C.T. Caine

When Christina-T'Prinn Caine had been about thirteen years old, she'd developed an "emotional affinity" (as her father had disapprovingly called it; her mother had been more blunt -- "the kid's got a crush, leave her alone") for one of her half-brother's classmates at the Vulcan Science Academy, a dark, handsome, highly intelligent young full-blood Vulcan whose field was computational linguistics. His name was Sutak, and she found him, to coin a phrase, fascinating. He was relatively approachable for a Vulcan, and one of that rare breed who knew that there is nothing a child of that age enjoys more than to be taken seriously; he recognized her as housing an intelligence (albeit mired in emotion) equal to that of her father and brother and he took pains to interact with her in the same style with which he would have approached them, thus firmly capturing both her heart and her mind. Whether he knew he held quite such a fascination for her, she never precisely questioned him on, but in the thirty years of retrospect now separating her from that period, she thought she could remember a rather un-Vulcan note of amusement in his voice which suggested that he probably did. He had been her first debate partner; though their conversations tended to start out in the fields of physics, chemistry, linguistics, and computer science which were most familiar to him, he had allowed her to range out into all sorts of ideas which had caught her attention. As she grew older, they had both noticed that these subjects began moving further and further away from the academia her father encouraged, but to his credit, he made every effort to continue offering her an ear to run her ideas past, and he had been the only full Vulcan she had spoken to who had not blinked when her interests turned in the direction of military history. "Really?" he'd asked, in the low, smooth, calm voice with which he addressed himself to all of their conversations. "Indeed...you will find little on the subject on Vulcan proper, I think. It would hardly be considered the most logical use of your time; we are a pacifist people." "But other people aren't," Caine had said, with the childhood certainty of being absolutely right. "We need to know what they might do. So we can stop them." Even thirty years later this still made more sense to her than much of Vulcan dogma. Sutak had raised one eyebrow at her firmness. "Those who would make their living in the military may well find this their concern; it is not yours. Your mind is strong enough to move beyond such concerns." "Into school stuff?" "Yes." Caine wrinkled her nose slightly. "I mean...it's fun and all. And I'm good at it. But what good does it do anyone else? The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one..." Sutak was silent for a few moments. "It is your own choice, in the end, how you define your contribution to the greater good. For my own part...I choose science because the knowledge of one furthers the knowledge of the many." "Yeah..." Caine's voice was skeptical. "And you think that fighting's for fools." It wasn't a question, just a statement. She'd heard it from her father enough, in less casual wording of course. "The ability to defend oneself is of course important. But to lash out, to be the aggressor? That is only waste." She had taken the words to heart in her own curiously interpreted fashion. From then on, the military had been her goal -- with the sole purpose of being a defender. A protector. She would, she'd promised Sutak and her parents, never advocate the striking of a blow before one was struck at her first. And with this, she had convinced them that she was indeed serving the needs of the many by her departure from the sciences. Of course, she'd then begun the tactical track at the Academy and realized that it was a nice sentiment, but it didn't really work out that well in practice, and the lesson had been taught and retaught to her over her years in Starfleet until it was merely a calculated paradox which she could shove to the rear of her mind with the ease of practice. The irony was not lost on her now, though, as she scrolled through the intelligence reports that were the foundation of what was probably the most dangerous, complicated, and potentially foolhardy mission of her career. They were going into the mouth of the enemy and, hopefully, coming back out. If things went smoothly, they would be stealing equipment; if things didn't, there would be property damage and death. That was war. There was no defense at work here except in the broadest sense. This was an offensive move, a blow struck to prevent other blows. The best defense was a good offense. Logical. They had a good team. Yates was a steady hand; he had experience and self-control. Mattingly did as well, in addition to a keen sense of observation which would be valuable in the upcoming trenches. Decatur...was young, certainly, but he had energy and he knew when to keep his mouth shut, and both were imperative. She knew less of the marines; but she had worked with Karo Veras in the context of the projectile training courses which had run some weeks earlier. He knew his business, and though he too was extremely young, he had taken on the authority required for this mission without blinking under it. Between the two of them, they would manage alright. They would take it one step at a time, get in, get out, get going, and strike first so as to defend. Highly, highly logical, she thought, making a noise of amusement deep in her throat as she flicked off the screen before her and leaned back in her chair. Oh, y'tek jacktah, Sutak, if only you could see me now.

Caine turned just in time to see the small feline charging forward and moved to block the blow but slightly too late; JoNs's weight smashed into her, taking her into the air over the bar to land with a crash among the bottles. Her head struck a shelf and light flashed behind her eyes and she yelled in pain, every muscle in her body going on full alert with the impact. Heaving upwards, she flung JoNs's body away from her in the first available direction. Kansas took the rough push awkwardly and landed off to Caine's right. With a snarl, she bolted at the lieutenant again, splaying her claws. Caine had her legs under her by then and she leapt sideways, landing on top of the bar and rolling to put the wooden structure between herself and the angry Caitian. Her blood was roiling in her veins now; all the simmering hatred was boiling over into a taut, controlled battle fever. She would never have another chance like this. Kansas was alone; they were off the record, and the XO's carefully honed guard had slipped to a single woman on her way to being betrayed by the emotions that were fueling her. "What is it you want, Commander?" Caine asked, tauntingly. "Are you hoping for a scratching post? I'm afraid you won't find one here..." JoNs hopped up on top of the bar on all fours, her baleful green eyes fixed on Caine. Despite the natural predatory beauty of her feline species, she was not what one would call a graceful fighter; she tended more towards the style of a brawler. The claws and fangs added weight to her fury, but she was a lightweight – at 130 pounds and 5'3”, she couldn’t pretend to be a superwoman, heritage notwithstanding. No, the battle had to be won quickly. JoNs leapt again, using the bar for leverage as she flew at Caine. Caine allowed herself the luxury of a smirk at the telegraphed leap, and then surged sideways and forward, bringing one arm up in a sucker punch into JoNs's stomach, letting gravity double the impact of the blow. Her fingers stung as her fist collided just below the XO's ribcage and she grunted in pain, letting JoNs's momentum drive her back a few feet. The gut punch stopped JoNs in her tracks and dropped her on her side on the carpeted flooring, wheezing. Her training kicked in shortly, however, and she managed to focus the pain out long enough to roll onto her back and then onto her stomach, lashing out and leg-sweeping Caine as she completed the move. The clawed paw sinking into her calf made Caine yelp with pain and she lost her balance and toppled backwards, hitting the decking with a jolt that knocked the breath from her body. With a sharp gasp, she flailed for purchase with one arm and found a grip on JoNs's shoulder. Immobilize and incapacitate. Her own training engaged and she twisted, pulling Kansas towards her along the carpet and trying to wrestle her into a floor hold. The two women rolled violently; Kansas struggled against the hold, and sank her teeth into Caine's palm. Caine shouted as the sharp feline teeth ripped through the flesh of her hand; wrenching it free with a painful flick of her wrist, she grabbed JoNs's shirt collar and slammed a punch into the xeno woman's nose with all the force in her body, snapping her head back. Blood droplets from nose and mouth flew in an arc, and JoNs stumbled back into a table, sending the dishes clattering across the top. Caine hissed in satisfaction and staggered to her feet, taking the moment's pause to catch her breath and gauge the situation. JoNs was angry, making mistakes, but they were also making a hell of a mess. This needed to end quickly, and with some pain on JoNs's side if possible. "Don't toy with me, Commander. I don't have the time or the patience for it," she said, her voice sharp in the bar which had gone silent, the patrons staring at them, muttering feverishly at the sight of the Vulcan and the xeno coming to blows. "I am trained to be able to do this all night." Slightly winded, Kansas replied, “I am not toying Lieutenant. And I can go all night too. If you had patience, we would not be having this little issue right now. You wanted this to happen, and you let this happen, just like me. If you didn’t, you would have used that vaunted logic to just walk away. You keep claiming superiority...I don’t think so.” "Oh, I don't merely claim it..." was all Caine replied, and with no warning lashed out with a kick that caught JoNs under the ribcage, then grabbed her by the hair at the base of her neck and spun her around, steering the XO's head to knock into the fish tank in the wall of the bar, shattering the glass. Cats had fast reflexes, but so did Vulcans. JoNs had no opportunity to deflect the tactical move and Caine’s strength made it easy to accomplish. JoNs's head made contact with the decorative tank and within seconds multicolored fish were scattered across the soaked carpeting. JoNs slumped the the floor, half-conscious. "Haa-ahhh..." A gasping grunt hissed from Caine's lungs as the impact jarred up her arm. Recoiling as JoNs's weight sagged against her, shoved her shoulder into her opponent's midsection, the tackle connecting with a solitary thunk and slamming them into the plate-glass window to their right which overlooked the lower levels of the bar. The window, decorative stuff never meant for the impact of a furious pair of enemies, shattered with the force of their bodies and Caine felt her momentum carry them out into the open air. They hurtled outward from the upper deck through the protective barrier, completely blowing out the dura-plastisteel, and fell at a rapid pace; several onlookers screamed out in surprise. The two officers landed with a muted splash in one of the decorative lagoons, sending several scantily-clad dance performers hastily clambering out of the way as they hit the water. The stinging chill revived JoNs, and she gasped, inhaling a lungful of water as she broke the surface of the five-foot-deep water pocket, choking and sputtering. Caine's hand closed implacably around her shoulder and spun her around; the Vulcan's nictating eyelids had closed down over her eyes, blocking the water from blurring her vision, and she barely noticed the chill. Nothing else, in fact, mattered -- all of her training was in full force now and only one thing had her attention. Finish the fight. Finish it. Finish her. She slammed her opponent up over the wall of the fountain, leaving JoNs gasping on the stone floor. Clambering out herself with a single powerful push of her arms, she landed on top of the other woman, pressing her to the ground and putting a knee squarely in her stomach. Her free hand went to her boot and came up with the silver hilt of a knife; before she knew it, she had it shoved up against JoNs's furred throat and everything went still. She held it there, staring into JoNs's eyes, the movement of her wrist hanging in the balance. Blood from both of the Agincourt officers dripped in the silence, mixing with the water, running green and red across the stonework. Kansas stayed very still (not that she had a choice, mind you), but she couldn’t resist cracking wise. "Had enough?" Caine's jaw tightened and the flat of the blade pressed down heavily into JoNs's neck till it interfered with her breath. The Cait gurgled as her air passageway became obstructed. "I could kill you," Caine murmured. "Why shouldn't I?" The colonel's instructions notwithstanding, the death of superior officers...happened. It would not really be questioned. Kansas had opened the fighting; for Caine to finish it was acceptable by every law she was aware of. And she would be rid of the kitten forever. But her hand remained still over JoNs's neck, and she let the options slide through her mind like the blood-smeared water behind her. Were the Caitian to die, it would solve problems in the short term, but it would also make JoNs a martyr. She had supporters that Caine could not afford to anger just yet. And having her here, at Caine's mercy, and letting her survive...that was shameful for JoNs as death was not. JoNs would be in her debt, as Caine had once been in hers, to her own impotent fury. It was...fair, in the cold sort of way that Caine liked fairness. Her wrist flicked backwards, folding the knife blade against her wrist, releasing the pressure on JoNs's neck with a jerk. A flicker of surprise appeared in the Cait's eyes for a brief second. Caine had had her, plain as day. Was it a reciprocating gesture, because of JoNs tackling her out of harms way on the Stiletto? Or did the Vulcan have yet another ulterior motive for not slicing and dicing JoNs? Her purred voice came out hoarse not from emotion, but from the damage her throat had taken. “Looks like I’m not the only one who thought better of a decision…” The whine of a weapon charging broke the silence, and Caine felt the barrel of a phaser rifle pressed against the back of her head; a similar barrel became prominent in JoNs's field of vision, pointed directly at her face. A male voiced barked out into the stunned silence. “Alpha Station Security! You will cease your activities immediately!” Caine sighed and turned her head, very slowly, until she could get her feet under her and stand up to push the barrel away. “Starfleet Intelligence,” she answered coolly, eyeing the thuggish station guard with disdain. “Our activities are quite ceased, thank you, and as for the broken window...Commander JoNs will be happy to explain.” Folding her right hand into a fist to quench the blood dripping from it to the stone, she turned and walked away without a backward glance.

