Kansas

Note: The following log takes place during the 02.03.10 Sim while I was MIA. 02.03.10 USS Agincourt NCC-81762 “Hey Mon” It was mid to late afternoon on the planet of Ryder Major, judging by the position of the suns; the two resident Agincourt colonel’s had beamed down together as a team and materialized just off the main market, located within the middle class sector. Kansas ‘Will’ JoNs had left C.E. ‘Medusa’ Harper a block up the street at the open market area, and the golden furred Cait was fairly sure none of the locals would mess with Her Colonel in the short period of time it would take for the feline to check in with an old friend and family contact that was still located within the business district; Kansas was hoping to gather a solid Intel lead if at all possible from her contact. It felt odd to be dirt side, back on Ryder Major after all these years, but Kansas immediately fell back into a sort of routine, easily moving through the late afternoon crowds towards her destination; when she had served with the civilian crew on the Corsair, the cargo haulers had spent a good bid of time working within and around the Ryder-Presit system, and Ryder Major had been a regular docking and stopover port for the crews that worked and ran within the system. JoNs was dressed in appropriate civilian attire for some planetary lurking and information gathering: The clothing was scuffed and well used, but clean and well kept. The leather flight jacket added to the image of a tramp pilot looking for work, and it was a cover job that Kansas could pull off and make work for her, as she had kept and maintained a commercial pilot’s license over the years. Runabout, shuttle, and small civilian craft pilots were way common enough on Ryder that no one would give her a second thought, and that was just what she wanted -- to blend in with the local populace. She sent a quick check in ping to Agincourt operations via a concealed communicator, and after a few moments she had reached her intended destination. Kansas was pleased to note that store front changed much, and as a matter of fact, it had been fixed up and sported a new coat of paint as well as a clear plasti-glass window; Ol’ Raz appeared to be doing well for himself. The door sensor recognized an incoming body and pinged the entry way door open, allowing JoNs access into the condiment and medicinal store. As soon as she hit the interior of the store, her nose was assailed with a number of Caitian spice scents that both pleased her and made her a bit homesick for her grandmother’s home. The store stocked all kinds of herbs, medicines, spices and sugars for cooking, and offered a variety of Caitian products as well as other species specific supplies. A huge smile lit across her face when she spotted the sign still hanging prominently over the service counter: “NO, we DO NOT sell Catnip, so don’t even ask.” Hearing the internal sensor wireless ping that alerted there was a new customer to be handled, the store owner came out from a back room, pushing aside a brightly colored beaded curtain that separated the back storage and work area from the main room proper. Kansas had to admit that when she caught her first glimpse of Raztafa, it felt really good to see her Honor-Scar cousin -- it had been a long time since she had been back this way. “Mrrett Shaow!” He used her given birth name, and a big smile spread across the other feline’s muzzle, exposing his sharp fangs. “It is so good to see you!” The older male rushed forward to clasp paws with the younger female, and then the two bumped shoulders in order to seal the greeting. Raztafa Honor-Scar was what you might call an ‘old school’ Caitian, and lived a modern life that nonetheless harkened back to when the Cait felines as a whole were still hunter gatherers and warred at the drop of a spear over land and honor. The leonine-type male wore his thick brown mane in dreadlocks, decorated at intervals with brightly colored beads, and chose to wear the once common day robe garments; his smock was made of a silken material decorated with a bright green, orange, red and black tribal pattern. He had a private communications terminal, a console viewer to keep in contact with the outside world, and used modern equipment to separate and grade his spice stock. Yet, he followed the spiritual practices of the Caitians and was a self made historian on the history of the people. The locals, both Caitian and non-Cait alike, would come to him for council and minor medicinal remedies and such, and he was trusted within the business sector. The Honor-Scar family line was related to the JoNs family bloodline, and Raz himself was also directly related to Jumper Honor-Scar as a first cousin on her mother’s side. Kansas really wished the circumstances were different, but nonetheless it was good to see him again. “Apologies for dropping in on you like this Raztafa, but it is really good to see you. How are the grandkids?” She placed her paws on her hips and cocked her head to one side, listening intently to his answer. Raz spent the next few minutes filling Kansas in on his little section of the Honor-Scar family, and what his wife, the children, their spouses, and grandchildren had been up to since the last time she had been planet side. Then, Raz interrupted his own familial information spiel and gave her a playful cuff on the shoulder. “Hey m’On, what is this gaff I hear about you going light colonel? Jumper was telling me. I seem to recall a young cargo jockey running with Mal’s Corsair crew when the whole lot of them got into a brawl with some Fleeter marines at that bar across the way…” he paused long enough to point a good natured paw at her, “…and you were the one yelling the loudest about them being dumb jarheads.” Kansas flashed a brilliant fanged smile and winked at her elder cousin. “That was when I was younger and silly; I’ve been Marine educated and adopted since.” He laughed, his deep purred tenor carrying through the store. Then he asked, “Jumper seems to be doing well for herself?” “She’s still with the USS Pennsylvania as the ship’s CAG, just made full Commander. The Penny is currently on border patrol, Soltan high watch guard.” Raz’s expression lost some of the playfulness at the mention of the Soltan, and his eyes flashed in equal parts sympathy, anger, and fright. “How is Earth?” JoNs’s ears drooped. “Bad. Cleanup and rebuilding’ll take years. The news vids really can’t convey in words or visuals the extent of the devastation and damage that the Soltan fleet caused.” “Your parents are doing okay? I heard through the family network that they left their work at the Fleet Academy?” She leaned an elbow on the service counter as she continued speaking, her tail swishing idly back and forth behind her. “Aye; they both moved back to Cait, and even though it sounds selfish, I gotta be honest Raz and say I’m so happy that they left Earth. There really isn’t much of an Academy left at San Fran to work for anymore; most of the surviving and any new inbound -- there isn’t many -- cadets are being sent to the remote campuses and training stations. Pardon me, but the Humans and Fleet Ops Command got hit big time in the gonads with that planetary attack.” The two felines continued talking for a few more moments, exchanging information and updates. A Human female customer entered the store, inquiring about an order she had placed about a week ago for some Caitian and Andorian cooking spices. While Raz handled the customer, Kansas wandered about the store and checked out some of the spices and sugars stacked neatly on the tables and shelves in both old fashioned mason jars and modern plasti-aluminum clear containers. While she was checking out a particularly fascinating looking bright yellow powder with her sniffer, the male lion glanced in her direction and quickly said. “Don’t inhale that stuff too deeply; the unrefined powder will make you see only in shades of green, purple and orange for the next six hours.” Kansas shut her eyes, clamped a paw over her muzzle and backed quickly away from the shelf, eliciting a chuckle from her older cousin. After five minutes or so, the female customer had picked up her spice and sugar order and after she had cleared out of the store, the two cats went right back to business and their discussion; Raz leaned his lean frame against the counter, and Kansas hopped up onto the counter top and sat cross legged with her paws resting on her knees. JoNs cocked her head to once side and gazed intently into her cousin’s light brown eyes, getting to the intelligence gathering part of her unscheduled visit. “What can you tell me about the local goings on Raz? Anything at all would be helpful, ‘cause the ground teams are really flying blind here.” Raz cocked his head to one side. “You’re gonna have a veken hard time tracking missing ships, let alone fourteen missing Romulan vessels, M’rrett Shaow. If they are located here in the R-P system…someone is hiding them very well. And, there is also the possibility the ships have already been broken down for spare parts and weapons. I also have to be honest Mrrett: I checked with my own contacts, and they haven’t heard much about this theft. Whoever is involved, they seem to be covering their tracks well since coming in system. All I can offer is keep your eyes and ears open in case the buyers, sellers, or runners make a mistake.” “We have officers and crew from the Agincourt working in teams, gathering what Intel we can. We gotta find some sort of lead on those ships. Let’s just say certain…pointy eared factions are really interested in this theft. Rumors are flying left and right…everyone is seeing Soltan around every bulkhead…” “You know that Mal and the Corsair crew would take you back in a warp drive minute, right?” JoNs sighed inwardly. It was the same conversation, over and over again. She knew that Raztafa meant well though, and couldn’t stay all that mad at him.“I know. I had some good times during my run with them. Maybe someday, I’ll rejoin the Corsair boys and girls Raz. But for right now, I’m needed elsewhere.” The older lion nodded once as if making a decision, and then reached under the counter top, pulling out an orange wireless coder data diskette. He handed it over to Kansas and then started explaining what it was. “New contact coding for the Corsair; Malcolm told me to give it to you next time I saw you at the family gatherings. Open channel, anytime, anywhere, if you want to talk to him and the crew. The signal will reach the ship wherever they are, provided they didn’t get sucked into a black hole or shot into another quadrant.” JoNs flipped one ear back in surprise. “Wow, okay…this is ‘Fleet level wireless tech, or very expensive civilian grade tech. It’s quite an upgrade for the old Dragonfly class ship isn’t it?” “…the Soltan changed a lot.” “…yeah. They did…the playing field isn’t level, as the Humans say. We know that quite a few of the independent civvie crews -- such as the Corsair -- are taking extra precautions just in case they get jumped by the Soltan. Did you know that about eight civilian merchant ships answered the distress call, warped in system and helped to defend the Earth?...the ships got massacred, all the crews were killed…” Raztafa lifted a whisker in disdain. “I wish your Starfleet would take extra precautions and start sending someone else out besides your ship and crew. You were better off running with Mal and his crew…I had hoped you’d stay with them instead of re-enlisting for your cadet cruise.” Kansas gently waved a paw through the air. “Raz, we’ve been over this before. I joined the Starfleet. For now, I need to go where I’m needed. And the Agincourt, myself, my commanding officer, my crew mates…we’re needed on the front lines. That’s all there is to it.” A couple seconds of silence passed between the Caitians, and JoNs slowly slid the data device into an inside jacket pocket. Then the shorter felinoid suddenly hopped down off the counter and moved forward to grab Raztafa in a big hug, much as she had done when she was a young kitten. The elderly Cait returned the hug, and whispered a prayer of protection. Once the prayer was finished, the two of them disengaged from the embrace, but Raz held Kansas at arm’s length, his big paws resting on her upper arms. “You must watch yourself Kitten. I know you are an officer, and have a duty to perform. But this evil…this Soltan…the darkness is here, all around us. These demons will not stop until they leach all that is bright and happy. Please stay safe.” JoNs nodded once, unable to trust her voice and rapidly blinked away some tears that had welled in her bright green eyes. She cleared her throat forcibly, and then spoke, her normally pleasant purred voice coming out rough and husky. “I will Raz, and thank you. I gotta go now…” She vaulted over the counter and was out the entry way door in seconds, blending into the waning daylight like a ghost. Raztafa Honor-Scar continued watching the interior of the now empty store for a moment, and then began to take an inventory on the sales completed throughout the business day. His paws were doing busy work, checking store stock and checking figures on his wireless data slate. But his mind was very much active…and the darkness scared the older Cait. It would not be banished easily.

