Sorehl

A joint log with Ensign Ramson... As usual, the air in Captain Sorehl’s office was warm and dry. Ensign Kallah Ramson stood in front of his desk, PADD in hand. To her right, Commander John Blair sat in one of the overstuffed couches lining the edge of the room, his feet up on the table. The Vulcan captain was multi-tasking between a series of PADDs and his desktop display. Blair folded his arms. “Don’t be too impressed,” the executive officer said, addressing Kallah. “He’s just showing off his juggling skills. He was playing 4-D Bejeweled before you chimed in.” Sorehl gave the human a skeptical glance as Kallah failed to suppress an upturned corner of her mouth. Looking pleased with himself, Blair scooped up a handful of cashews and leaned back further into the couch. The Vulcan turned his attention back to Kallah. “You may submit your report, Ensign." “Yes, sir,” she replied, her expression back to neutral. “All fighter squads are operational, manned, and on a six-shift alert rotation. The craft are spending two shifts in orbital standby, two shifts on system patrols, one shift on deep patrol, and one shift in maintenance.” She went on. “While this puts the fighters in service for 20 hours at a time, we’re exchanging pilots regularly. This is keeping fatigue down and limiting disruptions to the existing schedules of those we've drafted into service." Sorehl was looking aside at the duty roster. “Very good,” he acknowledged. “What is the progress on stealth updates to the fighter craft?” Kallah pulled up her own PADD. “As you know, Commander Xavier’s original design called for a multi-phasic stealth emitter on the dorsal and ventral surfaces. Since we’re using a Lancelot-class, the warp pod makes that impossible. We’re considering mounting the emitters port and starboard on the existing hardpoints. Xavier is generally.... displeased with the number of compromises to his original designs, but I sense nothing beyond the normal human need to vent some frustration." She paused briefly, letting the captain respond. Sorehl nodded. He himself had mandated some of the more radical changes. As a Vulcan, he had been relentlessly dispassionate in ordering compromises that could be merged with the existing spaceframe. Their timeline did not offer the luxury of pandering to an emotional sense of design ownership. Crispin was more than professional enough to see the need. “Go on,” he prompted. Using a stylus, he appeared to be manipulating a resource schedule. “We do have one operational problem,” Kallah reported. “The stealth material dampens the subspace antenna – long-range communication is basically inoperable.” She tilted her head. “My attempts to modify the existing array have either failed or render the fighter visible in simulations. If we can’t find a way around it, we’ll have to trade visibility or risk hoping it survives to bring back its data.” “It could also prevent receiving any change in orders,” Sorehl surmised, looking up. “Mr. Blair, you’ve had some experience with covert communication…” Blair paused in mid-crunch, still enjoying the table snack. “Ummm, yeah,” he mumbled, taking a swallow. The captain didn’t usually talk so openly about his work on subspace surveillance. “You could use resonance on the navigational deflector,” he offered aloud, “but that’s not omni-directional – you’d have to point where you wanted to transmit.” He took his feet down from the table. “We’ve had some luck in the past with tunneling soliton bursts into subspace, but there’s a trade in transmission speed.” “See to it, John,” Sorehl ordered. “I want best options forwarded to Mr. Xavier in the next six hours.” “You know," Blair noted. "I’m supposed to be coordinating the IDF interconnect test with the Enforcer.” “Delay it, with my apologies to Commander Tremaine,” Sorehl nodded. “This takes priority over our plans for Camelot.” He looked back to the Minarian. “Anything father?” "Yes, sir,” she answered, “there's the matter of range." She thumbed her PADD, transferring a star chart onto the wall display at left. The image showed the relative positions of the Avalon system and the wormhole entrance, nearly 120 light years apart. Both command officers turned their attention there. “We could make modifications so the fighter could go and return on its own, but with interaction of the stealth composites, loss of these two hardpoints, and added mass of the sensor payload, the return range would be limited to this point." A circular marker blinked on the board. "Even less if we have to engage in evasive maneuvers. We could consider letting it transverse the wormhole…” “We’re not ready for that yet,” Sorehl interrupted. “I’m recommending the fighter be deployed by Excalibur enroute to Idran. The fighter’s multimode sustainer can coast into position using a hand-off field from the starship.” Blair considered briefly. “You’re going to try wrapping a subspace extrusion around a moving craft? That’s tricky envelope work.” Sorehl took a breath. “Photon torpedoes depend on the same effect.” “Right,” the human agreed vigorously, “but they get launched through a static aperture designed to…” “The Sovereign-class was built to accommodate ordinance up to the size of tri-cobalt devices,” the captain noted. Blair leaned forward. “Wait a second, you’re not seriously suggesting…” he trailed off, then exploded out of his seat. “Are you out of your Vulcan mind? Who’d be crazy enough to let themselves get shot out a torpedo launcher?” “I would,” Kallah spoke up. Sorehl looked back at the ensign. “Which was going to be my suggestion to Captain Corizon. We are unlikely to find a more skilled pilot for this endeavor.” Blair raised his hands in mock surrender. “It’s not my decision.” He leaned in toward the desk. “But I think you enjoy coming up with this stuff just to see me freak out – 'move the station', 'dig a hole in the planet’s crust', 'launch a ensign like a torpedo'…” He nodded to Kallah as he headed for the door. “Good luck.” Sorehl watched his exec go, then turned his attention back to the young ensign. “I did not mean to put you ‘on the spot.’ In fact, Corizon has not yet approved the assignment.” “Thank you, sir,” Kallah answered. “It may be a conceit, but I assumed it was a possibility. I’m ready to go.” “Very good,” Sorehl approved. “Dismissed.” Kallah turned to go. “Actually, there is something else. If your duties permit, would you be willing to join Jeralla and I at my quarters… for dinner?” For a moment, Sorehl looked faintly uncomfortable, glancing to one side of his desk. Maybe it was against protocol to have one’s commanding officer over for a meal, she wondered. Maybe she was assuming too much of his friendship with her parents carried over to her. Maybe her intentions were too bold. But if she didn’t take care of it before the mission… “Of course,” he replied evenly. He returned to the nearest PADD. “I’m due to brief Admiral Day in a moment, but I shall contact you about the arrangements.” Kallah nodded pleasantly, if somewhat nervously, then turned and left the office.

Sorehl stood alone in his office, staring out the viewport. The grey-blue reflected light of Avalon was rotating slowly into view. From here at the Legrange point, the planet was distant enough that he could blot it out with his thumb, but close enough to be resolved as a disk rather than a mere point of light. Not unlike a dream just outside one’s grasp, he mused. He turned away from the view, chiding himself for the introspection. His first duties were to the situation at hand. Admiral Day shouldered the responsibility. Corizon was the tactical scholar. Sorehl was supposed to be the technocrat, the engineer constrained by command duties. But still, he could not escape his own history. He could not keep his mind from considering possibilities – diplomatic, strategic, and tactical. His executive officer Blair had called it “typical Vulcan brooding”. Loss of contact with the Alpha Quadrant left the Allies isolated from support and direction. Added to that, the Dominion refusal to aid them was a fundamental shift in roles in the Gamma Quadrant. The bulk of their fleet had already left Camelot. Ambassador T’Salik was not on the station. Coupled with her assistant’s statement about “state secrets” made it clear the Federation envoy had embarked on a diplomatic mission – but to whom? Sorehl clasped his hands behind his back. It was important T’Salik know about these developments. He trusted Jeralla would have means reach her. He swallowed, thinking of his confrontation with the Cardassian attaché. She was far from the shy Cardassian girl he had known on Aegis. He pushed such thoughts into the tightly-wrapped packages in his well-ordered mind. He needed to meet with Kallah Ramson. The fighter wing would be crucial if Camelot had no place to retreat, as it now seemed. How strange that yet another girl, practically an infant when they last met, would take up residence under his command. The details of the temporal anomaly that had brought her here as an adult remained unclear, but she brought her father’s talent in fighter craft and station defense. Odd that, from his perspective, she was not even as old as he eldest daughter. He moved toward his desk, observing the holoimage of his still-young children. Defense of the civilians on Avalon was his foremost concern. It was clear the Romulans intended to defend their colony. Camelot would offer shelter, but he knew – as at the battles above Canar II – that unless there was a full-scale evacuation ordered, the few Federation citizens would likely remain in their new homes. At his order, the Camelot crew were simultaneously preparing plans to abandon, destroy, or move the station. So much hinged on what their scouts would learn in the next hours. Had the colony on New Bajor been destroyed? Had the Scorpiad begun an invasion of Federation space through the wormhole? Was Avalon the next target? He could not answer these questions, instead relying on other officers to do so. Excalibur was already underway for the wormhole. K’Vorlag and his scout ship should be entering the Idran system in minutes, and the Romulans were still enroute to the Bajoran colony. Sorehl had saved another task for himself. “Commander Blair,” he spoke, tapping his commbadge, “advise the science department that I shall require use of the stellar cartography facility until further notice.” There was a pause before the response. “Your office isn’t big enough for pacing, captain?” “See to it, Mr. Blair,” Sorehl repeated. He stepped through his office's private access to the turbolift. There was little logic in trying to escape his own history. It was time for the Scorpiad to learn how a Vulcan waged war.

Given that air pressure in vacuum is caused by the rush of more energetic, densely-packed molecules into a less-confined space (with greater entropy), wouldn't this log title more accurately be "Wormholes Blow?"

