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LeftEar JoNs

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About LeftEar JoNs

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    Keeping up with the JoNs's 2

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    Popping Up Wherever - Woo!
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    Star Trek: The Original Series, Classic Movie Era, Star Trek: Enterprise, and New TOS. w00t!
  1. The Promenade was subdued. The only businesses that were open had been relatively undamaged, but most tended to close early. Patrons who did venture out to the eateries or to shop stayed in tight knit couples and family groups. Single patrons slipped furtive glances over their shoulders, going about their business quickly and efficiently, ducking into this store or that store, so as not to remain in the open for a long period of time. The café tables and chairs were devoid of use, the typical seating arrangements set out in the open as they were. No one wanted to be a single, or moving target, should a rogue sniper somehow make it past the internal Security grid and personnel; the smell of fear and concerned paranoia was scented on the air...at least to a Caitian. The terrorists had left their mark on the space station, mentally with lingering thoughts and physically with the damages to property and personnel. Security had become a constant presence, patrol numbers had doubled and in some cases tripled per the orders of Daise Dabi. Left Ear JoNs maintained a grid assignment, phaser rifle slung across one shoulder. The rifle, though standard issue, was not usually standard issue for patrols or general posting assignments. During peacetime, that is; Sky Harbor Aegis remained on alert, dealing with the private little war instigated by a previously unknown Romulan terrorist faction. The Cait walked along the Promenade perimeter grid assigned to her for the shift, slowly back and forth, nodding to the occasional passerby who actually made eye contact. “Excuse me?” The brown furred panther turned halfway around, not entirely surprised at the question; she had heard the woman’s approach. “Yes Ma’am. May I help you?” The younger woman, in her mid to late twenties, hesitated at first before replying. “I have some inventory…” She indicated the personal gravity sled that hovered nearby, holding a half a dozen medium-sized plasti-steel containers, lashed down by bungie cording, “…that I’d like to transport to the civilian cargo storage deck. I know the way is cleared, but…,” She cleared her throat, “”…I’d like to ask if someone could walk with me?” JoNs recognized the Trill female. She rarely frequented the woman’s shop, as it tended towards jewelry and the like, but she knew of the woman; Virna was her name. Her eyes held the same emotions that the Caitian had witnessed in other eyes, no matter the species: fear, concern. And defiance. The fear was not to keep the businesswoman from her daily duty. Virna just needed a little bit of assistance in order to do so. The Commander waved a paw to Team Two, stationed across the way; the answering wave confirmed that the post position would be filled in her absence. With a slight smile of understanding, Left Ear turned her attention back to the shopkeeper. “I’ll escort you there myself.”
  2. Ankami Prime Lower Atmosphere MVess ‘Left Ear’ JoNs weaved and dodged through the atmosphere of Ankami Prime, putting her Peregrine-class fighter through its paces. The elder grand dame still had it. Elder as in the fighter, not Left Ear - she wasn’t that old. JoNs was fairly confident that after Ensign Harriman’s encounter with Captain Chirakis, word would rapidly spread among the junior pilots that speaking ill of the Peregrine-class fighters was not a smart thing to do. She’d grabbed - volunteered, etc - a redshirt to mind the Revenge CAGs office temporarily assigned to the Aegis personnel, freeing herself to handle one of the supply runs. An ongoing affair for however long the Away Team members were investigating the surface of Ankami, the drops would most likely be done at intervals. It’d been a while since she participated in a supply drop and the flight time could be applied to future certifications. In anticipation of and considering they were enlisted personnel who knew the obvious habits of their officers, Peregrine 14 had been ready and waiting for her when the felinoid arrived on the hanger deck, suited up and ready to fly. Within minutes, she was out of the launch chutes and on her way. Tracking programs showed at optimum levels, and several real time digital tactical maps showed her progress as compared to the location of the survey camp as well as the squads already in flight patrol. Revenge was tracking P-14, as was the Aegean; constant contact was maintained over the wireless between all small craft and the home ships. Clearing the cloud cover and continuing her rapid flight through the crisp air, the main program alerted her with three tonal pings that the camp was only kilometers distant. The brown furred Cait quickly entered code numbers on a small console inset keyboard with a gloved paw; the instructions told the onboard cockpit computers to adjust the tracking focus. +This is Peregrine 14 to Revenge FOPS, JoNs to Fokker. I’m clear and rapidly closing on the location of the survey camp, will proceed with drop+ Left Ear jigged her control stick and P-14 obediently went into a wing dip, a by the book maneuver to greet the Away Team members visible on the ground. Shooting past the campsite, she continued on to the drop point located at the next available clearing designated for supplies. With a flick of a toggle, the feline disengaged the magnetics holding the cargo pods and the water, soil and air quality testing supplies contained within fell at a rapid pace. The starfighter shot past the clearing. Seconds later, the internal tracking transponders indicated the pods had made impact. +JoNs to Fokker. Pods eight through eleven have been delivered. Transponder code shows as green. P-14 out+
