Sorehl

The engineering console had been destroyed by the same forced polaron barrage that had downed the Jem’Hadar soldier who’d been standing beside it. As he hit the deck on one knee, Sorehl had little time to appreciate the irony that the weapon was being brandished by yet another, newly-arriving Jem’Hadar. Sparks and debris rained down around him, sprinkling the carpeting of the Sovereign-class bridge. There was little time for logical thought. Polaron bursts streaked across the bridge as the two factions of Dominion soldiers opened up on each other, oblivious to the Excalibur officers among them. Sorehl lunged forward, past the vacant portside station, bounding his dense Vulcan mass into the solder who had fired in his direction. Shoving the enemy weapon upward, they slammed against the forward viewscreen, sliding down onto the deck. Sorehl felt the primitive, violent instincts trickle in through his fingertips as they grappled for the rifle. Only his vaunted Vulcan strength kept him from being overpowered by the Jem’Hadar’s impressive maneuvers, as the weapon fired harmlessly into the concave ceiling. More debris rained down. They rolled inward, towards the helm, as the Dominion solder hefted him to his feet and drove a knee fiercely into his midsection. He felt the crack of bone as he clutched to the rifle, finally wrenching it free from the Jem’Hadar’s grasp as he tumbled backward. Clearly irritated, the soldier drew its shortened kar’takin polearm from its back, flipping it into both hands. Sorehl swung the rifle up, but the Jem’Hadar moved swiftly, slicing down through the Vulcan’s uniform and into the flesh of his forearm. The tendons laid open, Sorehl’s fingers opened involuntarily, dropping the weapon uselessly to the deck. Gripping his bloodied arm, he lowered his shoulder, preparing to barrel under the returning swing. True to form, the Jem’Hadar slashed upward, but was backlit by the lancing energy of a phaser from across the bridge. Sorehl continued forward, carrying the Dominion soldier against the helm, where he clattered and slumped to the deck. Taking a pause to survey his situation, he exerted pressure against the warm, green blood oozing between his fingers. The Klingon who’d fired from across the bridge had already turned his attention to another target. Other Jem’Hadar were grappling, making it nearly impossible to tell which faction was which. The few stray weapons shots were almost random, sailing across the bridge at both Dominion and Starfleet targets. Except one, he saw. Semil. The Vorta was crouched beside the center chair, issuing orders over his virtual link. The renegades were either ignoring him, Sorehl reasoned, or intent on capturing him unharmed. A tactical advantage they must exploit, an inner voice told him. He took a faltering step toward Admiral Day, who had maintained his position at center, before the polaron burst hit his lower back. Despite his training, his teeth grit with the pain. He was already in control of it by the time he crumbled against the Ops console, but by then, he felt the heart in his abdomen already tighten and flutter. His legs, somehow, were buckling as they lost sensation. If he could just, his thoughts raced as he lost consciousness. * * * * * A force field whined as he woke with a disoriented start. He lay on a biobed, his movement restricted. Muscles protested his sudden movement. It was a Federation facility, not Dominion. A nurse entered the private room as the door hissed open. “The monitor said you were awake,” she greeted pleasantly. “The ship,” he spoke, his voice somewhat gravelly. “The Dominion boarded…” “Things have calmed down, sir. Please try to rest,” she instructed. He glanced around again. “But why am I isolated? Restrained?” he asked. Injuries were usually treated in the main sickbay, which shared a common room. “You’re going to need some recovery, sir. You were in surgery for quite some time.” She paused. “I’ll get the doctor.” “Please advise the Admiral…” he added. “One thing at a time, sir,” she countered, withdrawing from the room.

“As such,” Sorehl concluded, “we continue enroute toward Dominion space under cloak.” The Vulcan surveyed the Alpha shift engineering officers gathered around the Situation Table. Cleared of its normal display function, the table supported several items of food and beverage in keeping with this first of their informal breakfast meetings. If the members of the team had any reservations about their approach toward potentially hostile space, their faces did not betray it. Sorehl turned toward Lieutenant Commander Vex Xiang, suspended in midair beside him. “My thanks for joining our discussion this morning,” he offered. The Delpin science chief tipped his bottlenose genially. Xiang had played a prominent role in devising the probe they had affixed to the Dominion ship near the wormhole. At his behest, engineering had assembled a device based on Promellian technology. That extinct race could not be held accountable for designs using their primitive, but elegant concepts. It had taken a grueling fourteen hours to carefully glide the probe into position without alerting its target, but they were gaining good telemetry. For the moment, he observed, the lematya hung with chimes. “Any other questions before we conclude?” Sorehl offered. Ensign Veloras was still eyeing the raw fish that had constituted Xiang’s breakfast. Whether it was in interest or revulsion, the Vulcan could not determine. The Bajoran ensign still seemed reluctant to profer any questions, but she seemed to be working well with the staff. Sensing no questions from the others, he added, “Very well, then. Dismissed.” The group gathered up their dishes and began to disperse. Ensign Xavier set down his tall glass of Rigellian ginger mint iced tea. He’d had some sort of toroidal-shaped bread smeared with a fruit and dairy product. “I suppose we should make the cloaking device our top priority, Chief?” Xavier asked. Sorehl nodded. “It does significantly increase our probability of surviving this mission.” “I’ll take that as a yes,” he added, gathering up his saucer. He headed for the replicator disposal. Lieutenant Feanor paused, tray in hand. “Good meeting. Nice to hear what the department heads are talking about. That was a most interesting mush you had.” The Vulcan glanced down at his empty bowl. “Tikhmeal is highly nutritional.” Feanor squinted a bit. “And looks like dura-paste.” Sorehl tilted his head. “I fail to see how riddling a pastry with geometric texture,” he observed, noting remnants of the lieutenant’s Belgian waffles, “renders it any more viable a meal.” “No,” Feanor admitted, “I suppose you wouldn’t.” Sorehl watched the lieutenant depart, moving to a control panel near the warp intermix chamber. He tossed back his head, finishing the last of his uttaberry juice, then headed for his quarters.

