BBS 12-18-04 Personal Logs |
| Havaris | Personal Log (2/2) |
2004 May 28 |
"I've been in counselling for post traumatic stress since Betazed. With a lot of work, a lot of help, a lot of support, some medication, some luck? I'm fully functional. I've been in combat since, I've been decorated for it. I've been promoted. I'm becoming healthy. I'm leaving this behind. I'm not who I was. But I'm still Havaris Kusto. And I'll never forget, not really, not enough, all of this or any of this. My wife, for the rest of our time together, will have to be there to hold me through a downturn. She'll have to put up with my insomnia, or my nightmares, or my depression, or my anxiety, or whatever it is that -- at that time -- is the present manifestation of my illness. It will fade, with time. But it will always be there, somewhere. Like this will always be there, somewhere. A ghost of what was, hovering inside of me." "My Captain wants me to prove I am a better officer than I've been. He doesn't let me quit. He doesn't know the meaning of the word 'good enough'. I've never heard him say the words without a negative beforehand. Not good enough. Never good enough. And, frankly, I love him for it. Too many for too long have been willing to hold my hand when I screw up. They've been willing to forgive what I do based on what was done to me. Based on my illness. Based on my experiences. And they have no idea how destructive, how demeaning, how depersonalizing that really is. Because if I can't cut it out here, in this uniform, under these terms? I don't -deserve- to be here. I haven't earned the right. They owe it to themselves, to the Fleet, and to me to measure me with the same stick that I use to measure everyone else. That's what I want. That's what I need. I don't need to know I can survive, that I can get by, that I can 'cut it'. I need to excel. I need to thrive. Because if I don't, if /I/ say good enough, if /I/ say I can't do any better, then I've stopped. Getting. Better." "So long as I live, I will never stop getting better. So long as I live, I will never look in the mirror and say 'Today, Kusto, it's enough. You're good enough. Let it go.' I owe it to my wife to spare her those long nights where I don't come to bed. I owe it to myself to spare myself those nights. And I owe it to all of these people here, these figments of my creation, to be better than I had to be so that I didn't become like them." "I owe it to the Captain that never gave up on me, the Commander who saw me leaving my post after Alethea was shot and didn't do anything more than relieve me. I owe it to Rann, and Rivers for their support, for the things I've said. I owe it to YaSharra for it never being a bad time to hail. I owe it to my Department who look up to me, and to Michael Edwards for being both my idol, and my disappointment. I owe it to the Fleet. I owe it to the Federation. I owe it to me. To my mom. To my dad. To my sister. To. To /never/ stop. Ever stop trying. To be more. Than I am." "Today, my Kai, the First Minister, my Government back home, they pardoned me. /They/ told me, Kusto, come home. It's enough." He draws himself up to his full and lacking height and says clearly, "And I said _no_. Because I'm not /done yet/." "I am. Not. Finished. Here."
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| Nevaren | What may come.. Part 1 |
2004 May 28 |
Nevaren sits quietly on the ledge beneath the large view port in the living area of the Poole Family quarters, his pale green and less bloodshot eyes staring into the depths of space. The lanky albino has his knees pulled to his chest, arms hugging his legs to him as if they offered some sort of quiet support. And all is silent in these quarters. No music. No chattering. Nothing save the sound of his low, deep breaths. He is, for the moment, alone. Without moving a muscle, as if the very thought of movement in itself was a foreign concept, he speaks up. He makes no effort to actually look at the computer terminal a few feet away. "Computer. Open Personal log." he says, his voice so quiet it barely breaks the imposing silence of the room. "New Entry. Stardate 54126.2." The computer chirps an affirmative, the sound stark and sharp, bringing a faint wince to Nevaren’s sensitive, pointed ears. He takes a deep, steadying breath.. Collecting himself. All the scattered thoughts that are spread through the painful, raggedly gapping hole in his soul. "Sometimes we try to do wrong things," he says, almost thoughtfully, "Even if they are with good intentions. Part of me realizes that, though /only/ part." Another deep breath, the closing of his eyes. "I think between Doctor Brin and the call I just got from my Foster Father.. No.. My /father/... I think between those two things I am starting to realize what could have been a mistake in my judgment. /Our/ Judgment." Slowly, his shoulders roll and shift as he works the tension out of his muscles, rolling lean serpents beneath the white silk of his shirt. "I hadn’t taken to Dad since.. Since the day Naya died." he struggles with those words, the sharp pain evident in his face, still not tempered or dulled. A pain that probably never will go away. "Only long enough to tell him what had happened. Only long enough to see his heart break. He aged, right before my eyes. He aged a good ten years. I.. I hadn’t seen anything like that since Mom and Kara and Sharlonlea died during the Breen attack on Earth.." Another gulp. More pain.. Old memories becoming all to fresh within him. "He was so silent then. I thought he may never call back. But he did, today. And we talked for hours." He raises a scarred hand and runs the palm over his equally, if not more so, bald pate. As if trying to sooth tension not just from his muscles but from his very brain. "I asked him how he survived after His Wife... his daughter.. His grand daughter died. I asked him how he went on. He went silent again and I thought that maybe.. just maybe.. I had offended him somehow. Or angered him. That he might just sign off again, this time not just in pain and anger. But he didn’t. He just sighed, deeply, and told me ‘Nevaren... I survived because I had no other choice.’ I realized, then, that he had wanted to die as well. To simply fade away from life and join them. I told him this. And he almost smiled with me and said ‘Yes. You’re right. But I didn’t. Because I had no choice. because, for one reason, I wasn’t going to let those bastards win." "I asked him what the second reason was. And the look he gave me. Still shining with the pain of the death of his second grandchild. That look froze me where I sat pinning me almost to the chair with the intensity of his emotions. His respect and love, overriding the pain in him for one, brief, nova bright moment." "’The second reason is that /you/ are still here, Nevaren.’ he told me, so gently yet so.. so forcefully honest and sincere. ‘You are still here, Nevaren. You are my /son/. And Gwen is more then just my Daughter in law. You two are everything I have left in this universe. And everyday that you two continue to live on and fight is another day I heal just that little bit more." Nev opens his eyes, the pale green orbs beginning to glisten with tears. They do not fall, though. He has cried so much in the past 5 days that he has fought to gain some control. "Prophets I love that man." he says, with pride. An inflection not heard in his voice in so long now. "He still bears the wounds.. But he bears them now a bit more easily knowing that we are still going on. I still feel so raw. So cut up and hollowed out over Naya but I can almost feel what he is meaning. That as long as /someone/ we love still lives we must go on and use that feeling to suture the wound somewhat. It never goes away. It never heals. But it will scar over slightly in time. The scar a reminder not of what died but of why we live." He shakes his head, his hands fidgeting in his lap. "I told him what we had tried to do, then. I told him about the genetic samples we wanted taken so we could create a viable embryo one day for Gwen to carry.. Sometime in the future after we have finally moved on from this place and back to Earth. He went so quietely so quickly I thought I had just ruined our moment. Then he broke the silence after studying my face for a long minute and asked ‘Why? You can’t bring her back, Nevaren. You can’t clone her. She wouldn’t be the daughter you lost." "I think I sort of lost it, at least slightly, for a moment. It was the same argument I had with Brin the first time I made that request. I told him we /weren’t/ trying to bring our daughter back. I told him that We knew she was gone. That we weren’t trying to make a copy of Naya." Nevaren raises his head and rubs at his cheeks with his hands, drawing his face long with the pull of his fingers across the pale skin. "I just wanted Naya to have a legacy. Yes, this girl would be her genetic twin, but it wouldn’t be Naya. She would be her OWN person. We just didn’t want to see that potential die. The hard work that /she/ had put into becoming a living being. All that effort that got taken away. We wanted /that /potential/ to live on. I told him this. I told we wanted to do it for the same reason that he continued living. Because We were tired of losing and, for once, were going to win. Against fate. We weren’t doing this for us. We were doing it for /her/. So that some part of her would carry on, for /her/ sake.. For her /right/ as a sentient being, no matter how short that was, to have a legacy." "He wasn’t silent this time. He didn’t study me. He just straightened up, though his eyes were so soft and understanding, and asked me ‘Are you sure that is the only reason Nev?" I was going to argue that but he cut me off too quickly. ‘I know you truly believe that in your heart, Nev. In your soul. But I also know that, deep down in both you and Gwen, there is a small, dark place where you both secretly want your daughter back and that you would do whatever you could, no matter what, to bring her back. Yes, I know your intentions were more then noble. They are the intentions of a /good father/. A father who loves his family above all else. But in the same way, your being that good father means you would make any decision, even a bad one, no matter how good the reasoning." <<Log Continued>>
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| Nevaren | What may come.. Part 2 |
2004 May 28 |
<<Log Continued>> Raising his hands and placing them against the view port, Nevaren leans foreword and places his forehead against the cool transparent aluminum. Another steadying breath. A tremble of his lips betraying his conflicting emotions which war inside of him. "I wanted to shout at him and tell him this wasn’t true but... But I couldn’t. Because, in some way, it was. He was right, on some deep level. And I knew that. If Brin’s gentle reasoning last night, mostly based on Science and the whole issue of laws, ethics and legal semantics hadn’t been enough.. Then this /was/. " "I think it lifted Dad’s heart a bit when he saw the light dawning on me. Because he sighed, tried to smile, and shook his head. ‘See. you /know/ I’m right.’ he said, with all the self-mocking admiral-level arrogance he could muster. And, for the first time in days, I actually laughed. It hurt to laugh. Because I still felt that laughing was wrong. but part of me /relished/ in the laugh. Even if it was extremely brief. And the pain, which didn't ease one iota, was slightly more bearable because I knew it was shared." "I told him of my other idea. About how, instead of having the genetic sample used to create a new embryo with all of Naya’s genetics, I had felt that we could donate that sample to one of the Medical Institutes on Earth. So that one day if an interspecies couple, hopefully part human and Romulan like Gwen and I, wanted to have a child yet couldn’t because of massive genetic complication then they could use Nayas. /Recombinating/ the genes /with/ the mother’s, to fix her problem, and then be fertilized by a doctor using her mates material. Just like how many couples with infertility problems do write legally." "I think that /this/ time, the light dawned on /him/ because he spoke before I could explain why. "It wouldn’t be Naya. or her twin." he said. ‘It would be her.. Child. Her Descendant.’ I nodded but didn’t say anything. Dad’s face smiled more. "She would live on through her descendents, like we all do. And she would have helped someone selflessly. Nevaren, that is.. That is a most wonderful legacy.‘" "Then he asked me what Gwen’s feelings were on this. I told him she wasn’t for the idea. of donating Naya‘s genetic material, no matter how good intentioned.. Yet. I wouldn’t do it /without/ her consent, just as I won’t donate the other samples to Cross-species breeding study groups and medial groups without that consent as well. I won’t force the idea on her. I would just continue to explain the reasoning listen to her thoughts and worries and, hopefully over time, we could come up to a suitable solution. The samples wouldn't go anywhere. Just stay on file in stasis until we came to a definitive solution. And, in the mean time, some of those samples could be used, if not to be used in the actual development of an embryo /physically/ then at least it could be use as a road map for next time.. In a few years when we wished to try and conceive a child again." Opening his eyes again, Nev almost smiles. There is still pain in it but there is something else. Something lighter. "Dad was so happy that we weren‘t going to give up on creating a family. That to keep trying would be another great legacy for Naya. And we will. keep trying. Not now, of course. Not for a while. but we will continue trying one day after all.. After all /this/, here on the station, is over. I didn’t tell him that, though." Finally Nev pulls back from the window and swings his legs off the ledge.. Working them slowly to get the circulation flowing again. "We ended the conversation on a more somber note. One filled with more crying again. Though more on my part