LeftEar JoNs

04.30.08

USS Excalibur NCC-2004C

“Say What?”

“Yeoman, could you please repeat that last statement? Say what?”

Commander Left Ear JoNs had temporarily retreated to the Captain’s Ready Room set just off the main bridge in order to field a couple of reports from the lower decks that apparently involved her little cousin Mrrett running around and tackling unsuspecting crewmembers – as unlikely as that seemed. The gossip and the official announcements and reports had already spread like wildfire throughout the ship about their current predicament. There was nothing like being caught between several converging alternate universes to bring out the so called ghostly sightings as well as the sightings of the more physical variety. Left Ear had no doubt that Mrrett had in fact been on board the ship long enough to pounce somebody, or several people, but it certainly wasn’t her godchild. The real Mrrett. Meaning, the one from this universe.

Universe overlap theory had always given her a temporal sized headache.

The Caitian executive officer was sincerely hoping that the plan proposed by the senior engineers would work out as they hoped. She was a security grunt who had come up through the ranks, and anything beyond “the warp engine makes the starship go zoom zoom” was decidedly not her field of expertise. But, from what she had been able to ascertain from her conversation on the bridge with Mister Admiran, the engineering department hoped to use the engines to create a bubble about the ship in order to shield it from the temporal eddies from the alternate universes that were prevalent in this sector of space. Once the Excalibur had been shielded, then they would make their way out of the area into a more normal stretch of space.

The enlisted yeoman sighed on the other end of the comm line. Why must these senior officers be so dense? “…as I had stated sir, the big gold feline came tearing around the corner and then proceeds to jump me right there in the corridor. I may have a case of rug burn. When the security patrol swept the deck, there was no sign of the cat. Did I mention the rug burn?”

The panther like feline placed both paws flat on the surface of the desk that she stood behind, and glanced upward in supplication. Once she was sure that she could speak with only a minimal amount of growling, JoNs again spoke into thin air, allowing the communicator system wired throughout the ship to pick up her purred voice through the communicator badge she wore on her uniformed chest area. “I see. Well, Yeoman, this may come as a shock, but we have not yet perfected an action gun that can control the temporal overlaps in this sector. In the meantime, all I can suggest is that you learn how to duck. And we are Caitian’s, not a common housecat. Remember that and use the correct designation name. Commander JoNs out.”

At that moment, another disruption wave from the gods forsaken Ion storms that were the banes of their existence sent an energy wave rippling outward to whack at the right aft side of the Excalibur, again sending the big warship lurching upward. JoNs had already been walking away from the desk, and feline balance or no, she temporarily lost her bearings when the wave hit. The slight tilt to the deck flung her toward the desk and the right side of her face smacked into the top surface, splitting her lip on a lower fang.

The Caitian commander ended up flat on her rump (and there was another bruise, but let’s not go there). Bleeding and sore, the brown furred feline began a scathing verbal discourse on the state of the universe in general and what it could go do with itself.

The purred voice of Helm Officer Khal interrupted the tirade, filtering in over the bridge to ready room wireless connection. “Commander JoNs, please report to the bridge.”

She swiped a paw at her communicator badge. “Bridge. I’m on my damn way. JoNs out.”

The feline picked herself up, and wiped the blood from her mouth with a paw as she limped out of the confines of the ready room and onto the bridge, as ready as she would ever be to handle the next small crisis that engulfed the Excalibur.

04.17.08

USS Yellowjacket NCC-1609

“A Call to Arms”

Station keeping at the Mars Orbital Ship Yards, Sector 001

“How is she doing?”

Commander Adam Thrace, Executive Officer of the USS Yellowjacket, sat across from his captain in the small sitting area of the bridge ready room. The human lounged on the couch, gripping a Padd in his hand as he idly tapped the device against his knee.

“She knew we’d be recalled away from the search patrol for the Agincourt and posted again to the home quadrant eventually. But, I’d be an idiot if I didn’t attempt to understand how she feels about the whole situation. She’s upset. She wants her godchild back.”

Captain Zarathon Sh’Fasz reclined on one of two overstuffed chairs, across from where Thrace sat on the two seater couch. The blue skinned Andorian commander nursed a half empty glass of Altair water. “She’ll come out of it. I’m just happy I got her to take a few hours off to get some sleep.”

Adam smiled to himself. The human had always known when he had been in the process of lobbying to bring MVess on board the Yellowjacket as the second officer and security chief that the Caitian and Zar Sh’Fasz would work well together.

Eventually.

Sh’Fasz had easy going manner, and his approach to the command of his crew was very laid back as well. M’Vess JoNs on the other hand, was very strict when it came to her outward bearing and her handling of her crews. And the female Caitian had been even more straight and narrow since that Excalibur mess that she had barely managed to get out of with her fur intact. But, those first few weeks with the two of them working together had been downright dicey and still occasionally haunted Thrace in his nightmares.

The executive officer snorted into the silence. “How do you think she’ll respond to this little meeting of ours?”

“Ambush, how she’ll respond to this ambush, I believe is what you really mean. She’ll hiss and flare and then settle down.”

“I put ten credits on the flare up. No hissing.”

“You’re on Adam.”

The admittance chime to the ready room sounded, and the captain called out a “Come!”

Lieutenant Commander MVess “Left Ear” JoNs entered a second later, her rich brown fur glistening in the overhead lighting and sporting her trademark crumpled ear. She wore the gold of security, and wore the uniform with a quiet dignity. She always had. “Gentlemen. How goes it?”

The feline easily crossed over the area to take her accustomed seat on the couch next to Adam, so the two exec officers could both face their captain as they discussed ships business. What she had no inkling of was that the agenda for this meeting featured the Caitian rather predominantly.

The Andorian ships captain set his glass of water down on the low coffee table next two a small blue velvet box. He tossed the box abruptly at Left Ear, who took the development in stride and easily caught the incoming object. Thrace then slid the Padd he had been holding down the table toward Left Ear. The human winked at her. “There is the first promotion for your review.”

Left Ear took the small box in one paw while delicately flipping open the lid with her other paw. The three gold pips neatly contained within indicated a promotion to commander. The feline’s intense gaze went from Thrace to Sh’Fasz and then she placed the box back down on the surface of the table. The feline flipped an ear back as a paw now swiped the Padd from off the top of the table. The digital orders contained on the device outlined the promotion for one JoNs, MVess, to the rank of commander, effective immediately.

“No.”

Thrace just sighed. That was ol’ Lefty. Blunt, to the point, and a hard case to the bone. “Left Ear, we’ve always been straight with one another, even back when we were kids at the academy. I’m resigning my commission. I have an offer to teach, and I’m going to take it. I’d really like it if you were to step up as commander as well as take over as the exec …” Thrace trailed off, opting not to make any further remarks and deferring again to Zar on the matter.

The captain fixed JoNs with a look set somewhere between disapproval and understanding. “MVess. That away team mission was well over five years ago … “

“Five Excalibur crewmen and women were killed.”

“And you couldn’t have done any more then you did. Away team missions don’t always go according to plan. We don’t live in a perfect universe. Look, Commander, you paid your dues, as the humans say. You received a demotion in grade to lieutenant commander, a permanent note in your record, and a suggestion from the Fleet brass that you step down as executive officer and transfer off the Excalibur. I admit, when Adam first learned that you were a free agent and brought the possibility to my attention of you billeting here on the Yellowjacket, I was a skeptic. I had seen all the news feeds that had circulated about the Eden Four incident.”

The blue skinned Andorian paused to take a breath and exchanged a quick look with Thrace; MVess, meanwhile, had begun to pace the length of the room.

