"Blast From The Past"

[Kansas 0]

Written By: Lieutenant (sg) Christina-T'Prinn "Junior" Caine and Commander Kansas "Will" JoNs

 

05.30.09

ISS Agincourt NCC-81762

“Blast From the Past”

 

Present Time, 2397

Station Keeping at Deep Space Nine

 

It was mid-morning, ship’s standard time cycle, and for the most part things were going quite well. The Imperial ship ISS Agincourt was docked at Deep Space Station Nine, taking on new replacement and assigned crew as well as a small batch of passengers scheduled for transport to the Avaros colony world.

 

Commander Kansas “Will” JoNs, Executive Officer to the ‘Court, stood confidently off to the side at the main access entry hatch, overseeing the stream of bodies as the new arrivals exited the connector hatch and set foot on the decking of the Prometheus-class warship. The ship’s security department also maintained a presence of course, checking assignment orders and transfer paperwork, ensuring that everyone here was where they were supposed to be.

 

For the most part, JoNs maintained her watchful position along the lines of, “Hello, I’m the ships Ex Oh, and I shall stand here in all my kickass felinoid glory and oversee the influx of new crew. Fear the feline, all five foot three inches of me.” Occasionally, she would enter into a quick conversation with one of the new officers or cadets, welcoming them on board, but most of the takers were the younger ensigns or senior cadets perhaps completing a training mission on the Agincourt.

 

The conversations served many purposes: on one paw, Kansas was able to perhaps put a young officer’s mind at ease about coming on board a new assignment. The same had been done for her way back during her cadet service on the ISS Arrowfire, and the Caitian had never forgotten the ship’s Exec as he greeted the incoming arrivals. There was no pomp and circumstance, just the Human officer offering that little bit of assurance.

 

And being a human born and raised within the Imperial structure, of course Commander Hollis did make a requisite alien joke towards JoNs (Oh, we have another Cait; now the ‘Fire’s rodent problem will really spiral downward). Yet it was his manner and delivery that made the difference between Kansas ripping his throat out, which she did not of course, and going along with the banter (absolutely sir, I’ll get right on my assigned rodentia patrol) in her usual good natured smart ass type of way. He had meant no real harm, and that had been important to consider before taking any hasty actions against your new XO. Indeed, her tenure on the training vessel had been one of the better ones, and she had very rarely run afoul of Hollis.

 

The felinoid officer had been a young cadet, starting her first training assignment, and scared out of her ever loving mind but not daring to admit it. It was just that one bit of welcome banter, in contrast to this dark universe that they all lived in, that tipped the scales and put then Cadet JoNs at ease as she planted a paw on that scuffed decking those years ago.

 

So, in a way, JoNs was attempting to repay and emulate that experience now. It was the little things that counted in life sometimes.

 

And, tactically, it gave her a read on the sort of personal caliber that the new officers and crew might possess; you could tell a lot about a being and their intentions - good or bad or neutral - by looking right in their eyes, and at any body language. So far, she was content with what she was seeing, and felt no need to put a general “heads up to be watched” target on any of them.

 

Christina-T'Prinn Caine stepped through the entry gate of the ISS Agincourt off of Deep Space Nine and eyed the chaos of the rushing crowd of new officers with a cool patience. Most of them were young, green officers fresh out of the Academy; it only made sense that they would be at such a level of energy and enthusiasm for the new post, ready to strike out into the service of the Empire and more than likely put their foot in it squarely before they'd taken three steps in that service. Caine knew better. Twenty-seven years in Intelligence and Security had taught her to take things slow and cold; running hot into any new situation was a recipe for finding fire waiting for you.

 

Her current situation was no different; she had received her orders from Intel to take over the position of Chief of Security on the Agincourt, and she was taking that assignment with all appropriate caution, waiting to see whether her constant niggling suspicions of the officers around her would this time come to fruition. She stepped quickly through the crowd, parting the younger officers and heading for the officer in command red around whom most of them seemed to be gravitating. Best to get this process over with as quickly as possible.

 

JoNs was indeed wearing command red, the usual sleeveless wraparound tunic that she favored, exposing the golden fur on her arms. She wore the Fleet issue black trousers, no boots per her feline hind legs, and a utility belt that held her dagger and a sawed off plasma shotgun worn low on one leg. The shotgun wasn't Fleet issue, rather it had been passed down from the last generation in her family to her. She became aware of the one officer moving forward boldly through the crowd, and quirked a pointed ear back in curiosity.