The aft doors parted with the cancellation of the security lockout in the Round Table Conference Room. Sorehl strode through purposefully, leaving others to continue their debate. K’Vorlag, who had tried to beat him to the door, glared jealously at the departure. The Klingon had been asked to remain and consult with the other Allies. Turning to mount the stairs toward the uppermost deck, Sorehl realized the significant turning-point they had just witnessed. They had lost contact with both New Bajor and the wormhole terminus near the Idran system – they were effectively isolated from the Alpha Quadrant. It was becoming increasingly likely that the Al-Ucard and Eratan actions had been used to draw the Allied fleets away so the Scorpiad could make their own move on the wormhole. An attack force might be on its way to Avalon, he realized, or an invasion of the Alpha Quadrant might already be underway. Klingon and Romulan representatives had just agreed to dispatch cloaked scouts to assess the situation. Battle might yet loom for this already-weary fleet. Significantly, upon hearing the news, the Dominion had refused to offer assistance, citing its own internal concerns. The mission of Camelot Station might have ended right there. Admiral Day had rightly expected the Dominion to reciprocate for the Allied defense of their territory and saving the Vorta Council itself. He had assured them of consequences for failing to do so. Sorehl had been ordered to make plans to abandon the colony and withdraw from the quadrant. If news from the Klingon and Romulan scouts confirmed a tactical move against the Alpha Quadrant, the Allies were likely to leave the Dominion to whatever fate awaited it. The orders were not unlike those he’d executed before… * * * * * Aboard Starbase Aegis, in its secret location among an obscure asteroid field during the early months of the Dominion War… The Bajoran female onscreen continued her report. "We've found debris from at least three different Jem'Hadar ships. But no trace of the Perseus, Captain." Sorehl nodded. He faced the main viewer from his stance in the Aegis Command Center. "Understood," he spoke evenly, responding to the first officer of the Galaxy-class starship Victory. "I must caution you against remaining in your present location, Lieutenant Commander. You're well within enemy space." Betile looked offscreen, then back at the Vulcan. "I've spent most of my life behind enemy lines. We'll leave when it's prudent. Victory out." The Vulcan turned and looked up to Lieutenant (j.g.) Corris Sprint, who manned his newest assignment at the Admin console. "Status?" Corris perused the console. "All our wounded have been transferred to the Oxford and the ship is underway. The ships that arrived with Victory have been added to the repair queue. And Admiral Saylek..." The Bijanni male was cut off by the sound of the aft turbolift opening. The chief of Dominion Threat Assessment, a Vulcan, stepped into the Command Center. "...is on his way up," Sprint finished. "Admiral," Sorehl greeted, climbing the steps. "Captain," came the returned greeting. The etched features and slightly-graying hair betrayed the flag officer’s age, adding an air of wisdom to the elder Vulcan. "I’ve been advised that our forces suffered a loss near the Torman system. It appears the front has moved beyond this position. Make preparations to evacuate the station." Sorehl reached the top of the stairs, pausing a moment to consider the order. "I remind the admiral that our location in this asteroid field has been concealed from the enemy." "It is imprudent to underestimate Dominion intelligence," the admiral countered. "It has already cost us. Your position has already served its purpose.” He referred to the successful strike against the Dominion shipyards at Torros III. He went on. “But it now remains untenable. You would be completely surrounded and cut off from resupply. We will not waste lives and materiel holding an asteroid field with few assets. Once these ships are repaired, your mission here is concluded. It is time to fall back." The captain took another tack. "We believe it is possible the Perseus survived its encounter with the Jem'Hadar. Their last known position was in a system where the Dominion once made its catastrophic attempt to construct their own wormhole to the Gamma Quadrant.” Admiral Saylek shifted his eyes, aware of the classified incident. “Even now,” Sorehl continued, “the starship Victory is there and continues..." "Recall the Victory and begin transfer of your non-essential personnel. A ship of her size should be more than adequate. Regrettably, we must consider the Perseus a casualty of war. Advise your civilian contingent to be ready within 24 hours. See to it, captain." The elder Vulcan stood patiently. The captain glanced across toward the Admin console. "You heard the admiral," he ordered Sprint. “Prepare to evacuate the station.” * * * * * Across the Camelot Command Center, executive officer Commander John Blair looked up from the science console. “Back from Merlin’s Cave?” he asked, referring off-handedly to the location Sorehl often disappeared to. He had never visited the lower decks himself, but had the clearance if his senior officer were somehow incapacitated. The Vulcan shook his head, opting not to answer directly. “I need you to view some sensor logs,” he ordered. He turned toward Lieutenant Commander Sprint, the now-familiar fixture at the Admin console. “I need you to pull up contingency plan Decelea for potential implementation.” The Bijanni operations officer blinked, looking to Blair. Both officers knew the significance of the code word. “And find out where I can contact Ambassador T’Salik. She needs to be apprised of this development,” he added. “Mr. Blair, my office.” “Aye, sir,” Sprint replied, watching the exec join his captain on the descending ramp. It had been awhile since their world had been upended, he reflected. It was probably overdue.

That might be true if I was the same age as the photo when Aegis started, but I wasn't. You can Photoshop an old photo just as well, you know... :::certain that there's a single's dateline joke in there somewhere:::

But please, please somebody update that image of Sorehl on the Aegis website! I must have been nineteen years old in that Photoshop image - and you don't want to know how many years ago that was. Give a Vulcan some dignity!

A joint log with Admiran, Segami, and Eagle, playing out the conclusion of Reliant’s post-battle mission… The five members of the Reliant away team stood outside the Klingon bridge, magnetized boots holding their EVA suits firmly to the deck. With fading lifesigns beyond, an impassive bulkhead prevented both transit and beam-out. Silent plumes of atmosphere vented into the near-vacuum. “We detected environmental leaking,” came the Vulcan captain’s cool baritone over the link. “Admiran, is your team in any danger?” Lt. Tandaris Admiran spoke into the comm unit in his helmet. “No, sir, but any Klingon survivors don't have much time left.” Lieutenant (j.g) Eagle leveled his tricorder. “The atmosphere levels are almost at zero on the other side of that door .” Admiran raised a gloved hand. “Okay, you and Segami stay here,” he ordered. “My techs and I will get down to engineering and equalize the pressure between the two areas. We’ll open the bulkhead - then you two can go in.” Segami nodded to his fellow Trill. “Be careful. And hurry, sir. “ “I’ll have the transporter room and sickaby standing by,” Sorehl advised over the link. Admiran and his two crewman, Mord and Trebek, clomped down the damaged corridor using their mag boots. “Wow,” the Trill engineer said to himself, “this ship is even more of a mess than Reliant.” * * * * * Eagle continued his scans, speaking into the open link. “Captain, Tandaris is enroute to engineering to attempt to open the doors. Equalizing the atmosphere at this point may be moot; there’s very little in place on the bridge side.” He looked toward Segami. “If we can force the doors, tag the survivors, and get them outta there, they may survive.” * * * * * Admiran drifted down into the darkened engineering area, noting the blinking conduit cable everywhere. “Segami,” he reported, “I just reached engineering. Moving to the life support console now.” He gestured toward one of the least damaged consoles. “Mord, access their C&C systems and get into the bulkhead controls. Trebek, go to their power systems and see if they have that flux capacitor we need.” He clamped his own boots down beside a life support console. It didn’t take long to see lifepods had been deployed, bulkheads were in place, and environmental control had been severed to the upper decks. * * * * * Eagle checked his tricorder readings again. “Admiran, forget the life support. Just get the blasted doors open. This is turning into a medical emergency, so please do it... now.” “Life support isn't functional anyway,” Admiran acknowledged. “we'll open the bulkhead.” * * * * * Crewman Mord was struggling with the controls. “I've got a little power to the bulkheads,” he reported. Admiran moved beside him. “All right, close the bulkhead behind them and then open the one between them and the bridge.” He spoke into the comm link. “Segami, Eagle, when you see that bulkhead open, go for it.” The response from Eagle was quick. “We’re on it like an Alabama tick.” * * * * * Behind Segami and Eagle, a corridor bulkhead groaned shut. Moments later, the bridge bulkhead started to lift. Atmosphere surged into the makeshift airlock, but the door jerked to a stop only halfway up. Eagle set down his tricorder. “C’mon, give me a hand:” He squeezed under the door and pushed. Segami reached down and lifted. The door proved nearly immobile, but there was room to crawl under. Eagle stopped his efforts. “OK, if we have to squeeze them through let’s do it. With pressure this low, we may have only seconds.” Segami nodded, getting to the floor. “Looks like we're crawling, doc!” He moved awkwardly into position under the bulkhead. Once through, he righted himself and scanned the room with his eyes. The Klingon bridge was nearly empty, with only a single fallen figure beside the helm. “There’s one!” he shouted. He lurged forward as fast as he could with the mag boots. “Reliant, standby for emergency beamout,” Eagle ordered, moving forward. “We’re locked onto you, Lieutenant,” came the response from Chief “Beamer” Staso. Segami crouched, hefting the sizable Klingon over one shoulder as Eagle slapped a transport tag on him. * * * * * Back in the broken engineering section, Admiran directed his team. “Okay, Trebek, the faster we get this installed on Reliant, the faster we can get home.” He watched a display of the bridge status. “C’mon, guys. We can do this....” “Got one!” he heard Segami report over the link. “One!” he heard himself mutter, “We did all this for one?! The Klingons better be grateful.” * * * * * Eagle went first, as Segami lowered the Klingon to move under the bulkhead that had blocked their transport. “Captain,” the security officer announced, “One Klingon, tagged and bagged, sir. Ready for beamout.” “Energizing,” came Staso’s reply. * * * * * Instead of materializing on Reliant’s smaller-scaled pad, the three figures arrived inside the modest sickbay. Segami and Eagle eased the Klingon onto one of the four beds. Sorehl was just entering “Is he…?” Eagle nodded, “Hypoxic, but alive.” He reached for a medkit. “He needs a tri-ox compound, but he should recover.” “Captain,” came the voice of the Andorian transporter chief, “the engineering team is aboard and ready to resume repairs.” “Have them see to it,” he ordered. The Vulcan captain watched the doctor administer the hypo. Segami stepped back and removed his EVA helmet with a mild gasp of air. Sorehl nodded. It would seem both Reliant and Governor K’Vorlag had survived until their next battle.

