"Dealing with the Devil" - Harper and JoNs

[Kansas_Jones 0]

05.01.07

ISS Agincourt NCC-81762

“Dealing with the Devil”

 

A Quack, 2 Cats, and a Drug Ring (Background Log Four)

 

Written by: Colonel Harper and Lt. Commander JoNs

 

The sleek lines of the Agincourt shuttle showed in the running lights of it's parent ship as the small craft flew on a landing course for the main shuttle bay. Kansas glanced at the heading on the nav console and then began to ease the shuttle in.

 

Sgts. Roarke and Gallagos stood quietly in the shuttle bay, waiting. They were not armed, beyond the sidearm that was standard wear for Empire military, but they did not expect to need more than their hands and their commander's authority to carry out their orders. As soon as the shuttle landed...

 

The small transport craft landed smoothly in a text book landing, and the Caitian security chief powered down the systems and prepared to exit the shuttle. Less then eight hours prior she had been in disguise; she was now back in her Imperial fleet uniform, had washed the darkening dye from her mane and removed the contacts masking her true eye color. The adrenaline rush from a job well done on the mercenary op had yet to fade, and JoNs was pleased with herself.

 

One problem situation regarding an enslaved Mithraan and her pompous ass handler had been taken care of, and now Kansas exited the shuttle - right into Problem Situation Number Two.

 

Oh dear. She looked askance at the two marine guards. "May I help you?"

 

Without a word, each Marine took one of the Caitian's arms and stripped her of all visible weapons within seconds. Both of them being rather taller than the 5'3" feline, she wound up being lifted half off her feet in the process. They turned towards the door and marched the security officer out of the shuttle bay in silence.

 

Kansas had an inkling of what was going on, and her cocky pleasure regarding how the clandestine mission had turned out began to dissipate. But, she tried to hedge a conversation along nonetheless. "Oh dear, this does not look like an ideal situation. And I'm sure both of you are sworn to silence or some fragging directive like that?"

 

"We have nothing to say to alien traitors," Gallagos replied, and Roarke added, "You might want to start composing your confession." They said nothing else, only speaking again as they dragged her into a turbolift, to order it to deck 3.

 

JoNs wisely kept quiet for the remainder of the escort – why give the Sharks a reason to beat her senseless? She could have also put the bite on the two Marine escorts, but didn't want to risk contracting rabies from them.

 

Once on the correct deck, the Marines hurried her forward, towards the senior officer's quarters. JoNs didn't expect they were taking her to her own rooms. Rather, they were probably headed for those occupied by the most prominent of those officers... And sure enough, as they turned a corner, the pair of bodyguards standing to either side of the CO's door glanced down the corridor at the trio. The smirks they wore, even as one turned to press the door chime, left little doubt as to the state of the interview to come. As if the escort wasn't clue enough.

 

Kansas merely offered a ragged sigh at the sight of the personal guard and whose quarters they were guarding.

 

By the time they reached the door, it stood open, and all four marines were wearing expressions of anticipatory glee. Gallagos and Roarke herded JoNs to the doorway, but they were greeted there by a voice drifting out from within. "Leave her and go."

 

JoNs was plunked down on the decking, and then the quad of marines, disappointed that they would not be seeing the show, left amidst some muttered oaths. No witnesses? Oh this is not good.

 

The room was softly lit, overheads turned off in favor of effect lights scattered throughout the room. Only the main seating area was bright enough for work, and it was there Harper sat, stretched out on the sofa with a padd and stylus on her knee. She was out of uniform, wearing a pair of loose trousers and tunic in something black that shimmered. "Don't stand in the doorway," she said. "I trust my people, but if they're wise, they'll be eavesdropping madly."

 

JoNs warily, but with as much dignity as she could muster, stepped silently into the marine colonels quarters.

 

The colonel glanced over at her, flashed a grin that was more like a baring of teeth than any gesture of humor. "Have a seat," she invited, and turned back to whatever she was scribing.

