BBS Archive of Personal Logs

Andrews

And Justice For All

2005 Aug 22

It is with a light heart that I make this log. I spent so many years studying the Law that it took me a long time to realize that Justice matters most. I never felt at ease about LT Colombo's predicament. I told him as much when I visited Station 419 and deposed him. The charges brought against him were ridiculous at best and false at worst. It is good to see justice prevail and for all of those superfluous charges to be dropped and ignored. I sent a letter to LT Colombo, wishing him the best on his future. I told him I would do all I could for him and I did so. In the end, his own story and the strange circumstances themselves set him free. Assault is not too much to live with and the demotion will not ruin the career of such a strong officer. He never had the faith in justice that I do, but I hope now he sees that there is always room for the truth to come out. There were many Starfleet officers on Station 419, including the XO himself, who seemed to have tried and convicted LT Colombo before the trial even began. I hope that they understand now that no matter their emotional state, Justice was served and the truth itself was shown. LT Colombo, you owe me a drink one day. Not for anything other than the fact you said you'd never get out of the brig to buy me one.

Milosevic

Fustercluck to the Nth power

2005 Aug 22

The voice comes on abruptly, no visual: "I'm just an engineer really. I am not a social worker, nor a diplomat, nor a counselor. I fix things. I build things. Christ knows I can't fix people. My past on this station alone should be proof of that! Look at all that crap with Hurley months ago. So why is it /I/ get stuck being in the middle of a mess hall, locked down for emergency, with a bunch of antsy Anticans and even more antsy Starfleet officers? This isn't in my job description. I should have been in my EVA suit out there fixing the Paine, not inside trying to play babysitter! I'm supposed to be out fixing the ship!

"I guess I need to find a new counselor, too. After seeing Adansae in action on that last mission, I think I have the wrong person to help me not be impulsive. Hell, she made me seen placid and calm."

A dog's sharp barking can be heard in the background and then the playful growling of a puppy in intense frolic.

"Maybe Nabrun's free or maybe I can talk to the CMO himself for a few sessions. I haven't talked to Piper yet about what happened, but I am pretty sure I made three people into enemies here on this station. Well, frak 'em! I did my duty and followed protocol, as I was taught and trained. Not my fault that I had four different people telling me four different things and not a damn one could back up anything they said with any data or facts! Engineering is not about conjecture and feelings! It's about numbers, facts and formulas. Give me a frakkin' problem I can /fix/ and I'll fix it better, faster and stronger than anyone else. Give me a bunch of petulant officers and skittish canines and I have no clue what to do with them all. I'm a frakkin' yard dog, really. I guess I could have got all the Anticans drunk or I should have just asked for some sedatives to be pumped through the air system and called it a day as we all passed out for a few hours. God, please give me more broken ships and less people to deal with? End log."

Adansae

Someone Else's Life

2005 Aug 22

"Personal log, Stardate 55208.5"

Raynne is seated on her perfectly-made bed in her sparcely-decorated quarters. She looks tired and drawn. When she speaks, her words come slower than usual.

"I really should be over this by now. It was just a training exercise, another test -- nothing more and nothing less -- but here I am, feeling like so much less than before. Before, I was content. Sure, I spent time wondering what my life on Juniper would have been like had I stayed there -- that's only natural, to wonder. A normal psychological reaction."

She smirks, the expression void of humor.

"I'd be teaching the colony's children, I'd be married, I'd likely have children of my own--"

Her voice catches, breaks. She pauses for a breath, continues.

"But someone else is teaching at that school, and someone else has married Nicolas. Someone else is living that life, and whoever she is: I hope she appreciates her life, and doesn't spend her days and nights watching the stars and dreaming of something more.

"Eight years is a long time -- time enough to fall in love, to build a new life, to start a family, and then to have it all taken away..."

She shakes her head, words failing again.

"It was just a dream, all an illusion no more real than a hologram, but I can't help but wonder about that woman in the dream. Was she really me, or was she someone else entirely? Her life, her loves, her hopes, her sorrows -- were they mine, or hers, or ours?

"Am I living someone else's life? And, if so, is someone else living mine?"

She gazes forward in pensive silence for a moment longer, then shakes her head.

"Computer, end log."

Cobey

What's in a Name?

2005 Aug 25

"Stardate 55215.3" Cobey sits on the floor in his sparsely decorated quarters. The only things visible are a throw rug, which he is sitting on 'indian' style and a 1m tall candle in front of him."Personal Log. Yuma Cobey."

"I have been on this station for a few weeks now. I guess a personal log has been a long time coming. I am enjoying the people here, the only person that I have met that has been unfriendly is Commander Goodwin, but he reminds me of my father, and I can handle that. My direct CO is Lieutenant Leres. Talk about beautiful, "he grins," and my department CO is Nevaren, he seems nice enough, but I was honestly too busy looking at his black eye to really get a good sense of him." Yuma closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"I took a spirit quest. I looked deep inside myself, and I have decided to change my name back to that of my ancestors. I look to honor those that came before me and perhaps dishonor my father by disagreeing with his decision to begin a journey away from that very important tradition to me. He will not be happy." Yuma opens his eyes, "I spoke with a counsler about this topic and she only confirmed the feelings that I had. Adansae was very helpful. I will need to speak with her again after my father learns of this change. Bodaway, grandfather, I do this to honor you and your teachings. I thank you for raising me and being there when my father wasn't, when he was chasing...-this-," he spreads his arms indicating his quarters and the station, "You Bodaway are my spiritual father. I go tomorrow to leagally resume the name that was given to me at birth." Yuma stares at the camera for sometime before finishing.

"Computer. Forward this log to Commander Chayton Cobey, Chief of Security, USS Nova."

"Signed. Yuma....Caay."

Reian

Universal Constants

2005 Aug 27

Personal Log, Stardate 55200.3

"Well. I'm still here. I haven't woken up one morning to find that it's all a dream. Or a nightmare? Possibly the latter..."

Reian is curled up in her quarters, addressing her remarks to a muktok plant, that is responding with a soft chiming of its blossoms. Okay, it is chiming because it's clearly set in a draught to make the flowers move, as evidenced by the slight movements of Reian's hair, caught in the air movements.

"I don't know, Boris. You've been with me all these years. *You* haven't changed, have you? But.. it's as though with everything *around* me changing, I'm not able to prevent myself altering in turn. People I knew. People I didn't know. It's all just... too confusing. Even the people that, like me, were off station, they don't seem to be the same. Somehow. Probably my imagination. Then again, if I can imagine it, doesn't that, in some way, make it the truth anyhow??"

She frowns, running her fingers through her cascade of auburn hair, her hand suddenly tightening to nearly drag the hair from her scalp, "I'm dealing? They have the nerve to say that?" The laughter that follows is hollow, deeply unamused. "No, pardon me.. I'm dealing *well*. Telasa's adjusted, they say. Telasa has adjusted... to keeping her mouth shut. in Telasa's opinion. To pretending ignorance. To living a constant, awful, painful lie.

"You see, Boris, people worry about empaths. That we won't stay out of their heads. Life would be so *simple* if we could reassure them that we *do*! But I digress. It's.. worse.. to be an empath. And be surrounded by constant, subtle signals of non-recognition. Where there should be love, there is strangeness. Where there should be friendship, there is distance. Even... finding that blank reaction where there should be outright dislike and antagonism?

