BBS Archive of Personal Logs

Risa

Personal Log

Sat Jun 21

"Personal Log, Stardate 53304.9, Ensign Jalyn Risa, Reactor Engineer." The UFP symbol winks out to Jameson's apartment, Jalyn seated at the table with the crumbs of a meal on a plate in front of her. She lifts a glass of white wine, takes a brief sip, and rises, walking closer to the sofa. "I told him I loved him," she says quietly as she does so. Her expression is that of pleasant contentment mixed with surprise at herself, and she's dressed in a satin robe of soft cream color to flatter her skintones, brushed over in dusted pink roses of various shades and colors. It's the most feminine she's looked in any log thus far.

"I love you," she repeats wonderingly, this time in Centauran, and switches back to Federation Standard to say, "...I'd meant to wait. I thought, really, that I wasn't sure. That it couldn't actually be love. And that I was going to learn Centauran so that I could tell him properly." Smiling to herself, she goes on, "Suddenly, I-- just couldn't wait any longer. It was all I could do not to just blurt it out in Fed Standard. Instead I snuck around the subject, asking him how to say I, and you, and hate, and love, happy and sad..." Jalyn grins, and the expression lights up her features, eyes twinkling almost mischievously. "He fell for it. I'm so lucky he's not an empath; it was hard enough not giving myself away just by my excitement. And when I told him, I could /tell/ he was surprised."

She falls silent, looking to the ground more lost in that memory than any sort of sadness. "If my sister feels this way about her husband, I take back all of the scorn I directed her way." Lying back on the couch and crossing her white-slippered feet at the ankles, she murmurs, "It's not so scary, love I mean. It's not like a terrifying fall off a cliff. It's more like... it's more like using an outdated tool to tweak the machinery for years, and suddenly realizing you could've been using a sonic wrench instead of that rock all of this time. The missing thing you didn't know was missing, falling into place like it's always been there, always belonged there." She reaches out to a nearby vase of flowers, touching the edge of their petals and leaning forward to inhale the scent before flopping back again.

Smiling embarrassedly, she rubs at her cheek and mumbles, "I'm getting too... I don't know. Emotional. Girly. I should really talk about more than just Marcus. Like... Isole. I didn't know it, but she's an artist, and a good one at that. So perfect and so real to talk to... she's never afraid to be herself, for ill or good, and I respect and admire that. It's how I myself strive to be. And Keth--" Here she laughs, shaking her head. "He's so adorable when he's embarrassed. He worried that I'd be jealous, or that his previous crush on Marcus would bother me in some way. I don't think, really, that I could have explained it to him without going overboard. I think, really, I did explain it in the most important and wordless way possible. I hope he and this doctor he's got his sights on work out." She shrugs any lingering worry about that off and pulls herself back to sitting. Standing, she then walks toward the bedroom, adjusting her robe absentmindedly. "And then there's Magret. Sweet and yet so quiet, but nonetheless someone I want to know better. I know her to a degree simply from Isole, and if Isole worships her so, there must be a reason. ...at any rate? I couldn't have found a better 'set' of friends if I'd tried."

She's passed out of view now, and her voice comes from the bedroom tiredly to note, "As an aside, I have now successfully managed two logs without work talk. This is, after all, a personal log, not a work log. Congratulations to myself. Celebration to be taken via a planned trip to Alpha Centauri. Computer, dim lights and end log."

The image of the apartment winks out, to be replaced by the UFP symbol.

Tyler

Horror Show Part IV

Mon Jun 23

. CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED .

To: Admiral Jorgensen, Timefleet Command
Re: Orb Visions (Gwen Poole)
On: 53308.3

Admiral. As per your continued orders. Subject's name is Gwendolyn Anne Poole. Lieutenant Commander, JOC Manager and Second Officer, Command Branch, S419U. 419-541-98924.

<There is a long, extended pause, before Tyler begins speaking - and when she does, her voice shakes after choking back a sob.>

This subject did not encounter Lithians directly in her vision. What she did encounter, though, I will not recount for this record, as it is too horrible, too terrifying, and altogether too personal. Since there was nothing directly related to the Lithians within, it is my discretion to discard the vision as unimportant and meaningless.

Admiral, I ask once again to please rethink this investigation. At first, I believed that they could hold some sort of clue. However, I have come full-about on this subject and do not believe they hold any useful information in them. They are nightmares every one. Please, Admiral, let me drop this investigation. I don't know how much more of repeated exposure to all of this that I can take. This one was the worst by far. So terrible...

Park

Timefleet Communique

Mon Jun 23

TO: Admiral Jorgensen

FROM: Doctor (Lt. Cmdr.) Aaron Park

SUBJECT: Lieutenant Tyler

Sir,
*****CLASSIFIED*****RESTRICTED TO LEVEL 7 AND ABOVE***** I would like to express some concerns regarding this officer's recent behavior. During the past few weeks, I have noticied a marked change in Lieutenant Tyler's sleeping patters, eating habits and reactions to general situations. Most notably, she is suffering from intense nightmares, the cause of which she is not able to disclose to me. Twice that I'm aware of these episodes she has awoke screaming in the middle of the night and I'm sure that those were not the only instances. I have prescribed a light sedative to help her sleep.
Lieutenant Tyler has also shown a weight loss of 5.25 pounds in the past 3 weeks, which I can attribute to a lack of proper diet due to stress. As she is on the lower end of the normal range weight for her height and age, this is a cause of some concern as well.
The only time during these weeks when I would consider her behavior 'normal', was the short time surrounding her Line Officer Evaluation. The only difference in her routine that I could attribute this change to would be that she was devoting all of her time to prepare for the evaluation. In light of what I have observed, I would make the following recommendations. One-That if Lieutenant Tyler has been assigned a special project, that she be removed immediately and another officer be assigned. Two-If Lieuenant Tyler is not on a special project, that she be granted immediate shore leave for a period not to exceed 96 hours. Three-If Lieutenant Tyler is on a speical project that cannot be reassigned, that I or another officer be temporarily granted the appropriate clearance level to assist for the duration of this project. Lieutenant Tyler has been removed from duty for the next 24 hours pending your review of this report.

Stewart

Delegation

Mon Jun 23

The log flicks on to Stewart at his table, with his deck of cards and his clock. As he talks, he flips cards out onto the table into a loose pile. "So. Lt. Tyler, if you're watching this, I'd just like to say I'm not entirely surprised. At any rate, I think I've got you figured out. It wasn't easy, let me tell you."

Stewart gets up and wanders over to the replicator, returning in a moment with a glass of water. "You're squeamish. You can't kill, your mind won't even run to that conclusion. When it's obvious that killing is the necessary course, your mind twists and turns in on itself like a worm writhing in the sidewalk, until you find your escape. So you learned to delegate. You can't kill, so you find someone who can, and you hand off that very decision to them. And you keep your hands clean."

Stewart takes a brief sip, lowers his glass, and then decides better of it and drains the glass. "Which also happens to answer a fundamental question I had. Which is the question of why I'm still here, and why you won't let me out. I'm either around because you couldn't bring yourself to get rid of me, or you know I'm someone you could delegate to. I'll try to feel priviledged."

"It's all a little easier to understand when you have a certain darkness to your heart. And Tyler, if you are watching this, I want you to know that whatever happened to make you who you are, I'm sorry. What'll become of the broken people like us when this is all over? Is that something you can wrap your mind around?"

"Computer, end log, encrypt, erase and rerecord." And then after a carefully measured block of time wherein Stewart picks up his cards, shuffles them back into the deck, and plays most of a game of Solitaire, he cuts off the log again with a "Computer, end log, encrypt, classify level seven."

Poole

Requiem for a Nightmare

Mon Jun 23

The scene opens on deck 21 near the docking umbilical for the Thomas Paine. The station rocks from external hits and even the emergency lights are almost gone, there are no power to the systems. Standing in a corridor full of debris is one small blonde terran, her uniform so blackened and torn at as to almost be unrecognizable. She kneels. There are bodies at her feet, more bodies than before. Nevaren is twisted up against the bulkhead, she can't look at him. A green body, once beautiful and still beautiful even in grizzly demise is curled up near him, clutching a small unmoving bundle.
Now her breathing begins to come raggedly, emotions stirring within her, her righteous anger and her pain swirling about her palpably like holy armor. It's a terrifying thing, she almost glows.
"No! This isn't right... where are you?!?! COWARDS! Crystalline BASTARDS!"
And one of those nearby stirs. Fatally wounded, Havaris Kusto sits up, as he did in her Orb Vision. And he says, "Please." And he says, "Go!" All the while he's holding what is left of Thea Medes across his torso.
"I love you." This is Poole's response, voice quivering. She leans forward and kisses his brow, then reaches down to close his eyes. "Don't look. Please don't look."
The low murmur in Bajoran that follows from Kusto makes everything seem to slow down as Poole stands, and pulls out her Type II. She dials up the setting. It takes a lifetime. And she aims it at Kusto. Another lifetime. And she squeezes the firing trigger.
A bath of white light fills the room and Havaris and Medes disappear. Poole turns the weapon on Nevaren. Then Ilsanna. And then the unmoving bundle she holds. All are gone and she is left.
"Not right," Poole murmurs, reaching down for her Type III and heading slowly for the doors to the shuttlebay. And there, like every other time she has had this nightmare, in all it's variations, is an empty, but fully prepped shuttlecraft. An eternity of loneliness inside a duranium shell.

