Chapter 5
When William Adama had told Kara that the first few weeks would be difficult on the Galactica, he had understated the matter. At some point in the last few days, Kara had decided that Captain Jackson Spencer was demon-possessed, and he was out to kill every damned pilot he could before they had a chance to touch his birds. It was taking every frakking ounce of respect she had for Commander Adama not to just kill the CAG outright.
To be fair, he hadn't asked for anything she wasn't fully capable of. And if she was honest, the work had at least kept her mind off… well, everything. There was no time at all for thought when you spent your day at a dead run from before oh-six-hundred to well after twenty-two-hundred. She even ate on the run, usually with a sandwich smacked into her hand by one of the deck crew or a protein drink handed to her by another pilot. She had yet to see the inside of the mess hall.
Or the inside of a Viper.
Still, she set her alarm every morning for oh-five-hundred, and took the time to pull on some sweats and run the corridors of the Galactica. The adrenaline rush was the only thing that managed to get her through the day, and it was worth losing a half-hour of sleep to get her usual morning greeting from the one person on board that seemed to like her. She wasn't back up to five miles yet, but she was getting there.
This morning was like any other. Her alarm beeped only once before she slammed it into silence, slid out of her bottom bunk, and pulled on sweatpants. She quickly put on her running shoes, tied them, and took off out the hatch. She could do it all in the dark.
Once in the corridors, she knew that she had from between three and four laps before she'd see him. Commander Adama didn't go on duty until seven – at least not according to the official roster – but she saw him on his way to CIC almost daily around five-thirty. It turned out to be three laps today. "Good morning, Sir," she said as she slowed her pace for a moment.
"Morning, Starbuck," he said back. "What do you hear?"
He wasn't asking about what she was listening to. He was asking how she was holding together. He was asking how she was managing the killer shifts, obnoxious CAG, and knowing nobody besides him. Was she ready to crumble, or did she remember the lessons she'd learned the hard way about maintaining her sanity? "Nothing but the rain," she told him. All was well; she might not like her bunkmates, her CAG, her duties, or her shifts, but she was surviving them.
"Then grab your gun and bring in the cat," he told her. He knew it would make her smile. As always, it did.
"Boom, boom, boom," she replied, reminding him that she'd rather shoot a feline than save it.
Some days he would look up and smile. Some days he just watched. And some days – like today – he actually laughed at the morning exchange. It was good to hear him laugh. With the pressures that his duties entailed – even though they were only a peacetime training vessel, not much more advanced than the Callahandra had been – he didn't laugh often. The morning exchange was as much her way of checking up on him as it was his checking up on her. It was a simple way they could stay connected, regardless of his being the Commander and her being a simple Lieutenant. It was normally the only time they saw one another during the day, and there was nothing overtly personal to be observed. To the crew, she was just another new pilot. He had seen to that, and she was grateful. On the Galactica, she was Starbuck, or Lieutenant Thrace, or just Thrace when someone was mad at her. She wasn't Kara here; not to anyone. Not even to the Commander.
And if there were times she regretted the friendships that she had left behind, she tried not to dwell on them. Sometime between her ending shift more than a week ago and the time she'd gone to her bed, she had scribbled out a letter to Lee. At the time she'd been lonely, and she hadn't known if he even had a clue where to find her. It had been a quick note telling him of her transfer, her schedule, and asking him about what was happening in his life. She didn't even know if he'd answer it. He had never been much for writing, at least not according to Zak. She figured it was worth a try.
Kara finished her fifth lap of the Galactica, breathing hard but not gasping. The path she had chosen was about three-quarters of a mile, so she figured she was up to just over four miles. Her goal was to get up to seven laps in the forty minutes she had allotted herself to run, but it wasn't happening today.
The lights were on in quarters, telling her it was past five-thirty. Great, she was right on schedule. She grabbed a towel and headed for the showers. She had cleaning up down to a system, quick and efficient. She showered and shampooed her hair, dried off and combed the unruly strands straight back out of her way, and went back to her bunk to put on a clean uniform. Glancing at her watch, she was actually five minutes ahead of her usual schedule, and she wondered if her pace had improved that much. She certainly hoped so.