Note: This is an off-Plot log set in the Mirror Universe of the ISS Agincourt Civil Unrest "I don't care if you hate each other, love each other, fight with each other, sleep with each other, or both at once. I do care how you present yourselves in public." She stared at each in turn for a long moment. "I expect my senior officers to at least pretend to civility in front of the crew. Kill each other on your own time -- and in private." - Colonel C.E. "Medusa" Harper, Commanding Officer, ISS Agincourt. = = = = The Blue Bulldog was a very popular nightclub that had been established on Alpha One Space Station, an Imperial Fleet base on the edge of the quadrant, right at the Outer Rim borders. Alpha was a destination for Starfleet Marines, Naval Fleeters, and civilians alike, and the patrons to the club usually came from a variety of backgrounds; whenever a ship made port for a shore leave or a layover, it was a sure bet that at least half of the crew would end up at the Bulldog at least once. Commander Kansas 'Will' JoNs, like most of the crew of the ISS Agincourt, found herself on the space station for some well-earned shore leave. The Agincourt had lately been busy searching the quadrant for an Alliance-class scout frigate that the resistance had supposedly gotten their hands on, and had stopped for a break at Alpha One's doors. The felinoid’s establishment of choice was of course the famous Bulldog, and she noted that quite a few of the Agincourt crew were already scattered throughout the crowd. It was a rather impressive place, structurally. There were three main tiers; the upper tier was designated as the quieter main restaurant area, serviced by a regular-sized bar. The middle tier accommodated larger groups of partygoers and boasted an impressive bar that ran half the size of the tier floor area, with a live band which riffed on the latest music from the Andorian pop scene to which a few of the patrons gyrated out on the dance floor. The lowest tier sported various gaming suites, holosuites, and pool tables. All of the tiers overlooked the main lobby area, which was decorated with lavish leather seating, with a few waterfalls emptying into an artificial lagoon at the center. Completing the aquatic vibe, large fish tanks were embedded in the walls on all levels. JoNs stood in the main lobby area for a few moments, taking in the atmosphere. The leonine Cait blended nicely with the party crowd; she had chosen to wear a simple pair of black slacks and a deep green blouse with a plunging neckline, contrasting nicely with her gold fur and green eyes. A tall and lanky Bajoran waiter took her drink order and returned with the beverage; she sipped at the drink as she made her way up to the third tier by way of the neon staircase that intersected the three sections of the club. After a few minutes of dodging patrons, the commander spotted her party: Lt. Commander Sarritt Ssib’Ley of the Agincourt shuttle pilots. The big tiger-Kzinti had already snagged a table. He waved a huge paw in the air, beckoning her over. The two felines had planned a dinner with some of JoNs's professional mercenary contacts who were in the sector and temporarily docked at the station; she noted that her former colleagues had not yet arrived. She and Sarritt contented themselves with small talk, for once not speaking of ships business. **** Some minutes later, the doors of the club swung open again, and Lieutenant Caine's tall, lean form stepped through, her durasteel-hard grey eyes and Vulcan hearing taking in the headache-inducing lights and sounds of the various bar tiers with an uninterested air. She could see a few members of the Agincourt's crew here, and a few locals attempting to attract her attention, but she ignored them with the focus she brought to everything; she was here for one purpose and one alone. Saurian brandy. Caine was in a bad mood. The last few hours had centered on a call to her contacts at Starfleet Intel, a call she had expected to proceed without incident. The names she (it was in her mind already only her) had retrieved from the Stiletto merc vessel had implicated several Terran officers in a drug ring operating outside Imperial control. It was information she expected her contacts would find extremely valuable -- and more to the point, it was crucial that these activities contrary to the benefit of the Empire were halted...immediately and with force. However, she had been surprised and thoroughly frustrated to find that not only was there no enthusiasm in the response she received, but it had been emphatically suggested to her that she would do well to keep well clear of the whole business. Caine knew their intention had been to make her believe that they had other, more important work for her and that they would take care of the mercenary question as they saw fit; she was not fooled. This question went deeper, clearly, than just the few names on the Stiletto list – and her hands were tied. It was enough to make anyone seek out the nearest available bar, and Caine was no exception. Having satisfactorily cased the place with her eyes, she set course immediately for the Bulldog's upper level, where she quickly secured a table with her back to a wall, ordered something large and potent, and settled in to wait out the time till Agincourt began moving again. In the morning she would determine her plan of action. More of the Agincourt's crew was up here; her eyes flicked from face to face, finally landing on JoNs, who was sitting with one of the other Caitian jacktahs a few tables away. Up to no good, no doubt... she thought irritably, staring over the top of her bottle and turning her aggravation on this new target, and in the off-duty dim light, with the weight of a civvie jacket rather than a uniform bearing on her shoulders, her gaze sparked with the dislike she usually made slightly more of an effort to mask. ***** Like any good predator, both Caitians had noted the entrance of the Agincourt’s chief security officer, and when the XO’s personal communicator blipped with an incoming message, Ssib’Ley took the opportunity of the lull to observe the female half-Vulcan officer from a distance – Caine was staring daggers at JoNs’s back. Will finished up her conversation over the secure communications device and turned her attention back to her on-again, off-again boyfriend. “My cousins are passing on the evening out. They just got a hot business lead and are following up while they’re still docked here at Alpha. Told us to enjoy the evening, and Tarressa would like to know why we aren’t married yet.” She smirked at her male companion. Ssib’Ley deliberately finished chewing the appetizer shrimp before replying, sidestepping the question of betrothal and going for a more immediate…concern. “If looks could kill, you’d be dead right now.” “If looks could kill, I would be dead a few dozen times over by now. Caine?” The tiger-Kzin nodded and took a sip of his drink. “Yes. Same spot, middle table against the wall. Hasn’t moved, nursing some sort of hard liquor, more pissed off then usual. You want to switch seats so you can keep an eye on her?” JoNs shook her head. “I have a better idea...“ She stood and quickly gathered their two empty glasses from the table top. “I’ll get us a refill, and ask her a couple of questions on my way to the bar.” Sarritt gently grabbed her arm with a striped paw. “Don’t do anything stupid, Commander, sir.” JoNs's eyes lit up and she smiled, exposing all of her fangs and giving her the look of the rogue. “Who, me?” She winked, and then turned around and started walking across the restaurant. In the second that it took for JoNs to pivot, her expression went from happy-go-lucky to cold professional. The feline predator had been dialed back to a cutthroat business executive – serene, no-nonsense, down-to-business. There was an ongoing, though unwritten tradition in the Imperial Fleet: constant tension among the senior staff. Service to the Fleet was never boring, and one had to always be on their guard. Caine and JoNs had managed – through explicit orders from their commanding officer – for months to ‘play nice’ and pretend some professional civility towards one another. But Kansas would be damned if she was going to be stared at all night by a stiff-necked Vulcan safassashetora. With a stride that spoke of confidence, she deliberately crossed to Caine's table, empty glasses in her paws as if she didn't have a care in the universe. With a curt nod, the XO spoke to the line officer. "Caine. You've been staring for the last half hour or so. Is there something in particular I can help you with? Or are you a fan of my earrings or something?" Her purred tone came out with a slight growl, and she cocked her head to one side. Caine, who had been lifting her bottle to pour, froze partway through the movement and set it down slowly with a heavy thunk. Of course, the kitten felt like talking, and would play dumb about their conflict -- though Caine would have no difficulty believing that she wasn't playing at all. "On the contrary, Commander," she said, her tone scrupulously even like fine-polished iron, masking a feeling of impatience which welled up in her like blood from a wound. "I was contemplating the gross unfairness of the universe of which I'm afraid you are of too little importance to be a central figure. Merely a footnote." Her Vulcan features twisted in a sneer. Well, that was an interesting comment. JoNs assumed -- if her information was correct -- that Caine must’ve gotten some bad news from Imperial Command. JoNs herself had tried to get further information regarding the Stiletto and had been blocked. Considering that the data from the ship had named Fleet officers as part of the smuggling ring, it made sense that Command would be keen on keeping the whole thing quiet. An old comrade of JoNs's had hinted as much to the Cait in a secure wireless conversation; any and all inquiries into the incident would be politely blown off. Considering the Agincourt had been the ship to expose the smuggling ring, Caine had no doubt attempted to delve deeper still, and had gotten the long distance equivalent of a slapdown. For the moment, instead of inquiring about the underlying tension that suffused Caine's words, the felinoid deliberately hedged and cracked wise to annoy the Vulcan officer; she quirked an eye whisker and favored Caine with a cocky look. “You mean I’m not the center of the universe? I’m so glad you’re here to inform me of these factoids, Lieutenant.” "I am here to have a drink," Caine said coldly. "Any contact you might have with my evening's plans are, I assure you, entirely incidental." Pushing herself sharply to her feet, she stepped around the table, narrowly missing colliding with JoNs's shoulder as she moved back towards the bar. Addressing the bartender, she leaned her hands on the wood of the bartop and scowled. "Whatever you gave me, it's not Saurian brandy. I am not paying for watered down schut." She waited, and nodded in icy satisfaction as he began hastily rummaging into his stores. Kansas, unperturbed, followed the Vulcan towards the bar, motioning for the bartender to refill her glasses as well, and then turned her attention back towards the ticked-off department chief. “So, what is it that’s really bugging you, Caine? I’m sure you got the same answer that I did when I inquired about the officers who were backing the Stiletto. In so many words, you were told to mind your own business, am I correct? And your status as an Intelligence agent didn’t mean anything with regard to cutting through that red tape.” Caine kept her eyes on the bald top of the crouching bartender's head, but her fists clenched on the smooth polished wood. She focused on the clean, sharp pain of her nails in her palms, kept her breathing even with an effort that made her chest hurt. She would not give herself away in anger, not yet. JoNs knew more than was good for her (or could guess better than Caine would have expected from someone of her race). But it would do no good for Caine to admit to her own limits; such an admission only asked for...unnecessary difficulties. "You know nothing of my status as an Intelligence agent," she said, the words emerging like a hiss. "Or of what I can and cannot do. I could end careers based on what I found aboard the Stiletto." Again, the "I"...not "we"...this time jabbed like a knife, a sharp word into JoNs gut. What she said was not untrue, either...in a sense. Caine smiled faintly. She could indeed end careers...she was, however, not being allowed to. But now was not the time for that fact. “Well, you are definitely a ray of hope this evening, Caine.” Will’s tone, while not heated, had taken on a spit-snarl effect as her patience started to thin; a couple of nearby patrons vacated the general area, picking up on the tension. “That’s your problem, Caine, you know that?” JoNs went on. “You aren’t royalty, just because you sport that extra Intel pip. You’re a field soldier, just like the rest of us.” Caine's nails tore into the skin of her palms and she turned sharply towards JoNs, her tension suddenly snapping. "A field soldier? I am far more than a simple yellow-collar cannon-fodder grunt, Commander. I am the face of the Empire's interests; I am the sword in the hand of the warrior." Her scarred jaw worked in an expression of derision. "More than I can say for you, Commander. The Colonel's pet you may be, but I know your true bearings and I will not chafe under your scorn as well as your authority. Now..." Her voice abruptly dropped, the closest thing to a growl she could muster and still be heard. "Kindly leave me to my business and you may return..." Her grey eyes flicked towards Sarritt and she smirked in disgust. "...to yours." The Cait’s only response to that was a squint coupled with a curt nod of the head. She gathered her glasses silently and returned to her table. She kept her back towards Caine while deliberately setting the refilled glasses down on the surface, and then remained standing while she planted both of her forepaws on the table. She flipped one ear back as she addressed her dinner date, her expression perfectly calm. “Sarritt, I’m about partake in a rather silly tactical move. I’ll have to ask that you not get involved, and it’d be best for you to make yourself scarce. Station security will be swarming all over shortly. I don’t want you compromised, as anyone remotely resembling a feline will be a suspect until this mess gets itself sorted out.” Her sharp eyed gaze flickered once about the general area. “Probably anyone of Vulcan descent as well, now that I think about it; station security tends to get rather tetchy here as I recall.” Sssib’Ley smirked, and then placed his big paws on top of JoNs’s. “Commander, that’s what I like about you...honest, direct, and to the point…most of the time. About time you touched this off -- it’s been coming for a while.” His purred murmur barely carried. “What’s the status of the Caine-and-JoNs-go-batsh*t shipboard betting pool these days?” “I believe the current take is a very handsome sum.” “If you win, I expect a cut of the profits.” She raised an amused eye whisker. “Always…” The two felinoid’s shared a muzzle on muzzle kiss… Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the crazy after-hours setting. Maybe it was the fact that there was no uniform, only civilian clothing that offered some freedom from the yoke of day-to-day operations. Whatever the cause, something had snapped within the Commander, and she was tired of the glass-edged professional sparring with Caine. A decision had been made, and there was no going back. She was So. Done. With. This. Histhl’shfasa Vulcan. With no warning, Kansas turned and charged at Caine.

Updated player-character list; updated Decatur and added Crewman Spencer.

Chief Petty Officer Tyla Mattingly eyed the whiskey being poured into the glass of the man next to her, with the casual, appraising eye of someone watching something they've seen done better. Something'll have to be done about this one. He won't last. The new bartender in the crew lounge was a half-blind old humanoid of indeterminate mixed race; clearly he was lucky to even have the sort of position he held, but it didn't leave him free from the virulent curse that erupted from his customer as he splashed a little whiskey over the man's uniform jacket. "Stupid jacktah, can't even aim a drink into a glass proper. Bet it's a right sight when you use the john, ain't it?" Mattingly chuckled. "Easy, Spencer," she murmured, leaning herself on the bar and eyeing the young security ensign sideways. "Not like you don't smell enough like drink anyhow." "Hey, shut up, half-breed," Spencer growled, rounding on Mattingly and glaring at her. "No one asked your opinion." "If I had to wait to be asked my opinion, I wouldn't say much," Mattingly said easily. "And no need to take it out on the barkeep that your girl's looser than a small rock in a landslide." Her lip curled a little as she saw Spencer's color rise, and she knew she had guessed right. "Hell, if you wait your turn, maybe she'll come back around to you again." Spencer snarled and raised his fist as if to strike her, but a set of string fingers closed around his arm from behind before he could deliver the blow. "I wouldn't do that, you know, Jacob," Farragut muttered in his ear. "I've told you before...if you're going to brawl, do it where the blood won't spoil appetites." Spencer wrenched his hand free from Farragut's grasp and gave the older man a murderous look, but he knew better than than to make a stand when the odds were two on one and he was drunk. Backpedaling slightly, he muttered an electrifyingly racist oath under his breath and disappeared out the door of the lounge. Farragut took his seat as if nothing had happened, picking up the undrunk glass of whiskey and sniffing it. Apparently satisfied, he took a sip and hissed a breath out through his teeth before looking over at Mattingly. "Made yourself a new friend, there...Chief." "What can I say? I'm a people person," Mattingly said with a blithe shrug, picking up her own drink and tossing back a large gulp. "Something you wanted, Ensign?" "Just preserving public order, of course," Farragut said, flashing a sly grin at her. "And I must admit I'm curious about you." His eyes hardened a bit. "Saw you talking with the Cait a few days back. And now here you are with a brand new pip on your collar. What's it about, then...cutting deals?" The words slid from his mouth with such practiced casualness that it was hard to ignore the seriousness of the underlying accusation. Mattingly didn't need much of her intelligence to fend off the jab; as a matter of fact, she'd prepared for it. Been hoping for it, really. It was an opening, as she had more plans yet in the works. She knew Farragut, and she knew any dealings with him had to be made to seem like his idea, or they would go nowhere. "That's what it's all about, of course, Ensign. I...did someone a favor. But not the Cait." She paused, and then added deliberately, with another swig of ale, "She's not my type." That got his attention, as she'd known it would. Farragut, for all his confidence, was more or less a busybody -- and more to the point, he hated hearing that some other man had gotten something he hadn't yet. Even a xeno like her. The fact that she was lying would not even occur to him now. "Who, then?" She shrugged noncommittally, and she could hear the wheels turning in his head, his suspicion diverted to a lascivious curiosity. Who else might Tyla have...made contact with, who might have had the authority to give her that promotion? Had one of the other security men managed to bypass his seniority? Had she moved outside the department, or gone over to one of the men still loyal to JoNs? Or had she somehow climbed even further up the food chain, and did Harper or even Caine somehow have tastes he would not have suspected? Clearly she had made some kind of liaison which went over his head, and that was a potentially dangerous situation for him. She was an unknown quantity and Farragut was smart enough not to like those. He had seen the chaos which even the bottom-rung alien crewmen could wreak if allowed to take any particular control. Clearly this was something that would bear further investigating. There were numerous ways, of course, to investigate a fellow officer's contact network. There was the snooping around undercover. There was the outright accusations, the threats behind closed doors and in Jeffries tubes and dark alcoves. And then there was the method Farragut liked, and even with a woman like her, it could be worthwhile, at least until something better came along. "What're you drinking?" he asked casually. "Buy you another?" Tyla smiled slyly. Caught -- hook, line, and sinker. She now had her ticket to ride with JoNs for at least a few months; men could be as careful as they wanted in the light of day, but when faced with a warm body at night that they could view as their own, as under their control, their tongues tended to loosen. "Oh, I don't know," she said, with a carefully practiced uncaring air, flicking her eyes sideways at him. "Maybe I've had enough for now." His face widened in a smooth grin and he gestured at the bartender. "No...I think you can have plenty more tonight."

It had taken, unfortunately, more time than Caine would have liked to finally manage to get herself and Buddha into a Ryder-Presit restaurant where the food seemed unlikely to make them both eject most of it soon after consuming. The first one they walked into -- some distance from the establishments they had already frequented -- had resulted in some strange looks, given their clothes smelling of booze and smoke and their generally dilapidated demeanor. This had therefore resulted in the necessity of going back to Agincourt for a change of clothes, and the temptation to just stay there and make use of the mess hall had been quite strong. However, there was more to be gained than just a hot meal by hanging around on Ryder-Presit a little further, so Caine had insisted they head back, which was how she and Buddha now found themselves in the entryway of a restaurant called, as best Caine was able to translate it from the mix of Rihan and Orion on the sign, the "Silver Bullet Buffet." "Cheerful," she said wryly, walking in and grabbing a seat at one of the tables, which she noted with pleasure were somewhat less grimy than those she had been staring at for the past day or so. "At least we won't be meeting any vampires in there," Owen said with a wide grin as pulled out a chair for Caine. He was also looking forward to a good meal. "That's werewolves," Caine corrected with a grin, settling down into the seat with a nod of thanks. "Vampires are still an issue, so be sure to order something with lots of garlic..." "Werewolves, vampires, same difference if you ask me." Owen sat down, too and looked around to see whether the waiter had noticed them. "I hope this is gonna be better than the replicated stuff we get back on the ship." "It'll be...different, at any rate," Caine said dryly, looking up as a dark-haired woman of indeterminate mixed race approached their table with a bored expression and a battered-looking padd-type device. Looking between Caine and Owen skeptically, she launched into a short speech, clearly rote by the lack of implicit punctuation. "Special of the day is Viinerine with Antaran glow water and a side of Ferengi snail steak here at the Silver Bullet where we serve all species and all tastes, my name is Herena and I'll be your server today how may I take your order?" "Sounds delightful," Caine said with a faint placid smile. "What'll you have, my friend?" she asked, glancing at Owen and straightening up slightly, getting into character. Owen put on the best fake smile he could muster. "I think I'll go with the special of the day. Nothing like a good meal before doing business." Caine nodded slowly and glanced at the waitress briskly. "Same for me. And...ah...hold the steaks..." The waitress grunted and walked off and Caine leaned back in her seat, looking at Owen, pitching her voice to let it carry slightly to nearby tables in the restaurant. "A good meal's worthwhile. Like I told you, though, I'm skeptical we'll find any business worth having on this scrap-heap of a planet. Doubt most of these people can even afford a shuttle, let alone our scale of merchandise." They had planned this out beforehand; Toni had said some figure in the background of Ryder-Presit's economy was cornering the market on ship sales in the system. To coin a phrase, it seemed only logical that they should try to approach things from the other angle; rather than trying to find someone who was selling, she and Buddha needed to find out who was buying. "Yeah," Owen said, nodding. "I'm beginning to ask myself why we even bothered to come here." He fell silent as the waitress arrived with their appetizers and drinks. When she was gone again he leaned across the table a little. "We should leave and check out some other systems." "Why we bothered to come here? This was your idea," Caine retorted, letting some aggravation creep into her voice, though her eyes held amusement unseen by any who might be listening to them. "Said they would be jumping out of their skins to get a piece of us...three hijacked Fed cruisers is nothing to sneeze at. And yet...no one seems willing to bite." "Maybe noone here's got the guts to do some risky business. But these cruisers are top notch. I really thought we'd have quite a few potential buyers. Maybe we should see what the Ferengi will offer." Owen took a bite of something he couldn't quite identify, seemingly unconcerned with his surroundings. Caine's sharp Vulcan hearing picked up a low snort from the booth behind her, and she made a subtle motion to Owen to indicate that she they should keep going. "Yeah...the Ferengi. Slimy little trolls but at least they do better business than these people, don't know a deal when they see one." Owen nodded. "We should have accepted the offer we got a week ago. It was not as good as as I'd hoped but at least those guys were willing to pay some credits. Maybe we should tell them we made up our mind, what do you think?" He could hardly keep from grinning so Owen picked up his glass and drank, effectively hiding his amusement. Caine kicked him gently under the table and was about to make a joke at his expense when a low voice caught her ear behind her. "You'd be making a mistake, you know." A man wearing a dark hooded jacket and beat-up pants swiveled in his seat and grabbed Caine gently by the shoulder. "You're new in town, aren't you? Because clearly you don't know where to look. You see, only one fellow buys ships in this system, and the others stay out if they know what's good for 'em." Caine arched her back slightly to pull her shoulder from the man's grip and gave him a searching look. "You know this guy, then?" she asked him casually. "What's his name? Can you put us in touch with him?" The man's white teeth flashed in the shadow that hid his face. "There are those who call him Tim. When they call him anything at all. And I can get you in touch...for the right price."

