LeftEar JoNs

10.13.07

USS Agincourt NCC-81762

“Forgotten”

Left Ear quietly finished dressing next too the bunk she had been assigned in the common barracks of the hidden Rihan base on the surface of Bajor. The clothing was secondhand, discontinued military fatigues of Terran design (probably lifted from warehouse or something), but they were warm, dry and a worthy substitute to her ripped and rumpled civilian clothing.

Her green eyes checked the doorway, and there was no mistaking the outline of her escort, tr’Ravellan just outside in the corridor; the feline smiled to herself. The boy was no more then fourteen seasons of age, yet worked with this Romulan resistance cell. It was a sad fact, but resistance groups typically took all the members they could get. As a junior member, he had been assigned to basically shadow her – to make sure she didn’t “wander” into a sensitive area of the hidden resistance base, but also to familiarize her with the base. Left Ear wasn’t exactly a prisoner, but she wasn’t exactly trusted either. If anything, she felt forgotten.

The Caitian finished dressing, and then with a sigh, walked toward the entrance way to the barracks; she needed to link up with Segami and Maturin so they could start hatching some plans. Lieutenant Commander Laarell was still detained on the Imperial star base orbiting high above Bajor, and then there was the little matter of tracing the Excalibur. No worries, snorted Left Ear to herself.

“Hello tr’Rav.” The smile that the cat flashed at the boy was genuine.

He inclined his head to her. “Miss”

The brown furred feline pointed a paw at him. “What did I tell you about the ‘Miss’? It makes me sound old. It’s Left Ear or MVess.”

“Of course…sorry. Left Ear.”

The feline waved it off and the two of them started to walk down the hall.

“…you were a pilot?” The boy asked the question with an underlying tone of hope, and it was the latest in a series of inquires he had made to the Caitian; it was obvious that he wanted to know more about the universe she had come from, so much like his own, yet very different. Left Ear always answered him, but still maintained her caution; it wouldn’t do to reveal too much concerning her own universe and such.

“I am a pilot, but my specialty is security.”

“And you have seen action?”

“…yes. Perhaps too much. I cut my teeth on a nice little conflict called the Dominion War. Flew quite a few combat missions, then after it was all said and done, transferred to security full time.”

A smile split the boy’s features. “I hope to enter battle soon, and fight the Imperials.”

How do you tell a kid that he’ll be fighting a losing battle? And get himself killed in the process?

JoNs abruptly came to a halt and gently grabbed at his arm, stopping him as well. “Listen to me. You have a girl? No? Well someday you might. And if you get yourself killed fighting the Imperial Fleet, you won’t meet her. Get out tr’Rav, otherwise, you will end up with a disruptor blast between the eyes. From what I have seen, the Imperial Fleet has a stranglehold all over the known galaxy. One resistance group won’t make much of a difference.”

Hot fire flashed behind the young Rhan’s eyes, and he flushed copper bronze. “You belittle our cause?”

Gods save me from the brainwashed”lets go get ‘em, hoo rah” training. “I would never belittle a cause. My own planet fought for causes, and my Dominion War was a cause, and it was fought with the best intentions in mind. It’s just that causes tend to get you killed, and if you follow blindly without any sense of your own creeping in, then yes, you will catch a disruptor bolt. And then, you’ll be one of the forgotten, one more downed corpse in the face of the advancing Terran agenda. You need to be practical. Always watch your own back tr’Rav…”

He opened his mouth to say something, and then shut it; a myriad of emotions flashed behind his eyes. Maybe someone had never been that blunt with him before?

Left Ear sighed. “Come on; don’t mind the ramblings of a displaced and cranky Starfleet officer. Let’s go get some chow. It’s going to be a long day…”

....the cat is not going near the science offices. Ever.

Very nice summary :lol:

I agree - summary logs are great to get your sim thoughts in order, and help out the other players as well. Nice Joy!

We. Love. Mirror.

Oh crap. He's planning on sending usinto some hellish holodeck program gone wrong where we're all knights of the round table! We'll all have to dress up and wear very tight tights or chainmail to survive. Save us Jeebus!

Oooh! Sexy legs!

All the men in tights! Yes!

Ni! All the men in tight tight, tights! The poster looks good - looking forward to what it is exactly we will be questing for. :-D

09.10.07

USS Excalibur NCC-2000B

“Squeaky Clean!”

Written by: Internal Affairs Junior Inspector Korix Vaos (power wielding git) and Lieutenant JG Left Ear JoNs (royally scrooged)

A few minutes after the Bajoran, who clearly ran the show, left the room, his two minions began plotting. After some hushed conversations one of them returned to the room. Young and clearly a little too excited about this, the young human officer walked up to JoNs' cell, smiling with glee. "So Kitty."

A flat look greeted the statement. "Guard. Come near me and you will be hurt."

"Oooo," he said nearly giddy. "She's a feisty little kitty."

Left Ear's tail fur had puffed out in anger, and her ears were both flat. "Mister, you have no idea. I am not a common housecat that you can give a bath too."

"Oh how little you know!" Hitting a button, the officer activated a series of half a dozen strong jets of water from the ceiling, literally dousing JoNs. After a few moments he hit the stop button and grinned. "Oh I can't can I?"

The Caitian had adopted a ready fighting stance. Not that it would do much good, but she was damned if she was going to go down without a fight - at which point the streams of water hit her. She went down in a sputtering rage.

“Listen to her hiss!"

Left Ear picked herself up from the decking, her fur and clothing sopping wet, and glared balefully at the guards.

Several other officers and enlisted had by this time made their way into the room and were laughing hysterically. "Do it again!"

"Okay!" He hit the button again and the streams hit her again, this time burning hot. The junior grade security lieutenant howled in pain as the scalding water hit her; she stumbled back from the force of the water jets.

"That won't get her very clean," one of the onlookers pointed out. "She needs a flea bath."

"You've got a point..." the officer in charge of the bath said.” Think we can run a hose in here?"

"Maybe we can replicate some long-handled scrub brushes. You know -- like they use in zoos?"

"Ooo," someone said, "I think Vaos would like that!"

One of the throng of 'fleeters headed over to the replicator and came back with half a dozen brushes and two buckets filled with water and some sort of cleaning solution and an anti-flea and tick additive.

Her brown fur and clothing were plastered to her now, and the Caitian was incensed. "I DO NOT have fleas! By what authority do you treat a being like this?"

"The Empire's, cat," drawled an officer. "Now hold your tongue or we'll muzzle you."

"So who wants to start scrubbing her?"

At this point, Left Ear launched into a rather interesting dissertation on the questionable ancestry of the Empire and its mother. A few juniors could be seen taking notes, while the others were howling in delight. With an effort, the feline reined her temper in; it was obvious the diatribe fell on deaf ears.

'Accidentally' one of them hit the water button again, hitting the felinoid with another stream of jets, this time from both sides and the ceiling. The water pelted JoNs mercilessly, and she went down hard on the decking. She inhaled water, which caused her to cough uncontrollably. She stayed flat on her stomach, continuing to hack and choke even after the water jets had stopped.

***************

Tapping a metallic stylus against the table in methodic rhythm, Inspector Vaos glanced to the soaking wet and collared Caitian that was strapped into the seat before him. "State your name for the record, please."

Green cat eyes stared back sullenly at Vaos. "JoNs, MVess." And that was all the official information that she was prepared to impart.

Stopping his tapping, Vaos made a note on a tablet in his hand. His own eyes were dispassionate and cold, and there was no trace of warmth about him at all...or any emotion really. "I assume you know why you've been brought in."

"I was detained due to the scuffle with the security guards on the Promenade. My companion had ... marginally… overreacted it would seem." Her purred tone was clipped and formal.

Blinking a few times, Vaos tipped his head ever so slightly. "Oh yes," he said sardonically. "That's it. A mere scuffle with Security..."

"...although I am sure you are planning some suitably more daring and dangerous reason for the arrest? What was that title again? Investigator?"

He didn't respond visually to anything she'd just said and simply looked back to his tablet. "I suppose we'll have to add that incident to your file." And he tapped again at the tablet with his stylus.

Left Ear picked up on the implied statement. "My record? I see. Would you care to enlighten me?" The Starfleet security officer was hedging, her tactical mind going at warp five.

"So what brought you and your companion," he looked down at the file again. "Atticus Idarin to Deep Space Nine?"

Atticus Idarin? This was totally one of those situations that she so needed to be someone else; her mind desperately latched onto the bio she had read of her counterpart. "Business. Mister...Idarin...is interested in my services for hauling some cargo."

"So you readily admit to collusion with him?" Inwardly, Vaos was more than a little shocked. This was going to be way easier than he thought. Usually people accused of terrorism were a hell of a lot harder to crack--especially a Caitian pirate.

An ear flipped back. Oh, I do not like this. "Collusion is a loaded word Investigator. I was merely feeling out prospective contacts. There was no contract signed with Mister Idarin as of yet..."

