The Informant

[C.T. Caine 0]

It was a typical work day on the ISS Agincourt, and the secondary shift had just started. Commander JoNs had completed her required bridge command duties and then retired to her office on deck fourteen in order to deal with an accumulation of paperwork; the feline settled easily into the litany of reports, updates and requests that were recorded verbally or in text format on the various digital data slates and PADDS that were strewn across her desk in semi-neat stacks according to importance.

 

A squad of marines filed past her open office entry way, shouting out some nonsense cadence about running a two kilometer run at dawn only wearing underwear, causing Kansas to smile to herself; the simple day to day routine of the marines was comforting to the feline. Honor. Duty. No nonsense. No wheeling and dealing.

 

Well, no, that last bit wasn’t entirely true. At the very least, the Marine version of wheeling and dealing had a stricter code set attached to the practice. On the down side, they could be a real snooty and hidebound lot as a whole with who they allowed into their ranks.

 

A ping sounded from the vicinity of the personal guard standing watch detail outside the XO’s office. She flipped an ear in the general direction of the sound, but if Lieutenant Mical had anything of value to report, the female Andorian would let JoNs know.

 

And as a matter of fact, the lieutenant did have something to tell her boss; the blue skinned, silver haired humanoid stepped into the entry way and looked at JoNs expectantly as she silently asked for permission to convey the information along. The feline returned the look, flipping one ear back in silent acknowledgement of the non verbal request.

 

Mical quirked one antenna as she spoke. “News on the new retainer recruit Commander; she wants to meet with you to discuss the particulars.”

 

“Of course she does.”

 

Mattingly was definitely a lot like the late Master Chief Keltex when it came to certain aspects of interaction. JoNs felt a pang of loss and regret when her thoughts flittered over the memory of the master chief, but she quickly got her mind back on track regarding current matters. It took a certain stripe of enlisted/non-com in order to successfully be able to dictate terms to a commissioned, and do it respectfully; Mattingly had that talent. Any other sort would end up dead at some point during their career.

 

“When and where?”

 

“Twenty one hundred tonight. Secondary observation lounge.”

 

“I can handle that.”

 

= = = =

 

The commander stayed in the entry way of the entertainment area, taking in the room and it occupants visually before she committed her person to actually stepping into the area. The secondary lounge was busy at this time of night despite the later hour. There were at least twenty or so crewmen, enlisted, and officers enjoying themselves and speaking in small groups. Alcohol flowed freely, as did the holo-emitter games. The general feeling of the lounge room was relaxed, and most of the crew present spared a respectful glance towards the ships XO, but nothing more. JoNs had gained a deserved reputation among the crew as a being not to be trifled with, but she was not a tyrant. This non-tyrannical SOP enabled her to move rather freely among the crew and ‘blend in’ during certain situations, such as this off the record meeting. It was a useful trait to be exploited to her advantage.

 

 

These were big boys and big girls and…species of other persuasions; if they chose to revel in pleasures late into the night and early hours of the morning, then so be it. As long as these officers performed their assigned duties and shifts and the productivity of the ship did not suffer, the decision was their choice and it was none of JoNs’s business. A micromanaging exec was a hated exec, and JoNs was very content to remain a lesser target and maintain her skin in the process.

 

And any disciplinary action if an individual or individuals were to be late to shift was to be handled by their department heads and shift leads, and unless a tardy situation truly became a problem, JoNs willingly kept her distance from the day to day micromanaging of the departments, letting the chiefs do their jobs like they were supposed to. Her pay grade was executive level Imperial officer, not truant officer.

 

Her light green eyes took in every detail of the area within a few seconds. Crewman Mattingly was at the far end of the lounge, seemingly admiring the star field while she sipped at a light blue colored drink. The half-Bajoran woman had made a point to pick an area to stand at the far end of the room…yet she was closest to a secondary exit…just in case.

 

Mostly all the departments were represented, including the Marines who more often then not stayed within the confines of their inner domain on Deck 14. Several card games were ongoing…and about three of Lieutenant Caine’s people were partaking in one of them. Jimmbo Farragut was one of the players.

