Insubordination

[Bette Davis]

Lieutenant Bathala was looking for her in the galley. So Lieutenant Commander Davis went to the refresher. She sat in one of the co-ed stalls for ten minutes fully clothed and staring at the ceiling until she was sure he must have had some other duty to fulfill that would have taken him to another part of the ship.

When she cracked the stall door open, he was standing at the sinks, arms folded and facing towards her. Bette hastily closed the door again, but after a moment she reopened it and stepped out. "Hoping to catch me in the sonic shower, Ens- Lieutenant?"

She washed her hands at the sink beside him, pretending that she hadn't been avoiding him for two days.

[Cael Bathala]

“Wishful thinking?”

Cael smirked. Davis was still his superior, technically, but since he'd been handed leadership of Hellfire Squadron, he was no longer directly under her command. That made the repercussions of refusing to play along and kiss her ass far less threatening.

“If I was a paranoid man, I'd say you've been avoiding me since we transferred aboard.”

[Bette Davis]

She pulled her wavy black hair out its ponytail and pulled her fingers through it. "That's just ridiculous." Bette quickly worked her hair back into a tail, fastening it securely. "I hear the Hellfires are ingratiating themselves to the deck crew already."

There'd been an incident with one of the trainees, Vapebait, and a fuel umbilical that had become detached. She cracked a smile, and then turned to face Bathala fully. "You've obviously got something on your mind, pilot."

[Cael Bathala]

It would be a long time, if ever, before Lisa Arcturus lived down her multitude of frak-ups. She'd been a matter of days out of basic flight when she'd earned her call-sign, Vapebait, which was a far too accurate summary of her skills and her attitude. She'd been someone elses problem before, but as the newly promoted leader of Hellfire Squadron, Cael knew that he would have to do something about her sooner or later. There were matters higher on his priorities list for now, though.

“Back on Kuat, I said I wanted words with you. That still stands.”

[Bette Davis]

Bette turned slowly to face him, her face upturned to look him in the eye as she put her hands on her hips. "Well then, Lieutenant, get that burden off your chest. Permission to speak freely."

The door to the 'fresher opened and a pair of ensigns walked in. They halted, looking at the two pilots, but Bette didn't take her eyes off of Cael, almost daring him to say what was on his mind. "Find another head, ensigns." The two men hesitated, and then she locked her eyes on them, bellowing in her best 'talking to nuggets' voice, "Are you deaf?!"

The pair beat a hasty retreat, leaving Bathala and Davis alone.

[Cael Bathala]

Cael hadn't changed his stance, arms still locked over his chest in a gesture of defiance that few pilots under Bette Davis would chance. The pair she'd chased away were only just out of the door when Bathala's voice broke the silence.

“What is your problem with me?”

[Bette Davis]

"My problem? My problem is that you're just an upjumped swoop jock, Bathala. You think being in the Navy is just a step up from being in an arena. Frell, when we get leave, you sign autographs."

Bette threw her left hand up in the air, "You think the worlds are going to kiss your ass because you're a famous pilot. Well guess what - in the Imperial Navy your ass doesn't get kissed. And pilots with too much ego end up vaped, or worse, getting their squadrons vaped."

[Cael Bathala]

Cael shook his head and smiled tightly, without a hint of humor. It always came down to racing, always. He'd barely mentioned his track days since enrolling, but apparently it was the only thing everyone else wanted to talk about.

“I get credit where credit's due – which is more than I ever got from you.”

[Bette Davis]

"Oh really," she said, leaning away from him against the hand dryers. "Look, Hellfire's called that because its a proving ground. Cadets can be tested, and they either wash out like Smix, or they move on." If they survive, she thought darkly.

"Some pilots hang around for a while because they're just not good enough to go to a better squadron, but they're not bad enough to give up on. And guess what, Bathala? You're neither. I'd of loved nothing better than to graduate your ass months ago, but the propaganda machine sends the word down - Bathala can't be transferred. If he's killed in battle it would be a blow to the morale of the Empire.

