"Full Circle"

[Kansas_Jones 0]

Note: the character of Rick Biessman appears courtesy of “Elite Force 2”.

 

09.15.07

ISS Agincourt ICC-81762

“Full Circle”

 

Humans and Vulcans are the dominant species. Other races may be accepted, possibly based on how human they seem -- Betazoids, for instance, are likely more accepted than Bolians. Talents possessed by a race may also weigh in their favor -- to use the above example, telepathy could be useful to the Empire. Non-humans or part-humans, consider the implications of your genetics in the social structure.

- from “The ISS Agincourt Guide to the Future”, Species section.

 

The Caits reverted back to their nomadic forebears. Entire families now travel in freighters, groups of shuttles, small luxury yachts, and the like. These groups, called clans, are comprised of family based tribes. Clan leadership can be matriarchal or patriarchal, depending on preference. These clans function as modern day pirates or mercenaries, offering their services to anyone willing to pay the price. Most Caitians serve on their tribal ship, but a good number do serve in the Imperial Fleet. This Imperial service is not frowned upon, as most Caits will maintain contact (and feed Intel when necessary) with their respective Tribe.

- from the ISS Agincourt website, History, Caitian section.

 

***************

 

The Imperial Academy projected an image. The carefully maintained flowers and grounds, the impeccable drill fields, the neat glass and mortar buildings bleached under the sun. It all came together to project an ordered sense of power, the power of the Terran Empire. However, this did not mean that the academy excluded those of other species – you just had to fight a little bit harder then your fellow classmates.

 

Throngs of gray uniformed cadets walked this way and that, heading to classes or short order drills. The marine enrollment program was currently enjoying a record enrollment number, and so the naval and marine cadets were pretty well equal in number. All cadet year pip designations could be clearly seen on burgundy-red collars, regardless of the branch of service. The students were about seventy percent Human and Vulcan, but the remaining thirty percent of the demographic included quite a fair number of aliens. Once such alien sat cross legged on a bench amongst some tiger lilies, working on the various graphs and questions showing on her personal Padd screen.

 

For the first time in years, Cadet Second Year Mrrett JoNs could call this academy a grounded home; for now, she was no longer on a freighter going from job to job, sector to sector, always one step in front of the Empire. She had, to put it bluntly, fallen into the organizations back yard, and there was a certain irony to that. The Caitian was educated, and this was her opportunity to make her own way in the cosmos, to find a trade, and see what “living on the grid” was all about. A ‘harrumph’ sounded from the gold feline – this assignment was kittens play. The tactical assignment detailed various questions about security procedures and the like, and she had mentally answered about six of them at a glance. Silently, she thanked her older male cousin – Ravar – who served on the family ship as the security officer; he had coached her for the last year in anticipation of her enrollment in the academy. And it would seem that the preparation was paying off.

 

Within another thirty minutes, the assignment was completed and Mrrett replaced the Padd in the olive green colored military-style messenger bag that she used to pack around the campus. The bag had been a parting gift from her grandmother, MVirran. The elder Caitian had only commented that the bag, which was well over eighty years old but remarkably well maintained, had at one time been used by a Caitian fighter pilot during the Kzinti-Caitian wars of the early part of the century. The question was…had that pilot been MVirran? There was a story in there somewhere, and Mrrett was hoping to hear it one day from her grandmother.

 

The Caitian feline stood and began to walk down the path, only to be interrupted by a yelled, “Yo! Furball!”

 

Now, obviously, this person was addressing her. Duh.

 

JoNs turned…and oh my gods, it was Rick Biessman. The man was huge, blond crew cut hair, the same year as her, and somewhat of an arrogant loudmouth. It did not help that the human was built like a tank as well.

 

She sighed.

 

***************

 

And forty five minutes after the fight had been broken up, both students found themselves at attention in the Dean of Students office. Both feline and human were mussed and bloodied, covered in the remains of various crushed flowers, and avoided looking at one another.

 

Finally, Rick Biessman sighed; the silence was getting to him. “Look, I’ve seen you around. My name is Biessman. Most call me by my squad designation – Brick.” Oddly, he was beginning to relax with the feline by degrees. Spunky little thing, she was.

 

JoNs offered a smirk. “Brick? Okay, that is appropriate. What squad have you been assigned too?” Starting in the second year, all cadets were remanded to a squad, and typically trained with that squad for the remainder of the tactical studies.

 

A proud smile lit his square jawed features. “I’m the squad leader of Charlie, and we’re second only in points to the Betas, and we are gaining on the Alphas. We lost two mates though – they dropped out of the acad, couldn’t handle it – so, we need a fourth and fifth now.”

 

Mrrett nodded. “My squad sign is Kansas.”

 

“Okay…not really understanding that. Not to be a so and so, but I was thinking more along the lines of Fuzzy or something.”

 

She chuckled. “I got tagged with it after ancient ballistics training, and it followed me into squad training, like a lot of the cadet names. You know that section of the Old Kansas Flatlands where they do the training? And how they tell us not to fan the guns?” A feral leer popped onto her furred face. “Yeah, well, I fanned the gun and got all of my targets. The other plebes started calling me Kansas.” She shrugged indifferently.

