Cptn Swain

The turbo-lift carried Swain through the hard point docking mechanism and he felt the slight shift as he went horizontal and into the Camelot lift system as the lift spun for a second before the automated systems switched it over to Camelot’s control and then deposited him on the upper ring in the office suite of Vice-Admiral Abronvonvich. He was early, to be sure, but he’d always found that he could never stand the waiting that usually accompanied being on-time if one wasn’t chronically late. Smiling as he passed a few lower-ranking officers, he made his way to the reception desk where Lt. Commander Deigo Sands sat contemplatively as he sifted through something on a PADD. Before Swain could say something, Sands had already noticed him approaching. “Captain,” Sands said neutrally, “you’re early. The Admiral isn’t expecting you for another hour.” “I know,” Swain said. “But I hate waiting around on the ship.” Sands tipped his head to one side, considering the new master of the Excalibur. Though perhaps in a different manner, he saw similarities to her former commanding officer -- notably a directness that served both of them well. Also their long hair and ear piercings. He suspected, though, from their files alone, that the two had had little else in common. Finally shrugging and motioning to a set of chairs to his left, Sands smiled. “Well I’ll let the Admiral know you’re here. He’s been in meetings all morning, but he should be able to see you a little early.” “Thanks,” Swain said with a nod before heading over to the chairs and seating himself, cross-legged while Sands talked in hushed tones into a communicator. As he waited, Swain looked around the room, taking in the various accouterments that adorned the waiting room and wondered if the Admiral had done the decorating or if it were someone else’s’ handiwork. Judging from both the reputation of Abronvonvich and his own experiences, he leaned towards the latter. After a few minutes, Sands led Swain into the spacious office of the Admiral. At first, Swain stood for a long moment, staring off into the distance at the windows filled with the glow of the planet below. It was breathtaking. For a moment he forgot where he was and felt himself drifting back to when he’d saw his own homeworld from space for the first time. His nostalgia was quickly broken by a gentle nudge by Sands who’d seen this happen before with the more science-y Captain’s that came through the door. Giving a quick, unspoken gesture of thanks to Sands, Swain came to attention a few feet away from the Admiral’s expansive, PADD-filled desk. The cragy, white-haired Admiral smirked slightly; the great creases on his face shifting ever so delicately. He’d seen that distant look before, too. He couldn’t blame them, he supposed, it was one hell of a view. “As you were, Captain.” Swain nodded and went at ease, tipping his head respectfully to the senior officer. “Sorry if I am a little early.” “Nothing to be worried about,” he said. “Have a seat.” Nodding swain took a seat opposite Abronvonvich. The elder statesman of the two looked him over. He still couldn’t quite get a feel for the Captain, but his performance spoke for itself -- so far anyway. “Well,” Abronvonvich said, breaking the silence. “Good work on Caldor.” “My crew...” Modesty, Abronvonvich thought. “Yes.” “They’re as good as advertised.” “Yes,” Abronvonvich said. “They are, but all modesty aside, you handled the situation well. I mean, I know this isn’t your first rodeo -- but you handled it well all things considered -- new crew, new ship, new situation.” Swain knew enough to take a compliment for what it was and nodded. “Thanks.” “I have a feeling this kind of thing is going to start becoming the norm...” “Oh?” “The Dominion is pulling back more and more, consolidating their power best they can -- as they do...” “They’re going to be leaving behind a legacy of years of oppression and occupation,” Swain said with a frown. “Those people on Caldor -- they didn’t have any concept how to turn on the damned equipment let alone keep it working.” “You’ll find more of the same elsewhere,” Abronvonvich said with a disapproving frown, “The Olympia is out on Thangan Seti dealing with something similar, though not as severe -- damned Vorta neglected to tell the locals how to deal with the waste left over from a munitions processing plant.” Swain couldn’t help but sour. For all the talk the Dominon had been making of allowing local systems to have freedom he couldn’t ignore that they were also shirking responsiblity for the people whose lives and worlds they’d ruined. “Meanwhile both our medical ships are out now too -- the Ascelpius has been dispatched now too to help deal with a severe out break of Thefellion Flu on Dagrel.” “Thefellion Flu?” Abronvonvich nearly growled. “Yes, I assume you’ve never heard of it -- we hadn’t either. Apparently its something the Dominion cooked up or something ... at any rate the locals, as you can guess, were ill equipped to deal with a full scale epidemic and the Dominion couldn’t be bothered.” “Rather cruel isn’t it?” “They’re sending a message,” Abronvonvich said. “Though not the one I think they intend.” “Luckily for them, we’re around, eh?” Abronvonvich nodded. “So long as we continue to have the resources.” Swain nodded. “What about the Hundred, sir?” “The Hundred,” the Admiral said gruffly. “Are doing their best, but unfortunately we cannot coordinate our efforts with them … officially.” Lifting a brow, Swain shook his head. “Unofficially?” “They’re helping where they can. Their resources are spread a lot thinner than Semil would like to let on.” Swain didn’t know as much about the situation as he would like, but he’d been keeping busy by reading as many reports and briefings as he could get his hands on. Nodding he leaned back into the chair. “I understand.Quite the mess we’ve gotten ourselves into.” Leaning back in his chair, Abronvonvich sighed and ran his hands through his silver hair. “You can say that again. Between the Dominion pull back and all of the mess that’s leaving and the Al-Ucard and Eratian Rebellions …” “Out of curiosity,” Swain said. “How is the latter going?” Frowning, the white hair admiral stood up and gestured to the window, as if the war were outside his window. “Luckily,” he said, “the outer reaches of Al-Ucard, Eratian and Scorpiad space aren’t on our door step, or we’d have a mess on our hands.” Nodding, Swain exhaled himself. “I’ve tried to read up on the reports. Looks like the fighting is more limited towards Scorpiad homespace, not the newer conquered territories.” “So far,” Abronvonvich acknowledged. “Of course thats another problem. They conquered a pretty large swath of space during their war with the Dominion, but I don’t think they have a real grasp on it.” “That’s what the Eratians were made for though, correct?” “Mmhm. The Scorpiads figured out a long time ago that they couldn’t hold onto huge tracts of space if they had to continually micro-manage it.” “So they made the Eratians to ‘manage’ indigenous populations by systematically culling them ever so often.” “Well the ones who’s worlds didn’t have resources they wanted.” Swain shook his head. “Sounds familiar.” It was a generalization that Abronvonvich had considered all to often. “For all their differences biologically -- the Founders and the Scorpiad have a lot in common.” “A will to dominate, a fear of outsiders, a penchant for installing themselves as gods...” “Except the Founders had the courtesy to check out.” The off-cuff remark caught Swain off guard. Unlike his predecessor, Asher Swain hadn’t spent years in clandestine service refining how to hide true feelings. His eyebrows shot up. “Checked out?” Realizing his indiscretion, Abronvonvich blanched for a moment. “I shouldn’t have said that,” he finally admitted. “But you’re going to find out sooner or later, I suppose.” “Find out what?” “This is of course, classified material -- above your clearance -- so I guess its time to find out how much I can trust the new commanding officer of the Excalibur.” Swain nodded. This was new ground for him. He’d spent the last ten years out on the edges exploring and as best he could remember it was during the Dominion War when he’d last heard the word classified. Still, he couldn’t help but feel intrigued and in some way honored that the Admiral felt comfortable enough talking to him to presume a level of intimacy. “Of course, Sir.” “Call me Misha.” Asher smiled. “I’ll try too, si... Misha.” Abronvonvich shook his head. “Anyway as I was saying, about two and half years ago, the Federation became aware that the Founders had gone into a deep isolation.” Swain’s eyebrows perked again. “Not to be … well … a snert, but that’s pretty common knowledge, I thought.” “That they’re in isolation is, yes,” Abronvonvich said waiving a hand. “But this is different. Two and half years ago, Weyoun disclosed that the Founders had gone into an even deeper isolation, essentially abandoning the Dominion. Last year, the Excalibur at the request of the Vorta Council mounted an expedition into deep space to locate a device that would enable to the Vorta to contact the Founders.” Swain nodded, though he was deeply troubled by this new revelation. He was even more troubled that Excalibur had been part of such a unusual arrangement. Just what had Corizon gotten them into -- actually a better question, he’d decided, was what hadn’t Corizon gotten them into over the last several years. “And?” “They eventually recovered it.” Swains brows arched higher, into, what he assumed, a posture that would have made a Vulcan envious -- if they would admit to it. “I see.” “Basically Odo told them they’re on their own.” “And just how long can the Vorta keep that hidden?” “That’s the million brick question, isn’t it?” Swain sighed. “As if things around here weren’t chaotic enough.” “Exactly. And now we’ve got these blasted raiders.” “I am assuming that’s why you’ve got two Sovereign-classes sitting outside.” “That would be correct. I don’t think they’ll take a swipe at us directly. I mean they’re getting bolder. A few months ago these were isolated incidents restricted to the less traveled systems and shipping routes -- but last few weeks they’ve inched closer to major trade routes.” “I see. What do you know about them?” “They’re using whatever they can get their hands on, ship-wise. The place is fast becoming a booming market for weapons smugglers. We’re not sure how organized they are yet, we’re working on it.” Swain nodded his understanding. “I decided to bring the big guns in to show the flag,” Abronvonvich said. “They’ll think twice about attacking the more local convoys if there’s two Federation battleships hanging out.” “I would hope.” “Which brings me to you and the Excalibur.” “You’ll be getting new orders soon,” Abronvonvich said sitting back down at his desk. “Excalibur is going to be sent along with the Cape Horn and the Valorous to meet up with a convoy of refugees en route from the Korale sector and escort their convoy to Camelot.” Convoy duty. Swain couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. He was, at his heart, a scientist and explorer and convoy duty wasn’t his idea of fun -- nor was it what he set out to do when he applied to the academy. Still, he knew what he’d signed on for when he took the job. Standing, straightening his uniform, he came to an easy attention. “Understood, sir.” “They’ll be more details for you when the orders come through; hopefully won’t be anything you can’t handle. ” “You said it was a convoy of refugees?” “Yes,” the Admiral said. “Hakarans. There will be more about them in the brief. The Federation has given them a planet in the Alpha Quadrant -- Omicron Beta V.” “I can’t imagine they’d have anything of value for raiders to hit.” “Normally, no, but they do have fourteen Federation transports that might interest them.” “Federation transports? That’s not usual.” “They needed ships,” Abronvonvich said. “We were able to provide them.” “Anything I need to know, in particular?” The crag-faced Admiral got the implied meaning. When he’d first met the Captain, he’d promised, to try and limit the cloak and dagger routines. Besides he had a right to know. “On a need to know basis, Captain...” It was always something. “Yes?” “Starfleet Intelligence is very interested in debriefing a number of their leaders.” “Oh?” “It will become clearer once you’ve had a chance to read the brief, but yes, please keep that in mind. This is a top priority.” “Of course, sir. If there’s nothing else, I should be going, I am sure you’ve got a busy calender.” The Admiral nodded. “As do you. There is one more thing.” “Yes?” “I’m reassigning the the Vatican as the lead ship of the Clarent-fleet.” Swain nodded. It meant very little to him honestly, and the decision was understand able. Excalibur had been considered a lead ship of the fleet because of Corizon’s experience with fleet operations. While a more veteran commanding officer, Swain had little in the way of practical experience with fleet operations and he was more than happy to hand that off. “Captain Varen should be receiving his own orders in that regard fairly soon as well.” “Irae?” “You know him?” Swain nodded, neutrally. “The Sentinel and Pei Xiu worked together on a number of missions during the war, but we graduated the Academy together.” “Ah, yes. You’re both Stellar Cartographers, aren’t you?” “In my spare time.” Abronvonvich smirked widely. “Well happy accident for you to know the CO of the lead ship of your group.” Swain nodded. “Aye. Is the Vatican due into port soon? I’d actually like to say hello to Irae.” Nodding the Admiral continued to smirk. “She should be docking later this evening.” “Well then, if you’ll excuse me, Admiral?” “Of course, you’re dismissed Captain.” “Oh... one more thing.” Abronvonvich had already started working on something but looked up. “Yes?” “About how long should my crew expect to have for leave?” Leaning back, Abronvonvich considered. “The Cape Horn is due in two days.” “Understood.”

