Cptn Corizon

Note from the Author: The Following is a telepathic conversation between the leader of the Vorta Council, Taenix and Keevan the former head of the Council. Perhaps it is time we reconsider some directives from the Founders? Reconsider? Vorta only serve. We do not decide policy, only implement. A directive from the Founders is the word of the gods and we are not to question that. Doing other wise is heresy bordering on hubris. I seem to recall that you have, on more than one occasion, decided to defy the will of the gods, a will you now so zealously protect. That was a flawed clone. Perhaps. And perhaps you should listen to my proposal before launching into a tirade about me being a flaming hieratic. Very well. When Odo forbid communication with the Founders while the Great Link is purified, he could not have dreamed of what would befall his children. This conflict is temporal and finite. We will win and the Dominion will preserve. But the health of the Great Link... I suppose unmitigated arrogance was a feature they worked into the later models. What is that supposed to mean? That your overconfidence could cost us this war. Just as Weyoun's cost the Dominion it's last war. How dare you compare me to that...that... At least he is loyal to the Founders. You presume to question my loyalty? Guilty conscience, Keevan? Assuming I had one, no. I have been nothing but a loyal servant of the Founders. I have carried out their will to the best of my abilities. And that has failed us. Failed? If you weren't so concerned with your own status, and would bother to open those eyes that the Founders gave you...weak they may be, you would realize that we are on the brink of defeat. I disagree. We have reclaimed a number of systems. Our efforts to reconstruct our cloning facilties are well underway and we are holding our own against the Scorpiad's forces. And the Hundred are leaving us alone. Holding our own? You yourself brought to me reports that showed we have once again lost ground to them. Not to mention, the only reason we are even still holding our own in this conflict is because the Scorpiads themselves aren't fighting. They're waiting for the perfect moment to decapitate us. They learned a hard lesson in the last war. A lesson they have not forgotten. Attrition is the key to their victory. Win a war of attrition? Against the Jem'Hadar? Are you serious? Yes. Against the Jem'Hadar. They are fighting fire with fire. And when our fire burns out, we have nothing left to defend ourselves with. But they...they have an entire force that was able to cripple us in a matter of weeks. We defeated them before, we will do it once more. They were never defeated. There was no victory. Do you not see? What do you mean, they surrendered. It was a victory for the Dominion. The war never ended. It only went on hold long enough for the Scorpiads to rebuild their forces and strike at us once more. A fact they did not forget. But a fact the Founder apparently have. You are dangerously close to heresy Taenix. Do not presume to question me, Keevan. I am the rightful leader of the Dominion in the absence of the Founders. My authority comes from a Founder, yours does not. Then what do you propose we do? Your outlook seems to offer few choices. We must seek the council of the Founders. This is their war. As you said Vorta were not meant to make policy, only implement it. The Founders must give us direction. The Jem'Hadar require the White, we require the Direction of the Founders.

Besides, it could be worse. In stead of a landmine, you could step on one of those Lizards and *not* kill it and it bite you!

Andoria - Frozen Wasteland! Bajor - Before, or after the Occupation? Ba'ku - Doesn't this fall under the same catagory as Risa? Betazed - Two Words: Lwaxana Troi Earth - I am partial. Ferenginar - Toxic Rain! Kronos - Rainy! Talax - A planet full of Neelix! Trill - They do have those cool underground ponds Romulus - Purple Oceans! Vulcan - Vulcanic Wasteland! :(

Mission Brief: The Excalibur AT is nearing the signals of the surviviors, but the cargo hold is dark, and visability is low. Interference has increased. Back on Camelot, the Hundred have proposed an alliance between the Allies, the Dominion, and the Hundred. 102906.txt 102906.pdf