The whole place, from the moment they arrived, gave an undefinable impression of darkness. Even areas bathed in all available direct sunlight had a layer of dinginess brushed on like paint against the worn wooden and metallic architecture. The area where Caine and Owen had beamed down was somewhat northerly on the planet, too, and nearing nightfall; as a result, the dinginess was supplemented with an encroaching chill that cut through the dark civilian clothes they were wearing. The waning daylight cast long shadows across the street on which they had landed in relative isolation. "Nice place," Caine commented dryly, checking one last time that her phaser was secure in its holster and the other in her boot was nestled comfortably, and then endeavoring to forget about them until they were needed. It was easy to telegraph the location of one's weapons, which could be a dangerous practice in this sort of place. Then she glanced at Owen and quirked an eyebrow up, deliberately relaxing her body out of its usual stiff posture into a subtle slouch that still kept her balanced on the balls of her feet. "So...nudge the locals until one of them tells us where to find sixteen stolen D'deridexes which are probably more valuable than both our lives. Piece of cake, hm? Shall we get to work?" Owen took in his surroundings. The place actually looked worse than he had thought. But that didn't particularly worry him. He noticed Caine briefly checking her sidearms. Owen didn't need to check. Bearing arms hidden in various places under his clothing was second nature to him. Caine would probably be surprised if he told her he carried three phasers and two knives. One could never be too careful in places like this, especially if you don't know them. "I hope you brought enough of the local currency. I bet we won't get anywhere without buying drinks and bribing the right people. But first of all we should just...euh...socialize and listen. We need information before we start asking questions." Caine smiled. "I'm well-prepared with all the bare necessities, Buddha, don't worry." She cocked her head, focusing her Vulcan hearing on their surroundings, taking in the noise of loud talking and shouts just off to their right. Gesturing, she turned to move down the street in that direction. "So come on...let me buy you a drink." With a grin Owen followed the security chief. "That's an offer I can hardly decline." Five minutes later Owen and Caine were standing at the bar of a rather delapidated but nevertheless crowded establishment. The place smelled of all kinds of body fluids, spilled alcohol and smoke. It was difficult to make out much in the dim light. But most of the patrons didn't seem to worry being overheard. Within a few minutes Owen had picked up the latest local gossip but nothing about an opportunity to buy Romulan ships, yet. Caine's boot heels crunched lightly against the rotting floorboards as she leaned forward on the slick bartop, her expression impassive for the moment. The barkeep, an unshaven Bajoran with one grey eye and one scarred shut, turned towards her without seeming to really see her even from his good side. "Yeah?" "Saurian brandy, straight up," Caine said coolly, "and an Aldebaran whiskey for my friend here." She gestured at Owen, and the barkeeper looked skeptically between the two newcomers. Caine sighed and pulled out a few coins, letting them skitter across the bar, then turned and slouched back against the bar, not even checking to be sure that her drink was being made. As the man shuffled off, Owen half turned and observed the people around them. "I'm not sure this is the right place," he whispered into Caine's ear, leaning forward pretending to inspect something that looked remotely like peanuts. **** Three bars and an uncounted number of drinks later Matthews and Caine found themselves in an establishment that was just as dirty and bad smelling as the first. Owen was just about to suggest they go back to the ship when he noticed three men in a dark corner talking frantically and shooting occasional glances in their direction. "Might get interesting, Junior," he told Caine with a nod in the direction of the men. Caine flicked a glance at them peripherally while ordering another round of drinks. "What's their problem?" she murmured. "Haven't blown our cover as Fleet just yet, have we? Or does word of fresh blood just travel fast in these parts?" Picking up the glasses, she turned, handed Owen his, and made her way easily across to a table near the men and sat down, stretching her legs out in front of her. Instead of following her, Owen took a sip of his drink and watched the scene, ready to step in whenever necessary. Caine didn't need him to wiggle information out of reluctant subjects. And in this particular case his presence didn't seem to be needed. Worst case, the guys just thought Caine was out looking for adventure. Best case, they thought they could impress her with an interesting offer. Caine set her glass down and leaned back in her seat, relaxing the last of the Vulcan stiffness out of her behavior. This was not the sort of place where one gained many points by seeming too straight-backed and on-the-level. The change of bearing didn't do anything to decrease her sensory acuity, though, and out of the corner of her eye, she caught the group flashing her another set of furtive glances, before two of them stood up and crossed the distance to her table with a confident sort of air. One, a thuggish fellow with a permanently annoyed expression, remained standing; the other, without so much as a greeting, slid into a chair across from her. Caine gave the seated man -- a sallow mostly-human who seemed to have a little bit of mixed heritage in his bloodline -- a sideways glance and then smiled casually while raising one pointed eyebrow. "Evening." Mentally she was taking in the physical builds of and locations for potential concealed weapons on both of the new arrivals, and she made a subtle gesture without turning towards Owen, indicating that he should stay alert on the man still standing, who she judged to be the brawn rather than the brains of the discussion that was about to take place. The guy shot a quick glance to Owen. When he looked back at Caine he grinned, revealing a row of immaculate teeth. He leaned back in his seat, just like Caine. "We don't see your kind often around here." "I always enjoy providing a bit of variety," Caine answered easily, turning her glass gently on the wood of the table and keeping her eyes locked with his. "I take it you didn't just come over to tell me that, though." The guy's grin grew bigger. "Bright, too," he said with a look at his companion, who gave a bark of laughter and nodded. "It seems to me that you're looking for something. Maybe it's something I can offer...for a reasonable price." At this point he leered at her, his grin never wavering. "Maybe it is, though I prefer those boys who don't need to have a brick wall following them around in order to make a statement," Caine said dryly, unfazed by his expression, gesturing at the broad-shouldered thug still standing next to the table. While the man's behavior meant that he would bear close watching to be sure he didn't try anything too...distracting, she actually could appreciate a certain amount of directness from this kind of affair; it also meant that they now probably had something to work with and would perhaps be saved another crappy bar and more watered-down brandy. She leaned forward, resting both arms on the table, and after a moment's thought to determine the best line of approach, continued casually, "I'm in the ship market. You know anything of the local word?" The guy's grin faltered for the fraction of a second. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the thug and sat up a little straighter. "Ship market, huh? I may have heard something. But my info isn't free. What do you have to offer?" "Enough coin to buy you a better suit, maybe," Caine said crisply, seeing the chink in the man's self-confidence and driving another nail gently into it. She removed a bit of the local currency which she had been able to bring along for drinks and let the coin spin in her fingers. Eyeing the coin the guy seemed to be torn between the prospect of money and the promise of other pleasures. Another look at Caine helped him decide. "How much I'm gonna tell you depends on how much you can pay." Caine let the coin fall heavily onto the table with a thunk, and set one finger down on top of it, holding it to the wood. "Not a poor offer for one question, I think. Suppose there were a large number of ships in this area that weren't, strictly speaking, supposed to be here. Who would know about it and who would be selling?"

It was a typical work day on the ISS Agincourt, and the secondary shift had just started. Commander JoNs had completed her required bridge command duties and then retired to her office on deck fourteen in order to deal with an accumulation of paperwork; the feline settled easily into the litany of reports, updates and requests that were recorded verbally or in text format on the various digital data slates and PADDS that were strewn across her desk in semi-neat stacks according to importance. A squad of marines filed past her open office entry way, shouting out some nonsense cadence about running a two kilometer run at dawn only wearing underwear, causing Kansas to smile to herself; the simple day to day routine of the marines was comforting to the feline. Honor. Duty. No nonsense. No wheeling and dealing. Well, no, that last bit wasn’t entirely true. At the very least, the Marine version of wheeling and dealing had a stricter code set attached to the practice. On the down side, they could be a real snooty and hidebound lot as a whole with who they allowed into their ranks. A ping sounded from the vicinity of the personal guard standing watch detail outside the XO’s office. She flipped an ear in the general direction of the sound, but if Lieutenant Mical had anything of value to report, the female Andorian would let JoNs know. And as a matter of fact, the lieutenant did have something to tell her boss; the blue skinned, silver haired humanoid stepped into the entry way and looked at JoNs expectantly as she silently asked for permission to convey the information along. The feline returned the look, flipping one ear back in silent acknowledgement of the non verbal request. Mical quirked one antenna as she spoke. “News on the new retainer recruit Commander; she wants to meet with you to discuss the particulars.” “Of course she does.” Mattingly was definitely a lot like the late Master Chief Keltex when it came to certain aspects of interaction. JoNs felt a pang of loss and regret when her thoughts flittered over the memory of the master chief, but she quickly got her mind back on track regarding current matters. It took a certain stripe of enlisted/non-com in order to successfully be able to dictate terms to a commissioned, and do it respectfully; Mattingly had that talent. Any other sort would end up dead at some point during their career. “When and where?” “Twenty one hundred tonight. Secondary observation lounge.” “I can handle that.” = = = = The commander stayed in the entry way of the entertainment area, taking in the room and it occupants visually before she committed her person to actually stepping into the area. The secondary lounge was busy at this time of night despite the later hour. There were at least twenty or so crewmen, enlisted, and officers enjoying themselves and speaking in small groups. Alcohol flowed freely, as did the holo-emitter games. The general feeling of the lounge room was relaxed, and most of the crew present spared a respectful glance towards the ships XO, but nothing more. JoNs had gained a deserved reputation among the crew as a being not to be trifled with, but she was not a tyrant. This non-tyrannical SOP enabled her to move rather freely among the crew and ‘blend in’ during certain situations, such as this off the record meeting. It was a useful trait to be exploited to her advantage. These were big boys and big girls and…species of other persuasions; if they chose to revel in pleasures late into the night and early hours of the morning, then so be it. As long as these officers performed their assigned duties and shifts and the productivity of the ship did not suffer, the decision was their choice and it was none of JoNs’s business. A micromanaging exec was a hated exec, and JoNs was very content to remain a lesser target and maintain her skin in the process. And any disciplinary action if an individual or individuals were to be late to shift was to be handled by their department heads and shift leads, and unless a tardy situation truly became a problem, JoNs willingly kept her distance from the day to day micromanaging of the departments, letting the chiefs do their jobs like they were supposed to. Her pay grade was executive level Imperial officer, not truant officer. Her light green eyes took in every detail of the area within a few seconds. Crewman Mattingly was at the far end of the lounge, seemingly admiring the star field while she sipped at a light blue colored drink. The half-Bajoran woman had made a point to pick an area to stand at the far end of the room…yet she was closest to a secondary exit…just in case. Mostly all the departments were represented, including the Marines who more often then not stayed within the confines of their inner domain on Deck 14. Several card games were ongoing…and about three of Lieutenant Caine’s people were partaking in one of them. Jimmbo Farragut was one of the players. No matter; sometimes the best off the record meetings happened in plain sight, and Farragut was definitely on the low grade officer watch list: just this side of unimportant, but was occasionally worth watching to keep an eye on him, like an agitated wasp flying about a room. Although, it was so much the better that the good lieutenant had some eyes and ears in the lounge this night. With a fangy smile, JoNs nodded greetings and returned a few greetings to the gathered officers as she began to move confidently through the observation lounge. Kansas never commanded a room. She had the ability to bring order to a room, verbally or physically with a snarl, a direct order, or a smack with her paw if the action was needed. She gave orders confidently, and the soldiers under her command followed them without question. She could move through a room with fluid grace, stalking any and all that she considered a target. Colonel Harper had the ability to command a room. JoNs had observed her patron and sponsor in action, had seen the results, but had not yet been able to copy the ability except in smaller doses of practice. Perhaps someday the feline would learn to adapt this ability into practice. The Caitian feline was a fusion of traits and personality quirks that seemed perfectly at ease with the agenda and career of an Imperial officer, yet oftentimes at odds with the individual. Her rakish and feral appearance hid a predatory mind that was at best held in check by the tenuous hold of the civilization that she chose to live in. JoNs wore the typical black uniform trousers, yet had chosen to were the alternate sleeveless wraparound tunic uniform top, the mandarin design of the tunic evoking memories of Earth Asian pirates of yesteryear. The gold glittering metallic mesh sash completed the uniform, but also contributed to the piratical appearance. And the projectile ordnance that the cat carried on her weapons utility belt? The sawed off plasma shotgun worn low on one hip seemed was decidedly not Imperial Fleet issue, and would be of more use to a colony marshal’s position. Yet, the Imperial uniform and choice of weapons suited Kansas, blending her professional and personal choices into her chosen career path: a Caitian with deep blood ties to the mercenary culture, with a day job as an Imperial officer. Her feral qualities were dangerous and synonymous with freedom; the orders and regulations and duties of the Fleet would never beat down who the Cait officer really was. She would forever use that predatory outlook and feral nature of her feline heritage and would never hide who or what she really was. …not to say that certain persons hadn’t tried to beat some sense into her… Now though, there was a personnel matter to attend to, and soon Kansas would have a definite answer as to whether or not she would have a new retainer to her informational network, or not. She also didn't give a flying frag that Mattingly was part of Lieutenant Caine’s security night shift staff; the half-Bajoran crewman’s service record showed a capable officer, and JoNs straight up wanted competent people on her own staff. Kansas might not have commanded the lounge per se, but she moved among its inhabitants in all her stalking glory. Soon, she reached Mattingly, who had stopped studiously ignoring the new arrival when JoNs had gotten about halfway across the room; bright and cunning Bajoran eyes met equally bright and cunning Caitian eyes; both females acknowledged one another’s presence non-verbally. Then Mattingly broke the eye contact and returned to looking coolly out the window, as if she had no particular interest in the Commander’s presence, as if she barely even noticed when Kansas padded to a halt next to her. JoNs remained unfazed by the seeming lack of interest on the other female’s part, and pitched her offer directly to Mattingly. “Are you interested in taking on the position of mobile remote retainer within my retinue, Crewman Mattingly?” The feline’s gaze was turned outward as well, admiring the outlying blackness of space and the distant stars with a matching feigned casualness. Mattingly’s expression stayed cool, dismissive, almost bored, though JoNs could see her eyes flick once in Farragut’s direction with an alertness that said she was, in fact, listening very closely, that the air she carried was for other observers than Kansas. Jimmbo had been following the Caitian commander’s progress across the room and had seen her begin talking to Mattingly, but he couldn’t hear the gist of the discussion. This was good; it meant that the right facial expression could potentially convince him that nothing of significance was being said, which was of course about as far from the truth as it was possible to be. Jumping from the relative security of department service to becoming an informer for a senior officer was not without inherent risks. If that officer ended up dead, you could very possibly end up dead as well, and more often than not were unable to return to the departmental structure that you had left. Those retainers that did manage to live through the untimely death of their patron typically transferred off ship to pursue their career elsewhere. The same circumstances went for a crewmember or enlisted officer or commissioned officer who chose to be a remote retainer under the pay and influence of a senior officer and got caught; remote didn’t exclude you from reprisals by your chief if you were discovered passing along information. And when your chief was Caine…well, that just about made it suicidal. But then again, no one with alien blood and a noncom rank who wasn’t somewhat suicidal tended to make it very far in this game. “What are your plans, Commander JoNs?” she asked easily, sipping again at her drink, her eyes still on the stars rather than her conversational partner. JoNs understood what the Bajoran security guard was asking -- the age-old question of job security. She could have given a deliberately obtuse answer; instead she stuck with the truth and decided not to play dumb or coy with the subordinate officer. “For the moment, the Agincourt and her current master retain my loyalty. If you join up with my crew, you won’t be getting your ass shot off in a coup attempt. Is that an acceptable explanation for you, Mattingly?” Mattingly said nothing for a moment. It was a reassurance; it wasn’t a hell of a big one. “It might be. What if I were to decline your officer, Commander?” “Hypothetically, you wouldn’t be here of you weren’t more then halfway interested, Crewman. And, hypothetically, if you do turn down my offer, there’ll be no dagger in your back. Doesn’t work that way. Or I should say, I don’t work that way. So, you signing on or what?” JoNs just cocked an ear back as she asked this final question, turning her full attention to the Bajoran; if Crewman Mattingly refused to take the open remote informant spot on her staff, the feline would just move right along; there were other officer and enlisted candidates that she could tap into, simple as that. Planting eyes and ears throughout every department on the ship took time and effort, and the felinoid Ex Oh had no qualms about moving forward until she got who she wanted in representation of her mobile eyes and ears among the crew. A little smile quirked at the corner of the Bajoran’s mouth, breaking the dismissive shell for a moment, and she cocked her head to one side, thinking. Mattingly wasn’t a woman for strong bonds; she’d seen the security department through a couple different Security Chiefs and a couple of different XOs by now, and the fact was that she had not really expressed any interest in joining Kansas’s ‘side’ because of any burning loyalty to her. Nor had she, as she had briefly speculated with herself while waiting for this meeting, considering the idea because Kansas was, like her, non-human, because she felt some kinship with the Caitian on that level. No, she was here because she hated Caine with a passion, but she tended to figure that was a good reason enough. “Aye sir, guess this means I accept the offer.” “Good. There’ll be no interference with your regular patrol and brig duties, all I ask is that you check in with me regularly. And, in the future should you wish it, you’d be welcome to transfer permanently over to my staff as a guard and aide. A lateral transfer would mean better food, quarters--” “--and a knife in my back more than like--” “--and a promotion…” Kansas finished, giving a fangy sort of grin at Mattingly’s interruption. How rude. “But perhaps I can see to that promotion in the interim. The new promotion orders will be sent to you and your chief within the hour. Welcome to the family…Petty Officer Mattingly. “ Typically, any agreements would be sealed with a clasped paw and hand in a forearm shake of commitment, But in the interest of clandestine communication, no such politeness was involved; instead, Mattingly nodded a curt acknowledgment and then scowled deliberately as if the conversation had been of a tenor more appropriate to their official relationship, and, raising her voice just loud enough to be heard, delivered a blistering, dismissive Bajoran oath by way of goodbye. Then she returned to her quiet admiration of the star field set outside the large picture window of the lounge as if nothing had happened. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Farragut relax back into his seat with a smirk and a wink in her direction; he approved, suspected nothing. Commander JoNs responded in kind to the supposed dismissal from Mattingly, carrying on the professional ruse: The golden furred Cait growled and hissed, exposing fangs as she backed away from the crewman. She snapped her fangs at thin air, and then turned away from the female security officer, slinking back out of the lounge much the same way that she came in -- as a feline on the proverbial hunt.

