Kansas

Seriously, what is up with the bee-age? They look like, at least around my area, those huge black bumblebees? But, these guys are zipping around all fast -- I'm used to seeing the ones that are so slow they are almost drunk and you can literally walk around them when they hover in mid air? Indeed, there *are* those of us that appreciate and understand your brave sacrifice Sam. Bee Phobics unite! Yeah baby!

Oh wow. So many great Klingon characters and actors to choose from. Gotta go with Christopher Plummer as General Chang of ST 6 fame. He's a bad azz so and so. John Shuck (Klingon Ambassador, ST 4) is a favorite. I've never really cared for Gowron -- he always struck me as just this side of nuts (kudos to his actor however).

Reserved, and sent away for a con ticket -- expecting it within next few weeks. Let's do this.

Note: This log takes place during the 12 hour TBS, while the ship is docked at the space station for repairs. 04.02.10 USS Agincourt NCC-81762 “Interlude” Lt. Colonel Kansas JoNs waited patiently in the processing line at the Agincourt air lock; in just a few minutes, she’d be free and clear to pursue some much needed shore leave. She was surrounded by fellow crewmembers, both commissioned and non-commissioned officers, and no matter what rank or position each of them held on board the ship, the tone of the voices was all the same: excitement at a few hours shore leave. The golden furred felinoid wore a pair of dark charcoal slacks, a blouse and a faux brown leather jacket. She wore nothing that revealed she was a senior officer serving on board the USS Agincourt. No off duty mission jacket, no camo BDU’s, no nothing. The lieutenant colonel was all about the incognito today. And nothing was going to get her back on the ship short of an attack on the station by rabid fanged vampiric tribbles intent on taking over the universe by procreation. The station security personnel were on patrol at the airlock docking pylons and access points, checking ID’s and performing ocular scans on everyone debarking from their respective ships onto the station. Starfleet had upped the security protocols at the various frontier and outer colony stations since the Soltan attack on the Earth. The ongoing security preparations seemed excessive with regard to Fleet crews who were just interested in having a good time on their day or days off, but in the long run, the procedures would prevent any sort of security breach from taking hold at one of these Federation outposts. These were uncertain times, and certain measures had to be taken in the interest of overall safety. Soon, JoNs had been scanned and her ID card had been checked, and she was released into the interior of the station. Her nostrils flared as she became accustomed from the recycled air of the ship to the recycled air of the station. It was early afternoon, and the corridors and access ways were already fairly crowded with various travelers and permanent station residents going about their business or leave. A small vacation offered a chance to recharge and refresh, and while not exactly overwhelmed or beleaguered with her duties and work, the Agincourt executive officer was constantly on the go normally. It felt good to be free from any responsibilities, if only for the next few hours. The Cait spent most of the afternoon shopping along the main promenade. While not a shopper by nature, when she had the opportunity for a shore leave, and the station or planetary site had a decent enough offering of retail stores within the environment, she made an effort to check out the shopping districts. As the afternoon began to drift into the early evening hours, the Caitian dropped off the few purchases that she had made in her quarters and disembarked the ship for a second time to meet up with her dinner date. Using the station map markers located at the various bulkhead mounted consoles scattered across the station as well as her personal PADD tracking system, Kansas navigated her way to The Spotted LeMatya, a bistro located on the second level of the space station’s main promenade decks. JoNs visually scanned the outer patio of the restaurant, and spotted Commander Sarritt Ssib’Ley waving a paw at her; the big tiger-like feline had commandeered small table with two chairs in an outdoor garden patio setting that was meant to copy any number of bistro restaurant layouts across the worlds, and the area offered a great view of the surrounding promenade gardens. The bistro was owned and operated by a Romulan couple, but the offerings were standard galactic restaurant fare, suitable to any number of species or races that would happen to patronize a station based establishment. A lot of space traffic passed through the space station on a daily, weekly and monthly basis. Starfleet ships, civilian cargo haulers and merchant vessels, merchant marine ships, independent military contractor crews, and even the occasional Klingon or Romulan crew would dock and make use of the station facilities. Ships and crews of all shapes and sized could be found on shore leave or business at any time of the day or night, and the station never slept. The USS Torin Kerr, a Defiant class vessel and the ship that Ssib’Ley served on, was one such Starfleet vessel that was temporarily docked at the station to refuel, re-supply, and allow the crew to spend a few days on shore leave. The lieutenant colonel and the commander had officially met over the ship to ship wireless a couple of weeks ago, when the Agincourt had been preparing to move out on a search and find mission and Ssib’Ley had briefed his fellow executive officer on the Ryder-Presit system since he and his ship had done extensive patrols within the sector. It was nice to get the chance to meet the fellow felinoid in person, and their respective missions and fate had worked in favor for the reunion of sorts. Kansas responded to his wave with a paw wave of her own and then began to thread her way through the outer tables and chairs, stepping lightly and with confidence on her padded hind paws, her claws clicking on the fake stone cobbled pathway. When she had reached him, the Caitian and the Kzinti-Caitian felines clasped forearms in a classic warrior greeting. Like her, Commander Ssib’Ley had worn nondescript civilian clothing perfect for an evening out -- not too casual, not to dressy. The tigrean Kzinti-Caits rich brown fur was set off nicely by a camel colored jacket of a Vulcan styled cut. Kansas admitted it -- the guy looked hot. Paws down, no contest. H-hot. Drinks and an appetizer were ordered, and the two feline officers proceeded to enjoy themselves immensely for the remainder of the evening. The two commiserated on the quirks of their respective crews, such as a CMO who had the technical ability to hack into the internal viewers, and senior non commissioned demolitions expert who was deathly afraid of bugs, and a junior lieutenant who came back from every shore leave sporting a new tattoo, to name but a few. And then there were the disciplinary offender stories, repeat and one time offenders alike. The conversation also covered the general day to day tasks as well, such as crew rotational rosters and such. It was nice to vent to an officer on the same level, executive officer to executive