Cptn Corizon

To: Personnel Office Starfleet Command, Earth From: Captain Ah-Windu Corizon U.S.S. Excalibur, NCC 2004-C Re: Promotions ---------------------------------------------------------- This communique is to serve as notice that effective Stardate 0804.21, the following promotion have been approved. Promotions: Lieutenant Commander Tandaris Admiran to Commander Lieutenant, junior grade Victria to Full Lieutenant Lieutenant, junior grade Kallah Ramson to Full Lieutenant Lieutenant, junior grade M'reh Khal to Full Lieutenant Ensign Tia Lyrenna to Lieutenant, junior grade Ensign Joe Wilson to Lieutenant, junior grade Commander Laarell Teykier to Second Officer

Hey everyone, The Excalibur Command team is pleased to announce the first Excalibur March Madness log competition! The rules are pretty simple, starting today and running until March 28, any log written for Excalibur will be eligible for the "competition". Awards will be given in three categories: Command Team's Choice and Player's Pick, and separate one from non-plot logs. Command Team's choice will be selected from all entrants and be chosen by the CO and XO in both single person and joint-log categories, while player's pick will be selected by the crew at-large. However, you may only enter one piece for each type of award, (You can write a joint log and a single person log, as well as a non-plot log.) you can however enter in all three catagories. To make a log eligible, all you need to do is include the tag: EMM08 in the Topic Description line. Prizes will include "Get Out of ANY Peril FREE" cards and a healthy dose of satisfaction. As well everyone who enters will get a famed "Get Out of N'Dak-induced Peril FREE" card. Non-Excalibur players are also encouraged to participate, they simply need to e-mail either myself or Commander JoNs, or may participate in a jointt-log with a current Excalibur player. Good luck everyone, and let the madness begin!

Winners Best Joint Log: Kallah Ramson, B'tor Patterson, Victria GM-Choice: Semil Best Single Person Log: Atticus Segami

I think its an interesting question, and obviously up to the individual gm -teams. On Excalibur, I've worked fairly closely with the GM-team of Agincourt in creating some continuity between the games, but that's got something to do with my "all-canon's should mesh" idea, and really like crossing over with other games as much as possible. Though as we discussed in the thread for Aegis, you have to be careful not to suppress future development.. The solution there is just to be flexible. Personally, I just tell myself we're in slightly different timelines. ;)

Three weeks after Agincourt’s disappearance in the Alpha Quadrant The doors slid open with the precision harmonic sound expected out of a Federation Starbase and Rear-Admiral Ah-Windu Corizon entered the room holding two PADDs in his left hand. Sitting around the round, glossy black table was an assortment of brass, and while Corizon was technically a member of that category of officer, he still never felt exactly as if he were one of them. In any case, the collection of a Vice-Admiral, a four-star General and a Fleet Admiral sat waiting for him. A crystal carafe of water sat on the table along-side empty glasses and a small bowl of exotic fruits. Lifting his eyes and ears, he made visual contact with each of his ‘guests.’ Vice-Admiral Haden Baumen sat closest to the door; he and Corizon went back many years and a familiar face was a welcome site. Smiling he moved onto the General. The hard features of the man reminded Corizon of jagged rock, and General Bra’ek Tacauma’s personality went right along with his visual. A simple nod was all that was required for the two men to properly acknowledge each other. Corizon moved on to the final figure in the triumvirate that sat in the main conference room of Starbase 265—Fleet Admiral Alynna Nechayev—the woman was a living legend and her reputation more than preceded her. “Fleet Admiral,” Corizon addressed her directly, “Welcome to my humble Starbase.” Nechayev smiled slightly, nodding her head. “Thank you Admiral,” she said motioning to a seat. “Come sit, we have much to talk about.” Repressing an urge to remind the Fleet Admiral that it was his station, he nodded and took a seat opposite to them. “I assume we’re here to discuss the Agincourt situation?” “Partially,” Tacauma’s rough voice responded, looking towards Nechayev and Baumen before directing all three eyes towards Corizon. Lifting his right ear Corizon leaned back in his chair. “Well, that will be a welcome change.” Nechayev perked a brow, “How so?” “All I’ve gotten done since we found out she was missing was regurgitate the same facts over and over to what seems half the admiralty and three-fourths of the generals. You’d think we’d lost an entire fleet to the abyss.” “Well we are concerned with the welfare of all of crews,” Baumen interjected, his voice typically soft and silken. “You know that Ah-Windu.” “There weren’t this many calls and meetings when Voyager disappeared,” Corizon reminded him. “It’s not as if this is the first time we’ve lost a ship under mysterious circumstances.” Nechayev smiled. “You never change do you Ah-Windu?” “I try not to make it a habit, no.” Baumen shook his laughing lightly. “Sometimes...” “I know, I know,” Corizon said with a fangy grin. “But in all seriousness, why exactly has all of Starfleet taken up a sudden interest in this?” “Well we believe there is more at play here than meets the eyes,” Tacauma spoke up, sliding a red PADD across the table. “But we can talk more about that later.” “Of course,” Corizon nodded, taking the PADD. Keeping his head up, he skimmed over the information quickly before laying it back down on the table and making eye contact with his guests. “So what do you need me for?” Pursing her lips for a moment, Nechayev uncrossed her arms and looked towards Corizon for a few minutes before continuing. “The Admiralty and the Federation Council wants you to begin assembling a proposal…” “A proposal?” Corizon’s ear’s stood high on his head as he looked at the three higher ranking officers before him, was this so important that they couldn’t have simply sent him the orders via subspace communication? “That correct,” Baumen said. “We want you to submit a proposal to Fleet Command outlining your plan for a response to a possible invasion of the Federation.” Now he was starting to get worried. “An invasion of the Federation?” “Yes,” Nechayev quickly confirmed. “You’re the best person we have for planning for such a contingency…” “Now just a moment…” Tacauma held a hand to Corizon, and shook his head. “I am afraid, Admiral,” he said firmly, “that is all we can tell you.” “But how am I to plan for an invasion of the Federation if I don’t know who or what I am up against?” “Everything we can tell you is in that file,” Nechayev said, pointing a finger to the red PADD. Corizon sighed deeply, wishing he was still a member of ATAG. Although, he did still have a few contacts in that organization…he made a mental note and finally nodded to the three people sitting across from him. “Luckily for you,” he said, “I happen to have been working on such a plan for some time…” Baumen smiled, “Why do you think we asked you?” Snorting, Corizon continued speaking. “It will take me sometime to adapt the plan to the specifics in the file…” “You have one week Admiral.” Frowning again, Corizon hid his displeasure and nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.” “In the mean time,” Tacauma said, “I will be dispatching one of my people to aide you in this process, he’s been brought up to date on the specifics and I think you’ll find him most useful in crafting your proposal.” “Of course, sir.” Nechayev nodded and looked back to the others for a brief second. “You’ll be temporarily leaving command of the base to Captain Jhi-Ka’ta of the David…” “Oh?” “Yes, you and the Excalibur are being reassigned to the home fleet at Sector 001.” Frowning slighty, Corizon nodded his understanding. “I assume I’ll be reporting directly to Starfleet Command?” “That would be correct,” Baumen said. “Once you and Command come to an agreement on a proposal, you’ll be presenting to the Federation Council for final approval.” After a few moments, and a conciliatory nod or three later, “You said we’d discuss more on the Agincourt situation?” “Right…”

