outer_divide | [text; open]

What kind of collateral arrangement?

Woke up on the ship with only a wristwatch, a cigarette lighter, and the clothes on my back. The watch is by far the most valuable item in terms of Earth currency, although its usefulness on this planet, relative to the lighter, is debatable.

In either case, I would hope to give them up only temporarily, with the expectation of reversing the trade later.

[By now she's heard the scuttlebutt on other people waking up on the big ass alien ship. She's curious and wants a looksee for herself. She's about to tell him what she's got when he mentions the 'E' word.]

Earth? You're kidding me right?

[And hello, question he didn't expect.]

No... why would you think I was?

You're from Earth?

[Sorry, Sherlock for the one-track-mindedness. You can probably hear the disbelief and wonder creeping into her tone.]

You're not about to tell me aliens blew it up, are you? This whole ordeal thus far has avoided the cliché; I'd hate to break the streak now.

No. It's just that my people have been trying to get to it. It's meant to be the home of the Thirteenth tribe. And it's pretty much the only colony we have left to run to. Even if most people believe it's just a myth.

I'd offer to help you find it, but this place is a bit out of range for Google Maps.

What have you got?

Google maps?

[She sighs with frustration at having the topic switched back, but maybe she can get more out of him later.]

I've got a flashlight and a mini-crowbar. Come to the Flop. I'll be out on the porch.

I'll be there.

[And so he is. He steps up onto the porch, offers her his hand.]

Sherlock Holmes.

Edited 2012-03-03 21:29 (UTC)

[Starbuck has chosen to meet him standing upright, her one crutch helping to support her weight. She grips his hand firmly and shows no trace of recognition at his name. She's in her flight suit (aka jock smock).]

Kara Thrace.

[She gives him the once over. He doesn't look any different from any of the other colonists, really. Not sure what she was expecting. Still, her mind is reeling from the idea that he could be a descendant of the Thirteenth. Then she jerks her head over to a nearby bench and starts hobbling over to it. They can conduct their business sitting down.]

Edited 2012-03-03 22:32 (UTC)

[His eyes linger on her knee, but for no more than a second. He follows her to the bench.]

Flashlight and a crowbar, you said.

[She unclips the small khaki bag that's hanging from a belt loop and unzips it, sifting through the contents on her lap. Sherlock will catch a glimpse of a few items inside. Broken emergency wireless radio, pouches of purified water, small medkit...ah, there. She finally fishes out the flashlight and crow bar (one of those 10 inch military style ones) and shows them to him but doesn't hand them over yet.]

Lighter, you said.

[He fishes it out of the top pocket in his jacket, holds it up to show her. It's a swanky little number.]

Don't expect I'll be needing them for more than a few days. After that, we reverse the trade.

[Kara gets a gleam in her eye when she sees it. She's in love. She happily hands over her two items to make the trade.]

Fine. But if you lose or break my stuff I get to keep it, right?

[Reaching into a pocket, she produces a stogie and bites the end off of it, eager to give the lighter a test drive.]

That's the deal.

[He doesn't look nearly as jealous as he could at the appearance of the cigar. He is, however, giving her a look.]

You're a pilot.

[She flashes him a quick smirk.]

Very good. Flightsuit give it away, huh?

The same pilot who crash-landed here a few days ago. That was a- [How does he put this.] -space-going aircraft?

[She figures it's not really classified information.]

What I was flying was a Colonial Viper Mark II fighter craft. Specializing in space combat, reconnaissance, and atmospheric flight. Best we've got in the fleet. The Raptors have FTL's though.

[Like a fighter jet off of a battleship, then. Good.]

What do you know about larger spacecraft? The one I and the others woke up in, for example.

[She took another puff on her cigar before answering him.]

I've been assigned to a couple of Battlestars. Triton. Galactica. They're our capital ships. Tend to be heavily armored buckets with decent firepower but not much speed or maneuverabilty. Then again, you don't need that when you can just jump away from the action if it gets too hot.

Haven't had a chance to check out the alien ship yet, though. Obviously you're headed that way.

Nobody who woke up there remembers how they got onto the ship, or why. There has to be something left behind that'll tell us...

If it's anything at all like a seafaring ship, there ought to be a central command. A base of operations. Where would be the logical place for it, on a ship like that?