Yay! Shadow iz back! ^_^

((This log is set during last week's sim.)) One of Caine's instructors in three-dimensional strategy and tactics at the Academy had once described the gunner's position in combat thus: "You'll fight, and you'll fight, and you'll fight, and you'll suddenly realize that you're damn glad you're not an engineer." With the Agincourt's usual hum taking on a strange groaning undercurrent and her thrusters dragging sluggishly on the starboard side, Caine couldn't help thinking that he had been absolutely right. The ship had taken a pounding; this crew's home was being shot out from under them and there was a certain amount of satisfaction to be taken in thinking that she would at least not be required to clean up the mess. Then again, given the plan that was currently being concocted over the spotty inter-ship comms, it was quite possible that none of them would survive to reach that cleanup anyway. "We have navigation, even if it's limited." That was Commander Condacin from the main bridge. Caine had not directly spoken to the Xenexian CSCI much prior to this, but with Colonel Harper out of commission, she was the current ranking officer up on the main deck. She, along with Caine on the tertiary bridge and Commander Kassem in engineering, had been doing their best to formulate some kind of plan. "We've seen that tag-teaming these grozing ships can make them explode fairly easily. I say...keep those Defiants on us to balance the shields if we lose them, and bring us back in mirroring the attacks of the nearest large-scale ship." Caine glanced at the tactical readouts, picking out the two support ships Condacin indicated, her mind flashing through various tactical stratagems. She was of the Xenexian's mind, completely -- she had no particular interest in turning about and fleeing the scene. Caine did not leave jobs unfinished, it was not in her nature, and now that some control over the tactical situation had passed in her direction, she was back in her element after the seemingly interminable waiting period with Slick Hefner in the locked-down Gamma command center. However, Murray in engineering had indicated that perhaps a temporary retreat might be recommended, and Caine was waiting for the final word on the feasibility of any attack run whatsoever. "Perhaps..." she responded, with a nod that Condacin could not see anyway. "I'll pull us out and around and put us in position for an attack run at a greater distance." "Good. Get us on the line with... whoever's close and not off licking their wounds." Caine nodded absently, then muttered an oath as the ship's banking maneuver lurched somewhat to starboard; the damaged nacelle was causing her real problems in the power flow to that side of the ship -- not to mention that she wasn't usually a pilot of more than support craft, but when you'd reached the point when you were navigating from Gamma Bridge, you'd reached the point where you took what you could get. No matter...it would only have to hold long enough for one burst, assuming they even had that capability. Bringing them back into a stable turn again, she hastily tapped the comm again, switching to the engineering channel to address Kassem. "How quick can you get us shields that'll hold long enough to make a run?" she asked crisply, hoping Kassem wasn't the indecisive sort -- they didn't have time. There was a short pause and then a response almost muffled by a burst of static. "As quick as it takes me to tap on my console." Good. She was confident; she felt they would hold. That settled it. They would not run away. Caine's breath caught with an abrupt rush of adrenaline and despite the severity of the situation, she almost grinned. At least the waiting was over. Grunting an acknowledgment, she tapped the line closed just in time to pull the ship back to port again. "Starboard nacelle may be sluggish, Ma'am - strut's weak," Hefner said from behind her a moment later. "Aye...bit of a drain all over..." Caine muttered without looking back at him, but her mind was moving now. Kassem had confirmed they were alright to push forward; if they were going to do it, they had to do it now. "This is Lieutenant Caine on the Agincourt," she barked into the external comms, putting all the authority she could muster into her voice. There were times when being in your forties had its advantages. "We're coming about for an attack run on the ship at...oh-four-five-mark-four-one, can you cover our flank?" "Copy, Agincourt, we have you." Her grey eyes scanned the helm board, and then she glanced over her shoulder at Hefner, who had been sitting more or less silently at the tactical console. "In position for attack run, Defiants confirm support positions. Here we go," she said, partly to him, partly to Condacin and Kassem still in contact over the commlines. "Go for it," Kassem replied. The closest thing to a blessing any of them were likely to get. Caine slammed her hands against the controls and let out a low whoop as the the huge Prometheus-class surged forward, no less intimidating for the beating she had taken. The two Defiant-class ships swooped in to flank them on either side, covering the vulnerable areas in the Agincourt's weakened defense grid as she boomed back into the fray, locking onto its target of choice and homing in for the kill. "Come on, boys..." Caine murmured, her grey eyes focusing down until it seemed that all she could see was the helm readouts before her. "Let's have another round."

Joint Log 091013 -- "Getting It Together" LtSG Christina-T'Prinn Caine GSgt Mike Hefner, SFMC USS Agincourt NCC 81762 **** The ship continued to shake with each Soltan bombardment as Mike Hefner bolted through the barely-open doors of Agincourt's tertiary bridge, rounded the partition and logged on to the tactical console, shouting, "Rocky! Find Caine! Get her in here now!" Smoke from the Soltan's incendiary grenades choked the corridors and the smell of singed alien and charred Federation hung in the air. Mike tapped his helmet to clear the rebreather and slung his phaser rifle to the side, within easy reach in case Gumby showed up. Caine's last reported position was deck 9. Aside from preparing for possible MVA mode, if the main bridge became compromised they would need a senior officer on either Beta or Gamma to lockout commands, override lockouts, or otherwise maintain control of the ship. As the tactical display came online Mike wondered why they would bother to board 'Court, but at this point the situation was way beyond why. Initial reports in the NNC indicated incursions on decks nine, twelve, and sixteen, which meant tertiary bridge, shield generators, main engineering, and ventral docking port - everything Gumby would need to take control. Damn. After getting the Ex Oh's blessing he tapped Pete "Rocky" Petros of Snoop Recon team for backup. SSgt Valeri "Gus" Gustavson, the other third of Snoop, had stayed behind with "Will" JoNs in the NNC. "Rock!" Mike shouted again, glancing at the open door. "Caine...." Before he could finish, Rocky came flying through the door with Caine in tow. Together they slid across the deck, coming to rest against the command console as the door slammed shut and bolted in emergency lock-down mode. At first sight, Mike pressed the comm to the NNC. "Will, Slick. Package is secure. Repeat. Package is secure." No ping of confirmation, no response. They'd lost ship comm. Mike tapped his helmet to shift to the embedded unit coms. "Snoop 3, Report." No response. He turned to Rocky, who signaled negative as he helped Caine regain her footing. Another slam of weapons fire into the ship and the sound of internal explosives brought Mike's attention back to the tactical console. "NNC compromised. You're up, Ma'am." If JoNs was gone, Caine was next in line. "Package..." Caine mumbled, shaking her head slightly to clear it as she pushed herself to her feet. She'd been all but dragged into the tertiary bridge while in pursuit of Soltan intruders on Deck 9 and her dignity had taken a bit of a hit as a result but that was hardly the greatest of her worries. She cast a quick look around, her grey eyes taking in the situation, and unconsciously wiped a bit of adrenaline-fueled sweat from her palms. The room was rocking with Soltan fire and smelled of smoke, and the relatively cramped walls of the tertiary command center seemed to close very tightly around them. Focus. No time to worry about that. She puffed out a breath, blowing a stray bang out of her face, and looked at Slick Hefner; she knew the younger officer only in passing, as he had recently been doing weapons training with some of her officers as well as his own marine compatriots, but everyone was a friend under fire, if they weren't blue and pointing a gun at her. NNC compromised...possibly the bridge as well... That didn't bode well for the situation of their command team. Caine muttered an oath low under her breath as Hefner's words sunk in, and she quickly straightened, shaking off and moved to his side at the TAC console. "Anything in the way of a sitrep? Weapons, shields, primary bridge status? It felt like we were taking quite a beating." She had a feeling that she wasn't going to like the answer to any of these questions. "Shields are holding, Ma'am," came Mike's clipped reply as he continued to work the console, "good for everything but the full force of their subspace weapon, which I doubt they'll use. Looks like they want 'Court intact, given they've boarded." He shifted his stance to throw the internal tactical display onto Gamma's main viewscreen. "Starboard nacelle strut took quite a hit. Bridge took damage; it's intact with no signs of compromise. Intruders on decks nine, twelve, fourteen and sixteen. Internal comms are down; we're on unit coms. As for the fleet, we've lost the Australia..." As Mike initiated split-screen for an external view, a small but brilliant flash, just on the outskirts of the fray, was followed by a blip, identified as a Soltan scout, plowing through a debris field. Mike's eyes darted to the tactical console, then back to the screen. "...and the Brisbane. Cap'n Hogan, Ma'am." At that Mike and Rocky turned sharply to face the screen, came to attention, and bowed their heads in silence. Caine let the silence stretch for a few seconds while she glanced at the screen and the internal sensors, confirming Hefner's picture of the situation. "Make a note, Slick," she said grimly, "that I officially recommend to Fed Council that we avoid naming anything 'Australia' again for the duration of the war. Seems the Soltans have an issue with it." She turned, slapping off a proximity alarm as the sound of footsteps moved past the door; the deck nine boarding party had returned to the area. "You said you've got a few coms left working...good..." she muttered, her mind racing. Thank heaven for over-teched groundpounders. "Get one of my people into the secondary bridge if they're not already there. We need to get things locked down and fast." Giving a smart nod, Mike checked his BioSign detector, held down a button and pressed the detector against the tactical console for a second, then pulled it away for a read. "Looks like Mattingly is there, Ma'am, along with Doc Vaughn in the secondary sick bay. Bulldog has unit comm, and I have acknowledgment ping." He removed his helmet and passed his unit comm to Caine. Caine puffed out a breath. "Well, that's a start." She took the comm, setting it down on the console next to her and sparing about five seconds to run a hand down her face and work a quick kink out of her neck. "At least we've got a few places to work from; assuming we can hold Main Engineering, we may yet be OK. Let's start pinning down locations on those boarding parties and see if we can't put a dent in them."

Chief Security Officer's personal log... Stardate 60910 mark 7. The Soltan lines have shifted again. Lieutenant Messner has run a last diagnostic on the tactical systems, all of which check out. And that's it, really. There's nothing else to report. These are the dark hours of war. Nothing to do but sleep. The order is out to rest, and rest hard, while we still can, though I doubt all of us will do so. When all you can do is sleep, it suddenly becomes a very hard thing to do, in my experience. And some of them are awfully young. Awfully young. Admittedly, I'm starting to get so I can legally use the title "Older Than God," but still...they're young, many of 'em. And scared, some of 'em. Probably wondering how the hell they got here. The Fleet's lost a lot -- there's no longer any grace period out of the academy, especially not for us in the gold shirts. We go where the war is. Period. That's the first lesson you learn that they don't teach you in the academy. A security officer is not there for the glory, a gunner is not there to explore. We exist to go where the danger is and throw our bodies over it, smother it out. It's a hard lesson, but I firmly believe that the luckiest ones are the ones who are smacked in the face with it. When you know it from the beginning, you can move on. It simplifies things. I was scared at Chin'toka, and Cardassia. I won't deny it. I was young. But I'm not scared now. I've moved on. These young'ns will move on too. We all have our trial by fire, sooner or later. This is theirs, and together we will burn the Soltans to the ground.

Caine moved along the corridor of the Agincourt, a couple of PADDs full of the closest thing to comprehensive Soltan tactical information tucked under her arm. Colonel Harper had arranged for as much information as was available to be forwarded down to her department; Caine had sent it on to those of her subordinates who had tactical or engineering expertise and meant to look over it herself. Unfortunately, even the information that they had was sketchy, but it was better than nothing. For now, she was on her way to check in with Buddha Matthews, confined to quarters and demoted after his outburst at Commander JoNs, and on the crewmen guarding him. She didn't figure he was likely to attempt an escape or anything like that, but he had seemed very upset (to the point of injuring himself) when she had last spoken to him and she meant to keep an eye on him if she could. Coming to a halt at the appropriate door, she nodded at Decatur and Spencer, the two young crewman manning the doorway. "Any trouble?" "No, sir," Decatur said, coming sharply to attention as Caine addressed him. "He's just in there, sir..." He paused, then looked a little worried. "He hasn't eaten much. Or talked much. I don't think he's very good off, sir." Caine nodded slowly. She wouldn't have been very happy in Buddha's place either -- though she also wouldn't have been in that position in the first place. There were a lot of things to do that would help a situation, but she'd long since learned that mouthing off to the XO wasn't one of them. "Alright...as you were, Crewman." "Yes, sir!" Leaning forward, she pinged the chime to warn Buddha she was coming, then tapped the door open and stepped through. Owen didn't even bother to look up. He was sitting on the sofa, staring at the PADD lying on the coffee table in front of him. His uniform was disheveled, his hair looked unkempt and an empty bottle of whiskey was standing next to the PADD. Dark circles under his eyes suggested he hadn't slept much, if at all. He ran one hand through his hair for about the thousandth time since beginning to write the letter. After a few seconds he picked up the PADD and tossed it across the room onto the pile that had already formed there. Caine eyed this scene of desperation with a raised eyebrow as the door hissed shut behind her. A moment of silence stretched before she spoke. "Hello, Owen." Taking a deep breath re raised his head to look at her. "Hey. I'm sorry for the mess," he said gesturing at the pile of PADDs and the usual pieces of clothing lying around. "I've seen worse," Caine said with a shrug, her grey eyes remaining fixed on him. "You, on the other hand, look terrible." "Thanks," he answered curtly, scratching his chin which, usually shaven clean, was now covered in stubble. "Come to check on me?" "More or less." Caine could tell he wasn't happy, and while as chief of security she was responsible for making sure he remained in this predicament, it didn't stop her from a certain amount of concern. "I hear JoNs came down pretty hard." He shook his head, leaned back on the sofa and closed his eyes. "It's not the demotion or that I'm confined to quarters, Cain. I deserved that for being stupid. She ordered me to write a letter......to my sister and nephew." He had told Caine once that the two had died during the Soltan attack on Earth but he didn't feel like going into details. Caine blinked. "That's...a bit unorthodox, I suppose," she said, quirking an eyebrow up. Owen just shrugged. "This wasn't the first time I got into trouble with JoNs. Last time I took a leave to...deal with things. She figures I'm still not over it...never got a chance to say goodbye...is what she said I think. She wants me to do so in a letter now." He looked up at Caine with a mixture of despair, anger, and anguish. "I'm not sure I can do this," he said quietly. Caine nudged aside a dirty uniform jacket and a pair of boxer shorts to settle herself onto a chair near him, her expression displaying sympathy for the despair in his voice. "It sounds hard as hell," she agreed bluntly, leaning towards him with her elbows resting on her knees. "Saying goodbye never feels good." "She was my big sister, you know. She'd always stick up for me when I got into trouble as a kid. I remember, I was devastated when she left for college. I thought she'd always be there." Caine nodded slowly. "Must have been good to have that support as a kid," she said noncommittally, letting him talk as he needed to. Caine's words didn't quite register with Owen. He was lost in memories. After a few minutes he took a deep breath and looked back up at Caine. "I got in trouble quite a lot, especially with my dad. He wasn't a very understanding man and I wasn't a very well-behaved kid. I've gotten my share of beatings and Susan would patch me up afterwards. She also suggested I'd enlist in Starfleet when I was old enough so I'd be able to get away from home." "Not a bad idea, that," Caine murmured, her expression a little troubled. It didn't sound like Owen had a great childhood (and she was no shrink but she had to admit this explained a certain amount about him). Owen just sat there, staring at the PADD in front of him again. Usually he didn't talk about his family, especially not his parents but he somehow felt like he owed Caine an explanation. "I've been trying to write this since I got back from sickbay yesterday." Caine looked at him for a moment in silence and then laid her hand on his shoulder. "Maybe you should take a break," she suggested gently. "Take a rest on it and try again when you haven't made so much progress on a bottle of whiskey. Doesn't sound like the sort of thing you'll turn out in a day." Owen gave a noncommittal grunt. "You're probably right. I should take a nap. I mean, it's not like I've got anything else to do." He smiled weakly. "Thanks Caine."