For a few brief moments on the bridge, Corizon had considered locking the entire ship down, flooding every inch of it but his ready room with noxious gas and setting the autopilot for home…then reason kicked in. Even with automation, bringing a ship of that size into port by himself wouldn’t be easy. Not to mention, he’d have to spend the entire time making it look like the crew’d gone nuts—and what kind of vacation would that be? How could it be that the brief respite from the tensions of the last few days had turned into something even worse than a few dead crewmembers? Instead of the crew unwinding for a few days, refocusing their attentions on the mission at hand and getting ready for a first contact situation, they were now more worried than ever. There were at least twelve different incidents of doppelgangers, loved ones who weren’t aboard and downright oddities from various crewmembers, including one involving his first officer. Given their mission profile, and the fact that Semil—the little worm—was fast on their trail, he couldn’t help but wonder if in the various transports back and forth from the surface if he’d slipped a changeling infiltrator aboard. What didn’t make sense, though, was how often said infiltrator had revealed itself, nor the manner. As a veteran of the Dominion Wars, and as someone who’d spent enough time on Earth in security during the Changeling Scares, the profile didn’t seem to match. True, these were members of the Hundred, “children” as the Female Shapeshifter had called them once, and perhaps hadn’t got the whole “spying” thing down pat yet… still it was odd that they’d so carelessly reveal themselves. That led Corizon to another startling conclusion, chaos could be the goal. Bring more than one changeling aboard, have one keep Excalibur’s security force busy looking around while the other infiltrated the crew and gained the knowledge they sought. There were few curses in the galaxy—in any language—that correctly summed up Corizon’s thoughts on the matter. It was trying enough that he was saving the Dominion from self-annihilation, it was even more trying that the same people who said they were trying to earn his trust, and that he should “live and let live,” in regards to prior treatment, were clearly doing the same damned thing all over again. Add to that the feeling he should have seen it coming, and you had one very miserable, annoyed and ready to claw someone Captain Ah-Windu Corizon. How he’d let them do this… just thinking about it annoyed him. Once bitten… Why had he not seen this coming? As soon as he found out Semil was hot on his trail, he should have had every inch of the ship scoured for a changeling. He’d been distracted, settling a score with a subordinate officer. The massive headache forming in the back of his skull told him he shouldn’t play the blame game—it only made him more annoyed and it didn’t solve the current problem; which was that someone…or something was loose on his ship. Not only that, but it wasn’t just any someone… it was possibly a changeling who was bent on disrupting his mission; which, even if he didn’t like it, was still his mission. Thankfully this wasn’t happening on a ship where the commanding officer hadn’t dealt with changelings, so he at least had some idea what to do. First thing was first; make sure the crew wasn’t running around accusing everyone of being changelings—hence the blood tests. That would segue most of the fears, even if he knew it wouldn’t necessarily bring out the glob of jell-o. Sometimes he wondered why it seemed that every force in the galaxy was determined to keep them from accomplishing, or at the very least make progress towards, the end goal. First it was the apparent blood cult and the aftermath—now it was an unnatural ion storm and a possible changeling crisis. For once, he’d appreciate if the gods would stop having fun at his expense and allow something to go as planned. If he were human, he could only conclude that he was burning off karma at a vastly accelerated rate.

