"Arrogance"

[Kansas_Jones 0]

12.22.07

ISS Agincourt ICC-81762

“Arrogance”

 

Felines tended at times to go into a haughty personality. The ‘oh, are you speaking to me, human?’ or the “I can hear you, I’m just ignoring you’, or the ‘yes, I realize that this is your bed human, but I don’t really give a flying frag right now,” were all reactions to go along with the cocksure personality.

 

Sentient felinoids were no different, of course. In fact, the larger size dictated a larger dose of the haughty leanings, and Lt. Commander Kansas JoNs was currently highly pleased with herself.

 

She sat in her chair behind her desk, hind paws propped up on the surface as she enjoyed a cup of tea and composed a report regarding the recent ground operation. Several other Padds, arrayed in a neat stack on top of the desk, awaited her perusal, but there was no rush.

 

The away mission to the planet had been mildly successful. It was true that the traitors Prell and Kassem had not been found at the site, and the abandoned colony buildings used by the insurgent cell had been re-abandoned by the time the Agincourt had arrive. But, the engineering and security departments were working to decipher the computer data that had been downloaded from the ancient computer systems, and two dozen disruptors and disruptor rifles had been confiscated. The weapons could either be sold on the black market for a nice sum of credits, or added into the weapons store of the ‘Court. Another viable option was to have the disruptors stripped and the parts integrated into the weapons systems or into replacement parts for the current ships weapons allotment.

 

And sometimes, it truly felt good to be bad. A slow, feral leer spread across her muzzle as she mentally recounted the shenanigans of the afternoon that she had partaken of. JoNs had effectively dropped off of the radar for thirty minutes of long overdue intimate and pleasurable contact with her lover, Lieutenant Zimm. And it had been so easy to blame being out of contact as the static caused by the “misfiring” of the rickety base computer systems. Convenient truths were so much fun when they worked in your favor.

 

The office chime sounded, interrupting her thoughts. JoNs placed the reading Padd on the desk and turned her attention to the office entranceway. “Enter.”

 

One of the recent engineering transfers - what was her name again? Midshipman Atumba? As the second officer, JoNs really needed to start paying closer attention to the transfer requests and such when they graced the inbox of her terminal - tentatively stepped into the felines office, her eyes searching the area nervously.

 

JoNs rose from her seat and walked around the desk, her feline body moving in slow, predatory strides, eyeing the dark skinned human with animated green eyes. “Report Midshipman.”

 

“Aye ma’am. We, ah, found an interesting encryption on some of the downloaded data.”

 

“Oh?”

 

The engineering middy quietly offered the report Padd to the feline, who took it and began reading the scrolling information. Within two minutes she had paused the data feed at a particular spot, and a low growl began to build in her chest. The feline officer’s tail and neck ruff had fluffed out, and her claws had unsheathed. Her ears going flat had completed the picture of ‘scary evil and pissed off’ feline. Her earlier arrogance had indeed ‘gone out the window’, as the humans were fond of saying.

 

Atumba had grown up in a rural section of the African continent and the woman had dealt frequently with the threats of the big plains cats; an uncle had been killed one year by a rabid lion driven mad by the pain, and the memory haunted her to this day. At the flare up of the feline security chief, she had gasped and backed off a step.

 

A gold paw shot out to grip the junior officers’ upper arm in a gentle but firm grip. As a general rule Kansas tried not to freak out the help unless she really needed to provide a visual lesson, and thankfully she did not normally need to resort to this method. “My apologies Midshipman, I meant you no harm. I do not believe in killing the messenger.” She offered a wane smile.

 

Atumba relaxed a bit and went back to the parade rest stance that she had been at. “Orders sir?”

 

“You and your team continue defragging the information, continue to coordinate with my people, and have your chief contact me at their earliest convenience," translation: as soon as possible, “I’ll report this current finding to the Colonels. Dismissed.’

 

“Aye sir.” The midshipman quietly slipped out of the office, leaving the Caitian alone.

 

Kansas scrolled the data one last time, re-reading the message. It was simple and to the point:

 

<Begin Message>

 

“Commander JoNs – that’s two lives you’ve given me. You only have seven left lives now.” **

 

<End Message>

 

Prell.

 

A low and menacing growl sounded throughout the small confines of the office.

 

**********

 

** credit for the “seven lives left” line and idea goes to Javin Prell