Personal Log Archive

Personal Log by Gulliver (Nov 29 01)

(The screen switches to a view of Gulliver, leaning over the console in her quarters, wearing a black top. She sighs, quietly, and commences pacing slowly. )

"Well, you've done it this time, Rosie. Pissed off the only friends you made on this top, and flew off the handle, besides. Nice going." She pauses a while. "I don't think I've seen red like that since...Since La Cava. "

She frowns, and knuckles her lip. "I guess, hearing about the wormhole that way was the first thing I ever saw to blame for this blasted war...." She shakes her head. "Gramma says I lost some soul on La Cava. Lady knows it's an open wound, but the funny thing is, while I was there losing it, all I could think of was the _Indy_ going down. " A pause. "They recommended counselling counselling for me, but now that I'm acting like the poster child for combat fatigue, I guess it's about time."

"Well, I guess I should get an appointment made, so I can get told I'm afraid of getting close to anyone, cause of all the friends we lost." Another pause. "Wonder what I'm going to tell the Chief and Kusto... 'Really sorry, sirs, you were just such swell guys that my unconscious decided to beat you away with atavistic tribal impulses or something, before we got to be friends."

She paces a bit more. "Can't really say that, though, can you. These guys don't strike me as Neojungian navelgazers. I guess, I'm sorry, will have to do."

Rosie picks up an old-style framed photo, and looks at it a moment, somewhat choked-up. "And I'm sorry, guys, those of us that's left have to carry on. And be the explorers we was meant to be, instead of what we had to be in-country." Setting the picture down, she opens a drawer, and takes out a soiled, scorched piece of cloth bearing what looks to be one of those squadron patches the young Lieutenant seems so fond of. "Think I'll just go down the Bajoran temple and let those Prophet guys know that, whatever they are, it's not them I'm angry at." She plucks some flowers from a table vase and clicks off the viewer.

Personal Log by Clough (Jan 02 02)

The UFP emblem fades away and the recorder focuses in on Lieutenant Clough's living quarters, then further on the Lieutenant where she sits behind her desk. She is clothed in the standard Starfleet uniform with her hair restrained. A light frown creases her brow as she begins to speak.
"Personal Log, Stardate 52141.1. Once again, I find myself behind in making log entries. Much has occurred since my last entry, but with so much of it classified, I have been at something of a loss as to what to say. I suppose I should start where I last left off." Callie sighs and leans back in her chair, eyes distant for a moment.

"Dr. Leshnei has transferred off the station, and the CMO position is up for grabs. For the time being, I have been named Acting CMO, and time will tell if that position becomes permanent or not. I never really considered myself to be terribly ambitious, but I must say that the thought of another promotion is tempting. But whatever the outcome," she shrugs and smiles, "things will happen as they were meant to.

"Lieutenant Havaris... Kusto and I are still seeing one another, though lately we have both been too busy to manage more than a brief smile or kiss as we pass one another. I have discovered the temper he keeps so carefully hidden from the rest of the universe, and it is... impressive. Surprising I can actually say that when I have only discovered it by directing it at me." She smirks, the expression self-mocking. "Of course, I give as good or better than I get. Hopefully, that particular... pissing contest is over now.

"I have attended my first senior officer meeting, and I believe it went well. To borrow a phrase from a few centuries past, someone certainly seems to have pissed in Lieutenant Edwards' wheaties. But, to be fair, I suspect there is more to the story than what I have. For now, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. If I had to guess, I would suspect it somehow relates to the recent away mission that 'never happened' according to official Starfleet reports." Callie laughs softly and adds, "To never have taken place, I found it fascinating at the very least. But I admit, I'm glad it's over.

"Finally, the research I had been conducting regarding human immunodeficiency is complete. It seems a moot point with Ensign Arton's transfer off the station, but it was interesting nonetheless. I'm glad to have it done, and I am quite pleased with the results. The paper I published regarding it has earned me a commendation from Starfleet, and I hope others will continue to further it. In the end, it was hopeful." Callie stops here and heaves a contented sigh. Her lips curve back into an easy smile and she concludes. "I believe that is enough for now. The past few months have been busy, but I can't say I'm disappointed.

"Computer, end log and save."

Encrypted Message by James Laco on Fri Jan 04

"Look, I'm doing the best I can, really I am. Please, just give me a few more days. I'm sure that I-"

"We grow tired of your assurances, James. If you do not provide us with the information we have requested within three of your days, Rebecca dies. Is that understood? I assure you, the death will be slow and painful. Are you familiar with the flesh eating worms from Draxus IV? I could show you some of their handywork."

"Please! I-I'll get you what you need in three days, I swear it!"

"See that you do. The Order does not like to wait."

Good Company? by Nevaren on Thu Jan 10

transcription from Nev's Personal Log, kept on his old cardassian padd.

Personal Log Entry, Stardate 52149.5

Well, I don't know if I am going crazy or not. Hell, maybe I've always been crazy and I just finally realized it. Or maybe I'm just getting soft in my old age.

It started a few months ago, and it took me a while to reason why and what I have been doing. It hit me when I was doing computer maintainece in the secured computer core on the Aegis. I was alone running a diagnostic on the coupling relays when I discovered myself humming. An old song from my childhood that the Vedek would sing to the few faithful.

But there I was, making a veritable production out of it. And for who's benefit? There was no one there to listen to it, and I didn't feel as if I was humming for only my own satisfaction. Then is struck me.

I was humming to 'it'.

I looked up 'it' in it's containment area and realized that i was trying to keep it company. And everytime after that, whenever I was doing work alone in the core, i would hum to it.

And after a while it started going beyond song. I would talk to it. Oh, not directly. But offhandly would make remarks, talk about my day, the people I know, my past. It was like.. well. Maybe I just felt like talking.. getting things off my chest. I don't know. I dounbt that it knows what I was doing, if it was even aware of my presence at all.

But maybe, just maybe, it /is/ listening to us. I remember that it's supposed to be alive. It must be lonely, all cooped up like that in the core, locked down from all but a few. But I guess it really has no where else to go.

I only hope I have been good company. I know I appreciated the possibility that someone, or thing, may have been listening.

End of Log

Personal Log Sat Jan 12 Park

The image of Starfleet disappears to be replaced by one of Aaron Park. He is dressed in the black turtleneck and slacks that he has taken to wearing all the time. In the background, the large aquarium that sits in his office is easily visible. He is standing next to it, idly taking some sample of the water inside and scanning them with a tricorder.

"Well, it's been a while since I've recorded one of these. I guess I should start getting back into the habit. Let's see, what's been happening that past couple of weeks? I've heard some rumors that Lt. Bela left the station under some unusual circumstances. The rumor mill is running rampant with reasons, but regardless of that it seems that she and Edwards didn't see eye to eye on it. I haven't seen him around lately, which is unusual in itself. I hear that he hasn't been out of his quarters except to go on duty or the occasional meeting, and when he does he's pretty short with everyone. I should probably go talk to him one of these nights just to see how he's doing. " The tricorder in his hand beeps briefly as he scans a sample. He hits a couple of buttons and reruns the scan. With a barely perceptible shake of his head, he injects a chemical into the water and sets the tricorder aside.

"Sharra and I have had a couple of good talks in the past few weeks. I'm happy to say that it looks like we're getting the friendship back. Not that she had anything to do with keeping that from happening; it was ALL me." He grins a little bit, "I still have those little pangs of jealousy when she talks about Rade, but it's easy to push aside when I see how happy she is with him. She managed to drag me back into the holodeck the other night, too. There was a little difference of opinion in the Zone between a couple of people, so we decided to leave. She picked a program of one of the hiking trails in San Francisco, close to the Academy. I used to walk that all the time with the guys from the swim team, and I had nearly forgotten how peaceful it was up there." He takes another sample of the water and scans it briefly, as though simply confirming what he already knows. After a couple of seconds, he closes the tricorder, puts the chemical injector into a drawer under the aquarium and moves over to his desk.

"I almost forgot that I am supposed to be meeting Kara in the holodeck pretty soon. I haven't been swimming in a pretty long time and she invited me to go. She and Gretchen have the strangest relationship, though. I think they're both great people and I really think that they'll be together for quite a long time, but it seems like there's a lot of little things getting in the way. I keep telling Kara to just tell Gretchen if something is on her mind, but she's so paranoid that she'll look "needy" is the word I think she used. It's actually kind of funny. I'm still waiting for them to reschedule their dinner party, too. I was really looking forward to going, so I hope they do it soon." He stands up from his desk and moves toward the door.

"I guess I should get changed. Computer, End Log"

Ludicrously encrypted message Sun Jan 13 Lux

Emergency communication to the Authority. Field Agent was nearly flushed out tonight as a result of a station wide drill which opted to include civilians. This was unannounced and even Starfleet personell believed themselves to be under Dominion attack. Liquidator behaved in a manner designed to preserve the assets of two informants who have proven useful in the past. Liquidator fears he may have revealed too much. He made several suggestions that were not in keeping with an Ambassador's knowledge base and fears he may have cashed in information stock before full maturity fearing imminant recession. Will make attempts at damage control on this end. Request further instructions on how to proceed with venture. Lux Out.

Personal Log Sat Jan 26 Dade

"I never realized how much Akeen was hiding, but then, I also didn't realize how little he thought of me. Actually, it seems to be everyone. People treat me like a child. I'm tired of that, but I don't know how to break out of it. How do you prove to people that you aren't a child when you stumble over every other word. I wish I could articulate everything that was in my head."

"I was talking to Aaron about Gretchen, and then to Akeen, and I just don't know what to do about her. The gulf is just widening. I can't even remember the last time we spent a significant amount of time together. I've been spending all of my time out and about when I wasn't working, which I guess is healthy enough. But I'm starting to feel guilty. Especially last night. I would bet Tonya knew exactly what I was thinking through the whole night. She seemed, at times, to be speaking directly to it. What I don't understand is that, if she really did know and was trying to coax me into saying something, why didn't she just take the risk herself. I don't understand why I always have to carry all the weight."

"But... I don't know if Gretchen and I can fix things between us anymore. I don't know if she wants to. I don't even... well, I don't know if I want to. I mean, is love really supposed to be that much work? And she's not going to approach me with anything it seems, or else she would have by now. So I can only conclude she's lost interest in me too."

"Of course, until we work out where we are, I feel terribly guilty about my wandering eyes. Callie first and now Tonya. Maybe I'm just trying to fill the lonliness. Or just fill the... uh... fill the nights."
"Oh well, I have to get on duty. End log."

Finality Mon Feb 11 Ghorev

"Personal Log, Lt. Akeen Ghorev, Stardate 52180.6"

"It's true what they say, of course, about the finality of bad news being better than the suspense of uncertainty. But only in the sense that the physical sensation of having the big rock fall on you is better than the fear of watching it come down."

"I suppose I can take comfort in knowing I died with a promotion under my belt and my cause still firm in my heart. I died in a true Starfleet uniform, and not one of Sinclaire's black mockeries. I died a whole man, still firmly anchored to my principles."

"But I died. I *died*. I *DIED*!"

<a good six second pause, an eternity of heartbeats, before the recording continues> "The others realized it just a split second after I did, except maybe Michael who realized it at the same time. To their credit, they all ... understood. They let me have my moment of disorientation without trying to comfort or impose their own observations. They simply let me be, let me ride out that punch to the throat that accompanies the sudden realization that I personally am living on borrowed time, let me step over the decayed form of Lieutenant Commander Akeen Ghorev and into main engineering, so that I could stagger against a wall and take a few deep breaths and recover before fetching the supplies we needed. They did not try to counsel me, or offer good cheer, and as odd it sounds I will love them all for that, forever. Even Agent Bailey."

"Do DTI Agents have that certainty, I wonder? Do they ever feel tempted to break the rules and chase the chronitons up and down the years, to see when the hour and moment of their own deaths will come?"

"Or do they simply wait for the rocks to fall?"

<sigh>"Computer, end log."

One Of The Rare Personal Logs Mon Feb 11 Edwards

"Computer, begin personal log. Stardate 52180.6."

Sitting heavily in a chair, placed in front of the recorder he's currently regarding, Michael Edwards simply stares at it silently a moment. The exhaustion he's feeling is clearly evident on his face.

"Well, we're back. Another trip through time is finished. Or maybe it'd be more appropriate to call it Hell. It sure seems like it would be."

He closes his eyes and wipes a hand over his face.