"Now you change your story," he said making a move to cut her off. "You were, after all, found with him on the Promenade and attempted to flee with him."

"All hell was breaking loose! What the frag was I supposed to do? And what exactly is on that little padd of yours?"

He made a note and continued his line of questioning. "So you admit to interest in Mister Idarin's inquiry for your services?"

The feline could continue to play act, making this man believe that she was a cargo runner of questionable practices, or betray the fact that she was an officer from another universe and Starfleet, and that a very large spaceship was hiding somewhere in this sector and would indeed be a large prize if it fell into the wrong hands. Decisions, decisions. "Business is business, and I go where the money is."

"I see," he said, making another note. "Even if it is illegal business...apparently."

She knew her pressure spiked. "I had not yet gotten into the details of what goods he wanted transported. What kind of illegal business?"

"Caitians," Vaos' tone of voice was dismissive and divisive. "The lot of you are worse than the Ferengi. You don't even care enough to do research on your 'clients'," the quotation marks were audible in his voice, "before you go running off with their Latinum." Shaking his head he made a few more noted. The disdain in his voice was real. He had little love or respect for mercenaries and cargo runners who made their living by shipping illegal goods, and didn't care in the slightest to bust them all in. Say one thing for rebels, at least they had an ethos beyond making money.

Left Ear was weary to the bone, but his dismissive tone got her ire up. With an effort she schooled her voice to remain calm. "I have no reason to be loyal to Mister Seg...Idarin. How can you be so sure of your facts?"

Suddenly his interest was perked. "Seg..." he said brightly.”Finish that thought."

Oh damn. Damn damn damn."No thoughts. Idarin just happens to resemble a Trill that I had done business with some years back. His name was Segamis, Segamor, or something like that. I can’t really recall the full details."

Had he managed to obtain a symbiot on the black market? This just got more interesting by the minute. He made a note on the file and looked back across at the still wet kitty. "I'll put this simply."

"Mister Idarin is a wanted and known terrorist. He was an enemy of the state and the Imperial Crown. I have enough evidence to suggest you were colluding with him to deliver who knows what. At the very least, that could result in your losing your cargo operating license, not to mention the fines and fees for your prior transgressions. I'd say that you're looking at best incarceration. Worst case scenario, the seizing of your ship and being tried for treason."

The shock on her face was palpable. Treason? Imperial? Incarceration? Losing of a transport license? Or rather, the other Left Ears loss of license. Great Bird of the Galaxy, she needed to think clearly. A salvation point - anything - was needed for her to latch onto. Her security training took over and pulled her back into the stark reality. She needed to survive. They all needed to survive. Weary green eyes latched onto the Investigator. "Mister Vaos...perhaps we can come to an understanding. I can perhaps assist with your witch hunt."

Vaos kept his inner sense of triumph from showing, but on the inside he was grinning from ear to ear. The look on the Caitain's face was enough to tell him she was throwing in the towel. Such was the case with most small time criminals and those caught up in the plots of others. Show them the worst things and they caved quickly.

And there it was...capitulation. It sounded so sweet to his hears that he almost ignored the witch hunt comment. Until it caught in his head. “Witch Hunt?" He said strongly, his cold eyes locking onto the kitty. "Witch hunt??"

"Idarin is a terrorist who has killed hundreds of Imperial civilians without remorse. He has disrupted the order of the Empire and is no doubt connected to rebels in the Cardassian sectors. Witch hunt..."

The Caitian would indeed cave...but she'd be damned if she gave into the fop easily. "Indeed sir. This is what I said. A witch hunt. And I gather this is how you came by your illustrious career as well - dealing with riff raff such as myself and Mister Idarin."

"So you are in league with him," he said with a sigh. "That changes everything. I was prepared to make you a deal, but I am afraid I can't offer that if you are a terrorist yourself. Such a pity really. It’s a shame your whole family will have to be brought in for questioning. They'll more than likely face the booth themselves. "

Even though it was not "her" family, the feline still felt a sympathetic pang. And then her temper flared. "I am sure you will do that. Get your kicks out of hurting woman and children do you Vaos?"

"Not at all. But if it saves the lives of innocent civilians...we do what we must."

The image of Vaos arresting the JoNs family popped unbidden into her mind, along with the man spotting the "real" Left Ear in this universe. A slow, un-amused smile spread across her muzzle. Now that would really tick him off.

He frowned. "I am afraid the nature of your incarceration has changed," he said making a note on the file. "You are being declared an enemy of the state and terrorist-at-large. You are being charged with attempt to commit treason and colluding with known traitors."

Clapping his hands armed guards enter the room and looked towards Vaos for orders, completely ignoring the Caitian. "Yes, sir?"

"I'm afraid that the kitty here won't be released into the custody of Colonel Kimura, but will be staying with me for the foreseeable future. I think a good boothing is in order to remind her of the price of disloyalty."

Now what in the heck was a boothing? The Caitian junior lieutenant suddenly blurted out, "Do you have a mirror Vaos?"

The question caught Vaos off guard. "What?"

A feral leer lit the felines face with a somewhat unholy light. " 'Beware the looking glass as you gaze, for it just might show you the entrance to the Nether World’ – it’s an old Caitian saying. And you wouldn’t last two minutes in that world, Investigator Vaos.”

Rolling his eyes he motioned for the guards to take her to the booth. "And next time...blow dry her before bringing her to me. Wet cat smells horrible."

USS Excalibur NCC-2000B

“Field Trip”

The away team materialized on the Bajoran station, in a quiet section a bit away from the main concourse. Left Ear JoNs immediately scanned the area visually, knowing the others were doing the same; once she detected no immediate problems, the brown furred feline allowed herself to relax marginally.

She glanced over at her comrades – Lt. Commander Teykier, the ops and sciences manager; JoNs’s security chief Lieutenant Segami, and Lieutenant Maturin from sciences – and saw that they were all glancing around as she was, attempting to get a visual picture of the meeting area for when they would return to be beamed back to the Scorpiad fighter piloted by Victria. The Caitians investigative tendencies were in over drive, and she was basically being nosy as well.

The security officer moved over to a small alcove leading to another section of the main concourse area, and stayed in the shadows, looking out and observing. Her dark fur and clothing aided her with blending in.

It was rather unremarkable, as space stations went; drab gray decking and bulkheads, banners advertising this and that, various shops, offices and the like. The workers and station inhabitants all went about their business, really paying no mind to the Caitian. Then, a commotion from down the corridor that she was adjacent to caused her to flip an ear in that direction, followed by her eyes.

A scruffy looking Bajoran, say in his mid to late teens, bolted past her hiding place, clutching what looked like a wad of credit sticks, with two Starfleet security officers right on his heels.

The uniforms…the uniforms were just…different. The man and woman – both Terran – wore the black trousers, but the male’s gold tunic jacket was sleeveless while the woman wore a gold halter top that left nothing to the imagination. What the…?

They both caught up to the kid, and based on the shouted conversation, he had supposedly taken the credit sticks from one of the open vendor stands on the promenade. That meant he would be booked…

The woman, who wore her hair in a military style cut, just up and socked the young Bajoran kid right across the jaw with her fist; he went down and the cred sticks flew out of his hand. The male officer, who had a full beard, chose that moment to bring his stun baton down on the kids mid-section.

… or perhaps the Bajoran juvenile would be beaten senseless.

No one helped, and no one moved as the two security officers continued to beat him - including Left Ear. With an effort, she stayed in the shadows, ignoring her security protection instincts and instead listening to her self-protective instincts.

The discipline these officers were doling out to the civilian – for a minor infraction - was brutal and savage. What exactly had they gotten themselves into in this so called alternate reality?

USS Excalibur NCC-2000B

“Curiosity Kills the Cat”

It had only taken Left Ear JoNs about twenty minutes to get ready and equipped for the upcoming away team jaunt to the Bajoran space station. The brown furred Caitian had chosen a plain, close fitting dark green tee-shirt that matched her eyes, a black windbreaker flight jacket – minus the Fleet patches – from her piloting days, and a pair of charcoal gray slacks ending just below the knee. She also wore an anklet and small hoop earrings. Hey, she was known to break out the jewelry now and then – Lieutenant Commander Teykier had ordered them all to wear civilian attire, after all.

The decidedly un-civilian parts of her attire were the weapons. The Caitian had her hideaway type two phaser strapped to one arm, and a Caitian dagger hidden in the small of her back. She would have opted for an ankle weapon, but that was kind of hard to do when you had cat-like hind paws and did not wear shoes, so she wore a second phaser pistol in a shoulder holster, hidden by the jacket like the arm band.

The junior grade security lieutenant glanced at the computer console *one more time*. It was now or never, as the minutes to the away team rendezvous were ticking down. “Computer, prepare a search query…” She moved over to small office area in her quarters, and settled in at the desk.

