"Mercenary Ties"

[LeftEar JoNs 0]

8.24.06

ISS Agincourt ICC-81762

“Mercenary Ties”

JoNs sat at a table next to one of the big bay windows in the main mess hall. Psi Velorum could be seen in all its glory. Despite what was transpiring below with the subjugation of the local inhabitants, Psi was a beautiful sight to behold.

 

She sipped Vulcan tea from a mug while looking over a Padd, reviewing a draft report from her tactical shift. It was a concise report, detailing the general sector readings, the movements of the Marine deployment teams, the scans to locate an apparent group of rogue Rihannsu, and the strange dampening field that obscured the sensors in a certain area of the planet. The final part of the draft detailed the transport of a couple groups of lizards captured and held by MCapt. Rieve’s team.

 

The Caitian smiled quietly to herself. Robairs orders had been to beam one group to the Agincourt holding cells, and a second group into space. Well, the second group of prisoners hadn’t been quite spaced. She had instead sent them to the remote village she had visited the other night. Spacing them would really have served no useful purpose. Of course, the altered readings showed that the lizards had been spaced. Gods, she loved tactical command codes.

 

So intent was she on the report, she sensed danger a second before a shadow fell over the table. She spun to meet the threat, paw going for her dagger. Zimm was quicker.

 

He grabbed JoNs by the neck and clamped his other hand on her knife hand. She was pinned back against the lower bulkhead of the bay window, the chair lifted up and back. Zimms stance had him straddling her and the chair in such a manner that she was unable to knee him in the groin.

 

Plan B – talk your way out of this. The Marine wasn’t applying a lot of pressure to her throat, but her purred voice still came out hoarse. “Second Lieutenant Zimm. Good evening.” He released her and stepped back; both of them proceeded to glare at one another.

 

Kansas refused to call for backup; this was her issue. She reached for her mug and spoke to the marine. “I’m gathering you are a bit annoyed at the cargo bay incident and subsequent Booth time.” She took a gulp of the tea.

 

“I should flip you over my knee and beat the ever living daylights out of you.”

 

The Caitian involuntarily inhaled the tea up her nose.

 

A knifing. A one way ticket to the airlock. Torture. Agonizing. Boothing. Poison. Rabid tribbles. Really large bugs. There were many ways for someone to be threatened. These threats she had expected. Zimms particular threat of choice was unexpected and completely blindsided her. Brilliant tactical move!

 

Zimm at least had grace enough to look a bit concerned when she entered into the “Pardon me while I cough my lung up” type of coughing. He grabbed an unused cloth napkin from a nearby table and tossed it to JoNs. She caught it and began to wipe her streaming eyes.

 

“Mr. Zimm,” she managed to wheeze out, “you are more then welcome to try that particular method of attack, but I am sure that …wheeze…both of us would be rather dinged up afterwards. Besides, let’s leave that sort of action to our engineering compliment.”

 

Zimm smirked and then indicated the empty chair on the other side of the table. “Can I sit?” JoNs nodded a silent yes, her curiosity going into overdrive.

 

He settled in on the other side of the table and faced the Caitian. She observed him. Close cropped blond hair just starting to gray out at the temples. His face, square jawed, probably considered handsome by Terran standards. His face just starting to show age lines, either from weather exposure or a hard life, possibly both; Empire service did take a toll on those who served. He wore the black vest of the marines, chest bared. He sported a color tattoo of a vicious Terran style cat, located on the underside of his right forearm.

 

He fixed ice cold blue eyes on her. The eyes of a predator. “You deserve a beating.”

 

Kansas likewise fixed her own predatory gaze on Zimm. “For what its worth, Rico can be cocky, it’s no wonder you went for him. I’ve wanted to take my claws to him on occasion. Off the record, of course. It just so happens that you took him on and got caught.”

 

Zimms one eyebrow rose to his hairline. “Of course.” Great Bird of the Galaxy, it was like dealing with a Vulcan, only worse.

 

JoNs let her instincts guide her. She addressed the marine formally. “Second Lieutenant Zimm…”

 

“Conrad.”

 

Oh. Now on a first name basis and no ranks? This conversation had decidedly gone in the off the record direction. She nodded, “Alright…Conrad. Call me Kansas” and then continued. “Other then apparently wanting to seek swift retribution on my backside….what brings you here?”

 

A ghost of a smile quirked up the corners of his mouth. “Curiosity, for now. The methods you employed to diffuse that little situation in the cargo area. Shadowy. Swift. Direct. No quarter given, except for those who you choose to give it too. Those are mercenary tactics.”

 

She flipped an ear back. This was very interesting. “Aye. I was raised a mercenary on a Caitian clan ship. But, this is all in my file. What’s the point of speaking of this?”

 

Conrad paused and spoke quietly, a feral smile coloring his features. “One mercenary can spot another across a parsec. Most of my youth was spent on a freighter as well, going from job to job. Not the most glamorous life but we both have our skills to show for it now, don’t we? And now, I have some business to discuss.”

 

Without skipping a beat, Kansas replied. “If I had known you were of mercenary blood, I would have shot Rico instead.” Zimm let loose with a genuine bark of laughter at the comment, drawing some glances from the other mess hall patrons. The female security officer smiled slightly at him. “So, you have business to discuss.”

 

He regarded her. “The group I grew up with is looking to sell some equipment and such. Legitimate, mind you. Medical supplies, engine parts and the like. I was wondering if you had contacts that could take the items off their hands.”

 

“This is a big risk to take. You really don’t know me.” The Caitian swished her tail curiously.

 

Zimm shook his head. “I know you enough. As you know me enough. I know who has the goods. You have the contacts. It’s as simple as that.”

 

JoNs pondered for a couple minutes, looking out the bay window at the distant surface of Psi Velorum and then turned back to Zimm. “You have a deal. I’ll gather some information and then bring it on an encrypted Padd to you quarters. Let’s say after tomorrow’s Beta shift rotation? Then, you can peruse what candidates I have, where they are located, and decide from there to transmit what information to your compatriots.”

 

Zimm smiled. “It’s a deal.”

 

Kansas sensed no deception. The marine officer and his security counterpart then clasped forearms, mercenary style, to finalize the deal. To the casual observer, it appeared as if they had settled their differences from their earlier argument and the events leading to that argument. In a way, this was true; they had resolved their differences.

 

Both officers then rose from the table, offered a final parting nod to one another, and then left the mess hall to disappear like ghosts into the corridors of the ship.

 

These two vastly different beings, one Terran, the other Caitian, joined by a common bond – ties to the shadow world of the mercenary culture.

 

Lieutenant (sg) M.S. “Kansas” JoNs

Chief Tactical-Assistant Security Officer

Edited August 25, 2006 by M.S. "Kansas" JoNs