The last rays of sun began to slip beneath the orange-red oceans of Citrus. Somehow, without someone to snuggle up with on a blanket, the twin disks' warmth seemed empty. Taking a deep breath, Keri Thomas finished putting her beach-gear in a tan bag and slung it over her shoulders. Walking towards the transport site, she wondered just how she'd managed to find herself unable to enjoy a day on the shores of an exotic alien locale. It occurred to her that Eli Tamoris was the problem. How she'd managed to fall for the geeky, awkward and socially hopeless Argosian was beyond her—except that description left out his better qualities. His warm personality filled her with a joy that even both suns of Citrus had failed to do. His laughter was a bubbly mix of a giggle and a cough, and it made her laugh just thinking about the sound. And his eyes. Oh his eyes. They were the most... unusual things she'd ever seen, like two opalescent gem stones surrounded by jade ovals, they carried such depth to them that she found herself lost at times. It was the seemingly unattainable prize though; that was what she'd never experienced before. Growing up, in prep school, she'd had any of the guys she sat her eyes on. At Pepperdine, in college, she'd been homecoming queen, and the object of desire for all the boys. On her first tour of duty aboard the Maryland she’d practically had to fight off the advances of the junior officers. Now though, she wanted something more than just a hurried night. She wanted someone she could just be happy being around, even when they weren't intimate. She wanted someone who was comfortable just letting the silence of a room do the talking. Eli was that man, she was sure...but why didn't he see it too? Making her way to the beam-back coordinates she sighed again to herself. Another night alone in her quarters—which was even more sickening since her bunk mates were either camping, spending the night on a beach somewhere, or otherwise engaged in shore leave activities. She half-heartedly tapped her communicator and signaled for transport. One last look at the twin-suns reaching their final grasping rays from beneath the horizon caused a sigh as the tale-tale tingle of a transporter beam enveloped her. Deposited on the cool surface on the transporter, she felt a chill in the air. She must have gotten more sun than she thought, because goose flesh started to form. “Welcome back,” the chipper voice of the transporter officer broke her out of her momentary lapse in presence. “Thanks,” she said with a half-smile, and headed off for her quarters. After a few delays in getting a lift, then waiting as other officers got on and off, the turbolift finally deposited her on Deck 2-B in the catamaran section. Tapping her code in, the doors swished open. She'd expected darkness, but candle light emanated from the far end—apparently one of her bunkmates had left some burning, which wasn't all that strange. She dropped her bag on the small table in the commons area to unpack later and headed down over to her bed for a much needed nap. That was when her eyes saw him. Her heart raced. Each breath seemed to take forever. Thump. Thump. Was this really happening? This wasn’t just a sun-induced hallucination, was it? Gods let it be true. “What kept you so long,” Eli’s voice was rich, textured like silk. His eyes glittered in the candle light and she found herself simply starring, heart racing. Despite herself, she mumbled something incoherent. She gave up and ran towards his naked embrace, pressing her body against his warm skin. He embraced her with a deep, longing kiss and pulled her into him. She found herself in a world of pleasure. She’d wanted this for so long, and now it was coming true. Like a treasure hunter who’d spent years searching for lost gold and finally found it, she embraced the joy that was coming to her. Time seem to pass without end. Some hours later, they lay together in the twisted mass of sheets and her clothing. Her head lay upon his chest and she sighed lightly, wondering what had come over him. “Well, darling,” Eli said finally. “I should go get a shower and get dressed… we have a dinner date in a few hours…” “Dinner,” she looked up at him, a mix of surprise and excitement. “Oh… Eli…” Grinning he kissed her and moved towards his clothing that lie on the floor a few feet away. “Meet me at the observation lounge on Deck 5… don’t be late!” “I won’t!” The door closed and she found herself alone again, wondering if she’d been dreaming. The mass of sheets, and her own body, told her she hadn’t. Dinner! She couldn’t believe how romantic he’d been…it was as if he’d been hiding this side of him forever. Moving to the small vanity in the corner, she wrapped herself in a blanket and began brushing her hair. It’d been so long since she’d had a formal date… what would she wear? Then the bell rang. Maybe he forgot something? “Come,” she said, not looking away from the mirror. The door slid open. “Uhh.. I didn’t mean too…” She turned. It was Eli, but in his uniform. Hadn’t he just been wearing civilian clothing? “Did you forget something?” He looked perplexed. “What are you talking about…I’ve never even been to your quarters.” She blinked. “You were just here… we… we… have a dinner date…” This was clearly the first he had heard of it. “Dinner?” he said. “I was coming to see if you wanted to get some coffee or something and…” She struggled with the notion. Suddenly more conflicted than ever. “Eli… I…. I…”

The dog has become nauseated over "Kitty" love.