 

The senior officer, a Commander by her pips, was a Cait, a fact which soured Caine's mood immediately. Caine was an Intel officer of the first order, spent her time buried in the deepest levels of Imperial dogma, and her patience for officers not of Vulcan or Human origin -- particularly Caits -- was extremely limited. The half-Vulcan's cold expression tightened abruptly and she altered her course, swerving to move past the feline alien and follow the herd of greenhorns deeper into the ship.

 

Kansas was standing off to the side as the officers and crew entered, so with Caine brushing past, it was really not anything of an issue. However, the new officer’s attitude - or rather, the manner in which she carried herself - set off the leonine Cait’s curiosity. "Hold up! You, officer! You're bypassing the receiving line." It was less an order, but definitely not a suggestion.

 

Caine came to an abrupt halt, the ingrained response to that tone of command coming even though it was in the Caitian's voice. She turned slowly. "Commander?" she said coolly. Her eyes caught those of the other officer and she felt a sudden surge of deja-vu that for a moment she could not place.

 

The Commander approached the Vulcan officer, and her keen feline green eyes took in the ears, some facial scarring, her stance, and her rank – senior Lieutenant rank pips. Gold uniform jacket. JoNs cocked an ear back. "You must be our new Security chief. Where's the fire, El Tee?"

 

Caine's expression didn't shift at the Caitian's jaunty tone. "No rush at all, Commander," she said calmly, her eyes betraying distaste for the conversation but the rest of her face completely still.

 

O-kay. Vibes. Not liking the vibes. Kansas flipped her one ear forward and crossed her arms over her chest. She glanced about to make sure they weren’t the full focus of anyone’s attention - yet - and then turned her slightly puzzled and rapidly turning stern gaze on the security El Tee. "Then why are you moving like you have rabid squirrels nipping at your heels? I'm Commander Kansas JoNs, ship’s Ex Oh. You are Lieutenant Caine, I gather?" The name sounds familiar, and I’ve held some sort of suspicion since reviewing her personnel file.

 

JoNs. Something clicked. The name, the race, something in the build or the stance or the eyes...it clicked together and if Caine's taut bearing would have permitted it, she would have stiffened even further. What on Terra was one of them doing here? "Yes..." she said, tilting her head slightly to look down at the shorter officer, the tone coming out cautious and just slightly strained.”Christina-T'Prinn Caine, Starfleet Intelligence." One of them...in a Terran uniform...that wasn't possible...

 

What the hell? Something was really off here, and it set the cats hackles off. Kansas waved a paw. "Walk with me, Lieutenant." She then threw a glance back to one of the Agincourt Security officers, a Bajoran female petty officer, and spoke to her as she began to leave the immediate area with the new senior line officer. "Corla, take over with the incoming replacement crew and transfers. I'll be back momentarily."

 

It took a surprising amount of Caine's finely-honed self-control to prevent her from rolling her eyes, turning her back on the alien Commander, and leaving to go get to her actual work. Her job description, unless she had missed something in the fine print, did not require her to hobnob with the command staff, and certainly not with this member of it. But she was also smart enough to retain enough control on herself to get a sense of the situation before she went about burning bridges. So she turned sharply and fell into step with the commander on her right side, looking straight ahead rather than meeting JoNs's gaze again.

 

The Commander walked with an easy gait beside the tight Vulcan, her hind paw pads making no sound on the hard steel-gray decking. "So, Mister Caine. A welcome to the Agincourt is in order, and you are due that greet, despite the fact that we did not specifically request that you be sent to us."

 

"Yes, I'm afraid SF Intel decided that someone of my caliber was an appropriate addition to this crew at this time," Caine said easily, still keeping her eyes straight forward. "I apologize if you were...disappointed." Her tone somehow managed to convey the impression that she was not sorry at all.

 

"Let’s get something straight now - this ship belongs to Colonel Harper, her word is our law. I'm her second, and I enforce that law. You're serving on the Agincourt now, not with your Intelligence buds. You'd be wise to consider that, Lieutenant Caine, if you wish to have a somewhat comfortable tour of duty here."

 

Kansas glanced at the scars on the underside of the woman’s jaw - claw marks? JoNs was no species expert, but the slice angle and the width were consistent with feline claws, either Caitian or Kzinti. She was almost reluctant to delve further into how the Vulcan officer had acquired them, but a nagging sensation in her gut already had a partial answer.