or his, I don’t know. He can’t make it for the memorial. It would take him weeks to get here. But he wanted to know what we were going to do with her.. body." That brings a new lump to his throat. He hates thinking of her as that. It looks like it almost kills him every time. "On Wednesday morning her stasis unit will be brought to the Temple for a private viewing ceremony. I must then chant the Lament for her. I am still not ready.. Not today. But I.. I will be. It is why I have waited that long. I.. couldn’t bring my self to say the death chant over her. With whomever of the Bajoran faith consider friend or family who would be there, especially. After I have done the chant she will be cremated.. And after that, in the late afternoon, we will hold a non-officiated memorial in the Gardens. For friend and family to speak. For me to say what I need to say to everyone. And then we will beam her ashes into space." This brings Nev to hang his head and, for the first time in the entire log, his breathing is ragged as a fit overcomes him. A fit of deep grieving and anguish and anger.. He balls his fists until the pale knuckles are a pearl white. Then, almost as quickly as it came over him, it washes away and he is almost panting.. His cheeks stained wet with tears finally no longer held in. "Before he signed off he was crying again... Crying hard. He places his hand against the screen as if he were trying to place his hand on my shoulder. He said ‘Nevaren. remember what I said. You must go one. Some days will be okay. Son will be so bad that you want to go out and do something rash just too make the pain and the fury stop. But you can’t. Remember that. you can’t. Because you are a better man then that. And Gwen is a better woman. Be strong, Nevaren. And whenever you need the strength, then draw it from your friends and family. I love you two. I love you so much.’ Then he signed off." Standing, though a bit wobbly, Nev slowly makes his way to the painting on tee wall. The one Gwen painted of the dram of a grown up Naya. Slowly, he raises a shaking hand.. running trembling fingers along the outline of the gentle face.. Lingering over the slightly pointed ear poking through the long hair. His other hand grabs at.. a locket. A locket which no one has ever seen before. A simple, unadorned oval that lays against his chest in a simple, silver chain. He flicks it open with his thing and stares at the contents, unseen by the viewscreen as he holds it away from it. And just as he opened it, he flicks it closed and raises it to his lips, where he kisses it once, before holding it tightly as his hand closes around it and stares again at the painting. "Part of you will always be with us." he whispers so softly the terminal barely picks up the sound. "I love you, My daughter." "Computer. End Log." Fade to Black
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| Dakin | Preparations |
2004 May 29 |
The door to senior officers' suite #304 swishes open as Lt. Commander Dakin Rann strides inside. He calls out to his wife and children, who apparently aren't home at the moment. He goes over to his desk and eases himself into the seat. "Computer, replay unread messages." The computer replies, "One message unread. Sender: Lieutenant Jaylas Idrani. Beginning playback." The station's chief of security's facial expression during the reading of the message begins as one of muted interest, a level of interest that seemingly grows as the Andorian diplomatic officer's voice is heard from his desk terminal. His eyebrows visibly shoot up as another voice, this one male, begins speaking. A broad smile brightens Dakin's face, but that smile soon gives way to a confused creasing of his brow. "Message ended. No further messages on file." Dakin swivels his chair away from the terminal and stands. The Bajoran begins to pace, biting his knuckle as though very deep in intent thought. "Why would we want to know that, of all things?" he asks himself, as if bouncing the question off the bulkhead and hoping an answer bounces back in its place. "Doesn't make any sense unless..." Lt. Commander Dakin Rann stops short, a realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. A realization that elicits only a single phrase. "Prophets guide us." Dakin hurriedly heads back to his terminal, not bothering to sit down, and enters a few text messages into it. "Computer, send text messages, high-priority." Dakin checks the charge on the Type II he had holstered and makes one final request as he heads back out into the corridor. "Computer, locate Dakin Morgan, Dakin Jacob, and Dakin Ryasharra." He does not wait for an answer as the doors slide shut as swiftly as his departure.
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| Edwards | Vigil Thoughts |
2004 May 29 |
"Computer, begin personal log, audio only. Stardate 54126.9." The voice of Michael Edwards sounds drained. Weary. "Akeen tells me that it's not my fault. Aaron blames himself. But I can't get rid of the feeling that this is my fault. I'm the one that needs to be blamed. Sure, Sinclaire's the one that did this despicable thing to Wendy in the first place, spurring us into action. And Aaron's the one who devised and implemented the treatment. But twice he decided not to go through with it, and twice I pushed him into changing his mind. Wendy refused to go through with it, and I talked her into changing her mind. How does that not make me responsible? Maybe, logically, Akeen is right. I had no reason to trust Sinclaire and couldn't foresee this happening. But that doesn't change how I feel. I can only think about what I did to make this possible. Now here you are, Wendy. Comatose. Possibly our greatest ally or greatest enemy... well, not anymore, eh? Does that mean we have a chance, or no chance at all? The pessimist in me thinks it's the latter. Yeah, you can call me a pessimist now. I think this debacle has crushed the last bit of optimism in me. I can't see a happy ending anymore. Not for this time around." He swallows. "I'm sorry. I only tried to do the right thing by seeing this done. You know I'd never want to see you hurt. Still, I keep managing to hurt you, don't I? Only this time, I'm not just scaring the hell out of you. You're scaring the hell out of me. Just chalk this up with all the mistakes I've made around here. I tried to protect the people on this station from the Dominion and ended up allowing how many to get massacred by Jem'Hadar until I finally had faith in Laco. I tried to ensure that species all over the galaxy would be safe from Romulan oppression and ended up massacring how many innocents myself? And now I've tried to help you and have done this. But this one's going to kill a lot more people. A lot more. There are other mistakes, I know. Ones I can't remember right now. It doesn't really matter after that last one, does it? I can't top that, at least. Thank goodness for small favors, eh?" He chuckles humorlessly. "Wake up. Please." The log continues to record until it automatically shuts off from lack of activity.
