"New Sheriff in Town"

[Kansas_Jones 0]

(Note: some mature concepts)

 

05.20.07

ISS Agincourt ICC-81762

“New Sheriff in Town”

 

“Well, hello there Mister Sunshine!”

 

Lt. Commander JoNs sat at the control desk in the Agony Booth room, hind paws propped up on the desktop, the very picture of feline poise and confidence.

 

Master Chief Keltex was sure he was doomed.

 

“Let him go. You are both dismissed.”

 

The security guards – one a Bajoran female by the name of Corla, the other an ambitious (read: she wants my job) Andorian female known as Mical both saluted JoNs with fists to chest and exited the booth operations area.

 

The Klingon and the Caitian were left staring at one another for a few seconds. Keltex fell into a formal parade rest and was the first to break the silence. “You wanted to see me Commander?”

 

“Absolutely I wanted to see you Mister Keltex.” She casually grabbed at one of two Padds resting on the receiving desk and tossed it at the Klingon. “Please read that out loud.”

 

Keltex merely had to skim the contents of the report; he knew exactly what was detailed within. He cleared his throat. “This report is detailing a …minor altercation between myself and Lieutenant Rico.” He spoke with dignity, and when finished tossed the Padd back at JoNs, who snatched it from the air with feline quickness.

 

Kansas replaced the first Padd next to the second, untouched one, and swung her paws to the floor and stood upright. “Minor. Indeed.” She stalked toward the enlisted officer with a languid pace.

 

Keltex did not twitch, intending to take whatever befell him with dignity, such as…

 

….JoNs grabbing him in a bear hug.

 

The Klingon, completely stunned, could only look down at the top of her mane, the fur tickling his chin.

 

“Ahem. Commander?”

 

She pulled away, keeping her paws on his bare muscular arms and smiling, exposing all of her fangs. “I have been wanting to beat the ever living snot out of that little Petaq every since I signed on board, and he’s laid up in the med bay for the next three days. Thank you.” She dropped her paws to her sides.

 

The silver haired Klingon officer reached out and placed two fingers on the Caitian’s neck. With his free hand, he checked her forehead.

 

“….Mister Keltex, I assure you my pulse is normal and that I have no fever. Do not even think of checking to see if my nose is cold…”

 

The big Klingons hands clasped behind his back and he fell into parade rest. “Yes sir.” A good natured smirk graced his craggy features.

 

Kansas turned and walked back to the desk, tail swaying as she went. She deftly grabbed at the second Padd and held it in the air to show to Keltex. “This contains your punishment report. Thirty minutes in the Booth, fifty percent power capacity, starting now.” The felinoid leaned over and activated the nearby device, which hummed to life obediently. “Of course, as a Klingon, you have a remarkable recovery rate and are fit for duty almost immediately afterward.”

 

The Klingon’s perceptive gaze went to the visual recorders anchored throughout the room.

 

Her gaze followed his. “Deactivated on my orders, for the purpose of this little meeting.”

 

Keltex began to eye Kansas with a whole new air of curiosity. This was getting more interesting by the minute.

 

“Now, we can move onto our secondary item of business, and the true reason for this little cloak and dagger meeting.” The felinoid officer reseated herself at the desk and motioned for Keltex to take the guest chair.

 

“You and I both signed onboard this ship for its maiden voyage. I have been observing you these past months, and I like what I have seen both duty wise and the way you handle yourself in general. The few times we have been teamed together, our mission results were favorable. I have need of a bodyguard, and you more then have the needed qualifications. Would you be interested in the position Master Chief?”

 

Keltex paused, and then asked, “Why?”

 

“Why do I need a bodyguard or why am I interested in you?”

 

Another pause. “Both.”

 

He asked questions - she liked that. “About eighty percent of the personnel on this ship could care less that a cat is now in charge of security. It’s that remaining twenty percent I need to be concerned about, some of which serve right here in security.”

 

The enlisted officer, long a survivor and veteran of inter-departmental politics and power plays, nodded cautiously, but his eyes held curiosity – a bodyguard position to a department head entailed better pay and private lodging, as well as other job perks if one knew how to manipulate the situation. Or in this case, access to the felines mercenary activities, assuming the rumors were true, as Keltex believed them to be.

 

“And if I refuse?”

 

A rare, good natured smile blossomed on the Caitian’s features. “Well, you won’t get a dagger in the back, if that’s what you are asking Keltex; honestly, I would just move onto the other candidate files that I had picked from the roster, simple as that.”

 

Keltex’s smile, though brief, matched the feline officers. “Of course I am interested.”

 

Kansas raised a claw. “One more thing – I am not just interested in the brawn; your record, with regard to tactical prowess in simulation as well as your fieldwork, shows that you have a pretty good gnarled head on your shoulders. The position would also involve personal aide duties to myself.” She cocked a golden furred ear back. “Still interested?”

 

He sensed that some humor would be appropriate, and puffed his bare chest out in Klingon bravado. “I fear no paperwork - today is a good day to file.”

 

The female security chief let loose with a purred yowl of laughter. “Excellent. I am pleased to welcome you as my first enforcer, good Klingon sir.”

 

Keltex in turn performed the traditional Empire fist to chest salute. “Qapla, Commander Kitten.”

 

The room chilled, as did JoNs’s demeanor. “Pardon me, what was that Master Chief?”