In the confines of the turbolift, Sorehl reflected on his introductory meeting with the Excalibur engineering team. They had covered duty logs and modes of address, as well as establishing future, informal morning meetings. They were as he suspected, a professional team. Similarities between Feanor and another officer brought back memories of the first meeting he’d held as chief science officer aboard Starbase Aegis… * * * * * Ensign John Blair slid his tray onto the circular table, joining those assembled for the first staff meeting with their new department head. Blair glanced toward Lieutenant Sorehl, who sat perusing a PADD in one hand. The remnants of an unappetizing mush lined the bowl in front of the Vulcan. Ensign Satav Ozak sat across from him, her tray holding a bagel, some unknown cereal, orange juice, and a dark liquid. Smells like tea, Blair thought. "You guys have got to learn to have a real breakfast," he began. "Something substantial like..." "Swine flesh and chicken embryos, Mr. Blair?" Sorehl completed. Blair winced. "Ham and eggs," he restated. "Somehow it doesn't sound as good when you say it." "Shall we begin, then?" Satav gracefully pushed her tray aside, while Blair took the signal to commence his meal in earnest. "First," Sorehl began, "allow me to express my regret for not conducting this debriefing sooner. As you are aware, recent events in adjoining sectors have required my presence at Ops." Satav looked across at Blair, now paused in mid-bite. The Klingon invasion of Cardassia was the foremost topic of onboard discussion, particularly its effects on Aegis. She wondered if he would share an analysis. Instead, the Vulcan merely glanced at his PADD, beginning at the top, "Security has determined that the individual apprehended aboard the USS Gandhi was indeed a Maquis operative." Satav spoke first. "Just how did he evade our tricorder sweeps? No life scans registered." "Cryptobiolin and triclenidil," Blair mumbled through chewed food. He set his fork down. "Chemical agents that can dull life signs to routine scans." Sorehl raised an eyebrow. Blair glanced over nervously, an over-abundant smile spreading on his face. "I, ah... saw Dr. Lekar's report." Satav frowned, diverting attention. She drew on her medical background. "Those drugs have harmful side-effects. Irreversible ones." Sorehl nodded. "It would seem the subject ignored those risks.” He tabbed the PADD, continuing. "Second issue, assignments. Onboard positions will remain unchanged. I have elected, however, to assign each of you official duty stations in the Ops Center to assume under Alert conditions. Blair, you have Science One, Primary Sensors. Satav, you will assume Science Two, Planetary Sensors." Satav wondered about how these assignments would affect her project in non-biological sociology. Seemingly echoing her thoughts, Sorehl continued. "Undoubtedly, you will have specific questions for me. An informal setting would be ideal. I shall try to make myself available here each morning. Be aware, I have never led a department before. Suggestions are welcome. I have no ego to bruise." "If you eat here every morning," Satav noted, sipping her Vulcan herbal mixture, "you should try the saya. It's really excellent." "I shall take your word for it. I prefer to avoid beverages with stimulants." Sorehl paused, lowering his voice. "A final note. It is evident that Aegis' neighborhood has changed in recent days. The Maquis will undoubtedly use this lull in Cardassian strength to advance their cause. The Klingons… they are more difficult to predict. Be flexible." He glanced around the table. "Anything else? That is all, then." The Vulcan stood, then leaned in toward the still-seated Blair, "Of course, you're not excused till that plate is clean." Blair chuckled, watching the lieutenant stride away from the table. Good one, he reflected, for a Vulcan. Suddenly, the smile dropped. Did Vulcans joke? Blair glanced at his plate. He'd be sure to order less next time... * * * * * The turbolift doors parted, rousing the Vulcan from his recollection. It had been a good introductory meeting, even if it had kept him from joining the senior staff. He stepped out onto the uppermost deck, intent on learning what action Excalibur was considering toward the Dominion ship.

