Personal log, Stardate 41070.86

Posted on 04 Oct 2020 @ 6:43pm by Lieutenant T'Char Le'el

T’Char feels herself being compressed. It’s like the air is slowly being forced out of her lungs as the weight on her body increases. She tries to inhale but there’s no air for her to take in, so she chokes on nothing. It doesn’t even make a sound, it’s as if she’s drifting in a vacuum. Only, the room is bathed in fluorescent orange and red, arcing in strange patterns over the ceiling and leaving empty spaces behind. Then it fades just as quickly as it spikes overhead, and the room is covered in darkness again.

The air returns, she can tell because her hearing comes back and she feels the room get warmer than it was a few moments ago. But for some reason she still can’t inhale, and she can’t move either. With some unknown strength T’Char manages to lift her head to look at her body, but as she does the scene changes. There’s a stinger impaled in her side, and she can feel the length of the spine embedded deep into her body. It’s strange, the pain stops at the skin, but the object displaces her insides in such a way that it supports her entire weight. It’s like the needle is tugging at her flesh in order to lift her up while also tearing her in half.
When she looks up, she follows the length of the stinger all the way to the shoulder of an Andorian, insectoid-like carapace fusing with blue flesh in some mangled and deformed way. He leans in close to her face, and weeps tears of pain. She wants to reach out and comfort him, taking his face in her hands, but she still can’t move her arms. The Andorian screams and unhinges the back of his jaw to reveal a set of pinchers in a row of jagged teeth, and the Vulcan suddenly remembers that she can’t breathe. She sits up violently in the biobed, snapping awake.

A poor decision. It causes her midriff to explode in a series of rippling and painful spasms, reducing her already short breath to nothing. It takes a solid several minutes before T’Char is able to take a breath of air without feeling like her left lung is going to pop. Thankfully, she can breathe, which is more than she could say for the last time she was conscious.

Her eyes drift down to observe the wound in her side, now covered with a dermal regenerative patch. She cleanly tears it off in one motion, and tosses it to the side dismissively in order to gawk at the damage. It’s not as ugly as she expected, just a semi-circular and slightly raised scar right on top of her ribcage, only about an inch in diameter. It’s flanked on all sides by harsh yellowish bruising where her ribcage fractured from the impact, but it could be a lot worse. It could’ve been aimed just a little bit lower and gone straight into her heart. But it didn’t, and dwelling on it was illogical, so T’Char swings her legs over the side of the bed in order to stand.

The console above her head suddenly chirps, warning her that the treatment was still in progress. A quick punch to the screen not only cracks the glass, but turns the machine off entirely. First problem solved. Second problem, using her legs. T’Char wiggles to the edge of the bed and manages to put her feet on the floor, still leaning against the frame for support. She puts her weight onto one foot, and then the other, very gradually helping her body readjust to being upright. Thankfully, her knees don’t give out from underneath her, and she’s able to collect the now green-bloodstained uniform she had been wearing all day in order to leave the sickbay entirely. Doctor H’Rilla was probably going to throw a fit in the morning over the busted bio-bed console, but she wanted to sleep in her own bed.

~

“Computer. Begin personal log, stardate 41070.86.”

T’Char’s voice is extremely hoarse as she sits down at her desk, a bit more gingerly than she usually does. Her hair is slightly damp, and starting to curl up as it dries out, increasing her latent frizz. She’s wearing the same, faded orange robe that she always does when she’s off duty, and she’s hugging it around herself like a comfort blanket.

“Our visit to the planet of Noth’ka for joint tactical exercises went fine. As far as I am aware, the crew was able to train extensively for a short period with the soldiers stationed at the outpost. I.. intended to spend the time studying the local ecology.”

The Vulcan shifts uncomfortably in her chair, still hugging the robe. She clears her throat, and it inspires a small bout of coughing that she aims into her elbow. When she pulls her head away she checks the sleeve for any small green flecks on the cloth, but luckily there aren’t any. Yet.

“My own personal objectives were superceded by Commander Raj, who.. prevented me from leaving the compound on my own. In hindsight perhaps there was some logic to that idea, as my encounter with the native fauna resulted in a slight injury on my behalf-”

As soon as she finishes talking, T’Char is bowled over by another fit of coughing. This time, there’s at least three separate droplets on her sleeve, but she chooses to ignore them entirely in favor of crossing her arms together.

“The guide, Wraith I believe her name was, called it a Siren. The title likely references a human culturalism, as the animal uses selective telepathic mimicry to lure prey into an accessible area. I was.. successfully baited into revealing my location, and the animal took advantage, as it’s instincts have taught it to through means of evolution. I consider the fault entirely my own for reacting foolishly.”

She moves herself to a standing position relatively slowly, using the desk as a crutch again. Her face is strained significantly as she pulls a deep breath of air into her lungs, forgetting too late that the microsutures in her intercostal muscles and pleural membranes were rather strained already. There’s a short tugging sensation in her chest and it forces her to exhale violently, coughing.

The noise wakes up Little Cloud, who’s made a nest of stolen blankets on the bed. As her head pops out from underneath a pillow, she gives her mother a short yelp of concern and impatience, wondering why the Vulcan hasn’t joined her on the cot.

T’Char glances at her Sehlat with mild amusement, waving a hand in her direction.

“Yuk yuk, pi’ e’shua.”

The Sehlat doesn’t need much encouragement on that front, and she rolls over to make herself more comfortable while closing her eyes. Her tiny body inhales deeply and exhales shortly in a quick sigh, and the animal is sound asleep in a few minutes.

T’Char turns back to her screen, a little less tense in the face than she was a moment ago.

“In any case, the situation is resolved. Wraith was kind enough to use my fallen tricorder to scan the animal before she was forced to eliminate it. The data is much appreciated.”

Her brow furrows slightly as a thought crosses her mind. The ease of her expression fades almost as quickly as it had appeared.

“In the progress of our mission objective.. I can say that the crew of the Boston is doing everything they can to complete their duties to the best of their ability. We will stop the attacks on Tathi vessels using whatever means are required of us.”

She leans in close to the monitor to hover her hand over the record/stop key, but pauses for a moment.

“..In the event that the Boston becomes compromised, I have recorded a separate series of files that will detail the events in full. Should the vessel be destroyed, I have ensured this series of files will remain intact through a series of emergency transmissions.”

She leans back and sighs, moving her hand back to her midriff to massage the constant ache of her bruises. It’s not the pain so much as the forceful lack of muscle maneuverability that bothers her. T’Char glances out the window to observe the planet below, hoping the distraction will mitigate her soreness. The clouds form small spirals over a thick green canopy dotted with black bodies of water. It’s oddly peaceful considering how drastically violent the life clinging to its surface actually is.

“It is my hope that I will not have to resort to such dramatics during the course of future events, but logic dictates we must prepare for all contingencies. End of log.”

She presses down on the screen and the small red recording light blinks off.