BBS Archive of Personal Logs

Wenok

Personal Log

Sun Nov 10

(Federation Emblem replaced by the young Vulcan in her spartanly-decorated quarters, though there is a painting on the rear wall, though too blurred up by the close-up focus to clearly make out)

Wenok's Personal Log, Stardate 52770.2

Catch-up on backlog of archived data is proceeding faster than I expected; I should complete the task, at my current rate of progress, within my next two scheduled workshifts. Science Lab 1, however, had a greater than expected load of data and that may delay completion.

My delayed physical was finally completed this morning, no medical problems noted.

Ambassador K'net-mauri held another pleasant and productive conversation in the garden today. I look forward to more; however, an encounter on duty with a Officer Exchange Program transferee, the Romulan sublieutenant Sukhar stationed in Science Lab 1, is a concern I intend to bring up with the Ambassador, if I can obtain an assuredly confidential conversation with the Ambassador. I believe taking the matter up with either the Starfleet or Imperial superior officers of the Romulan in question may bring more chaos when a more private, less invasive approach may prove beneficial.

The sublieutenant was defensive and hostile at times during my conversation with him while retrieving data from the lab's computer for transfer to the central core for archival processing. He indicated, in no uncertain terms, he felt the majority of the crew, specifically mentioning the senior staff, were unprofessional in their conduct in general and racist toward himself. He answered few of my questions, notably unclear in his response as to whether he had sought the counsel or mediation of Ambassador K'net-mauri. There are, I find, three possibilities: Sukhar has not sought the counsel of K'net-mauri, Sukhar has sought his counsel and obtained an unfavorable response, or Sukhar has sought his counsel and obtained a favorable response. I find the last possibility highly unlikely, at least from the sublieutenant's perspective, as his hostile defensiveness he excuses by complaints of racism and unprofessionalism from his Starfleet superior officers are, in his mind, unresolved.

An additional resource I intend to seek in this matter is the station's Chief counsellor, one Lieutenant Mira. As my inquiries and reporting my concerns will require the utmost professionalism, with no regard to the lower-ranking Counselling staff, I believe I should seek the Chief Counselor alone. It is, perhaps, inappropriate for me to take such a delicate situation into my own hands, especially given how far outside my field it remains. However, I believe my skills as a Researcher and my logical objectivity as a Vulcan will allow me to acquire the additional resources, both in terms of information and appropriate personnel, are to my favor in the situation.

The risks of my undertaking this project are triggering increased hostility from the troubled sublieutenant. However, I feel his instability is already sufficient that, with my inaction, he poses an impedement to crew harmony and a possible source of significant violence; while I have no definitive reason to suspect such, his paranoia and defensiveness coupled with the definite ongoing stress of alienation among people that, oustide of this alliance, he likely views as the 'enemy,' could potentially prompt him to commit a terroristic act of mass destruction. My triggering an additional hostility increases these possibilities; thus, logically, I should proceed only with the greatest discretion possible while still proceeding.

Short of that, other possible consequences of my action are my inquiries being forwarded, with or without my will, to either his Starfleet or Romulan superior officers and negative recourse may be taken against him. While I wish no harm to the sublieutenant, and in my non-expert opinion I believe he is a mere victim of his own emotional response to his completely alien and unfamiliar surroundings, that risk is acceptable if contained to avoid the abovementioned possibilities.

I must not lose sight of the fact, however, this is a project of both a nature and potential seriousness that I must not let pride in my own personal potential success, nor any other emotion, deter me from the reality there are persons better suited to ensuring the most amicable possible resolution from his situation for both the sublieutenant and his peers, myself among them and should my situational advantage prove to not outweigh the benefit handing this project over to a professional, I shall not hesitate to do so.

Unfortunately, the sublieutenant was not the only troublesome instability I witnessed today: Ensign Steward and Lieutenant Sulkat, both in security, were engaged in a public display of hostility approaching a physically violent climax outside the 'Neutral Zone' drink establishment, near the turbolift in the upper level of 'The Mall.' Lieutenant Sulkat, especially, seemed prepared to initiate violence in public over their disturbingly hostile verbal argument.

I prepared to intervene, by whatever means necessary or possible, when station Chief of Security Lieutenant Dakin stepped in and took control of the situation. He felt embarrassed by their display, both to the public and to myself. I had hoped such a display I would not witness from anyone higher-ranking than cadet, who would at least have the excuse they are not, supposedly a 'professional;' unfortunately that hope was mistaken. I suspect stress from the war had an underlying role in the conflict and, with that possibility, there may be little capability to contain such displays until peace is achieved. It is certainly most distressing that not only were the officers Starfleet, but in the Security department one would normally call on to take control in such a situation.

("End of Log" displayed along with the Federation emblem)

Poole

Personal Log

Mon Nov 11

"Gwendolyn Poole's Personal Log, Stardate 52772," Poole's voice is heard with the Starfleet Emblem shortly blinking out. The image is replaced with a picture of Poole sitting at her couch, dress in a pair of khaki pants and a tummy bearing sleeveless t-shirt.
"What a night."
"Josh was in a good mood, until I ruined that by leaving him to drink by himself.... It worries me to see him do that to himself, not even if there's reason for it..."
"Lieutenant (jg) Surek came aboard last night... Introduced himself to me... He knew who I was, even out of uniform... Knew my father. /Saw/ my father just before..." Her voice grows increasingly emotional until she forces herself to calm.
"I need to talk with him again, even if it's the worst thing for me.... And, I suppose I'd best mention what happened last... My concern for Josh motivated me to try and get him out of the bar, but it seems my choice of words offended the Dream Factory's proprietor. She threw a hissy fit, spouted off some foul language.. I was half-tempted to return fire, and did, for a moment... before I realized I was just being baited. That woman might possibly have a temper more terrifying than my own."
"I only just managed to shut myself up... Neveran was there and that helped cool my heels... and he helped me get Josh out of there. He's so understanding... He's changed so much..."
"I love him." And the log ends there, as if it were clipped short.

Isole

Personal Log

Mon Nov 11

The Logo of the Centauran Trading Consortium flashes briefly onscreen before fading to reveal Isole's bed and womb of computer terminals and hardware. She's balled against the wall, wearing her flight jacket and beret and a black bodysuit besides. He expression is tight, her eyes slightly puffy, and she just looks eighteen kinds of unhappy.

"'That woman.' That's what she called me. She knows my name, and she called me 'That Woman'. Then implied that I was out to screw over Josh or something equally ludicrous. I helped him out of my holodecks and talked him into the Infirmary. Stayed with him during his treatment. Looked out for the guy. But /no/, the Big Bad Starfleeter can't trust the dirty Deep Space Trader with a drunken and depressed man. Because I've /never/ dealt with drunken and depressed people out in deep space. Nope. Poole can bite me someplace tender." Isole removes her beret, tossing it onto a hook above her bed.

"'The likes of you.' That's what she said. She has no -idea- what 'the likes of me' really is. Just another Starfleet goon buying in to the rhetoric and superiority that pours out of that collection of imbeciles. I'm trying to remember why I bothered going legitimate. /This/ is 'better'? /This/ is worth it? Like hell it is. Like /hell/. They don't fear anything. They don't respect anything out of a uniform. They look down their noses at anything and anoyne the least bit self-sufficient and self-possessed. Because it flies in the face of their ethics. No, Starfleet, I don't need you. No, United Federation of Planets, I'm doing -JUST- fine without you. Thanks for fighting the Dominion. The soldiers have my respect. But we'd be fighting without Starfleet. Without the UFP. There'd be other soldiers to thank. And don't give me that 'We'd be destroyed by now' line, because you don't know. It's possible. It's also possible we'd have won by now, too."

"Just more fuel for the fire. More proof that I have nothing in common with the majority of their officers. Nothing to gain from courting their favor. Nothing to lose from entertaining my other options. Either way, I get no respect. Either way, they treat us like dirt. Either way, we're nothing. There are exceptions, of course. Morgan. Prythra. Even Idisha is diffident. Not exactly kind, but diffident. It's not disrespect, but it's not exactly good cheer and outreach, either. But you know what? That's okay. It's respect. And that's enough."

"The Ghorevs, the Pooles, the Medeses, the Edwardses, the Goldens, the Malloys... Far more numerous. Far, far more numerous. Self-righteous pip-kissing rivet-heads. All of them."

"Thank the stars for Magret. That's all I have to say. At the end of the day, there's a Magret around to kiss it and make it all better, pat my fragile ego, prop up my self-esteem, and keep me going in to work in the morning. Oh. Yeah. And to keep me from sabotaging my own decks so that Poole's training takes a turn for the surreal. Not that I entertained that notion. Much. For long. Or that I'm doing it -right now-. Nope."

"Because I'm better than that, and I know it. Still. It's sometimes tempting to live down to everyone's expectations."

She smiles thinly before leaning forward to manually end the log, returning the logo of the CTC to the screen.

Magret

Letter

Mon Nov 11

The entire log is recorded in Centauran, and preceded by the CTC symbol. It opens with Magret sitting cross-legged on Isole's bed, surrounded by computer bits and the low hum of electronics and machinery.
"Letter to Keryke Wulffson, Vancouver, Terra, from Engineer First Class Magret Etena, CTC, Station 419 Upsilon. Stardate 52772 on the dot." Magret leans back, cracking her back, and then slumps forward, cradling her chin in her hand and propping her elbow on her knee.

"Heya, Mom. I was glad to hear that you and John and all of John's family are all right. I worry about you down there. I don't understand why you have to stay on Terra. I guess it's not any safer, really, anywhere else, but still." She blows out a long sigh. "So. I'm staying with Is at Station 419. Officially, I'm a holoprogrammer. Unofficially, I'm the Good Centauran, so as to contrast with Isole's Bad Centauran, I guess. So... in other words, nothing's really changed. Isole has, and at the same time, she really hasn't at all. She was seeing this complete slimeball of a pirate for a little bit, but thankfully, that's all over with. Maybe someday he will be a real little boy, but until then, he's just not man enough for my Is."

A sly little smile slides across her face then, and is gone. "And, uhm. Stuff. I don't know if Is and I /are/ together, but I know we're not... /not/ together. It's very confusing, and we haven't talked about it. So, yes, shut up, you told me so, I know. I hope you're happy now, Mom. You knew, and apparently everyone else knew, but we were nice and blind to it." Waving a hand, she sighs. "Is needs some help detangling some stuff. Which is why I'm staying. To help detangle. I suppose it would help in that if I spoke Fed Standard, but, meh, Mom, I just can't bring myself to learn more than 'get your damn hands off me' and 'I want a beer.' It's such an /ugly/ language."

