OdileCondacin

Yeah, go ahead and send me a message about it.

ROFL, kitty

Odile Condacin, professional snoop, gossip queen, and scientific investigator, went boldly forth into the Brig, glancing at the on-duty guard. "Here only in the name of science. I promise I won't attack our pet Selshan," she assured. The guard looked at her dubiously, particularly at the knife, but waved her on. "Forcefield stays on," he stipulated. "That's fine," Odile agreed, choosing not to mention that yes, she WAS certified with the dagger, and promptly stomped past, towards the cell. "Good morning," she greeted with a false cheerfulness. "You must be Noleph. I'm Odile." He looked up at her, eyes dark. "Is that supposed to mean something to me?" "It means," her usual snappishness sneaking into her voice, "that I'm in a good mood and being polite. It also means that I have a few questions for you." "More questions." He sat up on the bunk, carefully stretching his long limbs. "Your people certainly ask a lot of them. What is it you want to know this time?" "Forgive me. I haven't followed all the interrogations thus far, and I might double up what we've already asked you. So you, if I have this correct, are a rebellious man who's turned to your people's enemy to... do what exactly? Or is 'treason' a pastime for your kind?" "Hardly," he replied contemptuously, his skin flushing a slightly darker lilac. "I have no especial love of the Featherbrains. Even now, having spent so much time among them... I do not love them. They are, and always will be, the Enemy." "Then why ally yourself? Is it worth betraying the rest of the Selshan for your own agenda?" "My agenda is the rest of the Selshan," Noleph replied heatedly. He stood up; his head almost brushed the cell's ceiling. Pacing in the tiny cell, he said, "You do not understand what Shel'shaala is like, Federationer. They have stifled us completely; we stagnate. Our race will die if left like this -- no race can survive such complete, unchanging stability." "So it's your job to light the explosions that'll unsettle your social structure? That hardly seems... loyal." "You sound like them." Snorting contemptuously, he stopped pacing long enough to fix her with a disgusted glare. Odile stroked the hilt of her dagger in thought. "Them? Military? Government officials? Peace-lovers?" "Our government. They would say I and others like me want to disrupt and destroy the entire fabric of society: tear down the halls of government, destroy all social authorities -- even to enticing children to disobey their parents. Such is the portrait they paint of us." "You willingly killed members of your own species, lied to your allies of the moment, and, again, seem quite the traitor. I can't say I blame them. Are they cruel? Do they act as tyrants -- do your people have enough to eat?" "Tyrants? Oh, yes." Noleph came to the forcefield, leaning against the edge of the cell's 'doorway.' "As for killing them... there are over 1 billion counts of assault on my record. Since they already count me a criminal, I thought it was time I did something to deserve the label." "How progressive and... considerate," the Xenexian remarked sarcastically. "Why do you care?" he replied. "You got what you wanted, didn't you?" "Because, Noleph," she replied condescendingly, "it's not our way to kill without need. Unlike yours." His face darkened. "Do you think I wanted this? We are not -- by nature -- social revolutionaries. We wanted peace, and fair dealings with other races. If we call for revolution, it is only because we can find no other path!" "You could fool bystanders like us." "You do not understand," he said again. "If you knew Shel'shaala..." "Make me understand, then." He began to pace again, restlessly. "Shel'shaala... On Shel'shaala, if you not one of our few great leaders, you are nothing. And you cannot become such a leader except through rising in the military, for the 'civic duty' and 'sacrifice' is much-planted in our psyche. Even what few matters are put to a vote are restricted to military personnel; theres is no enfranchisement for the rest of us." "I see. A war-machine, then?" "Very much so," he agreed. "To put all power in the hands of those who make war is to invite war. And so it has gone for many generations... and as we found out when we began exploring space, we are a long-lived people. On average, we may expect to see some two hundred orbits; many live longer still. For the most part, people are content, even though we seem to be perpetually at war. We have order at home, and who would say that order is not good? It was difficult for many of us in the movement to see that our society must change, if our goals are to be accomplished." "What goals?" "All we want," he said softly, sadly, "is a voice in our own destiny." Odile sighed. "I can't blame you. I really can't. But... killing your kind isn't the way. Can't you see that? Desperate times call for desperate measures, I know, but still..." Noleph nodded, but his face was grim. "Nothing else has worked," he pointed out. "Nothing else has gotten their attention. They slap us down like biting flies. They charge us with treason -- and, on Shel'shaala, treason is the highest crime among us, worse than murder or rape or any other violent crime. Those crimes have one victim. Treason is counted as a crime against every being in the Imperium. And for what? For speaking!" "Surely there are enough they cannot silence all of you..." He sighed. "We are a people who love Order," he said. "The threat of being labeled an agent of Chaos is enough to silence many. Those who do speak often flee -- as I was forced to." "A shame." Odile shook her head, slowly. "But I don't know there's much we can do." "Your situation seems... one that could arguably be approached from another direction. And after you yourself betrayed us... I fear you've lost a potential ally with my comrades." He shrugged. "I felt it necessary. Perhaps all the Chaos among the Featherbrains has infected me." Noleph's voice trailed off, then resumed with a distant quality, as though speaking to himself. "The whole time I was there, it made me itch to be amongst murderers. But there -- perhaps we aren't so different, after all." "I..." O'd'yl shook her head. "I don't think I understand." Shaking himself from his reverie, he looked at her with a wry amusement. "Which part?" "... you noted murderous tendencies at some point?" "Among the Featherbrains?" "They do... squawk..." Odile admitted, smirking. "Enough to drive one batty, after time?" He gave her another of those wry smiles. "It wasn't that. To be among beasts that had destroyed worlds of my people..." "I can only imagine. They must be monsters to you, no?" "Monsters, yes -- a good word," he agreed. "The Umbara are ruthless. They own a vast empire, larger than the Imperium, and they are bent on destroying us, for we opposed their rule. Already they have wiped out several worlds in the Imperium, destroying every sentient being and leaving the planets to the animals. Well, small wonder, being animals themselves -- they are merciless. Watch how you deal with them. Brutal and unforgiving, they revenge every slight a hundredfold and think only of their own power." "And how do they describe you?" Noleph chuckled. "Probably much the same," he said, "but my people prefer to remold worlds rather than destroy them." "Remold?" asked Odile, with a sharp look in her eyes. "What do you mean, 'remold'?" With some surprise, he looked at her. "When our forces conquer a world," he said, "the population is always converted. The war machine must have its cannon fodder, after all." "Converted." Odile pursed her lips. "And by converted you mean a change in thoughts and ideas?" "I mean a change in themselves -- have you not seen it yet?" Clearly shocked, he drifted back towards the forcefield. "You must have. It is half the reason our movement has gained force at all; many of us do not even object to the conquest of other worlds, but only of the conversion. It seems... distasteful, to take from people their very being." "The Soltan?" Odile's face darkened. "What do you know about them?" His jaw hung slack as he stared at her. "They are the agents of the Imperium's power," he said finally, recovering himself. "They fight -- and die -- for the Imperium, and there are always more to be thown into the battle. That fleet, out there -- " He jerked his chin toward the bulkhead, indicating the warzone beyond the hull. "You do not know how strange it is, to see a fleet entirely of our own ships. Nor will it remain so for long; they will already by deciding where to call Soltans from, to take over the battle. My people fight well enough, and I would not -- precisely -- call them cowards, but on the whole they prefer to let someone else risk battle. With an unlimited supply of Soltans to exploit, they do not need to." "They're your slaves, then?" Comprehension was starting to show the first rays of dawning. "Your worker class, so to speak?" "Fighter class, to be more accurate," he said. "But slaves is close to correct, if slaves can ever be happy in their service." "They don't resist you themselves?" "Oh, no," he replied. "Loyal, that race. A perfect match to us, really -- enamored of authority and order. Because we have set ourselves as their authorities, they will never question us." "Fascinating," Condacin murmured. "How long have you been allied?" "Oh, many generations," Noleph replied. "They were one of the first races we encountered after developing spaceflight. That was... a little more than three thousand orbits ago." "I see..." Odile made a few mental notes, and took a step back. "Well, uhm..." She pointed vaguely towards the way she'd entered. "I need to go and study and think about these things... and you have a nice day in our brig, if you can." The Xenexian hesitated in the holding area, in thought for a long moment. Noleph gazed after her. "Not such a monster after all?" he asked her, and went to go lie down on his too-short bunk again. Golden eyes smoldered as she looked back at him, and silently, she left.

