Personal Log, Stardate 41122.8

Posted on 16 Nov 2020 @ 5:55pm by Lieutenant JG Sesenek T'Suk'tchol

Sesenek is a creature of habit. He hasn't always been. But one day life suddenly became very empty and very long, and he was forced to take up routine and religion almost in the same breath in order to keep himself sane.

So he records his log at the same time every day, after meditation and prayer, and it helps. Maybe. He isn't sure.

Give it another fifteen years or so.

"It has not exactly been an auspicious first assignment. Within hours of my arrival on the Boston, I was on a captured ship full of unconscious Cardassians," he says. "As anticipated, I experienced some psychological symptoms. Hand tremors, sweating, deficits in emotional control. I... kept thinking I recognized their faces."

He clears his throat. It feels scratchy and sore, though there is no physiological reason for that; after so many treatments, his voice only sounds broken. Maybe a little vocal fatigue sometimes, but that's all. "Computer," he decides, "Delete log. Resume from the beginning."

"Log deleted. Recording."

Sesenek breathes out and tries again.

"My first assignment has progressed... rapidly. Within hours of my arrival on the Boston, I was supporting an away team onto a Cardassian-controlled ship-"

His eyes flicker to the mask on his table, with its dusting of spent incense.

"- I am beginning to understand why people accuse the universe of having a 'sense of humour'."

Mentioning Her by name feels too personal. Does that border on sacrilege? He has no idea. He hasn't spoken to another follower of the Oralian Way for ten years. Even that last tenuous link to his family is fading, now, and he doesn't want to think too hard about it.