  3. Revenge Hanger Deck Aegis CAGs Assigned Office Within the ranks of Aegis Security and the Aegis Aero Wing, there were a creative number of ways for an officer to die. If you happened to be dual posted within the departments, well, then things got a bit more complicated: Shot in the line of duty Any number of starfighter malfunctions Friendly fire Pirates The list could go on. Left Ear JoNs would most likely be nibbled to death by Cats…erm, details, because it was these little things that were the real killers. With CAG* Harada detained elsewhere, the felinoid was handling - or attempting to handle - the day to day operations of the detached Aegis fighter wing. Fighter repairs, personnel injuries, rotation of personnel who needed to rest with personnel who were relatively fresh, assignment of ready alert fighters, SAR* teams to supplement any fighters on patrol or ground teams investigating the new target planet: Ankami Prime. With Aegean, Revenge and Missouri closing formation, there was also a possibility to ready available personnel for joint or single CAPs*. She had no less than five data PADDs, ten sheets of transpari-flimsy sheets, tactical maps, and several recorded reports and typed reports, two cups of Caitian tea, and a cardinal in a pine tree. Or was that a partridge in an apple tree? It was no matter on the Earth bird and tree, but she was a feline and wanted to pounce something. It was a natural reaction. Moving on now. There was also the matter of young Ensign ‘Highway’ Harriman to deal with; he was definitely heading in the wrong direction on the highway. Capable, yes. Good at his job, yes. Potential, yes. Inflated sense of self-worth on his first deployment? Yes. His ego was increasing despite being exposed to the reality of what Nike squad and the other squads did for a living. He had escaped injury during the frantic starfighter bug out over Maasune. His newer starfighter had fared better than the others. Not as well as her Peregrine 14, but well enough. And that was another…annoyance that the Caitian officer had yet to deal with or let go of: the lack of respect. “Actually, Sir, we are flying starfighters that are worth a few thousand credits. You are flying a Peregrine-class, and we cannot figure out why you are so attached to that bucket of a starfighter.” Her ears flattened in reflex at the memory of the comment. Lieutenant Harada had given her permission to deal with Harriman as she saw fit. And, the matter would be dealt with at some point, breaking out the ‘Big Guns’, so to speak. Pushing him out an airlock was not an option. Well, yes, it was an option - in the Rihan Navy if the stories could be believed - but for now the thought would need to remain a thought and a result of the more stormy aspects of her personality. The ones she rarely showed. The Cait’s ears remained flattened…. ****** CAG – Commander of the Aero Group SAR – Search & Rescue CAP – Combat Air/Aero Patrol
  4. Kirsha 716 System Planet Maasune Nike Squad Reconnaissance The real time data streams did not fully convey the level of destruction. Commander MVess ‘Left Ear’ JoNs gazed out the strong plexi-steel glass of her canopy, getting a full Mark One Eyeball on the level of destruction as Nike Squad cruised through the lower atmosphere. The private fighter to fighter communications was quiet save for the usual wireless checks and position checks. JoNs was not a fan of banter, and tended to quash the more boisterous 'flight jock talk' on the comm lines. But, the state of the planet was a sobering reminder and she did not need to remind anyone to behave themselves. Maasune, or rather what remained of the planetary surface, was craggy and molten. Pockmarked and broken, several layers of the crust floated in the upper atmosphere. A deep indentation marked where a continent had once existed; an unknown structure had been exposed along with a deeper cave network. Her Nike Squad, along with the other Sky Harbor Aegis squads assigned to the Revenge, had been deployed to perform reconnaissance. Something very nasty had happened on Maasune, and though the theories and speculations were making the rounds, there was no real explanation as to what happened to the planet. This mission made Left Ear uneasy; the situation was not ideal. The brown furred Caitian spoke into her EV suit helmet comm, activating the private wireless with voice command. "Nike Squad, this is Nike Lead. You've all familiarized yourselves with our assignment orders. Per Lieutenant Harada, we are engaging in recon of the surface of what used to be the planet known as Maasune." "From the ten thousand to forty thousand feet mark, there is heavy radiation. We’ll be working in most of that hot zone as we do our reconnaissance runs. In addition to general fly by reconnaissance, our main target area is the exposed structure.” JoNs hated to sound like a Starfleet Academy training video, but sometimes, these things just needed to be said; the felinoid paused and then continued. “Maintain caution at all times. We’ve been inoculated, yes, and we are wearing EV suits, yes. And, yes, we are flying starfighters that are worth a few thousand credits and loaded with equipment, but it will not make you invincible against radiation.” A voice interrupted. “Actually, Sir, we are flying starfighters that are worth a few thousand credits. You are flying a Peregrine-class, and we cannot figure out why you are so attached to that bucket of a starfighter.” The opinion belonged to Ensign ‘Highway’ Harriman, recent graduate of the Starfleet Fighter Program. Born of the Harriman legacy, but didn’t let his blood right go to his head. There was command potential there, natural leadership abilities. His humor left something to be desired, however. She growled into her communications set. “I’m sorry, Ensign, I didn’t realize you were due to give us a briefing.” Silence. Good. “…the Peregrine-class is not a bucket. Although if you continue to refer to it as such, I’m sure I can locate a bucket and mop for you to clean the entire flight deck of the Revenge once we return.” Snickers met that statement over the shared wireless. She purred before speaking again to the squad. “Okay, Nike, let’s do this. Break formation, be mindful of the other squads on their runs, watch your radiation exposure programs, and let’s take some data on this molten rock pile for Aegean and Revenge. Any sign of over exposure, we will break and scramble back to Revenge. Is this clear?” An answering chorus of “Aye Sirs” responded and the squad broke formation and set about the shared work of the Aegis squads.