Buddha...what the hell have you been doing? Caine had gone to the marine barracks on the ship looking for Owen Matthews. He had been her closest teammate during the at best unsettling events on Corianis, he had no doubt by now received the word of the Soltan attack on Federation cargo convoys, the same as she had -- and the fact was, she needed someone to talk to. However, upon arriving on the Marine deck, she had been met with a couple of NCOs who had informed her, with emotions ranging from glee to disapproval to some shock, that the marine captain had been confined to quarters after talking with Commander JoNs. Thus, she had returned to the corridors and was now making her way for said quarters, and was wondering just what exactly had happened to put Buddha in this position. Pausing in front of the door, she rang the chime and waited. Owen was sitting on the sofa, a glass of amber liquid sitting on the table in front of him and a bottle of the same liquid 3/4 empty right beside it. He contemplated pretending he wasn't there but then remembered that he had been confined to quarters and that the news must have spread by now. "Enter," he called out glumly instead. The door slid open and Caine stepped through, her eyes immediately tracking to Owen sitting against the far wall with a mostly-drunk bottle of liquor. "Started without me?" she quipped, raising an eyebrow and coming to a halt, hooking her hands behind her back. Owen looked up briefly to see who'd just entered and he had to admit he was almost glad it was Caine. He jerked hi head in the direction of a cupboard with a couple of mugs and glasses and gave a non-committal grunt. It was impossible to misunderstand the meaning. He was inviting her to join him. Caine wasn't averse to a good bottle of whiskey or so on occasion when the fit struck but she was more interested at the moment in figuring out just what had put Buddha in his quarters and drinking alone. "Thanks for the offer. What the hell happened?" "Argument with JoNs," he said, not sure whether he really wanted to go into the details. Once his anger had worn off he had started to feel incredibly stupid about the whole business. Though he still felt that he had a right to be angry and frustrated at their latest orders, he realized that the XO was not to blame. "It's not a smart thing getting into a pissing match with your XO." Caine's eyes narrowed in faint, wry amusement at the younger man. "Generally speaking, that is a very wise statement." She moved to a nearby chair and leaned her arms on the back of it, watching him across the liquor-laden table separating them. "What was the...argument...about?" she asked, though she had a feeling she already knew. Having been staring at the glass in front of him Owen now raised his eyes to meet her gaze. "Sit down, already, will you?" He took a deep breath before going on. "I think I may have told her that making out in the locker room was still better than giving the order to subdue civilians without any cause." He resumed staring at his glass. "I could just as well have told her to go to hell," he added after another pause. Caine angled herself around to slide into the seat she had been leaning on, watching Owen without blinking. When he had finished talking she let out a long, slow breath. "Well, I'll give you one thing...you certainly know how to make your points...dramatically," she said after a moment, her eyebrow quirking up again. "I take it she didn't take it well?" "The Petty Officer did," he said with a wry grin. "Will...not so much. I mean, not that I tried making out with her." Owen broke off as he realized he wasn't talking much sense. "Anyway, I'm confined for quarters for now, as I'm sure you've found out. And I'm awaiting further disciplinary action. I bet she'll have me demoted...not a first, yanno." Caine grunted. "Everyone's on edge; you may not be the only one in line." There was a short silence in which Caine's expression darkened as she reflected on the tension that was definitely making itself felt as a result of recent events, which increasingly seemed to be having the effect of turning the Federation in on itself as well as outward on its enemies. The Avaros insurgents, the Corianis crackdown, and now... "Do you have access to the wireless reports?" she asked after a moment. Drowning the rest of his whiskey, Owen leaned back and groaned. "Yeah, well, if anyone else decided to question the XO's authority and her choices they have one big advantage. Do you realize that technically Medusa is my department head? When she learns of this...and you bet she will, she'll...well, I'm not sure I want to think about that. Come to think of it, she probably already has heard about it and is trying to come up with something appropriate." He opened his eyes again. "It's not gonna be pretty." As he studied Caine's expression he realized she wasn't talking about what he'd done. He suddenly sat bolt upright, staring at her. "What happened?" "I'll take that as a no," Caine said, glancing at him. "Some freighter convoys and their escort got attacked...by Soltans. We picked up a news bulletin with a casualty list. It's...not a pretty sight." Owen kept staring at Caine, the words not quite making it through the alcohol induce fog in his brain. When comprehension dawned he cursed, got up, walked up and down the room, cursed some more, walked again and sat back down, pouring himself another drink and taking a sip. "What's our ETA?" he asked, assuming Agincourt had been sent to investigate the incident. "I haven't heard our orders yet. I don't know if we're being diverted," Caine replied tiredly. "All I know is what was sent to my desk, which is, so far, damned dry reading." "This is exactly what I mean, you know," Owen suddenly burst out, jumping to his feet again. "We're on Corianis watching miners and the Soltans take out our freighter convoys. Tell me, what is wrong with this picture?" he said, looking defiantly at Caine, not even trying to compose himself. "I know," Caine said quietly, watching Owen pace furiously. "The whole situation is coming apart at the seams, on every front." For the first time her tone betrayed a little bitterness, a frustration with the enormity of the problems they faced. It had surprised her how much the news of the renewed Soltan attack had angered her; the first sign of true offensive since the attack on Earth had twisted her stomach. But they had to remain focused, had to think. The situation was too dire to surrender oneself to blind anger, as Owen was doing his best to prove. "There was new tactical data taken in, however. We will keep preparing ourselves. We are still fighting, Buddha -- sometimes I wonder if you think we've already given up." "Given up?" Owen said with a snort. "We haven't even started, Caine, that's what bothers me." He continued pacing, thinking about the time in the Perseus Arm, the attack on Earth, the events since then. Just remembering all this made the anger flare up inside him again. He turned around helplessly, not knowing what to do in his anger and frustration. A workout would have been just the right thing now but he was confined to his quarters. That thought didn't help one bit. He came to a halt in front of a bulkhead, seemingly contemplating it for a moment. "ARGH!" he screamed as he punched the bulkhead as if it was to blame for everything. Then he leaned his head against it, feeling a dull throbbing pain in his right fist getting worse with every second. After another long moment he pushed himself off the bulkhead, swearing loudly as he looked at the piece of bulkhead he'd just punched, seeing it didn't have so much as a dent in it. Of course Owen knew that he wasn't nearly strong enough to damage a bulkhead but somehow the fact frustrated him even more. Caine watched this performance with the same calmness that had marked her expression for this entire conversation, but her eyes narrowed with concern as he struck the bulkhead and she stood up, crossing next to him quickly and laying a hand on his shoulder, partly in a gesture of comfort, partly to prevent him from further injuring himself. She said nothing, however, just let his anger vent itself out. Owen turned his head to look at Caine's hand on his shoulder. This display of concern, maybe even friendship on her part surprised him a little. He knew she was only half Vulcan but so far their relationship had been purely professional. He was also taken aback by just how much this meant to him. So far he had not really had a friend aboard Agincourt...it looked like that had now changed. "I just don't know what to do, you know." Caine nodded. "I know. None of us do," she said quietly. "This sort of thing...well...as the man said, 'war is hell.'" She shrugged, squeezed his shoulder gently and released it, her arm dropping to her side. Then she smiled faintly. "But there's certainly nothing you can do with a broken hand." Owen was actually grateful for Caine's words...not that he'd ever admit it. "Yeah," he said grinning sheepishly. "I guess you're right. Not that JoNs would let me do much at the moment anyway." Caine chuckled. "JoNs knows what she's doing, I get the impression. She's young but she's certainly not stupid; she won't bench an able fighter permanently in this sort of game, not as long as she feels she can trust him. You'll be back in the game before long, assuming you keep your feet under you rather than in your mouth." Her expression grew just the slightest bit teasing. "Oh, thanks for the advice, Junior," Owen answered pretending to be offended. "Mind coming to sickbay with me? I need my hand looked at and I'm not allowed to leave my quarters without security escort." Caine quirked an eyebrow and gave him a mock-skeptical look. "Sure you're not just looking for an excuse to chat up the new Doc?" "You do know me quite well, Caine. But no, not this time." He held out his hand so she could see the huge bruise forming on the back of his hand. "It hurts, yanno." Caine refrained from the available sardonic comments about how punching a bulkhead tended to result in that kind of thing. Owen was taking this hard enough as it was, so she just nodded slowly. "Alright then, Mr. Matthews. Out we go. After you -- gotta keep an eye on you, after all."

I dunno, I get the impression Owen might enjoy that. :)

What a mess, Owen thought to himself as he walked down the street next to the Agincourt's Chief of Security. He had ordered his people to patrol the streets of the city, each fireteam assigned to a different sector. Along with Caine's people, the Marines were doing their best to make sure martial law was enforced and all tumults quickly subdued. So far everything had gone according to plan, more or less. But to say they were spread thin was like saying the Ferengi dabble a bit in business. The feeling of uneasiness that had settled firmly in his stomach when JoNs had given them their order wasn't going to go away anytime soon. Owen half-expected a band of rebels, terrorists or just unhappy civilians in general to jump out at them. He knew that the presence of heavily armed Starfleet Security Forces and Marines had probably intimidated the locals at first but he also knew that this intimidation would be short-lived and it might soon be replaced by dissatisfaction. All it took for that dissatisfaction and anger to turn into outright hatred would be the wrong people taking advantage of the general mood and they'd quickly have a situation that could turn from nasty to uncontrollable and dangerous within minutes. Taking a quick glance at Caine, Owen noticed she looked just as tense as he felt. He couldn't help but smile. "You should have asked the doc for a muscle relaxant. Might need it tonight." Caine's grey eyes were not focused on her patrol partner; as the one element of this situation that she currently trusted, he was not the point at which most of her attention was directed. Her gaze had been flicking across the landscape of bulidings which they had to somehow clear of all activity, watching for trouble, for danger. She had not smiled since the order had come down from Commander JoNs, and she did not now at Owen's attempt at levity. "The last thing we need is something to distract our focus," she said, somewhat crisply. "We'll rest when we're relieved." She did not bother mentioning how long some of the security and marine crews had been on shift by now. She had not yet heard any complaints; they were well-trained. Owen shrugged as they went on. He didn't take her response personally. He was experienced enough to know that everyone deals with stress differently. He was one of the people who use humour to relieve the tension. Obviously, Caine was not. A sudden movement he caught out of the corner of his eye made Owen stop. He crouched down behind a low wall that enclosed a tiny yard and pulled Caine down beside him. "Movement at 1 o'clock," he whispered, silently cursing the bad timing. Dusk had long since set in and made it difficult to see into the narrow sidestreets which would now make a perfect hiding place for anyone wishing to remain out of sight and withing firing range. "Can you see anything?" Hearing the hissed announcement, Caine dropped at once and backpedaled, taking up cover a few feet away from him behind a parked vehicle. She peered in the direction he indicated, her sharp Vulcan eyesight cutting through the dark slightly better than Owen's and after a few seconds saw the same movement he had mentioned. "Three men...possibly armed..." she murmured just loud enough for him to hear. "One of them's on guard -- other two are talking." She could just barely make out the voices on the evening breeze, but she couldn't discern words, only vague tone. "They don't sound too happy." "They probably know we're here," Owen whispered back. He tapped his commbadge and reported their situation and called for reinforcements. Then he carefully made his way over to Caine who was closer to the alley, if only by a few feet. Laying flat on his belly, he tried to peer from under the vehicle over to the three men hiding out in the shadows. All he could make out were silhouettes moving in the dark. He changed into a squatting position, his back leaning against the vehicle. "Wait for reinforcements?" he asked. "We could always see if they want to go quietly," Caine said a bit pensively. "With only two of us we may as well see how much we can do *without* the intimidation factor." This sentence came out in a slightly wry tone; they both knew the whole point of martial law was the intimidation factor, but it didn't stop Caine from wanting to do things the easy way where it was possible. Owen considered her reply for a second then nodded. "I'd rather deal with it right away, too. The only problem is, they can see us, we can't see them." Caine shook her head slightly. "I can see them. Sort of. And being the voice of God out of the darkness can be an advantage." Pushing herself up slightly on the vehicle she was leaning against, she called with all the authority she could muster into the dim twilight. "This is Lieutenant Caine with Starfleet Security! You are ordered to disperse at once and return to your homes!" Owen quickly raised himself but still remained behind the vehicle, ready to back up Caine's authority with the firepower of his phaser rifle, if necessary. Glancing over the roof, he could see that the three figures remained frozen in place. "This is working just great," he exclaimed while straightened a little so he could aim his rifle over the roof of the vehicle at one of the men. "Alright, guys," he called out. "You don't wanna get shot, I don't wanna get shot. Let's just break up this party and go home." "Maybe you go home first, huh?" one of the men called back in a sulky tone. "What are you going to do, shoot us?" "Hell, man, I'm a Marine, I have orders to shoot if I run into trouble. You take a guess what I'm gonna do, boy." Buddha hated negotiating. He had been taught to deal with a lot of combat situations but he'd never liked negotiating...much less at gunpoint. Caine puffed a breath out through her nose in an almost-laugh, though it had no humor in it. "This area is under martial law -- we are authorized to clear the streets by whatever means necessary. Disperse. NOW. Or we'll take you into custody." All the fire of Owen's orders was gone from her own, the Vulcan coolness hiding her distaste for the whole situation. "Go ahead!" came a second voice out of the dimness; another of the men had spoken up. "Do it, then!" He paused then whispered to his companions, "Go on, call their bluff -- they don't want to do it." Damn! Owen thought. He quickly glanced over to Caine before pulling the trigger and shooting one of the silhouettes. "Never, ever mess with me, boys!" Owen called out to the remaining two. "Go home and take your buddy with you or I'll stun all of you and you'll wake up in our brig with a huge headache. Your choice." Caine blinked slightly as the stun bolt flared into existence in the dimness, and she heard the thump of the body hitting the ground. "Well, so much for the subtle approach," she muttered dryly, and her statement was punctuated as a window on the opposite side of their cover vehicle was abruptly shattered by a heavy rock. Pivoting, she angled herself around the front of the car and fired off another stun shot, dropping the man on guard towards the front of the group with a low thud. The air seemed to sting with the flashes of the stun bolts and she waited in silence to see what the third man would do. Ignoring Caine for now, Owen took aim at the last shadow remaining upright in the alley. "You've got two choices, buddy," he called out again. "Go home or end up like your friends." While he waited for a reply he grinned and spoke in a low voice to Caine. "I thought that was a very subtle stun shot, Junior. Anyway, that's as subtle as I'll ever get." "I suppose it's as subtle as we can really afford," Caine responded distractedly, her eyes on the shape of the third man in the darkness. She didn't think he would stand on his own as strongly as he had stood with his friends, and sure enough, after a few seconds of deliberation, he bolted in the opposite direction down the alleyway. Caine tapped her commbadge. "Caine to all teams -- two for collection at my position and one resister departing south-southwest...make sure he's got the point." "Nice shot," Buddha said, walking past Caine and over to the two jerks who had tried to mess with him. "Why didn't they just go home?" Caine pulled herself up to sit on the hood of the car and watched as he examined the two unconscious bodies. "Let's be honest, Buddha...if this was your home, you wouldn't want to either." Owen turned around and looked at Caine as if seeing her for the first time. He remained silent a long moment, contemplating. "If this was my home I would have shot first." Caine nodded, looking back at him unblinkingly in the darkness. "I know you would. So would I." She let herself drop from the hood. There was the echoing sound of approaching footsteps and Caine angled around, seeing a few men from the security and marine teams approaching for the cleanup. "Let's go," she said, gesturing at Matthews. "Some time left before daylight." Owen only made a non-committal grunt and fell in step with Caine as she went on to continue their patrol.

The procession down to the main security offices was a rather interesting affair. Decatur was out in front in all his failed and wannabe assassin glory, looking disheveled and dejected. JoNs walking directly behind him with her shotgun jammed into his back, and she wore her black uniform trousers and sleeveless uniform tunic, obviously thrown on for some sake of modesty; the senior officer's knife wounds were hastily bandaged and still weeping through the cloth as well. Personal guards Petty Officer Darjhan and Lieutenant Mical, with both showing varying degrees of concern and contrite on their facial features, had been summoned by JoNs and brought up the rear guard position of the little parade. Lieutenant Commander Sivarro had long since made tracks away from all the commotion and the still impending repercussions per direct orders from Kansas to "make himself scarce". It was bad enough a junior pup of an officer had gotten the drop on her, and the feline Cait had no desire to see her love life up for inspection on the front lines during this night that had gone straight to Hades. The lot of them entered the main security office area, and Tyla "Bulldog" Mattingly was currently on duty at the receiving desk. The half-Bajoran female was surprised at the little commotion this late in the night, but hid the emotion well. She recognized Decatur, a fellow enlisted officer, and merely raised an eyebrow in silent question. Decatur narrowed his dark eyes at her in an expression almost daring her to say anything, but she didn't seem to have an inclination to do anything but let a slow grin slide across her face. Mattingly's alien blood had left her with little or no respect from Decatur; he was, after all, the hardass CSEC's pet. As a result, the two crewmen had clashed before and Mattingly wasn't at all disappointed -- though a little bemused -- to see him arriving covered in two flavors of blood and with a gun at his back. As for the XO, Mattingly knew nothing about her except that Caine hated her, but if Decatur had bloodied her up and was taking a fall for it...well, that gave the Caitian a few points in Mattingly's book. Kansas interrupted the tense silence that had descended across the offices with a "Crewman! Get your Gods danged boss down here now!" order directed at Mattingly. Mattingly casually slid her boot-heels down from the desk where she had been resting them and pushed herself to her feet. "You're bleeding on the carpet," she said dryly, and though the words were addressed at both of the bedraggled officers before her, it was Decatur who got the blunt end of her smirking grin. Stepping back out of the way as he lashed out with a punch at her, she let herself lean on the edge of the desk. "Mattingly to Caine." There was the sound of a muffled thud from the other end of the line, then a low oath, and then Caine's harsh contralto, tinny through the small speakers and clearly very annoyed at the disturbance. "What is it?" Mattingly's grin turned into a smirk. "Commander JoNs is in the office, Lieutenant, and wants to talk to you." "You tell that--" "You might want to come down, sir...she has Mr. Decatur with her and it looks like they've had an interesting night." There was a short silence and then the line went dead. Mattingly chuckled humorlessly. "Never says goodbye...you'd almost think she didn't care." Looking up at the Commander, she offered a sloppy salute. "She'll be here in a minute." Turning, she moved to slide past the group out the door; better to leave by her own means than to have Caine throw her out when she arrived. "Hope you've got a good reason for waking the chief up," she muttered to Decatur as she went, "Or we'll all eat hearty when your head comes out to the mess on a platter." The doors slid open and she walked out past Lieutenant Caine, who was standing framed in the doorway and walked in to stand behind the desk without saying a word. When she had come to a halt, she looked at the small group before her. Cait commander, covered in drying, sticky Cait blood and bandages. Two sheepish-looking alien guards. And Decatur, also battered up and looking as angry as his stupid face could look. She waited in silence for someone to offer her an explanation for this situation. The feline XO hadn't said a word during the entire exchange as Mattingly contacted Caine and made her low key wise acre comments about the situation. She did pick up on the fact that perhaps she and Decatur might not be the best of friends. The enlisted Bajoran wasn't intimidated by the nighttime interruption, yet she had an easy manner about her that Kansas found interesting. When Lieutenant 'Junior' Caine arrived on the scene, JoNs's ears went flatter, if that was possible, and her tail went into warp nine mode. The appendage was flapping about so much that Mical gently and discreetly attempted to bat it down into submission…the Andorian female guard was one of the few "allowed" to attempt to subdue the tail, of course, as anyone else would have ended up with rapped knuckles. Conversely, the golden furred feline was starting to feel the effects of her injuries. Adrenaline, anger, and sheer stubborn cussedness was keeping her upright and her shotgun weapon steady as her wounds continued to ooze and clot and she was running down on energy. But the felinoid would be damned before she let on that she was hurting to the group at large -- she would crash later. Her green eyed gaze landed unerringly on Lieutenant Caine, and she snarled slightly; her sawed off cannon still remained pointed at Decatur's back while JoNs directed her attention fully at the Vulcan Security chief. "Your boy here tried to knife me tonight. The charges currently stand at breaking and entering, assaulting a superior officer, and intent with a deadly weapon. This pup of yours should be dead right now and oozing out his life's blood on the carpet in my quarters, as I'd be well within my rights to blow a hole through him. But, you should know me well enough by now to realize we're not handling this whole cluster frag according to the regulations. I do however expect you to handle him and this situation accordingly Mister Caine." One of Caine's eyebrows quirked up but her face otherwise remained completely still. Decatur had gone for JoNs? Why, you little boy...I knew you were stupid but I didn't know quite how badly. You should know better than to try to play the grownup's game. The Cait was still talking. "Your young man needs to be taught some manners." The leonine XO's tone was unwavering, and her gaze still burned straight at Caine. Caine couldn't resist a slight smile at JoNs's fury, and she let herself settle slowly into her desk. "Mr. Decatur...is this true? Did you decide to make like a Cait and scratch your way to the top?" Her tone was cool, dismissive of both her officer and the commander who had brought him. She showed no sign of annoyance, though it was bubbling in her gut. Decatur had brought all the attention from the XO that she did not need down her like an anvil. You little child...she should have shot you there and saved me the trouble. "You have no quarter to draw on here Lieutenant! One of your people screwed up. Which means that screw up extends to you, which means your ass is collectively mine right now." Caine turned her grey eyes fully on the Cait and her smile didn't falter, though her gaze turned icy. "Unfortunately, Commander, I cannot take credit in this particular case for the boy's stupidity. I am as surprised as you are to find your blood staining my office...at this particular moment." JoNs's tone came out quiet, but direct. "But this *is* your department. And you are out of line Lieutenant. Stand down." There it was. The Command Tone. Full on, no mistakes, no quarter given. The purred-growl direct order sliced through the offices, and brooked no argument from the half-Vulcan chief. JoNs still wasn't as good as Harper when it came to The Tone, considering the Colonel could melt titanium when she unleashed The Tone. But, the JoNs Tone was a pretty darn good imitation, and the younger feline was obviously well into the process of coming into her own as an Imperial command officer, rough and ready mercenary root blood ties aside. Even though she wasn't gesticulating wildly in time with her angered tone, the anger still caused the felinoid to stiffen up even further, and her sliced up leg and collarbone areas began to un clot, open up, and gush again with a blood flow. Medical attention was needed, and if she didn't get it in short order, she'd straight out collapse. Noticeably, her leg wounding began to dribble on the office carpeting once again. Petty Officer Darjhan's gaze flicked to the small drops as they impacted with the carpeted decking and then the big male Zaldan bodyguard moved quietly to stand closer to and behind his feline charge. Caine's eyes dropped to JoNs leg as she watched the blood begin to seep out. "Of course, Commander," she said easily, even her acknowledgment of the point calculated to seem dismissive, mocking, to raise the ire of the fiery Caitian. "Shall I shoot him for you?" Her hand went to the pistol at her holster and she watched Kansas's reaction narrowly. She wasn't sure Kansas would even accept the suggestion; if she did, Caine would do it without difficulty. Decatur was a pain, more often than not, and the difficulties which would arise out of this evening would make the punishment more than worth the effort expended in delivering it. She hoped she would not be asked to perform it publically, however; she would rather not appear to be on JoNs side even for a moment, no matter how unwillingly. An emotion flickered across the Cait's green eyes then. It might have been a bit of compassion, it might not have. As it stood, the emotion was so fleeting it was gone in half a second. "If I wanted to take that course of action, I would have blown a hole through his gut back in my quarters. I want him to be punished, not dead Lieutenant." An expression like victory appeared in Caine's face -- victory over a perceived weaker enemy. As she had expected...JoNs did not have the guts to carry the punishment through to its conclusion. Such reticence would eventually cost her dearly; for now Caine was content to accept the benefits to herself which it offered. She stood up, moving around the desk. She raised a hand and Decatur flinched back in terror, but she simply laid it against his shoulder, a gesture of acceptance of a prisoner transfer. "That is, of course, your prerogative..." she said coldly. Decatur, feeling more confident as the danger he perceived in the situation seemed to lessen, moved slightly to stand next to Caine and spat in the direction of the three aliens who had been holding him. "Don't need your pity..." he muttered sulkily. Without a word, Caine angled her body around and backhanded him sharply across the jaw. "Shut up, boy," she hissed. "You've caused me enough trouble for one night." Kansas, who had hissed and been just shy of pouncing Decatur after the crewman had spat in her general direction, stopped mid-lunge when Caine suddenly slapped him across the face. Instead, the feline returned her plasma shotgun to the weapon's holster where it sat low slung on her one hip. "I do suggest you keep better tabs on your people in the future Caine … " Caine almost snarled as she spun away from Decatur back towards JoNs but immediately she collared the angry explosion and fell back into her usual stiff bearing. "Do not patronize me, and do not tell me how to run my department, Commander. I assure you...he will be taken care of. Now kindly get out before my decor becomes any redder than you are already making it." The feline officer merely backed up out of the office, blood trail following in her wake, her almost feverish with anger green eyes going right at Caine full bore, her own personal bodyguards flanking her in time as JoNs exited the area. "...Lieutenant, you'd do very well to remember your place on the command chain before I string you up in the hanger bay and beat you with said chain…." The Ex Oh's parting words hung on the recycled ships air, cold and still and matching the cold as ice manner emanating from the Chief of Security. Caine looked at the door for a long moment in silence, her eyes hard, then turned her eyes back towards Decatur. "So it appears, like a lost puppy, you have been dragged by the collar back to my door. What shall I do with you...?"