"I hate Sinclaire. I hate her with a passion. I've rejected everything she stands for, even though I was destined to join her. But... but a part of me still hoped that she would prevail, if we didn't. If we couldn't find a way to stop the Lithians, her compromises would carry the day. But they didn't. I saw the future that created her and now I've seen the future she couldn't stop. She failed."

This disturbs him. Idly, he fidgets, but he doesn't quit talking.

"It's different, but it ends in with so many dead bodies either way. I'm tired of seeing those bodies. But I'm going to see them for a long time. Everytime I go to sleep. My only consolation is that I didn't have to witness what Ake... Akeen did. His own body. Nobody should ever have to see such a thing."

"But fate still conspired to send me a suckerpunch. Bela..."

The memory clearly affects him. His face becomes a mixture of sadness and anger. Yet he controls it, not letting anything more than that show up.

"That opened up old wounds in the worst possible way. I've been trying to move on. Hell, I thought I had. But seeing her there like that... dead like the rest of them. I almost lost it. If that damned DTI agent had tested me, I don't think I would have been able to stop myself. I would have vented all the anger I feel inside me on her. She deserves a lot, but not that much."
"Damnit. Why did this have to happen? Why did I have to come to this place? This nexus of misery. I hate it. I hate everyone in it. And most of all, I hate Bela. Goddamn her. Why did she have to make me feel this way?"

Edwards clenches his fists and speaks tersely, "Computer, end log."

Revelation Mon Feb 11 Evans

"Computer begin log!" Evans marches into the room and drops in front of a desk with the monitor going. He pulls out a chip. "Scan this log." He puts it in front of the monitior. A few lights flash and the computer says. "Data chip blank."

"Damn!" He exclaims and pulls out another data chip. "Now do this one." He orders the computer. The lights flash again. "Data found. Do you wish a playback of logs?" The computer asks him. "Yes." The lights flash and logs begin.

A few minutes later...

"Incredible. What the hell happened? I cant keep this to myself. Going to have to tell someone..." He frowns. "Computer make an appointment for me to speak to Commander Balin." He then sighs and leans back in his chair. "Now delete this log. But not the data chip." He takes the chip and before the process begins and the screen goes blank.

New Beginnings Wed Feb 20 Tahlandi

"Personal Log, Stardate 52190.1."

Tahlandi Karanya leans back into her couch and sighs softly, closing her eyes and spending a moment to collect her thoughts before continuing.

"This morning I woke up in my new bed for the first time. I have to admit, the anomaly's a pretty nice sight to have out your window when you climb out of bed. Granted, it's no Bajoran sunrise over the waters of the Eastern Province... but that was to be expected. It's certainly nicer than nothing."

She pauses, and furrows her brow, her mouth curling slightly as if she is unsure how to continue. After a pause, she resumes speaking.

"I have to admit, I have mixed feelings about this new assignment. My first day at Ops went well--it was nice to have a quiet day to adjust, as the station was just coming out of a lockdown--and most of the officers I've met so far seem nice enough. I'm not quite sure I exactly understand Lieutenant Ghorev all of the time, but I always had a little bit of trouble figuring out Andorians at the Academy, so that's not a surprise either."

She reclines a bit on the couch, looking up at the ceiling as she speaks.

"And there's apparently quite a few Bajorans besides me serving here, which is nice. Might even be enough to where we can have a service here for the Gratitude Festival when it rolls around, if we can't get to Bajor for the ceremony there."

She rubs her temples softly while she continues to speak.

"But I've had a few frustrating moments. Like not being able to order hasperat for dinner. Apparently, the replicators are having trouble with Bajoran food, and people have gotten sick because of it. Better safe than sorry, of course, but it's still annoying. If I didn't know better, I'd figure a spoonhead had done it, just to irritate us. At any rate, maybe I can poke around a bit when I'm on duty and see if I can figure out the problem."

Her hand moves to gently rub the ridges on her nose.

"But besides that... I just don't make new friends easily. You'd think I'd be used to moving around a lot... resistance fighters don't exactly stay put very long, and then from Bajor to the Academy, to the Hood, to less than a year at Deep Space Nine... I've done my share of hopping around the quadrant, but this is one thing I've never exactly learned how to do. It'll come with time, I know, and I'll just keep doing my duties until then... but I'll miss Nerys. Maybe I can stop by and see her next time I'm on leave."

"I'll mesh with everyone here, eventually. It'll just take time..."

"Computer, end log."

Another assignment Fri Feb 22 Grey

Audio only: Upload commencing.

"Personal log, stardate 52191.8. Well, here I am... Station 419. About as far from Bajor as you can get, which makes me happy. The Trinculo dropped me off yesterday - what a relief to be gone. Captain Ellis said that she was going to miss having me around, but there was something about her voice that told me that wasn't true."

He pauses for a moment, sighing. "I'm starting to seriously doubt my Starfleet career. When I joined, I wanted to be out there, fighting the good fight, killing the bad guys, winning the war and coming home triumphant... and then I graduated. Life on the front isn't glamourous, or even desireable. I've seen people get sucked out of hull breaches... watched ships that I knew people on be smashed out of existance... and I've watched thousands of lives end right before my eyes. At Chin'toka, I realized that I didn't want to die out there, thousands of light years from home, fighting over some nameless planet in a nameless star system that I didn't even care about."

Another pause, and a longer, deeper sigh. "So I requested a transfer to somewhere - anywhere that wasn't near anything Cardassian or Dominion. I would have taken assignment on a garbage scow in the Beta Quadrant if I had to, just to get out of the way of polaron beams. Not that I'm a coward... I'm just not ready to die."

He pauses again, while the hum of a replicator can be heard. "So, now I'm here... and already it's better than the Trinculo. The people here seem fairly friendly, it's a large base, and I'm just another ensign in the sea of hundreds. Not to mention that I ran into Karanya here. She doesn't look like she's aged a day - still as beautiful as ever. I still remember teaching her how to fly a shuttle - man, those were the days. Of course, back then, we were surrounded by friends, and I never took the time to really get to know her. That's something I intend to rectify now... seeing as she's my only friend here. She was talking about finding someone to play springball with, so I volunteered. Of course, I'll just have to learn how to play really fast so I don't make a complete fool of myself on the court."
There's a soft chuckle, and then the log continues. "She told me tonight that she was certain that I would have an easier time making friends here than she would because I'd always been more outgoing. After nine months in the depths of hell, though... I have to wonder if that's true. I'm... bitter now, if that's the right word for it. Frustrated and angry - but I'm not certain at whom or what. Myself? The Dominion? The Cardassians? Starfleet?" He sighs. "Who knows? I just hope it passes quickly, because I don't know if I like being myself now."

He falls into silence for a few more moments. "End log," finally comes the command in an exasperated tone.

End upload: Playback complete.

Personal Log Fri Feb 22 Rivers

Personal Log. Rivers, Dana Lt JG. Stardate 52192

The blue backround and familiar Starfleet emblem fades, to be replaced with a view of Dana Rivers' quarters. The security officer herself is out of view, only her voice carrying to the recorder. The image is one of dissaray..furniture is pulled into the center of the room, and various articles of clothing are draped over the furnishings. A thump is heard, followed by a flow of enthusiastic cursing from the side of the room, and Dana comes hopping into view to flop into a chair, half dressed in uniform with her boots in her hand.

"I am cursed by bad luck today," Dana mutters as she flops into the chair. "Remind me not to try and do three things at once again, will you?" She sighs and looks about the disaster that is her quarters. "I decided at the last minute to do some re-arranging. And now I'm going to be late for my shift, and it still isn't done." Another sigh. "So much for inviting Akeen over for exchanging musical tastes."

She bends over to tug on her boots, muttering something the recorder doesn't quite pick up, other than the word 'frustrating'. Straightening again, she smooths out the sleeves of the uniform's jumpsuit, appearing lost in thought. "Computer..begin research on Andorian courting customs. Append research findings to a file to be read later."

Standing again, Dana gives the disaray another disdainful look and sighs. "Later. Maybe I can draft someone to help." She turns to exit her quarters without a backward glance. "Computer, end log and encrypt."

Personal Log Sat Feb 23 Bela

"Personal Log, Stardate 52193.4," Bela says with a sigh. "Well, I got a job at the Dream Factory. Ghorev suggested it to me, and I figured I could give the engineers a reprieve from the holosuites by keeping up maintenance on them."

"I met a guy named Slate Grey. His parents must have had a sick sense of humor. But he was pretty nice. Starfleet type, Operations. He was carrying around a fencing foil. I had to tease him about Freud."

Another sigh. "And then Michael came into the Dream Factory to check on holosuite two. Michael. I have no idea what to do about him. I should probably just give up even thinking that we could ever be together again. But seeing him again brought back all those feelings. Now, if he would just open up for once and not slam the door on his feelings, he might could see that I am still very much in love with him." There is a long silence, then, "End log."

Personal Log Sat Feb 23 McAnally

The smiling visage of Gretchen McAnally is revealed as the screen fades from black, and she announces, "Personal Log, Stardate 52193.4. Well, the lockdown's finally ended, and we've received an influx of personnel, a few of which have landed in my department. Good officers mostly, though I've not had the chance to meet with them all as personally as I would like. There are so many things going on right now, most of them classified." She passes a hand through her loosely worn red hair. "Not that I mind it. No, in fact, I'm thrilled to be acting Chief of Operations. It's a fabulous opportunity. It's just that it's left little time for anything else."

"Kara seems to be recovering," she continues. "I don't get by to see her as often as I'd like, either. Maybe once we get this investigation sorted out and the Admiral's come and gone things will finally settle down. Despite the fact that things didn't work out, we still care for each other. It was really astoundingly amicable, really. I'm glad; I don't think I could stand not being on friendly terms with her. Especially now when she needs friends and support." Gretchen pauses, then flashes a guilty smile at the recorder. "Still, I can't help but wonder what will happen when Min gets here. I never told Kara she was coming. Even now I don't know what to make of it. Time will tell, I suppose."

Gretchen stands, tall form unfolding in its teal jumpsuit. "Computer, end log and save."

Ambassador's Log Sun Feb 24 Lux

The Green symbol of the Ferengi Alliance fills the screen and is soon replaced by the image of Ambassador Lux. "Liquidator Lux, personal log, Well, where to begin? New hearts are in and working beautifully. I have to think of some way to reimburse Dr. Clough for her excellent work. Sure Betazoids play to the Federation claptrap of no money but I'd really like her around should I develop any more health problems. Besides, some of those old families on Betazoid are rolling in it. Note to self, check up on the good doctor and see if there's anything she needs that she isn't telling people about.

More importantly, I conversed with a Starfleet Engineer recently who is making some experimental designs that could be worth a fortune both monetarily and strategically. Note to self, try to have a gander at his design specs. If this Warp Anchor thing of his works not only will it make a select few people very very wealthy, not to mention it could be the bargaining chip I need to get the Nagus off his ass and into the war. This isn't a conflict that we can play both sides on. *sighs* ah well, off to bed, the doctor says that I should get my energy back over time. She also swears I'll get used to the taste of slyrm without terran gin in it. So well see. Computer, end and encrypt transmission. Lux out.

Two in one month? Egads! Sun Feb 24 Edwards

"Computer, begin personal log. Stardate 52194.3."

Michael Edwards once again slouches tiredly in his chair and stares at the recorder.

"So she's back. Bela's back."

For a moment, he just lets that hang there as he contemplates it.

"Ake told me that she hadn't changed. That she came back because they wouldn't take her. I don't have any reason to disbelieve him, either. He's my friend. Probably the best one I have around here. So what does that mean? About her, that is. Does it change anything?"

His conflicted feelings play across his face. If anyone has that answer, it sure isn't him.

"I care about her. I suppose there's a part of me that always will. But she made her choice, didn't she? We both made our choices. They just happened to disagree with one another. And this isn't the type of choice you can just sweep under the rug. This is major. And it's the choice that has tortured me since I realized what's going on around here. I made the wrong choice once. I don't want to do it again."

A brief pause.

"She wants to go to dinner. I wonder why. Her feelings seem pretty obvious, but I don't know what she wants to do about them. Whichever path we both choose will lead to pain, however. Maybe we should talk and get it over with... Or maybe not. Damnit, I don't know."

With a grunt of frustration, he reaches out to cut off the transmission.

"I can't deal with this now."

The recording stops.

A Letter Home IV Sun Feb 24 Ghorev

"Personal Log, Stardate 52194.3, Lt. Akeen Ghorev, recording."