"Where once I could trust people, where once I knew what they could do.. where I knew what they would say.. how they would tease, when they would laugh.. it's now a whole leap into the unknown. I.. I don't enjoy getting to know people. Even when I know it's normal. But this is anything but normal, isn't it? This is... like I've fallen into someone else's life. Some other Telasa Reian. And I don't quite fit. And yet the universe, in its infinite wisdom, is determined to _make_ me fit. No matter how oddly shaped the Telasa that is squeezed out the other end turns out to be...

"Sorry, Boris, you don't deserve my.. random babblings. But then, no-one does, and at least I know you'll keep your mouth shut. Given that you, well... don't take this personally, but you don't _have_ a mouth."

The Betazoid reaches out, patting the plant fondly, "Ah well, what goes around, comes around. You know where I am if *you* want to talk." Haunted eyes look up, gazing straight out of the screen for a moment, "And I live in hope that some day soon, I'll find myself squished into shape, and everything familiar again.. And then I won't *need* to vent at you any more. And that day's got to come soon, Boris.

"Hasn't it?"

Rivers

Shadows

2005 Aug 27

Stardate 55220.3. Personal Log, Dana Rivers, Ensign.

Dana drops into a chair as the recording opens, yanking open her collar with her left hand. She looks very unhappy, a concentrated frown on her face. Her voice reflects a troubled mind.

"An uneventful day of patrol. Not a bad thing. I managed to avoid running into Thorne. I even managed to avoid getting into trouble or ticking someone off. I think. So. Why do I feel so horrible about myself?"

The ensign sighs, and lays her head back in the chair, looking toward the ceiling. "I keep thinking about that Cardassian kid in that vision. Oh, I didn't mention that did I, that I was an..unsuspecting participant in some Bajoran vision? Anyway. It was some major event in Bajor's occupation history, on a moon. There were..children there. Terrified, Bajoran children. And then this Cardassian kid. What the hell are kids doing in a warzone, I thought. What Cardassian monster would bring his child into a danger zone? When it was all over..I felt sorry for this kid. And I reminded myself of how much I hated Cardassians. Talk about oxymorons. I want to ask Commander Dakin about it, the incident. About what happened to that kid. It nags at me like a bad dream."

Dana lifts her head, then pushes herself out of the chair and walks over to the replicator. "Coffee, black." As the replicator hums to life, she watches with a thoughtful gaze, and then retrieves the cup and heads back for her chair.

"A lot of things are nagging at me, actually. I'm curious about my predecessor..about that 'heroic' Dana Rivers that died here. I wonder what made her so much better a person than me? Arent we..basically the same person? And yet I keep sticking my foot in my mouth. Or starting some kind of trouble. Or make the same mistakes..." She sighs, settles into the chair again, and then lets out a soft curse. "No. I'm not going down that road again. I like him. Yes, dammit, I like him a LOT, but I'm just an ensign and..no. Not again. I'll be lucky if I ever recover from this demotion as it is."

Silence reigns for a long beat, as Dana stares off at nothing. And then she hangs her head and sighs. "Computer, end log. Delete."

Phipps

Of Loss; Of Love; Of Hope

2005 Aug 27

Personal -Personal- PERSONAL Log.

That is, not the usual one. Because this I'm just going to delete when I'm done reading it through and through, later, when I tr to understand everything. Don't - haven't ever done that before. Not deleted one of these things. But I think I should, this time. This is... All too personal.

And, technically, probably classified in places. So. First of all - that which -should- be more important, but is in fact less. I went on a mission to Bak'TUR, to a bunker that was requesting Starfleet access codes, instead of the Klingon ones it ought to have wanted. And there we found... Biogenic weapons. The sort intended to make vulcanoid worlds uninhabitable. Hundreds, and hundreds of them. Why so many? I didn't get that at the time - but I don't know the yields, so.

But they had biogenic weapons. And we let. Them. Get. Away.

Let them get away.

Of course, it's possibly excusable, since we had very few options for stopping them. Between the fact that the... unpleasant individuals set the self destruct on the base, and limited our options down to whatever we could squeeze into a matter of minutes, after that whole hostage business, with poor Ensign Hawkes with a phaser to his head, after I failed and missed a shot I should have -taken-... Leres took the guy down, in the end. She was lucky. The guy had his phaser on maximum - if his reflexes had twitched his hand the wrong way, Hawkes would be free-floating atoms. Fortunately, he's not, and nobody died. That's the blessing. That's the thing to cling to.

Yet I have this strange sensation. Strange, in that, I feel like there's something I -missed-. Not so much didn't see, as didn't think of. It feels like there's something obvious that I should have done, but didn't. And I had the strangest feeling, just before beamout, like we were -just- on the edge of getting the self destruct deactivated. I don't know, it could have just been in my head. I'll never know. But I was so angry when we materialised. I felt like we should have stayed, even if we did get ourselves blown up. Odd. I have no wish to die, but I felt that's what we should have done. Of course, -now- I don't...

She's sleeping, at the moment, is my number one in the entire universe. She fell asleep in my arms, for the very first - last? - time. Of course, we didn't -do- anything. She just fell asleep while I held her, while she held me.

I can't believe I got the PADD out - I'm typing on it with one hand, behind her back. I'm glad the computer can figure my typographical errors out. It's clever like that.

She told me... that she'd made her decision. So why is it that I don't believe her? Is it possibly because we then ended up talking about how it might have been, if things were different? If she and I, were actually... -together-?

Somehow, when the woman that you love with all your very being tells you that, if she were yours, she would want children with you - and sounds so -sure- about it - you can't quite help disbelieving her when she says she's made her choice. Maybe I'm just clutching at straws, but...

Am I?

We -sortof- argued. Not exactly -argued-. But it felt like an argument to me - and she said that she hated arguing with me, so she had that sense, too. She... wanted to know what I was feeling. What I was thinking. And my mind had wandered... I was thinking of something else. Just for that instant - and I said "I can't." She thought I meant that I couldn't tell her, couldn't open up to her - and she seemed -so- angry. Oh, not shouting angry, not throwing things angry - but quietly angry. Somehow that was worse.

She brushed her lips against mine, and said, "Goodbye, Frank." Words that sounded -so- final. She was going to leave. She was going to walk right -out the door-. I don't know what it would have meant - it felt so, so, so Very Bad. All I know is that I couldn't let her leave... I couldn't. So I pleaded with her to stay. I told her that I didn't mean it the way it had seemed. That I had almost - -almost- - been a coward. A complete coward, instead of just a little bit of a coward, I said; and that somehow made her more angry. She told me that I wasn't a coward - her whole 'don't you DARE' thing, in essence. I'm not -allowed- to believe I'm a coward. She won't let me. Just as she won't let me feel sorry for myself. I love her more, for that. It doesn't quite make sense. But I do.

And then I grew a spine. I told her I was going to say it - whether she stood there at the door, with the door to my quarters wide open, or not. I told her I didn't care who heard. And you know... I really didn't. So long as she -heard- me.