It was logical to assume that the technology across the universes – if they were indeed in an alternate universe if the ships gossip were to be believed – would be the same, if not in theory, at least in practice. She would confine her search to the civilian news feeds; if she went botching around in whatever passed for the Starfleet data banks in this universe, she could trigger any number of alarms. A low profile was very much called for right now.

“Computer, search civilian news feeds, public sector. Information on the following individual. JoNs, MVess Vacer, junior grade lieutenant rank, pilot call sign Left Ear, currently attached to Starfleet Security.”

The monotone female voice of the ships computer was compliant. “Searching…”

“No information found. Please adjust search parameters.”

Left Ear was surprised at that. Oh gods…was she dead in this universe? No information at all? She cleared her throat. “Computer, same search query for the Caitian news feeds, all civilian and business sectors. Go.”

“Working…information located.”

JoNs promptly devoured the information as it popped up on the screen – even though her jaw dropped several times during the process.

=== Caitian Civilian Database ===

Name: JoNs, MVess Vacer

Known Aliases: Left Ear, Lefty

Age: 29

Family Affiliation: Tribe Honorscar

Clan Designation: Shadowpride

Status: Single

Notes:

Captain of the CSS Dark Fury, CX Class.

Caitian Cargo transport, registry number unknown, civilian clan ship.

Warrants:

Unpaid docking ticket, Space Station K-7

Cargo theft, New Mars Transparent Aluminum Corporation

Unpaid speeding ticket, issued by Halkan patrol ship

=== con’t ===

JoNs began muttering to herself. “…docking ticket, theft, speeding – not in a million years. My brothers would skin me alive.” Against her better judgment, she continued reading the profile, and got more disturbed as she went on.

The Dark Fury was a name from the past. At least in “her” universe, the cargo ship had been one of the ships used for Lynxcis Transport, the family run cargo business belonging to a section of the JoNs family. But, that business had been bought out over twenty years ago, and the Fury scrapped.

“Great Bird of the Galaxy…” Left Ear whispered. Her entire immediate family was listed on the crew roster for the cargo runner. Her father was the engineer. Her one brother was listed as Helm and First Mate. “Grand Elder MVirran?!” Her grandmother was listed as the financial retainer for the ship and crew. “The woman is in her nineties?! What in….what is she doing zipping around the cosmos?”

The children were on the ship as well. It looked as if they were schooled by her Aunt Mrree. “Computer, pull file for JoNs, Mrrett Shaow.” Her fourteen year old guardian child was listed as an engineers mate. “Mrrett…she is an engineer? Oh, I don’t think so. I wouldn’t be surprised if the kid blew out a few panels here and there…”

But, why was the entire family on this…this clan ship? What made them leave Cait and head for the stars as cargo jockeys? It was like looking through a mirror. The same image, yet reversed, especially the pictures that accompanied the profiles that JoNs perused. She knew, in her heart, that these Caitians were different from the ones that she knew and loved. Left Ear knew she wasn’t looking at…herself, as well. Her counterpart was rougher looking - she might as well break down and say scruffy – mainly due to her facial scarring. Unlike the same scars that JoNs wore, the scruffy JoNs missing ear tip and facial scarring were more…stark. It was as if the wounds were not treated properly, and then healed over, or medical attention had come at a later date.

The junior grade lieutenant settled back into her seat, mind blown. “What exactly are we in the middle of here?”

There was no forthcoming answer from the bulkhead, but the computer chose to respond to the query with a dissertation on the known occurrences of the alternate universe.

WOO HOO! Mirror! ::is really Mirror biased::

::has an extreme geek out reaction to said log:: w00t!

8.17.07

USS Excalibur NCC-2000B

“Cantina Medicine”

Lieutenant jg Left Ear JoNs woke from her injury induced slumber, flat on her back, her view that of the piping supports and tiles on the ceiling. A few seconds passed in confusion, and then her full clarity came rushing back.

The battle. The Fleet. Excal. I’m not at my posting.

The dark furred Caitian leapt up and onto her hind paws, immediately realizing that 1.) she was no longer on the bridge, and 2.) the cargo bay tipped sideways. The normally sure-footed feline officer stumbled sideways into a makeshift cot, jostling the occupant. Two strong hands came to support her right side – one closed around her wrist, the other rested on her thigh.

JoNs didn’t look at her supporter, keeping her gaze straight ahead until her equilibrium settled and her breathing went back to normal.

After about two minutes had passed, an accented human voice spoke. “The decking back down where it’s supposed to be?”

The feline security officer slowly nodded, finally venturing to turn her head and look at the speaker.

She was a Terran female of Caucasian descent, dark blond hair, about the same age as Left Ear, sporting an engineering jumpsuit. She offered a wane smile. “Ensign Tracey, pleased to meet you. You aren’t the first one to leap up like that; one of the Midshipmen did it a little while ago; slammed themselves right into one of the bulkheads.”

Left Ear gently disengaged herself from the support, and carefully found her way back to the cot she had just vacated, located next to Tracey. “Lieutenant JoNs. Thank you for the help.”

“Well, it isn’t as if I have a whole lot to do right now Lieutenant.”

“Where are we?”

“Cargo bay, obviously. Medicals got it sectioned off according to injury. We’re in the walking wounded area.” Tracey pointed to her own bloodied and bandaged leg, and for the first time, left Ear touched the bandage wrapped around her own head wound.

The feline looked at Tracey. “Where’s the staff?”

“Well…we only had two medical techs anyway, not being in immediate danger. They were here, but then scattered about ten minutes ago. According to the shouts I heard, one of the patients with a chest wound seized, and another section had a patient half out of his head with pain…,” the ensign’s voice trailed off in a shared sympathy; the Excal had taken quite a pounding.

JoNs shook her head. “I had been on bridge duty….I guess it’s just as well that I don’t really recall what exactly landed me here.”

The two women lapsed into the tired companionable silence of the wounded, and Left Ear took a few moments to take mental stock of herself. She knew her rank, her name, her current assignment. She recalled her home world, and her family. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten, but then again, she probably hadn’t had much opportunity to eat.

It was time to go.

The felinoid carefully stood, and then walked over to a nearby supply hover cart. With each step she took, her footing became more stable, but she clamped down on the slight nausea that she felt. She began to rummage through the supplies, looking for what she needed.

Security first aid training was a wonderful thing.

Left Ear quickly ran a scan on herself with a medical tricorder, confirming that her wound was superficial to low grade. She then pulled a skin regenerator at half power and a low dosage hypo for the pain. She injected herself in the arm with the hypo and then started to remove her bandage.

“Sir? What in the…I mean…what are you doing?”

“Preparing to blow this pop stand, I believe you humans say.” JoNs then used the reflective screen of a medical Padd to see the laceration on her forehead and began to apply the protoplaser.

“…y’all are nuts. Sir, I mean…you need to be cleared first.”

“Ensign, chances are you and I aren’t even recorded as being in the triage queue yet. There is too much going on for the medical people; they won’t miss one.”

“Well in that case, let’s make it two.” Tracey began the process of getting up off her cot, game leg and all.

The Caitian junior lieutenant was obviously no doctor; the wound was now repaired, but she had managed to leave a scar. One of the docs could deal with it later. Left Ear turned her attention to the struggling engineering ensign. “Look, Tracey, I’m not setting the best example here.” As she spoke, the feline disposed of her bloody bandage down a medical waste receptacle. “But going by my field training, that leg looks a bit worse then my head wound did…you need real medical attention, not my backroom cantina act.”

A sheen of perspiration had broken out across Tracey’s forehead. “…Good solid medical advice Lieutenant…”

JoNs smiled and moved back to her, helping her back to her original position. Both woman exchanged last words of encouragement with each other, shook, and then Left Ear was on her way. The Caitian paused, checking that the way was clear, and then hastily – and sneakily - exited the cargo-triage area, gladly leaving the blood, groans, and medicinal smells behind her.

Everyone remember where we parked.

Can I please have: "Keeping up with the JoNs's 2"

Thanks!

Could I please have "Seven Ways From Sundown"

Thanks!

For a d100, I would just use two d20's (d10's don't really roll well) and one would stand for each digit.

While gaming with the D&D / Vampire group, there was an occasion for the GM to break out the D100 dice. I remember just sitting there thinking "Now THAT is a really big die/dice".

Heh....they've obviously not played on one of my sims...and I have special dice too.

 

Bear dice for Kbear factors

 

Skull and Crossbones for death factors

 

other random factors too

I remember having a cool die/dice with a skull on it. Wish I still had it! KBear has her own special dice? Is that good or bad? :P

Mr. Riko pretty much covered everything, so....

Hello and Welcome! Good crew here at STSF.

Please Note: some Mature themes

09.14.06

ISS Agincourt ICC-81762

“Strange Bedfellows” (Mature)

(This log takes place during Second Shift rotation, after Cmdr. Nelar and the Rihan rebels are secured in the brig)

Leaving Nimetti and Spitfire to keep an eye on things at the brig, Lieutenant JoNs managed to slip away in order to deal with other business; she hated leaving dealings unfinished and wanted to be done with the contact business for Zimm.

