Open Muzzle, Insert Paw

[Crash Calestorm 0]

The following log takes place during the first week of our one month TBS...

 

The situation of Neural continued to wind down, to reach some sort of closure, though the cultural repercussions would be felt for years to come. For now, the nomadic tribes and village dwellers would be left to their own devices, living with the contamination.

 

The officers and crew deployed on the away teams were doing what they could to mitigate the impact, but a planetary culture was forever changed thanks to the interference of the Orion Cartel and undesirable elements working within the Federation Starfleet itself..

 

The main command center of the Neural observation outpost was empty save for Captain Calestorm. The middle aged officer was armed with a mug of coffee, and a portable coffee maker percolated quietly, set on a table off to one side of the main floor area. Two offices flanked the control center, one for project leader Lester and her chief assistant, and under normal circumstances would have been directly linked to the systems of the oval shaped control room. Now, the office computer systems and their links were offline. The computer equipment and data materials had been moved out the day prior.

 

As the ranking command officer on site, Cale was responsible for overseeing the transfer of command protocol level encryption codes and taking the control center computers and systems fully off line. She was no tech wizard, thank you very much, but this was something required of her per duty. Science and Medical had already downloaded the necessary anthropological information; she was the cleanup crew.

 

The captain placed her mug on the console surface and stood and stretched, working out kinks that had settled in her lower back. What she really wanted to be doing was a down time flight run in her starfighter, but that was besides the point.

 

The silence was broken by a spoken “Long afternoon?” inquiry.

 

Calestorm turned towards the sound of the purring voice, and spotted Commander K. Vacer JoNs. The two females hadn’t really gotten on very well from the first time they’d met, putting aside Cale had been bum rushed to the meeting - JoNs thought Crash was no better then a trigger happy space frontier marshal, and Crash thought JoNs was a mouthy kid.

 

Still, they were both officers and had made the attempt for some sort of amicable working relationship. Right.

 

The elder human inclined her head respectfully towards the shorter, younger felinoid. “Commander JoNs. You could say that.” She ran a hand through her silver blond hair. “I have some good coffee if you’re interested.”

 

“Captain.” The felinoid returned the gesture as she moved further into the command area. Like the captain, the commander was dressed in the dark gold field command duty tunic, offering a contrast to her lighter golden colored fur. “Thank you, but I’ll pass on the coffee.”

 

Adopting a standard parade rest, JoNs continued speaking. “I have an update report for you Sir. My undercover teams continue to sweep the regions, and most of the outlying frontier tribes have heard rumors of what happened here. The cultural damage is reverberating across the planet, mostly through word of mouth as you’d expect with a pre-Industrial culture. Most of my squads are reporting the same thing however – these people just want to go about their lives. I expect my officers to exfiltrate in another forty eight hours.”

 

Calestorm nodded. “And your tech expert?” As a smaller scout recon ship, the USS Washington Crossing had individual expert’s rather then departmental experts such as the ‘Creek.

 

“Currently working with your Science team, on the lower level backup data banks. The data banks should be fully wiped and the remaining data transferred within another twenty four hours.”

 

“Good work Commander.”

 

“Thank you Sir.”

 

Crash raised her mug to her lips and took a sip of the coffee, eyeing the feline thoughtfully. “It was Special Operations who initially suggested bringing in an outside source for the situation on Neural?” Statement, not a question.

 

JoNs flipped an ear back. “Yes. At one point during our initial scramble to contain the situation on the working level without tipping off any of the rogue Intelligence group, my superiors felt it necessary to explore outside sources and candidates. Your name was one such option to come up.”

 

“My name.” Statement, not a question.

 

“Yes Sir. The shadow group moved forward within the Intel division very quickly following the Nero attacks…maybe a little too quickly. But, with the massive loss of personnel at Vulcan, it gave myself and others an opening to move in and establish ourselves as compatriots so we could monitor their activities more closely…at least with Neural.Regardless, it’ll take Fleet Intel months to recover, and we have no way of knowing how many shadow agents – such as Stone, as you well know -- are seeded throughout the divisions.”

 

Cale grunted in acknowledgement and then took another sip before speaking again. “You endorsed that little Grab the Captain assignment.” Another statement.

 

The felinoid purred. “I would have preferred that Stone lay off the more cloak and dagger shivasta, but what’s done is done.”

 

Calestorm appreciated that.

 

“To be honest Captain, despite your service record and credentials, you weren’t my first choice for the Neural retrieval mission.”

 

Crash’s mug paused halfway to her mouth while her eyebrow flew for her hairline. “Ah see.”

 

Did her accent just shift or something? Weird. “A raw commanding officer would have worked just as well, and I had my own reservations about your cowboy personality and methods.”