  5. On Shipwrecks orders, Polly attacks a Cobra staff car.
  6. (Looks like I missed an electrifyingly good time. The following log takes place just after the 05.25.12 Aegis Sim…) Kallah Ramson -> ACTION: The arcs towards Revenge are taking wide paths matching closely to their fighters paths through the atmosphere. Aegeans are straight shots right at her. – 05.25.12 Sky Harbor Aegis Chat Log * * * Left Ear JoNs decided that staying put, at least for the next few seconds, was acceptable; the felinoid carefully flexed her paw and noted no immediate damage. The good ship Revenge was not faring as well. If the internal comm alerts from the main bridge were to be believed, the planet itself was responsible for the situation as multiple energy arcs shot upward at the two orbiting survey vessels. The Revenge hanger bay personnel had gone into a controlled state of frenzy as the pilots and deck hands went into an automatic damage control and assistance mode. JoNs had been checking on one of the auxiliary FOPS uplink console when an electrical arc discharged, catching her on one paw - the same arm that bird on the first target planet had taken a chunk out of - and she’d ended up quickly backpedaling away from the computer. It hadn’t been a massive discharge, just a literal shock. This so called simple planetary survey mission to locate a suitable planet for the displaced Rihans was becoming a collection of bruises for the Cait officer. Great Hunter, she’d probably be safer at this point single-pawedly taking on an entire Klingon Infantry unit… “Commander!” A voice called out to her, “You okay?!” One of her pilots, ‘Highway’ Harriman, jogged over to her at a fast pace; the tall Human had a look of concern on his face and placed a hand lightly on her upper arm. The brown furred Caitian gave the now burned out console a rueful look before accepting his offer of help. She gave a low growl and lashed her tail. “Aye Ensign, I’m fine, thank you. The discharge caught me off guard. Gather any of the Nike’s and other pilots on deck and check in with CAG Harada. Let’s assist the deck personnel as we can, and make sure the fighter uplink systems are still intact…"
  7. The following flight log follows immediately after the 05.11.12 Aegis Sim… Nike Squad Irmaitu Epsilon Night Terminus, Section 3 The latest planetary reconnaissance target had the potential to give the aero wing a run for their credits if the pilots weren’t cautious. As if adding to the thought, a lightning strike lit the heavens at a distance, lighting the surrounding night and then flashing out of existence. Commander ‘Left Ear’ JoNs banked her Peregrine to the right and then angled herself downward and into a straight fight path. The Caitian officer had grown fond of the Dominion War-era Peregrine model over the years, though it was only a matter of time before she would need permanent certification on the newer and more modern fighters. The ‘Peacekeepers’ employed by the USS Missouri, as an example. In the meantime, the instrumentation was working well within acceptable parameters, and the Peregrine was perfect for planetary scanning and reconnaissance; as with the previous planet surveyed, it remained to be seen if Irmaitu was to be a new home for the displaced Rihan people or not. JoNs voice immediately activated her internal helmet comm, speaking over the shared wireless to her flight group: Ensigns ‘Driver’ Dupree, ‘Highway’ Harriman, ‘Itchy’ T’Shara and ‘Fly Ball’ Kilgore, respectively. “Gentlemen and Ladies, welcome to Night Ops 101. We’ll be employing a standard arrowhead formation. Flank me on point and spread out ten kilometers in sequence.” She paused and glanced at one of the cockpit monitors; the visual showed four icon symbols representing the pilots as they readjusted their starfighter positioning. Satisfied, the straight laced felinoid officer continued speaking into her helmet mic. “Per orders from CAG* Harada, we’re on recon for Section Three of the night terminus. Scanner programs and cameras are to be active and streaming data at all times to the Revenge. Keep your wireless clear, if Revenge FOPS* warns us to get out of the area, we move, no questions asked: we don’t want to get fried by one of those lightning strikes. Nike Squad, sound off.“ Her instructions were answered with crisp call sign confirmations and “Aye Sirs” and the recon formation set about the business of the day; or rather, the business of the night. *CAG – Commander of the Aero Group *FOPS – Flight Operations
  8. The following log takes place prior to the 04.27.12 Sim... Wes Roberts: Considering I've been keeping an eye on maintenance hours for your fighters. Especially since we're at our first planet. Exuberence is one thing, Lieutenant, in any fighter pilot. Especially in combat. However, damaging fighters by ignoring the weather reports and briefings my second officer gives, will be...overly expensive. – 04.20.12 Aegis Chat The Revenge Hanger Deck Commander Left Ear JoNs had never been what one would consider an excitable being, or exuberant as Mister Roberts had put it. She'd been the same during her time as Executive Officer for the USS Excalibur., as well as her current Security and piloting assignment to Aegis: no nonsense, straight arrow. During her former assignment however she'd mellowed somewhat. At least enough to participate in the current betting endeavors among the pilots and ground crew; the Caitian had put in for 200 credits on the Revenge whenever this 'race between Aegean and Revenge that wasn't going to happen but really was' finally kicked off. The Cait was fairly sure Revenge would cream the Aegean, as the Humans said. After making a slight detour to check out the