officer. Colonel Harper was a great CO and mentor, but she was a superior officer to Kansas all the same. It helped when you could talk to your own breed, and in this case that description was very literal. Sarritt took a sip of his drink. “How’re you doing with the transition to the second in command?” “I really can’t complain. I’ve had both good and bad experiences as the Exec.” Kansas chuckled a little before continuing, “…when I first took the posting, one of the engineers did the whole challenge to authority thing, you know, to see how I’d react? Made a comment about a litter box, that sort of thing….” “Oh yeah! Same thing happened to me about six years ago, right after I took on the position of second officer. One of the junior bridge officers made a crack about installing a scratching post.” “How’d you handle it?” “Scrubbing the injection manifold. Tooth brush. You?” “Running laps. Thirty around the main track; the grease monkey hasn’t made a litter comment since.” Sarritt shrugged his broad shoulders, his tiger-like features contorting into a good natured smirk while he snorted out a purr. “Hey, at times we have to do what we have to do. I can’t really prove it, but I bet those sorts of comments wouldn’t have been made to say, a newly installed Human executive officer? Otherwise, it’s usually just a classic case of a subordinate officer just trying to test the boundaries.” Kansas moved onto another topic, smoothly transitioning the conversation. “Another ongoing issue falls in the disciplinary category. Soldier I used to work alongside with at the same ranking, and now, I’m a direct superior. Now, they have a habit of directly questioning my orders by way of sporting an attitude -- and the attitude is the driving force -- you know, that sort of thing? Good field soldier otherwise, hell of a sniper. It’s just a very, ah…” “An awkward position and situation to be in?” Kansas merely raised her drink glass in acknowledgement. “I’ll manage though.” Sarritt liked her. He had gathered from their conversations that she led with her heart when her head should’ve been in control instead. But, the tactics were there. It usually all came down to the thin line of difference between stupid and capable, and JoNs landed more on this side of capable. Kansas liked him. Sarritt was a bit cool when it came to command and tactics, and he stayed on the straight and narrow. It wasn’t a bad command outlook to operate with, and he was capable. She cocked her head to once side, her expression curious. “Tell me about the Streaker Ssib’Ley call sign.” “I got tagged with it during my early flight days, when my specialty was still as a shuttle and fighter pilot and before I decided on the transfer over to the full command track. I ran across the landing bay on a dare, not a stitch of clothing on. Well, actually…I was wearing a flight helmet. But anyway, the CAG about had kittens, and was just not a happy person that day. I kept telling her that a feline can’t really be naked, because we have fur, you know? She didn’t buy it, started ranting about me being a streaker, and of course the other pilots picked up on it, and the name stuck.” Kansas laughed and gave him a paws up in approval. “Hey, look on the bright side, it could have been much worse.” He pointed his fork at her. “Okay, your turn – what’s the story with the Will JoNs?” Kansas winked at her dinner companion playfully. “Well, nothing as fancy as running naked across the shuttle bay or anything like that, although I will keep that in mind if only to cause a distraction in case my ship is ever boarded by hostiles who have short attention spans. A former XO tagged me with the call sign. They kept repeating ‘damn willful cat’ enough, and eventually it got shortened to Will.” Kansas cocked an ear back and smiled, showing her fangs. “I’m not willful, I’m just really direct.” Now it was Sarritt’s turn to laugh. “Right. You just keep telling yourself that Ms. JoNs.” The meal and the conversation continued through to the early and mid hours of the evening. Kansas ordered a shrimp dish, while Sarritt chose a chicken entrée. Several drink rounds were ordered and consumed, and more time passed. Eventually, the other patrons called it a night, and the two felinoids closed out the restaurant along with an Andorian couple. The evening meal led to a night club; the club was loud and bright with gaudy neon all over the place, and after spending a good bit of the later evening hours checking out the musical acts that the club offered (most of which were actually good), the felines retired themselves to a private room in order to pursue certain other activities. **** Hours later, Kansas stood leaning against the side bulkhead of the large and open picture window located in the bed room of the rented room, which overlooked a section of the outer docking pylons and the deck where the work bees and maintenance shuttles were stored; the room was on the cheaper side. If the two Caits had wanted to spend a bit more credits, they could have snagged one of the temporary flats that overlooked the interior deck with a much better view of the promenade gardens below. Since both of the officers never really planned to continually gaze out the window when they could be doing other, much more fun things…yes, the cheaper room with the view of the maintenance shuttle deck had definitely won out. JoNs was naked and in all her golden furred glory with her athletic leonine physique outlined against the lighting from the outer deck. The privacy opaque setting of the window insured that she wasn’t flashing anyone outside though, thank goodness for small favors and no civil complaints to the security offices. Sarritt walked up behind the female Cait, and his own movements mirrored hers: Cat like and graceful, yet powerful and dangerous. Placing one paw on her shoulder, he let his free paw rest flat on the white fur of her belly, gently rubbing in circles and eliciting a pleasurable purring sound from Kansas. She in turn pressed back, melding her body with his; her tail curled tightly around his knee and lower calf. He inhaled deeply into her fur, taking in her scent. “I say we both run naked across the main promenade garden deck.” “Right. You go do that and freak out the local security patrols, and I’ll wait here for you.” The Kzinti-Cait male feline chuckled lightly, and his deep purred voice was husky. “How much longer do you have on board the station?” “I have a couple more hours’ station side. I need to report back to the ‘Court by twenty two hundred or so, just to check in on things and make sure no one needs to be bailed out of the local brig.” She nuzzled the brown fur of his neck with her nose, and then changed her position in order to turn around to face him, gently placing her paws on his chest in the process. “If nothing hit the oscillating device in the meantime, I can grab a few more hours leave time.” Both of his paws now worked her upper back and lower back, kneading and rubbing the furred and pliant flesh in deep massaging motions. Kansas hooked her big paws behind his neck and kissed him deeply; Sarritt returned the kiss, and then the two felinoids were much more interested in certain other activities. Catching some more sleep and eating breakfast were overrated, indeed…