S'ele

arrival

Mon Jun 23

<< OOC: First, let me apologize for posting, removing, reposting, etc. My goofs, all of 'em! Here's what I should've posted the first time around! :) >>

"Audio Journal Entry, stardate 55310.3.

My transport is soon to arrive at Station 419 Upsilon, where I am to meet and stay with my adopted brother and sister, Atlin and Akeen. Kolex told me that one of the two is a starfleet officer, as he is, but not which of the two the officer is, or what rank or position he or she holds on the station.

I am concerned for Kolex and the Madagascar. I do not wish the same fate to befall my adopted father that befell my biological parents. Even logic fails me when..." a pause, and an intake of breath, as if the speaker is trying to compose herself. "Logic fails me when I think of them, and when I consider the possibility of my adopted father also perishing in the line of his duty. I can only hope that he will return safely from his mission.... and that my adopted siblings accept me, despite that I am not truly one of them."

Etrik

Letter to..Self?

Tue Jun 24

<The screen lights up to show a slightly tousled looking Etrik, still dressed in workout togs>

"Personal log, Stardate 53312.2."

"Well, Uncle Finn, this is one letter I -can't- send you. Not yet, anyways. All I can do is hope you don't get caught in the nasty, nasty little trick we're about to play on certain less-reputable elements in the sector."

"I have to hand it to Cmdr. Ghorev -- I really didn't think he had it in him. Then again, I don't know the commander all that well. For all I know, he's probably as disreputable as you are." Etrik grins at that. "Not that I'm complaining TOO much. The prospect of dumping defective collimator coils onto some pirate does have a certain appeal... so long as I'm not the one trying to keep a straight face during the sting."

"Oh, and word just came down -- that Orion lady's going off to get some much-needed therapy. Turns out she's a telepath, and doesn't know how to control it. Oh, boy... I guess that's why Lt. Novairen went volcanic. Some people don't handle that sort of thing very well. Not that you or I would know..." He sighs, sprawling back onto the bed. "I remember you showed me this old, old movie once -- heck, I think I still have it on isochip. Casablanca. And near the end, there's that quote -- how did it go? 'The problems of three people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world.' Sometimes, that's how it works out. At least she's going to get some help."

"I had an odd dream last night, too. Usually, mine are just disconnected, confused vegetable medley-style, but this one was pretty precise. I'm standing on top of one of the Pillars, looking towards the Worldspire, and there's someone next to me. The family founder, Gamaliel Etrik. He looks like he always does in the books and picts -- white hair, white beard, faint scowl. And he looks at me and says, 'Be the mountain.' I tell him, 'I don't understand, grandsire. I'm just a man.' He tells me, 'And that is just a mountain on a world of mountains. Be a mountain among your own world.' And then, of course, before I ask him what he's talking about, I wake up."

"I know we -- well, Yggdrasil natives, anyways -- call being dependable and unyielding 'being a mountain'. Maybe it's just some self-encouragement from my subconscious. I don't know." He laughs. "Well, I've got things to do, so... take care, eh? Computer, save and encrypt, level 6. End log."

Gr'laH

Personal Log

Tue Jun 24

Personal Log: Delegate Fleet Captain (Ret.) Gr'laH, son of Go'laH

Ha'Toria, Stardate 53310.6

Upon arrival I proceeded directly to the Kang citadel on Ha'toria to meet with their Elder, Qa'rinQ. He greeted me as an honored guest, I greeted him as a comrade and peer despite my lesser years and influences. We spoke at length regarding the matter of the Sta'TORuk seizures and capital disbursements that would come of the meeting of the next High Council.

We intend to jointly argue for a parcel of vessels in reward for my service which Qa'rinQ has offered to exchange for newer vessels of similar make from the Kang shipyards. In addition I will be repaid for the loss of the Ghogh, the Kol'mak, and the Kri'cheH. Two B'rel, and one Vorcha to replace the loss to my House Fleet, plus some additional vessels from the Sta'TORuk seizures. An immediate influx of firepower to aid in the policing of Balduk and the border of Otha alongside the Kang Fleets.

Moreover, we intend to argue that whatever monies remain after the repayment of the KDF, the Kang, the Nausicaans, and further on will be diverted to my accounts as an immediate influx of money to help solidify my house and pay for additional weapons and vessels, the conscription and training of new warriors and new crews, and the creation of holdings on the worlds where our various interests are concerned.

We intend to argue that I should be awarded the Sta'TORuk mining rights on Ha'toria, that Kang and Gr'laH Houses should be awarded joint guardianship of Balduk, and that the mining rights held by Sta'TORuk on Rura Penthe be similarly ceded to Gr'laH. We earn holdings on three worlds, an influx and interest in the dilithium trade, and a finger on the pulse of the actions of the discommendated traitor that is Sta'TORuk's Elder. In exchange for not arguing for single guardianship of Balduk, the Kang offer me preferred trade status in thir refined dilithium, shipyards, weapons, and further goods. An interest in the same. A network that speaks of alliance.

Lastly, it is to be argued that the Son of Go'laH be awarded Ambassadorship to the Federation at Dulcais.

The day has come.

I wait no longer.

Tomorrow we leave for Qo'nos and Glory.

Gr'laH

Personal Log

Wed Jun 25

Personal Log: Ambassador Fleet Captain (Ret.) Gr'laH, son of Go'laH

Qo'nos, Stardate 53314.3

My sister Lurtak greeted myself and Qa'rinQ upon our arrival. The journey from Ha'toria was as pleasant a thing as I have known since Martok came to 419 for the Ascension of my Daughter. I spent much time in the association of Qa'rinQ's daughter, widowed as I am. She is strong, able with her mind. I found myself thinking often of Gharas. I realized, then, that Qa'rinQ had aspirations that our interactions would, perhaps, foster more than simple kinship. The alliance I spoke of between the Kang and Gr'laH -- if not the fealty of Gr'laH to the Kang -- it is clearly on the old man's mind. I cannot argue with the sense of it. We will see what comes.

I was able to give my report to Martok regarding the matter in Rynka and received first hand the dissemination of information coming from Balduk and Otha. When the session was called to order, I was permitted to bear witness to the arguments and granted the right to speak on behalf of my House and upon the merits of my name and station within the Empire. It was, to put it mildly, the single greatest series of words to ever pass my lips. The Kang followed me, speaking in support and agreement. In the wake of our joint words there were few dissenters, easily argued into reason.

The results of the session were precisely as I wished. The Nausicaans are repaid. The prisoners they hold may now be returned to the Federation by way of the Kang and my office. House Avok is spared the fires of war with the Kang. The monies I secured them in council were transferred to the Kang. This, coupled with his apology and retirement as Ambassador of Dulcais was enough to secure their safety. My lost vessels are replaced. Moreover, seized vessels of the StaTOR'uk have been granted me to increase my loyal house fleet's strength. The former mining rights of the Sta'TORuk on Ha'toria and Rura Penthe belong now to Gr'laH. Balduk's guardianship falls to my House and the Kang. Jointly. The moneys remaining after repaying the KDF, the Kang, the loyalist house losses, and the Nausicaans was split into parcels.

A large sum for House Gr'laH for financing immediate needs. New warriors, new crews, more weapons and goods, new vessles, new infrastructure on our new lands. The widows and orphans of the USS Scimitar, Commander Rush's vessel, are being granted monies to ensure their long life and good health. While money is no concern within the Federation, it is for them now less a concern. They want for nothing but those they lost. Captain Gomk'Qa, Elder of his Lesser House has been rewarded with a stipend of funds in reward for his support of loyalist KDF forces at Balduk. Londas, son of Vladok has been granted membership in the House of Gr'laH and stationed aboard my new Flagship. The K'vort class cruiser Gharas. It is she that I will sail home.

The total manifest of our House Fleet is as follows:

One K'vort: Gharas (Redesignated)
Two Vorcha: Ghogh (Redesignated), Churas (Redesignated)
Eight B'rel: Bat'thultH, Gl'cheH, Dg'tolQ, Kri'leth, Go'kul, VoQ'rol, Cho'daQ (Redesignated), Nathan (Redesignated)

Wedding presents are, I am told, customary on Nathan's planet. He said he wished a ship, and a ship greater than a B'rel. So he may earn his ship and enjoy his namesake in the vessel he would rather not have. I believe the commentary will be lost on him. The fact that the Churas is a Vorcha to his B'rel, however, will likely not be. I look forward to her expression and his. Ha!

The final matter was, of course, who would succeed Avok. The discussion was brief indeed.

I return Ambassador Gr'laH aboard the K'vort Flagship of House Gr'laH that bears the name of my wife. A crewman commented that it seemed strange for a man to name his ship after his woman. So I made the bridge more genuine in denting the Tactical console with his skullplate.

Named after her? No. I have invoked her. She returns with me now to my duties and to the stars. She will never again leave them.

They are brighter this night than I remember them having been. Not for many years.

Tomorrow we return to Dulcais, she and I.

It is as it should be.

Tyler

Horror Show VI

Wed Jun 25

. CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED .

To: Admiral Jorgensen, Timefleet Command
Re: Orb Visions (Hiroshi Takamura and Craig Malloy)
On: 53314.3

Admiral. As per your orders. Subject's names is Zipok Caeli, Security Duty Officer, S419U, 419-1647-10477.