 

The Klingon enlisted officer looked right at his younger line officer counterpart, pointing a finger at her. “I have hair older then you. I can call you whatever I damn well please.” The statement lost some of the bluntness as a good natured leer lit his craggy, weather beaten features.

 

O-kay. He has a rather…interesting…sense of humor - she could deal with that (hell, did she have a choice?). “You need to meet my elder guardian, MVess. You two would get along famously.”

 

Keltex merely nodded in respect as Kansas entered some coding figures into the desktop console. The monitor on the desk flickered to life and she rotated the screen so the Klingon could get a view of the grainy content.

 

“That image was taken three nights ago, but represents the latest recording in a series of skull duggery type meetings. The players are Ensign Mical, Petty Officer Greyhawk, and Petty Officer Esteban. Apparently they started this little club right after Chief Robair shipped out and department control shifted to me. Honestly, it is the usual targ###### – not happy with the cat in charge, various departmental changes, blah, and etcetera.”

 

“And there is no way you could just ignore this little group? Surely they will not be the first and last security crew that takes issue with the department?”

 

“Honestly? I could care less, and they can plot their little brains out. But, the grumbling took a bad turn last week, and the complaints have started to galvanize and reach certain other elements within the department – if I leave it go on much longer, the ripple effect has the potential to erode security, and I can not be having that. There are too many outside departmental concerns for me to be bothered with baby-sitting the security department constantly. I need a decisive leader strike here and now.”

 

Keltex knew where this was heading. “So – we are taking them into custody and subsequent Booth time.”

 

The lieutenant commander looked him right in the eyes as she reached a paw down and collected an object hidden from view; she tossed it with a decisive thump on the desk top surface. “I plan on using something with a little more rending power, Master Chief.”

 

A finely tooled black leather whip lay there between them, coiled in on itself and resting on the desktop, looking incongruous against the modern trappings of the Booth operations center. Silver studding was intertwined throughout the cording, and a silver and leather grip completed the look. A Caitian tribe symbol was tooled into the handle grip.

 

A pause. Perhaps he hadn’t known where this was heading. “Nice whip.”

 

“Thank you. During a tenure on Earth I contracted a weapons maker working out of the Old Southwest-Mexicana area. A lost art, but a fine weapon the few times I have employed it in battle.” She delicately traced a claw along the engraved grip.

 

Honestly, as a Klingon warrior, Keltex could not help but be drawn to an admiration for the weapon. “It provides distance, and can effectively drop a knife or sword wielding opponent within seconds if used correctly.”

 

A sly and dangerous grin exposed fangs. “You know your weapons Master Chief.”

 

Keltex merely nodded in acquiescence before returning to the matter at hand, his tactical mind already anticipating her orders. “So then, detain and escort the insurrection party to the cargo bay?”

 

“Oh, I like that, the Insurrection Party. Aye – cargo bay two to be exact, as it is quite empty this time of night and I really don’t give a flying frag if any blood sprays on the shuttlecraft as they are supposedly due for cleaning tomorrow.” JoNs paused, checking the time, and then continued. “String Mical – and only Mical – from the piping supports. The two men will watch. She is the ranking officer, and therefore the one responsible; she loses skin this night.”

 

The senior enlisted officer automatically fell into his new advisory role; it was rare, but not unheard of, for the whip to be employed on the naval vessels. However, this tended to happen more so on the frontier patrol ships or merchant ships, rather then a ship of the line like the Agincourt. “Commander, this action will be a good deal more unpleasant then any Boothing operation…are you entirely prepared to…delve into this?”

 

JoNs’s eyes flashed with a weariness that aged the Caitian a few years. “Yes Master Chief, I know that – I have born witness to this lovely practice at a prior engagement. We dawdle. I know and have dwelled on the responsibility that this decision entails.”

 

She flipped at her wrist comm, activating a private channel to the sickbay and bypassing the regular lines. “Sickbay, this is Commander JoNs.”

 

The Caitian waited patiently for the graveyard shift med tech on duty to acknowledge, grateful that it was not Doctor Levy – the CMO would ask way too many questions.

 

“You will be receiving a patient within the next thirty minutes who has an acute case of eight laceration wounds…”

 

Keltex interrupted, coughing quietly and speaking in a low rumble. “…mercy, such an overrated concept…”

 

Kansas paused only long enough to level a hiss at him and then continued, “…the wounds are to be repaired and removed, is that clear Doctor?”

 

She glared at Keltex, but he studiously avoided her gaze and became highly interested in the ceiling grillwork. “…JoNs out.” She cut the comm without waiting for a reply from the no doubt bewildered medical officer.

 

The Caitian chief then stood and with a familiarity of practice picked up the whip. Keltex as well rose from his chair, cracking his knuckles as he observed his new commanding officer quietly.

 

The transformation that settled over Kansas was one of a feral darkness not normally tapped and brought to the surface; ears flattened, leonine features all taught lines and angles, and her green eyes dilated to full black and held a predatory edge. Her purred voice shifted to a low sepulchral growl.

 

“It’s time for a message to be sent to the security department as a whole – we do not frag with the feline.”

[STSF NDak 0]

 

 

The New Sheriff plots...

[Kansas_Jones 0]

Oh yes. Let's just say that JoNs is working through her "to do" list - onward to the next item of business...