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STSF Jumper

Jumper Pre-Log 1

Note: this pre-log of the Lower Decks takes place during the time period when some of the bridge officers have taken out the Captain’s Yacht and are studying a section of the plasma flares more closely; Honor-Scar is bird dogging (or maybe bird catting) the yacht as the lowly escort patrol pilot who is stuck with the typical lower decks grunt work so the line officers can stay all pretty. Stay tuned for further information and the full launch of the Excalibur: Lower Decks Message Board Sim!

 

= = = =

“Excalibur is entering the thicket, where science has been told to scan to their hearts content.”

- 10.05.08 Excalibur Mission Brief

 

Ensign Jagrissa “Jumper” Honor-Scar sighed and checked the vector progress of the Cousteau class yacht as the modified captain’s transport shuttle zipped here and there across the expanse of the Thicket that the home ship Excalibur was currently traversing. The monitor inset into the main control console of the utility vehicle that the Caitian feline piloted showed the graphical details as the yacht moved into yet another new position to gather more sensor readings.

 

Granted, this sector of the Thicket was hopping with plasma flare activity, and offered major data gathering opportunity. But, you know – how much was too much? Then again, this was why Honor-Scar was not a sciences officer. Let the geeks have their fun.

 

The tawny furred Caitian was one of the newer pilot grunts, and so as a result, she’d be getting a good portion of any baby sitting flight runs for right now. And, well, when the chief of sciences had a request forwarded by the chief bridge flight conn officer to Corizon about taking out the Captains Yacht for some closer inspection of the plasma flare activities in this section of the sector, the request had been granted and Jagrissa had been on the flight roster to be sent out into the Black for the next flight mission.

 

The feline pilot jigged her control stick and gracefully banked her Guinevere class bomber to the left and settled into another shadow course parallel to the Cousteau class yacht as it moved over to scan and let the on board patrons observe another flare phenomena that was ramping up in intensity in preparation for the eventual cosmic blow out. Some sort of protection needed to be at the ready, even though the lower decks scuttlebutt had claimed that the ship and crew had been cleared by the leader of that pirate clan to traverse back through the Thicket. So therefore, between the yacht’s defenses and the added presence of the heavy patrol Gwen bomber, the research team was well in hand as they got their geeky observation fix. She admired the sleek lines of the yacht for a moment through the clear plasticrete protection barrier that surrounded the cockpit of her own bird.

 

Granted, maneuverability wise, the Gwen Bomber moved like a drunken turkey and was about as useful as one in a close quarters dog fight. It had almost the same design lines as the Danube class runabouts, but was definitely a different class of ship owing to its recon, heavy fighter and bomber designation hardware. However, in the paws of a utility pilot such as Jumper, she would be able to coax some style out of the flying turkey to cause some big time smack down interference should any of the pirate clan try to jump the yacht research team.

 

Yeah, the feline was really good at what she did. She knew her piloting stuff. And behind the stick of a Gwen Heavy Bomber or whatever vehicle you stuck her in, she was untouchable as well as a force to be reckoned with.

 

Cocky? Yeah whatever; modesty got you nowhere, and modesty couldn’t help you with an enemy torpedo missile coming in square on your tail. The good news was that the six month tour of duty that Jumper had pulled with the Camelot Reaper Squad – and they had been a good squad to get in some training with, and Jumper appreciated her time with them - had schooled the feline pilot to the point where her attitude had been adjusted to a better working level; the bad news was that the Reaper pilots hadn’t totally been able to totally quash all of the cockiness.

 

The yacht made another erratic course change, and she grumbled and jigged her bomber to follow. “My gods, what is up with Khal over there? He pilots that bird like a sissy.”

 

Jumper, as a lower decks denizen, of course had yet to meet any of the upstanding bridge crew or main department line officers in person; she had only briefly reported to the bridge and met with Captain Corizon and her CAG Lieutenant Commander Ramson just after transferring aboard and getting settled into her billet. The lion like feline knew that Lieutenant Mreh Khal was a Caitian, like herself, as well as the chief Helm officer. But with his wild poofy tail and spotted pattern he looked like an Earth fox had gotten the nasty groove on with an Earth leopard or something, but hey, she was no genetics expert on the Caitian bloodlines and where the more exotic fur patterns could pop up. There was also some sort of female vampiric blood sucker by the name of Victoria or something running around with the security forces … sweetie fangs had better stay out of the glare of those UV rays.