“Then, I looked past all that. I looked at your file. I looked at you MVess.”

Thrace gently picked up the conversation at that point. “Maybe you need to stop dwelling on the past and take a look again at the future again Left Ear.”

An indeterminate amount of time passed as the Caitian digested the whole situation. Finally, she turned to the two men and spoke in a deadpan tone. “You two work very well together as diplomats. Thank you both.”

Both Zarathon and Thrace feigned mock outrage at the diplomat crack – to which Left Ear merely smirked at, the playful smile somehow managing to look evil on her panther like features – and then the three officers settled down and began to plan out the details of the feline’s new promotion and position.

**********

“ … well, I think that’s about all we have for this meeting…”

Suddenly, the double doors to the bridge ready room slid open as they retracted into the bulkhead, overridden by an outside source. Lieutenant junior grade Biko Matubi came storming in. All three of the senior officers bolted upright to a standing position at the interruption.

Even with a soon to be former second officer who tended to be strict at the best of times, the general atmosphere on the Yellowjacket was very relaxed. However, it was common knowledge that to disrupt a command level debriefing in the captains ready room was a sure way to pull KP duty.

It was blatantly obvious that the African operations officer was agitated however. “Sirs! There is a general broadcast on the ship to ship wireless to anyone in the vicinity! It’s the Agincourt! They are warning the sector about a hostile Fleet! In the system sirs – Pluto, the warning signal is originating from Pluto orbit…they made it back to this sector on their own somehow … ”

Captain Sh’Fasz needed no further explanation, his dark blue eyes flashing ominously. “Red alert, let’s boot it all up and mobilize. We have a sister ship who needs our help.”

<TBC>

04.13.08

USS Excalibur NCC-2004 C

“Out of Time”

Four Caitians expertly moved through the darkened access way, making no sound as they went. The felines were the evolutionary embodiment of a predator, and they were very good at what they did. The lower portion of their faces and muzzles where covered with black neckerchiefs, and they all wore nondescript civilian clothing of slacks or trousers and leather jackets of a clean design and cut that could be purchased on any moon base or space station.

Left Ear JoNs, her twin brother Ravirr, and elder brother MRirr all stalked confidently out onto the decking of the main cargo bay, keeping to the shadows provided by the crates and barrels stacked in the area, their dark brown to light brown fur making them almost invisible against the shadows. The fourth member of the party was sixteen year old Mrrett, a young female cousin to the three siblings who was being schooled in the ways of the mercenary by her elders. And while the lion-like feline's coat was of a bright gold color, she too blended seamlessly into the shadows.

Left Ear began scanning the area with a civilian made recorder device, looking for the necessary supplies that they had come for. MRirr stood guard, and Ravirr and Mrrett started snooping around the paper work that had been stacked on a nearby work desk, looking for any codes and such that they might be able to use or sell in the future.

The young leonine Caitian turned to her older cousin - who resembled a brown panther like his sister - and spoke in a hushed whisper. “Uh, Ravirr, I thought we were hitting a ship called the Fallen Angel … a ship employed in the rebel fleet, right?”

Ravirr nodded in affirmation to his shorter cousin. “Aye, that was the target ship little one.”

“…then how come this manifest listing thing shows the name of the ship as the USS Excalibur?”

His tail lashed once as he too gazed at the listing of cargo and supplies, and then he whistled to get his sister’s attention. The panther like female and leader of the raiding party came bounding over at once, her hind claws clicking on the hard decking. “What’s the matter?”

Ravirr pointed a claw at a few of the receipts lying across the slate gray desk. “The kitten spotted something. According to these cargo reports? This ain’t the Fallen Angel. Oh sure, this is an Akira class starship, but it’s not our target ship. This ship is actually the United Star Ship Excalibur. The Intel packet we were sent must’ve gotten botched.”

It took the female leader exactly three point two seconds to make a decision. “We’re outta here. This ain’t worth it, takin’ out a ship of unknown registry. Seems we need to have a little talk with our contact eh? Besides, we have that incoming Ion storm that we need to contend with as well. Better to be safe then sorry. C’mon, let’s round up MRirr and get back to the Dark Fang …”

“….I don’t think so, Commander JoNs.”

Left Ear and Ravirr both whirled around to stare at the human male, dressed in the orange jump suit of a cargo handler, who had quietly crept up from another service corridor access way. Mrrett let loose with a soft purring growl and dropped to her four paws, leaning against one of Ravirr's legs in a show of young uncertainty. In contrast, the older felines both stood proud and tall, despite the seeming discovery by the crewmember.

“I thought it was you from the back Commander. Word has it you are supposed to be on the bridge … there are strange goings on around here lately. Now please, step away Mrrprh!”

MRirr, who had the lion genetics like his young cousin but had a brown fur tone like his brother and sister, had used the shadows to his advantage in order to sneak up behind the human and grab at him. Within a second, Left Ear bolted forward, smacking the phaser the man had been holding out of his hand with a strong paw. She followed up the disarming attack with a precise – and hard – knee straight up and into the tender flesh of his groin.

The hapless Excalibur crewmember fell down hard on the decking, puked, and then started to scream as he cradled himself.

One moment, the Caitians had been there. Yet, when the man’s fellow cargo jockeys finally came running to see what the fuss was all about, there was no trace of the felines. Anywhere in the vicinity of the cargo bay. At all.

Some shore leave!

We have a whole lot of mistaken encounters, people running around not acting like "themselves", and a stranger who asks Diplomat Jeralla for assistance. Was there something in the air on that planet?

Oh, and lets not forget that Ion storm bearing down on the ship.

::loves this stuff::

Okay, so I gather having Lefty leap upon Mreh mid-shift on the bridge wouldn't be the way to go then? Might cause some problems and such? :-D

“That may be, but I’m still at a loss at how Golden Boy over there came to the conclusion that she was carrying explosives just because she had breast implants.”

 

“The tattoo? Enhancements? Does that not sound familiar?” Jana asked. “She has the mark of the Marakadi Triad, which means she’s probably one of their agents, known in many sectors for turning themselves into walking time bombs.”

 

“She’s going to blow people up with her boobs?” Sid seemed impressed.

Oh dear. Laughing my @$$ off! This part truly set me off. Love the log Vic - great combination of humor and viable security practices.

04.06.08

USS Excalibur NCC-2004 C

“Flight Recruit Volunteer”

Things were going smoothly, for a change. The Excalibur was swiftly warping toward the Class M planet now given Citrus as a designation name. Apparently, the name was bestowed on the planet due to some sort of pet in sciences. It sounded like such a cute name, so the pet was obviously going to be a cute and fuzzy animal of some such. Regardless, JoNs would need to pay a visit down to the science offices in order to investigate and make sure the pet wasn’t a breach of regulations. Anything that was dangerous, toxic, or pets that went above the established weight and size limit for a fleet vessel were subject to expulsion in any manner that the executive officer saw fit.

Shore leave on Citrus would be a welcome distraction for the crew, as tempers and testosterone and hormones and egos (and the feline exec included herself in this mess, as her normally dormant temper had collided with her rigid and rule bound personality - a dangerous combination - during one point in all the chaos) were flying at warp nine and closing. The down time would enable the crew to let off steam and re-focus on the mission op to find and locate the Founders. The crew would also have the option of either enjoying some shore leave time on the planetary surface, or paying their respects during the small funeral ceremony that had been planned for the downed Epsilon Squad fighters. It was entirely up to each individual how they would spend their time, and an official memo had already been distributed to the department heads regarding the shore leave rotations and the scheduled time of the funeral.