 

Calestorm did not appreciate that. “Ah see.”

 

“Yes Captain. You prefer the point and shoot and ask questions later methodology.”

 

The mug was carefully replaced on the nearby console desktop. “I have a cowboy personality, huh? As I recall from the psych profile in your service jacket, your superiors have referred to you as somewhat of a seat of the pants operative. One would expect that we’d be in good company with one another.”

 

“And that’s completely true. Sir. But I command a much smaller, more specialized crew then you. I can afford to be ‘seat of the pants’ as you so quaintly put it, due to the set of missions we typically deploy out on. Unlike you, I still follow the protocol in all my deployment orders.”

 

“Explain that. Speak freely.” As if you weren’t already. Cale kept her tone neutral, her words non combative, but the underlying command tone was there.

 

JoNs sniffed, the gesture somehow seeming demure in a feline sort of way. “I’ve read your service profile as well Captain. You tend to break out the cowboy diplomacy. While effective in the short term, it has no basis of use in mainstream Starfleet operations. Sir.”

 

“You ain’t a big fan of the Border Patrol, Commander?”

 

“It’s a fine establishment Captain, if zipping about the frontier and strapping on the plasma six shooters is your thing.”

 

Capable she may be, but it was clear the JoNs could use a refresher course in interdivisional respect. Had a cocky streak a mile wide, nose in the air, combative …not as noticeable or daresay ‘crazy playful’ as Ensign Honor-Scar, but the personality trait was present all the same. Crash would’ve bet a months pay that it was a family genetic trait, Lord help the future generations.

 

The middle aged captain’s jaw had set tight. She moved, taking a stance at the forward observation port, her back towards JoNs. “Let’s talk about another Grab the Captain issue. You’ve been stationed on New Topeka for a spell? I know our ships have crossed paths while in the space dock.” She kept her attention fixed outside, on a local varmint that was sprinting across a distant field of grass, her back to the commander.

 

The Caitian cocked an ear back in curiosity, even though Calestorm could not see the gesture. Spell? She must mean the duration of my current assignment. Why not just say that? Whatever. “Yes sir. I was assigned shortly after the Battle at New Vulcan. It was originally a straight assignment, and then I became involved with the tracking of the shadow operatives working the Topeka sector area.”

 

“You were monitoring the rogue officers operating within Intelligence as best you could?”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“So no effort was made to deter Litasha from jumping me that night.”

 

“Uh Sir?” The abrupt change of topic threw the Cait off.

 

“Please don’t play dumb. The night the Orion leader of the Kris faction infiltrated Topeka space. Her movements were known.”

 

“….a response team was standing by. My team.”

 

Cale knew that the Washington Crossing was designated as a special response ship. With JoNs as commanding officer, the crew of thirty highly trained SPECOPS commandos and specialists could be deployed for a variety of missions, ranging from infiltration to hostage rescue and anything in between.

 

Missions such as a raid on a warehouse structure to neutralize cartel operatives and exfiltrate a kidnapping victim, which of their commanding officer neglected to undertake.

 

“You didn’t answer my question Commander.”

 

“…we weren’t sure if you were the target or if your command crew in its entirety had been targeted. When it was confirmed you were the only officer taken…I was given orders to proceed with caution.”

 

“Proceed with caution.”

 

“Yes Sir.”

 

“Commander JoNs, you are aware that I was in the company of those thugs for several hours as they worked me over.”

 

“Yes Sir. I read the incident report. It was unfortunate.” The captain heard the Cait shift her stance. “If I acted, there was the risk of compromising the overall monitoring of the Neural situation.”

 

“I’m aware of that Commander. And I understand that you might have compromised the overall tracking mission if you moved in on the kidnapping situation.”

 

JoNs was an accomplished officer at the relatively young age of 37; though her cocky edge opened muzzle and inserted paw. “Sir, if you’re already aware of that then why are we having this conversation?” Her tone held an almost teenaged Duh and rolling of the eyes.

 

Calestorm might have been able to overlook the reasons, but she couldn’t get past the lack of respect; she turned, and the fury she felt vibrated out from her. Her face had frozen in a stony mask, the few age lines creasing the skin made more prominent. The outside light filtering in through the observation window caught the amber coloring in her hazel eyes, seeming to spark from anger. Human aside, she had the almost gait of a wolf, her intent and emotions raw, predatory.

 

The commander felt and witnessed the change in demeanor, causing the felinoid Cait’s fur to bristle. Her tail flared out, her ears went flat against her head. She backed away, a low growl sounding in her throat.

 

Crash’s tone came out low. “That will be all Commander. Dismissed. Now.”

 

“Yes Sir.” The Caitian gave a curt nod and then quickly made her way out of the control center, leaving the Human alone to finish her work and wrangle her temper.