No, not really, it's pretty well documented, even from the crew of the Eldridge (the ship allegedly used in the experiment) that there's very, very limited validity. Again -- conspiracy theory blown way out of proportion.

Unless you're referring to the United States' nuclear program in the 1940s, I think you're talking about the fabled Philadelphia experiment, which, despite what Coast to Coast AM and other conspiracy theorists claim, is pretty well known to be an urban legend. Basically, the Philadelphia experiment was rumored to have involved the Navy "cloaking" one of their ships. Legend holds that it went very very bad.

::Outsider chiming in:: He doesn't like mirror?? Well then, I agree. A visit to the booth might clear that up. :lol:

"Seal off this holodeck. Don't let so much as a stray tabby in here without my presence and approval -- even if it looks like the chief of security," I drawled lazily, and gathered up the Marine combat scanner in one arm. The name's Sin, Oddly Sin, and I'm an investigator. A scientific investigator, if you catch my drift. It means I'm slave to a lot of things -- long hours, hard-hitting risks, and the Marine colonel who's a more demanding broad than most of my pals' dames back home. And we're talking Xenexian females. They're mean and know how to drive hard bargains. But Charlie could top the best of 'em. It would have been a nice night, if it weren't for the pounding of my head and the problems I had. Yeah, I had more problems than the colonel and the bartender back in Kathmandu who said I hadn't paid my tab in a few years. I thought we were square, but... apparently stabbing a loudmouth to end a brawl didn't cover it, in his book of debts. Don't see why it wouldn't. In any case, the year hasn't treated me like I was one of its drinking buddies and bought me a Miller during happy hour. In fact, if we were sharing a bar, 2397's sloshed a few beers in my face. Staining, heavy import beers that leave a bad taste in your mouth -- even if you weren't drinking it by choice. You'd think I'd had a one-night stand with the year by how quickly it dumped me, out in the Alpha quadrant. It added insult to injurt by adding pips to my collar until I thought my neck was ready to snap, and holed me up behind the desk where it's just me, the paperwork and Knife. Knife's my mate, my pal, my friend, and the one person I trust completely. We have each other's sixes, Knife and I, if you know what I mean. But there's no funny business. Knife and I keep it on the level. But on top of it all, 2397 decided to add in one more problem. Its name was Trouble, and it had a fouler stench than heavy floral perfume. Trouble came in the form of a little incident down in Holodeck Three. I can't say it's a low-end dive -- Holodeck Three's never led me to Trouble before. Worst I ever get out of there is a bad replication of a Miller, but the barkeep fixed that easily enough. I headed down to the NNC. Now that wasn't low-end either, but definitely seedier than some other corners of the 'Court. You got a chill when you went in there, like heading into a meat locker, and you felt like the meat. Raw, vulnerable, and likely to be hooked through to hang on the wall. No, definitely not my night, I realized, not for the first time. The heads of the black-clad characters whirred to look at the bluegill as soon as I entered like something out of The Exorcist. "Just here for the evidence," I calmed them, sauntering towards the stasis units. Stasis had taken a toll on many on this ship and was one of my worst enemies -- it had put me in command of the entire good-for-nothing department -- and I treated it with respect as long as it didn't take any more liberties with me. One strike I can forgive, if it doesn't involve someone insulting Knife. But stasis had blown its one chance, and we were on uneasy terrain now. Stasis, in this case, was a neutral party, however. It was just holding the bat'leth that'd been used in the case that'd been thrown on my desk, and after I retrieved the unit holding the nasty, we headed back to my office. It was a brief visit, just popping in to drop off the Marine scanner in my safe and deliver the bat'leth to my desk under lock and key. I trusted my men, but not the other departments farther than I could swing Knife. Except for the cat. The cat I trusted, for now. She kept her whiskers out of my operation and I kept Knife out of hers. Such arrangements worked well for dangerous broads like us. It was my favor to the janitors -- blood was so hard to get out of the carpeting. And then I was down. Now, where I was headed this time was low end, in all the literal senses. Engineering was the bottom of the garden shovel, and the long turbolift ride put a pit in my stomach that wasn't helped by the chicken wings that had been lunch. It was a dark, deserted Jeffries tube where the crime had been planned, sources told. Not that o'Ur l'Ittle Rihan was always to be trusted, but this didn't smell like green-blood coup to me. Kassem was on the up-and-up for now, at least. Still, my senses told me to keep watch on that Chief... or I should say... Daise. I took out my scanner. My scanner was another one of those good flunkies who'd never done me any wrong. I couldn't have asked for clearer readings, tonight beind no exception, and I made like a tree and left the backwater conduit, headed back for my more familiar haunts. Aiella was on shift when I came back. Good. That meant that no one had tried to break and enter into the office. Aiella was a trustworthy type with fingers in dozens of different pies and just a touch of a scheming streak. It meant we got understood each other well enough that we could almost be friends, but she didn't step on my toes, and I didn't have constant desires to let Knife loose at her. But this raven-haired dame wasn't the typical chain-smoking secretary that a good S.I. like me usually has. Aiella's a savvy girl. She can sing like an angel (more like a devil with that alto, but who's being judgmental?), but even if she's the type to go hit the lounges and sing for tips once she was done with the science gig, Aiella has brains to match the pipes. Me? I couldn't hit more than two notes, and even then the other people in the karaoke bar said I was croaking. They clearly didn't know what they were talking about, but it was their loss. Clearly. I unlocked and settled into the comfortable black chair behind my well-carved desk, reading through an old issue of some trashy, easy-on-the-eyes magazine while the scanner uploaded to Science's main computer system. I went straight to the heart of the matter -- the DNA sweeps -- as quickly as if I'd literally done it with Knife. We'd see what turned up. DNA was my ally, along with its partner RNA. We worked together on many cases, and if DNA'd do me the favor and do some talking without ridiculous fragmenting, I had a shot at solving this. Otherwise, it was back to square one for me -- and a visit to the flask for me and Knife. A few possible results streamed in, inconclusive. No, that wasn't what I wanted. Damnit, DNA was better than this, most of the time. It was helpful to have a friend at the microscopic level, sometimes. It got you the ins that you couldn't get from my size. Took a few more minutes, then it whispered something to my ear. Suddenly it hit me like the luxury liner hitting the iceberg: cold and hard. I knew who'd done the crime, and I knew who'd do the time. It gave me a lead that I couldn't believe I didn't guess from pure speculation. Instantly, I kicked myself for missing the clues. Motive. Motive was there. I wouldn't have chalked up the grey matter to being enough to be this nefarious, but apparently there was more to my crook than had met the eye. And it made sense. It had clicked into place like a round into the chamber of a good pistol. It was curtains for someone, and that someone wasn't going to like it. At all.