Left Ear had drawn up an outline of the ceremony, and had kept it simple. A few words of respect said over the bodies, a flyby led by Lieutenant Ramson as was appropriate since she was the CAG, and then the bodies would be jettisoned via the torpedo tubes out into space, which was the modern Starfleet version of am ancient burial at sea. Once the draft outline for the ceremony had been complete, the feline had sent the text mail off to Captain Corizon for review and had cc’d Ramson out of respect for the flight commander.

The commander leaned back in her chair and ran a paw lightly over the pilot’s communicator wings that she had retrieved from a drawer and placed on the surface of her desk. The design hadn’t changed much over the years, and only if you looked closely enough could you notice the wings that protruded out from the fleet symbol; the pilot badge closely resembled a communicator version of the Marine colonel and lieutenant colonel rank pips actually.

Yeah. She really wanted to do this. Her sense of duty kept nagging at her, and it was time to listen to her inner voice. The action she was about to take felt right and proper.

Brown paws deftly flew over the keyboard inset into the desktop, and soon JoNs had a memo typed up and all set to go. An uncharacteristic smile - showcasing sharp fangs – lightened the normally dour panther-like Caitians features as she finally came to a decision about what she would do.

==========

To: Lieutenant (junior grade) Kallah Ramson, Commander Air Group

From: Commander MVess JoNs, Executive Officer

CC: Captain Ah-Windu Corizon, Commanding Officer

Re: Epsilon Squad

Lieutenant Ramson:

I should have said this to you when you first mentioned your intention of culling replacement fighter pilots from those qualified among the crew of the Excalibur. I let my hesitation cloud my judgment. With the loss of an entire fighter squad, it is time for me to step up and do my part.

I am offering my piloting services to you. My skills have been maintained over these last few years, and all of my necessary licenses and clearances are up to date. My call sign of Left Ear, in addition, has not been retired. I am able bodied and prepared, and will tow the line in whatever position you need me to fill – first response pilot, alert five pilot, or Radar Intercept Officer. Now, before you go checking on my personal record to see if I am a viable candidate, let me tell you in my own words what my record will not.

From 2373 to 2375, I was a junior midshipman pilot, fresh out of basic. I was stationed on the USS Repulse, and participated in a variety of Dominion War based missions and skirmishes: troop transport, supply runs, short and long range scouting missions, recon hops, personnel transport. Whatever the brass needed doing, my old squad did it and we did it well. We did it all.

To this day, I am not one hundred percent sure what happened. I’ve been to doctors, and psychologists, and really haven’t gotten a viable diagnosis. But, I’m getting ahead of my story.

Myself and the squad were on a troop transport mission. It was a couple months after the close of the war, so spirits were high, and the Repulse was assigned to sector clean up – collecting marine troops from various duty stations enacted during the war and ferrying them to a post war debriefing location. I was piloting a troop hopper, as was a squad mate of mine, and the remaining four members of my squad were doing escort duty. The whole operation was such a milk run it wasn’t even funny, and we were all bantering back and forth and making jokes.

Suddenly, all hell broke loose. An aft converter blew on the secondary troop hopper piloted by my buddy and the wreckage flew out and busted up my canopy. Then, he temporarily lost control of his bird during the shockwave and slammed it into my vehicle. We were all still in the lower atmo of the planet, so there was really no danger of decompression, and the minor fender bender didn’t further damage the two of us to the point of losing any altitude.

However, the event triggered something within myself, and I panicked. I couldn’t continue controlling the shuttle, and my breathing became erratic. One of the marines on board the shuttle managed to contact my squad lead, and she and another one of our escort pilots talked me down and took up wingman flanking positions on either side of my transport hopper, getting myself and the shuttle safely back on the ground.

I didn’t muster out of the pilot division right away after this incident. For about two more years I served as a jumper jock, mainly doing courier runs, personnel transports, and long and short range recon hops. There was no combat duty for me during this time, and it was probably for the best actually.

Today, looking back on that nasty afternoon (hindsight is a wonderful thing), I know for a fact that I was burned out and it culminated in that panic attack. I didn’t sense anything wrong, and didn’t read the signs that my body was giving me over the months. The War took a lot out of those that served, as do all wars, some more so then others. And not everyone reacts in the same way. I think a couple of the older marines that I was transporting knew what happened actually, because I remember the look they had in their eyes. It wasn’t pity … it was a shared understanding.

My temporary piloting re-assignment to the Mika Four colony outpost during the Excalibur decommissioning was my first official piloting assignment since 2377. While the assignment was most definitely not my idea – rather the sneaky planning of an old colleague of mine - I must say, it felt damn good to get back in the saddle. I believe this is the saying that the humans use?

Again, I offer my flight jockey services to you Lieutenant, if you will have me. If you accept this offer, I expect to be treated like any other probie recruit, and will respect your authority as squadron lead.

And I promise not to scare the squadron ensigns. Too badly that is. Perhaps just a little.

Sincerely,

MVess “Left Ear” JoNs

==========

With a flick of the paw, the commander entered the necessary coding in order to send the memo off to the intended recipients.

Oh dear. Someone got his Vorta feathers ruffled. ;-)

Note: the following log is just Exec Kitty personally and mentally venting, so please take the content in that context. Just picture a cat flaring with a bottle brush tail and you’ll get the idea. Thx! >^..^<

03.30.08

USS Excalibur NCC-81762

“Displeased”

Commander JoNs stood in her private office, and gazed out the large picture window at the stars flying by. The scene should have calmed her thoughts, but it did not; her personal thoughts and complaints were going at warp nine and closing.

The Excalibur was traveling at low warp to a Class M planet. The rumors of shore leave had already begun to circulate among the crew, and that was good. The last few cluster frags that had erupted on the duty cycles proved that the crew needed some down time, if only to get refocused on their reason for being out here – the search for the Founders. And if the crew did not refocus, Left Ear was getting close to going on a ship wide XO Reign of Terror in an effort to clamp down on the sloppiness that seemed to have enveloped the crew and re-enforce discipline. However, it was important to remember that this sort of action was always a last resort.

The panther-like brown furred feline turned her gaze onto the small personal hideaway disruptor pistol that rested on her desk, next to the corresponding holster; it was her personal property, and she had finally managed to get the piece back from the security department. Now that whole situation had been a true cluster frag. Perhaps next time a memo from the security head asking for permission to perform the weapon sweeps would be forwarded to the command staff rather then jumping right in with the action of searching quarters for weapons. JoNs disliked when the security chief asserted his authority in this sort of situation, because nine times out of ten the head strong Trill butted horns with the equally head strong Captain Corizon, who in this case had countermanded the search by having the marines search the quarters of the senior security officers. These situations always seemed to erupt into the inevitable peeing contest between the two men, and all JoNs could do was put up an umbrella to avoid the yellow liquid raining down.

Her mood kept getting darker, especially when her gaze lit on a data Padd that contained the information on that hoax engineering survey that the chief engineer had sent out. The feline exec still hadn’t confronted him over that, because to be quite honest, the whole situation was too off the wall in order to do anything official about it. She had poured over the regs and didn’t find any disciplinary actions under “silly memos”.

And then the chief helm officer pulls a hissy fit, taking out his frustrations on an ensign, right there on the bridge. Her fellow Caitian had insisted that the senior officer -- again the security chief -- left in command of the bridge had ordered a dangerous warp vector through some fluctuating space, and that had angered the helm feline. You personally disagree with an order from a superior officer, and then take it out on an innocent ensign? Gives whole new meaning to the term sh*t rolls down hill, and Left Ear had never been a fan of the practice or the saying, and had always tried to not fall into the habit. Regardless, the walking furry attitude had been relieved of duty for the remainder of the shift….and again, this was not the first incident. JoNs had also relieved another officer of their duty a few duty cycles ago. It was a disturbing pattern, and one she did not wish to repeat again.

