"Wheeling & Dealing"

[Kansas 0]

Note: the following is a non plot log set in the Mirror Universe of the ISS Agincourt, following the events of Mission Lead and (Dis) Satisfaction.

 

It had been a rather long duty shift with unwelcome surprises. Commander Kansas ‘Will’ JoNs had retired to her office located on the Marine NNC deck to reflect and recover from the events of the day.

 

And she had also retired to plot, of course.

 

Kansas sat in the office chair located behind her Starfleet issue desk, staring at the desktop computer module and puttering about, accessing this program and that program or that report and that update; the golden furred Caitian was going about the busy work on automatic, while her mind reeled and worked through what had transpired earlier in the day in her commanding officers Ready Room office.

 

While the commander understood that mission parameters would often dictate what crew and what officers would take the lead role, the leonine feline was not overjoyed that Lieutenant Caine was given the go ahead by Colonel C.E. ‘Medusa’ Harper to spearhead the Agincourt’s current mission to derail the drug traffickers in the Larentia system. By personal rights, as ships Ex Oh and the one with a mercenary blood clan background, Kansas should be the officer functioning as mission lead. Not only was the cat smarting personally and professionally at the slightly perceived snub to her authority, but she also found herself questioning the motivations of her Sponsor with this particular decision on the lead officer -- and any questioning of Medusa Harper from Will’s perspective did not happen very often.

 

But, as the Humans said, there was no use crying over spilt milk; JoNs needed to move forward and adapt like any good mercenary with a day job as an Imperial officer would in the grand scheme of things. And indeed, there were personal schemes to be undertaken and angles to spin with regard to this new adventure that the ‘Court had been assigned to undertake.

 

A white coffee mug emblazoned with the mission symbol of the ISS Agincourt was set off to one side of the desk, just at her elbow and within her reach. The cup held hot Klingon raktajino sweetened with cream and sugar; the Klingons might have been berserkers with a misguided sense of honor, but the ridge heads made damn fine coffee. If anything, the coffee was functioning as a caffeine induced comfort drink.

 

She was staring at a biographical profile emblazoned across the screen of the monitor, and the profile was on one Jagrissa ‘Jumper’ Honor-Scar, a blood relative of JoNs. Her current whereabouts were unknown (well, semi-unknown. JoNs had a general idea of where she might be located within the Larentia sectors), and the profile content was incomplete and missing chunks of digital data since Jumper was a mercenary who traveled constantly, but these complications would soon be remedied once the Agincourt reached the apex point of the star systems that made up the Larentia sector and began to launch their full investigation into the burgeoning civilian drug trade. Honor-Scar would be a prime source of contact information, and JoNs intended to manipulate this source.

 

The sector was currently dealing with a rampant drug trade, and if a mercenary knew where to look for the trade, they could make easy money transporting and delivering the goods to interested buyers and sector citizens. One too many civilians had gotten caught in the line of fire as the drugs and trafficking reprobates continued to make their way further in system; the area was starting to destabilize to the point where the commanding big shots of the Empire had took notice and one of their lead warships had been diverted to slap some wrists. The ‘Court was ordered to investigate and route out the undesirables, which would enable the general problem area to ‘calm down’, in theory. In practice was a whole other matter entirely.

 

Jumper Honor-Scar, like Kansas, had come of age and worked within the Caitian mercenary clan system. Unlike the JoNs family proper though, ‘Scar had never been averse to getting her paws dirty. Really dirty.

 

She had worked in the past as a gun runner, drug runner, civilian displacement specialist, ‘protection’ enforcer for any local goons, and various other sundry activities. To date, the weapons running and drug trafficking had been her most lucrative jobs, which explained Honor-Scars presence in the Larentia system. The Caitian cousin currently owned and operated a blinged out Runabout class shuttle by the name of the SS Phyrrebrand.

 

Conversely, Kansas had grown up on her family ship -- the SS Dark Fury -- with her mother and father, aunts, uncles and immediate cousins. Yes, just like Honor-Scar, the family had always contracted out to the highest bidder for thievery jobs, protection jobs, and whatever needed doing.

 

But, Kansas’s family was not the same stripe as Jumper. The family as a whole had never fully agreed with the types of contracts and jobs that their distant relative and cousin had taken on over the years. Blood was thicker then water, but it didn’t necessarily excuse all things. The JoNs’s were of the Honor-Scar Tribe, within the influence of the Clan Shadow Pride bloodline. And even though Jagrissa Honor-Scar held the same last name as the familial tribe, she was not a tribal elder or a clan elder or held any say over the decisions of the JoNs family.