Aboard the Defiant-class escort Reliant, thirty-four hours before scheduled intercept. “Thank you, gentlemen,” Captain Sorehl concluded by way of dismissal, “I appreciate your insights.” With a nod of dismissal, he swiveled the center chair away from the aft situation table. The others returned to their tasks. The Vulcan tapped the console at his left, bringing up a log of Morningstar’s visit to Al-Ucard by the late-Lieutenant Summers. Over the last hour, Sorehl had conferred with the Reliant staff, seeking opinions about the upcoming encounter. As prompted, each had been candid, expressing some reluctance for the action. While the perspectives differed, the general conclusion was shared – it remained in the best interests of the Starfleet to prevent the Al-Ucard from destroying their Dominion target. Stability in the Gamma Quadrant would likely translate into fewer problems on the Federation side of the wormhole. Sorehl reflected on this. History was replete with governments that tolerated, even excused, tyranny and oppression in the name of stability. Sometimes allies were chosen because of their strength, rather than shared ideology. Was the Dominion, he wondered – a power whose very name suggested autocratic rule – one such incongruous ally? Defeat in the Alpha Quadrant, while barely diminishing their power, had introduced subtle changes in the constancy of the Dominion. In the years since the war, the Great Link had drawn inward, isolating themselves to consider whether they could abandon their mistrust of solids. According to a past incarnation of Semil, the Founders had actually instructed the Vorta to serve as benevolent stewards in their absence. Defeat had also introduced new enemies. External strife had upset the post-war progress. In their zeal to protect their divine commission, the Vorta were in danger of total relapse. Already, there had been purges, betrayals, and pacification. It was not stability the Federation fought to preserve, Sorehl reasoned. It was hope for the troubled worlds of the Gamma Quadrant. Thusfar, the Hundred and the Scorpiad had revealed only an agenda of destruction. Although they had spurned attempts at dialogue, their unprovoked attacks announced their immediate intentions. The motivations of the Al-Ucard were less certain. Their connection to the Scorpiad was unclear. They had attacked Ardent, but previously allowed Morningstar to visit and leave their homeworld unharmed. Although Eagle had cited ancient folklore from several worlds, there was little evidence that the modern species had been aggressive against its neighbors. And there were the strategic questions. Admiran had correctly assessed the Al-Ucard as a more conventional threat. Why would the Scorpiad be in league with a less technically advanced ally? Although formidable, the Al-Ucard fleet had proven sluggish enough that the Allies would intercept them despite the three-day distance. Sorehl remembered the question posed by the Federation ambassador during their last Round Table conference. “Will there be an attempt at diplomatic resolution?” T’Salik had asked. Her question had remained unanswered. Unanswered questions offered uncertainty to his logic. Orders were clear. Reliant would take flanking position alongside Excalibur, defending the flagship and looking for means to strike the well-defended carrier craft. In addition, he had given specific assignments to the crew. Admiran has been asked to compare Al-Ucard propulsion versus the sudden appearance of Scorpiad ships. Segami would use his knowledge of specialized ordnance to look for opportunities to cripple or disable at least one ship, should battle take place. Eagle would assess means to capture or learn the motivations of the Al-Ucard. Even a forced dialogue would be an improvement over silence. For his part, Sorehl calculated a 19.87% percent probability that the Allied presence would dissuade the Al-Ucard without the need for aggressive action. He would not have considered it hope, but nonetheless, he would look for ways to improve those odds.

The following log takes place thirty-six hours after departure from Camelot... Sorehl leaned forward in the center chair of the starship Reliant, resting a hand under his bearded chin. Onscreen, the tactical display showed the multiple points of the 1st Gamma Fleet hurtling toward the projected halfway point of their journey. Thirty-six hours had passed will no incident, and yet, his mind was uncharacteristically restless. A poorly-trained counselor might offer that the Vulcan was concerned about the coming battle, his lack of starship command, or the junior nature of his crew. None of these would have been correct. Reliant was a sturdy vessel. It had survived both battles above Chin’Toka, as well as the last, great battle above Cardassia Prime. Although a design rushed to meet the Borg threat, the Defiant-class had been well proven over the years as a formidable, enduring craft. While it was true he had been groomed as a starbase commander, he had of necessity led brief ventures aboard various support ships – Perseus and naS SuS’a’, as well as Reliant. He had even acted as captain of the Excalibur-A in the engagement at Decelea. No doubt the crew might be uneasy with a Vulcan in the center chair, but he did not doubt himself. The haste of their departure had required a number of officers to “fill in” as Reliant department heads, but his choices had been conscious and specific. He had reviewed the file of each before making his request to Admiral Day. Besides their obvious skills, he had his own reasons for having them aboard. Lieutenant Tandaris Admiran, a joined Trill, was down in Main Engineering. His recent stint aboard the Ardent and his interests in warp field theory made him a worthy candidate. With his own engineering leanings, Sorehl had been following the lieutenant’s career since his posting. As the seventh host for the Admiran symbiotte, Tandaris was likely to carry untapped wisdom and competance that could augment Sorehl’s own seven decades of experience, if called upon. At his right, Ensign Atticus Segami manned the tactical station. Bearing another long-lived symbiotte, Segami was also a potential resource, but Sorehl’s reasons were somewhat different for including the junior officer. His background in demolitions – particularly the deactivation of unconventional payloads – could lend analytical strength to their coming encounter and could contrast his own. It had been argued that, with spartan medical facilities and a short mission, Reliant would not need a doctor. Lieutenant James Eagle had, in addition to his trauma specialty, cross-training in tactical and could man the redundant ops console at the left-hand side of the bridge. Sorehl had read the young doctor was also bonded to a Vulcan female; it would do well to have an officer onhand who could deal with the nuances of his species' psyche. John Kroells had been his most controversial choice. It had been necessary to reactivate the lieutenant's commission to place him aboard Reliant at its single ops/conn position. Sorehl was aware of the events which had led to Kroells'“resignation”, but had opted to put the science and operations experience to use. He was also aware he had selected an officer with known tendencies to question authority. While he had no place for second guessing, Sorehl had wrestled worse insubordination from names like Shodan and K’Cavok. Such challenges to difficult orders were often a necessary check on his reasoning and kept him deliberate and sharp. He had no doubt the crew were as reliant and the ship itself. As his mind churned through the ramifications of the coming battle, he knew he would need to draw on each of them. He continued his mental sorting, in hopes he would find the source for his unease.

“Without sufficient means to intercept and neutralize incoming attacks,” the Vulcan opined, hands clasped behind his back, “it is my professional opinion that colony defenses will prove inadequate against orbital bombardment.” Admiral Wayne Day looked across his desk at the starbase commander standing and gestured toward the empty seat beside it. “I’m not sure there’s much more we can do, given our resources,” he admitted. “It took six months to gather the materiel we have.” Sorehl glanced at the offered chair, then seated himself. “If I may speak candidly?” Day looked around, a playful smile spreading across his face. “In this office? I haven’t been able to stop anyone yet. Go on.” It was subtle, but there was a trace of discomfort before Sorehl spoke again. “I question the wisdom of expanding the Allied presence at this juncture.” Day frowned in thought. “I thought you promoted the idea of a colony on Avalon.” “A benevolent, cooperative effort, yes,” the captain agreed. “But the Hundred chose to strike when the size of our military fleets proved too inviting a target. Camelot was able to defend itself, but the colony does not possess similar firepower.” Day folded his hands. “There are hundreds of ships in the system.” “The very reason to strike,” Sorehl noted. “Even before the war, the Dominion attempted to subnova the Bajoran sun just to obliterate the combined Federation/Klingon fleet at Deep Space Nine. Half of Bajor, a civilian target, would have burned with it.” The Vulcan continued. “Avalon seems to have escaped Scorpiad attention, but their strategy has been to attack the most consolidated points of Dominion force. If they should take notice of our military assets here, the colony will undoubtedly be part of the collateral damage.” Day listened. The captain knew how to build a syllogism that would appeal to the Admiral’s Vulcan half. It was time for the conclusion. “What are you suggesting?” he prompted. “Disperse the fleet,” Sorehl stated matter-of-factly. “I propose moving Camelot Station from the LeGrange point into synchronous orbit over the colony.” Day leaned back. “Moving the station would be an engineering challenge.” “One that has been done before,” the captain noted. “And you’d be assuming responsibility for defending civilians in a war zone.” “We are already assuming that risk,” Sorehl concluded. Day put his elbows on the desk, interlocking the fingers of his hands. “For the moment, I’ll consider the second part of your proposal,” he granted. “As for the first, Corizon is about to make it happen. You’ll be busy helping him.” “I beg your pardon, admiral?” the Vulcan inquired. He seemed unprepared for this addition. Day gestured with his chin toward the PADD sitting across his desk. “We’re breaking up the fleet to counter the movements we’re observing,” Day advised. “I want you out there with them. Use a few of my junior officers from Excalibur and have Reliant ready to depart within the hour. Those are your orders.” Sorehl reviewed the readout, knowing starship command was not a skill he touted or aspired to. Having made the argument himself, however, he could hardly refuse.

