Cptn Swain

The lift carrying Issaha and Asher passed through long, glassed section giving the riders an expansive view of the docking area where a number of ships, including the Excalibur, were moored. Holding back an urge to press his face to the turbolift wall, Issaha peered as the lift carried them upwards towards the station’s command zone. For Asher’s part he had to admit he was unsure if he wanted the arrangement that kept the Romulan office aboard much longer. It wasn’t anything personal; he actually found Issaha to be far more charming and amiable than any Romulan he’d ever interacted with -- certainly more so than his brooding older brother -- and Hakran had spoke positively about his merits as a science officer. Still, Asher couldn’t escape the worry that his continued presence aboard the Excalibur would draw unwanted attention to the ship and if there was anything the Excalibur and her crew didn’t need help with, it was with trouble. The lift disappeared into the upper workings of the station, leaving the panorama behind. Issaha sighed and turned back to Asher. “I never did get a chance to properly thank you, sir.” Asher looked up. “For?” “Accepting me as part of your crew ... via the exchange.” Smiling, Asher resisted an urge to tossel Issaha’s hair. “I'd be lying if I said it was entirely my decision, but for what it's worth -- you're welcome. Just next time let's try not to get you in even more trouble with your people? It's nice having you and all, but I assume you want to go home at some point, eh?” He blushed a light shade of green. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Less trouble.” The lift came to a halt, depositing them on the wide concourse of the administrative offices for the station, which served as the homebase for starships assigned to the sector. “It’s big.” Asher grinned at Issaha. “Ie,” he said. “That is the Rihan word for yes, right?” Issha nodded. “Ie.” They made their way to the suite cordoned off for the sector commander, Vice-Admiral Agruela Tersan. Asher saluted crisply once he and his Romulan charge were ushered into her office. “As you were,” she said, pouring a glass of water. “Welcome to 39-Tango, gentlemen. Please, have a seat.” The admiral was short, slender but with a certain regal bearing that demanded attention. She glanced them both over briefly as they took their seats opposite her desk. “I won’t keep you long, I am sure you both have things you’d rather do than listen to some admiral drone on, yes?” Asher smirked, “I can think of worse things, Admiral.” “Your husband mentioned you to be quite the charmer, Mister Swain.” Issaha suppressed a smirk as it was now Asher’s turn to blush. “Anyway, as I said I won’t keep either of you long. As you know, El’Arrain N’Dak -- did I get that right? I’ve never been very good with spoken Romulan.” Issaha nodded. Her pronunciation of his name had been a little off, but for an Lloann’na, not all that bad. “Mmm--” she continued. “As you know, the officer exchange program between our two governments has not typically been used as a long-term arrangement. Frankly, since the end of the war, we’ve barely had any requests from your government for a placement aboard a Federation vessel. “And given the recent incident, and even though I am personally confident based on the reports from your superiors, that your involvement was incidental; it’s somewhat natural for the folks at intelligence to be concerned about having someone with so many complications with their opposite number aboard one of our leading ships in along the border.” She stopped to take a drink before continuing. “However, after a thorough review I have been authorized to continue your placement aboard the Excalibur.” “Thank you, ma’am.” “You’re dismissed, but one more thing. If, at anytime, Captain Swain believes the safety of his ship is being compromised....” She left it there as Issaha stood and saluted neatly. Asher started to follow, but Agruela stopped him. “One moment Captain.” When they were alone, she continued. “I am serious about that last part. If you’re uncomfortable with this arrangement at any time let me know, is that clear?” “Yes.” “Good. This is a delicate situation. Being honest, if the Romulan ambassador hadn’t interceded on his behalf, there’s no way we would have let him be on a starship this close to the Romulan border.” “The ambassador?” “Apparently some friend of the family or something. His mother was part of their diplomatic corps for years.” Asher nodded. He knew Issaha’s family was influential. “Right. Well, I’ll do my best to make sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble.” “Aboard your ship?” Swain blushed again, but smiled. “We’re doing our best on that front.” “See that you do.”

Asher frowned at the results. There was simply no scientific explanation for the readings on his PADD. Stars did not simply speed up. Their rotational delay was fixed along a mathematical timeline. He sighed and took a drink of tea. He was alone in the Excalibur’s stellar cartography lab, having let the junior officers take a break while they waited on a data upload from Starfleet to complete. Glancing to another PADD he looked over the reports from the surface. His brows furrowed. “The fauna was not that aggressive when we were here twenty years ago,” he said to himself. “Computer, display all logs from previous Starfleet surveys of the Irassa biome.” “There have been three previous surveys of Irassa completed by Starfleet,” the computer replied demurely. “Surveys were completed by the USS...” “Display all data from all surveys, specifically any data on the local plants and cross-reference with the samples Beta 002 and Beta 009-2 from the Excalibur logs.” “Working.” After a few moments the information began scrolling across the display. “What the...”

Name: Philippe Augustin Age: 38 (Born 2350) Sex: Male POB: Provence-Alpes-Côte d'Azur, France, Earth Ht: 6'1" Wt: 215 lbs Eyes: Green Hair: Brown Race: Human Rank: Lt. Commander Assignment Chief of Security, USS Excalibur-C Call Sign: Father: Jean Augustin (65), retired, Starfleet Mother: Julia Martell-Augustin (64), active duty, Starfleet Science Siblings: Henri Augustin (35) Background: The son of career Starfleet officers, Phillippe grew up on Earth in the south of France, before attending Starfleet Academy, graduating with honors just at the outbreak of the Dominion War. Service Record: -Graduated Starfleet Academy rank of Ensign (2372) -Assigned to USS Idrisi, Assistant Security Officer (2372) -Assigned to 49thStarfleet Ground Force, Charlie Company XO (2372) -Assigned to 49thStarfleet Ground Force, Charlie Company CO (2372) -Promoted to Lieutenant, Junior Grade (2373) -Assigned to 49thStarfleet Ground Force, Battalion HQ (2373) -Promoted to Lieutenant (2376) -Assigned to Starbase 105, Chief of Diplomatic Security (2376) -Assigned to USS Calais, Chief of Security (2379) -Promoted to Lieutenant Commander (2383) -Assigned to USS Excalibur-C, Chief of Security (2388) Service Medals:, Distinguished Service Cluster( w/2 flourishes), Silver Palm, Crimson Shield. Bronze Star, Purple heart, Starfleet Infantry Medal, Cardassia Prime Campaign Medal, Dominion Campaign Medal

Commander Korin Hazlet frowned deeply. It had been just over two months since he’d taken over the orbital shipyards on Cait, following a rather sordid affair involving the former chief foreman. His predecessor -- Captain Cierra Cohen -- had been relieved of duty following the incident and put on leave. The last he’d heard she’d been cleared of any wrong doing, but it certainly wasn’t a good look for anyone involved. His first task had been to clean house. It wasn’t something he liked doing, but it was needed. Cohen ran an okay operation, but the fact that a terrorist had so easily ingratiated himself meant he had few choices. The bright spot, however, had been the Excalibur. Hazlet had at first been hesitant to turn over the management of refit to her XO, and even more so when he’d learned she was also an engineer, but he’d found her an excellent project manager and even better at keeping their hare-brained chief engineer in check. So of course, some lame-brain moron at Command had to ruin all that, didn’t they? He frowned again, looking at his watch. It was almost 0700. The newly refurbished messhall of the Excalibur gleamed with a fresh polish on the flooring, and the sun was beginning to rise over Cait through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He looked back down to the PADD on the table and took a deep breath as he heard the doors open. Miranda strode in, admiring the shiny new repairs. “I’ve not seen this room look so nice in… well… ever.” Joining Hazlet, she smiled. “They’ve done a nice job, haven’t they? Repairs, refits, even an upgrade or two. We’re just about ready to shove off, pending a final inspection.” Hazlet forced a smile on his oblong face. “Yes, I think all things considered it’s gone pretty well. I have to say that I was nervous, really, taking over with everything going on, but you guys really made it work.” He paused looking back to the PADD. “Unfortunately,” he said after a moment. “I am afraid you’ll be here a bit longer than just an inspection.” Miranda’s smile faded to something most would consider neutral, though it was really just one small step above scorn. Her ‘Commander’ face. Most on the Excalibur had seen it at least once and all had been happy to slip away without witnessing anything harsher. As an engineer, she expected perfection of all her crew. Those that missed the mark once, didn’t usually miss it a second time. It was far easier (for everyone) to remain in her good graces. “I don’t like the sound of that, Commander. It sounds as though you’re about to spring some bad news on me, and I very much dislike bad news.” “I am afraid so,” Hazlet said, putting on a good front. He wasn’t thrilled about the situation and he totally understood her perspective. “Normally this would go to the CO first, but since Captain Swain is still on leave, I thought it’d be best to bring you and your Chief in on it instead.” “Well, my Chief of Engineering isn’t here, obviously. He’s busy getting ready for our final inspection so we can get underway and on to our next assignment. Or at least, that was the plan. So, out with it. What did Central Command decide this time without consulting any of us?” “How familiar are you with Quantum Slipstream Drives?” he said, ignoring her entirely understandable gruffness. She stared at him. “You’ve got to be joking. They’re incredibly dangerous, for all the benefits they provide in propulsion. Incredibly dangerous. Not to mention difficult to properly regulate.” “Yes,” Hazlet said matter-of-factly, “However R&D back home has spent the last several years working on making it work and are, apparently, ready for a live field trial. Why they chose Excalibur, I am not clear, though it could be because of the upgrades fitted to your deflector array -- apparently that’s a key component.” “Quantum slipstream requires an enormous amount of energy to be funneled into the deflector array in order to create a quantum field. It’s a delicate balance. If the field collapses while the ship is in transit, the ship would be thrown violently out of quantum space. There’s no controlling where you’d land. The ship could, very literally, break apart in piec…” She stopped, staring even harder, which quickly turned into a glower. “Wait a minute, why they chose Excalibur? CHOSE? What in seven hells are you trying to say, Commander?” Tense and rigid, she was bristling with anger. Hazlet didn’t react to the sudden flare other than to force a smile again. “I only know what the project leader told me,” he said flatly. “They apparently had planned to do it on another ship at Utopia Planitia but a complication with that ship’s navigational deflector meant they had to find another ship. Normally this kind of thing is done on an older ship, but given the stresses of slipstream and the updates required to the power generation and distribution systems, they needed a newer ship -- apparently Excalibur fit the bill.” “No. Absolutely not.” She shook her head. “I don’t care who this comes from, or who I have to talk to in order to have the decision reversed, but it’s not happening. Not on my ship. Not to my crew.” The back of one hand smacked against the palm of her other. “Do you even realize what we’ve just been through? How we barely escaped the GQ? The state of this ship before we started repairs? We’ve been sent on one insane mission after another! And now, when we have the chance for some normalcy, they want to outfit our ship with what is, effectively, a ticking bomb that could destroy the entire ship and everyone with it!” “I understand your concerns, I really do,” Hazlet said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “If it were upto me -- well I think it’s a terrible idea -- but it’s not. You’re obviously free to lodge a complaint with Command, I won’t begrudge you for it. “That said, I doubt it will do much good. The orders came directly from Starfleet Research and Development and were countersigned by Fleet HQ. The project team is already en route from Mars and should arrive later this week.” Miranda glowered. “No, it won’t do much good, will it? But that doesn’t mean I won’t yell at them at the top of my lungs. Just see if don’t. You think Captain Swain will be willing to go along with this?” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, I see. He’s on leave and can’t do anything about it. So you sneak in here with the project team, install this blasted thing while he’s away, and scurry back to the hole from which you crawled. A low blow, even for HQ.” “Who is your project leader? I want his or her name and location. We’re going to have a chat, the two of us.” It was now Hazlet’s turn to put a stern, withering look on his face. “Commander,” he said firmly. “She is not my project leader. I had nothing to do with this, other than being given orders that the installation was going to happen. Now I could have simply ordered it done and not brought you in on it, given that this is my facility and that for the duration of her refit, the Excalibur is nominally under my authority, but I didn’t so let’s just get that cleared up right now. If you want to blow your stack on Dr. Ilyan, that’s perfectly fine with me -- hell in your position I’d do the same -- but keep me well clear of your fury.” “You’re riding thin on technicalities, especially considering what happened to our ship while docked at this station. Granted, that wasn’t under your command, but I had more faith in Captain Cohen to stand up for what is right. I finished the repairs to our ship because I didn’t trust anyone from the station to complete them properly. My team made them happen. So don’t go spouting regulation at me. Excalibur is no more under your command than I’m the Empress of the Romulan Empire.” “Commander,” he said raising his voice only slightly above normal. “I understand you’re upset, really I do, and I do and did appreciate the assistance you and your teams provided. I did explain to Command that I didn’t think this was a good idea, but hell if you care about details. Now if you want to keep insulting me because you’re mad keep it up. Fortunately for you, I am not one to hold grudges because trust me, Commander, if I wanted to be an ass I could have your whole team pulled off this project and sent down to Cait to twiddle your damned thumbs. I know you’re mad, I know you’re upset but good lord, pick the right damn target. I guess someone never learned not to shoot the messenger.” “Rest assured that when I do find the appropriate target, they’ll get a lot more than a dressing down. I might be upset, but this isn’t even a fraction of what’s going to happen when my Chief Engineer hears about this.” She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. Moving away from his table, she stared out at the station, her brow still creased with irritation. “You’d better go and finish doing whatever it is that you’ve been tasked to do. As you have the misfortune of being the messenger, and the only target we currently have, you’re not going to want to be here when the news hits the rest of the ship.” Softening, he nodded before standing. “Yes, I do have a lot of work to do. I have three inspections this afternoon. I’ll have all the technical details forwarded to you, as well the contact details for the project team.” “Very well,” she said, a tad calmer than before. “I’ll be sure to mention your reservations when I file my formal complaint.” She glanced over her shoulder at him briefly, then turned back to the star field. Miranda waited patiently until she heard the doors swish closed behind her to punch the transparent aluminum. “Ow.” Hand throbbing and most likely fractured, she ignored the pain and turned sharply on her heel, heading for engineering. The shiny new panels in engineering were going to have several dents in them once she gave Admiran the news.

MISSION BRIEF SD 0413.2014 The Excalibur crew has continued to work on finding out more information about the pirates who've been plaguing the Gamma Quadrant. A spare computer core is being delivered to assist in an effort to crack the encryption of the pirate computer core in hopes of learning more about the attackers. Repairs to the Excalibur are ongoing.

Excalibur, Season 7 | The Proud Tower A tenuous truce has been reached in the Gamma Quadrant resulting in an end to major operations by the Alpha Quadrant powers. Excalibur has been re-assigned to the Paimpont where they will be the lead ship of a new task force. Paimpont, a large swathe of territory on the edge of Federation space, is a politically important region bordering Xindi, Breen and Romulan space. This precarious alchemy has prevented either of the major powers from laying claim to the space leaving two smaller, yet important, races to rise as local hegemons competing for power and influence. For much of the last century, the Federation and Romulan governments have maintained a careful detente, with neither side committing military forces to the region. Both have extensive trading agreements with the two primary powers -- the Romulans with the Kaedwan Confederation, and the Federation with the Tamarn Empire -- however, owing to pressures from the ascendant, right-wing Sihhus Lakhraem (Preserve, Defend) party, the Romulan government has recently established a permanent military presence in the region, assigning a new task force based in Kaedawn space. Additionally, they have made new overtures to the Tamarn, who exclusively supply the Federation with biomimetic gel. Domestically, both the Federation and Romulan Empire are themselves in moments of transition: President Nanietta Bacco has announced she will not seek a third-term, opening the way for a contested, open election in 2388. Though Bacco has remained generally popular, tensions between interventionist and isolationist factions have continued to flare amid the withdrawal from the Gamma Quadrant and the slow, turbulent recovery efforts on Cardassia. Her vice-president has also declined to run for office, leaving the field even more open. On Romulus, the rapid liberalization in the post-year wars under the Enuar (Forward) government have been met with an equally passionate push back from the more conservative elements of their society. Following the death of the Enuar leader, Praetor Kohlav Avfad in 2384, the last three years have seen the steady rise of the nationalist Sihhus Lakhraem. Both of these transitions are occurring as the Breen, after nearly a decade of isolation following their defeat in the Dominion War, begin to reassert themselves abroad. Meanwhile, the enigmatic and fractious Xindi have also taken a renewed interest in the affairs of Paimpont, ever cautious of Federation and Romulan influence on their neighbors and rivals. As we begin not only a new season, but for the first time in over a decade in the real world, a new meta-arc, Commander Hawthorne and I hope to engage you with plots that involve both new and familiar foes across a broad spectrum of themes.