And don't forget Angel or Walter Neff... even if the latter wasn't a PI. :lol:

Odile entered Sickbay, grinning at Aiella -- who was down there for some purpose -- hopefully to gather more "intel", and moved over to the biobed with the sleeping Caitian. "She does need her rest!" a nurse hissed in the quiet, but the look from Odile (and the unsheathed dagger) gave her the distinct "shush" look. Needless to say, she complied with it. With the hilt of the gracefully engraved dagger, Odile nudged the kitty, hoping to rouse her to some state of consciousness. "Kitty..." she called out, almost sing-song. "Yoohoo, wake up..." JoNs was on her stomach, and grunted in her sleep. A sharper nudge. "Commander Cat... you have company." "Maybe she really does need her sleep, Lieutenant..." With a 'pfffhhht', the lieutenant commander awoke, and promptly groaned as she rolled over onto her back. The feline winced. "What?' "I told her not to wake you," the nurse sniffed, moving off. "How you feeling, kitty?" Odile tossed her knife in the air, looking over one shoulder at the cat as she sat on the biobed Kitty occupied. Kansas gingerly moved into a sitting position, her back against a pillow. "Honestly Odile? Lousy. The away team really took a pounding." "So I heard." She nodded, sympathetically. "But the gas issue -- it wasn't your fault, you know." Nor was it Science's, she added, silently. "No, it isn't anyone's fault directly. Granted, at this point I'm trying to understand why a Selshan double agent was believed in the first place regarding the affect that the gas would have on his people." "You're not alone there. Now... is there anything I can do for you? Get for you -- food?" She looked at the nasty little human nurse. "Assuming Nurse Prickly there doesn't attack me for bringing you something..." The felines look turned sheepish. "Well, yes - my stomach has since settled, and I could use something to eat...I, uh, threw up on Shadow..." "Oh... uhm..." Odile paused. "He's energy -- I'm sure he didn't mind..." Kansas flashed a weak grin. "How about some tea and toast? That would be safe, at least until the concussion completely clears up." "Sounds good." She headed over to the replicator, yelling across the Sickbay at the Caitian. "How do you take your tea?" The cat placed a paw on her temple. Ow...yelling...ow. "Cream, sugar, plain." "Okay." Now the nurse was glaring -- didn't she have anything better to do? "Here you go, kitty. With mouse flakes on the toast." A mischievous grin as she returned to the bedside of the injured feline. A small grin flashed at the Xenexian. "You're waiting on me. You must have been concerned." "Only a little," she admitted, blushing a little. "Do you like your pillow? Do you need another?" A paw went up halfway. "I'm good. And don't read to me either - we don't want to scare the staff." She winked to soften the statement. "I always liked that. Tales of the Liberation when I was sick -- it made me want to get up and forget that I had a head cold, and go fight Danteri," she remarked, nostalgically. "I bet I could find a copy in the databanks..." JoNs started to chuckle, but then her grin faded. "Odile - do you have any sciences speculation on what really happened with the gas?" "I think it wasn't researched well enough; that or we were lied to." "...I'd say a bit of both, from all departments and our Selshan guest, in all fairness." Odile's eyes flashed. "The Marines studied the gas. Science wasn't even clued in about it! Damned Marine "scientists"... " "Whoa, whoa, please don't go off half cocked; Security will have enough of a time with our Birdie guest as well as keeping the crew away from the good Mister Noleph for retribution purposes." "If I'd planned mayhem regarding our guest... I'd likely have already carried it out," O'd'yl admitted. "Besides, Harper might kill me if I attacked the birdie, and you wouldn't like it if I didn't invite you..." A grin appeared on the Caitians features. "We need to make up tee shirts that say "Got Birdie" with a picture of an Umbara drumstick..." "... I like that idea. I think we have Thanksgiving covered, after his little stunt, at least. Senior officers' dinner, at least..." An amused purred trill sounded off. "Mmm... cranberries. It's one of the few human holidays I like..." she admitted. Kansas had nibbled at the toast and sipped the tea a bit, but now set the tray aside. "Odile, thank you for stopping by....but I am still not feeling well...can I take a rain check - I think that's what the humans say - we'll get together later and plot." Odile nodded, getting up. "Of course... and let me know if you need anything, kitty?" A small cough. "Er, Commander." "I will...Stabby." A pink tongue was stuck out at the Xenexian, a small indication that the Caitian was on the mend. "Hmph." She tapped her knife, heading out. "Tabby."

Happy birthday, Jami!!

Sometime before the last sim... Aiella walked into the Science lab carrying a stack of padds in one hand and a look of pure disgust on her face. "I think I am going to be sick," she said pointedly to Odile, placing the stack of padds down next to the Xenexian. "Maybe you should go to Sickbay then," Odile said, idly fiddling with her dagger with one hand, and attempting to ignore the ever-growing stack of paperwork which grew every day she hid on the Bridge, away from all of her little scientists. Of course, Aiella hardly counted -- they'd been friends (in a sense) as enlisted officers on the ship. "Oh no," Aiella said, sharply. "I just came from there..." "Oh?" "Why do you think I am going to be sick? The... tension... down there is so thick you could cut it with your little knife." Odile glanced at her knife for a moment, then at Aiella. There was nothing little about her knife, thank you very much. "Tension? Oh, about the virus?" she finally asked, after that moment of confusion passed. "Or something with our Umbara birdie friends? Do they have some exotic bird flu or something?" Taking her seat in one of the high stools next to a lab table, Aiella crossed her long legs over each other and lifted a brow, Vulcan-esque. "That wasn't the sort of tension I was referring too..." "Oh?" Odile half redirected her attentions to her paperwork, did her daily curse of Medusa, and glanced back to the dark-haired female across from her. "A bit of a tiff down there with the vampires?" "Only if you count the emotional variety." ... and the gossip queen surfaced in Odile. "All right, Petty Officer -- spill it. What's going on down there? My ears are too busy to be in the chain of juicy tidbits, lately." Leaning back in her chair, Aiella smirked, rueing her momentary hold on knowledge that the evil queen of science had missed. "Well judging by what I saw, and what the nurses told me..." She stopped to smirk a few more times, her dark red lips highlighting the glimmer of white teeth. "Yes?" Condacin demanded. "I said to spill it." "Apparently there's quite the love triangle forming in the medical department." She smirked again, twirling an idle lock of her deep black hair between her fingers. "Not that a senior officer... like yourself... would be interested." "Of course not. And this love triangle is between whom?" Her eyes glittered; she leaned forward to peer intently at the enlisted science officer, who'd had a penchant for gossip that'd been rivaling her own for... how long? As long as Odile'd been on the ship, for certain. "Apparently that doctor we picked up off Gideon." She paused a moment. "You know that Trill woman who wears those godawful last-year stillettos all the time?" "The one apparently overcompensating on a multitude of levels for some perceived lack of effeminate qualities? Gods. Yes." Who wore stillettos... on a warship, for heavens' sakes? Certainly not a more intelligent officer. Perhaps one who also worried over her height. "I am not a thousand percent sure," Aiella said, looking over her nails. She wished she could find a decent manicure in this quadrant -- you'd think with those Umbara things and their talons, someone would know how to decently do nails. But no. "But I am pretty sure that in a past life, she wrote cheesy romance novels. And now she's getting to live them out." Odile rose, picking up a random padd from her desk, and strode brilliantly into a small open spot of her lab, orating grandly. "Oh my love, my love, the stars beyond that porthole do not shine as brightly as your... eyes, my love. Please, kiss me and let me touch your sexy uniform, and make tender love to you on a biobed." She hit a pose. "Oh, I love you forever." O'd'yl grinned ferociously. "How's my acting?" "Actually, your somehow less melodramatic. I think they were crying together in the coridor." "You still haven't told me the other two members of this little triangle, Petty Officer..." "Didn't I?" she asked, batting her long lashes innocently. "Have I mentioned you're an evil woman, Aiella?" "Almost as often as you question the species of our fine colonel." "Jellyfish," she replied quickly. "I don't do it that often. Now -- you're changing the subject." "But we haven't discussed the mater of payment," she said grinning widely. "You think I give everything away for free?" "I don't have to bribe my own people," she replied, slightly irritated as she took out her knife. "Oh," Aiella said ruefully, "I think I forgot who the nurses told me she was with in that corridor..." "Fine. What do you want?" Victorious. "Well... I think you can manage my shifts for the rest of the week. And oh yes..." "Oh, like hell." "Oh well...my memory is a bit foggy you know..." Your memory is just fine, Petty Officer. I'll cut an hour off each shift for the next week. Time to start talking." It was really only a matter of time now. As much as the hardened Xenexian wanted everyone to believe otherwise, Aiella had known her long enough to know that the Xenexian was at heart right at home in the most vicious of sewing circles. In fact, Aiella was pretty sure that there was a thread loop in that dagger of hers, and that she used it for needlepoint. "I don't know... there was a lot going on in Medical when I was there, and I could barely make out what Nurse Farrins was whispering to me." "Aiella!" O'd'yl fairly bellowed. "You're not getting the week off." Then, more conspiratorily, "It'd be suspicious, you see..." "You're resourceful." "And you're manipulative." "I don't know what you're talking about." "Three days off." "Three and your holodeck time, and I might be able to recall some more detail. You know... because I'll have to strain myself to recall the details and will need the time to relax and recoup." "Have I mentioned lately how much I hate you?" "You ooze it." Odile's will-power was clearly fading, and she sighed. "Fine, take the holodeck time too." Triumphantly, Aiella sat up in the high stool. This almost made having to listen to the sordid details of the medical triangle of love from hell worth it. The holodeck time certainly made up for having to retell it... with some slight embellishment.

