Shouldve Read A Good PADDBook

[STSF Jumper 0]

Note: this log takes place sometime during the final half of the one week shore leave and temporary USS Union re-assignment TBS.

 

06.18.09

USS Excalibur NCC-2004C

“Should’ve Read A Good PADD-Book”

 

Evening Cycle, 19:00 Hours

Camelot Station Main Promenade, tr’Jhectors Bistro

Wild and Crazy Caitian Junior Pilot + Opting For A Quiet Evening with Comrades = Is This An Alternate Universe And No One Told Us?

 

Ensign Jagrissa Honor-Scar, pilot call sign Jumper, was on shore leave and ready to take on the universe.

 

Well, not exactly.

 

The shore leave part was accurate, but she was determined to actually not take on the universe this night.

 

The twenty something Caitian feline was ensconced at a small table and chair in an outdoor garden patio setting that was meant to copy any number of bistro restaurant layouts across the worlds. She was waiting to meet a couple of pilot buds of hers, and Jagrissa was sipping at an alcoholic beverage and checking out a digital PADD menu of the food offered by the establishment. The bistro was owned and operated by a Romulan couple, but the offerings were standard galactic restaurant fare, suitable to any number of species or races that would happen to patronize a space station based establishment.

 

The Caitian wore a simple outfit of dark slacks and a green blouse tunic of a silk material that set off the brown orange tone of her fur nicely. She had worn a typical off duty uniform piloting jacket with the Excalibur mission patch attached to the left upper arm, the 310th fighter wing assignment patch on the right upper chest area, and a couple of other patches that indicated an affiliation to the Starfleet fighter corps program. The military green of the canvas jacket almost matched the blouse, and the jacket was neat and pressed to match the rest of Jagrissa’s clothing. But the jacket was the only and rather subtle indication of her current posting affiliation, since Honor-Scar was intent on being very low key for her nighttime shore leave outing.

 

Normally, at this point in the shore leave cycle, Jagrissa would have probably been either face down and passed out in one of the local star base bars, or at the very least face down and passed out in a holding cell, waiting for CAG Lieutenant Commander Ramson to bail her and whatever other pilots had gotten arrested out of the local star base brig after a night of partying. For this shore leave, Honor-Scar had opted for a downright alien concept: taking it easy, on the alcohol, her body, mind, and general career so as to avoid any disciplinary write ups for this shore leave.

 

It was a quiet evening as the late night dinner goers trickled into the establishment, and in contrast to the peaceful setting of the restaurants outdoor eating area, a bar set across this level of the promenade was pulsating with the night life of the station. The club was a known hangout for military or colonial service types, and as a result, most of the clubbers were Starfleet marines, Starfleet naval, or Starfleet merchant marine enlistees and commissioned officers and the like. Jagrissa was familiar with the club, as she had been a patron just prior to shipping out with the Excalibur. She remembered that night with alarming clarity, and had ended up getting her head rammed into a beer bottle (or was that getting a beer bottle rammed into her head?) during a knock down drag out fight, and wasn’t too keen on repeating the experience this time around. So, the Blue Bulldog night club was to be avoided at all costs, thank you very much.

 

Was it possible that, gasp, Jagrissa Honor-Scar was maturing a bit? Whoa, forget any missions to locate the Founders. Her getting some maturity was a total galactic event here.

 

The Bulldog wasn’t a dive establishment per se. They served good drinks, as far as night clubs went it was one of the better ones in the quadrant, and the fellow company was good. But, things could get a bit rough at times, and like any other star base bar, sometimes you had to watch yourself to make sure you didn’t fall in with the wrong crowd to hang out with.