Sim Guidelines and Policy Packet Current: January 22, 2018 Version 4.5 Welcome to the world of play-by-chat simming! You might know the basics, but there are five items of which you'll need to be aware. These items apply specifically to the Excalibur sim; other advanced sims may follow different guidelines. These guidelines supplement the STSF rules, so make sure you are familiar with those as well. Attendance Real life happens. No one can be expected to attend 52 sims a year. All your fellow crewmates ask is that you send an e-mail out if you know you aren't going to be able to attend an upcoming sim. This way, any plans that involve you and your character can be postponed or changed. If you are, for whatever reason, incapable of sending out advance notice, don't sweat it; send an e-mail afterwards explaining your absence so we know that you didn't simply miss the sim because of lack of interest. Absences should not be frequent. If you find that you're missing many sims because of real-life distractions, you may want to question whether you are able to commit to the sim; even with plenty of advance notice, inconsistency on a player's part can be detrimental to the game. If you're not interested enough in the game to attend, either start attending to allow it to grow on you (it eventually will) or leave--a player with no desire to sim is simply taking up roster space. If you have to take some time away from the sim, you can request a Leave of Absence. Generally, a LOA should not last longer than three months. Beyond that time, the command team reserves the right to relinquish your position to another player, reduce your rank, or remove you from the roster entirely. Players who will be gone longer than three months and who plan to return may request an XLOA, however they should not extend beyond 6-months. Note that attending, for example, only three sims over a three month period could be treated as a three month LOA. If you miss four sims in a row, you are automatically placed on LOA. ALL ATTENDANCE matters shall be the purview of the First Officer. The XO is the assistant simulation host and is to be accorded all due privileges. Rank and Promotions All new players shall assume their positions at the rank of Ensign. Promotions to the next available rank will be assigned as the Commanding and Executive Officers warrant. Sim attendance, involvement, and logs are all points considered when deciding promotions. The rank structure allows us to maintain a clear chain of command. Players who demonstrate a solid command of the Problem Solving guidelines below make more effective senior officers, while junior officers are expected to input more of the ideas that the senior officers work with. In addition to this, solid attendance, consistent log writing, and good sim etiquette are all considered before a player is promoted. The Excalibur rank structure follows. Note the abbreviations in parenthesis. - Ensign (Ens) - The rank you start with. Many players enjoy playing Ensigns most and actually ask to not be promoted. Ensigns have few responsibilities and are allowed a lot of creativity. - Lieutenant, Junior Grade (LtJg) - The easiest promotion to receive. To reach this rank, you need only attend a few sims, be on your best behavior, and write a few logs. - Lieutenant (Lt) - The top of the junior officer ladder. To reach this rank, you should demonstrate a solid grasp of the Problem Solving guidelines. Input ideas, preferably ones that allow a lot of room for other players to contribute. Develop those ideas with logs as well as simming. - Lieutenant Commander (LtCdr) – A Lt is likely to become a department head (aka chief). A department head receives ideas offered by the assistants and coordinates both with the command staff and with other department heads to translate ideas into action. This is the life of the senior officer, and it carries heavy responsibility. If a player handles that responsibility well, he will be promoted to this rank. The LtCdr's (referred to as "Commander" for short) are leaders even among the senior officers. Within the Excalibur rank structure, this rank is reserved almost exclusively to those in the Senior Officer positions of Department Head. The rank may, however, be given to any non-department head at the discretion of the command team. NOTE: As ascension to this rank is a requirement for GM recruitment, it will be the policy of the command team to consider this when promoting non-department heads. - Second Officer - Under certain conditions, a Second Officer can be officially appointed by the command team. This player's role will be defined by the command team and the player. The player holding this position will not have the full authority vested in gamemasters, however they will be given limited ACTION authority based on need. In normal simming conventions, even if this position remains unofficially filled, there would be a second officer aboard the ship, regardless of OOC structure. - Command Staff - The CO and XO are GM's assigned to the sim. A player can not be promoted to the command staff without becoming a GM and applying for an open command staff slot. The command staff ranks are usually Commander, Captain, Commodore, or Admiral. The following is a Marine rank equivalency chart for reference. Fleet Rank - Marine Rank Ensign (Ens.) - Second Lieutenant (2Lt.) Lieutenant, junior grade (Lt.,j.g.) - First Lieutenant (1Lt.) Lieutenant (Lt.) - Marine Captain (M.Cap.) Lieutenant Commander (Lt.Cmdr.) - Major (Maj.) Commander (Cmdr.) - Lieutenant Colonel (Lt.Col.) Captain (Cptn.) - Colonel (Col.) ALL PERSONNEL matters shall be forwarded to the ship's XO for resolution (CC all ship's business to the CO), pending the Commanding Officer's final approval. This includes division and ship-to-ship transfers. A roster shall be posted to all crew members and the director of STSF personnel and periodically updated. Exceptions: On accepted transfer, and with the Commanding Officer's consent, a new member may be allowed to retain his/her former rank. The same may be accorded to any veteran STSF officer depending on the circumstance. Simply because a member creates a screen name with a specific rank DOES NOT imply that this rank shall be accepted on assignment to a simulation. On many ships there is often a member who serves in a different rank or capacity on a different ship/sim. That rank is NOT carried over to the Excalibur except when specified as above. Therefore, the Captain on another sim may not necessarily be allowed that rank or those privileges on a second simulation. On Excalibur we are fortunate to have several seasoned veterans who participate in other capacities because they enjoy this venue of entertainment Logs It's easy to assume that any given Advanced sim, just like any given Academy, is a 1 hour per week activity. This is not the case. The advanced sims introduce logs, and both writing logs and reading logs written by others could make a sim a 5 hour per week activity. You should allot enough of your free time every week to read your crewmates' logs and write one or two of your own. You could just ignore the log-writing aspect of the sim altogether, but this would hurt your ability to both understand and enjoy the sims. Why are logs so important? There are a number of reasons. The most basic log is the duty log. Despite its simplicity, it's also the most important type. The shortest duty log (a single paragraph) can be nothing more than a summary of the last sim from your character's point of view. A more complex log could include analysis of events that occurred, speculation as to why they occurred, suggestions as to how the crew could react to them, and plans for the next sim. Such a log accomplishes quite a bit. By reading it, your crewmates can enjoy an extensive recap of everything that happened during the last sim, especially events that they weren't paying direct attention to. In a busy sim, there can be over five separate events occurring around the ship and possibly off of it, all at the same time, from the integral events that drive the mission to the subplots that occupy the departments; even an experienced player can have difficulty keeping track of all those plot threads. Without duty logs, the only recap available is the recording of the chat session, but reading this is boring and still requires separation of the plot threads, though many players find reading the chatlog (which is posted weekly) helpful. A duty log also sets the stage for the next sim. By recapping a previous sim and indicating what your plans are for the next sim, you won't be lost when the sim starts. Additionally, your crewmates will be aware what you plan to do and make their own plans accordingly. Keep your eyes open for the mission briefing, usually written by the CO; while other logs may set the stage for various plot threads, the briefing sets the stage for the central plot thread. You were encouraged to make a "stock" character in the Academy--less personality, more attention to duty. In the Advanced sim, where you're simming with the same group every week, creating and developing a unique character and his/her relationships makes for a much more vibrant game. To start, you should write a character bio. Your bio can be as simple as a short list of attributes (name, age, gender, etc) or it can include more detailed background information--childhood history, education, personality, medical records, or anything else you can think of. It doesn't need to be this detailed at first since your bio can be updated as you sim. Whichever your preference, your character can be developed further in the sims and through use of personal logs. You are asked to create a biography within a month of being posted to the simulation. All Biographies should be sent to the CO and the XO for approval before being posted into the Bio's folder on the Excalibur boards. The host team reserves the right to modify all biographies to fit the simulation regulations, and will be subject to the "magic bullet" rule. Personal logs usually have very little to do with the mission, instead focusing on your character. You can define your character's feelings for another player's character, detail an important lesson your character recently learned, recount moments from the character's past, describe strange hobbies, habbits, personality quirks, emotional struggles, mood swings, or anything else you can think of to give your character extra dimensions. But be careful--don't get so wrapped up in your personal logs that you disconnect your character from ship business. If you plan to write a lot of personal logs, mix in enough duty logs to create a healthy balance. Sometimes, logs are made for two... or three, or four, or five, etc.. This is where joint logs come in. Joint logs are a collaborative effort by one more than one log writer. They can be duty logs featuring several officers discussing and brainstorming a plot thread (same as a standard duty log, only with several people offering input). Or they can be personal logs, recounting an off-duty hangout such as a poker game, movie night, a friendly stroll through the arboretum, or even something a bit more intimate. If you have an idea for a log, and you think it would involve some of your crewmates, send them a PM or E-mail to arrange a joint log. Joint logs are usually simmed out in a PM or chat room and converted to a more log friendly format afterwards, but a few are exchanged by e-mail with each writer contributing a piece in turn. Check out the Advanced sim forums on the STSF message board to get ideas of what sorts of logs are written and how they are written. Logs also let the command staff know you're following along with the storyline and enjoying it. It also helps you focus on the events of the last sim and how to prepare for the next one. It doesn't need to be a novel, just however much you want to put down to express your thoughts at the moment. All logs should be sent to the entire crew as E-Mail and posted to the Excalibur boards. This ensures that everyone aboard receives the mail and allows everyone in STSF the ability to see what is happening aboard our vessel. This is often helpful for newly assigned crew members who can read the boards to get up to speed on the current mission. One more reminder on logs: Please, make your logs readable. In other words, try and use standard grammar, spelling, punctuation, etc. Read a few of the other crewmember's logs. You'll get the idea. DO NOT POST LOGS WHICH WILL AFFECT THE SHIP WITHOUT THE CO OR AND XO'S APPROVAL. DO NOT POST LOGS WHICH WILL AFFECT ANOTHER CREW MEMBER WITHOUT THEIR PERMISSION. Etiquette For most people, this is not a major issue. We can all respect each other as gamers and enjoy the sims together. But a reminder of the various points here can be helpful in avoiding problems between players. These are simply basic rules of conduct. You'll see the term PM (Private Message) used a lot. PM's are the "magic lamp" of player etiquette, useful for both resolving disputes and for getting to know your fellow players better. Don't take your rank too seriously. Rank is only a convenience that allows for a more smoothly run sim. A Lieutenant does not have a right to "talk down" to an Ensign, unless they've both agreed by PM that it's appropriate (see OOC and IC below), and junior officers are just as important to a sim as senior officers. Our characters may outrank one another, but as players we're all on a level playing field and we can all at least role-play seniority in a respectful manner. Keep in mind that a fine line exists between what goes on out of character (OOC) and what goes on in character (IC), and that that line can sometimes become blurred, leading to confusion and conflicts. Sometimes a character can be *very* different from the player behind it--rude, bitter, and ill-tempered, for instance, whereas the player is far more amiable. And sometimes arguments and fights can take place between characters whose players are actually very good friends OOC. If you see something like this in a sim, assume that it's exactly what it is... a staged performance by online actors. If you think you'd like to sim a little tension or even hostility between your character and another player's character, first be sure to let that player know what you want to do and make sure it's alright. Any physical violence between characters, no matter the circumstances, should be cleared by PM. PM's are useful for many other reasons. Sometimes, a character speaks to another character in sim but isn't answered. Don't assume you're being ignored if this happens. Sims can be busy, and chat lines can be missed. Simply send a PM to the player pointing out that you're trying to get his/her attention. If you're confused about something (you've lost track of a plot thread, you're not sure why someone's doing something, you've forgotten how a certain technology works) PMing the appropriate person can help. PM's are exchanged regularly during a sim to ensure that everyone is on the same page. Avoid clogging the chat room with excessive << OOC statements like this >>. A few such statements are ok, but back and forth discussions should be moved to PM. If you write a log that involves another player's character extensively, send the log to the player for approval first. No one wants a character misrepresented in someone else's log. If you're planning a log that involves another player's character extensively, you may want to consider contacting the player for a joint log. Finally, if you have a dispute with another player, take a simple two-step approach. Politely contact the player by PM and try to resolve the dispute yourselves; if this doesn't help the situation, notify the command staff. The best way to avoid disputes is to get to know your crewmates. How can you do this? Simple... send them PM's. But please, please be aware that each of us has "feelings." Out-of-character attacks upon another crew member will not be tolerated. There is absolutely nothing wrong with two "characters" arguing, but make sure that each person understands it is a "character" interaction. If the hosts feel the interaction is disrupting the simulation, we will warn you via IM or email. Continued disruption will be dealt with under the Terms of Service. In addition to your play on Excalibur, we expect you to maintain your behavior across the board at STSF. This includes any other games you may participate on, Academies and the general boards. If you are reprimanded by another GM, or caught behaving poorly, this is not only a reflection of yourself, but also the entire Excalibur simulation and the GM-team. Any incidents reported to the command team will be dealt with under the terms of service and may result in the player(s) being demoted, held back from promotion, removal of the game or any other methods deemed appropriate by the command team. Excalibur's command team takes great pride in the simulation and we would ask that you would show this same pride by abiding by standard behavioral conventions. Problem Solving and Game Play In the Academy, you weren't expected to do much--follow the chain of command, watch out for and react to ACTIONs, don't lose focus of the mission, keep busy, and interact with others. You graduated past all of that. In the Advanced sims, with missions continuing from week to week, problems will tend to be a bit more complex, but this will offer you the opportunity to be more creative. You're now expected (rather than encouraged) to chip in with observations and ideas about a mission. But you also have to be mindful of the limitations... Excalibur's missions are generally series of problems to be solved. You have the one central problem (first contact with a new species, exploring a new system, investigating an anomaly, etc) that must be ultimately solved, and several smaller problems that crop up along the way (not all of them related to the central problem). A common misconception by an inexperienced simmer is that the goal of simming is to solve these problems. Actually, the goal is to have fun role-playing the effort to solve the problems... possibly failing miserably along the way. In fact, not all missions end with a positive result, but as long as the players had fun, the game was a success. Sometimes a player will try to be a superhero, coming up with and executing the one action that quickly solves everything (usually involving the character performing a feat well beyond his/her capability or the use of some technobabbical innovation that no one understands). The problem with such a solution (aside from possibly not making sense) is that it will cut any given mission down to one or two sims, which means no one will have any opportunity to enjoy pitching in. You want to contribute ideas, but how can you do it without going overboard? Here are some suggestions: -Practical solutions - If you go before your chief or the CO suggesting that we escape the nebula with a baryon/tetryon deflector pulse combined with a phaser beam modulated to an alpha wave frequency, you're going to get some glazed expressions... at best. At worst, your idea will actually be used, the problem will be solved, and there will be no room to come up with anything more creative. Use of technobabble is appropriate to fit the Trek setting, but it should not be the sole solution to any problem. Rather, it should be used to embellish a more practical solution to a problem. Ask yourself... what, exactly, does the baryon/tetryon pulse do? Or the modulated phaser beam? Would they push the ship, create a protective bubble around the ship, open a rift that the ship could use as an anchor? Outline what they do, and your superior officers will be able to figure out what sorts of consequences would arise (more of those "smaller problems") and how those consequences could be addressed. If you're not sure yourself what they would do... you might not have the best solution. It's often best to start by putting the problem in practical terms. If the ship is trapped in a nebula... what exactly does this mean? What smaller problems are posed? Can you draw analogies between the problem and real-life scenarios (maybe a car being stuck in mud during a hurricane)? When you have the problem in practical terms, come up with practical solutions, then put the solutions into a Trek context. - Imperfect solutions - Should your solution be the immediate answer to everything? Of course not. If it is, you have something to learn about teamwork. Simming is a team game, and the best players are the ones who find ways to involve others. When coming up with a solution, don't say "I think it will work." Instead, say "it could work, but there are a lot of elements that need to be addressed." Maybe the baryon/tetryon pulse would create radiation harmful to the crew. Maybe the phaser modulations would require direct modification of the phaser arrays. Maybe the nebula would have to be monitored for dangerous particle concentrations. Make your solution full of even more smaller problems, and the rest of the crew will have ways to become involved. If another player is presenting a solution that isn't full of holes, put some holes in it yourself (especially if you're a department head). The solution wasn't your idea, but your character is an expert in areas that the other player's character is not, so you might know more about some of the problems that would be posed. On the other hand, don't simply say "no, that won't work." That's just negativity. Indicate that the solution could work but that there are a lot of gaps to fill first. - Believable solutions - Obvious enough and something that any Academy graduate should understand. You're not going to move the comet off its collision course by detonating the system's star, and you're not going to send a command that makes the consoles in Engineering come alive and fight off the intruders as if Excalibur has become Fantasia. Some solutions are not quite that exaggerated but are still outside the realm of possibility. But don't even respond to a solution like this with "no, that won't work." Take the solution presented, acknowledge that the idea has merit even if the method does not, and offer alternatives. You're not going to blow up the star... but maybe you can create a smaller shockwave significant enough to push the comet. You can't make the Engineering consoles pop up and fight... but you might find a way to surround them with electricity fields. - One tree, many branches - If a solution to a problem is being worked on, do you... a) lend a hand and/or your brain to help develop the solution or come up with a completely different solution? Saying "I've got a better idea" is a signal that you're ignoring your teammates and trying to become the focus of attention. Contribute to solutions that have already been presented. If you're a department head, develop the solution by presenting problems that need to be addressed (as indicated above). If you're an assistant, and you're not sure how you could pitch in to the problem solving effort, ask your superior officer what you can do to help. Don't scrap your "better idea" entirely--maybe it can somehow be integrated into the solution already being developed, or maybe it can be saved for a similar problem further down the road. - Imperfect characters - You're sitting in the holding cell in the middle of the mysterious alien lab... but you're not about to stand for this! You bust open a wall panel with your bare hands and disconnect the circuits inside, shutting down the force field. Out of your cell, you overpower the four guards, managing to dodge all of their pulse rifle blasts. You move over to the nearby computer terminal and start accessing all of the lab's systems, even though this terminal is only meant to access the brig. You seal off all the doors, lock the aliens out of the computer, and send out a distress signal for Excalibur to pick up. After a few seconds, you remember to release your crewmates from their cells. By the way, did I mention you're a medical officer? This is called "god moding" and it's inappropriate because if one character can do everything you don't need any other characters. This was an exaggerated example, the kind of thing that would hold you back about 10 sims in the Academy (not to mention invoking a swift GM ACTION killing your character off). But god moding can always creep up in more subtle ways. Try to remember... you're not here to solve problems, you're here to have fun making the effort. Avoid the mindset that the sim is a challenge to be overcome and put more emphasis on what you're *not* capable of doing. Flaws encourage teamwork and are a lot more fun to role-play. - In-Character Romantic Relationships - While the Excalibur Command staff does not discourage romantic relationships "in-character;" we strongly advise against jumping into them the first week you're on a game. And while they can certainly add depth to a character, and realistically romance would be a normal part of any fleet officer's life, we advise extreme caution. Some pointers: Don't turn it in to "Days of Our Lives: Excalibur," a little drama now and then is okay, but melodrama isn't a way to win points with anyone. And besides, most people really don't want to read it, if they did, they'd check out a copy of Twilight. Take care to make sure that both parties are aware that relationship is IN CHARACTER ONLY. When OOC becomes involved, things tend to get messy Please keep the in-sim relationship to a minimum. After all, in-game is usually while characters are on duty, and this a military ship where flirtations would not be looked upon kindly. - Gamemasters Actions - It was once said that if everyone had a perfect life, it would be boring. Occasionally, the command team might decide… at random… to throw a huge monkey wrench in your characters plans. If this happens, don't panic! Just like real life, not everything should work out the way we plan it. In fact, it usually doesn't. If a GM decides (or their dice decide) that something is going to go wrong, just go with the flow. If you have a problem with something, talk to the GM in private and ask them about the situation. Generally a GM isn't going to turn your character's life upside down without asking you about it first, but even if they do… go with it. You might find that a little bit of strife once in a while can be far more fun than being June Cleaver. Also keep in mind that you can, and most likely will at some point, die. - Telepath Players - In regard to telepaths, please note that as with logs, permission MUST be obtained from other players before your character can sense any particular thought or emotion that is not explicitly spelled out on screen. For example, without permission, the following is NOT acceptable Swain> ::throws chair across the room:: Telepath> ::senses Swain's anger:: Since Captain Swain simply may like throwing chairs, the following IS acceptable: Swain> ::is extremely angry:: Telepath> ::senses Swain's anger:: - A Final Reminder on Role Playing - This is a game, played for enjoyment; it is natural to assume that a variety of circumstances will occur. However, please understand that while this simulation is not real we still expect an atmosphere of realism. Thus, it is expected that your character will not engage in actions that exceed the bounds of what can be called realistic. There are no "super heroes," just a team of dedicated officers. Likewise, the ship does not heal herself. Any damage the ship receives must be repaired. Please note, repairs take time, they are not instantaneous: no "magic bullets." Finally, while 24th century technology is quite advanced, Star Trek has its limits, and we work within them. ---- The USS Excalibur is a sim of Star Fleet Simulation Forum. This document is an internal policy packet intended only for the USS Excalibur simulation. The command staff of the Excalibur reserves the right to modify this document at any time without notification.