Note: This is a non-Plot log set in the Mirror Universe of the ISS Agincourt. 04.02.10 ISS Agincourt ICC-81762 "Family Affairs" (Part 2) **** With that little bit of family business taken care of, Kansas again met with Jumper and Left Ear on the modest flight deck and escorted them off the Phyrrebrrand and onto the corridors and decks of the Agincourt. Crewmen spared interested glances towards the ships Ex Oh and her two charges, but no resistance or problems were encountered. Her personal guards, Mical and Darjhan, had fallen into step with the three Caitian felinoids and took guard postings to either side of the briefing room once they had reached the destination. A pitcher of coffee and mugs were set on a silver tray in the middle of the conference room table, and hardcopy information packets had been made up for both Left Ear and Jumper. The three Caits took seats and Kansas prepared to start the meeting, accessing her own notes on a data PADD and interfacing it with the main viewscreen. Left Ear raised a paw. “Kitten, before we begin, I have a request.” Kansas quirked an ear back at the request statement, silent Kansas-speak for please continue. “After this initial briefing meeting on the job that we have been contracted to undertake, I’m to request an escort to the Ready Room. Colonel Harper is expecting me there later.” The other ear quirked. “I wasn’t aware…” or told for that matter, “…that you were to meet with the Colonel today? Left Ear?” “Ship commander to ship commander prerogative, Commander JoNs” And, that was all the elder Caitian was willing to impart on the matter. Non-plussed was too strong a word, but the commander was not thrilled with this turn of events; her savvy enabled her to mask most of the displeasure that she was feeling however. Why was she being kept in the dark about a meeting between her commanding officer and her Elder Guardian? “Very well. Either Darjhan or Mical will be available to escort, or I’ll have a Marine guard escort you after our meeting.” Colonel Harper was indeed the master and commander of the Agincourt. As such, she was responsible for seeing to the overall operational capacity of the warship. Some CO’s were micromanagers, while others cultivated a distant relationship with their officers. The Colonel, from JoNs’s experience, had cultivated an agreeable relationship with her second in command and those line officers and crew under her command -- good treatment for good behavior. Medusa Harper was a bit of a soft touch as well -- privately. If any sort of embarrassment were to be visited to the battalion or the ship departments publicly, the inevitable reproach was swift and merciless. The ‘Court was run tightly overall, but not as compared to a vice like grip where one could not function. The ships CO could have chosen to handle the briefing of the Phyrrebrrand mercenaries, but instead had chosen Kansas to deal with the JoNs family directly, and therefore she was able to spend some time with them. Although, handling a civilian contract situation was within the purview of her duties as ships second in command. But, captain’s privilege aside, JoNs would have preferred to have been informed of the secondary meeting. Regardless on her current feelings on the secondary meeting of the day that she was apparently not invited to, and it wouldn’t due to dwell on matters; onward to the current business meeting. Kansas glanced at Jumper, before speaking to Left Ear. “And I also have something before we begin; and, I want you to listen to me Guardian: Stay away from Lieutenant Caine, our chief of security, during your time spent here on the ship. She is considered off limits for the duration of your stay here on the ‘Court.” Left Ear was not happy at the ‘order’ from her Guardian Child; the panther Cait wasn’t comfortable with any sort of orders unless she was the one giving them. “That’s the one I sliced up during that mission in the Outer Rim sector, right? Anyway, don’t give me orders Kitten -- I used to change your diapers.” Jumper Honor-Scar was a consummate schmoozer and damn fine negotiator when she wanted to be, and she recognized that the situation was snowballing and chimed in with a deflection to the rapidly evolving argument. “That is a total visual image I did not need there Lefty. Don’t embarrass the kid!” -- she glanced over towards the younger Cait as Kansas did a paw to forehead motion in embarrassment -- “She’s the ship’s Exec, and it’s her call, her rules, her job, her territory. If we’re to stay away from some snotty Vulcan during our time here, then so be it.” Kansas jabbed an exasperated paw through the air. “Just stay away from the CSEC during the refuel and resupply time. She’s already been ordered to leave you alone Left Ear for the duration of the Phyrrbrrands docking time.” Kansas’s tone came out final. Left Ear was still stewing, but she made an attempt to re-approach the topic with some civility. “If I sliced this Caine up, then she must have deserved it; as I recall, she was going to shoot my brother in the back. The whole incident was a long time ago Kitten.” “I know it happened a long time ago, but Vulcans have long memories. Caine has an even longer and more selective memory. It’s hard to dissuade her once she gets an idea in her head.” Kansas chuffed out an exasperated breath, “…believe me, I know. So…we’re good Left Ear?” Kansas cocked her head to one side in curiosity. Left Ear eyed her guardian child for a few seconds, before nodding an affirmative. “Fine. Now, let’s get down to business…” The next two hours or so of the meeting was spent with a background information overview, with Kansas employing a data map to show the various territories and planets in question. Questions and tactical plans were discussed as well, and as the meeting began to wind down, Kansas was sure that her family was as well informed as they could be regarding the mission that Harper had contracted them to undertake. “So, that’s pretty much where we stand. The Ryder-Presit system is in the midst of an internal mercenary civil war, and the ‘Court has been sent to the civilian sector in order to mediate. Translation: Blow any offenders off the face of the galactic map, regardless of the level of involvement and what side they were on regarding the conflict. Normally, Empire Command would care less about civvie mercs and their power games, But, 18 Starfleet military grade Runabouts have gone missing from an outpost stationed within the sector; Fleet Command wants blood, and it wants the retribution right quick.” Left Ear quirked an ear. “So Kitten -- what’s the plan?” “The Phyrrebrrand is to go undercover in the R-P system. Gather any Intel that you can on responsible parties, the mercenary gang infighting. You’ll be paid well for your time and information. Colonel Harper’ll see to that.” Jumper took a sip of coffee from her mug. “Why us?” “Simple ‘Scar: You both are professional mercs, as is the family. Left Ear and the crew have done contract jobs for both myself and the Colonel in the past. We know what we’re getting by deploying you guys out into the Black, and I can trust you as blood family.” Kansas offered a genuine smile to her two relatives before turning her attention to her tawny furred cousin. “You sound a little suspicious?” “In general, I don’t trust all this.” Honor-Scar waved a paw to take in the expanse of the briefing room and by extension the Agincourt. “Don’t have to trust all this as you put it Jumps. You just need to trust me and my commanding officer. We need a good civilian recon mercenary team to gather some information.” Kansas allowed a bit of pride to show through at this point, and her features took on a manic glint. “…and the JoNs and Honor-Scar families are the best there is out there, simple as that.” Jumper growled in agreement. The tawny furred mercenary Cait stood and put her paws in the air. “Hear hear. The JoNs’s are in sector, watch out.” Kansas stood from her seat as well and she and Jumper did a high five across the conference table with Left Ear watching with more then a little pride showing in her outward manner. The Imperial officer remained standing as she regarded her two cousins, her fanged smile matching Jumpers and making their shared similarities even more apparent; if it wasn’t for the differing fur tones, Kansas golden and Jumper tawny, the two felines really could be sisters. Left Ear stood up as well, and spoke to her cousins “Okay, Jumper, head back to the ship and get the final preparations underway and make sure we’re loud and proud. Kitten, thank you for the briefing, you did good. Now, it’s time I met with the Colonel…” With a precise nod, Kansas disbanded the meeting. “Meeting adjourned. Jumper, I’ll escort you back to the Phyrrebrrand myself. Left Ear, Lieutenant Mical will take you to the bridge ready room. Let’s move girls...”