So I told her. I told her in it's full, complete, wonderful, agonizing insanity. That I love her, will always love her, that she's more than I ever hoped or dreamed of, that she's changed my life so massively, that I can't possibly imagine what it would be like without her... it feels like she's -always- been there. I... really can't imagine my life without her. Without her gentleness. Without her kindness. Without her -caring- for me. So very few people have ever really, truly cared. I've worn masks for so long... And most nobody ever really notices.

But she does. She always sees through me, sees down to the very depths of my soul, it sometimes seems. And anyone else? Anyone else I would mistrust for that. Oh, sure, I have no issues with telepaths. Hell, I specifically -think- things around them, just to let em know I'm comfortable with the fact they can hear my thoughts. You know. Silly things. I can't even think of any, right now. But I've always done it, because I've always felt sortof... comfortable. Around telepaths. I don't know why. Maybe it's because you don't have to hide. But there's always that little part of yourself you know they just can't reach, not without effort. And they aren't going to make that effort, because it would just be -wrong-. So - safe.

But my beloved? No. She - she's no telepath. But she sees deeper than any telepath I've ever met. Without even trying. Maybe it's just me - but it feels like she can. It feels like she knows my heart, sometimes, even before I do.

But I told her. I told her -exactly- what I felt. And... she seemed more than a little surprised. As if she -knew-... but she didn't really -know-. Didn't know just how deeply, how utterly, how completely that I love her. I think a part of her, just a little part of her, believed -him- when he told her that I was probably just after sex.

Hah. Sex. I've never been much -for- sex. Not -just- sex. In fact, I've -never- -just- had sex. Not... that I've never had -sex-. But never -just- sex. Every woman I've been to bed with... I loved. I wasn't -in- love with all of them - no, make that -any- of them, because the only other woman I was ever in love with was D'tera. And we never did that. We only kissed, very briefly... but that was... both more and less. And I thought that that kiss was... the best I would ever have.

Phipps

Of Loss; Of Love; Of Hope II

2005 Aug 27

(cont) It wasn't. Dana kissed me, just a few days ago. I told her that I wanted her to be with me - -only- me. She got so angry with me at first, she turned away, walked away, hid her face from me... I was so afraid I shouldn't have said what I did. And I walked closer to her, walked closer to her and just said "Sorry." We... kissed twice that night, I think. I say I think because... the moments are just blurred together in my mind. I'm supposedly the guy who remembers everything, but it doesn't really work that way. I remember what I can remember, not what I want to remember. But I remember those kisses. I'll never, ever, ever forget them, not a single moment of them. There was the soft, the loving feel of her lips against mine, and oh, how my life was so utterly perfect in those moments! It felt like we kissed forever, like we would -never- part. And then there was the passion, a sort of angry, -needy- passion. As if we both stood there, holding each other tightly, and the kiss became an expression of all of our frustrations about... everything. Each other. The universe. The stupid damned ceasefire that looks like it's not going to hold. The thought of being parted by the war. Everything. I never kissed someone like that, not quite like that, not -ever-. We... were quite lucky we had control of ourselves, at least in the end. That we're both too selfless to think of ourselves only. But - oh. How I wanted to -not- be in control. How I wanted to be a -different- Frank Phipps - a Frank Phipps who wasn't afraid to do something he usually wouldn't. A Frank Phipps who just... -acted-, without thinking, without any remorse.

But... that's not me. It once was. I remember a time when I felt so sure about everything - I've always had an uncanny knack for being right about things. Back at the Academy, I used to guess what people had for breakfast - and get it right. I don't know why that is. Maybe the universe favours me, in some small way - or it did. Now I suspect it hates me. It brings me joy and pain, all in one serving, and never one without the other. A blessing - and a curse.

But I'm avoiding my thoughts, my feelings, while I write this. The key is what she said, before she fell asleep. What we talked about. This... hypothetical life. A life where I ended up a decorated explorer. And we, our children and us, ended up together and in our own little bubble, exploring and writing together about the things we found.

How can I not feel some hope, at that? How can I not? How can she have said those things? I feel, to some degree, that I should be angry. She told me she had made her choice - and then she told me this whole other side to herself, the side to herself that doesn't really want to have made that choice. Can I believe that that's the lesser side of herself? I can't. I can't believe that. My heart won't let me. And - although I fear that I'm so utterly wrong - my heart seems to know something -I- don't. At some stage - I don't remember when, I'm so tired, and everything is kindof blurred still, not sorted, not categorised in my mind in the way that only sleep brings - at some stage she took my face in her hands, and, although it probably -wasn't- what she meant, when she told me I should do what my heart told me to... to follow my heart wherever it took me... I felt like there was a part of her reaching out, asking a question that I didn't know how to answer.

I'm so drawn to her. And she to me. She... told me that I'd touched her heart in ways that no-one ever had, and in some ways more than even -he- has. I... don't and didn't know what to think, what to feel, so I just -said- what came to mind. Before thinking.

And I told her that I was sure that in some other universe, some other -place-, she and I were so happy together. That there, we would -always- be together. That that happiness somehow filtered across, and drew us together here, as well. I believe that, too. I didn't, exactly, when I said it; it was just an idea, a thought, that came from nowhere. But I believe it. I believe it with all my heart.

That's when she told me that she wondered, or had wondered, what it would be like... to be mine. I felt like sobbing, crying, bawling my eyes out. But I... I just sniffed. And told her exactly how it would be. How I would cherish her with my every breath. How nothing would be so important to me as her happiness, and so much more.

And that's when she said it. She said we would have a child, in that hypothetical little world we were spinning. And... my heart was so glad. So glad. I told her I'd already thought about that - and she didn't seem shocked, or displeased. She seemed glad, in a sleepy, happy sort of way. I don't understand and I daren't believe I do, even though... I feel like I do. I feel like if I just -keep- trying...

But it's getting late now. She'll wake, soon, and then I'll have to face reality again. She'll probably leave, go back to him. And I'll be left here, alone, alone, alone. As I've always been alone. I can't face the thought of her leaving right now, or even when she wakes up, not right away. I want her to stay, I want her to never ever leave my arms, where she feels safe and warm. I wish my arms were her home.

So I'm whispering to her, all the while. Whispering the best dreams to her. Talking of our daughter that will never be, Hope, who would be every bit as beautiful as her mother, who would bring us so much joy...

I'm not losing a moment with her, not sleeping, no. I'll whisper to her, make her as comfortable as she can possibly be, while she sleeps on. I won't sleep. Not until she's gone, left, and no longer here, in my arms. Because I feel like this is a time I -need- to cherish. Because with her asleep in my arms, I feel a little... echo... of what those -other- versions of us must be feeling, every day of their lucky, blessed lives.

I wish I were that -other- Frank, and not me.

I wish that more than I ever wished anything in my life.

Phipps

Dreams, Awaking Fears... I

2005 Aug 29

"Ensign Frank Phipps' Personal Log, Stardate 55225.1."

Frank is seated on his bed, cross-legged, hands resting on his knees. His eyes are closed and his cheeks are damp, although his eyes are not red. Indeed, it would seem that rather than just having wept, he has simply recently showered. His hair is wet and slick against his skull, water dripping unheeded from his chin.

"My mother says that dreams are more than they appear. And yet I do not know if I believe this or not; is a dream a dream, or does it contain some secret message, some portent from another place?