 

As soon as Honor-Scar had formed that thought, a minor commotion became evident as a couple of drunk and disorderly hoo rah'ers were manhandled out of the club by the bouncers. It was evident though that the civilian security agents didn’t have the situation yet fully contained though, as evidenced by one male fighter – an Andorian judging by the flash of blue skin that she caught – when he flew through the holographic advertisement window and out onto the promenade decking with a thud. Pretty much the brawlers were stick jocks, considering they had similar off duty piloting jackets to Jagrissa, albeit from a different fighter wing and duty station of course.

 

She took a sip of her drink just as yet another combatant tumbled out of the establishment (this time through the doorway), and proceeded to spew the liquid in her mouth out when she caught sight of them: Commander Left Ear JoNs. What in the name of … ?

 

Yes, the Excals XO and Jumper were blood cousins by distant acquaintance and genetic happenstance. And, while the two of them were definite opposites and neither would consider the other Cait feline a friend at this point in their lives, family was family, and before Jumper could even think about what she was doing, the utility support pilot cat was up out of her seat and tearing out of the bistro garden area.

 

Honor-Scar yelled a “the tip is on the table!” to a rather befuddled waitress as she ran full tilt across the outer promenade section and over to the brawl, leaping easily over the two foot wrought iron fence that encircled the outdoor eating area, her tail flying in the wind.

 

Station security had not arrived yet on the scene, and by the looks of things, Left Ear needed some serious intervention. I’m on my way girl!

 

One Hour Prior

Camelot Main Promenade, the Blue Bulldog Night Club

Excrement + Rotary Oscillating Device = Boo Yah Impact

 

Commander MVess JoNs, more commonly referred to as Left Ear, paused in the entrance way of the Blue Bulldog night club. It was getting to be late in the evening, and the club was hopping with the third cycle activity. Normally, the brown furred Caitian panther would have opted for a quiet dinner and such, but she wanted to change things up a bit. She was due to meet some former comrades assigned to the station that she hadn’t seen in a few years. If you had a piloting background, and you wanted to have a good time and forget everything for a while, then head to any local bar establishment that had Fleeter or Marine pilots frequenting it. It didn’t matter if you came alone or not, by the end of the night, you typically had a group to hang out with.

 

The Blue Bulldog was one such establishment, and as soon as Left Ear stepped through the entry way into an interior that was pulsating with the music of a live band, bright neon advertisement and decorative signs, a couple hundred voices all having a good time with most hyped up on alcohol, a big fanged grin spread across her muzzle. JoNs had managed to wrangle about forty eight hours leave time from her upcoming schedule, and while it wasn’t a huge amount of time, the time off would suit her purposes just fine. The priority here was overseeing the transition of the crew to their temporary posting on the USS Union while the Excalibur underwent repairs along with about a couple dozen minor command duties such as personnel transfers and assignments that she had to oversee as XO with regard to the transition.

 

For right now though, Left Ear was out and about and tonight was going to be a good night!

 

Left Ear had gone a bit more casual with the clothing then what she normally wore when not on duty: a pair of light gray slacks that ended just below her knee due to her cat shaped hind legs. A casual form fitting white tee shirt with the Excalibur mission patch set in the middle of the shirt, with the entire outfit topped off and complemented by the black canvas piloting uniform jacket that she wore. The jacket had an assortment of patches across the material, from MVess’s past assignments along with her current assignment to Excalibur. Pilot jackets were like a visual walking resume of the officer who wore the garment: did you want to track the duty stations of a pilot or retired pilot? Just take a look at the flight jacket that they wore.

 

The Camelot station employed a variety of flight squads, both Naval and Marine flight detachments and wings. The Blue Bulldog establishment shared a name in common with a Marine Starfighter Corps pilot wing assigned to the Camelot station, known of course as the Blue Bulldogs. The station squad had been formed about ten years ago, and the night club had been started about three years ago. And, even though the establishment shared a name with one of the local squads, all pilots of any squadron were welcome within its confines. The interior bulkhead walls were decorated with dozens and dozens of pilot squad symbols and mission patches, and models of various starfighter vehicles lined the wall behind the main bar. All kinds of enlisted and commissioned and colonial patrol officers frequented the place, equal parts Marine and Naval, but most of the patrons had some sort of past or current flying experience.