Sorehl slowed the runabout Colorado, assuming a synchronous position some 40,000 kilometers above Avalon Base. He switched the Danube-class craft to autonomous station-keeping and engaged the short-range scan capabilities. Beside him, Commander John Blair swiveled his chair, leaning it back with a bounce. “Okay, you’ve got the sensor compliment at full telemetry,” the human reported. “Now, do you mind telling me what the two of us are doing out here?” Sorehl cast a side-long glance before responding. “I am formulating a proposal for the colony.” The captain continued his work, bringing up a display of the planet below. Blair kept looking, expectantly. After a few moments with no response, he sat up. “And…?” “I have been concerned about our ability to successfully defend a vulnerable colony from a determined foe,” the Vulcan elaborated. He tapped the shiny black surface of the ops console. “So is everybody else,” Blair retorted. He waved one of his arms grandly. “I’ve seen the plans: localized shielding, underground bunkers, transporter abeyance layers, orbital phaser platforms. I heard the Romulans want a cloaked minefield.” “None of which proved sufficient at Chin’toka, Betazed, or the wormhole,” Sorehl countered, continuing with his scans. “Locations with far greater resources.” Blair eyed the captain closely. As a young science officer on Aegis, Blair had watched the Vulcan lock in on something – a design, a tactical plan, a theory – and pursue it with unrelenting logic. The tone was even, but there was an intensity behind it. “What brought this up?” he finally asked. “The Romulan administrator N’Rycus raised a number of issues about the current colony design,” Sorehl answered. “In essence, he noted that it would never thrive inside a wall. They intend to expand their own claims to regions outside Alpha site – farming and aquaculture.” “That sounds risky,” Blair nodded, folding his arms. “The larger the perimeter…” he trailed off. He knew the captain had far greater experience with what orbital bombardment could do. “Precisely,” Sorehl agreed. “What one needs is a sufficiently large defensive capability in a suitably protective position.” He adjusted the readout to show the global footprint visible from the runabout’s location. Blair pointed at the screen. “You’re talking about covering an entire hemisphere. The only thing with enough firepower to do that would take… unless...” His face shifted. “Wait a minute, you’re not considering…” He looked instinctively over his shoulder, then back at the captain. "Are you out of your Vulcan mind?" “As I said," Sorehl replied non-committally, "I am formulating a proposal. It will be for the Admiral to determine its sanity.”

I must admit, I like Finn's idea of putting in an image from each of the sims... helps represent us all. Just one Vulcan's opinion.

Prevailing gusts ruffled his hair, projecting an outward disarray to his otherwise placid expression. Captain Sorehl stood on the wind-swept outcropping, overlooking first evidence of what would emerge to be Avalon Base. The high-altitude air was much too cool for his Vulcan blood, but the discomfort was tempered by the efficient thermal layer of his uniform. Only exposed skin felt the direct chill. He stroked his dark beard, grateful it reduced that exposure even further. It was still morning on this part of the planet. The white light of sunrise had slowly thinned the mist, except where it clung to the surface of the nearby mountain lake. Below him, teams moved across the green, rock-strewn valley as they surveyed coordinates and offloaded supplies. True to his word, Lieutenant Commander Xavier had overseen construction of a landing area large enough to accommodate several shuttles and runabouts. Engineering had moved on to plans for finishing the repair and command facilities. There were longer-term options, such as extensive tunneling and the prospect of using geothermal energy, but environmental impacts must be considered. It would be unacceptable to damage the broader ecosystem just to satisfy their own project. They were only guests on this planet – so far. Sorehl had presented several challenges to the security team, whose assignment was to develop and implement the colonial defense network. The need for shielding and some form of underground shelter was clear, as they had discussed. However, while he was aware they had consulted with engineering about the power interface, they had not yet forwarded their plans to the command staff. He was concerned the team would distract itself with ideas for an increased military presence or large-scale planetside weaponry. More than eighteen months after its deployment, Camelot Station itself remained undermanned with an unfinished interior, but had already proven a formidable defensive asset. Given the time and resources for the fledgling colony, it was unlikely anything of comparative scale could be implemented planetside. They must consider other options. He bristled internally as his tactical engineering experience asserted itself. It was a background he preferred to remain understated. But Groombridge had taught him the futility of localized shielding and demonstrated the mantle-cracking capability of quantum weapons. Chin’toka and Canar II, contrasted against the fall of Betazed, had emphasized the importance of strong orbital defenses. He turned away from the view, chiding himself for the introspection. These were Starfleet professionals, who could be trusted with their job. His assignment, playing to his years as a system integrator, was to bridge the interfaces between their efforts and measure them against the ultimate operations concept. As yet, this was proving difficult. Although he was aware of the science team’s selection of a Denali-class communications array, little else of their planning had reached the Command staff. As far as developing a hospital for the colony, Sorehl was personally unaware of more than the choosing and stockpiling of medical supplies. Climbing down the rock face, he mused on the differences of service. Starship crews often had to rely on quick outcomes and patched-up resolutions, just to survive the battle. What was it Halloway rejoiced in? Kicking in the warp drive and moving on to the next problem, he called it. Avalon Base could not escape its problems. It was, in fact, a statement of permanence. In the face of the Scorpiad, the Hundred, or even the Dominion threat, it was a declaration that the Allies intended to extend their civilizations into the Gamma Quadrant. He would have to work with the Klingon and Romulan contributions to make this colony demonstrate that such expansion would not be though exploiting worlds or conquest, but through peaceful coexistence. Maybe this was what was lacking, he considered. Perhaps it was important to provide a vision of what they were building. Glancing across the grassy slope, he realized his previous commanding officer would have mocked him for such altruism. It wouldn’t have stopped him this time, either.

Sorehl stepped away from the Main Viewer, glancing toward the tactical projection display at the center of the deck. The Romulan warbird Valtrex approached Camelot, highlighted as a glowing green arc. Purple lines indicated the Dominion flagship and its escorts. Though he would never admit it, the return of both Federation and Romulan diplomats was a relief to him. His own estimates had placed their mission somewhere between untenable and “fool’s errand.” It had taken considerable discipline to restrain his opinion, considering the risk. N’Kedre’s communication had indicated that her ship bore official members of the Vorta Council. Why those individuals had chosen conveyance on a Romulan ship was not yet clear. Still, the vulnerability was evident. “Mr. Sprint,” he ordered, not looking away from the display. “I want a security blackout on that last transmission and a team placed at the umbilical connect. Extend your docking procedures until the Admiral and I have time to arrive.” Speaking louder, he addressed the other junior officers on duty in the Command Center. “No one is to be advised of our guests without my express authority.” He swept from the room, stepping onto the turbolift, with his own thoughts.

The following log takes place just before the Round Table conference where the Alpha Site was selected for colonization, aboard Camelot Station. The cargo staging area, comprising the outer rim of Deck 56 and 57, was abuzz. Enlisted personnel glided equipment and material by antigrav toward the central cargo transporters. Engineers scrambled over the surface of bulkier items, preparing them for direct physical transfer to waiting support ships. Having dispatched other pending administrivia, Captain Sorehl stood among the activity, both assisting and supervising the work. A colony, the first permanent Federation settlement in the Gamma Quadrant, was about to take root on the planet Avalon. Camelot had been stockpiling resources for the last six months. In the days following the Romulans’ ill-advised invasion of T-Rogora, it had seemed prudent to cement the Federation position and prepare for an eventual colony (see Irons in the Fire) The seeds of that effort were about to planted in this system.. Sorehl paced alongside a massive block of durasteel as a workpod eased it toward one of the outer force fields. Illuminated beyond, the main shuttlebay of the Galaxy-class Victory waited patiently for the incoming cargo. There was an elegance in orchestrating such transfers that transcended the mundaness of “stowage” and “freight” and appealed to his well-ordered thinking. The ultimate destination, however, had yet to be confirmed. From its excellent vantage at the LaGrange point between them, the station had used short-range scans over the past year to chart the topography of the trojan planetary pair. Tintagel, the larger of the two, was a shrouded N-class world rendered unsuitable for colonization due to its high-velocity winds, poisonous atmosphere, and high surface temperature. It was, in fact, a classic example of a greenhouse-gas dominated ecosystem. Avalon, by contrast, was an idyllic misty M-class world and far more habitable. Prior Dominion surveys had shown the blue-green orb lacked exotic mineral deposits – probably one reason they had suggested it as a Federation staging point – but the planet hosted an abundance of plant life and rudimentary animal life. Unspoiled, one description read. Lieutenant Commander Graham had recently conducted a close-range survey, narrowing probable colony locations to three candidates – a mountainous Alpha site, a shoreline Bravo site, and a tundra Charlie site. There was a certain irony in the fact that Sorehl himself would make the final determination. Although he had initiated the request to approve colonization, recent events had introduced misgiving to his usually determined mind. The strategic situation had changed significantly. The Hundred, originally a small insurgency of rebel Dominion forces, had amassed more power and now seemed able to clone new followers. Camelot, placed as a neutral buffer, had itself become an target. With the introduction of the Scorpiad threat, the Allies now faced an enemy of unusual strength and unknown objective. Given the chain of obliterated Dominion systems, it seemed an unnecessary risk to expand the Federation presence. As commanding officer of the Starfleet facility responsible for defending the system, he did not like the thought of bringing civilians into a likely war zone. He remembered his experiences at Canar all too well. The Excalibur teams knew their jobs, as well. Engineering and security were both making colony defenses the highest priority. Sorehl glanced around, knowing he could do little more to help here on the cargo deck. It was time to consult with the other senior officers – their efforts must be coordinated if they hoped to let these roots sprout. Without a word, the Vulcan turned back to the lift, bound for the Conference Room.