Several hours later and several thousand light years away, Asher Swain stood quietly near a window on the promenade of Deep Space 9, watching as wounded ships returned from battle through the wormhole. Victory had come at a steep price. Nearly 70 ships had been lost in the battle, and many more -- including his own command -- had been severely damaged. He exhaled as his thoughts wandered briefly to the wounded Excalibur, docked a few decks above him on Pylon 2. The ship itself had taken heavy damage to a number of key systems. A review was already underway to determine if she was salvageable or not, though Tandaris and Miranda seemed positive -- despite themselves -- about the situation. That, unfortunately, reminded him that Arden was still being operated on aboard the Medical ship Ruby Bradley. The Cheron had taken a considerable amount of damage and Arden had been injured when a bulkhead collapsed on the bridge, shattering his humerus and collapsing his left lung. The doctors were confident that, like Excalibur, he would make a full recovery and were set to send for him when the operation was over. He stood a while longer, watching as the wormhole opened and another ship emerged. Nearly the entire fleet had transitioned back to the Alpha Quadrant. A few were staying behind to assist in cleanup and to secure the still-unfinished Starbase Lyonnese. Abronvonvich -- who’d made it a point of thanking Swain personally after the battle -- had told him that the President would be addressing the Federation soon to inform them of the outcome of the battle and the he had suggested the Excalibur receive mention, by name, for the heroism of her crew. “Imagine that,” Swain had said with a chuckle, “command being happy about one Excalibur’s hair brained schemes.” They’d both laughed and Misha had, for the first time, embraced Asher. It was strange, he thought, that now at the end of their road together, that they shared such a moment. “I really did mean what I said when you returned with Aleksandr,” Misha said, clearing his throat. “It meant more to me than I think you can know that you put everyone -- yourself included -- on the line to save him. “I realize now that I haven’t always been very respectful to you. I thought,” he said looking away, “I thought you weren’t the right man for this position; that you let your ideals guide you too much -- but I was wrong.” Swain smiled, thinking back to the moment as he stood on the promenade. “There will be a ceremony this evening, after the President speaks,” Misha had said. “I want to make sure your crew -- the whole fleet -- that they know how valued they are and how their courage and bravery have not gone unnoticed. I know you’re waiting on Arden’s surgery -- God be good he’ll be fine -- but I hope you can come. If not, I just wanted you to know that. You’re a good man, a fine officer, and a hell of a captain. Starfleet needs more of you and less of me.” The words echoed in his head as another convoy of ships exited the wormhole. Swain wondered if that was really true. Anyone would have done what he did in that position -- trusted his crew and made the decision that their lives were ultimately less important than the mission. He sighed and looked back to the window. Beyond his worries about Arden, about all of the injured and wounded, about Excalibur -- he couldn’t help but also think about the future. The world around him was shifting, changing. Even if Excalibur was salvageable, the Federation’s mission in the Gamma Quadrant was effectively over and a reforged Excalibur would be given a new assignment, perhaps once again on the edges of the frontier. For Asher, that meant a decision about a great many relationships.

Having been modified to function as a command and control ship, the USS Constantine boasted a large war room complete with holographic displays of the battlefield. Standing a few feet away from it, Vice-Admiral Misha Abronvonvich frowned at what the technological wonder displayed. The rogue fleet -- numbering nearly three-hundred ships -- had taken up position just outside weapons range. Attempts to open a dialog had so far been unsuccessful. Glancing to a junior officer to his left, he motioned for her to activate the communications array that would broadcast his image to every commander in the fleet. “Good afternoon,” he said flatly. “By now you have all received your assignments and should have reported to your various group commanders. I want to briefly review the broad assignments so that everyone is on the same page. “The Romulan and Klingon forces will form the extreme right flank of our formation, under the command of Enarrain N’Dak aboard the Iron Reaver. Should hostilities begin, they will be tasked with engaging the cruiser and battleships in the enemy formation. Opposite of them on the extreme left flank, Captain Corizon of the Cheron will command a mixed fleet of Federation, Bajoran and Al-Ucard ships. They will run interference and prevent the Dominion from flanking us.” Misha paused, tapping a series of commands into the display to show it on the broadcast instead of him. “ The bulk of our forces will be split into four additional groups. Taskforce 1, led by Vice Admiral Hayden and the Iowa will have the right flank of the center and support the Klingon-Romulan forces. Captain Varen and the Vatican will command the center-left and will focus on intercepting Jem’Hadar forces. Captain Swain and the Excalibur will command the carrier group in a goalkeeper formation near the wormhole. From the Constantine, I will command our reserve forces. For now we will hold at Lyonesse Station. “I will not lie to you,” he said, his voice steady. “Our chances of success are not high. If this were just a fight of fleet versus fleet, I would be more optimistic but as you know the rogue Jem’Hadar possess a weapon of terrible destructive power. Our mission -- our only mission -- is to prevent them from using that weapon, all other concerns are secondary.” -- “Report,” Destorie N’Dak said as the viewer on the oira of the Iron Reaver flickered from a starfield and mutated into a tactical display of the formation. “Movement in the Jem’Hadar fleet,” the tactical officer -- Erein Jaelk tr’Kaen -- said after a brief moment of hesitation. “They appear to be shifting their formation, but have not moved towards us.” “Interesting,” N’Dak said, thoughtfully strumming his fingers. “Trying to unnerve us na doubt.” “Fleet command is signaling to move into position Alpha 5,” Arrhne tr’Khev said from the operations console that he’d been all but press ganged into operating. “Signal tactical group to follow...” “Sir,” Kaen said, his voice notably more alarmed than it had been only a few moments before. “ Al-Ucard forces are breaking formation. They’ve opened fire on the Jem’Hadar.” N’Dak lifted a brow, but remained otherwise unmoved. “Well then, signal the fleet to engage the Jem’Hadar cruisers. Our best bet will be to engage them at close range. Tactical formation Helan F’tah Eren.” On command, the Romulan and Klingon forces shifted quickly as the Jem’Hadar forces began scattering, clearly thrown off guard by the sudden attack by the Al-Ucard. Flanked by three Klingon Birds of Prey -- itself a sight to behold -- the hulking D’Deridex Iron Reaver lunged forward towards a line of sleek, purple Jem’Hadar forces . Likewise, three Vor’cha-class Klingon attack cruisers sped towards the same formation, disruptors ablaze. “Hold our fire until we are within optimum range,” Destorie said, an edge to his voice. “Then target the biggest ship in the formation.” Though they’d been caught off guard initially, the Jem’Hadar were trained for only one thing: battle. With alarming quickness their forces had regrouped and began engaging. “Damage to the Ja’Qaj,” Arrhne strained as the Iron Reaver rocked under a volley of torpedo fire. “Heavy damage to the Fury and the Revenge.” “Elements,” Destorie said, “tell the Ja’Qaj to fall back. Tactical bring forward weapons to bear on the lead cruiser. Helm, get us in as close as au can.” - On the bridge of the Cheron, Ah-Windu Corizon growled, smacking his fist on the console. “Get the shields back online,” he said. “Helm, evasive maneuvers.” The sleek Luna-class starship broke off an attack run, though not without taking a pot shot from an midsized cruiser. The impact sent a shudder through the bridge and Corizon growled even louder. “Report!” “Shields down to 43%,” Arden Cormoran said, his face smudged with graphite from an explosion to another console. “Phasers at 76%, forward torpedo launchers are off-line. That last hit damaged the EPS grid. Engineering reports they can get it back online, but we need to duck out of this fight long enough for them to do that.” “Do it,” Corizon managed to get out before another shot from a Dominion cruiser struck them, sending him scrambling from his chair. “Main power offline,” Cormoran croaked as he pulled himself to the console. “Shields offline. We’re a sitting duck.” “Incoming torpedo,” the tactical officer sounded. - The Iowa was one of a handful of modified Sovereign-class starships that had been uprated to “dreadnaught” following a program to improve Starfleet’s defensive capabilities. Excalibur, in a previous iteration, had undergone the refit to similar specifications. As such, Iowa was one of the most heavily armed vessels in the entire fleet. Still, Vice-Admiral Jonelle Hayden felt a pit in her stomach as the Al-Ucard jump started the battle. “Tactical, bring weapons online,” she said calmly. “Helm, pattern Sierra Tango.” Flanked by two Norway-class ships, the Iowa moved towards the Jem’Hadar battle lines, her heavy armament unleashing volley on volley of torpedo fire. “Romulans are engaging at near point-blank range,” someone said behind her. “Then we’re going to have to get a little closer ourselves. Signal cruiser wings 1 and 3 to follow us and the Missouri. Cruiser wings 2 and 4 fill the gaps.” -- “Report,” Abronvonich barked as he entered the bridge of the Constantine. “What the hell is going on.” “The Al-Ucard broke formation,” Alexander Calypsos said with a frown. “All units are now engaged along the front lines. Corizon’s flank is taking a beating, but holding. Tactical Group 1 and 2 are moving into position now. The Romulan and Klingon group are engaging at extremely close range -- which seems to be working, but they’re taking heavy fire. Iowa, Missouri, Gage, London, Hood and Potomac are moving to assist them.” Abronvonvich nodded as he took his seat in the command chair of the Excelsior-class bridge. “Send Fighter Wing,” he paused looking at the tactical read out, “seven and nine to assist Corizon’s group. Everyone else remain at stand by...” “Sir!” Calypsos said more alarmed than usual. “Incoming additional Jem’Hadar forces on long range sensors, and four smaller groups have broken through -- heading for the wormhole. Should we move to intercept or move to support the fleet?”