Set before Harper's 'End of Shift'. After Paradox left, Harper slowly sank down in her command chair, glaring half-heartedly at the viewscreen. The padd in her hand tapped restlessly against her knee, though she barely seemed aware of its presence. "Charlie?" Odile called out softly, eventually phasing out of her Umbara Thanksgiving reverie. "You holding up okay over there?" she asked quietly. Sometimes, rank and all, it still surprised O'd'yl that it actually was Harper in command, and little as she liked to admit it, the Xenexian felt underqualified to bolster her in the scientific areas. So, if nothing else, moral support... Snapping out of her thoughts with a visible start, Harper glanced over at Odile. "Yeah. I'm fine, Sin. Just... you know." She gestured with the padd at the battle lines on the screen. A knowing nod. "What do you make of it? Of this whole..." Odile gestured a bit, motioned past the walls of Agincourt to the reaches beyond. "... this whole thing." She paused. "This isn't exactly what I was trained for as an enlisted science gofer, and, well, I don't know what they taught you at Shark School..." "Mostly I'm tempted to get out and start shooting," she admitted wryly. "Counterproductive, but there it is." The Xenexian laughed. "I'll join you in that wishful thinking department. But then again..." Odile smirked, "we hardly need more deathwish-ful, trigger-happy people." A beat. "At least he wasn't one of yours." "Mine have more sense," she answered archly, lifting her chin to a snobbish angle. "Or more fear. But it's not the kitty's fault she lacks your reputation," Odile teased, rearranging a few pieces of data on Harper's report. "I almost have this done for you, Tentacles, then you can see what a hellish little nebula we have before us." "Not on the bridge, Sin," Harper replied automatically. Her eyes drifted to the padd she held, thumb holding the scroll pad down. "Did Astrometrics have anything on the nearby systems?" Condacin was immune to the minor chiding -- she'd done it before, and without doubt she'd do it again. "They're a mixture -- some Selshan, some our poultry friends. I've been going over them with a fine-tooth comb, and nothing is particularly jumping out at me in any of them." Sighing, she set down the padd. "All right. Let me know when the nebula report is done." "Should be soon enough. It's a maze in there -- there's one clear passageway, but if for some reason we went off course, or something in there shifted... it could be messy. The gases in there alone would be fun to study..." The inner geek surfaced in the would-be-crotchety science officer, and she grinned. "Not to mention the "does the ship goes boom?" tests -- it's a shame we only have one ship to send in." Shooting an exasperated look at the science officer, Harper said, "I really wish you wouldn't make jokes like that on the bridge, Sin." Discreetly she pointed at the young helm officer, who had turned a little pale. Odile sighed, glancing at the ensign. "I was kidding," she informed him, and settled in against her console with folded arms as she awaited the completion of the nebula's sensor processing. "Ah. Here." She dialed in a few codes to initiate the data uplink, and nodded. "Still nothing on the other side. I'm sorry -- we boosted sensors as much as we could." "Not your fault." Harper twinned the data on her own small screen and studied it. "No chance of finding a second safe corridor, then? Or a mostly-safe one?" "I don't think so, Medusa. And if there is... it's going to be even less reliable than this one. This one's a gamble in our favor; a second is going to be pretty bad odds. I'll keep looking, of course, but don't count on it." Sighing, she blanked the display with a touch. "Very well. Thank you, Condacin." "Any time." On a lark, Odile spun her chair outwards from the console, and hovered towards Harper for a long moment. "Dinner is on me tonight. Whenever it's dinnertime, I'll either make you something or bring you up something, since you're probably not going to leave the Bridge unless something drastically positive happens. What would you like?" she offered, giving her a shockingly sincere smile. Startled, Harper stared for a moment before her face creased into a smile. "Something light, I think," she said. "Sandwiches?" "That's good! I can't mess those up too badly. And here I thought it'd be the creme brulee and fois de gras I'd have to find ways of locating." She stopped herself, and hushed her voice to a quiet whisper. "Do you think one day we'll see Umbara foie de gras, Colonel? I was thinking earlier that they'd probably be good delicacy items... especially the drumsticks." Biting her lip on a smile, she growled warningly, "Odile..." "Fine, fine -- don't be on the edge of progressive dining. Sandwiches it is. Turkey?" She almost said yes, then paused to regard Condacin with a critical eye. "Perhaps we'd best avoid poultry. Roast beef. And tomato." "No birds. Gotcha. And what time would you preferably like your dinner served, assuming we aren't mid-bird battle or negotiation?" "In about..." -- she glanced at the chronometer -- "Is is that late already? How about at 1930, then, Sin?" "1930. That works." She sauntered back to her console, and smirked at the Marine. "Thank you for choosing Cafe Condacin -- We Bring the Food to Your Bridge." Harper chuckled. "You're impossible." "Privileges of rank, my dear. Now at least I have a good excuse for it."

My diplomatic motto: Stab first. Clean up the mess later.

As all good jellyfish would agree. No colonel could ever have enough Xenexian! Unstoppable! ... I think there's a hidden insult in here. Let me think it over. I wonder if I can get my brand of sarcasm trademarked. The royalties!! It's the tentacles. So familiar and welcoming and friendly!!! Great, great log, Colonel-Captain!

Happy birthday, pointy-ears. :)

And make sure you're signing in with your display name, not your login name. If all else fails, try registering a new account, perhaps?

I can't take this. I really can't. And I won't. This is wrong no matter how you cut it, and there's nothing I can do about it. Don't give me that look. You know I'm right. I know I am. I know what I'm talking about here. I talked with one of those from-Borg-back-to-human converts a few years ago. Back on One-Seventeen. She ran a little pub. She'd been a Starfleet faithful back around the time of Wolf 359. She was one haunted woman. You looked in her eyes and you saw that the terror was still there. The terror of being something else. That terror was one of those things that sticks with you. You see it and pray to every god in the old pantheon that you never have to go up against it. Well, now look. A lot of good those prayers did. You know... deep down inside there still has to be part of Burne, destroyed and mutilated beyond measure like the victim of some elaborate torture, but still Burne nonetheless. And we're holding on to him. We keep holding on and on... Yet... surely we know, deep down inside, that we're not going to find a cure. We're just making this worse for Burne. He's going to die, and the part of him that's human -- the part of him that they're holding onto for no good reason except to make themselves feel better -- has to be in utter anguish. I'm not saying he's better off dead than if we actually were able to restore him. After all, being alive and royally screwed up for the rest of your lifespan is better than being dead. But this time, we're just delaying the inevitable. Odile sighed. Someday, if we ever get back to Earth, I'm going to petition Command to put a 'transformation clause' in the paperwork. "If I ever get turned into something scary and malevolent, I want to be put out of my misery." ... I know I would sign on that line. But what's one lowly Xenexian to do? Anyway... break's up. You're good at listening. No, you are. No need to be bashful. I'll just go back out and see if I can't do something that doesn't involve being Science's Chief Bitch. You'll be willing to listen again when I have time? Good. Then we'll come back and finish this nice little chat when there's something new to discuss. Odile watched as the rock she'd been addressing dissolved into dusty sand, then the entire hot-winded panorama disappeared into the united sameness of the holodeck, bands of yellow crossing black in the artificial lighting. Something that had been situated on the rocky seat -- the very item she'd been addressing -- clattered to the ground, and the familiar arch appeared off to her left. She picked up the knife now rocking from side to side on the floor, reattaching it to her hip, and headed towards the portal. Bridge, Lab, or Sickbay? She wasn't going near the vampires, the Bridge would be stressful, and her office could be locked. The latter settled the issue.

