Kansas

<<<< Level 7 Security Clearance Accepted >>>> <<<< Accessing Imperial Fleet Profile Clearance JX-ARC 20>>>> <<<< Sub Profiles: Alien Imperial Officers, Caitian >>>> <<<< Imperial Biographical Data: JoNs, Mrrett Shaow >>>> Subject: M'rrett Sh'aow JoN's Service Number: SC-109219 Nickname: Kansas Call Sign: Will <Mission Operations> Known Aliases: M.S. JoNs, Shaow JoNs, and Shaow Honor-Scar Current Rank and Position: Commander Executive Officer USS Agincourt NCC-81762 Birthdate: 6706.25 (2367) (31 Seasons of Age) Shiboline M’Ress Hospital Hissta Province General Statistical Information: Species: Caitian Felinoid Sex: Female Height: 5’3 Weight: 130 lbs Eye Color: Light green Fur Color: Gold Mane/Hair Color: Copper-gold in coloring, worn in a short spiked cut Medical Considerations: - Preventive flea treatment drops every four months as needed - Meat protein booster shots every four to six months as needed - Regular monitoring of heart to prevent the onset of the common heart defect disease associated with the Caitian genetic code Physical Appearance: She is a felinoid with an athletic and agile build, and can walk upright on hind legs as well as on all four paws. Her fore and hind paws are large for added traction and grip. She has a very strong resemblance to an Earth/Terran lion or a common domesticated orange “tomcat”, but lacks the tufting on the end of the tail that a lion would have. Notable Markings: see Biography Updates for full details on injuries: - Family tribal symbol (design dated at one thousand years old) branded on underside of left forearm: stencil design, ancient saber cat head with crossed swords above. - Scar on right thigh (injury) - Left ear tip missing (injury) - Front fang missing (injury) Primary Specialty: Security Secondary Specialty: Tactical Certified Training: General Security Procedures Standard Interrogation Procedures Level One Medical Interrogation Procedures Riot Control Procedures Standard Pilot Training Weapons Systems (Tactical Tracking, Torpedo, Phasers, Mine Launcher) Small Unit Tactics (Commando and Squad based) Sniper Marksmanship and Long Range Squad Support Certified Clearance: Standard Phaser (Type 1 and 2) Standard Phaser Rifles Sniper Rifle Shuttle (Type 6 and 9) Runabout (Danube class) Troop Hopper/Ambulance Transport Heavy Bomber/Recon Utility Shuttle Ground Transport Vehicles Other Clearance: Civilian Issue Cricket Phaser Cricket Phaser Ammunition Civilian Security Systems, Dragonfly class transport craft Mercantile Biographical Data: JoNs Tribal name: Honorscar Clan Affiliation: Clan Shadow Pride Grandparents: Grandmother: MVirran, (102) - Financial backer - Former Senior Grade Lieutenant, Imperial Fleet - Head of Tribe and First Representative to Clan Shadow Pride Grandfather: Shibo, deceased Great Uncle: MSarr, (71) - Financial backer - Secondary Head of Tribe - Senior Representative to Clan Shadow Pride Parents: Father: S’rrch (59) (Son of MVirran) - Security Mother: M’rree (58) - Teacher - Tribal note: Saber Claws - Affiliation by marriage: Clan Shadow Pride Uncles: Va’Rirr (76) (Son of MVirran) - Engineer Shibo (56) (Son of MVirran) - Engineer Aunts: M’Vess (74) (wife of Va’Rirr) - Teacher M’Vressa (52) (daughter of MVirran) - Security First Cousins: Offspring of M’Vess and Va’Rirr: M’Rirr, (M) (Eldest, age not recorded) - Killed in late 2397 - Died of stab wounds after altercation with Klingon slaver Ravarr, (M) (53) - Helm and First Mate - Tertiary Head of Tribe - Junior Representative to Clan Shadow Pride Vrrowl, (M) (52) - Emergency Medical Technician Srrett, (M) (47) - Shuttle pilot and Security (Nickname: Sideswipe) Ravirr (M) (46) - Communications M’Vess (F) (46) - Ships Master, CSS Dark Fury (Dragonfly Cargo Ship Designation) Cousin by Marriage: Savassa, (F) (45) (wife of Vrrowl) - Registered Nurse - Tribal note: Gray Paws - Affiliation by marriage: Clan Shadow Pride Second Cousins: Offspring of V’rrowl and Savassa: Misha, (F) (12) - Student and Engineers Junior Mate Savirr, (M) (10) - Student and Helm Junior Mate Vassara, (F) (9) - Student. Ravoss, (M) (8) - Student. 6th Cousin: Savette-Shaow JoNs (F) (73) - Former Lance Corporal, Imperial Marines Commando Unit - Financial Backer, CSS Arrow Phyre (Runabout Class Designation) Distant Cousin: Jagrissa Honor-Scar (F) (42), - Independent Freighter Captain, CSS Arrow Phyre (Runabout Class Designation) - Call Sign: Jumper <<< Special Note: Tribal Clan ship: CSS Dark Fury CX-20, commanded by MVess “Left Ear” JoNs, crewed by most of the immediate family. No further information available on JoN’s family. Location currently unknown >>> <<< Special Note: Tribal Affiliate Ship: CSS Arrow Phyre CX-JD, commanded by Jagrissa "Jumper" Honor-Scar. Last known location: Colonial Planet cargo lanes >>> Biographical Background: M'rrett Sh'aow JoN's was born on the planet of Cait in 2367, the only child of S’rrch and M’rree. Her father is a former security administrator for the dilithium mining platforms orbiting the planet, while her mother is a former teacher. Due to the continued presence of the Empire within the general galactic landscape, the feline parents made the decision to leave the planet, their jobs, and join a Caitian mercenary clan fleet with other family members. Despite zipping around the cosmos going from job to job, Mrrett managed to have a somewhat normal childhood, raised with a deep understanding of her Caitian heritage. She began serving on the family freighter ship at the age of 12 in the capacity of an engineers mate. A more formal education was provided by her mother in private tutoring, covering the usual general studies from history to mathematics. She entered the Imperial Academy in 2384 and her family accepted and honored this decision. The JoNs family are no strangers to Imperial service, with both her grandmother MVirran serving to the rank of Lieutenant on various starship duty stations and cousin Savette serving for a time within the marine commando forces. As a non-Human/Terran, Mrrett did encounter opposition from fellow classmates as well as the occasional instructor. When necessary, she allowed her claws to do the talking. Her chosen studies under the general security courses included tactical, sniper and piloting and the Caitian feline would eventually choose to major and serve within the security and tactical disciplines. Her natural feline vision served her well during sniper training. During this period of training, JoNs participated in an unsanctioned competition known as “Fast Draw”. The event attracts participants from the security, marine, merchant marine, and the civilian cargo services, and is usually staged on Earth or one of the outer system colonies. Participants compete to see who is the fastest, and has the most nerve. Mrrett did well during her stint in the competition, making it to the semi-finals. However, a bullet to the thigh during the projectile weapons portion of the competition knocked her out of the running. The feline has not taken part in the competition since. While very fast and quite capable with her gunslinger skills, she does not wish to advertise this as it does tend to attract the wrong kind of attention. A goodly portion of her tactical studies, in addition to defense and offense, involved mastering many types of weapons. She maintains a small collection of melee, ancient projectile and modern weapons. In addition, Kansas employs a custom holster and belt rig. The right leg holster holds a modified plasma shot gun with a shortened barrel. The altered configuration of the weapon enables for a wider and more devastating blast radius. The plasma shotgun is also configured to take a few different plasma cartridge designs, from stun based cartridges that can immobilize a target to snowflake cartridges that frost over a target area on impact. A cross-draw holster for a disruptor is worn to the left of the belt, enabling a right handed draw as well. Both weapons rest in an exposed mounting rather then a fully encasing holster, enabling her to draw and fire both weapons quickly. The benefit of having such a weapon configuration has served JoNs well as a mercenary with a day job as an Imperial officer over the years Piloting wise, she was trained in a variety of Starfleet atmospheric and space flight craft. At one point, she seemed to gravitate toward the possibility of serving in the piloting division full time, but ultimately transferred to the Imperial security division. Of note, during her service on the ISS Thunder Cat, JoNs was one of the few participants in the infamous Sigma Delta 4 strafing run, the Empires response to a series of civilian uprisings at the dilithium colony. The trainee pilots were ordered to fire at anything and everyone that moved, as well as any strategic equipment. The feline midshipman did have reservations concerning the mission, specifically the ordered attack on the civilian population in general, rather then seeking out those directly responsible for the rabble rousing. As such, the Caitian only targeted the equipment on the initial strafing run, and ran interference against another pilot targeting a civilian administration office building at one point as well. The young midshipman received a dose of the agonizer badge for her troubles from the executive officer of the Thunder Cat upon returning to the ship, but blatantly stood by her decision. Her mission operations call sign was given to her during her general piloting service and training on board the ISS Thunder Cat by Commander Aileen “Jinx” Brennan, the commander of the air group. CAG Brennan and JoNs frequently clashed, and the female human frequently referred to the Caitian officer pilot as that “Damn Willful Cat”. The title was shortened to “Will”, and the tag stayed with JoNs through her piloting training and would eventually be tapped for use as a mission operations call sign as well. Mrrett JoNs is for the most part very duty minded, and has served and will serve on all her assignments with dedication (according to how it best serves her, that is). Psychological Profile: = = = = Personal Quote: Justice: when it serves me Truth: when it serves me Honor: on my own terms, Loyalty: on my own terms … Credits: always = = = = M'rrett Sh'aow JoN's is very much a feline with her brain and reflexes hardwired into thousands of years of feline predatory evolution, and this fact of nature should always be noted when dealing with her. The feline equation does not change much over the species, whether they be a domesticated pet or of a felinoid descent such as JoNs. Like her Cait plains dwelling forebears, she is a natural predator, athlete and hunter - built to stalk her prey, and then take down the target in the most efficient manner possible. She can be moody, exhibiting the usual outward signs such as ear movement, growling, or tail lashing and the like when she is angry or frustrated, or purring when she is happy. JoNs will also ‘drop to all fours’ at times to walk; this action is not odd in itself, but most modern adult Caitians prefer to walk upright on their hind paws. The subject seems to employ this mobility method in general practice and most definitely when angered, annoyed and those few times when fear is a factor. In addition, she can be highly territorial. JoNs maintains a code of honor that can be a bit rough around the edges. She will make her presence or opinion known when she feels strongly or is angered about something, but you can never tell who or what she will care about, and how that personal honor code will come into play if at all. Her actions and motivations are always her own. She enjoys her work as an enforcer of the security service, but will use any career advantage as it presents itself. Her feral qualities and unpredictability make her highly dangerous as both an adversary and an ally. Mrrett JoNs is cleared for service. End profile record, case number 741. - Doctor Horatio James T’Sorvel, M.D., PhD. Starfleet Command Medical Biographical Updates: General update: Injury Listing: The life of an Imperial officer, especially those serving in security or the marines, is a hard one, and injuries and scars are common. For every one year served, you age five years is an appropriate description of the average Imperial officer. From her various adventures and misadventures, JoNs has the following: a missing left ear tip from a failed assassination attempt on her person by Crewman Carter Burne, a missing fang (which is now silver coated and worn on a chain around her neck to remind her that all actions will have an equal reaction) from a shuttle crash whose systems were compromised thanks to one of her illegal transfer ops, and a projectile bullet scar on her right thigh from an illegal competition. 0607.26: First indication of participating along with the Chief Medical Officer, Doctor Levy, in an illegal medicine ring operating off the ISS Agincourt 0607.30: Brawls with Lieutenant Diane Quade of Sciences over a personal disagreement between the two. Is subsequently late for tactical duty shift and disciplined (in the form of being taken to his bed) by the chief of security, Lt. Cmdr Robair. 0609.13: Is a participant in an assassination plot, along with Colonel Harper and Commander Nelar, resulting in the death of then ships commander Captain Jack DeCheval. For the most part, the assassination left JoNs with a sour taste in her mouth. 0703.07: Manipulates an Illegal transfer of the Chief Security Officer by using the outbound systems of the shuttle Hexen using her various contacts to avoid any more confrontations with him After Robair is removed, the feline is free to do things as she pleases. 0704.03 to 0705.01: Operating under the false guise of a personal family leave, Kansas takes part in a personal rescue effort of a fellow felinoid from her captor, an Imperial officer by the name of Westler. The subsequent actions undertaken in this little adventure include illegal drug trade, illegal entry onto a space station, and assault of Imperial personnel. She is found out by her commanding officer, Harper, but instead of retribution, the human and the feline enter into a mentor-sponsor relationship that will involve financial benefits for both. The newly freed captive begins a new life on the JoNs family vessel, the CSS Dark Fury. 0705.22 to 0706.23: Upon receiving a promotion to Lieutenant Commander and taking over as the chief of security, JoNs seeks to consolidate her power base within the department. An Andorian female security officer by the name of Mical in particular is severely dealt with. Unfortunately, JoNs can’t seem to break away from her habits. In the process of securing her power, the feline engages in an illegal transfer of her lover, Marine Conrad Zimm, into the security department through the use of unsanctioned and illegal transfer channels. Her commanding officer and sponsor is not pleased by this set of circumstances and the feline officer is subjected to the same punishment she meted out to her own Andorian security officer: eight lashes with a whip, at the hand of Colonel Harper herself. 0709.09: The former use of the shuttle Hexen systems now results in a crash when the internal systems overload in a cascade effect. JoNs and Lt. JG Sandoval are on board the shuttle, but no one was fatally injured. The feline comes clean with her sponsor, Harper, over the reason for the crash as well as the illegal transfer of Robair. It is decided to leave the situation as is and forget it. 0712.02 to 0712.16: Former officers and AWOL traitors Javin Prell and Kairi Kassem make their presence known at a failed assassination attempt on Westler, inciting a subsequent search by the Agincourt. In separate confrontations, JoNs is knocked out (twice) by Prell, who manages to escape both times. Not. A Happy. Feline. Starfleet Service Record: 2384: Enters Starfleet Academy. Note: Put on report for brawling. 2389: Training Cruise: ISS Arrow Fire ICC-609 - Akira Class - Security Division. 2390: Ground Assignment, Earth: Pilot Training. 2391: Training Cruise: ISS Thunder Cat ICC-1985 - Steamrunner Class - Pilot Division. Note: Participant in the Sigma Delta Colony strafing run, disciplined for not carrying out all mission parameters. 2393: Ground Assignment, Earth: Sniper Training. Note: Temporarily placed on light duty due to a projectile bullet injury. No evidence found as to where bullet acquired. Unsanctioned competition event suspected. No formal charges on permanent record. 2394: Training Cruise: ISS Greenleaf ICC-2019 - Norway Class - Tactical Division. Note: Removed from training roster and placed on active duty in the Security and Tactical Division. Later served a two month holding sentence in brig for unauthorized access to and selling of contraband. <<<<<<<< >>>>>>>> March 16, 2005 (2397): Assignment Transfer: ISS Agincourt ICC-81762 - Prometheus Class - Assistant Security and Tactical Officer. <<<<<<<< >>>>>>>> (2005) (Sim Year 2397) 0504.20: Promotion Ensign 0511.16: Promotion Lieutenant (2006) (Sim Year 2397) 0607.26: Promotion Lieutenant (SG) September: Promoted to Chief Security Officer after bypassing computer technologies and instigating removal of former CSEC (Gives whole new meaning to the term departmental consolidation) Robair due to his version of interdepartmental disciplinary implementation. (2007) (Sim Year 2397) 0703.21: Promotion Lieutenant Commander 0709.26: Promotion to Second Officer (translation: new furry assassination target acquired. I’m going to get paid more for this position, right?) (2008) (Sim Year 2398) 0808.27: Promotion to Executive Officer, rank of Commander (translation: Oh dear. This furry assassination target thing just gets better and better) <<<< Data Access Terminated >>>> <<<< Security Coding Log Out >>>> <<<< JX-ARC 20 Tango Alpha Niner >>>> = = = = Copyright Notes: - Caitian heart defect information appears courtesy of the FASA Star Trek RPG game source books (1983) - Shiboline M’Ress name appears courtesy of the 1973 Star Trek Animated Series - All original character concepts and information copyright 2005-2008 by the author/poster Kansas Jones