Red alert. Smoke, cries and screams. I'm standing in a corridor, sweating profusely, hefting a Type III on max setting in my hands. I start to run towards the sound of the screams. A Crewman Second Class in gold, terror etched on his features. I do not recognize him, and he seems so young. He gives his report: Containment failure eminent, evacuate this deck. Sanchez and Gyo have died, and Sorak is right behind him. A Vulcan comes back-pedaling around the curvature of the corridor, firing his weapon. Suddenly a blue crystalline arm grabbed him around his neck and yanked him back out of view. Then a scream from the Vulcan, one of the most horrible sounds I've ever heard - pain, terror. Thankfully it was brief.

I ordered the boy to flee, to get to the nearest Jeffries Tube while I lay down cover fire. The boy reported that they just kept coming, through the security forcefields. He began to struggle with a hatch, which refused to open for him. After finally using his phaser to damage the controls, he was able to pop the hatch as I laid down cover fire. I turned to see him being dragged into the hatch, a flash of blue could be seen within as his legs were brought out from under him, kicking and flailing uselessly. The sound of cracking bone and tearing flesh ensued. I picked up the Type III and ran as fast as I could, checking to see every now and then to see if I'm being followed. Hailing operations, I gave a status report as I attempted to unseal another tube hatch.

Operations responded, an Ensign Dallas. He reported Deck 10 as a 'wash' and that I was needed up on Deck 18 as civilians were being attacked. The man's words were cut off when the Lithians, too, got him. A sound on the other side of the hatch turned me away from it, and I fled toward a turbolift.

Outside the turbolift, there were corpses of crewmen, covered with a fine layer of silicate dust. I punched the controls of the lift and finally it opened for me. I went in. The turbolift began to move.

Then suddenly, it stopped with a jolt and a loud thud, the lights flickering. The lift was stuck between 16 and 17. Taking action, I dropped to a knee, hoisted the rifle into the air, and fired up at the roof, blowing a hole into it. Then down through that hole, a Lithian. I kept firing, firing, firing. I felt the viral package hit and begin to burn. I felt the Lithian crush me, then a release from the pain as the Lithian killed me.

Admiral. End this. I beg you.

Tyler

Cassandra Log

Wed Jun 25

"Cassandra log, Stardate 53315.5," Tyler begins. She feels the side of the glowing blue crystalline stump, and her fingers move over its jagged surface. Her voice sounds detatched and soulless. "I woke up again last night screaming. Aaron helped me get calmed back down. He's worried about me, I can tell. They're all worried about me. I'm worried about me. Because I worry about that future, and seeing it over and over again, and so..." Her voice cracks. "So much carnage. Poor Thea. Poor, poor Thea. And not just her, but all of them.

"I look into their eyes and all I can see are the walking dead.

"Five more to go. Va'tol. Niel Haven. Thea Medes. Loni Haven. Nevaren. And then it will be over. But I will carry this until my last days.

"I'm so scared. Frightened again, when I thought I was past all of that. I'm no longer the scared little girl I once was - Aaron and Cassandra have helped me past all of that... But now I continue to come here, subject myself to other people's nightmares and hellish visions out of my duty, and I'm afraid. And I can't tell Aaron.

"I don't want to see Thea's vision. Whatever it is. Pregnant. Dead. I just can't think about it..." She trails off and continues to rub the side of the artifact as she walks around its tendrils.

"Close log, seal and encrypt at my authorization."

Veshingo

Update

Thu Jun 26

Personal log, stardate 53316.2
The other eve was the first department meeting. It went smoothly. It was primarily an introduction meeting as there have been a few changes upon the ship with positions, and shuffling of capable hands. Part of that shuffling included my own position.
Apparently there was a mix up in the way that people were assigned new positions. Apparently the man who was moved to Asst Science Officer was not supose to be there. So he received his old position back. That created a problem for myself as I was the person transferred to the station to tkae his position. Honestly, the organization skills are lacking. However I think I am much better with the new position that was created. It is that of Mathematician.
I am not incharge of a department, however I will be able to focus more on my interest. Already I have joined one project aboard the ship, volunteered for a second, and I think pulled into another.
I am not too sure about the third project, however I will be learning a bit about cryptology. It should be mildly interesting. Afterall once logic is applied to the system of numbers, the pattern should be easily obtainable. It is figuring out what logic was applied first.
Well I should be about my duties.

End Log.

Harris

Personal Log

Fri Jun 27

"Personal log, Stardate 53317.9."

Harris moves slowly through the door to his quarters, right arm wrapped around his ribcage. "Computer, cue Berlioz. Le Damnation de Faust, set volume two." As the music fills the room, he moves to the bedroom, in the midst of peeling off the upper part of his uniform.

"Meg's gone to Fimdari on a mission of some kind," floats his voice to the video recorder. "Leaving the quarters empty save for me for the second time this week." He reappears, applying some kind of ointment to a massive bruise spreading across his chest. "It's strange to me that there's someone out there who actually fills up the empty spots in my soul. Our relationship just... exploded into life, each moment fusing us closer together. It's like... I don't know... like we were made for each other."

The old man pauses, wincing as he rubs an especially black spot. "I must say, though, that as we've gotten closer, I've found that she fills in the hollow spots. In my weakness, she has strength. In my darkness, she has light." He settles onto the couch, allowing his gaze to pierce the stars beyond the viewport for a few moments. "I don't know that the same can be said for me, though. I don't think that complete her... I think it's more like I give her someone to take care of." An angry shake of the head at that. "I know that I struggle with depression. I know that it's just the demons of the past coming back to haunt me. I know that I can't bring myself to actually see anyone to talk about the nightmares... the doubts... the self-pity... the shame."

He looks back to the recorder. "No more promises. No more games. No more hollow words that make me feel better inside for a day or two. No. More. Lies. To. Myself." He frowns, determination settling on his features. "This is where it ends. I am a disgrace to my fleet. My uniform. My superiors. My fianceé. My family. Myself. No more."

Standing, Harris begins to stalk about the room like a wolf seeking the sheep. "No more. It's time for action. If I'm going to be a husband, by God... it's time to start acting like a man." Raising his voice, he calls to the air, "Computer, schedule an appointment with Counselor Gellan. Schedule another with Lieutenant Havaris. This has gone on long enough."

He pauses for a moment, then his whole demeanor softens. "One more thing, computer... shut off Berlioz and open a new file for transmission to USS Cape Fear, attention Megan Donavon." As the computer bleeps its affirmation, Robert launches into a soft song. "Oh Bridget O'Malley, you've left my heart shaken with a hopeless desolation I'd have you to know..."

The log recording continues through the end of the song before shutting off.

Moore

Purpose and Destiny

Fri Jun 27

"Professor James Moore's personal journal, Friday, the twenty-seventh of June, in the year of our Lord 2376."

The lights in the lab are low, Moore's face lit by the screen from the computer terminal in front of him. "Gwendolyn was by the other evening, and I was filled with relief to see her unscathed." That admission seems to trouble him, however. "I... find myself beginning to care for these people. Leftenant Tyler is plagued by something - that much is clear on her features. It was actually quite disturbing when I caught myself wishing that I could alleviate her pain in some small fashion. Gwendolyn seemed to be... reserved as well. At first, I dismissed it as the fact that Leftenants Golden and Takamura were in the room, but that didn't cease the amazement I felt at actually being... concerned for her."

He shakes his head, looking at the code scrolling by on the screen for a moment. "And yet, it feels right. I have no desire to be an outcast in this society. I want to lead a normal life as a man with Regina at my side. I actually... long... for the visitors we recieve, some moreso than others. Could it be that this, at long last... is home?"

The professor pauses, gazing off into space for a long moment. "'The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust; my buckler, and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower.' I will seek my answers in prayer... as I know that they will not be found in any mortal man. Computer, end log. Encrypt using scheme Moore-Gamma-31 and store in my matrix."

Spect

Klingons and Honor.

Fri Jun 27

"Honor. I hate the word when it comes from a Klingons mouth. They all speak of honor and the like and have no idea that it blinds their thoughts. Anytime I make a mistake in their culture it is all about honor. Anytime I apologize it is -all- about honor. What is honor to them anyway, speaking to them in a culture that doesn't allow for outsiders to be uninformed. If they were so worried about it why don't they take up a mantle to teach others about their culture, not everyone knows you know. I would say stupid Klingons if I didn't think Gr'lah would hear it and hit me in the back again with a goblet." *sigh* "Anyway, I have been getting advice from lots of people about how to make peace with Gr'lah. A way to call a truce. Ghorev told me that if Gr'lah so much as raises a hand towards anyone else at this station that he will be kicked off. Tempting, but where is the honor in kicking a "Honor. I hate the word when it comes from a Klingons mouth. They all speak of honor and the like and have no idea that it blinds their thoughts. Anytime I make a mistake in their culture it is all about honor. Anytime I apologize it is -all- about honor. What is honor to them anyway, speaking to them in a culture that doesn't allow for outsiders to be uninformed. If they were so worried about it why don't they take up a mantle to teach others about their culture, not everyone knows you know. I would say stupid Klingons if I didn't think Gr'lah would hear it and hit me in the back again with a goblet." *sigh* "Anyway, I have been getting advice from lots of people about how to make peace with Gr'lah. A way to call a truce. Ghorev told me that if Gr'lah so much as raises a hand towards anyone else at this station that he will be kicked off. Tempting. But where is the honor in kicking a man while he is down? Hmmm? Now, there is a good use for honor. I haev gotten mixed advice from a fews sources. From offer a gift or something to challengeing him to a dual. I think that latter is idiotic an I think to former is weak - look at me, I am getting all caught up in the culture- so, I have decided to just go up to him and extend my hand, once again, and ask for a truce. If he denies so be it. I think I should have a member of security with me though, Zip, he will go with me. He will understand. So, I go to make ammends with my greatest enemy at ths time. Maybe it will relieve my stress and I won't jump on my junior officer so easily, who is dong a fine job by the way.