The Conestoga-class transport Providence cruised at low warp. Nearby the oblong brick of a ship, nearly two dozen similar transports cruised as well. From one of the few staterooms with a window, a tall, lankish figure cloaked in grey robes sat, looking into the deepness of the ocean of stars. “Miranol,” she heard someone behind her call. “The last of the transports have joined us.” “Good,” she said, turning to face an equally tall, though stockier figure dressed in deep blue robes of finer cloth than her own somewhat tattered robes. “Many of us never thought this day would come,” he said. “We all owe you a great debt.” Miranol waved a hand before returning her attention to the window. “I am owed nothing. It was my duty to my people, Nairiel.” Nairiel sighed lowly and joined her at the window. “These have been trying years for our people.” “Yes,” she said. “The true debt is owed to the Federation... without their help...” “I only wish they could have provided us with more transports.” “It could not be helped.” Silence took them both for a moment as they watched out the window, gazing upon the dozens of transports. It was, for both of them a dream given form. Though her dress was demure, common even, Miranol was far from a commoner. Noble in blood, her family had ruled the Hakar for generations before the coming of the Dominion. When the Dominion obliterated her world, most of her family, save for her, her mother and her only brother, had been killed. Even now, aged though she was, Nairiel couldn’t help but admire her poise, strength and endurance. Miranol looked away, her eyes distantly dancing across the stars, thinking of the journey that lay before them. The Federation had been kind enough to not only grant her people safe haven in the Alpha Quadrant with an uninhabited system for them to colonize, but also 14 ships capable of carrying hundreds of her people. The rest had managed to scavenge, beg, barrow, pled and steal dozens of small transports to join in the Great Exodus, as they were now calling it. Nariel’s own eyes flickered as he looked across the rag-tag group of transports that had come together to form a fleet. They had traveled from across the sector to meet at the ruins of their former homeworld to begin the Great Exodus. They would travel for three weeks from the ruins of Harkaro to the Federation starbase Camelot, and from there journey to the wormhole that connected the Alpha and Gamma Quadrants and traverse to the new lands where they would start a new life on a distant planet called Omicron Beta. His eyes drifted, perhaps unconsciously to a particular transport. “Do you think it was wise to allow even the dissidents like the Path to follow us to our new homeworld?” She shook her head. “They are children of Hakar as much as anyone else.” “But they spent years trying to dismantle your family’s legacy, can you now allow them to follow to a promised land?” “They are as lost as we are; they may not believe in my divine providence, but Ariseath tells us to respect those who believe differently from us, for salvation is a very personal, intimate subject best left for the divine to sort.” “But how can they continue to deny it in the face of evidence? You have delivered our people to a new world. For the first time since the Dominion destroyed our home, there is hope among the people and now these malcontents will destroy that.” Miranol shook her head, continuing to look away from Nairel. “I have not delivered my people, yet. “And when we do arrive in the new lands, they will be welcome to practices their beliefs freely, to speak dissent openly.” “Your eminence...” “Have we learned nothing from the Occupation and the Diaspora?” “But... I … I just thought...” “We will not be returning to the old ways when we land upon our new world,” Miranol said, finally looking back to Nariel. “The Council of Elders and I have agreed, we will establish a new government based on equality and democracy. Freedom, not doctrine, will be our guiding principle.” “As you see fit,” Nariel said respectfully. “I suppose you are right, the gods sent the Dominion to us to allow us an opportunity to learn and to change.” She frowned. The Dominion. Where were they now? The silver-tongued Vorta had promised much over the years. Promises that had kept her and her people from having a world of their own, as the Vorta feared that the Hakar would once again unite the sector against them. Fools, she thought, a tinge of anger and bitterness roiling her countenance. “Is something wrong?” Nairiel said. “No,” she said quickly, hiding her emotions once more. But the feeling was still there. The Vorta had promised stability. Peace. Prosperity. Mercy. She remembered, trembling at her mothers feet, as the Generals of the Hakar Empire explained how surrendering would bring an end the the suffering. If only they’d known. All of that was yesterday though. The Dominion had left the Korale sector to its own devices as they dealt with larger problems. She’d heard rumors of rebellion, of whole systems openly defying the Vorta, though in distant Korale such rumors were never to be believed. With the Dominion gone, many thought perhaps the Hakar would rise again, but the Kilath had quashed those hopes; so Miranol had looked to a new future. Through a friend in the Zebrin government, who’d sheltered her and her family for many years, she’d met the Federation diplomats from the far Alpha Quadrant, and though she did not entirely trust the sharp tongued, pointy-eared Vulcans who represented their coalition of dozens of worlds -- their willingness to help her people seemed genuine and even if they had some ulterior motive, it was a chance they had to take. While the Dominion had let the Hakar live meagerly in the shadows, the Kalith would tolerate no such contenders; and so now, her and her people found themselves in space headed for the unknown lands of the Alpha Quadrant, beyond the vale of the Korale sector and through the Wormhole. Her thoughts again turned to her decision to allow dissenters to join her people in their new lands. Her people had depended so long on others, could she now turn those in need away -- even if they believed differently from her? Beyond that, if there was to be a new future for her people, they would need strong leaders, like Trahar. Whether her young followers like Nariel, and the committed monarchist supporters wanted to believe it or not, she would not always be there for her people and when she was gone, the end of the House of Ka’e would be upon them. “Captain Kajo,” Nariel said, “believes we’ll need too stop and allow the older transport’s warp coils to recharge soon.” She nodded, her thoughts training back to the moment. “Of course. We must stay together.” “He concurs.” “What about the ion storm he was so worried about?” “Kajo believes its still going to cause us some problems, but he believes we can make it to Camelot before it does.” “Let us hope that an ion storm is the only thing we have to worry about...”