Another thorn in her side was that the bridge seemed to be an open concourse, with junior officers coming up to complain about something that should have been handled through their departmental lead, or other officers delivering messages that boiled down to data that could have been sent over the inter-text mail system. And then there had been the incident the other day with one of the janitorial staff insisting on cleaning the consoles. How JoNs did not cuff the CJAN a good one is beyond her; let’s hear it for personal control. Other officers never seemed to come up to the bridge, unless there was an emergency or something, and if they did make an appearance, Left Ear immediately started worrying because, again, they never came to the bridge. The bridge situation was unacceptable, and it irked the straight arrow feline to the core. How would it look if JoNs started lurking among the departments instead of her duty station on the bridge? She would be sure to ruffle a few feathers and turn the tables, indeed.

And despite that bit of dark business involving the officers who had re-animated one of the dead pilots to gather some information – and thank all the deities Corizon had dealt with that little bunch of high priests, as Left Ear would have probably re-instated flogging. Well, no, at least in Victria’s case, the Al-Ucard would probably have enjoyed that sort of thing -- the crew was now moving forward. A proper funeral was being planned for the deceased, and the feline exec was taking care of the nitty gritty planning details. Putting aside Lieutenant Ramsons original role in the re-animation, JoNs was glad the senior pilot had been cleared from her grounding, at least temporarily, by Corizon to lead the fighter flyby during the ceremony. The concession was fitting for the occasion, and a pilot belonged in the air. You could take the officer out of piloting, but never the piloting out of the officer.

The Caitian executive officer stopped mentally griping long enough to realize that she had a raging tension headache. She rubbed her paws at her temples and tried to flex her neck in order to ease the pain. A purred groan of pain sounded across the confines of the office area.

“Ah, forget this stoic officer who suffers through the discomfort stuff. I surrender.”

She swiped a paw at her comm badge, and when the little communication device blipped, she stated what department she wished to be connected to. “Medical bay. This is Commander JoNs. I’ll be stopping by shortly. I need some medication for a tension headache, and some tension in my back I cannot seem work out. JoNs out.”

Welcome. Visit Excalibur. Captain dog. XO cat. Need mouse?

Hi there: as the feline half of the Excal command team, welcome to the boards Sheela Mouse.

- Left Ear JoNs

Note: this is a supplemental character log following "A Blade Reforged" written by Cptn Irae Varen.

03.28.09

ISS Excalibur NCC-2004 C

"Lowdown”

MVess “Left Ear” JoNs, commander of the Caitian mercenary ship CSS Dark Fury, stood in the center of an open warehouse. The openness and feeling of vulnerability caused her feline instincts to go absolutely nuts, but with an effort she pushed down the feeling and concentrated on the business at hand.

The cargo runner was meeting with a scruffy looking human and his crew in order to complete an exchange job. JoNs had brought the supplies -- clothing, rations, civilian data padds, and no weapons -- and the human was taking possession of the said supplies.

He eyed the brown furred Caitian with a critical look. “It’s all there I assume?”

The panther-like feline gave him a flat look. “My father always tells me never to assume. It makes an ass out of you and me. But, yeah, it’s all there. Calm down Sigidin, I’m in business to get a good rep and make some credits, so why would I risk that and cheat you?”

In contrast to the almost rags the human wore, Left Ear was dressed in worn but well kept civilian clothing. The dark gray jacket she wore had the cut of a uniform to it, and her brother Srrett also wore the same type of jacket. Compared to the rag tag humans, the Caitians -- who tended to look scruffy anyway, living the lives of cargo runners as they did – looked downright impeccable.

Srrett JoNs, a big ginger furred male, wore a disruptor pistol slung low on his hip, and was providing the back up for Left Ear. The third member of the party, Mrrett JoNs, was perched on a stack of crates as she kept an eye on the general internal perimeter of the warehouse. At sixteen years old, the female Cait was still very young, but was the eldest out of the children on board the Dark Fury; it was time she started learning something about the family business before she enrolled at the Imperial academy when she turned eighteen. As such, the female cousin was keeping watch over her the two elder siblings, providing more backup as a lookout.

Sigidin just snorted, and then gave the signal for his people to start gathering the supplies; they started transferring the clothing and food stuffs efficiently and quietly to waiting hover skids. He moved with a slight limp toward Left Ear, handing her a small leather pouch. “Latinum. It’s all there.” He nodded, and then started helping his crew with the off loading.

Within minutes, the human crew had cleared out of the area, and it was just Left Ear, Srrett, and Mrrett left in the warehouse … to the untrained eye that is.

Mrrett hopped down from her perch and enthusiastically galloped over to her elders. Whereas both Left Ear and her brother bore the uncommon panther genetics that occasionally popped up in this gene pool or that gene line of the families of Cait, Mrrett resembled the very common leonine type of Caitian feline. The young feline had her adult height but was still all knees, elbows, and wide paws. The young leonine feline had not yet filled out into her adult weight, and was downright gawky.

She skidded up to the two siblings, staying on all four paws. “What a rush!”

Srrett gave a good natured smirk in response to the statement, but Left Ear’s visage remained dour. “Yes, it was a rush. Did you track all your targets?”

“Of course I did.”

Left Ear gently hauled Mrrett up by the collar. “Walk on your hind paws; you were not raised in a barn. And you missed a sniper.” A brown paw pointed to a darkened corner atop another stack of plasti-crates set off in the distance. A few seconds passed, and then sensing that his cover had been blown, a blond haired head poked out. The human sniper then had the audacity to wave at the three felines in a friendly gesture, and then he jumped down and started to make his way over to the small group.

Srrett chuckled with purring laughter at the whole situation, his feline eyes dancing with mirth.

Mrrett let loose with a mildly outraged, “I can’t believed I missed that damn son of a b*tch.”

Left Ear tightened her grip on the collar. “Watch your language. We’ll do a debriefing back on the Fury. Go on, off with you now. Go get the transport shuttle booted up and ready to go.” A paw cuff to the rump got Mrrett moving towards the general direction of the warehouse exit.

By this point, the human sniper had reached the group, and the young gold feline passed him. She stopped though to goggle at the sniper rifle he held slung over his shoulder. “Nice! A Piranha GX model?”

Nothing pleased him more then to discuss his rig. “Actually, it’s more of a mongrel. Made it myself. Mostly a Pirahna model, but combined with an Imperial model, with various spare parts thrown in for good measure. Serial numbers have all been filed off, and I can switch out the ammo between plasma stun rounds, shredder rounds, or high impact distance rounds.”

“Nice! What kind of distance rounds to you use?”

“Mrrett Shaow JoNs. Don’t test me kitten.”

“Oh come on MVess, we’re just talking weapons …”

A hiss from Left Ear directed at Mrrett stopped the conversation flat, and the teenaged feline again scampered off to perform her assigned duties.

The human looked at Left Ear with piercing blue eyes. “Keep her on a tight leash do you?”

“That’s not your concern. You were left here as backup?”

“Yep. Precaution to make sure you didn’t follow the main crew and back shoot them. We need to be careful with you Caitian mercenary clans. Never know which way you lot will pounce.”

“…. You interested in making some extra credits?”

“Always.”

The brown furred feline reached into her inner jacket pocket, pulling out a bar of gold pressed latinum. She tossed it at the sniper, who easily grabbed it out of the air. “Where’s that raggedy crew heading with the clothes and rations?”