General Updates: New Format, Medical added, Biography Info (Mission Ops call sign information) added, Aliases added, Family Info, Copyright, etc.

You all have a point. If you're paranoid, don't fill out the survey. If you want to participate then go for it. If you don't want to participate in Damian's school study, then don't. Just make your decision and go from there. I don't recall having to compose a survey during school; I do recall getting stuck with the study groups where we had to turn in joint papers. Most of the people were nice and we all worked well together, but sometimes the experience was akin to getting a tooth worked on before the painkillers kick in.

Please Note: Mild mature content 09.14.08 ISS Agincourt ICC-81762 “You Have Mail” It had been a long and hard but satisfying day. Much had been accomplished in the way of ships business, and Commander Kansas JoNs had begun to settle quite smoothly into her new role as executive officer on the Imperial warship ISS Agincourt. The leonine Caitian had retired to her quarters for the night, where her lover awaited her. Once they had both taken care of the more primal of their urges in a downright jaunty romp of sex, each of them fell into a deep sleep beside one another on the bed. It was now pre-dawn ships time, and Lieutenant Conrad Zimm had ducked into the sonic alcove for a shower while Kansas had slipped into a deep green kimono with a subtle golden lily pattern and settled in behind her desk to check the new messages that had graced her inbox throughout the previous night. Now, her jaw dropped to reveal deadly pointed fangs, and JoNs had encountered one of those things that you totally needed to share with someone else. “Conrad! Come here, you have to see this!” Zimm, long accustomed to the feline commander’s tonal range of purrs and meows, recognized that her summons was urgent. Quickly wrapping a towel around his lower body, the muscular and light skinned armory officer re-entered the outer quarters and made his way over to where the golden furred cat sat at the desk. He leaned with casual familiarity on the arm rest of the desk chair that the feline reclined in. The look on his face was curious. “What’s up Mrrett? You catch those two kids from the marine battalion bonking each other in the cargo bay on the aft security camera again? I think you should just arrest them and have them spend the night in the brig for indecent exposure or something.” “Oh, I really wish it was that simple Conrad. Check this message out.” A wide golden paw deftly entered the commands into the keyboard inset into the desktop to replay the visual recording. Within seconds, the image of a dark haired woman that they both knew quite well and wished they hadn’t appeared on the desktop viewer. As the recording came on, the image was of Kairi in her usual black leather outfit. She was sitting in front of a neutral backdrop, making it unclear where she was. = = = = “Hello Kitten. Congratulations on becoming Commander. That must be a big step for you. I hope this doesn’t detract from you trying to find me.” She gave a playful pout. “I really miss seeing that cute tail of yours…” “Anyways, by now you have no doubt figured out I was responsible for the string of murders on Rigel III. Honestly, I have no regrets. The three I killed, were a part of a big genetic testing program, using Romulan slaves as the test subjects. Well, actually two of them were. Stenson’s Aide was a big jerk to his ex-girlfriend, so I had to kill him. Someone had to stick up for her…” She sat back in her seat. “Well, I lied a little bit. I did feel a little bit of regret for Chase. He had a really cute butt. And I bet if he had known it would be his last time, the sex would have been a hundred times better…” Kairi gave a big grin. “Not that it wasn’t already great.” “Oh I did forget someone. There were actually four…Forgot about the bartender. I paid him tons of latinum to drop the poison into Chase’s drink. His death was strictly logical. Eliminate all witnesses…” “Well I better go Kitten; a Rebel’s job never ends. I hope to see you again soon. Maybe sooner than you think…” The last image was of Kairi reaching up to press something, before the screen went blank. = = = = Zimm stared at the blank screen for a moment, his eyebrows knitted together in silent consternation. Finally, his gaze went back to JoNs, and all his unspoken questions were in his blue eyes. Kansas just sighed. “It’s all explained in the text mail I got from Imperial Command. That Imperial Admiral that was killed a few days ago? Stenson? That recording was found on a data chip shoved inside his mouth. The boys at command couldn’t crack the data chip, but as they kept digging deeper on the isolinier levels, it was discovered that the embedded encryption was tuned to my command codes.” “…so that little bitch just dragged you into a quadruple murder investigation, and she knows about your promotion to make matters even more complicated.” “Nice of her to drag me smack into an investigation, right? And we don’t need to worry about a leak coming from the Agincourt, as I’m sure she got the information from the news feeds or what have you.” Kansas suddenly got quiet, her gaze not going worried, but her green eyes focusing on something that only she could see. Zimm spoke quietly into the semi darkness of the quarters. “What are you thinking?” “Besides that I’m screwed? …. I know the Imperial Fleet is no collective angel. It is the seat of Terran power. They torture test subjects. Rebellions are ruthlessly crushed. No quarter given to enemies or any who oppose the Imperial order. It really is not the nicest of organizations, no it is not.” “… I’m sensing a ‘but’ here.” “I’m trying to say that assassination is a whole other aspect to the fragging equation. Stealing supplies, taking out communications relays, monitoring Imperial fleet movements … this is all the normal workings of a Rebel faction. I know they can dabble in contract killings, but overall this is not the norm. This one,” a claw pointed to the frozen image of Kairi on the console monitor, “has obviously grown to enjoy the assassination, and has branched off on her own shall we say.” “Well sure, but I’d have ten credits that says she is attached to a cell.” “Oh, I’m sure she is. But I bet it’s been a long time since she checked in with another contact from the cell. I think little Miss Kairi has gone independent contract killer. I could really be wrong, but she probably doesn’t even remember the Rebellion concept that she’s supposedly fighting for anymore …. The priority is that next big kill or the next big sex jolt that she can get.” Zimm shifted so he could lean on the desk and face Mrrett. A gentle smirk graced his rugged features. “You’ve never been a fan of contract killers have you?” “Hell no. It’s an ideal way to lose your soul. I was raised a mercenary, not an assassin.” “So, what are you going to do about this little message my Commander Kitten?” “For right now? Nothing. She’s baiting me, I refuse to take the bait and it’s a good way to get killed besides. I’d rather go to her on my own terms.” The feline paused for a moment, her security training and experience taking over automatically as she replayed the visual recording mentally. “Miss Low Rent Assassin reached up to turn off the data feed recording, so she was probably on a personal shuttle or an inter-planetary atmo hopper. I doubt she has access to a larger Runabout or something, at least not without accessing the purchasing channels that would leave a paper trail. So at this point in time, she could be anywhere in a ten square sector radius by now.” The leonine officer let loose with a purred snort before continuing. “Besides, Kairi will keep; I mean she really isn’t that important in the grand scheme of all things rebel, not with the hundreds of Rebels that occupy the cell network. All we have to do is wait for the next spate of murders to hit the Imperial Net, and the more she kills, the cockier she’ll get and the more intoxicated she’ll feel with the power of the kills. Mistakes are meant to be made don’t you know, and I have contacts I can always draw on to pick up a blood trail. ” Kansas smoothly got up from her chair and began to walk over towards the direction of her bed, stripping off her silk kimono as she did so; her athletic feline body was backlit by the light emanating from the sonic shower room, and her light green eyes glistened playfully, but contained a dangerous edge in their depths. Her tail swished idly. “I mean, an XO can’t exactly go jaunting off when they feel like it, at least not as much as I once did. I have to pick and choose my disappearing acts now, and this one isn’t worth it … not right now.” A slow smile spread across Zimms features. “Good. No shuttle rides to visit a so called sick family member?” The feline winked at her human lover. “Not this time. But, my plan is this: a shower, as I don’t think my commanding officer would appreciate the smell of stale sex on a feline, then I take the data recording to the Colonel Harper, and we go from there. I also need to contact the investigative division of Imperial Command to let the headhunters know the recording was received. But Harper always takes top priority, so I go to her first.” She has learned well and come a long way as an officer. I knew my instincts to hook up with her was the right choice. The shared mercenary blood code has never been wrong. “I’m sure our commander will be pleased. Not necessarily with the content of said message, but with the events that brought the information to her … two years ago you would have kept this from her and gone off half cocked on some cockamamie search.” Lieutenant Zimm cocked his head to one side and smirked. “You really do have a cute tail by the way.” Kansas lashed said tail playfully at her lover before slinking off into the shower. * Log concept credit and recording excerpt credit goes to Kairi.