It was change of shift on the ISS Agincourt, and second shift officers were preparing to log out for the day while the third shift relief officers were just coming on duty. It promised to be a quiet late evening on the imperial warship. Or did it? There were other activities taking place in a few quarters scattered across the decks that could be a bit…noisy. And, there were also sinister thoughts on the rise as well, for death was both literally and figuratively stalking the corridors this night. Or, as the case happened to be, above the corridors. For his bulk, Crewman David Decatur had the capacity to move fairly quietly when he felt like it, and at the moment, he certainly did, because it would be his neck if he didn't. The Agincourt's duct system was surprisingly roomy, but its metallic walls and floor took the impact of careless movement with all the silence of a marching band in full voice, and so the broadshouldered crewman moved with incongruously delicate care as he traveled through the ceiling of the command quarters deck. He had to move fast, however. He didn't know how long it would be before Commander JoNs recalled her personal guards. Decatur had been watching the outside of her quarters for several days now, and this was the first time that he had seen the Andorian and Zaldan dismissed from their posts; his time was short but the window of opportunity was there, and he meant to take it. He had been listening carefully to his chief's talk with Jimmbo Farragut, and he knew well enough by now how to read Caine's behavior. He knew what the half-Vulcan wanted, and that the necessity of waiting was imposed upon her. Decatur could remedy that. The weight of the knife in his boot, knocking against his ankle, reminded him of his purpose with every movement. Caine would not have to wait for JoNs's death. Decatur would save her the trouble. He reached the vent which he knew to lead to the Commander's quarters and pulled a small multitool from the inside pocket of his jacket, sliding it under the edge and prying upwards with gentle pressure until it popped free. A grin of anticipation grew on his face. The room below was dark; no chance of detection before he struck, and when he succeeded...Caine would reward him. Pulling the knife from his boot, he let himself drop with a soft thud onto the carpeting of the room. The vent led into a small alcove, and carefully he edged himself out into the main room, still buried in shadows, and looked around, trying to get his bearings. Immediately he realized that he and the Commander were not the only ones in the room and he froze, watching with horrified fascination at the scene that was unfolding there, shadows against shadow. The silence of the night watch was broken by low moans that indicated that the occupants of these particular quarters were in the throes of passion. Inter-mingled sounds of low yowls and purred growls with the moaned vocalizations further indicated the identities of the lovers: Commander Kansas JoNs, ships Executive Officer, and Lieutenant Commander Sarritt Sivarro, Chief Helm and Shuttle Pilot. Uniform clothing was scattered throughout the entire bedroom area, although most of the garments and equipment had ended up on the floor in semi-neat piles where their respective owner had let the articles of clothing drop, or on top of a piece of furniture or thrown across a chair or part of the bed: uniform tunics, trousers, weapons belts, waist sashes -- it was quite the scene of organized chaos There was no indication of a shared meal table in the outer area of the quarters’ dining area, and it was obvious the pair had been in a hurry to strip and get to the business at hand, bypassing any sort of romance or foreplay leading up to the love making. This was sometimes the way that things turned out, especially when you had two Imperial officers trying to make a relationship work …or at least, trying to make a go of sex, as in this case. Shift duties, departmental concerns, training, and the day to day grind that a career military candidate had to deal with often interfered with any sort of normal social life that a couple might expect to have. When the first shift blurred into the second shift, with the second shift blurring into the third, well, there might only be time for a romp in a bedroom unit minus all the typical romantic hoo rah leading up to the jaunt. In this particular case, Commander JoNs and Lieutenant Commander Sivarro had apparently managed to wrangle a sexual rendezvous in between the second and third shift changeovers. The two felinoids had discreetly made their way to JoNs’s private quarters in order to link up for the night. JoNs gave a contented purr-moan and then she and Sarritt shared a muzzle to muzzle kiss as both of the felinoids slipped further and further into the passion of the moment. After the act was completed and both of thier desires had been satiated,Sivarro disengaged and flopped down on the bed next to JoNs, the two felinoids panting and sweating a bit under their fur from the session. The golden furred leonine Cait immediately began to drift off into a half sleep, as the after euphoria chemicals coursing through her body from the love making shunted her towards a deeper sleep. Decatur, who had not moved during the whole business except for the rise and fall of his chest in shallow, disgusted breathing, now allowed himself to relax slightly in the merciful relative silence, and it occurred to him to wonder how the hell he was going to get out of this. He had not anticipated finding two Caits in the room at once, and it complicated things -- should he knife them both? Sivarro was of no real concern to him, but he was a xeno anyway...he wouldn't be any loss. Thus emboldened by his own thoughts, Decatur pushed himself fully from the alcove, his bare feet padding gently against the carpet. Keeping to the wall, he circled the bed, his eyes on the XO, and shifted the knife to settle its steel handle more firmly against his palm, set his feet, eyed the shape of her naked body half-under the sheet, aimed for the ribcage, raised the knife-- The contented sighs of felinoid pleasure and purring gave way to an urgent and quickly shouted, “Kansas!” from Sarritt as the male Kzinti tiger finally caught sight of the intruder and a sinister glint of something sharp catching the dim lighting of the bedroom. His tone brought his bed partner fully back into reality, and JoNs’s attention snapped to frantically look about the darkened bedroom area. She managed to get one outraged hiss out of her muzzle before the assailant struck like greased lightning. Decatur, panicked by the sudden noise, cried out and backpedaled half a step, then slashed wildly, forgetting any sort of careful aim and burying the blade in JoNs's shoulder. The golden furred Caitian yelped in pain and for a few seconds couldn’t see past the red haze of pain that slotted across her immediate vision. But, her training managed to kick in and JoNs was up and off the bed in seconds, also backpedaling and getting away from the general reach of the crewman intruder. Blood oozed from the shoulder wound, and it promised to be a deep cut. Decatur snarled furiously, brandishing the knife in front of him, then leapt over the bed at her, angling himself towards JoNs and away from the other Cait, throwing his weight forward behind the stroke. Kansas tried a text book move in order to distract the younger officer, but only ended up getting some more discomfort and pain as another slash swished across her collar bone area and then across her right forearm when she attempted to pull back and protect herself from the swishing blade; Decatur was so hyped up on both fear and adrenaline that he continued to slash wildly and repeatedly at anything in front of him. Finally gaining purchase on the sweat-slicked fur of his adversary, the muscular Human youngster then grabbed the much smaller Kansas about the neck and slammed the blade full on down into the meat of her right thigh; the blade ended up being buried halfway down the blade in the flesh. JoNs couldn’t help but to scream; Decatur recoiled, releasing her, startled at the yowling tone, and the feline XO fell like a pole axed bovine to the decking. She clutched one paw at her wounded thigh and her free paw grabbed at the hilt of the weapon as she made contact with the flooring. She knew that she shouldn’t pull the knife out, as it would cause more damage exiting as well, but she damn well knew that she couldn’t fight with the blade impaled in her leg. Bleeding from several wounds at this point, the naked felinoid senior officer painfully threw herself across the room and over the bed, scrabbling towards her utility belt where she had laid it across the seat of the room’s only plush chair. Her paws swiped at the sawed off plasma gun weapon that she usually employed, leaving blood smears on the chair and the belt. The focus of her adrenaline enabled her to bypass the pain and focus on the problem at hand – namely, blowing the intruder away. The senior officers’ quarters were a bit bigger then the typical crew quarters, and there was room for three full grown adults to romp about in frenzied combat. Lt. Commander Sivarro grabbed the nearest available weapon, and hurled a table lamp at Decatur, who had scrambled away from JoNs and only now realized that his knife was embedded in his adversary and had traveled away with her. "Son of a--" His muttered oath was cut off as the lamp winged off his forehead and crashed explosively against the wall behind him, stunning him slightly and giving Saritt time to bolt straight at the junior officer, intending to try and take him down in a tackle. The impact took Decatur in the midsection and he hit the deck with a grunt, skidding painfully over shards of the destroyed lamp which lacerated the flesh of his back. Lights flashed behind his eyes as his head struck the plating. "Get the hell off me, kitten," he barked at the weight holding him down, trying to imitate Caine's dismissive bluntness, false bravado covering a sudden surge of terror. A voice cut through the commotion, and while it was most definitely not the dismissive bluntness of Caine, it was the voice of a very angered female cat. “Commander! Clear line of sight!” The order was directed at Sarritt, indicating in battlefield jargon that the Lieutenant Commander should move his ass out of the line of fire. The brown furred Kzinti male quickly complied, leaping off of the younger Human male. JoNs pointed her now un-holstered and cocked plasma gun point blank at Decatur, her grip and aim on the weapon not wavering despite her blood soaked fur and injuries. “Please...move. I dare you.”

"What, no more than a slap on the wrist?" "If you insist on belaboring the point, Farragut, it will come out of your hide. You heard me the first time." Ensign James Farragut was trying very hard not to laugh. "Just making sure I understand the situation..." he said lazily, tipping his chair back and putting his booted feet up on the edge of the mess-hall table at which he was seated with C.T. Caine and a few other trusted members of the ISS Agincourt's security department. Caine had departed a few hours earlier with Colonel Harper and the Cait XO, and everyone currently sitting around the table had expected to hear a satisfying story hopefully involving an agonizer when the half-Vulcan CSEC returned. JoNs, after all, had mucked up a large portion of a recent operation on Corianis. The smirk on Caine's face as she had exited the mess had said that she clearly expected this particular debt to be paid in full by the end of their little command meeting. She had returned with a scowl on her face that would have frozen a phaser beam in its tracks. A silence had fallen around the table and a lot of looks had been exchanged -- the age-old unspoken question of a department whose chief was out for blood. Which of us gets to ask what happened? In the end the job had fallen to David Decatur, not that the over-muscled pup of a crewman ever had any qualms about speaking up to Caine if it would bring her attention onto him for a little while. From there the story had come out that Harper had not only dismissed the whole affair but chastised Caine in the process, tacitly siding with the Caitian against the Vulcan-Human. That had gotten some ears perking around the table. Many of the officers didn't seem to know what to say, or if they did, were afraid to speak up for fear of calling down Caine's pent-up frustration onto the easy targets which they presented. Farragut, for his part, was casually getting the facts, and his easy manner was drawing some aggravated looks from the other officers. As the current second-ranked in the department, and one of the few who almost matched Caine in age, Farragut could get away with a lot that the peons couldn't, and he used it to his advantage. "I mean...I'm just waiting to hear the next phase of the story," he continued with a smirk, picking up the glass of whiskey on the table next to him and taking a sip. "I'm sure our esteemed chief didn't let that go quietly. Tell me, can the Cait still walk?" Caine shot him an icy look, and Decatur snarled, "Shut up, Jimmbo." Farragut smiled. "You mean she left the office without a mark? That's even more interesting." "You might want to close your mouth before I jam a pistol barrel in it," Caine said coolly, her hand drifting sideways to the hilt of the weapon at her hip. "Hey...I've got no love for the Cait," Farragut said, raising his hands in an expression of mock-surrender. "Far as I'm concerned, you get a xeno in command and you're asking for trouble, and she's an obnoxious one as they go, 'spects us to babysit her on a tense mission. Neh. I'm just intrigued, L'tenant. Because if you haven't done anything yet, it means there's something in the future, and I just want to make sure I buy my tickets early." There was a short silence in which Caine's hand slowly relaxed at her holster. "I don't know yet," she said, and her expression took on a calculating air. "The Colonel made it clear I was to avoid bothering her with my concerns...but I have connections far beyond her authority. I would imagine there is much to be found out -- and much to reveal -- about Commander JoNs that she would prefer remain hidden." "So complicated. Why not just stick a knife up her--" "Mr. Farragut, it is too bad your looks don't match your brains. These sorts of things require a sense of subtlety or else they're not worth the effort. Besides, if the Colonel has a soft spot in her heart for the kitten, then were I found with her blood on my hands, Harper could easily make my life unnecessarily difficult. It's simple in the short-term, yes. In the long-term...I have better things to do with my time." Farragut tipped his glass back cheerfully into his mouth, draining the last of the contents. "Don't pretend, L'tenant, that you wouldn't be pleased as punch if she ended up dead in a ditch, because we all know better." Caine shrugged. "I don't pretend any such thing. Nor do I pretend that you wouldn't perhaps be pleased if the same were to befall me. I am hardly the first person to desire the downfall of a superior, nor, I hope, will I be the last. But I will not impale my career upon the sword of my vengeance. I will wait...if I must. As I must. And sooner or later...she will be struck." Decatur narrowed his eyes slightly and shot a look between the ensign and the lieutenant. A slightly calculating look for a moment flickered in to replace his usual dumb-brute blinking, but he said nothing, apparently finding a rare moment of restraint or perhaps simply cowed by the cold tone of the conversation. After allowing his chief the proper bit of dramatic silence to end her speech, Farragut filled in the empty space in the conversation. "So in the meantime, business as usual?" "Business as usual. But keep an eye on her people. If she is stupid enough to make a move in the open, I want to be ready." "Understood."