She went back to her bed to make it, and she was stunned to see an envelope sitting there. Mail delivery was usually early, but she hadn't ever gotten a delivery here. Picking up the envelope, she saw the return address and smiled, tearing open the paper to find the letter inside. As the envelope tore, out floated a picture as well. She picked it up, and sucked in a breath at what she saw.
It was a simple photo taken of her and Zak, with Lee standing off to the side. It had been taken on one of the first days Zak had been at the academy, and just after she had met his family. She couldn't remember who had snapped it, and she hadn't ever really thought anything about it. After staring at it for a long moment, she sniffled once and reached for the letter that had fallen out of the envelope with the picture.
Dear Kara,
I hope this finds you well. I'm glad to hear that you like your new assignment. Yes, it should get easier with time. Most CAGs are pains in the ass until they learn to trust you.
I'm doing fine – no complaints. Just finished testing for Captain, so I'll let you know what comes of it. I don't think I have enough time in grade to make it, but I'm hoping.
Try to stay out of trouble. I know that's a stretch for you, but a good idea all the same. You may want to make Captain too someday.
Take care of yourself,
Lee
She read the letter twice more then folded it carefully and took both it and the picture to her locker. The letter was placed on the top rack so that she could find it to answer later, when she had time. The photo she looked at for a long time before sticking it into one side of her locker where she could see both of the Adamas every time she got out a uniform. Maybe it was masochistic, but it was nice to see a friendly face at some point in the day, and this would guarantee her at least two opportunities – getting uniforms out, and putting them away.
She grabbed her boots, lacing them quickly and glanced at her watch. Frak. She was five minutes late. So much for getting ahead. Ripper would have her ass, and this time she couldn't even blame him. It didn't matter though; it had been worth it to read a letter from a friend.
The worst part about coming into a job with a reputation – good or bad – was that you had to battle the damned thing both ways until people got to know you. And when Kara was working the better part of sixteen hours a day, or more sometimes, it was hard to get to know anyone. She seemed to spend most of her time on the deck, fixing this or checking that, so her first friends weren't pilots, but rather the deck gangs.
As the Commander had warned her, most of them were just kids. Some fresh out of secondary school – barely of age – and out to make their families proud. Others were trying to get out of trouble by joining the Service. Still others were just plain lost, and space had seemed as good a place to wind up as any. The reasons were as varied as the names and faces, and Kara gradually became familiar with most of both. The crew was amicable enough, even though most of them initially stayed clear of her as an unknown entity.
The pilots, on the other hand, were a royal pain in the ass. It wasn't just her esteemed leader – she had expected Ripper to be on her case – but most of the men had a tendency to not believe a woman could be an effective Viper pilot until they saw otherwise. Kara was used to that. What she wasn't used to was missing the opportunity to embarrass the living shit out of them. It was hard to prove your worth as a pilot when you didn't get to fly the planes. She'd been in the simulators a couple of times, but so far her CAG hadn't seen fit to let her run a patrol or even check out a routine repair. Her feet hadn't left the stability of the battlestar since she'd come aboard. It was driving her out of her mind.
Today, as with most days, her time was divided between routine maintenance with the deck gang – she now knew more about the innards of a Viper than she'd ever wanted to – and then manning a wireless in launch control. She honestly believed that Ripper was trying to kill her; it was bad enough not to fly, but to listen to others communicate while they did so was torture. Nonetheless, still wiping grease from her hands she headed up to the control room for the second half of her shift. The only good news was that by the time she finished with six hours in control, she'd probably be tired enough to get some sleep.
After an hour on duty in control, it was all that Kara could do to stay coherent. It irritated her to no end that they kept sending out Rookies that were barely fit to fly. Half of them she wouldn't have passed through basic flight. They were terrified of anything resembling g-force, and they panicked at the least hiccup in either the controls or their wingman's flight.
To make matters worse, this shift had her observed by the primary thorn in her side, one Captain Jackson Spencer. Lords, she hated the man. If he could find a way to make her life more difficult, he managed it. She kept one eye on him and the other on her screen as she monitored the progress of one rook, and one pilot who should have known better. They were coming in from a totally routine patrol, preparing for the most dangerous aspect of any flight – the landing.