"Odile," Corizon looked at his Yeoman, "aren't you going on Shoreleave?" "No," she said with a heavy sigh, as if she'd been asked this question several times before, and she likely had. "I don't like leaving the ship to go frolic in the wilderness of some uncharted planet. Gods only know what's down there..." Corizon suppressed a smirk. “There's nothing down there that's going to hurt you.” “Perhaps,” the Xenexian said thoughtfully, placing another stack of PADDs on the Captain's desk. “Then why aren't you down there, Captain?” “I might make a trip down after I get this paper work done,” he said, motioning to the mound that had piled on his desk. With everything that had been going on lately, he'd not had time to do anything on the clerical side, and in the aftermath of the Security Sweep Crisis of 2383, he'd had even more paperwork to sign off on. Odile nodded. “Going for a midnight stroll?” He lifted his eyebrows and cocked an ear back. “A midnight stroll?” “Well,” Odile said, slightly nervous and scuffing her foot against the carpet. “The vampire can't walk in the day light can she? And you two are...you know...” Guffawing, Corizon starred blankly at the Yeoman, unsure of what exactly a proper response to that question would be. “I am not sure what you mean, Petty Officer.” Looking innocent, she blinked. “You mean you and her...aren't...,” the words forming in her mouth seemed so heinous, scary and altogether objectionable that it was taking quite the effort to vocalize them. “J'gztch't” she said in Xenexian, flustered she added. “You know...bestialize.” Corizon looked at her for a moment, processing what the Xenexian had just said, once he had, he found himself laughing uncontrollably. Half-freighted by the sight before her, confused as to his reaction, she blinked. “Y..you're not?” Between laughter, Corizon managed “No...of...course not...oh that's rich... bestialize!” Relieved Odile nodded. “Oh..well...that's good to know...I didn't...well I didn't mean to imply anything....just...” She had a feeling that she was digging a hole. "The... everyone on the ship... the gossip..." she mumbled, flushing as darkly as Corizon had ever seen her. “Don't worry,” he said, finally able to control himself. “I am sure you're not the only one on the ship who thinks there's something between the Lieutenant and myself.” "Oh, I'm not," she mumbled, backing away slightly. Silently, Odile made a note to smack her bunkmate, though she was thankful she didn't have to start wearing garlic when on duty with the Captain, that much was worth the awkwardness of the last few minutes. “Well..uhm...If you'll excuse me Captain...I have uhm...some duties to attend to before I uhmm,” she trailed off. Murder wasn't something you told your Captain you were about to commit. Still laughing at the situation, Corizon nodded. “Of course, Yeoman... you're dismissed.”

Note: This log takes place several hours after the Funeral for the Pilots, and near the second 'day' of SL “Eli,” the soft, harmonious voice of his lab assistant, Keri Thomas called. “We're on leave, yet you're still here... looking at the autopsy reports from the dead pilots.” Eli Tamoris, Chief Medical Examiner aboard the USS Excalibur, nodded with a heavy sigh. “Yeah, I am.” Wrapping a gentle arm around him she squeezed lightly. “Those scans will still be here in a few days. You should go planetside, get some sun, enjoy the fresh air. God only knows the next time the Captain will feel like stretching the crew's legs.” “I just can't,” he said finally. “I just can't get over how... how precise this was.” Sighing, Keri released from her superior officer's body and headed across the room to the replicator. “I am starting to find evidence of what Doctor Patterson and Lieutenant Ramson suggested... that somehow they used advanced transporter technology to remove the blood... but still it's just hard to fathom transporter technology that advanced...” “Victria told me,” Keri said, activating the replicator, “that even the Scorpiads don't have that kind of technology.” “I asked Ambassador Jerella to check with the Vorta Lexin to see if he could find any record of that kind of technology in Dominion records,” Eli said, “but I am not holding my breath.” Removing the silver cup that had materialized in the replicator, Keri started back towards Eli.she'd hoped he'd join her for some leave... and maybe more, but sadly the handsome young Argosian male was always to stuck in his work to see the opportunity that was right in front of him. “Here,” she said putting the cup down directly in his vision. “It will help you relax a little bit... you're always so tense.” Smiling he took the cup and put it to his lips. “Sunberry tea,” he said with a smile. “My mother always gave it to me when I was doing homework...” “I know,” she said with a half-hearted smile. Why couldn't he just take her in his arms? Oh, if only he had a little more initiative. “Well,” he said placing the cup at his side and turning his attention back to his reports. “You'd better get going, I don't want you to waste your leave sitting around here watching me sift through records. Like you said you never know when the Captain will give us leave like this again.” She smiled slightly and nodded. “Well if you change your mind, I am headed down to a beach on the coast of the southern continent, I think Doctor Ja'Kal and a few of her friends from Science are going down there too...” “Okay,” he said absently. “Have a good time.”

