on his face, he was back to being Professor Adama as he ordered the class into their fighters. Heart lifted at the thought of being in the sky – and away from Hot Dog and the 'mysterious rash' the nugget kept trying to ask his opinion about – and in his own Viper, he bounded up the ladder, swung his leg over, straddled his seat, already mentally running through the pre-flight checklist, and let gravity do the rest.
Yelping, he bolted upright and pushed himself up and backed away as far from his seat as possible. That was when he looked down and saw 'it'.
'It' was taped, flange side down, pointing straight up, tall and proud as the day it was made.
A discreet cough had him turning his narrowed blue eyes at Cally, as she stood just off his starboard side. The laugh on her face was highlighted by the sparkle in her brown eyes.
"You okay, Captain?" She couldn't keep a straight face. Her mirth leaked from her eyes and filled in the smirk that twisted the corners of her mouth.
"Yeah – fine – thanks, Cally." How else was he supposed to answer? It wasn't like he had a lot of options, now did he? Like he could come out and say that he had been inches away from standing in the Quartermaster's office, requisitioning a new flight suit? Yeah – he could hear how that conversation would go: yes, sir –that's right; I need a new flight suit because I landed ass-first on a…
Coming up behind Cally, Tyrol nodded up to Lee, breaking off his train of thought. "Is everything alright, sir? Something about my bird I need to know about?"
The urge to tell the Chief that he was a terrible liar and wipe that 'just doing my job' look off his face was enough for Lee to add one more thing to his 'To Do' list: lock Tyrol in a storage locker with Sergeant Hadrian. Swallowing the twenty caustic comments that sprang to mind for something else, he opted for a steely look and a tone of voice that would have sent anyone else scampering to the farthest side of the ship. "I just thought I saw something in my Viper. That's all."
"You, too?" Coming up from his port side, Racetrack braced her shoulders against the nose of his Mark VII and crossed one ankle over the other. "Captain - I know exactly what you're talking about."
A ray of hope that Racetrack was on his side had him opening his mouth before he could check himself. "You do?"
"Yeah, the same thing happened to me just the other day." Everyone was listening to the petite brunette. "I opened the hatch on my Raptor with my pre-flight list in my hand, and I saw a mouse scurry out my Raptor. I let out this girly-ass screech – just like you just did – and then tore everything apart, looking to see if there were any more critters in my Raptor."
Piping up from his other side, Cally cooed excitedly. Too excitedly – she was deliberately excited. He was convinced of it.
"Really – you saw a mouse? When?"
"There are no mice on my hanger deck, you two!"
Lee cringed. Tyrol's voice could drown out a fractured gimble if he wanted it to, and with the word 'mice' bouncing off the shield doors and ricocheting to the ears of every specialist in the hanger bay, he was now the centre of attention. Groaning out loud would only make the situation worse. At this point, even Tantalus would be asked to be tied up to a different tree to get away from Lee Adama. Hell, Lee wanted to get away from himself as more people grouped around his fighter.
"Oh, yeah? Well, how do you explain what Racetrack saw?"
Lee groaned. It was Kat. In all her gum-snapping, loud mouth glory, and she chose this particular moment to antagonize the Chief. The one man who made sure she had a Mark II to frak up as she learned to fly Vipers.
"Listen nugget…" Tyrol's words were a rumble in his chest before he even spoke them.
"That's 'lieutenant' to you, Chief. I outrank you!" Kat crossed her arms and turned out her hip. Hot Dog was right behind her. He might not know what she was saying, or why she was saying it, but he wasn't going to leave his wingman hanging. That much was evident.
"Captain Adama – what colour mouse was it?" Cally turned her eyes to him, making like she had a genuine fondness for the four-legged vermin. Layered over Cally, he could hear Racetrack arguing with Tyrol, Katraine interjecting her tarnished two cubits whenever Tyrol and Racetrack took a breath, only to have Hot Dog say something that had to do with something that was said two sentences ago, as he heard Tyrol lob a question at Cally asking her to vindicate him about how cleanly he ran his deck. It so figured – every time Starbuck went away, something like this happened to him. Why couldn't everyone just shut the frak up, go do something else and let him take care of his 'problem' with a little dignity?
One after another, Privacy, Dignity and Discreetness waved 'bye, bye' as they left him standing alone inside the cockpit of his Viper ready to tear his hair out.
"I never saw a mouse! Okay? I hopped in my Viper and sat on this!" Reaching forward, the sound of something being ripped free guaranteed him instant mortification as he waved his right hand a round in the air, his fingers brandishing the ridiculously sized dildo that Kara tricked him into 'winning' two weeks ago. "This is what I sat on, okay?"
Turning to Cally, he shook his hand in her direction as an incredible blush spread from her neck and connected every freckle on her face. "There were never any mice."