Author's Note: This log occurs shortly before last Sunday's sim. Outside of the wormhole, a collection of Starfleet, Romulan, Klingon and Bajoran vessels had begun to form a defensive perimeter around the wormhole and the still-yet-unfinished husk of Lyonesse Station. Leading the fleet, the sleek lines of the Sovereign-class USS Iowa cut a sharp contrast to her flanking Miranda-class escorts Bounty and Aix. In the conference room, Vice Admiral Jonella Hayden pressed her uniform, before turning to face the hologram of her fellow Vice Admiral Misha Abronvonvich. She knew the man by reputation more than anything else, and though there had been some natural tension between the two flag officers regarding the operational chain of command -- those tensions had seemed to fade as both clearly respected the other. “Jonnelle,” Misha said, his voice more tired than she’d ever remembered him sounding. “I’ve been notified the President will be going live in a few hours; then we’ll be getting underway. I am transferring my flag to to the Constantine. As we discussed Corizon has managed to convinced the Al-Ucard to send a fleet to aid our efforts but...” “But you’re still not sure if we can do anything,” she said with a nod. “I don’t disagree, but I don’t see any better options. The plans presented for intercepting the device seemed... risky at best.” “I don’t see many better options, either. I am going to give Swain to go ahead on the least risky of the two. Have you been able to get anything more from the long range sensors on those movements?” She shook her head, turning away from a moment. “No,” she said. “The Romulans are dispatching a scout to see what they can find. I understand Enarrain N’Dak will be arriving soon to take command of the Romulan forces?” “Yes, his warbird left a few hours ago. They should reach the system tomorrow. How many ships as the empire sent?” “Two squadrons,” she said. “That was the most they were willing to part with for now. The Klingons have been more generous.” Misha’s hologram flickered a moment and his face grew dark. “Oh for god sake.” Jonelle’s own expression darkened. “What is it?” “Unless I am seeing things,” he said, his voice strained. “A Scorpiad warship just entered the system.” “The Scorpiad?” -- Corizon would be lying to himself he said he was unmoved by Victria’s return to his orbit. He thought that he’d gotten the messy goodbye out of the way the last time they’d seen each other, but the prospect of the wormhole being closed forever had reminded him of how much of his life had revolved around the relationships he’d made during his time aboard the station and the Excalibur. While he was also more than a little interested in what Sorehl was doing arriving aboard an Al-Ucard vessel for a moment had managed to forget the looming crisis that had just unphased outside of the station. That moment was ruined by his combadge chirping, followed by a kurt summons to the command deck to meet with Abronvonvich and Varen. Leaving K’Vorlag to “entertain” their guests, he quicked headed to back up the ramp into the commanding officer’s office. “What in the hell is that thing doing out there?” Corizon lifted an ear. “I assume you’re referring to the Scorpiad vessel?” Abronvonvich’s cold glare might have caused a lesser officer to buckle into prostration on site, but Corizon remained collected -- almost as if he’d been through this particular round of questioning more than once. “Yes.” “Well,” Corizon drew in a breath for dramatic flair. “With any luck, the same thing the Al-Ucard are doing -- preparing to aid us in our effort to stop the destruction of the wormhole.” Varen glowered almost as severely as the Russian flag officer. “With any luck? You mean not only did you not bother to tell any of us that you were inviting them to the party, but you didn’t even bother to secure their cooperation before doing so? What in the...” “I think I am more than capable of carrying out this inquisition, Captain.” “Of course, apologies, sir.” “You know Corizon, this is why you got your marching orders? This kind of stunt is exactly why no one in Command came to your rescue and why no one will be sorry...” Corizon was actually grinning at the verbal assault. “Wipe that damn smile off your face, Captain or I swear to god I will put you in the brig and leave you here when we evacuate...” “Admiral,” he said cooly. “First let me correct the record. I didn’t call anyone other than the Al-Ucard, which I informed you that I would be doing. Why is every time something happens on this station it has to be my fault?” “Because it usually is your fault,” Abronvonvich hissed. “So you didn’t contact them, then why are they here?” “Based on the conversation the Excalibur was having with their commander -- who I believe you might remember, a G’jjjak -- it would appear that Commander Tandaris Admiran called him.” “The Trill?” Varen said before Abronvonvich cut him off. “Wait... they called him? Oh for godsakes.” “See it’s not always my fault.” “Oh don’t try and play innocent. There’s no way he would have done this without talking to you first.” “Or his commanding officer,” Varen offered, leveling a glance towards the general direction of the Excalibur. “Surely he wouldn’t take such an action without Swain’s approval.” “You don’t know Admiran,” Corizon said with a chuckle. “But, yes, he did bring it to me before doing it.” “And you thought this was something I didn’t need to know about, Ah-Windu?” Corizon nodded. “I didn’t think it would work, to be honest. Our attempts to contact them through official channels had failed and, well I couldn’t imagine the Scorpiad actually coming here just because Tandaris beckoned him; but you have my apologies for not informing you, Admiral.” Misha took a very deep breath. “If we weren’t on the edge of oblivion and we both weren’t on the verge of retirement, I would kick your ass for this little stunt, but for now I am going to pretend that you had told me about this ahead of time and that its going to work out fine.” “I’ve always found positive thinking to be one of the best weapons, sir.” “Oh it's going to work out because you’re going to make it work. I want you head over to Excalibur and take over negotiating with the Scorpaid commander.” “Yes, sir.” Corizon left without further bandying or posturing, leaving Abronvonvich and Varen alone. “Should I press the matter with Swain?” Varen said when they were alone. “Even if Corizon says Swain didn’t know...” “No,” Abronvonvich said with heavy sigh. “I owe Swain and the Excalibur for rescuing my boy.” -- The Excalibur’s bridge was still a twitter with activity with Corizon arrived, though he had little time to take it in before he was ushered in Swain’s office. “Well,” Corizon said as the door slid closed behind him. “It looks as if Tandaris is more persuasive than I would have imagined, Tandaris. Though I have to say,” he paused making a chiding gesture, “starting a civil war is a little extreme. Even I’ve never done that.” Swain lifted a brow, skeptically. “I find that hard to believe, Ah-Windu.” “There’s no proof of it.” “Mmmhmm.” “Anyway,” the Dameon moved towards the cabinet in the corner to make a drink. “As I told you before I beamed over, Misha has decided to punish me for this by making me work out a deal with Greg.” “Better you than me,” Swain said, frowning deeply. “And perhaps it would be best if Tandaris wasn’t involved further. Greg didn’t sound too thrilled with him.” “I can imagine so,” Corizon said, taking a seat with a drink in hand. “I mean, he’ll have to wait a hole moulting cycle for that arm to grow back.” Asher rolled his eyes though Corizon wasn’t sure if it was at the comment or the drink. “Well,” he said after a moment, “let’s go ahead and get him on the line. I am sure you won’t mind if I observe?” “Sure.” Though clearly it wasn’t a question and Asher sat about having Rhan connect them through to the Scorpiad. Part of Corizon had rather hoped he’d just not answer and go home, or at least wait till Corizon had finished his drink -- but as usual the galaxy was never so kind. After a few moments, the viewer flickered to life with Greg’s ugly ‘mug.’ The Scorpiad clicked away, annoyed to be bothered again so soon and even more annoyed that he was being faced with the strange creature he’d heard was called Corizon. “Make this quick,” he almost hissed. “I have no time for games.” Corizon smiled, baring his fangs. Swain wondered if that was intentional. Men. “Good afternoon, I am Captain Ah-Windu Corizon of the Federation of Planets. I’ve been asked to open a dialog with you. I understand that you’re here to settle some sort of score with Commander Admiran.” “Settle a score?” the Scorpiad’s chelicerae worked furiously, “is that some human expression for killing?” “After a fashion, I suppose.” “Then yes. I am here to ‘settle a score’ with the perfidious Trill.” “Well,” Corizon said, taking a sip of what Swain now saw more clearly to be the 2336 Andorian whiskey he’d been saving, “I am afraid that for now, you’ll have to hold off on your quest to kill him. We’re a bit busy and we need him.” “And? I don’t care.” Greg was clearly disinterested in Tandaris’ work schedule. “I could just destroy his ship... and you along with it.” “You could,” Corizon replied, again baring his fangs. “But then you’d be shot out of the stars; which I suppose would mean you at least died for something, but is killing a Trill really what you’d like to go out on?” “As if your pathetic vessels could strike me down...” “In case you missed it,” Corizon said flatly. “We did defeat your people in battle multiple times already and at the moment, Camelot has every weapon on the station trained on your already damaged vessel.” Greg ‘frowned’ -- in so much as an arachnid could frown. “You will give me Tandaris and I will leave you be.” “No.” “Then we have nothing more to discuss, prepare yourself.” “Really,” Corizon said, “that’s the best you can do? Listen, Greg, I understand you’re upset about losing your arm...” “It’s not just my arm!” Greg’s cadua suddenly flashed into view and the hiss of his body chamber decompressing caused the hair on Swain’s neck to prickle. “He ruined everything! Now the Royal Court has labeled me a traitor!” “Yes, yes,” the Dameon said a little more laissez-faire than Swain expected, “and I am sure that’s very inconvenient for you, but I need Admiran alive and besides if you kill him, then we won’t be able to stop some rogue Jem’Hadar from blowing up the wormhole, and then just think how angry the Royal Court would be with you. I am sure -- despite their prostration -- they’re still intent on getting their hands on it as an energy source for the nursery. I mean it’s not like they’ve found a suitable replacement.” Greg glowered, as Corizon made his way to the cabinet and refilled his glass. “At any rate,” Corizon said, before Greg could respond. “I can’t give you Tandaris now, maybe later.” Later? Asher flashed a concerned glance to Dameon -- who shrugged it off with long sip of whiskey. “Later,” Greg said, incredulously. “How much later?” “Well, I mean after we’ve saved the day at the earliest.” “Hmm,” Greg was clearly considering this, and his chelicerae were working back and forth, back and forth. “Perhaps.” “Oh, it’s the only way you’re getting him. And don’t think,” Corizon tossed back another sip, refilling the glass afterwards and returning to the desk, bottle in hand. “And don’t think you’re just going to get to sit here either.” “What do you mean.” “I mean you’re going to have to work for your pay.” “My pay? I am owed vengeance. This is not a negotiation!” Asher had decided this had gone on long enough. “Listen, Greg,” he said to Corizon’s surprise. “What Captain Corizon is saying is that you can’t expect us to just turn him over without some sort of assistance. Besides, if you help us, the chances of us actually living -- thus you having the pleasure of killing Tandaris yourself go up.” What the hell was he saying? Corizon took another drink and smiled, fangily towards Swain, then to Greg. “Exactly. Look, you help us with this little matter of the wormhole and a subpace weapon and we’ll see what we can do about Tandaris. I am not going to promise you can kill him. But, eh, maybe you settle the score in some other -- less fatal way.” Greg didn’t respond right away, but after a moment, his mouth pieces began moving again. “I will think about you offer. Send me the details on your situation and the weapon.” Corizon nodded and the communication cut off. Swain immediately reached for the bottle.

Excalibur sailed through the remains of the Ianlia Expanse and into open space. In the Ready Room, Asher Swain and Ah-Windu Corizon waited patiently as the operations staff completed an uplink to Camelot Station. “You sure you don’t want Aleksandr here,” Corizon said as Camelot insignia appeared on the screen, indicating the connection had been made. “No,” Asher said, glancing away for a moment. “We’ll transfer him down to talk after we’re done.” Corizon nodded, though Asher wondered when Corizon had become the more empathic Captain. A few moments later Misha Abronvoncih filled the screen, a tired, worried look on his face. “Captain Swain,” he said, then moving his head towards Corizon, “Ah-Windu. I assume you have a report?” “Yes, sir.” “Is he alive?” “Yes,” Asher said after a moment. “He’s alive and well. A little shaken up, but all things considered he’s fine. He’s waiting for you on the other line once we’re done.” Abronvonvich closed his eyes, muttering something even Corizon couldn’t make out, but that he thought might have been a prayer of thanks. “Thank God,” the admiral finally said. “Thank God, and thank both of you -- but especially you Asher. I don’t -- I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to him. I... thank you.” Asher nodded. “It was a team effort, sir. My whole crew is really to thank. Especially the team who rescued him and Arrain N’Dak from the Jem’Hadar base.” “The Romulan survived as well?” “Yes,” Corizon interjected. “Enarrain N’Dak is most grateful for our assistance, as you can imagine.” “I can most certainly imagine,” Abronvich said, his voice crackly. “How he feels.” For a moment all three men let the conversation lapse, before the Admiral started again. “I get the feeling though, and maybe it’s because I’ve just sort of come to expect these sort of things, that not all your news is good news. How did the raid go?” And now comes the hard part. Asher looked to Corizon, letting him take the lead. “From talking to both your son and Arrain N’Dak, it appears that after Excalibur dispatched two of their vessels, the Jem’Hadar leader -- I’ll have more about him in a written report for you, shortly -- decided to take the weapon and leave. He left them ‘as a show of mercy...’” “Mercy?” the Admiral said incredulously, his usual crusty-tone returning. “That’s not exactly a Jem’Hadar trait...” “I agree,” Corizon continued with Asher’s blessing of a nod. “It seems likely he wished to slow us down, knowing we’d attempt to rescue the hostages instead of pursuing them.” “I see. So what’s the status of their weapon?” “Unknown, but nearing completion. My people are going over the reports from your son and the Romulan officer now, as well as scans of the lab where the device was being worked on -- their initial findings will be included in Captain Corizon’s report.” “Good,” Misha said, “Good. The sooner I can get that report -- the better. I have call planned with Starfleet Command in an hour -- they want to brief the president as soon as possible.” “You’ll have it as soon as we can get it compiled,” Asher said with a nod. “We’re also attempting to track ion trails that could belong to the rogue Jem’hadar, but as you can imagine that’s not an easy task.” “No, I can’t imagine it is.” Misha glanced towards someone offscreen handing him a PADD. “Captain, I want to thank you again, personally, for rescuing Aleksandr. I also want to thank you for your level head during all this -- both of you -- have done tremendously under the circumstances. Whatever happens after this, I want you to know that. “For now, Excalibur should break off its pursuit of the rogue Jem'Hadar. Even if you could find them -- there’s a good chance you’d be in over your head alone. Report back to Camelot as quickly as possible. “ Swain nodded. “Of course, sir. Is there anything else I should brief my staff on?” “Not as of yet, but if that changes I’ll let you know. Again thank you both, but if you don’t mind -- I’d like to speak to my son now.” “Of course...”

These are springs without water and mists driven by a storm, for whom the black darkness has been reserved. First Romat’la restrained himself from the reflexive instinct to look as heard the door to the sanctum open. “Yes?” he remained focused on his mediation “Why do you disturb me, second?” “The Alpha Quadrant ship has entered the spatial disturbances,” Second Etherin’Ka said flatly. “I have dispatched two fighters to deal with them.” “Very well,” Romat’la said, his attention still focused on the shrine before him. “Was there anything else?” “Yes,” the second said. “We have secured additional ketracel supplies with the raid on Nepon-J4. Would you like to distribute them or...” “See to it yourself.” “Of course, First.” “Then go with the blessing of the Founders. Victory is life.” “Life is victory.” The doors slid shut behind the second, leaving Romat’la alone again in the dimly lit sanctum that had once belonged to his Vorta overlord. A frown creeped across the stony features of the Jem’hadar. Vorta he nearly spit the word. They had lost their way. They had led the Dominion astray, forsaken the will of the Founders. They had allowed the infection of the Alpha Quadrant races to spread to the Dominion. They had retreated in the face of the mortal enemies of the Founders and made deals with them. In time, he said to himself, the Vorta apostates would be dealt with but first we must rid ourselves of the infections. He paused, considering something that had not occurred to him until now. “Second,” Romat’la rose, tapping the communicator on his wrist. “Withold the White from the Alphas. They too are afflicted and we must purge them from our ranks.” “Yes, First Romat’la,” came his second without hesitation. “As you will it.” “It is the will of the Founders.”