01.27.10 Agincourt Mission Update: Time Between Sims: 30 Minutes, Away Teams are now deployed. The main crew (all Players) has been split: some officers have deployed in away teams onto the planet called Ryder Minor (one of six planets within the system), others are holding position on the Agincourt, in orbit above Ryder Major. Our goal is to insert those on the outbound teams into the colony population in order to get a lead on the missing ships and who might have made the vessels disappear. Any intelligence is to then be relayed to the monitoring stations on the ship. (OOC: Pick your own adventure folks: your choice to deploy planet side or stay on board the ship and monitor the teams and the system goings on) Big planet. Rough and tumble frontier system. Good times.

My gripe is not so much Colonel H's Kobayashi as when suspended Cadet Kirk wrangled field command from Commander Spock by emotionally compromising him. Very underhanded and unprofessional, Prime Spock giving him the idea aside. Kirk really shouldn't have gotten the Captaincy that easily or kept it from a legal naval standpoint. Overall, New Kirk is the blatant "space cowboy" the Old Kirk always seemed to be; I think Original Kirk was just better at hiding the cowboy per Shatner's personifications.

The Aliens sequel is considered a better movie then the original Alien. Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan is considered better then Star Trek: The Motion Picture. I don't feel as if the new Trek film is bad (as I've stated before), but all the same, I'm hoping the sequel is better then the original. Speaking of opinions, I encountered what I considered to be a bad movie after checking it out on cable: District 9. From what I've read in the Wiki article, the film was reviewed favorably and did well at the box office. Several social commentary patterns can be seen throughout the movie as well, which is an interesting premise. Win some, lose some.

While I really like Karl Urban as New McCoy, and the actor has an obvious respect for the legacy of the role, the original McCoy actor can never be replaced or eclipsed. Today is the birthday of DeForest Kelley, and he remains my favorite Star Trek actor out of the whole lot of them. Prior to Star Trek, he worked for almost 20 years as the proverbial bad guy in various TV and movie westerns: Bonanza, Zane Grey, Have Gun Will Travel, Wanted Dead or Alive, Warlock, Gunfight at the OK Corral, Gunfight at Comanche Creek, The Law and Jake Wade, Apache Uprising...the list goes on. DeForest Kelley's very first lead acting role was in a 1947 film called Fear in the Night. If you can track down the DVD and are a 40's Detective Film Noir fan, go for it - you won't be dissappointed with the moodiness of the film. And those fedora hats are kick @zz. He was an animal lover, and contributed to animal charities. He was married to the same woman for 50 + years. I had a rare opportunity to meet him at 1993 Trek convention, and he was indeed "all that"; at the time he was 73 years of age, worked the room like an old pro, and held the audience captivated with his general personality and stories. I do believe the the USS Greenleaf NCC-2020 (Kelley home/street/birthdate) and the Runabout DeForest Kelley will be doing a memorial flight this Thursday for the Academy. Rock on Mr. Kelley.

01.20.10 Agincourt Mission Update: Time Between Sims: 2 Hours, and we will be reaching our destination at the start of next Sim. The Agincourt continues at warp to the sector system known as Ryder-Presit, a wretched scum of hive and villiany. Wait...a scum of wretched villiany....a villianly wretched scum hive.... Anyway, the R-P system is a rough and tumble system boasting six frontier colony planets, mercenaries, tough colonists that don't like to see a uniform, pirates, and other assorted drek of the galaxy. Will the crew be successful and track down the missing Rihan ships? Stay tuned for the adventure. Note: Background information/plot log on the new mission: Ryder-Presit System

