Personal Log: Sedai, Katriel

[Katriel]

The only rules that matter are these.

---- // MESSAGE ORIGIN: Deep Space 13.
AUDIO ONLY. SIGNED: Sedai, Katriel // ----

Hey, it’s me. I’m… sorry I missed your call earlier, the meeting with the neuroscience team went a bit long, unfortunately.

::her voice seems to get a shade quieter and then louder again at random intervals. She might be moving from room to room in her quarters, causing the computer to seamlessly switch audio input sources periodically to compensate::

First things first. Yes, Neema returned to station earlier this afternoon, safe and sound. We spoke briefly in the evening and she seemed mostly unhurt and largely unchanged by her experience, so that is a relief at least.

::there’s the sound of drawers rolling open, as well as rustling fabric. The same drawers rolling shut not long after::

Terix has been the dominant topic of conversation for the past several days. I’m not very… good? … at interstellar politics, so while I have paid some attention to the broader strokes of development, I find myself to be frustratingly ambivalent about what should be done about it all. ::her tone turns rueful:: Command really just isn’t for me.

Neema privately admitted a likewise uncertainty, but at least she seems prepared to commit to particular courses of action. She’s been trying very hard to balance the order of the Prime Directive against the chaos of those who would provoke us to bypassing it. Just like a leader should.

::there’s a very long pause. When she starts again, her voice is slow and ponderous at first, like she’s still formulating her upcoming thoughts::

The other day. There was this … unrelated incident on the promenade level. I was climbing the ramp to the Cantina and noticed that there were several officers standing around, verbally taking this cadet to task for sitting on the bridge on the promenade.

You know the one I’m talking about, of course… the aesthetically pleasing but moderately perilous walkway to the promenade conference room? Yes, that one. Not really certain who designed it, but it wouldn’t be the first time basic safety principles have been ignored in favor of architectural elegance and I’m sure it won’t be the last.

::there are some muted beeping noises. The sound of a replicator humming to life to complete an order::

In any case, one of the DS13 cadets loves to perch on the edge of it, legs hanging, like off a fishing dock. Though there is no written regulation against it, I have observed countless officers stop to verbally reprimand him for it. Even I admit that I paused next to him, the first time I noticed, to question him on whether or not it was really a good idea to be sitting that way.

Most of the officer concerns hinge on whether or not it’s safe for him to be sitting like that and, failing that, how preventable the potential inconvenience would be to the other officers who would be saddled with the obligation of assisting him in case he should fall. They’re not wrong, of course. The cadet is playing with risk; that is an undisputed fact.

But… how much risk, exactly?

::a short pause, filled with additional beeping noises of another replicator order going through::

Cadet Stern is easily one of the most, if not the most, responsible cadet in our current cadre, with a work ethic that rivals officers many years older. He’s been engaging in this seating habit ever since he arrived and I have never so much as seen him teeter off balance in the entire time. In my view, given the evidence, I feel that the risk is minimal at best.

Of course no amount of caution will completely eliminate the possibility of an accident, but if zero chance of failure was the only acceptable outcome when deciding on a course of action, we’d never accomplish anything. And really, no one should live their life restricted by just the possibility of failure, especially if said possibility is objectively determined to be small or nearly negligent.

::another short pause in which there is a faintly audible felinoid purring, followed by the muted thud of a small metallic plate being set on the windowsill::

If the cadet has assessed the chances of a negative outcome to be small enough that the activity is worth engaging in, then the truth is that none of us have much grounds to argue with him otherwise. At least, not as long as he’s accurately assessed that risk. He might be pushing at the boundary of this unwritten rule that the rest of us seem to hold in high esteem, but until the day he actually falls, he is not harming anyone else through his choice and may never actually do so.

::she sighs and there’s the sound of her settling heavily into the cushions of an armchair::

As it turns out, though… the real risk entailed in the cadet’s actions is not in the possibility that he’ll fall and hurt himself, or that he chances inconveniencing others in the aftermath. No, the real risk… is when another less responsible cadet sees Cadet Stern’s example and decides to follow it, without properly assessing whether or not they are capable of shouldering the same risk.

That is where things fall apart. The hypothetical imitating cadet fails, for whatever reason, to accomplish the same task safely, resulting in a number of officers who shake their heads and say ‘I told you so’, while Cadet Stern might retort stubbornly that he was not the one who fell in the end.

And so it is with all rules, I suppose. Even the ones as strongly worded as the Prime Directive. Should we… should Neema… choose to push at the boundaries and restrictions of the rules to effect a certain goal, there’s a possibility, maybe even a probability, that it might be the ‘right’ thing to do. This time.

