Neutral Ground

[Kansas_Jones 0]

02.06.09

USS Agincourt NCC-81762

“Neutral Ground”

 

The main government administration building had escaped the worst of the raider attack. It was a typical pre-fab colony office building, exterior gray with interior whites and grays and blues, but the plasti-steel construction was solid, and had offered just the right amount of protection in order to keep the building standing upright rather than having bits and pieces of mortar and industrial grade plastic scattered all over the business sector of the main colony. Even the windows had stayed intact, but the outside view wasn’t exactly pleasant what with a few buildings still on fire and the damage control and rescue teams running here and there. Every once in a while, a rescue hover copter could be seen air lifting supplies to distant points and areas, or bringing in supplies and extra personnel and such to ground zero. The colony damage response plans were indeed in full swing, and when the Agincourt’s command team had beamed down to the planet, the two women had seen evidence of the local colony militia mobilizing for a full on anabasis, no doubt to be on guard just in case of any future attacks in the coming weeks.

 

Commander Kansas JoNs bolted through the ground level hallways of the administration building, double timing it down to the sub-basement level where the crisis response dispatcher offices had been located in order to field and direct all the support teams working out in the damaged locations. Colonel Harper was still in talks with the main colony leaders regarding the whole situation, while Kansas was going to touch base with the middle management personnel who were on the co-coordinating side of the relief efforts and get a read on where the general response system was at.

 

The golden furred feline was switching on the fly from walking on all four paws to walking upright on her hind legs, depending on which method best worked for her in order to navigate around the various government officials, rescue workers, and administration staff as they moved between offices, makeshift offices, corridors, dispatcher offices, or supply areas; everyone was just trying to get the small city, neighborhoods and business districts back to some semblance of normalcy and they were darting about like angry wasps as they went about their business.

 

The young executive officer arrived at and entered the open doorway that had been designated as the coordinating office for the local police and rescue deployment and promptly spotted the shift lead - another Caitian?! – at what she assumed to be the chief dispatchers desk. He held a wireless communicator in one paw, and was issuing orders and movement co-ordinates to several team captains at once; the local planetary wireless satellites hadn’t been knocked out by the attack, but it had been thrown for a loop and certain areas were still disconnected and so the response teams had fallen back on so called old time site to site comm technology.

 

The office looked like the typical sort of office during a crisis – ordered chaos, with flimsy reports, data pads, and ramshackle computer equipment that had been booted up to meet the communication and data transfer demands. But for right now, Kansas couldn’t take her eyes off the feline office worker.

 

He actually wasn’t a Caitian as she had first thought; he was a Kzinti, judging by those black stripes and tawny furred coat. His build was also stockier, more akin to an Earth Tiger in comparison.

 

The Caitians and the Kzinti had at one time many, many moon cycles ago been embroiled in a bitter war. The Kzinti, a warlike species similar to the Klingons, would swoop in with raiding parties, touchdown on Cait and proceed to conquer, rape and pillage the various villages or plains tribes. The constant fighting would go on for years before finally coming to an end. The current bloodlines of Cait were still rife with the tiger-like genetics that popped up here and there due to the inter-breeding in the aftermath of the rapes and attacks. An Earth Human example of this years long skirmishing would or could be compared to the constant fighting and war fare that had gone on regarding the disputed possession of a little section of land simply known as “Gaza” during the old world mapping.

 

Even after a few hundred years, there was still some tension between the respective species and these tensions could flare depending on the individuals involved.

 

Although, like Caitians, the Kzinti were usually sought after for work in the civilian or fleet communications or security fields, so it was not that unusual to see them working within the administration offices of a colony world. If anything, the colonial development offices at Fleet command probably needed the felines more than the Fleet ships at times

 

JoNs however was still trying to get past the surprise of seeing the male Kzinti. She was still on all fours, paws flattened to the floor, legs straight, her tail in a curious “question mark” shape, her ears pointed and forward: despite her black uniform trousers and crimson red uniform command tunic, she looked like a kitten about to play for lack of a better description.