Arriving at the designated quarters, JoNs waved a paw, activating the sensor on the door. The marine lieutenant’s voice rang out several seconds later, admitting her entrance. The Caitian officer sauntered into the small living area.

Zimm was seated at the small desk, working at the console screen. Parts of a disassembled rifle lay scattered on a workbench along the side wall. Above the workbench was a grouping of shelves containing mementos from his travels: a Klingon Grishnar Cat skull, a Ferengi hideaway assassin pistol, and the like. One plain plasti-steel chair in the corner, the bunk behind the desk, and the adjacent head completed the area.

Kansas tossed the Padd she held at Zimm. “This is the contact information I promised. Look it over, and once you’ve decided on who you want to use, I can get in contact with them.”

Zimm snatched the Padd from the air and touched it to his forehead. “Thank you.” He started to check the information while Kansas turned her attention to his wall display.

“Good god’s woman! You’re seeping!”

She looked at Zimm, a bit confused. “Pardon me?”

He was across the common area in one stride, taking hold of the Caitian’s upper arm and maneuvered her, rather gently, in front of a floor to ceiling mirror bolted onto the closet door so she could get a look at her back. The claw marks from the Sahvess had started to bleed again. She had hoped that keeping the wound clean would suffice until she could stop by sickbay again, but this was not the case.

Zimm released her arm and snorted, walking into the fresher. “It’s a wonder you don’t have a fever. What’re you trying to do, make yourself sick?”

JoNs registered the fact that he did not inquire about exactly how she had came by the wounding, but her annoyance overwhelmed her. “I attempted to seek medical attention, but duty called; you should know how that is.”

He emerged from the washroom, carrying a tray with several spray bottles of medicine and what looked like a low grade protoplaser. “A mercenary knows to take care of themselves first, so they can deal with anything later.”

“I really do not need a lecture thank you…”

“Take off your tunic; I need to look at your back.”

“And that is my cue, exit left. I am not in the habit of spontaneously stripping, Lieutenant Zimm. Seek me out when you’ve made your contact choice…” The Caitian moved toward the door.

“Step into the corridor and I’m on you like stink on a Targ.”

Kansas leveled a glare at Zimm. Zimm glared back at Kansas. They seemed to do this a lot to one another.

She broke the eye contact, closed her eyes and sighed. “Fine.” She started to strip off her gold wrap tunic. “I suppose there is some sort of catch to your services?”

“No.”

The bluntness of Zimms answer to her query caused her to pause and stare at him. He answered with a slight smile on his face, almost sad in a way. “Not everyone on this ship requires reciprocation.”

JoNs nodded. “Fine. No complaints here, and…thank you.” She placed her bloodied tunic off to the side of the desk and half leaned forward, placing her paws flat on the surface for support.

“Don’t thank me yet.” Zimm eyed her wounded back with a grimace. “I don’t think you are going to enjoy this.”

The feline security officer attempted some levity. “Well that’s not a very good beside manner…GRRRRK! NYUUHH….”

JoNs lowered her head as renewed pain blossomed across her back when Zimm applied a medicinal disinfectant to the wounds. The marine worked quickly, deftly treating and applying a field dressing no doubt practiced over many battle fields. After a coating of plasti-skin, he used the low grade protoplaser. The entire process took fifteen minutes, with JoNs panting as she tried to shake off the pain. She turned to face the marine lieutenant, gripping the edge of the desk while she re-oriented herself.

“If you want the scarring completely removed, you need to go to the ‘bay. Otherwise, it looks much better then it did.” Zimm smirked. “Take two and call me in the morning.”

Zimm was taken by surprise when Kansas’s paws suddenly shot out, grabbed him by the shoulders and brought her lips to his for a long kiss. It just seemed like the thing to do. He was unsure at first, and then returned the kiss with full force. He placed his hands on her hips.

Their lips parted and he eyed the Caitian slyly. “Now that’s a thank you. What will your boyfriend say?” He did, after all, have his own hide to look after. It would not do to mess with someone else’s woman, particularly the security chief.

Kansas looked away and muttered a Caitian oath. “Damn shipboard gossip.”

Zimm deadpanned. “Pain in the ass it is.”

The security lieutenant turned back and looked up at the marine. “I won’t deny that I enjoyed myself, or that Robair is an attractive man. However, if I did not comply, he would have ordered me to. If I refused the orders then whatever discipline…” she snorted derisively “…he had in mind would have been decidedly more unpleasant as well as more official. Tactically, I chose the best course of action and got away scott free, I believe is the correct Terran term.” She intertwined her paws behind his strong neck with a satisfied smirk.

Zimm undid the Caitians sash and loosened the waistline of her uniform trousers, moving his hands to massage her now exposed lower back. “So. What of this current tactical situation?”

Kansas reacted favorably to the massage, purring loudly and pressing closer to Zimm. She in turn removed his black uniform vest, her paws gently massaging his shoulders. Her purred voice was softer then normal. “I have never been one to jump from bed to bed, partner to partner. When I choose someone, the decision is always my own; I prefer to maintain true relationships with some decorum of honor.” She then grinned ferally. “As for right now, my new target is in sight. I have tone. All torpedoes are ready. Time to cause some damage.”

Zimms own grin matched hers. “Good to know…lock and load…” He brought his lips to hers again.

<<<<< >>>>>

The marine lieutenant awoke several hours later, rolling over in the bunk to observe his unexpected, yet not unwelcome, guest. She was sleeping on her back, exuding feline grace even while sleeping. He reached over to gently wake her, running his hand across her stomach and down her left inner thigh, enjoying the feel of the golden fur beneath his hand. JoNs rolled over, stretched and smiled at Zimm, exposing her fangs. “Good morning. Who are you and what are you doing in my quarters? Security!”

He smiled at her quip. “Good Morning. We both have duty in a couple hours.”

She gently stroked his neck. “I need to be going to get cleaned up and grab a fresh uniform…”

He regarded her seriously. “I meant what I said. A mercenary pact, between the two of us.”

Kansas replied “And I am more then glad to accept.” She smiled, a genuine and rare expression of her acceptance. A pact between mercenaries was less then a marriage, more then a business arrangement, and operated on the premise of honor. The parties would not betray one another out of mutual respect. Most mercenary cultures employed some form of this agreement, some more so then others. JoNs was glad that Zimm had been exposed to an honor system similar to the one she had grown up with. With the recent changes in the Agincourt command structure, as well as her minor role in the goings on, it was time to start looking for true allies among the crew. If a romantic relationship was a result of this particular ally, then so be it.

She moved off of the bed and started to gather her uniform. Zimm admired the view for a few minutes before speaking again of business.

“I know how you security types like to stay on top…”

“I love being on top.”

Zimm threw a pillow at Kansas before continuing.”…of any dissension among the ranks. I am sure there will be some what with the command restructure and all. And you’d be surprised at what is said freely around marine hearing, thinking that this being a naval ship, why worry about what the Jarheads hear. If I hear anything of importance, any plotting, I will let you know.”

The Caitian pulled on her soiled tunic and nodded. “Likewise, if I hear anything of interest that you can use regarding enforcement issues, you will hear from me. And, expect some contact regarding my drop off shipments. I don’t think Doctor Levy will mind sharing the wealth.” She grinned mischievously.

Zimm waved a finger in mock admonishment. “Do not annoy the medical staff now.”

“Who me? Annoy? I never annoy anyone.”

Zimm threw another pillow at JoNs.

Lieutenant (sg) MS Kansas JoNs

Chief Tactical-Assistant Security Officer

9.3.06

ISS Agincourt ICC-81762

“A Memo Quandary”

Lieutenant JoNs sat at a workstation in the main security offices, tapping a claw against the recessed interface and staring at the viewer.

It was part of her job to keep Robair informed. Certainly, the mysterious sickbay patient known only as Nelar qualified as need to know information. Even if the security chief already knew of the Klingons presence, JoNs had to keep it “regulation” and inform him as an on site witness. It also wouldn’t do to have the information come to Robair from a third party, namely Nimetti and Spitfire, when Kansas had summoned them for a brief stint guarding an agitated Nelar.

The issue was – how much information was too much, and what was too little?

“Yes well Chief, I just happened to be in the neighborhood of sickbay trying to get some wounds tended to, and saw our guest.”

That was certainly not going to work.

JoNs would not admit that she had been wounded during an unauthorized visit to Psi Velorum, which then led to the interrupted ‘bay visit when Nelar had awakened. Self preservation is a wonderful motivator.

The Caitian plunged ahead and began to type the report.