confines of the grounded shuttle that the betting ring employed for the growing credit pool towards the Aegean and Revenge rivalry, Left Ear scampered over towards the area of the deck where the Peregrines were being prepped for the next few flight runs. "Commander JoNs." A respectful tone called out to her across the expanse of the deck. She half turned and spotted 'Blaze', a pilot assigned as wingman to JoNs for the next planetary sortie rotations. They jogged over and fell in step beside the brown furred Caitian. Well, in as much in step as a bi-pedal humanoid could to a four legged felinoid currently using all four limbs. "Good timing Ensign." She stood upright on her hind legs as they walked together. "I'm just on my way towards our squad grouping now." While she'd enjoyed and learned much from her experience as Excalibur XO, the assignment had taken a bit out of JoNs. Rather, a hobgoblin scrounger of a pirate that had taken her down with a shotgun contraption that spewed nails and metal had taken a toll on her.* She'd recovered from the wounding thanks to the ministrations of the medical staff and been cleared mentally and physically to retake a command level posting. For now, the Commander was content with her assignment to SH Aegis as a permanent assistant SEC officer and an as needed fighter pilot. She enjoyed the opportunities the position afforded her to mentor the Midshipman-level and junior officers within the SEC department. And, the Great Hunter Gods help her, she might even be growing a little fond of their grouch of a stiff backed and hidebound Romulan CSEC. Most had always tended to think Left Ear was a stickler, but Daise Dabi made JoNs look like a furry angel by comparison. But, the Cait enjoyed his thoroughness, the stability to discipline he required of his department as well; it was refreshing. She wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of the Romulan, mind you. She waved a dark brown furred paw in a gentle, easy greeting at her fellow Security grunt. "Blaze, call me Left Ear as we're on the Hanger Deck. Are you prepared for the 2nd planetary rotation?" "Aye, Sir." The younger pilot came to a halt; JoNs let the 'Sir' slide for now as protocol wasn't required just now. "Lieutenant Revon informed you that we're going to be partnered up? Your Peregrine fighter all squared away? Blaze nodded. "She's all set to fly as soon as we receive clearance." "Interested in helping me go over my systems checks for Peregrine 14?" JoNs paused and gave a purring trill. "Lieutenant Revon authorized some extra kick to my phaser banks with a 70% increase on output." "You're the Guinea Pig? Or is that…Guinea Cat?" She gave the other pilot a happy, fanged smile. There was a difference between good natured teasing with the cat jokes, and the nastier jokes. "Something like that. Either way, system upgrade tests on the fighters is what we do. Want to give me an assist with checking the hard point locks?" "You got it Sir." "And, we also have a…direct suggestion from Mister Roberts to show more caution with regard to weather reports and patterns….and okay, I'll say it – any sort of local avian life forms…" Blaze offered a respectful chuckle, as the feline Commanders encounter on the first planet canvassed by the flight recon teams had already achieved notoriety in the Revenge's pilot lounge. "…and, some of our Aegis jumper jocks are getting a little excited. We're to listen closely to the Revenge's 2nd Officer with regard to reports to the aero squads. Clear on that?" "Crystal, Commander." "It's Left Ear," JoNs corrected gently and firmly. "If we're going to be partners for the next few hops, let's get in a habit of using the call signs? Standard protocol, Ensign." Another quick nod. "You got it. Left Ear." "Alright, let's start on the checks for Bird 14, shall we?" (TBC in Sim) * Related information can be found on the USS Excalibur section of the STSF message boards
  9. Commander JoNs was not a pilot by choice, yet she had the credentials, the training and the skills. But, JoNs viewed piloting a starfighter as an extension of her Security duties, and not something she was ‘gung ho’ for, as the Humans said. The Caitian would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that it was nice to get some flight time off the station, however. She spoke into her helmets mounted inset. “Revenge Ops, LeftEar. Initiating launch run now and will keep you apprised of my progress. LeftEar out.” Once the acknowledgement from the FOPS shift lead, JoNs powered up her engines to half throttle and set a steady pace away from the Revenge flight bay and towards her intended reconnaissance target. From a distance, the planet designated as Maanne was pretty. As relocation targets went, the continents showed varying terrain with suitable atmosphere to the Romulan physiology. The relocation project would take years to complete; reconnaissance of the planets was merely the first step in a long process. Breaking out of the lower-atmosphere, the Caitian pilot gently pulled on the throttle control and guided her Peregrine towards the southern continent, dropping further through the cloud cover. The heavy starfighter responded precisely and the felinoid preferred the older Peregrine model fighters to the newer fighter classes as the PG’s were more stable, and well suited to both interception and reconnaissance; ‘go faster’ wasn’t necessarily the better option. Her assignment with Victory Wing was mapping the coastline area along the northern most tip of the land mass on down towards the southern territories, deploying marker probes along the grid. The probes would also be used to track and gather data on any seismic activity and climate