Just got wind that on September 16, Star Trek: Alternate Realities (Mirror and Alternate Universe episode collections from all series) will be released on DVD. I really have to think about grabbing this set or not. I'm just not that big a fan of the Mirror Universe.

[Alert! Alert! Inside Joke] I would never engage in unlawful drug trafficking ... ... How much will you pay me? And I prefer dealing in Imperial Fleet medical grade mixtures, antibiotics, and hypo medications. They tend to last longer once removed from the confines of a medical storage locker, and their power grade remains stable enough to get a nice chunk of credits on the black market. ::Mirror Kitteh Fanged Grin::

Now thats a big toaster.

Okay. On that note....let's talk about Battlestar Galactica! I highly recommend the Battlestar Galactica: Razor extended and unrated DVD - good solid sci fi entertainment, you don't have to be a huge fan of the show to understand and enjoy it. I spotted it in the store, thought it looked pretty interesting and don't regret the purchase.

01.19.08 ISS Agincourt ICC-81762 “Sanctioned: Old Cat, New Trick" In the main cargo bay, it was business as usual. The ISS Agincourt had subdued a smuggling faction on some backwater colony world. As a result of the encounter and aftermath, the booty acquired from the now defunct faction had been distributed among the senior officers and department heads of the ship. Kansas had not gotten weapons. She had not gotten valuable data that could be sold. And she had not gotten some sort of medicines that could be used to her advantage. The feline had gotten chocolate. Life was good. She had been introduced to Terran chocolate by her roommate at the academy, and developed quite a sweet tooth for it. The humans might have had a history replete with wars, famine, uprisings and constant strife, but the companies known as the Swiss European Protectorate and the Hershey Eastern Conglomerate knew their chocolate making process. The feline commander planned to keep some for own private stock of course, but she would also be able to make a mint selling the excess on the black market for the colony worlds where this sort of thing wasn’t considered to be a needed supply. The golden furred Caitian was so excited that she had been acting like a complete idiot for the last ten minutes, and was on her third run on all four paws around the crate, smiling a big fanged smile as she did so. She did not care if any of the cargo staff noticed, but there was one technician who was fascinated by the big cats’ body language. Junior Grade Lieutenant Kasmir Jovanovich kept to the shadows just out of the visual and scent range of the feline, watching with unabashed curiosity. The human cargo tech held a data padd in one hand with a current manifest of all the items seized for the day, but he held off on approaching her just yet, transfixed by her predatory movements. She darted around the crate yet a fourth time, and Kasmir smiled slightly and finally moved toward the area. He was careful to alert her to his presence by stopping just outside her personal perimeter and clearing his throat. JoNs had heard his approach, but had waited to turn toward him until after he had cleared his throat. He knew not to come up behind me quietly. Interesting. Now, she stood upright on her hind paws and regarded the man. “Yes? Can I help you with something Lieutenant?” Jovanovich offered his padd to the senior officer. “Jovanovich sir. Commander JoNs, here is the supply manifest report for today. Would you be so kind as to sign off on the particular item that ad found its way to your possession.” Dang. He’s all cultured and stuff. It was considered a rarity when the cargo jockeys could form a complete sentence, much less make sense. JoNs signed off on the report electronically, using her thumbprint. “Tell me Lieutenant – you cleared your throat to announce your presence. Why?” There was some hesitation on his part, but he did answer the question. “Felines, as a general rule, do not like to be surprised.” “Well, as a member of the species, I can commiserate and confirm that.” She handed the padd back to him. “Sir – why do you walk on all four paws?” His curiosity had gotten the better of him, and the question came blurting out. Kansas regarded Jovanovich in surprise for a few seconds, just standing there and blinking. “Uh, what?” Real smooth there girl. Very eloquent. “Excuse me sir. My apologies, I should be getting back to my shift work now.” The human lieutenant began to back away from the feline commander, unsure now and embarrassed.” “… Caitians as a general rule walk upright on their hinds. Using my four paws for mobility is more of a personal habit of mine.” Jovanovich stopped his backward retreat, venturing another question quickly. “Have you ever had a genetic workup?” “Damn son, that’s a pretty personal question. Why don’t you just ask me about my bra size?” She reached a paw out and gently grabbed at the collar of his jumpsuit, “Walk with me Sunshine,” and with that, firmly led the cargo tech off to the side of the main cargo deck where they could speak with a bit of privacy. “Okay, to answer your question, yes, I did have a genetic workup when I entered the academy. The results showed that while my genetic line of course evolved independently on Cait, I share some quality genetics, and therefore look very much like, your Earth extinct species formerly known as the lion. And of course, some lion personality and hunting traits are thrown in the mix as well. A smaller version of the gene line would be the common domesticated orange tomcat, I believe the little ankle biter is called? I met one once. The damn thing tried to attack me. Feline territory issues are usually not pretty.” “Fascinating.” “Right. Look, Lieutenant, what’s this all about?” At this, the man looked truly uncomfortable. “It’s nothing ma’am. Just a personal… hobby of mine.” “Bull. I can tell from your body language and your tone you’re lying.” Kasmir sighed. “In my former profession, I minored in the study of zoology.” Kansas flipped an ear back as she pulled her own personal padd from where she had placed it securely in her waist sash. The feline quickly inputted a series of commands with a claw. “Serial number, now.” “One, Fourteen, Seven, Twelve, sir.” She quickly read over and scrolled his service record and biography when the information appeared on the small screen of the data device. The last notation prior to Jovanovich’s assignment to the ‘Court caused both of her ears to flip back in surprise. “It says here that you were busted from full Lieutenant, and then rotated out of your sciences department into the operations department, and that the rotation was at your request. This true?” Keen feline eyes latched onto him, expecting an answer. “…..no sir. I was demoted due to having words with the second officer over the handling of a rare specimen that the sciences team had located on a colony world that we were investigating, but the rotation was not my idea.” “I see. Why didn’t you attempt to countermand the departmental change when you requested transfer here to the Agincourt?” Kasmir hesitated, wondering how truthful he should really be with the ships second officer and security chief. “Why cause trouble? It is a good way to get yourself killed.” “This is true. Well, I know the reason behind your reduction in rank and the rotation, but that still doesn’t tell me why you are so interested in me.” “… you are a Caitian.” “Okay…and? Work with me here Lieutenant.” Her tail lashed once. “Felines, and other species that are not Human or Vulcan, are never studied in great detail. And I have always found the feline interesting.” “Whoa, wait a minute there kid – you may be human, but that is a real good way to get a knife in the back. Humans and Vulcans are the dominant quadrant species around here, so be careful what you say or imply about them. Anyone else is considered a sub-species, and therefore not very interesting.” The sharp tone of the Cait had the desired effect on the officer. “Apologies sir. I won’t trouble you any….” JoNs interrupted. “…I can help you out.” “…what? Ma’am?” “…I can see about getting you transferred back to sciences on this ship. I can’t guarantee the rank, as you did screw up, but I can see what I can do about righting the whole transfer debacle.” “Thank you sir…I…thank you!” She held a paw up to stop him. “My services aren’t free Lieutenant. If the transfer is successful, you become my eyes and ears in the Sci-Ops department, savvy?” It’s all about consolidating the power. Kasmir slowly nodded, as if he was thinking about being beholden to the feline versus getting back into the profession and department he loved. In fact, this was very much on his mind, and after a moment of deliberation, he decided to take the risk. “Aye sir.” The Cait held a paw out for the two to shake. “Then we have a deal, Mister Jovanovich.” ********** Conrad Zimm looked up from where he resided the sitting area of the quarters, over to where Kansas sat at the desk. The Caitian was intent on studying the desktop viewer and the information it displayed there. He placed the data padd containing the novel he was reading down on the low coffee table. “Are you still working on those status reports?” “I finished them up about twenty minutes ago. I’m working on an internal transfer request right now.” Zimm went very still. “Is it legal?” Kansas gave him a long, cool look at that point. “… sorry. Forget I asked.” The feline turned back to her work, entered her signature, and sent the final draft of the internal transfer request off. “One transfer form, nicely worded, sent to our dear Colonels regarding one Lieutenant Kasmir Jovanovich possibly transferring from maintenance and cargo ops to the Sci-Ops department with their approval. It seems he was involved in a snafu on his last assignment with regard to departments.” Conrad suddenly bolted up from the couch he had been sitting on and ran over to the observation window, dramatically placing both hands on the glass. Kansas looked at her lover as if he had gone nuts. The former marine turned security officer spoke as if speaking out to the depths of space. “Lieutenant Commander Kansas JoNs used the proper legal and sanctioned transfer channels! Oh look! A pig with wings just flew by the view port!” He ducked a thrown padd on an intercept course for his head shortly thereafter.