<<<<< >>>>>

Lt. Commander Robair:

During the latter cycle of third shift, I was on impromptu patrol rounds and entered sickbay. I was treated to a rather unusual spectacle. There was an unknown Klingon patient there, later discovered to go by the name Nelar. Dr. Levy treated her. Colonel Harper arrived, and then proceeded to question her. I gleaned the following from the conversation: she was apparently found among the wreckage remaining from a ship, the Gideon. Her purpose and motives, if any, are currently unknown, as I was dismissed from the sickbay by Harper at this point. If possible, will inform you of any further developments.

Lieutenant JoNs

<<<<< >>>>>

Short, sweet, to the point, and mostly centering on the truth, thank you very much. The Caitian then tapped a quick series of commands, sending the completed memo to Robair’s personal office console.

Lieutenant (sg) MS “Kansas” JoNs

Chief Tactical-Assistant Security Officer

8.24.06

ISS Agincourt ICC-81762

“Mercenary Ties”

JoNs sat at a table next to one of the big bay windows in the main mess hall. Psi Velorum could be seen in all its glory. Despite what was transpiring below with the subjugation of the local inhabitants, Psi was a beautiful sight to behold.

She sipped Vulcan tea from a mug while looking over a Padd, reviewing a draft report from her tactical shift. It was a concise report, detailing the general sector readings, the movements of the Marine deployment teams, the scans to locate an apparent group of rogue Rihannsu, and the strange dampening field that obscured the sensors in a certain area of the planet. The final part of the draft detailed the transport of a couple groups of lizards captured and held by MCapt. Rieve’s team.

The Caitian smiled quietly to herself. Robairs orders had been to beam one group to the Agincourt holding cells, and a second group into space. Well, the second group of prisoners hadn’t been quite spaced. She had instead sent them to the remote village she had visited the other night. Spacing them would really have served no useful purpose. Of course, the altered readings showed that the lizards had been spaced. Gods, she loved tactical command codes.

So intent was she on the report, she sensed danger a second before a shadow fell over the table. She spun to meet the threat, paw going for her dagger. Zimm was quicker.

He grabbed JoNs by the neck and clamped his other hand on her knife hand. She was pinned back against the lower bulkhead of the bay window, the chair lifted up and back. Zimms stance had him straddling her and the chair in such a manner that she was unable to knee him in the groin.

Plan B – talk your way out of this. The Marine wasn’t applying a lot of pressure to her throat, but her purred voice still came out hoarse. “Second Lieutenant Zimm. Good evening.” He released her and stepped back; both of them proceeded to glare at one another.

Kansas refused to call for backup; this was her issue. She reached for her mug and spoke to the marine. “I’m gathering you are a bit annoyed at the cargo bay incident and subsequent Booth time.” She took a gulp of the tea.

“I should flip you over my knee and beat the ever living daylights out of you.”

The Caitian involuntarily inhaled the tea up her nose.

A knifing. A one way ticket to the airlock. Torture. Agonizing. Boothing. Poison. Rabid tribbles. Really large bugs. There were many ways for someone to be threatened. These threats she had expected. Zimms particular threat of choice was unexpected and completely blindsided her. Brilliant tactical move!

Zimm at least had grace enough to look a bit concerned when she entered into the “Pardon me while I cough my lung up” type of coughing. He grabbed an unused cloth napkin from a nearby table and tossed it to JoNs. She caught it and began to wipe her streaming eyes.

“Mr. Zimm,” she managed to wheeze out, “you are more then welcome to try that particular method of attack, but I am sure that …wheeze…both of us would be rather dinged up afterwards. Besides, let’s leave that sort of action to our engineering compliment.”

Zimm smirked and then indicated the empty chair on the other side of the table. “Can I sit?” JoNs nodded a silent yes, her curiosity going into overdrive.

He settled in on the other side of the table and faced the Caitian. She observed him. Close cropped blond hair just starting to gray out at the temples. His face, square jawed, probably considered handsome by Terran standards. His face just starting to show age lines, either from weather exposure or a hard life, possibly both; Empire service did take a toll on those who served. He wore the black vest of the marines, chest bared. He sported a color tattoo of a vicious Terran style cat, located on the underside of his right forearm.

He fixed ice cold blue eyes on her. The eyes of a predator. “You deserve a beating.”

Kansas likewise fixed her own predatory gaze on Zimm. “For what its worth, Rico can be cocky, it’s no wonder you went for him. I’ve wanted to take my claws to him on occasion. Off the record, of course. It just so happens that you took him on and got caught.”

Zimms one eyebrow rose to his hairline. “Of course.” Great Bird of the Galaxy, it was like dealing with a Vulcan, only worse.

JoNs let her instincts guide her. She addressed the marine formally. “Second Lieutenant Zimm…”

“Conrad.”

Oh. Now on a first name basis and no ranks? This conversation had decidedly gone in the off the record direction. She nodded, “Alright…Conrad. Call me Kansas” and then continued. “Other then apparently wanting to seek swift retribution on my backside….what brings you here?”

A ghost of a smile quirked up the corners of his mouth. “Curiosity, for now. The methods you employed to diffuse that little situation in the cargo area. Shadowy. Swift. Direct. No quarter given, except for those who you choose to give it too. Those are mercenary tactics.”

She flipped an ear back. This was very interesting. “Aye. I was raised a mercenary on a Caitian clan ship. But, this is all in my file. What’s the point of speaking of this?”

Conrad paused and spoke quietly, a feral smile coloring his features. “One mercenary can spot another across a parsec. Most of my youth was spent on a freighter as well, going from job to job. Not the most glamorous life but we both have our skills to show for it now, don’t we? And now, I have some business to discuss.”

Without skipping a beat, Kansas replied. “If I had known you were of mercenary blood, I would have shot Rico instead.” Zimm let loose with a genuine bark of laughter at the comment, drawing some glances from the other mess hall patrons. The female security officer smiled slightly at him. “So, you have business to discuss.”

He regarded her. “The group I grew up with is looking to sell some equipment and such. Legitimate, mind you. Medical supplies, engine parts and the like. I was wondering if you had contacts that could take the items off their hands.”

“This is a big risk to take. You really don’t know me.” The Caitian swished her tail curiously.

Zimm shook his head. “I know you enough. As you know me enough. I know who has the goods. You have the contacts. It’s as simple as that.”

JoNs pondered for a couple minutes, looking out the bay window at the distant surface of Psi Velorum and then turned back to Zimm. “You have a deal. I’ll gather some information and then bring it on an encrypted Padd to you quarters. Let’s say after tomorrow’s Beta shift rotation? Then, you can peruse what candidates I have, where they are located, and decide from there to transmit what information to your compatriots.”

Zimm smiled. “It’s a deal.”

Kansas sensed no deception. The marine officer and his security counterpart then clasped forearms, mercenary style, to finalize the deal. To the casual observer, it appeared as if they had settled their differences from their earlier argument and the events leading to that argument. In a way, this was true; they had resolved their differences.

Both officers then rose from the table, offered a final parting nod to one another, and then left the mess hall to disappear like ghosts into the corridors of the ship.

These two vastly different beings, one Terran, the other Caitian, joined by a common bond – ties to the shadow world of the mercenary culture.

Lieutenant (sg) M.S. “Kansas” JoNs

Chief Tactical-Assistant Security Officer

I did not watch. Intended to, then got involved with other stuff that night. Sounds as if I didn't miss a whole log though.

Well, that stinks. I was never a huge fan of the show, but don't necessarily want to see it go off air (new episodes wise). Understanding about "Atlantis" as well - it may have "Stargate" in the title but, no, its not the same.

8.23.06

ISS Agincourt ICC-81962

“Lessons Learned”

Written by: Colonel “Medusa” Harper, First Lieutenant “Troll” Merril, Lieutenant (sg) “Kansas” JoNs, Midshipman Callack Nimetti

(This joint log takes place after the Marine deployment teams have returned from the surface of Psi Velorum, before “Holding the Reigns” of 8.23.06, and follows up to “Upward Mobility” of 8.12.06. A very special thanks to all who participated in the jointing mayhem.)

Corporal Gallagos appeared on the bridge at Lt. JoNs's elbow, her face set in a steely mask. "Colonel wants to see you," she informed the Caitian, jerking her head towards the turbo lift. JoNs froze in mid-tap at the tactical console, turning in her chair to face the enlisted Marine. "Oh the Colonel does? Wonderful." She glanced over and waved a paw toward Holt manning an auxiliary bridge station to come over and mind TAC while she was away. The feline stood and walked toward the TL.

Gallagos herded her into the turbo lift with the air of a guard. She didn't exactly make any threatening moves, but her hand hovered very close to her phaser. "Deck 13," she ordered curtly as soon as the doors shut. Standing with her paws clasped behind her back, the Imperial security officer regarded her Marine counterpart as the TL started to move. "Did your CO happen to give any indication why you are on escort duty Corporal? Or am I just special?"

Jaw working, the corporal replied tightly, "I don't question the colonel." She stared straight ahead at the closed doors of the lift. JoNs merely responded with "Very well then" and remained silent for the remainder of the ride, wondering. She had been quite busy these past few weeks, the summons could be for any activity.