by Tandaris Admiran The dirty grey sunset littered the sky through clouds an indeterminate shade of brown. It was the sign of a bloated industrial age that had overstayed its welcome—and now, with the coming of the Kalith, would never leave. The factories that dotted the horizon and stretched along the shores of the river would only multiply with a perverse fecundity until their collective smog made sunsets like this a fond, distant memory. The Kalith would grasp and squeeze all the value they could out of something they saw as only a rock, its people expendable “members” of a grand new design. They would brook no interference and tolerate no deviance. And they were utterly opposed to Trahar’s way of life. It was ironic, she reflected, as she turned away from her last glimpse of her homeworld’s sun: the Dominion had been hard masters, but they had been fair. They had stemmed the tide of rising industrialization, slowly dismantled the corrupt hierarchy that threatened to choke her world and her people, both those who held to the Path and those who had moved on to newer, stranger ideas. The revolution was in many ways a wonder of innovation, but it had been fraught with danger. They had been going too far too fast, and by the time the Dominion intervened, her world had been on the brink of chaos. Though not exactly saviours, the strange Vorta and Jem’Hadar, with their whispered obeisance to a word—Founders—had pulled her planet back from the brink. Oil refineries became ketracel white plants. Medical facilities became state of the art, even if they did only serve those who worked their quota. And most importantly of all, people like Trahar had been allowed to continue to adhere to the Path. Now the Dominion were a fading memory, and the Kalith had swooped in to fill the void. They too came from other worlds, but this time the hastily-restored government had been ready. There was resistance, though it came at a terrible price. The Kalith, unlike the Dominion, did not have the resources to invade and conquer and hold a planet even as small and as poor as Envra. So instead the Kalith divided and conquered, aligning themselves with certain factions in their society. And some of those factions were not enamoured with the Path or its followers. And so the Kalith too decided that those of the Path were less worthy of respect or tolerance or life. Trahar wrapped her cloak around her thin body, trying not to shiver too much. She needed to appear strong and confident when she joined her people. Tonight they would be embarking on a new, frightening, awesome journey. She had to show them that she was ready to leave Envra behind, that they could leave it all behind too. The Kalith and their army had demonstrated that there would be no respite, only a slow and systematic suppression. Flight was the only option, albeit one that was neither easy nor particularly safe. The hangar on the outskirts of town was old. Inside, the decrepit vessel sat on massive landing struts, looking like it was none too pleased to have spent the last two years in standard gravity. But Trahar’s engineering genius had certified it ready to fly, and she trusted that appraisal—was in fact gambling her life and the lives of all her people on it. Tonight they would fly to the stars. There were footsteps behind her, and Trahar glanced back. A man was running up the path, his back laden with a heavy pack. When he caught up to her, he took several moments to catch his breath before he spoke. “Is this … this is the place?” Trahar could not help but eye him with suspicion. His dress was unusual, and most of them had already congregated in the hangar and were helping with the final preparations for departure. But there was something about his posture—or was it his expression?—that convinced her of his sincerity. “Yes. This is the place of our deliverance.” Relief swept across the man’s face. “Oh good. I was worried I had gotten the date wrong. My friend Fevvro told me where to go, but I wasn’t sure if it was yesterday or today … though I suppose that if it were yesterday, we would have heard something.” Trahar snorted. “The news never runs the stories when another one of us is found beaten and left for dead in a dark alley. Why would they run a story on this? No, friend, they will not want to let the whole world know that we managed to escape. There will be talk, but with no admission and no official story, that’s all it will be.” “I suppose you’re right. I only wish …” the man looked down, and when he raised his head again, his eyes glittered with tears, “… my wife, I wish she were here with me.” “What has become of her?” “What do you think? Two months ago, almost to the day, she didn’t come back from work. I asked: friends, family, supervisors … the story was always the same. No one had seen her. She had never even made it to work that day. There was no trace….” The man’s voice broke. “Bastards didn’t even leave me a body to bury and say the rites.” Trahar took him by one arm and began to walk with him into the hangar. “What is your name?” “Goss. Goss Ranaan. I’m a metalworker from the Vulyrios District. Was a metalworker, I guess. don’t know what I am now. Lost.” “Not while you are with us, Goss. I am sorry to hear about your loss. But we all have similar stories, share similar burdens of grief—and it’s that similarity, that core of understanding, that allows us to help each other get through this time of tribulation. Why did you come?” “What?” He blinked tears out of his eyes and looked at her, not sure he understood the question. “Where else would I go? My wife was taken. For all I knew I would be next, or my friends … it’s not safe for us here.” Trahar nodded. “And that is why we are leaving. It’s not something I would have chosen for myself or for my children, or for their children. But it is the only way to survive and remain true to the Path.” They entered the main bay of the hangar, in which their salvation was crouched like an ancient apocalyptic behemoth. Goss gasped as he beheld it, marvelling both at the craftsmanship of it as a crafter himself, as well as the symbol of the significance of what they were about to do. He muttered a prayer underneath his breath, and Trahar joined him in a salutation. “Thank you,” he said to her, readjusting his pack. “It was nothing. The hardest parts are yet to come. Please report for assignment,” she pointed to an area where several people were registering the latecomers and making berth assignments. “I look forward to seeing you aboard the ship.” They parted ways, and Goss headed for the quartermaster’s desk. Someone else came up to him—a youth barely able to say his voice had dropped. The boy tugged at Goss’ sleeve. “Say mister, know who that was?” Goss glanced down, annoyed. “No. Leave me alone.” The boy was persistent though. “That was Trahar Bekrida, the Slayer herself. She and her band stood in Mavarit Square against the Kalith and took out an entire squadron of soldiers! They didn’t even have any weapons! How could you not know that, mister? You were talking to her!” Goss looked back, but Trahar had faded into the crowd of people on the other side of the hangar, just another cloak among the mass. He shook his head and again attempted to shake off his unwelcome companion. “I somehow thought the Slayer of Mavarit would be … taller.”

