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LeftEar JoNs

Bloodlines (Aegis-Creek)

The following joint log takes place during the two hour TBS…

 

USS Comanche Creek

Main Briefing Room

 

With several multi-Geek temporal conversations going regarding the USS Comanche Creek’s chances of making it back to 2259, Calestorm had decided to take a moment for other business. Leaving the theories to the experts and Commander Wesley and Captain Chirakis to fend for themselves in the verbal melee, she had quickly ducked out into the corridor.

 

She found Chirakis’ ASEC right where the group had left her - guarding the doorway. Bright green felinoid eyes lanced her as Crash cleared the threshold.

 

“Commander JoNs, may I speak with you a moment.” Not a request. She ticked her head indicating that they step away.

 

Brown tufted ears flattened slightly, and Cale’s eyes were drawn to them with the movement; the left ear had several notches slashed into the cartilage, she assumed from an accident or combat. JoNs nodded and followed the older, taller woman to a small maintenance alcove set off the main corridor.

 

“That ear how you came by the nickname, Left Ear?”

 

“Yes Sir.” No explanation, no change in vocal tone. Right…

 

The Captain crossed her arms over her chest and leaned a hip against the brightly colored access ladder. “I generally don’t like to get off on the wrong foot - or paw - with people, yet I also know it can happen with my sparkling personality. That’s why I didn’t go into the Fleet Diplomatic Corps.”

 

The jest fell flat; Left Ear maintained decorum and stared at Crash with a straight on poker face. Okay, un-amused Cat is un-amused. Time for Plan B…

 

“Commander, you have any particular reason for that look you shot my way during the Honor Guard?”

 

Shoots from the hip, just like a space frontier marshal in those vids…The Great Hunter save us from these so called ‘Quarter Deck’ breeds…JoNs adopted a easy parade rest, her ears relaxed, and she regarded the Human. “While I consider myself a student of history, I admit my opinions may be colored; I am not a fan of the Starfleet era that you supposedly hail from.”

 

Crash quirked an eyebrow, her expression amused. “Oh?”

 

“…a wild time. Your Border Patrol was no better than cowboy diplomacy.”

 

“Ah. So…here in 2387, things are much more civilized?”

 

Left Ear purred. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far...”

 

“Uh huh. I know you ain’t no young kid, and if you got to that rank of Commander,” Crash ticked her chin towards the three rank pips on the uniform collar, “you ain’t stupid. But, you got that cat superiority thing goin’ on, and it ain’t nice. Friendly advice? Work on it Left Ear.”

 

JoNs was silent for a long moment, weighing her options. Her eventual “Aye Sir” was respectful.

 

“Now, I have a question for you; you any relation to a Kansas Vacer JoNs?” Calestorm used the proper Caitian pronunciation, passable with the purring lilt.

 

An ear flipped. “Vacer is my middle name, and an old family name. As for the relation, I’m not sure; my one brother is the family historian. I’m sure it’s possible this ‘Kansas Vacer’ is an ancestor. Why do you ask Captain? Does she serve here on your ship?” Was that the young one I spotted down on the flight deck?

 

“She does not serve here on the Comanche Creek; JoNs serves on another vessel within my division. I ask because you have much the same opinions and personality as her…and there’s a resemblance, though your fur is much darker than my Vacer.”

 

“Kzinti coloring.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“There were intermarriages and forced relations with the Kzinti. That was during the Great War, decades ago.”

 

Understanding dawned; Cale had studied the Great War between the two felinoid cultures in history class. Tetchy affair, that was.

 

“The Kzinti stripe pattern manifests as this darker brown fur color, usually in one or two kittens every other generation. May I ask you a question Captain?”

 

“Sure. Shoot.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Crash sighed and rubbed a hand at the back of her neck. “Ask yer question Commander…”

 

Great Hunter save me from ‘Yee Hah’…“There was a young Caitian at the Honor Guard ceremony, standing with your fighter pilots.”

 

“That would be Lieutenant junior grade Honor-Scar.”

 

JoNs’s tail flipped. “The Honor-Scars…” Her tone was neutral.

 

“…is that good or bad? Kin of yours?”

 

The felinoid offered a small smile. “That depends on who you ask. Familial blood feud, generational.”

 

“Ah. Generational feuds are trouble. Long time ago, there were two Earth families highly agitated with one another: the Hatfields and the McCoys. My ancestors got involved on the side of the McCoys, with a brother married into the family. The Calestorm’s eventually relocated to the territory of Georgia, where my home is now.”

 

“The initial name of ‘Honor-Scar’ was an honorific given to an ancestor of mine….” Left Ear paused and purred, “I believe she was an exchange officer in your early Starfleet*, but let’s not dwell on that in case we pollute…something.”

 

Crash smirked. “Gotta love timelines, eh?”

 

“Eventually, the ‘Honor-Scar’ was adopted as a true last name, on our maternal side. But, tensions rose within the family as the Honor-Scars gravitated more and more towards a mercenary - and some pirating - lifestyle. These last few decades things have finally calmed down between the families. Does your JoNs and…Honor-Scar get along?”

 

“Yes, from what I’ve gathered, it seems both officers could care less regarding any family issues.”

 

“…maybe these two were the ones who started the changes…”

 

Calestorm waggled a gentle finger. “Now now, don’t think too hard on that. You’ll give yerself a temporal sized headache…”

Edited by LeftEar JoNs

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Be glad she didn't go "Yippee-ki-yay" on you, Lefty.

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