"I feel eloquent today. Perhaps that is because after I awoke, I spent several hours reading. Not one tome, but favoured quotes from many; one or two stay in my mind. The first, the most."

He sits a little more upright, but still he looks downwards, eyes closed, switching to what is clearly a reading voice; he has a strong, vibrant voice, and it would seem that he is not unused to reading aloud, from memory.

"'We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.'"

He sighs, quietly, slouching ever so slightly into a more relaxed posture. "I do not arrive where I began, yet. I do not know the only place which all of us travel towards; my own heart. My dreams were troubled and peaceful and joyous all at once; dreams which do not make sense, yet make more sense than any words or thoughts I could have wrought by myself.

"I dreamt of Tarawa, of the Merciless, of Hope, of Dana... of D'tera.

"None were quite as they are, to my eyes - does my heart see that which my eyes do not? Are my dreams, as one man once wisely said, the mirror into which I can gaze, and for the first time see the soul of my fears and wonders?

"I do not know. But I feel I should record those dreams, because they are of value - and fearful value - to me. At first, I stood upon a beach, a beach of mystical and wonderful beauty. A single dark cloud hung in the distance, yet I did not look to the cloud. Instead, the soft strains of musical wonder found my ears - and my eyes? They looked to the sea, where I was born, and where my heart wanders still, on lonely nights in a cold and empty bed.

"I do not remember how I came to be upon the beach - but it was Tarawa, my home of old. I did not realize it before, but I have already come to see this station, this place, this strange and wonderful place where my head rests night after night, to be my home.

"Not in the same way, it's true - but there it is, all the same. Is it because -she- is here? I do not know. It is true that in her arms I feel a comfort found nowhere else, no time else - except...

"Once. In a place far from here, when war raged around me, I found similar calm. In the arms of another, who does not walk where mortals do, any longer."

He laughs, softly, shaking his head. "Eloquent or not, I feel a fool. My words come in strange strains, as if fed from another place, another time."

But that moment of doubt, there, swiftly passes, and the young man who looks at once older than his years and younger than many have ever been sighs a quiet sigh of sadness. "Dee was always there. She taught me to wield a weapon; she taught me of many things, it's true."

A shake of his head, again. "But I drift away from what I want to speak of. Upon that beach, where home once lay, my attention was caught by something else, elsewhere, amongst the greenery which thrives upon that golden shore. Tarawa is the closest thing on Earth to paradise, yet it was never so much so as it was last night, as I slept.

"When I pursued that which my attention had caught on, I found Hope. My daughter. She who has not yet drawn breath, but captivates my heart already. She of pale skin and warm blonde locks, of loving eyes and a gentle soul. I was unsure, at first, when I found her as I slumbered; but inevitable as it was, my arms swept her up, and I gazed into eyes that gazed back with a peaceful love I have never in all my days felt before.

"At that moment, I was complete, and I closed my eyes and drew my daughter who does not and has not lived to my chest, and hugged her as tightly as I dared; I clung to Hope."

He bites his lip, softly, shivering very slightly, as if with fear. "But it was not to last. All at once I was in another place, another time, which was not as I remember and yet was, at the same time. I found myself on the Merciless, standing in -that- corridor, on -that- very spot. Once, during my time there, we were boarded. Our shields had failed and all seemed lost - I still don't really know how we survived. But the crew fought with a ferocity that I have never seen before - that was our -home-. They would not take it from us.

"But what attacked in the dream was not the Jem'Hadar. It had a voice which seemed familiar, but I could not place, at first. It was Klingon, in some ways, and yet twisted and made foul and repugnant in a way that one of that noble and honourable species could never be.

"And it's eyes were set on Hope. I don't understand that. I tried to kill it, I swore it would not take her from me - I felt as if it's only goal was to rip her from my arms, to take her from me, where I would never ever find her again. In that moment, even though I was simply asleep, and it was not real, I was more afraid than I have ever been.

"But I found strength. The Lord - if one there is - should only know how." (cont)

Phipps

Dreams, Awaking Fears... II

2005 Aug 29

(cont) Frank is quiet, thoughtful for a time. Such a time that the computer pauses the log, and when it resumes, we find him sitting, slightly to one side of where he was before, as if he's stood and paced, only to return to the same old position. Cross-legged, hands on knees.

"The Thing advanced, and I knew fear. I knew fear so terrible, so haunting that I found I could not fight. It would have been useless, at any rate. My phaser would not fire, would not incinerate the evil Thing as it had incinerated Lieutenant Turtle... Tera.

"I watched her dissolve into molecules before my eyes. It hurt more than I would have thought. I felt her scream rip through me - for the one thing that few people ever dare give breath to is this: when someone is vaporized, it is not painless or brief. It doesn't seem to be, anyway. Three times I've witnessed that. Three times. Each and every time I -know- I heard the scream; I know I saw their face twist, in such agony..."

He shakes his head. "It hurt alot. But still I clung to my daughter, even at the screams of those I know around me, my daughter, my beloved daughter, who slept in my arms. I shielded her from the Thing, and I told it that it could never take her away from me, that -nothing- could. I've never believed anything so strongly, not ever. I knew it was true. I was afraid, but I found courage from some deep well, and greedily gulped at it, as the dying man who finds water in the desert gulps at water gladly.

"And I closed my eyes against the terror, and rocked my daughter in my arms, and soon enough I was on that beach again. I wept with gladness - very gently. My eyes were still closed. I felt a small, wonderful kiss against my cheek - Hope comforted me.

"And then she gazed over my shoulder and cried out loud - 'Mama!' she said. I didn't dare look. I was afraid it was a trick, that the Thing had come for her again. So I just whispered to her, told her that I had -told- her everything would be fine - as if it was her who had been afraid, and not me.

"And then I felt arms around my waist, and a kiss beneath my ear..."

He sighs. "It wasn't Dana. I thought it was, it felt like it should have been, but it wasn't. It was Dee... D'tera. The voice of the Thing. But she was gentle, and... I don't know if there was more to the dream. But it seemed that that was all. I wished, for a moment..."

He shakes his head, frowning. "And then I dreamt again. Of a different place, a different place. I woke to find my love in my arms... I vaguely remember rolling over and finding my bed empty but not, I found -her- there, and I must have gripped at her in fright. She yelped... apparently I'd used her breast as a stress ball." He laughs. "That's what she said, anyway. It was Dana, this time, of course. She was pregnant. At first, I was so confused. I had no idea if I was awake, or dreaming, or if the dreams were real and the awakeness was not - I had no idea. None.

"But... this dream was stranger than the other." He shakes his head, frown deepening. "It was so very strange. Dana had married Tor - strange I should call a man I don't know by such a familiar name, but Dana always calls him that, and so, in the end, do I - yet she was in my bed. She carried his child (who at first, I thought was mine), yet she was in my bed. We were shipping out on the Intrepid, soon, and... apparently we had even tried to all lie in the same bed, but that hadn't worked out. Apparently we 'pissed on each other' too much. I suspect she meant we argued."

He laughs, quite mirthfully, even though the sound is still, somehow, empty. "Great Bird, I -hope- that's what she meant. My own mind is so bizarre - I hope not -that- bizarre."

