The Meat Locker

[GSgt Mike Hefner 0]

The Meat Locker A JoNs/Hefner Log

 

There’re just some things you can’t ignore. A coiled 7’ rattler with a thickness of a man’s forearm poking its head through the prairie grass in front of you, a shot from a sniper that just misses your head, and a furry 5’ 3” Ex Oh bounding towards you on all fours at 130 clicks are the kinds of things that just stop you in your tracks.

 

Mike leaned a hand against the door of his locker and wiped the other down the back of his neck as the Fleeter Ex Oh departed. She was interested in his “toys” and he couldn’t blame her, but for a Cait to use ‘em? Exhaling a small laugh, he shook his head, grinned, and exited the room behind her, hanging a left back to his locker for the rest of his duty ‘form and a long, hard think about their conversation.

 

He’d seen a lot ‘o things in his day but this Caitian Ex Oh was a new one on him. There were a few Caits in SpecOps but Mike had never worked with one, mostly because of the kind of work he did and the equipment he had to work with. Oh, there were a few things, like the BioSign band, that they could use, but the Recon or the Combat Skin? Put it this way. There was a reason Mike had no hair on his body. The skins’ dermal-connect sensors demanded constant depilation – a fancy name for jerking your body hair out by the roots. Mike had done it so many times for so long that bikers and swimmers had nothin’ on him, and the only thing that kept him from being teased in the shower was his status in the Corps. A denuded Cait? That was just wrong on so many levels.

* * * * * * * *

Said not-denuded Caitian was a felinoid with a mission: locate replacement "toys" for some of Hefner's Recon equipment that had gotten scragged during the Avaros colony mission, and maybe grab some of it for general use among the Agincourt Security and Marine departments. The clearance to try and procure some of the stuff had come on down the command line to both Gunny Hefner and Commander JoNs from Colonel Harper, and that meant that Kansas was free to do one of the duties as an Ex Oh that wasn't common knowledge: procurement.

 

This current situation meant going by some back channels, and sometimes, the Cait was more comfortable with back channels then she was with official channels. At least, if she had access to certain contacts, which she did and planned to use.

 

JoNs had retired to her office within the Marine NNC command center, and once she got her office squared away from any prying ears - not that she really needed to worry about it - by locking and coding the door, she went about putting the steps in motion to grab her contact over the wireless communication lines that the Fleet used..

 

"Computer, authorization code Executive JoNs Niner Beta. Secure personnel channel, Starfleet Intel offices, San Francisco, Earth. JoNs, Savette-Shaow is the recipient."

 

The pleasant monotone of the 'Court's on board computer answered seconds later over the offices speaker system, indicating that the machine and software of the AI was working out the communications request.

 

In just under five minutes, JoNs's desktop flat screen monitor blazed to life, and the image of Savette-Shaow JoNs could be see on the small viewscreen. Savette was yet another cousin of Kansas's, and the smokey gray furred Caitain had once been a field operative for Intelligence, and now worked within the Intel administrative department. If there was access to be had for Marine Recon toys, ol' Savette would be able to make some headway.

 

"Kansas JoNs. How's the girl?" Savette favored the younger Caitian with a slight smile. "Or should I say 'Will'? Told you you'd get some sort of call sign once you started serving on that bad boy Prommie class ship."

 

Kansas smiled right back at her elder cousin. Savette was in her early seventies, and had started to show lighter gray fur about her muzzle and eyes, indicating she was getting up in age. Her golden yellow eyes sparkled though, and not much got by her. "Hi Savette. Good to see you. Actually, I don't want to be blunt, but this isn't a social call. I'm calling in one or two of our family markers in pursuit of some quote, 'material stuff', unquote."

 

Kansas, when she entered the service, swore up and down and sideways that she would never have a need to call in the JoNs family markers. As a far reaching family with a name in the military field as well as old blood credits to back the name up (read: donations to the academy), over the years, a contact network had been built up for this favor or that favor to be granted or considered. Reality and a few years in the service had schooled Kansas a bit, and hey, if you needed the contacts? Use 'em. This was one of those times.

 

" .... I'm interested in information on and possible procurement of Marine equipment. Specifically? I'm looking for Recon Force toys. Look, I realize that Intel and Recon don't always work the same cases, but y'all have been known to sleep in the same bed depending on the mission. Figured it wouldn't hurt to contact you first and go from there."

 

"Is this personal or professional interest?"

 

"Professional. Replacement parts for a crewmate who has some compromised equipment, and possible procurement of some equipment for both marines and security officers."

 

"Care to tell me who this one crewmate is? I'm guessing he or she has some sort of recon background?" Savette figured she could always pull the Agincourt roster for herself and guess who might have a Recon Ops background by process of elimination as well, but hey, family was family and she'd play it straight.

 

"Yes to that, no to any more information. The crewmate's full aye dee is need to know, and you don't ... "

 

" ... need to know. Good girl. I'll nose about, rattle some communications lines, see who I can get to listen. You're right though - Recon Ops and Intel can have an on again off again love affair of hate relationship."

 

Kansas let loose with a gentle purred chuckle at that one. "Don't cause any interdepartmental rifts or anything. I seriously doubt that procurement measures for one front line ship will cause ripples."

 

"If I get some sort of go ahead, I can have equipment sent directly out via the next supply barge?"

 

"Hold off on that. Let me know if you get anything substantial, and then I'm planning on forwarding a requisition request with an emphasis on 'we need this equipment now'."

"Fair enough, I'll be in touch Kitten, JoNs out."

 

Throughout the wireless visual conversation, neither JoNs officer had mentioned the Agincourt by name - you just never knew who might be listening in on the channels.

 

Once the 'Courts Ex Oh had signed off of the comminique on her end, the five foot three inch bounding furball of hoo rah searched out Slick Hefner in short order to give him a verbal update on the procurement situation.

* * * * * * * *

 

Mike was working in the cargo bay, repairing and stowing gear from the Planetary Command Center when the Commander appeared. The Cait was clearly on a mission, but this time instead of excited tail flicking she had a glint in her eye that looked more like calculated determination. Last time she was askin. This time she was gettin. He sure did admire her spunk.

 

After mulling over their conversation, Mike realized she was right about a lot ‘o things. With the incursion of the Soltan the Federation needed all the tactical advantages they could get. But the getting was the problem.

 

The tech was pricey, high-credit, and there wasn’t a heck of a lot of it around. And if the Soltans had knocked out Force Recon Omega's R&D in the Australian outback there'd be even less. Then, if there still was some around, chances were it'd take a lot ‘o clout to snag it. But the Commander said she had JoNs scattered throughout the fleet, some in pretty high places. Maybe – just maybe...

 

As Commander JoNs approached, Mike figured he was about to find out just how important 'Court was to the fleet. Or not.