Note: this Plot Log takes place during the four hour Time Between Sims. = = = = The USS Agincourt was currently en route to the planetary system known as Ryder-Presit, and it would be a few hours before the exploratory warship arrived in system. In the meantime, her crew and officers were familiarizing themselves with the digital mapping data that had been received from the USS Torin Kerr, and attempting to prepare for any sort of surprises that the Ryder system night have in store for the officers and crew. Kansas had completed her shift on the bridge, but had retired to her office in the Marine NNC prior to making her deck by deck rounds; the Caitian feline had wanted to get a good look There really wasn’t much to go on, tactically. Exact locations of this ranch or that settlement was all well and good, but what the ‘Court officers really needed was detailed background information on the system they were warping out to. “Lieutenant Colonel JoNs, this is the bridge.” She tapped at the communications badge pinned on the left chest side of her uniform, activating the device as well as the internal wireless sensors imbedded throughout her office. “This is JoNs. Go ahead Ensign.” “Incoming communication for you.” The Cait frowned. “From who?” “The USS Torin Kerr’s executive officer: Commander Sarritt Ssib'Ley. He wants to follow up with you regarding the Ryder-Presit mapping information that was sent over to us earlier.” Both of her ears stood upright and at attention. Ssib'Ley? She had heard the name once or twice as a Human surname, but there was no mistaking the pronunciation of the double S: this particular version stood for a tribal name. A Kzinti-Caitian tribe name to be exact, from the northeastern clans that had been overrun and blended (which was a nice way of saying the females had been raped as a consequence of the wartime savagery) into the Kzinti clans during the earliest fighting of the Feline Clan Wars. A few of the Caitian clans and tribes had been wiped out during the Kzin-Cait wars, the bloodlines lost forever. Other tribes, such as Kansas’s, had interbred with their Kzin conquerors. You could never tell by looking at Kansas -- who was a prime example of the classic leonine look of the Caitian -- that the JoNs family ancestors had been forcibly bred into the Kzinti genetic bloodline. Certain tiger-Kzin bloodlines had mixed with the leonine-Cait bloodlines, and on down the generations had caused darker fur patterns and more pantherian felines such as her older cousin, Left Ear JoNs. The fact remained that the wars had happened a long time ago. That was then, this was now. Times change. “Isn’t Hawkins listed as the first officer for the Kerr Ensign?” “Yes sir, according to that informational packet that was squirted over the ship to ship wireless along with the maps of the Ryder system.” “Alright, guess the Kerr had some sort of changeover in command staff.” Hell, Hawkins might have been lost at the Battle of Earth like so many other officers… “Put the commander through here to my office channel.” Within seconds, a felinoid male appeared on her private console viewer. He was tigrean, his genetics going more towards Kzinti then Caitian, but it was obvious that either his grandparents or great grandparents had been a combination of Kzin and Cait; he lacked the typical striping one would expect on a tiger. His fur was a rich chocolate brown color. He was older then Kansas, say about ten standard seasons. The Kzinti-Cait male favored her quietly for a moment, before taking the customary lead as the one who contacted her. “Lieutenant Colonel JoNs. I bring good fortune and good will as a representative of the Ssib'Ley family, tribe Scatter Claw, and Clan Scatter Tooth. Wow. It had been a long time since she encountered the formality of the inter-tribal greetings, Caitian or Kzinti. “Commander Ssib'Ley.” Kansas respectfully inclined her head, and then responded in kind to the formal declaration. “I accept your good fortune and good will, and offer you swift protection of the Great Hunter-Warrior in turn. May the winds be always at your back.” “And the incoming arrows deflected by a swift updraft.” A big smile spread across the male feline’s snoot, exposing his fangs. “You know your historical customs.” “If I didn’t know how to at least respond in the proper manner to the warrior greeting, my Elder Guardian would not be thrilled with my conduct, Commander Ssib'Ley. Tribe Honor-Scar isn’t so much into the religous connotation of the tribal practices any longer, but most of us in the family are still familiar with the customs from the historical standpoint.” “The Elder Guardian practice isn’t as common as it once was -- Kzinti beliefs or Caitian beliefs aside. I have a Guardian myself though. Big, nasty old Cat by the name of Scarba.” “Is he single? Sounds like the perfect date for my Left Ear.” Ssib'Ley trilled with a purred growling laughter. “Perhaps someday, if an opportunity presents itself, we shall introduce them.” “Hey, fine with me as long as I’m out of paw cuff range.” Kansas offered a playful wink to her fellow officer. The male commander laughed, his purring growl both comforting and menacing at the same time…if you weren’t another feline. It didn’t bother Kansas in the least. He then cocked his head to one side and flipped an ear back; the gesture was standard feline for let us start this off the record meeting, and the lieutenant colonel picked up on the invitation easily since his body language was so like her own. Kansas chose her next words carefully, not really caring to reveal the more sordid details of her civilian merchant service to a complete stranger, fellow felinoid or not. “When I was a younger, I served with a civilian crew; we frequented the system quite a bit -- specifically, Ryder Minor. At the time, the inter-planetary system was gritty. The colonists on all of the six planets had the same sort of mentality, that frontier “we’ll do it our way” stubbornness. The orbital docks and scrap yards had the best equipment and parts -- stolen or otherwise -- and you and your crew never went anywhere on the planets, either the cities or outlying ranches or settlements, if you weren’t armed…all that still hold true Commander Ssib'Ley?” Sarritt raised an eye whisker, but made no further comment on the fact that his fellow XO had halfway admitted to dealing regularly with the denizens of Ryder at one time. It was none of his business. Although, he’d love to ask what ship she was on at the time…and did the Slipstream have any dealings with the crew? Maybe we crossed paths and didn’t even realize it. Instead of letting on that the small omission of her past interested him, he kept to business. “Aye Lieutenant Colonel, I’d very much agree that Ryder-Presit is still one of those,” the tiger waggled his paws in the air in a quotation pattern, “systems. Very rough and tumble, set on just this side of seedy and flea bitten…literally flea bitten, and I’ll get to that in a minute. The R-P sectors are far enough removed from any of the galactic governments that no one really bothers with the local planetary governments and law enforcement, such as they are. The six planets pretty much keep to themselves and within system allowing their marshals and galactic cops to handle the law bringing. The local farmers, ranchers, merchants and travelers still have the same ‘screw you’ mentality, as the Humans say. Although, sometimes it’s the people, not the area; there are plenty of good and decent families that live and work throughout the system and are on the level.” JoNs flipped a golden ear back and quirked a whisker. “How’s the so called criminal element? Or maybe I should say, what criminal element is currently the most dangerous? Anyone or anything in particular we need to be on the lookout for?” Sarritt’s ears flattened a bit before he responded. “Everything. If it moves, it can kill you. Ketracel Meth is a prime commodity in the quadrants, and the drug runners will just as soon kill you as look at you. Weapons smuggling and prostitution are the other two big businesses, with kidnapping and extortion rounding out the whole reprobate lot. The Orion Cartel has a pretty good hold on the general down and dirty business in the system, but they have competition from Klingon and Rihan mercenaries, as well as the Ferengi pirates that know the scrap yards inside and out. Andorian mercs and Breen have also been spotted as well; it’s a real motley collection in R-P these days Lieutenant Colonel…the Soltan attacks really unbalanced the sectors, and the Fleet is just on this edge of losing control of the outer colonial sectors…I don’t care what the news feeds are saying otherwise.” JoNs took quick notes on Sarritt’s oral report via a wireless data slate and a light pen; she herself would make a verbal report to Colonel Harper on the Ryder-Presit information that Commander Ssib'Ley was passing along, and then she type a follow up digital report to send out to the department chiefs, squad leaders, and senior enlisted officers. Sarritt flipped a rounded dark brown ear back. “May I inquire as to the nature of your mission into the Ryder system Lieutenant Colonel?” “You may inquire, but I’m not authorized to tell you. I can tell you that we’re investigating some stolen property for an interested party.” “Fair enough.” Kansas kept right on track with the conversation. “What can you tell me about crew preparation Commander? Anything in particular myself and my commanding officer should be aware off?” “Flea drops, Colonel.” “Pardon me Commander?” “Regarding what I said earlier? Make sure you’re up on your parasite prevention methods. Sand fleas inhabit several of the planets that cater to ranching, which is about seventy percent of the six.” “Oh…that sounds lovely.” “And the real fun part is they are about the size of an Earth squirrel.” Ssib'Ley smirked for a moment before continuing with the tactical assessment. “Besides the local insect life, you have the mercenary and pirate clans; if any of them are stupid enough to try and board the Agincourt, then they deserve what they get.” Sarritt tapped a claw on the surface of his desktop, and the tapping sound carried clearly over the audio portion of the wireless communications feed. “With all of that said, there is always one or two factions that are willing to try to pull it off, so watch your backs and your intake vents, because that’s where they like to lock their grappling hooks and tractor beams.” “Who’s the nastiest?” “The Orion’s and the Klingons share first place equally. The Ferengi factions are like rabid jackals that move in for the kill; they get a hold on your hide and don’t let go. The Andorian mercs are cold blooded -- no pun intended, considering they come from an ice ball of a world -- so and so’s. The Breen pirates? Sneaky. Never know what their angle is..." “The planets?” “Your security and marine squads will earn their service stripes and their pay grade with recon or protection operations. Medical can deal with the sand fleas as well as the standard inoculations for colony life -- make sure you have hypos in fair supply, because there are quite a few critters planet side that want nothing more then to sting Starfleeters. Your science department can enjoy studying the frontier personality type, and your engineering techs can figure out -- our science department got some good readings as well -- on how to keep the energy fissures from the Ryder-Presit nebula from playing havoc with the sensors and equipment. In addition, because of the gravitational pull of the nebula, seasonal ion storms pop up on all the six worlds. The storms are short and fast, but no use of transporters during the bad weather.” “Oh…this system sounds like a lovely vacation spot.” “I don’t envy you. Once the relief efforts for Earth got underway, and the Torin Kerr was discharged from orbital patrol duty, we were dispatched to that godforsaken system on a mapping mission. The tedium was broken up by two mercenary attacks, and a bar brawl that involved our entire security, marine, pilot, and engineering departments taking on the patrons from two of the bars on one of the space stations in orbit above Presit Prime…don’t ask. But, P-R is the logical place to search to find items that have already been stolen…if you and your crew move quick enough.” JoNs nodded once and smiled over the wireless visual feed. “Understood and thank you Commander. Your maps were detailed and precise, but we can sure use the verbal tactical information you just gave me as well.” Kansas sensed that their conversation was winding down, and she oddly enough did not want the conversation to end; she felt a peculiar gnawing sensation in her gut area, which she identified as a combination of homesickness, combined with an attraction for this male feline. Both of the sensations were disconcerting, yet her usually enjoyment and curiosity for the moment was ever present as well. Still, she maintained her composure, and kept the conversation towards light professionalism as it had been for the past few minutes. “Well, Commander Sibley, I thank you for your time. My commanding officer will be pleased with this new bit of information. It was nice meeting you. Maybe one day, we can do so in person…” Sarritt merely smiled, cocked his head to one side, and pointed a claw towards Kansas; he liked that idea, indeed, and his professional manner had been replaced by a rakish quality. “I’ll be sure to see you later, Ms. Colonel Cait. Commander Sib'Ley out.” Before Kansas could comment on the comment, the Kzin-tiger had cut the audio/visual wireless connection. The lieutenant colonel ended up staring at the symbol of the Federation Starfleet standby plastered across the visual monitor for a few seconds before her logical brain caught up with her momentary bout of ‘Happy Kitty’. …Did he just flirt with me? And I liked it…Oh dear… = = = = Author's Note: the "Ryder-Presit" system, the "USS Torin Kerr" and "Sibley" appear courtesy of the Confederation of Valor novels by Tanya Huff.