I was talking to the new Klingon Liason Officer when Golden called me to security. Briganti was there and he was asking a few questions of Dylan that I could have answered. I admint, I was a little annoyed at that, but then maybe that was my competitive side coming out. I have to watch that, anyway, there is plenty to do now and plenty of work to go around. But as soon as I get bored again... Computer, End Log."'

Blair

Unpacking

Mon Jun 30

"Personal Log, Ensign J. Evan Blair, Stardate 53325.6."

The feed, for whatever reason, is audio-only, with clattering sounds muted by the computer as soon as they start.

"Well, my old room is gone. Not that I figured they'd keep it open for several months -- Ops would probably have a fit and Kara would personally kick me one when I disembarked.

"No. Not Kara. I keep forgetting that 419, of all places, isn't going to just freeze and stay static, waiting for me to come back. I glanced around the local crew listings a bit, what I was allowed to access of them, and it looks like an awful lot of my friends have been transferred out. Although Gwen, Jaylas, and Medes are still about; I ought to look them up shortly."

A crash, and a sharp "Ow! Bloody piece of --" followed by the sound of something metal striking something else metal, like a bulkhead. "-- well, that one's been broken for seven months anyway. I'm currently unpacking a few" *grunt* "little" *grunt* "tiny personal effects that I..." Another crash, followed by, "Oh, sod it," and a short moment of silence.

"I've just come back from the U.S.S. Queensland. An emergency having to do with some rather odd gremlins in the sensor array meant Starfleet dragging me out to do housecleaning for a couple months, working with the crew and a few specialists from Dulcais. I'd love to say it was a great vacation, but dodging half-cocked auto-defenses that can't tell an officer from a two-litre tin of chili isn't good for much besides exercise.

"Besides, I missed talking to people. 419 is really the only place I've come to know anyone outside of work -- even fellow PADD-a-holics like Nev. So it's probably for the best that I'm back." A few clinks of a box being dug into. "Elly and Kara have both apparently been transferred, without enough time to tell me about it. I suppose that's the end of one rather confusing chapter in my life, but that doesn't make me feel a lot better about -- "

*shatter*

" -- bloody -hell-. Well, on that note, I suppose I didn't need -that- little holographic memory any more anyway. Doing my -own- blasted packing next time I take a trip anywhere...Computer, end log, save, and replicate me a broom and dustbin."

Lao

Threads of Doubt.

Mon Jun 30

The UFP image clears to reveal an image of Pete Lao, sitting at his desk, with the usual cup of tea. "Personal log, stardate 53325.6." He runs his hand through his hair, with a sigh.

"I should be happy. I have every reason to be happy. I'm floating well beneath Akeen Ghorev's radar, which is precisely what I'd hoped to achieve. Shut up, put my head down, do my job, and get noticed for my work when somebody finally figures out that the Commander has far too much on his plate." He leans back. "My quad-to-be is without flaw. Everything is resolved. Everything is moving forward at a clip that we all seem comfortable with." He smiles at the monitor, and it's a bitter thing. "When did I stop be satisified with my life? When did I get this need to have everything be more, be better? When did my idealism suddenly become such a ruling factor?"

He takes a sip of his tea. "I am increasingly unhappy with Starfleet. Or, at least, Starfleet as it's played out here." He holds out on hand in the air, and looks to it. "On one hand, we have incredibly uptight people, who put forward all the worst elements of the 'fleet: hidebound bureaucracy; letting things slip between the cracks; a belief in the ends justifying the means; and worse, the arrogance that if our foe does -this-, then what we do is right. -Anything- we do becomes right." He raises the other hand, and looks to that. "And then we have the best elements of the 'fleet: courage, honor, rewarding the job well-done, camaderie." He lets that hand drop to the table with a loud thump, and offers the screen a wry grin. "A pity the first outweighs the second by so much."

"On the side of the just, we have Gwen Poole. Havaris Kusto. Nevaren. Good people, troubled people, fallible people, who nevertheless live up to what they believe in, come hell or high water, in the tradition of all the greats. Kirk. Garretty. Picard." He looks to the raised hand, and slowly lowers it. "Then we have Tarsis Balin. Akeen Ghorev. The entire RRT, from what I can tell. People who operate in shadows and secrecy, emerging only to slap down the just, and then to tell us all that it's for the good of the Federation, and what do we know, besides?"

Another smile is offered to the screen. It's intended to be humble, self-effacing. But it's cold, bitter. "I've only glanced off what these good people face every day. And I've shied away from it. I've ducked and gone into silent running. I don't sit around people's quarters, moaning about the horror of it all. I don't go running to my friends, complaining endlessly. I've slipped up once since I've been here...and never again." He shrugs. "And do those I've learned to despise care? I'm just an ensign. I couldn't -possibly- understand what they're dealing with, why they do what they do, what's at stake."

A sigh. "I told Atlin that I was considering quitting the 'fleet altogether. But I don't think I can. I believe in Starfleet. I believe that openness and honesty can defeat the worst foe. And that scuttling around in the dark are the actions of our enemies, and the reason that they lose when they face us, time and time again. Perhaps my superiors think of me as a wide-eyed ensign who doesn't know better." Another cold smile. "They don't know me very well."

"So, I'll stay. And watch. And when the times comes, I'll stand with the just against those who've fallen into shadow, and I'll be able to say, 'We fought the good fight. We died on our feet, living the way we ought, by our ideals and beliefs...by what makes us who we are.' Let's face it: if we change so much to defeat our foes that we are no longer recognizable to ourselves, haven't we died, in a way? Haven't we been assimilated, as surely as if the Borg had beaten us? As surely if..." And he trails off, and offers the screen another 'just between you and me' smile. "We'll be able to say that. That we stood for the right, that we acted according to our conscience, that we never wavered. And if the proud history of Starfleet is any indicator, we might even be able to say..." And he trails off, savoring his next words.

"We beat them."

The UFP logo resumes a moment later.

Medes

Personal Log

Wed Jul 02

"Personal Log, audio only. Finally. Lt. JG Alethea Ruth Medes, Stardate 53330.3."

"I found myself with an intense craving for blackberries two days ago. Replicated wouldn't do. Of course, they were nowhere to be found on the station at that particular moment. "Come back in three days, we'll have some in from Dulcais." It was practically all I could think about all day. I'd stop in the middle of recalibrating the Cape Fear's shields back to their usual configuration after the Irdosia mission and think, "When was the last time I had blackberries?" I know when this was, of course. My aunt made blackberry cobbler a few weeks before I left for my cadet cruise, and I stole a couple of handfuls out of the bowl in the kitchen. I don't know why I was craving them -- maybe because I haven't eaten them in a decade -- but for a few moments, I was hopeful."

"Closer to an hour, really. And then I snuck off into one of the cargo holds and scanned myself. I was /sure,/ but I wanted to be /really sure./"

"So much for instinct. The first scan, then the second, and then a third. I had to be wrong, but I wasn't."

"After that, I still wanted blackberries, but I felt too sick to my stomach."

"I haven't told Kusto. There's no reason to, really." A pause. "Haven't told Gwen, either. But it's almost like we're on different worlds, now, she and I." She pauses here, and the recorder picks up a deep intake of breath followed by a heavy sigh. "I don't know what to make of the way she's been acting. I always looked to her. Looked /up/ to her. I still love her. Always will. But I'm having a hard time /respecting/ her and /trusting/ anymore, and that hurts me more than I can possibly say. The realisation that I had to /think/ about whether or not I could trust her with Kusto anymore just tore me up. But it is what it is. I love her, but I don't know how to react to her anymore. She seems to change as the wind blows anymore. She promised time spent together at the beach sim, and then we never heard from her."

"I've become more isolated lately. I /don't/ trust Hiroshi anymore, not at all, not since his whole 'I'll try to take the baby' nonsense; I don't know what to make of Gwen, and... and losing my confidence in both of them has me almost afraid to talk to anyone other than Kusto about how I feel about anything."

"The supreme irony in that, of course, is that the week I come to this realisation is the week that The Boss and I actually sit down for the first time and talk about anything other than work." She pauses. "Ten months here, almost, and I'm finally talking to my self-acknowledged idol about things other than who's on Watch. It was two steps shy of talking to God. I can't say I don't sympathize with... the... with. Gr'laH. /I/ wanted to throw a mug at Ensign Spect's head, too, for interrupting that conversation." A soft 'heh' sound interrupts her speaking here. "Of course, I haven't seen The Boss since. Damnit."

"Mrph. This is going to take more than one log to cover. Another tomorrow, perhaps."

"The aforementioned Irdosia mission was an unqualified success. It was nice to have a mission for once where everything went smoothly. There were no horrid surprises, no last-minute revelations of terror, /and/ I didn't get blown up, shot, or thrown around, nor did I fall down a ravine, hit my head, or get electrocuted." Self-deprecation is evident in her tone, for all the genuine thankfulness she seems to have for the ease of that mission. "It all could have gone /so/ wrong and it went /so/ right. Watching Isobel try not to strut on the command deck when she 'won' against Ambassador K'net-mauri was worth it in and of itself. Working with the new assistant science officer -- nice guy, if a little too into rocks -- was likewise a treat. Likewise, getting to talk to Meg Donavon, who seemed to have appointed herself my Chief Keeper In Charge Of Not Letting Lt. Medes Overwork Herself... that was nice. But nothing's as good as coming home." She sighs here, blissfully so.