The room was darkened. Corizon watched a piece of debris float by the hull of the Excalibur and bounce harmlessly off the hull of the Sovereign-class vessel. Putting the glass to his lips, he let the coarse liquid flow past his lips and tongue to this throat and down to his stomach with a slight wince. In war, he reminded himself, there were always innocent victims. It was an inevitability. One he'd become all to comfortable with. Not just from the stand point of the casual bystandard, but because he'd caused his fair share of civilian deaths, though usually more cleanly than the Al-Ucardians. A fact he was neither proud of, or wanted to discuss with anyone—save for the open bottle sitting on the window seal. Reaching to refill the glass, the chirp of his communicator interrupted his motion. “Go ahead,” he said softly. “The survivor's awake sir,” the voice of a medic came through the speaker. “Doctor Pilot told us to tell you the moment he was able to talk.” “Yes,” Corizon said as he brought his thoughts to focus. “I'll be down shortly.” He sat the bottle down and twisted the lid closed. Reaching for his jacket, he shrugged it on and headed out into the much brighter corridors, blinking as his eyes refocused to the brighter illumination. A lift ride and a short walk later, Corizon found himself in the lonely isolation bay they'd placed the survivor in to rest. Waving off the security detail he proceed into the room. The boy, Ja'i, was just starting to orient himself. Corizon stood just inside the door for a moment before speaking, looking the alien over. He was of moderate build, young, likely no older than 18 or 19 standard years. His skin was soft and milky, decidedly humanoid with a very thin crest along his nasal ridge. Ear length brown locks heightened the paleness of his skin. “Care if I come in?” Smiling slightly, Ja'i nodded. “Of course not.” “I suppose I should introduce myself,”Corizon moved further into the room. “I am Captain Ah-Windu Corizon of the USS Excalibur...” “Of the Federation,” Ja'i said with a wide-eyed look. “I've heard stories about your people...never thought I'd get the chance to actually meet you.” Corizon returned the smile, letting his ears drop to either side. “I wish it could be under better circumstances.” Ja'i nodded, his eyes turning to someplace distant and removed from the room. “It all happened so quickly.” “It's okay,” Corizon said warmly. “I've never seen anything like that before...” “No one should ever have to see something like that...” Corizon's voice was distant for the first time. “It's strange. When I was younger...something like this...it wouldn't have ever happened. The Dominion has always kept us safe. But now...” Taking a deep breath Corizon looked towards the young man with a softness in his eyes. “I know it's hard, but I need you to tell me what happened. Tell me everything you can remember...the rest will come to you.” Ja'i nodded once more, and took several shallow breaths. Closing his eyes, he started to speak. “My brother and I,” his voice faltered, but regained strength, “we were headed home from our third cousin Han'oli's wedding. Most of the people on the ship were traveling.” “What was the freighters origin and destination?” “Most of the people got on a Kanii V, though a few got on before at the Yumari system. I am not sure if there was another stop before there...but we were all headed to the Lati system. That's my homeworld.” “What happened?” Ja'i was quiet for a few moments, visually recalling the events and collecting himself. Corizon was surprised at the strength of the young man, and listened intently. “We were on our way to stop over at Newel for a few hours...something about dropping off cargo..I don't remember.” “It's okay...go on.” A tear started to form in the young mans eyes and wiped it away. “They came out of nowhere. I'd never seen ships like that before.” Corizon lifted an ear. “What did they look like?” “They were black...” And then the other ear. “They were sharped almost...almost like daggers.” That was some good news. Corizon let himself sigh inwardly. His worst fear had went unrealized. The Scorpiads remained unmoved. “The freighter didn't have any weapons or shields to speak of,” Ja'i continued. “With in minutes they had us surrounded. The Captain offered them his cargo, but that wasn't what they wanted.” “Oh?” “They boarded us...” Ja'i's voice faltered again. “It was like something out of a nightmare. They were...they were demons of darkness. They were pale...and their eyes...they glowed in the darkness of the lifeless ship.” Corizon moved closer putting a hand on Ja'i's shoulder. “It's okay...” Ja'i sniffed several times, looking up at Corizon. “They kept asking where the ghosts were...were the ghosts were.” “They killed everything.” “And how did you escape?” “My brother and I,” he started sobbing softly. “We ran from the hunter that was chasing us. He throw some sort of weapons at us...one hit my brother in the back...and me in the stomach I guess. We managed to limp into one of the cargo bays and seal it shut...I guess they forgot about us...” Corizon was mentally filing all of this away. “I...I don't know what happened next...” “Shhh,” Corizon said softly, letting the boy cry into his chest. “It's going to be okay...”

From all of us on the Excalibur Family. We send Crispin's family our deepest Sympathies. From the Stars we come, to the Stars we Go.