The Smurfs are apparently fifty years old today, and were created by a European cartoonist and appeared in a comic strip in 1958. All this time, and I thought they were first created back in the 80's, and strictly for Saturday morning cartoons. Remember those? Saturday cartoons? A lost art. You learn something new every day! Smurfy!

01.05.08 ISS Agincourt ICC-81762 “A Little Time Off, Part 1” Lieutenant Conrad “Silencer” Zimm sat at the desk, waiting quietly for Lt. Commander Mrrett “Kansas” JoNs to finish her own packing. He absentmindedly twirled a dark blue credit piece in between two fingers, his thoughts elsewhere as his gaze wandered aimlessly around the female Caitian’s quarters. The human had finished packing his own gear about ten minutes ago, and his small military travel bag, emblazoned with a woodland camouflage pattern, was placed at his feet all set to go. JoNs meanwhile was placing the last few clothing items in her own military type messenger bag of olive to dark gray in coloring, with a stylized eagle drawing and the words “Freedom, Fame and Fortune” printed under the avian on the flap of the bag. Like Zimm’s, her bag had no marks identifying or linking her to the Agincourt. Sometimes, it was best not to advertise where one came from. The feline glanced over at him, and smiled. “You look about a thousand miles away. Is everything all right?” She placed a hideaway disruptor pistol in the holster set in between the small of her back and the waistband of her slacks. The human looked over to his Caitian lover, who was rapidly on her way to becoming his fiancé if he were to be honest with himself, and answered her with his own question. ‘I’m just wondering why you haven’t made a play for taking over command of the Agincourt yet?” A chuckle almost escaped Kansas, before she realized that the male human was serious. “What brought this on? I mean, you have ten more years service then me Conrad…I just assumed you knew my reasons for not taking command.” He ran a hand through his blond crew cut hair. “I’m not a mind reader M’rrett, and I never claimed to be an expert on the command track and the various intricacies. Humor me.” JoNs nodded, and then moved to perch on a corner of the desk closest to him. “Okay then. Computer, access Imperial Fleet personnel files for the last one hundred fifty years.” The flat screen viewer on the desk hummed to life as the computer responded to the voice command, followed shortly by the feminine monotone programmed in to be the ‘voice’ of the computer.. “Working….” “Display profile of Commander Spock, Executive Officer, ISS Enterprise.” A profile head shot of the esteemed and famous Vulcan soon appeared on split screen, with his biography scrolling by on the other section. Kansas pointed with her paw. “To quote the esteemed Commander Spock - I am quite content to be a lesser target. I agree with him, and I prefer to stay as second officer, that’s all there is to it.” “Display profile of Colonel Charlotte Harper, Commanding Officer, ISS Agincourt.” “Harper didn’t have to become a sponsor, and I didn’t have to become her protégé. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship, it’s true, but I can’t just up and back out of the arrangement – it wouldn’t be honorable or respectful. Plus the fact, she’d probably shoot me dead if I ever did something to even remotely jeopardize her power, but that’s beside the point. You and I both grew up with that type of honor code…a little rough, but it’s there regardless.” She waved a golden paw in the air, frustrated at her explanation. “You understand what I’m getting at, right Con?” Zimm grabbed at the flailing paw with a big hand. “I understand.” The golden feline smiled. “Good. Computer, show profile of Lieutenant Colonel T’Loren Day, Executive Officer, ISS Agincourt.” “Another esteemed Vulcan, and our second in command. Honestly, she and I haven’t ticked each other off yet, and I am perfectly content to leave well enough alone. Plus the fact, she’s half Vulcan, very good at what she does, and the pointy ears are a long lived species. During that time, they are known for building up their kin and contact networks. If I even attempted to kill her? I’d probably have to contend with being hunted down by her family or various contacts. I don’t have the desire or the patience to deal with that kind of attention and fallout.” “Computer, display profiles of Day and Harper, side by side.” The computer promptly displayed the two profiles as instructed, one of the raven haired human bad ass, the other of the pointy eared Vulcan mind-hopper. “Those two together represent a unique factor, which is two sharks in charge of an Imperial naval ship. And you know what? It’s all working out. There is currently no other ship in the fleet that can boast a marine command team. It’s that uniqueness that also makes the arrangement dangerous. That is, for those who choose to upset the balance of this power team. The numbers don’t lie, and the stats all show that the Agincourt is a model ship: our assassination count is way down, we provide Intel and looted goods to the necessary persons back at Fleet command when we need to, and the two sharks have led us into successful missions that we’ve all benefited from, either financially or reputation wise. Even if I entertained the notion, and succeeded in removing both Medusa and Paradox, I’m sure I’d tick off someone back at command who has some sort of vested interest in seeing two marines successfully command a naval ship. Therefore, I don’t mess with a unique and sure thing.” “Computer, scroll through the department heads and line officers, continuous scroll.” With that voice command, the Agincourt ship-wide computer obediently brought up the profile shots and bios of the department heads and line officers. Levy, Rieve, Merril, Quade – they were all represented as the information flowed by on the console screen. “As second officer, I more then have my paws full keeping an eye on all these people and their subordinates, without setting my sights on the senior command positions. That’s all there is to it. I don’t want command of the Agincourt, period.” A slow smile lightened Zimm’s chiseled features, and he pulled the feline closer to him. “Thank you. I wasn’t worried exactly, but the question of if you would make a play for command kept coming into my mind. Now, to the business at hand: Ms. JoNs, are you prepared for some well deserved shore leave?” “Mr. Zimm, that sounds like a damn fine idea.”

EDIT: paragraph addition after the Day profile paragraph and before the department head/line officers paragraph.