"I've got a promising new Ensign that I've been told to keep my eye on. Risa's a good kid, fresh out of the Academy. /Prophets,/ but she reminds me of me at her age. It's all I can do not to stand on tip-toe and ruffle her hair sometimes. Of course, if she's really like me, then, she'd glare at my kneecaps for doing it. I first got to work with her on one of the projects that Lt. Tyler requested my assistance for specifically. Why that is, I'm not sure. I'm starting to like her okay, though. Why she repeatedly said I should consider a red shirt baffles me even more. No, that's okay. Chief Engineer somewhere someday, maybe. But I'll stay yellowshirted forever. I don't want to have my own ship. I don't want anything that would take my hands off the machines."

"I'm coming to realise that what I really want is to be able to take Kusto back to Bajor someday. Despite the conversations I've had with Gwen, I want the farm he and I work to be /there./ Terra... is... I could never go back there and it wouldn't matter to me. His people are my people, his God is my God. Where he goes, I will go." The sound of one hand rubbing over the stubble on her scalp hisses into the recorder. "I don't know anything about Bajoran law. I should ask the Vedek. He... I. I can't say anything to Kusto about that, either. I don't want to get his hopes up if I can't do anything about it... "

"... I just want to take him home."

"Computer, end this ramble and save."

Cristobal

Family Roots

Wed Jul 02

The UFP logo winks out to reveal Cristobal, sitting in a crimson robe on his couch. Two bat'leth's and a curved Terran sword hang behind him on the wall. He sips from a mug of hot liquid, a lazy smile on his face. "Personal Log, Stardate 53330.5. So, it seems I will be a father, some months hence," he says, leaning back on the couch.

"I'll never admit this to anyone, but when Churas made her wishes known to me, I wondered if it was a good idea. If it was for the right reasons. Yes, she wanted her father to see his line continue, but would that matter if it wasn't the right decision for us and for the child? I do not think he would think so. I did not show this trepidation. Nor, in point of fact, did I hesitate in agreeing. I could see what this meant to her. Whatever problems there might be, I could see how much it meant to her. I once heard it said that love is the state in which the happiness of another becomes integral to your own. I believe I understand this now."

"We discussed names. If it is a girl, it will be named after her mother, Gharas. If it was a boy, I wanted to name him after me, but she was deeply troubled by this. Damned Klingon naming conventions. Nathan Junior is perfectly normal under Terran, but apparently Nathan son of Nathan just plays havoc with Klingon proprieties." He chuckles and shakes his head, "We agreed upon Nathaniel, in the end. The funny part is, I think we both want a girl. She wants someone who will bear her mother's name. I want someone who will bear my mother's blade."

"Klingon pregnancy has, thus far, been less of a trial than our own pregnancies are reputed to be, though I admit my knowledge is not firsthand. Aside from a general moodiness, and heavy drinking of water, I've seen no changes in her. The first evidence we saw of that was at a Fight Night I unfortunately missed. She apparently threatened to kill Randal Thorne. Which, unless I miss my guess, removes her from being the only Klingon on the station who hasn't."

"She was banned from Fight Night, which does not bother me. She really shouldn't be doing any fighting she doesn't have to, at this point. I, of course, will also no longer attend Fight Night. Which is not to say that I disapprove of the banning itself. It was a perfectly fair response. It's a simple matter. Where my wife isn't welcome, /I/ am not welcome."

He shrugs, "Likely, it was said in the heat of the moment. I doubt she actually will kill him. I plan to keep my eyes open though. If he succeeds in provoking her, I'd kill him myself to prevent her from being the one from to do so. I don't know the Klingon sociological aspects of it, but the benefits of a father taking part in the raising of a child are well-documented. The fact that they pale in comparison to what a mother provides is as well. If I had the choice, I would imprison myself before allowing anything that would keep her and our child apart."

"I had an odd conversation with Ensign Spect in Operations. He called me asking to make peace with Gr'laH. I suggested he buy him some bloodwine, accompanied by a written apology. He asked if Gr'laH could still be mad about that incident. I said I don't know, but if he hadn't apologized for /that/ yet, it would make a good start." He shakes his head, "Ensign Spect said, 'I don't want to /apologize/, I just want a truce.'" Cristobal shakes his head again, "I told him to stay away, not talk to him. After bringing it up with Gr'laH, I strongly hope Spect heeds this advice. I want the old buzzard around to see his grandchild."

"In any case, I no longer hesitate. I no longer question that this is right for us, and for little Nathaniel and/or Gharas. It is, and I look forward to it, much as I look forward to returning home every night. Computer, end log." Cristobal is replaced on the screen by the image of the UFP logo.

Nevaren

And life moves on..

Wed Jul 02

~ From the Personal Journal of Lieutenant Nevaren ~
~ An Encrypted Transcript on his Cardassian Padd ~
~ Stardate 53331.8 (Wed July 2nd, 2376) ~

And life moves on.

I can't really say that is a bad thing. But, on the other hand, I am finding it unnerving. My feelings, my very being, have been put to the test in the past few weeks. I have gone from a happy husband to a jealous and rampaging lover to a remorseful and confused man. I thought I knew who I was. Then I didn't know. I made choices that almost broke me, choices that made me go against things I thought I believed in, and in the end I stood by those choices no matter what everyone else thought.

And now? As I said, life moves on. I find it so hard to believe that something could come after this damned war that would make me question my convictions so deeply. But it did. It's taken a few weeks of looking back, thinking long and hard on what has happened. And I learned something from it.

That I could survive and be stronger. I learned this and more. Much more.

I am a Starfleet Officer, dedicated to trying to serve and protect the Federation. Not the Ideals so much as the People. From Outsiders and, sometimes, from themselves. If I break a rule or bend a protocol then yes, I must be punished. Whether it was on purpose or not. I will be angry, and I will always stand by what I did because something in me told me it was the right thing to do, but that doesn't mean I still didn't deserve punishment. The Good Thing and the Right thing are not always mutually exclusive. I am slowly learning this. And, I believe, I am also beginning to /understand/.

I am a devoted Husband, dedicated to a wife I hold dearer to my heart then any other. She made a mistake. So did I. And we both have to accept that. I know I do. Why? Because that is part of being devoted to someone. That is part of being in love. That is part of being a family. We make mistakes and we try to work them out, to understand what caused that mistake to be made. Why it happened or what were the circumstances or what does the mistake mean... Was it even truly a mistake or just fate? We faced adversity and, together, I believe we have overcame it. And the reward? A new person in our life. One who deserves not just love from my wife, but from me as well. Who deserves my friendship, not my spite nor malice. It may not be the same love as my wife's but it is there nonetheless. She let me see things in her that she never showed anyone and I realized at that moment she was not a threat. No. She became someone I actually understood. If she so chooses when she comes back I will gladly accept her as new addition to our family. A good friend.

I am a loving Father, dedicated to my son whether he is of my blood or not. Not because I pity him and his circumstance but because he is a beautiful person worthy of my love. Of our love. I see in him something that my own adopted father must have seen in me. Potential. Spirit. I will never take my son for granted. I will encourage his every endeavor. I will be behind him from now until he says he does not need me any more and /still/ I will be behind him. Because he is my son. Our son. And if we should actually have another child, one that is truly of our blood as we are now planning, we will never love our son any less. Anything that makes our family grow will just make the love grow. Make it stronger.

I am a loyal friend, dedicated to my comrades and allies. We may argue. We may fight. We drift apart slightly for a small time. But I am still loyal. I have taken my friends far too much for granted lately. Forgetting they are there for me. Forgetting that sometimes they need me just as much as I need them. I can't idly stand off to the side, almost ignoring them, because that isn't what a loyal friend does. I can't 'bitch and moan', my mood swinging out of control so much that they have no idea what I am doing anymore. Slowly I am realizing this. And not so slowly I am acting on my realization.

Life won't stop to wait for me to learn. I will have to keep pace with it, learning as I go. I am all these things. All these things and more. I finally realize there is more to me and mine then I have ever thought. I am, I think, finally growing up a bit. Taking more responsibility for my actions and deeds and not trying to pawn every single bad happening on something else. It will take time. It won't happen over night. I will still question every one of these lessons, and more, for a long time to come.

But that's me... and as I said I am still learning.

And I don't mind one bit.

Donavon

Re-evaluation

Wed Jul 02

"Am I taking on too much responsibility? More than I can handle?"

Black shadows circle beneath half closed eyes as Donavon leans against the frazzled couch; its cushions wrinkled and out of place - something or someone must have terrorized it. Held between forefingers, she sips upon a half filled bottle of water. Beads of sweat drip down her brow. "Third workout of the day and I don't think my body can handle this rigorous training program. I'm held back by the limitations of my body. My mind, however, could run another ten miles, take another patrol, anything to keep in shape."

Water is poured into her hands, splashed over her face to cool and soothe. The ruddy redness flushed in her cheeks lessens. "Ha'nuQ told me to accept my limitations and work around them. That night, a fuzzy one that I can barely recollect," she switches mindframes quickly, "Reminder to self : careful of Ha'nuQ's whiskey. One shot equals five." Back to her original thought, "I'm pushing myself, but am I doing it because I am taking responsibility for everyone's actions? I push myself to become a pillar of strength for Robert and in return push him to become a pillar as well. But whenever there is a problem, I immediately take it upon myself, stealing the responsibility from Robert…because I want to protect. Was that the reason why I overly nagged Lt. Medes during our away mission? Is that why I was so tense during what ended up as a successful mission? I can't say right now. Deep down, I want everyone to be safe even if that costs myself. Is that an unhealthy obsession? Am I emulating Joseph?"