"The following letter home is hereby recorded into my personal log, in case this is a clever trap laid by my enemies or, which is at least as likely, I do not survive the mission to retake Betazed:"

"Dear Family,

I know it has been some time since I have sent a complete message home rather than quick status reports, but, as you could see by those status reports, I have been extremely busy. Until earlier this week, my section was operating with only seventy eight percent of a normal crew roster, but forced to maintain a ninety-four percent effeciency rating. it was ... rather brutal. But I have been given enough temporary replcements at the junior officer level that I can finally stop working double shifts six days out of seven, and I intend to make use of the free time. Especially since I may soon be taking part in some ... offensive military action on the front. I can't say more. Rest assured I will bear the name of /keth/ Ghorev with me proudly."

"I have come into some information which may prove ... troublesome. The station's official representative from the Ferengi Trade Authority came to me earlier in the week, asking for my input, as an Andorian, on a trade deal involving one of our people. Specifically, says the Ambassdaor, an Andorian named 'Trae Movorok' came to him offering to sell him an 'honor blade', a /hrisal/ of /keth/ Dovoro. I managed, of course, to conceal my surprise, I assure you, father Kolex. As far as the Ambasador is aware, I am checking on the blade's provenance for him -- that it is a true Andorian blade, of Dovoro workmanship, and that the seller has legal claim to it to sell it. Obviously, I wish to make sure of all of this, as it will determine who gets called to the linens, and when, if anyone."

"Father Kolex, I know that even at subspace speeds, your current assignment will mean this takes several days to get to you, but I'd like to know if you could perhaps check the Dovoro family archives and see if any such man as Trae Movorok exists. Father Rasek, you and Mother Naan still have many ties in the mercantile commnuity, despite the isolation of Davis Starport ... if you could determine whether there any Andorian merchants of that name doing regular business between the homeworld and the Romulan Neutral Zone, I would very much appreciate it. Ritlool, Kakla, I don't suppose the ADF would know anything, but I want to know if a Trae Movorok has ever served with the Defense forces. Koni, I know you mostly traffic in /keth/ Endilev's records, but your expertise would be appreciated. Please let me know as soon as possible."

"The rest of you, please, try not to worry. I'll be home as soon as possible, for a visit, after this next big offensive. I promise."

"Devoted son, loving brother, Akeen"

"Computer, send copies of this to Mr. Rasek Ghorev, Davis Starport, Andoria ... to Commander Kolex Dovoro, USS Madagascar, 16th Fleet ... to /Shaklas/ Ritlool Ghorev, Andorian Defense Forces Headquarters, Andoria ... to /Chak/ Kakla Ghorev, A.D.S. Alnaava, 2nd Home Defense Legion ... to Mr. Koni Endilev, /keth/ Endilev Greathall, Andoria."

<The computer voice replies: "Processing .... transmission complete.">

"I'd better get ready for that meeting. I'm sure the Commander's going to have word for us soon, and I don't want the people that matter, like Gretchen and Kara and Dana and Michael, to wonder if I never come back who my family was here on this station."

"Computer, end log."

Ambassador's Log Mon Feb 25 Lux

"Liquidator Lux, Personal Log:

This has got to be one of the wierdest goddamned weeks I've ever had since I got shipped out here. First off, I make a nice deal on a little piece of alien antiquity, partially on the recommendation of a Starfleeter who knows weapons better than I do. After I close the deal, he opts to inform me that Andorians never part with blades and that I should look into its origins. I've recently given the highest ranking Andorian officer on the station the blade's specs and he's looking into it for me. I for one would like to know in advance if anybody's going to get their antinae in a bunch over this. On the bright side, he's doing it for free. *he chuckle/cackles* I love 'honorable races'. Broke and socially obligated, a perfect combination for cheap and efficient legmen.

I chatted up a few informants in the Zone. Apparently this Morovok is up to his little white pompadour in gambling debts and Noonan claims the Syndicate has been in looking for him twice. If this deal makes trouble for me with either the Andorians or the Orions then Morovok or whatever his name is had better pray that the Syndicate finds him before I can wrangle up a few Naussicaan legbreakers.

In other news, the good Dr. Clough who fixed my hearts is in a heap of trouble and facing a courtmarshal for punching her fiance. To top it off I just got word that some sort of touchy feely, socialist commune law of the Federation's won't allow her to have civillian representation. Note to self, check and see if pre-trial council is allowed or if she'll just be left to hang. Damnit she's a doctor not a litigator. Ahh, well, such is life. Computer, end and encrypt log entry. Lux out.

Assistant Chief of Security's Log Mon Feb 25 Havaris

The emblem fades, and there's Lt. JG Havaris Kusto in uniform, seated at his desk in one of the most spartan quarters known to any sort of humanoid. It doesn't even look remotely lived in.

"And so. Here we are again. It's been several months since I've bothered entering a personal log, given the security holes we'd discovered some time back. The sad fact is that I haven't anyone else to really confide in now that Callie's in lock up. It's more than that, of course. She's broken on the inside." A pause, expression thoughtful. "She told me that if I didn't love her, she was nothing. Love her, I do. Even under these Prophet-awful circumstances. But that doesn't change what she did, or what she said. I'm the last thing she needs right now. If she can't learn to live on her own, be her own person... I have no business letting her lie to herself. So I have to keep my distance. Physically. Emotionally. It's hard, but it's what she needs. What we both need. I hope that once she's back on her feet, she'll still be looking for me. I'm realistic, however. People don't radically alter what they think and who they are without radically altering what they want. I don't know if I was just part of the problem, or something to take away the pain, or... or if what we had together was the genuine entity. They say that if you let a person go and they come back to you, then it's love. And, really, what more can I do but that? She needs this. She -needs- this. I need this. But... Prophet's guide me, it's hard. I can't even begin to explain how hard this."

"I put in a request to have her checked out by a Counsellor. Gellan arrived in a prompt fashion after Commander Balin signed off on my suggestion. Hopefully this means that she'll be released and put under house arrest. Hopefully it's a start, rather than an ending." Another meaty, pregnant, minute long pause. Maybe longer.

"Edwards." One word. "I'm doing this under his advisement. But he's not the sort to hang around and deal with what his suggestions bring about in people. From what I know of him, he's about as emotionally expressive as I am." Another, shorter pause. "I need an outlet. I need friends. More than I have. Counselling. I need that, too. Plenty of it. I just... I don't know how to relate to people. I could come up with a hundred explanations of why I'm this way. Blame the war. Blame the Cardassians. Blame the way I chose to live my life, but it's all such an immense cop out. I'm this way because I'm scared of what being another way means. I fear emotional investment in people, because people break far too easily. And in Security, on a Station at war, far too easily and far too frequently. It's a learned behavior from years in the trenches, and I know it. But if the first person I open up to gets their head blown off on an away mission, where does that leave me? Back where I started. Maybe the trick isn't in learning not to be alone. Maybe it's in learning how to accept loneliness. And maybe that's selfish. And maybe it's wrong. But up until now, nobody's really tried to prove me wrong except for Callie. Rann, maybe. I'm not giving that man enough credit. But I'm scared to make the first move."

"Anyhow. The war is heating up. There's talk. I've been taking temporal ethics courses, keeping my body used to the idea of hard labor and no sleep -- something things with Callie is actually helping. Say what you will of me as a person, but I'm a damn fine soldier. So I'll see my counselors and I'll fight my battles, and I'll live or I'll die, but at the very least, I've got that. Duty. Honor. The pips on my collar and the respect of my peers. I made that. And I did it on my own. And sometimes, I think that's all I really need." Another long and thoughtful silence, a glance back to the screen, and a crisp litany of familiar words.

"Lieutenant Junior Grade Havaris Kusto, Assistant Chief of Security, Station Four-Nineteen, Dulcais Sector. End Personal Log."

And the emblem returns.Personal Log Tue Feb 26 Clough

On a black screen, the UFP emblem fades out to leave a black void which, in turn, fades in to reveal a weary Betazoid woman in a set of large quarters primarily decorated in ivory and beige. She wears no uniform - instead clad in a simple dress of pale coral that hangs loosely on her form. The scooped neckline exposes a ring of angry, purple bruises circling her throat. She reclines in a black desk chair with her arms folded and her fingers neatly twined at her waist. Her expression is calm - or perhaps resigned - and when she speaks, she does so in a voice quiet enough to mask emotions, though it is somewhat rough - likely as a result of the bruises.

"Personal log, Stardate 52195.6." There is a long pause following this announcement as she considers where to begin. Eventually, she speaks again. "After twenty-six years of life, one would think it would take more than seventy-two hours to destroy everything. One would be wrong. Or perhaps I simply am abnormally talented in that regard." She sighs quietly, but continues. "For the past three days, I have been detained in the... brig." She seems to have difficulty with the word, and fear creeps into her voice as she speaks. She pauses, then manages to continue without the tremor of fright. "I was taken into custody after striking Lieutenant Havaris while on the Promenade. We were both off duty, but the end effect was the same. I am... gratified... to hear that Counselor Gellan agrees that, in this case she believes the punishment did not fit the crime. Not entirely. I was certainly wrong, and I would not dare deny that. I deserved punishment. But the punishment I was given?" She sighs, "Had I been taken into custody to appease Ambassador Vor'mak, or for an investigation into those events, I could understand. But, for this... while we were both off duty. He says I hurt him deeply, and I know that I did, but... but I cannot help but agree with Counselor Gellan. It... it feels to me that it was a mixing of personal arguments with professional regulations. I hurt him. He wanted to hurt me back. He won that battle, I'd say. On all fronts."

There is a long pause as an internal battle is visibly fought within the Betazoid. Apparently, she is beginning to lose that battle. "I am to stand trial for my actions," she continues with difficulty. "I am, frankly, uncertain of my charges. Behavior unbecoming, I would assume, likely in relation to both the incident with Lieutenant Havaris and Ambassador Vor'mak. Beyond that, I do not know." She laughs harshly, tears audible in the sound though they have not yet begun to flow. "And, of course, I'm relieved of duty for the time being, so I have been told nothing. Starfleet efficiency. I believed in it once. Now, I am uncertain /what/ I believe in. It is possible that I will be stripped of rank and title as a result of my actions, and I have resigned myself to that fate. If it happens... I do not know what I will do. Leave the station, certainly. There is nothing left for me here. I am, for that matter, uncertain if I will stay even if I am /not/ demoted. I... don't know if I can."

The slow crumbling of her features continues. This is a personal log. She can cry if she wishes it. "But, whatever the fate of my career, it is nothing to the loss of Kusto - Lieutenant Havaris. He left." Her voice breaks and there is silence in the recording, save for the sound of her sobbing. After a time, she manages to continue. "I expected so many things - so many awful things. But, I never expected that. Betazoids can be blindsided, too - they can be broken. I know how Kaitya felt, now. I wish I didn't." Again, there is a pause for her tears. Her hands are no longer in her lap, but covering her face. Her shoulders shake in a manner so violent that she almost certainly will have sore muscles from their straining. Brokenly, she continues, "He says he is giving me space - to stand on my own two feet. He says he'll still be there, waiting when I've done that. How many patients have I treated for attempted suicide whose lovers said the same thing?" She shakes her head. "I'm not like them. I am... a survivor. I'll get along. I know that this pain that I feel will only heal by living. I... /have/ to go on living."

She wipes away her tears and raises her head. Her eyes are swollen, and her face is red, as should be expected. "Mother always said that when I found the one, I'd know it. She was right. But... she never told me what to do when he walked away." She swallows and takes several deep breaths. "I'll survive this. I know that, now. But... I'm afraid of what will be left when I do. For now, I'll concentrate on the trial. I'll attend my sessions with the counselors. I'll focus on saving what I can of my life. I've already lost almost everything. My family is locked away on a world occupied by the Dominion. I... can hardly face Kaitya at all. And now Kusto. I have to save my career. And, I have to save myself. That's all that I have left to lose. I can't lose anymore. I just wish..." She swallows and a single tear trickles down her cheek. "I love him. I always will. If he could just..." She shakes her head cutting herself off abruptly. "Computer, end log and... save."

In a blink, the black background with the UFP emblem reappears.

Zeel's Personal Log Tue Feb 26 Zeel

The UPF symbol disappears to be replaced with the face of a young green skinned woman, sitting back at a desk and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Well, I'm back," she states flatly with a sardonic smile, "Back to Station 419. Never thought I'd see the day, honestly. Just about everyone here hates me, of course. That's to be expected; I don't blame them. Most of them. Still, there are a few surprises."