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| Lux | Debt Management |
2004 May 29 |
The bright green sigil of the Ferengi Alliance fades from the screen to reveal Lux, sitting at the desk in his quarters. He has pushed the computer console away and would appear to be focusing his attention on the small metal bust of Gint, the first Nagus of the Alliance, that most Ferengi have somewhere in their homes. "Computer," he says quietly, "Begin recording with timestamp" he steeples his spidery fingers and continues. "Liquidator Lux, personal log. It would appear that everything in the Universe has decided to go to the poorhouse at once and this accursed recession doesn't have the common decency to remain either in the personal or the professional markets, oh no, it would seem profit-bent on spilling over into both equally." He sighs then recites the old Ferengi proverb, "Monsoon season floods mansions as well as hovels." Lux crosses his bony arms in front of him on the desk and leans forward over the little statue in a disturbingly vulture-like gesture. "The political mess that the quadrant is currently in, well, that's just business. Nobody with half a brain in their head could have had any illusions about the Federation/Klingon/Romulan alliance actually lasting. Sooner or later one or more governments were bound to change hands and when that happened all bets would be off. Regardless of Federation intervention, there's no way that you're going to get the Klingons and the Romulans to play nice with one another. It's just not in their nature. Patrician noses are just too easily knocked out of joint and Klingons are..well..Klingons. Even the Nausicaans getting too big for their britches and needing to be reminded where they actually stand in the galaxy. All of these things, while, admittedly unpleasant and ill suited for long term financial planning, were in some way or another anticipatable. Nausicaan stupidity, Romulan opportunism and Federation hand-wringing are all things that you can plan for. A gaggle of genetically altered thugs who despite their allegedly superior intellects still can't survive without demanding some sort of handout running amok on the station and taking hostages, on the other hand is hardly something that you can be expected to anticipate." Lux leans back in his desk chair and closes his eyes tightly for a minute to regain his composure. Apparently he doesn't like to lose it even in a private log entry. "At no time in my life have I ever labored under the delusion that I am a good man. Good men don't last long in my line of work. I accepted this fact years ago before the FCA moved me out of Accounts Receivable and into Foreign Market Analysis. When I worked collections I heard every sob story in the book. Some of which were even true. A Ferengi will try anything, even telling the truth, to try to get you to not put that Black Scroll in their hands. Not a one of them every worked. It didn't matter to me if you'd stolen a spare stylus from the Nagus or if you couldn't pay your taxes on time because your dear old Moogie needed a lifesaving operation, your assets would be seized and liquidated, every time, no exceptions. I never let them mail in the shirt on their backs at a later date like some Liquidators do, either. A deadbeat's dignity just never mattered that much to me. I won't even get into some of the things that I've done since I started working in foreign markets. So it's not as though I have a weak stomach or haven't done my share of unpleasant deeds. In fact, I've always prided myself on being the sort of Ferengi who doesn't mind getting his hands dirty." He opens his eyes again and glowers directly at the bust of the Blessed Exchequer's Chairman of the Board. "Yet somehow, in a very profitable life of being a rather despicable fellow all things considered, I've managed to never shoot a pregnant woman! And that, Ginty old boy, is where you come in." Lux reaches into a desk drawer and pulls out a small energy-cutter, the kind that one would use to open sealed boxes, or any other sort of everyday round the house cutting. He switches it on and then sets the Gint-bust face down on the desk and begins to commit the unthinkably sacrilegious. "Now it was you who gave our people the sound, sound advice to never put family or friends before finances and I'm now interpreting that to include incompetent deified historical figures as well." Lux slices a small circle in the back of the statue's hollow head. Latinum strips can be heard jingling around inside. "Now let's see, I put in a slip for my god-daughter for each month of Gwen's pregnancy. Nothing fancy mind you, just the usual superstitious bribe for good fortune for the mother and the child which, despite the simplicity of the request, the supposedly immortal and omnipotent spirit of the Alliance's Founder, failed to deliver on." He begins to pour out the contents of Gint's skull into his hand. "Pay up you miserable old fraud." Lux looks for a moment like he's about to cry. Instead though he clutches the Latinum tight in one hand and throws the defiled statue across the room with his other. Lux slumps in his chair though he keeps the Latinum clutched in his hand. "If this was somehow supposed to be some sort of trial or cosmic leverage designed to turn me back into the old me, for at least the foreseeable future, you can consider it a resounding success, old-man, although I suppose that technically, I'm about to put family before finances briefly, chalk it up to yet another Rule of Acquisition that I'm no damned good at adhering too." Lux sets the Latinum aside and slides his computer back in front of him. As he begins typing he mutters, more to himself than the log. "Unbalanced idiots trying to make a stupid point have upped the ante beyond their means and are about to pay dearly for it…the eugenics freaks must have attended one of Zuh'raah'do's business workshops Computer, end log and encrypt."