“Somewhere in the Wakith sector. I have no idea the reason, but there are rumors circulating there that there may be rebel activity in the sector.”

“… you going with them?”

“Hell no. This sniper cover job was my last contract with Sigidin and his group. I’m a free agent as of right now. If they wanna get themselves blown up six ways to Hell by the Imperial fleet once the insurgents are found out, that’s their business.”

“How’d you like work on my ship?”

The human was honestly surprised. “Say what?”

Left Ear casually leaned against a nearby cargo crate. “Well, you just said you’re a free agent. We need a sniper cover man, and you wouldn’t be the only human on board a shipful of cats, so don’t panic. The pay can be sporadic depending on the jobs we get, but your billet will always be clean and dry, and you’ll get three square meals a day.”

“… what happened to your last point man?”

“He was a stupid, drunk Klingon who couldn’t follow orders and was so plastered that he endangered an entire drop off mission, not to mention several members of my immediate family. For his troubles, he got shot in the back by my brother over here.”

Srrett merely gave a jaunty one pawed salute in confirmation of the tale.

A slow smile spread across the human’s fair features. “Honesty. I can handle that. It’s a lost art these days. You got yourself a point cover man Captain… JoNs was it?”

“Aye, that’s correct. C’mon, let’s get out of here. I have a ship to run.”

And just how did you locate my personality profile on MySpace?

Yes, I'm hot on your trail now, although I must admit the Hundred have known about the missing Founders for some time. After all, I was the one who told your Federation they were missing in the first place. Of course, Captain Corizon probably kept the source to himself when he leveraged that information against the Dominion and made them help you liberate the wormhole. And you think *I'm* the grass snake...

I tell ya, that MySpace is a pit of information. And, Mister Semil, you sir are to be watched very closely. ;-)

03.19.08

USS Excalibur NCC-2004 C

“Never a Dull Moment”

I’Denar, the HaVorante home world.

The office of Cmdr. (retired) Arijella, political liaison to the HaVorante First Response Fleet

“They said that they were working for you. We thought it unimportant…”

In the few weeks that the Excalibur had been conducting operations in the HaVorante sector, Commander Left Ear JoNs had built up a good working relationship with former commander Arijella. However, when the feline had been told that Semil had been informed of why exactly the crew was doing out here in the back end of space, she knew her pressure had shot up by the slight ringing in her ears.

The feline fleet officer abruptly rose from the chair she had been sitting on and paced over to the large picture window that was the center point of the HaVorante woman’s office; the serene city landscape that could be seen out the window was in sharp contrast to the block of ice that had formed in the Caitian’s belly.

Arijella delicately cleared her throat. “I take it that that was the wrong thing to say to this Semil of yours?”

JoNs just sighed. “Aye, you could say that Commander. And he is not, nor will he ever be, my Semil. Let’s just say that he is less an ally and more a competitor to the crew of the Excalibur.”

The proto-Vortan woman rose from the plush leather chair behind her ornate desk and came to stand beside the brown furred Caitian. “What happens now?”

“The Excalibur will continue with her mission, this has not changed. We will continue to search for the Founders, and a way to contact these missing leaders of the Dominion. Now, we just happen to have one more added complication of Semil knowing of our mission.”….and not to mention the Hundred soon being made aware of the disappearance of the Founders, but the feline kept this little tidbit of information to herself.

“…you do not care for this man?”

“No, I do not care for Semil, or his agendas. He is akin to a Caitian grass snake, slithering on his belly, coming up behind you, and sinking his fangs into your neck. Then, he retreats back into the shadows to watch the poison slowly work its way through your body.”

“… no, honestly Commander, please tell me how you really feel.”

Arijella’s deadpan delivery of her statement had the desired effect, and the normally dour feline executive officer started to chuckle softly at herself. “… I need to work on my diplomatic skills, can’t you tell?”

Arijella merely smiled and walked back over to her desk, and as she moved the subtle pattern interwoven into her black business suit caught the waning afternoon daylight coming in through the window. “That knowledge comes with time. I myself did not start my own diplomacy education until I made the rank and position of second watch officer. I believe this rank is the equivalent to your current rank of executive officer.”

JoNs maintained her position at the window, but turned around to face the politician across the distance, paws placed on her hips, her cat shaped hind legs spread wide. Her entire manner indicated a feline readiness to spring on an unsuspecting target. “How are the soldiers encountered by our away team doing?”

“Ah, yes – the J’ehm Ha-Dahr, I think you called them? All they wish to do is continue to guard the ruins, and we are more then happy to leave them be to go about their duties.”

The military politico let the silence stretch, and then offered a small, knowing smile to the feline. “You still carry yourself like a soldier JoNs. You have more to say. Out with it – what is troubling you now?”

The Caitian snorted -- a companionable chuckle rather then one of derision – and pulled a data padd from the back of her trouser waistband. Her nimble hind paws made almost no sound on the carpeting as she walked over to where Arijella was perched on the edge of her desk, and she offered the padd to her. The senior HaVorante politician took the offered data device with a look of pure curiosity on her features.

“Several of our pilots were found mortally wounded, with that symbol carved into their chests. I was wondering if you could possibly identify the symbol?”

After studying the image on the small screen, Arijella let loose with a very unkind sounding stream of words in her native tongue; the dermal universal translator that Left Ear had embedded under the skin below her ear refused to translate the stream of profanity.

Now, it was Left Ear’s turn to smile, her fangs on full display. “You can take the sailor out of the fleet, but the fleet never comes out of the sailor, eh Commander?”

Arijella shot the feline executive officer a look that reminded Left Ear of her instructors back at the academy. The gray haired HaVorante woman then quickly bustled around the desk to get to the old style computer monitor and keyboard set on top of the desk; the Caitian officer heard a low hum as a computer terminal was booted up.

“I have seen that symbol before, but only in history textbooks from my school days. From what I can remember, it represented some sort of blood cult.”

Oh, that’s just fragging peachy. Left Ears tail started to lash, while Arijella calmly connected a USB cable to a port in the data padd. While the HaVorante level of technology and Starfleet technology was slightly different comparison wise, there were enough similarities between the technologies where many things -- such as fleet padds and HaVorante “old style” computers -- were backwards compatible.

“… our records are probably sketchy Left Ear, but I can give you what information we do have, as well as a link to a group of beings that may also know more of the cult – the Satarimi.”

The brown panther-like feline cocked her head to one side in curiosity. “The…Satarimi? Aye, I am sure my Captain would be very interested in questioning these people.”

“I am downloading the information now to this data device of yours.”

After a few minutes had passed, the tell tale blip of a successful data transfer pinged across the large office area.

“Thank you Commander Arijella.”

“Don’t thank me yet Commander JoNs. The Satarimi may or may not have the information you seek about the deaths of your pilots, perhaps even more information on these Founders you seek. The Satarimi were a very powerful empire with a long reach hundreds of years ago, but lately, have fallen into a state of distrust. Sightings of them are sporadic.”

“…so, myself, the captain, and our crewmates should be cautious, as we always are.” A paw gently reached out to take the padd with the newly downloaded information.

“Indeed. Happy hunting Commander JoNs.”

Innocents? But wasn't this was Victria and Kallah?

 

(Quietly puts the order for the new Excalibur Department of Necromancy letterheads, t-shirts, coffee cups, boxers and thongs on hold.)

I totally want a mug with a skull on it and a caption that reads "Undead Inc." :-P In the meantime, it's best to avoid the slightly miffed Captain.

