Personal Log, Stardate 40952.7

Posted on 19 Aug 2020 @ 11:03pm by Lieutenant T'Char Le'el
Edited on 20 Aug 2020 @ 1:51am

The station is chilly. T’Char hunches her legs up into her chair as she leans on the armrest, rubbing her own shoulders to stay warm. She thinks there are two possibilities: Orions have a higher tolerance for the cold than most species, or the environmental controls on the station are inadequate and damaged. Either way, 13.9 degrees Celsius is not ideal for a heat reliant and mildly cold-blooded Vulcan.

She twists around to look at the mass of bodies behind her crammed on the slab of fabric that passes for a bed. Carmen and Tirik snuggling on the floor leaning against the bedpost, Elise on the far end of the bed almost falling off the edge, and Kyr in another chair a few feet away. Siriinya, barely four feet in height, has taken the majority of space on the cot, buried under a pile of blankets she’s tugged away from Elise. Commander Raj is absent, graciously having her own private quarters thanks to Tarik, the Gorn benefactor and Syndicate contact. Apparently they hit it off quite well over dinner a few hours ago.
The Vulcan twists back to face her console, thinking how illogical it was to offer a crew of seven individuals a room with exactly one bed. She considers it might be the Gorn’s attempt at humor. She barely understands the humor that her crewmates seem to fluidly share with each other, it’s not illogical to assume that something like this would also qualify as a kind of joke. It is, after all, the only subject in her experience that becomes increasingly harder to understand the more research she conducts. The nature of defying logic, perhaps.

T’Char stares at her screen with mild dismay. After sitting in one spot for several hours and trying to scour the station database for relevant information, her attitude has become notably reduced in quality. She pulls her tricorder out from her jacket’s breast pocket, flipping it open as she sets it on the top of the desk-like console. After tapping a small button on the interior, she leans back into her chair, and the device beeps once to signify she’s recording.

“Personal mission log, Stardate..” T’Char exhales through her nose, glancing at the timestamp on the panels in front of her. “-40952.7.”
She tries to speak softly enough not to disturb her sleeping companions. Without the benefit of volume to support her composure, her pitch becomes low and raspy, betraying just how tired she actually is. At least the tricorder doesn’t have a camera to zoom in on the rings under her eyes.

“Without revealing explicit details that would compromise the mission objective, I can at least confirm that the task assigned is proceeding apace. The raid on the Boston will commence in short order, under the- supervision of our benefactor. The team and I have been working to uncover more information regarding the purpose of the raid, in relation to the..apparent interference of Starfleet high command.”

The Vulcan readjusts in her chair to get comfortable, letting her head fall against the backrest. She exhales and watches her breath condense into the air. It doesn’t linger for more than a second but it’s enough to justify her indignation at least. When Kyr wakes up she’ll complain to him about it again.

“We have managed to discover the possible location where the Admiral has docked, albeit through deductive reasoning and circumstantial evidence in the form of digital information. His actual location is yet to be confirmed, pending a physical investigation of the suspected docking port. Though I must admit, the likelihood of our current conclusions are, in all probability, correct.”

T’Char closes her eyes for just a minute to let herself rest, taking a few deep breaths before speaking again. She doesn’t open her eyes yet.

“There is also the probability that the strain of Pravum-Ataraxia is being held aboard the Admiral’s vessel, most likely under the supervision of Dr. T’Mok or Velires. A very... unpleasantly high probability at that, considering the existence of other Federation chemicals on the station manifest.”
She opens her eyes to glare at the station console, still listing off various extreme examples of things that would make any naive and law abiding citizen cringe. The variety is admittedly impressive, if not concerning.

“My own foray into the circumstances of this affair have not revealed anything of note. In fact, I have not uncovered any useful information whatsoever.” She shifts in her seat again to prevent a cramp, but there’s only so many viable positions in a stiff metal chair designed for a person three times her size.
“While tracking the various affiliations that our confiscated.. material may have acquired on Farius prior to it’s transfer into our custody, I made contact with a group of Vulcans. Though I was unable to make confirmation of identity, logic suggests they were operating under the direction of our target. I managed to follow one of these individuals to the warehouse where the illicit materials were previously stored, confirming my suspicions to some degree.”

There’s an audible movement behind her, causing the Vulcan to turn around. Siriinya managed to kick Elise closer to the edge of the cot, and now her arm and a leg are falling off the side. T’Char makes a mental note that Humans must be notoriously difficult to interrupt during a sleep cycle, perhaps due to a residual evolutionary trait. She lifts her eyebrow characteristically of her own species and turns back around to speak into the tricorder.

“I can assume the other aspects of our mission have been decidedly more fruitful. Commander Raj’s infiltration of the social event in order to offer our ‘services’ nearly exposed our true identities. Yet as a result, somehow managed to deeply ingrain our reputation in the Orion syndicate as a reliable group of mercenaries. Hence, our current positioning here on the station.”
She gestures with an arm to the filthy walls around her, as if the recording could see it. At least it felt nice to express her frustration. The Vulcan narrows her eyes as she acknowledges her emotions are a little unguarded, but she’s too tired to care at this point. She lets her facial muscles relax and her usually stiff brow unbends from the normal, permanent scowl she tends to wear.

“There is no other information of relevance to report. I will continue to update these logs as I am able. Conclusion of Mission log.” She reaches over to flip the device in on itself, and it responds with a faint chirp to tell the Vulcan it stopped recording.

She turns to look back at Kyr. He seems quite comfortable in this environment, even taking off his jacket to use as a pillow. Her eyes keep going up to his antennae, swaying with each breath he takes and moving in sync with his chest. It’s measured, and it calms her anxiety when she follows the movement. Something in her wants to curl up in his lap and put her ear to his chest, to listen to his heartbeat and see if it syncs up with his breathing as well. There’s a faint ache in her chest, and her hand goes to her belly by her own heart as she winces involuntarily. Her gaze flits away from the Andorian back to her console, still moving down a bucket list of smuggling fare.

She readjusts a final time back to a position she was holding earlier to prevent another cramp. It doesn’t help much, but it’s enough to let the Vulcan fuss with her jacket again. The nylon and carbon-weave insulation isn’t exactly perfect for keeping out the chilly air, but it’s better than nothing.
She can’t possibly imagine how Kyr manages to find comfort in the cold. His face lingers in her memory and she feels her gut start to twinge again. It might be nice if he was there to rub her shoulders in order to warm her up, like he did on the holodeck a few days ago. Any touch from him made her feel a lot warmer anyways. T’Char closes her eyes again, telling herself she can rest for a short while before going back to work. Ten minutes later and she slouches into a better position for her head to rest in, totally asleep.