From his vantage on the lower level of engineering, Sorehl glanced up at the chronometer above the Main Situation Board. A full ten minutes remained before the conference being convened by Admiral Day. With repairs proceeding smoothly, Sorehl had sufficient time to review his own task list. He lifted the PADD. An incoming message from Lieutenant Commander Corris Sprint confirmed that the official handover of Empok Nor was still on schedule. In less than two months, Sorehl would be out of another job. The station operations officer had explained that Ambassador shiKatsu Raumuk was even trying to accelerate the transition. In doing so, the Andorian diplomat was also hastening the departure of Starfleet from the station. Sorehl made a mental note to compose personal commendations for his outgoing staff. It was entirely possible his activities aboard Excalibur would preclude his attending the station’s transition. He had already composed messages for his wife and children, advising them of the generalities of his present assignment. While the particulars of their forey into the Gamma Quadrant remained classified, he could still report his posting aboard the starship and an expected duration. Logic suggested it would not be permanent. Despite his career, despite the war, they had managed to spend most of the past eight years together as a family – it was not an aspect of life he was willing to change. Indeed, he had turned down command of the Galaxy-class Columbia to ensure it. While no location was safe from danger, as they’d learned on Betazed, he could not reconcile ordering his family into harm’s way. His task list noted a Science advisory regarding bacteria detected on the Excalibur hull. Pursuing the details of Xiang’s summary, Sorehl surmissed it was an anaerobic organism, apparently able to subsist on the ceramic-polymer fabric bonded to the tritanium exterior. Curious, he thought, consulting his memory. It was not unlike the attachment of microbiotic colonies onto several Klingon ships fifteen years ago near Starbase 179. He passed along the incident report to Science, noting the use of a tunneling neutrino beam to remove the organism without injury. Such a solution may be problemmatic for a cloaked ship moving at warp, but it might blow the sand away from the eyes. He paused briefly, considering the Vulcan idiom. His foremost concern was a need to address the engineering department – set their expectations and establish his own. He reflected briefly on the daily breakfast meetings with the science department on Starbase Aegis, when he had assumed the role of chief. Later, as commanding officer, he’d had to discontinue the tradition, but in those simpler days the informal setting had helped the scientists build a team. He had already reviewed the personnel records of his Alpha shift officers. Lieutenant Feanor had an impressive background in starship engineering and operations, if not an occasional lapse in discipline. His work in signal emissions might lend itself well to their stealth assignment. Ensign Xavier’s record was less detailed, more notable in its omissions than its contents. But the human’s work in tactical systems would given them a shared specialty, while his experience with warp theory would compliment Sorehl’s own lack. Starbases rarely went to warp, as he was often reminded. Ensign Velores had amassed a broad blend of skills – impulse engineering, sheilding, transporter technology, and database management – that would serve well in starship integration. He would make note to ask if she had considered a postion in diagnostics. He glanced up at the chronometer. Four minutes remained until the Admiral’s conference. Although his input would be desired as a Dominion advisor rather than chief engineer, Sorehl considered merely patching into the meeting. Given turbolift efficiency, he gave himself two more minutes to decide. He would also need to ask Lieutenant Commander Deveraux to have quarters established for him in the secondary hull. No sense being too far from his post. Sorehl tugged at his engineering vest. Was it the fit of the garment or himself that concerned him more, he mused. He chided himself for the introspection and went back to work.

Captain Sorehl slid out of the Jeffries tube into the expansive engineering room of the Sovereign-class Excalibur. With a full shift of engineering officers crowded into the double-decked area, the contrasting sea of yellow and black uniforms blended into the illusion of a productive beehive. He nodded, finding favor with the metaphor. At first, he had considered joining the teams working repairs. But in assisting the overhaul of ships in his previous commands, he’d often found junior officers unable to ignore his rank, making him more a hindrance than help. Instead, much like before, he assumed a collection of smaller tasks and retreated into the Jeffries tube for more solitary work. Sorehl approached the Main Engineering table to update the repair log. He glanced up, noting Lieutenant Feanor and a team near the Master Situation Board. Both he, Xavier, and Graham had dealt efficiently with the suspected Dominion probe, allowing it to be extracted from the hull and dispatched with necessary haste. No doubt such efficiency would aid Sorehl in his new responsibilities. In addition to his role as Dominion advisor for this jaunt into the Gamma Quadrant, he had been pressed by Admiral Day into service as “captain of engineering”. A more ego-driven officer might have been concerned or insulted that a starbase commander would be asked to replace a department chief. As a Vulcan, of course, he was liberated from such petty considerations. Although he’d never served as chief engineer, his primary degree was in the field and he’d overseen the repair or refit of more than forty starships while commanding Aegis and Empok Nor. Only the circumstances of war had diverted him to the command path. He would serve where he was needed. Still, there were potential complications. Starfleet tradition avoided having multiple officers with the rank of captain aboard ship, given the association of rank and position. It would not do well to have confusion over the chain of command. In a tacit acknowledgement, he had dispensed with the black-and-gray outer tunic and adopted a traditional “engineering vest”. Though the undershirt remained red, he hoped the difference in appearance would offset him from the executive staff. He reviewed the list of remaining repairs, satisfied with the progress. As they’d been reminded from this latest, distasteful encounter, the Dominion was not a power to be trifled with. Both ship and crew would need to be in top condition.