Again, he falls silent. But not so long as before. With a sigh, he goes on, expression sad. "Perhaps... at any rate... but." A laugh. "So much for eloquent. - Anyway. She said some very strange things, but in the dream, it was I who was strange. She asked if I had had one of -those- dreams again, of the other us. I seemed to understand in the dream - and not understand, at the same time. I sighed, and told her that I thought I had. And if I thought that the idea of Dana staying with me on selected days of the week was strange, if I thought that it was weird that I lay in bed with a woman carrying another's child, then what she said next was stranger than anything I have ever thought of.

"She told me that Dee hated me having those dreams. That Dee would be upset." He shivers. "It would seem that, in that dream, Dana and Tor and Dee and me - we were all somehow together. Dee, I -think-, was carrying my child. Hope. To be born the next day, Dana seemed to think." He frowns. "A quad. But - then I fell asleep in Dana's arms. Except, of course, I didn't. I woke up, with a start, in my own bed."

He bites his lip, fearfully. "And the bed next to me was warm. With an indentation. I never lay on that side of the bed, not ever. It's... reserved. I'm sure that sounds very strange, but it's true. I never lay there. I..." He looks up, and now it's clear that fear rests in his eyes. "I may have lain there... or... what? Was it -all- a dream? Was I alone all night? Or did I bring someone home? Who? Was... was it Dana? No... it couldn't have been. Could... could it? Or..."

He sobs, softly. Whispered: "Why don't I remember?"

Again, the computer sees fit to pause; Frank is crying softly, rocking on the bed, as the camera suddenly shifts to find him seated on his couch, a tall glass of prune juice resting on a table in front of him. His eyes are red, sore-looking, but still wide with fear. "I... I need to go and speak to a doctor. I'm afraid. Afraid that my memory... is... damaged again. A recurrance of the accident of my youth, maybe." He bites his lip. "When I was five years old, I suffered a trauma to my brain. I lost a year of my life... not that I remember before that, now, and very little of the few years after. But at the time, I remember that it was terrifying. People remembered events that I didn't... people remembered things... I didn't.

"It was a strange sort of amnaesia. The doctors said it was very rare. That... that it was possible I would suffer relapses."

He bites his lip, hard. Suddenly, as if with new understanding: "Great Bird... what if I'm suffering a relapse?"

At that, the image suddenly cuts off (suggesting, perhaps, a large cut of video from the whole), replaced with the familiar Federation symbol, strangely peaceful after the emotional, frightened man which had been on the screen before.

(OOC note: HUGE thanks, as well as a big round of applause, goes to Dana's player for creating Frank's dreams. - Thanks!)

Iolana

Sketchy Thoughts

2005 Aug 30

Strokes and shadows of charcoal drawn across a background of white curled pages. Brown laces splay over a metal table where the leather bound notebook rests open -- the camera's focus.

An archway, like any entrance on the Station, has been decorated by a guardian jewelled phoenix. Its beak curls towards the tip of the arch, wings protectively reaching around the corners. Brisk notes in Vulcan, Centauran and Federation Standard mark around the drawing in no logical order. ~Latinum plated, too heavy~ ~Plaster replica??~ ~Contact Uncle Joe~

The artist's voice interjects the log which strictly records visuals from the notebook. "Stardate 55227.8. It has been 15 days, 2 hours and 22 minutes since I have arrived at this post." Factual to a fault, emotion carries little in her tone. "Uncle Joe's handiwork I suspect in acquiring this specific location. With Universal next door to Station Security, my family's worries have lessened. Mine grow more with passing skittish displays at every plausible amount of aggression. My Vulcan professors would be disappointed at my inability to diminish fear."

A vortex, a spiral of deeply shaded emptiness, is drawn next to what appears to be a rough sketch of the Station. Notes as before line to the outskirts of the picture. ~Beautiful view~ ~Astronomical significance?~ ~Professor's intrigue -- romantic poems~ A charcoal pencil taps the characters marking the last note.

Thoughts repeat verbatim. "The happiness of a man in his life does not consist in the absence but in the mastery of his passions.' Colleagues of science and history were discovered in a place which defies logical deduction -- a Fitness Center. I wait for approval from the VSA and FSA to share with the Professor Doctor an interest of ours. Debrune artifacts and the ancient civilizations my parents have unearthed promise months of debate and the sharing of minds. In the meantime, Computer, download archive files on jambalaya and Louis Armstrong."

The last page before the log closes is sketch of a male's face. A male with large ears but the distinction distorts beneath dark and heavy scratches. The face is forever crossed out.

Kogh

'Ambassador Fluffy'

2005 Sep 02

Envoy-General qoH's Personal File, Text Only.
Begin.
-I am greatly amused. Greatly annoyed. Greatly suspicious. Greatly furious. Greatly... Greatly. In essence, I am a Klingon of contrast.

The Empire is mysteriously... mysterious of late. Hello, Starfleet Intelligence. Still believe you read these things. Prove me wrong. Tell me next time you see me, whoever you are, that you -don't-. I promise I'll believe you.

Honestly.

I believe, on this occasion, I will speak only of that which is amusing. The Neutral Zone has a new server. My feeble mind fails to remind me of her name - or perhaps she did not give it. At any rate, one such as she could live well without a name, for she is most memorable. She is daring, even if she gave me bloodwine in a -glass-. Although of course it was an error to laugh and encourage, even if it did and no doubt will continue to provide amusement. 'Ambassador Fluffy' is not precisely the image I'm seeking to project, here, but - what else is there to do? The woman brings bloodwine. I have no will to lose the supply...
But - no doubt within the week, the rumour will be out: the Klingon Ambassador's real name is 'Fluffy'. And did you hear, he wants Randal Thorne's head on a -pike-?'

That, also, is a source of amusement. The fellow still claims his bloodwine is 'good'. Good. GOOD! When is 'good' good enough for a son of the House of Qeth? Pah!
Conclude.

Phipps

A Layered Mask Unfurling

2005 Sep 04

"Ensign Phipps' Personal Log, Stardate 55239.4."

As always, Frank's method of reading out the stardate -really- comes out as 'fifty-five two thirty-nine-point-four'. The man is not smiling - in fact, he looks rather... neutral. His voice is unusually bland. There's something else unusual about this image, as well: Frank isn't in uniform. Worse, he isn't in -anything-. Visibly, at least - the image reaches only just to his compactly muscled stomach.

"Only three thoughts. Just the three.

"One. Why do I keep calling the 'Merciful'... 'Merciless'? It's a tiny, tiny difference. But I keep doing it. I -know- it was the Merciful... yet in my mind, it's always 'Merciless'." He shakes his head, frowning. "Odd." A pause, as Frank leans down, shoulders moving in a particular manner that suggests rubbing at something. Up comes the Ensign again, towel in hand, which is redraped over his leg. "Two. I'm rather bored of this whole emotions-taking-over... rubbish." He appears to have almost said something different, there. Something with a little more... bite. "I'm also bored with all that biting-my-lip-not-speaking-up... rubbish. It's irritating the hell out of me. The end. No more. I -don't- keep my mouth shut on duty, so why the hell should I do so when I'm -off- duty? Sure, politeness and friendliness and good cheer - all good. But just keeping silent? Noooo. That is -not- me." He pauses for breath, his tone having crept away from neutrality into a determined, low growl. He sounds... irritated.

