"Gangsta"

[Kansas_Jones 0]

06.23.07

ISS Agincourt ICC-81762

“Gangsta”

 

Master Chief Petty Officer Keltex and Lieutenant Commander JoNs both walked down an auxiliary corridor, heading for the main security offices. The elder enlisted Klingon bodyguard was currently relaying the scheduled meetings for the day, as his younger commissioned Caitian charge attempted to wake up; the feline had had a late night rummaging through the NNC supplies.

 

They rounded the corner and entered the main corridor, at which point a red disruptor beam tore through the air. The shot just missed the felinoid security chief’s head, instead slicing off the very tip if her left ear. She went down as Keltex went into action, slamming into the would be assassin.

 

Kansas was rather awake now, flat on her butt, one paw clamped to her bleeding ear. Her phaser was gripped in her right paw and pointing back down the way they had come in case of a secondary attack from the rear. When none was obviously forthcoming, she turned her attention to the scuffle.

 

The silver haired Klingon had dragged Crewman Carter Burne from his shadowy hiding place, and judging by his rapidly swelling right cheek bruise, had popped him one in the process. He held the smaller Terran male in a head lock.

 

JoNs slowly stood, her mind working, green eyes like daggers staring down the now frightened Burne. She was well within her rights to vaporize the little Petaq right where he stood.

 

The feline officer mentally accessed the Terrans service record, her mind already forming a reprisal plan. Carter Eugene Burne, age 22. Both of his parents, commissioned officers within the Imperial Fleet, were killed in action when he was fourteen years old. Either the boy had no family, or his family had not cared, and he was left to his own devices. He ran with various gangs on the New Mars Colony world, in and out of juvenile lockdowns. At age eighteen, when the courts would no longer nominally protect him as a juvenile offender, he had signed with a privateer ship.

 

The ship had been detained about six months into Carter’s service by the Imperial frigate USS William Wallace on the charge of insufficient flight papers. During the process, Burne had been remanded into Imperial custody as a prime candidate for the Accelerated Imperial Service programs.

 

These three year programs would take juvenile offenders, anywhere from fifteen to eighteen years old, and “rehabilitate” them for commissioned service to the marines, security or engineering/damage control branches, typically as enlisted officers. Some, like Conrad Zimm, flourished in the program and subsequent service time, carving out a distinguished career. Others, like Burne, were more of a gray area. The Agincourt was his first non-training assignment. Oh, happy day.

 

“Let him go Keltex.”

 

The stocky Klingon nodded and turned his attention to other matters, such as the group of security officers that had responded to the commotion. “What? You think this is a social gathering! Get back to your posts…..” One of the junior ensigns took charge of the rifle that Burne had employed.

 

She approached the quivering, though defiant, mass that was all arms and legs; Burne was average height and lanky, and had not yet fully filled out into his adult weight and mass. He came from a Middle Eastern and a definite Anglo background, if those steel blue-gray eyes were any indication. Burne fixed her with a sullen look.

 

A paw backhanded the sullen look right off his face. “You will stand at attention in my presence, Crewman Burne! Now, I would like to know what in the Great Predator Bird was that? I know it was not an assassination attempt. My six year old cousin could do a better job of killing me.”

 

A snort interrupted her. “My four year old nephew could do a better job.”

 

JoNs winged a look at her personal guard. “That is enough Master Chief.”

 

She turned her attention back to the crewman. “I want names Burne. Did Holt put you up to this?” She had been keeping an eye on the ambitious third shift tactical officer.

 

“No sir. He has nothing to do with this.”

 

“So, you got this lovely idea all by your own brainpower. I see.”

 

Actually, taking into account the young man’s body language, the Caitian chief did believe him, and was inwardly relieved that there was no deep seated plot in the department to out her. She had done much planning and maneuvering these past months to consolidate her power, was very content with her state of entrenchment, and really did not want to go on a another spring cleaning binge again. One lone rebel she could deal with. Oh yes, he would be dealt with.

 

“Master Chief. I and Mister Burne are going for a little walk. Meet us in the lower Armory in ten minutes.”

 

Keltex looked apoplectic. “You can not be serious. I am not leaving you.”

 

His concern was admirable, but not appropriate for the moment. “It was not a suggestion, Master Chief.” JoNs had never used that tone with the older Klingon.

 

The silver haired officer squinted his eyes, but no further negative comments were forthcoming. “Aye sir. I will proceed to the Armory as ordered.”

 

He swiftly bypassed them in the direction he needed to take, but he paused long enough to firmly grip a furry arm in a big hand. “We will be discussing this later Commander Kitten.” His rumbling voice was pitched low in annoyance, and then, he was gone.