Mere meters above the skin of the Excalibur, the shuttlecraft Columbia advanced like an insect crawling up the underbelly of some great beast. At the controls, Captain Christopher J’cin kept the craft close to the hull, trying to remain within both the starship’s warp field and the tenuous envelope of the active cloaking device. “No emissions on the sensors, sirs,” Lieutenant Commander Alex Deveraux reported from the co-pilot chair, “but we should be clear enough for a visual.” “Confirmed,” came the steady baritone of Captain Sorehl standing behind him. “There is indeed an object affixed to the hull.” The Vulcan extended two fingers in the direction of his attention. “I’ll be damned,” J’cin affirmed. He adjusted the controls, bringing them closer. Deveraux consulted the three-dimensional graphic already spinning on his console. “86% configuration match with the Dominion tracking device encountered during the war by the Romulan warbird Sionex.” Sorehl nodded. “Quite capable of revealing our position, despite the cloak.” “Well,” Deveraux surmised, “it seems Vorta strategy is nothing if not consistent.” “Relentless,” Sorehl added. The operations officer glanced toward the standing figure. Was there an edge to be detected in the Vulcan’s admission, he wondered. J’cin was looking at the scorch marks and buckling near their location. “The damage from the torpedo was probably just to mask this device,” he concluded. “They rattled us without penetrating the hull.” “Still,” Deveraux noted,” it was an impressive piece of marksmanship. Does that mean the cloak we're using is obsolete?” “I’ve been considering that,” the Vulcan observed. “It is possible that we were backlit by the verteron and neutrino burst of the unfolding wormhole. The Dominion warship may have simply fired at an emerging sensor ghost.” J’cin shifted in his seat, leaning back. “You think they were expecting us?” Dominion intelligence was infamous during the war. “Uncertain,” came the response. “They may simply be taking measures against the entry of undeclared vessels. The Founder Treaty cedes Allied access to the Quadrant for colonization and exploration, but cloaked ships could be construed as a violation of that spirit.” Deveraux cleared his throat, adjusting his controls. “It is clear,” Sorehl continued, “they had no intention of destroying us. An unshielded impact of 35 isotons would have done that most effectively. And… we would be at war. No doubt they mean merely to track us surreptitiously.” J’cin slid forward in his seat. “Well, we can’t allow that now, can we? Commander, we need to consider the best way of lancing this boil.”

The double wooden doors slid closed behind Sorehl, who walked toward the nearest turbolift. Admiral Day had stopped into the officer’s lounge to advise him of new orders. “Can’t let you go just yet, captain,” the admiral had explained. “With our upcoming mission, your background with the Dominion makes you a needed asset.” After an impromptu briefing, the Vulcan assented to the orders and dismissed himself from his earlier discussion with Lieutenant Hawthorne. He entered the turbolift. “Main engineering,” he instructed, intent on providing some of the benefits of his experience to the senior staff. As the lift hummed to life, he considered the very background that Admiral Day was invoking. His role as commanding officer of Starbase Aegis had given him an unusual vantage of the Dominion. Even as tensions built before the war, he remembered standing on the bridge of one of their battleships as a fawning Vorta revealed the fate of the USS Tiananmen. After that, he’d helped the Maquis in their flight from the final purge, only to be forced to abandon the Canar system to an enemy fleet intent on Dukat’s goal to restore all former Cardassian territory. True to Vulcan tradition, he channeled his relentless logic into strategic support, helping Aegis serve as launching platform for the battle that had started the conflict – the pre-emptive strike against the Dominion shipyards at Torros III. For the two years that followed, he waged war with all the weapons of his intellect. There’d been subterfuge at Sarpedion V, a bluffing confrontation over the warbird Sionex, exploitation of a clandestine sensor network, even the failed attempt at diplomacy which had caused his imprisonment and the trauma of his escape. Sorehl glanced at his hands, still remembering the sensation of the Vorta’s final thoughts in that jarring moment when he’s wrenched his captor’s neck. He blinked, clearing the experience from his focus. It was not his experience in Vorta posturing or Jem’Hadar tactics that Admiral Day sought; it was his interaction with the Founders. He’d survived two such encounters on Aegis and seen just what they were capable of. The third had been aboard another ship named Excalibur… Aboard the Ambassador-class starship Excalibur, mid-2373... Commander Wayne Day entered the bridge, still thinking on what he’d learned in sickbay. Beyond their casualties, what troubled him most was proof of Dominion involvement in the