... why did doctors always think that their job was to save the world? The job of a doctor, in Odile's most humbled opinion, was very similar to that of an engineer: a doctor repaired parts of a ship necessary to its operation (in this case the biological beings that operated various components said ship), and occasionally made investigations of a scientific nature -- again, much like an engineer might. The sobbing, bleeding-heart doctors that wanted to cure people for the sake of... "Gasp! Saving lives of innocent sentients!" And... "Weep! Doing no harm!" made her ill. Which led Odile to another observation she had made many times in her life -- the Hippocratic Oath was one of the most hypocritical things ever put before a Starfleet officer. "Do no harm"... where did that stop? She wished very much that she knew -- it would have made her little debate with the Spotted One easier. "Do no harm if it is in regard to members of your own organization who are actually of the same species they were born as." was her suggestion. But no -- the vague nature of the oath had made this whole situation twenty times harder. That and the mistaken sense of nobility Tordai'd managed to pick up. Was that something Lexia added into the mix, she wondered, or something the symbiont had actually managed to infect itself with? Surely a smart old parasite would know better. The Vulcans were dead-on. "The needs of the many..." had to be the most straight-forward, well-thought-out adage Odile had ever heard, and considering how many Xenexian shamans pranced about Condacin babbling proverbs and wise sayings for a slice of bread here; a few herbs there... O'd'yl had heard quite a few. Oh well. The scientist was convinced that Harper would be swayed to her point of view before long. Let the Trill run her scans, and Odile would just have to sleep with her knife in her hand until the Soltan were processed in a way that meant they weren't around to sneak out and attack her mid-dream. She did a reshuffle of the scientists' shifts on Operations on her padd, making a mental note to put Driscol on an extra refresher course of how to work all of the console's functions. She didn't mind the idea of setting him up and reteaching him herself if she ever had time. Time was her most precious commodity, after all, since the god of paperwork had descended upon her inbox. If, gods forbid, she was ever promoted to commanding officer of a ship, she was hiring a score of attractive yeomans to do all this for her. And a very, very attractive executive officer to handle the rest. ... and a Xenexian doctor who wouldn't go all softy every time someone had to be put out of his misery. ... but she'd keep a kitty in security. The claws intimidated foes. ... and ... Odile yawned, then looked at the chrono. Whether or not the ship was in mortal danger from within... she needed a (gods forbid she now turn into a cat -- she'd rather be a Soltan) catnap, then she'd head back out to face the Trill and the Jellyfish. At least the Vulcan was on her side this time. Now she just needed Harper to agree...

Happy birthday to the NICE host!!

Odile sauntered into Medusa's office, a sly, easy, happy smile on her face, an empty holster at her side, and golden eyes twinkling as she carried a moderate-sized parcel. "Ooh... wait... I forgot to chime again. Do you want me to go out and try again?" Harper looked across the desk at the Xenexian, exasperated. "I'm going to start locking that thing." "Well, that's fair enough. Then if you're otherwise occupied, I'll know better." She presented the parcel with a large smile. "For my one and only Medusa. And I make deep amends for ever calling you a jellyfish. You deserve so much better." "Does it explode?" Charlie asked, eyeing the box suspiciously. "Hardly! Why would I do that to the only person on this ship who doesn't think I'm a threat to all Federation-kind?" That got a raised brow. "You are? O'd'yl, what have you been into this time?" "Making my superior officer happy. Rumor from other dimensions claims that it makes the lives of the hapless minions... happier." "I don't trust you further than I can throw you, you know that?" Nevertheless, she cautiously opened the parcel. It revealed a warm, heat-wrapped bowl of jambalaya and a tissue-paper-wrapped pink, knitted garment. "I thought the color would complement your eyes," Odile admitted, sheepishly. "And I figured you must be hungry -- all those hours in command must take their toll." Harper's jaw dropped. "That's... that's actually thoughtful of you, O'd'yl. Thank you." Then she paused, a suspicion entering her mind. "Is this a bribe?" "I would never participate in such illicit activity." She moved from the chair across from Charlie to her desk, draping herself comfortably as she opened the jambalaya, placing a spoon within it. "There you go! First rate service for a first rate colonel." Tentatively, she picked up the spoon. "You're starting to worry me." "Me? Never. It's not like I'd poison you." Harper paused with the bowl of the spoon just touching the stew. "Somehow I find that less than reassuring." "I'm quite a good cook. My academy roommate thought so... my department head on my cadet voyage..." She smiled her most innocent smile. Tentatively, she tasted the liquid. "I seem to remember you starting a small fire in the mess hall." Not bad. A little salty, maybe. She took a larger, but still cautious, spoonful. "Faulty equipment," the Xenexian dismissed. "Like? I can cook for my poor little Charlie more often." "Your poor little Charlie?" Harper's voice hardened, taking on a note of command tones. "Condacin, what have you been up to?" The accused started, jumping a little. "Nothing! I swear!" "Uh-huh. Right." She set the spoon down. "Would you like to fess up now, or wait until I find out?" "There's nothing to know! The repair teams should be done! It's not permanent!" Instantly, she bit her tongue. Gods help her the day that Harper should become an evil interrogator -- that tone of voice scared her more than any agony stall could. "Repair teams," Harper said flatly. She sighed and swivelled her chair around to face her computer terminal. A touch woke it, and she started typing a request for maintenance reports. "No! Don't!" She glanced over at Odile. "You could tell me, and save me the trouble." "Erm..." Odile considered the better of the worse options. "I sort of scratched your yacht, Charlie..." "Define 'scratched'," Harper said, folding her arms. "You know... scratched." She reached to her hip for a moment, about to make a demonstration with her trusty knife, but her eyes flickered worriedly. "Oh gods... I left it in there..." Charlie's eyes flicked to the empty sheath. "If you left it impaled in the circuitry, Condacin, so help me..." "Erm... not exactly..." "Then what, exactly?" "Ummm..." She struggled for words. "There's no need for worry, as I said. The insect's in the Lab now. No need for alarm. I'll just..." Odile scooched off the desk. "... be going now." Harper shrugged and let her go. There would be plenty of time for pursuing her wayward science officer... after lunch.