03.14.08

USS Excalibur NCC-2004 C

“Clear the Air”

It was late, well into the third shift. The only crew members up at this hour were those brave enough to take on the responsibility of the night shift, and a Caitian who had her genetic makeup rooted in a nocturnal predator’s past. Commander Left Ear JoNs admitted to herself that even though she served on the day shift and had done so for most of her adult life, there was something comforting about the night, and she was as comfortable working at night as she was during the daylight hours. But, the night could offer so much more at times, and when she was able to, the feline embraced it.

Like when you had a desire to complete a personal mission in order to put your own mind and possibly a few wandering spirits to rest. The brown furred executive officer currently stalked quietly down the corridor leading to the hanger bay, clad in off duty civilian attire and carrying a leather messenger bag that contained the few items that she would need for what she was planning to do this evening.

As soon as she entered the hanger bay, the feline visually located the security guard assigned to guard the area, as well as the chief deck hand who was responsible for overseeing the night shift. She whistled sharply, and waved a paw for the two men to come over to her. The Human security officer and the Andorian deck hand both trotted over to the senior officer.

Left Ear spoke quietly to the two junior officers. “Boys, I need your co-operation with a little project I have.” She turned her panther like gaze on the blue skinned Andorian, “Chief, I want you to round up your grease monkeys that are on duty tonight -- what is it usually, about four of you on shift? – and leave the hanger bay. Take a fifteen minute break and then come on back. I want to check over the fighter craft that we recovered, just to satisfy my own curiosity,” the Caitian then turned her attention to the security guard, “and Ensign, I’d like you to accompany them.”

Both men exchanged a quick look, and then the two of them started speaking at once, overlapping their sentences, but their protests where plain.

“Sir, the orders state that no personnel are to go near the fighter craft…”

“And I can’t just up and leave the hanger deck ma’am….we need to process those fighters and get ‘em back on the jump line for the next available patrol hop.”

Like a swift wind blowing across the grass plains of Cait, Left Ear’s normally dormant temper blew out, fierce and swift. It had been a long day, dealing with the escaped raiders, an unknown ship seen leaving the HaVorante system, dead pilots with the life and blood sucked out of them, and recalcitrant senior officers. It wasn’t right, but the feline chose that opportunity to vent some of her frustration on the two hapless men.

“ATTENTION!”

Her snarled tone reverberated back and forth between the hanger bay bulkheads, but it had the desire effect: both of the junior officers snapped to attention. The Caitian also noted that the various work tools that she heard clinking while being used went quiet, no doubt because the Chiefs deck hands were watching what was unfolding from afar.

“I understand very well the nature of your orders gentlemen, as I was standing right here when they were issued! Some of the crew on this ship seem to have a slight problem with following the orders that I give. Last I checked gentleman, this ship was not a democracy! I say jump, you say yes ma’am, how high ma’am and in what direction ma’am! Do you get me?”

“Yes sir!” Two voices answered her in unison.

“Okay, then lets try this again - you two get your collective butts out of here, and come back in fifteen minutes. Is that clear?”

“Yes sir!”

JoNs made a curt gesture with her paw, indicating that the two off them could go now. The security officer ran like hell, and the deck chief soon followed after he had hastily rounded up his few people, and then he and his deck hands left the area as well.

Left Ear began muttering to herself as she started walking toward the fighter shuttles in question. “… lucky I didn’t lay a paw cuff across their thick skulls … arguing, recalcitrant … remind me of my godchild ….”

The feline officer as a general rule really didn’t practice any sort of Caitian spirituality, but her exposure to the belief system while growing up had instilled a respect for the practices and ceremonies. And so, Left Ear found herself skulking down here in the hanger bay, preparing to perform a Caitian spiritual prayer and ceremony.

JoNs spoke to the air. “Computer, take environmental alarms off line for a period of eighteen minutes. Authorization code JoNs Hakim-sa Beta. Mark.” A double blip followed by the monotone voice of the computer system confirming the order indicated that the computer had processed the request and the environmental alarms were now temporarily offline. Gods forbid she set off the fire alarms or the environmental regulators or something.

The brown panther-like Caitian stood quietly in front of the recovered fighter shuttles, all neatly lined up in a row and being prepped for maintenance checks. She suddenly felt a sadness weigh down on her chest. All pilots knew the risks. If you didn’t, then you were a stupid jump jockey. Every flight mission that a pilot engaged in had the potential to be dangerous. Left Ear had been one of the few lucky ones that had put time in as a pilot and was still among the living to tell her tales. It just so happened that the pilots found dead inside these birds wouldn’t be celebrating a mission gone well in the officers club this time around.

She began to gather the items from the messenger bag: a small wood urn with green markings to hold the incense, an arrow, and a well-worn piece of parchment (she had to be honest; she didn’t remember the prayer word for word).

JoNs had been told a story a few years ago by an old, tough as duranium human pilot that had helped train her and the other raw rookie pilots in her squad, and the story had managed to stick with her through all these years. Two pilots had gone on patrol back in Earth’s early twenty first century, and after about an hour, they both disappeared from radar. A recovery squad was sent out, and the one pilot was found, saying that the two of them had encountered some fog and gotten separated. The other pilot was not found until two weeks later, her fighter jet landed on a remote strip of land wide enough to accommodate the jet, with the pilot herself dead in the cockpit.

The official records concluded that she had died of a heart attack. But, the rumors are always more interesting then the facts, aren’t they? Other pilots claimed that they had seen her restless ghost around the airfields and the barracks. And her plane, thought still in perfect working order, always seemed to have mechanical problems after the incident. It finally got to the point where none of the remaining pilots would fly the bird, claming it was cursed or some such. It was all superstitious nonsense. Could inanimate objects really retain the ‘vibes’ of a tragic event? Who the Hades really knew, and it was all according to what you believed anyway. Despite this conviction, Left Ear still found herself here in the hanger bay, preparing to perform a little ceremony over the fighter craft so the birds wouldn’t suffer any mechanical difficulties or be ‘cursed’ by the strange events that the now dead Excalibur pilots had encountered in the nebula.

The feline supposed that she could do the same for the bodies in the morgue, say a few words over them, but she nixed that idea as soon as it had entered her head. Tampering with bodies under medical quarantine pending investigation was strictly against the regulations. Possible immoral. Yes – she’d stick with the inanimate and non-dead fighter shuttles, thank you very much.

And so, the executive officer of the Excalibur quickly and quietly performed her little ceremony, a ceremony that she had first learned way back when she was still a little girl. If the simple act settled some, if any, dark spirits that prowled around the fighter shuttles, then so be it.

….Left Ear knew that this simple act of prayer made her feel a heck of a lot better.

03.11.08

USS Agincourt NCC-81762

“Old Comrades, Long Distances”

Ethan sat down at the console, a determined expression on her face. She tugged her uniform straight, then spoke, "Computer, open a channel to Lt. Commander JoNs aboard the Yellowjacket." For a long moment, the computer worked on the connection, while Ethan drummed her fingers impatiently on the edge of the console.

The incoming comm signal blipped a few minutes later on the ops board on the bridge of the Yellowjacket. The young Vulcan officer manning the board turned to the brown furred Caitian currently left in command of the bridge. "Commander?"

A panther-like face turned to him. “Yes Ensign?"

"Incoming call, I am not sure who it is yet. The transponder signal is Federation though."

"Fine, I'll take it in the ready room." The feline exited the bridge and entered the vacant ready room, calling out "Computer, start link-up."

Another long moment, then the computer popped up the image. Ethan couldn't help but smile a little at the sight of a former crewmate. "Hello, Left Ear. I'd ask how you are, but actually I'm calling with some news about the Agincourt."