Caine didn't let her phaser down from guard position until she was sure that the last of the terrorist group had been contained. Her men had worked efficiently in tandem with the 'Court's marine teams and the occasional smattering of Jackrabbit personnel, and she was pleased with their success. This was a good thing, because there weren't many things about this situation that she was pleased with. She looked down and to her right at the body of the young man whom she had seen Doctor Trenral take down. He was just a kid, and when he woke up would probably be wondering how the hell he managed to get himself into all this in the first place. They all were, she was sure. This planet was a powder keg, its people restless and frightened, its authorities overzealous and angry. Not the greatest place to want to play peacekeeper. Caine didn't envy Colonel Harper the authority that Calestorm had given her, notwithstanding the fact that Caine would have liked to tie Calestorm in a knot, given the opportunity. She grimaced thoughtfully and gestured for those of her officers within immediate line-of-sight to begin taking the downed civilians into custody. Let's just get this over with. Owen wiped the blood off his face and took in the mess around him. There were some stunned dissidents still lying on the ground, the rest of them had already been rounded up in one corner of the square. Echo squad was guarding them though Owen had a feeling they wouldn't cause trouble anymore. Most of them were still very young and while they had undoubtedly joined the fight eagerly it hadn't taken much to break their morale. Giving out orders on the comm to the rest of the Marine contingent on the planet he slowly made his way over to Caine. "Not half bad." "Not half-bad," Caine echoed in agreement, glancing at the marine captain as he strode up. "Could have been a lot worse..." She caught sight of the blood smeared over Owen's nose and jaw and quirked an eyebrow. "Bit of a scratch?" Buddha frowned at the question. "Stupid guy took a swing at me with a pipe. I ducked but was too slow to avoid his next blow completely. I must be getting old." Actually it irked him that a kid had managed to hit him...in the face no less. "But I see they got you too." He pointed at a tear in Junior's sleeve through which he could see a green smear on her arm. Caine looked down and blinked; in the chaos she hadn't felt the impact of a weapon but now that she noticed it it began to sting like hell. "Huh. So they did..." she muttered with a grimace, pressing a hand to the ripped skin to stem any residual bleeding and looking down again at the teenager sprawled next to her. "They've got...enthusiasm. I'll give them that much." "Yeah," Owen agreed. "But that's about all they have...well...that and the guts to take on three Federation Marine squads and your people. I kinda like that." As much as Owen hated playing babysitter for a bunch of unhappy civilians. Though he had a feeling that Calestroms earlier intervention hadn't helped the situation. "There's a fine line between stupidity and bravery and they're walking it," Caine said with a faint grin. "The question is what to do now. We could keep playing whack-a-mole like this but it won't solve the problem." "How about we call this game whack-a-Calestorm and have the locals participate? That should make people feel better. I know it'd work for me." Buddha grinned. It was a good suggestion as far as he was concerned. Caine smiled. "It would definitely be a stress-buster...but that's not my point. Long-term...I have to wonder what the colonel plans to do." She paused, and her expression grew more concerned. "Right before the action started up, she commed me...there was no time for details but it sounds like the brass may be making...pretty dramatic plans." Owen groaned with dismay. "I don't like the sound of that. Do you think we might still be here for a while? With Calestorm and her gang?" "Couldn't say. I hope not. I doubt they'd tie a Prometheus down like Andromeda to this rock, but it wouldn't be the first time they've done things that surprised me..." "Yeah," Owen was still grumbling. "Like giving Calesttorm a ship. Anyway, I'd rather be kicking some Soltan butt than convincing miners to go back to work." This whole business was starting to get frustrating. Owen didn't mind some action. Otherwise he'd have picked the wrong job. But he couldn't shake the feeling that right now he was actually missing out on the real action. He wanted to bring down the people who were responsible for his nephew's death and they were definitely not on this planet. Caine nodded slowly. "I know. I would too. Frankly I think this whole business has got the upper ranks scared. First Earth gets hammered and then the colonies start going mad...we're treading on shaky ground and I don't just mean the Avaros kind." She looked around at the chaos slowly coming under control around them. "These are brushfires, symptoms...it's all part of the wider battle. But the fact that they have us fighting our own is...worrisome." "That's exactly what's pissing me off, Junior. We should all be out there fighting the real enemy. Instead we've been sent here and there, trying to get rebels and miners back under control. This is not normal. I tell you, I bet my live the Soltans are behind all this." Owen couldn't express just how frustrated he was. Caine looked at him sideways. "If they are, we'll ferret it out, like we did on Avaros. I don't like it any more than you do, though; this whole situation is starting to give me a headache." "Easier said than done," Owen said with a sigh. "I just wonder how many other planets there are. Meanwhile the Soltans are watching us, laughing at how well their plan's working. And when they think the moment's right, they'll strike while we're in the middle of nowhere, babysitting miners or whatever." Caine said nothing. There wasn't really an answer to that, because of course he was right. There was really no way to know where their attention needed to be focused, and personnel was spread so thin anyway that in some cases it was almost a moot point. "Let's get this mess cleaned up," she finally said quietly, casting him a tired look and kneeling next to the body of the teenager sprawled next to them. "If we're lucky, maybe we have new orders by the time we're done."

Caine tapped her commbadge to close the channel with Commander JoNs, her expression pensive. After her slight loss of control towards Captain Calestorm, the Agincourt CSEC was back, more or less, to her usual businesslike focus, but the job they had to do had just gotten a little more complicated. JoNs wanted to do a semi-undercover recon run inside the bulk of the city itself in the hopes of nailing down the location of the terrorist group who had destroyed the conference location; it was a good idea, and as JoNs had once been a security officer herself, Caine had more confidence in the command officer's ability to pull it off, but it added another level of complexity to a situation that was already quite mired and cloudy. She glanced towards Owen Matthews who had been standing next to her listening to the conversation. "Catch all of that?" she asked him, raising an eyebrow. Owen simply nodded, lost in thoughts of his own. He had been tempted to suggest accompanying the XO on her mission. But he somehow knew Commander JoNs wouldn't have let him. However, what she asked of them was...not quite impossible but definitely not easy either. "Two of my squads are on their way here. How many of your people are here?" "I have two squads that I can recall from patrol out in the city to work on the lockdown...I've also got two on the ground here, or those of them that weren't gassed, though until about two minutes ago I was hoping to have them relieved and let them get some rest." Caine frowned slightly, then puffed out a half-laugh. "I'll have to see if Agincourt can pump a caffeine line here." "Right, I'll ask Medusa if we're going to get some extra leave cos we're working our butts off down here," Owen grumbled. "We need a map of this place and make a plan. I have no idea how we're supposed to lock down this whole area. Any suggestions, Junior?" "Circle up around it and join hands really tight," Caine quipped. "Let 'em try to run through red-rover style." She shook her head slightly then added more seriously, "It's not impossible; the Commander only asked for about a twelve-block square area. We can bust into smaller teams and get a perimeter around the area -- we'll never prevent everyone from moving around inside, but we can at least keep them from getting out until the cat is ready to pounce." "Very funny, Junior. I'll laugh when I have more time." Owen was really not happy right now. Not only did some friggin' terrorists blow up the conference hall but Captain I'll-bomb-everyone-even-if-they're-friends was starting to get so annoying Owen knew that the next time he'd see her he wouldn't be able to guarantee he wouldn't whack her over the head real good. Someone had to sacrifice themselves and beat some sense into that woman after all. "I don't like the idea that some of those freaks might already be in there and causing trouble for JoNs. She'll be on her own and I'd like to make sure she gets back in one piece." Caine nodded slowly, not bothering to get fazed by Owen's aggravation. The younger man was frustrated and she certainly didn't blame him; she had just finally gotten her own frustration down to a low simmer and was saving it for a place and time where it would do more good. "Ideally I would have liked to send more people with her in a team but she was emphatic that she wanted to go this alone -- and hell, it could be worse; she's ex-security and not one of the docs or something...I get the impression she's capable of taking care of herself. We can get a few people inside the city at strategic points as well for immediate backup in case we're called on." She paused, and then looked thoughtful again, and this time the expression was laced with distaste. "We've also got the Jackrabbit's security to call on, which gives us a little more personnel to work with, though still not enough for a full lockdown." "How about we send the Jackrabbit folks into an unpopulated area of the city and drop some stuff on them? Let's also make sure their CO's with them so she'll know what a lungful of gas feels like," Owen replied, then paused, perusing a PADD that a young security officer had handed them. "Can we have a few snipers somewhere? You know...just in case." He shot a questioning look at Caine. Caine smirked faintly at Owen's first comment. "You'd have no complaint from most of us about gassing Calestorm, I think, but I'm afraid it might divert from the main purpose...we'll save that for the shore leave you mentioned. As for the snipers...if you can figure the most strategic places to locate them, I don't see why not." "Hmm...lemme see..." Owen studied the map for a while. "I'd say if we position them here, here, here, and here we got 95% of the area covered," he said indicating four locations on the map. "We'll just have to hope that the Commander either doesn't venture into the remaining 5% or that if she does she'll be able to look after herself." Caine shifted slightly to peer over his shoulder at the map and then nodded approval. "Sounds good -- way better than nothing. I'll get my boys to work on setting up the outer perimeter and you can sprinkle your people through as you see fit. We need to get moving before the rabble-rousers have too much time to go to ground." "Agreed," Owen nodded. "We need to act swiftly and we should also make sure the whole thing is over before the general public notices what's going on. If the "rabble-rousers" find out what's going on we might be their next target and I don't feel like it." "Not to mention that Starfleet hardly needs any more help getting a bad name at this particular colony," Caine said grimly. "Agreed...we need to get in place quickly and avoid attracting too much attention to ourselves. General orders: 'Stay quiet, stay alert, stay awake, don't get an itchy trigger finger,' and hopefully we can avoid any more explosions before they're necessary." "Alright, I'll arrange for some sprinkling in of my people and I'll arrange for the snipers. The rest is up to you," Owen nodded. There was a brief pause, and then he looked at Caine with a grin. "You know what we should do?" Caine had already half-turned away and paused at Owen's words. "What?" she asked, turning back. Owen's grin became a little wider before he finally spoke. "How about we hijack the Jackrabbit and leave her crew stranded on this planet for a while?" Caine barked a laugh. "I'm sure they'd get excellent hospitality...no less than they'd get on the Agincourt herself." The left-side of her face compressed in an expression somewhere between a smirk and a wink. "Captain Calestorm knows how to make herself friends." "She sure does," Owen agreed. "See ya out there, Junior." And with that he turned to relay the orders to his squads and brief the snipers.

Commander Kansas 'Will' JoNs stalked into the mess hall area, data PADD device gripped firmly in one paw, tail lashing in agitation. The feline Imperial officer was intent on engaging in a working dinner, and eating of course, but she also had some words to share with another occupant that she had tracked to the dining area as well. The golden furred Caitian made a bee line for one Lieutenant C.T. Caine, Chief Security Officer of the ISS Agincourt and a current friggin' thorn in the Cat's side. Petty Officer Darjhan, JoNs's junior personal bodyguard, followed in her wake, long having given up trying to talk the feline out of her current course of public action. With no warning as to her intent -- other then the controlled cold fury etched across her leonine features -- JoNs arrived at the intended section of the mess hall area where Caine was sitting at one of the tables; she placed her free paw flat on the surface of the slate blue table, and pinned the half Vulcan where she sat with bright green eyes that were practically sparking. "The only thing preventing me from slapping a paw on your badge and Agonizing the freakin' hoo rah out of you right now is my apparently impeccable restraint. You took it to the next level, and now the game is on. Now watch me run with the ball Lieutenant." The Commander’s tone was at a hissed whisper, but of course any of the senior officers and senior enlisted eating within the mess hall and worth their Imperial stripes were listening in; the clink and clank of cutlery against the dishes had abruptly quieted down, and if you were sitting close enough to the pair -- actually, two officers from Sciences got up from their table and walked the hell away, quickly -- you could overhear the feline quite clearly. Caine, who had been halfway through a bite of some truly disappointing beef stew, set her fork down, chewed deliberately, and swallowed before looking towards the feline officer who had approached her. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the four other security officers at the table moving themselves into various postures of attention at the sight of the Cait opening what certainly appeared to be a hostile dialogue. Crewman Decatur's ever-present broad-shouldered bulk next to her shifted as if to stand up, but she gestured him into stillness for the moment and smiled coldly. The Cait feline’s fiery personality was an easy one to rile if allowed to bounce off an ice block for long enough, and Caine had no intention of giving her the satisfaction of a reaction of fear or submission. She was not afraid of the XO's threats; as a matter of fact she was somewhat amused that the young officer had allowed herself to bring their fight out into the open, not that the potential for embarrassment on JoNs's part bothered Caine much. "I can provide a ball of yarn you to run with, if it's really what you want, Commander..." she said, her impassive tone laced with a taunting air.”But perhaps you might find it more productive to focus on your duties." Ensign Farragut, across the table, snorted, and a ripple of laughter went around the table. Caine didn't join in it but kept her expression motionless, staring back at the XO without blinking. Commander JoNs ignored the Security cronies, and continued to glare at the blond haired Vulcan female. A low growl sounded from the back of her throat. "You really can't leave it go, can you Caine? If you keep yourself in the past, you'll never launch into the future. No wonder you're still at the Lieutenant rank - you're too damn hidebound." Caine let her fork drop into her stew with a low clatter and let her fists tighten against the table at the dig towards her rank. Standing slowly, she pitched her voice lower, unlike her Caitian adversary, so that only JoNs could hear. Her tone was cold as stone. "You know perfectly well why I am still a Lieutenant, sir. You're treading on shaky ground." The felinoid officer stepped closer to the taller woman -- and really, everyone was taller then the Cat -- and stuck her chin out defiantly. "Lieutenant, you have a knack for putting the blinders on, big time, don't you?" By now, several more of the mess hall patrons in the immediate vicinity of the word showdown had started to run for the hills, figuratively. "Commander...I'm not the one who was so ignorant of the tactical situation that I felt it prudent to abandon my post in pursuit of a business--" Caine snapped but was cut off as the mess doors suddenly hissed open at that moment, and the Colonel strode in, flanked on either side by her bodyguards. Her face set in a still mask, her eyes scanned over the room and came to rest unerringly on the two angry women. "You and you," she ordered, pointing to JoNs and Caine in turn. "With me. Now." What was left of noise in the room went dead. Without turning to face her commanding officer, and keeping her eyesight locked on the recalcitrant Lieutenant Caine, Commander JoNs spoke in a steady though direct tone. "Colonel, Sir, I'd very much prefer to handle this little matter myself." Harper, not expecting to be disobeyed, was already halfway out the door again. She paused, and slowly turned back. "Something wrong with your ears, Commander?" "No Colonel. Apologies Sir." JoNs moved to take the lead trailer spot in Harpers wake. Hell, if Caine shoots me in the back, I can bring her up on charges. Caine smirked, glanced at the security officers at the table behind her and then turned to follow them out, keeping her eyes on Kansas as the executive officer moved behind the colonel. She had no intention of shooting anyone in the back -- but was, however, both surprised and pleased that she was apparently going to be privy to watching whatever discipline from the front which JoNs was about to have meted out to her. Harper ignored them both all the way to her Ready Room. Once inside, with the doors secured and her guards stationed outside, she turned to the recalcitrant pair and treated them to a sub-zero glare. Petty Officer Darjhan remained outside as well with Harpers guards, standing well away from the Marine guards, thank you very much. Meanwhile, within the confines of the commanding officers Ready Room, Kansas, from her ramrod straight stance next to the Lieutenant, spoke out the side of her muzzle. "You called down the Thunder Caine, now you get to deal with her. Hope you're satisfied." Caine did not respond, merely looked straight forward at Colonel Harper with the hint of a smirk still showing on her face, her hands laced behind her back. "So." Harper tucked her hands into the small of her back, falling into the same posture she used to conduct inspections. She rather felt like she was conducting one now -- of raw cadets. "Which of you would like to explain why I'm playing referee in my senior officers’ power games?" A feline ear flipped back, but the Commander deferentially kept her attention fixed at a distant point on the bulkhead located behind Harper's head. "I'll let spit and polish over here roll with that one." Caine shot JoNs a look sidelong, and then glanced back to Harper. "I contacted you as a result of what I perceived to be a dangerous breach of behavior, sir...I assumed you would want to be...informed." She narrowed her eyes slightly and considered adding, So you could apply the proper punishment. But she supposed that went without saying. A little flicker of amusement actually showed on the colonel's face at that. "This room isn't under surveillance, Lieutenant, so do feel free to speak bluntly. Shall I? You contacted me in order to advance yourself and take down the commander." With an effort, the Cait kept a smirk from springing to her muzzle, but her tail became a bit more animated. Caine's lips twitched, and for a moment she said nothing but met Harper's gaze without looking away. "I assure you I would not have taken up your time if I did not feel I had a very good reason," she said equivocally after a short pause. "I respect that," Harper replied calmly. "Are you gunning for the commander's job?" There was no threat in the question; she asked it as though inquiring about whether any new holo-training programs had come in. Feline ears flipped forward and back in curiosity as the other two females bandied about in conversation. Caine's bearing eased slightly at the Colonel's conversational tone. "We all want the rank until we have it, at which point we want the next one. You know that," she replied coolly. "But that was not why that message was sent." Not...entirely, at least. "Most of us," she agreed. "Why, in your view, was it sent?" ".... Because Mister Caine can't accept the fact that my operating methods differ from hers ...and that my family comes from mercenary stock." JoNs's purred tone rang out confidently within the smaller confines of the office area. Caine's cold expression iced over as JoNs broke into the conversation, and she spoke over her. "Because...as I believe I made clear, Colonel, Commander JoNs's behavior was that of someone working against our interests and the interests of the Empire. And it is my job to...deter...such behavior." The felinoid senior officer growled. "I detached myself from my observational status with your patrol Mister Caine in order to visually get a bead on a possible business contact in the nearby market area. What I found were local reprobate miners that were planning an attack on your unit, and that attack was soundly deflected by myself and your squad." Harper leaned back against her desk and let the pair go at it, her expression somewhere between amusement and boredom. "And if, for instance, the miners had been a block to the east, Commander? Then my men would have been under attack and I would have had to waste valuable time determining where the cat had gone off to play. You were lucky, perhaps, Commander," Caine growled, her tone indicating that she had severe doubts that the rank was at all deserved, "but you could have just as easily destroyed the operation." "The Cat can very much take care of herself. You just can't get it through your thick Vulcan skull that not all methods need to be by the book. And in fact, sometimes following that so called book to the letter can get you just as dead!" Something that might have been a cough, or a laugh -- except that was clearly impossible, wasn't it? -- emanated from the watching colonel. It was just as quickly silenced, and the blank mask dropped back into place. The golden furred Cait stopped in mid tirade at the ... noise? Her attention flew to the Colonel, with one ear back in a classic "what was that?" gesture. "Next time I should have Decatur shoot you and call it an accident," Caine muttered. "If I thought there was any method to your actions except a certain blind and occasionally lucky foolishness, we would not be having this conversation." She angled her head around on Harper. "Colonel, was there a purpose to us being called here?" Kansas hissed, her attention fixating again on Caine. "Don't bad mouth Lady Luck. Ever. She's just as powerful a force as a phaser on full kill mode." Caine didn't even dignify that bit of naivete with a response. "I wanted to see whether this little incident actually merited my attention, or whether it was simply a turf war blown out of proportion," Harper replied easily, ignoring Kansas to reply to Caine. She straightened up, taking on that inspection posture again. "Now, I've listened to you. You listen to me." Her gaze hardened, and she pinned them both with a glare. "I don't care if you hate each other, love each other, fight with each other, sleep with each other, or both at once. I do care how you present yourselves in public." She stared at each in turn for a long moment. "I expect my senior officers to at least pretend to civility in front of the crew. Kill each other on your own time -- and in private." A tail swish. "She's really not my type." A distinctly unamused glance flicked JoNs's way. The Commander sobered up rather quickly as the Look of Harper found its mark, and any further wiseacre comments were not forthcoming. "Aye Colonel, and understood." Caine didn't look away from Harper but her eyes narrowed again. Was this it? After all of that, was she going to get a slap on the wrist in front of JoNs? The Cait XO was getting nothing further? Resisting the urge to growl, she squeezed one wrist with the other hand behind her back and muttered, "Of course...sir." "Good. As for you, Lieutenant," she said, turning her attention back to Caine, "handle your turf problems yourself, or I'll think seriously about whether you can protect the ship. And you, Commander." Her attention turned sharply on JoNs. "If you can't deal discreetly with your problems, I'll have to find myself a new XO.” Feline ears laid flat in both embarrassment and anger at the reprimand from the Colonel, but Kansas maintained her temper. “Yes sir.” She spared a quick glance over at her now arch nemesis, Lieutenant Caine. Caine caught the glance and returned it with an icy grey gaze. You want me to handle it, Colonel? It will be handled. And perhaps you will regret giving me such carte blanche, since clearly the cat is more your pet than I anticipated. "Yes...sir..." she responded slowly. "The next time I have to play referee for your little power games, I'll be making certain you both hurt more than the headache you give me." She stalked around her desk and dropped into her chair with finality, touching the computer screen to wake it. "Now get out."

