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STSF Corizon

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About STSF Corizon

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    Throw me a Bone!

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    West Va

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  1. MISSION BRIEF: The Excalibur has arrived in orbit of the planet we're dropping off some... supplies for; we got here at night there time so we've been waiting for them to wake up. The sun is rising. Questions? 100409.txt
  2. MISSION BRIEF: The Excalibur, sans XO, has been loading various supplies for a milk run to around six colonies in the Gamma Quadrant. One of those colonies, a more primative "back to nature" type colony also has a Romulan/Federation research outpost located not far from it. We've been asked to check up on them as well while we're dropping off supplies. 091309.txt
  3. 09.13.09 Excal Mission Update: TBS: One week Excalibur has set sail on a milk run to around six colonial planets in the Gamma Quadrant. Without an XO, Corizon is mostly handling the job of being both Captain and Executive officer, though he's farming out the jobs he doesn't like to the four department heads. The first planet we will be arriving at is Theta Begani, a desert world with a small colony in need of atmosphere condensers, spare parts, live stock, and a few hundred thousand gallons of water. Operation and Engineering will be handling water delivery, spare parts and the condensers, while science, medical and security will be taking care of the livestock which is a mixture of goat and camel-like creatures native to similarly climated worlds.
  4. The convoy of fifteen class-h dilithium freighters cruised along at low warp, the wagon train only broken by the presence of three Steamrunner-class frigates at the head of the column, a Luna-class heavy destroyer at the center and hulking Sovereign-class battleship flanked on either side by a Defiant-class. Other than the stray course correction, the formation had barely changed since they’d left Starbase 203 and headed for the repository on Kallan IV. A flash of bright light, followed by a whirlpool of reds, yellows, purples and hints of green broke the serenity of calm space as a wing of nodular, blocky shaped vessels. Their appearance caused a stir of activity, something akin to dropping baking soda into a vat of vinegar. On the Excalibur, Rear Admiral Ah-Windu Corizon braced himself on the wall of the turbo-lift as a shot of bright reddish-white energy strode out from one of the smaller starships that had emerged from the subspace anomaly and rocked the Sovereign-class violently. By the time the lift deposited him on the bridge, two more such shots had struck the vessel and two of the fifteen transports were space junk. With a measured calm that had come from years of service, the Dameon strode to the center seat. “Report!” The tactical officer looked overwhelmed as his board was lit up like the proverbial Christmas tree. Commander Gage Corwin, acting as the first officer for the mission frowned deeply. “Full attack wing… Soltan … no warning what-so-ever. They’ve not started shooting their big guns at us yet, conventional weapons so far. We’ve lost two… three of the transports. They’re focusing on knocking them out.” Another harrying shot smacked the Excalibur as she lobbed return shots with little effect. The Dameon watched on screen as a myriad of weapons fire, debris, death and carnage unfolded. Grimacing as another transport met its end, Corizon shook his head. “Signal the freighters to drop their payloads and get the hell out of here. Bring us around. Signal the rest of the fleet, make the Soltans pay attention to us and not them.” “They won’t be happy about losing the payloads….” Corizon rolled his eyes and in a flat, monotone replied. “They can lose their lives if they want… their choice.” Scowling, “When you put it that way, sir.” A few moments later the transports began dropping the cargo-pods attached the freighter’s underbellies as the fleet of Federation starships formed into a more organized fighting force. Another transport exploded in a ball of fire as the Steamrunner-class Caspian came too late to draw the fire of an attack Soltan raider. The Caspian followed closely by her sistership the Ural doubled back and unleashed a volley of phaser and torpedo fire into the Soltan vessel. The Soltan raider broke off its attack run and spun on its axis unleashing a barrage from its forward weapons banks. The Caspian and the Ural veered off course as the weapons fire lashed out at them. A white-hot flash from the weapons pod of the Oberon hit the offending Soltan vessel . Aboard the bridge of the Oberon, Captain Jenny Majesto gripped her command chair tightly as her ship made a high speed pass at one of the bigger Soltan vessels that was targeting the Starfleet ships. “Zyn give me a firing solution on that damned thing. And where is our cover from the Audacious?” The Trill first officer, who’d taken over at the tactical position when their primary tactical officer had found himself on the extra-crispy side after an explosion in the opening minutes of the battle ran his hands over the console at the near speed of light. “I am doing my best,” he said hoarsely. “The damned EPS grid is fried. Whatever the hell hit us did one hell of a number…” At that moment, the Oberon pitched violently as gaping hole in the forward section of the starboard bow opened like melon being cracked against a rock. Behind her, the squat Defiant-class Audacious rolled out of the way to avoid a collision. Commander Jake Tollbor cursed violently as his own ship shook under a barrage of conventional weapons. Between curses and spitting blood from his mouth he managed to ask “What the bloody hell was that!” A response wasn’t possible as similar phenomena befell the Audacious and the better portion of the starship’s hull decompressed into space. Noting the wreckage floating aimlessly and at high speed, Lt. Koran F’aen banked the big Excalibur mostly out of danger with the exception of a portion of nacelle that impacted with a heavy, jarring thud to the saucer section. “Sub-space readings are off the chart,” Commander Kale Thomas drawled from the engineering console. “They’re obviously employing stronger measures than just your normal phasers and torpedoes.” “Sub-space weaponry, everyone.” Corizon said between gritted fangs. “How many more transports left?” “Six, sir. Two managed to get their cargos dropped and out. The Pride of Nanon Prime was having to manually unlock the cargo…” “They just bit it,” Corwin added to the voice of the operations officer. “Damn. What’s the fleet’s status?” “The Oberon has suffered heavy damage –reports coming in that they’re leaking coolant into their plasma coils. The Audacious and the Tian Shan are destroyed. The Caspian and the Ural aren’t faring much better. Bravado is holding her own.” “And the Soltans?” “We’ve managed to damage one or two of their ships, but honestly sir we can’t make heads or tails of what is a vital system and what’s not. Hell just figuring out what the front of one of those things is and what’s the back…” An earsplitting roar erupted on the bridge as everyone on the bridge felt a ripple of energy surge through the deck plating. For the first time since the battle started, the myriad of