Note: This is a non-Plot log set in the Mirror Universe of the ISS Agincourt. 04.02.10 ISS Agincourt ICC-81762 “Family Affairs” (Part 1) It was a generally average and somewhat routine day shift on board the ISS Agincourt. The command staff had received new orders from Imperial Fleet Command, and preparations were currently underway in order to meet the necessary requirements for the mission readiness. The main landing bay was in a controlled jumble of chaotic activity as crewmen and mechanics zoomed this way and that way across the decking in order to prepare for a civilian ship that was on approach to the big warship. Said civilian ship was to be employed for a certain mission parameter. One lone observer stood unobtrusively off to one side of the expanse of the flight deck, watching the activity from a maintenance access alcove. The Human was not really seeing the controlled chaos as she waited to start her observation and report mission that Lieutenant Caine had personally tasked her with. The young officer was determined to prove herself within the security department and was confident in her abilities. Her desire to be the best was almost suicidal…which made her the perfect target. The lieutenant was very capable with her current assignment, but what she failed to account for was that not all officers -- and her feline target definitely -- played by all the rules. JoNs had crept up behind the would be watcher and was on her within seconds, moving in a golden blur; her paw injected the contents of a medicinal hypo into the neck of the Human, completely emptying the liquid content from the attachable medicinal module. Within seconds the female crumpled to the decking unconsciousness, and the lieutenant was out of the equation and would very much not be observing the ship’s XO as she engaged in ships business. Never send a girl to do a woman’s job…although a bonus was that Kansas loved messing with Caine’s people when she had the chance to do so subtlety, and this sort of situation was perfectly tailor made. The feline dragged the limp body off to a storage alcove and sealed the door. The security guard would regain her senses in about four hours or so, and it would be easy enough for the Human to get herself out of the storage room once she entered the daily code into the touchpad by the door. JoNs quietly exited the storage alcove, smoothing out her red command tunic and golden waist sash as she walked. The Cait threw one last glance about the corridor access area, her keen eyes surreptitiously checking either end of the corridor for errant personnel while also running her gaze over the nearby recorder cameras, which had been interrupted and powered down for a few moments. She noted with a slick smile that the operating lights blinked from red over to green, indicating that the cameras were back up and running. It always paid to have the coding access to the camera controls, as well as a few of the enlisted camera control systems officers on her direct payroll. With that little bit of unpleasantness taken care of, Commander Kansas ‘Will” JoNs was now free to conduct the upcoming business of the day; it would be nice to do a bit of catch up with the family, although the reunion would be from a somewhat professional business perspective. The Cait briskly made her way to the main control room overlooking the shuttle bay in order to be on hand when the incoming guest docked with the Agincourt, her personal guards falling into step behind her. Her family ship and the vessels crew were currently en route, and she awaited the arrival of the guests to the warship anxiously; the feline managed to keep her pacing down, though wasn’t quite successful at keeping the excited and steady twitch thump of her tail concealed. When the ship appeared on the tracking sensors, Kansas couldn’t stop her stomach from flipping with excitement at the site of the incoming vessel. JoNs had received a bit of a surprise when she contacted her family clan ship a couple weeks ago to arrange for this meeting. The ship was no longer referred to as the SS Dark Fury, and it wasn’t even the same flea trap ship that she had grown up on. And…Jumper Honor-Scar was now flying with Left Ear JoNs and the rest of the JoNs family clan proper. It wasn’t as if Honor-Scar wasn’t welcome to work with the JoNs clan; she was blood clan family after all. It was just that Jumper had worked on her own for so many years, and at times her methods and choice of mercenary jobs hadn’t always coincided with the honor code of the family that Kansas had been raised with. Jumper had been the black sheep of the family; according to Lefty however, Honor-Scar was ready to settle down a bit, and had approached the JoNs’s about really joining the family forces. And, joined familial forces they had, and formed a now sought after professional mercenary force with the right kind of financial backing as well. Though, with Jumper and Left Ear joining forces, Kansas had still been as surprised as some of the other family members. It wasn’t as if the JoNs and Honor-Scar families hated one another -- the felines were blood clan kin after all -- but the surprise was there all the same. Honor-Scar’s quote unquote official reason was that she had seen a few things during the meth drug running business in the Larentia sector, and thought it best if she change a few things regarding her personal business practices. Honestly? In the long run? Yes, Jumper and Left Ear and the JoNs family working together would equal a formidable clan mercenary force. The contacts, combined savings and revenue, and a formal joining of the two family names practically screamed bad ass professional. The security consulting contracts alone would keep the Phyrrebrrand crew in gas and food for years. The clan ship had also been changed up, and the new Dragonfly KX-12 class ship upgrade was for lack of a better term, pretty. No mismatching hull panels or nacelle casings, no old paint and decal markings. No hodge podge configurations of the external and internal equipment. No crossed wires to get a little bit more juice out of this conduit or that power router. JoNs watched the docking procedure from the control room monitors, a big smile lighting her leonine features and she didn’t care if any of the junior officers picked up on her happiness. Usually, a visiting representative would enter the ‘Court bay through the airlock; but then again, as always, Kansas did things differently. Once the docking procedures had been completed and the airlocks powered down and the bay had depressurized, she briskly exited the control room and made her way across the ‘Court landing bay in order to access the Phyrrebrrand directly through the connecting airlock. The golden furred