MISSION BRIEF: When we last left off, Semil presented a 'gift' to Day and Sorehl, while the Excalibur AT is on the freighter, which looks like something out of a horror flick. 102206.txt 102206.pdf

“How long until we intercept the Dominion battle group?” “Seventeen minutes, thirty-five seconds.” Aboard the command ship of the 5th Al-Ucard battle squadron, General Mortin stroked softly at his pale chin. His attack group consisted of nearly 40 Al-Ucard capital ships and was going against nearly that many Dominion ships. Concern filled his expression. Rarely did the Al-Ucard go against the Dominion with equal numbers; the Dominion ships had an advantage over them. Today though, that was no longer true. The Al-Ucard Masters, the Scorpiads had begun, rather surprisingly upgrading the weapons on both the Eritan and the Al-Ucard fleets. The proclamation of such had surprised Mortin. It was rare for the Scorpiads to share any of their technologies, let alone weapons—least the slaves attempt to free themselves from their eight-legged masters. That of course was the first of many strange things that Mortin had noticed as of late. The Scorpiads had not so much as even attempted a military exercise since they took the wormhole some weeks ago. Instead they'd been dependent on the forces of their minions to fight the Dominion for them. Mortin could understand to some extent that reasoning, normally. But from everything he'd seem, the Scorpiads could easily end this war once and for all with but a few military victories. There was something going on behind the dark shroud the Scorpiads concealed themselves in, and it had him concerned. When they went to ground, trouble usually followed. ~ “The latest reports are in from the front lines.” Taenix, leader of the Vorta Council lifted her eyes from the display she was reading long enough to acknowledge the presence of Keevan. “Thank you.” When he didn't leave, she glanced back up again. “Was their something else, Keevan?” “Now that you mention it,” his voice steeped in confliction. “Yes.” “Explanation?” Keevan cleared his throat. He'd never been comfortable with the idea of Taenix assuming control of the Council with out a vote, or with out any proof of the approval of the Founders, despite that though, she was leader of the Council and he would serve her will. “We've had some most distressing reports from the front lines of the conflict with the Scorpiads.” “I assumed as much,” Taenix said directly. “Specifics?” Her direct nature caused him to pause slightly. It had become apparent to Keevan that her generation of Vorta were far different from his own. “It seems that the Scorpiads have taken to upgrading the weaponry of their functionaries.” Lifting her brow, “That is disturbing.” “Yes,” Keevan said. “Convene the Council,” she said, though her mind was clearly elsewhere. “We will have to discuss alternative options to the current plan of containment.” “Of course.” Again she waited for Keevan leave, and again he did not. “Was their something else?” “Yes,” he said quickly. “We've received reports that the Romulans and the Federation have dispatched a number of vessels on patrol routes in several sectors that are currently away from the conflict zone.” “Interesting.” “Yes it is,” he said thoughtfully. “Their presence will allow us to reposition a number of ships to bolster our lines along the battle front.” “Make it so.” He couldn't help himself. “You're not the least bit curious as to why they would take such an action?” “Not really,” she said dismissively. “I assume that Weyoun asked for it to be done.” “You trust him?” “Yes, and perhaps you should as well. Now see to your duties.”

Speaking of WoW: Personally, I think the IRS needs to take a deep breath and come back to reality.

I saw this and thought it was worth a few chuckles. My work desk earned a B...if only becase we have no carpet and the chairs are leather hehe.

MISSION BRIEF: The Excalibur is only a few hours out from their first system on their patroll route, Newel Prime. Questions? 101506.txt 101506.pdf

MISSION BRIEF: Most of the Romulan and Federation ships have by now embarked on their patroll missions, Excalibur is making final preperations to head off toward their own patrol route, with their first destination being the Newel System. 100806.txt 100806.pdf

::prefers nightelves himself::

The blood from his lip trickled into his mouth, and he tasted the iron-based substance on his tongue. It was certainly not the first time he’d ever tasted blood, far from it. Nor was it the first time he’d tasted his own blood. Something about it today was especially bitter though, and he grimaced visibly. He wiped his mouth clean with the back of his hand and sat down in the command chair, refusing to look directly at Victria. Until now, he’d been able to forget that she was actually the enemy, or at least that her people were the enemy. Yes, they were forced to do the Scorpiad bidding—well at least that was their story. Slaves, that’s what they were. But even slaves had a choice. They could stand up and say no more, rebel against their oppressors, and even if every one of them died in the process, dying for freedom was more like living than being a live slave. It was an excuse. They were taking the easy way out, didn’t they see that? Claws subtly dug into the arms of the command chair as Corizon closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and forcing his thoughts back onto the situation at hand. A few hundred meters away from his position, a freighter laid a drift. It had been savagely attacked by a group of hunters. None of that was in dispute. The real question was why? What made that freighter a target for the famed hunters of the night? And why would they leave anyone alive? That was the million bar of latnium question. Taking another deep breath, he mentally said a prayer to the One that when Segami and Pilot reached the survivor that there would be answers to those questions. So much for a routine patrol mission.