changes. In addition, the electronic countermeasures suite onboard the Peregrine would record real time images and data, transmitting the packets back to Revenge for processing by the scientific types. Left Ear made a few adjustments to the authorized flight path on record with the Revenge’s FOPS officer, transmitting new location updates. Once she received confirmation, she banked the fighter to the right and came around in a downward arc, jetting towards the uppermost continental area. *** The tenth microprobe hit home, landing a few kilometers within from a marshland boundary that separated the coastline from the inner lands. JoNs brought the Peregrine to a slightly higher altitude, continuing to cruise along the coast line. The ocean water was a deep purple. The terrain wasn’t much for farming, but the beaches were untouched and the inner marsh lands rich and lush with fauna and wildlife. With one paw she entered codes and instructions into the cockpit keyboard, booting up the onboard database capabilities. The electronic countermeasures suite was at full power, the codes instructing the onboard computers to utilize the reconnaissance programming. The external sensors and camera feeds snapped pictures and recorded data of the climate, terrain, and geography. A rock formation jutted up and out from the beach and ocean ahead, formed over eons. This section of coastline ended here. Hundreds of avians nested in the crevice and indentations within the rock walls. Left Ear moved the fighter further out so as not to spook the birds as she passed by and around the small mountain, coming about in a graceful arc, the left wing downward. She couldn’t make out individual features of the birds, but knew they were mostly black. She kept her Peregrine at an even pace so as to record and upload some prime footage. Unknown to the pilot, a predatory pack of lizards feeding on the eggs of the birds chose that moment to launch a foraging attack; working their way along on the lower edges of the rocks. *** Coming around to sweep the other side of the perching grounds, JoNs flew right into a solid wall of birds as three quarters of them took flight away from the encroaching predators. The onslaught of the birds slammed the belly of the Peregrine and actually moved the starfighter off course and upwards. The felinoid’s moment of panic passed in seconds, and then reflexes and training kicked in. Death by birds – let alone a cat piloting a ‘Peregrine’ class starfighter meets the local birds? No thank you with the irony – was just not acceptable as a way to go out. Today was not a good day to die. Attempting to ride the upward thrust from the wave of bodies, she initiated the jump jets and cut back on the throttle. The maneuver was too little, too late as several birds were sucked into the intake vent manifold. Alarms blared and the main console cockpit flashed warnings, the most pressing of which was “failure in right engine”. The black birds buffeted against the canopy of the cockpit, killed instantly from the force of the impact. Peregrine 14 tilted dangerously to the right as the compromised engine sputtered out and the remaining engine strained against the loss of balance to the other wing. She growled low in her throat; this was either going to work out really well or really bad. Left Ear scaled the throttle back completely on the remaining engine, relying on jumpers and her own skills to bring the battered Peregrine bird – no pun intended – in for a landing on the stretch of beach. Come on, come on, come on…stop! Oh Great Hunter, this puddle jumper isn’t going to stay put on the upper beach… She hit once, bouncing. Momentum launched her fighter over the drop off onto the lower beach and she went airborne; the Peregrine hit the sand once, bounced and then skidded down the beach about thirty feet. JoNs maintained control of the bucking beast as best she could, generally keeping it on a skewed landing pattern to come to a jarring stop. Any landing you could walk away from…“Well that was fun...” The Revenge OPS officer’s insistent voice on her helmet comm brought her out of the momentary daze. She snarled, more from clearing her mental haze than at the pirate…officer. She’d meant officer. “Revenge, this is JoNs. Yes, I’m fine, relatively speaking. Hit the sand. Give me a few, I need to assess damage…” Hitting the release mechanism, the canopy popped open. The felinoid officer scuttled from out of the cockpit to hop on a wing. The Peregrine was flight worthy, no lasting damage. Engine had no structural damage. The fighter would probably break planetary atmosphere to get her back to Revenge. There were pilots who had a devil may care attitude, who wouldn’t think twice about re-launching and breaking atmosphere. Some were really young hotshots. Others were really old hotshots that had somehow managed to survive with their crazy antics. She was not that type of pilot as caution was always an option. She didn’t want to take the chance of not being able to pull out from the atmosphere with one engine, should the compromised one blow out again. “Revenge, this is Left Ear. I need a tow at the uploaded coordinates. I had a close encounter of the avian kind…”
  10. Pet Cemetary? I was afraid to go near my cat for hours after seeing that film. Though, naming a cat 'Churchill' does hold a certain horror fan/sci fi fan appeal to me now. =P I know Denise Crosby has a lead role in the film, but I honestly can't recall if I recognized her or not at the time. And don't forget Herman Munster (Fred Gwynne) has a role in the film as well. One of the better book-to-movie offerings. Chilling stuff, and I find the background given on the cemetary in the film interesting.