It was a busy morning on the command deck of Camelot Station. There was a convoy arriving from Thena III, a trade conference beginning, the return of half a dozen ships from missions, and a senior staff meeting of fleet reps a few meters below in the Round Table room. Sprint, for his part, sat frowning looking over the status monitors. “Just got a data-drop from Excalibur,” one of the junior communications officers said. “They’re stilla few days out.” Sprint nodded and continued reading. “I am sure the yard staff will be happy they won’t need major repairs -- for a change.” The junior comms officer smirked, knowingly. “Likely. Though can’t say the same about the Cordoba.” “At least she didn’t take too many casualties.” “I can’t believe raiders were that bold.” Laying his PADD down, Sprinted nodded. “Third attack within two weeks. I can’t say that the Captain isn’t worried.” “I heard they’ve been running drills on beta and gamma shift in case they’d get adventurous and start hitting people near us.” “Yes,” Sprint confirmed. “We’ve been too busy on Alpha to have them, but I am hoping to run a few next week...” They were interrupted by the executive officers’ somewhat playful tone. “Really Corris,” he said with a boyish smile. “Hoping? You told me you’d run them.” Sprint rolled his eyes. “Yes, well, Commander, if you or the Captain, or well anyone decides to ruin the universe between now and then I won’t be able to, now will I.” Feigning an injury to his chest, Blair looked plaintively towards Sprint. “I would never make your life harder.” “Uhuh.” “Speaking of which... I just got word that the convoy from Thena will be arriving a few hours early...” Sprint glowered. “Thanks for the warning...” Below them, another conversation was brewing. “Just who’s bright idea was this?” Misha Abronvonvich said in his graveled voice that inflected little other than annoyance. “I swear the Command never told me I’d be responsible for so much baby sitting.” The four or five captains and commanders in the room smirked to each other. Alexander Calypsos, the commanding officer of Camelot shook his head. “That’s why they pay you the big money, sir.” Misha sighed and shook his head. “I guess. Moving along, Ambassador I believe you have an update for us?” At the end of the table, having sat quietly listening for most of the meeting, Ambassador t’Salik nodded with a polite smile. “Yes, thank you Admiral.” Standing she activated the hologram display in the center of the room. Her husband had always been rather proud of this particular room, something the Ambassador herself had rather found interesting. Of course, Sorehl would never have admitted to being prideful, but she’d known him long enough to know when her husband was proud of his achievements. Tucking that thought into the back of her head, she continued. “This is the Korale Star Cluster. My attache should have distributed to you the latest intelligence briefing on the area.” The group in the room nodded. “Ambassador,” Captain Iken Jalaron said, “I read the report and I am curious …” “About why the Federation has taken such a keen interest in this matter?” t’Salik nodded once and tapped a button on the hologram projection control, displaying two blue lines passing near the star cluster and a third, dotted line. “Quite simply,” she said, “our concern is with two trade routes we’ve recently opened and a third that we’re in the process of negotiating.” “And what about the Kalith?” She looked towards the Admiral. He knew why, she considered before responding. “As you are aware, Admiral, Intelligence and Command are concerned about their ascendancy in the region.” “Yes,” he said. “And we were particularly concerned that if they continued to expand that they could post a greater threat to regional stability.” The Vulcan nodded. “Which is why the diplomatic corps has been instructed to open a dialog with the all parties involved.” “If I might ask,” Calypsos interjected. “Where do we figure into that?” Pursing her lips, the Vulcan hesitated for a brief moment.

Mission Brief: During pumping, Excalubur's science officers found imperfections in the water being pumped in and believed that small amounts of contaminate had entered into the system, though harmless to organic life form, they believed it could cause problems with the power plants systems. Science and engineering quickly worked on a method for in situ chemical oxidation and were ready to deploy as well as run some tests,

Mission Brief: Excalibur is now forty-eight hours into her efforts to stabilize the rift valley by pumping water directly into the aquifer. Though initial efforts caused moderate tremors, science and engineering were able to mitigate the effects. So far, the side effects have been negligible. As we pick back up, we're about to conduct a series of tests to determine if we have made progress towards geologic stabilization. Meanwhile science and engineering have also begun to work on longer term solutions for the planet, including training the local population on how to use their equipment and better warning systems for geologic activity. The medical ship, USS Jarvik, has arrived and has begun to take over for Excalibur's medical and security personnel. 092511.txt

Mission Brief: It has been roughly three days since the Excalibur crew met with planetary officials to discuss ways to alleviate their geologic issues. At that meeting, they decided to go the route of short-term stabilization while allowing a crew from Starfleet Engineering to aide them in a longer term solution. Science and Engineering have been working around the clock in prep to begin pumping larger quantities of water back into the valley's aquifer in attempt to stabilize the subsidence issues they believe have be causing the quakes. Medical and Security are preparing to hand over relief efforts to the Starfleet Medical ship that has just arrived in orbit, the USS Jarvik. 091111.txt

Anaquil N'Haon leaned back into the well upholstered chair of the Excalibur’s observation lounge. It was a strange sensation, being wrapped in luxury while spinning in space millions of konnean from the surface. He’d been in space before, true, but the Dominion transports had never had so many amenities. Even his large, and by Caldorian standards, luxurious office in the central government complex was not as large or as well-appointed as the simple lounge he currently occupied. Glancing to the window where his world loomed, he considered that this was the first time he’d actually seen his dusty, ruddy world with his own eyes. “In general,” Tandaris continued, “there is little precedent for engineering on this scale. “Either plan carries considerable risk to your population...” N’Haon glanced back to the spotted human. G’aon had spoken well of him, and both he and the green-skinned female seemed to be competent. Their human Captain seemed equally competent, if quieter than he’d expected. “I appreciate your candor,” N’Haon finally said, choosing his words carefully, mindful that the Dominion Universal Translator he wore at times struggled with their language. “My people have been through much. A hundred years ago, the tallest structures on our planet were simple constructions of wood or hide -- now we have sky scrapers built from polymers we can barely conceptualize how to synthesize. “When the Dominion first came, they promised us riches beyond imagination. They promised us modernity; and they have given it us -- along with the troubles it brings.” He stopped smiling for a moment. “You’re right, both plans carry great risk to my people but I cannot authorize a plan that will uproot our entire society once more. I will not be the one to do that to my people again.” Swain glanced to Teykier and the to Admiran to see their reactions. Both remained surprisingly muted. “Administrator,” Swain finally said. “My people will do everything possible to make sure that doesn’t have to happen -- but it is a scenario we should plan for...” “And if we do have to begin evacuating our cities -- can your ship handle that?” Wincing, Swain shook his head. “Not on the scale required. Not by ourselves anyway...” "We need to bring in more ships," Tandaris said. "Medical ships, a geological engineering team, emergency coordinators. Starfleet will arrange all this." “They will,” Swain said assuredly. “However, it will take at least four to five days for another ship … in addition to the medical ship already en route … to arrive and even longer for a specialized engineering team to arrive.” Twirling her hair, Teykier also nodded in agreement. “You’re going to need more assistance than we alone can provide. Our models are based on short-term solutions to a larger sustainability problem. The Dominion settled your people here to test their geothermal energy solutions, not because its a particularly good location for your people to be settled, especially with such density.” N’Haon leaned foreword again. “I think then we should focus on stabilizing my planet then. In the long term my people welcome the assistance you’ve offered and we can consider other options.” Swain nodded. “Good, my people will begin getting ready for stage one of the stabilization protocols. Commander Admiran has updated the software to remove the recursive error and is preparing training courses for your people so that they can be better equipped to handle the situation once we’ve left. Starfleet Engineering will periodically return and continue to work with your people on that as well the other issues you’ve talked about today.”

