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RAdm S.Coyote

My Kids

The following log takes place during the 20 minute TBS…

 

Admiral Shauna Walking-Coyote had hopped the first S&R shuttle down to Nova AC in order to survey the situation first hand.

 

There were still random pockets of resistance from Black Kris guards and mercenaries; Security teams from the Comanche Creek were sweeping The Maze, handling any problems and arresting suspects. Medical teams had begun to circulate, tending to injured civilians and freed prisoners. In orbit, the ‘Creek, SS Imperious, and the SS Hard Six were riding herd on two captured vessels and the panicked sector traffic.

 

Captain Calestorm and Coyote had deployed to ‘Dukes Place’ for a quick pow wow; Cale had wanted to discuss a few things with her commanding officer pronto. Duke’s had survived the hostile takeover of The Maze intact, save for a couple of neon signs that sputtered out and hung precariously from the wall.

 

Leaning against the bar, Crash was scuffed, bruised, still clad in her mercenary gear. Admiral Coyote wore urban gray/black BDU fatigues. Having a post-covert mission pre-debriefing in a bar dive just completed the situation perfectly.

 

“You’ll be getting full reports on the mission Shauna, as soon as my team can upload the data over to the ‘Creek. The highlights are: We kicked ‘Kris ass. Didn’t nab Litasha, but I have a feeling she has a lot of explainin’ to do. The Black Kris organization is dealing with internal issues, and losing The Maze further unbalances the faction...”

 

There was no joy in Cale’s tone, nothing to indicate that she was pleased with the outcome of Operation: Whiteout. She blew out a sigh. Dammit, she was tired…“Additionally, I’d like to request clarification for a situation I’d like to keep off the record.”

 

The captain might as well have started dancing a jig. Puzzlement crossed Coyote’s strong boned features. “Cale? I don’t understand?”

 

The captain paused long enough to take a drag off her cigarette. “I have some personnel matters I’d like to deal with informally.” She practically hissed the statement.

 

Oh. Oh my. The cigarette smoking should have been a dead giveaway, but Coyote had assumed the return of the nervous tic was the usual mission based stress. Coyote now looked at her friend’s face closely. Fatigue was there, a rollover effect from Operation: Whiteout. That was to be expected. The drawn and pinched features also held something else – white hot anger, contained.

 

“…I’m not going to have bodies mysteriously floating in orbit, am I?”

 

Calestorm didn’t immediately answer; her jaw set and she pushed off the bar. She meandered over to the picture window that overlooked the half-demolished urban section of the Maze, the same window she had creatively vacated a short time ago.

 

Shauna quietly moved to stand beside her. “I’m sorry Crash. I’m only teasing. What’s really on your mind?”

 

“This is off the record.”

 

Coyote trusted her enough to agree to do so. “Done.”

 

Crash took another drag, blowing the smoke out in a ring pattern. “You know ah’ve never really been good with having mah orders questioned...”

 

The admiral snorted gently. “You and a lot of other captains…”

 

“Well, yeah, but I tend to get really tetchy.”

 

“This is true.”

 

“I’ve been driving you nuts for years with my shenanigans. Always been a maverick, jumping in where the Angels fear to tread and let God sort ‘em out.”

 

“But that’s why I love you.”

 

Calestorm shot Coyote a look. “You are so lucky you rank me.”

 

“Sorry. I interrupted the baring of the soul. Please continue.”

 

“Admiral, I’m really happy you find this all so damn amusing, but I’m attempting to be diplomatic here.”

 

Dash appeared from nowhere, kind of like a Ninja but different. A portly, pig-like Tellarite Ninja, but you get the idea. A strap holster across his back anchored a shotgun, and he held two shot glasses in blunted hoof-hands. He held the glasses out to the two Starfleet officers and they mutely accepted the offering of the blue alcoholic liquid.

 

Coyote looked at Crash; Crash looked at Coyote. They both glanced at the retreating back of the bartender, and then both women simultaneously shrugged. Crash downed the shot in one gulp and then walked back towards the bar area. The admiral sipped at her drink, following in Calestorm’s wake.

 

Once they were both settled on the bar stools, Crash continued. “I get it. We’re Border Patrol. We’re out here dealing with stuff that other crews, other ships don’t want to touch. We need people who are willing to go that extra parsec, to think outside the box and maintain our code of honor.”

 

The admiral nodded with cautious agreement. “It’s been said before, but I’ll say it again – Nero changed things for Starfleet. We always knew that we needed a different breed of officer in order to make the FTR program work...”

 

“Two of mine went that parsec. Orders were given, they chose a different path. Scooter punched me out and went AWOL, personal reasons. Death Wish went AWOL as well. Still have to question him as to why...”

 

Coyote cocked a dark brow. “Well that’s…interesting. You’d be within rights to file formal charges.”

 

Calestorm jabbed a thumb at her chest in emphasis. “My kids. I want to deal with them. All there is to it.”

 

“I’m not going to have any bodies floating in orbit, right Crash?”

 

She allowed a ghost of a smile to show. “No, you’re not going to have bodies in orbit Shauna. I’ll deal with Scooter soon as I can; as I haven’t heard anything, I figure she’s still alive…Wish’ll have to wait - medical recovery.”

 

“…I’m not going to have any bodies floating in orbit, right Crash?”

 

“Dammit Admiral!”

Edited by RAdm S.Coyote

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