When the lift stopped, Gallagos gestured JoNs into the corridor and paced at the officer's shoulder on the way to the XO's office. They paused outside the office door, as the bodyguard standing there gave them both a suspicious look. "Colonel wants a word with the lieutenant," Gallagos told him quietly, and after another moment of examination, he nodded and palmed the door open for them. Immediately inside the door, the corporal snapped to attention and saluted crisply. "Colonel Harper, Lt. JoNs as ordered."

"Dismissed, corporal," Harper replied quietly without so much as glancing up from her workstation. Gallagos performed a precise about-face and exited the office.

Kansas stood at the proper attention stance. She fixed her gaze at a spot on the bulkhead directly behind Harper. "Colonel Harper. You wished to see me?"

Harper let her wait while she finished reading the reports from the surface teams. At last she dimmed the screen and turned to regard the Caitian. "Lieutenant JoNs." She folded her hands, resting them on the desk with studied casualness. "We have a matter of regulations to correct."

The Caitian flipped an ear back in curious confusion. "Ma'am?" She maintained her eye contact on the bulkhead.

"You have a problem with my junior officers, Lieutenant?"

Realization dawned and there was no point in playing games. "You are referring to Second Lieutenant Zimm Ma'am."

"I am indeed referring to Second Lieutenant Zimm, Lieutenant." Harper's voice took on the approximate temperature of dry ice. "Shall I read you the orders entered into the record on Star date 74258.9?"

JoNs cleared her throat. "I am familiar with the orders Colonel." She did make eye contact with the executive officer. "Permission to speak freely sir?"

Brows shooting upwards, the colonel replied, "This had better be very good, Lieutenant."

"Your man Zimm and a few of his comrades started a fight with Ensign Rico of security and some of his cronies." Kansas had placed a slight emphasis on the "your man" part. "I witnessed the event and handled the situation."

"That's very interesting, Lieutenant." Harper leaned back in her chair, dropping her hands to the armrests. "Now the way I hear it, a pair of goldshirt’s decided to leave their brains at the door and wade into a fair -- if illegal -- fight. Followed by you stunning my lieutenant and excusing the brainless wonders." The colonel raised a hand, one finger extended, and continued, "Now, this leaves me with two questions. Firstly, how is it that you came to be slugging it out with my Marines. And secondly, why did you wait so long to break up the fight."

"Why I waited? I figured watch the show for a bit, let them tire themselves out, and then move in. I stunned Zimm, and then told the others involved to get lost. Your other two men..." again with an emphasis on the your, "...Saunders and Biessman decided to be dingbats and attempted to retrieve Zimm. I convinced them otherwise. Ma'am."

Her lips might have twitched; it was hard to tell. "I've yet to hear an explanation for why you opted to ignore the other parties in this matter, Lieutenant." She regarded the Caitian coldly. "As I see it, there are three possible explanations. One, you honestly believed them guiltless. Two, security's standards in both decorum and intelligence have been slipping. Three, you felt incapable of properly disciplining them." Harper paused, and then added, "I can think of two other explanations, but I should like to think more highly of our chief tactical officer."

The felinoid officer’s tail twitched once, but she maintained her decorum. "Second Lieutenant Zimm was the only one I was interested in, as he started the fracas. The others, yes, are just as guilty, as well as myself, for breaking the general order guidelines. But, I do not enjoy using the Booth; therefore, I chose to only subject Zimm to it, rather then all. I may have also gotten a little carried away regarding my part in the fracas, and I admit that. But, I stand by my decisions."

"You have done Ensign Rico and his friends no favors, Lieutenant," said Harper. "Nor yourself, in fact. These rules exist for a reason. As distasteful as the consequences may be, they must be applied evenly. To do otherwise invites anarchy. Do you think the ensign respects you for this?"

Her jaw working, JoNs responded. "Rico is now on the radar, so to speak, and will be dealt with accordingly if he transgresses again. And no, he probably does not give a flying Fvai about any respect at this point. But, I do see your point Colonel." She made direct eye contact again and tried not to get lost in the blue depths. "I will, of course, use this situation and this current outcome for future encounters and adjust accordingly." The statement was sincere.

The colonel tapped one finger against her desk, considering the Caitian. "I am inclined to let you off, Lieutenant, seeing as you're a young officer yet. Chalk this up to a learning experience. However, in the matter of Ensign Rico..." Slowly, without breaking eye contact, Harper shook her head. "Unacceptable, Lieutenant. Either there is one law aboard this ship, or there is none."

Rising, Harper came around her desk. "It's not that I object to you disciplining Zimm, Lieutenant. Although you should have turned him over to us. Marines handle their own." She motioned to the door. "In fact, I think there's something you should see. Come."

Elsewhere on the Agincourt, another breach of protocol was also being addressed with swift marine justice. Troll Merril entered Holodeck five. He was followed by Griffin, under the guard of Fire Team One’s Diamonte and Daniels. The big Marine turned toward the fifth member of the little party. “Well, Callack you ready to observe?”

The newest member of Agincourt security, Midshipman Callack Nimetti, looked at Griffin and then turned his attention to Troll. “Yes sir.”

Troll then began the proceedings. “Computer, record for Medusa. Conduct unbecoming a Marine. Sentencing Staff Sergeant Griffin, for engaging in unsanctioned brawling with other members of your ship, you are demoted to Sergeant Griffin. For allowing Fleeters to take you, without crippling you at least temporarily, you are hereby assigned to survive this simple training program.”

Nimetti looked back toward the big Lieutenant. “Should we use my training program or do you have a specific one?”

“I've heard you have a nice program that will fit, we'll use that after I ream this sorry excuse for an NCO.”

”Roger that.”

Harper led the way to Holodeck 5, JoNs in tow. They arrived just in time to hear the heavy grind of the doors closing. "Marine discipline is a somewhat different matter, Lieutenant. A necessity for the cohesion of the battalion." The XO palmed open the holodeck door. The felinoid officer cautiously entered the holodeck area, surprised at seeing Nimetti there. "Midshipman? What are you doing here?"

Troll noted the HD doors opening, and noticed the stiffening of Diamonte and Daniels, but didn’t take his eyes off of Griffin. Callack asked Troll, "what difficulty level sir?" Then without waiting he looked at Kansas, "getting a lesson in marine punishing marine sir." Harper nodded quietly to Diamonte and Daniels, tucking her hands behind her back and settling in to observe. JoNs regarded Nimetti, but was in no position to pursue the matter. She adopted a parade rest attention stance to Harpers immediate right.

Shifting his rifle Callack asked again, this time to Harper. "Ma'am what level of the program should I run. Levels are 1-10, 10 being the worst."

Troll began removing his armor as he spoke to Fire Team One. “Double D, take this armor and get yourselves cleaned up.” He then swung around and responded to Nimetti’s question to Harper. “Eyes Front, Middie! If a senior officer wants you to acknowledge their presence they'll speak to you first!”

Nimetti jumped to attention, accidentally setting the program to maximum difficulty. Yes, sir!” Troll then spoke again, a bit quieter. “Set it at 1 with a random time increment on when the level increases.”

”Aye, sir. It's ready for your command to activate.”

Kansas had bristled at Merril’s tone of voice. "Excuse me, you will refer to our security officer as Midshipman Nimetti." The comment was out of her mouth before she could contain herself.

"Lieutenant," Harper said warningly.

As he moved over to Kansas's side, Callack gave her a thankful but questioning look and whispered below the marines' hearing, "thanks." Then he fell into a relaxed parade rest. Merril regarded the young security officer. “I apologize Midshipman Nimetti, Marines acting like spoiled children brings out the Drill Sergeant in me.”

Glancing at Nimetti, the Caitian commented quietly, with a hint of irony. "Midshipman, no matter how far you advance in rank, never forget that you are always learning." Looking at her out of the corner of his eyes, the young Midshipman replied, "Understood, sir.”

Troll glanced at the Cat he's heard rumors about, but never interacted with. “Are you here to observe or play?” He appraised her physique from a combatant's viewpoint, and liked what he saw. “Griffin was dumb enough to go at it with your department.”

“Mr. Troll...you are very lucky that my middle digit is currently at parade rest attention. And my participation is up to your Commanding officer."

Troll blanked his face and stared past the felinoid with a 'thousand yard stare', then turned to Harper, waiting to see if Medusa had anything to add. Medusa met Trolls gaze calmly. "Proceed, Lt. Merril. Lt. JoNs is here to learn something about Marine discipline. Which will be best served by keeping eyes open, mouth shut." She purposefully did not look at the security officer while speaking.

Merril refocused on Griffin. “This program is a sniper training program, for the first half you will be the target. For the second half I will be the target, and you will be one of the snipers. Your final punishment duty will be determined by how few or often you die before the program finishes.”