Hands wipe over her face as Meg calmly breathes out. "I suppose I am considering everyone on this Station to be part of my family and only now do I realize what Joseph went through when Pa wasn't exactly there. I remember goading Joseph, teasing him about his strict rules, but they were there to protect us, weren't they Joseph?" She stares out at the wall, almost as if her eldest brother was in the room. "So what do I do now? Am I forcing too much control over people that truly aren't my responsibility in that way? Am I controlling Robert?" Eyes close, her chest rises as breathes are taken. "……Computer, reschedule my other workouts and exercises. Cut back current program by twenty-five percent. I need to relax before my body burns out." With that the log is cut off.

Churas

Letter to Nathan

Thu Jul 03

jlH tlhuH:

What have I gotten myself into? I cannot imagine anything more dull than these meetings. My father has not yet arrived, and that might make for a great deal less boredom ina few moments, as I have nothing in my reports on the recent developments on Teireia, or however you spell the name of that damned system. They go on about ships skirting this space and broadcasting propaganda and I have nothing to say or offer; I have not had a chance for my father to fully brief me yet. I fear his subspace from Qo'noS will keep him far too long and I will be left to face this situation completely unarmed.

My cousin has arrived, so this is some great deal of comfort. I promise you, she is not at all like Ha'nuQ. Qem'et is the daughter of Cho'daQ (console head, remember?) and SaQib; she requested the posting of Gr'laH's Honor Guard. She is 11 years older than myself. I am glad for her company, I only wish that we could leave this meeting and confer already, and so that you also could meet her. Of course, you are on-duty now. Bah!

It is difficult to keep my mind from inappropriately wandering. I of course mean this as a compliment to you.

My father has arrived. I must cease this letter-writing. He would give me a very cross look if he knew, I am sure.

Churas

P.S. Remind me to tell you about the Martok Action Figures.

Harris

Journal of the Mind

Thu Jul 03

The cover on a book parts, revealing clean, white pages inside. A hand lifts a pen and begins to write, marring the whiteness with black ink.

'The night is long.'
'The dreams come again.'

A hill, covered with green grass. The newly risen sun's light glints off the dew that coats each blade, giving the hill a sparkle all its own.
On the summit stand three people - Harris, older now, and two children - a boy and a girl. The children bear the auburn hair of their mother and the intensely green eyes of their father.
"Daddy, where's mommy?" the little girl asks.
"Mommy's sleeping now, honey..." Harris whispers in reply, the sorrow that overwhelms him clear.

'Dreams of darkness.'
'Dreams of despair.'

The station rocks under the impact of another blast, sending Harris slamming up against the LCARS terminal he tries to manipulate.
"...waiting for, Robert! Cut all secondary systems to shields, we need to buy the Paine time!" Havaris is there, herding people into the airlock of the Thomas Paine.
As the command is entered, Robert's eyes swivel to spot two security guards dragging past Megan Donavon, sans legs... and that causes his world to collapse.
"Meg?"

'Dreams of light.'
'Dreams of hope.'

Moonlight shines over San Francisco Bay, fireworks exploding overhead as 2399 ticks over to 2400. Near the Golden Gate Bridge on the Marin County side, two middle-aged humans hold hands as the brilliant display continues in the sky, their love swelling in the silence. No words are needed - after twenty-four years together, they're completely unnecessary.
"Happy New Year, Meg..." Harris whispers finally, squeezing the hand in his.

'Dreams of the past.'
'Dreams of the future.'

"Alpha wing, this is Alpha lead. Break left and throttle up to engage."
Three fighters spin through the disruptor and phaser blasts highlighting the orbital battle. Inside Alpha 3, Lieutenant (JG) Harris sweats in his flight suit - this is an actual battle, not a simulation.
"Three, this is lead. You've got a bogey on your six!"
The tiny fighter is tossed into a spin to easily evade the incoming weapons fire, and Harris pumps a fist triumphantly before he glances to his left... and sees that he's gained a co-pilot. As Meg smiles at him, he forgets to fly and the fighter is blasted to smithereens.

'But they're only dreams.'
'This is my reality.'

Harris jolts awake in an infirmary stool, lifting his head from the infamous biobed three to glance around the darkened suite. Fingers entwined in Donavon's, he allows himself the slightest smile of contentement intermixed with a concerned frown... and then his head slowly lowers to the bed again.

'May it be that tomorrow is a better day.'

The hands slowly slide the book closed, sliding fondly across the cover before it is forgotten.

Kotesh

A Hunter's Life

Thu Jul 03

Holodecks are wonderful things. They allow you to get your escapism in and afford a method of personal log entry. So it is that Kotesh can be found, wrapped up in the bear fur cloak of an ice Hunter, seated amid a drift of snow, covered with an inch or two of the stuff. His arms are wrapped about his crossed legs, keeping his knees tucked up. A long spear is perched over one shoulder, burnished metal painted white. All that can really be seen of him at the moment are two antennae poking from the hood of his cloak and the upper part of his face, the rest concealed behind a white leather maks. He's staring out over a cliff onto a tractless expanse of solid ice, a trail of lumbering spots moving in an orderly line across the field below. He's just another mound of snow, really, but for the spear he's not bothering to hide.

"I am learning to accept love on these terms. Atlin loves Pete. I love Pete. So I am asked to share her. Part of me says no, part of me loves, and so says yes. And I feel conflict." Silence reigns for a time as his eyes remain fixed on the herd below. "It is not a conflict worth speaking, worth giving name. I would no sooner stand between my quad's love for one another than I would not stand between them and a threat to them. I love them. All of them. Their happiness before my own. My insecurities and irrationalities aside. I am toleranct and patient and strong. I am supportive and integral. Without me there is no love between us all to share, regardless. Therefore I am always present, even when we are apart. His hands on her are my hands. His name on her lips, my own."

Kotesh slips his spear forward, catching it with one fur backed hand, lifting the shaft lightly to stick it more securely into the snows. "This is how I teach myself to think and feel. This is how I sublimate and grow stronger. They may have Atlin because I say they may. My empowerment and my affirmation. My future family. My present strength. My past overcome." His antennae shift atop his head, straining to catch the sounds of the wildlife about him. Not that he, in his current state, actively hunts. Or that what he hunts here is real enough to merit a kill.

"They found a boy named Indio. An Avilisi. Who has lost his family. Survived alone on an empty ship for months. Who is pained and wishes for tears. A strong boy. A proud boy. An honest boy. Who has been lifted, however unlikely, from the water. Dropped into our hands, asking for nothing at all. Just a boy, like any other boy. With a problem, like any other problem. I look at him and I see much more of myself than I will admit to anyone. From that quiet resolution, to the ignorance of his attractions. The earnest naivete. The passive, untested, strength. Patient in his pain. Patient. In general."

"My quad will come first. My Keth will come second. My lodge. Then Indio. Indio will find a piece of my time all his own. If there are any hours remaining in the day, I will look to me. Ask me how I am. Notice how I feel. Realize that so long as all of those concerns are well, my answer is a pointless one, and return to my concerns some moments later."

"In matters of life and death, there is no time to think. Simply put, I can no longer live without them." Kotesh lifts a hand to tug up the mask over his face, lowering the cowl of his cloak a bit to fully conceal the blue of all but his antennae. The spear is lowered across his lap, fading into the snows. He seems to nearly disappear amid the field of white. "End log."

Medes

Personal Rant

Thu Jul 03

No stardate or preface opens this log; it is, instead, begun by Medes manually, blipping into life and showing the stomach of her 'Fleet-issued tank top as she stands before the recorder for a moment before moving away. Her compactly muscled little body maneuvers away and toward a punching bag just off-screen; as she speaks, her words are punctuated with punches and kicks. Limbs are occasionally visible, but the whole of her can never be seen all at once.

"What the hell is wrong. with. you. Nevaren? What the hell has happened to everyone around here? I though I didn't. Know. People. Anymore, but now I'm starting to wonder if what's wrong is that they. Just. Don't. Know. Me." Punch. Kick. Elbow. Pause to take a deep breath. Attack again. "Call me to talk, to discuss. 'Oh, I'm not accusing you, Thea, I'm just going to put words in your mouth, tell you how you're feeling, what's going on in your head, throw the GUILT. DOWN. ON. YOU, willfully misinterpret everything you say to the worst possible degree, and then shatter a PADD against a bulkhead.'" PUNCH. KICK. ELBOW. SHOVE.

"WAS THAT SUPPOSED TO MAKE SOME KIND OF /POINT/ BESIDES MAKING ME UNCOMFORTABLE AROUND YOU?" She shrieks at the punching bag before throwing her shoulder into it, a gesture that largely has her bouncing back from it, though more force is shown in her blows than would likely be expected from such a tiny creature. "Did that whole. display. make. you. feel. better? Did it make you feel better to project what other people must be saying on to me? Did it make you feel better to put your fears on me, make them my fault? No, PROPHETS NO, I'm not a SAINT. I'm NOT this 'Lightbringer' I'm said to be. I'm just a person. I'm just a woman. And just. Because. You. Don't. Lean. On Me. Doesn't mean that other people don't. It doesn't mean I'm not. tired. It doesn't mean anything other than what I say. And if I have doubts, goddamnit, they're /my/ doubts. Yes, I thought I knew Gwen. I guess I was wrong. I thought I was starting to know you. I guess I was WRONG. I thought you both knew me enough to know that I'll SAY WHAT I MEAN." PUNCH. //KICK.// //PUNCH.//

"I'm sick of your displays. I'm sick of your physical threats inherent in /pushing me over/ and /breaking things/ and I won't. put. up. with being told. WHAT I FEEL. WHAT I THINK. I won't. be. the. reflection. Of your fears. I fill a lot of functions. As. A. Friend. I'm willing to do a lot for. People. I. Care. About. But if you need. a. punching. bag. Nevaren, GET ONE."

