The hunt for Chuk Norris

Posted on Tue Mar 27th, 2012 @ 7:32am by Ensign Stran & Lieutenant Cassandra Levue

1,938 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: Subjugation
Location: Mining Colony Green Zone
Timeline: Day 27, Levue and Stran(And Kyt?)

It had taken Levue and Stran about 7 minutes to come to an adequate solution, as to how to keep some of the more... forward... members of the area of the mining Colony, from attempting to make advances towards Cassandra.

It took about 7 hours for Stran to stop referring to her as "Lieutenant", or "Ma'am."

It took 7 days for Stran to fall into Pon Far.

At 27 days, Stran, and Levue, had, more or less, been accepted among the scattered few Vulcans banded together, as what could best be described as a logical distribution of resources oriented band of vigilante law enforcers.

Not that Cassandra was well liked.

At all.

Unfortunately, as luck had it, a group of rather surly Pakleds, had been assigned to the same area two days ago. And they rather liked it there. They had taken time to evaluate their targets of interest. Cassandra, they had decided, was just such a target.

Cassandra had, in her possession, a few make-shift items, not one of which was of much use, defensively. Hastily repaired shoes. Her pretty much matted-together pony tail. Scratched and torn Security Uniform.

And the Pakleds had caught her on shift switch, just after she, and Stran had gotten off work shift, when she wasn't really paying nearly as much attention as she could have.

Stran. She thought, somewhat desperately. The makeshift bond between her and Stran was often strained, because Stran had been so recently bonded to someone else. It was like there was... an area of Stran she couldn't see. Which felt awkward, when she knew the reverse was far from true.

"Gentlemen." A cool voice said, with a rather uncomfortably sounding, and slightly out of place, angry accent. "I believe you are attempting to possess something of mine."

The other Vulcans watched Stran, pondering how, precisely, Stran was going to calmly disarm this situation.

However the other Vulcans were not Starfleet Security.

There were many ways of handling a situation. The right way. The wrong way. The Klingon way. The Vulcan way. Starfleet Security tended to lean towards the Klingon notion, in this type of confrontation.

"And what's it to ya, Vulcan?" The largest Pakled demanded.

"I believe you have misplaced something." Stran noted, calmly.

The Pakled walked up to Stran. "And what's that?" He snarled.

"Your procreative organs." Stran said, as he made a quick, and excessively strong karate-chop-esque movement in to the appropriate area of the offending Pakled.

The other Pakleds quickly began moving in. One of them had some rather sharp implement, or another.

Cassandra was quick to disarm that one, leaping on to his back, and more, or less, strangling him. Whether or not the man was dead, she didn't care. He wasn't moving. She tossed the sharp implement off to the side. She briefly contemplated using it, but remembered her hand-to-hand combat training. If an opponent came armed, there was already one to many weapons present. And if she could posses it by disarming the opponent at an inopportune time, likewise, she could be disarmed at just such an inopportune time.

Stran had already nerve-pinched three, and gouged a fourth's eyes out.

The remaining two, suddenly seemed less than impressed with their odds. This wasn't something they'd seen before. They weren't accustomed to putting up with professionally trained combatants. They were used to being able to swarm a targeted individual, or two, and winning, on numbers. There were no tactics. No calculating. Just numbers.

They ran like rabbits, after hearing a shot gun blast.

Stran sagged, slightly. His foot appeared painful.

"You okay, Stran?" Levue asked, as she recollected the sharp implement. A rusted, slightly useable Pakled-design dagger.

Stran nodded. "Just twisted my ankle, Cassandra." He said, with a slight grimace.

Cassandra quickly moved to Stran's side, to assist him.

Their troubles, as per their recent luck streak would have it, were not over.

"You have stayed, under our protection, Stran of Vulcan, Cassandra of Starfleet, under the assumption that the good of the many outweighed the good of the one. You may have cost us a great deal of trouble, today. Is Cassandra truly worth such a worry?" The eldest of Vulcans more or less demanded, in a passive/aggressive tone.

"To you, likely no." Stran said, refraining from adding harsh commentary about the other Vulcans' treatment of Cassandra. "But I am not Stran of Vulcan. I am Stran of Calypso. She is not Cassandra of Starfleet. She is Cassandra of Calypso, my section chief, and she is my bond-mate. Where she, and a select few others are concerned, the good of the many do not outweigh the good of the few, or the one. You will do well to remember this, in the future, Selik."

"You have said as much, in the past, Stran of Calypso," Selik said, noting the distinction. "And yet, you agreed to our rules, when you asked permission to stay. You have broken them. You will leave. At once. And take her with you." Selik added, with a scowl.

"As you wish." Stran said, nodding. He added no further comment.

As Cassandra helped Stran hobble at a half-decent pace, she pondered exactly where Stran had learned to speak with such authority, passion, and anger. It wasn't something one normally accredited Vulcan training.

This thought bled through their bond, due to the physical contact between the two.

A word was his first response. For a while, his only.

Kyt.

Cassandra didn't quite understand. She didn't want to say anything, to make anyone in the area aware of their presence.