"Speaking of needing help, we almost got into a fight last night. Some little yip-creature Fleeter started being all nasty to Isole when she was helping out a friend of hers. Now, /granted,/ she was helping /like Is helps/, but, Mom, she likes this Josh guy. She was looking out for him, and then Little Miss Yip-Dog had to swagger in and prove that her girlbits were more impressive in size and coloration than Isole's. Which... she may think she did, but she didn't. She's, like, a foot shorter than I am. I could have /sneezed/ and knocked that little pigtailed bimbette down. Speaking of which, geh. She looked like an oversexed schoolgirl. Gllleeeeh. Creeeeepy. So we did the whole 'hold me back!' 'I'm holding you back!' thing, because I didn't want her to end up in the brig. Now, there was the matter of the yip-dog-woman's /man,/ who is a scary-looking albino bastich. Him I would not want to go up against."

Puffing out a sigh, Magret rolls her shoulders. "The more things change, yadda yadda. I love you, Mom, take care of yourself and send a letter soon. Computer, end log, save, and send to Mr. and Mrs. John and Keryke Wulffson, Vancouver, Terra."

Golden

London's Calling

Mon Nov 11

The Starfleet Emblem with the underscript saying Classified Clearance Level 6 clears to reveal Dylan sitting before the screen in his uniform.

"Personal log, Stardate: 52772.1. Yesterday I received transfer orders along with the rest of my Rapid Response team, from Admiral Jorgensen at Starfleet Command no less." He picks up a PADD and reads aloud, "You are being transferred into a new Starfleet/Federation Science Council joint project, the DTI Timefleet. You will be maintaining your post on Station 419, and under the standard chain of command. In addition to the standard chain of command, you will consider Lt. JG Wendy Tyler to be your direct superior regarding Timefleet issues." He sets the PADD down and looks back to the screen.

"To say that I was surprised when I read these orders would be an understatement. Later last night I attended our orientation briefing and I was even more surprised when I learned the extent of what these transfer orders meant. I am now wondering if I am a Starfleet officer on an joint deployment or an exchange officer to an entirely new organization or if I am in fact one of the first officers in a group designated as Timefleet. My impression grows as the information settles in that I am in fact the last of the three choices." His eyes are clear and bright, his expression sober but with an enthusiastic energy.

"What a great honor for our team then, to be selected as pioneers in a new area of defending the Federation. Sure, the agents of the DTI have gone down this path before us, but we are going with a new purpose, with a different reach. I know that my officers will take this responsibility as seriously as I do, and will appreciate the trust implied by it being given to us. Agent Bailey of the DTI questioned the inclusion of what she considers to be the military into the function of time defense. I can appreciate her sentiment because I don't think she means to be so insulting. Are we not officers entrusted by the Federation President to actuate the policies of the elected government? No matter what training the agents of the DTI get before becoming agents for that bureau, it can't compare to the depth of training we receive in Starfleet -- or with the subsequent training we get as part of the Rapid Response program. Granted, all of us have alot of catching up to do in the matters of History and physics -- we will have to, and we can, trust the expertise of our comerades in the DTI to fill in this critical area that we are so weak in because that is what they have trained to do. Hopefully they will find it easy to trust us to cover the areas that required the creation of Timefleet in the first place."

"Lt(jg) Wendy Tyler is our oversight and program control officer. I realize that she is by many accounts untested for such a responsibility; but I believe it will be easier for us to get her up to speed on field ops then it would be for some field operations planner to get to her level of expertise in the framework of all of this. It is then my duty to support her, let my people follow my example -- this should help her with her confidence, and if we support her and teach her what she needs to know while we in turn learn what we must -- a mere fraction of the iceburg of what she is erudite on -- then I believe whole heartedly that this nascent program/organization will live up to the hopes that created it."

"My first concern is our first mission. Two Romulan temporal mission teams, my guess they will be Tal Shava -- mean and professional as they come. Thankfully I've worked alongside Tal Shava special operations guys before, that will give me some advantage in plotting how to take out our "allies", though I wonder with the temporal nature of this matter if they *were* our allies at their hometime when sent? Doesn't pay to much to think of such things, but as far as I am concerned capturing one of them for interrogation seems like a good idea so I will include it as a subplan. Training for two missions at once is not going to be a fun proposition, boarding the Breen ship is going to be hellish and punctuated by moments of terror and fury -- I mean, talk about a hostile working environment. London though... London." He leans back in his seat and takes a deep breath before leaning back forward to speak to the recorder. "In our current timeline, London was untouched by the bombing of Earth. San Francisco, Beijing, New York, Paris carpet bombed with so many dead, but London was untouched. My mission parameters for our first assignment is to alter things so that London is bombed and a theft doesn't happen. I eagerly seek to stop the theft, I am resigned to allowing the bombing. Ifni preserve me, I am probably ensuring that thousands, perhaps even a million or more citizens of the Federation will die -- citizens who are not dead now but will be after we do our work. Preferred Timeline for Cassandra Agent Duncan told me. Embrace that phrase and make it my mantra. Preferred Timeline. In the preferred Timeline it may be that London burns and it is our job to make it so. So many lives -- on my head? Well no. One thing we had to learn early at the Academy was to train ourselves to think three dimensionally -- on the ground and in space, in a three dimensional universe an attack or an opportunity may come from any direction and a smart officer is therefore thinking in that format. Two dimensional thinking gets you killed in space and war. From that I have to now infer that I must think 4 dimensionally -- its a common habit for people in Starfleet to talk about doing this or that to ensure the future for our people, and there is truth to that as linear time makes our actions our legacy. But what we are doing now with this Timefleet is *actively* defending the Federation Past Present and Future and the citizens therein. Perhaps someone who survives in London is higher on a promition list so takes a posting where he does little but should he die the one who moves up to the job instead uses that job to save dozens of worlds from disaster. Or vice-versa. I don't know if they realize how lucky they are that they picked me -- not because there aren't many officers who would be better for this sort of thing, no... but because my embrace of Ifnism already has me emotionally prepared to deal with the comic horror and sober wonders of working in this new paradigm.

Preferred Timeline -- Save London or Let London Burn? Not my call, but either way, London is Calling."

The image clears to resume the emblem of the Federation with classification underscript flashing.

Rancion

Another Drink, No Way!

Mon Nov 11

The UFP Symbol fades away, but it seems the dark background has not, until a small amount of movement can be seen. "Personal Log, Rancion, "The voice is a bare whisper, and there is a groan. "And the Chrono is to bright to look at"
"I've been drunk before, at least two other times but I don't think ever this bad..." the sound of a glass clinking on the table can be heard "Oh Gods that is horrible..Computer note to feed this to Gacie if I ever see him again. yesterday was the anniversary of my Mothers death..first time I've been off duty for it and I indulged to /much/ last night in beverages with /way/ to much alcohlic content. " the sound can be heard again and then coughing follows. "Bad enough I got blitzed, but instead of staying in my room, like I should of No I had to go down to the Zone."
The clearing of a throat can be heard for a second then the whispering voice continues, "Isole and Gwen got into it, over me!" the whispering voice sounds shocked, I was to wasted to get moving on my own, Isole wanted to help and then Gwen wanted to help, I'm not sure what got said it's still fuzzy." a chime comes from the computer and the shadowy figure suddenly grips it's head as if in pain. "Medication Reminder, "the computer rreports after the chime. "ok understood..no back to what I was saying..Isole and Poole got into it really big, it almost looked like they were going to have it out just to see who could help me to my room, Nev and tqht other Centuran broke them up before it could get physical, I shouted something and then Nev was getting me out of the Zone. I am Never drinking again. computer end log."
the UfP symbol returns cutting off the whispering voice.

Nilee

Personal Log

Tue Nov 12

<The image fades in slowly, revealing the young Trill officer sitting on a couch in his quarters, several stacks of books and various knickknacks are scattered about nearby.>

"Personal Log, stardate 52774.7," The Ensign pauses for several seconds before starting the actual recording, "I really need to record these more often, I seem to be putting them off because I don't have enough to say, and then... everything happens at once." He smirks and shakes his head, "Well... were to begin," he sighs, "I still have yet to receive any word from Trill... I really wish I knew what was going on. I would really like to be able to return to Trill eventually, I mean, I grew up there..." He shrugs, "But I knew what the consequences would be, so I suppose I'll have to deal with whatever the Commission deals me."

"I got my first ship-based mission since my time on the Cochrane, and it was... eventful to say the least." He shakes his head, "Brang back memories... bad ones." He sighs, "Damn Klingons... it was supposed to be a routine mission... rendezvous with the Romulan warbird, drop off the artifacts Janzon stole..." he chuckles lightly, "Ironic isn't it? Nilee stole the artifacts, and now he took a part, well atleast tried to, in taking them back. The ambassador seemed a little, skeptical regarding my presence there, but I think I... proved myself or something, because he doesn't seem as hostile towards me anymore." He shrugs, "And then there's Lieutenant Ghorev," he sighs, "I'm a scientist, not a soldier!" The Trill frowns at the screen, "He was convinced I should have been able to jump into combat right away," he shakes his head, "I'm an Astrometrics Lab Technician, I study stars, I'm not a phaser marksman. I'm just glad someone knew how to, even if it almost could have cost me my leg..." He sighs, "We ended up having to hide the artifacts before the Klingons boarded, and Tera..." he smiles, "Poor girl... she lost one of them, she couldn't find it after we managed to subdue the Klingons..." His expression grows a little darker, "As much as I realize the destruction of their vessel was self-defense," he sighs, "How many died on that ship? There were hundreds... atleast!" Shaking his head slowly, "If they had just stayed out of it..." he frowns and hits his fist against the armrest of the couch, "If Janzon hadn't stolen those blasted artifacts!" Closing his eyes and tipping his head back, he remains silent for several moments as he composes himself, he starts speaking before he tilts his head back down, "The universe has a weird way of working things out though I suppose," he sighs, "It just feels like the payment of my joining was the deaths of those Klingons..." He shakes his head, "That must make as little sense aloud as it does in my head," he sighs once more, closing his eyes again, remaing silent.

He begins speaking again after several minutes, "I talked with that new Trill nurse... it's probably a good thing she didn't remember our early conversation, I really botched it." He sighs, "She seems extremely uncomfortable... though I don't know if its just the joining or the fact that I'm considered a criminal at this point on Trill." He shrugs, "Whatever it is, she seemed ok and atleast didn't go to the extreme that Ensign Loerd did," he shakes his head, "No one else has, fortunately..."