A genuine grin of happiness cracked the normally dour feline's expression. "Commander Hawke! Good to hear from you!" Then, her expression shifted back to the perpetual worry that had descended on her since the ships dissapearance. "What news?"

Ethan smiled, "They're alive. I'm not sure where... But at least some of them are alive."

The brown felines throat tightened, and she rested her elbows on the desktop and folded her paws, resting her muzzle on her clasped paws. She stared at the image of Hawke, seeing but not really seeing. "Thank you."

Ethan nodded, "I wish I could tell you more... all I know is..." She paused, her throat tightening involuntarily, "That my bond-sister almost died. That's the first I've sensed her since... they disappeared. I had hoped that I'd know one way or the other. I ..." She paused again, "I think she's still alive, at least. But if she is or was... the ship wasn't destroyed, at least."

Left Ear flipped a brown ear back. "You have a bond sister on the Agincourt?" She quickly tapped a series of commands into a nearby data padd, bringing up the roster yet again. "May I ask who?"

"Lt. Col. T'Loren Day. She was assigned as assistant to Colonel Harper, the commandant of the Marines. She'd been reassigned there after the destruction of the USS Federation. Not a ship with fighters, but a chance at command experience."

A claw deftly inputted the last name in the keypad, and the small data device showed the bio of the marine officer. Left Ear nodded. "Good officer. Just the type that a line ship needs....I hope she is okay Ethan, and that bond of yours just keeps getting stronger the closer they get to home."

Ethan frowned, "I haven't sensed anything since they vanished, up until yesterday. It's just too far, I guess. But.. rather, I guess I should say that I haven't felt or sensed anything specific, but I felt this.. wrenching anguish when she..." She broke off again, not able to say it. "Anyways... I can't be sure, but if I had to guess, they are in the direction of the Beta quadrant."

"....my lost one is M'rrett, my cousin and godchild. She's an assistant security officer, lieutenant rank....it's frustrating isn't it? There is not much we can do here."

Ethan sighed, nodding, "I'm not entirely sure about that... I'm willing to bet on the direction that they are in... I'm going to contact Command to see if they can send a ship out that direction, but that's a long distance. Have you found anything where you are?"

The brown feline snorted, a rare outward sign of her displeasure. "Random witness accounts of a ship of unknown alien origin, debris floating around from the now destroyed Gideon, as well as a few sightings of a 'vortex' thing that supposedly the Agincourt disappeared into while chasing said unknown ship. That's what the Yellowjacket and the other search vessels out here have uncovered."

Ethan nodded, "Sounds a little like a trans-warp conduit or something... No evidence of those ships since? Agincourt was investigating the disappearance of a scientist, as I recall... do you think they're related?"

The senior feline officer nodded once, indicating that she did believe that. "I'm sure there is a connection somewhere if the lead was investigated enough. The unknown ship could have been spotted in another sector for all we know, and scientists are always a target, depending on what they are working on." A single claw tapped on the desktop in a show of impatience. "Honestly, I truely want to bust some heads together over this whole incident...."

Ethan grinned, "I'll hold them, and you punch."

Fangs showed. "Now that is a plan."

Ethan sighed, "Like I said, I'll see what I can do to get a ship sent out that direction... If you want, I can suggest yours."

"Commander....Ethan. I would be grateful if you could look into that. And, I am sure I could talk the Yellowjackets Captain into another patrol run as well - as it is, I am driving him up the bulkhead."

"Yes, as I recall, you're good at that." Ethan grinned again, "I'll let you know. But, take heart at least. They are out there... somewhere."

Left Ear nodded. "I am taking heart; I just wish I could get it to stop aching...and puttng aside the worry, these unknown antagonists could cause more problems for all we know."

Ethan nodded, "I know. I'll be in touch." She paused, smiled again, "Ethan out."

I sense a disturbance in The Force.

02.20.08

USS Excalibur NCC-2004 C

Executive Officers Personal Log

Supplemental Entry

“The Excal remains out of range from the HaVorante away team. I hope that the team is making some progress with regard to the Dominion-type tech in those ruins, and once we return to the HaVorante home system, they have some good news to report to us.

Otherwise, we continue with our station keeping off of the explosives-coated nebula, and are still dealing with the situation regarding our missing fighter squadron and how to get them safely out of said nebula. The current plan that has been settled on is to use the specialized ATCM torps in order to plow the field; the torpedoes will be specially rigged up and attached to a couple of our remaining fighters, and the jump jets will then be detailed to deliver our packages smack dab into the nebula for a nice little fireworks display. Once we have a clear path, we’ll head in and drag our wayward pilots out by the ear. Engineering, tactical, sciences and the CAG are all coordinating on this endeavor.

I hear that security is planning on implementing some hand to hand combat training which is good; the last training session I sat in on featured a few of the new junior recruits, and they looked a little sloppy.

Internally, I’ve heard some rumors and scuttlebutt regarding some tensions departmental-wise. Nothing official has graced my inbox as of yet, so I find that encouraging. Only as a last recourse will I break out Tyrant XO for a Reign of Terror.

However, one aspect of the tension rumors involves a yeoman currently attached to the operations department, and I’ve gotten my info from a couple different sources…”

“Computer, pause recording.”

Left Ear rummaged about on the surface of her desk, eventually grabbing the Padd she was looking for. The feline scrolled through the biography and service record that was currently displayed on the portable information device.

“Computer, resume recording at last stopping point.”

“… her record shows her to be of a warrior culture, an upbringing that I can relate too, and her service time in the fleet has been marked with distinction. But, it appears as if this girl has started to get irritable with certain staff and crewmembers. She may not be allowed to carry her knife, but I think we may need to worry about her razor sharp attitude as well. Like the departmental situation, I will keep an eye on the yeoman…she may just be a hyper kid who needs a good paw cuff to the ear to get her back in line.”

“Computer, end recording.”

End recording

And now, another view from the complete opposite end of the Mirror spectrum:

WOOT! WOOT!

Yeah baby! Thats what I'm talkin' about. ::is way too biased:: Mirror 'Verse rocks out.

Executive Officers Personal Log

Supplemental Entry

“Our current situation remains unchanged.

An away team - comprised of officers from the science, engineering and security departments and led by Commander Teykier – was left on the HaVorante proto-Vortan planet to further study the ancient ruins located outside the main city. Hopefully, the team can determine the extent to which the technology found inside the ruins is Dominion based, and if there is any hidden data regarding where we might locate the device that will lead us to the Founders….that is a lot of ifs isn’t it?

Meanwhile, the Excalibur had set off in search of a fighter patrol that had gone missing and got pounded by about a dozen or so flippin’ mines. We tracked our missing flight crew to what appears to be a nebula liberally peppered with a mine field. The assumption is that our pilots are trapped inside.

Medical was kept busy with injuries incurred from the mine blasts, and I am currently waiting on a casualty report from the department.

The mines do show on our scanners as a pre-set grid pattern, almost like a chess board. The fact that they showed up at all on our sensors is encouraging; if the mines had been rigged to be out of phase and then suddenly pop themselves into our path once getting a lock on us, that would have made things a bit more interesting and a lot more deadly. But, we still have interference from the energies swirling in the nebula, and we still haven’t determined if the damn mines are cloaked or attracted to the hull of the ship, and so for now the Excalibur remains on station keeping just outside the nebula.

