"No Rank"

[Kansas_Jones 0]

05.24.08

ISS Agincourt ICC-81762

“No Rank”

 

Battlestar Galactica: “Unfinished Business” (2006)

Admiral Adama re-institutes a military tradition onboard Colonial warships, in which crewmembers disregard rank and fight each other in a boxing ring to relieve tensions aboard ship—tensions which have existed since Galactica discovered New Caprica

- From Battlestar Wiki

 

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Things had been rather quiet around the security offices, and her people had started to get a bit hyper and some low level arguments had escalated into fisticuffs. So, Kansas had come up with an idea to divert some of that extra tension and energy that the extra training sessions hadn’t been able to quash – a no rank sparring competition. The feline had procured the necessary permission from her commanding officers, and once she was given the proper go ahead, the plans quickly fell into place. Her grunts had embraced the competition with such an enthusiastic and suicidal glee, she truly did not know whether to be concerned, fearful, happy, or run like the dickens in the other direction.

 

The rules of the impromptu exercise were simple: rank and sex did not matter, you entered your name in the pool, and you either got challenged or where the challenger. There was an option to back out as the one challenged, but thankfully there hadn’t been any incidents such as that yet. JoNs herself had not been challenged, and again she didn’t know whether to be thankful, insulted, or relieved at the non challenge. Both of her personal guards – the male Klingon Keltex and the female Andorian Mical – had been challenged, participated, and done well. Overall, the feline chief was highly pleased with the honorable conduct of all of her people during the no rank sparring venture.

 

The second day of the sparring had started just after the first shift, and the event was already in full swing by the time Kansas arrived in the secondary cargo bay. The storage crates and barrels had all been re-arranged in one area of the bay, forming a square shaped fighting area about the size of a boxing ring. Any available crew people from the various departments and work shifts who had come down to the cargo bay jostled and grabbed seating wherever they could, either on the stacked crates or up on the catwalk grating that ran around the perimeter of the room. The feline procured a nice vantage point on the main catwalk from two young engineering ensigns who had vacated the spot rather quickly once the Caitian officer had given them “the look”. She settled in to watch the festivities, noting with some mirth that the resident bookies were having a field day with the bets being placed on the sparring outcomes. The credits were indeed flowing freely.

 

Two enlisted officers, both female, were going at it in the ring right now. JoNs herself was enjoying observing the different fighting styles employed by her security barnacles. Some of ‘em were sloppy, some were elegant, and others might employ a combination of boxing and martial arts. She allowed a little bit of pride to creep in there as well; her grunts were well trained, thank you very much. The feline also got to see who out of both the enlisted and the commissioned officers might need some more training.

 

Shouted words brought the cat out of her mental musings, and her gaze again latched onto the combatants below. Petty Officer Demarco was having some words with the referee, Davlin, over a call that he had made. JoNs had wanted someone she could trust calling the matches, preferably a marine, and had therefore asked her sponsor for permission to employ one of her personal guards. Colonel “Medusa” Harper had agreed to the feline’s request, and JoNs had quickly klepped Davlin for the job of referee.

 

She rapped her baton on the steel railing of the catwalk, using the resulting clang to get everyone’s attention. “DeMarco! Get a grip and accept Mister Davlin’s decision. He didn’t have to agree to come down here and baby sit you Barnacles while you beat the Hades out of one another. Stow it or blow on out of here.” Her purred voice echoed across the cargo area. DeMarco nodded once to her chief and exited the ring, finally accepting the match as a draw as called by Davlin.

 

A couple more hours passed, showcasing several more of the sparring matches, and any names that had been challenged or were a challenger and had fought were subsequently removed from the roster. Davlin then called out the next name up on the list, which turned out to be a male ensign by the name of Garrett. Kansas flipped an ear back in curiosity as Garrett jumped down into the pit area. He was fresh off his training cruise, and had recently transferred to the Agincourt security department. He was human, tall, light skinned, a bit on the lanky side, but well muscled and in good shape. He had been on board for just under five months, and hadn’t done anything either good or bad in order to stand out to the senior officer; he just went about his business and did his required duty.

 

The cargo bay quieted down a bit to allow for Garrett to make his announced choice as to his sparring partner. “I choose Commander JoNs.”

 

Said feline commander did a rather un-officer like double take at the statement, and a curious rumbling undertone made its way through the area. She really hadn’t expected to be challenged to a boxing match, but then again the surprises around here tended to keep you on your game. The feline leaned over the catwalk and called down to the group of crew members who had parked it on the cargo crates directly below her position.

 

“You guys better make a hole unless you want to get nailed by an incoming feline.”

 

The spectators quickly scrambled out of the way as Kansas nimbly vaulted over the support railing and landed top of the crates. Within seconds, the feline chief was down in the pit and had unbuckled her weapons belt and stripped down to her Fleet issue uniform sports bra. Both contestants then put on the protective gloves and foot wear, with Kansas sporting specially made protective gear with claws in mind. Within minutes, the match had begun and both male ensign and female lieutenant commander were circling one another, looking for an opening to start an attack run.