MISSION BRIEF: Excalibur remains in orbit. Surface teams continue to assist the locals in keeping order, a task that has started to become easier as they seem to be finally organzing with our help. On the ship itself, Science and Engineering are about to present a plan to the local leaders to decide on to stop the planet from coming apart. A medical ship is en route to relieve our medical staff. 082811.txt

Due to an unexpected storm delay, I will be unable to attend Excalibur tonight. Have a safe and happy holiday.

Excalibur will run as scheduled, however attendance will be optional. I hope everyone has a safe and happy holiday!

A 5.9 earthquake on the eastcoast is a pretty big deal, given the nature of the geology. ;)

OOC Date July 24-August 21, 2011 IC Date November 8-9, 2385 Planet side, the relief teams continued to work with planetary authorities to stabilize the situation, but were treading water when another strong quake rattled the planet causing further damage. Aboard Excalibur, Tandaris and the engineering teams evacuated after ordering a shutdown of all plants on the planet and began running diagnostics, while science conducted experiments into origin of the quakes having fully tracked the quake in progress and combining those with scans from special probes originally intended for thermogeologic experiments on a baby star system. Science and engineering both came to startling conclusions. Tandaris and company found a recursive error, possibly a virus in an automatic update system that what was distributed across the network control system of all the plants and was disrupting water reclamation, essentially sucking water out of the rift valley like a shop vac; science concluded that the earthquakes were resulting from the water table being drastically reduced causing wide scale subsidence. Swain has tasked them with coming up with solutions to present to the local leaders. Meanwhile a medical ship has been dispatched by Camlelot and will arrive in a few days to take over relief efforts from an overwhelmed Excalibur crew. TBS: 6-7 hrs

Gaher Deson drank his tea cautiously. Not because he pworried that it was too hot, or that it had been poisoned, more out of a reflection of his attitude towards the human sitting across from him. Her silver hair was pulled up in a high beehive and her soft features belied a strong, formidable adversary. "Madame President," he said. "I think you misunderstand my position." "No," she said cutting him off, her voice tense but calm enough to remain respectful, yet in command. "I understand it all to well, Praetor." Regarding her carefully he sighed and put his tea cup down on the table. For the last half-hour, the two had been locked in a sort of strange game of starring across the table from each other, drinking tea in the anteroom of the Praetor's suite at the luxurious (by Cardassian standards) Naka Su hotel in the heart of Laher after an evening at a Mountain retreat with the leaders of the other powers. Now, alone with her for the first time, the Praetor lifted a brow. "You do?" "Yes," Bacco said putting her own empty glass of tea down. "I've heard it plenty of times already from you, from Martok, from my own people. "And I am going to tell you the same thing I told them. I don't give a damn about your political fortunes, I really don't. This isn't about getting re-elected or not causing a stir. It's about doing whats right. About giving our children a better universe to live in." Deson nodded. On some level he almost admired her courage, but being courageous hadn't gotten him to the Praetorship and it certainly wasn't going to keep him there for any amount of time. "It is a noble sentiment," he said, honestly. "But I must admit a difficult sell to my senate. Especially when you're administration has proven itself to have little regard for cooperation." Nanietta took a very deep breath. The first one to get mad, she told herself mentally, loses. "With due respect Praetor," she said calmly. "My administration has bent over backwards to cooperate with your and other governments." "In fact," she continued, trying not to sound needling, "I believe this conference illustrates the deep commitment my administration has for intergalactic cooperation." With a practiced patience of years of maneuvering, Gaher lifted a brow. "I think if you were one of us you might see it for what it really is?" "Oh?" "You may think that you're trying to," he said, pausing a moment for rhetorical flourish, "'foster intergalactic cooperation.' Oh that I have no doubt; but instead of bringing us together and letting us make decisions on our own, you're doing what every Federation leader has done... the only thing I think you know how to do. You're brow beating us with your smug superiority. "Well, Madame President, the Romulan Empire is not a bunch of fvai like your pet Klingons to be leashed and led around at your whim, nor will we be smacked with a ne'zha and brought to heel." No, Bacco thought, the Romulans certainly aren't dogs. Bratty children perhaps. Or maybe cats. And whatever a 'ne'zha' was (she made a note to have an assistant check), she considered reminding him that with a big enough one you could beat anyone into submission. Or sprayed with a water bottle. Thankful that Romulans were not telepathic, she kept her outward look rather serious. "I see..." "I doubt that," Gaher said quickly. "Your administration has shown such little regard for my people as of late. You move ahead with plans for a starbase at the terminal of the wormhole, despite our protestations -- provoking the conservative elements of my government to call for actions to secure our rightful access to the wormhole... and at the same moment you willfully violate our space on a supposed mission..." "I don't think you want to open that particular can of worms, Praetor," she said, looking at him sternly. "I mean I am all for it..." Lifting his brow and stopping mid-flourish he paused. "With due respect, President, I believe it was your officer who violated our space with a cloaking device..." "Your space," she said rather sardonically. "That last time I read the encyclopedia entry for the Neutral Zone -- it rather specifically noted the word neutral in the name. I could be wrong." Continuing before he could respond, Bacco decided to nip something else before it could fester. "And as for the cloaking device, Praetor, I would sure like to know why a Hundred agent was given those by the Tal'Shiar. I am sure the Klingons would too." Glowering, Gaher waved his hand. "Rouge agents," he huffed. "Besides those actions occurred under a different administration." Smiling politely, Bacco took a drink of tea. "I think you get my point," she said slyly. "We can spend this entire time going back and forth about this or that; our people have only spent what? The last two hundred years staring at each other across a constant reminder that we were once enemies?" "Once?" Gaher said before thinking better of it a making a gesture in that vein. "Listen," he said trying to strike a more compromising tone. "It is very hard for my people to see value in continuing to spend money on Cardassia; and even harder when some of them feel we are being cajoled by the Federation. They worry that we're losing our place in things. Your little space station is just another thorn in their side..." She shook her head. "Lyonesse is non-negotiable," she said firmly. "All of our governments agreed about that when we proposed it -- even yours." "Not my government," he said sharply, perhaps sharper than he intended. Waving a hand, Bacco continued. "If we are to maintain our mutual presence in the Gamma Quadrant we need to be able to secure our holdings. You know that as well as I do and it's not as if the Federation doesn't already control access to the wormhole already anyway... in case you missed it, we have a heavily armed space station parked outside of it already..." "No," he said sharply, "the Bajoran Government owns a space station parked outside of their wormhole." Technically, she considered, that was true. The Federation still only leased Deep Space 9 from the Bajoran government, who'd also sold them the long term rights to the 'operation' of said wormhole, and in return the Federation received free passage (everyone else had to pay the Bajorans for transit rights.) "A legal technicality," she said. "Besides, Bajor is still well on track to become a full member of the Federation, which would make your point moot anyway." "That's not the point," he interjected. "The Federation has asked... no demanded a lot out of the Romulan Empire financially, and we've received very little benefit from it; compound that with the perceived loss of influence..." "I don't even want to hear it," Bacco said, putting her tea down and standing up. "You've got to be joking." "Excuse me?" "You're being asked," she said, "to give a very small relative portion as part of the plan before you. And if you want to talk about our other joint ventures, we can, but I think you'd better check the numbers first Praetor. Take a look at the station orbiting above us -- do you know how much of its funding you were supposed to pay, according to the treaty?" He started to stammer a response, but was quickly cut off. "25% percent of total operating costs, in addition to a number of other costs, while receiving a share of all docking fees." He nodded. "Yes... that sounds about right." "Do you know how much, in actuality your government has actually budgeted annually?" Again before he could respond, Bacco had the facts ready for him. "Less than 75% of that, Praetor. Less than 75% of your obligations. Oh but that hasn't stopped you from taking your full cut of the docking fees." "Well there are a number of issues to consider..." "Spare me," she said. "The short of it is that there's a reason why the Federation is making all the decisions -- its because we're paying for everything. Hell, we're shouldering almost the entire cost of Sky Harbor and Camelot; and we didn't even bother asking the other governments for funding for Lyonesse because we knew we'd never get it -- yet we're not even going to charge for its usage. "And as for the financial costs associated with the proposal I've put forward for the reconstruction effort -- your government is being asked to contribute very little, and out of it you're going to get a nice little trade deal to take back to your senate and crow about." Gaher frowned and made a mental note to chide his advisers who'd grossly underestimated the President of the Federation. She was far, far tougher than he'd imagined and he could now see why she'd so easily convinced the other governments to go along with her little scheme. "That is simply not enough," he said. "The Senate does not want to continue wasting money on outsiders. We have our own problems, our own rebuilding to do." "Well then," she said. "I guess we have nothing more to talk about. I'll make sure to put out a begging bowl for you at the table tomorrow." Gaher tensed. He didn't like be condescended too. Bacco, still standing, kept her eyes on him, watching him carefully. Negotiations were, as cliche as it sounded, a lot like playing hearts. Gaher had thrown just about every card he had at her, but she still had a few trumps to play and as she watched him tense, she wondered if she'd even need them. "Oh," he said. "Is that how you expect to win compliance, by bullying me? By belittling the Empire?" Bacco softened slightly and shook her head. "No Deson," she said using his first name for the first time. "I am just trying to get you to do the right thing. I understand its not good politics for you, I get that." "I don't see..." "I am well aware of political tensions," she said, "I know we don't always show it, but the Federation isn't immune to it either. I have the luxury of only having to run for election once every for years, true, but it doesn't mean I don't have to consider it. So, no, I do understand your position." Gaher softened as well. Despite himself, he considered her for a long moment. There was more than just a little truth to what she was saying -- and the both knew it. "Listen," he finally said. "I do not entirely agree that is our full responsibility to help the Cardassians. That will likely never change. They brought this on themselves. They betrayed the entire Quadrant. Sure it was a handful of powerful people, but it isn't as if the Cardassian people minded until they started losing the war." Bacco opened her mouth, but stopped short and nodded for him continue. "On the other-hand," he said. "Our intelligence reports confirm what you and the Castelan have said. We believe that the civilian government is dangerously close to falling in the next election. While we do not share the same sort of … humanitarian and democratic concerns as you... my government has little interest in the old guard returning to power. "That said, we're going to need some assurances that this isn't going to just be another blank check to the Cardassians. My people won't allow it. And.." He paused for a moment. "And... I would like something more for myself. I will not lie, I am going to have to use a good deal of political capitol to get this deal through. If I am going to do that, I want something else out of it." She nodded and leaned against the couch. "At least you're being honest now." He nodded. "Those are the conditions." "So what is it you want?"