 

JoNs had felt right at home as soon as she entered the club. The panther sauntered up to the bar and ordered a drink. She received a communication to her comm badge that her friends were going to be delayed, but it wasn’t long before a few other officers and enlisted officers at the bar were talking with her, and the small group of them ended up hanging out together for most of the night, trading war stories as well as straight up bullsh*t.

 

It was true that all pilots were welcome at the club, but that didn’t mean that some of the Bulldogs didn’t think that they owned the place. Particularly the newly commissioned Lieutenant squad leader of the B-Dog bunch who was ready to take on the world this night and anyone who got in her way … even if she planned on provoking a situation.

 

Lieutenant Kaison had taken a particular interest in the black canvas piloting jacket that Left Ear JoNs wore, what with the flight assignment and mission patches that were emblazoned on it, showing that Left Ear had done some solid piloting time. The patch showcasing the now defunct 46th Dominion War patrol squad in particular got the Marine stick jocks attention. Her comrades – a female Orion, a male Andorian, a Human male, and another male Human – just smirked as their leader made her way over to the target in question, having no idea that MVess was a senior command officer. Not that it mattered.

 

The blond haired junior officer strolled right up to Left Ear and started speaking without preamble. “Hey, you – Furball Fleeter. That 46th flight patch you’re wearing? Heard you and your squad screwed the pooch during that Makos Three flight run a few years back. You got yourselves and your border patrol Hoppers so filled with plasma shot it was ridiculous.”

 

The pilots of the 46th had been a good group, and JoNs had a lot of fond memories from her time served with them, even though they were eventually disbanded and farmed out to other squadrons after the fallout from a rather delicate assignment. The junior grade ensign pilots had been handpicked for a particular Dominion War mission that, to this day, the Cait wished she had turned down the assignment … as if she had a choice. But, at the time, the recruiters had filled their impressionable heads with phrases like “more elite then Red Squad” or “we need the best of the best”.

 

JoNs never regretted doing her duty or what had always been required of her. What she regretted was the manipulation, and she and the rest of the 46th should not have been used in the way they were. But, that was an optimistic and idealistic view, and idealism and optimism usually had no place during wartime skirmishes as the generals and colonels and admirals manipulated the pawns and knights of the front line battlefields from the relative safety of their posh offices and ready rooms.

 

The Makos assignment had indeed gone to Hell in a Handbasket. The stink of it was that the mission had been a classified recon run behind Cardassian lines, so therefore the true details of the assignment were not to be considered public knowledge. Internally and unofficially, it was well known in some particular circles (Section 31? Intelligence? Who the Hell really knew, and Left Ear usually preferred not to dwell on the matter) back at Fleet Command that JoNs and her fellow comrades had completed the mission and grabbed the Intelligence that had been earmarked for removal. During their pell mell bug out from the targeted area, the 46th had encountered a local Cardassian starfighter patrol who had ripped them and their starfighters apart with some sort of experimental plasma shot. The panther Cait and her friends had been damn lucky to make it back to their home ship in one piece.

 

On the public side of things, a cover story was circulated that the squad of junior pilots had strayed too far from their assigned patrol course and encountered enemy resistance. It was a rather isolated affair among many war skirmishes, so the 46th Incident was very rarely spoken of much less remembered … unless of course you got a wannabe history major, like Kaison, who thought they knew what they were talking about.

 

This type of pilot couldn’t leave well enough alone and was plain aggressively determined to make a name for themselves, and they usually didn’t care how they went about it, such as spotting some sort of mission patch and assuming they understood the blood and sweat that had gone into earning the right to wear the patch on a shoulder or chest. JoNs had dealt with many young pups - both Fleeter and Marine - like this in her day, and she tried to hold onto her usually dormant temper. But as soon as she heard her blood pressure ringing in her ears, some section of her rational brain knew it was a lost cause.