01.05.08 ISS Agincourt ICC-81762 “A Little Time Off, Part 2” The Imperial fleet ship ISS Agincourt had put in at Deep Space Seven for some long over due shore leave, and most of the crew was taking advantage of the opportunity. Spirits were high, the booze flowed freely, and the main promenade was packed with shoppers. Although, two officers of the ‘Court found themselves at a bar set off of the main promenade thoroughfare. The establishment was not seedy, but it also could not be considered a high end type of establishment either. The bar was decorated heavily with the industrial and neon type of look, not exactly out of date, but beginning to show its age. “Silencer” Zimm knocked back his shot glass, downing all the contents in one gulp. “You’re letting your pride get in the way, again. You know what sort of trouble you’ve gotten into in the past because of that.” “Kansas” JoNs glanced at him, taking a sip of her own drink. “I got clocked – twice – by one of those rebels, so yeah, I’m a bit prideful. And it doesn’t matter if they were here in this bar or not. These joints are like an open comm network, especially when located on a main star base layover spot like Deep Seven. Information travels, and if they were here on the base within the last six months, or on another in the network, we might be able to find something out.” Zimm snorted. “You know my particular thoughts on Prell and Kassem. They showed up at the medical conference, caused some havoc, and then disappeared. So what? Leave them be.” The gold Caitian shot her companion a sour look, her tail lashing. “Look, Kansas,” the human sighed, “They’re rebels. You know what that type of life can be like; it’s much more unstable then the mercenary life that we grew up with, by comparison. It’s all a bunch of ‘fight the Imperials, recruit ‘em young’ – that type of crap. Then, once they’ve been sent up against an organization that is vastly bigger and with a few hundred years of practice at running things, you have a rebel officer dead by the age of thirty, and the cycle starts all over again. If Prell and Kassem were smart, they would have stayed on the Agincourt, gathering what Intel they could. They didn’t, and blew the opportunity when they bolted like little rabbits going after that golden carrot. Let ‘em go – they aren’t worth it.” “You know, if you’re going to complain the whole time,” Kansas let loose with a frustrated sigh,”….you know, you didn’t have to come here with me Conrad, dear.” “Oh, I have a perfect alibi – you knocked me over the head and forced me against my will to accompany you on shore leave. I am totally here against my will.” The dead pan delivery and joke had the desired effect and JoNs laughed out loud, her mood lightening considerably. “Okay, okay – we’ll stay here for another hour or so, see if any of the information feelers I put out turn up anything, and then go hunt up some real fun? Sound good?” Zimm grinned at her. “That’s a deal.” The two lovers clinked glasses and continued conversing quietly amongst themselves, knocking back drink after drink and enjoying the atmosphere of the bar. After nearly the full hour had passed, a young Bajoran teen approached the table and seated himself quietly across from the two Imperial officers, slightly out of breathe and regarding the two of them cautiously. He carefully placed the data Padd he had been given down on the neon-lit table. JoNs flipped an ear back as she looked at the little information runner that she had temporarily hired for the night “Well, what have you got for us kid? And I told you to relax – we won’t hurt you.” The Bajoran, who had given his name as Berix, pushed his unruly blond locks out of his eyes and then spoke. “I got some information for you. Showed those two pictures around, and your two friends were seen here about six months ago, but haven’t been seen here since.” Zimm looked thoughtful. “So, they could pass through here every six months or so, depending on where an assignment takes them. Regardless, it’s not as if they are frequent visitors.” Kansas nodded, and then reached into her inner jacket pocket, pulling out a pawful of credit sticks, placing them on the table for the teen to take. “At least we can say for sure that this sector isn’t a hot spot, at least not yet. There you go Berix, you earned ‘em.” “Thanks!” “Oh, and don’t spend it all on stupid stuff; buy your mother and father something good.” The teens jaw went slack in astonishment, and suspicion flashed briefly in his eyes once he had regained his composure. “How’d you know I still have both parents?” He gathered up the credits and placed them in a pouch on his belt. It was a sad fact, but true – the kids that worked these stations typically came from single parent homes, with the other parent killed in the line of duty, or by pirates or some such. The feline grinned, and it was a genuine one. “Because your clothes are semi clean and your hair is cut – mothers are known for that. And, you called me ‘miss’ several times tonight – that is a courtesy usually taught by a father.” Zimm pointed to the youths hands. “Oh, and don’t forget his fingernails are pretty clean. That’s a biggie tell tale.” JoNs cocked her head playfully to one side, looking at the boy. “And Berix, you seemed to be pretty comfortable dealing with us as an info courier; I myself did it whenever my family ship put in on a station for re-supply or repairs, to make extra credits. You run with a mercenary ship?” At the mention of ‘family ship’, Berix had relaxed fully, a grin spreading across his features. “Aye! I spent the last five years on a mercenary ship. Mother and father wanted to branch out on our own, so we have a small supply store here on the station now…” At that moment, a big meaty fist slammed down on the table, causing the lavender colored neon lighting under the surface to wink out for a second and then back on. “I want my money back Caitian!” There is truly a jackass in every bar in the known universe. JoNs nodded for the kid to make himself scarce, which Berix did, quietly and swiftly. She noted that Zimm had shifted his position a bit, and she could tell that he had his small hideaway pistol drawn and hidden under the table. Kansas then turned her attention on the irate Klingon, keeping her paws flat on the tabletop. “Look, I told you friend, if you can’t stand to lose money at cards, then don’t play.” “You had too good a run there near the end! Do not lie to me!” The Klingon’s alcohol glazed eyes also held a certain amount of determination in them. It was true that she had cheated at the game a bit, during the last hand…but he didn’t have the proof, and had been such an easy mark that she couldn’t pass the opportunity up. Then he let loose with a belch, and Kansas’s ears flattened in annoyance. The Caitian feline was many things, and had many faults – impulsive, moody, wild, greedy – but she had been raised with manners. Silencer as well looked at bit perturbed at the display, and glared. “There’s no call for that. We’re all adults here.” Two of his buddies had now arrived to offer back up assistance, dressed in civilian trader garb just like their leader. Three against two? That was just peachy. The big Klingon leader, whose name was Korang and who had undoubtedly gotten himself into a drunken pout over his botched game, glared at her. “Silence! Caitian whelp! Give me my money before I take it out of your hide!” Kansas, who was feeling the effects of her own alcohol intake, was becoming annoyed. Once, just once, she’d like to see a Vulcan go alcohol induced irate. Just once! Why does it always seem to be a Klingon! “Thank you, but no, I am quite attached to my hide. Frag off.” Korang suddenly moved, roaring and grabbing Zimm around the neck while the Imperial officer’s hidden disruptor pistol went off, striking the third Klingon in the upper leg, and during this whole process, the second Klingon companion fired at Kansas as she leapt through the air at him. The beam sizzled by her neck and took off a chunk of her fur, eliciting a pained yelped snarl as she landed on him. It was bedlam. Indeed. Customers near the fracas just causally moved out of the way as if this sort of thing happened all the time. Then again, it probably did. Fists flew, eyes were blackened, and feline fangs punctured quit a few arms and legs. The blood was flowing, literally, and battle lust had come to the fore. Kansas grappled with the second Klingon until he landed a lucky shot, causing her to yowl in pain and fall back into one of the neon tables. Zimm had gotten Korang off him with a strike to the temple, but JoNs was having difficulty with her larger Klingon opponent. Zimm fired a short burst, rendering the Klingon unconscious. Korang then smacked Conrad for a loop, and the big security officer went down; Kansas as well had now been set on by the other companion who had recovered from the disruptor burst to the leg. The gold feline did a roundhouse kick, but the man blocked it and threw her off balance. The two Agincourt security officers, for all their training, were outnumbered and their energy was fading fast. Zimm backed away from Korang, who was brandishing an evil looking blade. “Kansas, let’s go! Pattern Beta!” The Klingons were not expecting a retreat run, and bellowed at being cheated out of their battle victory as both Silencer and Kansas leapt on, over and around tables or startled patrons to make it to the exit. Both of the Imperial security officers dashed out of the exit….and right into the waiting gun sights of the star base authorities. Oh, Joy. ********** Less then thirty minutes later, both Lieutenant Zimm and Lieutenant Commander JoNs found themselves in the main office of Deep Space 7 Security, being charged on one count of aggravated assault and disturbing the peace, and to make matters worse, the station security personally thought it was a hoot that they had bagged two upstanding Imperial battleship personnel. “Well, this is a surprise, indeed.” Lieutenant Commander Sivor eyed his two prisoners with a low key, smug expression. “I know all of your official information is contained on your identification cards,” he indicated the two orange hued plasticards containing a picture and encoded thumbprint set on the desktop surface behind him, “but I prefer to go about some cases the old fashioned way, so to speak. And why don’t we begin with you, seeing as you are the ranking officer, hmm, Miss JoNs?” “I already told you, Commander Sivor, that we were not the only ones involved in that little fracas. Three Klingon merchant traders were also involved.” Her tone came out haughty. Cold brown eyes lit on the Caitian, and then he drew back his hand to backhand the feline. The force of the blow nearly lifted her out of her seat and most certainly opened a fresh wound to her lip. These local base cops could really be a pain in the rear end, especially if they got uppity. “There’s no call for that!” Zimm was at the other end of the holding area, and his outburst earned the human a punch in the gut. “Conrad! Don’t give them a reason!” Sorlac calmly picked up a Padd and stylus pen from the nearby desk, holding them at the ready. “Now then, let’s try this again. Reason for coming to Deep Space 7?” JoNs spat out a wad of saliva and blood into a handkerchief she had withdrawn from a pocket and answered. “Shoreleave, a little time off.” “Current assignment.” “ISS Agincourt ICC-81762.” “Name and rank” The Vulcan smirked a bit at that. “It is so nice when we have an officer above the rank of senior grade lieutenant visit. Although, most of you are not stupid enough to engage in a brawl.” The feline hissed, and then answered. “Lieutenant Commander JoNs.” A small smirk quirked at the corner of Sorlacs mouth, and he seemed to find the next question amusing for obvious reasons. “Sex.” “All the time.” A pause. “Oh, I’m sorry. You were referring to…” SMACK! The Vulcan base security officer backhanded his Caitian starship officer counterpart soundly, and the blow did unseat her this time; Kansas ended up on the decking, gasping as she tried to re-orient herself. Zimm struggled against the two guards that held him, but he wisely remained silent. Sorlac regarded the two errant starship officers with disdain before turning to his second in command, a trim and pert human woman who looked very efficient. “Have them both pay the usual fines, and then contact their ship, tell them to come get them, and have them beamed off the station.” JoNs wavered in and out of lucidity, but one thought came through loud and clear. Just a little time off. Sure. My next shore leave? Hot chocolate and a good holo-novel. Now that’s a party.

Complete re-vamp of the Mirror character Bio, posted under this account name. I am *still* on an organizational kick...maybe I should lay off the caffeine, or something.

12.29.07 ISS Agincourt ICC-81762 “Public Relations” The Terran Empire wasn’t a sort of magical organization. Those that were charged with the upper echelons of command couldn’t just invoke some sort of magic incantation and have ready made officers and crewmembers to staff the many ships and outposts of the Imperial Fleet to protect the interests of the organization. Recruiting needed to be done to gather the necessary personnel and financial backers were needed to fund this project or that project. In order to attract one or the other, the call needed to go out, and that was accomplished through public relations. ********** ISS Agincourt, First Shift Lieutenant Commander Kansas JoNs had been good. Really good. Matter of fact, she had probably not been this well behaved in forever. See? The instruction was paying off. The feline Imperial officer sat quietly at her desk in her office, scrolling through the schematics showing on her computer workstation and making notations on the upgrade report that had been submitted to her. Then, that little orb flitted past her periphery vision again, and she had to fight the urge to pounce. One week. The press reporter had been on board the ‘Court for one week. And the whole situation had been a freakin’ security nightmare. Apparently, a bigwig at Fleet command had deemed it necessary for a handful of frontline ships to take on a reporter for a short period of time so this representative could witness a real working command ship at its Imperial best. For the past week, per the order of both the commanding officer and executive officer, everything had been spit and polish, all the uniforms neat and tidy, and everything on the up and up. Oh, pardon me while I gag. The orb flitted past again, and Kansas growled in displeasure, earning a gentle “Easy sir” from Lieutenant Mical, on duty just outside the open entranceway to the office. “Oh, come on, just one little pounce? No one has to know. I won’t hurt it. Much.” The silver haired Andorian woman popped her head into the office, regarding her employer with equal parts understanding and exasperation. “Two words: Squirt bottle.” “Three words. Smart ass Lieutenant.” Mical just smirked and resumed her attentive post outside the chief of security’s office, leaving the feline chief to offer a sigh and just glare at the floating thing that had become her nemesis. The reporter assigned to the ship had practically had a heart attack upon being introduced to JoNs. Apparently, a feline holding the rank of security chief and second officer within the Imperial Fleet was a bit of a rarity. Downright odd, even. Therefore, JoNs had been tasked with a small floating automated reporter bot. The little device would follow her around during her duty shift, take still pictures and streaming video, and record this conversation or that conversation. The feline was a bit fuzzy – pun, intended even – on the details, but basically, the footage would then be re-worked and compiled and then shown as one part of the yearly Fleet recruiting drive. JoNs had balked. Day and Harper had threatened. Drama ensued. And then, JoNs relented (read: invoked the better part of valor and retreated) and they all lived happily ever after. Unfortunately, what one failed to realize was that a darty, round orb that moved rather fast and made a buzzing sound and looked like a toy fairly screamed “I am prey! Pounce me oh feline, and embrace the hunt!” There were certain instincts common to all the feline species, and Kansas JoNs was now having a helluva time NOT pouncing the damned floating and darty camera recorder thing. “Okay – that’s it. Patrol rounds.” The Caitian logged out of her work station and quickly left her office, tail swishing. Lieutenant Mical was right at her side as soon as the feline cleared the doorway, and the automated camera was buzzing right along with them. Kansas dropped to all fours once out in the corridor, her profile hunched and sulking. “Well, it could have been worse – at least I wasn’t one of the officers interviewed.” The orb chose that moment to dart right in front of the felines face and snap a picture; JoNs tensed and let loose with a displeased snarl, ready to swipe at the recorder. “Commander! Imperial property!” The warning hollered out by Mical brought JoNs back from the brink, again; her lashing tail expressed the Cait’s outward annoyance and thinning patience. The two officers and their small automated device toured through the main security offices, the brig, then the main armory and Transporter Room 1 and finally the SIF & IDF Generators. It was a standard patrol pattern that any first year newbie could have performed, but JoNs’s orders from her senior shark commanders had been very clear – show the day to day (the sanitized version, that is) life of an Imperial senior officer. The little automated camera device was practically in a tizzy, darting this way and that, snapping pictures and recording various begrudging commentary from JoNs explaining the patrol duties and such. And then, it was one dart too many. The damn thing zoomed past the feline, and was much to close for comfort. Kansas leaped, grabbing at the camera and getting it down on the floor. The hover rotors protested as she balanced herself on all four paws on top of the device, keeping her “prey” confined and on the decking. She grabbed at the stun baton affixed to her belt with a paw, and then gave the camera a little zap to wonk out the short term recording systems. “Oh, my. Oh the great moon of Andor. I can’t be seeing this. I know nothing.” Lieutenant Mical then became highly interested in a mobile workstation set in a recessed panel in the corridor outside the secondary generator as her commanding officer wrestled and hissed at the orb. The Caitian finally got the recalcitrant automated device over to one of the waste chutes and chucked it down the shaft. ********** ISS Agincourt, Second Shift Reporter Simon Renaldo entered the main security offices, a look of confused consternation on his tanned face. His ever present data padd was tightly gripped in one well manicured hand, and his suit of fine silk was impeccable as always. Kansas was sitting at one of the desks in the outer office, leaning back in the chair, hind paws up on the desk, reading a padd. But, she had picked up on the man’s entrance, and without looking up from the report she perused, her one ear flipped back and she called over to him. “Something I can help you with Mister Renaldo?” “Yes. Yes indeed, there is something you can help me with Commander JoNs. I can not find my ARC device.” JoNs focused her attention on the vexed reporter and feigned surprise. “That little camera device? Well, I have not seen it around lately.” “But I assigned it to follow you – it would not have diverged from its primary program coding.” “Well, yes, that may be, but I still haven’t seen it in quite some time. To be honest sir, I assumed you recalled the little camera.” “Well, I most certainly did not. I was not yet done with my information gathering regarding you and your security department Ms. JoNs.” “Well, Mister Renaldo, I assure you that I have no idea on the whereabouts of your automated research camera…” At that point, and with good (or was that bad?) timing, a gods awful buzzing could be heard from the outside corridor. The security office doors whooshed apart, admitting the aforementioned camera device. It was floating off kilter, the normally pristine silver coating charred on one side, somewhat dented, and trailing a bit of vapor. The ARC bumped into a few random things and people, but eventually got back over to its target area – namely JoNs. Renaldo looked on, horrified. Without missing a beat, and trying very hard to keep the laughter from her voice – and being only mildly successful, Kansas spoke to Renaldo. “Oh dear. The ARC must have wandered into the maintenance shafts or some such. Poor little guy.” ********** I. Love. Mirror.