NPC Biographies go in this thread.

OOC Date July 24, 2011 IC Date November 8, 2385 The Relief teams beamed to the planet to begin their efforts while Engineering dealt with the on going situation at the power plant. Aboard Excalibur science continued to gather data. TBS: 2-3 hrs

OOC Date July 17, 2011 IC Date November 8, 2385 Aboard Excalibur, preparations continued to launch relief efforts between medical, security and the marines; efforts that now broadened in scope to include medical relief, search and rescue, and security concerns, as well as other humanitarian efforts. Science began looking more into the geological issues, and requested more data from Dominion Archives, via Camelot. Commander Admiran and a team of "shock engineers" beamed down to the ailing power plant where they found things to be not what they'd expected, concerns grew even graver when one of the engineers tricorder's radiation alarms began sounding, despite the instance of Administrator Galon that there was "nothing reactive" about the plant. TBS: 25-30 minutes

OOC Date July 10, 2011 IC Date November 8, 2385 Arriving in orbit, Excalibur contacted the planet to begin assisting them. Commander Wydown was ordered to take point in relief efforts. During communication between the planet and Excalibur, another massive quake (8.2 magnitude) was observed, only furthering an already critical situation. Compounding matters was a near disaster at one of the six geothermal power plants. Though stabilized for the moment, the latter became an engineering project. TBS: 2 hours

OOC Date June 26, 2011 IC Date November 6, 2385 En route, Excalibur was contacted by Camelot Station with modified orders. For now, the science mission had been scrapped and Excalibur was redirected to the Caldor system where they were to render aide. Caldor, a former Dominion holding, had experienced a number of large earthquakes and had asked the Federation for assistance. TBS: 2 days

OOC Date June 19, 2011 IC Date November 5, 2385 Excalibur continued en route to Endorin. TBS: 1 day