Issaha ran his hands through his hair, wiping the sweat off his brow. Elements he muttered to himself. What have I gotten myself into this time. Glowering he looked back at the console and returned to work. “You should rest,” Aleksandr Abronvonvich said putting a hand on his shoulder. “Besides, we don’t want to work too efficiently.” The Romulan smirked despite himself. “I suppose not,” he said, pushing away from the console, wishing for a chair more than he realized. “But we do have to keep up appearances, least they decide we’re being ‘uncooperative.’” “Again,” Aleksandr said, rubbing his bruised jaw. “I never thanked you, by the way.” “For?” “Telling them you needed me to finish the weapon...” Issaha lifted a brow, “You would do the same in my position.” “Yes but...” “But you’re not a Romulan?” Aleksandr blushed. He supposed that sounded less than couth. Sensing that, Issaha smiled again disarmingly -- an expression his elder brother often found vexing. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s understandable. Our people have spent the majority the last -- what -- two hundred years convincing ourselves not to trust each other and my people have done little to discourage your preconceptions.” “We’re not exactly blameless...” “So what’s the plan. We can’t actually complete the weapon and we can’t rig it incorrectly.” “We could...” “They’d know....” The Starfleet officer nodded. “Our first duty,” he said, careful of his voice. “Is to escape, but where would we even escape to?” “My brother will come for us... but he needs to be able to locate us.” “I had an idea about that.” “Oh?” -- Starbase Camelot “Admiral,” Corris Sprint’s voice belayed the unusual nervousness that had taken him since the communique had passed over his desk several hours before. “They should be entering the spatial phenomena now.” Misha grunted his acknowledgement. He was clearly on edge too. “Good, put me through to Starfleet Command.” Sprint nodded. “If I may sir,” he didn’t wait for the permission. “Is there a reason we waited until now to contact Starfleet Command?” The burly Russian grinned, despite the dour mood. “I didn’t want to be able to call them back. You understand, I hope. I am sure that someone will report me for it...” “Sir,” Corris interrupted. “I don’t think anyone could blame you. I will make sure the station’s logs reflect that we received the communication, after some delay.” “You’re not so bad afterall, Mister Sprint.” “Thank you. Is there anything else I can do?” “Yes,” he said, “send for Varen, K’Vorlag, and Calypsos... and if you can, see about finding Captain Sorehl. I get the sneaking suspicion he might be of use.” Sprint nodded and headed out of Abronvonvich’s office. Later, he’d decide if had made the right choice in taking the message directly to the Admiral before running it by his XO and CO or not, but for now he was focused on the moment. He also wondered, in the back of his mind, if Corizon had known that Sprint would follow his ‘instructions’ so carefully. -- Lake Como, Italy, Earth. Even in the summer, Lake Como had a pleasant climate that reminded Nan Bacco of her home on Cestus III, that had no doubt greatly contributed to why she favored it as a retreat location when she felt the need to escape Paris. Night had unfurled itself about the Villa d’Torini and Nan found herself perched on the balcony outside her bedroom, sipping at a nightcap. Below her, gentle waves broke against the docks and shore. The sky was clear and filled with stars. For a moment, she’d managed to forget all the things that kept her up at night Then, as always, she was dragged back down. “Nan,” Kale Yarborough said from just behind her. “I hate to interrupt so late...” “It’s okay,” she said turning to her old friend and chief of staff. “I know you wouldn’t be here unless it was important.” He nodded and motioned for her to come inside. “I don’t want to alarm you, but I think it would be best if we didn’t talk here. J’Lerk is getting your transport ready and they’ll be waiting for you in the situation room in San Francisco.” Nan went pale and she gripped her cup tightly. “San Francisco,” she repeated. “That bad, huh?” Kale nodded as he headed to the wardrobe and returned with clothing. Under other circumstances, she might have chided him for being presumptuous, but instead she thanked him and slipped behind a folding screen to change. “Tell Horoshi to cancel everything tomorrow -- I am sure she’ll think of something...” “Already ahead of you,” Kale said. “She’s got a release ready and is at the shuttlepad waiting for you.” “God’s bless all of you,” Nan emerged from behind the screen, dressed and pulling her hair back into a ponytail. “Are you at least going to give me a heads up before I walk into a room full of Admirals and bad news?” Kale frowned as they left her room and headed down the marble stairs towards the shuttlepad, “not till we’re on the shuttle.” Nan felt her stomach tighten again. It was unusual for Kale to be so tight-lipped, and even more unusual that she was being whisked off to the situation room at Starfleet Command, instead of vid-conferencing on a secure line. Mentally, she made yet another note for her memoirs about how silly the decision to have the UFP government in one place, and the headquarters for Starfleet in another had been. Once they board the shuttle and had safely entered the upper atmosphere, Kale finally spoke. “Roughly an hour ago, we received a communication from Vice-Admiral Abronvonvich in the Gamma Quadrant.” If her stomach could get tighter, she wasn’t aware of how. “Oh for godsake,” she was exasperated. Everytime she turned around, there was somehow more trouble. “Have they been attacked?” “No,” Kale said, much to her relief. “But I am afraid that is where any semblance of good news, ends. “Five weeks ago, he was approached by the Romulan military liaison officer, requesting assistance in recovering a Romulan science team that had gone missing.” “But the Romulans have their own ship...” Kale held up a hand. “It’s a little more complicated than that.” She frowned, sensing it was a lot more complicated, and nodded for him to continue. “For a change, Abronvonvich actually bothered running this by Command -- so we do know more than we’d normally know about the situation or at least than we have about past situations with regards to Camelot. “Anyway, apparently there were complications that made it untenable for a Romulan vessel to be involved in the recovery. After being given permission, Abronvonvich assigned a ship under the command of Captain Ah-Windu Corizon to assi...” “What.” It wasn’t a question. The Chief-of-Staff exhaled, deeply. “Corizon had been reactivated as part of the deal with the Scorpiads for us to... “Yes,” she said sharply. “I remember being briefed about that detail. I also remember being assured, by no less than three different people, that as soon as that mission was over, that he’d be back in retirement.” “Well, given the nature of the situation in the quadrant and at the request of the Vice-Admiral...” Nan took a very, very deep breath and looked away. “We’ll talk about that later. Go on.” Thankful that Nan knew when to pick her battles, Kale nodded and continued to give her the basics of the situation, including Excalibur’s mission to recover a Starfleet team working with the Hundred to create clones capable of reproducing naturally. He also brought her current on their status, running through the details Corizon had given Abronvonvich about the attack on the base and the capture of a Romulan and Starfleet officer. Rubbing at the bridge of her nose, the President leaned back into her chair. “So, that’s all lovely, terrible news that I’m sure I was going to be told about eventually, but why all of this,” she motioned to the shuttle, which was now beginning it’s descent. “What happened?” “As it turns out,” Kale timidly eked out. “The Romulan ‘science’ team was working with the Hundred to modify a subspace weapon that...” Nan barked an obscenity before regaining her composure. “Now you tell me that? Why not just lead off it!” Grimacing, “it gets worse.” “How! How can it possibly get worse than a bunch of rogue Jem’Hadar having captured a subspace weapon that one of our quote unquote allies has been working on in secret? Please tell me how it gets worse than that!” “Because the weapon’s origin is Starfleet, and it’s not just any subspace weapon. Do you remember being brief about Project: Merlin?”

The airlock to Deep Space 9 opened with a hiss. and woosh of air. Asher sighed heavily as he stepped onto the former Cardassian station. This was only the second time in two years he’d been in the Alpha Quadrant. Both trips had been intolerably short. It wasn’t, of course, that he particularly wanted to visit the station, or even Bajor for that matter. He just wanted to be out of the Gamma Quadrant and it’s tangled web of intrigues, lies, and conflict. Pushing ahead, he skipped the promenade and headed for the conference room where Vice-Admiral Jonelle Hayden had set up a war room to manage the evacuations, influx of refugees, and coordinate Starfleet’s defensive posture on this side of the wormhole. The room was, in a word, chaotic. Displays and makeshift workstations filled the room, while PADDs were strewn about the central table. In the far-corner, the tall, blond human Admiral dismissed a lieutenant as she made eye-contact with Asher. “Asher,” she said, warmly. “Have a seat..” Jonelle nodded, her smile fading away. Her high, sharp cheekbones hid her age better than most. She motioned Asher to join her at a small table she’d occupied for her personal workstation, just off from the larger conference table chaos. “Something to drink?” she offered. “Perhaps some tea?” “Mm,” Asher said, taking a seat. “I had breakfast with Captain Santos of the Courageous..” “Ah, very well,” she said, helping herself to the replicator. “How is Xavier? I haven’t had a chance to check in with him?” “He’s well. Little on edge about all of this, but who isn’t?” “Yeah,” Jonnelle said, returning to her ‘desk.’ “Though you seem to have been handling it well. I wanted to commend you again for your hard work on this assignment.” “The credit of course goes to my crew.” The admiral nodded. “I see you still haven’t learned when to take credit.” Asher blushed and started to protest, but Jonelle waved a hand. “Anyway -- how long has it been, what ten, fifteen years since the Pei Xiu?” “Almost twenty.” “Twenty?” she said with a half frown, suddenly reminded of her age. “Gods I am old.” “You look great. The Admiral’s uniform suits you.” “Never let them promote you,” she said waving a hand. “They say it’s not bad. They say you’ll get to spend more time near your family but trust me -- it’s all a pack of lies.” Smirking, Asher leaned back in the uncomfortable chair. “I’ve been protesting promotions since I was on your ship and yet --” “No one ever listens?” “Mmhmmm” For a long moment they let the chaos of the room envelop them before Jonelle spoke again. They’d spoken briefly when Excalibur had first arrived, but this was the first real opportunity they’d had to actually talk. “So, how’s the Excalibur. I heard you were less than thrilled with giving up the Cassini.” “The ship’s fine. She’s a magnificent piece of machinery and the crew -- well the crew is more than I deserve. Especially Miranda, my XO. The new -- old -- Chief Engineer is a bit... strange but a good engineer with a brilliant mind. He’s one of the few leftovers from Corizon’s crew.” Knowingly, Jonelle nodded. He didn’t need to elaborate further. “Well I wish I had better news for you. I know you told Archie that you’d prefer for Excalibur to be rotated out of the GQ.” And now they were down to business. Asher nodded. “But,” he anticipated. “The situation on the ground means you can’t do that, I assume?” She nodded sympathetically. “I understand your reservations, particularly since the Starfleet presence in the quadrant is going to be drastically reduced in scope, but...” she paused. “After speaking with command and Admiral Abronvonvich -- they cannot spare you right now. I wish they could.” Asher lifted a brow. “Misha wanted me back?” Jonnelle caught his surprise. “Why wouldn’t he? You’re a fine officer and Captain. He bristled at the notion he could spare you or your ship.” Having the good sense not to bring his personal differences with the Admiral up, Asher smiled and shook it off. “I see. Well, if that decision has been made. We’ll live with it. When do we head back?” “As soon as you can. The conflict is continuing to widen in scope. Fighting between the Hundred and the Jem’Hadar loyal to Keevan is intensifying. Weyoun is apparently trying to broker a peace through us, but the Admiral is skeptical.” He appreciated her candor, as that briefing was likely above his clearance. “Thanks. I’ll have Miranda do a cattle call as soon we’re done. Any particular orders for us?” She shook her head. “Only to be careful and stay in touch. Keep your head on a swivel Asher.” “I’ll do my best, ma’am.” “See that you do.”

EMBARGOED UNTIL SD 112015.15 OFFICE OF THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED FEDERATION OF PLANETS PREPARED REMARKS Good Morning Roughly seven weeks ago, our primary base of operations in the Gamma Quadrant, Camelot Station, a joint venture between the Federation, Romulan, Klingon and Dominion, situated 40 light-years from the terminus of the Bajoran-Idran wormhole monitored a series of broadcasts from inside the Dominion that indicated that an internal conflict had begun to develop. In that time, an influx of refugees from across the Dominion have flocked to Camelot Station as the Dominion has began a campaign of terror against populations it had previously freed or granted autonomy. We have attempted to contact the Vorta Council to attempt to resolve what is rapidly escalate into an unprecedented humanitarian crisis, to no avail. All communication with the Vorta Council has gone unanswered. Starfleet Command and the Federation Council have been monitoring the situation closely along with our allies. In response to the continued escalation of violence against civilian targets, we have determined that we can no longer remain silent. Later today, I will introduce a resolution to the General Assembly condemning the actions of the Dominion, and while we will continue to seek a peaceful resolution, we must harden ourselves to the reality of the situation. As such, I am ordering the evacuation of all non-essential personnel from our colonies, outposts and bases in the Gamma Quadrant. Residents of the nineteen settlement-colonies in the Gamma Quadrant are being advised to begin preparing for evacuations. Our military installations will remain on alert as we conduct this evacuation. In addition, the Federation Council is in the process of formalizing protocols for the expected influx of three to four million refugees. I have been in close contact with both Praetor Gaher and Chancellor Martok, as well as First Minister Balen of the Bajoran Republic. We will continue to maintain an open dialog. We have agreed that, given the situation, work on Starbase Lyonesse will be indefinitely suspended. Travel to the Gamma Quadrant will also be restricted until we can guarantee the safety of Federation citizens. While my administration remains committed to our mission in the Gamma Quadrant, our first and foremost priority is the safety and security of our people. We have suspended non-essential Starfleet missions and will focus on protecting our assets in the region. Thank you, and godspeed.

Asher glanced over as the doors to the transporter room wooshed open. “Captain,” came Corizon’s low, growly baritone. “I am assuming that this is related to being parked in a holding pattern?” “Very perceptive Captain.” Asher said, motioning to the transporter chamber. “I thought we might as well look into it together. From the sound of it, they might need your expertise.” Corizon’s left ear twisted to one side as his brow arched subtly. Was Asher enjoying having a leg up on him? Perish the thought. “A good idea, though,” he said a bit more trepidatious than usual as he stepped onto the pad. “I don’t have any intentions of sticking around.” Asher was still a bit dubious about that, but let it go with a nod. “Chief, energize when ready.” The transporter operator nodded as he programed in the sequence. The whirl and hum of transporter activity soon filled the chamber. Asher hated transporters. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath as the tingle of dematerialzation -- which he had been assured by engineers and doctors was completely psychosomatic -- creeped over him. When he opened them, he and Corizon were firmly on the transporter pad of Camelot Station’s second deck, having been routed there by the stations transport ops. It was only mildly unsettling and after a moment of getting his baring, Asher glanced over to Corizon -- who was entirely unphased-- and stepped off the pad. The Round Table room was up ahead, and to say it was busy would be a decided understatment In fact, it seemed almost more chaotic than the scene outside the station. “Captains,” Asher instantly recognized the voice. “Glad you’re both here, the Admiral is a little swamped at the moment -- he’s on the line with Command -- but he’s asked me to quickly get you both up to speed. He said the debrief on your recent mission can wait, though he sends his thanks for a job well done -- to both of you.” Asher glanced again, sidelong, to Corizon before fixing himself on Irae Varen -- his direct report. Before he could say anything, though, Corizon interjected. “Both of us?” His tone was a mixture of amusement and something of genuine surprise. “I was under the distinct impression that my temporary stay of execution ended when the mission did.” Varen cleared his throat and smoothed his uniform -- twice. Asher wasn’t sure he’d seen that particular tick from him before, and he and Corizon looked to each other for a moment. “Yes, well, uh,” Varen was rarely so pensive. “Given the scope of what we’re dealing with, Misha is planning on asking you to hang around for a little while longer Ah-Windu. “Purely in an advisory capacity,” he added quickly. “Ah,” Corizon said with a sly grin. “I suppose that can be arranged. I’ll have to check my schedule. A man like me, you know -- lots of engagements here and there.” Varen seemed relieved that particular bit of awkwardness was over and motioned them both to follow him into the round table room and onto the smaller briefing room on the opposite side of the level. The lights had been dimmed to allow for better viewing of the holographic display that flickered above the table. Dozens of low and high level staff from all three militaries and governments were gathered in the room, engaged in multiple conversations. For Corizon it was both exhilarating and dreadful. He exhaled, trying to focus on the doors at the opposite side of the room. Reaching them, he exhaled again, hoping neither Swain or Varen had noticed his discomfort. “As you can tell,” Varen said, his more usual calm taking over. “Things are a bit busy.” Both men nodded as Varen motioned to the table. “Can I get either of you something to drink? Water, coffee -- Arden said you’re a tea man, right Asher?” That took him by surprise. “Uh...” he fumbled over himself longer than he would have liked before regaining his composure. “Yes, though I just had a cup before we came. Thank you though.” “Mm,” Varen nodded, letting it slide. “Anything for you, Ah-Windu?” “Raktejeno would be welcome.” Nodding again, Varen disappeared into the break room while Corizon and Asher sat down at the conference room. “You okay,” Corizon said out of the side of his mouth. “Yes,” Asher said, blushing slightly. “I just wasn’t... it’s nothing.” Corizon nodded, letting it go as Varen rejoined them with two mugs of Klingon coffee. “So, as I was saying,” Varen picked up, handing Corzon his coffee before sitting opposite to them, his back facing the doors. “Things got a bit interesting while you were away. “Two weeks ago, we intercepted several broadcasts from inside Dominion space. It was broadcast along all Dominion channels...” He pressed a button, activating the display at the other end of the room. Citizens of the Dominion, loyal subjects of the Founders -- I am Semil of the Hundred. Many of you may know our name. Some of you have become great friends to us, while others may fear the tales told of us by the ignoble followers of Keevan. I am appearing now to appeal to you, the people of the Dominion to join myself and the other followers of the new link created by the Founder Eloi in the next step in our collective future. You see unlike Keevan and his ilk we do not blindly follow the Hundred. We have, instead, chosen this path. Unlike the old Dominion, we not demand obedience. We instead, reach our hands out in friendship and mutual cooperation. Under our leadership, any race who chooses to leave the Dominion may do so freely and at anytime. And unlike the Vorta Council, who have been lying to all of you, we have the voice of the Founders to guide us. You see, Odo and the rest of the link have abandoned the Council, but Eloi... Eloi has chosen to remain to lead a peaceful transition from the oppression of the past to the freedom of tomorrow. For nearly twelve cycles now, the Hundred have remained in shadows. We now turn our face to the light, letting those shadows fall behind us. Join us as we burn away the past and rise anew. When the message ended, Varen continued. “Shortly after, we intercepted another message, from Keevan --” “Keevan,” Corizon said with an only, barely disguised disgust. “That rat has replaced Taenix?” Varen nodded. “From what we can gather -- Taenix is no longer in control of the Council. We haven’t been able to confirm if she did so willingly or if Keevan staged a coup. In any case, the message is going over about as well as you’d expect. Keevan issued a response, calling Semil a ‘defective, lying heretic’ and vowed to combat the ‘most foul heresys’ with ‘resolute force and merciless retribution.’” “So I assume that means he’s been targeting systems sympathetic to the Hundred cause?” “Yes,” Varen said, waving a hand towards the windows. “We also believe there are other factions within the Dominion who are taking advantage of the situation, but we’re working with Klingon intelligence to confirm. Right now, we’re mostly just treading water with an influx of refugees fleeing the fighting to any safe port they can find.” “Lovely,” Corizon said, noting Asher’s silence. “Have they targeted any allied colonies or installations yet?” Asher asked, concerned. “Not yet,” Varen said. “But...” “It only stands to reason that Keevan or someone else would turn their eye there eventually,” Corizon added, much to Varen’s surprise, which he noted. Extending a claw for a brief moment as he waved his hand, Corizon smirked. “We ran numerous tactical scenarios about that very issue. There’s a reason Misha wants to keep me around.” “Anyway,” Varen said, “We have not yet ordered a mandatory evacuation of allied colonies in the quadrant. Though we are suggesting that anyone with the ability to do so, should seek shelter either here or on New Bajor. “We have also began to recall most of the fleet to this position and stepped up our patrols of the sector. There are, justifiably so, concerns that factions and races on the periphery might see this as an opportunity to add even more chaos to an already critical situation. “ “For now we’re mostly focused on corralling the refugees and making sure they have food, water and some place to sleep. The Romulans have agreed to allow temporary use of their base on the planet in addition to Avalon Base. Long-term, we’re still formulating a response. It’s not as if there are a lot of safe places for them to land right now, as the fighting could easily escalate and expand.” “So we don’t have any place for them to relocate to permanently?” Asher said, a frown forming. “How’s this playing out back home?” Corizon said, eyeing the window, as if looking to Earth. “I am sure the doves at the Council are having a tantrum.” “For now,” Varen said. “The matter is being kept closely held. Only senior officials in Command and the civilian administration have been briefed. The Romulan and Klingon liasons have agreed to hold off on reporting this to their respective homeworlds.” “Oh this is going to end well.” “Ah, so when do you anticipate having a solution?” Varen took a deep breath and exhaled. “To be honest, I don’t know. Misha wants to talk to Corizon about possible tactical issues. The diplomatic corps is looking into some ideas on relocation, and I am running the fleet operations side of things with Calypsos.” “Excalibur is ready and able to assist in whatever you need us to do, Irae. My people are already working to prep us for assistance with the refugees already here.” “Good, I’ll let Calypsos and Sprint know they can start routing some of them through you. Have your people get some RR where they can, and, as the situation develops I’ll stay in touch.” Asher nodded. Corizon leaned back his chair, taking a long drink from his mug. “Well then, Irae, if you can get me the tactical information Misha wants me to look at, I’ll start getting caught up on the situation in my quarters on Excalibur.” “Of course,” he said, standing. “Thank you both.”