Author's Note: This log occures directly before the events of this week's sim. The water slurped easily beneath the wooden oar as a gentle hand stroked it to the right side of the small canoe and then to the left, smoothly propelling the vessel foreword along the winding river. Corizon smelled the water upon the morning breeze, and he smiled as he pushed ahead. In the nose of his canoe his morning efforts glistened still wet from the brook. Around him the breaking fog gave way to the rustling of the awakening forest, undisturbed by modern progress nature buzzed. Corizon imagined that someday he would retire to a life not unlike this; perhaps he would build a small cottage alone in a mountain forest and live as a solitary hermit. It certainly appealed to the reclusive Dameon. For now though, it was only a solitary retreat from the everyday hassles of being a Starfleet officer—is only his leave could be longer. Opening his eyes, Corizon took a deep breath—the smell of the fresh dawn still in his mind. He sighed as the stale smell of recycled starship atmosphere replaced that memory. Someday he would make his home in solace of lonely forests, but that day was not today. Sitting up in bed he glanced over to the chronometer—0400 hours. He yawned lazily and rolled out of bed. The carpeted floors were soft to his bare feet and he stretched with another long yawn digging his claws into the carpet, something he was sure the maintenance engineers loved. With another yawn he made his way to the sonic shower, shedding the loose fitting jinbe he slept in. While it was hard to beat the relaxation of a true shower, their was something refreshing about having thousands of sonic waves sluice the dead cells off your body. Wrapping himself in a towel he returned to his darkened quarters to dress himself. Returning from his closet dressed in uniform, Corizon slid open a drawer from his dresser and in the darkness found his simple maroon hachimaki and tied it securely, holding his silver locks back. After replicating a warm glass of tea, he picked up several of the PADDs strewn on his desk and looked at the chrono. He still had another hour before he had to be on the bridge, and he sighed to himself, looking over the PADD on the top. Today figured to be another uneventful day on Excalibur as it headed towards the Newel system. On some level, he was happy for the mundane routine they’d developed on the trip; he’d realized that the crew of the Excalibur had not yet been on a mission for any extended period of time since she’d returned from refit in the Alpha Quadrant. Since then, the crew had been tossed from one blazing battle to crisis and back, always teetering on the edge of defeat and disaster. As boring as a 12-week patrol sounded to the seasoned Starfleet Captain, he also knew that it would be good for the crew to have bit of a routine for a change, and for everyone to get a feel for Excalibur.