"And if he washes out - well lets just say it was made clear that you were not going to wash out. Its not that you deserve to be stuck with the Hellfires, although its been fun yelling at you every day. You pick up maneuvers quickly, and you handle the stick like a pro. You're good, Cael. In another life, you'd be a Shadow."

[Cael Bathala]

“That's a bunch of nerf shit. They can't hold me back 'cause of that.”

He'd always known that there was an element of spin in the Empire taking him on, along with Trix Idalix, but the pair of them were damn good pilots. Surely, command wouldn't put their combined talent to waste just so they could stick their faces on a couple of recruitment posters...

“What, so I'm stuck baby-sitting 'cause the brass thinks I can't handle the big leagues? What's the frelling point of putting me out there at all?”

[Bette Davis]

"Sucks, doesn't it." Now Bette had her arms folded. "Look, its not that bad. You got a promotion, and you get to boss around the nuggets now. But the Ministry of Truth isn't about to let Cael Bathala get vaped in a battle against the Rebels and that's all there is to it."

She raised an eyebrow, "You might as well get used to it. Anyway, you're not my problem anymore."

[Cael Bathala]

The Ministry of frakkin' Truth. Cael shook his head. The less said about the Empire's propaganda machine, the better. It wasn't that he wanted to get vaped, but it would be better to have the chance to prove – as much to himself as to others – that he could hack it. He glanced away from Davis, smirking tight-lipped to himself.

“Not your problem... no change there then, huh.”

[Bette Davis]

"Whatever," she said. "You have your opinions, of course, but I did my job. And it wasn't my job to hold the hands of my nuggets. You'll learn. You can't afford to make friends in this business. So, if I hurt anyone's precious little feelings while teaching them to stay alive and not accidentally kill their wingmen, then I guess I'm guilty as charged."

She'd had enough of this conversation. Bette stood up straight and began to walk around Cael to get to the door.

[Cael Bathala]

Cael turned back to the wash-basins and dipped his head to get a look at his own reflection. Having spent a moment scrubbing one hand back through his hair, he glanced after Bette. His gaze wandered up and down the length of her body, lingering a little longer on her lower half.

“I guess I drifted off for a second and missed that.. teaching part.”

[Bette Davis]

She snorted, catching him in the mirror checking her out. "You either learn or you die out here. And despite all Hellfire's best efforts, no one died yet. So I'd say that means you all learned something."

Bette flipped him the bird in the mirror. "You can just kiss my ass, Bathala. I don't care what you think of me."

[Cael Bathala]

Bathala straightened up and paced after Davis. He shoved the wash-room door open and almost knocked out an ensign coming in the opposite direction. Taking a step around the dazed cadet, long strides soon carried Cael past his former commander. “Kissing your ass ain't my job anymore.”

[Bette Davis]

She glowered as he strode past her and then turned and walked the other direction down the passageway. "Kissing your ass ain't my job anymore..." Bette muttered the words to herself, giving him an unflattering inflection as she did so.

"Whatever. Whatever!" Her pace quickened as she stomped through the Admonisher, yelling over her shoulder at him, "Suits me just fine!" She stalked off, heading for the hangar where Maneater was waiting. Shouting at some technicians would make her feel a lot better.

[Cael Bathala]

The none too impressive ranks of Hellfire Squadron were waiting for Bathala in the pilots ready room, expecting their first briefing from their new leader. He arrived to discover that Gaff “Boozer” Barboy had apparently spent the day so far gushing bodily fluids out of one end then the other and Nicky “Motormouth” Raine had somehow put in a transfer request between the time they had left the Kalidor and when they come aboard the Admonisher. Cael pinched his brow. Five minutes into his role as Hellfire Leader and he was already two pilots down.

When evening rolled around, or at least what passed for evening in the darkness of space, he was ready for a drink. Flying solo, and even when flanked by Dubreas and Smix, Bathala was a pro – but leading wasn't something he was used to. From the looks on their faces and the sag of their shoulders, he guessed the rest of the Hellfire's were glad to get the go-ahead for some downtime. Unlike other squadrons, they weren't regularly called up to combat air patrol, since there was the possibility they'd do more harm than good.