Lieutenant Commander JoNs entered the outer sciences offices, personal padd in paw, and headed over to the Chief of Sciences office. "Yo! Xenexian Warrior Woman, the Caitian Cometh!" She poked a furred head into the office and offered a fanged smile. "You all set for some sensor hunting Lieutenant?" Odile looked up, startled at the intrusion into her (not-so) shadowy little realm. "Kitty! Er -- Commander!" Charmingly, she smiled. "Yes yes! Of course! Just filing my flight plan! And preparing a list of snacks to bring." JoNs waited until Condacin motioned to one of the guest chairs and then with a slight purr settled in across from her fellow officer. "Flight plan? Just make sure it's not the Bonaventure - I swear that shuttle is a deathtrap." "Mhm... won't be Bonaventure. No need for worries. So would you like me to add on a few Caitian snacks? Roast Rodent Bites? Catnip sundae?" "....you know I do eat "normal" foods - sandwiches, soups, and the like." A Xenexian jaw dropped. "It's turned omnivore!" JoNs leered. "You know, you are just as pounceable as a Klingon wildebeast...." Odile's eyes widened. Something about those little kat-kwips always made her undeniably nervous. "I'll remind you, Kitty, that the knife is now unpeacetied." She flipped shut a tricorder, slinging it over her shoulder as she stood. "Now, before we both revert back to feral instinct, perhaps we'd best be going. I at least don't want my officers to see the fury of the Chief unleashed on a hapless feline..." Kansas offered a good natured purr stood, holding her Padd up. "All of the current security research is on this. Thank you for going out on this little impromptu sciences-security research field trip. I will feel better knowing that we didn't miss anything with regard to our Soltan research." "Oh, we won't miss a thing!" Condacin relaxed a little, smiling as she led the way to the door. "So partners in crime, you and I. Who'd have thunk it?" "Hmmmmm....." JoNs walked with the science officer, but was too busy perusing her padd's data screen, "....what? Crime? Since when?" "Nothing at all." Gold-toned eyes flashed playfully. "Nothing whatsoever. Come on, kitty..." Odile held the lift, part of her brainpower drifted towards devoting itself to the very interesting debacle of whether or not Starfleet prisons offered jumpsuits with space for tails. Kansas raised a whisker but did not comment further, entering the lift along with Odile. She must be in a playful mood today or something... "Deck Fifteen," she instructed. "So, thoughts on our little expedition this afternoon?" Besides "we're doomed". The lieutenant commander gave the lieutenant a glance. "Just do a once over of the hull, especially the area that was compromised with that vortex. Other then that, just check few hundred kilometer area both around the ship and the Gareem colony planet, comparing past readings with new ones...I just dont want to be surprised by those gods forsaken Soltans again." "Right," Condacin agreed. "And take any necessary samples of the area." She nodded to herself, appearing quite lost in thought. "Yes. We should prepare for the possibility that we need samples! Lots of samples!" ”.....you're awfully perky today..." "You'd rather I be crabby? I'm a Cancer, but that doesn't mean I always have to carry a sour disposition, now does it?" Kansas looked surprised. "You're the sign of the crab in the Old Earth zodiac? Interesting. I found out that I am as well, including, which is pretty fitting - a tiger in the ancient Chinese calendar." "Quite fitting indeed! At least you aren't a rat -- that could have thrown me for a loop. But you're very rarely crabby -- it's not often you actually see the kitty-tail whipping..." For a moment, the Xenexian wondered how things would have turned out had she been a Caitian, and the imagined tail lashing made her tired just contemplating the notion. Involuntarily, she shuddered. "You feeling alright?" "Quite. Here we are." She stepped out of the lift, into the shuttle bay, and began peering at the assembled craft. "No, no," she muttered, looking at each shuttle in turn. "Nope..." The Xenexian passed by the shuttles, reaching the back of the landing bay. JoNs followed along, her gaze falling over the various shuttlecraft. "Aha. There's our little ship." She approached the vessel she'd pointed out to the Caitian, headed directly for the hatch. "The good ole Whitman." Kansas came to a dead stop. ".....are you insane? Wait, don't answer that. Are you serious?" The felinoid stared at the intended vehicle. "I filed the flightplan," she stated, sidestepping the question. "It's roomier. For all those samples." The Caitian woman skidded up beside the Xenexian woman. "Hellllooooooo...." huffy purr, "...this is the Captain's Yacht." "Colonel's, more technically! Besides, she's not possessive. Or even vindictive! She's well-meaning, and would gladly sacrifice her own pleasure craft for the good of ship and quadrant, right? For the samples," she repeated. "Besides, no one will give the flightplan a glance. We won't be out long. And what she doesn't know can't hurt her. Or us." Odile nodded repeatedly, speaking very rapidly. "Odile! We can't just up and use the yacht for a research run...this is the Colonel's command shuttle. There's no way we can take this yacht out. This sleek...fast...beautiful craft.....oh gods! Stop me." Odile smiled. "You can stay home, and I'll keep the omnivorous sandwiches for myself. And you can't make use of the leather chairs... with the heating elements built in... or the chrome-edged consoles... or the well-maintained engines and sensors..." JoNs closed her eyes. "Give me a second - my security mind and my civilian mind are having words over the various regulations we are violating..." The feline did not speak for approximately two minutes. Only the occasional whisker twitch or tail swish indicated that she had not fallen asleep standing up. She finally re-fixed her gaze on the Xenexian. "Let's do research - in style." A smile lit her golden furred features. "Right! Good good." She made her entry into the craft, a mischievous smile lighting her face as she went. "A little disappointing first impression -- I expected an attractive half-nude male servant to be on staff to greet us. And where are the marbled fountains?" The Caitian's nose twitched. "Ooooooo - leather, and it still has that new yacht smell!" "Has this ever even been used?" Condacin looked around, clearly awestruck. "Once, possibly? I don't think Harper has set foot in here. And it certainly hasn't been employed as a Troop Hopper." "This might become my survey vehicle of choice." She approached the navigation controls, almost reverently. "You don't think they'll dust for fingerprints, do you?" Kansas put a claw in the air. "You are appealing to my security sensibilities. Stop." "Very well. Do you think they have a wine selection on board, then?" Odile smiled. The claw stayed in the air. "Nooooooooo...no....no. Alchohol is bad kids." "Right. Right right. Scratch that thought..." she paused, "... metaphorically." The feline officer moved to the piloting console and quickly connected her data padd. "Ready to go?" "Yep. Strapped in and ready." Moments later, after the yacht had departed the Agincourt, JoNs turned to Condacin. "I'd like to head to the section of the hull that was recently compromised...." she checked a reading and entered a few new commands into the console. "You go ahead. I'm going to see what Harpie has stored in here." Another shudder. "If I want to know..." Meandering lazily to the back, she started rooting through a few packaging crates. "Ooh look! Who'd have thought she was a fan of SRM!" she called out excitedly. "It's the limited Issaha N'Dak edition!" Then she frowned. "Oh, damn, it's not addressed to her... just to one of the engineers that transferred off awhile back. They must have just left it in here." She moved the top crate aside, pawing through the second. "Foodstuffs -- ration packs. Yummy yummy," was the sarcastic comment. "But... that's odd... this looks like it was opened... or chewed thr-- ACK!" The lieutenant commander flipped an ear back. "Ack?" "Something moved! It... scurried!" Odile's voice was a few tones higher than usual. The tone more then anything caused JoNs to turn halfway around in her seat from the pilot console, looking concerned. "Odile?" "There was something in that one. With the food. It got out." She was shaking from the start, pressed up against the interior of the plush little yacht. Kansas rose from the chair, her sharp green eyes searching the area. "It had more than four legs. And shiny. But I didn't get a good look at it. I was more interested in the ration pack flavors." "Are you sure...." JoNs suddenly froze, "Odile.....don't move..." The insect-thing had appeared above the two women, about halfway between them. It perched on the casing of a fire extinguisher - JoNs had no idea what it was. It was a bright silver color, winged, and had a nasty looking stinger. The Caitian slowly reached a paw behind her, clicking on the console auto pilot. The small blip was enough to draw the bug's attention, and it fixed malevolent black eyes on her. "Oh dear..." "Eeks..." Odile squeaked out, traces of 'Xenexian Warrior Woman' disappearing very quickly. "I hate bugs..." Taking out her dagger -- its first combat in many summers -- she took a swipe, not quite catching the intended wing with her attack. JoNs dove and rolled, vaulting partially off the pilots chair; she left a ragged rip in her wake with a hind claw. She came up next to Odile as the other woman slashed. "Keep it busy!!" The Caitian quickly entered coding into the weapons locker bolted to a bulkhead near the rear of the craft. Odile took another valiant stab at the winged monster, gnashing her teeth at it as if it might be intimidated. "Shiny, rotting carapaces!" she hissed, catching the tip of one leg. "Mutated piece of slime! I hate bugs!" The surface wound served to make it angry, its overgrown antennae lashing towards the feline, then back to Odile. Kansas quickly checked the charge of a hand phaser, setting it to stun. "More importantly, what in the name of all that is good is it! Thoughts! Did we pick it up from anywhere?" The feline moved quickly, facing off with the bug next to Odile. "Oh gods...." "Maybe it was in a crate from the market, then the crewmen put rations in without seeing the bug..." She was interrupted by the behemoth going on a dive-bomb course, landing on Odile's face with six sticky legs clinging to her skin. She screamed, not wanting to stab herself in the face, and yelped. "Get it off! Get it off!" "You mean you want me to touch it?!" Even as she spoke the revulsion laced statement, the feline officer went into action, grabbing at the silver carapace. "Grozit!" Odile bellowed as the bug made a giant leap from Xenexian to cat, landing between her ears. The Xenexian tossed her knife at it, missing miserably as it sailed over her head, and into the chair behind JoN's. The security chief dropped the phaser and reeled backwards, claws scrabbling. "Mrrrrroooooooowwwwllllll!" "Not very fun, is it?" Odile elbowed it, careful not to restablish contact. The winged thing, highly angry at this point, buzzed off of the Cait's head, who continued reeling backward and slammed into another leather covered seat, scratching at the upholstery as she tried to get her footing and make sure the bug was off her. "Veken!" Amidst the chaos, the yacht begin to veer off course, bumping its bow into the side of Court, causing an ear-piercing screech which sent hackles up Odile's spine. This did not improve her temper, and with a resounding thwack, she finally got a good aim at the insect, sending it crashing into a bulkhead. The metallic-toned bug crumpled to the ground, and Odile rubbed at her fist, chiding herself for hitting it quite so hard. "It's dead," she announced. "I saved the day, and we're safe." JoNs quickly retrieved the hand phaser, taking aim at the dead bug. "...safe? Define...AHHH!" The not quite dead bug suddenly zoomed straight at them again; JoNs twirled and fired a stun beam as it blew past them. The stun beam slammed the metallic-type insect into a side bulkhead, leaving some green colored insect goop smeared across the surface before the insect came to rest on the carpeted decking; further goop, which possibly was some type of defense repellent, leaked into the carpeting and stained it. Odile was somewhat taken out of her shock when it again went limp, looking around the yacht with an ill, stricken look. "Merciful gods help us..." A feather landed on Kansas's nose and she sneezed; bits and pieces of the torn seat upholstery were floating all throughout the cabin. "...perhaps said Colonels will not notice said condition of said command yacht. With that said, I say we nix said research trip..." JoNs as well looked around at the condition of the Whitman. "....can you requistion a repair team, quickly?" The feline stared at one of the chairs complete with her claw marks ."Oh dear..." "Yes! I will! We need to get back now!" She paused. "Actually... a repair team will show up on her reports... maybe we should just hope she doesn't realize what happened. We can say we found the bug in the shuttlebay. Omit mention of the yacht -- hope she doesn't see the flightplan -- and if she asks, we'll say that the bug has claws." ".....the insect has claws? No mention of the yacht? We can't do that! Hell, I can't do that! Look, Odile - this falls into that whole responsibility thing..." Kansas looked closer at a smear of the goop, but did not touch it. "Oh, that is just nasty..." Reluctantly, Odile nodded."Then I suppose one of us will talk to Harper. I'll do it. Downplay the damage, and make it sound like a small, minor issue. Fair?" "I'll be hiding on the other side of the ship. No, seriously - if you handle that area of this issue, I will grab a Damage Control Team to assess the yacht damage and attempt any repairs. Aye, fair." "It's a deal."