The Founder leader recoiled, hearing a statement from the latest in the line of obedient Weyoun clones. “Then you have come to me for guidance?” she reasoned aloud. “Yes,” the Vorta answered, not bothering to hide the pleading tone in his response. He bowed even lower. The female shapeshifter nodded. “Tell me everything,” she commanded. Even after years of imprisonment, she retained an obvious, regal tone. And Weyoun began his story... * * * * * Inside his modest stateroom aboard the starship Reliant, a chime interrupted Sorehl’s review of the video footage. The recording had been forwarded for his assessment by the Starfleet penal facility in New Zealand. He pressed the pause button, turning his attention to ship’s business. “This is the captain,” he spoke in response. “Go ahead.” “Sir, this is Zorn,” answered a voice from the bridge, “we’re about to enter the Antares system.” “Very good,” Sorehl noted. “Drop to impulse and signal the Lexington.” “That’s just it, sir,” came the reply. “Starbase 21 says they already left the system. And they told us to be ready to take on new orders.” “I’m on my way,” he advised. The captain eased his lean Vulcan frame out of the cramped bunk. He tossed the reader beside a copy of Ethics, Sophistry, and the Alternate Universe on his pillow and got to his feet. Curious, he thought. This would be the second time they had been rerouted since passing through the wormhole a week ago. After delivering Weyoun to Earth, Sorehl had anticipated a brief sojourn at Starfleet Headquarters with an opportunity to brief the Admiralty on the status of the Gamma Quadrant. Instead, Reliant had received new priority orders whisking it to a rendezvous with the Sovereign-class Lexington. It took exactly twelve paces to exit his cabin, turn left down the concentric corridor, and enter the bridge. He walked on, coming up behind the flight control and operations console where Lieutenant Commander Gabriel Zorn sat. “What are our orders?” he prompted. Zorn looked over his shoulder. “Encrypted, sir,” the helmsman explained. “I’ve transferred them over to your console.” Sorehl nodded curtly and assumed the center chair. He tapped the console at his right, providing the necessary security code. It took seconds to determine the intent, but a few more moments to understand their broader impact. He cocked an eyebrow. “They lied to me,” he spoke quietly. Zorn swivelled his chair. “Sir? May I ask what our orders are?” “Technically, Commander, they are my orders, not ours. I will be disembarking at the starbase.” He stood. “You are to assume command and await further orders from Admiral a’Trok.” “Sir?” Zorn replied, somewhat startled. “Bring us within range of the starbase,” the Vulcan instructed evenly. “I shall require no more than sixty seconds to gather my personal effects, then report to the aft transporter room.” He paused at the threshold of the bridge, noting several eyes upon him. He took a long look at the interior, noting that this ship had served alongside his command of three different bases of operation. Chiding himself for the introspection, he realized he’d already wasted five of his promised sixty seconds. “Good luck,” he offered, and turned without another word.

The following log takes place aboard the starship Reliant, inbound toward Earth, having departed the Avalon system nearly a week earlier under some secrecy. “It’s your move,” Weyoun prompted. Sorehl glanced up from the kotra pieces to meet the gaze of his Vorta passenger, blinking. “I am aware that turns traditionally alternate between players,” he offered reassuringly. Inside the cramped bunkroom of the starship Reliant, the Vulcan captain leaned in closer toward the board, examining his possible responses. Quarters were always at a premium aboard a Defiant-class escort. No formal staterooms were available to accommodate the dignitary of a foreign power; Reliant had never been intended for diplomatic service. But the Dominion representative had not complained when told he would be housed in such modest facilities or even that, due to the highly sensitive nature of their mission, he would need to confine himself there. Most of the crew didn’t even know Weyoun was aboard. It had taken formal permission from the Federation Council, courtesy of Ambassador T’Salik, to allow this particular Vorta through the wormhole – no small task considering that treaty terms had explicitly declared him persona non grata in the Alpha Quadrant. The decision to allow him contact with the Founder Leader being held at the Starfleet penal colony in New Zealand was equally sensitive. Secrecy remained paramount. Concessions, of course, had been made. Weyoun traveled alone, with no Jem’Hadar escorts. The most stringent Dominion Isolation Protocols had been enacted to ensure that no shrouded soldiers or shapeshifters had stowed away. He was allowed no outside communication. Since none of the cabins were equipped with replicators, Weyoun had insisted that he receive daily contact and a report when meals were brought to him. Knowing his own restraint, Sorehl had given that distasteful duty to himself. The Vorta, in turn, had drawn out the visits, first insisting on being joined for his meals, then on challenging the captain to a nightly game. “A pity I wasn’t able to visit Deep Space Nine again,” the Vorta lamented, waiting for the Vulcan’s next move. “I grew a certain fondness for the Bajoran people. I think I came to understand why Captain Sisko was so taken with the place.” He rolled a kava nut in his hand before nibbling it. Sorehl shifted one of the playing pieces, looking up. “I cannot imagine a welcome response to such a visit,” he opined. “You must realize that to many of them, you represent the face of the Dominion War. Less emotionally controlled species might be inclined to react violently to your presence.” He withdrew his hand from the board. “They could never understand the order the Founders were offering them,” Weyoun mused. With barely a pause, he slid a small dark pebble across the full length of the playing surface. “The Bajorans barely survived four decades of Cardassian order,” Sorehl noted. He stroked his beard, considering. “Really, captain,” Weyoun admonished. “We both know the Cardassian version is not real stability. The Dominion has stood for two thousand years.” Sorehl set one of the multi-faceted crystals near the center of the board. “So far,” he noted. The comment actually elicited a smile from the Vorta. “Listen to us,” he prompted. “Two architects of the last war jockeying for position in a Cardassian game. We’re practically competing over the same territories, repeating the same dialogues.” Sorehl folded his arms, leaning back. “Perhaps the dialogue bears repeating. In any case, you exaggerate my role in our past conflict,” he corrected. “I commanded a single starbase along the border.” “Yes, but the one that launched the undeclared attack on our shipyards at Torros III,” Weyoun noted, “the very pre-emptive strike that started the war.” An eyebrow went up. The game, it seemed, had risen above the board. Here, at least, in the private confines of a cramped cabin, Sorehl did not consider himself bound by the strictures of diplomacy. “On the contrary, I believe it was your assault” – he meant the pronoun personally – “on DS9 that initiated hostilities between our two powers.” “After the Federation illegally blocked our shipping by mining the wormhole, yes,” Weyoun agreed. “One wonders how Starfleet could have counted on reaching Torros, unless it had planned an aggressive move to draw our fleet toward Bajor and compel us to attack. It was a well-calculated strategy – bold and decisive.” He gestured toward the game pieces. “The Federation likes to forget it started the so-called ‘Dominion War,’ but then, histories are still written by the victors.” “Operation viSo’Be was a response to Dukat’s military threats. He had already swept over the Klingon colonies…” Weyoun raised a finger. “Ill-gotten terrritories you know were seized from Cardassia on a false pretext,” he pointed out. “…conducted a massive buildup of arms, and placed warships in the DeMilitarized Zone in direct violation of treaty,” Sorehl finished. “A treaty your own citizens hardly accepted. How many Starfleet officers defected to the Maquis over it?” Weyoun noted. “We both know the Federation was uncomfortable with the Dominion annexation of Cardassia and were simply willing to go to war over it.” He reached over to the board and traded two pieces, taking one in his hand. Sorehl watched the Vorta remove the first casualty. “Your characterization is hardly inclusive,” he replied evenly. “It ignores the Dominion agents working to destablize the quadrant as a prelude to invasion.” He reached in to touch a translucent cylinder near the center of the board. “And yet it was your quadrant that invaded our space,” Weyoun insisted. “If we had not had those agents, we might not have discovered the planned attack on our Founders’ homeworld by the Obsidean Order and Tal’Shiar.” “How unfortunate that the settlers at the first New Bajor colony had no such warning.” Sorehl swept the cylinder in an arc, knocking over one piece, then another. “Or the crew of the starship Odyssey.” He withdrew his hand, removing the toppled pieces. “The war was your own creation; the only surprise was that you lost.” Weyoun surveyed the damage to his forces. “That’s an unproven assertion.” The captain looked across at him. “I am not one prone to logical fallacies.” An appeasing smile spread across the Vorta’s expression. “That we lost, I mean.” Sorehl could not surpress an eyebrow raising. “Of course, our venture into your quadrant was frustrated.” Weyoun pulled an onyx tile back to a safer position. “But our original territories in the Gamma Quadrant were unspoiled. As for our casualties in Vorta and Jem’Hadar, well, we can make more.” Sorehl eyed his opponent, noting the retreat. “But the war introduced the idea that you can fail. The Hundred and your internal struggles have been the result.” Weyoun looked up at him, almost fearful. “Yes,” his voice wavered. “A development I cannot allow. I serve the Founders, but this time, I must learn to be an architect of peace.” He narrowed his weak eyes. “And your people must decide whether to help or hinder me.” The Vorta glanced down at the board. “Your move, captain.”