There was talk of card games back at the bunks, which the rest of the squad invited him to out of an awkward sense of duty, but Cael spared them and himself the awkward silences. There was a bottle of something in the mess hall with his name on it.

[Bette Davis]

The technicians were glad to see the back of Lieutenant Commander Davis when she finally left the hangar. All the systems of her TIE Defender were checked, all minor repairs taken care of, and the navicomp was updated with all current star charts. She refueled it herself, the physical work of dragging umbilicals back and forth helping cool her off.

She harangued the deck chief about some small policy slips, and finally left, well after the mess served the evening meal. Bette walked in, went into the galley to rustle up a sandwich and a drink, and ignored the few people in the back who were washing up dishes and laughing. They did her a favor and ignored her too.

Looking inside a lower cabinet for some kiva juice concentrate, she uncovered a glass bottle with a clear liquid inside it. Bette took it out, uncorked it and gave it a sniff. The immediate clearing of her sinuses told her everything she needed to know. Kiva juice forgotten, the pilot tucked the bottle under her arm as she took her sandwich and a glass into the mess through the galley doors.

She was pouring herself a second shot when Lieutenant Bathala walked into the mess hall. Bette thought about trying to hide the bottle, but it was too late, he'd already seen her with it.

[Cael Bathala]

With a tin mug in hand, Cael spotted the bottle he was after. Trouble was, Lieutenant Commander Davis was holding the damn thing. He dragged out a chair opposite Bette and slid his cup across the table, with a screech of metal.

“Pony up.”

[Bette Davis]

She grunted, and poured, the clear liquor splashing gently into the tin cup. He picked it up as she set the bottle down, and she returned to her own drink, tossing it back with a purpose.

Bette poured herself another shot in her tumbler, and let it sit while she took a big bite out of her sandwich, lettuce falling out and landing just clear of her plate. She picked it up, slapped it back in between the bread, and took another bite, chewing carefully and pretending that Cael wasn't there.

[Cael Bathala]

Cael watched her down the shot in one. There was, he'd heard, a reason they called Bette 'Shooter' and it had nothing to do with her skills as a pilot. In one gulp, Cael drained his own cup dry then, with the back of his hand, nudged the cup back towards Davis. Without so much as a word, he was sending her a message: anything you can do, I can do better.

[Bette Davis]

She looked at him, an eyebrow raised, and then poured his next shot without looking at the cup. She didn't spill a drop.

Bette picked up her own drink, raised it slightly in Bathala's direction to accept his silent challenge, and downed it. She picked up the bottle again and poured herself another... and another...

Several minutes of silent drinking passed, before the silence was broken. Bette's sandwich had been reduced to mere crumbs on her plate, and she was beginning to feel pretty good. She hadn't been able to drink properly in months. "You... are going to be a terrible Hellfire Leader if you can't hold your liquor."

[Cael Bathala]

“Me?” Cael sloshed another mouthful of dregs down. Whatever they were drinking was tasting just as bad now as it had on the first sip, but Bathala could already feel the first hint of a warm buzz settling in. “I'm not the one slurring - and anyway, you didn't exactly set the bar that high so I'm sure I'll do just fine.”

[Bette Davis]

"I am not slurring." Bette paused, considering. "And the bar isn't so high, so I can still reach the beer."

She chuckled, and then said, "On second thought... maybe I'm more affected than I thought, my bad jokes are already starting." She thrust a finger in the air, "There's only one solution! More drinks!"

Bette forwent the cup and drank from the bottle, one big swallow before she put it down and pushed it over to Cael.

[Cael Bathala]

“You know, laughing at your own jokes-” Bathala paused to take a swig then lick his lips. “...doesn't make them funny. The nuggets only laughed 'cause they thought you'd kick their asses if they didn't,” he added with a crooked grin, tipping the mouth of the bottle towards Bette, though apparently not yet ready to hand it over to her.