He smiles lightly as he continues, "I'm most likely going to be taking a 'student' under my wing soon, Wenok, a Vulcan ensign who's expressed an interest in doing studies in space sciences has just transferred here, and we've talked a few times. She wants to volunteer her off duty hours to work in the lab with the astrometrics departement... I'm kind of excited, its nice to actually finally meet someone who is excited about research in my area of field, most find it boring." He shrugs, "She's a little odd, for a Vulcan that is, she surprised me, she made a couple jokes, or atleast tried to, the first time it was funny, but apparently she hasn't learned the art of... I can't even think of the word, but she just doesn't know when enough is enough," he grins, "It's ok though, I'm looking forward to working with her, she seems very eager, if a Vulcan can be eager that is." He shakes his head slowly.

"I've just about finished remodeling my quarters... I just had the need to change things after my joining. All the influences from four lifetimes," he shrugs, "Well, the first was a lot like mine anyways, but still its like three other people living here, each vying for their own portion of wall space," he grins, "I've replicated several of Delann's paintings, since I can't locate any of the authentic ones, and the same thing with Tailun's medals and trophies... I don't think it would be appropriate to get in contact with his wife about those," he shrugs, "Janzon has had the biggest influence in my remodeling though. I've located several artifacts which she was researching before she passed away, and had them brought here, couldn't get a lot of them, but a few will do." He shrugs, "She had a few books transferred here with her that I've gotten as well, some of them are rather interesting, several notebooks of hers as well." He sighs, glancing down at one of the books, "Computer, end log."

<The image blinks out abrubtly.>

Golden

Right of Privilege

Tue Nov 12

The image of the Federation Emblem clears and reveals Dylan Golden, in uniform, apparently in the training room of S419.

"Personal Log: Stardate 52774.9. I just had a most disturbing encounter with the manager of the Dream Factory, Ms Isole Arnan. Sitting here and trying to sort out my feelings regarding what happened as well as trying to see if there is some validity in what she said. After all, in critical thinking at the Academy, this was an exercise stressed as being important and I have often found it to be so. Starting with the facts - I entered the holodeck to ask something of Mister Takamura who was therein; it was about something I couldn't discuss over an open com and would have a quick answer either way. Now, she states I should have chimed before entering - a worthy point of consideration, and certainly I would normally have apologized for interrupting or for the inconvenience as I usually do - but it was duty hours for two of the people inside and they were on their scheduled work out period; people who work for me - and I was in uniform there on business AND more importantly Ms Arnan and Ensign Malloy were in the middle of a hand to hand combat match so addressing them would have been more rude. My intention was to ask my question of Takamura and leave as I was expected elsewhere shortly there after. Unfortunately - the match ended before I could complete my business and Ms Arnan immediately took the opportunity to make an insulting comment about my manners and my lack of chiming before entering."

"This I found confusing, I had never to my understanding ever been rude to her, or treated her with anything other than professional manners even when she had from the moment I met her been overly familiar and abrasive, even at times abusive. Still, I didn't want to cow to her tyrannical behavior nor dismiss her sentiment so I outlined my reasons for being present and my previous interactions with her and my intentions from that point; to which she became even more hostile and abusive calling me names and slandering my character. In this tirade she made comments about my "right of entitlement" - this is what concerns me and has made me stop to consider her perceptions. In the Fed Standard Legal Dictionary a Right is defined as follows "Right 1) n. an entitlement to something, whether to concepts like justice and due process or to ownership of property or some interest in property, real or personal. These rights include: various freedoms; protection against interference with enjoyment of life and property; civil rights enjoyed by citizens such as voting and access to the courts; natural rights accepted by civilized societies; human rights to protect people throughout the world from terror, torture, barbaric practices and deprivation of civil rights and profit from their labor; and such U.F.P. constitutional guarantees as the right to freedoms of speech, press, religion, assembly and petition. 2) adj. just, fair, correct."

"So I consider this in relation to her statements and my actions - she's correct of course, my entry was via a Right of Entitlement, one provided to me via my Commission in Starfleet and thus provided by the regulations governing that body and the powers of the office of the President of the Federation. Now, I checked quickly Ms Arnan's status since she claimed to not be a Federation Citizen - and it seems she is *not* a citizen by her own passport but she is considered one by assumption under the rules of citizenship of the Centauran government, meaning she could at any time claim citizenship of Alpha Centauri or the Federation but has not done so. This means that I have far less obligation to tolerate her actions regarding me then I would normally, she's not a citizen she is a *guest*. A rude guest at that. I wouldn't feel obligated to take such abuses from an Orion for example, or even from a Bajoran national so why shouldn't I take the steps to have her ejected from this Starfleet installation and Federation Space for that matter? Well, for one, that would be petty. Even if she is completely antagonistic, she still has the right to safety and security and this is not a good time to be anywhere on the fringes of Federation space - as more and more Starfleet assets are consumed by the war effort and drawn towards that purpose, lawlessness on the fringes grows in appearance. Besides, it's every sentient's right to be a complete curmudgeon of they desire - just like it's my right to not be around such a person or take abuse from them. What perhaps Ms Arnan doesn't understand is that this Station is not under the auspices of the Federation Commerce Bureau, but under the auspices of the Chief of Fleet Operations of the joint chiefs of Starfleet. We don't *need* any civilians on this station but we enjoy having them around. We have technicians and engineers who could run the Holosuites just like we have them do on Starships, so, the virtue of her pursuit of serving the public is actually a *privilege* we give her so she can contribute meaningfully to the lives of those residing here and by that virtue the Federation."

"She's an intelligent women, she has to realize this - so then why does she deliberately seek to provoke Starfleet personnel when she knows that we could have her removed from the area with a simple filing of complaint either to Commander Balin or to the Centauri Commerce Authority? Perhaps she *wants* to be kicked off the station to justify her own self fulfilling prophecy about how we seek to mistreat her? Perhaps she craves an excuse to live outside the bounds of the civilized laws of the Federation? Perhaps she has been hurt, and not knowing how to deal with this hurt she just spreads it around like an infection. That she has issues is obvious to anyone - this is a woman who desperately needs a visit with the Counselor on a regular basis. I mean, just her habit of punching people alone is indicative, and her delight in saying spiteful and unsavory things to anyone at any time with no concern on how they might feel is a clear statement that she has socialization problems." (cont)

Golden

Right of Privilege II

Tue Nov 12

(cont)

"On this station I have seen what I feel is an uncharacteristic ambivalence towards Starfleet personnel, so Ms Arnan is not alone in some of her sentiments - but for the life of me I don't get it. If they don't like us, why don't they leave? This is a Starfleet operation, if they don't like Starfleet they have the opportunity to go and seek a fulfilling life elsewhere. It's not like we want to come across as holier than though or that we are better than anyone else - though the fact remains that in a society where personal achievement and satisfaction in career of choice is the benchmark just getting into the Academy puts one ahead of the game let alone graduating and being entrusted with the responsibilities of a Commission. That we are being called to live up to that trust and fight and unrelenting foe that seeks to enslave our collective area of space should be proof to the civilian that we are not just a bunch of peacocks strutting about trying to say how important we are. Is it that we don't seem to value the civilians living amongst as much? They may think that, but from our perspective it is the civilians rights to live and prosper that we are in fact dying for. With our training and natural talent we could certainly strike off on our own and try to make a place for ourselves beyond the reaches of our space. The Federation offers up the cream of it's worlds to stand and protect the rest - and to be the vanguards of new contact with our neighbors and to uphold the very principals that the Federation is founded on. From the time I was old enough to talk I was being taught this principal of service, I don't expect accolades or deference because that isn't what I joined for - but I do expect to be treated with at least basic decency and respect that any person would desire."

"So then, faced with Ms Arnan's clear need for help, for healing, for something - what do I do? Where does my responsibility begin and end? With her actions and words she makes it clear that she doesn't *want* support of any nature from me beyond allowing her to use me as a punching bag. She knows that we have a code of behavior to follow that prevents us from giving to her as she gives out - and so delights in throwing abuses at us; she is in fact a bully. Surly, foul mouthed, abusive and actually mean spirited -- yes she is also talented, technically skilled and physically attractive. No one is summed up in one word or phrase - just as I am not "Piggy" she is not another animal reference with a double meaning. My heart says that I should try to turn the other cheek, fight through her hostile walls and try to help her heal so she can be a person that others actually want to be around without having to compromise their own beliefs and credos to avoid her abuses. My head says, she's not my problem - she's a grown woman and responsible for her own behavior and should be held accountable. Starfleet guidelines say she is a civilian so she should be dealt with by the Counselor on the station as it is there role to "supervise" civilians aboard Starfleet installations except those working within a departmental chain of command. Politics tells me that I should have her trade consortium deal with her. Spite says I should break her and send her off to an uncertain fate."

"If only I had the freedom of a Klingon to roll with my passions on this matter, or even that of an Andorian - but then, seriously how is me bullying her or beating her down with physical superiority any better or different then her doing the same to me with her social rights and verbal batterings? In point, it is no different and I cannot allow her to influence me towards my darker impulses to meet her own. I told her I forgive her, and I must forgive her whether she wants to be forgiven or not. That she expects that I should be asking her to forgive me is a fallacy - she is not in a mental place to forgive me beyond saying the words. My opinion, she'd re-introduce any past perceived wrongs as soon as a new point of contention came up and throw them all down like a Harpy tossing feces all over again."

"Empathy, is not one of my strongest points. Sure, I can analysis social indicators and get a mental picture of a person, but empathizing is not something I'm over good at. Perhaps this is a downside of me having such a clear view of who I am, where I fit in, what I do, what my life means. I regret that I have this weakness and it will keep me from perhaps being the one that helps Ms Arnan heal into a whole person - I don't feel sorry for her, but for myself for having this inadequacy. I suppose then I must continue to endure the pain that her vitriol causes me - as well as the pains I feel by the sentiments of some of my fellow officers and other civilians on this station. I realize, I'm not exactly like many of the officers here - my role is different, my ethos is different, my mission is different -- still, different or not they are all valid and what Starfleet wants them to be, and by that virtue what the Federation expects from one trusted with my responsibilities. Perhaps Ifni is helping me out, by having me attacked constantly if by different people it makes me pause to consider enough to not fall to hubris while at the same time allowing self evaluation to keep my focus keen and commitment full. In the end all this talk has achieved very little beyond highlighting the issue for me; but a pitfall marked is one perhaps avoided. Computer, End Log, Save."

The image shows him leaning back with a thoughtful expression, the returns to the Federation emblem.