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| Cross | Drowning and outthinking yourself |
2004 May 31 |
<<Manual Input Mode>> Personal Log of Lieutenant Michael Cross Stardate: 54131.6 Hello Old Friend, Long day that is only going to get longer. I'm drowning in work. I've got training during the day, physical, mental, making me into the commander that I have to be. I have projects right and left that I'm trying to get done, making sure that I don't fail in doing my job. I have a team now that I have to make sure they are at their best. And I will make them the best. I will make myself worthy to lead these people. Some people might not like me being here, but I am sorry, but I am suppose to be here. I got briefed on this Sinclaire person. It made me wonder if I have an opposite out there with her. I wonder if I had become cold and cynical with the years. If I am there, I or should I say he knows right now that I know that I am pondering these thoughts. Still, there is the possibility that there isn't a me out there. Perhaps I am the variable to the equation. The universe always balances itself out, so if she and that ship is the negative, perhaps I am what swings us to the positive and the good. There is the possiblity that I am so full of it, that I have no idea what I am talking about. Still, isn't something that everyone should shoot for is the ability to do good, to be able to help your fellow man? Anyway, I am going to complete this research so I can run some tests, get a few hours of sleep, so I can be awake for PT so I can be assured to spend more of my personal time in getting these other projects done. No rest for the wicked. <<Log ended, Clearance Locked at Level 7, data encrypted>>
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| Valentine | Life's Sense of Humor |
2004 Jun 01 |
Computer, start personal log, Stardate 54135.5. Audio only. Really, life's sense of humor seems to be at its most exquisitely twisted lately, and I'm not used to being the butt of its jokes. They say that no good deed goes unpunished, and now I'm seriously considering having my PADD output that every time I access it, just as a reminder. When I arrived here at 419-U a little over a week ago, I was determined to make a fresh start of things after the trouble at Starbase 116. (How /did/ Medes find out about that?!) That's why I transferred, after all. But Lord, they're not making it easy. My poor shuttles, sitting there broken-winged and yearning to fly. I managed to get in one double shift- heaven! - before the repair hold came down. Time for another proverb- a taste of honey is worse than none at all. I understand the reasons for it, but that doesn't keep me from twitching every time I enter the shuttle bay. And there's only so many times I can wash 'em and scrub down the bay before it just gets... silly. I shouldn't have let my frustration get the better of me though. It's way too easy to fall back on old habits when that happens, something I need to be on guard against in the future. I wonder if the same could be said of the Commander, though. Is he always so easily provoked? Or am I just that skillful at provoking, even unintentionally? God knows I've had enough practice. Or was it just an act on his part? Two weeks ago, I wouldn't have hesitated to test the theory, and it's very, dangerously tempting to do so now. That wouldn't set well with the new leaf, though, and he's no Riley. Besides, the promise he made... I'm loathe to play the game with him after that. Distant observation will have to do. I do wonder, though, if I should have pointed out that other problems should take priority over the shuttles once we're able to get at 'em again, promise or no. Probably not - he was already mad as a wet cat. I'm fairly sure I don't want to know what he would have done if angered further. And then there's Jo. Another of life's little curveballs, and yet another temptation to revert to old habits. It's kind of ironic- once I couldn't work on the shuttles, I figured I'd have more time to spend with him. I was looking forward to it, and /he/ ends up on double duty. Life's sense of humor strikes again. Anyways... I wonder how long ago his last love left him, because I must have got him on the rebound. That's the only way to explain him falling for me so quickly. I mean, I'm good, but even I am not /that/ good. And he's going to get hurt again, I can feel it in my bones. He says he understands my stand on things, but it's so obvious he's hoping it'll change. And it won't. And one of these days, he's going to see me chatting with the good doctor, or Lux, or Jiri (now there's a dangerous guy in and of his own right, as far as I'm concerned), and it's really going to hit him that I mean what I say. Common sense tells me that I should break it off with him now before it gets even more serious, but he's so sweet, like a lost little boy. How could I do that to him, devastate him that way? All he wants is to make me happy, but one way or another, he's going to end up hurt, and I don't know how to stop it. /That's/ frustration. This caring stuff is an annoying nuisance. It was so much easier when I didn't give a damn, and therein lies the temptation. I don't think I could go that way again, though. Not here. I was astounded by the friendly nature of the personnel on this station. That sounds so cheesy, but it's true. Not that the folks at 116 were /un/friendly, but I wasn't exactly the most pleasant person, and I never gave 'em a chance. I'm used to suspicious glances when I walk into a room; here I get open arms and a warm welcome. It feels good, and I don't intend to risk these developing friendships. Of course, I know that life is just setting me up for another cruel joke, but until the punchline hits, I'm going to be the best friend to these people that I can... Eeewww. Now I'm getting mushy. Computer, end log.
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| Nilee | Archaeology, Ethics, and Public Sa |
2004 Jun 01 |
"Personal log, Lieutenant JG Galen Nilee. Stardate 54136.1. Voice-only." "I know it's taken me a while to record this, but it's taken me this long to digest what happened. We destroyed it. The Final Menagerie. All that remains of the Second Imperium. Now it's a field of debris hurtling through space." <There's an extended pause.> "Am I supposed to feel good about this? I mean, we all could have died down there. Kusto. Thea. Michael. Isobel too. I don't feel good about it though. I did my job, of course: setup the gravitational field generators on its surface. Our friends were back... the creatures that tried to kill us the first time. For some reason, they didn't attack. They must not have sensed the coming destruction of their... home." <Another pause in the recording.> "Before I was joined, I probably would have done my job and never looked back. But now... I regret what we did on that rock." "Thirty-five thousand years old. Remains of ancient civilizations that old are rarely more than a few standing stones, or maybe the foundation of a building at most. But an entire starship? Granted, it was a warship, but still. And the fact that it still worked after all this time!" "I should have said something. Lodged a protest. Done SOMETHING besides just let it happen. Maybe there was no chance of safely exploring the menagerie. But what if there was? We did get pretty close to getting into the computer systems the first time... and we weren't exactly in the best circumstances. If we went back prepared... there's no telling what we could have accomplished. A few pattern enhancers for quick extraction... some proper neutrino sensing equipment... that's all we needed." <There's a final long pause.> "It's my fault. My inaction caused this. If only I had... done something." "Computer, end log and encrypt."