But… it won’t always be. And somewhere down the line, there’ll be a Captain who looks back at what we’ve done and they’ll think… they chose to bend the rules, so why can’t I? Will that hypothetical future Captain remember to assess their circumstances accurately for their decision, all the variables, all the risks, all the possible consequences? Or will they blindly cite precedent and potentially hurt themself and everyone around them?

::another pause and there’s the slightly rhythmic and tinny sound of her fingernails against the ceramic of her mug::

Well, anyway. Enough rambling from me. I abhor your current training schedule, by the way, it quite plainly … sucks. And yes, you may tell Commander Donavah that I feel so.

Miss you tons. Stay safe out there.

---- // END MESSAGE // ----

[Katriel]

When it rains, it pours.

[Katriel]

Deliver last week’s case studies analysis to lab 2a.

Counseling department meeting.

Lunch with Ensign Caissa.

Meeting with Recreational department to finalize Risa shore leave arrangements.

Sit in on clinical trials for new anxiolytic.

Review and write up feedback notes for selected at random junior counselor reports.

Comm conference with –

The counselor’s train of thought broke off as the caracal she was jogging with halted abruptly, ears perked at apparently nothing. Katriel jerked to a stop as the pitch-black feline darted suddenly into the underbrush.

Uh-oh. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to exercise the feline in the arboretum?

Katriel flinched as she heard a startled squawk, the rapid flapping noise of wingbeats, and a flurry of rustling leaves and branches. A scant breath later, an avian of some species she didn’t recognize jetted out of the topiary in a terrified retreat. It disappeared quickly out of sight into the upper branches of the surrounding trees.

Razor crept back out of the bushes with a self-satisfied saunter. The Betazoid twitched as she noticed exactly three colorful feathers poking out of the feline’s mouth. The smug feline sat on her haunches at Katriel’s feet, lowered her head and dropped the slightly bent and crooked trophies on the pavement.

“… okay, you know what? We’ll just stick to the habitat ring corridors from now on.”

[Katriel]

I write this from a sandy shore
to be washed out like times before.
Where will it drift, where will it go?
Its destination I do not know.
But with it now goes my love
and her lost gaze from high above.

[Katriel]

There’s beauty in the breakdown, so let go.
- Frou Frou

There’s a new scar on my heart today, left there by a stranger.
Though I can’t help but wonder: are they really so strange to me,
when I can be stirred by their pain so fluently?

Nothing I can say seems like enough. I can’t even promise
that it will get better, because I know myself that it never does.
This new hurt is yours forever.

But eventually one day, you forget that it does, just for a minute.
Then the next day, you forget for two. And so on and so on,
until the day when you forget for longer than you remember.

For now, take one day at a time,
like stepping stones across a raging river.

[Katriel]

Fairy tales are more than true:
not because they tell us that dragons exist,
but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.
- Neil Gaiman

Clad in her fencing whites, Katriel strode briskly down the corridor to the holodeck block. She held her helmet under her left arm as she walked, her forearms extended just enough to maneuver one synthetic glove onto her right hand. She pressed the weave in between her fingers before tugging on the glove’s wrist, cinching the material more snugly.

Periodically she would nod to a familiar looking passerby, though she didn’t exchange words with anyone. It was a bit unusual for her to be making her way towards the regular holodecks in this particular getup. But with so many engineering teams refocused on the new construction upgrades, maintenance and repair in the main starbase facilities had fallen behind. So with several gym minidecks out of order, a few others in maintenance cycles, and the rest reserved, Katriel had no choice but to book one of the main holodecks for her workout, even though they were quite a bit larger than she strictly needed.

She was in the middle of pulling on her left glove when she arrived at her reserved deck and, absently heedless of its status, she walked right in when the doors obligingly swished open…

… and she stepped straight into a sea of green. She paused with one white shoe on the carpet of vividly healthy grass and puzzled over the implications for a nanosecond before she raised her head and looked around. The holodeck is apparently already active? The air was crisp and chill and there was flora and foliage as far as she could see. A large, forboding silhouette loomed far in the distance. Some sort of castle or fortress.

Before Katriel could call up a console to check the reservation schedule, a squealed shriek sounded from around the other side of a tree, before a blazing ball of flame swooshed out of the trees and roared straight for her. The counselor reflexively lifted her arm in reaction, more to shield from the sudden blinding light than anything else, and the fireball hit the guard on her forearm. There was a brief heat and then nothing, as the fantastical spell fizzled out.

Thank you, holodeck safeties.

“OH GOODNESS, THIS ONE IS SO … SORRY …”

Katriel had to blink once, twice, three times to get her vision to clear. And yet in the end, she was still looking at the child-sized figure of a felinoid as he scrambled over a log and ran towards her.