Singling out Racetrack with help from his 'visual aid', he added, "There are no mice on Galactica – period."
Skewering Katraine with eyes that traced the length of his right arm, his wrist cocked in her direction as the thing in his hand bobbed to the rhythm of his words, "And you will give the Chief your utmost respect at all times, am I understood?" Using the phallus to point in the opposite direction, he issued the two nuggets orders, "Now, get to your birds and do your pre-flight checks."
On a roll and unconsciously transferring the dildo to his other hand, he swung his left arm at Tyrol only to see the Chief crook his elbows in mock-surrender.
"Hey – easy there, Captain. Watch where you point that thing; you're gonna blind someone with that if you aren't careful." Stepping backwards, with his hands still raised, Tyrol gave a playful tug on Cally's coveralls and jerked his head towards where Lee was still standing inside his fighter. Lee saw her nod to the Chief. She gave the Chief a look that was like she was grateful he had reminded her of something she forgot to do.
"Sir – would you like to me to hold onto your, errmmm, 'phallic representation' while you're off-ship?" Her voice was deceptively sweet and just a shade too coached for Lee to buy her 'Little Miss Innocent Act'. But that didn't stop her from adding, "I'll make sure nothing happens to your toy. I promise."
A nasty suspicion was starting to fester as the prime instigators of this morning's prank were identified. Cally, Racetrack – the only one missing was Kara. The same three who were behind building, marketing and distributing the… hottest commodities…on Galactica.
Turning the frakking toy around in his palm, Lee felt the blush that was steaming his eyes dry spread all the way to his toes when he realized he had offered Cally the flared end of the dildo with all the pomp of someone surrendering a firearm. Watching her slip it into one of the pockets of her coveralls, Lee scrubbed a hand over his hot face. Several inches – more enough to identify what it was – of the blasted thing was poking out Cally's pocket as she made her way back to her station. The thought that she might take pity on him and airlock that 'thing' was an exercise in wishful thinking. He had a front row seat when Wingnut stopped Cally in mid-stride and asked her what was in her pocket. A fresh wave of mortifying heat melted his flight suit onto his body as Wingnut guffawed and Cally slapping the other man on the arm and telling him that it wasn't funny only made the whole event all that much worse. One thing was certain, though. It was going to be a long time before he lived this one down.
The sound of chewing gum snapping had him focusing on where Hot Dog and Kat were making their way to their birds. It was Hot Dog who confirmed just who had to thank for this morning's fun.
"Damn – Starbuck was right. The CAG DOES blush like a girl!"
Which was why, now, three hours later, after making each of those nuggets do so many gruelling manoeuvres that each of them emptied the contents of their stomachs as soon as they pried off their helmets, he gave Tyrol an insincere shrug of apology as Chuckles didn't quite make it out of his Viper before he spewed all over the control and DRAEDIS consoles.
Stepping out into the corridor and making for his office, Lee directed all of his skills learned at War College towards attaining one morally imperative objective: retribution. His reputation was on the line – after all, Kara had bested him twice in two weeks.
It was time to even the score.
Slumping down in his chair and bringing two fingers just under his bottom lip, the longer he sat there the more he was convinced that there might be a few other individuals who might be interested in one-upping The Big Dog.
Bsg xxx Bsg
Spending three frakking days in a Raptor sucks.
Long patrols suck.
Long patrols that last for three frakking days REALLY suck.
But, it had been worth it. Or so she'd been told.
Leaving her debriefing and mapping out on the star chart exactly where she and Seelix found the much-needed tylium deposits, all she wanted was to get out of her flight suit, visually entertain the idea of burning the ass-nasty thing as she scrubbed three days of grime off her body, crawl into her rack and sleep for the next millennium or eighteen hours – whichever came first. At this point, she wasn't about to be picky.
Clawing her hand though her hair and grimacing at the crud that she scraped away with her fingernails, she headed straight for her locker. Ignoring the fact that Coda snapped his locker shut as soon as he recognized who had walked into the bunkroom, she headed straight for her locker, spun the dial and held the door open with her foot as she grabbed her shower kit and enough clean clothes to get her back to quarters without infringing on anyone's sensibilities. Tucking the bag under her arm, she turned and barely gave Coda or his nervous expression a second glance as she headed back out and towards the showers. Striding down the hall, she prayed that there wasn't a line of people waiting for hot water because if there was, they were going to have to wait that much longer – until she was done – to get their turn.
Making her way to the head, she couldn't help but notice all the restrained smiles she was getting. Or, how, if some was wearing a cap, they'd touch it and offer her a reverent, 'ma'am', or if a crewmember was in uniform, she'd get an abbreviated salute.