"I won't be it."

Thea's face, complete with eyes bloodshot from sweat or crying -- tough to tell which -- briefly becomes visible as she looks at the terminal. "Computer, end log and save."

Tyler

Horror Show VII

Thu Jul 03

. CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED .
To: Admiral Jorgensen, Timefleet Command
Re: Orb Visions (Va'tol)
On: 53333.9

Admiral, as per your orders. Subject's name is Va'tol, Ensign, Flight Deck Control Officer, S419U, 419-1669-10336. Orb vision occurred on or around Stardate 53214.6.

This vision did not contain the Lithians directly, and much of it is more personal than I wish to recount. However, the subject did engage in a conversation that I shall recount for the record.

Captain Mendoza: "We found her and her ship, the USS Vega, drifting about a thousand kilometers inside the Dulcais Dead Zone... It was gutted, Va'tol. They got trapped in the damages subspace stratum that encompasses that whole sector.. one of the very reasons it is off limits today... Somehow they got lured into the Dead Zone and something.. something attacked them."

Subject: "Dulcais..dead zone?... What do you mean by *something*?"

Subject's wife: "My Husband.. Tenalka, our daughter, is dead. She died because you and your old crewmates weren't able to destroy the enemy with your ultimate sacrifice....Millions died, My Husband.. For the good of the many.. but apparently it wasn't good enough."

Subject: "My old friend..I..don't understand. Who is this enemy?...and do you mean my crewmates from S-419?"

Mendoza: "Not that we blame you or your crewmates for what you did.. You had to do it, right? If you hadn't of detonated that anomaly... The Rest of the galaxy would have been in /their/ thrall.. Your crew played /God/, Va'tol... They played /GOD/.. They destroyed an entire sector of space.. made it so warp would no longer funtion there.. They took a hunk out of the federation, the romulan and klingon empires.... You people were supposed to have /saved/ us.. SAVED US... Millions DIED, VA'TOL.. MILLIONS.. WE PAID FOR THAT SAFETY...."

Admiral, I include this for the record, however, I must point out that we already know what the effects would be of destroying the anomaly. We already know that it would have catastrophic consequences for the entire sector, and millions will die if it happens. Considering that is already on the list of potential ways of dealing with the threat, it's kind of moot any way. However, this vision does suggest that it has the potential to work.

While not as traumatic as the previous visions, I still insist that we are learning nothing from these visions, and we need to cease them. I eagerly await your response, Admiral.

Havaris

Personal Log

Fri Jul 04

"Today was not a good day. I know good days. This wasn't one of them." Kusto paces his living room floor, wearing an excercise tank top slightly flecked with red blood. "I finally tracked Robert down. His woman is in the infirmary and he's been staying with her. Getting poor sleep. Running himself to the bone. This is something with which I can fully relate I offered him time off. He declined. So I told him to get cleaned up if he's going to wear the uniform and say he's well enough to do so. I finally get down to business. It turns out he wanted to file a complaint about Gwen. She had a counter complaint in on him. And they both placed me in the middle of their dispute. Where, sadly, I belong." Kusto rubs at his cheek at that, frowning.

"After going to bat for Harris at the SSM, bumping up his OER so that he doesn't lose his Section? After having to disagree with Gwen at the table? He makes a series of blanket generalizations regarding the whole crew. Everyone, it seems, but him. Called Gwen a few choice names and generally browbeat me. So I skipped my PADD his way and delivered his orders to report for testing for Lt. JG. Read him the riot act and sent him packing. He owed me an apology. Gave it. I was so furious that I actually... ordered him to pass the test." Kusto smirks somewhat wryly at that. "I can't think of any more fitting revenge than suboordinates of his own. See how he likes it."

"Still. All of that said and done. The sheer volume of crap he laid on me, the words he made me eat... I'm still worried about him. Some might argue that makes me a good commanding officer. Others might say I'm getting soft. Either's just about as likely, really." Kusto chuckles mirthlessly before flopping down onto the couch to rub at his eyes and sigh.

"Last night Thea came home in tears. Naveren had done it again. Details unimpotant. Thea felt threatened. Justifiably so. Cornered. Put upon. I'd had enough. I knew Nevaren went to Fight Night. So I showed. Waited through the whole thing until he showed at the end. Saying he'd give me one shot, no safeties. Because I was owed. Because he earned it. Something along those lines. He didn't show up furious and I couldn't make myself hit him. I just made it clear the price of his touching m wife in anger ever again. We have an understanding now. An understanding that we have no understanding, true. But that's a start. In short, I went hunting for a man I thought I might possibly have killed and walked away without even raising my hand in anger."

"He said we never knew them. He said they hadn't changed, we just never knew them at all. How hard can one person be to know? Break past my standoffish demeanor and I'm a rather transparent man, I think. He said we lied to one another. I haven't lied to anyone. At least. Not to Gwen. Not to Thea. Perhaps I omitted truth. Lie by omission. But it's not as though he's ever asked me any questions, really." Havaris rests his forehead on his hands, sighing expansively and sharply.

"I threatened to kill him. I said I wouldn't feel it, if I had to. But. I do mean that. I meant it. When I said it. If that gets back to the Captain, I'm as good as courtmartialed. Which isn't a thing I've mentioned to Thea as yet. I think there was an understanding. Two husbands. Strutting. Two men. Speaking. A meeting of the minds. I don't think it will come to it. I don't think it will." A pause. "I don't /think/ it will. I'm just not certain which is worse. Saying that or meaning that. Saying that and meaning that or being content to let someone hurt your wife on those terms. I don't know."

"I came home. Gwen was here. She and Thea hugged. I just wanted the fighting to stop. I felt like a child and bad marriage. Stop fighting, please. Thea said she'd never been fighting. Poole just left. Nevaren just tapped his chin at me and said 'give me your best shot'. I didn't have the heart to tell him this /is/ my best shot. It's always been my best shot and it's not getting better. Maybe none of us really know the other person. It's possible. Maybe I trust Gwen less now than I did before I knew she could step out of her marriage as she pleased. Which is unfair, but that was the sentiment. Of /course/ we looked at her strangely. How could we not? Of course we were taken aback. She changed the rules on us. That /changes the rules/ on a person! We had no new rules. It's not like there's a pocket-book 'so your wife's best friend took a lesbian lover and you're attracted to her'."

"We needed time to adjust. We never knew you? Then who are you, Nevaren? Poole? Who are you? I know who I am. I know why I am here. I know what I want at the end of this war. I know precisely what's going to stand in my way. And I know precisely what I intend to do about it. What's not to know about Havaris Medes Kusto? Traumas, secrets, old stories. Not that he's cared to ask."

"Not that I would have told him, if he had."

Tyler

Horror Show Finale

Sat Jul 05

. CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED CLASSIFIED .

To: Admiral Jorgensen, Timefleet Command
Re: Orb Visions (Niel Haven)
On: 53337.2

Admiral. As per your orders. Subject's name is Niel Haven, civilian bookshop owner, S419U. Citizen ID 419-1441-10155. Subject is half Bajoran.

I'm in the book shop. Nelle, Agent Bailey's daughter and now adopted by the subject, is coloring on the floor. Suddenly the lights blow out in a shower of sparks and the klaxons begin to sound. Nelle clings to my leg. I hug her close to protect her.

Shadows outside the doors. Hulking forms. I know they are Lithians. And then, the transparent aluminum on the doors shatter and implode. The forms begin to move into the bookstore. I clutch Nelle to me and begin to slowly retreat. I can recognize some of the Lithians. Captain Balin. Commander Poole. Isole Arnan (whom you should be familiar with as a civilian employee of Timefleet). Loni Haven. Chunks of flesh still hang from them, and the pieces of uniform that are still hanging from them are tattered rags.

I tell Nelle, "Remember that Mommy loves you. If there is anything you must remember, we love you so much Nelle."

And that is when I spot deceased Agent Rebecca Bailey. She hisses through her half crystalline features, "Mommy loves you. Mommy loves both of you." And then she kissed the girl's forehead, depositing the viral package onto her. The girl began to sob.

Bailey then came to me, and, getting closer and closer, said, "Now we can be together.. One big.. happily.. family..."

Then she kissed me. And filled my mouth with the viral package. Then blackness.

Admiral, with all due respect, if you want any more of these visions monitored, you can damned well fly out to S419 and spy on the subjects yourself. I refuse to be a part of this investigation any longer. It's affecting my health. My /real/ work. It's unethical. It's wrong. We have not learned /anything/ from them that is of significant strategic value from any of them.

Bring me up on charges if you feel you must, but I will no longer be a party to this nightmarish insanity. I'd rather spend the rest of my life in the stockade than violate these people's privacy, because that's all we've done. I am so close to a nervous breakdown about all of this that I am going straight to Dr. Park to discuss it with him. I can't hold it back any longer. Every time I see one of these walking dead I have to keep myself from bursting into tears. I'm not going to allow it to affect my life or my work any longer. It ends here. It ends now. The investigation is closed. I look forward to your response.

