From: Kenneth Field (envision_at_fidalgo.net)
Date: Sat Feb 02 2008 - 09:34:49 PST
"The Cat Came Back"
(continues from Shawn's "Stormfront")
Location: GS-2
Stardate: 2.80201.2252
Scene: Counseling Center
Time Index: prior to events in Jasmina's coming post
Lt. Jg. Mowree Nurunyon glanced up from his work when the woman was escorted into the reception area. The Counseling Center had taken less damage than Sickbay during the brief occupation of Jem'Hadar soldiers. But it was still a mess. Instead of pouring over patient files, Mowree had opted to pick up a paint sprayer and work to cover over blast marks and hurried repair work on many of the walls. They'd already cleaned up the blood.
The woman held in charge by two marines was a FedComm reporter of dubious distinction.
"Kierenna Trell," the Caitian observed, rising up from his crouch and carefully "safeing" the paint sprayer. "I thought we might chat a bit."
The Betazoid reporter did not immediately respond. She was obviously irritated by her escorts who seemed quite impervious to her charms. And she was understandably concerned about being remanded to the custody of the Counseling Department. She was certain she was being set up in retaliation for the work she'd done to expose certain mutant cross-overs among the senior staff on board the GATEWAY Station.
Mowree ushered her into his office, offered the escorts a comfortable place to sit, and when they politely refused as good marines would, he acted as if they were no longer there. Trell had more trouble doing that. Mowree casually walked about his office, misting various plants that shared his workspace. He didn't immediately follow up with the reason for her presence in his office, preferring to enjoy the silence as he communed with his many plants.
Finally, she broke the silence.
"You're interested in plants?" she asked, just as a way to get the conversational ball rolling.
"What makes you say that?" Mowree asked absently, as he fingered a waxy green leaf of one of his exotic saxifrages.
"I would think the question obvious, considering the profusion of vegetable matter in your office. And is it always this hot in here?"
Mowree's ears flicked, first one, then the other. He turned slowly about, the mister in one large furry hand. And he looked at her, his golden eyes wide and interested.
"This seems quite normal to me," he smiled, allowing his teeth to show just a bit ... a gentle reminder of his predator heritage. "I can't speak to your temperature persuasions," he countered. "Gentlemen," he addressed the marines, "are you uncomfortable?"
No self-respecting marine would ever admit to discomfort short of a bayonet to the ribcage, and of course, neither did.
"I'm afraid it must be you," Mowree said, setting the mister down on a small table and taking a seat in the large bowl-shaped chair he preferred to the blocky, sharp-edged furniture so many humanoids expected.
Then once again he was silent. He sat completely still, his eyes tracking every fidget. His whiskers untwitching. He simply watched her. And it made her nervous.
"I assume there was a reason for this appointment," Trell tried to begin again.
"Yes," Mowree answered, and returned to silence.
Trell was not a patient woman unless she was on the hunt herself. She had the idea that she was out of her element in this case, but she seized the initiative from force of habit.
"If this is about my reporting," she began.
"You mean concerning Commander Davidson and Lieutenant JG Varn?"
"Yes, Catwoman and Birdboy ...,"
Mowree cut her off.
"In this place and in this time," he said, eyes narrowing dangerously, "we will refer to the subjects of your diatribes with absolute respect. One should never disrespect one's prey."
"Prey? I don't know what you mean."
"Let us also attempt honesty instead of duplicity, Ms. Trell. As one predator to another, let us also respect each other. Anything less would be tempting fate."
"Are you threatening me?" Trell felt on firmer ground now. Lots of people threatened her. "I work for FedComm. I have the right to free speech in any Federation facility or member world."
"If you consider respect and honesty threatening, Ms. Trell, than I'm sure you could consider our conversation threatening. But that would be your failing, not mine. If I were to actually threaten you, there would be no doubt in your mind as to your personal danger," Mowree's eyes took on a strange glint, the large black pupils fixing on her.
She wondered if this was what mice felt like.
"Shall I dangle some string for you?" she snapped back out of nervousness.
Just then a small tabby cat launched itself into her lap, took one sniff and leaped away onto Mowree's desk. He reached out a paw which the cat nudged with its cheek before settling down on one corner of the desk.
"Ms. Trell, this is Bel. She once lived with an associate of mine, Commander Eugene McInnis. He died during the recent hostilities. Bel is a ship's cat, but she has elected to make adjustments for the time being, and is living with me. She is not entirely sure of your intentions, however, and I find her an excellent judge of character."
"Keeping a cat would be a little like a human keeping monkey for a pet," Trell sneered.
"Ms. Trell, I shall be unfailingly polite to you, but only if you stop acting in this provocative and insulting manner. Bel and I are certainly related in an evolutionary manner, just as you and Dr. McNeil's chimpanzee share more than a little DNA. But do not mistake my courtesy for acceptance of your racist behavior."
"Racist!?" Trell came up out of her seat.
The marines stepped away from the wall, but Mowree waved them back.
"Yes. It is my opinion based on your behavior that you carry mistaken beliefs in regard to non-humanoid species. Racist beliefs, to be exact. And that anything or anyone who does not fit your preconceptions of what intelligence and sentience should be is immediate fair game. I assure you, that your are quite mistaken in this regard. Based on our discussions here, I will be sending a report back to your own employers, as well as Starfleet and the Federation. Your credentials may be withdrawn as a consequence."
"Discussions?!" Trell realized her voice was high and getting higher.
"Why yes," Mowree replied innocently. "I would never proceed on my assumptions alone without careful verification. Something you might adopt in your own work. Now, shall we get down to business," he smiled, this time showing all of his teeth, including the very sharp incisors.
-------------------- =/\=
NRPG: I couldn't think of anything more excruciating for Trell than a drawn out counseling session with Mowree. LOL. Serves her right, don't you think?
------------------- =/\=
Kenneth Field
envision_at_fidalgo.net
aka Lt. JG Mowree Nurunyon
aCNS/GS-2
aka Tomas' Alexei Vukovic
covert BORG infiltrator
currently under deep cover
aka Maury R. Tee
Professor of English (Retired)
Proprietor of "Impulse Drives,"
a little shop of horrors
GS-2, Promenade
aka Commander Gene McInnis, deceased
formerly CNS/GS-2
"To gently lie and prove the lie true ... everything is finally a promise ... what
seems a lie is ramshackle need, wishing to be born." -- Ray Bradbury
From HyperNews_at_youth.net
This archive was generated by hypermail 2.1.5 : Wed Nov 19 2008 - 03:10:47 PST