The Predator is way cooler then the Alien. The Alien is the deadlier of the two, however. Please debate among yourselves.

Dude, where's my spellcheck?

Note: graphic content (M) 12.27.07 ISS Agincourt ICC-81762 “The Flip Side” “Dammit Commander! Slow down and let me take the point!” The booming voice of Master Chief Keltex filled the access corridor, but Lt. Commander Kansas JoNs paid her personal guard no mind, as usual; it was an ingrained personality quirk, and the security chief would never send someone where she herself would not go. One day, this would probably get her shot, indeed, but until then she would continue acting as she saw fit. The security breach warning had been triggered in the main offices, and everyone had scrambled to lock down the armory. It could have been an accident, a mutiny attempt, or a systems malfunction. The feline tore into the main armory, claws out, ready for a battle, but the sight that greeted her was not what she had expected. The forward bay of the area looked as if a small war had erupted. Two armory crewman lay dead, their gold uniforms charred, their skin burned and peeling away; the scent of the burned skin and muscle permeated the area, clogging the back of the throat and sticking there. For the most part, the area was locked down, people were performing their duties, albeit a bit harried looking. Her sharp green eyes latched onto a third armory officer – Ensign Rafferty, the first shift second lead. He sported a burned arm and a nasty looking gash above his left eye. “Report. Where’s Lieutenant Zimm?” “Commander. Lieutenant Zimm is over with the prisoner. A scuffle broke out between Wexler, Burne,” the man indicated the charred bodies, “and Midshipman Tam. I was over on the other side, but I heard the shouts, look over here, and Tam’s shoving a dagger in Wex’s back. Burne jumps in, takes on Tam, and then the two of them are going at it. The middy screamed out something like “I’ll move up in rank, you bastard”. During the fight, one of ‘em slams into the control console, and the purge sequence was triggered on the container,” Rafferty now indicated the remaining sections of the blown weapons plasma storage container that had been set against one bulkhead. Internal assassination issues. Dammit. The security department didn't need this kind of attention “Okay, my next logical question – why is the forward armory not floating in space right now?” Rafferty hesitated, and then continued his explanation. “The plasma was already diluted, and the shielding was set at thirty percent. We were going to move it down to engineering for re-integration into whatever systems the gear heads deemed necessary.” JoNs nodded, her mind already working out the tap dance spin she would need to put on her report in order to protect her people. Protocol wise, the container should have had the small safety force field activated in the first place. No matter now, the blood price had already been paid. “Fine. Get your arm seen to Rafferty.” “Ma’am.” The gold feline gently grabbed a handful of Keltex’s collar, pulling the big warrior closer to her so she could whisper her instructions in his ear. “Lockdown the area, no one in or out other then maintenance to clean this mess up and medical techs to get these bodies out of here. Contact medical about the incoming bodies, and tell the bridge ops officer that we have everything under control.” The big Klingon guard nodded and then stepped off a few paces from the general public to a relatively quiet corner to dispatch the relayed orders. JoNs in the meantime had made a bee line to the other small gathering at the opposite side of the forward area, giving addition orders as she went to the somewhat stunned armory staff. She spotted her lover and armory chief Conrad Zimm immediately, and noticed immediately that he had his Fleet issue hand weapon out but it wasn’t pointed at any target, namely Tam. Tam was down on the floor with his back set against a storage crate and his face turned away from JoNs. Her temper flared, and lover or not, she lit into Zimm. “What the hell is going on? Why isn’t the Midshipman bound!” Conrad suddenly moved, his free hand gripping her upper arm. He looked JoNs right in the eye and shook his head slowly from side to side; his steel blue eyes were a bit haunted and told the feline everything she needed to know. The Caitian then realized then that there was no need to arrest Tam, and nodded her understanding. Zimm removed his hand and stepped a few paces back. JoNs then cautiously approached the downed officer, thinking that she knew what to expect from Zimms silent warning; she didn’t. Midshipman Tam was in worse shape then the two dead crewmen, mainly because he was still alive and feeling the pain. The one side of his face was twisted and charred from the plasma; an eye was completely pulped out, the milky white juices running in a rivulet down the exposed cheekbone. One hand had been melted, the fingers no longer discernable. Certain sections of his gold vest and black trousers had been fused with the skin. Blood trickled out of an ear, no doubt from a brain injury, but the one good, clear eye darting this way and that indicated that Tam had some higher functions. He couldn’t form a sentence though, and his breathing was coming in short gasps. “My dear gods…” the armory was as silent as, well, a grave, and as a result the Cait’s emotion charged words could be heard. She didn’t care. There was no reason to question the dying officer. Speculation and the eyewitness accounts would provide the information needed. “Zimm. Disruptor pistol.” Without a word, the man tossed the weapon he held to the feline. JoNs noted the weapon was already set to kill, aimed and then fired a short burst point blank into Tam’s head. “Mister Zimm, your office. Now.” The felines tone came out low and dead. “Mister Keltex. Get the armory shift moving again.” Kansas moved into the shift leads office, her predatory nature on full display in her stiff and angry movements. She placed the disruptor on the office desk, and then leaned with her paws flat against the flat surface. Conrad entered the office area as well, and ordered the computer to place a privacy lockdown on the work area. Once the monotone voice of the computer had announced that the privacy protocols were in place, JoNs spoke to the man but without turning around. “What in the nine hells was that, and did you have any idea regarding?” “I honestly had no idea or warning that…” Kansas suddenly moved, pouncing on Conrad and using her body weight and the surprise attack to get the larger male up against the bulkhead. Her paw slammed down on the agonizer badge pinned to the chest area of his gold uniform vest. She maintained the contact long enough to get one scream out of Zimm, and then backed away from him, her lashing tail at odds with the single tear that rolled down her furred cheek. The two of them had come to an understanding at the beginning of their romantic relationship that sometimes the conditions of their work would override any favoritism: this was one of those conditions, not that the knowledge made the act any easier to perform. “Then you had best make damn sure there are no other developing assassination plots within the armory crews, hadn’t you Lieutenant Zimm?” Zimm merely stayed where he was up against the bulkhead, panting and nodding an affirmative yes to JoNs. She walked around the desk and withdrew two glasses and a bottle of Romulan Ale that had all been hidden in one of the drawers, and poured some into a glass. She walked over to Zimm and offered him the glass; he gave a shaky nod and then accepted the glass of alcohol, downing the contents in one gulp. The feline security chief walked over to the large office window that overlooked the main work floor and looked out, noting with some grim satisfaction that several parties that had been interested at the onset of the scream and therefore turned their attention to the office window, suddenly became rather interested in whatever they had been working on at the appearance of the feline. Her gaze took in everything and nothing at the same time. The clinking of glasses could be heard from somewhere behind her, but she paid the sound no mind. “Twenty one years old, twenty one, that’s it. I have fillings in my fangs older then he was. These kids go through the academy, and enter service on an Imperial ship thinking its all fun and games, one big pirate adventure, an assassination around every corridor, full speed ahead lads to our next big frolicking mission of mayhem and adventure.” Her tone was the bitter tone of a few years hard experience served to the Imperial fleet. “I felt the same way. So did you.” Zimm came up beside the Cait, and handed her a full glass of the blue ale. Kansas downed about one third of the drink before speaking. “You know I had my attitude adjusted six months ago regarding that.” “Aye, as did I, over ten years ago.” The feline took another gulp of her drink, almost draining the glass. “And today, Midshipman Tam got his lesson as well, did he not?” A two man team from medical was now removing the body of the would be assassin. Lieutenant Zimm let a few minutes pass – and another round of the mind numbing ale to set in – before gently asking JoNs a question. “And what of your report regarding this little matter?” She growled, and shook her head. “The matter is somewhat cut and dry. Midshipman Tam made a play for Wexler’s position. The scheme did not go according to plan, and a portion of the armory was compromised in the resulting accidental plasma blast. Other then the parties involved, no fatalities. That is the short version of what my official report will contain.” “….and your unofficial report?” “That report will be in the form of a condolence letter to Mister and Mrs. Tam, letting them know how bravely their son served his duty post to the good ship ISS Agincourt. How he fell in battle during a balls to the wall skirmish to retake a colony outpost as only an Imperial ship of the line can find themselves in during every single mission. How he embodied the hoo hoo rah rah spirit of the Imperial officer and all that sort of nonsense.” Sensing that the feline needed to be alone, Lieutenant Zimm quietly slipped out, leaving the Caitian alone with her thoughts in his office and to finish off the ale in an attempt to quiet her rampaging thoughts with the drink. It was a losing battle, indeed.