Havaris

A Sort of Homecoming

Wed Nov 13

The UFP Ensignia fades, revealing Kusto once more in the quarters of Medes, dressed in a tank top and a pair of sweats. With a tan. A really, really nice tan.

"Leave was so excellent that I didn't even think to gush about it in a personal log until now. We swam a lot -- Alethea loves to swim -- and I spent a good deal of time stretched out on the deck, enjoying the sunlight. Dulcais is a beautiful planet. The weather was, mostly, cooperative. Really, I couldn't have asked for a more perfect bit of leave."

"Alethea's birthday fell on our last days of leave. I made her dinner, a little romantic bit with wine and a present and such. She said it was /perfect/, which just thrilled me more than I can possibly say." Kusto's grin gets absolutely boyish. Bweehee! "After dinner, she handed me this little jewelry box. It had a bracelet in it. Now, admittedly, it's unlike any pledge bracelet I've ever seen, but I think that was her point. The average pledge bracelet is a touch unwieldy. And, anyhow, she's not Bajoran. Fact is, it's a bracelet, and I'm giddy to be wearing it."

Kusto lifts his wrist, displaying a silver bracelet, appearing much like woven ropes, though highly flexible and interlocked. "She put a lot of thought into this." He rubs his wrist lightly, dropping it back to his lap. "It's... really beautiful. In its own right. For being what it is. I didn't have the heart to tell her it wasn't like any I'd ever seen before, and anyhow, it doesn't matter. There's no ear piece like hers on Bajor, either." Biiiiig, besotted sigh here.

"I'm back. The compin returns to its place on my chest, nevermore to be turned off. We're okay with that, I think. We said a lot and did a lot over our leave that put a lot of things into place. I'm going to pack up the betrothal bracelet that Umanah gave me and have it sent to her post. I don't really know why I was keeping it. I think... I think I just like hanging on to painful memories, more than I like hanging on to the happy ones. I don't know if I should tell Medes that I still had it -- she'd seen it. Once. Before she knew what it was. She'd seen me pack it up and hide it away. She might think that it was me holding on to hope. Or... or that I wasn't being one-hundred-percent with this whole thing all of this time. But she deserves to know."

Lifting his brows, Kusto lets out a long, self-regulating sort of sigh.

"Anyway. I'm back. Job to do. Time to get into uniform, get out there and do it. Computer, end log and save."

The UFP Ensignia fades back into place.

Haven

One Day

Wed Nov 13

Haven's personal logs seems to just pick up in the middle of the conversation, as if the recording where interrupted only she didn't realize it, maybe because she's talking and not paying attention to the device.

"....and I find her hanging out in her room, in zero gravity. /Not/ exactly what I had in mind when telling her to staff off her feet but even I have to admit, it was inventive. In the long run, we talked.. for a long time and I feel better for getting it off my chest and in the end, she forgave me. He heart is so big.. her capacity to love is huge.. Michael's a lucky man and /I/ am a lucky woman to have her as my best friend." A soft sigh as she's trailing a finger over the picture of her and Bela, laughing.

"I've talked to everyone on my list other then.. Gorgha, Aaron, Charli... " A sigh " ..and Kusto. Gorgha I know loves me enough to forgive me and I'm hoping Aaron still does. As for Charli, well, she and I said some pretty harsh things to each other but she was right about one thing. If I had left.. Bela's daughter would have died because I wasn't here to ///do my job, my duty///. Then there is Kusto..my dear friend, Kusto. I know he's back but I'm scared to face him. He's so important in my life and I know that I've really screwed up with him too. He /keeps/ me centered, usually but damn it, he /has/ to understand that I can't and won't always be the good little soldier the thinks I should be. I'm going to make mistakes and hopefully, as time goes by, I'll make fewer but he either stands with me... or he doesn't. I'm not /always/ wrong, you know? Granted, I'm not always right.. but I'm not always wrong either.. I guess it boils down to Faith. Mine in him and his in me. Every time he flashes that disappointed look at me, I die inside. Of all the people on this station, /he/ should know that I'm playing catch-up with my emotional growth. Bela understands it so why can't he?" She sighs and shakes her head, jabbing at the pillow in her lap with one long finger. "Now he's going to know I was in the brig and he's going to just totally turn away from me.. but I still need to apologize, whether he accepts it or not. It's the right thing to do." She emits a little grunt when Kutter jumps up on her lap. Her fingers trail through the thick fur as she says, "No more feeling sorry for myself. No more childish thoughts and ideas. No more thinking of me instead of others. It stops /NOW/.... So, is it too much to ask to just have one day.. /One Day/ where everything in my life goes right? One day so I can get myself on solid footing and take a deep breath? Prophets, I hope it's not. I just want ONE DAY where the people I care about aren't disappointed in me.. or mad at me.. or are just /happy/ in general. Just one day....."

The recording is interrupted again but this time, it doesn't pick back up.

Rancion

Confusion All Day.

Wed Nov 13

On the screen stands the UFP insignia on a black background, slowly it fades away revealing Josh Rancion sitting before it wearing a black tank top, his muscular shoulders bare. "Personal Log, Josh Rancion, Stardate 52777.4."
"Yesterday was a total amount of confusion at least for me. I was going to the Dream Factory to give Isole, the limitations for program settings that my therapist /ordered/ me to give her, if I exceed them she was to pull the plug. So being the good little patient I am, I headed down there." Josh shifts position in his chair slightly, his left hand comes into view holding a glass of water. "What do I see when I show up there, Gwen and Isole going at it, /again/!" he shakes his head then takes a drink from the glass. "It just got to much, I like them both, to much for them to be fighting, so I asked them to stop it. Isole cooled down, she still told Gwen how she felt but a bit more civil manner than her words in the Zone, Gwen cooled to and did the same, but getting her to admit it, Bah ain't going to happen."He begins to look a bit uncomfortable now, "But the worked it out, with no bloodshed, not even a shout, looks like they might become pretty good friends now, however it means that I will have to people watching out for me, not that I mind." Turning his head he looks into another part of the room for a moment, then turns back to the camera. "Heather showed up at the tail end of it. And I had to go thru the entire incident from the beginning, so that she understood."
A far away happy look comes to his face as his eyes seem to be looking miles in the distance, or maybe in the future "Heather and I had dinner again last night, Hawaiian Food. We are getting closer, she pulled out a chair for me, I touched her hand and it was like I didn't want to break the contact," a sigh comes from his lips, "Her skin is so soft.."trailing off he just sits there for a few moments just staring off to nowhere, a pleasant smile on his face, Finally he comes back to reality. "I think things are getting serious between us both, I think it is a good thing, and I am sure that she thinks the same thing."
Taking another drink of water he smiles somewhat sourly, "The only bad part of our time together was Lt Surek showing up, at /just/ the wrong time. I answered the door com when he came a calling, Heather said something about not being used to it, but that damned eyebrow shot up like he thought something else was going on." the lines on Josh's forehead deepen as he frowns, "as if it is really any of his concern, both Heather and I are legal, consenting adults, and neither of us were shirking our jobs. What we do is our own business! Anyway I met him two days ago and told him then that I was on Medical leave, but he comes in asking if I had run into anything on my patrol of the station yesterday. I know people forget things...and I can really understand that, but he could of looked at the duty roster to see who was on yesterday, but noo he comes to me and asks /me/ like I would know. Lt. Haven put me on medical leave, and quite bluntly told me if I stepped into the Station Security office that she would nail my butt to the door.." shaking his head slightly Josh continues." If he comes to me again about it, and has forgotten again I am going to contact Lt. Park or Lt. Haven and let them know about it."
"I also talked with Nevaren last night, told him about Gwen and Isole talking. He seemed happy that things between them got worked out. I told him that something was bothering Isole, and that might be the reason she is so snippy with some people. I guess I can understand his response, both he and I have some serious issues with our past. It's just that I don't know if he has had to help anyone else other than those close to him thru their problems. I run into it a lot in my line of work, not only that it is a part of the training that goes into investigation, it gives us hints to the possible why some one is doing something, and make them easier to catch. The method also helps when friends and family are hurting, at least being able to pick up on it, and maybe offer some help. I like Isole, and I can't stand to watch people hurt, not if I can help, either thru doing it myself or getting them the help they might need if I can't help personally. She gets a lot of my respect, far away from home, and she is tough, don't get me wrong she has a tender side, I've seen it, but the tough exterior covers it like armor."
"Only problem with armor is that while it does protect some things can get thru it and when they hit they hurt a lot." Josh looks a bit concerned now, "she almost opened up to me the night before last but something stopped her, I wonder if it has to do with certain regrets she has that are linked to her home. Either way, I am going to be there for her if she wants the help then I will give it to her, if she just wants the support I will giver her that to, she is my friend and I am there for my friends, I guess that about covers it Computer End log."
The picture of Josh freezes for a moment and then begins to derezz being replaced by the black background with the Star Fleet insignia standing out plainly and proudly.

Ryan

What Happened?

Thu Nov 14

The computer screen slowly fades from the UFP logo to reveal Heather Ryan sitting at the terminal. Auburn hair sweeps low over her brow, the strands almost indistinguishable from the red corners in her eyes. Blinking with a green hue is the time stamp Stardate: 52779.8 An anguished voice begins,"first log of Heather Ryan "Mom," she blinks, "I think I did it this time." She settles back in her chair pushing aside a few stray hairs. Starting again more slowly in measured tones. "Mom the research is going well though I have no idea how long it will take." She reaches for her coffee takes a sip then another then another. Leaning forward she shifts nervously in her seat. "I uh," a pause grasping for words,"I er well there is just one minor glitch, it's nothing really." She again fingers her hair glancing around the room more to stall than anything else. "I almost forgot to tell you I met this guy the other night." She stands,walks around the room takes a deep breath then sits down. "I had him over for dinner," she blinks, "it was perfectly harmless. "He is an Ensign and we were talking when another officer arrived. A vulcan officer,named Surek. He really seemed like a nice guy." Her eyes widen, "he gave me this look. I felt like it was disapproval as if Ensign Rancion and I were doing something wrong. He turned on his heels leaving abruptly." Again she slumps in her chair, "it bothers me he may have the wrong idea." She finishes her coffee. "I should be getting back to work I just wanted to let you know all is well. The people here are great and were treating me well." She narrows her eyes drawing upon a more serious tone. "Did I tell you his name was Josh?" She smiles, "Josh Rancion, I have known him for two weeks and just last night he asked me to marry him." Eyes narrowing, Heather grits her teeth, "I said yes." The screen fades a voice over reports, "end transmission" Heather spins her chair full circle as she looks skyward to a drab ceiling. "Girl you have been here two weeks alienated his friends raising questions about your sanity." She spins around slowly, "I am toast!"