weapons that lined the hull of the warship fell momentarily silent as three whole sections of decking and armor plating gave way under an explosion. Corizon found himself a few meters from his chair and on the floor. Lucky to be alive, he pushed himself off the ground as another shot from the conventional weapons of a Soltan ship added salt to the wound. “Son of a…” Whirling on their axis and delivering shot after shot into the transports and Starfleet vessels in various state of damage, the Soltan ships now began focusing on what was clearly the biggest threat to them – the Excalibur. Taking advantage, one by one the remaining transports – three of the original fifteen – dropped their loads and jumped to warp. The bruising warship, the fifth to carry the name Excalibur, returned fire with a flurry, lobbing gouts of plasma and phaser fire at her circling attackers and following up with photon and quantum torpedoes as her smaller, secondary weapons worked on the small raiders that were harassing her. Nearby, the Oberon had regained her footing and joined in the attack before being dispatched with prejudice. On her bridge, smoke and ozone filled the air and lungs of her Captain. Bedraggled, she pulled her hair away from her eyes and looked over to the dead body of her Vulcan operations officer and exhaled. “Well Zyn,” she said to the only remaining person on the bridge. “I bet you didn’t think this was how nine lifetimes of work would end for you.” Smiling, despite himself, he nodded. “Can’t say that I would have planned it this way, but if you have to go out… this is one hell of way to do it.” “So… you agree with me?” The Trill nodded. “We’re about two minutes from a warp-core breach; we’ve lost weapons and shields. Even if we got everyone to the life-boats, you think those blue sons of a bitches would leave them be?” “Nope.” “Well then, I say we take some of them out.” Walking to what remained of the helm console; the lithe captain moved its prior occupant to the floor and began tapping buttons. As another shot from the Soltan’s subspace cannons ripped a gash into the hull of the Excalibur, Corizon looked up in time to see the last flight of the Oberon as the Luna-class starship rammed head-first into one of the bigger Soltan starships. Refusing to be overcome by the moment, he looked to Corwin, who’d taken up working them helm. “Corwin get us the hell out of here. Signal the fleet to do the same.” “Yes, sir. Executing getting us the hell out of here.” The Excalibur, Caspian and the Bravado jumped to warp at nearly the same time. Aboard all three ships a profound sense of relief was shortly overwhelmed by the magnitude of the defeat they’d just witnessed.
  5. Excalibur will be running, but we will be having a farewell party for our XO Kitty, so attendance will be excused for any one on holiday.
  6. The bridge of the Luna-class Oberon hummed lightly as the sleek vessel cruised along in a trailing position with the view of the entire convoy ahead of them. In the command seat, Captain Jenny Majesto sipped lightly at her cup of too warm coffee. Mentally making a note to tell her yeoman that she liked it with cream, so she could drink it before the morning reports came in, she looked over to her Vulcan operations officer hunched over the console. She started to ask him if the situation was normal, before reminding herself that Saven detested the term normal and would then be required to launch in his ten-minute lecture on how normal was a relative term and completely inadequate, illogical and imprecise. “Status report, Mister Saven?” The Vulcan looked up and glanced towards the Captain; he was a handsome, sharp figured man and a credit to his race, with logic as sharp as his cheek bones were strong. “Situation, nominal, sir. Nothing new to report.” She smirked to herself and leaned back in the chair. Same old Saven. She started to inquire to his reading of Ovid, a text she’d loaned him, particularly to judge his response to the ridicule of Apollo and how confounded the god of pure reason was by irrational love—never let it be said I don’t have a sense of irony—then she reminded herself that Saven didn’t like distractions. The thought caused her to smirk even wider, wasn’t she the Captain? Across the bridge, the doors to the primary turbolift slid open and the slim, lithe figure of a Trill emerged. Commander Azenphin Zynpral sauntered onto the bridge with wavy regulation crop hair bouncing along as he did and a wide smile on his face. “Captain,” he said boisterously. “I’ll have you know we just completed a true feat!” Flatly, she looked over. “And what is that, Zyn?” “Chef finally figured how to make a Cartanian Omlet without burning it.” Rolling her eyes, she shook her head and went back to reading. “Good,” she said dryly. “I’ve been a little busy reading updates from Command and status reports to venture down.” “You really should go down and check it out, Jenny. I couldn’t believe he pulled it off, I thought he used a replicator!” Taking his own seat after fetching a cup of juice from the replicator, Zynpral glanced over to the Captain. In his weaker moments, the softness of her features – from her gentle cheekbones, to her subtle pink lips, and her almond colored hair that always smelled of flowers, made him forget that Majesto was not only his commanding officer, but was skilled enough at hand to hand to put him on his ass with ease. Sighing slightly he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind and concentrated on duty. “Anything new from Command?” Majesto shook her head. “Of course not.” “Admiral Corizon hasn’t been too forth coming either. I have to wonder why he is leading this whole moving target.” Saven turned in his chair and looked at both of them with a raised brow. “I think it’s rather obvious.” The Trill and the human glanced to each other before looking at the Vulcan. This should be interesting Zynpral thought as he lifted a brow, “And what is that, Saven?” “Clearly someone within the hierarchy believes that this convoy could be a target. It would be illogical to otherwise commit so many of our resources in this sector to guarding a convoy, despite its relative worth.” Majesto nodded. “I’ve figured as much, though there’s something to be said for not drawing attention to yourself…” Saven had already turned back to his console and was tapping away, causing both Majesto and Zynpral to exchange smirks. “Yeah, I’d rather not be part of a moving buffet, if you get me.” Giving in to the levity of the moment, Majesto put the PADD she’d been trying to read for the last half-hour down on her lap and exhaled. “I just wish that if they’re going to send us out on these kind of runs, they’d give us a better idea of what they are expecting us to run into, and furthermore, I wish the briefings that fleet gave us on these damned aliens was a little more, I don’t know, useful.” Zynpral nodded in agreement. “I do hope the briefings you see are more helpful than the non-classified reports.” Majesto shook her head. “They aren’t. They might as well say ‘if you see the Soltans, run like hell,’ for all the good they do.” Both officers sighed, knowing all too well that Fleet had to keep some information from them, it was just to them that it seemed like maybe Fleet was as blind as they were. With that unsettling thought in the back of their minds, they shook their heads and returned to work.