"First and foremost... Bela. She's... quit Starfleet," Zeel's tone is unbelieving as she shakes her head, "I know, it's amazing. I don't know what the whole story is, yet. We're going to talk about it later. That certainly explains why she never bothered to respond to any correspondence I sent. And hey! It turns out she doesn't hate me! Lord knows she, of all people, has reason to."

"Lieutenant Ghorev..." Zeel's voice fades off for a moment before she offers up a sigh, "Damn this is hard. I work for him now, and I can tell he loathes me. Honestly, it's for fairly good reason. Still, I'll make the best of it. I'm a screw up, sure, but I don't repeat mistakes."

The Orion frowns slightly, "I haven't heard a peep out of Da in months. _Months_. Something has gotta be wrong. He's never been this late before. I can't believe he wouldn't want to speak to me, either. I think I'll ask Rann if he could do a little search on the QT to see if anyone reported salvage matching the Pig's description. God, I hope the old scoundrel is all right. And Mom, too."

Another pause, "Rann... I've not seen him, yet. I didn't send him anything like messages when I went through my retraining. I don't know why. After all, he and the Doc - She's gone now, by the way - were the only friends I had here last time. I'll have to apologize. I'm sure he'll be shocked seeing my green ass back here."

Zeel laughs, shaking her head, "That reminds me. I met... well, I don't think I can call her a friend just yet, but perhaps a kindred spirit? She doesn't seem like it at first. Hell, I've seen Vulcans with more emotional output than when I first met her. But once she warms up a little... she's fine. Ensign Tahlandi. Kara. She _drinks_. Not like Academy students on a bender, but like someone ought to! I'm amazed, frankly. She even offered to share a drink with me! She's new here, so I don't think she realizes what a horrible screw up I am."

Yet another pause. "Well, I've rambled on far too much already. Computer, encode and close log."

The screen goes blank.

Late Night Rambling Tue Feb 26 Raxil

"Lieutenant JG Raxil's log, stardate 52195.4."

The UFP insignia clears to reveal Tobin, looking /extremely/ fatigued. There're dark circles under his eyes; his hair and uniform are slightly rumpled, and there's what appears to be a coffee stain on one sleeve.

"I've..."

He pauses for a moment, recollecting himself before continuing.

"I've been over all of my old notes; looked over the tricorder and biobed logs from Lt. Stevens' case; I don't think there's any biological or chemical syndrome that can affect multiple alien physiologies in the /exact same way/. Even assuming it were a drug, where are the breakdown products? Something has to be there... Hooo-yah!"

He yawns for a few moments before quickly stifling it. "Sorry."

"Working from..." he hesitates for a moment. "From personal experience, I'm going to assume that what we're dealing with isn't biological or chemical in any way. Which leaves... what? Voodoo? Magic?"

He heaves a sigh, picking up a mug of coffee and taking a few swallows.

"It doesn't help that Callie's in the brig... and I have the Klingon Ambassador in a biobed, recovering from a phaser shot." He shakes his head. "I... feel responsible for that; Callie didn't take the news of my... affliction too well; I just wish she didn't try to pick a fight with Vor'mak."

"And frankly, I'm not in the best of moods myself. This... craving for grapefruit... it's demeaning. At least nobody's been making cracks about it like I thought they would; I suppose that's a good thing, because I'd probably end up making more work for myself." He smiles faintly.

"In any case, I'm planning on meeting with Lt. Havaris and the other victims within the next few days; try and figure out how this thing spreads, see if I'm missing anything."

"Which I certainly hope I am. Computer, end log."

Personal Log Wed Feb 27 Clough

The black screen boasting the UFP emblem fades to reveal the ivory and beige living quarters of Callisandra. She is seated, as always, in her black desk chair, with her hands neatly folded in her lap. She is once again out of uniform, wearing now a simple blue frock without her compin attached. On her right ear, she wears an intricate earpiece obviously of Bajoran design. Her hair is loose and the bruises about her throat are gone, but she appears weary and faint smudges have begun to form around her eyes. She is calm once more, at least for the time being.

"Personal log, Stardate 52196.8," she begins quietly. "I've never been particularly regular about entering personal logs, but with so little else to do, it is at least a way to pass my time." She sighs and shakes her head. "Not how I would prefer to be passing it, but it will have to do.

"I am still... recovering, and on mandatory leave until the counselors choose to allow me to return to my position. For now, I have passed the duties of Chief Medical Officer to Tobin. I truly didn't think it would be so hard to make that announcement, but it was. I love my job, and I love my position. I want them both back." She speaks plainly, but there is a fierceness to her voice that was not present in her previous log. "Soon. I do not know how to be a civilian anymore. I... do not enjoy it. There was a yellow alert this evening, and here I was, confined to quarters throughout it. What good can I be here? I don't know what happened. Perhaps I could find out, but I have not read any reports since being relieved of duty. It would... only hurt worse to read them now. This is temporary, and I will be patient. I just have to keep reminding myself that it will be over soon."

She sighs, raising one hand to rub lightly at a temple. "The court marshal hearing is over. I at least know what I was being charged with now - striking a fellow officer. Commander Balin was allowed to decide my fate, and I received a formal reprimand. I am... grateful that it was not worse. It could have been." She lowers her eyes, but continues to speak. "Standing alone through that was perhaps the most difficult thing I have ever done. I did not know I could feel so alone, in spite of the Commander's presence. I need closeness now. Somewhere, somehow. I just need a few moments to feel close to someone. A hug would be near perfect."

She tilts her head thoughtfully, earpiece jingling lightly. "The Commander is a... kind man. Or he has acted as one thus far. I suppose I expected more gruffness. I am not entirely certain what to make of him. He... offered me nothing but kindness when we met while I was still in... custody. I would almost call him fatherly, in some fashion. I... do not know how to take that. I did not handle that meeting well, I fear, and he left believing he had failed me. He was wrong." And that, as they say, is that.

"I have been to the infirmary now, but only to have my bruises seen to. It was... tense. The staff are uncertain how to treat me now. I hope that will change when I return to duty. I... hope there is something left of my reputation. If not..." She breaks off and shakes her head, "At least the majority remembered I prefer a first name basis. Especially now. Their observance of that is... hopeful."

She frowns and rubs at the growing circles around her eyes. "For the first time in years, I am suffering again from nightmares. Night terrors, I should say. The cell... I am always in the cell again, every time I close my eyes. And every time, it is smaller. There is no air inside. I can't breathe. I know I am dreaming, but I know as well that I /will/ die if I can't wake." She shudders. "Ambassador Lux visited earlier, and he offered to assist me in locating something that will allow me to rest without the dreams. 'No questions asked.' I have never taken any sort of sleep aid. I have never taken /anything/ aside from what I have been given by fellow doctors. But... anything is better than the dreams, and I cannot help but trust Lux at least to some degree. He has shown me more kindness than many, and I genuinely like him. I believe whatever he finds will be exactly what I need. I do not believe he will bring me something addictive - we have plenty of that here on the station already - and I have no intention of taking /anything/ routinely. But... a night of rest... just one every few days... would be a drastic improvement to the dreams." She hesitates over a smile, but a weak one finds her way to her lips. "I will trust the Ambassador for now, but I will examine whatever he brings thoroughly before I take it. Whether it proves useful to me or not, I am grateful for his assistance, and his kindness."

She is silent for a long while, and sadness replaces all other emotions in her expression as she comes to the true meat of the log. "I encountered Kusto in the turbolift earlier. The Fates can be damned, I wasn't ready for another rejection so soon. To begin, he was so kind and gentle. Perhaps he still seeks retaliation for striking him. Thus far, his own strikes have cut far deeper than any bruises I might have left." She struggles to control herself, but a few tears slip down her cheeks. In spite of them, she manages a fair imitation of the Bajoran man, "I will come running so hard. So hard." Shaking her head and swallowing back the lump in her throat, she continues. "I should have asked which direction he would be running. I... assumed incorrectly. He... recoiled from me. If he could have melted through the turbolift's wall, I believe he would have. And his words... they were so hard." She dashes away her tears, but more follow. She is still able to continue in a clear voice, but it is a struggle to do so. "He asked if I believed I was ready for his return, and I replied that I believed I was, but I cannot know for certain until he /returns/. He refused that, and I really should have expected it. But he... attacked me." She shakes her head quickly, amending, "Not physically. Kusto would never resort to 'striking a fellow officer.' But words can leave far deeper wounds than fists ever could. Words can kill."

She swallows again with difficulty, and raises a trembling hand to her right ear, fingering the earpiece there. "He says he still loves me, and that it isn't over. I /know/ I still love him. If he will allow the opportunity to try and piece back together our relationship - to work through the hurts we have given one another, then I will welcome the chance - however long it takes. But he wants time, and he wants distance. I /will/ give him both. If there will be a 'next move,' it will be his. He knows where to find me." Still crying - far more freely now than before, her other hand joins the first on her ear and she carefully removes the earpiece, laying it on the desk before her. "I will wait."

She stands then, hiding the background with the blue of her dress. A sob is heard before she can say the closing words. "Computer... end log... and save."

Kara Dade- Personal Log Wed Feb 27 Dade

"Personal Log, Stardate 52196.6" a soft voice says as the screen blinks on, revealing Dade's heavily burnt face with her silver eyes deep set and distant; framed by crinkled, scabbed, and blackened skin. Her tone is more reflective than her difficult to read expression, soft and sad, but resigned.
"I know I have a problem when it comes to socialization and this isn't making it any easier. Now I know people are watching me, and worse, pitying me. Some people are very overt about it. Will Hawkins was the most shamefully obvious about it. He won't leave me alone. The first time I met him, he took one look at my face and said 'It could be worse: you could be dead like my parents.' What kind of a thing is that to say? I excused myself and he tried to chase me down. Aaron is being just bad. He won't let me alone. I'll admit to having had a bit of a crush on him and I really hate him seeing me like this. I swear, if my surgery goes all right, I will never complain about my appearance again. Aaron was trying to drag me around on the Mall. He just won't leave me alone, like I'm some kind of a crusade. I don't want to be paraded around, thank you very much."

"I ran into Tonya in the Neutral Zone; she was with Will Hawkins. Its the worst with her. I don't want her to see me like this. And no matter how sweet and comforting she seems, she has been avoiding me. I can tell. But then, it was stupid hoping that she and I might have... that she might be interested in me romantically. Even before the accident. I keep making an ass of myself in front of her. And I wonder if we even have anything in common at all."

"Well, its time for me to get some exercise, so I have to go for a walk. Maybe I will just walk around the residential decks today and not go near the mall. Its actually kind of nice that no one remembers me or comes to visit me. That way, I don't have to see anyone and endure their pity. I just have to hide out."

"Computer, end log."

Journal Entry Wed Feb 27 Levan

Journal Entry, Sunday, Febuary 24, 2375. Begin record:

"....last chance, son. And I won't be there to pick up after you this time, you are on your own. Your failure this time will mean the end of your career." Levan ends the transmission, his dark, chocolate colored eyes rolling up to look at the ceiling. "Ie, father. You have said as much on seventeen different occasions. What is one more, really?" The tall Romulan stands up and walks to the portal, looking at the stars streaking past. "Three days until I arrive at my new assignment, this Station 419. If anyone at all understood me, I would never have half the problems that I do." Levan laughs lightly, turning away from the window and walking over to his desk. "Father is just jealous because he is not charming, an old man that couldn not turn a woman's eye. That I can just fuels his envy. Granted he is a far better diplomat than I, but work is work, and my life does not revolve around work."

He turns away from the desk, walking over to a mirror hanging on the wall, looking at the visage of himself in the mirror. A soft smile forms on his thin lips, brushing the length of his brow with the tip of his finger. "I look forward to new places, while I am sure this stop will be entertaining, I doubt it will hold a candle to the fun I had at Risa. Or to Gul Selok's daughter." He sighs and shakes his head softly, "If only I could remember her name, then I would definitely try to coerce her into coming to 419 for a while. That would make my father angry. Maybe I'll do that....." With that the log suddenly ends.

Journal Entry Wed Feb 27 Levan

Journal Entry, Monday, February 25, 2375. Begin record:

"Two days remaining," Levan sighs softly, twirling a Chaka around in boredom. He holds the weapon up, showing it off. "Growing up in the arena of diplomacy has its rewards, to be sure. This Chaka was given to me by an Andorian. Well, to my father really, but he thought that if I accepted it and learned a little of how to use it, that it would help me learn to respect other cultures more. If father only knew how much I respect I hold for all cultures." Levan laughs louder at the thought, his gentle voice filling the room with merriment. "He does not see that I truly appreciate other cultures and their peoples. I should try to be better with names, really I should. That poor Andorian, he should have known he was no match in bargaining with the Ferengi. He was lucky that my father happened along when he did, otherwise he might have lost everything in that deal."