“…sorrysorrysorry…”

He was wearing a burgundy robe and a large, elaborate witch’s hat in the same color. In his right paw-hand, he carried a wooden staff with a golden globe topping it off.

“…sorrysorrysorrysorry is lady okay this one did not mean to --”

“It’s okay, it’s okay! I’m fine,” Katriel forestalled the extraordinarily apologetic little caitian wizard. Her eyes caught on the fallen log where two other caitian cubs were climbing over, both likewise dressed in fantastic costumes. One, an archer dressed in a forest green tunic; she’d have blended right in with the forest if it wasn’t for the bright orange hood-and-cloak on her head. The other was a knight, his shining silver plate armor gleaming as he shuffled forward with an appropriately-sized toy sword and shield.

Katriel’s lips twitched at the sight. Clearly she had interrupted some sort of elaborate, medieval playdate.

“I’m not hurt,” Katriel reassured. “But I seem to have … lost my way. Who are you three?”

The archer-caitian leapt down from the log and pretended to aim her crossbow at some far away target. “This one is Katniss Everpaw, most famous archer in seven kingdoms!”

The knight-caitian raised his shield shyly, from a slight distance. “This one is Sir Clawsalot, of the Round Fishbowl.”

The wizard-caitian had overcome his anxiety about harming Katriel with his fire spell and proudly struck a pose. “And this one is all-powerful wizard, Whisker the White!”

Archer-Caitian sniffed once, looking a bit dismissive. “Not so powerful, really. Whisker not able to make staff work at start.”

‘Whisker’ rounded on ‘Everpaw’, all righteous childlike indignity. “But this one got it at the end!”

“Yeah, and almost killed someone at same time!” ‘Everpaw’ retorted.

“DID NOT!”

“DID SO!”

“DID NOT!”

“DID SO!”

Katriel was rubbing at a temple when another figure stepped in behind her. “Be quiet, noisy cubs! Who are you disturbing now?”

The betazoid turned to see a full-sized, adult caitian standing in the archway. She was, Katriel observed, not costumed, but wore a Starfleet uniform with an operations-gold stripe.

“I’m sorry,” Katriel apologized. “I thought I had booked this holodeck for my workout, but it seems I might be mistaken.”

The caitian smiled toothily in return. “Is no bother. Children, did you say hello?”

“Hellllooooo,” the cubs chorused obediently.

“Good,” was the caitian’s approving response. “Now go find dragon or there will not be enough time to slay before lunchtime.”

“Dragon!” “Yeah, must go!” “SLAAAAaaaaayyyyyy!”

Katriel watched, half astonished and half amused, as the cub trio ran off through the trees. She looked back at the other woman, whom she could only presume was the errant cubs’ guardian. The two of them consulted the holodeck’s reservation schedule which, in the end, appeared to show that the holodeck was double-booked. A display error had likely caused one of them not to see the reserved state when the other had attempted to make their own reservation.

Katriel immediately elected to bow out, however, feeling as though her need was certainly lesser in this particular situation. As she headed out of the holodeck, she paused briefly.

“Is there … really a dragon?”

The caitian’s tail twitched in amusement, gesturing with a paw to her own chest. “Is this one. Will be using holographic projection when is time.”

“Ah,” was Katriel’s richly amused response as she continued on her way. “Then I wish you a gloriously valiant death.”

“This one is very good actress, so promise it will be!”

Thanks, Skyler!

[Katriel]

Two per cap.

[Katriel]

Invincible.

[Katriel]

A Compendium of Sh’Varanism Myths: Mirab’s Milky Way.

In the time before mortals had reached the stars, there were three friends. The demi-god Mirab was the son of a known warrior-god and was therefore destined to join the Great War of the Titans. But Mirab had spent his youth with two dear others, Narcissus and Psyche, and so when it came time for the demi-god to travel to the Veil to join the battle, the three of them went together.

They trekked over miles of road, climbed a mountain or two, then passed through the forbidden forest before finally arriving at the edge of a great river. Unlike normal rivers, this one’s currents were completely still and when one gazed into its waters, there was nothing reflected back.

“This is where we part,” Mirab said as he turned away from the water’s edge to regard his friends sadly.

“Will you return?” Psyche asked tentatively, fearful of the answer.

“I intend to,” was all Mirab could say.

The three said their goodbyes and then Mirab stepped up to the water’s edge. He took a deep breath then, with no hesitation, dove gracefully into the still surface. The water parted to accept him and the darkness swallowed him whole. Narcissus and Psyche were silent as the river’s surface calmed once again.