Paris One cruised along at warp, flanked on either side by two Norway-class starships and a two wings of Advanced Lancelot-class fighters. Perched against the window of her stateroom, the silver haired President of the Federation, Nanietta Bacco, watched with muted interest as the stars steamed by in a rainbow of colors. It occurred to her that she she really didn’t spend a great deal of her time in Paris when it came down to it. Not that you could ever really say a President was on vacation, either, mind you but she had found herself spending a much larger chunk of time in her second term abroad. She sighed and headed away from the window, settling in a chase lounger with a PADD in hand. Surrendering to necessity she began to read over the speech that her aides had written for her, taking out a stylus to edit and modify it as she was prone to do, much to their chagrin. Marking out a particularly odious section, she considered just how important the speech actually was, and despite herself, she was actually looking forward to this trip. In six hours, she noted, she would be the first sitting President to ever set foot on Cardassian soil. It was hard to imagine that the war had been over for a decade now. November 3, 2375 -- by the Earth calender -- marked the end of the Dominion War. The war had changed everyone’s lives. Starfleet had been in wars before, the Tzenkethi War, the Pytherian War, even the Cardassian Wars; but those had been, relatively small in scope or limited to a smaller portion of the Federation. The Dominion War, on the other hand, was the first time in the collective memory of the Federation since the Romulan-Earth War, that a conflict had threatened so many worlds and species. Nothing had been the same since the war. Not Earth, not the Federation, not herself. Maybe that was why this particular trip had taken such a personal feeling for her. It was a chance at resetting relationships, a chance to move beyond the turmoil of the last ten years. Sure there had been peace, but tensions between the three major powers remained high; the shadow of the Dominion still loomed; Cardassia remained unable to stand on her own; and now she had to worry about her own people circumventing the ideals they’d sworn to uphold. Smiling to herself, she recalled the reaction her top advisers had given her when she’d floated the idea past them. “You want to do what?” One of them had said incredulously. It really was a zany idea, she admitted. There was a reason why the sitting heads of states of the five major powers of the Alpha and Beta Quadrants had never been in the same room before: logistics, for one. The amount of planning that had gone into this was astounding. Security on Cardassia was going to cost a small fortune. That alone had initially nearly killed the idea in its infancy. Not that she could blame the Cardassian government. They were still rebuilding, still trying to just get back on their feet -- you couldn’t really expect them to shell out the billions in credits that were required for the type of security needed. Thankfully, she’d convinced the Council and Grand Nagus Rom to support the costs. Then had come the hard part: getting the Romulans and Klingons to sign on. It was almost as painful as getting them to actually sign a treaty. She understood, of course, their positions. Both the High Chancellor and the Praetor were extremely busy people with empires of their own to manage, but in the end, they had both been savvy enough to recognize the potential benefits of being on the same stage as each other for the first time in history. For her it was providing a welcome distraction from the sudden departure of a number of high ranking intelligence and fleet officials for personal reasons. As she marked through another section of the speech, which she would eventually be giving at the site of a new memorial being erected on Cardassia Prime to honor civilian causalities of the war on both sides including the millions killed on the Cardassian homeworld before the Dominion surrender, another welcome distraction entered her stateroom. “Madame President...” “You don’t have to call me that, Kale.” She said, looking up from the PADD to her Chief of Staff. “Habit,” he said with a sly grin. “How’s the speech going?” Putting the PADD down and smoothing her silver hair, she took a deep breath. “Tvel always does a good job.” “Then why do you always bleed all over his drafts?” “Habit,” she said flatly. Smirking he nodded. “Fair enough.” “I’d write them myself if the lot of you wouldn’t have an aneurysm.” They exchanged grins for a moment before Kale straightened in posture again. “Praetor Gaher’s people let us know they’re running a little bit behind schedule.” “Oh?” “Yes,” he said. “Apparently they had a small matter on homeworld that had to be dealt with before they could leave.” “Lovely,” she said dryly. “But he is still coming?” “Yes,” Kale said. “He just won’t arrive until tomorrow.” “He’ll miss the opening gala.” “More food for the rest of us.” “Your stomach never ceases to amaze me,” she said bemused. “It could be worse, I suppose. The main part of this confab isn’t till day three anyway.” “Yep.” “I do have to admit,” she said. “I’d rather hoped my first face-to-face meeting with the Praetor would have been with his predecessor.” Kale nodded. “It’s not that I have anything personally against Gaher,” she said candidly. “He seems balanced enough. Maybe a little weak in the knees.” “Shame about Avfad.” Nodding, she continued. “He and I had started a good dialog...” “Yes,” Kale said. “You know how these things are. At least he’s not... what’s that guys name?” “The extremist that’s Proconsul?” “Yeah, that one.” She gave him a rather stern, if not playful look. “Kale, a man in your position should know these things.” “I know who he is, it’s just hard to keep the pointy-ears' names straight. I mean, which one is the crazy one, the weak-kneed one, or the dead liberal one? And do they all have to have such difficult to pronounce names? Can't they just have normal names?” “Don’t let the press or the Romulans hear you talk that way,” she scolded him. “They’ll never shut up about it.” “Sorry,” he said honestly. “I’ve just been spending a lot of time with my Klingon counterparts.” Her glower eased somewhat and she picked up the PADD again. “So when you meet with Gaher,” he said, “just what are you going to talk to him about?” “For starters,” she said, not looking up from the PADD. “We’re going to have a little chat about the incident with the Excalibur and the weapons smuggling.” “That should be interesting.” “Oh, I suspect, from the way their Ambassador has danced around the subject, he’ll be less than pleased to talk about it.” “I know his people have indicated they’d like to talk about the Lyonesse situation” She frowned. “I know, but I suppose if I am going to get him to talk about something he doesn’t want to talk about...” “So are you?” “It is the nature of diplomacy.” “And then there’s the big one...” A sigh escaped her lips. “Our governments have to do something about it sooner or later.” “I know,” he said. “And whatever we do is going to ###### someone off.”