 

The yacht went a little to the right again, and the male Caitian el tees execution was just painful to watch from Honor-Scars perspective from her bomber shuttle cockpit. The boy piloted the Cousteau class like he was on arthritis medicine though … did he even pass the utility support piloting course?

 

There had also been some bald chick – and Jumper assumed she was Deltan or just really into the bald headed look – hovering over at the sciences bridge console and the feline figured that the Deltan had accompanied the yacht research team as well. And the green skinned chief of sciences, Commander Laarell Teykier, was also on board the pleasure slash utility craft. Lower decks rumors had the Orion senior officer jumping into bed with any male or other that moved or wasn’t dead. Or half dead. But, to be fair, not all rumors were true and most of them only had a half truth to them.

 

The Captain himself had struck the junior pilot as a typical snotty war dog. Dameon breeding and too much education for his own good and just plain stuffy. She looked for a stick, but it must have gone too far up and gotten sucked in or something.

 

And then there was Commander MVess “Left Ear” JoNs. My dear gods, the karma really blew the antimatter plasma. Sure, Jagrissa and MVess were distant cousins, removed by a couple generations and only really saw each other at family weddings and funerals, but yeah, it still sucked that Ms. Hidebound was the first officer for the Excalibur. The woman probably regularly passed diamonds (Corizon probably passed them too – the two command officers were made for one another), she was wound so tight. Jumper supposed that it was only a matter of time before running into one of the JoNs’s or serving with someone from that section of the family clan, considering the JoNs cats multiplied like fleas and half of ‘em were in active service to the Starfleet. At least Honor-Scar reported to Ramson and didn’t have to report to JoNs directly. She’d at least have to unofficially check in with the brown furred Left Ear though, just out of common courtesy; the scuttlebutt down in the nether deck regions claimed that the Excalibur XO had gotten pretty dinged up during that late night pirate raid when the sickbay had been breached, so she’d do what was required of her family duty-wise and check on the recovery progress of her blood kin. She’d have to go about it carefully though, because gods forbid the ship rumor mill got wind of any favoritism. She doubted it though, not with Left Ear.

 

And as for Ramson, Jumper really couldn’t get a read on the CAG of the Excal fighter wing, at least not yet. The young Caitian pilot already knew that Ramson ran a tight and professional fighter pilot and utility support pilot crew, so the feline couldn’t fault her for that. Professional could sometimes get very boring though. Eh, there would always be a below decks card game to spice things up. Come to think of it, she hadn’t post game decked anyone for a good six to eight months or so. Had to keep the edge on, and if you didn’t exercise it you lost it.

 

The ship to ship wireless crackled, indicating that the Caitian pilot was receiving an incoming call to the communications line embedded into her helmet.

 

+Comm Line 1+ “Commander Teykier to Guinevere 411, come in 411.”

 

It’s the Second Officer Greenie. Okay, no cussing now about how much this babysitting mission blows or how it might spice things up to engage in some dog fighting maneuvers with the yacht and bomber. Teykier could also use some work on her craft to craft piloting talk. She had the Commander rank and Jumper respected this, but the Orion was a total newbie with regard to the piloting protocol.

 

+Comm Line Reply+ “Guinevere 411 here. Orders Commander? Jumper Niner 411, over.”

 

+Comm Line 1+ “Ensign Honor-Scar, alter your course to vector 25.1 mark 7; we have another flare forming on the sensors and we want to head over and grab one last set of readings before re-docking with the home ship.”

 

The tawny furred lion cat just snorted (off the wireless, of course) and started entering in the correct vector and flight parameters for the change of course prep. The Guinevere heavy bomber flew up and over in an arc to intercept the yacht as both space craft altered and assigned themselves to the new designated course change called for by mission commander Teykier.

 

+Comm Line Reply+ “Oh goodie Sir. Altering course now, I have your six, and for the love of the gods, please do not fly straight into a flare, and try and use proper pilot communication protocols while we are out here in the Black please – we use our mission ops call signs and designations for security reasons. Jumper 411 over and out.”

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** Please Note: Lower Decks is primarily focusing on Enlisted and Non Commissioned officers only **

 

Ensign Jumper is an "under the radar" junior officer character and will remain a Lower Decks Denizen.

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