He gets up and walks over to a small case, putting the weapon inside and closing it. "Grateful enough to give us this gift, yet not so grateful when his niece and I disappeared for a few days afterwards. Of course, neither of my parents were particularly pleased with me for a while afterwards, but then again, they don't understand me. Never have, and most likely never will."

Journal concluded. End record.

Journal Entry Wed Feb 27 Levan

Journal Entry, Tuesday, February 26, 2375. Begin record:

"Finally!" Levan exclaims with excitement, shifting from foot to foot in front of his desk, barely able to contain himself. "The wait is just too much, this ship is BORING!" He throws his hands up in the air and stalks towards the window, pointing out at the passing stars. "Look! The same thing for days on end! And I'm bored! This is pure torture!" He turns and stalks back over to the desk, sliding into the chair, his face taking on a more stern and commanding visage. "Warp six is fast enough, even too fast," Levan mimics someone else, his voice deeper and harsher. "So just go back to your quarters and quit throwing your tantrums in my command center." Levan sighs and relaxes, "I've already filed thirty-two complaints with Star Command. This treatment of an official is totally unacceptable, I will not stand for it." The contempt in his voice is unmistakable. "Spoiled brat? Those words will haunt him forever when I'm finished with his career. I just hope he enjoys his last months as Commander of this vessel."
Levan waits in silence for some time, calming down. "Okay, I spent some time reviewing the briefing again this morning about my assignment, let's see if I can recall who some of these people are. Station commander is...Commander..." He frowns thoughtfully, tilting his head to the side and looking up at the ceiling. "Well, I guess I will stop this now, I can not remember who it is. The challenges of a new assignment."

Journal concluded. End record.

Message: 16/29 Posted Author
Personal Log: Tahlandi Karanya Wed Feb 27 Tahlandi

"Personal Log, Stardate 52197.1."

Tahlandi Karanya plops down in her couch, rubbing her nose ridges softly with her thumb and forefinger. She is in uniform, hair up, but her black jacket is unzipped, revealing a strip of the gold turtleneck underneath that runs from her neck to her black pants.

"Well, it's been an interesting couple of days. Good in some ways... and annoying as a whiny Ferengi with inner-ear trouble in others. I've been assigned to locating Ms. Bela's personal effects. My first assignment, outside of basic stuff up in Ops... checked the computer records, and the records showed that all her stuff was in a crate in Cargo Bay 2. Easy enough, right? Well, I've ended up chasing that damned crate all over the station. Turns out the last Chief of Operations--LeVoir, I think--did a pretty bad job of keeping records, and all of the cargo bay inventories needed to be updated. Not only was the crate not where it was supposed to be, but a lot of other stuff was misplaced... on the upside, at least now we have some decent records of what we've got down there."

She leans forward and picks up a frosted mug on the coffee table before her and takes a sip of the dark brown liquid inside before continuing.

"But when we did that, it turned out a lot of other stuff was missing. Medical supplies, ODN cable, replacement parts, tools... and Bela's crate wasn't there, either. So I figured we might as well turn the whole damn station inside out, poke around, and see what we find. The tools we found in the Neutral Zone's storeroom--Prophets know how it got there--but the rest of it still hasn't turned up. Only thing I can think of is that it isn't on the station any more. Which will make it even more fun to try and track down."

A soft sigh, and then a smirk graces her lips.

"And as if that hasn't been enough of a pain, last night we had these two different races--I think they were called Rynkans and Teirians--fighting over some Teirian woman who was a weapons designer or something. The Rynkans wanted her for making some weapon that killed millions of their people, and the Teirians wanted her for committing treason. She said that the Rynkans were using her as a scapegoat when they killed their own people in a weapons testing accident, and that she left the Teirians because she was sick of making weapons for them. One heck of a mess, there. At least both of their races were pretty undeveloped, and there wasn't a serious threat to the station. One of our shuttlecrafts could've made a match for one of their ships, easily. But they managed to do a good enough job of killing each other before we sorted things out."

She laughs softly, taking another sip of her drink.

"So then we had to clear out Cargo Bay 4 to hold all these jokers from these ships that were shooting at each other... the ones that didn't get killed, anyway. Of course, we actually recorded the cargo transfer when we moved everything to the other cargo bays, so we'll actually be able to find stuff later if we need it. Brilliant concept, huh. Wish LeVoir would've thought of it."

"But like I said, things haven't been all bad. My viewscreen was a little fuzzy when I first got here, but it turned out to be a blessing in disguise; I met Ensign Zeel because of it, when she came up to tweak things. Ended up running into her at the Zone later and sharing some drinks with her. She's kind of a pariah around here, it seems, and from the stories she told me, I can understand why... but I'm not one to judge someone off of past mistakes. She seems to have learned from them, at least, and appears to be a better person now because of them. And she's the closest thing I have to a friend around here so far, next to Slate, who I haven't seen in a couple of days. He's been busy too, getting adjusted and settled in. So it's been nice to have someone I can talk to."

She shakes her head and grins.

"I actually let my guard down around her. Couldn't believe it when it happened, but here I was, talking to this woman I barely knew about my personal life... it was weird. But it was nice, too... it was almost like talking to Nerys again. Not quite, but almost. And I feel a little less out of place now because of it."

"It's a nice feeling."

"Computer, end log."

Ambassador's Log Wed Feb 27 Vor'mak

The symbol of the Klingon Empire blinks on to the screen, then fades out. Sitting on an uncomfortable looking chair is Vor'mak, the temporary ambassador. "Ambassador's log. I have, in complete violation of our treaties, been sedated within the infirmary for over nine hours! The absolute gall of these Starfleet globb flies! First the doctor insults my honor, then I am shot for setting the wench in her place. Worst of all, they slandered my name further by holding my in that place. Hmph!" Curling his hand in to a fist, Vor'mak slows his breathing down. "I made them pay, though. No one holds a Klingon! Their Vulcan first officer said he took full responsibility for the matter, and so I laid that weight on him so that neither he nor his crew will ever forget. Pah! I almost expect another security detail to try and bring me from my quarters. Let them come. Especially the Bajoran veq, so that I might teach him what pain is!" The ambassador grits his teeth and clenches the fist harder yet before continuing. "Not much longer, now. Surely the High Council will send a replacement ambassador soon so that I can return to my proper duty." Pulling the Dk'tagh out of his belt and sticking it roughly in the table in front of him, the screen blanks out just after the Klingon snarls the words, "They better!"

Personal Log Wed Feb 27 Bailey

"Personal Log, Stardate 53197.3"

The UFP symbol blinks out and is replaced with the image of a woman, Rebecca Bailey, sitting in a large comfy-looking chair. She's in her pajama's and has her legs tucked up underneath her.

"I've never seen much use in these damn things. All they make me do is go back over things I'd much rather forget..... But, since I've started, I might as well get some things off my chest."

"This whole business of working with Sinclaire is driving me up the wall, and God knows I'm not the only one. At least I know I am not alone... at least I can count on one sane head in this station's senior staff."

Shifting her legs, she moves her feet into a new position, wiggling them around inside the wool socks encasing them. Her face, despite this motion, remains pensive, and she doesn't speak for almost a minute.

"Speaking of senior staff, the second officer seems to have it out for me, although for my part I enjoy tormenting him as well... I think, perhaps, he needs a bit of it. Knock him down a notch. I had thought that Commander Balin might be one of those voices of sanity on the station, but, he managed to get to me... He almost made me angry...."

"It was one of his men that did it. Gave him the upper hand, and he now he thinks I'm no better than Sinclaire. Meddler...... and he's very vengeful for a Betazoid."

Frowning, she forces herself to think of something else, changing the subject. Of itself, her left hand moves down to her pronounced stomach, touching it gently.

"The baby is healthy. I have that to be thankful for at least." A pause. "I haven't written Lua Nal. It's no good, I just can't make myself do it.... I'm ashamed of what I did. It really is all my fault.... DTI's trained me too well... I don't know -when- to open my mouth anymore, they've taken my voice."

"There I go again, blaming DTI for my own problems.... Damn it... Forget this, I've got better things to do." Bailey stands and heads out of camera view. "Computer, end log."

Ambassador's Log Wed Feb 27 Lux

The symbol of the Ferengi Alliance appears on a green background before derezzing and revealing Ambassador Lux sitting in his easy chair, Blintz his cat purrs contentedly in his lap. He's drinking a glass of some clear liquid over ice and a bowl of wriggling tube grubs sits on the endtable beside him. He sips his drink and looks at the screen. "Liquidator Lux, Personal Log: Yes, I'm cheating (he holds up his drink) but this is the last of my Terran Gin and what the doctor don't know won't hurt her. I'm almost getting used to a booze free life. Hell I can almost choke down Slyrm Cola *a small ping is heard and a sultry female voice superimposes itself over Lux's log*

"Slyrm Cola,Slimiest Cola In The Galaxy is a Registered Trademark of the Hurklet/BorksCorperation. Providing Ferenginar With Exciting Beverage Choices Since The 21st Century" Lux makes an irritated face at the screen before muttering. "Gods I hate Legal." He strokes his cat and continues. "Well, let's see where we are, Clough's a prime canidate for a laughing academy, Ghorev still has yet to get back to me on that sword and Nevaren has a brilliant starship design that could make a fortune but he doesn't want to build it for ethical reasons or something.

Still, it's hardly the boy's fault. This is what happens when you live in a society with no money. Note to Self, send a message home to get a few estimates from engineering firms to see what it would cost to make this ship of Nev's happen. If I can somehow sell this thing and get the Nagus in on the action then he just might change his mind about the war. Despite the inevitable bitching from the Klingons, I'm guessing that the Federation and the Romulans wouldn't say no to having a few Marauders join the fight against the Dominion. HEll, divine providence might even smile on ol' Lux and Daimon Gak might get sent to the front lines. *he cackles at this* That'd wipe the smile off of his fat smug face.
Oh, well, keep playing your cards right and try to make it out of the situation with the most Latinum you can. Lux out."

Personal Log Wed Feb 27 Maek

Maek, Personal Log:

"Well, I've recieved my new assignment, Station 419. Apparently its a newly constructed Federation Starbase on their side of the Neutral zone. They requested an Ambassador, and I am to be his Aide. I have not yet met the man I am to assist so I had best brush up on my skills, I'm sure I'll need to use them to make a good impression on my new ... 'boss'. This trip has been a little longer then I am used to, I was unaware transports traveled so slow."
"Computer, pause log entry" ... Maek paces to the other side of his quarters and stares out the viewport, the stars are racing by as they travel to the station. He shakes slightly as the ship drops to impulse, its stablizers unable to fully compensate. He stares at Station 419 as the transport slowly approaches. "Computer, continue log entry".
"We're arriving now, looks like its time to get to work. I wonder if the Ambassador has arrived yet, or if I am in time to prepare a little for him ... I don't even know who it is yet. Perhaps the station personnel will be able to inform me of that."

"Computer, end log."

Personal Log Wed Feb 27 Bela

"Computer, begin log," states the Orion woman. She settles back on her couch, the blue siren flash of the anomaly pulsating far behind her.

"I would rather be anywhere else in the entire galaxy than right here, right now. It was stupid for me to come back, to think that Michael could forgive me, to think that any of these people could forgive what I have done." She takes a moment to wipe her eyes and she sighs softly. "I've apologized, I've groveled. I don't know what more I can do to make him understand that I was wrong, and I regret it. All I ask for is but just one more chance, but he won't even give me that. He can't give me what I need, he says." She has to wipe her eyes again. "I love him so much and yet he is so infuriating. And to make matters worse I am carrying his baby. I haven't told him, yet. I don't even know if I will tell him. Maybe I'll just.. Go away again, take the baby with me, leave for good. How can I raise a baby, alone, in a galaxy that will be destroyed before the child is even five years old? How can I explain to it that the civilization that it was born into is doomed to be destroyed? I should have had Nurse Haven terminate it on the spot - but when she suggested it I was so repulsed by the idea that I instantly shot it down."

"My hormones being out of whack doesn't help any of this - it's made me moody. I've done some reading up on Orion pregnancies, and it's a big side-effect of them." She sniffles again and wipes her eyes with the back of her arm.

"I feel so lost, and so alone."

There is a long silence.

"Computer, end log."