Sweat trickled down his face, mixing in amalgam with dust and caked on blood, causing both to turn to a red-muddy paste that drenched his once pristine mustache. His heart pounded in his chest. Thump. Thump. His breath was short, and he sucked in a deep gasp of hot, windy air. He held back a cough. The dust kicked up again and swirled the leaves of the bush he was hiding underneath around. He glanced to his watch. Just a few more minutes. He heard the pistons of a clunky transport in the distance. Not long now. Running his hands along the well worn wooden stock of the Model 76-K Disruptor that served as his only companion on this mission, he made sure the magazine was in place and clicked off the safety. Checking once more through the scope, the doorway to the building was in clear view—now if the wind would die down a little. The voices from the building told him it was time. The door began to swing open and he positioned himself for the shot. He felt his heart jump into his throat, and it pounded like a sledge hammer against a concrete wall with every beat that passed between the door opening and his target finally emerging. Sweat poured from his body and soaked his clothing. His hands shook slightly as the man he'd been sent to kill finally emerged from the building. He closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger. I haven't thought about that whole affair in years. My lungs still burn every time I think of that godforsaken dust-ball. That was likely the worst mission they ever sent me on... I don't know though, this was has been full of more headaches—and we're only a month into it. I've ordered the Excalibur on course to an M-class planet... Citrus something.... apparently our science team named it after one of the lab pets... an arachnid of some sort. After dealing with Commander Segami, I am starting to think that laying on my belly in a dustbowl hunting rouge agents would be a more appealing mission than hunting lost Founders. The whole mission has been nothing but a disaster... kind of like that mission. So far we've been out here a month and we've been shot at, had our crew sacrificed to some blood cult...oh and the Hundred and Semil are following us. I can only imagine how much worse it's going to get. When I was sent to that godforsaken place... I had to fight off three or four patrols, a bout of something called Renir's Flu, hike three days through a barren desert just to find the encampment then make my escape through the bitter cold night with a dozen Cardassian agents hunting me. I got stung by some sort of...thing...in the night. I couldn't feel my leg for a week... At the very least though, I knew what had to be done to accomplish my mission. And the success of that mission was dependent on me, and me alone. This mission? It's literally finding a needle in a haystack, and I don't even know where to start. To top that all off, my crew seems to be about three centimeters from space madness. I am hoping shore leave will let us re-focus our attentions. I know they've been distracted, and they all want a piece of these cultists, but frankly I don't think we can focus on that right now. Hopefully the Satarimi can provide us with some answers, but I really don't have any intentions of going off on some goose chase to satisfy some sense of revenge. Speaking things I've been avoiding... Lexin... the Vorta the Council sent to help us. I can't hardly stomach the fact we're helping his government. It makes me want to hurl up my lunch every time I consider that just ten years ago he was likely busy pressing war against the Federation trying to eradicate us from the galaxy, and now that they need help... the benevolent Federation is helping them... at my request. Of course, irony has a way of finding me. On that dustball... I was hunting one of my own agents. That's why they sent me... something about only Nixon going to China... Regardless, I will do my duty to the Federation, even if it means some serious annoyances and headaches along the way. My personal discomfort is secondary to the continued survival of the Federation.