While the Excalibur heads towards the Newel system, and Camelot heads towards Avalon, the Scorpiads continue to hold the wormhole, but for what purpose? Chief Scientist Cl-niik moved as swiftly as all four of his walking legs could carry him across the breezeway between the command complex and the research complex of the small base that had sprung up in the Irdan system. The short (even by mammalian standards) white-gold Scorpiad was late for his morning meeting with General N’Karittt and he didn’t want to keep the Androct waiting. Moving through the sliding doors, he clamored quickly up a ramp and down a corridor, making several turns until he arrived in the meeting room. Shuffling datapads between arms he looked up to see N’Karittt waiting patiently. Cl-niik was less than a half-dozen cycles old—a few hundred years—and he’d never been in charge of such an important project. He found himself more than a little nervous every time he had a meeting with N’Karittt, who was widely considered to be one of the most powerful non-Emri in the entire empire. “Forgive my tardiness,” Cl-niik said between breaths. N’Karittt waved a claw dismissingly and put some sort of small insect into his mandibles, crunching between them and sucking the liquefied remains into his mouth before speaking. “No apology needed, I was just having a bit of breakfast; may I interest you in a Dallink Beatle?” “No thank you,” he said politely, though he wanted to take the General up on the offer. “I suppose you’d like a full report on the wormhole project?” “That is why you’re here,” N’Karittt said as he put another of the insects to his mandibles with a crunch. Unphased by the crunching sound, Cl-niik handed N’Karittt a datapadd across the small table and cleared his auditory pathway. “As you are aware, it takes a great deal of energy to operate the nurseries needed to produce our vessels—especially the large warships. “In the past, we’ve been dependent upon harnessing the energy of the Yunari Protostar to provide this enormous amount of energy. However with the collapse of the Protostar some months ago, we’ve been unable to find a suitable replacement for powering the nursery facilities.” N’Karittt motioned his acknowledgement of the information; most of it he’d already been briefed on, but he knew that the young Mari needed encouragement if he were to become a strong and productive member of the Empire, and being an attentive listener, letting the Mari believe he was hearing much of this information for the first time would provide him with a bit of confidence. “The wormhole,” Cl-niik continued, “is the first source of suitable energy we’ve been able to find in the entire quadrant; which is why this project is of such importance to the Empire; because so long as we are unable to power the nurseries, we are unable of growing new vessels; putting us in a weakened position during the height of a military conflict.” “And how is the project going?” “As you’ll see in my report,” Cl-niik said as he motioned to the datapad he’d handed to N’Karittt, “We’ve encountered only a few minor difficulties with the harvesting process, but are otherwise on schedule to begin stockpiling the energy by the targeted date.” “Excellent,” N’Karittt said as he flipped through the information. “And what of these ‘wormhole aliens’ that we’ve heard reports of?” Shifting his weight between legs and expanding his body as he took a deep breath, Cl-niik looked towards N’Karittt. “Apparently they are some sort of non-corporeal species that infests the wormhole. They style themselves ‘the Prophets’ and portend to be deities to a race of people known as the Bajorans…” “The species that inhabits the planet we’ve secured in sector 45?” “Yes,” Cl-niik affirmed. “There homeworld is at the terminus of the wormhole.” “And what effects will harvest have on these aliens?” “Unknown at this time, but we are conducting a study on the matter. Preliminary examinations tend to suggest no ill effects to our operation, but an unusually high number of simulations do project fatal results for the aliens themselves.” “I see.” “Should I investigate the possibility of a less invasive procedure with a lower risk to the indigenous aliens?” “That would cause a delay I assume?” “Most likely.” “Then no. We cannot afford delays. Without the assurances of renewable forces we’re unable to commit our own forces to the destruction of the Dominion. “The Al-Ucard and Eritans, while loyal servants, do not have the capability to conduct a full scale war against the Dominion. And until we are assured of the ability to recoop our losses, they will stand alone. But they can only stand so long before they break. So as I said, we cannot afford delays.” “I assure you there will be none.” “Very well,” N’Karittt said. “I am sure you have things to be doing?” “Yes.” “You’re dismissed then,” the elder Scorpiad said with a wave of a claw. “I expect a detailed report of your findings on the wormhole aliens.” “As you Command.”

Mission Brief: When we last left off, the Scorpiad fighter had cocooned itself with some sort of energy field. Mean while, the Romulan and Federation fleets including the Excalibur are preparing for departure for their patrol missions." 100106.txt

Yes. However the ballot looked like: Please Choose One 1) Atragon 2) Atragon 3) Atragon 4) Write In Atragon <_<