As Morningstar continues its third day above the planet Surma, new developments continue to unfold at Camelot Station. Captain Sorehl moved through the lower level of the largely empty Concourse on Camelot Station. The expansive commercial center, encircling Decks 25, 26, and 27, included a three-deck high atrium along its exterior, allowing an impressive view of the trojan planets Avalon and Tintagel from different vantages. Although designed to allow a wide range of shops, trading posts, services, and entertainment, the center remained almost entirely unused – no merchants had yet ventured to lease space on the station. If his overture to the Ferengi was accepted, however, that could change. A similar partnership had helped finance Sky Harbor above Cardassia and had helped to reinforce its multi-national nature. As yet, he’d received no response from either Ambassador Drankum or the Grand Nagus’ representative at Deep Space Nine. As he walked the open corridor, his intellect considered the discussion he'd held at the Round Table less than four hours earlier. In response to the recent attacks on Dominion cloning facilities and the newly-conquered Romulan territory at T-Rogora, the Klingons had agreed to conduct a covert mission into Dominion space to gather intelligence. If the aggressor was indeed the Hundred, the Allies must learn how such strength had been marshalled and why these sites had been targetted. Sorehl continued walking, approaching one of the few utilized portions of the Concourse. Deck 27 was host to “Embassy Row,” formal access points for the Dominion, Klingon, and Romulan wings – the diplomatic and administrative offices that were sovereign territory of the three respective governments. Each wing was comprised of ten decks along the “spokes” that connecting the inner and outer portions of the Central Ring. With the arrival of an official envoy, a fourth wing had been allocated to the United Federation of Planets itself. It was to this location that he directed himself. * * * * * “Come in,” came the cool invitation. Sorehl stepped cautiously into the ambassadorial suite, as if avoiding some invisible entanglement of diplomacy. The room was expansive, with no central table or desk within. In fact, there was no discernable workspace at all. In appearance, it resembled more of a sitting room. T’Salik, Envoy-General of the United Federation of Planets to the Dominion at Starbase Avalon and Minister Plenipotentiary-at-Large for the Gamma Quadrant, sat on one of the central couches. A young Vulcan woman, barely in her sixties, the ambassador wore her blonde hair drawn back in a simple braid and wore a dark, traditional robe. “Ambassador,” he greeted formally. “Captain,” she responded with equal custom. “Am I to understand you entered negotiations on behalf of the Federation without consulting me?” Sorehl blinked. He’d grown used to the platitudes of more emotionally-challenged species. Such directness was uncommon in his daily exchanges. “I am consulting you,” he noted. “You are now,” she observed. “Only after you’ve made agreement to conduct a joint mission. Commander Blair tells me preparations are already underway.” “With all due respect,” Sorehl explained. “The conduct of military and intelligence operations remains within my purview as commanding officer of this station.” T’Salik inclined her head, surveying him briefly. “I am curious how you perceive withholding intelligence on Hundred cloning and failing to advise the Dominion of an incursion into their space as merely military matters.” She paused, as if to let her point sink in. “You did, in fact, have these discussions with the Romulan and Klingon ambassadors, did you not?” “That is true,” he admitted, “but N’Kedre and K’Vorlag also wield military authority.” “Then it was a military decision to exclude our Vorta ally?” “It was Ambassador N’Kedre’s desire,” Sorehl explained, “to exclude the Dominion from our preliminary discourse. The source of our intelligence on Hundred cloning remains sensitive.” “I see. And who directed my absence?” Sorehl blinked again. “I am not aware of any such sanction being expressed.” “I see,” she repeated. “Then I should assume it was an oversight that I was not present at a meeting where a tacit policy of circumventing the Dominion was agreed?” The captain remained silent for a moment, considering. “You are suggesting I have overstepped my bounds,” Sorehl concluded. “I recognize this is how matters were conducted before my assignment,” T’Salik added. “I am not suggesting your conduct was improper, but this is not the 23rd Century, and despite our distance, we are not on the frontier. Starfleet will not set Federation policy for this quadrant.” Sorehl straightened his tunic, then clasped his hands behind his back. “Do you intend to revoke our approval?” “No, but if I am to be supporting such evasions, I need to be present for diplomatic matters that might require a stance on Federation policy.” “What do you mean ‘supporting such evasions’?” “I assume you do not want me to discuss this mission with Weyoun. But what if the Klingon ship is detected in Dominion space? Will they ask a Starfleet captain or the Federation envoy for an explanation?” “I see your point,” Sorehl agreed slowly. “If you believe the consequences...” “Conveniently,” T'Salik broke in, cutting him off abruptly, “I agree it would be unwise to trust Dominion lines of communication in light of compromise by the Hundred. An independent assessment is easily justified.” Sorehl raised an eyebrow. “You realize, strictly speaking, that the motivation…” “Captain,” she interjected a second time, “I trust you are not about to suggest a well-crafted, diplomatically defensive position such as this has no basis in fact. I would find it distasteful to convey a known misstatement, should the need arise.” Telepathy was unnecessary for communication between the two sets of Vulcan eyes. “I don’t believe I made such a assertion,” he affirmed, mildly impressed. “Good.” A communicator tone sounded above T’Salik. “Ambassador,” came the voice of Jeralla Ramson, her attache. From across the room, Sorehl straightened, looking even more formal, if possible. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Jeralla apologized over the link. “Go ahead,” T’Salik instructed. “The Dominion advisor, Weyoun, is requesting an audience,” Jeralla continued. “He extends an invitation to present your credentials and tour the facilities of their wing.” A glance from the captain suggested he considered the summons unexpected. “Please advise Weyoun I am pleased to accept his gracious invitation,” she directed. “I’ll contact him right away,” she responded, closing the channel. T’Salik turned her attention back to Sorehl. “I am certain we’ll have further discussions on this topic. The overlapping boundaries of our positions will present a challenge, but I believe you’ll agree there is a logic to letting diplomats tend to the business of statecraft.” “Rather than technocrats like myself,” the captain added. “Yes, in that, you have my complete agreement.”

Twenty-one days after the USS Morningstar's departure from the Avalon system... Commander John Blair, newly installed executive officer of Camelot Station, descended the ramp from the Command Center and slipped through the doors into the inner sanctum of his captain. The climate was at once too warm and dry, assaulting his nostrils, but he strode in unimpeded. With a graceless bound, Blair tossed himself back onto the couch, bouncing to rest against the overstuffed cushions against the outer wall. He planted both feet up on the low table, leaning back. On the other side of the office, Captain Sorehl rotated his chair slowly to face him. “I trust you have something on your mind, Commander?” Behind him, a tactical display showed the relative position of five recent attacks against both Dominion and Romulan sites in the Gamma Quadrant. Blair folded his arms. “I know it’s part of your persona, the whole arcane Vulcan brooding in private,” he mused, “but I was getting tired of waiting for you to come out.” The captain tilted his head slightly. “I would have thought a year of Command School might impress upon you a greater concern for decorum.” Blair shrugged. “You’ve got more than enough for both of us,” he retorted. Still, he put his feet down and sat up, looking more serious – maybe Starfleet had taught him something since their last time serving together. “Yorktown is less than an hour out,” he prompted, “are you going to deploy her to find out more about these attacks?” The Vulcan stroked his beard. “Not yet,” he answered. “I’m inclined to let the Romulans suggest a course of action; and I have to consider whether we can share our most recent intelligence with the Dominion.” “Recent intelligence? From our project on the lower decks?” Sorehl shook his head. “No, our away team on T-Rogora confirmed that the Hundred has access to cloning technology. Given the concentration of these attacks on Dominion cloning facilities, it may be relevant.” John frowned. “But why wouldn’t we share…?” “At great personal risk,” the captain explained, “Ambassador N’Kedre avoided an escalation of hostilities between our governments by securing silence about Romulan collusion with the Hundred. She may consider the cloning information equally sensitive to our recently achieved detente.” “Collusion with the Hundred,” Blair repeated, as if saying it would let it make more sense. “Doesn’t look like it worked out for the Romulans, did it?” Sorehl glanced toward the display. “You’re not convinced.” Blair felt a smirk creep across his face. “I know that look – you have a theory, don’t you?” The Vulcan met his gaze evenly. “I lack sufficient evidence to advance a conjecture. For the moment, I am merely formulating.” “I can hardly wait to hear it,” Blair sighed in mock exasperation. He got to his feet, sensing an end to their discussion. “So, no new orders for Yorktown?” Sorehl turned his chair back toward the screen. “No,” he answered, “but have engineering begin offloading construction supplies at once. If things change, I want turnaround to be swift.” “I’m sure Captain Halloway is expecting a personal reception for the new Federation envoy,” Blair observed, walking toward the door. “You know he’ll want her off his ship and in our waiting arms as soon as possible.” “Convey my intent to the good captain,” Sorehl agreed, “I’ll meet him at the Docking Complex upon his arrival.” Blair clasped his hands in front of him. “Will do. I’ll be up on the CC. I know how important it is to have a trained command officer on hand to supervise another fully-automated docking procedure.” * * * * * The Vulcan watched Commander Blair go. Their years together on Aegis had no doubt imbued the former science officer with a collegial attitude that was a marked contrast to Sorehl’s own sense of decorum. In addition to his specialty in sensor design and computer administration, Blair would be well positioned to be the “pleasant, approachable face of command,” and let Sorehl do his job with fewer unnecessary platitudes. With the Romulans and Dominion adding yet another iron in the fire, he hoped such offloading would be enough.