 

Jumper was a distant relative, about a 6th cousin down on the genetic line. She and Kansas could be sisters, they looked almost exactly alike and both resembled an Earth lion thanks to the leonine genes that popped up in the JoNs and Honor-Scar blood lines. The only marked differences between the two Cats were Honor-Scar was about an inch taller then the five foot three JoNs, was ten years older, and sported an orange-brown tawny colored coat of fur as opposed to Kansas’s golden fur. Kansas had met her a few times over the years, and while the two females were not friends, the older feline had always been nice to her.

 

Be that as it may, Jagrissa was dirty and ruthless, so there was no doubt that she was more then capable of losing anyone on her trail. She would no doubt give Caine -- and Harper -- a run for their credits if it came to pass that she was a prime mover of the drug product here in this sector, or was working for a criminal syndicate that was responsible. However, JoNs would hold her own judgment..for now.

 

Commander JoNs angrily swiped at a data Padd and downloaded yet another shift rotational report onto her personal desktop computer for her perusal and final clearance. The senior ships officer was currently caught between two worlds, the world of her birth and the world she chose to work in, and was feeling the squeeze. After a tense meeting, Colonel Harper had chosen and ordered Lieutenant C.T. ‘Junior’ Caine to handle the investigation into the drug trafficking in the sector. The meeting and aftermath had only served to further aggravate JoNs in her ongoing rivalry with Caine.

 

Kansas had dabbled in her own drug trade during her days as a junior officer on the ‘Court -- she knew the transaction territory. She was the ships Exec. By command rights, the Caitian felinoid should be spearheading the investigation.

 

But, she was not, and Caine was per Harper’s orders. If JoNs had fussed and protested or refused the orders any more then she had, then she’d look like a traitor. As it stood, not only was the feline officer pissed, she had the secondary problem of should she get some sort of word to Honor-Scar about what might be going down.

 

Caine…would shoot first and ask questions later, taking justice to that overkill level, and the hidebound chief of security wouldn’t even give 'Scar a chance if there was a chance to be given. If JoNs sent a warning over the wireless to Jumper…it would mean her career and life should the transgression be discovered. Then again, blood was blood…and Kansas had never claimed to do things the proper way. Besides, taking that side shortcut road rather then a main highway route was always more fun.

 

The Commander continued staring at the standard formatted biographical profile of Honor-Scar on the computer viewer screen, the cooling mug of raktajino coffee forgotten on the desktop.

 

Send a coded transmission…and simultaneously gather needed information while possibly tipping off a suspected contact…or not…

 

JoNs had made her decision in just under the next ten minutes. She would contact Honor-Scar and roll with the punches, come what may. The feline command level officer accessed her personal communications account and entered into a triple encoded and routed communicator program that would employ a number of civilian as well as commercial based wireless relays scattered across a couple of the sectors. The contact line that she was using was an old family access point, but still in use at random times by either the JoNs family or the Honor-scar lineage.

 

If Jumper was still using the wireless encoding for this civilian contact channel, then the commander would get an answering ping in about two hours.

 

*****

 

It was oh one hundred in the morning, ships time, when the answering communications ping roused the sleeping officer; she had fallen asleep at her desk, paws braced on the edge of the desk, head thrown back on the chair. JoNs quickly wiped the grogginess from her features and perked up as the incoming transmission continued to connect with the Agincourt communications lines.

 

The equally groggy though rapidly perking up features of Jumper Honor-Scar appeared on the desktop viewer; Jumper had aged pretty well, although her tawny orange colored fur had started to gray about the muzzle area. She cocked her head to one side when she caught sight of Kansas on the other end of the wireless visual feed and offered a smile that was both welcoming and guarded at the same time.

 

“M’rrett Shaow? Well damn girl long time no see! It’s one o’clock in the morning, what’s goin’ on? We didn’t have another death or wedding in the family or somethin’, did we?”

 

“Nope. This is personal business ‘Scar. Apologies for the weird hour, but I need some information on the Larentia system.”

 

“…are you asking as an Imperial officer, or blood clan family?” Jumper didn’t even bat an eye, delving full on into the late night skullduggery conversation as if this sort of transaction happened all the time. And in reality, it did.

 

“Both.” JoNs was truthful, and as well did not hesitate while also slipping easily into the ‘mercenary speak’ discussion.

 

‘You gonna catch any flak?”

 

“Probably. Nothing I can’t handle though.” JoNs cocked her head to one side and offered a brilliant fanged smile to her cousin, her golden furred leonine features alight with mischief.