While Excalibur waited for the Scorpiad delegation to arrive, and the Vauban’s team caught their breath before heading to the system’s command and control center, Misha Abronvonvich took a drink of doctored coffee and waited for the spinning parabola on his screen to fade into the visage of his direct superior -- Fleet Admiral Caitlyn Yarboro. The connection between Camelot Station and Earth was only possible a few hours of the day, even with the extended range of the Bedevere Array and was thus relatively limited. Abronvonvich could only assume that Yarboro was calling to inform him, officially, that his replacement had been selected. After a few moments longer, Yarboro’s face appeared. She was younger than him -- though most officers were -- with strong features and long, blond hair that she kept pulled back in a neat braid. She had been appointed nearly six months prior as part of President Bacco’s shakeup of the senior Starfleet leadership. “Good morning,” Yarboro said with an easy smile. It was clearly evening wherever on Earth she was calling from, but Misha appreciated that she bothered to know the time difference. “Ma’am,” he responded with a nod. “I will keep this relatively short,” she said. “The techie said that some solar something or other in one of the relay systems could cause interference.” He nodded again. Though he noted the feed was relatively clean on his end. “I am assuming you’re calling because they’ve selected my replacement?” Yarbor pursed her lips. “Well, not exactly.” “Oh?” It was a genuine surprise. “Your position -- as a theatre level command -- hasn’t been exactly easy. There are, as your said during our last conversation, a number of political concerns to consider.” He nodded, feeling some small degree of pleasure that his replacement was causing someone in command heartburn, and doubtlessly the civilians involved more so. “The President’s office has been adamant that your replacement be someone with the chops to handle the sort of delicate political situations, but also be qualified for the rather volatile military situation. “Which,” Yarboro continued, waving him off. “Is a tall order. We’re still sorting through a list of people who are acceptable and I assure you that we don’t intend to keep you from retirement any longer than we absolutely have too.” Because this was totally my choice, he thought as she continued on. “Anyway, that’s not why I called,” she said, straightening her uniform. “I called because the Council is more than a little concerned about the report you filed on the status of our contact with the Dominion.” Misha frowned and took another drink of his coffee. At least someone was reading those reports. “Oh?” “The Council ... and Command... are worried about the conclusions you’ve drawn.” “In what way?” “If, as you presume, the stability of the Dominion is in question -- we need to be prepared.” He knew that he was showing a little more surprise than was likely appropriate, but at this point Misha knew he had very little to lose. “You mean they’re finally, finally taking me serious. Well I’ll be...” Yarboro maintained her calm and nodded. “I understand how you feel, Misha,” she said “I am sure you find that surprising, but we do. I also know that despite what you might think, the President does respect your judgment in these matters.” “She has a funny way of showing it.” “I can’t speak to that and I am not going to get in the middle of it either. What I do know is that she was concerned when she read your report and so were her people, and so were the council and the rest of Command. We have what, twenty settlements, two stations and a small fleet in the Gamma Quadrant now and if the Dominion is on the verge of an all out collapse we need to be ready for it.” “She read my report?” That was genuinely surprising. “Yes. I know you don’t care for her, and again, I am not going to get into the middle of your situation but she is concerned about the situation, as is the council. The council has asked us for a full report on our ability to protect our assets in the quadrant as well as those on this side of the wormhole. I need you to provide a more formalized status report that can be presented to them and to the President.” Misha nodded. “Of course. I’ll get to work on it.” “Thank you.” -- Arden looked to the starscape more wistfully than he’d prefer to admit. Being out of contact with Asher was the name of the game, but he found it unsettling. And even more unsettling, he wondered if Asher even cared. He shook the thought from his head as his commanding officer approached his workstation. “Arden,” Captain Alexander Kalypsos said. “How busy are you?” “Right now?” Alexander nodded. “Not terribly. Sprint’s handling the convoy arriving from Thetris, and I am just working through shift assignment approvals for next week. Why?” “I’ve been asked to temporarily assign you to a project that the Admiral and Captain Irae Varen are working on. They want your expertise in diplomacy and security, especially since you’re well versed in our current situation with regards to our colonies in the Gamma Quadrant. Report to Captain Varen as soon as you can. Commander Sprint will handle your duties until you’re done.” Arden furrowed his brow. He didn’t like the sound of any of that. “If I might speak candidly?” He looked around careful to be sure that no one else was within earshot of them. “Of course Arden,” Alexander said. They’d only worked together for a short time, but Alexander liked Arden and didn’t mind the occasional question. “What kind of project is this? Isn’t Mish.. Isn’t the Admiral on his way out?” “He is, but Starfleet Command has asked him to prepare a report on the dangers posed to our assets in the quadrant by the continued destabilization of the Dominion.” Arden frowned, his brow furrowing deeper. “I see. Well, I suppose they’re finally paying attention to our reports. I’ll report immediately.” --- Irae Varen was tall, slight in build, with slicked dark hair and a chiseled jaw. His uniform was creased and pressed in all the correct places. His shoes shined just so. Arden couldn’t help but find him interesting. He pushed the thought away. “Captain,” Arden said, extending his hand. “Reporting as ordered.” Looking up from a stack of paperwork, Irae nodded and took the hand in a firm handshake. He had soft hands.. “Thank you Commander, have a seat.” Nodding, Arden took a seat in the rather utilitarian office in the command ring of the station that had been provided to each of the ‘fleet’ commanders. “Admiral Abronvovich has been asked to repair a report on our preparedness for any civil conflict in the Dominion. Given your working knowledge of our situation as XO of Camelot, and your background in security and diplomacy, Captain Calypsos thought you’d be an ideal member of our project team.” “Yes,” Arden said. “The Captain gave me a short primer.” “Good. First thing we’ll need to do...” A sudden chime interrupted Varen. He paused. “Excuse me,” he said with a sigh before hitting the communications panel on his desk. “Go ahead.” “Sorry to interrupt you Captain,” it was his Yeoman, who Arden had seen on the way in. “But I have an urgent message from the Admiral for you and Commander Cormoran to report to the Round Table room ASAP.” The two men looked at each other wearily. “Tell him we’re on our way.” -- By the time they arrived, the room was filled with the other major figures in the Gamma Quadrant Command hierarchy, including the new Romulan military liaison -- who Arden remembered was named Destorie N’Dak. Noticeably absent, however, was Governor K’Vorlag, of the Klingon Empire. Arden made a note to inquire about that later, and turned his attention to the Romulan. He was average height, with a slender build with a rock of jawline and the high cheekbones endemic to his race. He had shaved his head, and it reflected the overhead lights. It was an unusual look for a Romulan, but one that suited him. He was also far younger than Arden had expected -- generally Enarrains were older and more seasoned. N’Dak looked to be barely in his forties. Corris had mentioned that N’Dak’s mother had served as the station's first Romulan representative some years prior. N’Dak must have felt Arden’s eyes, and for a moment their stares met. Blinking and making a conscious effort to look anywhere but those cold, icy blue eyes of the Romulan, Arden followed Irae to the Round Table itself, taking a seat next to Alexander Calypsos. “Captain, Commander,” he said with a worried look on his face. “What’s this all about?” Arden said, meeting the look. Before Alexander could respond, Misha Abronvich entered, a lieutenant in tow. “Thank you all for coming coming on such short notice.” Gruff and robust, the Admiral’s nickname of “old bear” was well earned. He motioned for the el-tee to lower the lights and activated the central holographic display encircled by the marble table. “Two hours ago, Klingon scouts and our Belvidere Arrays intercepted this message from the Alatra system.” The holographic system snapped to life and the giant visage of a Vorta appeared. Citizens of the Dominion, loyal subjects of the Founders -- I am Semil of the Hundred. Many of you may know our name. Some of you have become great friends to us, while others may fear the tales told of us by the ignoble followers of Keevan. I am appearing now to appeal to you, the people of the Dominion to join myself and the other followers of the new link created by the Founder Eloi in the next step in our collective future. You see unlike Keevan and his ilk we do not blindly follow the Hundred. We have, instead, chosen this path. Unlike the old Dominion, we not demand obedience. We instead, reach our hands out in friendship and mutual cooperation. Under our leadership, any race who chooses to leave the Dominion may do so freely and at anytime. And unlike the Vorta Council, who have been lying to all of you, we have the voice of the Founders to guide us. You see, Odo and the rest of the link have abandoned the Council, but Eloi... Eloi has chosen to remain to lead a peaceful transition from the oppression of the past to the freedom of tomorrow. For nearly twelve cycles now, the Hundred have remained in shadows. We now turn our face to the light, letting those shadows fall behind us. Join us as we burn away the past and rise anew. “As you can imagine,” Misha said flatly. “This isn’t going to be the most well received message.” N’Dak cleared his throat. “Admiral,” he said, surprising Arden with his fluent Federation standard. “How widely was this broadcast?” Misha’s brow furrowed. “On all known Dominion channels.” “Have they responded?” Alexander said, cutting off another Starfleet officer. “The Vorta Council?” Alexander nodded. “Not yet, though I suspect they’re formulating one. Our intelligence is shaky as to what’s going on.” “It’s curious,” N’Dak chimed in. “That he would mention Keevan by name, don’t you think Admiral? The latest intelligence that was shared with us indicated that Taenix was still the leader of the Council. Has that changed?” Bristling at the thinly veiled accusation, Misha shook his head. “We’ve had very little contact with the Dominon over the past six months. It’s possible that there’s been a change in leadership of the Council, but I think it would be dangerous to speculate.” The Romulan nodded, though Arden couldn’t help but think he saw the smallest of smug grins on his face. After several more officers asked background questions, Irae interjected. “So, what does this mean for us Admiral? It doesn’t sound like Semil is exactly plotting a velvet revolution.” Misha nodded. “Yes, I concluded the same. I’ve been in contact with Starfleet Command and have been ordered to firstly, secure the station and our holdings in the quadrant. It is likely that should a shooting war erupt, we could be caught in the middle. “As with other conflicts in the region, the Council continues to believe this is an internal matter which we would do well to avoid excessive entanglement. Ambassador Sorel, however, has been authorized to extend an invitation for Federation mediation.” “Further,” the Admiral added. “Due to the volatile nature of the situation, I have been asked by the President to put off my impending retirement until the crisis subsides. In the coming days, I have a feeling we will all be tested. I suggest letting those under your command know what we’re dealing with here. For the moment, Captian Calypsos and I have decided to block the communication from the Avalon system, but I am sure word will get out sooner or later. “I am ordering the civilian population to evacuate the station, Colonel Kimura is preparing our base, and Enarrain N’Dak has graciously agreed to allow non-Romulan personal to use their base on the planet as well” “What about the colonists elsewhere?” Came the voice of someone Arden thought was Kalis Thel, the captain of the Lexington. “Are we going to begin evacuating them?” “While I am not yet authorized to order the mandatory evacuation of our colonies in the quadrant, we should begin preparing for that eventuality. I am going to have Captain Varen begin drawing up those plans. I am also recalling all Starfleet vessels from their current missions. “To be frank -- if this devolves into a shooting war -- we’re in a very vulnerable position. I have requested more ships from Command, but that’s not exactly politically popular. I assume, Enarrain, that the chances of getting any more Romulan vessels is equally slim?” Arden -- and the rest of the room -- glanced to N’Dak. The question clearly wasn’t on comfortable ground. Though that was unsurprising. Romulans detested showing their weakness. “I will have to consult with my government,” was his final, surprisingly measured response. “Though I would venture a guess that, as you say, the politics of homeworld make it unlikely that the Senate or the Praetor will be willing to commit any significant resources.” Misha nodded, pleased with the somewhat refreshing candor. “Governor K’Vorlag indicated the same about his government. Which means we must make do with what we have.”