Captain Sorehl sat alone, dimly illuminated by the subdued lighting of his Deck 2 office on Camelot Station. His chair was turned to face the curved wall beside his desk, which displayed a regional star chart highlighted with some thirty red points. He stroked his dark beard, sifting through the engineering challenge before him - the design and deployment of subspace platforms to extend the scope of the Galactic Positioning System into the Gamma Quadrant. The established series of subspace timebase beacons had revolutionized warp travel both in and around the Federation, reducing navigational errors and loss of life. Sorehl had been fortunate to participate in its Alpha Quadrant modernization and extending its service to the Klingon Empire, Ferengi Alliance, and Cardassian Union; this was an equally auspicious opportunity. With Avalon poised to become the first permanent Federation colony in this area of space, it was a logical choice to serve as the anchor for the next expansion. His ruminations were interrupted by a signal from the Command Center. The Vulcan swiveled his chair. “Go ahead, Commander.” “Incoming communication from Starfleet Headquarters,” Lieutenant Commander Corris Sprint advised. “Standard real-time, tightbeam encrypted link.” “On schedule, as always,” Sorehl noted. “I’ll take it here.” He cleared the GPS deployment screen and noted the expected SFHQ symbol that replaced it. The face that appeared onscreen, however, was not expected. Fleet Admiral Alynna Necheyev, the formidable flag officer and veteran of the Cardassian front, looked at him impassively from onscreen. Interestingly, in his years of command along that border, he had never had an audience with her. “Admiral Necheyev,” he offered by way of greeting. “You have me at a disadvantage. I was anticipating a communication from Admiral a’Trok.” The admiral gave a thin smile. “It’s been bumped up,” she answered tersely. “Your requests have caused no small stir, captain. I’m afraid the response goes beyond the boundaries of Tactical Command.” “I see,” he answered, although he did not. Necheyev glanced at the lower edge of her own screen. “I’ve got a fleet operations briefing at 0915, so I’ll keep this short. You should already know the Klingon ship Kij’Pah is bringing your new station executive officer; he should be there in two days. After that, the starship Yorktown should arrive twelve days later. The reasons for this deployment are three: first, with Morningstar on assignment and Excalibur about to be decommissioned, you need a sizeable capital ship in the area.” “Decommissioned? Admiral, I was led to believe…” “Let me finish,” Necheyev asserted. “I’ve advised Captain Halloway to operate in your quadrant, based at Camelot until recalled. He’ll respond to your orders as needed.” Sorehl blinked. Although much younger, Halloway had made captain at least ten years earlier than the Vulcan – but such inequities were not uncommon in Starfleet. “Second,” the admiral continued, “the Assembly has agreed to ease Admiral Day’s diplomatic entanglements by assigning a full-time envoy. Once she disembarks from the Yorktown, she will become the civilian authority for the United Federation of Planets. “Of course,” he answered, unsurprised by this news. “Third, your request to prepare Avalon for colonization has been granted,” she went on. “Yorktown is bearing construction supplies that should allow your teams to establish planetside settlements. Colonial Administration is already considering candidates.” She folded her hands. “Now, captain, you have questions?” Sorehl nodded, sorting through his mental list. “I was under the impression that a final disposition for Excalibur was pending a review…” Necheyev didn’t wait for him to finish. “Your impression was mistaken. That review is complete; in fact, it matched your own assessment. Repairing the superstructure would take nearly as many resources as laying a new frame. She may have life in her as a training ship, but I want to be clear on this – Excalibur is not on its way back to the Gamma Quadrant. You are to cease inquiries related to her.” “Yes, sir,” Sorehl responded, sitting up straighter. That answer eliminated an entire series of questions. He paused before continuing. “Has the subject of trade routes been broached?” The admiral glanced at another location on her desk, sliding a PADD toward her. “Yes, there has been some direction from the Secretariat. Permission has been granted to open a dialogue with the Ferengi to lease commercial space aboard your station, up to and including a full trade mission.” “Understood. I shall see to it. No further questions.” “Anything else to report?” the admiral prompted. “The Romulan situation at T-Rogora remains… stable at present,” the Vulcan related. “We have picked up increased comm traffic between the Dominion and our onboard Vorta, but nothing to suggest a threat.” Sorehl thought he detected a look of distaste and a slight curl in Necheyev’s lip. “How is Weyoun’s investigation going?” she ventured. “Proceeding in an orderly fashion, so I am told. He has remained largely out of sight, conducting interviews with those present at the crime scene. I have met with him twice.” “The impudence of them cloning that…” she trailed off, then lifted her PADD as if to review her notes. “Well, let’s see – station XO, Yorktown, new ambassador, colonial preparations, trade mission talks, Romulan intrigue, and a Klingon diplomat being investigated for murder by one of the most despised villains in Federation history. I think we’ve covered it. Captain, if you hadn’t survived hotter spots, I’d think you might have too many irons in this fire.” Sorehl raised an eyebrow, uncertain of the reference. “Admiral?” “Just because I never called doesn’t mean I didn’t pay attention to your work at Aegis,” Necheyev explained, actually letting a smile play across her expression. “I know you'll keep it together till Morningstar gets back.” She glanced down at her screen as a chime sounded. “0915. I’m late. Starfleet out.” The screen went dark, leaving him backlit by the sandshifter artwork that stood opposite his desk. Like a kal-toh test on a cosmic scale, elements of chaos were being subtly placed one-by-one. With so many t’an in play, it would take a consummate intellect to help symmetry emerge from the disorder. He hoped he was up to the challenge.

“Ambassador,” he had cautioned mere minutes ago, “this is volatile news for all concerned. I suggest we withdraw to an audience with the admiral at once.” As he escorted Ambassador Ori’na t’Sevik N’Kedre of the Romulan Star Empire through a corridor of the battered starship Excalibur, Captain Sorehl considered the information that had just been revealed to him in Drydock One Control. In the midst of efforts to prepare their flagship for what looked to be its final journey, the ambassador had confronted him to make a startling announcement. “Shortly,” she had indicated, “an Imperial cruiser will dock with Camelot carrying four prisoners bound for the Alpha Quadrant. They are members of the Excalibur crew.” While it was a surprising admission, it was not entirely unexpected. With the fate of the away team unknown, he reasoned, Starfleet might be inclined make another attempt at violating T’Rogoran space. As prisoners, it was wise to move them out of the system. But bring them to Camelot? Sorehl at once recognized the ambassador must be trying to tell him something; he must be careful in his responses if he were to provide her room to reveal it. “I trust you are advising me for a specific reason. May I ask what it is?” he prompted. But such subtleties had been lost on the chief engineer, who had overheard the exchange. Lieutenant Xavier had seemed incensed almost at once, drawing a knife from his uniform. “I am going to arrange for you and Admiral Day to speak with them while they await transport,” she’d managed to say before sensing his threat. N’Kedre had then drawn her own weapon, a dagger concealed beneath her robes. Still, her next statement had been revealing. “If you wish for your friends to live,” she’d cautioned the advancing Xavier, “and for them not to have gone through this ordeal for nothing you back down... or I will kill you.” But the engineer hadn’t backed off. After failing to restrain him, Sorehl had incapacitated Xavier with a neck pinch. While it was distasteful to make such a public correction, Xavier’s failure to heed the order to stand down had compelled it. There would be later consequences for such insubordination, but the fate of the away team required more immediate attention. Sorehl had taken N’Kedre onto Excalibur at once, through the hard-connect to Deck Eight. Officers were already scurrying thought the ship, heeding orders to strip it of essential supplies. The captain and ambassador moved past newly-assigned Ensign Helios, carrying phasers offloaded from the armory, who stepped aside to let them pass. Together, they stepped into a turbolift. “Deck Two,” came the steady Vulcan baritone. They were heading to the senior officer’s quarters, where the admiral had gone to pack his things. His communicator chirped a moment later. “Captain, this is the Control Center,” Lieutenant Commander Corris Sprint reported. “The warbird Night-Terror has taken a berth at Drydock Four, requesting permission for its crew to debark.” Sorehl glanced at N’Kedre before answering, seeing her nod slightly. “Granted,” he responded. “I shall advise Admiral Day directly.” “You don’t have much time,” she observed as the doors opened. He gestured toward out of the lift. “Then we had best make the most of it.”

An image of the starship Excalibur as seen from the main viewport of Camelot Station Drydock One, the setting of the above log...