 

Caine's grey eyes narrowed in something just to the left of a smirk; had she been fully human she might have laughed aloud at the Caitian's attempt to display her pack authority. "I have only the best interests of the Empire at heart, Commander. As long as you and your Colonel do as well...we should have no problems."

 

JoNs stopped walking and simultaneously placed a paw on Caine’s arm; the feline’s grip wasn't harsh, but it also could not be ignored. "Watch yourself, Lieutenant."

 

Caine's movement was checked and she pivoted slightly to take the pressure from her arm and she again caught the cat's gaze. Her jaw tightened and she sharply pulled her arm from JoNs's grip, taking care not to let claws injure her. "Touchy, Commander?" she asked, just the slightest bit tauntingly.

 

The Commander instead answered the question with a question. "....Where'd you get those face scars?” Her tone was direct, and her green eyes held a cunning glint.

 

Caine's body went perfectly still and she replied, with an evenness that said more than raging emotion ever could, "An operation some years ago...near Aldebaran II. Track-and-capture." She eyed JoNs balefully, wondering if she was being made fun of. "Sound at all familiar, Commander?"

 

Twenty One Years Prior, 2376

Aldebaran Sector

 

MVess JoNs knew that things were going downhill and fast; they had to bolt now in order to complete the job.

 

The JoNs clan had been contracted to slip into Starbase Draconis Four and grab and tag specific medical inventory supplies by their current employer. Everything had gone according to plan, and all of their backpacks were filled with the required medications that they had been sent to steal. But, somewhere along the way, either she or one of her brothers had tripped an alarm unknowingly, or someone had made them and reported them to the local security offices. It didn’t matter; the mercenary clan needed to haul tail and make themselves scarce.

 

Even though she was still settling into the role of ship’s master of the Dark Fury after taking over as captain from her father, VaRirr, the twenty-something brown-furred Caitian panther barked orders like an old pro to her older brothers. MVess turned to her golden-furred brother, who had gotten the more common lion genetics of the Cait felines. “Srrett! Take rear guard, I’ll do point.”

 

Then, she fixed her attention on her twin Ravirr, who had the same un-common panther genetics as MVess that ran through the JoNs bloodline, as well as Ravarr, who also resembled a leonine cat like Srrett. “Take the sides of the cargo bay. Basic defensive stance, cover each other’s backs and head for the exit point we marked on the digital maps, so we can get lost in the crowds on the Promenade again. Ravarr, give Vrrowl a yell over the wireless and tell him to standby on the boat in case any of us gets dinged up, and make sure Pops has the scrambler launch program all set to go once we hit the Fury decking so we can breeze away from the base under cover. Let’s move!”

 

Those damned cats had finally made a mistake. Ensign Caine's half-Vulcan features twisted in a tight smile as she heard the silent security alarms of Draconis Four begin sounding off. She had been tracking the Caitian smuggling vessel's runs for several months now; they were a slippery set of thieves and had been proving difficult for even the oldest of the Intel officers who had turned a hand to the case. Caine wanted that prize, not only as a step towards the cleaning of the Empire's space lanes, but as a boost to her career so much cleaner and more effective than the backstabbing that went on every day in the ranks of Fleet Intelligence. Not that Caine was averse to a little backstabbing, but satisfying as it was, it was, in the long run, a necessary evil, a distraction. This was the work -- to punish the wrongdoing. Firmly. Very firmly.

 

“Alright -- on the bounce!" she called to the rest of the small detachment of Fleet Security currently under her command as they came to a halt outside the cargo bay where the alarms were sounding. She gestured a few of them into position, taking point herself, then tapped open the doors to the bay, immediately drawing a bead on the Caitian crew spread throughout the large and cluttered room.

 

Ravarr, the most trigger-happy of the siblings but also the best and most precise shooter, popped off a round from his civilian issue phaser pistol, the neon green beam shot hitting one of the accompanying guards in the leg. Then the Caitian male ducked back down among the crates and barrels that littered the cargo area.

 

The Imperial security guards may have been well-trained, but going up against mercenary Caitians, surrounded by cargo, was not the most ideal spot to be caught - for the Fleeter officers.