“He will return,” Narcissus responded with confidence, his eyes never leaving the still surface of the water.

“Even if he does, he may be so changed that things will never return to the way they were,” Psyche responded, wringing her hands.

“He will be enough the same that when he returns, we will be able to find ourselves again,” Narcissus retorted.

“Perhaps,” Psyche answered. She stood indecisively on the riverbank, while Narcissus indolently sat at the water’s edge. The two waited and waited, though Mirab had never indicated he would return soon. So intent on staring into the depths, Narcissus did not notice as the time passed and sun disappeared beyond the horizon, leaving them surrounded by darkness. Nor did he notice Psyche quietly slipping away into the forest or he might have cursed her for her capriciousness, for her lack of faith that their friend would return.

An inexorable time later, Narcissus knew not how long had passed, a hot and flaring pinprick on his bare shoulder made him yelp in pain. He looked up to see Psyche standing over him, with an oil lantern hanging from a pole in her hands and an apologetic look on her face.

“Sorry!” Psyche exclaimed, retreating a step. The lantern swayed in its cradle. Narcissus glared reproachfully as he rubbed the burning sensation out of his skin. Then he eyed the lamp with skepticism.

“What is that for?”

“For Mirab,” she explained quietly. “So he can see the way back.”

Narcissus stared at the lantern, then into the dark water below. Indeed, perhaps the lantern would be useful in guiding their friend home, he thought as Psyche carefully planted the pole into the ground, so the lantern stood freely, casting its light out onto the water’s surface. But would it be enough?

“That’s a good idea,” he said and he gathered a large, flat leaf on the ground to him. With a few swift manipulations, he had folded the bit of greenery into the shape of a boat. Psyche watched as he stole a bit of oil and flame from the lantern, barely enough for a candle, and set it boldly on his creation.

Then he set the little boat on the surface of the river and gave it a gentle push to cast it off. The leaf-boat drifted outward, a small flickering beacon in a river of darkness.

“We will light a path for him,” Narcissus spoke with reassurance as he began to fold another boat. Psyche eventually sat and joined him, and the two friends began casting boat after boat onto the river, filling it with little points of light.

To this day, the two continue to cast boats of candlelight out onto the river of the Veil, waiting for Mirab to return.

–

She quietly drifted awake as warmth tickled her feet. Fairy had wound her way up onto the chaise lounge and had been unsuccessfully attempting to settle herself on the betazoid’s outstretched legs. Katriel took stock of her surroundings, a PADD resting on her stomach where it had tilted over when she had prematurely fallen asleep. She turned the device on to examine what she had been reading just before, before setting it to the side and creakily rising from her languor. The little black feline verbalized a complaint at being displaced again, but the counselor just scooped up the creature and headed quietly into her bedroom. To sleep for real, this time.

“Computer, lights, please.”

be-boop.

Thanks, Davin.

[Katriel]

#2

I have been trying to keep busy. Recreationally, that is.

Now that the winter holoprogram is on, I’ve traded in some of my regular fencing hours for ice skating instead, which has been a fairly decent distraction, since it’s less solitary. Even gave a fellow fleet acquaintance some assistance in learning to skate, though he was very, very green, so he likely would have improved at the same rate without my particular advice.

I have also been engaging in more leisure games. Do you remember the lakeside holoprogram we found around Halloween? There was that entire shelf of board games and similar in the cabin there? Neema and I and another Captain (the same one who needed ice skating help; I don’t think you’ve met) went to look through their collection and we tried a new game for fun.

At least, I had fun; the other two admittedly seemed to become a bit hyperfocused on getting revenge on one another when they realized they could sabotage each others’ progress. I knew Neema was competitive, but really.

(Also, we discovered some really strange visual errors on the holoprogram. I better remember to report that after I finish writing here.)

I even let Neema drag me to one of Captain Desimone’s awful movie nights. That was … well, different. But it did get me thinking that maybe the morale division might like to do something seasonal song related. I know you teased me about caroling last year and I admit that’s not really my thing, but maybe there’s something similar that would be appropriate.

… Off to go make that report, I suppose. Miss you.

[Katriel]

#5

I received my present from the Gift Exchange earlier tonight. We are, of course, not supposed to know the identity of the gifter, but sometimes the nature of the gift is such that it ends up being a bit obvious who might be responsible. Such is the case for me, this year, apparently. I’ll admit that it’s not a terribly useful gift (to me), but I made the best of it, I think.

There was, though, also, a rather unique snowglobe included, which I love quite a bit. The snowfall looks more like a transporter beam than basic snow and the scene inside phases between three settings, like a sort of 3D slideshow. A bit hard to describe.