  11. The following patrol log takes place immediately after the 02.10.12 Sim… After the brawl on the Midway had been contained, Commander LeftEar JoNs and Alpha Team had deployed to sweep the secondary corridors and access points for stragglers and injured. On JoNs’s orders, the officers had split up in order to cover more territory. JoNs was working through Grid Four, a secondary storage for the Midway stores and kiosks that was slated to be converted into temporary living space if the refugee situation did not improve. She moved cautiously among the extra kiosk parts and supplies, checking that no one was hiding. The felinoid’s communications badge blipped, and she swiped a paw at the device. “JoNs. Go ahead.” The voice of the female Andorian, I’Shinn, immediately came back to her. “I’Shinn. Commander, I’ve located a smash and grab - section B, access corridor A. He’s stable for now. Medical has been informed but it will be some time before a team can get here.” Security had been dealing not only with the influx of displaced Romulans, but thugs had taken to roaming among the population; they would track a target, assault them, and take any valuables. The Romulan refugees were prime targets as most had grabbed what valuables they could carry when fleeing ahead of the shockwave. She growled low in her throat. “I’m on my way. Inform the others as well…” **** The victim was a Romulan male in his early to mid hundreds, judging by the streaks of silver just starting to appear in his hair. He wore a metallic brown business suit of upper class civilian cut, rumpled from the days of waiting for a billet to be assigned to him, if at all. A hard plastic briefcase lay nearby, open; flimsies, data chits and data PADDs lay strewn about the corridor. Credit chits lost in what had obviously been a sloppy scuffle also littered the deck plating. Dark green blood had pooled under his head, and the elderly man was still unconscious. His lower left arm lay at a skewed angle, his left hand mottled with green bruises. His right eye and nose showed also showed signs of blunt force trauma. I’Shinn had placed a portable breather unit over his mouth. Crouching, JoNs reached out to gently press a paw to his neck; the pulse was very weak, but steady. With a growled sigh, she stood and addressed her team. “Collins, take his image and run it through our facial recognition programs; if you find anything, let me know. I’Shinn, stay with him until the medics arrive and escort them to the Medical bay. Kwang, secure the crime scene, collect the evidence,” she began to move away, “I’ll continue sweeping the area…” A chorus of sharp ‘Aye Sirs’ rang out in response to the orders. In an attempt to lighten the dark situation, the brown furred Caitian called over her shoulder as she departed, “Don’t call me ‘Sir’, I work for a living.”
  12. CDR Left Ear JoNs, per her usual, had arrived three minutes prior to the intended meeting time with CPT Chirakis. For the next two, the feline waited and allowed thoughts to roil, mainly in recall of the Midway conversation. Captain Chirakis looked at JoNs somewhat curiously, then asked in a casual tone, “Commander... Captain Calestorm pulled you out of our meeting.” Not a question. JoNs flipped an ear back and responded with a “Yes Sir.” “What exactly did you discuss?” “…Am I in error Sir?” Chirakis fixed the felinoid in her gaze, as though judging the Caitian's response. After a visual check of those at nearby tables, she pressed her lips and gave a cursory nod. “Perhaps this is best discussed in my office. One hour.” JoNs couldn’t tell from the discussion with her CO if she’d been in error; the talk with Calestorm had certainly seemed innocent enough and Left Ear certainly wasn’t going to make any life decisions based off of one interaction with a cowgirl of a captain. Chirakis was one of the few people that the Caitian was not able to read very well, and when she did make any displeasure known, it was usually very subtle or too late. Very well, come what may....she chimed for admittance to the office. “Come.” Entering the office, she adopted a parade rest. “Commander JoNs, reporting as ordered Captain.” A slow turn brought Captain Chirakis’ gaze to hers, where it rested for a long minute, as though she were thinking. Years of work in security caused JoNs to automatically gauge the look; she assumed for the moment that she would not be EVAing to scrub space particles off the station with a toothbrush. Still, there was something...unsettled in Chirakis’ gaze. Whether unsettled at JoNs, the conversation with Calestorm, or something entirely different was unknown at the moment. “Commander. Please...” the captain finally rounded her desk, a gentle wave of one gloved hand indicating a chair while she relaxed against the desk’s rounded polycarbonite edge. The felinoid did as instructed, settling down. “Captain, not to be bold, but I’d like to know if...this is...an official meeting?” “Official? Yes. And no,” she said, casually crossing her arms. “Official to me. Unofficial to the investigation that has begun because of our contact with Comanche Creek.” An ear flip indicated Left Ear’s puzzlement. “It’s been less then a week and Fleet Command has already deployed an investigation? Wonderful. Why can’t they be that quick when there’s an emergency or request of some