It had been a long night; a night filled with swirling details and overtly complicated calculations and planning. The man doing all of this work looked over to the half empty glass of lime-flavored water and the empty container of snack foods on his desk amid the pile of PADDs and datasheets. Running his hands through his silvery hair he let out a long sigh; it had been nearly five years since he’d processed this much data and made calls that would effect entire worlds. And once again, this responsibility had been brought to his doorstep by the Dominion—some things it seemed never changed. Ah-Windu Corizon looked over the finalized version of the plan he’d developed. After painstakingly combing over every detail Semil had given them, Corizon had developed a comprehensive plan to accomplish the goal of security in the region while maintain enough forces at Camelot to protect the Allied resources there against incursion by whomever decided to attack. It was a balancing act, one he’d done numerous times through the Dominion War. The difference, however, was who the mission objective would benefit, at least in the short term. The objective itself was fairly easy: provide proxy security and stability across four sectors of the Dominion. At his disposal, Corizon had almost two-hundred Romulan vessels and another hundred Starfleet ships—the Klingons, and a handful of Federation vessels would stay behind at Camelot along with four Dominion attack cruisers to provide security for Camelot. Three hundred vessels, Corizon reasoned, should be more than enough to secure five sectors of space. Of course, that would be if the ships were overly familiar with the area of space itself…which they weren’t. Granted, that was a positive of the mission—the Allies had a chance to explore a region of Dominion territory that they’d previously been disallowed to survey. Sectors Alpha, Gamma, and Delta, as Corizon had labeled them, had been given to the Romulans to patrol and he’d left the micro-management of that to Admiral tr’Shaelon. That left sectors Beta, Omicron, and Epsilon to the Federation. After some consideration, and several pots of coffee later, Corizon had opted to split the Federation fleet into what would essentially be four fleets, each led by one of the four Sovereign-class starships that were part of the Gamma Fleet. Patrol Group 1 would be led, naturally, by the Excalibur and would be dispatched to Beta Sector. Patrol Group 2 would be led by the Yorktown and would be dispatched to the Omicron sector. Patrol Group 3, fronted by the Lexington, would have the sparsely populated Epsilon sector. The fourth group, the Home Fleet, would be commanded by the Phoenix and would be charged with protecting Camelot Station. Mostly, Corizon had left specific assignments to each of the Group commanders and had focused mostly the assignments of PG1. Consisting of just over thrity starships, Corizon had selected a mix of starships to comprise his group. The individual assignments of those ships had been the most tedious task; he had to balance the various factors and situations needed to secure the region against the various component factors. For example, Captain Tain of the Jackson had more experience than any one perhaps in all of Starfleet with Classification R-1 lifeforms, which made his ship a natural choice for patrolling the area around Kobal Minor. But on the other hand, Captain Xx’in of the Nagara had a rather spotty record with amphibian species, such as those native to the Jaelio Cluster; but he was one of the few commanders Corizon had at his disposal who’d had any experience with unstable proto-stars like the one in the Jaelio Cluster, leading him to select the Nagara for that assignment. The Excalibur’s assignment had come last. Corizon had at first given them a fairly easy assignment, but had changed his mind—he knew they could handle any thing that the galaxy threw at them, while other crews left doubt in his mind. When Excalibur had finally worked its way onto his assignment docket, Corizon actually felt fairly optimistic about the lot they’d drawn. The Excalibur would patrol an area of space known as the Dauni Belt, which meant along with Prometheus-class Atlas they would be protecting roughly 15 inhabited star systems. The initial plan was for a twelve-week deployment, at which time rotations would be made in the patrol route as needed. For the first few weeks, the Excalibur would be visiting the Newal system and the Kohabi Nebula. Twelve weeks of patrol. Corizon took a deep breath and wondered if there was a vaccination for cabin fever. Probably not.

Mission Brief: At the Round Table the Allies mull granting the request from the Dominion; Crispin has a cocooned fighter; and the rest of the crew is returning to duty. 092506.txt

Mission Brief: Having returned as the victorious heroes, the Excalibur crew is completing repairs to the ship, while certain members of the command staff meet in the Round Table room. Certain members of the crew, have also been asked to schedule appoints with the new COUNS...namely those who were captured by the Scorpiads. Shockingly, the Captain seems to have avoided this *fate.* 091706.pdf 091706.txt

