"A Little Problem"

[STSF Jumper 0]

* Banshee Farrell and the Caitian Honorscar tribe concept and character used with permission of Kansas Jones; this log follows the events in “Farrell Log Two”.

 

Camelot Station, CENTRAL HUB: Levels 37 – 49, Hanger Deck

Junior Grade Lieutenant Jagrissa “Jumper” Honor-Scar

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A tawny furred Caitian stood off to the side of the hanger deck, lurking in the shadows cast by some cargo barrels and crates that were tied down and waiting to be processed. Even though she was of a lighter fur coloring, she would have blended in completely due to the black flight suit she wore, the yellow patches on the shoulders designating her as a senior pilot not withstanding. Her tail lashed as she observed and eavesdropped on the conversation in the distance between the Gaia squad and one of the lead mechanics; feline hearing was a sense to be exploited and used to its full advantage.

 

Holding the prestigious position of a wingman pilot, as well as the rank of lieutenant was quite an accomplishment, but held no indication of Jagrissa’s actual upbringing or background. She was born on her home planet of Cait to an unwed Caitian female and a Caitian freighter captain. Her father chose not to stick around to raise the young kitten, leaving her with her mother. Her mother tried, but was in and out of drug rehab throughout her life, eventually succumbing to her vice and sickness four years ago at the young age of forty five.

 

Jagrissa, as well as her background, was considered to be the lower class among the Caitian people. Even though she can trace her bloodline to the Shadow Pride clan, as well as the Honorscar tribe, the feline has no formal designation with regard to her last name. Therefore, she took and kept her mothers last name of Honor-Scar. The hyphenated last name differs from the Honorscar tribe designation, with the hyphenation indicating that yes, Jagrissa is off the Honorscar tribe, but is of a low born section within the family tribe. Within these modern times, those with no formal last name are no longer persecuted as they once was, when tribal affiliations and bloodlines were considered law. And today it was just as common for Caitians to have a formal name, a middle name, and a tribal hyphenation for a third name, or any combination or omission of the three designations.

 

In short, Lieutenant Jagrissa Honor-Scar was a low born Caitian with no direct family ties to hold her back, twenty five seasons of age, the wingman for the Wild Card squad, and had a chip on her shoulder a mile wide with an attitude to match. She was her own worst enemy.

 

A low growl vocalized her frustration, especially when she picked up on the fact that Chief Petty Officer Farrell had specifically mentioned the Wild Cards as screw ups. So, the feline waited for the right moment to pounce so to speak, and jumped out from her hiding place as Farrell passed by the crate area, planting a paw on one of the crates and then vaulted out into Banshee Farrell’s path.

 

The tall Irish woman had a predictable reaction. “Jesus, Mary and Saint Joseph! What’re ye playing at Lieutenant Honor-Scar.” She backed away a step and glared at the Caitian Wild Card pilot, “sulking in the shadows and then pouncing out like that.”

 

Jagrissa leered and then drawled in a lazy purr. “Pouncing is what cats do.”

 

Farrell unconsciously fell into a formal parade rest, determined to comport herself professionally even if the pilot wasn’t planning too. The two women had butted heads in the past, and it was definitely a conflict of personalities. “What can I do for you Lieutenant?” Her gaze was steady and fixed on a point in the distance, refusing to look at the pilot.

 

“I want to know what this load of targ shifasta is about, you remanding pilots to repair duty if we break one of your precious Lancelots or Gwens. You’re just a Petty Officer, you don’t have that authority.”

 

The just a petty officer now looked at the Caitian, who stood several inches shorter then her five foot eight frame. “That would be Chief Petty Officer now Lieutenant. Learn to check the announcement boards. And as for the authority, yes I do. I have the clearance and authority from the CAG, the command staff, and the lead pilots of the squads in question.” A disconcerting leer popped onto the fair featured face of the blond woman. “I ca’ wait until I get yer little furry rear end on punishment duty … yer hot dogging is well known, and even after all this time yer landings are still pretty ‘jumpy’ per that call sign o’ yours … it’s only a matter of time before you do something stupid and get the boot into maintenance duty Lieutenant Honorscar. And I use that rank loosely.” She ran a hand through her blond spiky hair, an indication that she was loosing patience with the uppity feline.

 

Honor-Scar growled and moved forward menacingly, claws sliding out.

 

With an effort, Banshee stood firm and maintained her parade rest stance, resisting the urge to drop into a fighting crouch against the tawny Caitian. “Don’t girl, unless you want me to defend meself and put a world of hurtin’ on ya. I believe in fair fighting, but I know ye don’t, or so I’ve heard from the lower decks scuttlebutt. Officer or not, I’ll defend myself and I won’t hesitate to get down and dirty on yer arse and I’m good at what I do.

 

Jagrissa hissed, but never got any farther then that. Several deck hands who could not help but overhear the exchange stepped in between the two females and one of the senior deck chiefs, a white haired man who had about forty years experience, quickly hustled Banshee Farrell off the flight deck.

 

Lieutenant Honor-Scar glowered from across the deck but was in no position to really do anything with so many enlisted witnesses. So, she backed away from the gathered group as they regained control of the deck area, her sharp yellow eyes flashing ominously.

 

The rogue feline pilot disappeared through a side entrance hatch with a flick of her tail.