Rawr! Phhfft! Phhfft!

[STSF Jumper 0]

“It’s NOT FUNNY!”

 

Jumper Honor-Scar raged, her tail lashing wildly in agitation, which only served to send her squad mates and fellow pilots into a renewed bout of laughter and joking comments directed at the felinoid Cait.

 

The patrol group, solo pilots that had gone out in the Hornet fighters as well as the pilots paired with electronic countermeasures and weapons systems officers in the Tomcats had returned to the home ship a short while ago. After completing post-flight checks, most of the vacuum riders were stripped down to undergarments or less or in the process of doing so in the junior officer locker room before heading off to the communal showers.

 

Ravi stuck his tongue out and sing songed towards the felinoid. “Jumper’s flying with the C-A-A-A-A-G.”

 

Jumper snarled and threw a wadded up towel in the Arabic male’s general direction, and she was only half playing. Shiran, an Andorian male, easily stepped in between the irate Cait and the teasing Ravi just in case the fireball furball decided to go at him.

 

Karl Rico, a Human male with the classic blond hair and blue eyed ‘Starfleet recruiting posters’ good looks, brought a semblance of order to the locker room with his next question to the flight squad at large. “What’s the Lieutenant like Jumper?”

 

Several of the gathered stick jockeys listened with interest, as most of them had only had brief contact with their new air wing commander during debriefings in the pilot ready room. Honor-Scar wrinkled her pink nose in an expression of distaste. “Besides a pain in the ass?”

 

He quirked a wry smile, the expression lightening his chiseled features. “Yeah, besides a pain in the ass.”

 

The golden furred feline shrugged as she stepped out of her flight suit and undergarments. “By the book. Not much more to be said.”

 

Rico slapped a palm to his forehead in mock horror. “Oh Gods. And ladies and gentlemen, we all know this is something Ms. Honor-Scar is not.”

 

A Tellarite deck hand, passing through the outer corridor adjacent to the locker area, heard that last bit of the conversation and poked his porcine head through the open hatchway. “The El Tee rides everyone hard, doesn’t matter who takes out the birds -- even the XO and the CO. You should listen on the public comm channels when the command staff shoots out, it can get really entertaining. And will you lot please close the entry way? Some of us do not want to look at your ugly selves.”

 

Several towels flew across the area towards the Tellar, who ducked out quickly to avoid the incoming ordnance.

 

Honor-Scar raised a paw in the air. “And that is something that we need to discuss. Seriously, what is up with the command staff launching out in the birds? The Captain…really? Are we sure she can still handle the fighters…don’t Humans get arthritis or something?”

 

Karl pointed a gentle finger at the feline. “Jumps, ease up on the whole age discrimination thing. She can probably knock you into next year.”

 

“Well, yeah, if she doesn’t cramp up in the process.”

 

The Human just rolled his eyes and didn’t comment as he continued to remove several pieces of light protective equipment from his flight suit.

 

The young Cait, still in a ripe mood and not content to quiet down, latched onto another complaint of hers. “And what’s up with the namby pamby patrol patterns? Shouldn’t we be kicking butt and taking names with those pirates that screwed up the Enterprise with that whole computer mess? I don’t know about you guys, but I could use some action.”

 

“Got your action right here baby!” A loudmouth assigned to Squad Three called out across the locker room. He was completely naked and gyrated his hips and did a lewd thrust towards the Caitian. A squad mate of Red Haired Loudmouth timed the moment perfectly while walking to the showers, flicking a towel out towards the unprotected rear end of the crass male; the Human yelped and jumped about two feet in the air. Jumper and the other vacuum riders roared with laughter.

 

Rico waited until the chaos had quieted down a bit and then posed another question to the group in general. “Maybe the patrols we’re going out on are pointless?”

 

“Nuh-uh. Not what I heard.” Durzinsky, a big blond Human female that had transferred on board as one of the new Hornet pilots, turned from rummaging in her assigned locker. “I was talking to a petty officer that handles the third shift communications rotation; he told me that several crew has rotated off the ship, some sort of away team mission to the colony planets.”

 

Brixan, a dark skinned Centauran, pointed a finger towards Durzinsky. “Deeter might be right about that. I was in the main mess with one of the engineers and heard that the ‘Six rotated further in system, took a transfer of parts and supplies as well…maybe for the teams? Don’t think the civvie ship is shadowing us any more either…I mean, the Oberth class transponder isn’t showing on our patrol scans anymore, right?”

 

Law of the Universe: gossip and facts, interspersed, will travel through any starship at exactly warp eight point eight.

 

Shiran interjected a comment, his white hair in contrast to his olive drab flight suit and the muscles of his bare chest showing through from where he had pulled free his fasteners. “—so, the ‘Creek is flying a smokescreen?”

 

Ravi, the upper half of his own flight suit tied around his waist, shook his head in the negative. “Don’t think so. The fighters are carrying a full spread of ordnance and countermeasures equipment when we boost out along the perimeter. My opinion? The patrol patterns aren’t a sham and the ‘Creek is staying out along here for a reason.”

 

Deeter crinkled her eyebrows in a frown. “So what are we doing out here? Besides flying around with our thumbs up our butts?”

 

Honor-Scar, completely naked – or as naked as a fur bearing species could be, anyway – half turned and spoke to Durzinsky. “Welcome to another glorious day in the Federation Navy; ours is not to question why Deeter.” She ended her statement with a flourish of a wide paw.

 

The various grumblings and conversations gradually broke off as individuals headed towards an open shower slot, the locker room descending into quiet. Soon, it was just Shiran and Honor-Scar left among the discarded flight suits and equipment strewn across the benches or hanging from the open steel toned locker doors.

 

Jumper spoke, her statement directed at Shiran, but her attention un-focused and far off. “I should be flying one of the Hornets, not stuck with the CAG as his own personal whizzo.”

 

Shiran cocked an antennae towards the Cait. His people were a warrior race, but the Andorian pilot had a wide streak of budding diplomat in him. “You were a dual major in piloting and weapons sys ops…I’d say you’re still doing what you enlisted to do.”

 

In turn, Jumper cocked an ear back and finally directed her gaze at him. “If I have to be workin’ as a whizzo*, I should be paired with you.” Her purring tone came out with a bit of a snarl interjected among the words.

 

“…I know, but we can’t do anything about it right now Shorty. You screwed up.”

 

The blue skinned Andorian laid a friendly hand on her furry shoulder as he walked past her towards the showers, leaving Honor-Scar leaning dejectedly against the lockers in the quiet of the area.

 

 

*(FOPS) Flight Operations

*(WSO) Weapons System Officer