At first, it was funny. People – saluting her? Yeah, she was fairly fabulous. And yeah, she was an officer. And yeah, even if someone didn't like her personally, they at least respected her – she had earned that much from the crew. But there was something – different – about this level of attention she was getting.
Shrugging it off and deciding she'd figure it out another day when she wasn't so butt-ass tired, she spun open the hatch to the Officer's Head.
Someone must have circulated the memo that she was back and in dire need of hygiene because she didn't have to beat anyone down for a shower stall – there was nobody there!
Stripping down where she stood, she left her flight suit and 'g'-shorts in a grimy puddle on the floor. As for everything else, she flung her tanks, briefs, sports bra – everything – into the hamper and buried them deep. No need for anyone else to see what she had been living with for the past three days. Padding barefoot on the tiles, her fingers closed in on the hot water spigot and she cranked the dial all the way to the right, making the water as hot as she could stand it. Stepping underneath the stream and reaching for her soap, her hands didn't stop scrubbing her body until her arms ached and she couldn't feel a difference in temperature between what flowed out of showerhead and the ceramic tiles underneath her feet.
Feeling like she was worthy of re-joining human race now that she had clean clothes on a clean body, she slung her towel over her wet head and made for the Senior Officer's Quarters. The thought of being stopped on her way to some peace and quiet for the sake of some mundane small talk was ugly enough to make her take the 'back road' to the bunkroom. The effort it would take NOT to put someone in Sickbay for three days, so that the hapless crewmate would know how her flight was when they asked, was her incentive to avoid as many people as she could.
At least, that was the plan. Until she spied a furtive looking Gaeta emerge from a distant supply closet. Letting her instincts take over, a length of towel concealed most of her face and she reflexively tipped her chin down. Peering up through a gap in the folds, she saw the Tactical Officer look both ways as he tucked a decent sized box underneath his arm and headed down the corridor, away from where she slowed her pace to a stroll.
Trailing Felix was easy. As long as she kept up the charade of being just another shipmate coming back from the showers, she never gave him a reason to be suspicious – she blended into the ebb and flow of staff persons coming and going about their duties.
The whine of engines and the clanking of metal being repaired told her exactly where he was going before she even stepped onto the catwalk that extended over the hanger deck. Stopping in a discreet corner of the suspended walkway, she visually tracked the dark-haired man down the narrow set of stairs and watched as he made very subtle eye contact with the Chief.
What was interesting was that Tyrol didn't call on Gaeta being on deck, in his blues, looking like he was somewhere he wasn't suppose to be. Instead, the Chief made it look like he was scratching his chin with his shoulder – which just happened to be in the same direction where Jammer was accepting a pre-flight checklist list from Helo.
A pile of assorted supplies – some in boxes, others in different containers – stood off to one side. She had to give the grown nerd credit; he did a good job of not implicating anyone as Gaeta deliberately set his box down in a clearly pre-dedicated spot and cleared out as fast as his legs could carry him.
Crossing the deck, giving the clipboard he had just taken from Helo and pressing it into the Chief's hands, Kara could just make out Tyrol's lips barely moving. Jammer's nod was less subtle. Seeing the Specialist scoop up several different boxes – including Gaeta's – and watching as he made it a point to drop off other packages before making a 'special delivery' to Helo's Raptor was commendable. Not the way she would do it – leave it to men to make a simple smuggling job complicated – but it got the job done.
Narrowing her eyes, fighting her tiredness, pieces started to fall into place as she ticked off the name of the players. Gaeta to Tyrol, Tyrol to Helo, Gaeta to Tyrol – the only one who was missing out of this pretty group of amateurs was Lee. Another piece falling into place made her close her eyes and puff out a heavy breath through her nose. Lee. Lee would make the schedule for the Raptor flights that Tyrol would prep, which Jammer would help load with whatever it was that Gaeta delivered in the first place as Helo took – whatever it was – off ship.
Tapping her thumbs against the railing, she turned on her heel and made for the Pilot's Ready Room.
Standing in front of the white-board, she crossed referenced Helo's name with the mission assigned. It was a little hard to make out, but there it was: Raptor Seventeen to The Rising Star to deliver parts and technical data; Raptor Seventeen to The Aerilon Maiden with technical data; Raptor Seventeen to The Geminon Traveller with technical data.
"Technical data, my ass," she murmured to no one. 'Whatever it was', she would bet her Viper it wasn't training manuals and instructional discs being taken to the outer edges of the Fleet.
Slipping out of the Ready Room without being seen was easier than following Gaeta to the hanger bay.
Sliding into her rack and pulling her privacy curtain shut, two thoughts stood out from all the others in her head as blessed sleep took hold of her.
'Whatever it was' had a name and just what were those boneheads getting off ship that they didn't want anyone to know about?
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