Godspeed to him.

There are ship-specific thongs available for some games.

Lieutenant Commander JoNs was ensconced at her desk in main security, editing a report on a padd. It was late in the day and she was starting to get tired. A familiar face stuck her head around the edge of the doorway, the rest of her sauntering in. "Commander Cat. Now... there's something you don't see every day," she drawled. "Imagine that -- they promoted you. I can't think of anything more frightful." Without looking up from said report padd, Kansas spoke. "Hello Petty Officer. How may I help you?" Then, her gazed latched onto the Xenexian and she promptly froze on the spot. "Very disrespectful. How very disrespectful," her counterpart chided. "To a fellow senior staff member, too." Oh, how she was loving this part of the promotion. "One would think that you'd have more courtesy when dealing with a full lieutenant." JoNs then began making strange gurgling noises as she began to clutch at her chest. "Theatrics, Kitty? I assure you, I was considering a suggestion that Harper get a mental health analysis, too." The Caitian lieutenant commander favored Odile with a playful look, before standing and offering a paw, nodding respectfully. "Congratulations Lieutenant Condacin." "Accepted." She smiled, shaking the offered paw vigorously. "And to you, Commander. I always knew that extra pip would show up on your collar." The felinoid’s gaze became wistful before she focused fully on Odile again. "Thank you...but I did expect said extra pip to happen later in the career, if that makes any sense." "I understand that." She lightly smacked the dual set of offending pips at her own throat. "I hadn't expected these at any point. I never wanted a commission." Odile let out a sigh as wistful as the kitty's stare. "But when a jellyfish says to accept something, you accept it. I even tried resigning. Got rejected." The Caitian offered a seat with a wave of her paw. ... and she sat. "There's only one positive angle to this entire debacle. That's why I'm here." "Positive angle? And that is?” Fiddling with something at her side, O'd'yl eventually tossed something onto the Caitian's desk. It was sharp, well maintained... "This is getting unpeacetied." The Caitian double-checked on her fellow officer's body language and then respectfully picked up the knife, admiring its simple forge. "Un-tied. Very well." "I was ordered to get all of the 'I Will Not Hurt People With My Knife' paperwork by Medusa. I don't think she trusts me." JoNs reached into a drawer and withdrew two small shot glasses and the half-filled bottle of brown liquor that she had shared with Javin. "Before we get into that, and before you make a smart-ass comment, No, I am not an alcoholic." She proceeded to pour the liquor for herself and Condacin. "Interesting that you have it so handy..." she commented, wryly. "What is this? Caitian Ale?" "Saurian brandy. To your health and promotion Odile." "And yours." She threw back a shot, smiling. Kansas grinned like a maniac. "We should be careful though. Us and Alcohol - bad combination." : "This is true. So. Any way I could convince you that those 'mandatory' refresher courses are... not so mandatory? Or would you have to be far more intoxicated?" The lieutenant command chuckled. "Far, far more inebriated. But, let’s do this - you fill out this paper work, and then we'll head down to the firing range for, what, thirty minutes? To make it official. Fair enough?" "Sounds good. And I think I'll keep away from that," Odile motioned to the bottle, "until then." Kansas nodded her assent and then rummaged in her desk for the correct report padd that Odile needed to fill out, finding it and then placing it on the desktop. "It's a pretty painless form, as red tape goes." She scratched the screen with a short nail. "All the usual questions." Odile took a few minutes to complete it, fudging a question or two that she wasn't inclined to answer in the fullest degree. "Here. You can make the quadruplicate copies yourself." The security officer took the completed padd and perused it, and then handed it back to Odile. "Misspelled word. Third question, second section." "Where?" "Fourth one in from your left." Kansas was enjoying this. "I don't see it." She frowned. The feline pointed with a claw at the offending word. "You misspelled ‘the’ as t-e-h." "Possibly too much inter-ship texting?" Odile just glared at her. "I never text. Who would I text, after all?" Jons raised her paws in the air in a placating gesture. "I can not help it if your spelling is off." "Typo," she corrected, venomously. "Typo. My mistake." A happy little smile graced the cat's muzzle. "The things I do for my knife..." The Caitian chuckled, favoring Condacin with a companionable smile. "Oh come now Lieutenant - I need to work you over a little bit regarding your new standing and directive. I have that little bit of entitlement." "True, Commander." She smirked. "So how does Security like having a furball running the show?" Kansas idly pawed at the desktop, tracing an unseen pattern. "As well as can be expected." Her full gaze then latched onto Odile. "Robair was a bit of a chock to everyone, including myself. And you? How is your department handling the news of their new chief?" "I haven't asked. One midshipman seemed pleased enough. The others -- as I told him, mass suicide, rioting, or transfers." "You know how Kirk and Co. reported that... what was it called? Agony Stall, I believe... in the mirror universe? Sometimes I wish we had one here. For effect." "Agony...erm...Stall? Sounds boring. Now flogging? There's an attention getter." Kansas had to fight to keep her deadpan delivery from falling into a fit of the giggles. "I'll remember that. Since... I do believe Harper made it quite clear that I wasn't allowed to Brig any of the scientists for hassling me. Flogging might do the trick." JoNs pointed a paw digit. "I was joking. You scare me." "Oh. Well then. No floggings." Kansas flashed a genuine grin. "Shall we head to the shooting range now? I myself could stand to shoot at some targets." "I'll just envision Harper's face in place of the bullseye." Odile grinned. "I'll never forgive her for the paperwork... JoNs rose from behind her desk. "Here’s a secret - the waste reclamation chute down by engineering? Wonderful place to space paperwork..." "Joking again?" "Well, I have entertained the actual thought of carrying out said spacing..." she moved to the exit. "One of these days we'll have a grand paperwork spacing. With great pomp and circumstance." She followed the security officer to the door. "Now, to the shooting range!"