"Three. I'm a determined cur. I'm not giving up on -anything-. Not today, not tomorrow, not -ever-. As was said to me not that long ago... 'Life just dropped hope in your lap. Only it got the name wrong.'"

Abruptly, the image and soundtrack cease, replaced with the UFP symbol in all it's peaceful glory. But the visual aftershock, as it were, that still instant that the eye captures before the image is replaced - the image that lingers in the mind... is of Frank, determined, hair damp, icy-blue eyes warm and unafraid. A definitively determined Frank Thomas Eugene Phipps.

O'Rielly

The Admiral and the Girl

2005 Sep 05

O'Rielly appears on the screen in his usual Starfleet Uniform. He's frowning as he usually is when appearing on Camera.

"So the man who singlehandedly screwed up life as I knew it is out and about trying to screw up everybody's life now." He shakes his head, "Doesn't that man know when to stop? I mean obviously Admiral Leyton did not succeed in his first attempt, which is good. And now he's trying again with this so-called New Federation Alliance." A pause, "He never understood what the Federation was really about, or if he did, he forgot. His coup, his new alliance, nothing about them even resemble anything that fits the ideals of the Federation."

"This has brought out a lot of old things... it doesn't help to have a direct superior here who believes me to be a traitor because of what I did when I was in Red Squad. Yes, officers should know when to follow orders and when to not, but I wasn't yet an officer. And I'm sure that even now most officers with my rank, and even higher, would be hard pressed to defy an Admiral, let alone expect a Cadet to do it." He shakes his head once more. "Oh well. If you want to think me a traitor Joshua Goodwin, go ahead. At least I don't advocate purposeful violations of the Prime Directive..."

"Though at this point, it's not the Admiral that's bothering me. Or even Commander NoGoodwin... Or the fact that Lieutenant Laco has returned from the dead... It's another painful memory that's been resurfaced."

He sits there, just staring into the camera for a good minute before finally returning to action. "Computer, compose message. And transmit to Cady..." He pauses once more, "Computer, cancel message." The computer beeps in response to the original starting of the message, and then the cancelling of said message. Bristol sighs very deeply as he looks into the camera and says one more time, "Cady, I'm sorry."

*The log abruptly cuts to the Federation Insignia, classified Level 8 clearance*

Randal

Under the Table

2005 Sep 05

(Like all of Randal's personal logs, this one's squirrelled away on a isolinear chip that's hidden under the mattress in his quarters)

Stardate 55241.5

I got a reply from my potential clients, and they seem receptive to what I have to offer. I'll have to keep an eye out for when their representative arrives on the station. I'll also have to make a point of not causing undue trouble for now... the last thing I need is for Station Command or SI to get wise to my agenda. It hardly matters, though. There's nothing they can legally do under Federation law to stop me, I believe, and considering what a sorry state that diplomatic relations on this station are for the time being, I have little worry they would be able to counter my efforts in that capacity. That just leaves me to deal with baser threats from the likes of Commander Ghorev, or potentially Lieutenant Laco. However, if push comes to shove I can probably set the latter against the former. I must not fail. The lives and freedom of so many forgotten souls rests in my hands, and with the dissolution of Timefleet I can only imagine this will be the last shift in the timeline. This will be my only chance to change the course of history. And I won't sit by again and allow the apathy of Federation diplomacy or Starfleet regulations to justify the decimation of an entire planet.

Crayn

Farewell, Be Not Fond

2005 Sep 05

Joran sits in front of the computer screen. He looks.. forlorn.. missing. "Computer, compose a message. Send to Ensign Jenell Arzt. If she's not at her quarters when I'm finished, then forward it to her next post, please." He says sadly, sitting up. "Jen, darling.. I got it.. I got my other half-pip. However, you weren't there to pin it on me. I wish'd you could've. I wish that the last time I saw you wasn't in the Garden, looking as beautiful as you always are. I wish.. you didn't have to flee."

He sighs, wiping his face. "Computer, dim lights, please." The lights in the quarters dim, leaving nothing more then a silhouette of the large man. "I don't know what I did to make you run. I'm sorry. I'll never know if I were pushing you too fast, or if I was too inactive. I wish.." He swallows.. "I wish you would've told me yourself, instead of leaving me a message. Dammit, Jenell. Why?" He sighs, shaking his head.

"Angel, if you felt like flying, you should've told me. I would've helped you with your wings." He takes a drink from a nearby container. "Please don't keep me out of your life. Message me.. please. If we can't be lovers, at least allow me to be your friend. And Jenell... my darling." A pause, silent, seemingly forever. "Whenever you want to touch ground again, I'll be here when you come back down."

"Computer, end message. Make sure she gets it."

Malloy

Personal Log

2005 Sep 06

Personal Log: Stardate Five-Five-Two-Four-Four-Point-Oh. Leftenant Craig Malloy, Assistant Chief Medical Officer Four-One-Niner-Upsilon.

The recording finds Malloy in his quarters, sipping from his mug, likely darjeeling, hot, with a dash of milk. His quarters might want to see an ordering hand though, considering the amounts of books, maps, PADDs and paper strewn throughout it. Someone's studying it seems. "So. Three to six months. At least that's something I can work with. I now know how long I have and what's at stake. Should be do-able as well, it's not like I am supposed to write a two hundred pages essay on the nature and mating habits of the Left-Turning Pribarian Sandsnortworm. A challenge. And a chance. Let's see if I fumble the ball."

With a smirk, he takes another few sips from his mug. "Other than that? No news aside the fact that Laco's back. I hope it *is* Laco who's back, on account of me no longer deploying with a Type III I could break his jaw with once again to make sure. Speaking of making sure....maybe I should have pulled the trigger instead. But hindsight's always twenty-twenty. And King Malloy at least earned the right to err. Computer, end and save log, classify level five and encrypt using standard Starfleet parameters, Malloy Alpha-Four-One-Niner."

The picture fades out, to be replaced by the standard UFP Starfleet background.

Phipps

But I, Being Poor...

2005 Sep 06

On screen, the roar of rushing water echoes throughout this mist-filled chamber, echoing in the high, domed space. The chamber is tall, octagonal and angular, the floors, wall and high domed ceiling are composed of dark Centauran marble. Glittering, impressionist mosaics decorate the walls, set with strange gemstones. The floor is dominated by sprialing pattern in alternating blue, green, and silver, starting from a small arched, stone doorway and winding into the center of the room. Seated in front of the waterfall which forms the far wall is one Frank Phipps, cross-legged, quiet and calm.

Softly, almost breathing the words, he speaks.

"Ensign Frank Phipps' Personal Log, Stardate 55244.3."

He falls silent, for at least a minute, thoughtful. When he begins to speak again, his voice was quietly calm, centred, peaceful. "I was reading earlier. A quote rushed into my mind yesterday during my counselling session, and I was forced to look it up after. Oddly, I couldn't -not- do so. Funny how things can do that. Anyway, it was William Butler Yeats, 'He Wishes For the Cloths of Heaven'." He doesn't open his eyes, or move his hands. His lips form the words, but he is otherwise still.

"'But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly, for you tread on my dreams.'"