Ah-Windu Corizon smiled over the cup of tea Asher Swain had offered him. It felt strange to be sitting on this side of the desk, he thought to himself. Of course, he was sure that the entire experience felt even stranger for Asher. “Thank you,” Corizon said, setting it down. “It’s very good. Your own blend?” Asher nodded and drank from his own cup. “Yes, its a mixture of tea leaves from Earth and from my home planet.” Corizon could feel the tension. He could understand it too. While he and Asher, outside of having commanded the same ship, shared very little in common -- Asher was a career fleet officer, while Corizon had spent most of his behind a desk (when he wasn’t hiding in the shadows) -- but that one commonality tied them in a way few people understood. And in so many ways they found themselves as the only person the other could really talk to without reservation. “How are things coming with the negotiation?” The Dameon’s ears pinned back instinctively. Diplomacy was hardly the best use of his talents. “About as well as you can imagine. The Al-Ucard and the Eratians are trying to wring as many concessions out of the Scorpiads, while the Scorpiads are trying to pretend they’re negotiating from a position of strength.” “Understandable. I don’t get the feeling that the Scorpiads have much experience with these kind of negotiations, either.” “Something like that,” Corizon said with a sigh, his ears falling back to either side of his head. “The Scorpiads are making any deal conditional on the Eratians and Al-ucard turning over any ‘Scorpiad-sourced technology’...” “That’s a fairly broad definition, isn’t it?” “Yes.” Corizon groaned. “They basically want to force both societies back to pre-warp.” “Someone has issues.” “I think, more practically, they’re trying to drive a wedge between the two races. Ambassador Shalza...” “The Al-Ucard representative, yes?” “Mmm,” Corizon said. “He doesn’t trust the Eratians as far as he can throw them. He thinks they’d be more than willing to return to the status quo than they’re letting on.” “Is there anything to that?” Corizon shrugged. “I don’t think it’s completely unfounded. The Eratians have spent a lot more time recently under the Scorpiads than the Al-Ucard. I mean they were both essentially left to to their own devices...” “And what’s stopping that from happening again? Why are the Scorpiads so keen on reyoking them as client races?” “Hell if I know. Shlazan thinks its political.” “Do they know what we know about the Scorpiads reproductive issues?” “No. Not entirely. He knows that something spurred them out of hiding, but he thinks it’s a generational thing. New leaders and what not. Pride, ego... which isn’t that far from the truth.” Asher leaned back in his chair, sipping his tea. When he’d been given command of the Excalibur almost two years ago, he knew next to nothing about the Scorpiads, Al-Ucard, or Eratian people. An ensign from Starfleet Command had delivered a stack of PADDs nearly a half-a-meter deep of information collected on them -- much of it by the man sitting across from him -- but even then it had been heavily redacted and incomplete. “To be honest, I am surprised we’re keeping that from, ostensibly, our allies.” A look of something -- Asher couldn’t place it -- washed over Corizon at that statement. “I learned very early in my dealing with these people to keep a few aces in our sleeves.” “So you’re thinking you might have to extort them... again?” “I prefer to think of it as leverage,” Corizon said, “but if I need to, yes. Though, to be frank, the Federation doesn’t particularly benefit from a peaceful resolution in this conflict.” Asher lifted a brow. He’d heard that Corizon could be pragmatic but he’d yet to see that for himself. “The Federation’s mission...” Corizon held up a hand, waving him off. “I am well aware of the Federation’s mission, and, personally, I am not a big fan imperialism. Besides, if you ask me, the more we can do to weaken aggressive powers like the Dominion and the Scorpiads, the safer we are but -- and this is purely academic -- let’s not forget that the Al-Ucard are an aggressive, predator species genetically engineered to hunt and kill while the Eratians are an equally aggressive, even more predatory species genetically engineered to cull client races like live-stock. These aren’t exactly model next door neighbors.” “And,” Asher added, “we have to consider what could happen if, unrestrained, the Eratians began moving into the former Dominion holdings.” “Precisely. From our perspective, this is a largely no-win scenario. On one hand, the Scorpiads are an imperialistic race bent on conquest and destruction who, in a period of a few months, crippled the Dominion and who are literally enslaving billions. And on the other, you have two races who could be just as dangerous in the long-term, if not more. I mean, at least we know the Scorpiads have issues that we could exploit.” “We could just retreat to the Alpha Quadrant,” Asher offered. “It might not be good for the president’s approval rating...” “Oh, I don’t know about that. Do you think anyone really wants to die out here in this godforsaken quadrant? Does anyone back home really care what happens to these people? Do we?” “It must be nice,” Asher said, “to be able to ask those questions now, hmm?” Corizon frowned. “I was asking those questions long before I retired. I never thought this was a good idea.” “This mission?” “This entire expedition into the Gamma Quadrant. Oh sure, we’ve discovered new life, new civilization and all that jazz -- but at what cost? Have the lives we’ve lost been worth it? Has the drain on the Federation’s resources and attention been the highest and best use of those resources? I mean for godsake, Cardassia is still a mess, the Romulans are having political turmoil and we’re busy putting out forest fires with squirt guns in a quadrant falling apart at the seams.” “I can see why you did it.” “Did what?” Corizon’s tone cut sharply as his ears stood attention. “Ordered your crew to construct a device to seal the wormhole shut.” Corizon looked away as his ears feel to either side. He’d largely forgotten about that, and though he wondered just who had told Swain about it, he simply closed his eyes and recentered himself. “My orders,” Corizon finally said in a low-voice, “were to protect the Alpha Quadrant at any costs, including the ability to navigate the wormhole. That’s all.” “I wasn’t passing any sort of judgement, just commenting on your convictions.” “If you have a tool to do a job, use it,” Corizon said through a shrug. “My point was just, I am not entirely sure that it’s worth giving up a valuable piece of leverage over these negotiations. “My instructions” he said, making clear they weren’t orders to follow. “Were to attempt to negotiate a peaceful end to this conflict, if practical.” “Awfully vague.” “For a reason,” Corizon said, leaning back into his chair. “At any rate -- “ “Can I ask you something personal?” Corizon cocked an ear. He was unaccustomed to personal entreaties, and loathe to indulge them. Yet, the bond between the two men as Captains and as officers required him to oblige. “Of course.” “What’s in this for you?” The Dameon frowned, deeply. “I was asked to do this.” “But after everything you’ve been through? Why are you helping the same people who forced you into retirement?” “Poetic irony,” Corizon said, with a mirthless grin. “Or guilt. Take your pick -- if you haven’t already. And don’t go worrying about your chair. I’ve been repeatedly told that as soon as we’re back to Camelot, I am back on the retiree mailstring.” “I wasn’t,” Asher said matter-of-fact. “Even if you do manage to pull this off, I would be shocked if Command let you within a hundred light years of this place in the big chair of any ship, let alone this one.” The two men nodded an understanding at each other. Corizon glanced towards the window. “So, why are you still here? It’s clear this isn’t the type of command you’d choose.” He left unspoken that Abronvonvich would almost certainly approve a transfer request. “It’s not. I won’t sit and lie to you about that... “ Asher paused. He had considered it. It was even offered to him by the Admiral. Yet, he had chosen to remain. His thoughts drifted uncomfortably to Arden. “To be honest, I don’t know why I am here either. I was given this command because I was available and because I was about as far removed from you as possible.” “They chose well,” Corizon said. “You might not be what they wanted as it turns out, but your a good man who cares about his crew, his ship and the Federation. The Excalibur deserves better than I was ever able to give her.” “When it was clear we were going to win the war,” Asher said, his voice going in and out of strength. “I thought I’d leave Starfleet after it was over. I’d seen so much death, so much destruction. I didn’t join Starfleet to be a soldier. I joined Starfleet to explore the galaxy. But when I wrote my letter of resignation -- I couldn’t send it in. I guess its the same thing now. Whatever it was that held me back then...” Corizon nodded. He started to say something, but stopped himself. “Well, I should go get some sleep before the next round of talks start.”

Nearly six hours had passed since Excalibur had detected the tell-tell gravimetric disturbances that heralded the arrival of a Scorpiad vessel. They had yet to be informed of the arrival of what, they could only assume, was the Scorpiad representative for the peace talks. Asher Swain wrinkled his nose; Ah-Windu Corizon paced luridly behind him, pausing only briefly to look out the conference room windows to the icy planet below. The gravimetric disturbance had caught both captain’s off guard, albeit for different reasons. Swain because he was unaware of the aforementioned tell of a Scorpiad ship arriving in such a manner, and Corizon because he did. Corizon had explained to Swain (and the rest of bridge crew) that the Scorpiads utilized a technique that allowed them to “phase” into subspace as opposed to “jumping” into the ubiquitous aether realm and that their emergence from it coincided with minor gravimetric anomalies. It was -- for everyone -- a reminder that the Scorpiads were a powerful, technologically advanced species. For Swain, it was also a reminder of how much Starfleet Intelligence was keeping from the general populace and subconsciously a reminder of how dangerous the mission part of his crew were undertaking aboard the Vauban. “I don’t like these delays,” Corizon growled. “They’re usually punctual -- to a fault. Almost as punctual as the Tholians.” Swain nodded and joined Corizon near the windows. “What do you think is causing the delay?” The Dameon shook his head and continued pacing. “If I had my guess? Some sort of political farcas on homeworld. These talks can’t be popular with the hardliners.” “Are they ever?” “No,” he said. “But given the situation, the Empress believes this is the best chance to end the conflict with the fewest amount of resources spent. My assumption is the hardliners are having to be convinced that they can accept the peace for now and then simply rebuild, rearm and reemerge in another hundred years or so and wipe the Eratians and Al-Ucard out properly.” “Once they start talking,” Swain said, changing the subject. “What do you think the major contentions are going to be?” “Honestly? I have no idea. The Scorpiads seem to only be still involved with this out of a sense of pride, not any tactical concern. Neither the Eratians or the Al-Ucard pose them any real threat and having them as de facto satellite state between the clickies and the rest of the quadrant seems to have worked out rather nicely. But then ---” Corizon stopped pacing. “But then what?” Asher said, curling his nose. “But then, the Scorpiads are a dying race.” He said matter of factly. “I am assuming that’s not some sort of revelation for you, but tell me if it is.” Asher shook his head. “The Admiral was kind enough to fill me in on that detail at least.” “Oh good,” Corizon said. “Then you can understand why they’re being so silly about this whole situation.” “So you think it’s ego?” “Oh,” Corizon said, resuming his methodical pacing, “I can’t think of anything else. All the Al-Ucard and Eratians are asking for is the autonomy they’ve had for the last several hundred years or so before the Scorpiads decided to muck everything up. “I spoke with one of their representatives after we beat them at the wormhole and they were forced into a peace treaty with the Dominion. He was a Lepterus -- they’re the most sensible of the whole damned species, too bad we’re getting some Emeri bastard for this show -- he described the entire war as an attempt a ‘lasting legacy to the glory of his race.’ “They wanted to go out with a bang -- having subdued the only race to ever show any real resistance to them.” “Instead,” Swain interjected, “they suffered a humiliating defeat at the hands of that same enemy and their allies from the Alpha Quadrant. I am sure that played well at home.” Corizon nodded. “Tkcka thought that in another time it might have been enough of a humiliation for the royal family to be threatened for the first time in centuries -- but well...” “So why are they dying?” The question side-tracked Corizon and he stopped pacing again. “They don’t even know -- if they’re being honest. They have some ideas -- as do our high IQ boys -- but nothing really concrete. Starfleet has offered our assistance in the matter, but the Scorpiads have politely refused our help. Not that I blame them.” “Being saved by an inferior species would be a little much for them, I take it.” “I think they’d rather die.” Swain nodded as his brain began puzzling the mystery of the Scorpiad demise -- he was, ultimately, a scientist, and such a mystery intrigued him. Communicator chimes, however, interupted his train of thought. “Captains,” came the voice of the on-duty communications officer. “Incoming transmission from the surface. The Scorpiad ambassador has arrived and they are ready for our delegation to beam down at our leisure.” Corizon and Swain looked to each other for a moment before Swain responded. “Excellent. Tell them Captain Corizon will be heading down soon.”

The Excalibur dropped out of warp outside of what was otherwise a rather unassuming class-P moon circling a large, ringed gas giant. Asher Swain glanced casually over to Miranda Hawthorne, who’d taken up residence in the engineering console before standing. “An ice cube,” he said with a curled lip. “Who would have thought that.” Behind him, Ah-Windu Corizon frowned. “I am assuming their base is underground,” he said pushing off the railing. “They like to burrow you know.” “What do we have on sensors?” From the tactical console, Lee Thomas perked up. “I am detecting what appears to be an Al-Ucard cruiser and an Eratian vessel on the opposite side of the moon. The radiation from the moon’s ice field and the planet above are making scanning difficult.” “That should make transporting tricky,” Miranda said, her own frown matching Corizon’s. She didn’t like when environmental factors affected her equipment. Asher nodded. “I suppose they don’t want people beaming into the meeting...” “Captain we’re being hailed... it’s from the moon’s surface.” the junior lieutenant working the switchboard interrupted before correcting himself. “Well, below it.” “Audio or...” “Visual.” “Put it on.” Asher looked briefly to Miranda again, then to Corizon who’d joined him in the central ‘ring’ of the bridge for a better view. It was strange, Corizon considered, to be back on the bridge of his ship wearing the uniform again. He imagined it was even more uncomfortable for Swain. A few moments later the viewer blinked and the picturesque scene of the blue-white moon was replaced with the unnerving image of a Scorpiad. “Grrreetings,” it clicked out, the universal translator taking a half-millisecond longer to translate the utterly alien language of the giant arachnids into something that humanoid ears could process. “Wwelkoome to G’zeetten.” “We’re honored,” Asher said in his Captain Voice. “I am Captain Asher Swain, commanding officer of the USS Excalibur and this is...” “Captain Kooor-ah-zhan,” the Scorpiad said, at least three or four of its eyes flickering towards the silver haired Dameon. “We are most pleased you have came.” At least the translator was adapting, Swain thought, pushing a mental sigh away. “Thank you,” Corizon said with a respectful head tip. “And you are?” “I am Adjutant General N’Yc’kk’aaa’Zttt, general administator of G’zetten Research Facility. Viceroy T’Keeek has yet to arrive, and we apologize for his delay. Your vessel may enter into orbit along with the others in the interim. We will contact you again once the Viceroy has arrived.” “Of course,” Corizon said, a sidelong glance to Swain. “I anticipate our next meeting.” The screen abruptly returned to the planetoid. “They hung up?” Asher said with a blink. “Yes sir.” “How rude.” “At least they didn’t shoot at us,” Corizon said with a grin. “Why would they do that?” Asher said before remembering himself. “I mean... they asked for this meeting.” Corizon lifted an ear, but let it go. “I’d like a secure link with the Al-Ucard and Eratian ships. May I...” “My ready room is always available to you, Captain.” Corizon nodded and headed that way. “Ensign, if you could take care of that for the Captain; helm put us into standard orbit. Miranda, can you see about cleaning up the sensors?”

Asher glanced across the room. Arden was laying in bed, wrapped in the bedsheets, but was sitting up looking at him. “Come to bed,” Arden said patiently. “It’s nearly 0200 and you’re still looking over those files.” Asher frowned and took a drink of tea. “Just a little bit longer.” Arden returned the frown and sighed. Asher looked back to the PADD in his hand. “What are you looking at anyway?” “Mission reports.” “I know that. But what of?” Asher wrinkled his nose and sat the PADD down. He knew Arden well enough to know that he wasn’t going to just go away. “Excalibur’s mission logs from their various encounters with the Scorpiads, Al-Ucard and Eratians.” “Interesting reading,” Arden said. “But what do you expect to learn? Besides, I am sure most of the really good stuff is classified anyway.” “It is,” Asher said, a rare grins creeping across his face. “Tandaris managed to weasel me a copy of them out of his overlords in Starfleet Intelligence.” His lover lifted an eyebrow. “My my,” he said amused, “You looking at classified material and telling me about it? Who are you and what did you do with Asher?” “Did you know that Corizon negotiated a deal with the Scorpiads to get them to stop blowing up stars?” Arden’s mild amusement faded. “Huh?” “Apparently,” Asher said, giving into his inner gossip. “When the Excalibur crew recovered the Scorpiad vessel that merged with Tandaris they discovered it had been retrofitted with the subspace weapon that the Scorpiads were using to destroy stars. Corizon threatened to give the technology to the Eratians and Al-ucards if they kept using it.” “Starfleet just let him do that?” “Oh,” Asher said with a mirthless laugh. “You have no idea what they let him, Day and then Abronvonvich get away with.” “Enlighten me.” “For starters, Corizon planned on using a subspace weapon to blow up the wormhole.” Arden’s expression darkened. “I wish you were joking,” he said. “But at least Corizon isn’t charge anymore and they’re flushing his ilk out.” Asher nodded. He wanted to tell Arden about the other part of his new assignment. Instead, he put the PADD down and pushed back from the desk. “Maybe when this whole negotiation is over,” he said, making his way to the bed. “You and I can take some time off. I hear there are some pretty places for hiking down on Avalon.” Arden wrapped his arms around Asher as he slid into bed and kissed him softly. “I’d like that,” he said between breaths. “You could use a real vacation.” “You’re telling me.”