Niel

Ups and Downs

Fri Nov 15

Niel's voice can be heard in the background, though no picture is seen. "Why can't I just learn to keep my big mouth shut?" A sigh can be heard, "Let's see, where should I start. How about my date with Rebecca." A pause, "Well, I managed to break the entire tone of the date by saying to her that if she didn't like what I had planned for her, she should just go back and erase that it happened." Another sigh, "Though that wasn't the problem. The joke was fine, it's the fact that I said it in Public... apparently I'm somewhat privy to privelaged information in that she does what she does. I just have to remember that. Now, later that night I made LonLon mad again... but I swear I've been getting good at that. I just said the wrong thing to her, but I wasn't meaning it as anything bad.... Now today I have no idea what I did to piss Isole off. All I know is I went down there to check on the program she was working on for me, and to have a few surprises added to it, but I noticed the guy who I had met yesterday, practically attempting to gamble the girls' bodies for his own pleasures in a pool game that he was winning by far. Some starfleet officer he is. I was gonna call Isole and talk to her last night, but I thought she might still be in his quarters, but I checked for where he was, and he was in hers. Same thing when I woke up this morning to try and talk to her. And guess who I ran into yet again when I went to the Dream Factory? Yup, you guessed it. He was talking about them making a program for him, or them cooking him breakfast, either would have counted when I entered. Isole said he was just visiting, but it sounded like he was wanting something more. She seemed a little out of it, like she was carrying a hangover.... which if she was, not only did she decide to forsake that whole 'you shouldn't drink too much thing' she practically promised me, but I wouldn't be surprised if she slept with him as well." He sighs again, "I tried to apologize for the way I was acting when I saw him in the Dream Factory again, but Isole just yelled at me and said that I was right all along when I said I thought I was disturbing. So much for friendship... she was so helpful in the time after my parents died, but I guess she's moved on to somebody else now.... Let's see, what else... oh, Heather came by, told me of her engagement to Josh. She almost seemed to be seeking my approval, but it's not really my place to approve of who she chooses to be with. She apparently seemed more concerned cause she thought that I might have been interested in her, and with Josh's never leaving her presence... much like in the same way this ensign isn't leaving Isole's... that she may not have given us a chance to be. I'm okay with that since I'm kinda trying to see where things go with Rebecca." He pauses, and his voice seems a little more chipper as he continues, "Of all the friends that I've had, and then lost for some dumb reason, Rebecca's been there the entire time. She was there even as far back as Dade, she was there during Wendy, and now she's still here. She was right though that night when she plain out confronted me and asked when I was going to ask her out. It was something I should have done before, but it doesn't matter now. I did, and we went out, even though she had to cut it short... got called up to the ward room.... But I feel there's so much she wants to tell me, but she can't. I do feel sorry for her in those regards, but even if we're only ever friends, that's what's really important." Another pause, "Computer, end log, and encrypt with my new experimental encryptions.... Cryptography is fun to play around with... how about Encrypt with Niel 1, and transmit to ship." The log ends.

Devereaux

A Meal and a Paradox...

Fri Nov 15

"Personal Log of Ethan Matthew Devereaux, Stardate 25778.9." the voice is that of a deep tone, but rather calm if not slightly jubilant. "Lets see... where to begin..." a moments pause or two runs flittering past before he continues with a slight chuckle, "Ah yes, things _not_ to do. Number one, attempting to cook." Though not seen, a large grin befalls his face, though it's so large it can practically be heard, "So I thought I would try this whole cooking thing out, and of course in my infinite brilliance, I thought I could accomplish it in my duty uniform of all things as well." Another pause or two, and some ruffling as well, "Who would have figured it'd would have been so complex? I mean seriously, I had a dataPADD with all the ingredients and instructions as well." Some 'running' water can be heard, and well, then a 'flushing' of water as well before he continues, "Luckily, it was all holographic, so I have no worries about the uniform, and especially none about the mess... and that includes the fire damage." The whirling of a replicator can be heard in the background, materializing some object or another. The clinking sound of metal upon ceramics can then be heard, and a faint chuckle, "And to think... all I really wanted was some oatmeal anyways." Now the words come out slightly muffled, obviously the Ensign not really caring if anyone can't understand his voice while food also occupies his mouth, "So, where was I... Oh Yes - Earlier today I had a briefing with Lieutenant junior grade Dylan Gold - " his voice is cut off by another, "All Rapid Response Team Personnel, report to the Ward Room." And once again we are returned to our regularly scheduled voice with the mightiest of words... "End Log."

"Resume Log." The voice is far different now... confused... baffled... lost. "Well... that was certainly an interesting briefing." His voice still deep, still commanding, but the knowledge of what to say next is apparently lost within him, "I must have slept through any temporal mechanics courses I had been tricked into taking, because I'm sure a good portion of that meeting flew right past me. About the only information I really absorbed were the objectives of the mission, yet, everyone else seemed to understand the whole paradoxical nature of the events that would go down." And unseen shrug, but a heard sigh breaks his words, "It's like an enigma, wrapped up in a puzzle, contained in one of those weird cube things with the different coloured blocks that turn and twist..." another pause, "Anyways... I need to get some sleep. End Log."

Magret

Respect

Sat Nov 16

The log opens with Magret leaned back against the headboard in her and Isole's shared sleeping space, a set of headphones keeping her hair back from her face. She speaks sort of absentmindedly in Centauran while debugging code.

"I can hear the rumors now. In fact, I've already heard one of them. It kinda makes me laugh, you know?" Magret's shrug is loose and bored. "Yep, we played pool with Ensign Christian Harker. Another Ensign was there, but left. Harker can throw down innuendo with the best of them, and, hell, innuendo is like a championship sport where we come from, so it was all flying fast and furious. At the end of it, we'd bet him "private drinks in his quarters" for the fact that he'd won. And he did. Is spent a lot of time at his place -- I got called away -- and then we ended up back at our place. Well. I mean, technically her place, but our place. Mine is just a place to store stuff."

"So anyway, lots of long conversations happened, mostly centering around the fact that the guy's a junkie. He and Is were pretty drunk by then." This apparently merits a shrug and nothing more. "And, you know, there's only so far I'm going to go in fighting those rumors. Such as probably not much at all. After all, it's gotta be great for his swagger quotient to be able to brag that his first night aboard he slept with two Centauran women. Slept with being the operative phrase. Yeah, maybe I would have made an exception to my 'I really don't prefer guys' rule ; he's really cute. But he just wanted... to hang. To talk. He actually cared about what we were doing, about my programs; he's suggested some solutions to the urban assault program I'm struggling with. And frankly, he's won a hell of a lot more of my respect than anybody else on the station just by dint of the fact that he curled up between my girlfriend and I and /went to sleep,/ much less the fact that he seems to be one of the very very few Fleeters who actually cares what the hell /I/ have to say. Most other people? I'm just the Centauran who doesn't speak Fed Standard." Snicker. "Fine by me. Only the really good ones will get my attention. It's like having a jerk filter built right in."

"Oh, and I've met the Klingon Ambassador." Snort. "Potency issues much? 'Swagger swagger swagger thunk, let me set this here on the counter so that you can't mistake it. Have I mentioned the size of it? Yes yes, it's /quite/ large. It is weighty, and pendulous, let me prove it by staring down a holoprogrammer.'" Snort again. "Hey, good work, there. You've definitely proven your potency, buddy."

"Speaking of genitalia and their impressiveness... at least Poole and Isole have figured out their differences. Which. Is good. Because I really didn't fancy getting stuck between the two of them again. I'm only playing a part, and so is Isole, doing things to save face, and that's tiring."

"Last, but definitely not least, I swear if I have to put up with Niel Haven's passive-aggressiveness again I'm going to throw something heavy at his head. I like the guy when he's not acting the way he did today, but /damn./ Hello, Niel Haven, your shipment of clue has come in, please report to the shuttle bay to pick it up. ISOLE HAS A GIRLFRIEND. Where have you been? Harker was at the Dream Factory when he came in; threatened much? Like acting like he did is going to get him anywhere, as if he had a chance for what he wants anyway? Yeah, okay. And to think, I was /going/ to spend the time trying to teach him Centauran."

"Computer, end log and save." The display blinks back to the CTC logo.

Isole

Personal Log 1 of 2

Sat Nov 16

The logo of the CTC fades out to reveal Isole sprawled out on her back in the bunk beside a sleeping Magret who happens to be sleeping in the opposite direction, a fact that doesn't seem to trouble Isole much. (Nor her infrequent snorey noises.) Her voice is soft, naturally, but she's got the manner of the preoccupied. A reason for her being a wake at such an advanced hour.

"Eventful week. Poole and I sort of kind of made up, sort of. We came to an understanding, anyhow. I no longer desire to rip her face off or stick metal objects under her fingernails. She said she was sorry for offending me. I apologized for over-reacting. We played like big girls in this big old sandbox. Mag's was proud of me." Isole shifts a foot to poke Magret's nose with her toe. Ha.

"We met this guy. Christian Harker. Mission Ops guy. Ensign. He's got that slimey sort of... not nice vibe at first. He plays us at pool, wants to make a bet with us. I explain there's no point putting money on it. Might as well make it interesting. So he wants drinks with us in private. We want him to strop down to his tank and skivvies and dance on the bar while singing the song of our choice. Frankly, I think he could use to sing 'It's Raining Men'. But that's just me. Anyhow. We're down three balls. I close the gap to two, and he closes out the eight. He wins. Oh. And Niel was there. This will become important later."

"So, what the hell? We go on up. Chat for a bit, have a few drinks. Magret has to back out to handle something in Deck One. That power relay we had replaced is acting up again. Making me wonder if it isn't something else. Anyhow. Sidetracked. We're up there, chatting about this and that, and suddenly we're talking about the Hernes. About how I was raised, and what I thought and felt about stuff, and how my life was influenced... on and on. Chris is the first 'Fleeter apart from Morgan to bother asking me -anything- about where I came from in more than a passing fashion. We analyzed my culture, talked about his a bit. Talked about what I wanted to do with my life. My 'greater goal', all of that ethical crap. Then he asks me in a round about way if I know any narcotic dealers."

"I'm thinking... Jub could probably find something. Not that a referral from Isole Arnan is going to get you anything but beaten where Jub is concerned. And Lux, probably. But both don't give a bolt about anyone but themselves. Not who I'd want getting me /my/ fix. I say, hey, maybe I can get you a medical replicator and we can work out a way to wean you off what you're after. You know. Subtly prod him into treatment. Turns out, he's been clean for eight months. In treatment and everything. Mags rang up to get access to the deck, and I'm thinking... this guy shouldn't be left alone wanting a fix and drunk. So I invite him down to our deck."