The bridge team, the tactical team, and main engineering are all brainstorming ideas to find a way to get us through the nebula, either by neutralizing the mines or finding a ‘back door’ to get to our pilots. Regardless, if the risk is too great, I refuse to put anyone else in danger or the ship in the line of fire again, and I’ll take the matter up with Captain Corizon if need be. I’ve already informed our CAG officer Ramson that if we can’t come up with some sort of alternative method around the minefield, we will leave…or rather, I will leave...the pilots.

…I just hope that I didn’t come across as much of a cold and heartless b*tch to Lieutenant Ramson as I sounded to myself…

… I’ve always disliked chess…”

End recording

02.11.08

USS Yellowjacket NCC-1609

“Lost at Sea”

Commander MVess “Left Ear” JoNs swiped a paw over the security device attached to her computer terminal, allowing it to take a scan of her paw print. Once her clearance had been indicated with a soft blip, the Caitian second officer spoke her commands to the terminal.

“Computer, contact Commander Savette JoNs, Starfleet command headquarters, Intelligence Division. Private communications line JoNs Beta Orilla Five.”

“Working…”

After a few moments of staring at the familiar blue background and silver planet with matching oak leaves, the visual feed on the desktop viewer switched over to the image of an older Caitian - older, but definitely still sharp. The gray feline regarded her younger family counterpart with bright and enthusiastic gold eyes. “Left Ear. What’s the word?”

“The word is still nothing. The Yellowjacket, along with the other ships assigned to the search group, have been patrolling this entire stretch of quadrant for over two months now. Two months. Nothing. No sign of the fragging ship.”

Savette knew that for Left Ear to blatantly show her emotions like this, the stress was starting to get to the brown furred Cait and that was not an easy thing to accomplish. The older gray feline and the middle aged brown feline cousins were both very much alike: duty minded, didn’t put up with any crap, and straight as an arrow. A notable difference was that Savette tended to be a bit more forward or sarcastic with her humor and manner, in a mild fashion.

She regarded MVess over the data feed. “Nothing at all? There has to be some record of what happened out there.”

“Other then the debris that was identified as what is left of the Gideon, nothing new has been turned up about the Agincourt and where it is they disappeared to. Frag it all Savette, I’m getting ready to start busting some heads in order to get a straight extrapolation on what really happened out here, rumors of wormholes that appear out of nowhere aside.”

The smoke gray Caitian lowered her voice so none of her colleuges at the Intel offices would overhear. “….there has been some speculation here at Intelligence that the enemy who engaged both the Gideon and the Agincourt may cause more headaches in the future, but we have no solid evidence other then random sightings in certain sectors, that may or may not be related.”

“It’s all speculation at this point - the only thing I care about is locating that missing ship. And between you and me, the only crewmember that I really care about is my godchild…”

“…I know that you know if nothing tangible is turned up out there within the next few weeks, Fleet command will call off the search and declare the Agincourt lost at sea.”

“…Yes. I know that…”

If the Excal inanimate objects start talking all KITT like....that could be a problem.

Michael, the Center Seat is receiving some input. Perhaps we should call Bonnie? ;-)

02.03.08

USS Excalibur NCC-2004 C

“Misunderstanding”

The dinner shared by the Excal command staff, Cardassian diplomat Jeralla, and Vorta representative Lexin had gone relatively well, if a bit on the boring side. After her service in the Dominion war, Left Ear JoNs had never thought that she be sharing a supper table with a spoon head or a purple-eye. But, to be fair, the Caitian had found the various discussions of the “getting to know you” gathering interesting. The current mission of the crew, this quest to locate the Founders was also mentioned, but perhaps lacking in the detail that she had been expecting.

The next morning found the feline executive officer beaming down to the planet I’Denar at the designated garden meeting area on the political campus in order to keep an appointment with senior agent Arijella. The HaVorante was an officer turned politician, but from what JoNs had gathered from her last conversation with the woman, the former commander still worked very closely with the HaVorante First Response Fleet to ensure the safety of the planet as well as the surrounding sector. Perhaps the best way to describe her primary duties was as the head of a homeland security department that also expanded outward into the local galactic sectors that surrounded the planet.

And while Arijella was welcoming enough to the Starfleet officer, she had a certain hard edge to her gaze, and her manner showed that she was used to giving orders ad having them followed in short order. The stress level of her job was probably very high as well.

“What can I do for you this time Commander JoNs?”

“Thank for meeting with me, Commander. I wanted to ‘negotiate’ with you, so to speak, about retaining the services of some of your local scientists out at the main ruin site as well as the two secondary sites.”

The proto-Vorta made a quick notation on a handheld data device. “…you have found something of interest to your mission at the ruins?”

“To be honest Agent Arijella, we are not entirely sure as of yet. According to our sciences away team, some sort of ancient technology was uncovered, and this tech bears a resemblance to the current technological level of the Dominion, an organization founded by these Founders that we seek.’

Arijella chewed that one over mentally, not speaking for the space of a few heartbeats. “I find it hard to believe that the various HaVorante that have investigated the ruins never uncovered this technology.”

“In my opinion, it was dumb luck, Agent; the current controls of interest were hidden behind a panel.”

“Tell me, Commander JoNs, if these Founders are located based on whatever you uncover here, what would that mean for the quadrant that you reside in?”

Hello. Loaded. Question. How much was too much? Left Ear hesitated with her response.

“Answer me Commander.”

There it was, ‘the tone’. Indeed, the proto-Vorta was a woman used to giving orders and then having them followed. The brown furred Caitian fought to maintain her decorum, but was only mildly successful. “I understand that I am a guest here on your world Agent Arijella, but I am not one of your soldiers to command.” The felines’ ears had gone flat, an indication of her own annoyance.

Amethyst colored eyes flashed back in kind at the feline officer. “If that is all Commander, I must be going. If you further require my assistance, please do not hesitate to contact my office.”

The Caitian inclined her head in a clipped gesture of respect. “Agent.”

The proto-Vortan politician left the immediate area quickly, leaving Left Ear to make a disgusted gesture once she was alone before tapping at her comm badge to request a beam up back to the ship.

**********

A few hours later Left Ear was holed up in her office going over some reports and updates when the second shift comm officer paged her. “Commander, I have an inbound communication for you from HaVorante.”

“Who is it?”

“It’s an old style inscription code, and it took me a couple minutes to figure out exactly what it was, but I read it as the private line of First Agent Arijella.”

A feline ear flipped back in surprise. “Put her through Ensign.”

The image of the HaVorante appeared on the desktop viewer, and Left Ear began speaking. “First Agent, what can I do for you?”

“I wanted to call with an apology regarding what happened earlier; I sometimes forget that I am no longer in the military.”

So the Caitian had read the signs correctly. In an effort to be fair, she stamped down on any lingering annoyance over the incident. “To be honest, my earlier hesitation was due to the fact that I do not know exactly how much information is too much information with regard to our mission. You had asked about what locating the Founder’s would achieve? I can say with certainty that some of us hope a balance of stability can be achieved within our home quadrants.”

“Fair enough. Good night Commander.”

“Good night, First Agent.”

==== Internal Memo ====

==== Excal Security Department ====

To: Lieutenant Michael Garrison, Lieutenant junior grade Doug T., Lieutenant junior grade Victria

Re: Security Departmental Roster, USS Excailbur

Until Lieutenant Commander Segami is available to continue his duties as the departmental lead, I will be temporarily filling in as the acting chief of security.

If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to contact me.

- Commander Left Ear JoNs

cc: Captain Windu Corizon, Lieutenant Commander Atticus Segami

==== Internal Memo ====

==== Excal Security Department ====

::pawforehead:: ::command ulcer forming:: ::must....get....Pepto Bismol::