Do you ever have times where the same thing seems to be happening everywhere around you? Only they’re happening to different people and they’re not really the same, so there’s no way any of it is related, and yet you can’t help but notice a pattern.

I know I’ve spoken to you about Lieutenant James Kermit before. He and his girlfriend just became engaged, and Emery and I happened to be fortunate enough to witness the proposal from afar. I can’t help but smile, thinking about it. I suppose I have always felt some tiny modicum of responsibility for James, ever since he first came aboard station and crossed my path as a fresh Ensign, dazed and eager to impress. But he’s come a long way since then and though it’s really not my place, I feel proud and pleased and happy for him and the path he’s found for himself. It really seems to suit.

On the other end of the spectrum, though, it seems as though Neema and Coby have

::the letter continues on the back::

formally parted ways. She dropped in on me last night and we talked about it. She’s unhappy, but ultimately it was mutual, a shared concern that the uncertain time apart would be too taxing and unfair on both of them. I both relate and don’t, funnily enough.

We commed in for delivery from an ice cream place in the commercial zone and watched a sappy movie in my quarters. And I think she went home feeling a bit less sorry for herself as a result. I hope, anyway.

And then somewhere in between, I have acquaintances who are entangled in one of the most hopelessly confused romantic relationships I have ever seen. They seem more than a little beyond my help, to be honest. Sigh.

You and I should really visit the ice cream place when you come back. Despite the name, they do have chocolate.

[Katriel]

#9

My brother is here.

Apparently Starfleet is thinking about terraforming a planet in the Waydis system and the Sirocco was the vessel selected to come investigate and maybe lead that effort. The project itself has stalled, but in the meantime, the Sirocco is on planet scraping duty, which means Brian is basically able to visit the station every day. And if the project is approved, it means he’ll be in the area for the next half a year or maybe even longer.

Of course I find him to be a little exasperating on occasion, but mostly I’m happy and a bit relieved to have him nearby. And he seems to feel the same, about the relief part, that is.

He is also just flat out enjoying himself. The station is brand new to him and he loves to explore, so by extension, I am also finally learning more about the decks that I have never previously visited. He has also demanded to meet all of my friends and immediately volunteered to help deliver exchange gifts. I could almost be jealous of how easily he integrates himself around other people. I suppose some days I actually am.

Anyway. It’s lucky timing in general, I feel, and saves us both the trouble of taking leave to gather for the holidays. Although I suppose we both might still try to visit our parents once before the year is over… maybe.

Hope you’re doing well. Miss you, a lot.

[Katriel]

Nethali Aster snores like a woolly mammoth that has swallowed a warp core.

In the end, with the Nimbosian woman fit to fall asleep right there in the hallway, Katriel felt like there was no other alternative than to bring Nethali to her own quarters for the night. The hour was too late for the counselor to feel remotely mentally prepared to fill out the necessary paperwork for ops to assign guest quarters and, after the procedure Nethali just went through, it seemed more likely than not that she would need another sentient to keep an eye on things, just in case.

It was a long walk back to her quarters. At least Nethali had been drowsing the entire time, so they were relieved of any awkward small talk. Not that Nethali did small talk.

The Betazoid shooed Fairy off the chaise lounge (she definitely wasn’t going to give up her own bed to this woman, no matter how sick) and lowered the basically unconscious woman onto it, carefully collecting and distributing her lax limbs into comfortable positions for optimal circulation. Katriel wasn’t certain what was entailed in the procedure that Doctor Pohl had initiated (she’d remedy that tomorrow), but at least there seemed some common sense steps to take. She collected a blanket and spread it over the prone woman.

No longer being forced to hobble along, Nethali had promptly fallen asleep. Katriel eyed the other woman’s sleeping countenance for a few speculative moments. Would she be hungry or thirsty? Would she want a change of clothes? Or would she chafe at the implication of weakness and run out the door the moment she woke? Maybe Katriel would come out of her bedroom in the morning and find nothing but a slightly wrinkled blanket and a puddle of vomit on her carpet?

Hopefully not.

Katriel stepped towards the replicator and quietly put in a few successive orders: a bottle of water, a packet of saltine crackers, and a plain plastic tub that would hopefully save her some carpet cleaning. Fairy had just started to inspect the interloper who had taken her sleeping space as Katriel finished arranging these items within Nethali’s easy reach, when the unconscious woman began to snore, promptly sending the feline scurrying into the bedroom.

She went to her desk and penned a short note: Feel free to replicate yourself some clothes. If you need someone to go with you to the next session, I will make time. She left this with the rest of the hospitality rations, before quietly retiring to her room with a pad of notebook paper.

“Computer, lock bedroom door, please.”

be-boop.