The two basketball players who drew down on one another in the team locker room? Ignorant and dumb@ss. Should be suspended for life.

In this day and age of the new film, Saldana's Uhuru should have been way more then the "little" communications officer staying on the ship and off the away teams, with NO disrespect intended towards Nichele Nichols. I'd like to see Saldana's Uhuru lead some sort of AT in the upcoming film. Granted, she was given the bridge spot due to being able to speak the three Rihan dialects, there was the scene at the academy where she was telling the roomie about the strange signal coming from Klingon space, and the departing shuttle scenes where she gave Spock what for, reiterating her qualifications. The '09 film did touch on Uhuru's chosen career as a comm officer, more the the 60's series and 80's movies ever did. ...short little miniskirt uniform? Really? Still? Has no sleeve protection either. Get the woman. Trousers. And the standard female uniform tunic. There were female crew wearing them on the new Enterprise!! And going with the uniform semi-rant, I'm still impressed that at no time during the film, did Chris Pine's Kirk end up wearing a torn tunic. ::applause::

Avatar rec'd Best Drama at the Golden Globes. ...really? Best drama? I wouldn't go that far.

01.14.10 Agincourt Mission Update: Time Between Sims: 4 Hours A system location/name was extracted from the garbled scrap yard manifest: the Ryder-Presit system, one of the seedier locations of the known galaxy. Could this be where the missing 14 Rihan warbirds were taken? The Agincourt crew intends to find out. Preparations were made as well as an inter-ship communications announcement; the exploratory warship and her crew will get underway to our new destination.

Random bit of related news. A novel for the New TOS timeline is set to debut at some point in the future: More Beautiful Then Death by David Mack. I'm not sure if this is part of a series or what have you. I'm sure Capt. Calestorm and her crew will be interested in this. Now...the question is...if you read any New Timeline TOS novels - which TOS crew will you *really* picture in your minds eye?

Avatar is CBP: Cameron Blatant Preachy. I still liked it as well.

You'll be fine as long as you never expose yourself to the Wing Commander film.

Pretty movie, thin plot. I enjoyed, but wouldn't recommend Avatar to folks who can't handle an action/adventure film that doesn't have more then one level of plot. Always a pleasure to spot Sigourney Weaver in a film, and any voice over work by C.C.H. Pounder is awesome. I want one of those Banshee Sky Lizards, and I'll also take one of the Marine Fighter Copters. Kickazz. ^_^

01/06/10 Agincourt Mission Update: Happy New Year! We had no Sims on 12/23/09 or 12/30/09. TBS: Thirty Minutes The roving away team officers gain access to an un-manned communications room. A corrupted manifest shows that the missing fourteen Romulan Warbirds were either 1.) intended for delivery and never arrived at the scrap yard facility, or 2.) taken from the facility and the manifest was tampered with an effort to erase the information.

::eyes topic with suspicion....and is then seized by curiosity that refuses to go away:: Don't be making me look up stuff that expands my mind and such. And, what really scares me is my first thought was along the lines of "oh, it must have something to do with Sarah Palin". Moving along now!