Harper considered Griffin for a moment. "Perhaps we should provide the sergeant with a challenge more... appropriate to his abilities, Troll." She indicated the two barnacles with a nod. "Let them snipe." Merril agreed. “Ok I'll instruct our Snipers for a moment, if you would be willing to get Griffin set up?”

Kansas looked entirely too happy at the suggestion; her tail started to swish excitedly. Callack ordered the computer to provide T11 sniper rifles for those participating. The rifles soon appeared laid out in a row upon a plasti-metal table.

JoNs risked a comment to Harper. "You and your people do not mess around with regard to departmental discipline." She nodded out toward Griffin. "I understand what you are trying to show me. I should have remanded Zimm to you for his actions instead of circumventing regs, Ma'am.”

"Precisely, Lieutenant." Harper smiled frostily. "So far from needing security's assistance... Marines actually get off easily when you goldshirts decide to step in."

Merril had taken an interest at the mention of Zimm's name. “Did Z do something worthy of this?” Harper explained shortly, "He and Ensign Rico had a philosophical discussion." Her face carefully neutral, the colonel continued, "Lt. JoNs stunned him."

“And he made Lieutenant allowing a Flee…err…security to sneak up on him on his own ship?

“Don't underestimate the goldshirts, Lieutenant." Harper strolled over to look at the rifles.

“Someone in fleet that actually earned their position in security? Will wonders never cease.”

"That'll do, Troll. Back to Griffin."

“Yes Ma'am”

Kansas glanced to Nimetti and flashed an encouraging smile. "Enjoy this and learn Midshipmen. Despite our differences....these marines are very good at what they do."

Troll continued with the program briefing. “In this program the lower levels favor the snipers; the higher levels favor the target. This is why Griffin gets to be target first then sniper second. He's the one being punished, everyone else is just learning. Second half, the target has gone proactive trying to take out the snipers that are pinning the away team from getting to the beam out area. The computer will keep your score and can be viewed afterwards from anyone's perspective

The feline security officer turned toward Merril as he started to explain the program parameters, tail swishing. Midshipman Nimetti whispered to JoNs, "Good thing we're not using my other program...it doesn't favor the person using it at all." Callack patiently listened to the brief.

:: The holodeck exercise commenced, with some of the best snipers and those sniped that the Imperial Fleet and Imperial Marines had to offer. Griffin was only given a five shot personal phaser, then disappeared to some other part of the program. Everyone, with the exception of Griffin, had benefited from the impromptu training session. Griffin, marine disciplinary justice served, was shakily escorted away by two corporals at the conclusion of said program ::

:: The remaining participants and observers have now convened in the Marine Debriefing Room to wrap up the training session::

Troll had to admit that there actually were some people on the Fleet side that were worth knowing and even associating with. Looking at the scores, Callack exclaimed to Kansas, "Nice shooting, but did you get hit by Griffin?" Then he looked up and asked a regrettable question, "So how do you think we did?" Nimetti quietly remembered the sight he had on Griffin, looking down the sniper scope as the marine looked down his, before both took the final shots of the sim. Then he began paying attention to the others.

JoNs merely winced in response to the question and brought a paw to her neck where a shot by Griffin had nailed her. She then turned her attention toward the executive officer for any comments.

Harper nodded to the young officers. "Passable. Robair trains his people well."

"Thank you sir. That means a lot." said the midshipman as he nodded to his XO.

Troll Merril looked over at Callack. “Some year you might make an acceptable marine. I think Kansas has her own reasons for being in security, it certainly isn't because she wouldn't have made it in the marines.” Kansas merely nodded respectfully toward Harper and saluted Troll with a wink. “You did quite well yourself, Mr. Troll.”

Troll signed 'Thieves Cant' at JoNs, meaning “talk to you later about a deal”. Masking her surprise, she merely signed back quickly, covering the motion by reaching for a personal Padd - "Always."

Callack continued. ”Now I know just how good the marines discipline marines. I'll bring the marines to y’all from now on, sir.”

Merril glanced at Callack. “Call Kansas for backup, when dealing with marines, not all of them are as 'nice' as Griffin.” Nimetti nodded in acknowledgement to the Trill, "Yes, sir."

The Caitian flexed a claw happily and then spoke. "I have learned much today as well. I will not circumvent the regulations again as I did. That is a promise."

"I'm sure you'll find new ways to circumvent them," the colonel offered, deadpan. "And I have another lesson to give," Harper said, rising. "My day for teaching, it seems."

JoNs chose to (wisely) ignore Harper’s comment. “Do we have your permission to leave Colonel?"

"Dismissed."

"Aye ma'am", said Callack. "And thank you for the chance to prove myself." He walked out the door with rifle case in hand, ready to get some sleep.

Troll also began to rise. “And I think I need to cleanup now.” He winced a bit as he moved, owing to a stray shot that had nicked him when he had mimicked Griffin, trying to throw the Fleeters off their game. The highly competent marine exited the briefing room.

JoNs rose from the briefing table, also heading toward the exit. Stopping just at the door, she turned and spoke to the marine executive officer who had given her a valuable, and unexpected, lesson in both ship board decorum and marine honor.

"Colonel Harper. Thank you for your understanding."

8.13.06

ISS Agincourt ICC-81762

“Mirroring a Conscience”

JoNs was hunkered down among a stand of medium sized trees, bushes and scrub grass, observing the large village down at the bottom of the hill. She wore civilian travel clothing of browns and tans and a lightweight black cloak of Klingon design, the hood covering her head. Her right paw rested on the Klingon disruptor holstered low on her hip. A travel cylinder rested across her back, containing some items.

With the Agincourt orbiting Psi Velorum, and the Marine deployment to collect tribute from the inhabitants and the Sciences deployment to investigate some sort of ancient ruins, the Caitian had seized the opportunity to do some profitable networking. Any planet, no matter the technological level, would always have a need for medicinal aid. It was just a matter of putting the feelers out and knowing what targets were prime; she had chosen a somewhat isolated village in the Northwestern Hemisphere of the planet, well away from the current locations being focused on. Once completing her duty shift and taking care of the Zimm fracas, she had arranged to quietly beam down to the planet surface via a well placed transporter tech bribe and threat, whichever you preferred. Satisfied that the village was clear, she started moving down the hill.

She remained in the open, approaching the village with confident strides. When she had gotten within one hundred yards, calls began to ring out in an alert to her presence. The village looked pre industrial with the tents and ramshackle dwellings, but also showed some evidence of technology. Interface consoles and equipment, while battered, could be seen throughout the village. The villagers themselves were lizard like, varying in shades of green to brown, and wore simple, functional work clothing. Kansas entered the main entrance to the village, giving the “guard” – a large lizard holding what looked like a third hand Romulan rifle from two hundred years ago – a look that said “Don’t be shooting yourself in the foot with that now” as she passed him.

There was a group of children playing a game just inside the village, and, well, children will be children. Oblivious to her arrival and the nervous excitement of their elders, they continued playing. Right up until an oblong sack of leather stuffed with something soft smacked Kansas in the side of the head. Well, ow.

You could have heard an isolinear chip drop. She angrily pulled down the hood and glared at the children. A female lizard, who was probably a mother of one or several of the children made a move to rush toward them. Kansas stopped her in her tracks with a low growl. She also heard that rifle being cocked behind her and then a tink of something hitting the ground, followed by the low muttering of the guard. Yep, that rifle was a piece of targ crud. Regardless, she did not fancy being shot in the back by ancient weaponry, even if it was very used.

The Caitian grabbed the ball from the ground and straightened, fixing the children with a long, cool look. The six of them, ranging in ages from very young to say pre-teen, had huddled around the oldest one, a female that was doing her best to look defiant. It needed work.

Kansas shifted her stance sideways, placing her right foot behind her and her left foot toward the front. She gripped the ball in both paws. “Well, who’s going to catch?” Her universal translator implant interpreted the statement into the standard language of the planet. A boy, not that much younger then the girl, broke away from the group, made eye contact with the Caitian, and then started running. Kansas heaved the ball. The boy ran about twenty yards, turned and then caught the ball. He yelled what sounded like “Zarhan” to Kansas; the translator couldn’t quite make it out. The remaining children took off running after their playmate with hissed cries and began the game anew.

She turned back toward the mother who looked much relieved. “The medical…eh…facility? The village doctor?” The lizard woman pointed in the general direction. “Uztach. He is that way.”

Kansas nodded her thanks and then began walking. She called over her shoulder to the lizard guard as she went. “The safety’s on by the way.”

She came to one of the larger tents, and it just had to be what passed for the village’s medical facility. A row of bunks was visible, along with console interfaces and clear cabinets containing instruments and what looked like old fashioned data slates. The few medical staffers turned at the new arrival, and an older male lizard emerged from a back office area.

He looked at Kansas and hissed his greeting, using her “business” name tagged on her from a prior legitimate mission. “Oz?” The Caitian nodded her affirmation. “This way please.” To his staff, he said, “Please go about your business, everything is fine.”