Personal Log Thu Feb 28 Clough

As always, the UFP emblem on a field of black fades away. In its place are the ivory and beige quarters of Callisandra. Atypically, the black desk chair is empty when the log begins. On the desk, just in the recorder's vision field, is the Bajoran earpiece removed the previous evening - apparently untouched since being put there at that time. The recorder picks up music in the room - an ancient Terran song already playing. Freddie Mercury's voice is singing, accompanied at times by the rest of Queen.

"Whatever happens, I'll leave it all to chance,
Another heartache, another failed romance.
On and on, does anybody know what we are living for?
I guess I'm learning, I must be warmer now.
I'll soon be turning around the corner now.
Outside the dawn is breaking,
But, inside in the dark I'm aching to be free...
The show must go on...
The show must go on...
Inside my heart is breaking,
My makeup may be flaking,
But my smile still stays on..."

Callie's voice is heard then, from elsewhere in the room and drawing nearer, "Computer, pause music." She comes around the corner of her desk bearing a mug of steaming, dark liquid. She settles herself into her chair with a weary sigh and sips her mug. "Personal log, Stardate 52197.8. I've found something of a hobby, finally, it would appear. The Terrans always have had music I enjoyed more than almost any other race. I spent most of last night scanning through some of their older recordings. I ran across this one entirely by accident, but it seems to fit me. I have rather decided to adopt it as my new theme song." Her eyes fall to her cup, carefully avoiding the sight of the earpiece. "I hope the show can go on," she adds quietly, sighing heavily. "I wonder if this Freddie Mercury's show went on. Maybe I'll look it up tonight. It beats sleeping. I have to say, I'm looking forward to Lux dropping by again. I need some rest, and soon."

She is silent to sip at her drink. As she lowers it, she looks down at herself. Hesitating, she speaks again with some obvious concern in her voice. "I'll be back in uniform tomorrow for the first time. Aaron released me to light duty for the following week, with the possibility of a full return next week." She sighs, "The distraction will be a welcomed relief, though I'm willing to wager a number of the staff will protest - at least, those who saw me in the brig. So long as the Commander doesn't, and the infirmary staff can accept it, I'll cope."

She appears somewhat fidgety in her seat, a foot or fingers or a leg constantly in movement. "Frankly, even though I'm thrilled with the release, I'm relieved it was only to light duty. I plan to spend tomorrow in my office, catching up. I need to catch Tobin at some point to follow up with him. I'm going to need him more than he realizes, I think. He's been so kind so far. I hope..." She shakes her head and, as she has so frequently of late, dashes away a tear that begins to make a path down her cheek. "I hope for so many things, I hardly know where to begin."

She is quiet for a time, then utters, "Computer, resume music and begin from introduction." As requested, the instrumental introduction of the song begins. Callie speaks over it to continue her entry. "Even more importantly than catching up with Tobin, I have to remember to get in touch with Rann. If he hasn't decided to hate me utterly, I'm going to ask for... Lieutenant Havaris' schedule, and see to it that we /don't/ work the same shifts... maybe forever. It'll be easier on us both that way."

Callie laughs, but it's a raspy sound thick with tears. "Aaron and I spoke for a long while tonight. He has proven to be an excellent counselor, in spite of his... racial disadvantages to the others. But... he suggests Lieutenant Havaris and I attend a session together. Counselor Gellan seems to agree, if I understood Aaron correctly." She shakes her head, "I have to wonder if they're /trying/ to break me utterly. I would prefer them to simply /ask/ me to transfer, personally. But... I agreed conditionally. I hope Aaron can convince Counselor Gellan to agree to the condition. When Lieutenant Havaris is ready for such a session, he can ask me, or pass word along through the counselors. I won't hesitate to agree. But until then, I strongly believe it will only cause more pain. And... my tolerance is beginning to reach its limit. How /much/ am I expected to hurt? I already know how /long/."

She pauses again, this time listening to the words of the song in the background.

"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies,
Fairytales of yesterday will grow but never die.
I can fly, my friends..."

Shaking her head, Callie sighs. "I almost wish I could fly away, but I've grown attached to the station, and the people on it. I'm not ready to give up just yet. And... and I can't give up on Lieu-- on Kusto. I can't give up on us." She shakes her head harshly. "How foolish. Is there anything left to give up on? For my part, I know there is. But for his? Am I waiting for something that will never come to pass?" She again falls silent in favor of the song playing.

"I'll top the bill, I'll overkill,
I have to find the will to carry on
(...with the show...)
With the show.
The show must go on!"

The music fades out and Callie leans back, drinking the rest of her mug before she continues. "Work will be a welcomed distraction, even three days a week. For the rest of the time... Lux will be a help, I'm sure, and maybe Jub will be back through sometime soon. The station is out of lockdown, but if his runs are as routine as he suggested... He was, at least, entertaining." She smiles wanly, "There's always Michael, but I fear he already thinks I lean too heavily on him, and I am not entirely certain what his opinion on all of this is. Jub and Lux, at least, have little to do with Starfleet. I doubt they will have changed their opinions of me." She smirks, then adds, "Actually, Jub may improve his, if he hears this particular tale."

She looks to the ceiling, silent for a long moment. Quietly, she repeats the words of the song. "'I have to find the will to carry on.' I'll do just that. I've survived until now. I won't quit now. As I told Aaron earlier, I have no connection to my family any longer, my love has left me, and the few friends I have are wary of me now - at best, my career remains uncertain for the time being until I know if there is anything left in the infirmary for me... I hope there is. There /has/ to be. But... my sanity is very nearly all that I have left to lose. I can't risk it again. There'll be nothing left of me if I do."

She frowns, finally letting her eyes drift to the earpiece on the desk. They fill with tears, then overflow. "One chance. That's all I need. Just one." She stands abruptly, leaving the earpiece where it lays and taking her empty mug away. She is out of sight again before she utters in a tear-filled voice, "Computer, end log and save."

Ambassador's Log Fri Mar 01 Lux

The emblem of the Ferengi Alliance appears on the screen before being replaced by Lux's bulbous head. "Liquidator Lux, Personal Log: Whew what a day. I got Clough her sleeping medication. Mind you if it doesn't work or is addictive I'll make sure that that son of a bitch Flogg will be so poor once I get done with him that he won't even be able to get a job mopping up in a Naussicaan whorehouse.

Tried like hell to talk sense into a Bajoran today. Big Mistake! Those guys are even more uptight then the Klingons. Honor this and Female's are dominant that. Cripes. if I didn't owe a goddamned Socialist Doctor so much I'd wash my hands of the whole affair. Mind you if /I/ had a woman like Clough I'd never let her go. I digress though. I miss that little Cardassian dish that Noonan had working at the Zone. However, love is for suckers. You learned that long ago. Women can only earn you Latinum in certain circumstances that I'm not willing to engage in with Starfleet types. It'd blow my cover to hell if nothing else. Still, that Ensign Haven is sweet enough to be sure. Ahh come on now Lux, you're talking like a rube. Ahh, to the poor house with this, I need a drink. Computer! Encrypt and end log,

...on Angel's wings Fri Mar 01 Jub

Jub slumps into his bunk in the small captains quarters of his ship, The Fallen Star, after throwing his jacket and gloves into his desk's chair. His whole right arm and the left arm from the elbow down reflect the light from the anomaly, causing the skeletal cybernetics to seem almost surreal in nature. Jub removes his eyepatch as well, revealing an eye that is not huuman but mechanical as well. Black with a slightly glowing red retina. He closes his eyes, bit real and not, and massages the bridge of his nose gently with rubber padded fingertips.

"Computer, open program 'Nephalim', new entry." he says with a sigh. The computer beeds an affirmative.

"Message is as follows. Cherubim to Seraphim. I have aqquired the Information reguarding Daimon Rel of the ship "Line of Credit"'s location. I am uploading a map with this transmission giving the location of his current wherabouts." Jub reaches over and grabs a padd, tapping in a file attachement.

"Rel has been smuggling narcotics under the guise of legitimate medical supplies to Unallied worlds. His profit margin is hefty, due to teh rarity of teh chemicals being sold. I have listed his suppliers on attachment B1 and his usual shipment dates on attachement B2."

Putting down his padd, Jub covers his eyes with his hands as he talk. "A personal Note to Seraphim. Please foreward the next 'check' to secondary accounts. There will be no further transmissions from Cherubim until transactions have been verified. Computer, end log and encrypt. Nephalim protocol Alpha Omega 2. Execute."

The computer compresses and encodes the message through specialized processors in a small and hidden computer core, then piggybacks the message microburst on a legitimate flightpath plan to the Federation Trade Authority archives where it will be, he knows, sifted out by Seraphim.

"What the hell am I doing?" he asks to no one, his voice drifting through his cabin. "Is prison really worse then this?"

He closes his eyes and is soon in a dreamless sleep, the closest thing to peace he seems to have.

Ambassador's Log Fri Mar 01 Lux

The Ferengi Alliance symbol de-rezzes and we are left with an image of Lux lurking at his desk. He begins. "You know, after just getting an earful of Haven breaking down precisely which Kingdom and Phylum of bastard I belong to, to Zeel, I'm coming to realize that I'm beginning to develop a mild dislike of the Bajoran people.

They're like Klingons with the ability to whine. Not a good addition to an otherwise insufferabley self righteous personality. I discovered last night that the females are in charge on Bajor. I think the mystery of the Occupation has just been solved if you know what I mean. Ironically I think we can also assume why the Cardassians decided they'd had enough and bailed after 50 years. It only took dear old Dad 20 years to realize that Moogie was making him insane. Well, a deals a deal and until Clough comes to here senses I guess I'll trudge on. Gods why can't these Federation types just take money for services like normal people. Computer, end and encrypt transmission. Lux out.

Personal Log: The Quest Sat Mar 02 Clough

As is always the case with these things, the black screen with the UFP emblem fades to reveal the large ivory and beige living area of Callisandra Clough. A portion of her desk is visible, and the Bajoran earpiece that has been previously seen is still there - untouched. Callie is seated behind the desk in uniform for the first time in some while. The dark circles around her eyes have grown more pronounced, but she looks more at peace than she has for more than a week.

"Chief Medical Officer's personal log, Stardate 52199.7," she begins quietly, then pauses to inhale slowly. "It... feels good to be able to say that again. I only hope I am able to continue saying it for a long while to come." She shakes her head, "Everyone seems to want me to learn to live again, and for too long, I fought them. I didn't want to. I was ready for it to all be over after... everything that happened. But they were right. I can't just lay down and die because of this - that would be the easy way out, and I hardly deserve anything so simple."

She leans her head back against the chair, turning her eyes onto the ceiling. "I was quite the popular girl yesterday, although I should have expected it on my first day back in the office. First, a physical. Ensign Harloc seems quite pleasant, and fit for duty. He... surprised me at the end, asking me out for a drink at the Neutral Zone after I finished my shift. I... accepted, originally, but begged off in the end. I'm just not ready for strangers yet." She presses her lips together, but can't hide her growing sadness. "After Ensign Harloc departed, I was able to speak with Tobin for a short while. He is quite willing to assist me with my duties while I re-acclimate to my duties... and while the staff adjusts to me. I have, however, lost much of his trust." She lowers her eyes at this, her sadness growing. "His and the rest of the medical staff's, not that I can blame them. For his part, Tobin wants to trust me, but is wary. So am I, for that matter. Still, he's agreed to help me. How much more could I ask?"

She tries unsuccessfully to press back her regret. "Lux was my next visitor. As unlikely as it is, I am growing to like him more and more. It seems I have made friends with a Ferengi. He... delivered the medication I requested, and I have run a full sweep of scans on it. It seems perfectly legitimate - a non-addictive sleeping aid able to stave off my nightmares. Perhaps tonight I can finally rest. Promeprobamate. I had thought the name was familiar, and I finally ran across it while running the tests on it. In heavier doses, it can be used as an anesthetic. It isn't the most common choice for surgeons, but I'm sure I have used it in the past. Lux, it would appear, was entirely honest with me - and for free. What a novelty that is. If he had not brought up Lt. Havaris, the day may have gone well from that point on." She smirks, "Though, I have to admit, his offer to convince the Prophets to demand Lt. Havaris to return to me was amusing. In retrospect, at least."

She sighs and rubs her face, for a change not to wipe away tears. "Still, by the time he left, I was falling apart again. And of course, Fates be damned, /that/ was when Aaron stopped by. I am now not only under psychiatric counseling, but also taking anti-depressants routinely. I am hopeful he will see no need to continue /that/ particular therapy soon.