[Kara nods, smirking slightly at how much he was pumping her for information. Still, it was probably in their best interests to share.]

On our ships it's called the CIC, or Combat Information center. It serves as a central hub for all of the ships main operations. Command and control, communications, navigation, helm, tactical, environmental and so on. It's usually in a heavily armored, well-protected section of the ship, for obvious reasons. But I figure it depends on what kind of function the ship was designed for. Things might be different on a science vessel or entertainment cruiser.

[Shrugging, she sips at her drink and waves with her hand.]

But, generally, a command center is the nucleus of the ship, sending out and receiving signals from all of its sub-stations. Best way to track it down? My guess would be to check for the area which has the most electronic wiring, network cables and power conduits leading to it.

[Alright. Makes sense. Should be enough to go on. Sherlock has no further questions.]

Thank you.

[He stands. Even though there's a finality to it, he's obviously not in a big hurry to get anywhere. He'll stop if she has more to say.]

[She watches Sherlock prepare to leave and deliberately flicks his lighter open and closed once more.]

What's it like?...Earth.

[It's a question she's been dying to ask, ever since she'd found out he was from there.]

[He stops, and is quietly struck with an idea. He might tell her something even if she says no, but who does it hurt to ask?]

Got another of those cigars?

[She raises an eyebrow at him. Seriously? After she just answered his questions? Still, she can afford to be generous for now, so she digs into her chest pocket and holds out a stogie for him to take. She'll hold up the lighter, flicking it on, if he wants to light up now.]

Bring me back a decent souvenir from the ship and I could pass on some more to you.

[Eyebrows go up at that. Oh, really? He'll keep that in mind.

He doesn't enjoy biting the end off the cigar. Can't help grimacing a little when he does. But then the worst part's over. He settles back down on the bench, lets her light it up for him as he takes a few quick puffs to get it started.]

Your colonies must have been post-industrial in order to go into space. Agriculture, factories, large urban areas... [Shrug.] Earth's a lot like that. Not sending battlestars into space, at least not in my time...

Interstellar travel's pretty common. Haven't managed intergalactic yet, though.

[She cocks her head at him.]

The Thirteenth tribe was supposed to have travelled to Earth in great capital ships. I wonder what happened if you don't have that tech around anymore. Had to have been about 2,000 years ago by our reckoning.

There's a legend that beings from outer space built some of our ancient monuments. Who knows?

[Because really, who does? Certainly not Sherlock. He's never been all that big on ancient history. Conspiracy theories, yes. Ancient history not so much.]

Last I remember, it was the year 2011. Plenty of time for humanity to forget more than it knew.

[The year doesn't mean anything to her, it's just a number. But she nods, processing what he's telling her. In some ways it's disappointing to think that the 13th tribe might not be that advanced technologically. So much for it being the 'promised land.'

Then another thought occurs to her:]

Do you know what a Cylon is?

Is there a reason I should?

[His question actually sets her more at ease.]

We created them. At first they just looked like robots, machines. But their AI became sentient. They rebelled and went to war with us. We had forty years of fighting them. Then recently, it turns out, they figured out how to make them look and sound exactly like us.

And they just frakked us over. Decimated the colonies. If you haven't heard of them? It's a good thing. We wanted to try to get to Earth to get way from the motherfrakkers.

[Excuse her language.]

Maybe your people will find it before our own machines rise up against us.

[A touch sardonic? You bet.]

That's what all the science fiction writers are warning us about, apparently.

I got a multitool and a flashlight. I'd prefer to stick with you if I loaned 'em to you.

[Replacements seem like they'd be hard to come by around here.]

Already have an assistant. Three's a crowd...

[He would like to get his hands on that multitool, though.]

I could offer you something of mine, as insurance.

Alright. Fair is fair.

I've got a wristwatch and a cigarette lighter. [The 'what would you propose?' is left implied.]

I'll trade off with you when you're done.

Correction: just the watch. [Now that he's traded the lighter to Kara.]

I still see it as a fair trade for both items, but if you disagree, I'd rather have the multitool.

I'm just worried about losin' them because there's not an easy restock here that I can tell. Watch'll do fine.

If I lose either of them, the watch is yours. That's why they call it 'insurance.'

Done deal, then?

[[ooc: should we play out the trade, or would you rather handwave it?]]

Done deal.

[OOc: We can handwave if you want. He'll be all business about it.]

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