 

Biessman raised an eyebrow. “The instructor?”

 

“…was not happy. Akagi.”

 

“Akagi can be tough, yeah. Charlie is one of the squads under him as well.”

 

She really did not know why she was so chatty with the Terran. “…he has me on disciplinary probation, and is blocking my squad appointments.”

 

The big cadet got a thoughtful look on his face, at odds with his somewhat brutish appearance.

 

At that moment, the entrance door to the office whooshed open, admitting Commodore T’Val; the Vulcan did not look amused…even for a Vulcan. Her guards easily adopted their accustomed positions to either side of the office entrance.

 

The white haired woman sat down behind her desk and began talking in typical Vulcan no-nonsense tones. “Cadets Biessman and JoNs. You both were caught brawling on the grounds today. Totally unacceptable behavior for the elite of the Imperial academy…although, perhaps we must consider certain alien influences.” Her steel gaze lanced onto Kansas, who bristled imperceptibly.

 

Biessman jumped into the breach first. “Sir! I heckled Cadet JoNs, which led to her…tackling me.”

 

The Vulcan’s perturbed look at the furred cadet changed to one of askance. “You…tackled…a cadet that is at least half a foot taller then you?”

 

“Yes sir! It seemed like a good idea at the time. But, aye - Mister Biessman may have been bothering me, but I did start the fight.”

 

“Well, seeing as both of your accounts coincide with the various witnesses we questioned, we do not have to go through a lengthy questioning process.” The elder Vulcan made a few notations on the screen, no doubt in the two cadet’s files.

 

The big human cadet spared a glance at Kansas and then cleared his throat. “Commodore. Cadet JoNs is currently waiting on a squad assignment. Charlie squad currently has two openings, and I’d like to request JoNs for one of the spots.”

 

The eighteen year old Caitian’s jaw dropped, and she broke protocol and relaxed her parade rest stance. “What? Why?”

 

A leer plastered itself across Biessmans features and he turned toward the feline. “You’re spunky.”

 

“…spunky. Spunky!?” Her gaze went to T’Val. “Sir. He called me spunky.”

 

The Vulcan officer’s features were as unreadable as ever, but her eyes flashed briefly with mirth. “Indeed. I will look into your request Mister Biessman.” And then, her eyes went dead again. “Attention!”

 

Both cadets snapped back into formal parade rest.

 

Long, thin fingers interlaced as T’Val rested her hands on the desk. “You both breached the rules of conduct today. It is a first offense for you both, this is true. At present however, I do not care about that. Ten seconds, agonizer duration. Guards. Go.”

 

As one, both of the Vulcan guards moved, each taking one of the cadets and clapping a strong hand on a shoulder; the agonizer chest badges each of the young students wore were then pressed.

 

Within seconds the sound of twin screams filled the office.

 

***************

 

Charlie Squad Leader: Rick “Brick” Biessman, a human.

 

Charlie Squad: William “Falcon” Rile, a human. Silas “Hound” Brex, an unjoined Trill. Mrrett “Kansas” JoNs, a Caitian. Johan "Reload" Cross, a half Vulcan, half Human raised in the Terran way, and finally Morrigan “Banshee” LaRoy, a human.

 

The six cadets were an odd lot, yet as the representatives of Charlie Squad, they had performed their duties well, forming life long bonds that were not easily forgotten.

 

***************

 

Thirteen years later, a thirty-one year old Caitian found herself in the main shuttle bay of the USS Agincourt, sitting cross legged on top of the shuttle Styx, and the name of the vehicle was more then appropriate, if her understanding of Terran mythology was on the mark. She held a half filled bottle of Romulan ale in one paw, and gazed at the holo picture held in the other paw. Her ears drooped in sadness. A little over two hours ago, she had received a personal message from Banshee; it had been simple, merely stating that Rick was dead, and to read the encrypted message attached which outlined the details. Lieutenant Senior Grade Biessman had been killed in the line of duty, on some godforsaken backwater planet, from a sniper shot to the head.

 

Kansas gazed at the holo picture, showcasing the six members of Charlie squad. The faces were fresh and eager, the eyes bright with enthusiasm. She knew that her own gaze had been tempered over the years with a hardness that came with the Imperial service; she could only imagine that the others looked the same, to some degree. She knew Falcon did.

 

The feline raised the clear Ale container upward, the blue liquid catching the lighting; she ignored the curious gazes from the various third shifters. Besides, they weren’t going to tell the Chief of Security to leave. Her voice came out strong, despite the lingering sadness she could not shake, and recited a Caitian prayer of her own choosing with some Terran phrasing thrown in for good measure.

 

“Rick. Heaven doesn’t want you, and Hell is afraid you will take over. Go with the Hunter Guardian, my friend, and be led to the light. It’s time for you to go home.”

Edited September 15, 2007 by Kansas_Jones