"Then came Rann and Michael." She frowns, half in frustration and half in regret. "Sometimes, I can't tell whether to be thankful for them, or to wish them out of my life forever. But... they make excellent points when they choose to. Rann wins this round, though. While Michael and I were arguing, he reminded me of something Lt. Havaris said when we met in the turbolift - something I gave little thought to at the time. In some of the Bajoran casts - D'jarras - my actions /would/ be considered abuse. I took a long look at myself, and however much I wish it were otherwise, Lt. Havaris was right. I /was/ abusive to him." Self-directed anger adds to her revulsion and she shudders. "After everything Kaitye went through, and everything I went through with her, /I/ have become an abuser." Weakly, she whispers, "How?"

Callie swallows with difficulty, and raises a trembling hand to her lips. For the first time, to herself or to anyone else, she says the name she has been avoiding. "Kusto's forgiveness may mean little to me, if he ever finds himself able to give it. I am... far from certain I can forgive myself. My worst nightmare is what I have /become/. I... I can only hope the counselors will be able to help with that." She speaks now from behind her hand, as if the presence of her fingers could force back the bile in her throat.

After another long pause, she pulls herself back together and continues with a bit more strength. "Whether or not I find self-forgiveness, I at least have found a quest - a way to try to begin making amends. I will be known as an abuser before it is over, but hopefully, I will be known as one seeking assistance and therapy. Gavyn says doctors never give up on their patients. I hope, in this case, the patients don't give up entirely on their doctor. I'm trying. I /am/ trying." She almost smiles, but the curve of her lips doesn't stick. "Gavyn... he is somewhat unexpected, but may be exactly what I need. He cares, and he understands. He's a friend, a true friend who wants to help, and isn't going to let me say no to his offer. Between the research I am doing and work, he is going to teach me to paint - as a means of therapy. If the painting he did of me is any indication, I can see how it could be quite therapeutic." She looks away at something not pictured in the recording, distracted for a moment.

"But I'm getting off track." Callie announces, bringing her eyes back to the desk and the recorder. "I have done a bit of research, and I may have found the D'jarra Kusto was a part of. It fits, at the least, both his earpiece and his personality. If I know him as well as I think I do, I would imagine he has been somewhat difficult to be close to with most lately, and I suspect he has received little understanding if the sympathy I have been given is an indication. I have sent what I have learned, and I hope they will understand what I did, and what pain he must be feeling. I have no doubt that he would not listen if I tried to express my understanding. I hope he will if they express theirs. And I hope they will spread that understanding to others. It may make me hated, but it may help him to recover. Another point Gavyn made - we never give up on our patients. He's right. I haven't. I can't. I only hope that my friends will respect my wishes and never let it be known that I am responsible for the research they have been given. I want to help Kusto, with all of my heart, but he can't know that. Let him think they learned on their own. Let them think Rann told them. I don't care, but not me." She smiles wearily and shakes her head. "Even at the cost of my entire reputation, it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make, but it will be worthless if it becomes known." She closes her eyes, clearly praying. "Please, don't let this fail. If I am responsible for his destruction, it /will/ kill me." A deep breath is taken and her prayers go on silently for a moment, then her eyes open again, clear and calm. "May your Prophets always guide you, Havaris Kusto, and may you always know that you have my love.

"Computer, end log and save."

Losing In Translation Sat Mar 02 Ghorev

"Personal Log, Lt. Akeen Ghorev, stardate 52200.0"

<With these words, the image fades in of Our Man Ghorev -- Holy Mother of Borva, he's in civilian clothes! A double-breasted formal civilian suit, with ruffled cuffs and lightweight fencing gloves, a chaka across his lap -- sitting on the couch in his quarters, facing the terminal from the middle distance.>

"Damage control estimates for today -- Friendship Reserves down 25 percent from this morning, apparently. I have had my dismissal, most plainly, from the life of Kara Dade. That leaves only Michael, Gretchen, and Dana as anything remotely resembling a family for me here."

<A low trilling noise escapes his throat, a prolonged sigh.>

"I wish I could say I had regrets, but I do not. Perhaps something was lost in the translation, but frankly it becomes plain to me now that Kara's heart was never truly in our friendship. As the playwright says 'We had a quarrel from the day we met.'"

"I could say more, but there's little point. It won't make me feel better, and she'll never understand why I take offense at her behavior. And in my heart, I have to wonder, given her behavior since her relationship with Gretchen ran aground, if she would have taken less offense at my own behavior if I were an Andorian *woman*."

<a sad noise from his throat>

"But it's true. I do wonder it. I wonder it because I am left with no empirical evidence to the contrary, and when faith in a friendship is destroyed, empirical evidence, what you can see, is all you have to go on. So I say it plainly: Kara is lost. She was lost when her body checked out of the Infirmary but her spirit did not. She was lost when she, having begun to invest some measure of self worth in being a beautiful, desirable young woman, suddenly saw herself mutilated, scarred. Medical science is fast, but not instantaneous -- though Kara will recover her face, the damage is done to her mind. I'm no counselor, but I needn't be to see this. Now, no man can look at her without her mistaking concern in the general sense for that combination of paternalism and lust-for-the-freakish that repels her."

<He rises from the couch, restless, swinging the chaka at empty air angrily.>

"PREPOSTEROUS!"

"I can ask anyone else on this station 'How are you feeling today?' and it is a harmless polite fiction poisonous only to a Zaldan, a simple pleasantry that means *nothing* ... but if I ask it of one of the few people about whose answer I truly *care*, I am a Borva-damned villain, an oppressor?!? Damn her! Damn her for that! As if I haven't given up enough in this hellish place! As if I haven't --- "

<He breathes, low and deeply, placing the chaka on the wall rack.>

"And in the end, it's not about me, I know that. But she's wrong. *She's wrong*. She's flat-out wrong. This is not a cultural thing. This is not a who-values-privacy-and-who-doesn't thing. This is about two friends losing each other because one has lost herself. This is about one person telling the world 'From now on, I am deliberately translating all your friendly overtures into pity, and I reject your pity!'"

<He strides forward towards the terminal, growing larger in the view.>

"And like all translations, something is lost along the way."

"Computer, end log."

The Quest Continues Sun Mar 03 Clough

The daily log begins as always, UFP emblem fading to reveal Callisandra Clough's quarters - or a portion of them. Everything is the same, down to the earpiece on the desk. Callie herself is once more out of uniform, wearing a thin olive dressing gown of Betazoid design (which is to say, not much). She appears more rested, the circles beginning to fade from around her eyes. But at the same time, she seems somewhat duller - her affect flatter and her movements more lethargic. She is seated is usual, and keeping her eyes from the jewelry that has taken up residence on the desk.

"Chief Medical Officer's personal log, Stardate 52200.8." she begins slightly sluggishly. "With so little else to occupy my time while I remain on light duty, these logs are becoming somewhat addictive. Therapeutic, maybe. But as they are for my own benefit, I can't see any problem with that." She looks away elsewhere in the room, staring for a long while before adding. "I am beginning to look forward to Gavyn's instruction in artwork. I hope it will prove as therapeutic."

She pauses again, drawing her eyes slowly back to the recorder. "I need therapy, that much is certain. But I at least can admit to /why/ I need therapy, now. Every baby step is a step forward, though." She draws a breath, admitting yet again to herself, "I am an... abuser. How horrible that sounds to me. After everything I've felt and seen, and I've become the /cause/, not the cure. I... can think of few worse fates. I only hope it is not too late to alter that aspect of my personality - remove it entirely, I would prefer."

She shakes her head, smirking faintly. "After discussing it with Gavyn in the Zone a few nights past, I've noticed a few odd stares and more than a few unpleasant thoughts coming my way. Apparently, I was overheard." She nods decisively, almost approvingly. "So be it. I can't run from this. What right do I have to run? Let them hate me for a while. Then, maybe, I can prove that I am recovering. I'm going to try all that I can, at the very least.

"Aaron is dead set against my actively spreading an awareness of what I did, and why it matters so much." She mimics, "'Giving everyone on the station information to make this whole situation worse than it is right now serves no purpose.' I might not agree with him entirely, but he did agree with /me/ that if anyone comes to question me directly, I /should/ share what I know. That is exactly what I've done. Some of those stares I've been getting have belonged to people bold enough to question me directly. I've answered honestly and told them what I know, both about myself an about the situation as a whole. I've volunteered nothing, but when asked?" She shrugs, "Why hold back? I only hope that it does /some/ good."

Callie looks down, not at her desk, but at her lap. "Aaron is entirely correct in one thing, I can never repay Kusto for what I've done. But... I won't stop trying. I owe him that much. I owe /myself/ that much." She leans back in her chair and her eyes turn to the ceiling. Softly, she continues. "Kusto... I... saw him tonight, entirely by accident. I fear the combination of Lux's sleeping aid and Aaron's anti-depressant dulls my wits considerably. I reserved some time on the holodeck earlier and... walked into the wrong one. I never considered myself to be so oblivious to my surroundings, but when I can hardly keep my eyes open, I am remarkably unaware." She swallows heavily and her voice grows slightly uneven. "Very little was said once I recognized my mistake. Kusto introduced his sister to me, and... she seems a very pleasant individual. She offered me kindness and hospitality where none was warranted. I... am grateful to her for that, and find myself liking her for those same reasons." A pause, then, "She asked me to stay, but... I've done too much damage, and I don't believe Kusto is ready to see me... even if I come crawling back as I so wish to do." She shakes her head, stopping her story and swallowing the growing lump. "I left, and that is that. One day, I'll try again if he is not involved with someone more deserving than me. But... it won't be today." She closes her eyes. "But I wish it could be. I pray that it will be soon. Imzadi, you said you would wait. Please... do."

A heavy silence fills the recording for several long minutes. After a while, Callie begins again. "I went to the /proper/ holodeck after that. Mt. Roshtara... I can't help but love that program. A touch of home." She smirks, but there is little force behind it. "And that's when Aaron dropped by. He decided Earth would be more pleasant. I suspect he would have found Hell more pleasant after our conversation. I am a... most difficult patient, I fear. I never claimed to be anything but stubborn. He says to do nothing, to leave matters well enough alone. I say I /have/ to try something." She smiles slowly, hope shimmering in her dulled eyes. "Maybe we can compromise by my answering what questions I am asked, but doing nothing overt. Perhaps enough will ask me, and word /will/ be spread."

She sighs and, as is her ritual, stares at the earpiece for a time. "It is riskier that way, of course. Fairly difficult to hide my direct involvement in that fashion, but I would have told the truth to anyone who asked anyway, so that was perhaps inevitable. Time will tell. I am at least relieved to be /honest/ to those who ask me what I did. I... feel better for admitting the horrible truth than I would have hiding from it. But... how I /wish/ the truth were anything other than what it is. How I wish I could say that I am /not/ what I am. One day, I /will/ be able to say just that."

She smiles wearily into the recorder and sighs. "But for now, that is all there is to say. Recovery is a slow process. I will... learn more patience. I will admit my transgressions when asked, and I will do what I can to rectify them. And above all, I will /not/ make the same mistake again. Never again. The cost is far too high."

She reaches out with a tentative finger to touch the earpiece without moving it. "I /am/ trying, Kusto. And I love you.

"Computer, end log and save."

Personal Log Sun Mar 03 Park

Counselor's Personal Log, Stardate 52201.3

The Starfleet symbol vanishes, replaced by an image of Park. He is pacing around his office wearing only a pair of swim trunks and a pair of sandals. As the log opens, he throws the towel on his shoulder onto the couch, trying to vent a little of the anger he is obviously feeling. "I can't BELIEVE the gall of that woman! I'm tying to help HER pull out of this self-pitying RUT she's in, and she has the AUDACITY to tell me what I have and haven't been through! I know now why doctors cringe when they have to treat one of their own. The woman is IMPOSSIBLE! She's so hell-bent on showing everyone that she's this horrible person that she won't even consider anything else. I keep telling her to just let it lie for now. Nothing is going to make up for the hurt she's caused Kusto, so going out of her way to make herself look like a monster isn't going to help. In fact, it's going to cause quite the opposite effect, I'm sure. I seriously doubt that he wants people trying to console him over this, and all she's doing is drawing attention that he most likely doesn't want. But, will she listen to ME? Of COURSE not, because I'm only a psychologist. She knows best because she took some classes at the Academy, too."
He paces around for a few more seconds before settling back into his chair. "I just have NO idea what to do at this point. She won't take my advice and I'm frankly getting a little tired of hearing her complain about how horrible she is. She hit her boyfriend, more that once from what I hear. OK, that's a horribly demeaning thing to do to a person, especially someone you're supposed to love. She just doesn't understand that torturing herself over and over isn't going to solve the root of the problem. Oh, this is just making me crazy. I need to talk to Sharra."
"Computer, end log."