<<<<<<<< Starfleet Biographical Profile >>>>>>>> <<<<<<<< Level Five Clearance >>>>>>>> Profile: Name: Conrad Horatio Zimm, Jr. Race: Human, Caucasian Male Birthplace: Missouri, Earth Eyes: Blue Hair: Blond, crew cut, graying at the temples Height: 6’1 Weight: 185 lbs Next of Kin: Conrad Horatio Zimm, Sr. (father), Colleen Zimm (mother), Casey Zimm (sister) Specialty: Security Secondary Specialty: Surveillance systems, Defensive systems Rank: Chief Petty Officer Current Assignment: USS Agincourt NCC-81762 Position: Security Department, Wolf Squad Team Lead Biographical Profile: Conrad Zimm was born in 2358 and is 39 years of age. After graduating from high school, he enrolled in the accelerated Starfleet training program for enlisted officers, graduating at the age of 21 with a rank of Crewman Second Class. Zimm has served on a variety of duty stations, ranging from starships to ground assignments to frontier colony outposts. During these years of subsequent service, he gravitated to the field of security, eventually gaining experience and training in the technical aspects of surveillance systems and outpost and star base defense systems. In 2392, Zimm and the squad he was serving in were dispatched to provide security backup at Fleet colony outpost Gethan Two. The outpost had been compromised by a faction of Tal Shiar sympathizers, and the pitched battle that was to follow with the Rihan insurgents Zimm likes to describe as a “trip through the slums of Hell and back”. One half of the security contingent was lost, including the squad lieutenant, but Zimm and the remaining squad members eventually re-captured one of the key communications node. Zimm was later cited for bravery and formally awarded the medal of valor for his actions. However, he requested rotation out of star base duty stations and has served primarily on starships for the past five years. In addition, the Valor medal is not and nor will it ever be, prominently displayed - Zimm shipped the medal home to his parents, and there it remains. The year 2397 finds the senior petty officer assigned to the USS Agincourt to the security department as the leader of Wolf squad. Conrad Zimm is the type of non com that is “solid and steady”, whether you need someone to watch your six or someone to plant a detonation charge, he is your man. Whatever the mission or assignment, Zimm will always provide the backup or assistance as it is needed. Psychological Notation: Zimm is cleared for duty, and has no psychological or emotional issues that will prevent him from doing his duty. However, do not call him “Horatio” unless you wish to lose a few teeth. His mother is the only one “allowed” to call him by this name. Case File # 456. - As recorded by Doctor Itahno Chaventa, Starfleet Medical <<<<<<<< Starfleet Biographical Profile >>>>>>>> <<<<<<<< Level Five Clearance >>>>>>>>

12.24.07 ISS Agincourt ICC-81762 “Justice, Truth, Honor, Loyalty” ********** Justice: when it serves me Truth: when it serves me Honor: on my own terms Loyalty: on my own terms … Credits: always Lieutenant Commander Kansas JoNs stood in a relaxed parade rest, paws clasped behind her back, the very example of calm and confidence – outwardly, that is. Inwardly, the feline second officer and security chief was having a mental crisis, attempting to figure out what in the name of the Great Predator Bird to do with this current cluster frag. The secondary cargo bay was deserted save for the small group in the middle. Four human crewmembers were down on their knees, hands clasped on their heads. Two security officers covered them with disruptors, and the final three officers that comprised the gathering were JoNs, Chief Armory Officer Zimm, and the female half of the cat’s personal guard – Lieutenant Mical. The blue skinned woman, her antennae at attention and her eyes missing nothing, stood to JoNs’s immediate left, while Zimm rummaged around in a nearby crate, muttering softly to himself as he did so. The Caitians predatory gaze fixed on the four detainees, three male and one female. Sgt. Dede Rake and Private Duff Horton from the Marines, second shift, Lieutenant Joe Griff of Medical, second shift, and Ensign Kipper Tor of Engineering, third shift. It was a regular gathering of the departments, it was, and a bit rare when one thought about it. These little plots were usually enacted by members of the same department, and cross departmental planning of the illegal variety was usually considered too much of an unknown factor. She also also annoyed at the fact that two marines were present. Having jarheads involved, though a rare occurence, tended to make these situations even more complicated, what with having a marine commanding officer and marine executive officer in charge of the ‘Court. “What’s the word Silencer?” Her purred voice echoed over the distance to where Zimm was working. The tall, crew cut blond male moved out from behind the large transport crate, and walked over to where the feline stood, handing her the tricorder he had been working with. “The weapons and supplies are all there, nothing is missing.” “Good. You want to deal with them?” She pointed a claw at the four crewmembers. “Nah. Let’s keep it somewhat official. It’s your call Lieutenant Commander.” JoNs smirked. Oh yes indeed, justice was to be served, but official was pushing it. Retribution would be on the Cait’s own terms. The feline now spoke to the four prisoners. “Okay people, here’s the deal.” She held the tricorder aloft in the air. “All the evidence I need is here on this tricorder. Why you attempted to steal weapons during the first shift, I won’t even attempt to figure that one out. That sort of thing is best left to the second or third shift, but I’m giving away my secrets here. You may have gotten away with this little endeavor, but you were sloppy with your supply request forgeries and unlike our former armory chief, Mister Zimm also keeps very good armory records.” The Caitian had begun a slow walk around the four officers, and paused behind them, continuing her little hoo rah rah speech. “With that said? There won’t be any official reports filed here.” Sometimes telling the truth was the best policy, but not here, not now. JoNs was in a unique (or was that perilous?) position as an alien second officer. Running to her commanding officer or executive officer with every little transgression would be a sign of weakness, and she needed to establish her own power. Therefore, the feline used truth based on how it served her in the moment, picking and choosing when and how to employ the concept. Four heads whipped around to stare at the Caitian in disbelief, causing Zimm to bellow out “Eyes front and center!” Kansas walked back around to stand in front of them again, her predatory strides only adding to her barely contained feral nature. “Basically, y’all are mine now. I love going off the record, don’t you? But, no worries, I’m not going to kill you.” One of the security guards, a young Vulcan and recent transfer from the ISS Hammer Forge, spoke up at this point, his one eyebrow arcing in a question. “That is not logical; they stole from the empire, subverted security, they deserve punishment.” The feline pounced on the lesson opportunity right away; these young bucks were getting more and more vocal these days, I mean really. “Indeed Mister Voran. But, we have four miscreants. One miscreant would be much easier to blow away as an example. Killing four miscreants? That would be a bloody waste, create too much attention, and create quite the vacuum in the ships roster. Plus the fact, you get the blood rolling across the deck here, it’s messy, and maintenance needs to clean it up… etcetera, etcetera.” The concept of honor came in many forms, some of them more warped then others, thank you very much. “What do you intend to do with us?” Sergeant Rake spoke up, her long brown hair in disarray, and her right eye beginning to blacken where Mical had popped her one during the initial arrest of the would be smugglers. A leer greeted the statement, followed by a happy tail lash. “Sergeant, I am glad you asked. Until further notice, you four are indentured to me. You will transmit a stipend fund in a fixed amount of my choosing into my personal account every month. In addition, since you seem to love the armory supplies so much, you will serve your regular duty shift and then pull a second shift in the armory, helping Mister Zimm with inventory, for a period of three weeks.” The feline had found that loyalty was best served on her own terms. Always had been, always would be. And credits were always welcome. The sergeant’s temper flared. “That’s ludicrous! I ain’t paying or working in no Squid…” The other security grunt, Hanson, moved to fire his disruptor at Rake, but the feline officer was faster, clocking Rake across the jaw with a backhand. The female marine slumped to the decking in a daze. “Hanson, as I’ve said before - why waste the disruptor charge when a hit can work just as well?” The big guard merely nodded at the security chief and moved back into his guard position. JoNs then turned to her attention to her Andorian personal guard. “Mical, take Hanson and Voran and escort these four to the brig. They can cool their heels in there for the rest of the night and then resume their normal – and new – duties tomorrow. Dismissed.” Once everyone had cleared out, and it was just her and Zimm left, the feline second officer wandered over to the cargo crate and placed her paws to either side of the container, looking down at the weapons and supplies stored inside in neat and tidy rows. Zimm soon came up behind her, his hands and arms sliding around her lower torso. “Credit for your thoughts?” “Lieutenant Zimm. These weapons are technically not recorded on the inventory…it seems a shame to let the credit value go to waste…” The armory chief bent down to kiss the feline on her neck, his voice low and husky. “You don’t say. Perhaps we should do something about that, Lieutenant Commander…. ” Can you say mercenary black market trading? Sure you can. ********** Notes: Rake, Griff, Horton, and the Tor character names appear courtesy of Starship Troopers 2: Hero of the Federation (2004) The original Justice, Truth, Honor, and Loyalty concept is taken from Thundercats (1985) and the version showcased in this log is my own mirror-ized version, of course. - KJ

Is. Slightly Obsessed. With Mirror. Thank you! I figure its about time I had an avy saying something along those lines :-P

