ENTREPRENEURSHIP 2: A Guy's Gotta Make a Living, Kara

Chapter 2: Wile vs Guile

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If 'Smug' were a name, it would be Lee Adama.

That frakker was SO up to something. She knew it. Even as he ran beside her through the ship, playing up on the looks she was still getting from more and more people, he wasn't giving anything away.

Taking the stairs two at a time, forcing air in and out of her lungs and slowing for the up-coming straight-away, she put her breaths and footfalls on 'auto-pilot' and let her mind wander.

The idea of finding someone who was more afraid of her than Lee and getting that person tell her what the Good Captain was up to was jettisoned out of the nearest Logic Airlock. This time, finding someone who was more afraid of her was going to work against her rather than work for her. Anyone who was afraid of her before she cornered them would only be more resolved not to tell her anything on the principle of keeping all their appendages attached if they did tell her anything. So, that wasn't going to work. Not to mention that coercion didn't feel like the right way to go about discovering what Lee and his cronies were up to. Granted he didn't have the finesse that she had perfected when it came to pulling off a scheme, but he was trying so hard to be slick – the least she could do was play at his level.

Chancing a look at Kara as he tightened his elbows closer to his body and picked up his pace, he was conflicted. On one hand, things were going smoothly. Everything was going out on time, he and Kara had only exchanged a few good-natured barbs about her little prank on him, and they both let the incident lie at that. On the other hand, she was definitely up to something.

He could tell because she was unusually quiet this morning. Had been since yesterday when she woke up after some extended, well-deserved rack time. Normally when they ran together, they bantered back and forth if they were taking it easy. Or, on other occasions, if he or Kara needed to run in order to pound out anger-management issues, it was an unspoken arrangement that the other person just kept up and kept quiet. But not today – today the pace was moderate but not so fast that he needed his full attention to successfully plant each foot in front of the other. She was definitely up to something.

Taking the next turn, still running in tandem, her posture wasn't rigid. She was distracted and he had to admit that it looked good on her. Her face wasn't scrunched up in a scowl, there was no trace of that famous Starbuck smirk and the way her eyes were bright with intelligence as she put her more than capable brain to work made his breath quicken. She really was a beautiful creature. Long lines, elegant power and a gracefulness that was lethal as it was ethereal. Inwardly shaking his head, he snorted at the people who labelled him the brains and her the brawn of Starbuck and Apollo. If they only knew! Her street-wise smarts were a perfect match for his War College education, and only a fool thought that strength was measured by how much someone could bench-press. Just thinking about when he had her trapped between his arms in the brig and the way her heartbeat fluttered at the base of her throat and the tempting aroma that came from her heated skin was enough to make him grateful he had slipped an over-sized t-shirt over his head before they started out this morning.

That didn't mean he felt ANY guilt over what he was doing. Frak that! No, if anything, everything was going according to plan. In fact, if things kept going the way they were, it wouldn't be long before –

"Hey – I'll catch up with ya later. Okay?"

Kara swinging out the back of her hand and tapping his upper arm completely shattered his train of thought, not to mention her barely waiting for him to nod that he had heard her before she took a hard left and was out of sight before he could say anything.

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Oh. My. Gods. Why didn't he know better?

Standing outside the door of the Firing Range, Gunny thumped his head against the sound proof glass. This was one guard-duty he was only too glad to do because it was the last stipulation on Starbuck's list.

Why didn't he say 'no' when that firecracker of a blonde sauntered up to him, clunked a bottle of the Chief's Brew – the good stuff, no less – onto the table and poured each of them a couple inches of the 'Beverage of the Condemned' before she even sat down?

A couple of hours and the whole bottle later had him staggering off to his rack. Why, oh why, had he forgotten how underhanded the Lieutenant could be? He had been bamboozled, and if anybody asked, that was what he was going to say that happened to him. He couldn't help it! He had a crush on the hot-shot Viper pilot ever since she out-shot him on the firing range when she first came on board. And, not to mention that there was something downright sexy about a woman who could be all woman even when she had some poor bastard braced up against the wall and her fingers curled around the lapels of the snit's shirt.

It was the nauseating smell of burned powdered eggs swimming in ancient grease that woke him up to the worst hang-over he had ever experienced. And the person waving the pan underneath his nose was Starbuck. It was all he could do not to throw up in his rack when she passed the pan underneath his nose, let alone sit up and keep his stomach down as she shoved a spoonful of that greasy, nasty mess into his mouth. His boots were the only things he could reach in time that came close to being a receptacle. Then, she started in on her questions about Apollo.

