"Conditioning"

[Kansas_Jones 0]

Note: Takes place during the 2 hour TBS

 

10.04.08

USS Agincourt NCC-81762

“Conditioning”

 

A smoke and soot covered cat is not a happy cat, indeed.

 

But, as Kansas couldn’t help reflecting with a touch of sadness as she entered her private quarters, at least she could still ambulate on her two or four legs; there was at least one survivor from the deck two explosions who had had his left leg sheared clean off above the knee by shrapnel. She had found him, half consciousness, in one of the work alcoves within the trashed auxiliary lab. She slapped a transporter marker to his arm and the transporter technician on duty had beamed him, along with a steady stream of survivors and injured, to the main medical bay.

 

The labs, workstations, bulkheads and deck plating of deck two had also been smeared and splashed with the blood and body fluids of those crewmembers who had been flung like rag dolls when the blast hit … that was another image that would not be wiped from the Caitians mind anytime soon. The blood smears were located at the oddest intervals, like a painters brush that had suddenly gone out of control and started painting in splashes with no logical progression or something.

 

The commander made her way to the sonic shower, stripping naked as she went. JoNs seriously considered burning her soot and grime stained uniform, but would probably end up turning it into ships stores for recycling.

 

A wide golden paw swiped at the sonic shower controls, and instead of the usual sonic setting, the feline opted for honest to goodness water. With the grime, dust and soot clinging to her fur like it was, water and soap were her weapons of choice. Kansas scrubbed and scrubbed for a good fifteen minutes, getting the grime off her both literally and figuratively. She could do nothing for the sadness, at least not yet. She finished up by toweling off and drying her fur, all the while her mind reeling with command level concerns, this or that official business that needed tending too, or one of a dozen search and rescue concerns.

 

Emerging from the shower alcove, the leonine Caitian moved across her quarters to the closet and started to remove a clean uniform. She reflexively went for a yellow-gold hued tunic, stopped in mid grab, smirked, and redirected her paw to take the red command tunic. Old habits die hard.

 

The internal ships comm chirped, and then a voice spoke as if from thin air throughout her quarters; the incoming communication had been redirected to the wireless relays located at intervals though out the ship when the computer systems recognized that she had removed her communicator badge prior to jumping into the shower.

 

“Hadrian to Commander JoNs. Come in Commander.”

 

The feline exec stretched a painful tension kink out of her right shoulder with a low purred moan before she responded to the summons. “JoNs here,” she paused a moment while she mentally recalled Hadrian. Female. Human. Chief Petty Officer. Normally worked third shift down in cargo handling, and was also the shift leader for one of the third shift Damage Control Response teams. All the DC response teams were pitching in to help with the clean up on the second deck labs. “What’s up Chief?”

 

“Just reporting in with some DC team movements sir. Beta team is taking a break, and my team is moving in to spot them for a few. We’ll be working on the environmental controls.”

 

“Thanks for the heads up Chief and be careful. I’ll inform the CO and the Chief Engineer. JoNs out.”

 

Kansas finished dressing and then quickly exited her quarters, her well conditioned body and mind automatically going back into duty mode in order to meet the next incoming crisis head on.

 

And maybe bite a nice sized fragging chunk out of it too.