Isole

Personal Log 2 of 2

Sat Nov 16

"Magret gets some chat time in, since she didn't have the chance, and I eventually get back to the drug issue. He sees it our way. About not being willing to get him a contact, about not ruining what he's got going. It's hard, though. I thought it was hard on him anyhow. So we tell him just to crash out with us. That we'd set his alarm, get him to his shift on time, and help him meet with Mira or someone. Get the ball rolling for his treatment here. He passes out, Mags and I follow suit, morning rolls around... there's breakfast, coffee, conversation. Wake up hungover between two Centauran traders and see what runs through /your/ mind, you know? Everything's cool, though. He showers up, heads out, gets to work... Cool."

"He comes to the Factory later to see us, check on Mag's program -- he's going to be a great source of strategic and tactical know how for Starfleet's contract simulations -- and just generally make good on the 'thanks for the place to crash, no I'm not weirded out' thing. And to ask me to walk him to the counselor's office. Great, you know? More than happy to. Introduce him to Mira and all that. Well. In walks Haven. All mumbly and evasive. 'Niel?' Mumble. 'Y'alright?' Mumble I'll go mumble. 'Do we need to talk?' Mumble I came to see about my program mumble. 'Here's what we need to do, what more do you want done?' Mumble you have a customer mumble. 'No. He's just visiting. What do you need done?' Mumble I'll just go mumble. Whatever. I don't have patience for that kind of crap. Half the station already assumes I'm sleeping with the other half, let him assume I'm screwing Harker. It's easier than wasting my time explaining the truth."

"And if /that's/ not bad enough? He jogs up to us on our way to the counselor's office to apologize to me. I tell him I just don't have time for his moodswings. And that we're busy. Ya mind? He makes one of his little underhanded 'I guess I was right' sort of comments and I just agree with him. Yeah, Niel. You're right about everything. Bye. Go away. So much for friendship, he says. I'd say I'm no longer in school, but I was never /in/ school, and when I was young enough to be even I didn't pull crap like that. So, yeah, I helped my new junkie buddy get an apointment with counseling and apparently managed to chase off Niel. Whatever. The way this week's gone, if I run out of friends, I can just win another one at pool. By losing. Hopefully they'll all be that snuggly."

She smacks the log off with her hand, returning the logo of the CTC.

Bela

A letter to Papa

Sat Nov 16

"Dear Papa," the Orion woman begins.

Bela, bloated in her final six weeks of pregnancy, appears upside down in the camera. The Orion woman hangs in the air, the gravity in her bedroom nullified. Her long black hair splays out in every direction like she's some twisted green medusa.

"I rather enjoy this. I've escaped orders to stay in bed by cutting the gravity in the room. 45 minutes of every hour being confined to bed rest was really problematic. My doctor said as long as I'm careful, she doesn't mind if I do this." A toe taps against the ceiling and she expertly jets across the camera's field of view before she twists back around to being right-side-up and bouncing her back side on the bed. "Careful? Zero-G is my second home. Doing this reminds of when we'd play at the zero-G gym when I was just a kid. I wish Michael would let me keep our whole quarters like this permanently. Haley hates it. She darted through the door when I accidentally tripped the sensor, then proceeded to flail in the air as she sailed across the room, her fur standing on end, her paws splayed out and her tail standing ramrod straight. She let out a screech that would curdle your blood. That cat isn't very bright sometimes." She does a somersault in place.

"Loni is throwing me a baby shower. I wish you could be here for it, Papa. But I understand that you're busy, with that happened on Earth recently. Heck, you're probably on your way to Alpha Centauri now."

"In any event, I love you, I hope this letter finds you safe. Your grand-daughter loves you too." She blows a kiss to the camera and gives it a wide smile before it blinks off.

Lothir

A Simple Disultory Philippic

Sat Nov 16

Lothir Baltan appears on the visual, dressed in a thick burgundy chenille robe that nearly screams 'expensive'. The surroundings visibly in his quarters seem to continue the faade like the trappings of a medieval lord, but the massive trill is where the illusion stops. He's unshaven, his raven hair dreadfully tousled, and has black rings beneath both eyes. What purely completes the picture, however, is the fearsome, twisted scowl that twists his handsome features into an angry sneer.

"Nothing's going like it should be, and I have only myself to blame. It seems the whole galaxy has always been letting Lothir down, until now.. Where it's just himself." He laughs, flicking as derisive finger at the screen. "I keep telling myself it's not because I let her go. That I'm just fine without one silly little slavegirl. But she was my confidante. She listened, and maybe I was a fool to delude myself into thinking that towards the end, she wanted to be there with me." He pauses to take a sip of some (again, expensive) looking brandy. "But the one nice thing I ever did for anyone bit me on the ass. I let her go, gave her enough money that she'd never have to work a day in her life, and wished her well. Maybe it made me lose my edge. Maybe I keep looking over my shoulder wishing she'd show up, of her own free will. But you know what they say." He pauses, then elaborates. "If you love something, let it go. If it doesn't come back, hunt it down and kill it. Although, I'm not going to try and find her to pull her back. It was wishful thinking." He stands and begins to pace, agitated.

" I got so fried last night that it's made me talkative. Ah, but heavens forbid that anyone do anything /illegal/ on a shining bastion of a feddy station. Oh, heavens no. We're all good squeaky scouts. We keep our noses clean and our peckers cleaner." He turns to hurl the glass at a wall, with a snarl, shattering the fine crystal. "If they knew what went on under the surface.. Their brains would pop. No warning, just spontaneous blood vessel combustion for trying to even grasp it. I wonder a bit if I would've been okay sticking with where I was. I had a good gig going. I didn't have to pretend to be some candy-ass. But I was never content to stay where I was. I'll find a way to make this work. It'll just take a little more footwork than I've had to do in a while. I got complacent. I can't afford to do that anymore. "

Stopping, he seats himself again, soothing his hair down in a sudden calm. "I have an assignment. A tricky, possibly impossible one. A test. One they probably knew would strike right to the core. It might take me a while, but I'll manage. What's driving me up the wall right now is my eyes. My own damn eyes. They didn't have to start getting worse when I was in home ground and could get any good old hippocratic oath reject to fix it up. No, it had to do it under the eyes of feddy doctors. Damn retinax allergy. They've got fixes, sure.. But fixes that'll let them see half the shit floating around in my bloodstream. Half of my 'hobbies' haven't even become well known in feddy space and I want to keep it that way. So it's stress headaches for me. So ironic."

He manages to pull off a good brooding glare in spite of his dangerous state, hands folded before him. "I need some action. I can't afford any that'll compromise me for the sake of sheer sport, but I'm sure I can find something if an opportunity comes up. If nothing else, just to keep my ass from snapping and slapping around that pale bitch. Isole Arnan, the magnifique, who just knows everyone in the universe wants a piece of her damn pie. One of these days I'm going to confirm her fear that everyone is out expressly to screw her over. Not because it's my job, since she's not my problem.. No, just good old poetic justice, proving you get what you ask for."

He pauses, watching the screen for a long moment, then smirking. "Computer, delete recording. Purge buffer."

Haven

A cry for help

Sun Nov 17

The recording begins with Loni sitting on the edge of chair, elbows propped on her knees, hands encased in boxing gloves, dangling between slightly spread legs. Her head is bend, long auburn hair dripping with sweat and hanging down to brush along the floor as she pants, trying to catch her breath.

"Momma?" she calls out, her voice filled with agony. "Momma!" she repeats, more urgency in her tone. "I need you, damn it! Where /are/ you?" Then she snorts and it's a bitter angry sound. "Oh.. That's right, you're /dead/." A long sigh follows that statement followed by several minutes of silence, which ends in soft sad laughter. "I can't even lift my arms they are so tired and weak."

She sighs and leans back in the chair; arms limp between her still spread thighs. "I don't know what to do and I really need your help. I can't talk to anyone about this.. Hell, I'm not even supposed to /know/ about it... but now I do and I don't know how to handle it. This is a ///child's/// life we are talking about.. How do I walk away and still look at myself everyday? A. Child. Momma... He told me.. Only dramatic genetic alteration will save her and we all know how the Federation feels about /that/. So now you see my problem. Basically I have to /sit/ here, my hands tied, and do /nothing/ and somewhere along the lines, I still have to go on. Still do my job."

"Starfleet tells you you'll face death.. You'll lose patients, you'll kill people, you'll watch them die and you'll have to deal with it... But they don't tell you /how/ to deal with it..."

Another sigh and she shakes her head. "I can't find my center.. My happy place.. That space where I can go and feel peace. I beginning to think that the Prophets have left me.. Grown impatient with my slow progress but I'm trying. I really am.. I just can't catch my breath. I can't make peace with my 'friends' because I can't make peace with myself. I need help but I've burned all my bridges. I know Ty and Gorgha and Niel love me but I can't dump on them. I can't even bring myself to talk to Kusto. I'm not feeling sorry for myself; I just honestly don't know what to do. I've /never/ lost a patient before.. I never had someone I wanted to help but I /couldn't/. I'm a /DOCTOR/ damn it.. I'm supposed to /HELP/ people... and I can't help her."

She finally rises and begins the long process of removing the gloves and wrappings. "Proph... " a sigh "I love you, Momma and damn I wish you where here..."

With that, the recording emds.

Turtledove

Why it doesn't matter

Sun Nov 17

The UFP logo appears, fades out, and reveals Ensign Turtledove in her quarters. Her tunic is off, her face glowing with recent exertion, her eyes bright and clear. She is standing by the viewport, looking out at the twinkling lights of the stars outside. There is a glass of water in her hand.

"Personal log, Ensign Tera Turtledove, Stardate 52787.2." She doesn't move from the viewport, nor does she look at the recorder.

"I'm not afraid. But I find myself anticipating this objective with less enthusiam than I'm accustomed." Her mouth twists slightly on the visible portion of her profile. Her voice shifts in tone, her words spoken with a low sincerity.

"It's not that I can't handle the guilt, not at all. There is no guilt. Absolutely none." She pauses, her mouth tightening. She takes a sip of water. "It's Wendy. And Tak. And Malloy." She pauses, her eyebrows knitting quietly. "It's strange. I want to extract or neutralize it for them." She smiles quietly, perhaps realizing that her wording is somewhat cryptic.

"Wendy." She shakes her head slightly. "I'm no philosopher. I just couldn't explain it to her, not without seeming like a complete... monster, I'm sure. And on a side note, I'm not sure why that affects me so... much." She sighs quietly, lowering her glass, her voice taking on a quiet intensity, still watching the stars.