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| Shamash | coming home |
2004 Jun 07 |
Audio log, keyed to last week: Originally, I had planned to have filed a request for transfer by now. I do not know what drove me, maybe it was fate, but whatever the reason, I thought I had to tell Norala that I was leaving before she heard it from someone else. But this talk has changed many things, most significantly, I am not leaving at all. She said to my face that she does not want me to leave and why, if I loved her as much as she loved me, would I want to leave. I told her the reasons I have been brooding over the last fortnight, mainly that carrying the embryo to term will a perpetual taunting, subject to harassment and shame I wish to spare us. Yet she still said, stay. And I stayed and told her everything that had moved me the last fortnight and she responded in the same style: She said, she loved me too much to hurt me, and I could not help but respond to her with the same words. And then.. I made a commitment, I offered her my ring, and she accepted it. Personally, I do not believe that a visual sign is needed, but this is for all to see, she is wearing my ring, and I her pendant. We belong together, and together we can take it up any problem and with everyone who says different. There are countless things we do not know about each other, dark secrets that need to be told and understood. It is too early for most of them, but we took the first step to harmony, to go deeper. Yet, it is a beginning and I start to feel, I have come home. log ends
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| Hurley | Affirmation |
2004 Jun 07 |
"Personal Log, Stardate five four one five zero point two." Christine's voice is on the shakey side, soft and slightly hoarse. "I'm right. I know I'm right." Other than the flashing, strobing lights of the anomaly illuminating her form, the room is completely dark. Facial features are lit periodically, with the anomaly's rhythmic pulsing, but never long enough to actually distinguish anything beyond the broken voice. "I've seen it. I've seen the pain Starfleet causes love. Grandmother and Grandfather, Mother and Father, even now with Meg and Grandfather. I *felt it* myself when Ian left and I didn't hear from him. It's not *possible* to give yourself to two entities - Starfleet and another person." She sniffles, the sihouette shows one of her hands lifting to rub at her temple while she continues. "Edan was wrong. *Ian*, as much as I love him, he doesn't understand. It *never* gets better. It *never* gets easier. And the pain and fear of loss are *always* present. This separation, I believe, was a way to reaffirm to me that it's not possible to be an officer and a lover."" There's a brief pause, long enough for the lights to flash around her form again, before she continues, still softly, "I wanted him to be back so badly. I just wanted him back. Now, he's here, but I want to protect him. I don't want him to feel what I felt, what Grandmother felt, what Mother felt - ever. And one day, he *will have to* because that's the way of things. There are no happy endings, there are *never* happy endings to love; only endings. "But," Christine asks the anomaly, her tone softening, "if I know I'm right, why am I so hurt?" Silence fills the rest of her log, but only for a few minutes, and the anomaly's light slowly fades out just in time for the time-out.
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| Fischer | Personal Log |
2004 Jun 08 |
Playing with Bob for a moment, Wanda pauses in the sport. "I saw Brin today." She pauses for a moment to bat at the cat. "I told him about the altercation between me and Valentine. He wasn't to happy but still not as upset as i thought at me as I thought he would be. "Bob is doing good thats for sure. He is growing rapidly." Wanda sighs for a moment, and continues, "I just wish I could just tell Brin how I feel. "I love him more now, I had to give it to Valentine. If it wasn't for her I wouldn't have had the possiblity of really realizing that if I lost him I would be in alot of trouble mentaly. "No sooner then seeing him again He went away on a misison. Talk about luck on my part. Damnit. An away mission with guess who..Valentine!" A silent groan is heard from her throat. "I need to think.. computer, end log."
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| Ti'ia | Letter Home |
2004 Jun 09 |
To: Jinn, Shiana and Devin Sedona Caladia, Alpha Centauri "Hi, Mom, Dad and Baby Brother!" Ti'ia's plain features smile brightly at the camera. "Hello from the Dulcais Sector. Still here, still working and trying to stay out of trouble. I have to say that things out here are much more.... exciting, than working in a lab on Vulcan. My professors would say that there are an inordinant amount of distractions, but really, it's just that feeling that I'm not in the Core Worlds anymore. "I haven't heard a whole lot more about the genetically resequenced people that caused the last Yellow Alert. Amnesty Interstellar sent me a message about an offer for legal representation. I tried to relay the message via LTJG Mulwray, a friend of mine, but I don't know if the message got to them. I hope so. Regardless of what happened here, everyone deserves competent legal representation and I don't think LTJG Mulwray would attempt to block that from happening." She pauses, "I know it's not a popular stand. But it is wrong, what they've had to go through, because the choice was taken completely away from them. They didn't ask to be resequenced, but they pay the price, nevertheless." Another pause. "Personally, though, I'm a little angry. I stood up for Eliza and the others, called them friends, defended them to Starfleet Security, when they were investigating them on general principle. I feel taken advantage of, I suppose. Probably, I had no effect on Starfleet Security's initial investigation of them. But I could have. I guess this bothers me more than a little. In order to resolve it, in my own mind, I'd like to talk to them. But I don't think that's going to be allowed. "Otherwise, I have been working on my thesis project. The Cardassian Embassy has been very helpful. And, the Cardassian government has opened an Office of Repatriation. They're offering full or dual citizenship to Bajorans or Cardassians that want it. And since I'm half-and-half, I guess that applies to me as well. I've been mulling it over in my head for the past few days now. I don't know what to think about it. I never thought I would ever have any sort of connection to Cardassia Prime, not like this. And don't worry, I would never surrender my Federation Citizenship and I'm not signing anything until I have a bevy of lawyers and diplomats go over it to make sure that I haven't fine-printed myself into a corner. Alpha Centauri is my home and it always well be. But I can't deny that I have a longing for some connection to my genetic heritage. We've talked about this before, I know. We didn't think such a connection would ever be possible, with the Federation at war with the Cardassians, once or twice. Now, it might be. I suppose what I need to do is figure out what my expectations of this would be, what I'm hoping to get out of it, and see if those ideas are congruent with reality. "Anyway, that's more than enough deep thinking for one letter, isn't it? I'm hoping to go on a Starfleet planetary science away mission, just a couple nice, quiet planetary surveys. And I'm learning about a Terran game called 'fitba' that some of my friends like to play. I think I'm too much of a danger to myself and others, when sports are involved, but it is fun to watch and cheer them on. Maybe I'll get up the guts to play it with them, instead of sit in the stands. "Hope all is well back home. Devin, you should be leaving for Terra soon, to take your Starfleet Entrance Exams. Good luck on them; we're rooting for you over here. But if you ever change your mind and decide to go to a 'real' college, I'll put in a good word for you at the VSA. I haven't gotten to Dulcais Prime yet, to see what horses they have out here. Still hoping to do that fairly soon. "Love you all and miss you! Write soon!" The image fades, replaced by the UFP symbol.