Drapped in wispy clouds of smog and dust, Cardassia Prime’s Laher reminded Nan Bacco of a cross between 21st century Beijing and the desert wastelands of North American west. The arches and spires unique to Cardassian architecture rose high into skies blotted about the remains of centuries of industrialization that had stripped the planet bare of most natural resources. As one of the few major cities to remain relatively untouched during the Dominon Purges, Laher had become the nexus for the new civilian government. Though the Klingons were no doubt enjoying seeing what remained of the Cardassian’s once proud planet still in ruin ten years later, Nan couldn’t help be overcome with a feeling of sympathy. On some level, and in her weaker moments, she could understand the Klingon perspective. The Cardassians had brought this on themselves -- they’d betrayed the entire Quadrant to the Dominion; but then she reminded herself that it wasn’t the entire Cardassian people. It wasn’t the civilians, or even the average foot solider that had committed the act of treason. They’d never asked for any of this. Sure they’d perhaps allowed it to happen, hadn’t acted when they could have, but was it any different from events in Earth’s history? As she considered the similarities, the door behind her slid open. “Madame President,” Hirishi Santon, her personal assistant said, “The Castellan is here.” “Send him in.” A few moments later, the Castellan -- the chief executive officer of the Cardassian Union, joined her in the vast stateroom that had been provided for her stay in the Cardassian capital. She’d spoken with him, of course, on intergalactic communique, but she’d never met the man. Now, face to face with him, she took a few minutes to look him over. Alem Racet was a tall, squarely built man of moderate height with a proudly puffed chest and even prouder chin. He wore his sleek, sliver hair neatly pulled back around his scalp as was traditional among Cardassian males. He’d once been a high ranking Legate serving in Central Command, who’d earned a reputation of being fair and honest. And while service in Central Command had largely become a liability in the years after the war, with many of the more populist groups blaming the troubles that beset Cardassia on the military junta, Racet’s resignation during the Occupation of Bajor in protest of what he believed to be a waste of resources, and his subsequent lack of involvement in the events that followed had placed Racet in a unique position to capitalize. “Madame President,” he said in a low, baritone. “Welcome to Cardassia.” The pride was evident in his voice, and she smiled. “It is an honor to finally met you in person, Castellan.” “The honor belongs to all of Cardassia, madame. For too long our peoples have stood apart.” “In deed,” she said thoughtfully, motioning for him to join her next to the window. “Ten years ago... I think even before that … I don’t think there was any way this could be happening.” “I remember,” he said glancing to her for a moment before turning his attention to the city he’d grown up in as a small child in a home for laborers. “When we first met your people. “And though they tried to scare us with stories about your people, I think what I remember most was the dream that someday my homeworld could look like yours. Lush, fertile -- clear skies and clean water.” She smiled again, and put a hand on his shoulder. “It still can be.” “Maybe,” he said returning her smile. “Though likely not in my lifetime, and likely not even my children. The scars and wounds that we’ve inflicted on our world and our people will take generations to heal. I fear too that my people do not have the resolve to make the tough choices that face us. I fear that they will give in to their own fears and let the more conservative elements of our society return them to the old ways...” Nan nodded thoughtfully. She appreciated his candor, and that he knew that the old ways weren’t sustainable. “It is good,” she said, “that Cardassia has someone like you to lead it then.” “We shall see.” After a few more exchanges of more personal natures, the two once more returned to business. “This summit,” Racet said more seriously than he’d been in the prior twenty or so minutes, “is of vital importance to my people. I know you know this, but I cannot stress it enough. It is the first time since the war that the attention of the quadrant has been on us and the first time in years that it’s been in a positive light.” She nodded. In truth, it was just as important to her as it was him. She needed something to take the public eye off the Gamma Quadrant and diplomatically, a pivot point with the Romulans. “I know,” she said. “Hopefully we can reach some sort of agreement with the other governments...” “And if not?” “If the Klingons and the Romulans chose to ignore their responsibilities,” she said firmly, “I will do everything in my power to remind them.” Racet nodded again, templing his fingers. “I’ve read over your proposal,” he said. “It has promise.” Bacco smiled. “It’s a start.” Smiling, Racet straightend. “Well I should let you go,” he said. “It’s almost time to meet with the others.” -- Chancellor Martok frowned as his shuttle began its descent through the lower layers of the Cardassian atmosphere, circling Laher before heading towards the Ulan Mountan Range where the first day of meetings would occur at a small mountain retreat famed for it’s rustic overlooks of one Cardassia’s largest fresh water lakes. He joked with his advisers that the only reason he had accepted the invitation to the summit had been because the Cadassians had promised to allow him to hunt a gre’tha, a Cardassian antelope that had been rumored to be nearly impossible to track. In truth, and only in the confidence of his closest advisers did he admit, that his real reason for attending the summit was to do something Klingons were rarely accused of doing well -- tending wounds. For ten years, Cardassia had festered as an open wound; trapped in the bounds of shame and dishonor, virtually occupied by foreign powers. The Klingon Empire alone had spent billions of its own funding to help rebuild the empire, yet the planet remained only superficially improved from the last time he’d set foot upon it. “Chancellor,” came the voice of Katok, his personal aide, “we are on final approach.” “Good,” he said standing. “Let us hope that they have at least improved the smell since I was last on the his wretched planet.” Katok grinned toothily. “I thought you enjoyed the smell of victory?” Martok laughed and smacked Katok on the shoulder. “I do,” he said, “however the bloom and fragrance of victory is short lived, much like the bliss from a wedding.” The young, handsome Klingon lifted his brows. “And then you are stuck with your wife?” “Welcome to Cardassia, Katok!” -- “President Bacco, Castelan Racet” Martok said heartily. “It is an honor to see you again...” “And to you as well, Chancellor. I hope your trip was... uneventful.” After a few more salutations, the Chancellor turned towards the open air balcony of the woodland lodge. “I must admit Racet,” he said in a tone only a Klingon could get away with, “I had no idea that Cardassians had such an interest in nature and the outdoors. The trophies in the main hall are... almost impressive.” Taking the compliment for what it was, the Cardassian smirked to Bacco before responding. “On behalf of the Cardassian people, I take your compliment with sincere admiration.” Boys, Bacco thought with a patient shake of the head that had come from years of growing up around dominate males. “Well gentlemen,” she said before the good natured joking took a turn for the sour, “I am glad we’re almost all here. The Praetor should be here this evening...” “Bah,” Martok said with a wave. “A delay he says. Always late to everything the Romulans are...” Racet wondered if that was a veiled joke about the late entrance of the Romulans to the war, but decided not to press the point. “We can still perhaps make some progress on the President’s proposal...” “Ah yes,” Martok said, leaning against the railing of the balcony. “You are a mad woman.” Bacco blinked. “Excuse me?” “Totally out of your mind,” Martok said. “I like it.” She sighed, relieved. “But that does not mean my people will like it, nor will the Council like it.” “I see...” “Chancellor,” Racet interjected, his voice remaining as calm as the gentle breeze whispering through the mountain forest that surrounded them. “The President and I have been working on this proposal for months... the situation...” “I am aware of the situation,” Martok said with a flourish, “but you must also understand the position of my people. We have given the Cardassians far more than we have ever given any other race we have defeated in combat. Food, water, technology... money. “And yet here we are ten-years later and Cardassia still cannot stand on her own. My aides tell me that corruption is rampant in the municipal governments, that monies intended for aide line the pockets of government officials and their cronies. And lets not forget the near disaster that occurred when...” “Are you accusing me of running a corrupt government, Chancellor? Perhaps had your government not launched an unprovoked invasion of our space, we wouldn’t have had to seek the Dominion’s help in the first place...” Before he could respond, and sensing the situation slipping out of her control, Bacco interjected herself forcefully. “Both of you,” she said, “stop right there.” The two men glanced at her, taken a back by the assertiveness of her tone. “I didn’t come all this way to listen to you two recriminate each other. We could spend the next hour, the next day, the next year, the next hundred years deciding who is at fault about what, and we’d still likely never have an agreement. The truth is that it doesn’t matter who started what war or who finished it and on which side they were when it happened. It’s over now. We are here to lay framework for Cardassia to stand on her own, and whether you like it or not, it’s going to happen. We have a responsibility not just to our own ideals, but to the future. If we abandon Cardassia now, if we continue to burden them with them with the offenses of the past, then history is only going to repeat itself and in a hundred years we’re going to end up right back where we started. Well dammit, I am not going to allow that cycle to continue any longer.” Martok’s glare that had been transfixed on Racet began to slowly fade into wry grin and he looked towards Bacco. “Very well,” he said, “perhaps you are right. There is no tactical wisdom in fighting battles twice. You have my promise that the Klingon Empire will negotiate in good faith during these proceedings.” Marginally mollified, she nodded. “Good.” Now, to get the Romulans aboard.

The Excalibur will run as scheduled, absences will be excused. Happy and safe holiday to everyone.

Note: The following information comes from records provided to the Federation by the Dominion. Dominion Archival Records File: Yi-Ln 96216 Subject: Caldor ---- BACKGROUND Located in the extreme edges of Dominion Space in an isolated cluster of relatively uninhabited systems, Caldor held little strategic value and for the largest part of its history remained untouched by Dominion forces. It’s inhabitants, a primitive, class P-3 lifeform, were a low-tech, pre-industrial society with sparse clusters of populations scattered across the barely class-M world and posed little threat to the Dominion. Roughly sixty five years ago, however, a routine survey of the planet revealed unusual geothermal properties in the planet, making it ideal for geothermal energy research. The Dominion formally annexed the planet, offering their ‘assistance’ in ‘modernizing’ the planet’s population. In a matter of mere years, the planet’s technological level advanced at light speed as Caldor became the sight of six major geothermal energy generators and research facilities. With the number of recent conflicts, however, and the strain on Dominion resources, a decision by the Vorta Council nearly eight months ago officially ‘patriated’ Caldor, turning over governance to the Caldorian people. BIOLOGY Classification P-3 life forms, the Caldorians are mammalian and distantly primate. Their ruddy, olive-skin protects them from the higher than normal UV radiation that bathes their planet. Four toed, they have largely evolved modern primate features, but have several distinct traits that reveal non-primate evolution, including retractable claws on their wrists. CULUTRE Little is known about the Caldorians before their conquest by the Dominion. It is believed that they practiced tribal rule as is custom with most nomadic people. Prior to the conquest by the Dominion, there existed few large settlements, as the Caldorians tended to follow the herds of animals that migrated across the savannas of the habitation zones of the planet. Currently, the Caldorians largely live in six major settlement zones that coincide with the six geothermal facilities constructed by the Dominion, though some have begun to return to the savannas of the planet. GEOLOGY/CLIMATE Owing to its proximity to a Class N Blue Giant and low ozone count,Caldor has a relatively hot, arid climate. The habitable zones are largely grouped in the tropics, with large swaths of the land being too arid for habitation. The six major settlements are located on the edges of the habitation zones, near large rift valleys that are the feature of the unusual geothermal properties of the planet. Dominion geological surveys revealed unusually large amounts of geothermal energy or a planet the size and material composition of Caldor.

MISSION BRIEF: Excalibur has spent the last four days enjoying Camelot, but is now prepared to set sail on their first real mission under Captain Swain: a geological survey of a young star system. Engineering and science have been tasked with putting 061211.txt