It had been a long morning, and a longer afternoon. Doing his best to avoid contact with any person on the ship, Corizon made his way towards his quarters, content to blow off anyone who approached him -- not like they expect the Captain to be sociable. At last the home stretch... deck two. His quarters were almost in reach, and then he could unwind with a bottle of merlot or Saurian Brandy... or hell anything else in his liquor cabinet. That was when he noticed the door beeping that someone had used a security override. Son of a ... those little twerps were searching his quarters. Mark stood at the door making a final check just to make sure nothing fell out. Four swords and three knives after entering Captain Corizon's quarters, he could feel the weight. The knives were all contained in a case, but the unwieldy swords proved more troublesome. Two of them he had managed to sheath and tie on somewhere to him, but the other two he was forced to carry. He couldn't help but think of how he ridiculous he looked, but it was either this, or have to make a second trip back. Ridiculous was the right way to go. With a sigh of determination, he stepped forward, triggering the door's auto-open sensors. Oh gods, the door was opening. Oh gods, the idiot was dumb enough to take something. For a moment, Corizon simply looked at the security officer... Michael something -- or was it Mark? Didn't matter... he was holding at least three, maybe four, of Corizon's swords. Mark froze. Twenty-seven curses ran through his mind. Of all the outcomes in all the universes... He swallowed hard and steeled himself. "Captain." Corizon looked directly into the little twerp's eyes. His golden orbs locked in on the human's beady little eyes that seemed to have grown a few sizes in a matter of moments. “Ens... Lieutenant... just what the hell are you doing?” "As per Starfleet regulations pertaining to contraband weapons, I am seizing and impounding these weapons in Main Security." Mark replied plainly. He'd only been on the ship for a few weeks, but he'd seen and heard of Corizon's reputation for being, well, a hardass. He didn't let that fact faze him in his appearance or speech, however. "You do realize whose quarters you're searching," Corizon said imperiously, his eyes remaining locked onto the security officer. If they'd been phasers, the human would have been toast. Mark stared him down. Captain or not, regulations were there for a reason. Four freaking swords was not a Captain's privilege. "I do, Sir." "Then you'll promptly do a nice, neat about face and put those back where you found them... then you'll get out of my sight as quickly as your two little legs can carry you, correct?" "No Sir I will not. Starfleet regulations apply to all officers. I have searched the quarters of the entire senior staff and removed all illegal weapons. Yours are no exception." Corizon tilted his head for a moment, his ears almost fluttering back and forth. He wasn't sure whether to be amused or to be annoyed. "First," he said, sobering. "Captain's quarters are off-limits to you and your searches -- perks of being the Captain. Second, it's my ship and I will have in my quarters what I wish. Third, don't quote regulations to me... fourth.... I don't even need a fourth. Now turn around and put my things back where they belong." Mark glanced at the swords for a moment, judging their weight of worth to his continued career in Starfleet. He looked back to Corizon with cold eyes. "Captain, you should know that I don't intimidate. You can call Segami the moment I leave, use every Captain's privilege and trick in the book to get these swords back. But I am leaving here with them." "You're putting them back, and that's an order. My authority is law on this ship, and if you fail to comply... you're going to be cleaning the waste disposal units for the rest of our voyage." If that's what it takes. "I do not have to comply with an order that defies any treaties or regulations." He swallowed again. "Therefore I must refuse to obey your order. Please step aside." "Oh for the love of the gods. Ell-tee... I'm an active senior operative for the Advanced Tactical Assessment Group, and that gives me clearance to have any ordnance I deem appropriate on hand. Regulation forty-five dash six, subsection six, special clause four. And if you make me look it up, so help me you're going straight to the brig." It was now Mark who tilted his head slightly. He pondered for a moment before putting the two swords in his hand in front of Corizon. "Apologies, Sir." "Now, get your rear-end in there and put them away where you found them, exactly as you found them, and get out of my sight before I really do put you on waste reclamation duty." He moved to the side, granting Corizon access to his keypad entry. Using the security override just didn't seem proper. Corizon tapped the code in quickly. His mild amusement with the absurdity of the situation had quickly evaporated, leaving only annoyance. Mark let him enter before following, quickly replacing the swords and knives in perfect order where they previously sat. He glanced at the other weapons that had almost warranted a removal, as well as the sword that sat in the shrine, the one that was worth all the other ones he took in regs broken. Somberly, Corizon watched as the security moron finally did what seemed like a pretty simple task. Then... he smiled... widely, his fangs catching the low light of the room and glinting slightly. "Mister... what was it... never mind... not important... I'll look up the record later... I am officially putting you on report with your department head..." Mark looked up as he last item was replaced, cursing all things that this was how it turned out If he'd only finished five minutes sooner... "I understand, Sir." "I don't think you do," Corizon said slyly. Oh gods, was he about to make his day. "I noticed that your boots are not up to regulation polish, and I saw a loose thread in the hem of your duty uniform. Both constitute separate violations of the Starfleet uniform code, sections five and four respectively. I believe the punishment for which is P.T. time during off-hours. Yes... I'll see to it that Sergeant Major Kioa is expecting you for the next few days." He paused for a second, if only to make sure Corizon was serious. "Aye, Sir, that is correct punishment." He glanced down at his boots, and then his eyes rolled over to the loose thread. He couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. "And one little piece of advice, Mister Garrison... one of the quickest ways to find yourself in a world of hurt is to get into a pissing contest with the commanding officer. Face it son, I am older and have more tools at my disposal to make your life miserable. I hope this is the last I have to deal with this matter." He nodded and turned towards the door. "It is, Sir. If I might suggest contacting Major Kioa now, this was the last thing to do on my shift. Apologies for the inconvenience."