That was her plan all along. Not to get him drunk but to make sure he was so hung over that he would be at her mercy and that foul-smelling, stomach churning mess that wiggled in that frakking pan that she wasn't afraid to wield if she thought he wasn't paying close enough attention to what she was asking.

Still hung over but finally away from those burned eggs, he – the Master Marine – was now reduced to look-out as he opened the door to firing range. He nodded respectfully at Cally and Meg and pulled it shut behind them. Peering in through the thick glass, he saw Starbuck pass a disc to each woman and then place her hands on her hips. Pacing the floor, he knew what she was saying even though he couldn't hear her words. Watching Cally and Racetrack drop their jaws and start adding their own hand movements to the dialogue was too much for his visually sensitive stomach.

Turning around and leaning against the cool metal siding of the corridor, he rolled his eyes and went back to chastising himself.

He SO should have known better than to let Starbuck get a hold of him. She was definitely the most dangerous woman in the Fleet.

Despite his misery, a faint stirring in his hips reminded him why he wouldn't want her to be any other way. A quick glance through the window got him a fabulous profile shot of the blonde – she definitely had all the right equipment in all the right places.

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Opening up his locker, fishing for a clean set of tanks, a note with his name on it rested on a pair of briefs. Picking it up and unfolding it, a smile spread across his face and changed his view on just what kind day he was going to have.

Lee,

There is a seat for you on the shuttle to The Rising Star leaving at 2100 hours; meet me at The Wharf. No uniforms allowed.

Kara

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Lying side by side on a creeper, Jammer had his fingers pinching close a leaking coolant line but Tyrol could see that his grip wasn't going to last long.

Springing up, he made it to his tool box and started rifling though the drawers. Opening the third drawer, a wayward spanner nearly buried a piece of paper.

Pulling it free and scanning the words, he shoved it in his pocket. Spying the pliers he needed and making his way back to Jammer, he murmured, "I'll be on that shuttle, Cally."

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Sitting down at a table in Central Mess, Gaeta set down his tray and opened his napkin. An unexpected hand coming down on his shoulder nearly had him upsetting his cup of coffee.

"Hey Gaeta – I think you dropped this back there." Seelix said.

"No – I don't think I did," came out of Gaeta's mouth too late, because even as he said the words, she placed a piece of paper next to his fork and was already making her way out of the cafeteria.

Watching her take a left and head out of sight, it was an unconscious act that had him picking up Seelix had left behind for him.

Lunch never tasted so good and a quick glance at the clock told him that he only had eight hours to wait before his Raptor to The Rising Star was due to depart.

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Twirling his pen through his fingers, the idea of spraining his thumb to avoid latest round of paperwork was growing more appealing by the moment.

The sound of running feet and an enthusiastic, "Helo!" was a welcomed break from the monotony.

Looking up at the slim brunette, he had to smile. Racetrack – Meg – was being very bouncy and it was infectious. "Hey – what's up?"

"I have a HUGE favour to ask." A demure smile and a wicked glint came to her eye as she flashed a clipboard of her own at him.

"Oh, yeah? Whatcha' thinking?" It was the kind of glint that made him think he was going to get the better end of whatever deal she was going to propose.

"Well-ell…," she drawled. "You see – I have this run that I'm supposed to make to The Rising Star tonight. You know the kind; take people there, drop them off, wait for them to have a good time while not being required to report back to the Raptor until zero-seven-thirty the next morning for the return trip back to Galactica."

"But…" He left the rest of his words hanging in the air.

"But I'm feeling this cough coming on and I think it's in my best interest to – you know – stay out of the cockpit tonight. Maybe do some paperwork?" She set down her clip board with her mission profile on it and reached for the stack of reports piled in front of him. Fanning her face with the papers, she was all about looking out for her fellow pilots – namely one Karl Agathon and one Margaret Edmundson. "I'd feel terrible if I infected anyone."

"You know Meg," Helo wasn't born yesterday. He had a sneaking suspicion that Meg's latest conquest also had tonight off. But he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Still sitting, he stretched out an arm and curled his fingers around the edge of her clipboard and gave her a broad, conspiratorial smile. "We need more people like you in the Fleet."