[Katriel]

Katriel followed Commander Isohlah, taking down periodic notes on a PADD, as the heavyset Bolian toured the cargo bay.

Zantaari refugees filled every corner and spaces in between. Some sat at various console stations, their attention glued to the screens as they scrutinized and consumed the pre-approved lists of content stored aboard. Others were curled up with Federation-issue PADDs onto which Zantaari entertainment – games, literature, video – had been loaded and were whiling the hours away in quiet preoccupation.

“What will happen to them?” Katriel inquired, as they walked down the corridor to the cargo bay.

“Unsure,” Ezzem Isohlah had rumbled back. “This is an unprecedented case. Not only unprecedented, but proscribed. Evacuating the lot of them was a violation of the Prime Directive.” He looked straight forward as they walked and his gruff voice turned even moreso. “I am aware I will sound heartless, but all of them should have been left to go extinct on their doomed planet.”

Katriel swallowed silently. She couldn’t think of anything to say to that.

For the most part, the counselor reflected as she tailed her department head, things were fairly calm. There were a huge quantity of bodies stuffed into the space, but as if knowing how chaotic it would become if they became careless, the refugees kept their idle conversations quiet and small. The Betazoid did occasionally pick up strains of boredom and tension, offset by other individuals who emanated relief and security. Uniform, though, was the sensation of waiting. All the Zantaari were waiting. Katriel reflected uncomfortably upon the collective emotion that reminded her of a busy space terminal where all the outgoing flights had just been cancelled or postponed, leaving thousands of passengers stranded and in limbo, waiting for their time to go.

That is what the cargo bay feels like, she thought. Limbo.

The pair of counselors continued down the hallway in silence, until Isohlah spoke up again.

“There are some examples that Command should consider,” his tone was grudging. “Sometimes individuals from pre-warp societies are abducted by malfeasants and when they’re recovered, they are often given the opportunity to rehabilitate and integrate into Federation society, if it’s deemed they can’t return to their home planet.”

“But for so many?” Katriel asked.

“Command is probably thinking resettle and renounce,” Isohlah’s tone was a bit dark. “Personally I think it’d be foolish to believe Starfleet can relocate these people and then go hands-off. Not with this level of cultural contamination. These people were practically living in apocalyptica even before we got there; there’s not much culture even left to preserve.”

Katriel halted suddenly in reaction to Commander Isohlah stopping in his tracks in front of her. They both looked down at a small Zantaari child, who had caught a corner of Isohlah’s uniform and tugged eagerly to get his attention.

“… Yes?” Isohlah asked. Katriel did not fail to notice how his deep voice had taken on a distinctly gentler cast. Say what you would of her commander’s personal views, if that was indeed what they were, but Commander Isohlah was not actually a compassionless man, nor a cruel one.

“Is it true?? My mommy says you’re a godman!” the Zantaari boy proudly remarked to the two counselors. His curious gaze encompassed Katriel as well. “Are you? Is it true?”

Katriel stiffened at the question, but Isohlah was quicker on the draw. “Yes,” he responded tersely. They had both been briefed on this requirement to keep up the pretense, something Katriel was deeply uncomfortable with, but it seemed as though Isohlah would lie more easily for both of them.

The Zantaari child gasped in amazement and quickly moved onto his next demanding inquiry. “Show me some magic! Anything you want! Please??”

Even Isohlah’s expression briefly flashed with some uncertainty here, but suddenly the boy relinquished the Commander’s uniform as he was jerked backwards. Katriel looked up slightly to see that an adult Zantaari had grasped and hugged the child close to him, a faint expression of alarm painted over his features.

“Ossig! Do not disturb the Godmen!” the Zantaari father scolded his son and pivoted, opening his arms and forcing the boy to walk away. ‘Ossig’ protested even as he obeyed. The child’s head swiveled backwards to watch as he returned to his family’s temporary lot. The father turned toward the two counselors, his expression full of apology, and he intermittently bowed his head and clasped his palms in front of him in supplication. “My most solemn apologies, Godmen, please forgive my son his impudence! It will not happen again!”

“Stay your panic,” Isohlah’s voice had returned to his normal rumbling depth. “We are not offended,” he concluded as he started to move away. Katriel offered the anxious father a brief but hopefully reassuring smile, before stepping after the Bolian.

They didn’t stop until they reached the makeshift medical station, where Isohlah requested the attention of one of the physicians. Katriel cast a glance around the cots and the patients laying in them. Those Zantaari that were situated in the sickbay stations were mostly complaining of headaches and soreness, broken or fractured limbs at worst, issues that were easily addressed at this juncture. The more serious cases were moved to station sickbay actual, of which there were fairly few.