Still again, Frank straightens his spine, very slightly. A subtle stretch. Still low, soft, musical, his voice mingles once again with the dull roar of water: "If I were as dramatic a romantic as, perhaps, I sometimes appear to be, I would find great coincidence in those words. I, being poor, have indeed only my dreams. Why, then, should I not cling to them, even if only for a while?" His voice increases in volume, waivering with - something. Concern? Disgust? Anger? Either/or/all, probably.

"What the hell else will I have to fight for, should the Dominion come? What, myself? That's a joke. So - what -were- we fighting for, if one man's dream is to be trodden and broken underfoot, called, if in other words, nowt but a selfish fantasy, and nothing more?"

Abruptly, the Federation insignia reappears.

Thant

When the Words Fail

2005 Sep 06

I do not usually keep a diary, or a journal, or any such thing. Instead, my thoughts and feelings are expressed in poetry. The latter, prior to recent times, have only truly been let out in poetry. I have not tended towards the emotional before.

Yet I did. The vision that the Prophets sent - a vision which fit but one of us in intent, and all of us in form - brought something out in me. An understanding which was not there before. In order to embrace logic, I do not have to discard emotion. Feeling drives me. I am, it would appear, a man of passion; that passion has always been expressed through logic.

Yet apparition or not, I would have killed that man in protection of the child. My thoughts were centred on reassurance of myself: that it was -not- real. That we could not die.

But that makes little sense, for if that had mattered, I would haven taken the path that the Bajoran priest - I do not know the correct term - did take. The path of observation only.

Yet it was -my- path. The path I have never taken is the one which is truest to my heart. I am not what I thought I was, and I do not know how to grasp this new data.

Examples: I find myself intrigued by other people in a way that is new. The women aboard this station that I have met thus far are enchantingly intriguing; the men too, in a different and less intense way. Since Elizabeth, I have not thought of women as anything more than colleagues or simply fellows - but now? Now I see a different light. It is unknown to me. I even find myself flirting, which I do not understand.

But I do not regret these changes. Exploration has always been my first true yearning - and whether it be internal or external, it is my passion.

It would seem that logic, too, has it's place. And that that is not at the centre of all things.

As a last thought: laughter is enjoyable. It is almost unimaginable what one might forget - if only the will is applied.

I am stranger than I knew - and I am pleased. Small wonder that words fail to find their way from my heart to my pen; stranger is it that I am at ease, and calm. Calm - but not a little confused. But it is indeed a pleasurable sensation.

(OOC: This log, and all other Thant-related stuff, whether prose or poetry, is simply written and stored on his personal PADD - which he always carries.)

Lanie

Message to Earth

2005 Sep 09

TO: Svetlana Suslov
FROM: LTJG Kaitlyn Lanie, Training Officer -- Station 419-Upsilon
RE: Anastasia
DATE: 55251.6

=======================================

Mrs. Suslov,

These past few months have been difficult; for you, for your family and for mine. Losing someone you love feels like a part of your life was ripped away. No amount of careful stitching can ever make the fabric of your life the same once that happens. No amount of mourning can ever fully erase the sense of grief and loss. On a fateful day recently, a large number of us felt that sense of loss and we live with it today and for the rest of our lives. On that day, you lost a child. On that day, I lost my parents. On that day, the universe brought your family and mine together, linking us though Anastasia.

From this tragedy, I've learned that in a moment of grief and loss, we sometimes find a light in a place we did not expect to find it. I was lucky enough to find a light that I feel has helped guide me through the pain and loss with a promise of a brighter future. Perhaps it is pride that causes me to see Anastasia as a beacon of hope for this entire station, but I know that she has touched the lives of many and given us a reminder that while this world into which we've been pulled has some differences to which we must still adjust, the same emotions, hopes and dreams that we once had are still intact. To me, Anastasia is more than just the child of Kaitlyn and Ivan Suslov; to me, she is my daughter, my love, my future, my pride and my heart. I've held her when she cried for a father who would never return. I caught her when she fell from her first few steps on her own. I sometimes still wake in the night and am only lulled back to sleep by the sound of her steady breathing and the sense of peace that comes from knowing she is safe.

But with this precious gift came a burden. Since the first moment that I held Anastasia in my arms, I've learned to dread two days. The first, the day that Anastasia would eventually turn to me and ask about her father. I fear that I can never explain things to her in a way that will allow her to understand the situation or to understand what it was to live through it? How do I explain to her the horror and the terror and the pain of the day when the Ivan Suslov of my timeline died as a hero and we replaced the Kaitlyn and Ivan as you knew them? But more so, I do not want her to understand. I want to shield her from that fear and loss for as long as I am able.

A day I've come to dread both less and more has finally arrived. I've feared that with the knowledge of the true events of that day, you would falsely believe me to be an imposter and want to take my daughter away from me. I've feared a day may come where I could never see her or hold her again. I've feared that my heart would be torn out as she was ripped from my arms.

But now I realize that I've seen things all wrong. I've been too worried about what I stood to lose and not seen what I have gained. With my parents gone, Anastasia is the only genetic relative I have. But my family need not end with her. I hope that you will someday consider allowing me to become a part of yours - not as your Ivan's wife, for I would never wish to impose upon those memories, but as Anastasia's mother.

I can only assure you that never would I wish to keep her from the rest of her family. I wish for her to know her father's family, and through them the father she has been denied. I wish to know you all as well. My duty binds me to this station, but I would be greatful and honored if you would come visit us. It will allow me the chance to know Anastasia's father's family, whom through our recent correspondences I've grown fond of, and also allow you to get to know me. I hope that by this visit, we can become the family that Anastasia deserves.

I too hope for an amicable solution to this unique situation and look forward to hearing from you, and hopefully seeing you, soon.

Sincerely yours,
Kaitlyn Lanie

O'Rielly

Leyton, Girl, Another Girl...

2005 Sep 11

:is in a black leather trenchcoat that flairs out from his body, giving the look of an old-western outlaw if an outlaw would wear really nice black leather coats, as well as a black shirt, black pants, and matching heavy black boots. Having been growing back for months, the hair on the top of his head and his facial hair look about back to normal.

"Capture or Kill. Lethal force has been authorized in the hunt for Leyton, to prevent any tragedies from breaking out once more." He shakes his head, but the look on his face could either be a grimace, or a slight smile. "A chance finally to pay back that coniving traitorous bastard for using all of us." He looks around the corner. "For your sake Leyton, I hope that you don't run into me first... We have a lot to discuss, though I might not give him that luxury." He frowns, "He never gave Cady and me that luxury."

He looks around for a long time. "So something interesting happened the other night." A pause, "Apparently, I'm datable." Another pause, this time for seeming dramatic effect. "I was actually told by someone that they could have seen us dating because of our similarities, even though in many ways we're light-years apart." He sighs, "I've thought about that a little bit... And I think she is wrong. We couldn't have ever dated... it would have been too... familiar." He finally stands up and starts to walk away from the camera, starting to remove the trenchcoat. "Note to self... Social Justice Party on Occa is doomed. Computer, end log."

The log goes mysteriously black, and the computer automatically adds level 8 security with private encryption codes to it.

Reian

Losses and Gains

2005 Sep 11

Personal Log, Stardate 55255.3.

There is no visual, just Telasa's voice, speaking into the darkness.

"I was so lost. So lonely. So afraid. I still am, in many ways. But I'm starting to relearn what it is to have my soulmate back. Another voice in the universe, a mind to touch, a soul to yearn for. To find completeness where there was only isolation.