  7. The dark, knife-shapped hull of the Al-Ucard frigate Cutlass turned at break neck speed, breaking off her attack run and doubling back. Her trailing fighter wing barely kept up as the captain of the Cutlass realized to late that he'd dove too deeply into the attack run. With in moments the shimmering, spider-like G'Jak battleship Wrath Harbinger was on top of them, loosing shots from her forward heavy-phased graviton beam with prejudice. Cutlass rocked under the fire and exploded in pieces as the secondary batteries of Wrath Harbinger picked off the fighter wing and turned to make another pass for any she'd missed. Kilometers away, an Eratian Hive-ship, Gallena, drained her massive batteries of phased plasma cannons into a swarm of Scorpiad fighters. Moving faster than the Keeper of the Gallena had seen one of the behemoths move, three G'J'ak-class vessels flanked by two heavy destroyers caught the Gallena mid-ship with the combined fire of their primary weapons. The juggernaut shuddered and shook under the barrage. The Keeper let out an ear-splitting scream as she felt her ship's hull begin to fracture and split as the attackers held on their attack run and flew through the dying ship. Fanning out, they swung around to join another wing of Scorpiad vessels in a fight against a second Eratian hive-ship. Just outside the system, aboard the bridge of the lead ship of the largest wing of Al-Ucard Nightstalker-class dreadnoughts assembled in their conflict against the Scorpiads, in deed the largest grouping of Al-Ucard ships period, General Dominius of the House of Azurus stroked at a non-existent beard. His long silver hair lay on either side of his black leather body-armor that bore his house crest. He had served the Scorpiads his entire life. He had been an elder of the Council that had ruled his world in the absence of the creators. His life had been utterly devoted to them. That had been until their return. Many had rejoiced when their masters returned to give them new purpose yet again, including himself. The Al-Ucard had been a finely forged sword that had lay in her scabbard for too long, waiting to be wielded against those who opposed them once more. The Scorpiad lords had given them that purpose, wielded them against the Dominion once more. That was when their weakness was revealed. It had been ten-thousand years since the great arachnids had walked openly, since they'd crushed any before them with their claws. They had grown weak. Dominius had seen the cowardliness in their eyes when they sent their pawns to die in their place. They could have ended the Dominion with but a few victories with their powerful ships, yet they didn't. They delayed. They allowed the Dominion to regroup. They allowed the cancerous growth of the Alpha Quadrant powers to ferment and metastasize and it was their undoing. When the first of the great houses of Al-Ucard had declared their intentions to rebel along side the Eratian hives, he had not spoken. He knew that the time was coming when the Al-Ucard would step forward and take their place among the rulers of the Gamma Quadrant, but he wasn't sure if then was the proper time. Almost a year had passed since the first shots were fired in what was becoming a brutal civil war. The rebel Al-Ucard and Eratian forces had gained some victories, but the Scorpiads were doing the only thing they knew how to do—hitting back with a vengeance. Though they had no concrete proof, he knew they were behind the recent attacks that had left entire systems in ruble. The once all-conquering Scorpiads had crowned their first Empress in over three-hundred thousand years and she was wasting little time reasserting her empire. With the fate of his world on the line, Dominius knew that if were going to act to bring his people the freedom that was rightfully theirs, he could no longer wait; and so now he stood aboard the bridge of his flagship with a massive fleet of Al-Ucard vessels who'd pledged their loyalty to him preparing to hinge close a trap they'd set for the Scorpiads. A large fleet of both Eratian and Al-Ucard vessels had attacked an outpost within range of four battle groups and a sector fleet of Scorpiad vessels. The first wave was out numbered, but with the reinforcements that the Scorpiads were unaware of, they could deliver a massive blow the Scorpiad fleet and perhaps cause them to pull back their attacks against Al-Ucard and Eratian targets. Dominius took a deep breath and looked towards the view screen. The time had come. The sun was setting on the Scorpiad Empire and soon the patron moon of the Al-Ucard would rise.