 

Harpers casual attire was in sharp contrast to the fleet uniform that her felinoid officer wore. Kansas flipped an ear back as she slinked the rest of the way into the lighted area. Gingerly she sat down, as if the chair - or Harper - would bite her at any second.

 

Harper finished writing and signed the document with a flourish. Then she swung her feet to the floor, turning to face JoNs. "So, I hear you had a little adventure while on leave."

 

The lieutenant commander gave a little huff of resignation. "Yes sir, I did." Personal rule three - Offer only the information queried about.

 

Nodding, she inquired solicitously, "Did you have a good time?"

 

Personal rule six - Don't play games unless you need to, otherwise, it is a waste of time. "Ma'am, no offense, but I have a feeling that you know all about my little adventure. Possibly even more then myself at this point."

 

“Oh, I do," Harper assured her, smiling brightly. "Indeed I do. And I have just one question...."

 

Oh dear.

 

"What did you bring me?" Harper regarded her with the bright-eyed enthusiasm of a child, but there was a distinctly predatory edge to her smile.

 

"Nothing..."JoNs cleared her throat, "...ma'am," and leaned back as far as she could; distance was a wonderful thing.

 

The colonel frowned. "That's a shame," she said, wistfully. "Now I'll have to make some difficult choices."

 

"Sir, are you saying that lack of a snow globe landed me here in your quarters?"

 

"Oh, no, Commander," Harper replied, pretending polite surprise. "You would have landed here regardless. It's where you go from here that you should be worried about." She smiled. It was not a comforting sight. "Frankly, I'd thought you would have been intelligent enough to have prepared something that would demonstrate your value."

 

"Colonel, I did not have time to, ah, prepare for much of anything; your people were waiting in the shuttle bay for me when I arrived."

 

"But surely," she said, "you must have considered the consequences of your actions?"

 

The Caitian eyed Harper squarely. "Honestly? No. I wasn't planning on having consequences in the first place.” Or getting caught, she thought ruefully. “However, yes, now I am very much aware of consequences." Her gaze became one of predatory cunning. “You gained knowledge of this situation by outside channels I assume Colonel."

 

"Always plan for consequences, Commander. Didn't they teach you in the Academy to prepare for a mission to go sour?" Harper shook her head sadly. "Since you seem so woefully lacking in this instance, I'll lay it out for you: You are either sufficiently valuable to me that I become willing to alienate Westler or buy him off on your behalf, or I let him have his pound of flesh, and throw the book at you. And believe me, Kitty, the list of regs I've got you on is extensive."

 

Puffing her chest out slightly with a confidence she did not quite feel, JoNs responded to the implied facts with some decorum. "I do have certain skills that one would find valuable if exploited properly - as I'm sure those regs demonstrate. The astro ball is in your court it would seem Ma'am." Despite the physical posturing, the feline’s voice came out low and husky with uncertainty.

 

"Skills." It was impossible to tell what Harper thought by that flatly voiced word. "I see." She set the padd on the table between them with a sharp click, and then gave it a push that sent it sliding across the smooth glass towards JoNs.

 

The Caitian reflexively shot a paw out to stop the padd as it whooshed over to her end of the table.

Her green feline eyes searched Harper's blue eyes for any indication of what was on the information device.

 

"It's not official yet," Harper told her quietly, leaning back against the sofa. "It still needs my thumbprint. But that's easy enough, and Lt. Spitfire will be glad of the pay raise, I'm sure..."

 

The lieutenant commander slowly picked up the padd, keeping an eye on Harper the whole time. She then ventured a look, blanched at the information on the screen, and then quickly re-set the device on the glass table quickly as if it would explode in her paw. The orders called for JoNs to be arrested, boothed, and executed.

 

It took a moment, but Kansas found her voice, albeit a bit hoarse. "My personal jaunt was to help out a distant cousin of mine that was in some trouble; I received word of this through my various contacts and the like. I was not aware that Westler was an acquaintance of yours Colonel, and he somehow must have taken a scan of my DNA pattern, tracking me here to your command." It was, for the most part, the truth. "I won't beg sir, but I do ask that you reconsider those orders."