Author's Note: This log takes place while Corizon et al were still aboard the Scorpiad fighter. There was a long silence in the cargo hold of the Scorpiad fighter, at least from Corizon’s point of view. He felt his eyes flutter back into his head as the blood loss from his arm became more apparent. While Segami had stopped the bleeding, the combined effects of pain and blood loss took their toll on the valiant Captain. Of course, he’d been here before, well not here, but captured. And everytime, he’d lived to die another day. There was a deep rooted will to survive planted in him that seemed to keep him alive, no matter what the odds where, and somehow he’d always managed to find away out. But as he lay against the warm, spongy walls of the Scorpiad fighter as it turned to face the Excalibur, he’d began to wonder how long his luck would continue to hold. --- In the depths of his mind, thoughts and memories of the past resurfaced. Opening his eyes, a haze formed briefly obscuring his view. Where was he? “Commander,” the haze began to give way to the dark, bleakness of an antiseptically cold room. The voice was familiar but he didn’t quite recognize it yet. “I am glad to see you’re finally awake. You had…quite the night.” Reflexively wiping at his eyes the haze cleared more and he looked towards the only source of light in the room. Sitting across from him was a solitary Cardassian figure. Gul Mahet. He remembered now. “This isn’t real.” “You know,” the Cardassian said smugly, picking up a glass of warm beverage. “Most prisoners seem to think that, why I haven’t the slightest idea—denial perhaps?” Corizon struggled to move foreword—restraints, right. “You’re some figment of my imagination. This is a really bad dream.” “Then why does it hurt?” “It doesn’t.” “Oh that’s right,” Mahet said, “Dog boy knows how to hide his pain.” “Go to hell.” “How can I do that if I am just a…what was it you called me, oh right, ‘figment of your imagination,” Mahet stroked at his chin. “Something like that,” Corizon tried to wake himself up. It wasn’t working. What ever kind of nightmare this was, it needed to end. Even in a dream, he knew what Mahet was capable of doing, of what he’d done to him. “Then why don’t you simply wake up,” Mahet questioned, intrigued by his subject. “And why am I an interactive nightmare anyway?” That was good question. Why in god’s name would this be coming to the surface now, after all these years. “I am trying,” Corizon nearly barked. “It won’t work you know,” Mahet resumed drinking. “But you can keep trying, I have all the time in the world.” “Why won’t it?” “Because I control you,” a sly grin came across the Cardassian’s features. “Oh, the imagination controls me?” Corizon laughed despite himself. “Now that’s irony.” “Something like that,” Mahet retorted. “Let’s just say that when you were released in that prisoner exchange I wasn’t quite done with you, Commander.” Corizon blinked several times. Scaley bastards. “It’s Captain,” Corizon tried to remain calm. He wasn’t quite ready to accept what Mahet was saying, but he did know that the Cardassians were infamous for their torture devices. “Oh, right. Made a Captain of you did they, I guess Starfleet was in need of officers, losing as many as they did and all.” “You lost,” Corizon growled. “In fact Cardassia now has a big beautiful Federation station circling it.” Mahet drew back, unconvinced. “Impossible.” “Well that proves this isn’t real,” Corizon smiled slightly. “Everyone knows that the Dominion let Cardassia fall. You’re little more than a third-rate power now days, sucking charity from the Federation, Romulans and Klingons. Even the Bajorans are better off than Cardassia these days.” “Maybe in your reality,” Mahet remained unmoved. “But in this one, I am the master.” “This reality?” “Well I might as well tell you, since you’re going to be spending lots of time here anyway.” Corizon lifted an ear, “This should be interesting.” “You see Comm…Captain,” Mahet leaned forewords on his desk, “Just before you were released in exchange for several high ranking Cardassians your government held hostage, the Vorta implanted me into your subconscious mind using telepathy. They’d hoped to eventually allow me to turn you into a double agent for our government, but apparently your mental control was stronger than we had anticipated and I was never able to manifest myself into your brain. Pitty.” “So now that you’ve managed to finally creep into my psyche you’re just going to keep me here for all eternity, listening to you prattle on about the glory of Cardassia.” “Of course not Captain,” Mahet grinned again. “I am going to let you go, but don’t worry…we’ll talk again soon.” “It will be a very cold day in hell before I let you back into my psyche.” “We’ll see Captain…” --- Corizon felt a rush of air flow across his nose, he stirred. Pain radiated from his arm. Reality. Good to be back. “We need to find away to slow this thing…” If that scaled Cardassian nutjob thought he was going to slow down Corizon, he had another thing coming. Pushing the all to vivid memory into the back of his mind, Corizon set up.