 

JoNs had kept her eyes on Burne during the quiet exchange, but Burne had followed the Master Chief’s movements; the look on his face one of curiosity. Kansas pounced on the lesson opportunity.

 

“You have an observation, Mister Burne?”

 

The young Terran answered the query. “….he does not seem happy regarding the current situation.”

 

“Having their charges go off on their own with would be assassins tends to make a personal guard nervous. This is why senior officers tend to employ them Burne; the whole assassination thing.” Her tone was rife with sarcasm.

 

Burne ignored the comment, his curiosity still present. “He also called you…Kitten…that is…”

 

“Yes it is.”

 

“And I never heard it.”

 

“Correct.”

 

“Brave man.”

 

“Indeed he is.”

 

JoNs motioned with her phaser, in no mood to banter. “Let’s go son. Walk in front of me where I can keep an eye on you.”

 

There was no further conversation between the Caitian and the Terran as they traversed the corridors and turbolift; to be honest, JoNs had to fight her baser instincts to shoot him in the back.

 

They arrived at the Armory, engendering a few curious looks from the officers and crew people working in the area; a large crane moved a torpedo casing across the large, expansive area. Kansas made eye contact with Keltex who stood at the entrance to the shift leader’s office, as well as Armory Chief Lieutenant Zimm, who was standing beside Keltex. She knew without asking that the enlisted Klingon officer had informed her lover what was transpiring.

 

The phaser was still pointed at Burne. “Mister Burne. What do you see?”

 

He looked around the area. “The armory team. Repair crews. Weapons experts, sir.”

 

“And what are they doing?”

 

“…uh, performing their duties.”

 

“Correct. I think you will also notice that no one is attempting to kill one another. At least today, isn’t that so Mister?”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“If everyone on this ship attempted to kill one another, then we would get no work done, and keeping this ship running is our primary focus. Face me Burne.”

 

He did so, and Kansas holstered her phaser. She saw a quick flicker of calculation in his steel gray eyes. She held up a paw, her claws unsheathed and splayed. “One wrong move, and I will cut you badly. And, I am no different from a domesticated cat. My claws have an irritating agent that will infect a cut, and I will not permit you medical attention. Understand?”

 

Burne wisely did not move as Kansas fully stripped him of his dagger and phaser. She had not done so earlier, perhaps on some level hoping he would be foolish and go for his weapons. She tossed the dagger to Zimm, and the phaser to Keltex; both men easily caught the weapons.

 

Kansas allowed her irritation full reign now, her ears going flat against her skull. Her green eyes dilated, and she spoke to Burne in a low growl. “Carter, this ship is not a gang territory, nor are we common gang members. You can not just ‘knock off’ a section leader and expect to take over from them. Hell son, you aren’t even next in line to take over from me.”

 

She began a slow walk around the man, continuing the lecture. “Assassinations and power coups are an interesting thing. Even if you succeed, you can well expect to spend some time in the Booth. And of course - the same will happen if you are unsuccessful. Statistically, on a ship, the only beings that have ever been fully successful in escaping punishment time are XO’s that kill for a captaincy, or senior officers that go for a departmental head position, and any subsequent retainers involved in said plot. And, these successes are due to planning and implementation, not on the whim of some damn idiot.”

 

Kansas faced him again, her tail lashing slightly, her temper building up in tandem with her admonishments. “You also need to choose your comrades a bit more wisely.” Her green eyes flicked over to Zimm and Keltex before latching back onto Burne. “If they go down, then you go down as well, more then likely. Pick and choose wisely.”

 

“…..turn around, Mister Burne.”

 

He did as she requested, but the Caitian detected a slight twitch of fear. The Armory personnel were now observing with open curiosity, duties forgotten for the moment.

 

Kansas drew her baton, thumbing the energy charge to its lowest setting. It would not cause permanent damage, but the sting would be remembered. “You screwed up today.”

 

Quickly, she brought the baton down on the back of his knee. Burne yelped in pain and stumbled forward, gripping at the back of his knee. Another crack across his shoulder blades caused him to fall flat on his face.

 

The Caitian grabbed the larger Terran man by the back of his vest and hauled him upright again, shoving him in the general direction of a vacant console chair. “Stay.”

 

“Mister Keltex! Mister Burne is to do twenty laps around the Armory perimeter, full away team pack, phaser rifle held aloft. Mister Zimm! Thank you for the use of your Amory, and try not to drop a torpedo on the young man. Mister Keltex, keep pace with your stun baton, lower setting, and you have my permission to be slap happy with extreme prejudice if he gives you any trouble. That is all.”

 

A chorus of “Aye sir” was directed at her back as she exited the armory.

 

“I need caffeine…” the Caitian muttered to herself, “….it is way too early in the morning for this stuff...”