She always fought. She always spoke brashly. She always did what she thought was right. Even if it went against whatever loose definition of society was present, would do. Stran added, after a while of collecting thoughts. You would do well, I believe, to emulate some of her, in this place. Though I doubt you have the mindset for it.

Cassandra had read enough about the woman to agree with That statement.

Then open your mind. And understand what she went through. Feel what anger her fury burned with. Use it. As she did. Stran thought.

What few mental barriers were between them, fell, as they hobbled down one of the few passage ways out of the area, to an adjoining rest area. Levue realized they were not because of his previous bonding. Not at all. They were, in fact, guarding Cassandra, from the little aspect of Kyt, that had been left behind, from said bonding.

It was fire, as hot as a planet's core. No, hotter. Almost like a supernova. It nearly singed Cassandra's surface thoughts. There was hatred for what the Cardassians had done to the Bajoran people. There was hatred for the man who had wrongly got Kyt imprisoned, and oddly, for the Marine Corps, in general. There was fury. There was passion. It was best described, as a warp core, without magnetic bottles to keep it contained.

And, when you refined it, through Stran's point of view, there was an intrinsic beauty, burning there. There was conviction in one's beliefs. There was an incredibly strong desire to do what had to be done, regardless of the cost. To do what was needed. To survive, or die for a worthy cause.

It was enough. Stran was right. It was just enough to light what little hope Cassandra had left, in ever getting off this rock, and setting her frustration at the entire situation, ablaze. There was something there, that screamed I will not die as a slave, on this God/Prophet forsaken rock!. It was briefly hard to separate her thoughts, from this piece of another person. Stran carefully detangled the two. But it still burned, within Cassandra, even when what was left of Kyt was locked behind Stran's mental barriers. It burned, with a hatred for anyone who dared stand in her way, of getting Stran to safety. Of getting her crew back together. Of finding the Captain. Of getting off this rock.

Which is why, when they emerged to the southern area of the green zone, and saw the grumpy looking Klingons, who looked over Cassandra and Stran, and grinned, toothily, Cassandra knew, either she was walking away breathing, or they were, but not likely both.

Stran nodded, his understanding.

"You wear the same clothes as that Norris guy." One of the Klingons said, pointing at Stran.

"He knew how to fight, like a proper warrior." Another Klingon noted.

"What're your names?" A third demanded.

"I am Stran, of Starfleet." Stran said. "Do not hinder our travels."

The Klingons more or less disregarded him.

Stran looked to Cassandra. He expected her to tell them her name. Not what she ended up saying.

"I'm Kyt Tramira. And if you have even heard rumor of my name, you will do well to stay the hell out of our way." Cassandra said, hoping she said it with just the right amount of anger Kyt would have used in her voice.

There was an immediate silence.

"Tramira." The first Klingon said.

"The Warrior spirit that Chuk spoke of?" The second said.

"The one who killed three Cardassians, during the dominion war, with her bare hands, while naked, unarmed, bound and gagged?" A fourth whispered.

"Prove yourself, Kyt Tramira. Any can use a name of a strong warrior to intimidate. Few can prove they deserve it." A large Klingon said, stepping forward.

Stran was unsure of this response. Few people, save himself, spoke of Tramira that often. Only one that he knew of, but his name was neither Norris, nor Chuk.

And then, Stran put the two together, in the correct order.

Chuck Norris. Stran thought.

Cassandra looked to Stran, questioningly.

Movie reference. Stran added to his train of thought.

DANIELS! They thought, together.

Cassandra leveled an ice-cold glare at the offending Klingon, and left Stran to steady himself.

The Klingon waited for Cassandra to make her first move, before reacting, however, using Kyt's brashness, Stran's strategic evaluation of the man, and her own Proprioceptive telepathy-based Combat training, it took precisely one blow, to distract the man in to deflecting her strike, and one flick of her legs to have him on the ground. Her ragged shoes still had enough sustenance to them to withstand the stomp to his forehead, that resulted in a resounding crack, which caused several of the Klingons to step back.

The remaining Klingons parted, to allow Cassandra and Stran passage.

"Go. We will no stop you, but your kind is not welcome among us. No matter how strong a warrior you might be, Stran of Vulcan, Kyt of Tramira." The first Klingon said.

"A point of inquiry. Which direction did Chuck Norris go?" Stran asked, refraining from correcting their choice of addressing the two, and pondering how much current information these Klingons had.

"If his opponents are lucky, Sto-vo-kor. If he is not, Gre'thor. He was left behind, three camp zones in that direction, though I do not believe he remains." The second Klingon pointed, in the rough direction of the southern most work, and rest zones they had been restricted to.

Stran nodded, and hobbled off with Cassandra's assistance.

Not one of the Klingons thought it appropriate to attempt to attack them, while they were vulnerable. They moved off, in their separate directions, but Cassandra and Stran privately wondered if they had seen the last of the bloody Klingons.

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Lieutenant Junior Grade Cassandra Levue
Chief Security & Tactical Officer

Ensign Stran
Tactical Officer

 

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