feline wanted some alone time with her family before she got the business end of things rolling, simple as that. **** As soon as Kansa stepped through the airlock onto the Dragonfly class ship, it didn’t matter that it was a completely new ship -- it was still good to be home, and it felt like home. Even the old passenger shuttles had gotten dumped in favor of two newer Runabout class shuttles. Kansas was pleased to note that the name of the old family vessel was living on: One of the new Runnies had been designated as the Dark Fury. The second long range transport was called the Dark Fire. The third vehicle stored in the bay was an interplanetary short range mule transport, with a smattering of hover cycles stored alongside the far bulkhead separation. Good natured cat calls – literally, you know – and shouts of joy assaulted JoNs as she visually checked out the vehicles. She turned her gaze onto the slightly older adults gathered on the upper walkway surrounding the area and spoke out loud with laughter in her purred voice. “What the heck is all this?! We’ve gone legitimate? Did I step into an alternate universe and no one told me? Okay, all the guys need to wear goatee beards now…” Left Ear and Jumper were up there, waving, along with Lefty’s brothers. The family genes were strong, and the smattering of leonine and panther like fur patterns and features was really noticeable when the family clan all got together; Jumper and Kansas looked enough alike to be sisters. Three smaller fuzz balls -- offspring of her cousin, Vrrowl -- tackled her from the front and sides as she spoke to the others, and their slightly older Caitian cousin rough and tumbled with the three laughing children across the lower decking. The other adults watched the scene from the upper catwalk surrounding the modest size landing bay, pointing and laughing good naturedly at the mock brawl. Left Ear and the others made their way down from the catwalk -- mostly by just leaping over the guard rail onto the lower decking -- and soon all of the Caits were clasping paws and arms warrior style and grabbing each other in rough hugs. Soon, the younger kittens were shooed from the vicinity of the Phyrrebrrands landing bay, and the brothers had gone off to tend to their duties, leaving Kansas alone with Left Ear and Jumper. Kansas spoke to Left Ear, her whiskers quivering. “Give me ten minutes before we head over to the Agincourt; I want to talk to the kids. I have a few gifts to give them and I want to caution them about staying on the Phyrrebrrand.” Left Ear flipped a brown ear back. “I already told the kids not to leave the family ship.” “And, yes. We all know that they will listen to you just like I did.” Kansas’s tone came out deadpan and with a teasing tone. Lefty thought about it. “…talk to them.” “Good idea.” Kansas winked at her elder guardian, pleased that she agreed. As clan ship commander, Left Ear could be a little strict when it came to discipline with the kids. “You know that kids, especially ours, are explorers. I just don’t want you to go rough on them is all.” “I’ve never had to deal severely with Vrrowls kittens…unlike others.” Now it was Lefty’s turn to wink in a smug manner and smile with a lopsided grin. “Oh sure, now you’re all forward thinking.” The golden furred Imperial officer winked and then turned away to walk off in search of her younger cousins. **** The kittens were located in the family common area, where the JoNs crew members typically ate meals or held card games or watched the galactic internet on the viewer and such. The twelve year old, Misha, was a technological sponge; the girl practically absorbed any mechanical or engineering technical information that she could get her paws on. Kansas smiled as she pulled a data PADD out of the well worn messenger bag as well as a tricorder that dated back to the 2330’s. The leonine Cait handed the digital slate and tricorder to her younger cousin. “…the PADD is yours. It’s secondhand and slightly abused, but figured you could use a data slate with a little more memory on it. It has blueprints on it for the first generation Troop Hoppers that the Fleet drops into the planetary atmo. The tricorder is yours to keep as well.” The young girl practically vibrated with happiness, and her tail started doing loops behind her. Some girls were into jewelry, talking with friends for hours on the galactic net, the latest clothes, maybe a boy or two. Not Misha; she was as happy as an Aldeberan Shell Mouth if she could bury her nose in a digital blueprint or take apart a tricorder older then her and then put it back together in working order. Her best time was ten minutes, flat. Kansas gave gifts to Savirr and Vassara, and after the gift giving was completed, she spoke to the kids about what she was concerned about, gathering them all in a half circle as they all sat cross legged on the decking. “I want you all to listen to me -- I want you to stay on the Phyrrebrrand. No side trips to go sneaking onto the Agincourt to check things out.” Misha spoke up then, glancing at her younger siblings and taking the lead in the conversation in an attempt to throw Kansas off, convincing their older cousin that they weren’t going to sneak onto the ‘Court…yeah, and the Imperial Cait officer totally believed that one. She waggled a paw at the three youngsters. “Don’t kid a kidder. I know that you three have already plotted out a way to sneak onto the ship…” “But…why Kansas? Why can’t we just sorta visit?” That was Saviirr. Good kid, he’d probably follow in his father’s footsteps as a medical technician. “Because Savirr, not all beings are as nice as us. There are some – not all – officers and crew that won’t hesitate to hurt trespassers, even if they are children and especially if they are Caitians.” Vassara spoke up then, her purred voice tentative. “But, you’re in charge, right Kansas? Why would anyone hurt us if you’re in charge of your ship?” The leonine Cait ruffled the mane of her younger cousin, chuckling as she did so. “No Sweetie, I’m not in charge. The big clan leader on the Agincourt is Colonel Harper, and right now the crew is on a search mission and we don’t have time for tours or shenanigans. I promised the Colonel that other then refueling and re-supplying, and Left Ear and Jumper coming on board for a business meeting, the ship wouldn’t be overrun by JoNs’s. Next time, I promise, you’ll all get a tour of the ship.” The three siblings exchanged a multi-directional look, and then when a silent agreement had been reached by sibling osmosis, Misha turned her attention back to her elder cousin. “Okay, we’ll stay on board. We promise.” “Good.” She grabbed the three of them in hugs before departing. “Okay kids, I gotta go…” (To Be Continued in Part 2)