"Galactica to Viper zero-seven-four, you are cleared for landing on port primary bay," Ripper said into his com.
Kara watched the blips on her screen as the lead Viper pulled up, and then down, and finally straightened himself out for the landing. Ripper continued to give simple commands, but her attention was focused elsewhere as she saw a problem developing with the landing pilot's wingman.
"Galactica to Viper zero-six-eight, report on status," she demanded, the tone of her voice bringing Ripper's glare in her direction.
"'The controls are sluggish," the rook admitted, although she could have figured that out from a combination of his erratic path and his terrified voice. She was also fairly certain she knew the reason.
"Viper zero-six-eight," she said crisply. "Bring your nose up, decrease speed, and wait for further instructions."
"What are you doing, Starbuck?" Ripper asked in irritation.
"You watch your plane and I'll watch mine," she snapped back. "He hit a backwash."
Obligingly closing his mouth and never taking his eyes from her, Ripper concluded the landing on his lead pilot. It was the standard procedure on the Galactica to bring in the experienced pilot first, more as an example than anything. Kara disliked the procedure, and she'd never used it at the academy. She preferred to be out there to keep an eye on her kids when they were coming in for a landing; it kept her appraised of conditions as she couldn't be if she was working on her own landing or sitting in control. She didn't like to be unaware of what the rooks were dealing with.
"Viper zero-six-eight," she said quickly, then looked at her roster. "Hopper, this is Starbuck. You need to bring your nose up," she said urgently. Her voice wasn't panicked – she wasn't panicked – but she was getting there. The erratic path of the Viper was similar to the one that had ended Zak's life, the product of inexperience and panic over a simple fluctuation in atmospheric pressure caused by the previous Viper's afterburners, but it was enough to kill a rook if he lost his head. "Hopper, do you hear me?"
"The nose won't come up," the rook called frantically. "No response from the stick. I don't know what else to do!"
"Hopper, take a breath," she told him quickly. "You can't land if you pass out. Now listen to me. You're just fine. You don't have control because there is pressure in the space around you. If you can't come up, then I want you to ease down. Very gently, very quickly. Ease down, and fly below the Galactica. Do you copy?"
"Why?" he asked.
"Trust me," she said simply. "Ease down, come under the Galactica, then circle back around. You can do this."
"I just want to land," Hopper said, his voice almost breaking.
"You're already too low to land," she said with a forced calm. "Ease under, bring yourself back around, and then we'll go again. Trust me, I've been doing this for ten years."
"Roger that," Hopper said, and a little of the fear had left his voice. She watched her screen carefully, seeing him follow her directions and drop down, circle beneath the Galactica, and then turn to come back up."
"Great job," she assured him. "Now, I want you to do a systems check with me. Ready?"
While the Viper was well away from the Galactica, she did her best to talk the rookie through an impromptu systems check. Nothing was wrong. She had known nothing would be wrong, but she had needed the time. Or rather, Ripper had, as he'd been calling down to the flight deck to get emergency crews in place and everyone else out of the way. They had a scared pilot, and scared kids screwed up. At the very least, they didn't want this one taking half the deck crew and most of a flight pod with him. When she saw that Ripper was giving her a nod, she turned her full attention back to the kid that was hanging on the other end of the wireless.
"Viper zero-six-eight, you are clear. Every system checked out perfectly. I want you to come around for a second approach on the port landing bay. Do you copy?"
"Roger that," Hopper said a little more calmly. She would explain to him later what he had done wrong the first time – following his leader too closely – and be sure it didn't happen again. But for the moment, she just wanted to get him safely aboard.
"Bring it up just a touch," she said gently, as though the kid would panic at her least interruption. Truthfully, he just might. Lords knew that Zak had freaked just as soon as the controller had started talking to him; he had panicked, accelerated when he should have decelerated, and he had killed himself and three other men in the process. She had watched it happen, and she had known that nothing she could have said in control would have made a difference. She had heard his screams, his frantic cry, and she had known that he was beyond logic. Thankfully, Hopper was not. "Looking good," she assured him. "Now level… down a bit…nice. Okay, kick in the burn now… that's it… you've got it. Now hold… hold… easy… doing good." She felt a trickle of sweat make its way down the center of her back as she hunched over the panel to get closer to the screen. "Great… bring it down… down… and mag lock… now."