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| Medes | So Few Words |
2004 Jun 10 |
"Personal log, Alethea Ruth Medes, Stardate 54155.5. Audio only." A long period of silence, such as usually fills the start of her logs. "I intended for this log to be about Vedek Taimol's triumph, about my promotion, about the ability my husband has now to return to his people -- our people -- and his home. And it should not be said, not for a moment, with everything that's happened, that it doesn't weigh heavily on my mind, and happily so. I've been beautifully happy since that moment. Seeing his /face,/ hearing the shake in his voice... it was all I'd hoped for and more." "I intended for this to be about the triumph of the Thomas Paine and Task Force Hector over the Eater of Worlds." "I intended for all of this. I did. I wanted to record a log where I sat and talked about our triumphs. Kusto's and mine. Taimol's. The station's. Engineering's. But I can't... I can't get that image out of my head." A long, heavy sigh follows here, and another period of silence, with some indistinct shuffling in it. "I can't stop seeing it in my mind. Hearing it in my mind. And it keeps coming back to that moment. It keeps coming back to turning my head -- when I wasn't, at all -- but turning my head, thinking I was, and seeing that support beam lying across the Boss's body. My whole life for me distilled down into those seconds, just like when I watched those filthy creatures beat Kusto. When I watched my then-lover, now-husband slump over the console." "I suppose you never really know how you feel about something until a moment like that. I know I didn't know how I felt until then. I... " Thea stops, her voice breaking off. "He has been, for the last year and a half, almost two years now, the single most motivating professional force in my life. He never let me settle for what I was. He never will, I don't think, as long as I know him -- and I am proud to know him, for that. Akeen Ghorev has been the person who would not accept anything I did as the best that I could do, and, at the same time, never failed to believe that I could measure up to the impossible standards he never had to speak to set." "What do you say to a person when you realise that you would die for them? How do you look up at someone you've looked up to and say, 'Thank you'? How do you deal with that image in your mind, with knowing, crystal-clear, in one brilliantly cold moment, that you would make a deal with God if you could swap their broken body on a bridge for your own, and that you no longer have that choice?" "What would you do if you found out you were wrong, and you have the chance to stand beside them again?" "What would you do if you realised, after all this time, that you would give anything to have the courage to... to... to say, 'Hi, Akeen, how are you, let's go get a drink and... ' If I say 'be friends', that sounds stupid, doesn't it? But I wouldn't want him to die without understanding that alongside Kusto, he's the only one I'd throw my body in front of a quantum torpedo for. Not for Starfleet, not for duty, not because I'm a good officer and that's what good officers do, but because, damnit, he's /Akeen Ghorev,/ and he's /the Boss,/ and I think more of him as a man, and an officer, and an Engineer than I could possibly quantify?" "What would you do if you found that you had so much to say to someone, and so few words?" "I suppose I'm supposed to have some sort of witty answer, here. But I haven't got one. I've got a prodigious amount of things to say. I've just got so few /words./" "Computer, end log and save."
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| Gwen Poole | One Week |
2004 Jun 11 |
"Personal log, Gwendolyn Anne Poole, Stardate 54160.3." The video blinks, replacing the UFP symbol with the pale face of Gwendolyn Poole seated at a desk, the Anomaly visible in a viewport behind her. Wherever she is must be new, as none of her previous logs have been recorded here. "What a difference one week makes. ... I just now finished with the redecorating. I have an office in my quarters." "The only thing that really brought me down during the week were the actions of my friend, Michael Cross. I don't even want to get into it in this log, as its only going to get messier. I anticipate a whole log devoted to sorting /that/ out later, God save me. Moving on..." "Akeen Ghorev. I don't know if he knows just how much I have come to trust in him. In my darkest days he did not coddle me, but brought me back to my feet, dusted me off and let me find my way again," Gwen turns in her chair and looks out towards the Anomaly thoughtfully, "Quietly. Unassumingly. And I thusly count myself beyond lucky to serve with him and Captain Balin." "I was proud to stand at that man's side, facing what was statistically likely to be our last few moments of life. Fighting the good fight. Striking a blow for freedom. Defending the Federation and its peoples." "Terrifying vision aside, it felt /damned/ good to be on a bridge again. I felt like I had my purpose back. Like I had that old flame back that I used to carry in me, the one that got lost amidst the hormones, emotions, pain and turmoil of my pregnancy." "Back to the vision," she murmurs after a few moments of thoughtful silence. "It threatened to send me back to that place and put out that flicker of a flame. But the Iconians, thankfully, know little of humanity. They know little of how tough we are. We are a deceptive species. Our quality is elusive." "They picked my greatest motivation, my daughter, as a supposed weakness... and perhaps, so close to her death, it was a weakness of sorts. But I survived it and now they've earned themselves another enemy. They go second on my list, right after the Lithians. Some day, they will bleed as we have bled." Some silent contemplation follows before Gwen looks back into the camera and smiles, however subdued a smile it may be. "All that in one week. Computer, end log."