She walked down the aisle between the beds and the cabinets, the black cloak billowing behind her as she went. One of the medical staff’s slitted eyes locked onto the disruptor Kansas carried before she became studiously interested in the data slate she carried. Kansas entered the doctor’s office area.

He was kindly, but all business. “You have my supplies.” Kansas loved when they were direct.

“I do. You have my payment?” He nodded assent. She placed the travel cylinder on a nearby workbench and removed a smaller plasteel box of civilian make. Once entering the codes, the lid popped to reveal twenty five stripped down hypos. Kansas pointed to each grouping, quickly explaining the color coding as she had understood them from Doctor Levy.

“The red hypos are a minor derivative of several clotting compounds and stimulants, for use with patients that need adrenaline to stay alive as well as their wounds to clot. The blue hypos are a straight pain killer. The yellow hypos are antibiotics. The orange hypos are Cordrazine, nice little stimulant boosts either medical wise or non-medical, whatever you prefer. The green hypos contain Hyronalin, normally for radiation, but I’m sure you know how to apply the properties elsewhere. That’s all I have Doctor; you need to figure out the correct dosages for your people and what you can use where.” Kansas then gazed at Uztach expectantly.

Without a word, the lizard walked over to a nearby battered cabinet and removed a leather pouch and tossed it to the Caitian. “Rare gems gleaned from our distant beaches years ago, and some family heirlooms donated by our leading citizens.”

The heirlooms were necklaces and bracelets of semi good bone and natural stone quality, no doubt in the families for generations. The gems, while uncut, were more to the Caitians liking. She removed the five raw gems, and tossed the pouch back to the doctor. “Keep the jewelry, I don’t need it. Return them to the families; I’m not a robber...” she fixed the doctor with a meaningful look “… unlike some enforcers.” If the medical lizard understood that statement as it applied to what the distant villages on his planet were experiencing, he made no show of it.

Kansas placed the gems in a belt pouch, and then slung the travel cylinder across her back. Doctor Uztach carefully placed the medical equipment in a safe, locking it with a crude key and lock device. He turned and regarded the Caitian.

“Thank you. We can make good use of these supplies, especially when the harsher seasons hit…”

JoNs put up a paw, whether from embarrassment or annoyance it was hard to tell, to stop the lizard. “Doctor, I was paid. I did not do this out of the kindness of my heart. I need to be going. Good luck to you and your people.” She turned to leave.

“Can you tell me anything of what happens to our sister villages in the Southern Hemisphere?” The doctor blurted the statement, as if wanting to say it before his courage waned. The question was a veiled statement at best; what he really wanted to know is if his remote village would be payed a little visit as well by the Agincourt’s Marine enforcers.

Kansas rounded on the doctor, hissing. “Questions like that can be detrimental to both of us Doctor!” He backed up a few steps as she fixed him with a baleful glare and hissed again.

For a few seconds there was silence; Kansas was sure the medical staff was listening outside as well. She made a decision.” I…honestly don’t know what you can expect. Perhaps…a field trip for the children is in order to explore those distant beaches of yours, or a small vacation for your villagers. Within the next week or so, say. And leave a…minor payment behind, just enough mind you, not necessarily everything. Just a suggestion.”

With a nod and a tight smile, the Caitian again turned to leave the medical dwelling. The medical staff scrambled to get away from the small doorway and only succeeded in looking highly interested in the nearby cabinets.

Uztachs hissed voice called out after her. “Of course. Again, we thank you.”

Kansas stalked through the village, and exited past the same guard. The children were no where to be found. Dusk was beginning to settle and cooking smells wafted out from the dwellings. She crossed the flat plain to the hill. She flipped her hood back up and climbed on all fours back up to the trees that she had been using for cover. Once back undercover, she turned around, and regarded the village below, enjoying the brief solitude before returning to the rough and tumble life that constituted being a non Terran officer of the Imperial Fleet.

She tapped the wrist communicator hidden under her tunic sleeve, activating an encrypted channel. “One to beam up.”

Lt. (SG) M.S. “Kansas” JoNs

Chief Tactical-Assistant Security

8.12.06 (2397)

ISS Agincourt ICC-81762

“Upward Mobility”

**Takes place during the Marine deployment to Psi Velorum.

A phaser blast on heavy stun pinged off the cargo container that Kansas used for cover. She quickly leaped across the exposed aisle gap to another section of cargo containers, attempting to work her way around the fracas that had exploded in the shuttle bay. She had been doing her rounds and minding her own business when the brawl had erupted. Apparently, 2nd Lieutenant Zimm had jumped Ensign Rico. Rico’s men had come to his rescue, and Zimm’s buddies had jumped in, and said brawl had erupted.

Now granted, all this took place in front of the Caitian. Hellooooo…would you like to purchase a clue? You never wanted witnesses, especially Imperial security. Upward mobility via taking out a superior was a time honored tradition in the Imperial Fleet. It did require some finesse, and this was not one of those situations. You needed to carefully formulate a plan and then move for the kill. And usually, you needed to tell the difference between the correct and in correct times to act as timing was everything. Besides, nothing would ever get done if everyone was gunning for everyone else all the time. Zimm couldn’t even claim Rico’s post - they weren’t even in the same department. She had never seen a more sloppy confrontation in her entire career.

Privately, Kansas was rooting for Rico, a member of security, hoping he would beat the Hades out of marine Zimm. But, she did have a job to do. Granted, it would not be by the book, but whatever. She could not pass up this opportunity, not with most of marine command on the surface of Psi Velorum. With no one around to dispute her handling of the Zimm situation, it was a prime opportunity for some marine-security mayhem.

From the shadows, she sighted down on the jarhead. One well placed stun shot, and Zimm went down for the count. She started moving out into the lighted area. It took about twenty seconds for everybeing to realize what had just happened. They all stared at the Caitian. Terrans can be very dense at times, I mean really.

She managed to hold onto her patience. “Okay, this is the part where you all work with me.” Kansas said. “Leave now and quickly. I didn’t see any of you here.” Rico and his men needed no further prodding and exited quickly, Rico giving Kansas a slight nod of thanks in her direction. However, the remaining two ground pounders stayed, moving toward their fallen comrade.

“No leave him. And you both need to make yourselves scarce. I won’t repeat myself a third time.”

Zimm Cronie Number One, a big Private by the name of Biessman*, stopped. But, Zimm Cronie Number Two, Saunders, a Tactical Sergeant, continued toward the fallen Zimm.

With no warning, Kansas leapt at Saunders. Saunders turned just in time for an annoyed, 125 lb ball of fur to smash into him. Her claws and fangs were not bared, thank you very much; she was known to use restraint at times. She just hoped that Beissman showed some as well and didn’t lodge his dagger in her back.

Saunders did not take kindly to her interference and tussled with the Caitian. She socked him in the jaw, which did change his mind. She did feel a few things did go “pop” in her hand however. Ow…Ow…Ow. Note to self: stop taking on beings bigger then you. Both of them stood panting and staring at one another.

Big Bruiser Beissman cleared his throat at that point and started backing toward the exit. Saunders used some good sense and followed suit, keeping his eyes on her the whole time. The two Marines left the shuttle bay.

Sleeping Beauty Zimm started to come to at that point. Kansas’s foot connected with his midsection, flipping him over onto his back and causing him to slip back into unconsciousness.

She started toward the exit doors and spoke into thin air, activating the internal comms to contact the security offices. She gingerly massaged her injured right hand. The skin beneath the fur had already started to bruise a livid purple and red. Ow…Ow…Ow. Saunders’s hard jaw matches that thick skull of his.

Ensign Holt answered the page. Good. He knew when to keep his mouth shot and look the other way. “Holt, this is Lieutenant JoNs. Send an escort team down to the main shuttle bay to pick up Sergeant Zimm. He is due some Booth time.”

“Aye Ma’am, the team is being dispatched now. Reason?” Holt replied. His tone was curious.

A cocky smile played at her lips as she outright lied, not telling the whole truth. “Oh, apparently, he attacked Rico, no warning at all. Zimm just up and lost his temper. Rico did not retaliate; at least our people know how to follow orders. Harper really needs to update her department on these critical matters; she and her people must need a refresher course on departmental etiquette.” She heard Holt chuckle on the other end.

“After all, these confrontations between the marine and security departments are frowned upon. Security must maintain the peace and all. JoNs out.”

Ah, the joys of upward mobility. You never can tell how it will work in your favor.

Oooorah you ground pounders.

Lieutenant M.S. “Kansas” JoN’s

Chief Tactical-Assistant Security Officer

*Note: the Beissman character appears courtesy of Star Trek: Elite Force 2 (2003 Activision)

Hello and welcome to STSF - good crew here!

Look on the backsid...bright side, I mean bright side...N'Dak now has a new weapon - if there are any attempts on his life, he can moon the attackers and blind them. Like a flash bang grenade but different.

Funny stuff y'all!