  8. I'm conflicted on the whole subject. I think it's great that people put effort into them and they're really pretty, but by the same token they're extra work for someone to do, hard to keep up to date if your not a webbie-inclined host and we end up duplicating a lot of information or linking to it anyway. Not to mention it takes people away from the site itself. ::tosses in two cents::
  9. The wind whipped at his silver hair. His long black leather trench fluttered lightly in the breeze. A light rain peppered his face. He could taste it in the air. He closed his eyes for a long moment and let the wind and rain break upon his light skin. The city lights were dull in the distance, and his shadowy figure went unnoticed across the skyline. He opened his eyes and stepped off the edge, extending either arm as if to fly. One leg tucked half way, as he sailed downward. Landing gently, he ran both hands through his hair, rolled his neck and shoulders and walked on ward. The beast was about to be unleashed. Stopping, he turned left down an alley. He could hear the subtle sounds from the 'hidden' club. Ahead a shadowy man stood next to dumpster and a door. The 'bouncer,' looked to be about six-feet-tall and around two-hundred pounds of muscle. The first 'test.' Walking up to him, the bouncer lifted an eyebrow. “Something I can help you with,” the mound of meat said incredulously. It wasn't a question. “I heard this was a good place.” “For what?” “You know.” “No, I don't.” He looked at the bouncer for a moment, then approached closely, whispering in his ear. As he spoke the bouncer's eyes grew wide. When he finished, the bouncer, all two-hundred and fifty pounds of him, lay on the ground—a bloody heap. “For Killing...” Looking at the body, then the door, he took another deep breath and rolled his neck again. Bringing his hand up to his mouth he licked the blood off his claws before spitting it in the general direction of the dead body. There'd be plenty more blood tonight. Oh yes, there would be blood. Without a second thought, Corizon kicked the door open with his sleek, knee-high leather boots with silver straps up the sides. With all the commotion inside, the sudden explosion of the door went unnoticed, which in some ways disappointed him, and in others excited. The beat of the club thumped as hot, sweaty bodies writhed in a throng of alien and human ecstasy. He walked across the club towards the bar against the wall. A four limbed alien female looked him over for a few moments before asking him what he wanted to drink. He slid her a slip of latnium and asked for a shot of her best whiskey. A few moments later she produced a glowing pink liquid that burned with a fire as it slid down his throat. “Where's Gu'tagza?” She looked at him for a moment, “You'll need more latnium...” “Listen,” he said, as his yellow eyes locking on hers. “You can either tell me and I just kill him and his cronies, or I just start killing people till I find him... your pick.” The tender's eyes went wide. Something in his voice told her that the dog-eared guy wasn't joking about that. “In the corner... in the booth. But... he...” He passed her another slip of latnium. “Thanks...I can handle him.” She opened her mouth to protest, but before she could he was gone into the throng of writhing bodies. He pushed his way forward, moving bodies aside as the beat raged. He would have been almost disappointed if someone hadn't tried to stop him before he reached his target. The first of the goons to do so tapped him on the shoulder. Corizon delivered a crushing elbow to his assailants mid-section. In the same motion he removed a silver dagger holstered on his belt, he followed the elbow with a full extension backwards, slicing open the unseen assailant. A second one tried a head on approach, only to be met with a similar fate—a bloody torso on the ground. By the third one, the thumping beat and throng of dancers had begun to scramble out of the way. Ahead of him, the muscular, stocky Gu'tagza sat directing his goons. He was flanked on either side by two Nausicans while an Orion male stood in the middle, anchoring his final line of defense. Just ahead of them two lanky humans with bladed weapons began making their way towards Corizon in an coordinated attack. Stopping, Corizon dropped his trench to reveal his skin tight grey undershirt and black fabric utility pants. From his side, a silver sword shaped like a Chinese dao, only with barbs along the curved blade hung but soon found its way into his hand. Wheeling it, he took position, calling his attackers on. Dressed in grey and black tunics with purple hands on their shoulders, the swordmen approached Corizon and drew him into fighting both of them at once. What the didn't see coming was his ability to push them both back.. Wheeling forward he knocked one of them back, and caught the other off guard with a vicious spinning hook-kick. A second motion brought darkness to the downed swordsman as Corizon spun again and arched his back, stabbing downward into his assailants chest with his sword. The second swordsman looked helplessly as his comrade was slain. The distraction proved fatal. Corizon moved in quickly, wheeling his blade lethally. Though the swordsman put up a fight, the furious swings of Corizon's sword won out and the second swordsman lie like the first, a bloody mess of gashes and tares in the floor of the club. Corizon looked up at Gu'tagza, “Is this the best you can do?” The squat man looked at his Orion and nodded. The Orion pointed to the two Nauscicans and they revealed to be holding heavy pulse disruptors that looked like they belonged on a Bird of Prey and not in someone's hand. Each had six rotating barrels to keep them from melting down, and they spun up as the disruptors started firing a hail of liquid green fire on the dance floor. Instinctively, Corizon began running towards the small raised platform where his target was ensconced. Rolling to avoid the reign of death, Corizon shocked even the Orion as he soon was upon them, removing a handful of 'si-Jan' from a pocket in his pants. He tossed the razor-sharp discs at the Nausicans, striking them in the throat. The heavy guns and the Nausicans crashed to the ground. The Orion seemed almost pleased. He cracked his knuckles and began walking towards the lanky Dameon who meant to kill his master. This was going to be fun. Corizon attacked first, unleashing a volley of kicks and palm strikes to the beefy, green wall between him and his target. The Orion, for his part, absorbed them almost orgasmic, flexing and smiling as the intense strikes from the Dameon crashed into his body. A second wave from the dog-beast caused a cracking sound to emanate, but not from the Orion. He grabbed the the silver-haired creature by the wrist and flipped him onto his back with a thud. Grimacing, Corizon steeled himself and waited as the ogre approached to 'finish him off.' Rather surprisingly, at least to the Orion, as he neared his victim, Corizon suddenly swept him off his legs with a spininng move that caused the heavy stack of green muscles and leather to crash