Get a life? Nope, just a dedicated fan...but poke your head outside just in case, y'know, to get some air? <_< Congrats on the marathon viewing end A9.

It's AAAAAALLLLIIIIVE! The Stay Off Topic is AAAAAALLLIIIIIIIVE!

Go to My Controls, click "Board Settings". Set the PM controls to block all PMs. As for the name listing in this topic? Other then the satisfaction of the board administrators zapping one SOB snert name out of the equation? Fight the little battles first and go for the proverbial leg sweep to bring down the larger problem. In keeping with the cautions topic, please just use common sense when dealing with these spammers and *do not* click on any links. Now, let's review what I like to refer to as The Great Viral Boo Yah of Late 2008. ::loud, foreboding Darth Vader music here:: I lost two (2) home computers. One new laptop, one older desktop that totally could have chugged on for a few more years. Some of the GMs here are aware that I went a little...hmmm....Spazzy? OMG? Generally freaked out? Mm Hmmm? Still don't know what got in, don't know how, don't know if I did it or someone in the family. I've suspected that it may have been a wallpaper download for a game, but regardless, the two computers got taken out by something or several bad azz somethings. So, what changed after I got a new desktop, after four months of trying to save the two computers? Computers: The desktop is now the only active PC. If/when I ever get a laptop replacement, the lappy will not be connected to a shared router and will instead be set up completely on it's own. Common sense: I was cautious before, now I'm borderline manic. I stay where I know it is safe, such as STSF. If it looks suspicious, I stay da Hades away from it. Security scans are performed several times weekly. Flash Drives: all hail the Tiny Yet Joyous Stick of Backup, and we worship you. w00t w00t. As Wade Knight and others have commented - it's all about common sense, and just be careful.