The control room gave a collective sigh of relief when the locks engaged and Viper zero-six-eight was no longer a threat. Kara did the same, grateful that no one had died today. Granted, the kid was parked in the wrong direction – there was no way she was going to try to talk him through a one-eighty with his confidence so low – but he was down, safe, and as far as she was concerned the world was right.
"Nice work, Starbuck."
Kara looked over her shoulder when she felt Ripper's hand on her arm. He smiled then – something she'd never seen him do before. "You had him calm before I saw he was having a problem. Nicely done."
She gave an absent shrug. "I'm used to walking kids through the sims," she explained. "Although it's easier to do when the worst that can happen is a few alarms ringing and having to flunk them or retrain."
"That was the real-deal," Ripper assured her. "Are you as calm in the cockpit as you are in control?"
She thought about that for a moment. "When it's necessary," she said honestly. "Sometimes you need the edge more than you need control."
He nodded as though he understood, and she figured that he did. Most pilots with any seasoning at all knew that there was a time for rationality, and a time to just fly.
"When's our next patrol in?" he asked her.
He already knew; he had to, as he'd written the roster. "Two hours," she said with suspicion. "Why?"
"Making sure I had time to get someone else up here," he told her with a wink. "I want you to go down there, get Hopper into a sim, and walk him through landings about ten times, or until he can do it without panicking over a little airflow. When you finish there, go ahead and crash. I want you on the deck at oh-six-hundred."
Kara sighed. Great. Another day on the deck. Still, it was better to spend some time with the simulators than to sit here for two hours and wait while they did nothing. Maybe Ripper would see fit to keep her in the sims for at least part of her duty. She didn't mind training kids; she never had minded. She had just wondered for a while if she still had the capability. She had wondered if the first time that something went wrong, she would hear Zak's screams and fall apart on all of them. Now she knew that she could manage it, so it didn't scare her. Only when the fear left her did she realize that she had even been facing it. She had been scared. Imagine that.
"Lieutenant Thrace?" Ripper called from behind her as she removed her headset and headed for the door.
She didn't bother with "sir", but instead just turned back to look at him.
"Starbuck, get a good night's rest. We have a long patrol going out in the morning, and I want you to take point."
She digested that for a moment. "Excuse me?"
"You do fly, don't you?" he asked with a grin.
She couldn't help smiling back. Maybe she wouldn't murder the man in his sleep after all. "A bit," she said simply.
"Good, then you can take my patrol," he told he with a wink. "I could use some down time."
Shaking her head, she turned her back on him. She had things to get done. She had a kid to talk down, and then she needed to get him in a simulator before he got too damned scared to ever fly again. She needed to check over Ripper's Viper, and be sure it met her specs. If she was going to fly it, she wanted it right. Oh, and she needed to answer Lee's letter before she went to sleep. He would be thrilled to know that she was going to be back in the air. It had been too damned long since she'd controlled her world around her. Finally, she needed to leave a message for the Commander. She figured a simple "thank you" would do the job. He would understand.
And so she did… she spent over three hours with Lieutenant Hannings – Hopper – until he could land in the sim without breathing hard. She checked over the Viper, pleased that she knew its mechanics as well as any of the deck gang, and she even scribbled out a letter to Lee while she grabbed a bite to eat in the Ready Room. Finally, just before she got ready to shower for bed, she scribbled a note on a piece of paper and walked down the hall to slide it under the Commander's door while nobody was looking. With a smile on her face, she went back to quarters and made sure her alarm was set for the morning.
Commander William Adama glanced down as he prepared to open the hatch to his quarters. It had been a long day, and he was more tired than he really wanted to admit. A small blue piece of paper was tucked into the metal at the door's base. With a curious expression, he picked up the paper and flipped it over to look at it. His smile grown as he read each word, finally turning to a gentle chuckle at the code only he could understand.
Thanks!
I fly tomorrow.
Nothing but the rain!