 

Her tail lashed from side to side and her ears went completely flat against her head, yet Left Ear also took the time to place her drink glass down on the top surface of the bar. Once her drink was settled, JoNs pierced the taller woman with a look. “You know what? Why don’t you keep your nose out of it Jarhead,” Left Ear glanced at the name strip sewn into her Marine duty jacket, “Kaison. You weren’t even there! Hell, you probably were still working your way into a training bra at the time Sweetheart.”

 

Alcohol was great for having a good time, but it was also very dangerous and could enflame situations that could normally be diffused, such as this one. It had been a long few months in the Gamma Quadrant, and pent up tension came whooshing to the forefront. Feeling her drink as well as her ornery side, JoNs’s temper flash fired, and she quickly knocked Kaison’s drink glass out of her hand with a swift swipe of her wide paw. Before the slightly taller woman could recover from the cuff slap or the drink glass and its contents hit the scuffed deck flooring of the club, the panther Cait cuffed the Human across the face with her other paw.

 

Left Ear was quick, but so were the other pilot officers who were with the pilot squad lead. One of the males grabbed at the brown furred Exec’s arm, and the second female - the green skinned Orion – laid one across the Cait’s muzzle, ringing her bells. She tasted the coppery tang of blood filling her mouth, but the panther cat was still coherent enough to give as good as she got; she mrrowled and bolted, tackling tackled her initial target and bringing Kaison down to the decking before the others could even blink.

 

The knock down drag out continued for the next couple of minutes, causing the other patrons to head out of the line of fire and any bottles or glasses (and the occasional chair) that always seemed to fly about during these sorts of situations. Several other patrons also started to fight, caught up in the mob mentality, and the club bouncers moved in to try and separate the brawlers. When it became plainly obvious that the situation was rapidly spiraling out of control, the on shift bartender commed Camelot station security to request immediate assistance.

 

Present Moment

Camelot Station Main Promenade, Outside the Blue Bulldog

Irate Jarhead Pilots + Ticked Off Excal XO + Evil Alcohol = Oh Dear

 

Left Ear was a pretty good fighter in her own right, and had the advantages of being a muscular and athletic feline. The fight however, was not going in her favor what with the number of combatants and nature of the down and dirty drunken brawl, and she was too stubborn and addled to know that she had to stand down or risk getting really hurt … well, more hurt then she currently was. She took several punches again from the female officer that was the initial target and start of the whole fracas, and both were already bleeding and bruised from multiple injuries as they both continued to go at one another.

 

Kaison had slammed JoNs up against the outer exterior of the club and now pulled back an arm to finally punch out the feline furball.

 

A tawny blur of fur suddenly superimposed itself between the two female combatants, and Jumper used her smaller body – she was a little bit shorter then Left Ears five foot five inches and not nearly as muscular and fit as the panther – to shield her cousin while facing the other woman. “Hey hey! She’s had enough! Let her be and back off. If want to continue fighting, then here I am.” I really, really hope you back away though … c’mon jarhead, just call it a night, please …

 

Most of the brawlers had started to run out of energy and steam however, and things were beginning to wind down. Honor-Scar breathed a silent sigh of relief when the blond haired El Tee who had been pouncing on Left Ear staggered away a few steps.

 

Station security came rushing to the scene at some point when Jumper had been distracting the blond haired female Marine, and the guards were now in the process of separating all the parties involved. Jumper waited patiently while the guards got everything under control, separating the winded pilots and anyone else who had gotten caught within the fracas.

 

Throughout the whole process, the younger tawny furred Cait made sure that she did not leave her cousins side.

 

One of the station guard officers had seated the senior Excalibur officer down on one of the nearby benches that were scattered throughout the promenade. Through her one good eye, Left Ear registered both recognition and surprise, and she gave purred grunt of greeting to her relative to acknowledge what the younger feline had done.