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| Donavon | Conflict |
2004 Jun 12 |
<<Audio Only>> Personal Log, Stardate 54161.5 Emotionally this has exhausted me. Unlike the harder times before, this one draws from moments in my past that I have yet to completely heal. I'm scared. I'm worried for the team and mostly Lanie. I'm frustrated with myself for being scared. He isn't here anymore. That isn't me anymore. No one can touch me. Yet my hands shake every time I attempt at typing the report for Lt. Golden. Re-experiencing my past and seeing it occur with friends and family pushes me. I want to lash out - attack the cause for this fear and anxiety. How dare he do this? How dare he hurt my family and friends like this? How dare he harm these women?! How dare he! I'm so angry. Angry at him. Angry at myself for not protecting others. I'm not supposed to be. I have to remember to stay focused and in control - not let him have the control. I have to be strong, breathe, and stay at all times - calm. In the end, we'll be the ones who are stronger. Luckily, Rob isn't here else he wouldn't stand for this. <<End Log>
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| Valentine | The Paine of Rebirth |
2004 Jun 12 |
"Ensign Tara Valentine, Personal log, Stardate 54161.7. "Well, it's certainly been one heck of a week. It feels like a lot longer. Offhand I'd guess that's normal for transformation of one's psyche, even if it's only partial. I am, most definitely, not the same person I was seven days ago. I think it's a change for the better, though it was a close thing for a few days there. "The battle with the Eater of Worlds was officially the Scariest Thing I've Ever Been Through. Scarier than when Keon was pulled into the thresher. Scarier than watching a friend slam a work bee into a pylon. And it's not because the Eater was so powerful, or because I could have died out there, as so many did. All those lives... No, it was deeper than that. There's something about being on a ship's bridge when all hell is breaking loose, and your comrades are falling, and you know you have to do /something/, lest all be lost..." A wry chuckle. "I'd been in skirmishes before, on my cadet cruise. I thought I knew battle. But back then, I was down in Engineering, watching monitors, surrounded by a whole department full of people that'd easily catch any mistake I made. I guess I was expecting things to be pretty much the same on the bridge of the *Thomas Paine*. For the record, I was wrong, which makes the day we defeated the Eater an historic date in more ways than one. The things that happened on that bridge... I know, now, what it truly means to be responsible for the lives of others. It's not just keeping shuttles in good shape so their passengers can fly safely. That's passive, an offshoot of the pride and love I have for my ships. What I'm talking about is the active acceptance... no, not acceptance. Taking... the responsibility into one's hands. Making that responsibility as much a part of oneself as breathing. I can feel the weight of it, as if it were trying to force me to the ground. But I know now that I can bear that burden, and while I suspect that it won't always be easy, there's new strength there, too, I will NOT break. "I almost did. Maybe it was sort of a breaking-in period, no pun intended. I still can't forget the screams that filled the bridge. The faces of my crewmates under that awful attack. The trip back to the station, and for several days afterward, it plagued me. I couldn't get it out of my mind, though I did my best to forget. But Galen was right. Smart guy, our Lieutenant Nilee. And /built/, too. I feel a little silly for not having realized it myself. Okay, a lot silly. He said, we can't forget. That we shouldn't. Cause if we do, we forget what we're fighting for in the first place. Simplistic, perhaps, but profound. And the nightmares went away, and left this stranger behind with my name. And I think I rather like her. "Computer, end log.".
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| Javits | Personal Log |
2004 Jun 12 |
The familiar white UFP logo on a field of blue is displayed briefly, then fades to reveal Nick leaning comfortably against the back of his couch while slowly turning over a careworn fencing foil in his hands, apparently in the process of inspecting its blade. His white fencing jacket contrasts brightly with the starfield visible behind him through the viewports. "Senior structural engineer's personal log, stardate <<<54162.3>>>." He sets foil behind him on the top of the couch, then turns back to face the camera with a somewhat weary yet satisfied expression. "A good solid set of drills always helps to clear my mind and helps me to think more clearly, many times better than working. Looking back on the events of the past week, there's certainly been a lot to think about. I'm still waiting on Ensign Ender's report about that odd replicator pattern we found in quarters sixteen-oh-two. It's something I'd very much like to ask our guests about too." The camera follows him as he pushes off from the couch and slowly heads over to the replicator. After tapping a set of glowing symbols on its control panel, he reaches in to extract a tall glass of clear liquid from the device. Taking a long sip from it, he looks back to the camera. "That, however, is probably the least of our worries of the moment." He grins, lowering the glass to waist level. "Somehow, I managed to help save the galaxy. The Eater of Worlds is gone forever, wiped out by the combined forces of the Federation, the Romulan Star Empire, the Klingon Empire, the Ferengi Alliance, and even a few Dominion ships. Now that last one was certainly a surprise, at least during the first encounter with this monstrosity. Of course, had it not been for the Ferengi and their different brain physiology, we might not be here. They kept on after we started to succumb to the Eater of Worlds' psionic weapon." With a shudder and a shake of his head, he pauses for another drink. "That had to be one of the worst ever experiences of my life. That thing had me convinced that the ship had been broken right ac |