 

Crewman Decatur's scream propelled Caine into action and as the young man staggered with the shot to his leg, she shoved him roughly to the decking to keep him from interfering. "Cover!" she shouted, dropping behind a cargo crate and squeezing off a shot at the offending cat over the top of it. "I am Ensign Caine with Starfleet Intelligence; we have your ship under guard and your escape routes blocked. Stand down and your punishment will be...less severe." All of which was, of course, a baldfaced lie, start to finish, but it would be nice to be able to take prisoners to bring back, and who knew; maybe the cats were dumb enough to fall for it.

 

The "answer", was a low-grade, civilian-made flash bang grenade that came sailing through the recycled station air to land in the general vicinity of Caine and her men.

 

The projectile device was crudely made, but effective - the grenade detonated and allowed the cats some sense of cover as they bolted out a side access duct diagonal from the location of the Imperial officers.

 

Caine ducked as the explosion went off sending a few bits of container shrapnel over her head to embed themselves in the wall behind her. Right...I guess that answers *that* question. She poked her head back up over her cover just in time to see a tail disappearing into the Jeffries Tube access duct at the far end of the bay.

 

She swore in four different languages and vaulted over the container in front of her, running full out across the huge room. "Do those ducts have an exit point over the hanger deck?" she called over her shoulder.

 

"I don't know, sir!"

 

"Well, damn well find out and go cut them off!" she barked, then, without waiting for an answer, barreled into the crawl space and began moving quickly after the retreating sound of paws. The space station's J-Tubes were slightly larger than a starship's, big enough for Caine to keep her shoulders and head up as she moved along, and she looked ahead, waiting for the sight of her prey again.

 

The Caitian siblings led the Imperial officer in pursuit on a merry chase through the J-Tube sub network of the starbase. Cats, of all species, move very quickly on their paws and the confines of an access tube network posed no issues for the nimble Caitians. Soon, the JoNs's exited from a duct onto the hanger deck and their waiting ship.

 

The sound of the running Cait's suddenly ceased as Caine's tracking brought her to an exit hatch -- the cats had left the duct system again. She fumbled for her phaser in the dim light of the tubes and then angled herself around kicked the hatch open with a smooth jump that sent her flying out into a crouch in the startling brightness of the hanger deck, aiming for the first feline form that she saw -- one of the males, running full tilt for a rickety looking sector hopper ship docked to the far side of the base hanger bay. The Vulcan security officer caught sight of and got a bead on him, aiming her weapon and prepping a shot.

 

A brown furred whoosh of air was followed shortly by MVess JoNs getting Caine in a tackle pounce. MVess was not as strong as a Vulcan, but she was in her prime and possessed the muscular body of a panther cat; she immediately went to work on Caine, her claws flying and connecting with clothing and skin.

 

Caine shouted as the heavy weight slammed into her torso and she went over backwards, her phaser flying out of her hands and all the breath whooshing from her body. She grunted under the weight and pivoted on her hips, slamming an elbow towards the Cait's eyes, but was blocked by a dropping clawed paw which slapped her arm aside and laid her jaw open to the bone. The oath hovering on her lips turned into a scream of pain and she wrenched her body up, kicking the cat off of her with all her strength.

 

Now that her brother was out of harms way, relatively speaking, MVess got her bearings and quickly bolted away from Caine, still laid out on the decking from the Cait’s claw slash, and the other Fleet security men who had finally caught up with them and were entering the hanger bay; dock workers and civilians scattered and ducked for cover as the officers made a beeline for where Caine was located and the chaos continued about the hanger section.

 

Caine couldn't see, couldn't breathe, couldn't think with a mixture of pain and humiliation that was overriding all the control and training she had ever learned. "Get them!" she screamed at the officers moving towards her, half-staggering to her feet and pointing after the disappearing Caitian captain and her accomplices.

 

The Dark Fury had done this many times before, and the old class style civilian ship was ready to depart from the hanger as the cats leaped onto the entry ramp. MVess turned and called out to the Vulcan female, "Stay down, Junior! You'll live longer!"

 

Caine swore violently but the sound was lost in the noise of the ship's engines gunning as it blew its way out of the hanger and into the airlock to open space. She stood there, dripping blood and gasping for breath, and her frustration found its mark in the first unfortunate security crewman who managed to make his way to her. Any unlikely solicitude he might have had for her well-being vanished as she rounded on him and, disregarding the agonizer on his shoulder, cracked him a sharp blow left to right across his face, nearly knocking him over. "Where the HELL were you?" she shouted as soon as she had the breath to do it.