 

Jumper offered a small, knowing and sympathetic grin - JoNs was really going to be feeling this tomorrow - and gave a quick paw rub through the high and tight mane haircut that Left Ear usually wore. “Take it easy MVess. I got your back here. Just sit there and get …uh, coherent again. I’m pretty sure you ‘re okay, but how many paws do I have up?”

 

‘Uh, why am I seeing three paws? That’s not good, right? Are you using a hind one as well?”

 

“Never mind. Just sit there.”

 

The stations security representatives did their thing and questioned all the brawl suspects as well as a few key witnesses. Honor-Scar had pretty much suspected that the whole brawl was a cut and dry situation and everyone involved had imparted the same account as to how the situation unfolded. At least, the tawny furred Cait had been in enough shore leave bar brawls herself to make an initial educated speculation: words had been exchanged, Left Ear had gotten pissed and threw the first punch, and then all hell had broken loose. Jumper knew that JoNs should be held accountable, but she was still doing her best to smooth over the situation for her relative as best she could within reason. Blood was funny that way.

 

The younger Caitian was currently speaking with the lead security officer on site, a blond haired man by the name of Zimm who held the rank of senior enlisted crewman judging by the stripes on his uniform sleeve. The man was seriously overworked, going by the dark circles under his eyes. There were several other Starfleet ships moored at Camelot station along with the Excalibur, so it was no wonder the station was busting at the seams with off duty and on shore leave personnel. Jumper was sure that Zimm and his squad had been hopping constantly from situation to situation as they kept the more hell bent station shore leave patrons under control.

 

“Okay, okay. Look, Mister Zimm, I understand and get the fact that you need to file a report or write up or whatever with the security offices as well as her superior officer, go ahead and do all that, but don’t haul her in to the brig. Look, let me take custody of her, ‘kay? Here, here you go … here’s my Fleet ID. I can do that right, since I’m on the same ship as her?”

 

Jagrissa fished a paw into the inside picket of her jacket and withdrew the Identification card in question, handing it over to the Lieutenant while giving the man her best, and pleading, smile, flashing some fangs in the process.

 

Zimm glanced at the ID card and then back to the Caitian junior officer. He scanned the information into his data Padd and then slowly handed the badge back to her, making a verbal point as he did so. “Okay, fine. I’m filing my report with station ops, and she’s on probation for the next forty eight hours. Her CO will be getting a report as well. You can take custody of her Ensign Honor-Scar, but she needs to be kept in line for the remainder of her leave here.”

 

“She will. I know her, and she won’t let this happen again.” Jumper’s purred tone came out with a general confidence, and she knew that JoNs would indeed not find herself in the same stupidly drunk and disorderly situation again. Left Ear might be bullheaded at times and stubborn, but she had never been stupid. Typically, it was rare when JoNs leapt before she looked, and she usually had a good reason. Most of the time.

 

If anything, Honor-Scar had teasing ammunition for at least the next thirty years or so, and oh yes, the junior pilot would indeed play that card against ol’ Lefty.

 

Zimm snorted a puff of displeased out of of his nostrils. “Fine. Have a good night and get the Commander,” he jerked his chin in the general direction of the still recovering Left Ear, “out of our general sight.”

 

Aftermath

Camelot Station Secondary Promenade, The Crescent Moon Coffee House

Tuned Up Left Ear JoNs + Voice of Reason Jumper HonorScar = Paradoxical Universe Ending Stuff!

 

Honor-Scar had gone into damage control mode, and cleaned up the situation (and Left Ear) as best she could. After picking up some medicinal supplies at a local pharmacy shop, the younger Cait had taken her slightly older Caitian charge to a quiet little tea and coffee establishment so Left Ear could calm down and sober up a bit.