Note: the following is an off plot joint log set in the Mirror Universe of the ISS Agincourt, written by Lt. C.T. 'Junior' Caine and Cmdr. Kansas 'Will' JoNs. It follows the events established in the following previous logs: Mission Lead, (Dis) Satisfaction, Wheeling and Dealing, Adminiztrative Skillz, and The Stiletto – Part 1. The Stiletto - Part 2 Caine's entire cargo bay abruptly squealed with alarms and her sensitive Vulcan hearing rebelled at the assault, setting her ears ringing. "Amojan y'tek fvadt therak p'tak son of a jacktah!" she swore aloud over the noise, realizing that any particular idea of stealth was pretty much nil at this point. "All teams -- move, NOW. Insertion points are clear; stick to the basic plan and we're good," she snapped, switching to command mode at once. "Apparently someone knows we're here; weapons free. Go!" "Did that damn cat just--?" "Can it, Jimmbo -- we'll talk later. Take alpha team and move out!" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Farragut give her a questioning look but she ignored him, waiting to see him gesture to the team that had beamed in with her; as soon as she was sure he had their attention, she bolted for the door, checking the corridor and then referring to her mental map of the ship (as best they had it from their intelligence). JoNs had heard the ‘damn cat’ reference filter across the open team communication lines. Caine shooting off her mouth was one thing, but the Cait really didn’t need to hear it from the CSEC’s so called wet behind the ears cronies. She barked a retort back over the shared team wireless. “That’s Ms. Damn Cat to you soldier, and watch your tongue if you want to keep it in your head!” A flick of her paw changed the channel over to her own team channel. “Banshee squad, Will; move out according to the mission brief. Squad Ex Oh takes the lead point guard run. I’ll finish in here and then come up on your sixes. Move out, weapons are clear per the mission lead.” Throwing glances over her shoulder towards the entry way door as well as the storage area so as not to be surprised by any unwelcome guests that might drop in, the feline completed the intelligence download and withdrew the green hued USB storage stick; she quickly slipped the little device in a cargo pocket of her black uniform duty trousers. Her internal clock was screaming ‘go go go’ as time was of the essence with this sort of takedown operation, and the assault had been launched about two minutes or so ahead of schedule because of the tripped secondary security alert. Not a huge gap in the timeframe, and the insertion teams were all well trained and such. But, there was always that unknown factor of what might go wrong on any given tactical operation. Kansas swooped out into the corridor, phaser held at the ready. She hadn’t been expecting any resistance this soon, but nor was she overly surprised when she walked smack dab into crossfire from both ends of the corridor. Crossfire! One of the orange colored energy beams nailed her in the upper left arm, frying a swatch of the golden fur from her bare and exposed arm. With a yelp, JoNs backpedaled into the computer storage room. The Cat was trapped. = = = = Caine's boots thudded into the floor of the corridor as she levered herself out of a Jeffries tube, landing in a crouch, phaser up. She could hear the sound of shots nearby; where the hell was JoNs? Team five insertion point, deck five, section 34...35...36... Breaking into a full-out run, she barreled down the corridor. 45...46...47-- Oh, hell. She skidded to a stop just in time not to trip over an array of green skinned mercs piled up at the end of a corridor and firing down the hall; a disrupter bolt from a team on the other side of the section sang past her ear and she backpedaled behind the corner, gasping. Forty-eight. Crossfire. Hell and damn, Cat, and of course you're right in the middle of it. For a moment she pondered just turning and leaving her behind. She'd heard the cat give her team XO command; beta team was already in motion. This was hardly necessary. Except when you figured in two things. One, Harper would probably take a bit less than kindly to having her pet cat singed up when this was all over. Two, the cat had a copy of the Imperial traitors in her pocket -- information which Caine, in the mercs' place, would have wiped at the first sign of an incursion, and information which Caine needed. Desperately. That was information she could send back to her own command at Intel. That was information which could do her personally a lot of good. And JoNs now had the only copy. Hell...and...damn. "Caine to JoNs, coming up starboard side of you. Three...two...one...mark!" With a yell intended to distract and, hopefully, intimidate somewhat, she threw herself around the corner, opening a wide barrage of blind fire on the team closest to her, praying that the Caitian at least had good reflexes and would draw some fire off her. Hunched down behind one of the red cargo crates stuffed into the computer access room, Kansas kept her weapon pointed towards the entry way door while she contacted her mission leader over the team wireless. “Junior, Will. I have hard contact. Hostiles at both ends of corridor whiskey mark five. I’m pinned down in the adjacent storage area where I downloaded the newest tactical information. Repeat, I’m pinned down in whiskey target mark five. Transferring uploaded information to home ship wireless encryption…” Placing her phaser back on her utility belt for just a second or two, JoNs quickly manipulated the necessary commands on her data PADD in order to transfer the computer data from the USB attachment to the data slate and then over to the ‘Courts computer system as the final transfer destination. Get the new Intel out first, get yourself out second. "I know where you are!" Caine barked, rolling back behind the corner and counting the seconds before the mercs emerged following her. "And I damn well know where the hostiles are. I've cleared the area to your starboard -- get your ass out here and help me!" Despite the heaviness -- and craziness -- of the situation Kansas found some humor as evidenced by the light tone of her reply over the combat wireless. "Starboard cleared, noted. My ass is incoming your way, team leader. Mind that you shoot the green skins and not the gold fur..." "Don't tempt me," Caine muttered, but JoNs was saved from hearing anything further as the Orions emerged around the corner, firing wildly in Caine's direction. She hit the deck and scooted around them, firing as she went, taking down three of them in one shot. Her body flooded with adrenaline as she rolled, dodging a bolt that buried itself in the wall behind her. The two disparate officers might not have liked one another, but they both fell easily into a working combat relationship. Will zoomed out of her temporary holding area into the corridor as it was awash in phaser and disruptor fire, the red and orange beams crisscrossing the air and scorching the hull as well as body parts. The Caitian double timed it backwards, her hind paw steps surefooted, as she laid down some suppressing fire to match with Caine’s own outgoing fire as it was directed to the other flanking team that had not yet been taken down. Once the felinoid Ex Oh had made it even to where the Vulcan SEC had established her position, she dove sideways to land opposite and across the T shaped corridor from Caine. JoNs pressed her back against the cold bulkhead, panting as she slammed a fresh energy clip into her phaser. “Are we having fun yet, El Tee?” It occurred to the section of the commander’s tactical brain that without the cooperation of the lieutenant, she might not have made it out of the corridor and anteroom with her hide relatively intact. Owing Caine a debt of gratitude was not something she was prepared to dwell on at this one moment, so she pushed the consideration back into the recesses of her mind later consideration. "Like a gods-damned party, Commander," Caine growled as a merc's body thudded to the ground next to her. "Nice of you to finally join in." Squeezing the trigger of her phaser, she gave the last remaining pirate a solid bolt in the chest, then swiveled while pulling a gas grenade from her belt and hurled it down the corridor in the direction of the other group. With a low hiss followed by a dull "boom," the grenade went off, immediately incapacitating the majority of the mercenaries at the far end of the corridor. The feline snorted out a derisive vocalization. “Well, I had a previous engagement with not getting my head shot off while I found some temporary cover. These guys have the numbers, but they’re sloppy with their formations.” “The only reason you’re still alive, no doubt,” Caine answered acidly. JoNs ignored the derisive comment and leaned out to pop off a secondary flash bang grenade up the corridor, and the blurred flash of her red sleeveless command tunic was the last thing the remaining mercs saw before the grenade