backwards onto the hard floor. A few moments later, the last thing he saw was a leaping Corizon that sunk his sharp fangs into the Orion's throat as his claws dug into his chest. A primal snarl resonated as Corizon lifted from the ogre with green blood dripping from his mouth. Licking at his lips, Corizon narrowed his glance and looked towards Gu'tagza. The crime-lord he'd been sent to kill at least had a spine. He stood a few feet away, taking off the expensive suite jacket he wore and cracking his knuckles. Corizon barely noticed the throbbing pain of his swelling right wrist, and walked forwards to meet his target, who'd proved to be a rather satisfying kill, unlike most of the people who were his victims. Panting, covered in blood of various colors he prepared himself for his final task. Gu'tagza stood across from him, readying himself. It wasn't everyday an Imperial Deathdealer was sent to end your life, now was it? And the good thing about this was, if Corizon failed... well suffice to say there wasn't much in the way of 'better quality' assassins available. They quickly met in battle, exchanging a series of blows that knocked both back and bloodied Gu'tagza's nose and Corizon's lip. “So tell me,” Gu'tagza said in his heavily accented standard. “What did I do to get the Shadow of Death sent after me?” “You know,” Corizon said between heavy breathes. “You know exactly what you did.” Grinning the Troyian criminal laughed a bit. “Oh but I've done so many terrible things.” “Selling narcotics to Xenexian children is pretty low, even for you.” The blue-skinned alien laughed again. “I am sure you've done worse.” Corizon responded with a renewed attack. Gu'tagza pushed back and struck Corizon across the face and in passing struck his swollen wrist, cause a wave of pain to flush over the Dameon. He paused for a moment to steel himself, giving Gu'tagza an opening. The door closed quickly, however, and Corizon a clawed strike from his good hand and followed it with a penetrating knee-kick to the mid-section. The Troyian slumped to the ground, breathing heavily. Corizon grabbed him by the throat and lifted him to meet his eyes. Corizon yellow eyes looked into the the Troyians widening eyes as his squeezed tightly, breaking the skin with his claws and opening up the trachae itself. Blue blood rushed in and soon Gu'tagza was coughing and wheezing as blood filled his lungs. Corizon released him, letting him fall to the ground suffocating in his own vile blue blood. Corizon took a deep breath and wiped his own red blood from his lips; with a flick of his wrist he flung the green, blue and red mixture of blood on his claws on the floor before picking up his sword and coat and walking into the rainy night, the wind whipping at his face, raindrops falling on his light skin.
  10. A slow stroke of the brush against the canvas left a thick, ragged black mark. A second left a slightly thinner, more even stroke in the same pitch black paint. A third, fourth and fifth stroke followed quickly before a pause and sixth stroke in red. Successive strokes began forming shapes, and as the shapes began taking form, so did the painting. It had been many years since the painter had so clearly translated his thoughts and emotions onto a canvas, and as each stroke defined the portrait, the small smile forming on his face grew wider. The painting, like the torrent of emotions filling his body and brain was a confluence. Each individual stroke added to the whole to form a larger picture. Scattered with deep reds, grays and black, the image of the self began to finally form, and amid the chaos there was an odd serenity. Corizon took a deep breath, looking at the painting before him, his self-portrait capturing the moment, a snap-shot of everything he felt. He'd never wanted this life. Years ago, he'd dreamed of a quiet life on his homeworld, high in the mountain temples practicing the five excellences and living a peaceful, calm, and vitreous life, but like so much in his strange life, the winds of fate had carried him along their currents to another place. How differently his life had turned out from a small boy praying at the alters. So much had happened to him, to everyone around him—the world he'd once known was gone, replaced by a new and frightening world. It had started when he enrolled in Starfleet. His mentor had all but insisted, saying that a man of Corizon's potential would be wasted in the snow-covered temples praying to the gods. The current had taken him to San Francisco, a strange and exciting place. In the fifties, only a handful of his people had ever served in Starfleet, and few of his people ventured off world, so to suddenly be surrounded by such variety was startling, terrifying, and thrilling all at once. Then there had been ATAG. Had he known then, had he seen the things he'd seen now, he would never have signed on when offered the position. The Cardassian War was ramping up, the tension high...ATAG had been given the assignment of making sure that Starfleet's eye and ears were properly focused. At first it was standard enough, he was assigned, ostensibly, to the Academy as an professor of combat psychology by day, and an intelligence analyst by night. For the remainder of the fifties and even the sixties little changed; at some point though, ATAG began to do more than just analyze the intelligence coming in—they began collecting their own independent information for 'assessment.' Soon, the professor found himself spending less time in the classroom and more time in the field. That was when he had his first run in with the Cardassian Obsidian Order. Rather friendly bunch really, if you were into daily torture and being the subject of a maniacal Gul who considered you his personal pet. His life would have likely ended that way too, had it not been for the well timed escape attempt of another of the Gul's pets that allowed him to escape and make his way back to the Federation. And then the Borg came. Wolf 359 had been an utterly shocking, terrifying experience for everyone in the Federation, let alone anyone who'd managed to somehow survive the carnage of that battle. Over 40 of the Federation's best ships completely destroyed in minutes. As long as he lived, he'd never forget how helpless he'd felt as his ship floated aimlessly as the black cube sailed off towards Earth. The experience with the Cardassians had almost caused him to retire, to go live that life he'd so wanted, but the Borg changed that. How could he leave Starfleet then? How could leave them when there was such a grave and evil threat lurking in the shadows? He couldn't. He pressed on. The next years brought still yet graver threats for he and ATAG to tackle, their was the Marquis, a resurgent Romulus, Klingon instabilities, the Cardassians loomed as they licked their wound and waited for another chance at glory. During all that the missions he was sent on became more and more clandestine, it wasn't just gathering intelligence it was preemptive strikes against potential threats to the Federation. All the while, he justified it as being for the greater good, and slowly, inch