11.14.07 USS Agincourt NCC-81762 "Watchdog" Every department on every ship, outpost, or space station in service to the Starfleet had them. They were that one officer, usually a senior rank, sometimes a junior officer, perhaps an enlisted officer. The watchdog. And for the security contingent stationed on the exploratory warship USS Agincourt, the watchdog was Master Chief Petty Officer Keltex of House Lokan. And he had quite the network established as well. The stately elder Klingon appeared in the doorway of the main security offices, his keen brown-gray eyes not missing anything, and searching for Petty Officer Katt. Lieutenant Holt, the officer of the watch, nodded respectfully from the desk that he had set himself up at. Marisa spotted the Klingon from her post at the brig receiving desk, and she waved the big male enlisted officer over to her. His long silver hair flowing out as he walked, the enlisted Klingon stopped in front of the receiving desk, looking down at the human woman of Mexican heritage expectantly and with a touch of curiosity. "I'm sorry Master Chief about pulling you away from your investigative duties, but we have an issue." "What is the problem Marisa?" "It's more like a pre-emptive strike. I need your leverage to get the chief to call it a night." "Oh?" Keltex raised a surprised eyebrow. "I know that she commed you regarding the new suspect in custody that is being investigated…" "So you were eavesdropping." A good natured leer exposed his craggy teeth. "I'm a former investigative reporter who was gathering Intel. Sue me. Anyway, as I was saying; I know she failed to mention that the prisoner socked her pretty good in the side, and she's favoring it big time. She apparently canceled the rest of her marine training session this cycle, but that's not good enough." Keltex raised the eyebrow again. During a training session or a mission op, Marisa Katt was typically the first person to tell someone to suck it up, and didn't deal especially well with weakness, either her own weakness or those around her. Dealing with an injury was just part of the job for her, or as she liked to say, "walk it off and don't be a plebe". She raised her hand. "I know what you are thinking. Yes, I am admitting it – the cat isn't walking this one off, not without some help. Comprende?" "Why call me in? Medical should probably handle…" "Nada. She needs persuasion of the Klingon variety. Plus the fact, she won't bust you to cadet when you do interfere; you can get away with it." Keltex had already started to form a tactical plan of action. "… this is true. Aye then – to battle. Mwa ha ha! May I call on you for backup if needed?" His features were alight with an almost suicidal glee. A positively feral leer plastered itself across Marisa's features. "Always." The Klingon turned his attention to Lieutenant Rico, who was calmly reading over some security reports. "And what of you Holt?" Without looking up from his Padd, the commissioned officer answered his enlisted officer counterpart. "Master Chief, I know nothing and see nothing. Unless something explodes, have at it good sir." The enlisted Klingon officer walked with confident strides towards the chief of security's office, stopping at the threshold and chiming for entrance. "Come!" a purred voice drifted out, and as the entry way door slid aside, the darkened privacy window to the office simultaneously went to clear, showing Kansas sitting at her desk. Keltex's nose immediately wrinkled as a smell akin to roses, jasmine and citrus assailed his nostrils. "What in the name of Grethor is that smell? Are you wearing perfume Commander Kitten?" The Caitian, still wearing her training fatigues, shot a wry look at him; the Kitten was enough to deal with normally, but the Klingon flat out refused to call her by her demotion rank. It was like trying to reason with a rock. "No, Master Chief, I am not wearing perfume. It is a Caitian therapy gel for cuts and bruises and the like. Now, what brings you here? Any progress as of yet on the bio signature investigation?" "Not as of yet, but we are still processing all the possible leads and conjecture and such." "Good, keep me posted on the progress. I just completed and sent off a memo, along with forwarding all the other memos submitted regarding the investigation, to the Colonels. Hopefully the preliminary information from our new brig guest leads somewhere." "Very well. I assume this means that you will be retiring for the remainder of the night Commander?" The golden feline leveled a cool look at her senior enlisted man. "In a little bit, aye." Keltex harrumphed; her 'little bits' usually meant about three to four hours. In a flash he had started around the desk to get at Kansas. The feline, even though she was hurting, was still faster then the enlisted officer and she darted around the desk, using it as a barrier. Her leonine features were stern. "Stand down Master Chief; you will not pack me around again like so much a sack of grain." "Have you been to medical?" "No, and I do not intend to go to medical. I have been there too much lately thanks to the ministrations of our marines. If I grace the medical threshold once more, the doctors will start to think I am cornering the market on painkillers or something. I can tough it out Master Chief." "Then let me take a look at your side." "Like hell I…" Keltex moved again, with Kansas matching him; they both ended up in opposite positions, still facing one another over the desk. They remained that way for a good five minutes, neither Klingon nor Caitian giving ground or moving. "Commander… do not make me start singing show tunes…" "You wouldn't dare…" The big Klingon took in a great lungful of air. "No! Wait! Fine! Fine – if it'll make you happy, you may check my injury out." Angrily, the feline shucked her uniform jacket, exposing the fleet issue tee shirt underneath; the movements caused her to wince. The Klingon got hold (gently!) of the kitten finally – and really, getting her to seek medical attention was like getting a recalcitrant domesticated cat to the vet. Was it really true that they were all alike across the species? - and moved her to sit on the edge of the desk. He lifted the shirt, exposing the Cait's side, and indeed, even trough the fur, the skin showed a livid purple, red, and yellow. "…a very nasty bruise. Deep." "You don't say." Her voice shook as the Klingon deftly probed the area with his fingers. "The initial shot came from Mister Troll – the prisoner aggravated it." Keltex harrumphed again, and moved toward the doorway. "Katt – bring a field gel plast from one of the battle kits." "I do not want a production made out of this Master Chief." He turned and considered his young commanding officer. He took in her posture, and the many emotions held in check by her predatory personality. Pride. Independence. Stubborn. And one very important factor, an instinct of the feline that had been around since the dawn of time and present in most of the species: an unwillingness to show weakness, and a survival quirk hardwired into the brain to hide any injuries. The master chief had once heard a human comrade state, after the squad had come across an injured wild cat in the forests of Laventa Six, that "cats heal themselves". Not this night. "Commander, you will let us tend your wound. It is a foolish warrior who enters battle with an infected wound." Kansas had no logical rebuttle. "This will be between myself, you, and Katt." The Klingon raised his voice. "Mister Holt knows nothing, is that not correct Mister Holt!" A strong, and amused, human male voice carried into the office from the outer offices. "Know what about what now?" The feline smiled and nodded her agreement. ********** It took a few moments, but the two petty officers made short work of their chiefs' injury. Katt re-applied the Caitian gel evenly across Kansas's side, and then Keltex affixed the healing plasti-gel pad, which would adhere to the feline's side and further the healing process. The heat from the pad was immediate, and relaxed Kansas enough for the work day and recent excitement to quickly bear down on her. Keltex easily carted the now groggy feline over his shoulder and indeed packed her like so much a sack of grain. Now he would be able to get her to her quarters for some much needed rest. Pausing at the entrance to the security offices, the big Klingon turned and regarded his two 'helpers' for the 'mission op', his furred charge in tow "Thank you both, and of course, unless she wants the tale told, this goes no further then these offices and stays within the family." The response from Holt and Katt was prompt. "So say we all."

10.09.07 USS Agincourt NCC-81762 "Temporary Truce" Master Chief Petty Officer Keltex walked with long strides down the corridor toward the main sickbay. His duties had prevented him from visiting the Kitten until now; the security department was on alert with regard to the tactical positioning of the Selshan Fleet outside, and the internal investigation that continued with regard to the training accident in the NNC.The silver haired Klingon nodded politely to three medical technicians as they exited the medical bay, and then he walked in; after he had cleared the threshold, the enlisted officer stopped dead in his tracks. Worlds would burn. Stars would collapse in on themselves. Atmosphere would be stripped away. People would rebel. Children would cry. Governments would fall. There would be chaos in the known universe as they knew it. Lieutenant Commander JoNs and Petty Officer Third Class Kreval were playing….cards. Together. Unsupervised. And there was no bloodshed. The female Caitian was calmly sitting cross legged on the biobed, tail swishing idly as it hung over the edge of the bed, and the male Tellerite occupied a chair set near the bed; both were staring intently at their current cards. Keltex, Son of Lokan, seasoned veteran of more then forty years service in the Klingon Defense Force and the Federation Starfleet, reacted to this sight before him with the upright bearing of a senior enlisted officer. He placed a hand on his craggy forehead in disbelief and stated, "What the hell is this?" Kreval answered the query, without looking up from his cards. "This is poker Master Chief. Care to sit in for a couple hands?" The big Klingon merely held up one meaty finger in a 'wait' gesture. He walked back outside into the corridor, and then re-entered the sickbay. Nothing had changed; if anything, the Kitten and Kreval were now looking at him a bit oddly. "….I thought perhaps that…maybe I had somehow entered an alternate universe…or something…" JoNs purred. "If this was an alternate universe Master Chief, we'd all be packing way more weapons," she pointed at Kreval, "I would have had him assassinated by now," her paw went to Keltex, "you would be some type of bad ass enforcer," she then pointed her paw at her own chest, "and I would have taken over the ship by now in a carefully planned and exquisitely maneuvered mutiny." A good natured leer exposed the feline Second Officers' fangs. Keltex still hadn't moved from where he stood. "But you two can't stand each other." "Have no fear Master Chief," the pig-like Petty Officer shuffled the cards in his hoof-hands as he spoke, "…the commander and I went into our usual shtick – that is the correct human term, right? – upon my arrival. I walked in, bellowed at her for getting hurt and how stupid and young she was to have gotten hurt in the first place…" "…at which I told Mister Kreval to stuff it, and ordered him to get out of my face…" "And then, logically, we both settled in to play cards with the deck I had brought. Care for a hand Master Chief?" Petty Officer Kreval held the newly shuffled deck aloft. "Your cut. We're playing for holo deck ration time." The feline lieutenant commander silently indicated the pile of credit sticks in the middle of her bed with a claw. This was a strange universe, indeed. But then again, who was he to pass up a card game with good comrades? A slow smile spread across Keltex's weather beaten features, revealing his jagged teeth. "Very well lady and gentleman…deal me in."

What you humans need is a television show about a Klingon crew. Now that's entertainment.

===== Starfleet Biographical Profile ===== ===== Clearance Level Five ===== General Information: Name: Keltex House: Lokan Blood House Affiliation: Morrikan Birthplace: Qo'nos, Kh'Vrax Province Age: 58 Height: 6'2 Weight: 215 lbs Status: Unbonded, single. Markings: Burn scar, left bicep. Batleth scar, right thigh. Current service status: Active, enlisted officer, Starfleet Rank: Master Chief Petty Officer Current assignment: USS Gideon, Security. NOTE: all Gideon ships personnel currently listed as MIA. Family: Mother - Vashta, Klingon Defense Force, Security Officer. Retired. Age 85 Father - Lokan, Klingon Defense Force, Navigation Officer. KIA 2370. Sisters: Varin, Klingon Defense Force, Civilian Attache. Age 61 Lokana, Defense Force Academy, Instructor. Age 56. Brothers: Vashtak, Starfleet, Engineer. Age 54. Krevor, Klingon Defense Force, Navigation Officer. Age 45. Specialty: Security Secondary Specialty: Hand to hand combat tactics Weapons Specialty: Batleth, junior master. Mekleth, junior master. Allergies: Terran bee Personal Background: Keltex is the second child and first male born to Vashta and Lokan. His elder sister Varin holds the title of House Head, while Keltex is the First Son. Their mother still maintains the leadership of the family house, with Keltex and Varin functioning in lieutenant positions. House Lokan maintains a blood pact with House Morrikan. His formative years were split between time spent at the modest Lokan family estate and summer hunting cycles spent at the Morrikan estate. Both Vashta and Lokan alternated duty cycles to ensure there was always one parent with the children. A great aunt – Morexa – was employed to teach the Lokan children, as well as impart the culture of battle honor to them, in part from her own service in the defense fleet. He entered the Klingon Defense Academy at the age of seventeen, following a distinguished line of family service. His house bloodline, though distinguished, was not conducive to line officer training; therefore, Keltex trained and studied to be an enlisted soldier, and usually found himself posted to planetary ground or sector border patrol missions. He comported himself well during his service time, moving up through the enlisted ranks earning commendations as well as several awards for bravery. His service led him to gravitate to security, hand to hand combat, and weapons specializations. Taking advantage of the joint Officer Exchange program between the Starfleet and the Klingon Defense Force, Keltex entered his application and was accepted. This eventually led to the Klingon soldier permanently joining the Starfleet. His family accepted this decision without question, and his brother Vashtak would also serve in the Federation fleet as well. As the First Son of House Lokan, Keltex holds the right to ask a non-family member to join the house. A baldric, passed down from generation to generation, is the physical sign of an individual's entrance into the House. The other Lokan siblings as well hold similar ceremonial objects, and may present them to those they deem worthy of induction into the house, but they must ask permission of Keltex or House Head Varin first. Keltex is a career Master Chief Petty Officer. His typically boisterous attitude hides a keen tactical mind. In his younger years, the enlisted officer could be a handful. In his later years, the officer is still a handful, though now tempered with a lifetime of service and knowledge. He also will not hesitate to school a younger line officer counterpart, if the situation and the advice warrants the need.