followed up Caines destruction nicely. The Orion mercenaries fell, and none of them got up. Any that ventured to move their head, were easily picked off by either Will or Junior with well placed phaser shots from their cover spots to either side of the corridor junction. The mobile assault teams had begun to check in as well, with updates on their progress as they methodically took the Orion mercenary vessel deck by deck. Eventually, most of the squads converged on the command deck from different access points; as the situation stood from a tactical standpoint, Caine and JoNs were the only two Imperial Fleet officers still left on this lower access level. An abrupt silence fell as the noise of JoNs' grenade faded, and Caine let her head drop down where she lay on the deck as she took a few precious seconds to catch her breath. Then she was on her feet, jogging down the corridor, not waiting for JoNs to catch up. "Caine to Farragut," she said roughly. "Beta team insertion point is secure. Secure the command center; we're on your tail from Deck 5." "Acknowledged; command center incursion in progress." Caine gave a nod he couldn't see, and then tapped the line closed; glancing back at JoNs moving to catch up with her, she scowled irritably. "I won't bother telling you how drastically you mucked this up, Commander; I don't care to waste my breath." The hot retort of “**** you Junior” died in the commanders throat; it wouldn’t do for her to resort to crude language in front of a subordinate. JoNs continued to follow in Caine’s wake and stepped over the green skinned bodies strewn about the corridor, and even though she knew that the Vulcan couldn’t see it, she threw a narrow look towards the taller females back. “You’re the Intel expert, and this was your mission operation, Lieutenant; it would have helped if the schematics included that computer access point that I found and we didn’t have to rework the operation around it. I’d hope you’d be happy regarding the information payout though.” Caine grunted. She was happy about the information, and JoNs was right -- the lack of that room in their Intel had been a drastic error. She wasn't about to admit it, however, and she turned and jogged on towards the J-tube that would take them up to the bridge. "I would have preferred it not come at the price of our cover. Did no one ever teach you to properly disable a security system?" she asked, her tone sneering. "Your family clearly missed a valuable lesson in their education.” The Caitian checked their six to make sure no surprises were forthcoming as she spoke to her subordinate mission leader. “I’m Caitian: My family and my education were quite thorough Lieutenant. I did clear the system protocols before I accessed the information,” Kansas snorted with a derisive hiss, “…any first year cadet can be taught that procedure. But as we’ve discussed before, things can happen, especially when a secondary route protection system is in play. If you’ve gone your entire career without encountering a security glitch, well then, you’ve led a charmed professional existence Junior.” Another flurry of team updates prevented Caine from having to answer, and both officers were both silent and watchful as they emerged onto an open deck set just under the command deck; in order to access the far access tube, they would both need to traverse the cargo strewn deck. Moving in a standard two person formation, one taking the lead, the other watching the six, they were about halfway across the surface when a flash of incoming silver from the upper left quadrant caught JoNs's attention. The 'nade was launched from the back end of the upper cargo deck, and it was in the Cat's line of sight, but not Caine’s; if JoNs had been looking the opposite direction, the ordnance might very well have caught them both off guard. That was poor timing on the hostile’s part, not waiting until JoNs's three sixty head swivel was focused in the other direction before kick starting the fun. With no warning, as spoken words would have caused a delay that would be to the detriment of both of the officers, Will just up and tackled Junior with a forceful pounce from behind, pushing the older Vulcan woman down on the cold steel decking with no warning. "What the hell--" Caine's yelped question was cut off as the impact with the deck knocked all the wind from her body. Before she could move or do anything but wheeze, however, the concussion ordnance went off above them with a shock that sent both of them rolling. If she'd been standing, the angle would have quite possibly broken her neck. JoNs had been slammed into a loose cargo crate when the concussive blast had hit. Her bells were rung, but combat training and self preservation kicked in automatically -- she had maintained her grip on her phaser weapon, and now scrambled on instinct to use the crate as some sort of cover until a line of sight could be established to the new hostile. Caine as well rolled to get behind a nearby crate as well, her own phaser still held at the ready. Both of the women had been lucky that they hadn’t been collectively torn to pieces, but luck would only stretch so far if they didn’t deal with this new problem quickly and efficiently. The Orion mercenary quickly moved along an upper catwalk bolted around the perimeter of the cargo deck, moving quickly in order to flank the two female Imperial officers take them out before the vaunted Vulcan and the Caitian reflexes could fully recover from the blast. He tossed another flash bang at the same spot at which the last one had hit, intending to continue his rain of fire incoming from the high ground. The second blast knocked both Junior and Will from their temporary cover spots, kicking them bodily back and further away from one another along the circular blast perimeter. Exposed, the two officers made easy targets for the male mercenary to pick off which was just the sort of situation that he wanted to exploit. Her pointed ears ringing, Lieutenant Caine managed to get off a shot at the green skinned male, but only clipped him across his thigh; he took off running across the catwalk, intending to put some distance between him and the slightly off center Vulcan. That was when JoNs own phaser shot lashed out as he tried to put some distance between himself and the females; the shot caught him on the arm, spinning him around to slam into the support railing that was bolted to the cat walk. Caine, still wheezing in pain from the blow to her torso, took the opportunity to start to her feet and angle around and settle her line of sight; all thought of prisoners was buried for the moment as she followed up with a third phaser shot directly in the man’s face. He toppled forward over the rail without a whisper, landing with a sickening thud on the unyielding decking. Shaking her head to clear it and unsteadily getting to her hind paws, JoNs felt warm blood dribbling from her lower lip onto the fur of her chin; she vaguely remembered her face slamming into the decking as a result of the second blast. Using the sting of the wound to focus herself, she held her phaser at the ready and visually scanned the upper catwalk for any more surprises while barking out a quick order of “Lieutenant. Sound off…” “I’m fine,” Caine rasped curtly, finally getting enough air into her lungs to force the sound. “Where is he?” Casting her eyes about she spotted the man’s body against the floor and nodded satisfaction. “Good.” It was not lost on her that she probably owed JoNs her life as a result of that little skirmish; not an idea that bore a lot of dwelling on. This mission was getting far too damned complicated; if everything had gone according to plan, she’d be on the bridge now and wouldn’t have needed the Commander’s claws in her back pushing her down. “Farragut to Caine.” “Tell me you have good news, Ensign,” Caine said irritably. “Ah…yessir. Command center is about secure. We have senior mercenary commander Jinor in custody…he will require medical attention. Doing a bit of mopup. Did you manage to corral the Cait?” Will snarled from just out of communications range and then spat a wad of blood on the decking. Caine smirked faintly but didn’t answer. “We’re a deck below you. Stand by. With any luck we’ll be finished with this hulk soon enough.” Tapping the line closed again, she moved to walk past the mercenary’s body. Reaching out with her boot toe, she nudged another, not-yet-armed grenade out of his hand, scooped it up, and pocketed it. If she was at all ruffled by this latest brush with death, she didn’t show it, and she did not so much as spare a look at JoNs as she moved on. JoNs waited until the communication had been terminated, and then began to follow Caine out of the secondary cargo deck that would lead to the upper command bridge where the party had ended up. As she stalked past the dead mercenary pooled in blood on the decking, she spared a perfunctory glance at her mission lead and growled out a statement. “You’re welcome. We’re even.”