by inch, he hardened. The life he'd so wished for slipped further and further away. Duty became his life. Starfleet became his life. He became Starfleet. All the while, the Universe turned against him and Starfleet. Cardassia got it's second chance at imperial glory when Dukat welcomed the Dominion into the Quadrant. Suddenly an aggressive species hell bent on destroying anyone who challenged them had a foothold in the Alpha Quadrant. Dukat, in one bold move, packed the entire known galaxy into the hand basket and set course for hell. What unfolded over the next three years was nothing short of it, anyway. When the smoke finally cleared, trillions were dead. Starfleet had come within an inch of defeat, the Klingon Empire had been severely tested, the Romulans were left with their heaviest causalities since the Earth-Romulan War, and Cardassia lay in ruin, a shadow of it's former self. The toll on Corizon was just as high. His homeworld has been sieged by the Dominion, his parents casualties of the bombardment of the capitol city...and the things he'd seen... and done. Following the cessation of hostilities and the ratification of the Treaty of Bajor, he'd once again contemplated retirement. Once again though, he was reminded of how threatened Starfleet truly was. Sure, the Dominion had been beaten back into the Gamma Quadrant, but in it's weakened state, how long would it be before someone else challenged the Federation? In the past decade, nearly every major power had challenged the Federation, so he'd stayed. The post war years were quiet and he rarely regretted retirement. Starfleet had begun righting itself, healing the wounds of the Dominion War, and the rest of the galaxy, it seemed, has decided that peace deserved a chance. Of course, nothing ever stayed calm, and even the best intentions can end in mayhem and disaster. Such had been the Camelot Project. A dream given form, a shining beacon in space. When he'd first heard that the Federation, Romulan, Klingon and Dominion governments were working together to create at station in the Gamma Quadrant, he'd thought it was a really bad idea. Within six months, when he was being sent to find out just why the Romulans felt the need to rattle sabers with the Dominion in their home turf, he'd been sure of it. Three years later and not much had happened to change that assessment. Yet, when he'd had the chance after Excalibur finally returned to Earth following the Battle of the Wormhole, he'd not retired. Why? The same reason he'd not retired the two previous times he'd given it serious thought, duty wouldn't allow it. He'd never wanted this life. Yet, he couldn't walk away from it either. Glancing once more to the painting, he noticed that amid the swirl of chaos, he'd painted himself as serene. That struck him as odd, given that he'd recently tore his quarters apart. Perhaps there was something else bothering him? Like this life, he'd never wanted to be a Captain of starship, yet he'd not walked away from it when given the chance. He didn't want to have to be responsible for the lives of so many people so directly, yet, he continued to do it, and he knew that when they returned to Camelot, he'd not give up his command. There was still so much work to do, even if this current mission had been an abject failure. Silently he wondered what the winds of fate had in store for him. It seemed as though at every turn they told him to change course, yet he kept his bow pointed in the same direction because he felt he had too, because he was bound by duty to the Federation. It was at that point he realized that all of the pain, sorrow, anger, frustration and anxiety he'd felt in the last week had been for nothing. There was nothing he could to change what had happened. Fate had played it's hand, and so had he. In the end, the baby was secure and his ship still in one piece. Sure, the crownstone remained in the hands of the Raidmistress Wart, but really was it worth risking the lives of his own crew on something that they didn't value only so they could gain possible access to knowledge of the device that could lead them to the Founders? Of course it was, but that wasn't the point. He sighed and looked back to the portrait once more. Perhaps the serenity came in the knowledge that he wouldn't be the savior of the Dominion after all? Perhaps not. Perhaps so.
  11. Applications are now open for STSF's first PBMB (play by message board) game, Excalibur: Lower Decks. Find out what life aboard one of the Federation's leading starships is like as an enlisted/NCO crewmember. E:LD loosely follows the main plot of the Excalibur chat-sim, but don't worry no prior knowledge of Excalibur's plot is needed. Those interested should contact STSF Corizon or STSF JoNs, applications are open to all tenured (six-months or longer) STSF members.Positions are available on a negotiations basis, if an idea sounds good, let us know and we'll try to work it in. More information on E:LD can be located on their boards at http://www.stsf.net/forums/index.php?showforum=77, while a detailed primer of the game can be found here: http://www.stsf.net/forums/index.php?showtopic=16326. We hope you will join us as we bring peace by the sword, but a peace only under liberty.
  12. Eli Tamoris looked at what sat in sickbay before him flanked by a half-dozen security officers, Captain Corizon and three nurses. On first look, he thought it was an Orion child. Second look revealed it to be the missing baby Zier painted (he hoped) green and wearing in her infantile hair a small skull for a hairbret. Dr. Wydown had asked him to come down for an examination, as he was the only one of the primary alpha shift doctors who didn't have any real connections to the aforementioned parents and if something were terribly wrong, wouldn't go yapping before they had been cleared for such information. “So, Doctor,” Ah-Windu said, “what do you think?” “It's green,” Eli said, moving towards the baby with an open tricorder. Julie. That was it's name. Eli sighed as he began looking over the readings. The child stirred slightly, handling all the commotion rather well. “She appears to be in perfect health.” “That's good news.” “Yes.” “What about...” Ah-Windu stumbled a bit, trying to place the word. “The tint?” Closing the tricorder, Eli moved towards the small table of instruments. “Oh,” he said. “We'll have to do a full analysis on it before we can tell what it is. I suspect it will wash right off. Let the parents know that as soon as we run one more test and get her washed up, they can see her.” Corizon nodded. “I'll let them know.” -- "Doctor?" "Yes, Andrea?" "She's..." Eli looked over to the nurse, Petty Officer Andrea Gaines. "She's what?" "Well," the seasoned nurse said with a look of concern. "She's still green!" "Oh dear." "We've tried everything to get it off... but that stuff is good whatever it is." "The parents aren't going to like that." "I can't imagine so," Andrea said with a sigh. "Any results back from the tests on the stuff?" "Not yet Eli." Eli took a deep breath and exhaled. "I'll talk to Dr. Wydown and see what she wants to do..."