 

No matter; sometimes the best off the record meetings happened in plain sight, and Farragut was definitely on the low grade officer watch list: just this side of unimportant, but was occasionally worth watching to keep an eye on him, like an agitated wasp flying about a room.

 

Although, it was so much the better that the good lieutenant had some eyes and ears in the lounge this night. With a fangy smile, JoNs nodded greetings and returned a few greetings to the gathered officers as she began to move confidently through the observation lounge.

 

Kansas never commanded a room. She had the ability to bring order to a room, verbally or physically with a snarl, a direct order, or a smack with her paw if the action was needed. She gave orders confidently, and the soldiers under her command followed them without question. She could move through a room with fluid grace, stalking any and all that she considered a target.

 

Colonel Harper had the ability to command a room. JoNs had observed her patron and sponsor in action, had seen the results, but had not yet been able to copy the ability except in smaller doses of practice. Perhaps someday the feline would learn to adapt this ability into practice.

 

The Caitian feline was a fusion of traits and personality quirks that seemed perfectly at ease with the agenda and career of an Imperial officer, yet oftentimes at odds with the individual. Her rakish and feral appearance hid a predatory mind that was at best held in check by the tenuous hold of the civilization that she chose to live in.

 

JoNs wore the typical black uniform trousers, yet had chosen to were the alternate sleeveless wraparound tunic uniform top, the mandarin design of the tunic evoking memories of Earth Asian pirates of yesteryear. The gold glittering metallic mesh sash completed the uniform, but also contributed to the piratical appearance.

 

And the projectile ordnance that the cat carried on her weapons utility belt? The sawed off plasma shotgun worn low on one hip seemed was decidedly not Imperial Fleet issue, and would be of more use to a colony marshal’s position. Yet, the Imperial uniform and choice of weapons suited Kansas, blending her professional and personal choices into her chosen career path: a Caitian with deep blood ties to the mercenary culture, with a day job as an Imperial officer.

 

Her feral qualities were dangerous and synonymous with freedom; the orders and regulations and duties of the Fleet would never beat down who the Cait officer really was. She would forever use that predatory outlook and feral nature of her feline heritage and would never hide who or what she really was.

 

…not to say that certain persons hadn’t tried to beat some sense into her…

 

Now though, there was a personnel matter to attend to, and soon Kansas would have a definite answer as to whether or not she would have a new retainer to her informational network, or not. She also didn't give a flying frag that Mattingly was part of Lieutenant Caine’s security night shift staff; the half-Bajoran crewman’s service record showed a capable officer, and JoNs straight up wanted competent people on her own staff.

 

Kansas might not have commanded the lounge per se, but she moved among its inhabitants in all her stalking glory. Soon, she reached Mattingly, who had stopped studiously ignoring the new arrival when JoNs had gotten about halfway across the room; bright and cunning Bajoran eyes met equally bright and cunning Caitian eyes; both females acknowledged one another’s presence non-verbally.

 

Then Mattingly broke the eye contact and returned to looking coolly out the window, as if she had no particular interest in the Commander’s presence, as if she barely even noticed when Kansas padded to a halt next to her.

 

JoNs remained unfazed by the seeming lack of interest on the other female’s part, and pitched her offer directly to Mattingly. “Are you interested in taking on the position of mobile remote retainer within my retinue, Crewman Mattingly?” The feline’s gaze was turned outward as well, admiring the outlying blackness of space and the distant stars with a matching feigned casualness.

 

Mattingly’s expression stayed cool, dismissive, almost bored, though JoNs could see her eyes flick once in Farragut’s direction with an alertness that said she was, in fact, listening very closely, that the air she carried was for other observers than Kansas. Jimmbo had been following the Caitian commander’s progress across the room and had seen her begin talking to Mattingly, but he couldn’t hear the gist of the discussion. This was good; it meant that the right facial expression could potentially convince him that nothing of significance was being said, which was of course about as far from the truth as it was possible to be.