 

Harper considered the commander for a moment. "Admirable," she said finally. "Personal integrity is a rare commodity." She let the silence hang for a while longer. "Your little jaunt cost a certain ally of mine one irreplaceable slave and two large felines. He is -- understandably -- annoyed about this. I can ignore that, of course, but I do hate to burn my bridges. He's asked for pictures of that..." She nodded at the padd. "... but perhaps you can suggest a replacement?"

 

Personal rule number 8 – never back yourself into a corner of your own making. Well actually, that was something her father was always telling her.

 

JoNs resisted the rising nausea in her throat, her mental scheming working overtime out of desperation. An idea flew into the desperate reaches of JoNs's mind, so much so that her ears flew back in surprise at the idea. "There are plenty of images of myself on the ship security recorders ma'am. Perhaps we can superimpose a few with a'Dobe f'Lash onto images of the booth. Sort of a mini movie ma'am."

 

Her instincts were nagging at her. "However, I have a feeling you already have a compromising solution sir - what is it?"

 

Harper sighed. JoNs was perhaps more rattled than she showed. "It is entirely possible that Westler could be paid off, Commander. In more tangible goods." She rubbed thumb and forefinger together in an unmistakable age-old gesture.

 

The mental lighting fixture went off. Again, strange - a marine commander having a mercenary moment as opposed to the mercenary…perhaps there was more to Harper then met the eye. The feline nodded to her and spoke. "Credits. Indeed. Westler will be well compensated."

 

JoNs reached for the Padd of the Evil Demise again, bringing up a secondary screen and entering commands into the numerical display. She accessed a personal backdoor account, queuing up the funds to be transferred directly to Westler at the starbase. The Caitian began to see the light at the edge of the darkness, and a small dent in her personal account would be well worth the tradeoff to save her skin.

 

"The transaction is done, Colonel."

 

"Either you have better connections than I think..." Harper began slowly, "and I've been doing some research since Aaron called me, mind you -- or you underestimate how annoyed the man is. Now I might be persuaded to contribute to the 'Save JoNs’s Skin' project, if only because training a new chief of security would be more hassle than I'd like, but there would have to be recompense coming to me, eventually."

 

"It would be too much of a hassle ma'am to train another chief. I may be many things, but you do have my loyalty. And a contribution to the Harper Fund as an incentive to keep quiet on this whole terrible matter is very much doable."

 

Right where she wanted her. "When you get to my rank, JoNs, the opportunities for economic advancement are nearly limitless," Harper said quietly. "Interesting you should mention loyalty, though. Like integrity, that's a rare commodity. And as any two-bit economist can tell you, rarity increases value."

 

"So...does this mean we understand one another, the matter is taken care of and forgotten Ma'am?" She could do blunt at times, yes.

 

"Oh, I wouldn't say 'forgotten'," Harper replied. "Certainly not that. But I'll handle Westler. And as for this..." Picking up the padd, she tapped two quick commands into it, and then flashed the cleared screen in JoNs's direction.

 

Fair enough. JoNs felt her shoulders relax and after a short time had elapsed, she spoke again to Harper. "A second chance. The question of loyalty. A lesson regarding advancement, and future economical benefits from said advancement. This has been an interesting conversation, Colonel. Perhaps it is time for me to aim a bit higher and redirect my mercenary training." That last part was spoken by Kansas to herself rather then directly at Harper.

 

"Perhaps in the future you'll keep your mercenary training out of the Fleet's view," said Harper dryly. "I should very much hate to repeat this conversation."

 

"Yes Colonel."

 

"Good." She smiled and reached for a bottle and glass. "Well, then. Here's to a long and prosperous remembrance of the day I saved your ass, Kitten. You're dismissed."

Edited May 2, 2007 by Kansas_Jones