Note: the following is an off plot joint log set in the Mirror Universe of the ISS Agincourt, written by Lt. C.T. 'Junior' Caine and Cmdr. Kansas 'Will' JoNs. It follows the events established in the following previous logs: Mission Lead, (Dis) Satisfaction, Wheeling and Dealing, and Adminiztrative Skillz. The Stiletto - Part 1 Before the transporter beam had even quite released her, Caine was down and moving, taking up a silent position behind a packing crate while she scanned the merc cargo bay, checking that all of her team had arrived safely. "Clear, chief." Farragut had taken up a similar hold position and his whispered confirmation coincided with her own mental one. She took a moment to rest her head back against the crate and let a smirk slide across her face in satisfaction. Four months of research had led up to this point. Four months of tracking, trailing, following leads, eliminating red herrings -- in short, four months of doing what she did best. Intelligence. What she had revealed had been an organization both worrisome in its reach and impressive in its simplicity, an array of ships all tied to a single Orion cartel which had been laying the groundwork for this operation for months. It was a massive drug ring, large enough that Caine had to give them a certain amount of grudging respect for the fact that they had kept their operations relatively quiet up to this point; it had been surprisingly hard to track them down. They had made a few critical errors in the disguise of their activities, however, and between that and the information that JoNs had provided as a result of her less-than-savory past, Caine now found herself standing aboard this ship. The Stiletto. All evidence indicated it as the main mobile drop point for the organization, heavily armed and carefully hidden, its cargo holds stuffed with the ketracel meth drug, its computers stuffed with information on its contact drop-off points. It was, in short, a gold mine. Caine had every intention of taking it without much of a fight. The stealth infiltration had been, if she did say so herself, masterful, and with any luck they would be able to make a quick surgical strike and have the place locked down within the hour. Quick. Clean. No loss of life -- on the Empire's side, at least. Prisoners were an imperative, but if a merc lost their life here or there in the service of justice and expediency...Caine would not be crying in her beer. There were four teams altogether, silently placed into different areas of the ship. Four officers leading – three security men and the XO – with Caine monitoring across the ship as things moved forward. According to the plan, they had fifteen minutes to settle in, get their bearings, and do a last check of their equipment. Then the push would begin. Ten of those fifteen minutes remained. Tapping the whisper-sensitive comm in her ear, Caine pulled her phaser from her belt and checked its charge. "Alright. You all know the drill. We get in, and we get out, and we go home. Team leaders, check in." "Farragut -- green." "Wright -- green." "Parker -- green." Silence. Caine waited for a few seconds and then her lip curled. "JoNs. Wake up," she snapped, the tone coming out as a hiss. "Report in." More silence. Farragut whispered an oath over the line, and Caine groaned, resisting the urge to bang her head heavily against the tritanium crates. Caine...Caine...when an operative disappears once during an operation, and you retaliate by bringing her to another one and expecting different results...you know, that bespeaks a certain amount of...oh, I don't know...basic stupidity? "Where the hell is that damned cat?" = = = = Kansas ‘Will’ JoNs and the fifth assault squad had been deposited per the tactical plans drawn up by Lieutenant Caine at the insertion position that was located opposite and parallel to the section of the ship where the Vulcan security chief and her own squad had been inserted. And said damn willful cat was currently involved with something that she did best -- nosing about. The schematics of the cartel ship that had been acquired during the Intel gathering portion of the operation had been very thorough, but after JoNs and her team had been dropped by the transporter into this section, Kansas had literally spotted an unknown factor directly in front of her muzzle: a storage room area set just off the side corridor that she and her squad were currently hunkered down in. The golden furred Cait first checked the charge on her phaser, and then the digital time on her communicator chronometer watch: the teams had eight minutes until the initial push forward, and then all covert implant teams would move out and take the Stiletto deck by deck, culminating with a lock down of the main bridge command center. Her comm buzzed in her ear again. "JoNs. Report in, dammit." Caine's hissed tone was tense. Whatever was causing this delay in response, she already knew she didn't have the patience for it. Commander JoNs might have been the executive officer of the ISS Agincourt, but when it came to certain missions such as this one, rank and position didn’t necessarily dictate that you’d be in charge of any one mission or missions. When the ‘Court had initially been assigned to this sector of the Outer Rim colonies in order to clear out the criminal drug activity in the area, Colonel Charlotte Harper had placed Lieutenant C.T. ‘Junior’ Caine in charge over JoNs. The Lieutenant had the necessary background in Intelligence in order to make use of procedure, and in Harper’s eyes, the commander was ‘damaged goods’ and a bit too close to this sort of operation with the sort of background that she and her mercenary family had been exposed to in the past and in her exec’s younger years. JoNs might have understood the reasoning behind the current orders and change of mission lead positioning, but that understanding didn’t mean the Cait had to like it. The felinoid officer replied to the insistent communications of Caine only after she had performed a final readiness check on her tactical equipment. Once she had blended into the shadows just outside the unknown cargo area, she tapped her own earpiece and spoke in a purred whisper, finally acknowledging the lieutenant. “Junior, this is Will. Team is in place at whiskey five, but we have encountered an unknown factor.” Caine's tone snapped in her ear, protocol demanding a further request for information rather than the cold response she wanted to give. "Elaborate." Kansas bared her fangs silently at the tone, but she kept her displeasure on taking orders from the lower ranking half-Vulcan from her answering tone…barely. “Our section is secure, no sign of hostiles. But, we have an offshoot storage area, medium sized, that was not mapped out on the original ship schematics. Deck 5, section 48.” Across the ship, Caine's jaw worked in frustration. Every operation had its unexpected elements -- that was part of the job -- but somehow having JoNs be the one to deliver the bad news in this instance grated more than usual. If it had been Farragut or Wright on the other end, she would have had her response out before they'd even finished speaking. Focus. Do the job. She'll keep to deal with until later. "Investigate and report back. You have seven minutes. And, for God's sake, quietly." Will tapped a graceful though wide paw to her combat earpiece. “Seven minutes noted and moving forward. Banshee squad is maintaining corridor position and undercover behind storage crates. And, for the record mission lead, I’m a feline. We are always quiet. Will over and out.” Kansas signaled her team silently with tactical paw signs for them to stay put, and then moved forward on her own; she’d never send anyone where she -- or the angels -- feared to tread. However, if you ever called JoNs an angel to her face, the felinoid commander would out and out kick your sorry ass. With the approved order (actually, the commander would have investigated the room anyway without approval from the lieutenant, but the approval just made things easier) squared away, Kansas moved forward towards the bulkhead separation doorway blocking the inner room from the corridor. Weapon held at the read but in a downward readiness position, the Cait plucked her digital bypass card from her utility belt and swiped it through the entrance access reader mounted next to the doorway on the dark gray hull bulkhead. The reader was a standard civilian issue security reader, easily bypassed by the higher military grade access cards such as the one that she carried. Useful device, the tactical bypass card; the little device was invaluable when it came to deciphering access and entry codes on the non-military vessels. In a way, Kansas was a little disgusted that a mercenary vessel of this size and with this much meth payload stored on it didn’t have a better security system; with all the credits that the Orion Cartel factions made with their illegitimate businesses, you’d think this mercenary group would be able to upgrade their vessel with the black market security systems. Hell, even the Dark Fury, the JoNs family clan ship, had a better security system then this merc vessel. Within four seconds, the entry door obediently whooshed open, granting Kansas access to this interior room of mystery. She re-attached the bypass card to her belt and then set about her business. The interior of the offshoot storage area was just like the rest of the Orion Cartel vessel: dark, gray and dingy. Although…this section of the ship was marginally cleaner, and JoNs could actually detect the faint smell of some sort of antiseptic cleaner. Kansas had grown up mercenary, but her family had kept their clan ship quite clean. Most (not all) mercenary ships didn’t care about clean as long as they weren’t overrun by cockroaches or mice. It just seemed…odd that an Orion merc ship would keep one area so clean when the rest of the ship looked figuratively like day ten of a fifteen day shore leave. The storage area had the usual blue, green, yellow and red cargo containers and barrels scattered throughout, but also boasted an impressive stash of working computer consoles and hard drives that were whirring with internal activity, and at least two of the consoles looked as if they were dedicated communications lines. So, that explained the cleanliness what with the equipment. Was this a secondary communications center, or something more? There was no sign of a crewmember manning the section -- obviously, since JoNs hadn’t been shot at as soon as she had poked her head in – and she hadn’t picked up any bodily scents. So, if the care had been taken to keep the room clean, why weren’t there any guards posted to watch over the computer equipment? Whatever. Not her problem. Some mercenary crews operated with military precision, and others were just this shy of what she liked to refer to as ‘civilian dumbass’. The Stiletto might have been the processing and distribution hub for one of the larger cartel factions, but JoNs was not impressed with the crew manning the vessel. This was going to be a piece of cake, as the Humans were fond of saying. The felinoid moved towards what she had ascertained as the main access console, and inserted a smaller USB version of the access card into a hard access point order to bypass any security measures on the computer system. It took a bit of doing, working from her own knowledge of how merc ships systems were typically set up, but after some doing, Kansas had gained access into the computer system of the Stiletto by way of an application program. Once she had gained digital entry into the computer system, the feline tapped gently at her ear communicator in order to establish a connection with the team leader. “Junior, this is Will. I’m in the corridor room, and we’ve hit major pay dirt, as the Humans like to say.” "I have no time for vague flights of metaphor, Commander -- what did you find?" Four minutes... The Caitian officer’s voice was prompt over the secure wireless connection, with no hint of derision towards her temporary commanding officer. Business was business. “Contact listings. We have at least one Imperial Fleet captain and three commanders that are either clients or partners in the Meth distribution business in this sector…” That got Caine's attention and she dropped her hand from the crate she was leaning on, shooting Farragut a look across the bay. "Fleet officers? There are Fleeters in this business?" Her lips curled in an expression part-scowl, part-smirk. The Cat had managed to stumble on something valuable -- this was what Intel was really all about. Up until now Caine had viewed this as a routine mission, but if there was Imperial treachery involved... "Names, you have names?" “Hades, yes, I have names Junior. This lot’ll be in a bit of trouble, considering the civilian sectors out this way are considered off limits for side business, let alone working with the Cartel. Extracting information of proof now…” And the Cat tripped an internal safety alarm at that moment, causing the computer system to activate a series of alerts within the small room, and no doubt throughout the ship as well, judging by the alerts that filtered to her sensitive ears from out in the corridor. “Oh hell…”