Personal Log Sun Mar 03 Havaris

The UFP ensignia fades revealing Kusto in full battle dress. Down to the light armor the Federation sometimes issues when things are going to be rather heavier than normal. He's checking over a phaser rifle idly, and it takes him some moments to remember why he'd sat down in his chair in the first place.

"We have our orders. It's Betazed. I'll be one of the first officers on the ground for the liberation of Betazed. Gulliver was right." Kusto actually snorts at that, glancing away from the camera with a shake of the head. "So much has happened. Havaris Jiasha came aboard. My sister. It's good to see her after so many years, all grown up. I only wish it were all under better circumstances. For her. For me. For the entire Alpha Quadrant, for that matter."

Kusto tugs out the energy clip, eyeing the meter before smacking it home. "The Prophets love irony, I have decided. A Morale enducing event. Sadie Hawkins dance. Where the women ask the men. That amused me more than I can properly express. I'll not be attending. Lalaunie asked me but I politely declined. Maybe we'll do something else that night, I'm not certain. Safer, I figure, to leave the melodrama where it belongs. If Callie wants to get out and enjoy herself? More power to her." A pause.

"And now this. Betazed. Callie's homeworld. And I'm landing there before her. Fighting for its liberation while she stays behind. This is one of those jobs you have to do. There's no polite demure away from a mission to open the way for a planetary invasion of an occupied planet. I've been itching to pay these milk blooded bucket living sons of bitches back, and I don't much care where the theater of combat takes place. This is an offensive. This is the Federation striking -back-. And I'll be there, where I should be, at the front lines."

"I told Dana I wanted her to have my post if I don't make it back. This mission is highly dangerous. She didn't want me to go. Or wanted me to take her with. She's a better officer than I am. But I'm the better soldier. It's better this way." Kusto slips the rifle over his shoulder, removing his ear piece from his ear, replacing it with a helmet. "Lalaunie will be there with me. She's a tigress. I've never felt better in a simulation than when I was fighting beside her. It was intense. We see eye to eye. She fights how I fight. Bloody, brutal, and dirty." He grins a touch wider, more feral. "The Dominion doesn't know what it's in for. Betazed's as good as free. And the Commanders lead, and the Pilots fly, and the soldiers bleed and fight and die. Another day. Another war. Another rock. And that? Is my life in a nutshell."

Kusto rises to his feet, the camera panning as he moves to the door, "Once more, dear friends... Computer, end log and save."

Personal Log Sun Mar 03 Maek

Maek, Personal Log:

"Well, it seems there is a change of plans, my superiors have informed me that I have been 'promoted' ... " he chuckles softly at that thought, "to the position of Ambassador." He begins pacing the room, feeling slightly confined. "Aparently the incoming ambassador did not have what they wanted, so it was decided that I get to play ambassador in his stead. Not exactly the job I was expecting, but I suppose I can add it to my to do list." He chuckles again, this time much more robust. "Now where is that list?"

"Computer, end personal log entry."

Peronal Log Mon Mar 04 Balin

"Personal log, Stardate 52201.6," begins the Commander.

"The news from Betazed is bittersweet. We have scored a tremendous victory, and a tragic loss. The system belongs to the Federation now, and twenty-two million of my people have found their journey's end. But my people will endure, and rebuild. We must, for our children, and our children's children. It is a dark day, but dawn is finally starting to rise."

"End log."

Commander Balin
CO, Station 419

PL: Familiar Darkness (I) Mon Mar 04 Tahlandi

"Personal Log, Stardate 52201.7."

Tahlandi Karanya sits in her couch, leaning back into one corner. The black jacket of her uniform is tossed over the back of the couch, leaving her in her yellow turtleneck and black pants, and her hair is still tied up in a ponytail. She sighs deeply before she speaks.

"Well, I just got back from my first really big mission here... the liberation of Betazed. The mission itself was easy enough... fly in, take out a few Jem'Hadar ships, take out some weapons platforms, protect the troop transports on their way in. Simple, right?"

"And it was simple. I got a little frazzled at the end when the Jem'Hadar's warships got up close and personal with us, but I did pretty well, I thought, under the circumstances. And I was expecting it to get a little crazy out there."

"What I didn't expect, and what completely blindsided me, was how I felt when things calmed down."

She pauses and closes her eyes for a moment... and then opens them again.

"It was the Occupation, all over again. Different cast, maybe... Bajorans, Betazoids... but the Cardassians were still involved, and this time they had help. Granted, ours lasted four decades, and theirs only about a year... but it was still rather similar to what we went through."

"Too similar, for my tastes."

"So now I have something in common with them, I guess. Maybe, someday, I can help some of them get through the pain somehow, with my experience... but right now, I'm having enough pain of my own to deal with. It brought back a lot of memories I thought I'd locked away for a while. Ones I'd hoped would stay buried. Damn it, I came out here to get AWAY from my past... not see it happen again, to someone else."

She sighs gently and tugs at the tie in her hair, pulling it out and ruffling her hair to let it down.

"If it hadn't happened so soon after I left... maybe I'd have been better ready for it. But... well, I felt silly asking for it, but I really need to get away for a little bit before I can do my best work here. Thankfully, my request for some R&R time was approved, under the circumstances. Thank the Prophets for that."

"But I can't keep running from my past. It just keeps catching up."

"Sooner or later... I'm going to have to face it. And beat it."

"But not today..."

"Computer, end personal log."

Walking Wounded Mon Mar 04 Havaris

One more time with feeling. The UFP ensignia fades to reveal Kusto in a bedraggled uniform, unzipped in the front. He's pale, haggard, his hair's a mess, and he looks about as happy to be alive as twenty-two million UFP citizens and soldiers are to not be. It's one of the many ironies of war.

"I'm lucky to be alive today." Kusto displays the wound on his chest, a square patch of pinkish skin overlaying what would have been a rather incredible sort of wound. Right in the center of his chest. "It was Bajor. All over again. Familiar cast, familiar background. A weapon in my hand. I killed ten Jem'Hadar. Two at point blank range while stunned. Put my rifle to their heads and thumbed the trigger. Zeel told me that was against regulations. I told her to report me."

"The problem was that it was so familiar to me. I actually relaxed, let my body take over. Everyone was taking fire, we had running wounded from the first engagement. Zeel, Haven, Leah... All took shots. Rann and I kept our heads down. Got through to the second waypoint without a scuff on our boots. Running on instinct. Like a fool, I stepped out of the fog long enough to get myself a sample of Betazoid soil. Some grass. I wanted to bring something back for Callie. I shouldered my weapon. I dug up the grass. I put it all away. Stood up. Said something to Rann..."

Kusto trails off, shaking his head. "When I came to I was on my back in a crater about seventy meters from what was left of waypoint two. Loni was over me. My chest screamed. Had to fight on from there, twelve more Jem'Hadar jumped us. One of them nearly killed Kentoz. He ordered us to drop our weapons, so I did. Dropped a stun grenade right at the bastard's feet. Blew his head off with my rifle as he was coming to. Felt nothing."

Kusto tugs out the tray of soil, green grass and rich earth, setting it before the camera. "We purchased this with the blood of over eighty thousand Federation Officers. Over twenty million Betazoid civillians. The majority of the Allied fleet. Blood. Lives. Tears. For this." Kusto pushes the tray away, slumping back into his seat. "I was going to give it to Callie. But -how- could I give it to her? This isn't a present, it's a memorial. I'm having a plaque engraved and then I plan to give it to Noonan for him to display in the Neutral Zone. To honor the memory of the war dead, the wounds we wore, the lives we took -- honorably and dishonorably at the ends of our rifles. One square foot of green grass and dirt, and I nearly died to bring it back."

Kusto glances down at the tray, then back to the camera. "This was the first noble thing I've done since coming to this Prophet forsaken top." A long silence gives way to a longer one. He finally bobs his head and states dully, "Lieutenant Junior Grade Havaris Kusto, Assistant Chief of Security, Station Four-Nineteen, Dulcais Sector, ending log."

Black.

Preludes and Benedictions Mon Mar 04 Clough

The fading of the UFP emblem and the appearance of the Chief Medical Officer's quarters come as always. Same scene, different day. But there is one difference: the earpiece that had taken up residence on Callie's desk is gone. Where? Who knows. Callie herself looks tired once again, bone weary and sad. She is in uniform, but the uniform looks as though she has had it on for some time. It is wrinkled in places, but still appears clean.

"Personal log, Stardate 52201.7. We have returned from Betazed. After too long, my people are free again, but at what cost." She sighs and raises a hand to rub at her temple, gathering herself. "Almost from birth, I was trained to block out the thoughts and feelings of others when I wished it, but with the hurting of so many... I felt it - too much of it. Pain, agony, fear... death. So much of it. But... freedom was won, and I stepped not even a foot on my own home soil throughout it all."

She swallows heavily and turns her head away from the recorder with her eyes closed tightly. Tears slip down her cheeks. "The Aegis was overrun with wounded, but the medical staff performed far better than any could ever have hoped. Many lives were saved... but not enough. There has been so much loss today - so much since the occupation began. How can we recover? But we will. Betazed will. My people are too strong to give up now that their freedom is won. They will go on."

The back of Callie's hand brushes away the tears from one cheek ineffectually. Slowly, she looks back at the recorder. "I stayed on board and helped all that I could. And when we finally left the system? I came back to the station. I am... so tired now. Perhaps it is a good thing I am still on light duty. I plan to sleep for several days. I... need to regain my strength, in more ways than one." She sighs, "Kusto was hurt on the ground, but... stabilized. I did not treat him when he came on board. I... did not think he would want that. I trust my staff. I know they did all that they could."

A long pause follows, and Callie stares silently down into her lap. When she speaks, words come with difficulty. "I do not yet know if my parents or my brother live. I... hope they do. If not, then Kaitye and her family, and myself, are all that remain of the Seventh House. She is welcome to it, whatever is left of it. I will do everything that I can to assist in the rebuilding, but I will do so from a distance. I cannot return yet. Perhaps not ever. There will be celebrations, I am certain, but I have no desire to take part in them. Not alone, and that is what I am."

She looks up and draws a shuddering breath, controlling her sobs, but not the fall of her tears. "Kaitye, I am sure, is already on her way home, to help where she can. If my family still lives, she will find them. She knows where I am, and can pass word along to them, but... I will not contact them myself. Not yet. I don't know that I will ever be able to. I have done too much that will shame them, in spite of my accomplishments. One day, perhaps we shall speak again, but I'm not ready yet. I'm not ready to face them. I can barely face myself." She swallows. "They will forgive me, I know. They always have. But... first I must forgive myself."

Callie takes several deep breaths before going on. "Commander Balin has sent word to the Senior Officers that he is taking a leave of absence. I presume he is going to see what remains of his home. For my own, I will remember what was in Mendara before I left. I added a new program to the holodeck - my favorite art gallery in Mendara. It will... suffice for now."

She is silent again, but her eyes turn to the ceiling, and she looks to be in silent prayer or meditation. After a long pause, she says softly. "Mother, Father, Bealyn, I love you all. I hope you have survived these horrors. Forgive me for not coming to you now, but I am not fit to be in your company. I am weaker than you ever believed. I have lost my courage, but seek to regain it. Give me time to change, and I will seek you out then. I love you all so very much." Her tears flow anew, and she adds in a whisper, "May the Fates guide you to happiness and love, and may the courage of the Seventh House never be broken."

Finally, with utter sincerity and deep emotion, she utters to no one and nothing, "Thank you. Thank you for this day, and their freedom."

Crying freely now, she speaks trembling one last time as she stands to move away from the desk. "Computer, end log and save."

Journal Entry Mon Mar 04 Dosa

Stardate 52202.1.

"I never thought I'd allow myself to come back here," Dosa says, as the imager clicks on. The pretty young Cardassian woman adjusts the imager so it's more centered on her face. Numerous boxes can be seen piled in the corner of the otherwise bare and standard living quarters. "Housekeeping was kind enough to put my things into storage. It'll take some time, but I'm sure I'll have these quarters looking the same as I had my old room."

Dosa takes a moment to look around, and then glances out through the viewport, as the blue flashing of the anomaly comes into view. "I'