 

The Kzinti dispatcher’s scent was all over the office. This was his territory, and would she be welcome in it? Like the past tribal wars, feline territorial issues, even among sentient felinoids, could be complicated depending on the individuals involved and what species they happened to be from. And with a Kzinti and a Cait, there were of course even more nuances to consider what with the shared background of strife.

 

The stocky tiger Kzinti noticed the leonine Caitian right away, his whiskers quivering with his own curiosity and wariness. “You the rep from the orbital ship? It’s about time. I’m Virro; we were wondering if we should send some search parties out for you, you were taking so long to get down here. You get sidetracked in one of the supply offices?” Like Kansas, he spoke in a pleasant purring voice, but his tone was all business, and sharp. The Kzinti species, again as a whole, were often on par with the Klingons when it came to brash directness.

 

What was that about tensions flaring? And now we have jerk wad Kzinti government administrator and a feisty Caitian executive officer in the same room together? Oh, this is a party. Is there a doctor in the house?

 

“Look – Commander, is it? I really don’t need an outside administrator interfering with our police and response team operations. If anything, we need your ship to provide a presence in orbit for the next few hours to deter any more attacks, that’s all.”

 

Kansas stood upright in a woosh of indignation and promptly le poofed out with her golden tail and neck ruff fur flaring in response to Mister Personality.

 

The problem was that Virro was a civilian. And if JoNs were to open up Pandora's Box and go all territorial feline Boo Yah on him, it would de-evolve into a Civvy/Fleeter incident, Medusa Harper would kick her ass, and all would not be right with the universe. And there was way too much going on, and the priority was the colony, the damage control teams, and any injured out in the neighborhood sections.

 

And so, maybe it was a sign of maturity, or maybe she just didn’t have the desire to start a cluster frag, but Kansas refused to lose her temper and reined it back in and consciously de-poofed her fur. The leonine feline, very much like Xenophon leading the defeated Greek mercenaries back to the Black Sea (obscure tactical historical Fleet academy class subjects – gotta love ‘em), chose to back away and allowed Virro to maintain his own territorial office space, saying with body language rather than words that she was not there to invade his grassland so to speak.

 

“Look, Mister Virro, I’m not here to interfere. My name is Kansas JoNs, I was sent ahead by my commanding officer to meet with you and get a general idea of where you stand with your portion of the rescue and clean up operations. I’m also authorized to offer the services of the Agincourt – our ship of course – damage control teams if you need some extra patrols out there on the grounds.”

 

“You got any Kzinti in your tribal blood line?” The question wasn’t spoken with malice, just curiosity, backed up with a pair of inquisitive yellow eyes.

 

The out of the blue question threw JoNs, but she also felt a surge of irrational prejudicial anger. With an exasperated sigh and a choked purring noise of annoyance, she huffed out a response, “If we do? The stripes haven’t been spotted, no pun intended, in any of our family generational lines within the past fifty or so years that I know of.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Are we done with the question and answers here Mister Virro? I’d really like some sort of update report … “

 

Finally, after regarding Kansas in silence for a few moments, Virro rose from the chair he had been seated on and approached Kansas. With a smile bordering on a smirk, he held out his paw for a classic tribal handshake. She likewise regarded him for a few moments in silence before completing the forearm grasp.

 

“Are you always this much of a hard case with the whole territory thing Virro?”

 

The response was instant. “Only with the really cute females.”

 

Oh, he’s a winner. Still … he was sort of attractive. Then, Kansas got a rein on her hormones as well and got right back to business, or tried to, again. “Mister Virro. Update.” She did offer him a lopsided smile.

 

Knowing that it was the time to drop the hard case act, the stocky Kzinti offered a trilling purr of acknowledgement and nodded to his Caitian counterpart. “Right … it has been a long day Commander.”

 

Kansas cocked her head to one side in sympathy. “I know it has.”

 

Virro’s eyes, which had been bright with the escape that the banter had afforded him, suddenly went sad again as he led her over to his desk area and started to update the Agincourt’s executive officer regarding the rescue progress of some of the planetary damage control teams.

 

It had indeed been a long day.