Hey, it's Mirror, y'all know I have to go into my Mirror Love advertisement mode now! w00t! Mirror Universe: Sorrows of the Empire is not exactly a new book though. It is more of an expansion on a previous story done in the first collection of Mirror Mirror short stories that was showcased in "Glass Empires". David Mack, who IMO is one of the better current Trek authors, has taken his original tale centering around Spock and done a full length novel. Blurb from Amazon.com: So, political reformation Mirror style, general Mirror goings on, Original Trek Era/Classic Mirror, and Emperor Spock battles internal and external enemies - sounds like a plan! I'll be there....as soon as I log off the computer. :-P

Oooo Rah! The Shadow is back! At least now I know what really happened to my data PADD....

Cease and desist that thought, oh tallish one!

If said topic becomes too much of a topic, we shall make a separate topic. And, aye, echoing Mr. TMir - do tell what shows and movies with regard to head gear and badges?

Note: this log goes out to all the readers among us, and is a general log entry for our current mission. And to my military adventure themed novel discussion partner, who gave me this idea due to our current back and forth discussion mails, all I have to say is: Get It Off Me. 12.28.09 USS Agincourt NCC-81762 “What Page're You On?” Things were going as well as could be expected with the Agincourt crew’s current mission operation. Fourteen Romulan warbirds were still missing, supposedly at the hands of the Soltan, and it was the crews job to solve the mystery. Harper and JoNs were discussing tactical options with the director of the Romulan contracted military scrap yard, and as far as JoNs knew, the remainder of the away team was off exploring the station; Kansas was fairly certain that Lieutenant Caine would keep the engineers from harm with her considerable security skills. During her time of service to the Starfleet, Lt. Colonel Kansas ‘Will’ JoNs had never really engaged in a war skirmish with the Romulans, had never encountered the Romulans as a true enemy, or fought with one government faction to take territory back from certain other government factions during the Romulan Civil War as had happened a few years back. Certain members of the JoNs family were old enough to remember these years, and a few had even encountered the Rihans as either enemies or civil war era allies. Kansas was of the younger officer generation, and had enlisted and served for most of her military career during a time period where for the most part, the Rihans were regarded as distant neighbors who stayed on their side of the galactic fence. As the stray thought regarding the semi-recent Romulan civil war flitted through her thoughts, JoNs spared a quick thought towards Colonel C.E. ‘Medusa” Harper; the ships CO had fought during the Rihan civil war, and had taken quite a nasty injury as a result - that sort of injury had to leave some sort of psychological toll. And now Harper, with her XO JoNs and senior line officers in tow, found herself not only within Romulan territory, but was responsible as the onsite Starfleet lead representative for spearheading an investigation into fourteen missing Romulan war birds. Karma was funny that way, not to mention unexpected when it came to life in general. Will was currently taking advantage of a fifteen minute break from the tactical planning meeting in order to stretch her legs. The felinoid currently found herself in one of the smaller observation lounges set off the main conference room, quietly biding her time until she was again required to re-enter the briefing area. The golden furred Cait had been assigned an aide (read: guard) during her time here at the scrap yard control station, a reed thin Rihan by the name of Van. She understood the need for some sort of security escort, especially considering she and Medusa were the lead line officers taking part in a rather sensitive tactical discussion meeting. If the USS Agincourt were to entertain guests of a military persuasion, said guests depending on their level of clearance would also be assigned some sort of guard slash aide. Standard procedure and all that. To be fair, and to pin point the real reason behind her current state of feline flare annoyance, the Rihan aide de camp/commander and JoNs really hadn’t….hit it off. He was condescending, imperious, stuffy, and Kansas wanted nothing more then to sock him one. The two of them had already exchanged some mild words, nothing outlandish, but enough to draw looks from their respective commanding officers. So, he now stood at one end of the lounge, with Kansas occupying the other end as she prepped her digital slate with the necessary Intelligence documents for the next round of the tactical planning meeting. The Romulan fleet commander approached the Starfleet marine lieutenant colonel, staying in her periphery vision so as not to sneak up on the predatory feline, and stopping a few steps away to respect her personal space. “Excuse me Lt. Colonel JoNs. May I make some access changes to your ISD device? You will be able to access back logs regarding our inventory…” The colonel handed her data PADD to the man without a word, but watched him closely both from curiosity and general ticked off-ness to make sure he didn’t, you know, download super secret war plans that would get her arrested or something. Van was entering the necessary station clearance information into Kansas’s data slate that would connect her to the system over the wireless. Then, he suddenly froze, the look on his face this side of surprised comical yet also showing excitement at finding something rather unexpected on the digi-slate. “The Pirates of the Talos Sword?” Kansas had always been a reader, and had started reading voraciously from the age of twelve onward: mainly science fiction novels (even though she did work in science fiction almost every day), adventure novels (adventure, which she had umpteen amounts of as part of the Fleets finest, thank you very much), military action (again, more then enough in her daily life) and whatever digital or even hard copy books that she had been able to get her paws on. Old habits died hard. The Caitian feline felt herself go stiff as well as realization dawned and the spoken novel title implanted itself smack dab in her waking and horrified state of consciousness. Dear gods, I didn’t clear the last reader entry and put the application in the folder for extraction later… Embarrassment flooded through Kansas in a wave. The fluffy golden fur hid her skin, but she could feel a flush creep up her neck. It had been an innocent whim on JoN’s part, downloading a fiction novel about Rihan mercenaries, written by an Andorian author (of all beings to write a Romulan merc novel). She had had a rare stretch of free time, and decided to check out the reprint adventure novel with a fiction tinged Romulan mercenary crew flavor. The digital book had been intended as a completely off the record distraction in honor of the upcoming mission. Gracefully, but with the movement couched in an almost frantic swipe of her paw, Kansas tried to reclaim her data slate from the Romulan with some sort of decorum. “Apologies, Commander Van; the Agincourts engineering department is upgrading my usual day to day duty slate. I’m using my personal digital PADD in the meantime, and…” The smile that Van fixed on her was warm, and he interrupted her easily (just as he had during the meeting, you know), ignoring her obvious state of discomfit. “My son and I are currently reading this story. He contacts me and we read a few pages weekly together and talk all about the adventure.” The respective military organizations that the two officers served, both of the organizations separated by the galactic parsecs, methods and varying levels of honor, was no longer of consequence. Their personal differences melted away in an instant. Her embarrassment faded with the disclosure that Van had given her, and Kansas cocked her head to one side, universal Cat speak for please continue; the Rihan aide picked up on the gesture easily. He handed her the data PADD back while he spoke, explaining further. “I was pleased when the Captain Valtor series was re-digitized and reprinted from the original work. My son is thirteen years old, and the novel is at just the right level for his level of interest; full of adventure, yet not scaled down in content or grammar.” A twinkle popped into light brown eyes. “And Pirates is enjoyable. I do not care that it is fiction, space opera Romulan fiction no less, by an Andor author of all things. Fun is a concept that we all need once in a while.” The female Cait smiled as well, showing her fangs in an as non threatening gesture as she could manage. “I just…the novel just reminds me of simpler times when all I wanted to do was join Starfleet, be an adventurer out on the galactic rim or something. Before…” His smile vanished, and became a sad little shadow of its former warmness on Vans features. “Before our reality of service set in. Before we matured.” Kansas had sobered as well. “Yes; before our reality set in. Not that I mind my commitment to Starfleet.” “And I do not mind my service to the Empire, Commander. But, things do change, sometimes rather abruptly.” Wills expressive ears drooped a bit. “…things were different before the attack on Earth. I currently have no permanent residence there at the planet, but…things were different after. I just feel….older…sometimes. And call me Will.” Quaint notion, these Starfleet call signs. Illogically logical as well. “Van.” The two of them lapsed into a silence, though much more companionable as compared to their earlier tense silences during the meeting, their gazes again drawn outward through the observation port window and to the various Romuan war vessels in various states of repair, disrepair, and decommissioning. The fractal nature of the space station run scrap yard, with the various ships scattered throughout, was a blatant visual for the fractitious unrest that the Soltan attacks seemed to be visiting upon any quadrant within their blue reach. Commander Van spoke after a few moments, turning his attention on Kansas again with that little smile back in place. “Well, now that we have that cleared up…what page are you currently on, Will?” The two soldiers, Caitian felinoid and Rihan humanoid, discussed the adventures of Captain Valtor and his mercenary crew on the walk back to the briefing room and the continued tactical meeting; for a quick moment, both executive level officers were again thirteen years old, figuratively, temporarily bypassing the day to day duties and responsibilities of their respective duty stations as they delved into a world that was fake, but just as vibrant when it offered an escape from reality. At times, it was the little things, the unexpected events that mattered. You might even find a new friend that shares an interest. Sometimes, the parsecs just did not matter. ...If Captain Valtore where here…he’d have the missing Rihan vessels located in twelve hours. Possibly less…

Christmas Songs! Let's discuss: Local stations are all running Christmas songs in keeping with the season. On that note, there are certain artists who should not be allowed anywhere remotely near Yuletide songs: Bruce Springsteen for his "half talk, half croon" version of Santa Claus is Coming to Town. Dude, stick with Born in the USA. The Beach Boys for Little St. Nick and Santa Clause is Coming to Town. Must. Not. Freak. Out. They. Need. To. Stay with. Beach and Surfing tunes. On the positive side, Taylor Swifts version of Santa Baby is pretty good, *maybe* even better then Madonnas "Betty Boop" version. However, the original, 1953 jazzy version of Santa Baby - sung by Eartha Kitt - is still the best. On a completely random note, Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer? Funny, yet depressing. Can't sleep....the Christmas songs'll get me....can't sleep.... Happy Holidays all. w00t!