03.24.10 Agincourt Mission Update: TBS: 2 Days. The skirmish ended with the 'Court managing to drive off the attacking Rihan and Breen ships; most of the boarding parties and any dead raiders were beamed off. Injuries were low, though the ship itself took a pounding. SEC and Marine teams are sweeping the ship for any possible bodies that may have been left behind. We aren't just sure *who* exactly boarded the 'Court: Breen or Romulans? All the soldiers wore tactical armor and full helmets. We are proceeding to the nearest starbase for repairs and to tend to injuries. 03.21.10 Agincourt Mission Update: TBS: 12 Hours The Agincourt has docked at the Federation/Starfleet controlled starbase; repairs are underway. The crew has been released for shore leave.

The new website for the Qob relaunch is wicked sweet. I love that content and style combination of the Old West/Firefly meets Sci Fi Trek.

It is indeed a scam, *do not* click on the link; I'm sure ColinXHoward will be zapped soon.

I love Star Trek. I will always be a fan first and foremost no matter what other properties might catch my fancy for a period of time. Granted, I do get a little "bored" since Trek always seems to concentrate on the officers and Starfleet crews, and any time we do happen to spot an independent starship captain or mercenary group, it's some sort of token plot device. Firefly/Serenity got it right, in so many ways ::is biased::. It's nice to have a show concentrate on a common group of mercenaries and people just trying to get by. The show -- not so much the movie; it had some shiny, and that isn't a complaint -- offered a raw and gritty look at space faring life that you don't get to see with the clean command bridges that we are so accustomed to with Trek. Combining the two sci fi concepts is at least one way to have an RPG Sim Shangri-La experience. Good luck to Joe and the Qob. Can't Stop the Signal...

03/17/10 Agincourt Mission Update: BOOM! During the search for the mysterious Tim who may or may not have a lead on the missing Rihan warbirds, the 'Court encounters a combined force of six Rihan and Breen warships that proceed to pound the tar out of the ship. The ship was breached by boarding parties. Looks like the wild goose chase went all hellfire and brimstone. Were we lead into a trap? BOOM! March 16 also marked the five year anniversary of the Agincourt Sim. Congratulations!

Maybe not so much a bad actor, but a student of the Chuck Norris School of Method Acting? Strong, silent, with a straightforward take on the character/acting with all the presence of a brick wall? Definite creepy smile hovering into leer territory.

02.17.10 to 03.03.10 Agincourt Mission Update: Current TBS: Long enough for any logs/Several hours The last few days of searching in the questionable city areas of a rough and tumble colony planet has divulged a lead of sorts: The Agincourt and her crew prepare to leave Ryder Major in search of ship dealer "Tim". He is supposedly the man of the hour when it comes down to any buying and selling of ships in the Ryder-Presit sector area. Will we find our missing Rihan vessels, or is Tim and our lead merely another false trail? Stay tuned. 03.10.10 Agincourt Mission Update: TBS: Two Hours, we stay on our patrol course The Agincourt sets out on a standard search pattern to locate Mister Tim based on the Intel we have been able to gather; a senior NCO points out an asteroid field on the star maps that sports a lot of trade and cargo activity may be the place to start this current search for the missing ships.

Let me ask this to the DVD-ers and Net Flixers and Streamers at large: which is the better investment? DS9 or Babylon 5? (I've also never seen all the episodes of DS9, or Voyager for that matter)