 

The coffee house establishment was filled with a variety of patrons and species at this late hour, but the calming atmosphere was just what was needed. Customers sat at tables seating one, where they had their nose buried in a data Padd, or in small groups of two to four and talked in regular conversation tones, and the occasional bout of chuckled laughter could be heard over the clink of coffee mugs and the smell of freshly brewed coffee and tea.

 

Jumper couldn’t help but smile, but it was a gentle smile that crept onto her snoot. “Drink your tea and eat that cookie biscuit thing or you’re going to be sick as a dog in a few hours.” I’ve been where you are Lefty, several times … you will be feeling this tomorrow.

 

Lefty looked a sight: her right paw was wrapped in a gauze bandage, her left eye was slightly swollen, she had a cut on her forehead which her younger cousin had cleaned to the best of her ability, her clothing was generally mussed. “Thanks Jagrissa.”

 

“Not a problem, I just ask that you do not make it a habit, please? You’re a good fighter, but you’re no brawler, and I really don’t want the image of you flying bodily out of a bar burned into my brain again anytime soon.”

 

“…I really don’t recall any of that…

 

“Yeah, well, you will have some recall tomorrow. Just take my word when I say that the whole lot of you were all pitiful when you came tumbling out of the Bulldog, and you’re lucky the senior field guard - Zimm? I think his name was - was the nice sort. He could have tossed you in the station brig for at least forty eight hours.”

 

“…I may have just shot my commission into another quadrant …”

 

“Don’t talk like that. You’ll be fine. How longs it been since you got in a shore leave scuffle like that? Ten Years?”

 

“At least. Longer. Way back when I was a junior Ensign.”

 

“Yeah, well, we’re all entitled to a few mistakes during a career. Look on the bright side, hey, at least you didn’t punch out a Captain. I did that a couple years ago, accidentally mind you.”

 

“…. How do you accidentally punch out a Captain? Wait, do I really want to know this? ”

 

Honor-Scar shrugged. “Said unfortunate cluster frag happened during my last pre-assignment here on Camelot just before shipping out with the Excalibur. I went to nail some cocky Bolian pilot from the 26th out of Starbase Seven and the squad’s senior officer stepped in to try and stop us and boom – her face got in the way, and I couldn’t pull back the punch. Captain Something or Other, I remember she was Human. Call? Calestorm maybe? I can’t recall the name right now. Anyway, there were so many paws and hands and feet and antennae flying about, she never knew who exactly nailed her. We all got a written reprimand.”

 

Jagrissa paused and purred a little bit before speaking again to her older cousin. “Look, Commander, all’s I’m saying is that things happen, sometimes we can’t control them, sometimes we are the ones at fault , and other times we’re just along for the crazy ride. All you can do is move forward from this night ... and I’d keep a way low profile for now if I were you, just sayin’.”

 

Okay. Ensign Jumper Honor-Scar was pep talking and providing damage control for Commander Left Ear JoNs. This was just entirely too weird. The younger Cait utility pilot again tried to lighten the situation slightly with a joke. “I’m helping you out. Are you sure we didn’t zoom into an alternate dimension? I don’t see any flags hanging around that show a sword bisecting a planet or anything, but this is just plan weird.”

 

JoNs did manage a chuckle at that one. “It’s possible. I’ll get back to you on that one. If we did get shunted into another universe at some point, it’s possible you might be the captain of the Excalibur Jumper.”

 

“Uh …. No. Okay, that’s just plan disturbing and I need to go back to my happy place now. Happy thoughts. Now, Commander JoNs, I want you to listen to me very carefully. You’re supposed to use extremely poor judgment and get in bar brawls as a young and stupid junior officer, not as a command level officer! You’re doing the whole reversal thing here Lefty.”

 

Left Ear managed a good natured smirk that didn’t hurt too much. “On the bright side,” the brown furred Caitian Exec did a tentative stretch with her paws clamped to the small of her back and slyly winked at Jumper with her good eye, “I think those stick jocks cleared up some of the soreness in my back.”