Caine came to a stumbling halt next to the wreckage of the Corianis conference building, her eyes streaming as her lungs strained to evacuate the burst of gas which Calestorm's skimmers had dropped. She (along with Mattingly and a few members of the Coyote squad) had been next to the growing mob of Corianis civilians when the gas dropped and had taken almost the full brunt of it themselves as well; all four of them had suddenly lost the ability to do almost anything but try to get the hell away from there, which had put something of a dent in her first-response security procedures, and Caine was mad as a hornet about it. However, for the moment, she didn't bother showing it, merely headed for the wall of the building with her team and slumped down against it, trying to catch her breath. Dr. H'Rasha Trenral was spitting mad, which was something she'd usually been able to avoid working in a hospital. Her first stint down on the front lines had been going well enough, until that idiot Calestorm and her people had dropped gas from their skimmers. Besides the fact that the Agincourt security was right there and got blasted by it, it complicated the treatment of those injured that already had to wait. Ready to skin Calestorm over it (and it looked like her Caitian comrade JoNs was in the same boat), she nevertheless turned away to ensure that the medic teams got back out there to treat the wounded. Some of them she saw while she watched the medic teams proceed on were on their way in. Seeing Caine, Trenral moved over to her. Caine, who had her head lowered between her knees trying to feed oxygen to her slightly lightheaded brain, heard the sound of padding footsteps approaching over the hardpacked dirt. She looked up, her grey eyes squinting a little bit to recognize the Caitian in Medical blue whom she had seen on the transporter pad standing over her. Must be the new CMO...good timing... "Afternoon, Doc..." she said raspily, leaning back against the wall behind her to look up at the other officer. "Lieutenant. Lovely day, isn't it?" H'Rasha said, her voice a low growl despite the words. Bending down to quickly scan the woman, she saw the expected: the Vulcan/Human hybrid was experiencing the usual symptoms of being gassed. Opening her medkit, she extracted a hypo and two different medicine vials. Swapping them out one by one into the hypo, she dialed the correct amount of the medicines and then injected them into Caine's neck. "There, bit of antihistamine to help alleviate the severity of the symptoms, as well as a bit of expectorant to help get than nasty crap out of you more quickly. Don't hold back on the coughs when they come." Caine raised one eyebrow at the growling tone of the chief medical officer's voice; apparently she wasn't the only one who felt this operation had been snafu'd considerably. "Lovely," she rasped, turning her head as the hypospray hissed next to her ear. Both eyebrows went up at the description of their contents and then her whole body convulsed as she began to cough violently, the medication taking temporary hold of her systems and forcing her lungs to expel their contents. Her stomach muscles complained at the sudden burst of work and she groaned, looking back up at the doctor. "That's a fun one..." she muttered dryly when she had caught her breath. "Better than working for two hours to hack it up," H'Rasha replied, watching the medical tricorder readings. "You'd still feel the same at the end but the agony would be prolonged. There, that's looking better. You'll still probably have a couple left, but no so violent." At the word "violent" the Caitian sent over a very predatory glare back Calestorm's way, and the feline doctor's claws extended around the tricorder. Caine chuckled throatily, spitting into the dirt next to her in an attempt to clear out her mouth, looking over to be sure that medics were attending to her other people as well. Hearing a change in the doctor's tone, however, she looked back and saw Trenral's gaze pointed at the Jackrabbit's captain, who was standing some distance away next to Harper and JoNs. Caine's eyes moved that way as well and she grimaced. "Good...I may want to keep a little violence stored up..." she quipped. H'Rasha's reply to that was another low growl from the back of her throat. Turning back, she did her own quick gaze on the rest of her medics, verifying that the others were being treated. She then looked back to Caine. "I'd say 'get in line' but I think you get a free pass to the front after this. That is if there's anything left of that..." H'Rasha uttered some Caitian phrase to describe Calestorm that didn't quite translate but certainly wouldn't sound good even then. "...by the time the Colonel and Commander are done with her." Caine smirked and shook her head slightly. She liked this doc; the Caitian energy brought a nice edge to the usual Medical "fix-em-up" attitude. "I don't know what she was thinking," she said after a short pause, a little more seriously. Her breath was starting to come more evenly now and with it came a desire to get a handle on just what had actually happened out there. "Did she try to make any explanation?" "Not that I heard," the Caitian said, baring her fangs. "But she did say something about being pleased with how well it worked and why was everyone so upset since it did. I believe I responded with something about claws in her butt, but it's rather hazy." Caine burst out laughing, which quickly morphed into another series of hacking coughs as the drug kicked in again. She leaned forward, letting them work themselves out, spat again, and looked back up at Trenral, a grin now spread across her Vulcan features. "I'm sure that went over well..." H'Rasha watched as Caine went through another coughing fit, then widened her fanged grin in response to Caine's statement. "Something about me being mouthy for a doctor," she said with a grim chuckle. "Well, seeing as the Colonel and Commander were both looking like taking a piece out of her as well I think she was realizing that the numbers weren't stacking up in her favor. As much as I would've liked to continue that, I had you people to deal with, so I left it for the other scary women to deal with." With one last check of the tricorder readings, she nodded and flipped it closed. She rose, jogged over to a crate of supplies and grabbed a bottle of water. Returning, she handed it to Caine. "Drink it all, please." "Scary women seems to be something the Agincourt does pretty well," Caine said, eliciting a chuckle from Mattingly who seemed to be dozing off beside her in between her own coughing fits. Reaching for the bottle Trenral handed her, Caine unscrewed the cap and took a large gulp, letting the water soothe her abused throat. When she had swallowed, she glanced back over in the direction of the Agincourt command team again. "I suppose I should be grateful for this interlude...gives me time to come up with a more professional report than, 'I don't know, sir, someone dropped gas on us.'" She rubbed a hand down her face tiredly. "This entire planet is a lesson in overreaction -- on all sides." "Hmm. While the dilithium they're supposed to be mining here will eventually run out, the idiocy they're mining seems to be a renewable resource." She did a quick check on Mattingly, whom Vaughn had been working on before heading back out to see to the original injured from the blast and trampling. She watched Vaughn a moment, then snarled when she saw him mark one of the trampling victims as deceased. "One moment," H'Rasha said before she ran out to confer with Vaughn. After about two minutes, the Caitian doctor returned, her face set in clear anger. "Lost one. Choked on his own damn spit thanks to the gas." Her paws flexed, the claws extended, as she glared over toward Calestorm. "I'm going to see that woman busted back to Ensign even if it gets me drummed out of the fleet." Caine's eyes narrowed abruptly and any remaining amusement or casualness dropped out of her expression. "Frak..." she muttered. There had not been time to retrieve any of the wounded civilians before the gas drop had hit but now she wished she had spared more men to focus on them; the idea of lying injured and having that...stuff...piling into your lungs was not a pleasant idea. She squeezed her fingers around the bridge of her nose for a moment tiredly, smothering another coughing fit and trying to focus on her job now. She definitely wasn't the only person here having a bad day; they had work to do. "How many injured civvies have we got? Do you want any of my teams diverted to help you?" "About thirty-five, altogether, from before the gas atack. About ten of that received injuries from the initial blast and the rest were injured during the resultant chaos. You can probably double that now adding those from the results of that idiocy." She looked up, seeing more medics coming out of the building. "I have more medics on the way out, those that were treating those inside the building. I'd appreciate if you can sprinkle some of your people out there in case anyone that's recovered enough from the gassing decides to show their displeasure. It's not going to pass the notice of even the civilians that Starfleet just did that to them, but they probably won't draw a distinction between our crew and the Jackrabbit's." Caine nodded. "We'd already noticed a bit of that; we're not exactly popular here. I'll have my patrol squads -- the ones that didn't just get gassed -- move in to keep an eye on your people. Hopefully things won't come to a head too quickly though...we need time to figure out our next step." She cough-laughed dryly. "Whatever that might be..." "Thank you," H'Rasha said with a nod, her voice grim. "We need to get the current wounded treated and the dead removed before someone decides to make more." She offered a paw to Caine to help the woman up. Caine grabbed the offered paw and levered herself to her feet, taking a deep breath. "I guess that about sums it up," she said equally grimly, with a nod at Trenral. "Thanks, Doc. I'll have my boys start spreading out...meantime I guess it's time for me to go check in." She glanced towards Harper and JoNs again and then back at the Caitian doctor. "Good luck."

Lieutenant C.T. Caine hit the ground running in every sense of the word. She had been in her office when the word came from the bridge that an explosion had taken place planetside -- Colonel Harper and Commander JoNs, as well as two officers from the Jackrabbit and a mining representative, had been caught in the blast. Only the sketchiest reports were immediately available on exactly what had happened, who was responsible, whether anyone had been injured, and the state of a recovery operation. And so she was already moving even as the transporter beam released her in the hardpacked, rubble-strewn dirt of the area of the Corianis capital which had been selected for the conference meeting. She had two teams of 'Court security officers with her who had been on their off-shift while the on-shift teams continued their investigations and flyovers planetside, and all of them had jumped to readiness in an impressively short time, more or less meeting her as she herself arrived at the transporter room. Some bore the slightly disheveled look always engendered by a "hop-to" sort of operation, but they were all very much in their proper place, fired up and energized by the level of controlled urgency they had heard in their chief's voice. She had seen a team in medical blue shimmering off the pad as she arrived -- a Caitian she didn't recognize as well as several medics including one of the marine team she had encountered on Avaros. However, they didn't immediately present themselves to the eye when the security team rematerialized planetside a moment later; Caine took this to mean that they had been deposited inside the damaged building behind her wherein the conference was meant to have been taking place. Good -- any issues in there would have a first wave response by the marine medic, leaving her time to focus on the external situation. And there was a lot to focus on. "Mass chaos" would be a good descriptor, when and if she formulated a report on the whole business. The air was filled with shouts, screams, the noises of fright from a group of peaceful protesters whom Caine had been informed about, most of whom were doing their best to scatter. At the sight of the arriving Fleet officers, the air of panic seemed to increase and for a moment Caine had a hard time getting a handle on exactly who was where. However, she could immediately identify a second group mixing along the edge of the chaotic movement of the protestors, also in civilian clothing but moving with much more purpose. Focusing in on them, she noticed something else of concern -- they were carrying weapons; nothing particularly sophisticated, but a good solid handmade bomb could do just as much damage as a Fleet grenade, as the wreckage to Caine's rear clearly showed. The air of direction in their movement suggested that these were the people she should be focusing on; it was not immediately clear if these hostiles mixed in the crowd were retreating with the rest of the fleeing civilians or moving in for another attack, but she quickly moved to cover both eventualities. "Mattingly, Farragut!" she barked at the two team leaders with her. "Armed hostiles at three o'clock! Coyote, cover and try to get a bead on them; Jackal, circle around and see if you can cut them off if they bolt. Move!" They moved with satisfying alacrity, half of them dropping into cover positions while the others fanned out and began to circle around the panicking civvies. Caine dropped back behind a pile of debris with the leader of Coyote squad, Lieutenant Mattingly, who scooted sideways to make room for her half-Vulcan chief and looked at her sidelong as they both pulled their own sidearms. "The angle's bad for potshots but we can give it a try -- take them down, Lieutenant?" the young half-Bajoran officer asked, but Caine shook her head, peering around the edge of the debris pile, her grey eyes locking on the hostiles past the milling bodies fleeing the scene. "Stand by, L-T...the second we start shooting, the whole place will go crazy -- well, crazier than it already is. When they scatter, I want our boys in behind them. Stand by--frack!" Her stream of words was cut off as she poked her head over the cover pile again and realized that the hostile group had already begun to mix with the fleeing crowds. Perhaps they had spotted the arrival of the fleet security teams, perhaps the air of chaos and panic had gotten to them, perhaps they had simply finished the only job they had come here for -- whatever it was, they were on their way out of the area. Jackal would not have time to get into a good position to block their escape, and the unknown terrorists had placed into operation the best possible defense they had at their disposal -- innocents. "Caine to Farragut -- targets are in the crowd and breaking ranks, moving south-southwest--" "I see them, Lieutenant, we're moving to cut them off but we've got a lot of the other protesters milling around out here. I can't get a clean shot." Caine glanced at Mattingly but the other woman poked her head up over the top of their cover and then shook her head mutely. Caine grimaced. "Same issue here, James; continue your move and see if you can track any of them, if not, get Jackal into a sentry layout while we handle cleanup here." "Understood, sir. Farragut out." The noise around them had died as the panicked crowds had dissipated from the scene of the explosion. Caine turned and slumped with her back to the debris pile, running a hand down her face, then glanced at Mattingly, who, with the immediate crisis past, was suddenly looking distinctly like she wanted to go back to bed. Caine's lips twitched slightly in a sympathetic smile but otherwise her expression remained focused on the situation at hand. "Secure the area -- get a couple people inside the conference room to back up the medical teams if necessary and have the others keep an eye out for civilian stragglers. I'm going to get in touch with our patrols out in the city right now and get them on the lookout for that group, wherever they're heading." Mattingly nodded. "Aye, sir." She turned and angled herself to use the debris pile to lever herself into a standing position, her free hand keeping her phaser cocked upwards as she looked around. "It never likes to go simple, does it, chief?" she asked, looking down at Caine with a somewhat wry expression. "Lieutenant," Caine said, popping to her feet next to her subordinate and raising one eyebrow at her. "If it did, we'd all be bored silly. Let's get to work."

INTERDEPARTMENTAL MEMORANDUM, ISS AGINCOURT To: Charlotte Elizabeth Harper, Colonel, Commanding Officer From: Christina-T'Prinn Caine, Lieutenant (Senior Grade), Chief of Security Re: Corianis Patrol Team Incident Colonel: You have no doubt by now already received a report from Commander JoNs regarding the somewhat chaotic incident resulting from Agincourt Security's latest patrol detachment through the Corianis capital city, which she chose to accompany. As I have some doubts regarding her ability or desire to present you with an entirely objective account of the incident, I would like to submit the following report for your consideration. Commander JoNs was proud to inform me (and, no doubt, yourself as well) subsequent to the incident that she was responsible for alerting my teams to the presence of an ambush group of rebel workers which was preparing to assault us after we passed beyond a certain point. This alert came in the form of the highly uninformative and distinctly unprofessional instruction, "Move your butts!" and ended up causing as much chaos as actual helpful activity. The end result was a violent engagement which I am entirely certain could have been avoided had our esteemed Executive Officer allowed my teams time to survey the situation and determine the level of threat. However, this incident resulted not from a desire to allow her officers to do their jobs, nor even from a desire to supplement them (which, though ignorant, might have been forgivable had it been managed with less -- there is no other word for it -- stupidity), but from an action entirely unrelated to the mission objectives. The Commander has admitted to me that she was in the process of pursuing a business interest at the time of the incident (hence her location away from the main team) and my own research would indicate that the business dealings available to one in that section of the city are almost certainly not of the sort admitted to be legitimate. I don't need to remind you, I'm sure, Colonel, of the sensitivity of this situation, or the difficulty of the task we face in quelling the riots slowly spreading throughout the city. I have admittedly never worked with Marine forces but I am quite sure that your command experience will back up my assertion that one must be able to trust one's team to adhere to the mission objectives. I am not so foolish as to assume that I can trust any of my team on a personal level, but there is a certain level of professionalism that must be adhered to if we are to accomplish our missions, or even simply continue to exist with all our heads attached. Commander JoNs's actions showed that her first loyalty and concern does not lie with the success or failure of the Agincourt's objectives. Moreover, she has all but admitted that her interests were in fact directed towards an area entirely outside the authority of the Empire. I trust this matter will be dealt with quickly and with the appropriate level of severity. Please inform me if I may provide any further information that would be of use to you. Lieutenant (S.G) Christina-T'Prinn Caine Chief of Security ISS Agincourt