sort?” The captain gave a dark chuckle. “Most probably because the temporal containment branch of whatever department in whatever jurisdiction it is, is idle most of the time, and they grasp at whatever inkling of time travel comes their way. Like starved vultures to a fresh carcass?” She studied the ceiling a moment. “Of course, that comment will not leave this room, Commander.” “Vultures? Where?” The dark furred panther purred with a rare show of amusement. Chirakis’ smile faded as she resumed the role of superior officer. Her tone became formal and explicit, and the feline officer appreciated the direct tact. “Commander JoNs, I have been informed that an investigation has been launched into the appearance of the USS Comanche Creek in our time period and the effect it might have on our timeline, their own timeline, and whatever timeline they might consider relevant or... want to invent.” She waved a dismissive hand. “All personnel who had any contact whatsoever with that crew will be questioned, so know you are not the only one. “Now,” she pushed off from the desk and rounded it to settle comfortably in her chair, “this is not an inquisition, Commander. It’s merely a few questions to... give me a ‘heads-up,’ as the Terrans say. If there is anything you recall that could be deemed ‘contamination of the timeline’ I would like to know now.” Though her body remained relaxed, her eyes flashed with intent, just enough to get the point across. Left Ear purred and waved a paw gently to emphasize her words. “Captain Chirakis, I’m fairly certain there’s no contaminates, real or imagined. The talk was more of a personal one between myself and Marshal Calestorm.” The Cait purposely inserted the title, and offered a small smile. Chirakis’ hand called for more information, a gentle circling motion. She had obviously missed the joke, so the commander moved on. “She’d originally approached me regarding my...attitude, during the ceremony to welcome you.” The officer glanced down at her paws, folded in her lap, and then returned an apologetic gaze to Chirakis. “I have no patience for the Starfleet era that Captain Calestorm and her crew supposedly hail from. I find the Starfleet of that era to be nothing more then cowboy diplomacy. I wasn’t very subtle, and she obviously felt the need to inquire. That is what initially started the conversation.” JoNs paused, tail a bit excitable. “Captain Chirakis, I apologize; I could have been less opinionated towards our travelers, Captain Calestorm in particular. I allowed my emotions to project. “The Captain then asked me if I was any relation to a ‘K. Vacer JoNs’, an officer with whom she works. I inquired about a young Caitian I spotted among the hanger deck crew, by the name of ‘Honor-Scar’; the Vacer name is a family tradition, and we do have a direct relation with the Honor-Scars. I suspect there’s a chance I’m related to the two of them. We talked about family ties and bloodlines, with Calestorm sharing some of her ancestral background as well.” There was a comfortable pause, long enough to indicate the comments were complete before the captain spoke. “Family ties and bloodlines, then,” she mused, “all of which vary from timeline to timeline, and most probably will not hold weight in any investigation.” She seemed to be thinking aloud, sorting things out in her own mind. Still, there was an air of restraint, something missing? “Sir...is there a problem?” “Did... Captain Calestorm come close to you at all? Close enough to either add or remove anything?” “No Ma’am, I’m sure of it. No covert moves were made by either myself or her...are you concerned that she would have done something on purpose?” “Only a question, Commander, but a very important one. There have been instances in the past when items have been exchanged knowingly or unknowingly. If found or detected, they are confiscated and tested for authenticity and dating. Those of value were assumed to be bribes, given in exchange for information on the future. Those of little value were placed in a museum. In both cases, the bearer faced court martial, the end result of which was not pretty. So... you can see the reason for my asking.” “I understand. I can imagine that exchanging an object not of your own time with another can be compelling. Court Martial seems a high price, for a simple exchange.” With that, she stood, signaling the end of the ‘interview’. “If you recall anything else that might have ‘tainted the timeline’ you will bring it to my attention, Commander?” Again, not a question. JoNs stood, mirroring the movement. “Yes Captain.” “Very well. Dismissed.” =/\= Kirel eyed the Caitian security officer until the doors to the control tower closed behind her. Turning back to the observation window, she sighed, reached into her tunic pocket and retrieved a silver Challenge Coin. The classic Delta Shield and wings of Starfleet Naval Fighter Command - Honor, Courage, Commitment adorned both sides, intricately stamped, expertly enameled.She gave it the once-over, studied it for several minutes, then slipped it back into the pocket. “Clear skies, Captain,” she whispered, raising her gaze to the stars. “May we never meet again.”
  13. A blatant contamination of the timeline(s), or a concerned and curious family member of the future reaching out to the past? Nice log Commander Wesley!