Malloy

Personal letter

Sat Jul 05

The UFP Logo is replaced by a view of Lieutenant Malloy sitting in his comfy chair, next to the bunch of potted plants the only not standard equipment in his quarters it seems. Having his feet propped up on the desk, he drinks from a water bottle, dressed in his duty uniform.

"Lieutenant Junior Grade Craig Malloy, RRT Medical Officer, Station Four One Niner, Stardate 53337.7" With a slight smile, he takes a drink from the bottle, then looks straight into the camera. "Hello Femke. When you read this,I'm gone for a little bit. It's the boys time to go play again hide and seek, tramp through god, and probably Dylan, knows what, and in general long for replicators instead of roasted snake with a helping of crunchy tree roots. I'd be a liar if I'd tell you that...well, you know, we talked about things. We talked about risks and possible outcomes. I just as well could trip on station or fall out of my bed and break my neck. When and if my time comes, it comes, no matter where I am or what I do. You don't need to worry, I am surrounded by people I more than willingly trust my life with, and, shockingly, do the same with me. You know, to be quite honest? There are times where I'd rather trust in them than having the responsibility of their trust in me. But...that's not the point."

Another sip from his bottle, followed by a thoughtful look, not really focused on the camera. "Femke, you know I love you...I think we are beyond the need and necessity to express this in spoken words, reassuring each other of our mutual feelings. You know it, you feel it, and I do likewise. We *really* have to sit down and talk to Jaylas and Thalev when I am back. I need to find out about combinations of Earth and Andorians traditions, and I really should finally send that bloody letter to my family. It's almost as if I am afraid that they say no or whatever. Which is stupid, but...dammit, I will do it after I send out the other logs. Things. Whatever. Just...I...well, you know. Water my plants, I promised Sulky. Elaborate on the Colonial, go easy on the affairs...and maybe decide what you'd like to wear for the Earth ceremony. I'll ask my mother to get in touch with you, there is something you ought to get actually."

He licks his lips, almost nervously, then cracks a soft smile into the camera. "Take care, Femke. I should see you soon again. You're in my heart, you know that. You are a part of me, now and forever. And no 'what if's. We both know better than that. Computer, send this to Ensign Femke Nolte, one hour after I left the station."

Lieutenant Malloy's quarters disappear, only to be replaced by a black screen with the UFP Logo displayed proudly on it.

Malloy

Personal letter II

Sat Jul 05

Malloy

Personal letter III

Sat Jul 05

Malloy

Personal letter IV

Sat Jul 05

The UFP Logo is replaced by a view of Lieutenant Malloy sitting in his comfy chair, next to the bunch of potted plants the only not standard equipment in his quarters it seems. He looks rather proper, sitting straight and attentive, almost eager, leaning forward into the camera. A water bottle is placed within easy reach to his right, and almost in an afterthought, he pulls down his duty uniform, adjusting it in the Picard Maneuver.

"Lieutenant Junior Grade Craig Malloy, RRT Medical Officer, Station Four One Niner, Stardate 53337.7" There is a pause, almost uneasy, before he continues. "Hi Mom. Hi Dad. I hope you are enjoying your vacation on Risa. I...hmmm. Well, Dad, I guess you might read in the New England Journal of Medicine...possibly even the Lancet, about a small thing one of those weird Combat Doctors designed. A glove sort of thing..I won't bore you with details, I am sure the specs will be published there as well. Just so you know, this Dr. Malloy who will likely be mentioned is your's truly. And Mom, just out of curiosity...do you happen to recall a certain Alethea Ruth Medes? Short girl with quite some self-esteem....I guess she developed that only lately though, she looks the type. And a Jalyn Risa...she just graduated from Academy....I guess she must be what Medes was like her age. So this might help you. They are both on board Four One Niner. Not the worst the Academy turned out by far. Might want to watch their careers, they could go places....although Medes might actually become a traitor on your cause... My bets are she will end up in red. As I said, I've seen worse, but not much better."

A sly smile flicks over his lips before he continues. "Anyway, this is not quite the reason I am sending this to you. I... alright, the normal, stereotypical way to put this would be to tell you the usual. Mom, Dad, I met someone. Her name is Femke Nolte, she's an Ensign, former Assistant Training Officer, now the Colonial Affairs Officer. I'm afraid it's rather serious, so chances are you might want to come out here and meet her while she is still not married. And, yes, she will be married to me, which kinda is the first step of me settling down. You guys might want to breath again, I am sure you still are rather good at diving without equipment, but..., well, you know...you guys are not getting any younger."

The bottle? Over there? He reaches for it, taking a long drink from it, giving the recipients of the message time to talk to each other for a little bit. "Still with me? Good. Because...you might want to sit down. No, no grandchildren. No worries, no need to start knitting things. Just...well. I...might have a bit more news for you as well. Femke is something like an Andorian trapped into a human shell. She did most of her growing up on Fimdari, in a quad with her father and...look, it is kinda complicated. Let's just leave it at the more Andorian than Human mindset on some things and you better meet her in person before you try to see her through my caleidoscopic vision of her. She's too unique to be adequately described in words. Either way...we proposed to an Andorian couple we are rather fond of. So...it might be that you get two daughters in law and one son in law. And more family than you could imagine. I hope you brought your whiskey, Dad. Mom might need a sip. It IS your fault after all. If I wouldn't have been an only child, you'd be used to having more than one in-law in younger generations by now. Don't blame me. And it would have been easier for me, too, I could have talked to a brother or a sister to have help in approaching you. You guys have NO clue how difficult it is to find the right time, place, words AND the guts for recording this. I love you...it'd be nice if I would hear from you guys rather sooner than later. I think I do need that engagement ring we got in the family....I wonder if I need a replica for Jaylas....I have to get back to you on that one, gotta talk to Femke about customs... Oh, Right. Take care and enjoy your vacation. Love you, guys." He winks into the camera, lifting the bottle in a silent salute to the camera. "Computer, send to Dr. Andrew Malloy and Dr. Claudia Malloy, Harrisonburg, Virginia, Earth."

Lieutenant Malloy's quarters disappear, only to be replaced by a black screen with the UFP Logo displayed proudly on it.

Randal

Burning Bridge, Part I

Sun Jul 06

Static fills the screen. Unfortunately, it never goes away, and presumably the malfunction in the makeshift log recorder doesn't get noticed by Randal until sometime after the log is made. At least the audio works fine, though. "Personal log, stardate 53339. You know, I'm beginning to wonder if it's really worth the trouble. It's not that I haven't /tried/ talking to Magret. And, you know, granted, I'm not exactly the most tactful person in the quadrant, but I've tried. I just really don't like being criticized. It's... it's not so much that she's judging me for what I've done, but how I feel. What I believe. And that really bothers me. Most of the people on this station... they don't really have a clue as to what I'm about. They see the sharp-tongued, boasting little man with a shady past. But, Magret... she should know different by now. Damn it. Doesn't what I did for her and Isole /mean/ anything?"

"Anyway, the really ironic part is Magret tells me Harker is gone. Transferred off the station, I presume. I don't blame him, really. Everyone on this station's trying to find a reason to look down their noses at someone, especially the ones that get to wear the uniforms or carry the weapons, it seems. So I can see where all the riteous indignation and the disapproving glances would get to you after a while." A sardonic chuckle. "I certainly can sympathize, sometimes."

"Isole bothers me a little bit, too. Mostly because she could do something about this argument between Magret and myself but she won't. She says she wants to be neutral. Which doesn't work, really, because she's going to lean on Magret's side because of their obligations to one another... business and otherwise. I don't know. Maybe it's unfair for me to expect Isole to do something, but, you know, it is what I'd do, if the situation was reveresed. Or maybe she's just disguising the fact that she feels the same way as Magret does."

Randal

Burning Bridge, Part II

Sun Jul 06

"So of course, I try to occupy my time by interfering with business that by all rights shouldn't be mine to worry about. The Teirran situation still bothers me. I know I don't have hard evidence, but I can't help thinking that the Rynkans are the major player, and this whole business with Bak'TUR is a shell game that gives them a politically justification for dropping the iron fist onto Teirra. It just... seems like something they would do, as conquerors. Of course, that's partly me associating them with the historical example of the Cardassian Union. But the pieces fit. It's not a complete puzzle mind you, but the pieces fit..."

"At any rate, I'll be talking to Captain Baird in a matter of days, for information at least, and possibly for hire. Solok's already discovered his 'business' opportunity, so he's in, whether his intentions are for the greater good or for a greater account balance. And there's at least one more person I think I can approach who might be receptive to the cause. Don't know yet. Ambassador K'net-Mauri is even encouraging, too, in his distant and somewhat stern way. Perceptive, that one. I never told him what I might be up to, and yet, I think he knows. I hope he really does have that rare sort of insight, and I'm not simply becoming predictable."

"So. We'll see what the next few days brings. This might be a dead end avenue, or worse, but you never know unless you walk the length of it. Part of me kind of wishes Isole and Magret could be in on this but I... don't really feel I can trust them, anymore. Besides, they've made it plain that they don't want to leave they're happily ever after. And I wouldn't want to damage whatever agreement they have with Starfleet, I guess. Whatever it's supposed to be."

"End log, save, encrypt, et cetera et cetera." The audio and the white noise that is the video feed end simultaneously.

BBS 08-14-03 Personal Logs

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