Asher Swain sat drinking tea in his ready room, joined again by Captain Tylen Gail as they looked over the latest data burst from the Courageous confirming a pirate base had been on Ezteii Minor but like the others, had been abandoned. The Wasp and Courageous were now en route to the molecular cloud a few light-years outside of Eok where Excalibur, Montreal, Aida, and Albion had just been joined by the Beacon Hill, whose commanding officer, Erik Thomas had joined them in the ready room. “Still no contact from my away team,” Asher said, a tinge of anxiety to his voice. “They’re not due back till this evening, but I would have expected something. No signs of them having left yet.” Both Tylen and Erik knew the tone and nodded. Neither knew Swain particularly well, but as Captains, they couldn’t help but relate. “I am sure they’re fine.” Tylen said reassuringly. Swain nodded and looked to his tea cup. He hoped they were right. “Well if we do have to move against the pirates,” he said finally. “We’ve got the bulk of our forces here. The Olympia got underway an hour or so ago.” Tylen nodded. He had still hoped to avoid a military conflict. “And if your people find nothing?” His tone was respectful, but pointed. Erik looked over as well. Tall, dark haired with a streak of white at the temples, he stood out from the other two men for sure. He, too, was curious what Swain would say. “Then we head home and see what command wants to do,” Asher said, putting the cup down. “From what I’ve heard from Camelot, there haven’t been any new attacks since the fleet was dispatched.” Both of the other Captain’s nodded. “Maybe we scared them,” Erik said, though he didn’t sound particularly confident. “I mean that’s what we were sent out here to do, wasn’t it?” Asher nodded. Revenge still weighed on his mind, but he knew Erik was right. “Yes, though my gut tells me we’re not lucky.” “If we were,” Tylen added, “we wouldn’t be in the GQ.” The three of them laughed darkly and after a few moments the room lapsed into an eerie silence until, Chirp. “Captain,” came the voice of the beta-shift communications officer. They looked to each other before Asher answered through a smirk. “Go ahead,” he said. “Sorry to interrupt, but I have an incoming communication from the planet.” He lifted a brow. “The away...” “No, sir. A Counselor Vey’Hek. He claims to be in charge of planetary security, sir.” “This should be good,” Erik said lowly to Tylen. Swain frowned deeply, the pit in his stomach deepening. “Did he say what he wanted?” “Not directly,” the communications officer said, “but he asked for you -- by name.” Asher hated surprises. “Put him through.” The other two Captain’s began to stand, but Swain waved them off before activating the terminal on his desk. The spinning, golden parabola flashed for a few moments before being replaced by the masked face of Counselor Vey’Hek. “Greetings, Captain Svain,” Vey’Hek said in a peculiar accent as the universal translator took just a hair longer than Swain would have imagined. “It is an honor to speak with you. I am Counselor Vey’Hek, chief of planetary security here on Eok.” “And with you, Counselor. As it appears you already know my name,” he left unsaid how unsettled he was over that, “I’ll skip the more formal introductions. How can I be of... assistance?” Vey’Hek shifted subtly on screen before smiling, revealing a row of pointed white teeth. “I wish that our meeting were under better pretexts, as I have been looking forward to formal contact with you outsiders.” Asher didn’t like where this was going. “However, I must regret to inform you that I have been forced to take the members of your crew on a questionably illegal surveillance mission into protective custody after the assaulted a citizen...” “Excuse me?” Asher said, his voice rising. “Protective custody?” Unabated, Vey’Hek nodded. “They are being held in a facility,” he held up a hand, “you have nothing to worry about, Captain. I assure you, they are being well treated.” Asher glowered. “On what charges are you holding them?” “As I said,” Vey’Hek said, waving his hand. “They were caught having assaulted and kidnapped a citizen of Eok. We believe that they were carrying out a surveillance mission. Am I correct?” A flush of annoyance came over Asher. “Counselor,” he said firmly. “I am not going to discuss ongoing Starfleet operations. As I understand it, Eok is a free port. What my crew were doing on the planet, seems of little importance. If they were involved in an altercation with one of your citizens I can assure you that there were almost certainly mitigating circumstances...” “Captan, I already explained to you. They were involved in an altercation. We are currently investigating that. I called you to determine their intent. I am not sure what this free port thin you speak of is, but on Eok, visitors are required to register at customs. Your people did not appear to do so. In fact, it appears that they bribed a dockmaster to assure that they could contravene our laws.” Swain’s expression darkened. He could also see the look on both Erik and Tylen’s faces growing equally dark. None of them liked where this was headed. “Our apologies, Counselor. According to the reports from our vessel which visited your planet a few months ago, there weren’t any such registration requirements. “ Vey’Hek grinned widely. “A misunderstanding I am sure, as they were official guests of the ruling council. Your crew however were not and as such should have registered with a customs official.” “What do you want from me then?” Erik and Tylen’s eyes flashed widely. Asher’s directness caught both of them off-guard, but they both knew well enough to keep their mouths shut. Vey’Hek only smirked. “Captain, I think we can both agree that neither of our people profit from an antagonist relationship. Let us be honest with one another. You and your fleet are here and elsewhere investigating the... what is your word.. pirate organization which you believe to be based on this planet.” “And if we are?” Asher made a note to look into just how they’d managed to figure all of that out so easily, later. Vey’Hek’s grinned, somehow even wider. “See that wasn’t so hard was it. I find honesty to make these situations exceedingly easier, don’t you?”

“The Beacon Hill is on their way back,” Asher said, glancing over to his guest, Captain Tylen Gail of the Montreal. “They found the base, but it had been abandoned for some time.” Stocky and soft-featured, Tylen cut a less-than-imposing figure. It was Swain’s first time working with him, but so far had found him to be pleasant enough. He and the Montreal had been assigned to the Gamma Quadrant for nearly three years and he was quickly proving to be a useful asset, filling in some long-held gaps in Swain’s knowledge of the inner politics of the quadrant. “Mmm,” Tylen said with a nod, drinking a cup of tea. “What about your team?” Asher wrinkled his nose. “Nothing yet,” he said. “The ambient radiation makes narrow band communications difficult, at best. The planetary authorities depend on a fairly sophisticated transponder built by the Dominion. “Though they’re due to return sometime this evening.” Tylen nodded again, shifting his heft in his chair. Though he’d heard mixed reviews of Asher, but so far he seemed even-tempered enough. He only hoped that if things went awry, as they were prone to do in the Gamma Quadrant, that would continue. “And the other two?” “The Olympia’s teams are still on Teval, but they seem to think its the same case as Atrol. The Wasp and Courageous haven’t reported in yet, but they did have the most remote of the systems to look into.” “So they’re pulling back then? I suppose that has its good parts...” “And the bad,” Asher added, looking to the window. “Hopefully this doesn’t come to it, but I think the Admiral made it pretty clear he’d prefer us to give them a bloody nose at the very least.” The portly captain sipped his tea, reading what he could from Asher. Being in the Rhongomyniad Fleet, the Montreal had spent the better of the last year on patrols of the outer-edges of Starfleet’s so-called “zone of control.” They’d had far fewer encounters with the pirates than most and far fewer than the Excalibur. He wasn’t sure how he felt, yet, about this lurch towards aggression. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he finally said, “but I got the impression you did, as well.” Asher turned back with a shrug. Strictly speaking, he was neither dove nor hawk. He knew and accepted the reality that Starfleet was a military and that at times, the sword was as important as the olive branch. Still, he’d asked himself a dozen times or more how he’d feel if he weren’t involved as directly. “I won’t lie,” he finally said, “They caught me with my pants down and try as I might that’s on my mind.” Tylen nodded. He respected Asher’s candor. “Can’t say that I blame you.” “To be honest, I am hoping that the show of force will be enough to send them underground for a while. With everything going on with the Dominion...” “If it’s not one thing,” Tylen said warily. “It’s another. Sometimes I wonder if this is all worth it, you know?” Asher nodded. “I remember when we first discovered the wormhole,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I couldn’t wait to explore the Gamma Quadrant. It was a new frontier. Everything we’d always talked about back at the Academy...” “Careful what you wish for,” Tylen said, though it was clear he shared the sentiment. “We all thought we’d be the next Kirk.” A small smile crossed Asher’s face. He always wanted to be Sulu, Kirk was a little too over the top. “You know, it’s funny. How well did you know Ah-Windu?” The question caught Tylen off-guard. He paused, lifting an eyebrow for a long moment before answering. “Checkers?” he used Corizon’s call-sign. “We taught at the academy together in the 60’s, but I didn’t really know him you know? “Then when Montreal was stationed out here, I got to know him a lot better. Why?” “I found a note from him tucked away in his desk the other day.” “From him, to you?” “No,” Asher said. “It was for his first officer in the event he died in the line of duty.” “Oh?” “It just read: don’t let them bury me here.” Tylen’s eyes widened, but Asher continued. “I decided to leave it there. I don’t want to be buried in this godforsaken place either, and I am tired of having to bury other people here.”

Arden sat in one of the tall chairs that surrounded the main status display console, drinking a coffee and reading a status report on repairs to the stations secondary communications array that had been damaged during a solar flare. Part of him wondered why he’d taken the position in the first place. It certainly hadn’t been much of a promotion, and he doubted his career was going to be furthered by being the executive officer for a station most associated with ending careers. Then he remembered why he’d taken the job and sighed even more deeply than before. What had made him believe that Asher had changed in all of these years? He pushed the thought aside and went back to the status report from engineering. Repairs were going well. The flare had caught them a bit off guard, and there was some gnashing of teeth about that between the stations mostly civilian science corps and the station’s Romulan engineer; but the damage had been minor and they were deploying additional resources to monitor coronal activity. He tapped in a few remarks about the repair progress and filed it away. Next he read through a few dozen personnel requests ranging from a request from an Ensign Moriss to be switched to delta shift to Lieutenant Kaman’s request for different quarters to a handful of demerits being recommended by the stations chief security officer to his juniors who’d failed some inane inspection. Arden hated this part of the job. Politics were fine when it was between empires, but between officers? He could care less. Of course the bigger problem was, his innate ability to resolve conflicts. He had started working on his response to Kaman, explaining that “the view makes me queasy” wasn’t a good enough reason to transfer to a larger set of quarters, but that he’d be happy to find him something comparable to his current quarters when Corris Sprint sat down next to him, handing Arden a PADD. “What’s this?” Arden said, looking over at Corris wearily. Corris logged in and took a drink of coffee. “Today’s arrival schedule and some communications logs I thought you’d be interested in.” Arden felt a sudden sinking feeling, but brushed it off. He skipped through the arrivals without a second look -- he already knew that nothing worth him knowing was happening until later in the week when the new Romulan military liaison arrived. He had half expected some terrible news about Cardassia in the comms logs. He was glad it wasn’t. “Thank you,” he said blushing. “I won’t ask how you knew.” Sprint smiled, disarmingly and went back to work. Arden exhaled and looked back the PADD. Excalibur’s mission was proceeding well. Nothing major to report. I’ll be fine. You worry too much. You were never like this before. Asher’s chiding echoed in his head as he put the PADD down and his thoughts drifted to their last night together. They’d gone for dinner at Ambrosia and then for drinks afterward at the Grail before making their way back to Arden’s quarters on the station. It had been a lovely night. Part of him wished that every night, every moment could be so perfect; but he knew better than to think that was possible. I wish you weren’t going. Arden had said, as they lay intertwined in the sheets, Arden’s head resting gently on Asher’s chest. We just got back together after, what? Two years? And now you’re off again? I mean... Asher ran his hands through Arden’s dark black hair and kissed him gently. Its just a mission. You know how it is. Soft piano music played in the background. Asher smelled of soft, earth wood and old leather. He always found the best colognes. Besides, we won’t be long. I am sure the pirates will tuck tail and run at the first sight of a Federation task force. But what if they don’t? You will be careful won’t you? It sounded stupid now, like the line out of a badly written holonovel. All he would have needed was an accent. This isn’t my first rodeo. Asher frowned. I promise I’ll be careful. Mollified Arden turned to face his lover. He ran his hands across his muscular chest, stopping just below his collarbone where two stylized ravens gazed across at each other. Thought Arden said, touching one then the other and Memory. I remember when you got these. Do you? Asher’s eyes seemed to say, but Arden rarely forgot anything about Asher. Yes, Arden said. Thought and Memory -- two ravens flying across the world, bringing back gossip to their dear Odin. You’d just been promoted to lieutenant commander -- and you were going to be the ex-oh of the Idrisi. Asher ran his hand through Arden’s hair again, kissing him on the forehead. You wanted to celebrate. It was the four of us... Asher sighed. He pulled away and closed his eyes. Me, you, Charlie and June... I am sorry. Arden said, kissing him softly on the neck. I shouldn’t have brought him... it up... it’s just... nevermind. I shouldn’t have said anything. No. Go on. Say what you want to say. I am going to be gone for a while and you’re not going to hold onto this till I get back. Arden bit his lip. He’d said too much. He didn’t mean to ruin the night. Everything had been so perfect. When he didn’t respond, Asher sat up. Go on. It just. I don’t want to end up like June Ostander. Alone, by myself after you get yourself killed in this godsforsaken quadrant. Asher pulled back. He was cold. I’ll be fine. You worry too much. You were never like this before. He paused and looked at Arden. I should get going. We have an early morning. “I am so stupid,” Arden said out loud before remembering himself. Corris looked over, but had the propriety not to inquire further. “Commander,” Arden said with a grimace. “Thank you again, it looks like everything is under control here. I am going to catch up on some paper work. If you need me...” “Of course, sir. I’ll let you know if anything comes up.”

Taenix sat alone on bended knees on the cool, barren surface that had once been her sanctum aboard the facility simply designated Dominion Command Center Ek-129. It was strange for her now, to be meditating on the past and future. Since her rebirth, she had spent little time considering either, focusing on the present, on moving her people, her nation through their current crisis; but now that she had revealed the truth to them, now that she had admitted her sins before the whole of the council and had decided to step aside and end her life, she found the future strangely occupying. The Vorta, while fundamentalist in their devotions to the Founders, were far from ritualistic. Unlike other religions, there were no shrines to be found, no churches. There wasn’t even really dogma. Not in the traditional sense. Faith, for the Vorta, had always been an immutable quality, as much a part of who they were as a species and as individuals as their weak eyes or keen sense of hearing. Taenix had always considered such qualities of their faith to be a blessing. They knew their gods were real. They knew that their creation was not some myth, but an actual fact, provable, tangible. And even now that the Founders had left them, they knew they existed they knew that they were real. The Vorta were created by the Founders to serve as their messengers, their liaisons to the ‘solids.’ As the Dominion grew, they became much more. They were the overseers and caretakers, keeping careful watch over the Dominion and assuring the order was maintained throughout the realm. Therein lay the problem swirling in her head. How could the Vorta or even the Jem’Hadar go forward without the Founders and without the Dominion they were created to serve and preserve? They had no culture of their own, no identity beyond that. They were clones. Birthed from scientific experiments on lesser creatures to create the perfect servants. Perhaps Keevan was correct. Perhaps the Vorta and Jem’Hadar should just go doing what they had done for hundreds of years. It was true, few Vorta and even fewer Jem’Hadar had ever spent much time in commune with the Founders directly. Yet, there was a certain flaw to that thinking. For one, it directly contradicted the wishes of Odo and the Great Link. The Dominion, had been birthed from the Founders deep mistrust of solids; and if they were to truly heal those wounds, they could not cling to the past. It was a selfish notion, one that seemed at odds with this notion of moving forward as a race. Yes, it would liberate hundreds of worlds from generations of oppression, but what about their children? “I thought I might find you here.” Her eyes opened. She had half-expected to turn to see Weyoun or even Keevan, but instead she was greeted by the diminutive Semil -- in holographic visage. “Come to gloat over my fall from grace?” “Far from it,” he said with a small smile. “What you did was honorable, even if it took some cajoling as the humans would say.” “If the Council was to hear of my sins, I would have them hear from me personally.” Semil nodded. “To be honest, I think many of them knew. Knew but didn’t want to admit it.” Taenix returned to her meditation. She had suspected as much, though it seemed unimportant now. “What they and you do now,” she said placidly. “Is up to you. I have no further purpose in this life.” “Strange,” he said, tilting his head to one side. “How much we end up mimicking our creators. They have left us with such a mess, and then, when we need them most, they leave us to our devices, having never given us the tools to deal with those problems.” “My purpose,” she said, unmoved. “Was to assist your generation of Vorta with the Scorpiad. I have completed that task. I should not have lingered as long as I have. The future of our people lies with your generation, not mine.” “And yet, you did linger and have made numerous decisions that will forever affect us.” “Perhaps. But I have made my decision and I have no intention of changing it. The Council has my genetic pattern, if they wish to have my counsel again, they are free to remake me.” “How many times have you died?” “Eight.” The answer came quicker than Semil had expected. “I see. And did you ever wonder, as you felt the life flickering out of you what your next life would bring?” “No,” she said, her eyes opening for a moment before closing again. “Nor did I ever care. We are born to serve the Founders. In all eight of my lifetimes, I have done only that. If I should be born a ninth time, I will do only that.” “What if we no longer had to serve? What if we could choose our fates? What if you could be a painter, or a writer? Hmm?” “Perhaps you will, but for me? I have never been free to choose my destiny.” “But aren’t you choosing it now? You could continue to live and to serve; you could have continued your duplicity on the status of the Founders. Yes, your actions might have been forced, but ultimately didn’t you make a choice?” “Semil,” she said plainly. “I appreciate your philosophical line of questioning. I hope for the sake of the Dominion and for our people that you will add your voice and your ideas to the continuum among the others to help shape our future, but your words are wasted upon me...” “Then let me be clear: I am offering you an opportunity to experience a new life.” A genuine smile crept across her face. “Your offer is kind Semil, but I do not wish to live again unless called upon by the Founders or the Council. I was not born to want for myself, only to serve. I have failed in that duty and now I must make my penance. "May the Founder’s guide you and your generation on the next phase of our journey. Goodbye, Semil.”