As Isohlah consulted with the physician on duty, Katriel’s glance was caught by a couple of Zantaari standing roughly fifteen meters away. One of them was watching the medical center with a dark look. Katriel focused her senses on the pair and tried to make out what they were saying.

“They cannot be Godmen,” the angrier one declared.

"Why do you doubt, Zoorg? " the other asked, skeptical. “Have you not seen the power they command? Those who go in for healing come out almost fully restored, whereas it would have taken us months to repair those broken bones.”

“But look at them,” ‘Zoorg’ gave his response as a hissed retort. “See how they are all different? Their skin color, their faces, their body builds. They are not one single race, but many. If they were truly Godmen, they would all look the same, as we Zantaari do!”

Zoorg’s companion considered this. “If they are not Godmen, then who are they?”

“I believe they can only be the servants of the true Godmen,” Zoorg replied with dire portent. “The Godmen have taken all these lesser beings as their vassals, and we shall be the next to be inducted into their service!” Zoorg’s tone had turned hostile once again, as he began to stalk away. “We have escaped one form of slavery, in exchange for another! It is only less brutal on the surface!”

His friend followed, a mix of perturbed and placating. “Now, Zoorg, you are speculating aimlessly…”

Katriel turned away, disturbed and achingly dejected.

[Katriel]

#21

::this letter seems to be written on a restaurant’s paper placemat::

It’s my brother’s birthday, today. We’re celebrating, but quietly; booked a reservation at this jazz cabaret on station, on recommendation from Emery, though I’m sure he didn’t know it was a birthday dinner recommendation at the time. Brian jumped on it, though, so here we are, listening to this live music that can make you sadder than a cargo bay full of alien refugees.

Well. Only a little bit sadder.

Slightly unrelated, I don’t think I could ever do Isohlah’s job. Both of us have been working here on station for the same length of time and certainly I’m one of the senior-most counseling authorities, but Isohlah seems to do everything I do and then some. He’s always looking out for the counselors on staff, first and foremost, ensuring that we have what we need to do our jobs properly and that we’re never put into situations where we’ll be set up to fail.

That translates into saying “no” a lot of the time, which seems to make a lot of officers unhappy with him. He doesn’t seem to care overmuch, most of the time, though I feel it must be grating.

Anyway. I gave Brian a holodeck program as a gift, some sort of holodeck adventure that takes place on a submarine with the players as submarine crew members. I worry that it might be a bit too true to reality, with all the parallels to starship life, but he seems terribly excited and of course we’re going to try it out promptly. Neema’s coming, too; I’m relieved things aren’t so awkward that she felt the need to decline.

It feels a bit funny for me to be participating in a program like this, considering what happened on Kelterre, but I do like the ocean and marine life in general, so we’ll see how it goes.

Miss you, Matt. Happy Valentine’s Day.

[Katriel]

“Allez.”

He wasted no time, lunging forward promptly with a deftness that she had forgotten he possessed. Her sabre came up to successfully parry the downward slash and her opponent’s blade bounced against hers with a satisfying clack. But then he used the backwards momentum to arc it around in a sideways slash at her waist instead. She barely brought her blade down to guard against the second cut, so when the weapon came around yet again in a third swing, she didn’t have enough time to prevent it from cutting into her wrist.

BZZT went the holodeck and Katriel saw a green light flash briefly off to the side and in front of her view, indicating a point to her opponent. The two fencers halted their actions and moved back to their starting positions silently. They raised their weapons in ready stances and watched each other, waiting.

“Allez.”

She tensed in expectation of another speedy start, but he merely shifted his weight forward and back in relaxed readiness. It was an invitation or possibly a trap, she was sure. She tried to keep her thoughts quiet as she mentally debated the effectiveness of an offensive strategy. Tentatively she skipped a few steps forward, flicking her sabre at his in a test. He deflected the blow just as gently and that’s when she picked up speed and drove forward, following her first swing by a rapid series of others.

His footwork carried him swiftly backward in escape, consistently blocking each of her blows, until he had retreated just outside of range of her attempted lunge. Overextended, she pulled back and he pushed his advantage, moving swiftly forward with sabre extended, forcing her to stutter backwards. But his legs were just a bit longer and he could cover ground faster with his forward motion as opposed to her retreat, so he closed the distance far faster than anticipated and he scored a hit against her hip.

The buzzer sounded and the same green light went off again. They halted their actions and paced back to the starting positions.