****PLEASE READ**** The deadline to enter the competition has been extended until 5 PM Monday, March 31.

As he finished filing the reprimands that would pock-mark the otherwise sterling careers of the three officers he’d labeled as the necromancers, Corizon considered for the first time his actions. The fifty-four year-old Dameon had served in Starfleet now for over twenty-six years—almost half his life. His dress uniform was decorated with some of the highest honors to be awarded to a soldier: the Christopher Pike Medal of Valor, Karagite Order of Heroism, the Cochrane Medal of Excellence…the list went on. Yet it had taken him over twenty years to get his own command. The simple reason it had taken so long was that he was a maverick of sorts, a rogue. When a job needed done and you needed someone who’d not let rules and regulations get in the way of his mission, you called on him. ATAG used him this way, and while they respected him and valued him for the job he did, his style didn’t exactly meet the criterion for someone they wanted representing the Federation as a starship captain. It wasn’t that he didn’t respect the rules. In fact he valued the order the Federation brought to the quadrant above all else—it was just that in his line of work, there were times that the rules would prevent him from accomplishing his goal and the safety of the Federation was more important than some rule or regulation. Some information comes at too high a price. His words echoed in his head. They sounded hollow. How many times had he paid prices greater than the ones they had to gain information, or to save his beloved Federation. He’d killed people. He’d violated the Prime Directive more times than he could count. Hell he was willing to use subspace weapons to god-only-knows what end to destroy the wormhole. All because the Federation was in danger. The end justified the means. These thoughts had caused him to pause. Was he justified in reprimanding the trio? Wouldn’t he have done the same thing? Finally he came to a conclusion. Yes, on both counts. Part of being a rogue was dealing with the consequences of your actions. That’s why the Federation hadn’t fallen apart...yet. Some people felt that if you gave in to your darkest desires, if you weren’t careful whilst fighting monsters, you’d become one yourself. That much, he knew to be true, but why the Federation had yet to become the monsters it so proudly defeated, that it fought against, was because they didn’t reward monsters, like Corizon. So while he appreciated the information that the necromancing trio had obtained, letting them go unpunished would only serve to further damage the whole. They’d done a great service to the dead, but they’d also broken rules to do it. They had gained, but now they’d pay the price.

Corizon was furious. No furious wasn’t the word. There weren’t words. He’d temporarily delayed his meeting with the HaVorante and was now on his way to sickbay—he assumed that’s where he’d find them. Them. The necromancers. It was one thing to risk the lives of some of his senior staff; it was another thing to not inform the commanding officer and to desecrate the bodies of the dead in the process. Not that he was an angel himself, but he was always prepared for consequences of this actions, and in this case there would be reckoning. “Captain,” a little ensign said with a smile. “Not now,” Corizon growled, marching past him without a second thought. The Captain was on a path of destruction likely only to be rivaled by General Sherman, innocents be warned.

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Fog out my daylight, torture my night, Feels like I’m falling, far out of sight… It was simultaneously the most empty and tired feeling that Corizon could ever remember himself being. In the course of forty-eight hours he’d lost two teams, got one back and had an entire squadron of fighter pilots in his morgue, the latter sucked dry of blood and life. Thank the gods his team on the planet had been rescued safely by the Marines and Security with the help of Lexin, or other wise he’d be in a drunken stupor the likes he hadn’t done since the War. A long deep sign escaped his pale lips. It was 1536, just a few hours before he was scheduled to meet with the HaVorante Ambassador to discuss the markings on his dead pilots and the mysterious vessel that had warped out of the system just as Excalibur entered the system. He hated diplomacy. He hated diplomacy even more when he had better things to do, like go chasing the ships that left the nebula. The bridge crew and his senior staff had made it no secret what they wanted to do when those ships left, but his duty was to the living first, revenge could wait. That didn’t make it any easier though. He glanced back to his desk… To the Family of Airman First Class Jai Wright, It is my most somber duty, as your son’s commanding officer, to inform you that he has perished in the line of service to the Federation on my watch. While your son only served under my command for a short time, I am told by his direct supervisors that he was amongst the best pilots in his squadron, and served with distinction in his brief tenure aboard the Excalibur, bringing peace by the sword, but a peace found only under liberty. I wish there were words I could express to ease the pain and suffering I know this letter will cause you, but sadly I know that this loss can not simply be made easy. To you, I convey my deepest sympathies. Sincerely, Captain Ah-Windu Corizon, Commanding Officer, USS Excalibur One down, too many to go.

FROM: Doctor Eli Tamoris Lntn., Chief Medical Examiner, USS Excalibur TO: Doctor E.J. Pilot, Lt Cmdr, Chief Medical Officer, USS Excalibur CC: Cmdr M'Vess JoNs, Executive Officer, USS Excalibur Cptn Ah-Windu Corizon, Commanding Officer, USS Excalibur SUBJECT: PRELIMINARY AUTOPSY RESULTS I have completed the preliminary results of the autopsies of the fighter pilots. I must say that they are among the most unusual scans I have ever taken in my career. The bodies themselves were in almost perfect condition. There was no sign of external or even internal trauma, only the lightest signs of rigor have even begun to set into the bodies. The only real forensic clue I discovered in the preliminary examination was the lack of blood in all of the deceased. However, none of the bodies showed signs of the standard methods for blood defusion. Normally, as complete removal of blood from a living body is extraordinarily difficult, I would theorize that this was done postmortem—however the lack of onset rigor, combined with several other conditions leads me to the conclusion that this was done while the patients were living. A more through examination will likely yield more results. One interesting note, I've included a copy of the marking found on the chests of the deceased. I began a search through our records for a match, I've so far found no matches.