03.01.10 USS Agincourt NCC-81762 “Assess. Deflect. Retreat” Assess. Deflect. Retreat: Three simple words that could very well keep you alive during a combat situation. Marines really didn’t do that whole retreat thing very well. But, there were times where that better part of valor was the better tactical option. If you thought that every situation could be handled with you rushing headlong into whatever, that was a very good way to end up dead. During my mandatory Marine training sessions, I dealt with this one -- or maybe the proper terminology is she dealt with me -- veteran from the third shift that taught a hand to hand combat course based on the following mantra: Assess, deflect, and retreat. It wasn’t so much about getting out of a situation, but how you got yourself out of a situation where the odds were not in your favor. At times, these situations required a blatant retreat option, as much as it irked you to leave a fight. Yes, I’m bullheaded. Yes, I tend to rush in where the angels fear to tread (as the Humans say) and I do it with a smile on my muzzle. I’ve been referred to as unorthodox, and I love to fly by the seat of my pants. However, I now find myself caught in the middle of a bar brawl not of my own doing. When the current dustup broke loose shortly followed by Hell incarnate, I was more concerned with finding an exit (stage left) and as quickly as I possibly could. I don’t know what set off the flash fire of fisticuffs, all I know is, I didn’t start it thank you very much. Then, that chair came out of nowhere and I became one with the floor. It’s a nice floor; slightly hard and unyielding, but doable. Is that a peanut? The bar wasn’t even one of the more seedy dives; I’d consider it more of a modern tavern. The establishment mainly functioned as a stopover point and hangout for local and short to long term pilot contractors. These jump jocks were either passing through the Ryder-Presit system or looking to set up a business or operation permanently within the surrounding quadrants. Pilots, as a general rule, know where to go for the best food, booze, conversation, and job networking opportunities available -- I should know, I come from a long line of jump jocks and I know how they think. If there was any information to be found regarding our missing Rihan warbird class ships and the responsible parties, this pilot hangout was as logical a place as any to visit and try and gather some Intel. The building itself was erected from the dull gray to green prefab construction materials that most of the offices, bars, stores and homes on Ryder Major were made of. Although, the present owner or owners had made the effort to decorate a bit and give the place some class: The walls were emblazoned with several dozen flight patches and holo-pictures that represented air wing groups or squads, both civilian and military, Federation and non-Federation alike. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it cozy, but the bar was of a more welcoming nature then one would usually consider. And, I have a great view of the decor considering I’m flat on my back on the floor. I’m in that lovely in between stage of consciousness where I’m awake, but I can’t really get anything to work while my brain catches up with the situation and my body. Passing out is just not an option. I don’t have my Fleet ID on me, which isn’t really a problem, but anyone that does a tricorder scan on me would gain access to my Starfleet profile once the scanner linked up with a wireless node. You can change IDs, but you can’t change your DNA imprint. The whole point of the line crew from the Agincourt going undercover was so that we’d be able to canvas the planet with some sort of anonymity and find the information that we need. If I go and get made, that doesn’t bode well for the operation. Well, you can change your DNA pattern, but that usually doesn’t work out very well, unless you get a really really good geneticist such as … Whoa…mind is wandering…focus, I need to focus. Bar. Brawl. Leaving. I need to get out of here, and that personal statement in itself speaks volumes. A few months ago, I wouldn’t have thought twice about staying in the bar and causing some trouble of my own among all the other chaos; go all Devil Cat Boo Yah on the patrons, claw a few people, show ‘em who’s boss. Had myself in a brawl situation like this already, and it’s a great idea…if I want to end up hurt, dead, or alerting what passed for the local authorities here. I was lucky last time around that I found myself in a bar brawl -- the only person’s attention that I alerted was a certain raven haired Marine with bad ass command vibes, which led the aforementioned mandatory training sessions. Roll over. Wait for world to stop wavering. Stand. Flash of incoming bottle filled with something…green. Reflexes kick in. Sideways! Turn! Bottle impacts with left shoulder. Balance is off, slam into nearby wall, slide down onto floor. The floor and I need to stop meeting like this. I hauled myself up off the floor -- again -- and lurched towards a side entry way door that was open. Well actually, it looked as if someone knocked it off its hinges. A big Klingon -- and seriously, just once I’d like to run into a soft spoken Pakled who can go all bat sh*t in the middle of a bar brawl. I’d pay to see evidence of the non-stereotypical brawler -- who looks as messed up as I feel, blood dribbling from several wounds, stumbles out into my path and takes a random swing at me. “Rrrreeeeeeeeeeeearrrggghhhhhhhhh!!” That was him screaming by the way, not me. My battle cry has more of a yowl to the vocal intonations. And no offense, screaming at someone is really no way to get the drop on them. Assess. He’s too big. If I go at him, I’ll lose some hide in the process, and I’m quite attached to it you know. I duck the erratic swipe and scoot back a few paces on all fours. Secondary assess. I could bite him…No. I don’t know where he’s been and I don’t want to go through a round of tetanus beta shots. He takes a second swing at my innocent person. Deflect. I feint at him and simultaneously break out a simple blocking pattern that redistributes the attackers own weight. The offensive punch is deflected with the defensive combat countermove that I use my lower arms for. I’d thank that drill instructor if she hadn’t been killed during our last battle with the Soltans. Retreat. The Klingon’s right side is exposed to me. I launch a round house kick, impacting my hind paw with his left flank; he goes spinning and ends up down on the floor, giving me an opening to get away. I take off at a run, going for that side entry way, dodging flying patrons and various other objects as the free for all continues in my wake. I end up in a side alley roadway that on first glance seems to function as a delivery point for the tavern; a concrete ramp that leads to a locked plasti-steel sliding garage door is set up for hover trucks and flitters to drop off foodstuffs and alcohol for the establishment. The quiet permeating the outdoor area is relatively eerie as compared to the crazy pell mell noise and confusion that I just came from. The air is crisp and cool and refreshes me somewhat as a take a whiff of the night air, but the cool air sends a few minor cuts that I have on my knuckles stinging. It was time to go home. It had been a long night, and I could only hope that the other Intel teams had much better luck then I had this evening. Tiredly, I tapped at the civilian issue communicator badge attached to my flight jacket, signaling the transporter technician on duty that I was ready to come back on board the ship. “JoNs. One to beam up.”

The Starfleet Cadet hockey team squares off against the Vulcan Science Academy hockey team. Hat trick!

Fear the sphere.

In LOL Cat speak: I'm on ur East Coast, makin' planz to come to ur Shore Leave Con. ::thumbs up::

02.03.10 to 02.10.10 Agincourt Mission Update: TBS: 01.03.10 (Thirty Minutes) 01.10.10 (Twenty Minutes) The ground teams continue to check out the local planet goings on, trying to get leads on the missing Rihan warbirds that we are pretty sure came in the Ryder-Presit system. The ship side Intel teams monitor the away team personnel. A local gang called the Firebrands are a possible lead, as well as a weapons dealer by the name of Toni; random bits of wireless audio messages of questionable dealing were klepped from a local warehouse by the ships sensors and Marine comms.

Boring? ENT? I disagree Grom: ENT is definitely one of the more BOOM-age/Action oriented Trek series.

Depends on who you ask Chudleycannonfodder. Generally, some Trek fans can't stand Enterprise for the canon *violations* the series' *committed*. I'm not one of them, and pretty much enjoy ENT for what it was - sci fi adventure.

It's not so much what we can sell or suggest to you, but what sort of Trek Sim that you want to play on as a character Dash. I'd say check out the written story logs on the message boards, and sit in on a few live chats in order to get a feel for how each STSF game/Sim operates, and what sort of adventures and plot lines the crew can get themselves into. Each of our Sims has pros and cons, and no two are alike. As for that maturity thing: I'm old enough to know better, young enough not to care, and fighting maturity every step of the way.