[u]Kayle[/u]

Kayle Zaken, the second Lieutenant and current linguist and alien culture reference within the Catherine Langford’s crew that she knew of, eyes scanned over her data pad. The words were simple print and in English, a complex language despite the four years she had to grow accustomed to it, as she scanned the information over the Tok’ra. She knew the information by heart yet now it was to gleam any details she might’ve missed and most importantly, pleasure reading. Her eyes swept over the section dictated to the symbiote when she paused in her task to do a last time check over her things. Every once in a while her mind switched back to the pad in her hand as she had already done a full recall at least thrice during that day. 

She started with her bag. It was a simple, large tote which held a few different things required for her stay onboard. The first that crossed her attention were the Stargate program’s Israel uniform, a light green with the Israel flag on the shoulder along with rank in the proper area, then came the strike team one which was a deep bluish black following the same pattern, and finally her plain grey tanks and camouflage cargo pants. Her hand shifted them in her counting to ensure they all were there and in proper order. Next was the hard case, black and bumpy on the surface, which contained equipment to clean her guns as well as maintain her standards knives. A separate, smaller knife for a similar purpose was stationed beside it. Unlike the other case, its contents were more suited to creation then maintenance because she liked to be prepared in the worst case scenario should she lose any of her knives. Likelihood was high it was going to happen on this mission a few times and better to have the assurance then ended up needing it. 

Her mind shifted to enjoy the section about Tok’ra once again, for only a moment, while the rest of her check was done by touch. Towards the end, her hand shifted to the inside of the bag itself and seemed to stroke the interior until she felt something out of place in the norm. Her fingers rested on a small, almost invisible bump where a pocket had been added on to the original bag, within it was a very thin knife strapped in. It was crudely made and one of her first because only a bunch of wound cord made the handle in order to weight it down and provide a grip. On bottom of the bag was a similar pouch firm attached for easy reach with yet another knife. Her superiors, Mossad and the Star Gate program, knew she tended to carry a certain undisclosed knife number but the exact amount was never determined publicly. Everything she was asked among prying ears, she answered bluntly with one word. Enough which satisfied most people. 

Now done with her equipment for the trip, Kay placed down her pad, the screen still viewable and bright, to give herself a rough pat down. The woman’s hands firstly went to her belt where her Mossad issued gun, a second cartilage of ammo, a knife and several other needed items were mandatorily fixed in their assigned positions. She double checked the straps and safety’s, including the holsters which held them securely. Then she checked the locations of her knives. Mainly the ones she had to be sure numbered three: one within her right boot and bound tightly to the inside, another placed against her foreleg hidden under her pants, and finally in her sleeve where it caused the least hindrance in her movements. 

Once her fingers had skimmed the sleeve cuff then pulled out, she bent for the pad again. That’s when Kayle’s stomach growled in protest. She stalled in mid action. Her head dipped down to realize the last time she had eaten was dinner yesterday, her needs forgotten in her excitement and now clamored to be satisfied. Kay just made a soft, amusing chuckle at her luck. She set her bag across her bunk before she headed out the door and towards the cafeteria. Naturally she was still fixed to the pad, her fingers flipped the pages, as she ducked, dodged and navigated her way through the personnel in the hallways. Never once she pulled her eyes away when she arrived. Wasting little time, Kayle’s hands snatched up a cheap plastic tray, set down her pad near the end of it and then began to fill it up with her food. Even when her focus was split, she ensured she didn’t grab anything containing pork. Finishing up, her tray was rather full with a plate of rice and salad, topped heavily, a small bowl of matbucha dish (made from cooked tomatoes, bell peppers, garlic and onions), few cuts of pita bread, and lastly grilled chicken. 

Kayle reached the end of the line where she looked up from her pad, a first since she entered it. She soon realized there weren’t many places to sit. On the normal occasion she would’ve sat alone and continued to read while she ate but it seemed there were little places meeting her need. Not to mention those close had groups and to join one, namely one that was enjoying themselves, unasked seemed rather rude when she was on her own free time. The aromas played near her nose, farther irritated her stomach to stop stalling in her search for a seat.

Sighing, Kay moved towards the closest table in defeat. It was currently the least occupied with only two people sitting at it. The first to catch her attention was a pale, thin woman. She looked like she had been born, bred, and lived inside buildings all her life. A man, her companion, was animatedly chatting away during his meal, his lemon chicken untouched mostly, and seemed to be only a little younger than Kay’s own father. His hair all white and face filled with some dignified wrinkles. Absorbing his image, Kay found herself drifted a bit over fonder memories which made her don a friendly smile. The two weren’t military so likely they might not like the idea of a stranger joining them, even if it was only long enough to eat her meal. 

“Ahem, excuse me?” Kay began in her Israel accent, her voice pleasant and cheerful. She managed to balanced her tray in her hands, wary about her pad, as her head motioned to the empty seat beside the man. “Mind if I sit here? If not, I can find another spot. Though can I ask you a favor before you answer, could you skim your finger across the pad screen for me? I’ve got my hands full right now sadly or I would do it myself.” 

Depending on the two’s answer, she would either be sitting in the middle of their conservation, reading, or seeking another spot. Either way, she would still lower her tray for the man to shift the page because she was rather eager to read the next part, even if she had read it before several times.