MISSION BRIEFING: The Excalibur survived a raider attack just as the Fighters completed delivering our little gift to the Nebula. Meanwhile, the people on the planet continue to try not to annoy their captors. 030208.txt

Mission Brief: The Onion and Company have been captured, meanwhile the ship is thinking up ways to blow stuff up. 022408.txt

Attached are the several chatlogs. chatlog2008_01_06.txt chatlog2008_01_13.txt chatlog2008_01_20.txt chatlog2008_01_27.txt chatlog2008_02_03.txt chatlog2008_02_10.txt chatlog2008_02_17.txt

Captain's Log Supplemental Entry I’ve found myself staring into a minefield, literally, and once again facing a difficult decision. In the course of making friendly with locals, I agreed to use our fighter squadron to help bolster local patrols while we’re in the sector, as pirates have become a bit of a problem, according to the HaVorante government. A few hours ago, one of those patrols failed to report in as scheduled. We managed to track them down a nebula filled with mines. Of course all of that is in the mission log, but I feel the need to restate it, because it’s relevant to my current dilemma—we’ve had no luck finding a way through the minefield. My XO, Commander Kitty, has made it fairly clearly to me that we should leave them if we can’t find away to safely find them, and I don’t disagree with the assessment that we can’t risk more lives on our ship, however I am concerned about losing an entire squadron of fighters this early in our mission. What I am more curious about is who mined the nebula and why no one else has bothered to note it on the charts. They don’t appear to be Dominion mines, which tend to be phased out of normal space, like the Houdini Mines. Which is a positive, the negative is that in all likelihood there’s a group of pirates waiting to pounce on us, or already pouncing our fighter squadron. How we get ourselves into these messes, I am not quite sure… Oh bloody hell; the causality report is starting to come in. No fatalities yet, but still days like today are days I wish I would have stayed on the Oberon cataloging gaseous anomalies. I suppose I should return to the bridge and check up on our efforts to defeat the minefield. I am going to give Science/Engineering a while longer…

Captain's Log, Supplemental As noted in my duty log, we met with the HaVorante administrator this morning and into this afternoon. I have to admit it was an...enlightening experience, especially for Lexin. Kallax, the administrator filled us in on a good 10,000 years of ancient history. Apparently, after the Scorpiads destroyed the Founder homeworld, they retreated into this area of space and scattered into a diaspora. One of them found their way to this world while being hunted by what I can only assume to be the Al-Ucard. Apparently the HaVorante native hid the Founder and saved his life. As a reward the Founder promised to grant the HaVorante a place in their new empire, and thus came the Vorta. However, the Founders didn't, as previously believed, transform the entire HaVorante race into Vorta, but simply use their genetic code as a blueprint. The HaVorante are what the Vorta of today would be like, had the Dominion not “improved upon their genetic code.” I worried at first that this would complicate our mission, but then I started wondering why the Dominion would send us here in the first place. Then Kallax made it more clear: the Founders took up residence on this planet for sometime while they set about creating the Dominion. According to Kallax there were dozens of “holy sites” that could be of use to us in locating the device which we seek. Lexin believes that the device itself isn't on this planet, but that coordinates to where the Founders went next after leaving this planet are somewhere here. When pressed, he explained that the Founders had moved homeworlds several dozen times. And that Taenix had told him that the first “homeworld” they'd established when they began their war against the Scorpiads was somewhere in the region we're in now, but that even she had not be told of it's location. I am going to have my teams start scouring these holy sites looking for anything that might give us a clue.

If there was such a thing as a cold morning on a starship, this was it; like a day when the the sun never peaks out from behind the clouds, and the world seems to be bitterly cold and damp. The alarm went off and I looked over at the chrono next to me. It couldn't already be time for morning shift, could it? It was. Slinking out of bed, my head felt heavy and my body seemed determined to rebel against my will, and I walked towards the bathroom with great effort. I'll say one thing for this new ship, the floors aren't as cold on my barefeet. I ignored the bottles on the table and pushed a chair out of the way to get to the replicator, still draped in my towel. “Coffee,” I demanded. At this point, I'd been doing my best to keep my eyes closed. The lighting was still on sleep setting, but even then it annoyed me, the bright flashing of the replicator wasn't so hot either. Finally I opened my eyes to get dressed. It was going to be a long day. Why in the hell did I ever agree to this little venture? The Vorta is getting...antsy. Not that I blame him, he's been couped up in his quarters the whole time with little more than a few status updates I've had sent his way as a courtesy. I suppose I should invite him to the officers mess and actually get to know him...he can't be anymore annoying than Semil, and certainly couldn't be as righteous as Weyoun or Keevan...could he?