Romulan affair. It was bad enough the Romulans sat impassively behind their Neutral Zone and Non-Aggression Pact while the rest of the quadrant bled itself dry, but now it seemed the Dominion had tried to stage an incident to bring the Empire into the war against the Federation. He shook his head. He hoped Captain Vixis, who was off on another one of her covert missions, was having better luck. For the duration of her absence, Excalibur had been transferred to a new command, under new orders. Wayne had been pleased to learn who it was, as he prepared to present himself. “Captain Sorehl,” he greeted, supressing a grin. It made sense, he reasoned, for Vixis to select someone they knew. Sorehl had come aboard Excalbur as a junior tactical officer when Wayne was only a lieutenant. In the years since, he’d transferred away, rising to command ranks on a starbase along the Cardassian front. “Helm, you have your course,” the Vulcan ordered. “See to it, maximum warp.” Sorehl got to his feet and gestured toward the ready room. “Commander Day, Mr. Bush, if you would join me in the ready room,” came the request. Wayne noted he didn’t call it his ready room. “Mr. Boison, you have the bridge.” The three entered the office. “We’ve been ordered to join the operational auspices of the Ninth Fleet and deploy to the front,” Sorehl explained. Day took a seat as their new captain pulled back another chair, offering it to Lieutenant William Bush. The Vulcan paused, looking thoughtful. “Tell me about the away team.” Wayne shook his head. “Lieutenant Troi is still in surgery. The Dominion staged the whole thing; it looks like they hoped to incite the Romulans into siding against the Allies.” “A disturbing development,” Sorehl observed. “We haven’t had many direct dealings with the Dominion, sir,” Bush admitted, “but if they can kill hundreds just to manipulate Romulan politics...” Sorehl made a slight nod, then got down to business, "Commander Day, you're familiar with the Dominion Isolation Protocols?" Wayne nodded. "I want DIP Level 3 initiated immediately aboard this ship. We’ll undergo a baryon sweep at the Remmler Array. Until then, Mr. Bush, no ones leaves or boards without my express permission." "Aye," Day groaned to himself. Level 3 protocol meant every piece of equipment aboard, down to the last rivet had to be scanned and cataloged. There would be blood screenings, increased diagnostics, and added security details. Sorehl continued, "I recognize that my installation as acting captain may be... disruptive. My position onboard Excalibur has previously been one of subordinate.” “Captain,” Wayne interrupted, “we’re officers of the fleet. I’m sure I speak for the entire senior staff. There’s no more important time for following the chain of command." Bush nodded vigorously. “I assure you, sir, our previous rank order has no bearing on the present. What you've done to earn those pips earns our loyalty, as well." The Vulcan looked thoughtful again. "Nonetheless, I extend my appreciation for that loyalty. I may need to make demanding orders in the days to come." He stood and extended hand in most un-Vulcan-like gesture. "Thank you both." Bill awkwardly shook hands with Sorehl. Wayne followed suit, using his half-Vulcan heritage to shield the captain from his own emotions. They stood and walked away from the desk toward the door. Sorehl's next words took them both by surprise, "Mr. Bush, do you carry a sidearm?" Bush raised his eyebrow in a coincidentally Vulcan gesture and answered, "Always, sir." Sorehl nodded, "Please cover the chair you were sitting in." Bill drew his phaser, aiming at the chair while glancing sidelong at Day. “Fire,” came the steady order. As Bush fired, Wayne wondered if this were some kind of perverse test. The steady orange beam lanced out at the chair. Suddently, it was shifting, bending, morphing. Bush raised the power on his weapon as the gelatin-like figure extruded flailing pseudopods, trying to escape. “Don’t break contact. Use whatever force is necessary,” Sorehl commanded. “Security,” Wayne summoned. He and the captain backed away from the intensifying weapons fire. Bush grit his teeth, feeling the surging heat of the barrage as the figure buckled and wavered. Within moments, it solidified, then crumpled to the deck in a pile of grayish ash. Two security officers pushed their way into the room. Sorehl turned calmly to Bill. “Thank you, Mr. Bush. When I offered your chair, I sensed something faint. It has been some time since I’ve used any form of touch telepathy; I wanted to be certain it was sentience I had detected." He nodded matter-of-factly and Wayne wondered at his calm demeanor. “We seem to have found our sabatour.” * * * * * The turbolift opened, revealing the multi-level expanse of Main Engineering for the Sovereign-class Excalibur. A Level 1 Dominion Isolation Protocol was less intensive than most, but still required strict adherance. He stepped onto the deck, straightened his tunic, and looked for the ranking engineer. It was time to put some of that experience to practice.