 

The man staggered back to a straight bearing, hatred most officers kept to a simmer boiling in his eyes. "Right where you told us to be…Junior." he said, and the rest of the now converging team laughed sardonically. "You have fun trying to take on a Cait mercenary crew by your lonesome? Enjoying the glory?"

 

Caine finally had the presence of mind to find his agonizer and she let it burn into him for a long time, letting him writhe before allowing him to drop to the deck. This was, of course, her fault, not his, but that didn't really make a great deal of difference; she was going to suffer for this when she got back to Command, so why shouldn't he now, if he was within arm's reach. "I want them found," she said to the others coldly, about-facing and staggering towards the exit of the hanger deck, trying to ignore the searing pain that coated the bottom left half of her face. "One way or another I want those cats dead."

 

Present Time, 2397

Agincourt Airlock Receiving Deck

Oh dear. Kansas considered her options carefully. “Mm hmm. I’ve been wondering, wasn't just sure. Blond hair, short cropped, Vulcan, the scars - she got ya pretty good then didn't she? I've heard the story of that job …"

 

The Caitian officer made no real secret of her family’s mercenary past and bloodline, and the ship’s commander, Colonel C.E. “Medusa” Harper, was well aware of the various - illegal and legal - side activities that the feline engaged in order to make a few credits on the side and establish her professional and personal contact networks. As long as Kansas kept her snoot clean and didn’t endanger the crew or the ship or Medusa’s command, she was fine.

 

But now, this Caine was someone who could pose a danger to Kansas, or at least be the proverbial thorn in the senior command officer’s side.

 

JoNs had only been ten years old, but she remembered that time period. Her elder female cousin by fifteen years had just taken over the captaincy of the family clan ship from her own father, and the times were lean for the mercenary family. The JoNs’s were taking whatever job came down the galactic pike, both legitimate and illegitimate. That one particular job had led to absconding with some medical supplies from a civilian held star base that had a small contingent presence of Imperial officers, and this was obviously when Caine and her squad had encountered Left Ear JoNs, or as she was known then, her birth name MVess; she hadn’t gotten the nickname of Left Ear until a few years after the Draconis job, which ironically had been Kansas’s doing.

 

“Look, Lieutenant Caine, allow me to be completely honest: I’m familiar with the incident and or debacle that you speak of. My family finds work where they can, that’s the bottom line, and during that period, the jobs were scarce and we were borderline starving – it wasn’t an on the level job by any means, I admit that, but that medical supply job kept us fed afterwards for six months. Over the years, I’ve been told and re-told the story of that operation gone slightly wrong, and if my cousin gave you a claw thwack, then you probably deserved it. You were obviously in her way … I’d be thankful you didn’t get more strips taken out of your hide that day, because she could have really hurt you if she wanted.”

 

One of Caine's fists clenched behind her back and she looked at JoNs now with honest dislike. "While we're speaking plainly, I assure you, Commander..." How the hell was one of that family a fleet commander? "...that I was doing nothing more than adhering to the law and doing my duty to the Empire; your family was a bunch of thugs and thieves. The fact that they got away...was an error, one of my few failures. Should the chance ever arise...I have no intention of letting it happen again." Her tone was still even, calculated to infuriate the other officer even as she expressed her own anger at an event which had once nearly destroyed her career.

 

Kansas’s ears went flat, and her tail started to switch back and forth. Caine was practically vibrating with tension, an angry tension that had the potential to nosedive her, and in the process she could take others down with her, like JoNs. She eyed the female Vulcan officer with steady green eyes. “Mister Caine. What I choose to do with my life now, and the family that I happen to come from, who happen to be good beings, is no concern of yours.”

 

"Actually..." Caine replied coldly, "it is very much my concern. Anything...everything...which impacts the security of the Empire is my concern -- up to and including rogue kittens playing smuggler."

 

“Caine, you are going the right way for getting a dose of the agonizer less then twenty minutes after stepping on board this ship; I’m sure that would be a new record, let alone a poor start to your reputation as the new chief security officer.” Kansas’s purred voice came out with an unnatural tone, with a deep growl on the consonants that she didn’t normally get when dealing with the crew. It was a sign that she was getting angry, and the aftermath was usually not very pretty for the one on the receiving end of any boo yah the feline might unleash.

 

If the threat of the agonizer made Caine nervous, she didn't show it. "Don't worry, Commander," she said softly. "If anyone's reputation is tarnished aboard this ship, it won't be mine."

 

Fortune favors the foolish …