 

JoNs was mentally going over the possible one on one tactical attacks that she could effectively employ, but then she got a good look into Garrett’s eyes and that was it; the feline did not like what she saw there, and the surprise just jolted her. She allowed herself to get tripped up for just a fraction of a second, and the distraction was all that the ensign needed. He went for her with an aggressive attack and launched into a roundhouse kick; his foot smashed square on into her right eye and the Caitian went down like a pole axed bovine. She tried to get up and caught a kick to the ribs, and even though the combatants wore the protective gloves and footwear, the blows stung enough to cause discomfort. Kansas finally got back on her feet, and swung at Garrett, getting a pretty good jab on his chin. She swung with a follow up punch, but he ducked the blow and proceeded to jab her in the nose; blood spurted out from the impact.

 

The feline backpedaled and came to rest against some crates when her back slammed into them. “Yield! I yield, I’ve had enough.” It was quite possibly the shortest fight in the history of the galaxy.

 

Garrett looked as if he hadn’t heard her, but then Davlin deterred any further attacks by stepping in between JoNs and the ensign, blocking the young man from his final approach; the ensign grudgingly retreated back to his corner of the ring, the almost demonic glower plastered across his face needing no interpretation; he would have torn JoNs apart if there weren’t so many witnesses, just because he could have.

 

A disappointed murmur rolled through the crowd, and Kansas grabbed hold of the situation before it could degrade any further. She managed to gather herself, stepping away from where she had slumped against the crates to let loose with a yowl that was somewhat of a cross between a growl and a purr, and she had found it rather effective in the past to grab people’s attention.

 

“Alright! Everyone listen and listen good! When this competition was started, it was clearly stated that anyone who either bowed out of a fight or yielded during a match was perfectly within their rights to do so. We had a good night tonight, and I saw some pretty good moves, and everyone comported themselves well. And not all matches go out with a bang, and this was one of ‘em, so quit your bellyaching. We’ll pick it up again tomorrow, and it’ll be the last cycle of rounds as well. Dismissed!”

 

The assembled audience scattered quickly, including Ensign Garrett who disappeared into the shadows like some damned wraith without so much as a “good match” nod to Kansas. The lack of respect was par for the course however.

 

JoNs wearily plunked down on a crate; the blood had finally stopped pouring from her nose, but her right eye had started to swell. She issued orders to Keltex and Mical, who had by made now their way to her side. “Master Chief, Lieutenant? I really don’t expect any retaliation, but do a quick patrol around the cargo bay and the outer corridor perimeters. Let’s make sure no one is doubling back to finish what Garrett – or Garret himself – started.”

 

Both of the guards nodded and silently left to comply with the orders, leaving Kansas alone with Davlin; while the enlisted jarhead and her weren’t exactly the best of friends, the Caitian knew that the marine wouldn’t try anything funny. In fact, he was looking at her a bit askance.

 

“I have a question for you cat.”

 

“Go for it human.”

 

“Look, don’t take this the wrong way … you are a total lightweight when it comes to sparring, and any one of us marines could take you out, but what was that all about? You could have taken that wet behind the ears ensign down easy.”

 

Kansas slowly removed the protective gear from her paws, thinking over her response. How exactly does one explain their own inborn instincts to someone else, who wasn’t even a Caitian to boot? “You get a good look at his eyes Davlin?”

 

“No. Why?”

 

“The eyes are dead. The lights are on, but nobody’s home. That’s what tripped me up during the match, that’s why he was able to get in so close and take me out as quick as he did. And I’m sure you did notice his aggression factor?”

 

“Yeah. It was a little, ah, exuberant.”

 

JoNs stopped for a moment, looking at Davlin appraisingly. Did she really want to have this conversation with the marine, putting aside the fact that he was a senior bodyguard to Medusa? Sometimes it was unhealthy to share your thoughts with others, because something could always be used against you.

 

Even though the cat maintained a poker face - well, as much as she was able to with a bloodied nose and a swollen eye - the big marine picked up on some of the hesitation. “Oh come on Commander JoNs, you have me curious now. What gives?”

 

The feline’s tone, which had been low anyway, went even lower due to the serious slant the conversation had taken. “That dead look that’s there in the eyes, and the aggression factor that’s off the charts even in a contained environment like this sparring session … you know if you have a rabid canine, the dog needs to be put down. Well, that’s where Garrett is at. I don’t know if something set him of specifically to get into that state, or if he’s always been that way … but there’s no honor there for me to work with. He’s too far gone to his animal nature … “

 

Kansas had trailed off due to the look that had sprung onto the enlisted marine’s features. “…I just completely screwed up your world with that little animal theory as applied to humans coming from said feline animal, didn’t I? Hey man, I’m sorry, but I can have my deep thought moments too. You asked!”

 

The marine shook his head as if coming out of a trance, and then spoke to JoNs. “… uh no, I’m fine. For lack of a better term, are you going to put Garrett down like the so called dog he is?”

 

“I won’t need to. He’ll do that himself … he won’t make it past his current rank, not now that he’s out here in the Fleet doing his commissioned service. Either someone will take him out, or he’ll get blown away on some away team mission. Either way, he’s on borrowed time and it’s not really my problem. I’d just as soon not be standing next to him when the sniper bullet hits.”

 

The Caitians bluntness and almost clinical detachment regarding her own officer had completely taken Davlin by surprise, but he rolled with the punches so to speak. He stepped toward her and offered a hand to her. Kansas looked a little confused by the out of the blue gesture, but grasped the humans hand firmly in a paw.

 

“Thank you very much for blowing my mind tonight. I’m going to go now and attempt to forget this happened. Good night Commander and get that eye looked at.”

 

Kansas chuckled softly, careful not to aggravate her now bruising side. “I will, and thanks for doing the referee bit.”