"From your mouth to the Gods' ears, Helo," Racetrack concurred, brushing her forefinger against the outside tip of her nose.

Exchanging knowing winks, she was already through the hatch when he saw her stop and turn around. "Don't forget – lift off is at nineteen-hundred hours."

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The Wharf had everything a good 'sailor' needed. Good music, good light shows, good booze, a good dance floor and plenty of good things to look at when a thirsty patron wasn't knocking back their favourite drink, dancing to their favourite song, or watching one shows, movies or Pyramid games – taped before the end of the worlds – on any on the large screen hanging on the back wall of the club.

Making his way through the crowd, Lee knew he looked good. A tight black t-shirt bummed from one of Gunny's men fit like a glove without riding up or being binding. A little bit of product borrowed from Hot Dog touched up the tips of his hair, a pair of decently fitting slacks with a black belt snaking around his waist set off his narrow hips and washboard stomach perfectly without over dressing what was underneath. The only thing he was wearing that could even be remotely considered as part of his 'uniform' was the chronometer around his wrist.

Just because the note was signed by Kara, didn't mean that she was going to show tonight. He could be dealing with Starbuck all evening. That thought was enough to get him up to the bar and ordering a drink; his shuttle mate, the person he had walked in with, had already been approached by a very attractive woman and taken to the dance floor

Tipping back his glass and swallowing a mouthful, a genuine smile spread across his face as he saw Helo come towards him from the other side of the bar.

Without his uniform, Lee wanted to be Lee. And, seeing Helo dressed in a pair of well-tapered slacks and a dark green, loosely fitting shirt open at the neck, it looked like the taller man had the same idea.

Clasping hands, Lee spoke first. "Karl – when did you get here? I didn't see you on the shuttle?"

Switching his drink to his other hand, Helo was glad that call signs and ranks weren't going to be part of the evening's equation.

"That's because I wasn't on the shuttle, Lee. I came in on the Raptor. You aren't going to believe who else was a passenger."

"Me, too – guess who I rode in with…" Lee matched Helo's surprise timbre for timbre.

"Hey – Felix!" Karl craned his neck and bellowed over his shoulder. A rousing cheer went up from somewhere in the back corner and out of the crowd stumbled Gaeta – already two parsecs past Geminon.

Using the backings of the barstools as support, Felix was all smiles as he made his way towards the guys. He was having a great night. His stylish, banded collared shirt was open at the throat and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He might be jovially leaning his elbow on Karl's shoulder, but another familiar face emerging from the dance floor caught his alcohol hazed eyes.

It was the Chief and the man definitely knew how to put on something other than fluorescent orange coveralls. The white shirt skimming his hips and the matching white pants were of a soft, drapey material that highlighted his muscle tone and broad shoulders without making him loom like a giant. A pair of casual shoes and his natural dark eyes and hair was the only accessories he needed. Offering his hand to same lovely young woman who picked him up when he and Lee first entered the bar, wearing ridiculously high-heeled shoes, as she minced her way down the few steps the separated the bar floor from the raised dais that was the dance area, he settled her in a chair at a nearby table and took his leave. Hearing Felix over the din and making eye contact, he tacked in their direction. He only stopped once and that was to ask a waitress to bring a drink and an apology to the woman he left sitting by herself.

Helo stuck out his hand and let the stunned look on his face speak for itself. "I can't believe you just did that! She's a babe!"

"Nah – she wasn't my type – too high maintenance." Shaking the ECO's hand and hearing the collective groan at his inadvertent pun, Galen shrugged his shoulders and tipped his chin in her direction. "Anyway, don't be feeling too bad for her gentlemen. A woman like her won't be sitting alone for very long."

Surreptitiously, leaning back on the heels of his feet, Lee looked at the woman Galen was so blasé about. And sure enough, not two minutes had passed since the waitress dropped off her drink and Galen's apology when another man approached her table and after a brief exchange, led her back up to the dance floor.

Taking another draw on his drink, Lee let a little mischievousness pepper his tone. "So – what is your type?"

A whisper of tension hung in the air between Karl and Galen. Felix didn't move his arm from Karl's shoulder, but he certainly felt the taller man's posture become a little more rigid underneath his elbow.