 

“Is this channel monitored?”

 

“Well, it’s my personal wireless account. But, there’s always the chance it might be, probably by my commanding officer and at the very least by our pain in the ass security chief, but you and I are not exactly conspiring to take over the universe here. I need information on Larentia due to an upcoming mission we have undertaken, and figured you’d be the best cat to start with. A little information gathering off the grid sometimes has the best results, but I’d like to keep it in the family though, so that’s my story.”

 

“Will I get paid?”

 

“Absolutely. And the standard operational fee for information assistance applies here. Five hundred fifty credits?”

 

“You’re family. Three hundred, call it even.”

 

“Done. The money’ll be wired and sitting in an account number of your choice in about one hour, just send the encoding information to me via text mail. Mind if I record and forward this conversation for hard copy evidence, that is, if you want to play ball so to speak? I’ll be sending the digital text and visual format onto my CO as well as the mission lead for our Larentia shindig.”

 

“Sure, knock yourself out. Want me to say Hi to them?”

 

“Uh, no. Just tell me everything you know regarding the drug trafficking within the civilian sectors. I’ll act as the contact go between, thank you very much.”

 

Jumper then considered the young kitten for about half a minute, considering her options as well as the intentions of her distant relative. “Well, that is an honest answer, and an honest deal. Guess I can return the favor. What’dya need to know?”

 

“Anything you can tell me. Let’s start with the basics: are you involved with this Ketracel Meth business in the sectors?”

 

A pause. “I was, about a year ago. Nothing big, just doing grunt work and running the product from planet to planet for various buyers or sellers. Things changed -- for the worse I might add -- I got out, and from what I’ve heard from other crews at the local cantinas is that the drug trade has really exploded in the past six months.”

 

“You still head into Larentia for any reason?”

 

“Supply runs mostly, legit cargo transport such as foodstuffs and equipment for the outer colonies. I avoid the regular and secondary space lane routes and stay with the switchback trails to avoid the dumbass meth runners.”

 

“What changed? And why the upswing with the product and civvie deaths?”

 

“Word has it that an Orion Cartel faction is responsible.”

 

“You have any names for me?”

 

“Just back room cantina talk, and not really substantiated as of yet: Jinor. Rihan born, self made mercenary, chief lieutenant for one of the paramilitary cells that run the product. As for a particular cartel or employer, all I’ve heard so far is hearsay and second hand stories about ‘Stilleto’. Could be a code name, could be a group, or it could refer to the person responsible for the whole Larentia sector meth issues.”

 

“What makes this…mercenary group and whatever Orion cartel faction that the grunts work for so different within this situation?”

 

“Came in hot and heavy, they want to take over the drug trade in the sectors, and haven’t let up. This is a dirty lot, and not real nice, professionals all the way. You know the type -- shoot first, ask questions later and damn all others to Hell. Be careful Kitten, bad bunch all around.”

 

And that opinion was coming from Honor-Scar? Who by her own rights could and would be down and dirty with her jobs and methods? Kansas couldn’t help but chuckle softly in a bit of gentle derision. “You should talk ‘Scar.”

 

The older Caitian female got angry then, the tawny fur of her neck ruff flaring out in accordance with her level of annoyance. “I ain’t never raped anyone, or killed families just ‘cause they got in the way! You watch your high falutin’ opinions, Kitten.”

 

Kansas put her paws up in placation, the gesture showing clearly over the visual wireless feed. “Whoa. I meant no harm, easy Jumper.”

 

The tawny furred Cait-leo visibly reined in her temper, and then continued the conversation. “Just watch yourself Kitten; you know how these para-military types can get, especially the ones that might have ties to the independent Orion factions or the Cartel proper.”

 

“You know it. And Jumps? I’ll only say this once -- you’d best make yourself scarce for a few months. Imperial ships have been authorized to board and detain any ships operating within or near the Larentia sectors. Keep your snoot clean for a little while, you hear me?”

 

Honor-Scar stared out at Kansas for a while, her expression neutral as she considered someone who she had watched grow up both up close as well as from the distance giving her some ‘orders’, let alone telling her to stop her current trade for a few months. Then, she came to a decision and a slow grin made its way across the slightly older feline’s muzzle.

 

“Yes ma’am, Commander JoNs, sir…looks like someone grew up while I’ve been away.”

 

And with that little comment riding on the subspace, Jumper winked an eye at her semi-twin relative and then abruptly cut the two way connection, making sure she got the last word in.

 

Kansas spoke out loud into the silence and no one in particular. “Now what is that supposed to mean?!