[Bette Davis]

"Hmph," she said, grabbing at the bottle, and then glaring at him until he handed it over. "Well, I would have kicked their ass. Yours too," Bette took a swig of the liquor and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Still might," she added, taking another drink from the bottle before letting Bathala pry it out of her grip.

[Cael Bathala]

“I could be swimming in ale, and you – sober as the day you'd been born,” he hesitated, as if re-evaluating just how sober that might have been. “Still wouldn't be able to take me, Davis. S'just.. a fact of life, you know?” Cael parted his hands, then gestured to himself. “You ladies can't compete with this.”

[Bette Davis]

She considered that over another swallow of liquor. "S'possible. But then, I'm better when I'm drunk."

Bette pointed a finger at him, "An' I doubt that the ladies try to compete with that. They're probably too busy throwing themselves at your feet like idiots."

[Cael Bathala]

Bathala's upper-lip lifted in a half-hearted sneer. Back with Team Tagge, he had been a popular guy – but since enlisting, the only time a woman fell at his feet was if she was a nugget, dropping to give him twenty push-ups.

“Eh, I ain't got time for that.”

[Bette Davis]

"Yeah, that's just sad," Bette said. "That is something you should always make time for.

"At least," she added, "You're in charge now. Lieutenants have all sorts of time for ...that." She winked, snagging the bottle back from him.

[Cael Bathala]

“So that's what all those private lessons with Epp were all about.”

Cael half-sat half-lay back in his chair, his head lolling back. He grinned a sloppy grin. The rest of the squad called Epp Eisahn Easy, mostly on account of how often that very same word had to be used in his presence: easy on the throttle, easy on the acrobatics, easy with the temper, hotshot.

[Bette Davis]

"Ha! He wishes," Bette retorted, but she grinned a little evilly. "I would nev... never! take advantage of my position," she chuckled, "as a superior ossifer to sleep with a lonely nugget.

"In fact!" She threw her hand up into the air, finger pointing up to drive home her point. Unfortunately she'd already been tipping her chair back on its legs a bit, and when she shifted her position Bette overbalanced.

She tipped over backwards, almost in slow motion, and ended up sprawled out on the deck, whatever it was she was going to say forgotten as she burst out laughing.

[Cael Bathala]

Cael leant sideways in his chair, just far enough to see Bette practically rolling around on the floor laughing at herself. This wasn't the Bette Davis he'd served and suffered under, but it was the Davis he'd heard about. He swayed to his feet and pressed the bottle to his lips as he stood over Davis, looking down at her with a smirk.

“Enjoyin' yourself down there?”

[Bette Davis]

She grinned up at him, propping herself up on her elbows as he towered above her. "Oh yeah. Y'should join me."

Bette hooked his ankle with her foot and pulled his legs out from under him. "'Course, th' floor issa lil' dirty..." She rolled towards him, trying to snag the bottle that he'd managed to save as he toppled.

[Cael Bathala]

Bathala didn't so much fall as crumple to the ground, but all the while he kept the bottle in his hand thrust out at arms length, determined that it wouldn't become a casualty of the oncoming war. He held it out of Bette's reach, which she took as an invitation to practically crawl over him in an attempt to retrieve what was fast becoming an empty bottle. Cael tried to hold her at bay with his free hand, but trying to stand between Bette Davis and a bottle of booze was like trying to hold back the tides of Kamion: an exercise in futility.

[Bette Davis]

She sat up triumphant, astride Cael and taking another swig from the bottle. "You... you shouldn't... should share."

Bette passed the bottle to Bathala, yelping as he pushed himself into a sitting position. She slid down to his lap, hooking her feet around his waist and leaning back out of the way as he tipped back the bottle. "Easy, watchit!"

[Cael Bathala]

A grin crept onto Cael's lips as he held the bottle over Bette, out of her reach but poised to pour into her mouth.

“Open wide.”

[Bette Davis]

Bette gamely opened her mouth, the alcohol dribbling down her chin as she tried to swallow. She spluttered and wiped her face, grimacing. "This stuff jus' doesn't taste any better than it did t' begin with."

She leaned back on her hand, arm extended behind her for support. "You -you have turrible aim."