Stepping off from the turbolift onto Deck 52, Captain Sorehl moved toward the triple-layered plasteel viewport of Drydock One, which provided an expansive view of the damage to the starship Excalibur. The extendable arms of the docking facility embraced the saucer section, while the remainder of the ship trailed away from the station. He had managed to postpone his deposition with Weyoun, citing a pressing need to oversee station deployment with the return of Excalibur. His insights into Semil’s death would have to wait. Ensign Keegar had prepped the repair facility, coordinating with the largely enlisted contingent of Camelot Station engineering. With Vulcan attention to detail, Sorehl surveyed the torn superstructure and wrenched nacelle. In his career as an engineer, he had overseen the repair of some sixty ships, supported the construction of four space stations, and shepherded five vessels from initial gamma weld through commissioning. Excalibur, however, had retained a degree of distinction in his mind. Although he had served in a number of planetside and starbase positions in the years beforehand, the Excalibur-A had been his first posting aboard a starship – Admiral Day had been its chief engineer in those days. That ship had ultimately been replaced by the Excalibur-B, its worthy successor of the Sovereign-class. Now even that ship looked on the verge of being replaced. Aside from the damage to the ship itself, the failure to recover the away team was even more problematic. It was now highly probable the Romulans had evidence of a Starfleet attempt to gather intelligence in the T-Rogoran system. Despite the questionable legality of their military action, the Romulans might choose to press the incident as a violation of their newly-declared territory, and by extension, the alliance itself. Unlikely, Sorehl concluded, considering how often Federation and Romulan ships had violated their respective space over the last two decades. There had been close calls, but they’d always managed to come back from the brink. He turned to observe more engineers arriving in advance of the announced “all-hands” meeting. Not for the first time, Sorehl observed that the sea of black and yellow uniforms gave the impression of a hive busy with activity. Despite his experience, he had opted not to make a personal walk-through to inspect the damage firsthand, deferring such a role to the ship’s chief engineer. Although Lieutenant Xavier was due to meet him shortly, the litany of incoming assessments had not been encouraging. It was becoming more and more evident that the scope of repairs seemed beyond what Camelot, and perhaps other shipyards, could support. If the chief engineer concurred, other less pleasant orders would surely follow. Within the next hour, the fate of Excalibur hung in the balance.

As Excalibur secretly investigates the Romulans at T-Rogora, other events unfold in the Avalon system... From the communication console on the Command Center, Lieutenant Commander Corris Sprint received the awaited response. About time, he mused; I was beginning to think they were giving us the silent treatment. It had been several hours since Admiral Day’s request to make subspace contact and open a formal dialogue with the Gamma Quadrant’s ascendant power. Although a Jem’Hadar attack craft remained at the LeGrange point beside Camelot Station, it no longer bore its official representative. Sprint saw the other end had signaled their readiness, the twenty-third century equivalent of being on mutual hold. The Bijanni operations manager thumbed a button on the tripolymer surface that would send a summons to the office one deck below. “Captain,” he announced, “I’ve reached a representative of the Dominion.” Captain Sorehl looked up from a review of logistic schedules, setting down his chilled glass of Altair water. “On my way,” came the even response. It took only a few purposeful strides out the door of his ready room and up the ramp into the upper deck. Sprint had already swiveled toward him, offering further information, “We have a real-time encrypted link. You’ll be addressing Keevan, who has identified himself as an interim representative to the Federation on behalf of the Vorta Council.” Sorehl tilted his head slightly as he walked past the central strategic display and stepped up to the Administration dais. A Vorta by this name, he recalled, had been captured during the Dominion War, although later killed during a failed prisoner exchange. This incarnation was no doubt a subsequent clone. Still, it was interesting that their selection of spokespersons had been chosen from Vorta with prior contact with the Federation. He made a mental note to update Starfleet files accordingly. “Onscreen,” he ordered. The L-shaped Dominion symbol was replaced by the image of a graceful, but frowning, Vorta male. “Captain Sorehl,” Keevan spoke first, preempting any lengthy introductions, “we’ve been expecting contact.” “I regret the need for such exigency,” Sorehl offered. “No doubt you are already aware of Romulan action against planets in the T-Rogoran system.” He spoke in measured tones, looking to gauge the emotional response. “Let me assure you that the United Federation of Planets had no foreknowledge of this aggression and does not condone the incident.” Onscreen, the Vorta merely blinked, betraying no response. The image he presented was one of being singularly unimpressed. “I’m afraid the happenings on an insignificant border world are of little concern to the Founders,” Keevan explained, exhaling a gentle sigh. “It sounds as if this matter is more of unease to you,” he added, “perhaps some indication of strain in your alliance?” Sorehl raised an eyebrow. “Hostile events near your border could be perceived as a provocation, or at least, a prelude to future action . I want to assert that in no way…” “Unless you are speaking for the Romulans themselves,” Keevan cut him off, “your promises are simply of no value and of no matter. In fact, I’m surprised you’re so…” The Vorta trailed off. “But of course,” came the realization, “you’re worried about your station in light of their little adventure.” Sorehl nodded. “The Avalon agreement included declarations of good faith regarding the purpose of this station and its supporting fleets,” he noted. “The Dominion might choose to view those provisions in abeyance.” The Vorta onscreen smiled thinly. “And we might just send in the Jem’Hadar to enforce our displeasure on the offenders?” The captain chose his words with care. “It would be consistent with historical pattern.” Even if the Romulans chose to act brashly, the Dominion had thousands of ships that could descend on T-Rogora, Avalon, or even New Bajor, if they chose. It was ill-advised to provoke them so close to their position of strength. “Quite true,” Keevan admitted, “if the Dominion were displeased. I take it your earlier assertion is meant to convey that we should not hold your station, and by extension the Federation, complicit in such offense?” A more emotional officer might have risen to the challenge. “I merely wish to advise you that the military action took place without Federation consultation.” “Captain, the Vorta Council recognizes the real danger is in the unchecked activities of the Hundred,” Keevan answered dismissively, “not the petty posturing of a frustrated Alpha Quadrant power.” “Then I have your assurance...” Sorehl began. “Captain, I’ve made no assurances and I tire of this subject. Do you honestly feel this Romulan issue outweighs the demise of a Dominion envoy aboard your station?” The Vulcan tilted his head, noting the sudden shift in topic. “I am at your disposal to provide additional details,” he offered, “as well as my regret that the incident took place aboard this facility – under my command.” Keevan looked mildly pleased. “Yes, I’ve reviewed the Klingon’s report. Rather bold of him to take personal responsibility, but then, his species waxes romantic with the thought of honor killings.” “You should be aware of mitigating circumstances regarding Semil’s death,” Sorehl interjected, “I was a witness.” “Well now,” Keevan leaned it, practically oozing his next words, “that’s getting to be quite a tradition for you, isn’t it?” Sorehl stood silently for a moment. “Is there an implication in that question, sir?” “Not at all, captain. Semil knew he was walking into a lair filled with his personal enemies. If he wasn't clever enought to mind himself, then perhaps the next model will need some adjustment.” Onscreen, Keevan leaned back. “But I’m not the one who’ll be conducting that inquiry.” “Inquiry?” Sorehl noted. “Yes,” the Dominion agent confirmed. “I’m authorized to inform you that a small task force bearing another representative of the Council is enroute to the Avalon system.” Sorehl glanced toward Sprint, who had already spun, reconfiguring his console to display a tactical overlay. The Bijanni was soon nodding, confirming the approach. “I’d like to stress that we expect this envoy to be returned to us alive,” Keevan noted, “having been accorded full diplomatic status in accord with the Avalon agreement. If not, I would hate to see it become necessary to ‘enforce our displeasure’ on your station. Good luck.” And with that, the connection was severed, leaving only the ominous Dominion symbol hovering over the Command Center.

Bad to Worse Sorehl led Admiral Day and Romulan Ambassador N'Kedre toward the reception area where they would greet the newest envoy from the Dominion. Given the nature of the upcoming investigation, Day had also summoned the Klingon Ambassador K'Vorlag, under escort of Yeoman Random Perfect. Since the VIP Transporter Room was also on Deck 2, the group walked directly from the Admiral's office. As they passed through a waiting room, Sorehl reflected on the subspace conversation he'd just closed with the Vorta named Keevan... “You should be aware of mitigating circumstances regarding Semil’s death,” he had asserted, “I was a witness.” “Well now,” Keevan had leaned in, practically oozing his next words, “that’s getting to be quite a tradition for you, isn’t it?” It had taken the full range of his mental discipline to avoid outwardly bristling at the remark. Even after six years, memories of his role in the death of the first Semil were still quite fresh - the katra-like imprint of the dying Vorta had made that all too certain. [An account of a Semil's "first" death is contained in Variations on a Theme of Semil, Part IX here.] Instead, he'd merely stood silent for a moment, then asked “Is there an implication in that question, sir?” “Not at all, captain," Keevan answered dismissively. "Semil knew he was walking into a lair filled with his personal enemies. If he wasn't clever enought to mind himself, then perhaps the next model will need some adjustment.” Sorehl followed N'Kedre into the transporter room, reflecting on why the Dominion continued to send Vorta who shared a history of past dealings with the Alpha Quadrant. He questioned the logic of selecting those who had brought them defeat and garnered so many enemies. As if timed with his thoughts, he noted the arrival of Governor K'Vorlag and the yeoman. With a nod from the Admiral, Sorehl gave the order. "Energize, Lieutenant." As the forms materialized, the Vulcan recalled that Keevan had not provided the identity of the envoy sent to investigate Semil's recent murder. Perhaps the Dominion would learn from the incident and send a new face. And yet, he realized, they might actually send a new version of Semil himself. But as the transport ended, Semil did not appear on the pad. Instead, it bore the figure of the most notorious face of the Dominion War, flanked by an "honor guard" of four well-armed Jem'Hadar soldiers. An apparent clone of the chief Dominion liaison to the Cardassian government stood there and smiled pleasantly at the assembled group. Sorehl failed to contain the upward shooting of his eyebrow as others in the room voiced mild shock. Beside him, Admiral Day was heard to utter but a single word of recognition. "Weyoun." For his part, the Vorta extended his arms in welcome, "I can't tell you how pleased I am that you remember me."