 

Jumping from the relative security of department service to becoming an informer for a senior officer was not without inherent risks. If that officer ended up dead, you could very possibly end up dead as well, and more often than not were unable to return to the departmental structure that you had left. Those retainers that did manage to live through the untimely death of their patron typically transferred off ship to pursue their career elsewhere. The same circumstances went for a crewmember or enlisted officer or commissioned officer who chose to be a remote retainer under the pay and influence of a senior officer and got caught; remote didn’t exclude you from reprisals by your chief if you were discovered passing along information.

 

And when your chief was Caine…well, that just about made it suicidal. But then again, no one with alien blood and a noncom rank who wasn’t somewhat suicidal tended to make it very far in this game.

 

“What are your plans, Commander JoNs?” she asked easily, sipping again at her drink, her eyes still on the stars rather than her conversational partner.

 

JoNs understood what the Bajoran security guard was asking -- the age-old question of job security. She could have given a deliberately obtuse answer; instead she stuck with the truth and decided not to play dumb or coy with the subordinate officer.

 

“For the moment, the Agincourt and her current master retain my loyalty. If you join up with my crew, you won’t be getting your ass shot off in a coup attempt. Is that an acceptable explanation for you, Mattingly?”

 

Mattingly said nothing for a moment. It was a reassurance; it wasn’t a hell of a big one. “It might be. What if I were to decline your officer, Commander?”

 

“Hypothetically, you wouldn’t be here of you weren’t more then halfway interested, Crewman. And, hypothetically, if you do turn down my offer, there’ll be no dagger in your back. Doesn’t work that way. Or I should say, I don’t work that way. So, you signing on or what?”

 

JoNs just cocked an ear back as she asked this final question, turning her full attention to the Bajoran; if Crewman Mattingly refused to take the open remote informant spot on her staff, the feline would just move right along; there were other officer and enlisted candidates that she could tap into, simple as that. Planting eyes and ears throughout every department on the ship took time and effort, and the felinoid Ex Oh had no qualms about moving forward until she got who she wanted in representation of her mobile eyes and ears among the crew.

 

A little smile quirked at the corner of the Bajoran’s mouth, breaking the dismissive shell for a moment, and she cocked her head to one side, thinking. Mattingly wasn’t a woman for strong bonds; she’d seen the security department through a couple different Security Chiefs and a couple of different XOs by now, and the fact was that she had not really expressed any interest in joining Kansas’s ‘side’ because of any burning loyalty to her. Nor had she, as she had briefly speculated with herself while waiting for this meeting, considering the idea because Kansas was, like her, non-human, because she felt some kinship with the Caitian on that level. No, she was here because she hated Caine with a passion, but she tended to figure that was a good reason enough. “Aye sir, guess this means I accept the offer.”

 

“Good. There’ll be no interference with your regular patrol and brig duties, all I ask is that you check in with me regularly. And, in the future should you wish it, you’d be welcome to transfer permanently over to my staff as a guard and aide. A lateral transfer would mean better food, quarters--”

 

“--and a knife in my back more than like--”

 

“--and a promotion…” Kansas finished, giving a fangy sort of grin at Mattingly’s interruption. How rude. “But perhaps I can see to that promotion in the interim. The new promotion orders will be sent to you and your chief within the hour. Welcome to the family…Petty Officer Mattingly. “

 

Typically, any agreements would be sealed with a clasped paw and hand in a forearm shake of commitment, But in the interest of clandestine communication, no such politeness was involved; instead, Mattingly nodded a curt acknowledgment and then scowled deliberately as if the conversation had been of a tenor more appropriate to their official relationship, and, raising her voice just loud enough to be heard, delivered a blistering, dismissive Bajoran oath by way of goodbye. Then she returned to her quiet admiration of the star field set outside the large picture window of the lounge as if nothing had happened. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Farragut relax back into his seat with a smirk and a wink in her direction; he approved, suspected nothing.

 

Commander JoNs responded in kind to the supposed dismissal from Mattingly, carrying on the professional ruse: The golden furred Cait growled and hissed, exposing fangs as she backed away from the crewman. She snapped her fangs at thin air, and then turned away from the female security officer, slinking back out of the lounge much the same way that she came in -- as a feline on the proverbial hunt.