Still observing from his vantage near the Master Situation Display at aft, Sorehl heard the faint thrum of the Sovereign-class engines rise as the starship San Francisco leapt into warp. The tactical exercise was proceeding as expected, with both ships having cleared the debris field. The respective bridge crews appeared to be functioning well together, a testament to Starfleet cross-training. He leaned against one of the upright supports, glanced down at the PADD in his hands and continued to scrawl observations in curled Vulcan script. The San Francisco had been the first to clear the field, but as in many cases, this race was not to the swiftest. Like any good systems engineer, Captain Sorehl had learned to appreciate the importance of the process as much as the goal. He had spent most of the previous phase with Admiral Day on the bridge of Excalibur, observing the crew serving under Commander Neo. For all the bravado expressed in the initial briefing, the commander had nevertheless allowed his subordinates to exercise caution before charging ahead. Sorehl made specific note of the analytical work performed by Lieutenant Commander Xiang. When prompted about the use of a probe, the Delpin merely explained a need to understand their surroundings. Officer thinking, Sorehl observed. In this case, there was little to be learned, since this was a well charted flight range used by Starfleet for over a century. The Academy had selected this pre-condescent debris field, employing graviton emitters at strategic locations to alter the trajectory of objects within. Still, Xiang’s initiative was one reason the Federation excelled at unexpected discoveries. The range itself had not proven a barrier for the pilots of either ship, despite the fact that neither of them were flight officers. Neither had attempted any particular showmanship, but neither had suffered any adverse collisions or frightened their crews. Sorehl raised an eyebrow, remembering his friend K’Cavok at the helm of an Excalibur past. Perhaps more scientists and counselors should be given the helm from time to time. Then again, he recalled, it was a counselor who’d crashed the last Enterprise. Sorehl chided himself for distraction, and leaned away from the upright. He tucked the PADD under one arm and walked slowly around the aft portion of the San Francisco bridge toward the portside turbolift. Captain J’cin appeared to be reviewing his own observations. Lieutenant Commander Tilli Troi had plotted the ship’s new course onscreen and was reviewing it with Commander Alex Deveraux, who sat impassively in the center chair. Sorehl had noted from the crew manifest that Troi was the only officer, besides the admiral, who had served aboard during his own brief wartime command of Excalibur. The unfamiliarity of her face meant they had not interacted much. He glanced aside, pulling the detail from memory that she had been in sickbay for much of Vixis’ absence, right through the Battle of Decelea. Surgery of some kind… He’d only met Commander Deveraux the day before, but had found him a effective officer thus far. Then again, it might be cultural bias, he admitted. There was an almost Vulcan quality to the man - which was about as high a praise as he could offer. Equanimity was a powerful command tool. Along those lines, he wondered if there had been hidden purpose in assigning Lieutenant Commander Krax as executive officer. It didn’t take vhoshanta to observe a history between she and Deveraux. Sorehl took a seat at a vacated portside console, swiveling the chair so his back was to the viewer. Thus far, only two aspects of the exercise raised any concerns. First, he’d witnessed visible apprehension from several officers during the initial announcement of the “wargame”. Granted, he didn’t approve of the term himself. Anyone who’d knowingly ordered others to their death, as he had, knew that war could never be captured in a game. But exercises like this emphasized the dual, often dissonant, mission of Starfleet of exploration and defense. Along those lines, his second greater concern was that neither crew seemed to be taking interest in the ultimate purpose of these tests. Both had simply accepted their assigned objective without determining the criteria by which they’d be tested. Perhaps they assumed the true nature would be withheld, which was not unwise. The Academy didn’t exactly announce that the outdated Kobiyashi Maru simulation was a test of character. Then again, they did allow officers to retake the no-win scenario, even with such foreknowledge. There would be surprises in this exercise, no doubt. In fact, he wondered if the competitive factor had been added as a pressure to stray from Federation ideals. There were those who said winning the war against the Dominion had done just that. It was something to consider. Sorehl concluded his notes and opened the file to be shared with Admiral Day and Captain J’cin. He swivel the chair back toward the viewer, leaned back and stroked his beard, ready to see what the next phase would bring.