"Oh – you know; about yea high," Galen lifted his hand until it hovered about sixty-four inches off the ground. "Brown eyes, and brown hair," looking at Karl with a genuine smile, the tension dissipated as he continued his description, "and prefers to keep her feet on the ground rather than her hands on the steering stick of a Raptor." Accepting Karl's silent apology with a very subtle twitch of the shoulder for even considering that Galen had any lingering feelings for Sharon, Galen turned the tables onto Felix. "What about you – what's your type?"

"Me?" Caught in mid-drink, Felix started talking with his hands before a single word came out of his mouth, "Anyone who can debate – intelligently – on the applications of algorithms in a negative infinity equation."

Lee shook his head. Gaeta – Felix – wasn't making sense. "But algorithms are finite – right?"

"My one true love has been in front of me the whole time!" Felix gushed. Disengaging from his perch on Karl's shoulder, he was two steps away from embracing Lee when the wary expression on the other man's face had him explaining himself. "See – that's my test. That is my number one criteria – you gotta be smart to even show up on my radar." Polishing off his drink, he nudged Karl, "Your turn, big guy."

Wrapping his long arms around his considerable chest, Karl looked at someone who wasn't in the bar with them. "Smart is definitely up there. And, she has to be a woman – not a girl – but a woman. There are some women that are fifty years old and are still girls, and I've seen girls as young as fifteen become women. For me, though, the connection is the biggest thing." Nodding his head, he clarified what he meant. "You can be with a woman as much as humanly possible, but if that connection isn't there, then all you have is a friendship not a relationship. You can be from two different worlds or right next door to you, and as long as that connection is there, then that person is the person for you." Caught up in his thought, he had to pitch his voice above the music changing up. "It's like that person is carrying a piece of your soul that you didn't even know you were missing until she looks at you and – BAM! – you just know that she's the one because that little piece of you that doesn't quite fit you – that has been niggling you ever since you found it – fits her and no one else but her. And it's not like you can't exist without it – but there is a huge gap between existing and living my friends."

Lee had barely looked at Galen when the deck chief put the same question to him; he was saved by the house lights dimming and adding his own clapping to the round of applause the spread across the bar.

From the music booth, a male voice projected over the din and nearly drowned out the first few bars of next song being played. "Ladies and gentlemen – feast your eyes on the centre screens!"

On the dance floor, the crowd parted and moved to the side so that those on the floor could see more clearly as a video started to play and the accompanying music level rose.

It was their video – the project they masterminded to counter the vibrators Kara, Cally and Meg created last month. No one was going to buy what was being played for free. Their little enterprise was sunk. And it was such a brilliant idea!

It was set to a primal, thumping, drum beat baseline superimposed over one of the dance hits that was all the rage before the worlds ended. It featured shots of sweaty, sexy Starbuck, Cally and Racetrack in the gym working out – pumping iron, gloved fists taking shots at the punching bag, doing callisthenics. Sweaty, wet hair and high ponytails swinging from side-to-side, arm muscles straining and gleaming with sweat as push-ups were performed, strong legs attached to well-sculpted butts pumping out miles on the stair-climber machine. Feminine curves and body parts dangled over feminine strength as the women helped each other count out sit-ups and crunches and straddled each other's bodies as they spotted each other on the weight-lifting equipment. Specific shots of each of the women with a single bead of sweat rolling down a specific body parts highlighted the segment. For Cally, it was a heavy bead of sweat sliding down her neck, over he pulse point and disappearing between the her cleavage. Racetrack, towel in hand, back arched, trying to reach a glistening drop of sweat that was slipping down the length of the groove of her spine. Kara – Kara's was a close up of a smirking side-long glance she was giving someone off-frame, as a single, thick, bead of sweat slid from her temple and slipped over her carotid artery. Interspersed among the working-out shots were images of a sexy-feisty Cally ruling the flight deck and not taking any crap from anyone, a sequence featuring Racetrack herding a Cylon Heavy Raider into Galactica's suppression barrage, which was then quick-cut to Starbuck firing at a pack of Raiders and taking out three in rapid succession, each one after another.

A collective 'whoop' went spread out through the crowd as the nameplates on Starbuck's and Racetrack's birds waxed in and out of focus when the Viper and Raptor burned a path through the debris of destroyed Cylon ships.

Then it stopped. The screens went black and the music stopped. Hands on their hips, walking side-by-side, three figures were striding forward and taking a position on the centre of the dance floor

If it was possible for the four of them to get out of the bar with any kind of dignity, the three on stage made sure that window had passed. Leave it to Felix to beat them all to the punch.

"We are so frakked."

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