"I just. Have no reason to feel guilt. No reason to doubt. We are Starfleet. We are working for the greater good. To protect the UFP. To protect Starfleet." Her eyes shine with bright sincerity. There is no doubt in her mind, nothing that could shake that belief, it seems. "I am a piece of the machine, a part of the process that keeps the UFP going. I need to keep the UFP going. Because. There is nothing better. Nothing better." She pauses, her face rigidly thoughtful, her eyes shining with the quiet faith and solemnity of a true believer.

She continues to regard the stars, watching them sparkle vaguely for a moment before saying, "Computer, end log and erase."

Harker

Christian Harker, Still Breathing

Sun Nov 17

"Personal log, *Ensign* Christian Harker," The man lounging on the chair pauses here for some reason. "Stardate52787.4. This is my first official log entry since being reactivated. It's strange to be here; everything's different since. Of course, some things don't ever change."
"I had a day and a half on base before I had to go on active duty, after the trip, so I went exploring. I went down to the bar, and all of a sudden I found myself pulling the same old routine again. It started out innocent, really, trying to start some fun by getting into a pairs billiards game-they have that here, go figure-and then I was playing the game when my partner had to back out. Trying to look flashy, keep them guessing, just like the old days. Like anything's the same. At any rate, I should probably mention that I was playing against a pair of beautiful Centauran women, though I suppose that doesn't narrow down who it was too much. Suffice to say, that was probably part of the reason I thought I was getting into it in the first place. I started realizing what was going on I suppose somewhere near the end of the game, but still, I sort of encouraged them to lay down a wager on the game when I was down to the eight. They win, I had to strip down to my underwear and sing and dance on the bar. I win, they had to come up to have drinks with me in quarters."
"I won. Not such a big surprise. Of course, I found out now that I get a mention in the rumor mill around here; people think I'm copulating with the pair of them. Rather ironic, that, really. If only they knew. They say that's still part of withdrawal. We'll see. But. I ended up spending about an hour and half with Isole, one of the pair, going through most of a bottle of cardner and just talking. Magret, the other one, gets called down to the mall, so it's just me and Isole. And then I get drunk, and I start thinking that what I really need... what I really want, is a tab. So I ask her, because she's a civvie, if she knows anyone who could hook me up." A pause, and then ensign closes his eyes to sigh. "Eight months; it doesn't go away. Ever. But it turns out I screwed up and asked the right person."
"She invited me down; they made it pretty clear what it was about and what it wasn't; that was fine with me, really. I could almost pretend I was a hotshot ensign looking to score again, almost. Not that I really want to go back there and repeat all the same mistakes, but it was nice to pretend that was why. So I slept in their bed... two mostly naked Centaurans, one on either side. And yeah, I thought about it. But, for the first time, I felt satisfied with something like that. Maybe it's the ah... logistical problem. Or maybe not."
"I had my physical the next day; the medic tells me I need to eat more. Thanks for the tip. Like I don't already have to force myself not to vomit up anything I put down. I told him I'd do my best. We'll see how it goes. Before I could report to duty, though, there was a yellow alert situation, and rather than just sit around I went up to Operations to make myself useful. I was in luck, really, because I'd met Ensign Va'tol before... so he didn't order me off of Operations deck, and instead put me to task on the Ops console. In short, finally a smart decision."
"And that was the first few days. A nice turnaround from the cruise to get out here... and some developments. I reported to the counsellor as ordered ,but I haven't heard back yet. Maybe I won't need it. I seem to have picked up two unofficials already. Ensign Christian Harker, still breathing. Easy does it. End log." The screen winks out to the UFP logo, as always.

Havaris

All are Punished

Mon Nov 18

The UFP ensignia fades revealing Havaris in his uniform, seated behind the desk of Security, looking slightly beleaguered, but still possessed of his faculties, his officerial cool, and his vaguely withdrawn aura of complacency.

"Suffering is not unique. Loss and tragedy are endemic of living. I could tell tales that would curdle milk, and others could tell tales to put mine to shame, and still others to shame those that shamed my own. And into this misery flies a seeming hope; a Rynkan and a Teirian in love. We imagined a Galaxy where love could spring from hate, where warring peoples might beat their weapons into ploughshares, trade the blood for wine, the cries for vengeance into cries of celebration. We are not the chorus removed, we are the audience swept up by the players."

"But this love and this attention, this uniqueness, this singular thing was given to two chilren too foolish to realize what it was that they had. What it was that they lacked. I'm certain that in their minds they were special. I'm certain that in their hearts they knew their course was fated for success, that no one, no thing could stand between them and the rightness of their course, despite the millions and millions who -- just like them -- were snuffed out in the summer of their lives by circumstance and convenience. To have such a gift and to squander it in folly? A worser fate, by far, than never having had it. Worse still, having seen it and having seen it wasted, feeling as though you ought to care. Feeling as though this story should somehow move you to grief rather than to sickness."

"So he is dead. So she is dead. So what, I ask you? Millions of wives without husbands, millions of husbands without wives, millions of husbands and wives no more -- and I ask you, why are these two special? Because one was Rynkan and one Teirian? Because they both were so young, so full of hope, so full of promise? I would rather counter that this only serves to hilight their stupidity. To hilight not their tragedy but their arrogance. Unique, perhaps, by race and moment, but perfectly and woefully average in measure of tragedy."

"This was not peace bought with a life, this was simply the law meted out. This was not tragedy and injustice, this was pride and vanity. Presumption and pretension. Arrogance and ambivalence. Foolishness and folly. And I, no less than them, a fool for having played such a willing witness to their depths of their disgraces."

"Let them die. Let them be buried. And if we must remark upon it, remark only that the next pair need not be so foolish and so vain. Let them recognize their frailty and let them choose, if they choose that path of defiance, to value each moment as though it were their last. Or find, as I find, their last moments without any value at all."

"Lt. JG Havaris Kusto, Asst. Chief of Security, s419 Upsilon, Dulcais. End log and save."

The UFP ensignia winks back into place amid a field of black.

Tibbs

Dear Mum..

Mon Nov 18

Tibbs appears on the screen, seated on the couch with a hora cat stretched across his lap. He's dressed in khaki pants and a navy pullover sweater, which is currently covered in cat hair. He smiles at the screen, and starts off in his brit-accented tenor.

" Dear mum and dad.. Well, this will be a little more eventful than my last letter, or for that matter, most I've sent you two. But, as with all eventful ones, I'll start off with 'There's good news, and there's bad news'."

" I'll start with the bad news first, just like you like, mum. Although this is pretty bad news. Well, the worst first is I had a heart attack, and a pretty bad one. But I'm allright now.. The medical staff on this station is tops." He pauses, then looks sheepish. "I guess our way of living isn't too unhealthy with farm work or mountain climbing, but I'm not in the field anymore. So unhealthy living finally got to me, and I'm not old enough that it should've. Well, I'm minding myself now, eating all that grass that passes for healthy food and exercising again. This old dog has learned too many tricks, I suppose."

He pauses a moment, taking a sip of the glass of milk that sits on the coffee table. "Well. Maybe not too many tricks. Seems I'm learning this whole romance thing anew. Which brings me to my /good/ news. Sit down for this one."

"I'm getting married. You heard right. I asked Loni to marry me. And believe it or not, she actually said /yes/. Can you believe it? I didn't plan to ask her.. I'd gotten off the comm with Thea after asking her advice, and she told me to feel it out. So I tried to feel it out. And ended up proposing. Which very neatly took care of that."

"I'm hoping you two will come out here when we do tie the knot, although I don't know the date yet. Since we're both officers and she has family here, it seems like the right place. There's still a lot of details, since she's half-Bajoran with some really different customs. But Well, I remember you got angry with me for buying a ring for Emily instead of using the family heirloom, so I'm asking you to send it. I want this one to last, mum. She makes me really happy.. More happy than I knew I could be. So if the rest of the universe would just shut up and let me be happy, things would be plum tops. But I think you and dad will really like her. She's younger than me, but she's wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. What she sees in me, I can't imagine. I.. I would have liked to have met her parents, but they died on Earth during the attack. I keep asking myself if I'd have proposed earlier if they wouldn't have been on their way here instead, and been safe.. But I wasn't ready then. And we can't go back, you know?" He sighs, rubbing at his whiskers again.

"Oh, mum, I know you keep nagging me about it, but try not to bring up anything about grandchildren around her, okay? She'd.. Have some problems having them, so it's entirely too soon and possibly a sore subject. I know you'll be good." He winks. "Otherwise you won't get to come to the wedding. Though it'd save the station from seeing the rattle-bang rat-trap the farm calls a shuttlecraft. I /would/ prefer if you caught a transport when you came down here just so I didn't worry myself into another coronary? Dad, I know you pride yourself on your piloting, but it's more dangerous than usual out there these days."

He pauses a moment, rubbing at his mutton-chop whiskers. "I don't know if this station makes me happy or miserable. But it'll be allright with Loni. I'll figure things out. After all, I can't just hide in my shell and run away from it, not with her. Though.. If you two have any advice on communication, I sure could use it. She has a hard job and sometimes I wish I knew the right thing to say."

Leaning back in his chair, he regards the screen for a moment of thoughtful silence. "Well, I must be doing /something/ right. Love you both bunches. Kiss kiss. Be well. Replace that old harvester before the power coils blow again, hm?"

Tahlandi

PL: Irony At It's Finest...

Wed Nov 20

"Personal Log, Stardate 52793.5."

Fade into a shot of Lieutenant Tahlandi in her quarters, lounging on the couch. She is in uniform, with her hair tied back off her shoulders, although the jacket is left open, revealing the vest and turtleneck underneath.

"I need to talk about this... I've been putting it off for almost a month now. Trying to ignore it. But it's been gnawing at me this whole time, and I can't just ignore it any longer."

"About a month and a week ago, Legate Damar sent a message to the Cardassian Union, although given the significance of it, it might as well have been to the entire damn galaxy." She sighs and runs her hands through her hair. "I still don't believe it... 'Resist. Resist today. Resist tomorrow. Resist till the last Dominion soldier has been driven from our soil.' The last time I heard rhetoric like that was when I was *fighting* the Cardassians on Bajoran soil. Irony at its finest, huh."

"And so now I'm stuck. The Cardassians are *fighting* the Dominion. Not all of them, of course. But a lot of them. And I find myself--rather unwillingly--fighting for them now. Because if we win this war, we won't just be defeating the Dominion... we'll be liberating Cardassia."