  13. “Give me a Vodka Tonic,” Corizon said gruffly. “On the rocks?” He didn't recognize the barkeeper and he lifted an ear curiously. “Do I ever take my drinks on the rocks?” The barkeeper looked at him for a few moments, sizing the Dameon up. “Nope...waters it down.” This time lifting his brows and ears at the same time, Corizon glanced to the bartender. “What was your name again?” “Cap,” he said as he slid Corizon's drink across the bar to him, stopping just short of the Dameon's clawed reach. “But before you can have this drink, you owe me a story.” “A story?” “How about you give me the drink now,” Corizon said relaxing a little and smiling with his fangs, “And I'll tell the story while I drink it.” Tipping his head as if thinking about it, Cap finally smiled and nodded. “I suppose that wouldn't violate any rules of the establishment.” Taking the glass in his hands, Corizon tipped it up slightly, letting the clear fluid flow through his mouth and down his throat. “I suppose this means I should start talking, eh?” “That's normally how one tells a story, yes...although you could go for interpretive dance...” “I think an auditory experience would be more...enjoyable.” Now this happened some years ago, so my head may be a little foggy at times, maybe the Vodka Tonic will loosen my brain up. Anyway, I guess I should start from the beginning of the story...or at least do some sort of introduction. Frankly, I've never been a very good story teller. But this is a pretty good drink, so I suppose it's worth it. It was right before the Dominion War got hot and heavy. I was a field operative for ATAG, the Advanced Tactical Assessment Group, and my job was to assess our relative strengths and weaknesses along the Federation-Cardassian border. The Klingons had just gone in and wiped the floor with the Spoonies and that moron Dukat had opened Pandora's Box. Everyone in the intelligence community knew that the war was coming—it was just a matter of when, not if. Most of us had also come to the startling realization that the Dominion was going to clean our clocks if we didn't act quickly. I'd spent most of the time leading up to the war back and forth between the DMZ and Earth, dealing with the Maquis and preparing for the eventual fight with the Dominion. I was in transit aboard the Redoubt, on my way to Sepia VII. Sepia. What a place. Right along the Cardassian-Federation border, it was an Y-class world. A demon planet. It'd been settled by the Federation about fifty years earlier as mining base. Later it'd become an important listening post for SI and ATAG as the clouds of thick volcanic smoke and highly ionized atmosphere rendered detection of the highly sophisticated equipment used for spying nearly impossible for the Spoonies. When the Maquis started to cause Starfleet trouble, Sepia had doubled as a base of operations for people like me. It was close to most of the major Maquis centers of operation and also not highly traveled. We could slip into Sepia aboard a ship on a milk run and be in any of the major Maquis staging areas within a few days. Of course that was before all the trouble with the Dominion. Once the Jem'Hadar reared their ugly, horned heads—the Maquis and Starfleet had come to an uneasy truce; Starfleet would stop working to disrupt the Maquis activity so long as they provided us with intelligence. That was my mission. To make my way to Sepia where I'd grab a transport to the Maquis base world of Sankara Prime. The Maquis cell leader there had contacted us and told us through channels that he had information about a possible Dominion plot. Now, by this point it didn't take an expert intelligence officer to know what the Jello and the Spoonies were upto—really you don't bring hundreds of warships into the quadrant daily if you're not planning on using them; but the guy had made it clear that this was of absolute importance. So Munich dispatched me aboard the Redoubt. Everything had gone swimmingly; we were just a few days from Sepia and had made a layover at DS9, where I'd had fantastic luck at the dabo wheels at Quarks. The Captain of the Redoubt was a fine man, a little green and wet around the ears but a fine man—and an excellent cook. Jaravaiq. That was his name. Captain Morbious Jaravaiq. He'd taken over the Redoubt less than a month or so before my mission and he was still feeling out the ship and crew. You could tell his crew liked him though. The Redoubt herself was a fine ship. A New Orleans-class, she'd managed to survive the Borg attack at Wolf 359 and the Maquis fighting, not to mention—as her Captain put it—the handling of a novice captain. Of course, Jaravaiq, while young, wasn't a novice. No. He was a man who you just knew belonged in the Center Chair. Most of that whole time period is a blur now. I either repressed it, drank it away or forgot the biggest part of that entire experience, but some of it is as clear as if I were looking through my eyes then. Everything happened so fast. We were so unprepared for the war. For everything that happened. I was down in my quarters; sleeping and dreaming of tomorrow where danger no longer lurked behind every star and nebula no longer filled with the dark desires of tyrannical opposition. I had so much on my mind then, so many worries. Would the Federation survive the war? Could we win? How many people were going to die? When would the Dominion strike? How could Dukat let himself be played for such a fool? It had been an arduous journey, even if the crew of the Redoubt had done their best to attend to my needs and sleep was such a welcome respite from all the troubles that darkened my days. That night for some reason, I couldn't sleep. I laid in the darkness, just watching as the starfield out the windows of my VIP quarters rushed by, filling my room with low light. Something was foreboding about the night, but I couldn't place it. Did you ever have the feeling that someone was walking on your grave? I couldn't shake it all night. I just kept having this...I don't know. Anyway, I was laying awake when the ship suddenly shuttered out of warp. My initial thought was that we'd arrived ahead of time, the almost instantaneous blaring of klaxons that proceeded it told me otherwise. “Commander Corizon to the bridge.” I sighed, tugged on my uniform and headed to the bridge. I figured that something had mechanically gone wrong, or they'd