  14. The following joint log takes place during the two hour TBS… USS Comanche Creek Main Briefing Room With several multi-Geek temporal conversations going regarding the USS Comanche Creek’s chances of making it back to 2259, Calestorm had decided to take a moment for other business. Leaving the theories to the experts and Commander Wesley and Captain Chirakis to fend for themselves in the verbal melee, she had quickly ducked out into the corridor. She found Chirakis’ ASEC right where the group had left her - guarding the doorway. Bright green felinoid eyes lanced her as Crash cleared the threshold. “Commander JoNs, may I speak with you a moment.” Not a request. She ticked her head indicating that they step away. Brown tufted ears flattened slightly, and Cale’s eyes were drawn to them with the movement; the left ear had several notches slashed into the cartilage, she assumed from an accident or combat. JoNs nodded and followed the older, taller woman to a small maintenance alcove set off the main corridor. “That ear how you came by the nickname, Left Ear?” “Yes Sir.” No explanation, no change in vocal tone. Right… The Captain crossed her arms over her chest and leaned a hip against the brightly colored access ladder. “I generally don’t like to get off on the wrong foot - or paw - with people, yet I also know it can happen with my sparkling personality. That’s why I didn’t go into the Fleet Diplomatic Corps.” The jest fell flat; Left Ear maintained decorum and stared at Crash with a straight on poker face. Okay, un-amused Cat is un-amused. Time for Plan B… “Commander, you have any particular reason for that look you shot my way during the Honor Guard?” Shoots from the hip, just like a space frontier marshal in those vids…The Great Hunter save us from these so called ‘Quarter Deck’ breeds…JoNs adopted a easy parade rest, her ears relaxed, and she regarded the Human. “While I consider myself a student of history, I admit my opinions may be colored; I am not a fan of the Starfleet era that you supposedly hail from.” Crash quirked an eyebrow, her expression amused. “Oh?” “…a wild time. Your Border Patrol was no better than cowboy diplomacy.” “Ah. So…here in 2387, things are much more civilized?” Left Ear purred. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far...” “Uh huh. I know you ain’t no young kid, and if you got to that rank of Commander,” Crash ticked her chin towards the three rank pips on the uniform collar, “you ain’t stupid. But, you got that cat superiority thing goin’ on, and it ain’t nice. Friendly advice? Work on it Left Ear.” JoNs was silent for a long moment, weighing her options. Her eventual “Aye Sir” was respectful. “Now, I have a question for you; you any relation to a Kansas Vacer JoNs?” Calestorm used the proper Caitian pronunciation, passable with the purring lilt. An ear flipped. “Vacer is my middle name, and an old family name. As for the relation, I’m not sure; my one brother is the family historian. I’m sure it’s possible this ‘Kansas Vacer’ is an ancestor. Why do you ask Captain? Does she serve here on your ship?” Was that the young one I spotted down on the flight deck? “She does not serve here on the Comanche Creek; JoNs serves on another vessel within my division. I ask because you have much the same opinions and personality as her…and there’s a resemblance, though your fur is much darker than my Vacer.” “Kzinti coloring.” “Pardon?” “There were intermarriages and forced relations with the Kzinti. That was during the Great War, decades ago.” Understanding dawned; Cale had studied the Great War between the two felinoid cultures in history class. Tetchy affair, that was. “The Kzinti stripe pattern manifests as this darker brown fur color, usually in one or two kittens every other generation. May I ask you a question Captain?” “Sure. Shoot.” “Excuse me?” Crash sighed and rubbed a hand at the back of her neck. “Ask yer question Commander…” Great Hunter save me from ‘Yee Hah’…“There was a young Caitian at the Honor Guard ceremony, standing with your fighter pilots.” “That would be Lieutenant junior grade Honor-Scar.” JoNs’s tail flipped. “The Honor-Scars…” Her tone was neutral. “…is that good or bad? Kin of yours?” The felinoid offered a small smile. “That depends on who you ask. Familial blood feud, generational.” “Ah. Generational feuds are trouble. Long time ago, there were two Earth families highly agitated with one another: the Hatfields and the McCoys. My ancestors got involved on the side of the McCoys, with a brother married into the family. The Calestorm’s eventually relocated to the territory of Georgia, where my home is now.” “The initial name of ‘Honor-Scar’ was an honorific given to an ancestor of mine….” Left Ear paused and purred, “I believe she was an exchange officer in your early Starfleet*, but let’s not dwell on that in case we pollute…something.” Crash smirked. “Gotta love timelines, eh?” “Eventually, the ‘Honor-Scar’ was adopted as a true last name, on our maternal side. But, tensions rose within the family as the Honor-Scars gravitated more and more towards a mercenary - and some pirating - lifestyle. These last few decades things have finally calmed down between the families. Does your JoNs and…Honor-Scar get along?” “Yes, from what I’ve gathered, it seems both officers could care less regarding any family issues.” “…maybe these two were the ones who started the changes…” Calestorm waggled a gentle finger. “Now now, don’t think too hard on that. You’ll give yerself a temporal sized headache…”