"I spend six years fighting to free my home from those spoonheads... and now, a decade and a half later, I find myself fighting, indirectly, to free *their* home from an occupying force. I knew the Prophets had a sense of humor, but I'm not sure I realized it was this biting. Or if I like it."

She pauses for a moment, trying to figure out how to continue, and not really feeling any better than she did at the start... but in the end, she doesn't know where to go next. And so: "Computer, end log."

Zian

If it's not one thing, it's anothe

Sat Nov 23

Zian sits on her couch, staring at an object that is sitting upon her coffee table. It appears to be some sort of holoprojector. The young Betazoid has a rather haunted look on her face, the dark circles under her eyes and the gauntness of her lean form revealing that she likely hasn't been sleeping or eating as she should, lately. She heaves a sigh, and then begins recording her log.

"Deities, what a mess. That's what my whole life amounts to, at this point. And I'm the only one who sees it. I try to express how damned /useless/ I feel to Kara or Evan, and they shake their heads. They have this image of me of some great and wonderful Starfleet officer who can do no wrong, or something... I don't know where it comes from. It couldn't be further from the truth. I do my duty to the best of my ability, sure... but it doesn't do anyone any good. And my personal life isn't any better. I can't get that right, either. And it just continues getting more and more complicated, and I don't know what to do about it. I'm so damned confused, and torn, and..."

Eliara shakes her head, leaning back on the couch, letting out a bitter ghost of a chuckle. "I overheard an old joke, once, while I was in the Academy on Earth, about a person using one of their old-style computers where you had to manually enter data with a keyboard. He thought, apparently, that computers were magical devices that could instantly make everything right, and the joke was that he kept pressing the 'Escape' key, but nothing happened. I feel like that now. I wish there were some magical escape key, or reset button, so I could somehow start over and do things right this time. But there's not... and I have to live with my mistakes. If they were mistakes. I--I don't know anymore. I don't seem to know much of anything."

Reaching out, Eliara snags one of the pillows propped up at one end of the couch and pulls it to her, hugging it tightly against her chest. "I mean... I /thought/ I was over Davin Haled. I thought I had long since finished crying over him. But recently I finally realized why I've had such trouble letting any kind of a serious relationship develop with anyone else, since he left me. Davin... Dammitall, he's still my imzadi. There's just no getting around that. The damn bond is there, and no matter how much I want to hate him for just up and leaving.... deep down, I can't help but love him, and miss him. He filled a void inside me that I didn't even know was there until I met him, and no one else can take his place. Especially so long as I know he's still out there, somewhere."

Zian laughs bitterly, trying to maintain her composure, though the puffiness about her eyes reveals the tears she's fighting not to shed. "So then, as soon as I realized that's what my problem has been, why I haven't been able to work things out and have a nice, normal relationship with Prythra, or with Evan, or with anyone else who might be interested for some incomprehensible reason... I get some salt to rub in the wound, in the form of a months-old communique. From Davin. And now this..." she gestures toward the holoprojector.

"It was so much easier to try and at least pretend I hated him, before he went and sent me these, still professing his undying love... Dammit, I don't understand! I'll never understand how any of this could have happened... None of it really makes any sense. It still pisses me off, and it always will. Kara's right... if he /really/ cared, and had /really/ wanted to... no one could have stopped him from telling me, telepathically, that he had to leave. That he'd been reassigned. But he didn't. He kept it from me, and left me alone to draw my own conclusions."

Zian hangs her head, her falling tears leaving damp circles upon the pillow she still clutches tightly. "And despite that, I still melted when I activated the holoprogram he left for me. He can still get to me... I still haven't got him out of my system. I wonder if I ever will. I can't decide if I want him to come back... gods, after all that's happened, how could I just take him back and continue on as if nothing had happened?! But the only other alternative, the only other way I could ever move on, would be if he-- If the Dominion--" she shakes her head, choking on the words. "I can't wish that on anyone. Especially not him. What the hell am I going to do...?" She falls silent, burying her face against the pillow. After a few minutes, the log automatically ends.

Poole

A Poole by any other name

Sat Nov 23

"Computer, begin new personal log, Gwendolyn Poole, Stardate 52801.9," a voice says in tired sounding, British-accented Federation Standard. The Starfleet sigil on a dark blue background blips out and is replaced by a view of Poole, pacing her quarters. She's dressed for a night out, wearing a short skirt, white sleeveless t-shirt, some knee-high boots and a golden chain about her neck, a tiny little cross attached. "I had thought the station odd before... and I was really getting used to the fact..."

"Wendy came to me... on a personal matter. She wants to learn how to defend herself," Poole pauses by the viewport, her hands settling against the cool clear material. "Because of her brother..." Her fingers streak down the glass and she turns away. "God forbid I /ever/ meet that man. He'll never walk straight again."

"I called her down the other night and.... she was acting so strangely... apologizing to me. But... she's not done anything... The things she said, that people were going to get hurt... I wish she hadn't told me. It's not like there's anything I can do to stop it."

"I argued with Nev this week." At this Poole crosses over to the end table and picks something up: several pictures of a much younger version of her and a man some might recognize as Marcus Kallan. "It started with Tyler... and... ended with Marcus..." Her lower lip trembles as she says, "Good bye, Marcus...." and she rips up the holophotos, throwing them to the floor.

Sniffling now, Poole sits on her couch, putting her head in her hands. "Father and mother's will came to me today... Mum left me the house... Gran's staying there now. I've been talking with her all this week, making arrangements. Father left me... a legacy to uphold." She lifts her head to look towards the camera again. "Something I never wanted... something he never told me about... my name... isn't even my name." Emotion chokes her voice as she closes her eyes. "He said not to tell anyone. Not to trust anyone. 'Secrecy is of the utmost importance.' Hearing him say that, now that he's gone... It was horrible."

"And already, I've disobeyed him and obeyed him.... I did what he asked. And I did what he told me not too... I've told Nevaren. Just a little... so he wouldn't ask for more."

"Somehow I think, he knew I would... It was in his voice... I am determined not to let him down. I'm tired of letting people down," Poole gently lays back, curling up on the couch. That distraught look she returned to one of fatigue. "Besides, I should be worrying about other people, like Wendy... and Nevaren..... my love..." There's a long pause and then she says, "I've gone on long enough.... Computer, end log."

Sulkat

Personal Log

Sun Nov 24

A clear, British voice rings out, but there is no visual - just the UFP logo, on a matte black background. The tone is carefully neutral; no room for emotion in /this/ voice. "Personal Log, stardate 52803. I'm unofficially going crazy." A sigh. "I don't know how its happened, but... I keep thinking things I shouldn't. I swore I'd never be interested in anyone after Allie... nobody could ever replace her, nor even come close. And yet... I am." Yet another sigh; followed by a hollow thumping sound - probably a fist hitting something. "I don't understand. I hope Allie does, wherever she is. Funny. I've never believed in a life after death, of any sort. But... since Allie died, I hope there is. I hope with all my heart. But; what if there is? And what if she can see me now? Hear me? Saying that... saying that my heart desires someone other than her. I don't think... I don't think she'd be angry," and his voice breaks slightly, wobbling with uncertainty. A lengthy pause.
And then Sulkat's voice resumes, in a stronger, but very sad, tone, "In any case, it doesn't matter, not really. I'll never reveal my feelings. I'm too much of a coward for that; and who would want me, anyway? Lieutenant Sulkat; the Armoury Officer who secretly wishes he was Vulcan, so he could deal with his emotions. Lieutenant Sulkat; the human being who prefers the company of aliens to the company of his own species. I can't... I can't even reveal my true emotions to this /thing/, this recorder - I have to hide, and record on audio only. - Well, to hell with that!", he shouts angrily."
The visual snaps on with a beep; and two tears are evident on Sulkat's flushed cheeks as he sits cross-legged on the floor of his barren quarters - one tear rolling down from each eye - and his hands pulling at the threads of his carpet. "What sort of man am I? That I can't even face myself? Or my past?" He snorts, then sniffles, wiping his eyes. "I don't know what to do," he moans miserably, closing his eyes and sighing again.
Another, lengthy pause reigns, as Sulkat looks over his shoulder, out at the stars. Without turning, he says softly, in a slightly calmer voice than previously, "I wrote a poem, although... I think its pretty awful. K'net-mauri listened to it, and gave me some feedback on it. He thought I should change 'thee' to 'you', but... I don't like to change it. I think 'thee' fits." He turns back, away from the viewport, and stands. "I think I'll tell you about it, Mr. Recorder," and he holds a hand up, blinking quickly in the manner of one who is trying to remember something. After a few seconds, he says loudly, in a strong voice, "Earth." And then he begins,
"With every breath
I commit thee;
With every beat
I grieve thee;
With every scream
I miss thee;
With every dream
I visit thee;
For though your spirit is split asunder
Its many parts shall rally, their glory plain for all to see:
When the nightmare's woes are driven back
And the promised morning comes
The victory cry taken up, in voices that are passion filled and with pride a-new;
For we will not cow, come fear nor death nor foul and brutal attack
But we shall rally round and sally back
Unto and back from the brink of defeat, where our enemies blood lies a-mingled, with the promised morning's dew." He shakes his head.
"I think its a little... I don't know, actually. But I don't think I like it. Its... dark, somehow. I never wrote any truly unhappy poetry before... but I think I have this time."
He jabs a hand at his chest, "I get this tense feeling, right here, when I read it aloud. But there's no pain, anymore, with regards to what I said in the poem. No grief. Just hollow words. I hate that. I hate that I can't feel the pain of whats happened to /my/ world; what sort of cold being am I? My lover dies... and I still mourn her," the usual break in his voice, "but I can't mourn thousands... no, more... who die?" His voice lowers.
"The war... the war is changing me. What have I become?" And the Federation logo re-appears, signalling the end of the log.

BBS 01-06-03 Personal Logs

Sun Nov 10

Mon Nov 11

Mon Nov 11

Mon Nov 11

Mon Nov 11

Mon Nov 11

Tue Nov 12

Tue Nov 12

Tue Nov 12

Wed Nov 13

Wed Nov 13

Wed Nov 13

Thu Nov 14

Fri Nov 15

Fri Nov 15

Sat Nov 16

Sat Nov 16

Sat Nov 16

Sat Nov 16

Sat Nov 16

Sun Nov 17

Sun Nov 17

Sun Nov 17

Sun Nov 17

Mon Nov 18

Mon Nov 18

Wed Nov 20

Wed Nov 20

Sat Nov 23

Sat Nov 23

Sat Nov 23

Sun Nov 24

Sun Nov 24