O'd'yl sat on the Bridge, the 'little kid from Gamma' a few consoles ahead of her, doing... something. Did he know what he was doing? Had she invited a complete newbie to take OPS mid-battle without realizing it? Oops. The jellyfish would've had her head for it if he'd done something wrong... blow up the ship, for one thing. Better to put such fears to rest. She turned to him, putting a casual tone to her voice. "Midshipman... how much prior experience did you have with Operations?" she queried. Aidan slowly turned around when his Chief addressed him and frowned. "Experience? Well, I wouldn't call it that. I have certainly never done this in a combat situation. Well, frankly Chief, none." He knew this wasn't what she wanted to hear but he didn't care now. He was just glad this was over. Take desk, take head, smack head against desk repeatedly. "There's a first time for everything..." And she'd just made a huge mistake. But then again, she hadn't had time to memorize all the science records. "But from now on," she added in a cautious tone, "if a superior asks you to take a position in the middle of battle and you're unfamiliar with it, there's no shame in saying so." "Aye ma'am" He knew she was right, but when she'd told him to sit at the OPS console and wait until something happened he hadn't thought he'd have to deal with the hull integrity failing somewhere on the ship. It had more sounded like he was supposed to sit there and wait for the marines to check in regularly. Well, at least he hadn't been stupid enough to beam that marine over mid battle or they wouldn't be worrying about getting back home anymore. Despite feeling guilty, he was also a little proud of himself, everybody was alive and the situation on Deck 6 was under control. "Well then. You did quite well!" She smiled. Off on a good foot, as CSCI? Wow. Aidan grinned sheepishly. "Well, let's say I could have done a whole lot worse." He was starting to think that his Chief might not be as bad as everyone had always claimed. "Yes, you could have." Blunt as a club. "I'm about to go off shift, and I do think you are, too. Want to run by the mess? I, for one, get hungry during battles." He didn't really have a choice there. Saying no to your chief was hardly an option, and now that she had mentioned it, he was indeed hungry. "I would gladly accompany you." "Very good." She swung out from her console, logging off before standing. "Need to finish anything up, or ready to head down?" Aidan couldn't help grinning at this. "No, I don't have anything to finish off; I tried to only do as much as necessary. I didn't want to break anything after all." He got up and waited for the Chief to lead the way. Entering the lift, she looked him over, quickly. Typical young, fresh-out-of-the-academy type. But he had to be remarkable in some way if he'd been put on Alpha. "So, what projects have you been keeping busy with in the dank hours of the night in the Lab?" Following her into the lift, he noticed her assessing look. He was used to it by now, nobody ever believed in his abilities before they got to know him. "Well, actually, apart from monitoring the Alpha Shift's projects, I have developed an interest for artificial wormholes. Considering our situation I find it quite an intriguing thought." Odile snorted. "Find anything that can get us out of this deserted wasteland?" "Well, that's the plan, but I fear that it all sounds good in theory but it would take quite a lot of research to actually get anywhere." Aidan started couldn't help but go on about this, as he had indeed found this to be a most intriguing subject. "But just think about the possibilities, what an advantage this would be." "Forward me a copy of some of your theories," Odile asked quietly. "I'll see if I can recommend them to the Colonel. Colonels," she corrected, emphasizing the plural. The door of the turbo lift opened and Aidan waited. "I can certainly do that, but I doubt this will be a possibility for us. It was just a thought that had occurred to me at some point." He wanted to avoid getting anybodies hopes up. It was one thing to open up a wormhole, quite another to open up one big and stable enough for a ship, not to mention the fact they'd have to somehow manage for it to open at the right place too. "Still, an interesting concept to ponder." She searched her list of "Instant Conversation Starters" for a moment. "And other than contemplate the existence of theoretical wormholes, what else do you do on your free time?" Fortunately Aidan was disciplined enough not to smile at this question. Could it be that his Chief felt uncomfortable in a situation like this. He decided to make it easy for her if that was the case. "Well, I work out a lot actually. As my father always says, 'Your mind is only as healthy as your body, son.' "He tried to imitate his father's voice."Yah, anyway, I've always like sports, especially competitive ones. Work doesn't leave time for much else." "Ahh. Yes." She smiled. "As do I. Physical training is always good. Ever with weapons?" At that he raised an eyebrow. "Chief, my father is a Marine; I grew up in the belief that it's not competitive if it doesn't involve at least a very slight chance that someone might get killed." Odile bit back a good laugh at that one, pointing down at the dagger mounted at her hip. "I agree with your father on that one. What kind of weapons do you prefer?" "Whatever you throw at me. The weapon doesn't matter, winning is what matters." He had noticed the dagger before, of course, but pretended he'd only just acknowledged its existence. "Nice one" "Thank you. Soon to be unpeacetied. My next stop, after food, is Security to pick up the proper paperwork." Condacin was grinning. "Ahh. Here we are now." She waited for him to enter the Mess. "Carrying a weapon on duty is messy, however. Apparently, one has to take annoying refresher courses constantly. Even if you've been carrying something for decades. You have to love protocol," she muttered, sarcastically. "You sound a lot like my father there." He led the way into the Mess. "He is a very, well, my Mum says he's a very practical thinking person. Not always the words his superiors used." "Stubborn, conceited, volatile, sharp-tongued, bitter, sarcastic?" The Xenexian gave him a lopsided smirk. He couldn't help but chuckle at this "That and a lot more. But I agree with him on many things. Sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice. Don't get me wrong, I love what I'm doing, but it's nothing compared to..." Suddenly he broke off; he probably shouldn't be telling a superior that kind of things. She looked at him expectantly. "Continue," she urged, but without malice. "There's no shame in considering other alternatives. Especially when you've been thrown to the other side of the galaxy." For only an instant, their eyes met before he hurried to look somewhere else. He figured he probably felt the same at times. "Well, sometimes it feels like we're not really involved. I'm not someone to sit back and let others get their hands dirty. And frankly, nothing compares to the adrenaline rush of a hand-to-hand battle situation. Where you don't have time to consult databanks, where it's you, your wit, your strength and your fitness." O'd'yl led the way to the replicators, frowning a little. "It's not always like that. Wait until the first time you're dispatched on an away team as 'scientific backup'. 'Backup' usually turns into 'another body to engage in hand-to-hand'. It's a reason I'm planning on implementing physical training for all Science personnel." "Well, little boys from Gamma don't get assigned to away team missions. I won't lie to you, if it ever came down to joining the fight or coming up with a neat scientific solution I'd probably throw away my tricorder." He suddenly realized that he should probably decide on what he wanted to eat but was too caught up in thoughts of his own to really care. "Food," she pointed to the replicator. "There's no shame in that, either. I wasn't exactly raised a scientist." A small smirk. Aidan indicated that she should go first. "You neither look nor act like one either. If I may say so." "Fried chicken," she instructed the replicator. "My reputation precedes me, I see" she commented. "Maybe I'm just that perceptive." He waited for her to take her food and then stepped up to the replicator. "Tuna sandwich." He let her choose the table and thought that she was actually quite nice; he didn't understand what others found so difficult about her. Maybe he would find out after working with her for a while. "Maybe so." She shrugged. "I'm not deaf, though. I hear what the department thinks of me. Rather difficult not to, after all. When word breaks that I'm their new department head, I expect mass suicide and transfer requests." "Some people tend to cultivate their being misunderstood." Aidan didn't say this to his Chief this time but to a person he started to like regardless of what others said. He hoped that she would take it that way, because this was definitely not the way a Midshipman should talk to his department chief. That made her chuckle. "And also commonly cultivated is a distance between department head and lesser-ranking minions. But I've always chosen to disregard that when possible." "I'm one of your minions now; charming. I've always wondered what that would be like. Anyway, of course you're right; Midshipman Driscol shall remember his place in the food chain now." He liked the way this was going. From a somewhat forced conversation, they had moved on to joking now, and quite personal matters. Odile laughed again. "Yes, yes. But think on the bright side -- if you'd gone into the Marines, you could have been directly under the Evil Medusa instead of a mere Xenexian Warrior Woman..."