Vendarite. Captain Sorehl adjusted the display of the crude tricorder he’d been offered, considering the implications of this mineral’s presence on Cardassia IV. With applications ranging from quantum cybernetics to the production of biomimetic gel, the intrinsic value of vendarite could not be understated. Indeed, the Vulcan recalled, a group of renegade Ferengi had once been so driven by dreams of avarice that they’d attempted to seize a Galaxy-class starship to mine deposits on Ligos VII. And vendarite was not the only substance noted by his scans. A vein of several remarkable ores - mizainite, ladarium, and nitrium among them - extended in a web-like lattice several kilometers below them into the mantle, beyond the range of his tiny sensor. He looked up into the face of Gul Dergo, whose growing smile was almost unnerving. “It must be as good as they said,” the Cardassian officer insisted. “You’re speechless!” Sorehl straightened, pursing his lips. He’d never been accused of that before. “Merely postulating,” the captain offered. “This is an historic find, one that might not have been made otherwise. Clearly, the kelbonite deposits in the upper strata masked the existence of this,” he paused, considering, “impressive concentration of minerals from previous orbital surveys. This ecological catastrophe has unearthed a serendipitous treasure, quite literally.” “I take it back,” Gul Dergo waved dismissively, his smile less broad. “Vulcans are never speechless. Still, you’ve confirmed what my scientists have been telling me.” He gestured to one of his junior officers, who nodded smartly and scurried away from the rocky overhang and descended further into the Gorge. Dergo returned his attention to Sorehl. “A treasure, buried in our own backyard.” Sorehl cycled the datalink on the tricorder. “According to records, none of these minerals has ever been discovered in the Cardassian system.” He pulled up previous surveys of the Okrand Plateau. “The geologic history appears inconsistent with the metamorphic processes necessary to create such deposits.” He paused, adjusting his scan. “However, there is some discontinuity between the igneous and metamorphic rock formations below us. The degree of stratified folding suggests these deposits could be the result of an ancient asteroidal impact, the magnitude of which…” “What matters is that it’s here,” Dergo interrupted, then added, “and it’s been here all along. If we’d only known. Maybe we could have avoided Bajor. Or overextending ourselves into that cursed stretch near Minos Korva. We were easy targets for the Klingons… and the Dominion.” Sorehl glanced up. While he agreed with the sentiment that Cardassian expansionism had been its downfall, he opted not to point out that his own role had been to command StarFleet activities along that “cursed stretch” during the war. “It is unlikely these resources could have tilted the balance in your defense. Other than ladarium, none of these minerals has intrinsic military value.” “No,” Dergo shook his head, “but their industrial value might have kept us from needing to make unwise gains through conquest.” He dislodged a rock from the clay-like edge, turning it over in his hand. Sorehl blinked. “It strikes me as naïve to think these resources could have turned your society away from acquiring territory and technology through violence. Vendarite is a precious industrial commodity, but it has a multi-dimensional matrix that requires a complex and expensive extraction process. Transporter technology disrupts its structure, making it impossible to beam or otherwise replicate.” Which, he considered, would mean the alien invaders would not find evidence of it in the less-valuable kelindide ore they’d stolen. “It would have required a significant influx of capital to exploit this resource,” he noted. “In fact, that is still the case.” Obviously, there had been some impact from his time with Drankum and the other Ferengi at Sky Harbor Aegis. The logic of the statement “It takes money to make money,” assured it must be a Rule of Acquisition somewhere. “Well,” Dergo mused, bouncing the rock in one hand, “the Ghemor government and the beaurucrats can figure out how to best tap this motherlode. I’ve ordered my men to establish a permanent guard over this location until then.” Behind him, the officer he had sent away earlier returned, datapad in hand. Dergo glanced over his shoulder and accepted the device. “My orders, on the other hand, concern you.” He offered the pad to Sorehl. “But there is still work here,” the Vulcan objected. “We have yet to ascertain the identity of the invaders. And this finding could mean a new source of wealth for your world that could…” Dergo stuck his chin out toward the pad, flexing the protruding muscles of his neck. “Not for you, Captain. I’ve been ordered to return you to the Trivas system, back to your command on Empok Nor." He tossed the rock to Sorehl, who caught it in front of his chest. "It’s time for you to leave Cardassia to the Cardassians.”