"Tarsis, I don't know if you understand, yet, just how much you mean to me. I'm hoping we still have years enough to learn what it is that we meant to each other. Possibly to find depths to one another that we didn't have time to understand before the universe played this cruel trick."

There is a long pause, where there is no sound, save for a soft chiming in the background, an almost hypnotic sound.

"I might be on a ghost-station. But that's something I have to come to terms with. And it can only get easier, as time passes. And for all these people aren't the ones I knew, they are still good people. And I get the joy of finding friendships all over again. And you'll be there to help me through it. I think I know that now.

"And there are new people coming here, too. Jamie Katoka.. Okay, she threatened to drop me from a mountain.." A soft giggle breaks into the monologue, "Well, no, not in *so* many words, but that's how it'll end if she manages to get me climbing with her.. Chief Petty Officer Parker seems lovely too. Just a shame that I was more than a little overtired when we met. Didn't even manage to get his first name! Still, hopefully soon our paths will cross again!

"There are so many people to meet. My memories won't go away. But perhaps that's for the best. I've lost people I loved. But I get them *back* again. You've shown me that, Tarsis. It might not be the same. But it might turn out even better in the long run."

She sighs softly, halting again as she muses for long moments.

"I think that will do for now. I should say all this too you directly, maybe, Imzadi. But I think you know what I'm feeling, now, without my having to bore you with the trivial details. It does me good to verbalise though. Helps keep my head together. So I think I'll just save this away and use it to remind myself. When I need reminding. Just what it is I've *gained*, amid the loss.

"Computer, end log. Save and file."

Phipps

Have Only My Dreams...

2005 Sep 12

Ensign Phipps Personal Log, Text Only, Stardate 55259.1.

Since I'm sitting in the NZ as I... write this log, it seems apt that it be text only. My quarters are cold and empty, and I don't much feel like being there. The holodeck is all well and good, but it's a bit sad if you sit there staring at a waterfall just to -not- be somewhere else. I'd work an extra shift, but 'people' would find out, and 'people' would... not 'approve'.

So I'm sitting here. In theory, I'm drinking prune juice. I say in theory because I've yet to actually drink it. I've lifted it to my lips several times, but then the next sentence of this pops up, and I put it down again. Always works that way; many of my logs on the Merciful were written rather than spoken, it's a tough way to do it. Harder than knowing you're being watched, listened to, both at once. Someone might read this in years to come - and if they do, what if they see my grammatical errors? Gah. Stupid thoughts, but still they pop up. And of course, I have the tendency to record these things in this way while I'm doing something -else- - so the something -else- suffers. Accordingly.

What's happening with my life now, then. Hmmm. Not much. Been a quiet few days - for me, at least. I did a little research on something, but I doubt it's of much use to anyone. My little project is on hold for now - I need to work on my own abilities before I take on something like that. But I'll get back to it. I have thoughts, interesting thoughts. But I don't know how to enact them - so they're useless, frivolous thoughts. Fortunately, I'll remember them when I do know how to put them into action - so they'll become useful in the future.

Probably.

I keep waking up about two hours early every night. Weirdest thing: dead on the dot, two hours before I have to be up to get ready for my shift (which is in fact about one hour before I actually need to be up, in truth). Every. Single. Time. And then? I go back to sleep, of course. Those two hours are important.

And that's when it happens. Disturbing dreams. I don't remember them at all, but they're there when I wake up - hovering. I most often remember those 'later' dreams - the ones before I wake up, or near to it. I don't seem to be able to remember them, but they leave me unsettled for hours afterwards. Not distractingly so - just when I think back to them I feel sortof odd inside. Disturbed. Uneasy. They're not pleasant dreams, I'm guessing - and some of them feel similar, somehow, to other ones.

So, recurring dreams that I don't remember that leave me uneasy - maybe I should mention that to the counselor. Then again... I think not. Dreams are just dreams, they don't really have to mean anything. Some do. But not all, really they can't. There's just too much information in one single dream for every single one to mean something - I don't think I'm -that- screwed up, else everyone would have -really- noticed by now!

Anyway, aside from that, there's not much of interest. Oh, I'm reconsidering my future. I spoke to Commander Dakin about that. I may have to seriously consider a transfer away from 419 if I want to stay in security and advance my career, when and if the time comes. I'm not going to do that, in all likelihood. So. Time for cross-training. I'm already in the fortunate position of having a limited in-road to all four departments - in theory, I could move into a position in Sciences, in the social sciences field, or I could move into engineering with a little extra specialized training, or with my logistical experience and a little extra training, presumably into the command or ops branches as well. In -theory-, I could move in any of those directions. But I don't want to leave Security.

Despite everything... Security is like home. I'd feel naked without a sidearm. I'd feel strange in a different colour uniform. It'd be odd to depend on others for my own safety on away missions. It'd be... strange, not to have to think in these same, set ways that I've gotten used to. Which entrance is the least easily defended, who goes left on the breach, which weapon suits this mission, how many shots can my Type II get off at setting three when I've already fired sixteen shots at setting one - and so on and so forth. Instead... well, that'd be the hard part, wouldn't it? The thinking side, not the technical side.

But I have no idea what I want to do. I've never been in that position before. Not... ever. And now I don't know what else to say.

Thant

Blessed Search

2005 Sep 13

Still the words do not come. If I were prone to such things, I would say it is infuriating. However, it is not. It is merely irritating. A minor irritation, as a mosquito pattering across flesh beset with hair.

Or, perhaps I should say: still the words come, but not the right words, and not in the right order. I spoke with the Bajoran Vedek, Taimol. I found him a sentient of perhaps unexpected depths; somehow I had imagined something less, yet found more. It was pleasing.

I did not find the question I seek. It still eludes me. Do I wish to ask of the Prophets? This, at least, I know. I wish to know more, and I do not want to discover the information from a computer terminal. Doubtless, research could easily provide a wealth of information - a wealth of information I will still later pursue. But first, one should ask someone who knows, if at all possible. Only then should the cold fact be applied; only then, with evaluation, does clarity come.

I realised today that I am tired. I have not had anything resembling a holiday in many years. The closest was my journey here, in fact, since my time on Vulcan - and I was but a child in a man's clothing, then. I do not count the stay on Dulcais Prime. It was... not a holiday. I was apart, seperate, and insular, and I did not speak with those who travelled with me very much. I regret that. I had forgotten how engaging and fascinating simple conversation without a preset direction can be.

I suspect I have missed a great deal, in the pursuit of knowledge. In the Christian Bible (or at least one of the versions thereof) I believe there is a passage which says "Those who seek knowledge shall become as fools." Perhaps my own personal experience validates that. It would certainly seem to.

And so I begin to wake up. I do not know what made me slumber so soundly; perhaps, in fact, that is the question I seek. But my heart says not.

I seem to have no function here, yet, no defined set function - even if my job description is clear.

To be without direction, without the intent to be there, to simply -be- there, to simply find myself in the midst of the unknown, is a great blessing.

I wish I knew who to thank for it.

(OOC: This log, and all other Thant-related 'logs', whether prose or poetry, are stored on his personal PADD - which he always carries.)

BBS 10-21-05 Personal Logs

2005 Aug 22

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