gotten a distress signal. I was dead wrong. As soon as I got on the bridge, Jaravaiq's look told me something was wrong that was beyond his control. “I am afraid we're going to have to abort your mission.” I remember, and why I do I am not sure, looking indignantly at the man as if to question his sanity. Had he missed that entire 'Security of the Federation at risk' part of the dossier. My almost instant second thought was that my contact had been compromised. Softening, I asked him. “No,” Jaravaiq had said. “Why are we aborting then?” I am not sure if what I said was that nice or not—I really can't remember. “We have new orders that supersede yours. They come direct from Starfleet Command. Commander it is my duty to inform you that you will be taking the position of Executive Officer aboard the Redoubt for the remainder of the mission.” It took almost an hour staring at the orders that he produced for it to sink into my head. I am not sure how many times I looked over that PADD. It was one of those moments where you see your whole world turned on its head. Like a nova suddenly exploding and altering the entire sector of the galaxy it occupies, my life was never the same after I read those orders. For that matter, no one in the Alpha Quadrant was ever the same either. The words on the PADD are seared into my head like they'd been written in fire and blood. “TO: Captain Morbious Jaravaiq U-S-S Redoubt. CC: Commander Corizon, ATAG Operative SUBJECT: NEW ORDERS... “ It's funny how those things stick with you. “Captain, you are hereby requested and required to abort your mission pertaining to the ATAG Operative currently aboard your vessel and divert to Sector 136-J to rendezvous with the fleet in preparation for a preemptive strike...” Nothing else in the memo mattered. War was coming to the Federation. The Dominion had launched a fleet that was on its way to take Deep Space Nine and the wormhole from our grasp, but we were going to strike first. It was a single moment of pause. The Federation was attacking first. In all my years the crystallization that things were changing had never been more evident. Word of the contents of our orders had begun to leak to the crew and by the time we arrived at the rendezvous point for our fleet the entire ship was wound so tight with anxiety that you could hear a pin drop on any deck and in any section, even the junior officers' mess. Just before we were about to warp out with the fleet, Captain Jaravaiq went on the comm. I could tell he was just as nervous as the rest of us about what we were about to do. I was probably more nervous than even the greenest Ensign. Not because I worried for my own safety, but because I knew what the Dominion were capable of and because I wasn't sure we could win the war. They had such a technological advantage on us. Which completely ignored that while their soldiers were inexhaustible in number—ours weren't. Sitting at my station a few feet from the Captain I looked away from my console and lifted my ears to listen to him. “I know you're all anxious. You're all worried. I am too. No one knows if we will succeed here today or not. No one knows if this ship, if this crew will survive the battle to come. "But what I am certain of, is that we will win this war. I may not live to see the day when the Dominion and the Cardassians surrender. I don't know how many people will have to sacrifice between now and then, but I know that despite all of their advantages...despite superior fire power and superior numbers...our will to remain free will always triumph. "Today, my fellow officers, my fellow citizens of the Federation, we go into battle not for glory, not for conquest but for freedom. We fight today so that the Quadrant may remain free. We fight today for freedom. And even if we do not survive the day, as many like us will not, the will of the Federation will only be strengthened by our sacrifice....” I think at any other time in my life I would have rolled my eyes at him. It was so...melodramatic. So over the top. But at that moment, at the time, it was exactly what the crew needed. “So what happened?” Cap asked as Corizon slid the empty glass back across the bar. “Well,” he said, “we went boldly into battle, crossing into Dominion space just a few hours before they got to DS9 and did some heavy damage. But...” “It came at a heavy price...we lost dozens of ships and the wormhole.” “Right,” Cap nodded. He knew enough about the war to know that much. “Whatever happened to that Captain fellow? Did he go on to be an Admiral? He sounds like he was quite the man.” Corizon's face went fallow. “No. No he didn't.” “Oh...” Cap and Corizon just looked at each other for a few moments. “What happened to him?” We were in the midst of heavy fire, consoles were blowing up left and right. Our shields were down and the warp drive was fried. We knew we were dead. I'd taken the helm and Jaravaiq was shouting orders as we tried our best to keep the whole thing from flying apart beneath us. We took a direct hit and the whole ship shook so hard I can still feel it. Alarms started to sound. We were losing containment. “All Hands Abandon ship...” I looked at him for a few moments then opened my mouth. “With respect sir, I say we take a few of these bastards down with us first.” “I was planning on it.” Someone had to stay behind though since the auto-pilot was shot. I am pretty sure he stunned me and threw me in the nearest escape pod, because I don't think there was any other way I was leaving his side. When I woke up, I was laying on a biobed of a hospital ship with a dozen or so monitors on me. I'd nearly passed out from blood loss. When I realized I'd lived and he'd not... well to say they had to sedate me was putting it mildly. “Oh...” “It took me the longest time to realize he'd saved my life for a reason and that I was able to carry on the fight in his name because I was alive.” “So he went down with the ship?” “Yes, he did. And I can't think of any better way to go. Can you?” Cap smiled and poured another drink. “No, I can't And in honor of the Captain, this ones on the house.” Corizon smiled and took the drink raising it in the air and tapping it on the bar before he drank it. “To Captain Jaravaiq...”
  14. I was going to post the bit, but it's pretty long. Basically it's about M/AM drives. http://science.howstuffworks.com/antimatter.htm/printable