As the Excalibur crew celebrated it’s great victory over the Scorpiads, the taste of defeat came upon the mandibles of General N’Karittt, Commander of the Scorpiad Fleet stationed at the wormhole. It was a taste the general had never had in his nearly 3,000 years of service to the Empire, and it was a taste he found—unpleasant. “This is unacceptable,” he seethed, as he compressed his body allowing a hiss to escape. “A human vessel defeated one of our most powerful warships?” “Perhaps it was simply a matter of error on the Commanders part,” an Androcot standing at the opposite end of the tabled that had formed between the gathered Scorpiads. “A reasonable suggestion General,” another, darker completed Scorpiad chimed. “Surely the humans could not have developed the ability to defend against our superior technology, given our encounters with them.” “They could barely defend themselves against a mere scout in our previous encounters.” N’Karittt thought carefully before responding, allowing his lesser peers to speculate widly before formulating his own theory. “Perhaps,” he finally said, quieting the room. “We have underestimated the humans.” Shock and amazement were palpable, followed by a round of sound denials that would have caused a less seasoned General to react violently, quashing the veiled insinuations of his loyalty. N’Karittt, however, stood in silence knowing none of the them had the claws to challenge him; instead he stood prostate allowing the venting to go forth once more before speaking. “Simpletons,” he said firmly. “We did not underestimate their technological inferiority, relative strength or any such rubbish. What we underestimated was their cunning and their will to survive.” A much more acceptable alternative, one they should have considered themselves, N’Karittt reasoned. “Consider ourselves for example,” he said neutrally. “How many times through out our long history have our adversaries underestimated the determination of our will? And what of them now? They are but dust upon the arena of the galaxy faded into the lost memories of dead powers.” “We will not die so easily though,” N’Karittt was in rare form. “Gentlemen I do not wish speculation over the past; I seek solutions to the problems facing us now and in the future. The humans have presented us a new problem, now we must solve it.” The various Scorpiad leaders conferred amongst themselves for several moments before any responded. The first to respond was a younger Emri; up-in-coming, the young Brigadier came from a noble family with ties to the Royal Line, for several years now he’d been attempting to establish himself with N’Karittt as to gain his favor and to possibly gain the ear of the Crown Prince, whom N’Karittt had mentored since birth. “Is the solution not clear enough to all in the room,” Ei-Kii’h`n bolstered. “We must destroy them now before they gain more strength. We must marshal our fleets and strike their base. Decapitating them.” Silence. But was it consenting silence? N’Karittt waited for a challenger to emerge. Finally the smooth, eloquent voice of the one N’Karittt had hoped for came forth to challenge Ei-Kii’h`n. “Strike them with what Ei-Kii’h`n?” The deeply colored Leperatus looked across the table to see the twitching mandibles of his opponent and rival. “Well?” “Our forces here would be sufficient enough to wipe them from existence.” “And leave our base here unguarded?” N’Karittt smiled inwardly. The Leperatus, Krit’nka was as brilliant as any the General had met. And though not of warrior stock, he’d risen quickly though the ranks as one of the brightest tactians of his generation. This would prove to be entertaining. “Krit’nka has a point,” N’Karittt interjected himself. “The wormhole takes precedence over all—the future of our race depends on our ability to harness this energy source and maintain control of it.” “In deed,” Krit’nka said with a hint of victorious bragging. “The Mari have estimated that it won’t be viable for another three months though, you cannot possibly suggest we leave it venerable to attack before we begin maturing the pods.” Hissing, “Then what do you suggest?” “Perhaps we should attempt to bring the Humans on our side,” he said flatly. “They seem to be a rising star.” “The Leperatus predilection of inferiors is troubling, as is your lack of will to do what must be done.” “And the Emri failure to use their brains is equally troubling.” Ei-Kii’h`n acted instinctually, raising his claws and caudal. “What did you say?” “See, all claw no brains,” Krit’nka jeered. Given that most of the room was of non-Emri linage, the subtle sounds were likely of laughter. N’Karittt on the other hand sighed, for he knew who’d already won the debate—sadly. The day would belong to Ei-Kii’h`n, at least partially. Perhaps in a few thousand years, Krit’nka would prevail; N’Karittt was not prepared to open that dangerous door. He would not be the first to go against hundreds of thousands of years of ancient dogma. “That is enough, both of you.” He said heavily. “There is an old saying credited to G’Jak the Great: The Hunter doesn’t make friends in the morning with those he intends to eat later in the day.” Krit’nka sighed knowing that he’d been rejected. “However,” N’Karittt said. “G’Jak also said that the hunter should wait for the proper time to go for the kill. We will not attack the Humans just yet. We are too venerable. And our proxies are to busy with the Dominion…I will not risk what ships we have left.” “And our orders?” Ei-Kii’h`n said incredulously, feeling his victory had been lessened. “Continue to maintain our defenses, but increase our surveillance of the human base…on both sides of the wormhole.” “As you wish, General.”

MISSION BRIEF: The Excalibur closes in on the fighter carrying it's four crewmen. Will they rescue them? Find out next as the plot unfolds! 091006.txt

Well actually B5 came b-4 DS9 (I couldn't help myself.)