Sorehl squinted his eyes against the brisk, cold air that swept along the remains of Okrand Plateau on Cardassia IV. Given the extent of the ecological damage, he observed, Okrand Gorge was a more appropriate name. Instead of a natural valley, however, carved over an erosive process taking millions of years, this pit had been clawed out by more technical mechanisms in mere days. Although an Aegis team had already assessed a similar site, the Cardassians had wanted to see the damage for themselves; they were here now, picking their way through the cavernous scar in the landscape. Descending a little further, the Vulcan captain noted the rough-hewn texture of the remaining soil. This had not been an elegant or precision operation, like the Borg excision at the New Providence colony. It was, as the Ferengi junior officer had noted back on Aegis, as if the invading aliens had simply beamed up huge swaths of land en mass, taking the ore and the surrounding strata with it. It was now abundantly clear that kelindide had been the intended target. Of the six sites they had visited, five had been early sources of the mineral used by the Cardassian shipbuilders during the massive military escalation of the 2350's. One had been a source of less-versatile toranium ore. The scale of removal at this site, however, was certainly the greatest - possibly because this stockpile had been virtually untapped. Sorehl steadied himself against a rock, crunching against its frost-covered surface. He wondered if the climate, unpleasant by both Vulcan and Cardassian standards, had deterred early military-era mining. Over the past three decades, resource-poor Cardassia had plundered its own archaological treasures and seized the wealth of other worlds to support itself. It was a curious aberration to imagine them keeping a strategic reserve untouched so close at hand. "Captain," called out a uniformed Cardassian, astride a massive riding hound several meters below him. Sorehl watched the mastiff pick its way up the slope, bringing the officer to his level. "Gul Dergo instructed me to bring you to his location at once," he reported. * * * * * A few minutes later, Sorehl slid unceremoniously off the backside of the riding hound. Brushing off stray dark hairs, he expected to hear a characteristic taunt, but Gul Dnalge Dergo was striding towards him, obviously intent on something else. The gul shoved a dumbell-shaped tricorder into the Vulcan's hands. "Look at this," he insisted. Sorehl examined the scans, not understanding. "None of these readings are particularly remarkable," he observed. "Kelbonite deposits are not uncommon in kelindide ore-bearing strata; this merely appears to be an unusual concentration." It was not even a particularly useful mineral, Sorehl noted. What did Dergo think he'd found? "But look at what's deeper," Dergo urged. Sorehl adjusted the scanner. "Unfortunately, kelbonite is a refractory metal. This tricorder isn't sophisticated enough to penetrate such interference." "Yes," Dergo agreed, slanting his head back to observe him in that distinctively reptilian manner. He tilted his head toward a carved-out section of the slope. "Come and see what the tricorder doesn't..."

or "Captain One and Captain Two" In the Control Tower of Sky Harbor Aegis, Captain Sorehl and Ensign Shawn Andrews manned the Mission Ops and Security consoles, respectively, as they tried to locate the sole Cardassian ship in the system. Although many Aegis systems were locked in diagnostics mode, the two had managed to reconfigure these stations to utilize limited sensor functions. From behind them, Captain Frederic Meve got to his feet, slamming his fist against the tactical console. "For all the... that's it!" Captain Sorehl raised one eyebrow and swiveled his chair in time to see the Andorian officer approach the main viewer. Meve was flanked by Dr. Victor Images and Dr. Sheepy Jones, who seemed surprised at the outburst. The commotion had drawn Andrews' attention, as well. "Sir?" he asked, looking over to the Vulcan. Sorehl held up his hand, signaling his intent to listen to the captain. The Vulcan leaned forward in the Mission Ops chair, avoiding the mild ache in his lower back. Meve was pointing at something on the viewer. "You see that?" He pointed again, jamming his finger against the viewing surface. "Here! That... right there... the blinking light..." The doctors exchanged glances. Dr. Jones was clearly eyeing a hypospray in his hand. Momentarily distracted, Sorehl heard Andrews blurt, "What in Kahless is he ranting about?" "Mr. Andrews," the Vulcan scolded in a mild command tone, "your scans..." He let himself trail off, trying to focus on the forward area of the Control Tower. "No," Meve was asserting as he waved Jones off, "think for a moment. What is it for?" His gaze returned to the viewer. "It's nowhere near the station... Not on a ship..." Sorehl watched the somewhat one-sided discussion, recalling a warning from the security chief, Lt. Commander Ethan Hawke. Clearly not wanting to be disloyal, Hawke had nonetheless expressed concerns about the behavior of her commanding officer. Still, this display might be how the captain usually consulted with his staff. "Sir," Andrews reported, "I've isolated a Cardassian ship." Sorehl turned towards the security console. Andrews had isolated a signal in the vicinity of Cardassian IV, the next planet out from Prime. His science-trained eyes studied the display. "It appears they're trying to mask their presence by drifting in the magnetic pole." Sorehl glanced at his own console, calling up the comm array diagnostics. If he could alter a test procedure to utilize a tight-beam transmission... But he was not the commanding officer here. Attempting such a communication would require approval. He swiveled around toward Meve, who was still engaged in animated discussion with the doctors. "Something has to regulate those buoys," the Andorian postulated. Dr. Images was trying to interrupt. "Can you hear me, sir?" he asked. "Who are you talking to?" Sorehl blinked. Clearly, the crew was not accustomed to this type of interaction with their captain. Perhaps he had not given Hawke's warning enough credence. Sorehl tried to get the Andorian's attention. "Captain Meve." Meve continued talking, looking toward the screen. "It hasn't moved... has no purpose for being there." Dr. Images looked toward Sorehl. "He won't listen to me. It's like talking to a blue brick wall." His open palm brandished the hypospray he had yet to administer. The Vulcan captain stood, walking briskly toward Meve. If he was going to ascertain the situation, he needed to engage the Andorian. He spoke again, more loudly. "Captain Meve?" Meve turned toward Sorehl, as if no one else had been speaking to him previously, offering a nonchalant "Hmm?" Sorehl tugged briskly at his tunic, knowing the next statements could pose a challenge to the command of Sky Harbor Aegis...