Fencing with her brother was nothing like practicing against AIs. Sophisticated programming techniques and a wide vocabulary of motions had certainly made holographic opponents comparable and competitive. But their algorithms lent them a certain sterility in variability and a certain routine rhythm in their execution, a combination of the computer’s speed of calculation and application of only the counters that would be deemed most effective against the current opponent. So while they were excellent for keeping in practice, they weren’t much for helping her improve.

“Allez.”

This time they both sprung forward. Their sabres crossed in the center and met again and again in a series of parries. One, two, three. He fell back a little, but came back quickly, rotating his wrist in rapid circular motions to swing at her once, twice, three times more. By the third cut, his momentum had increased his swing speed faster than she could parse it, and he cleanly slashed a diagonal upwards across her stomach.

Another buzz. Another green light. Katriel bit down on a frustrated sound as both fencers tugged their masks off. Her brother’s expression was more serious than usual, a reflection of the focused state of his mind as both betazoids worked hard to avoid letting the other know their planning.

Or perhaps he was just disappointed that she wasn’t putting up more of a challenge.

“Feeling all right?” Brian asked as he surveyed her. Katriel resented how little he appeared to be affected by their activities. His hair was slightly mussed from being contained in a helmet, but compared to her, he didn’t even seem to be breathing very hard from his exertions.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Katriel’s tone was a bit clipped in her response. “You can hardly be surprised by these results. You’ve always been better than me.”

Brian frowned faintly as he watched her. “Well, I’ve been at it longer,” was his temporizing response. “But we’ve had good bouts in the past. And you’ve been keeping at it, same as me. I figured we couldn’t be that different in skill. I mean,” he hastily added, “you know we’re not.”

“I’ve plateaued,” Katriel admitted frankly, staring down at the glossy mesh of her facemask. “The AIs at my level don’t provide me with enough variety, but the AIs on the next step up are so much better than me that I don’t feel like I even have a foothold. I don’t know how else to improve.”

“Well, good thing I’m here, isn’t it?” Brian determinedly hunted down the silver lining. “If you’re willing to re-sort your schedule a bit, we can practice in the evenings while the Sirocco’s here.”

Still feeling disgruntled from her losses, she could only offer a begrudging, “I guess.”

His optimism faded entirely. “You sure you’re okay?” His voice was half concerned, half demanding. “Are… are you holding up all right?”

Now her irritation prickled. “Yes. I’m not made out of glass, you know.”

“I know, it’s just --” he interrupted himself with a sharply inhaled breath. “I know,” he repeated and just left it there.

In a rare exchange, the two siblings stood in silence for a few awkward moments. Eventually she shook her head rapidly, as if freeing herself from a reverie, and began to bring her helmet back up.

“I’ll be better after I score, of course.” The white mask came down over her head.

He started at the sudden shift, before adopting a genuine grin. “Not on my watch,” he avowed as he replaced his mask as well. The two of them began to trek back to their starting places.

“We’ll see.”

“I doubt it,” Brian rambled heedlessly on, relentless in his continued teasing. “I mean, you’re just … so predictable. Have you added any new maneuvers since the Academy? I feel like I might be dueling a robot. Or maybe you’re just totally transparent to me cause you’ve lost some of your shield strength?”

Katriel’s eyes narrowed inside her facemask as they raised their sabres. The holodeck automatically detected their readiness and gave the signal to start.

“Allez.”

They both stood frozen in readiness for a moment or two longer before both sprang forward, in an echo of the bout just before. But this time, she rushed her slanted sabre below her brother’s and pushed upwards, while continuing to step rapidly towards him. He was surprised when his blade was forced into an upwards tilt as she slid forward. Before he could change course, her free hand had darted forward to grip his right wrist, holding it still as she swung her blade around to strike him soundly in the side.

This time, Katriel couldn’t see the green light that accompanied the buzz, because it appeared behind her, finally signaling her point.

Brian held his stance, rooted by shock. “That’s cheating,” he told her, trying to sound disapproving. It was ruined by his inability to prevent the bubble of laughter that accompanied the accusation.

She released his wrist and started stepping back towards her starting point. Her tone was edged with smugness. “I know. Just trying to be more creative.”

[Katriel]

#26

In honor of the Saint Patrick’s Day, I’ve replicated your favorite drink and am finishing it here, in the quiet of my quarters. The lounge was rowdy tonight, with a lot of heavily indulging patrons and Azuzu blasting a lot of loud music. I didn’t get much work done.

One of the few Earth holidays that you’ve never asked me to celebrate with you, though it’s easy to see why and I’m sure it’s not just because of my enjoyment. But it seemed appropriate and the taste of chocolate is sort of heartening.

At least, it takes me back a bit.

[Katriel]

#28

::this letter seems to have a lot more little crinkles and creases than usual, as if it was once crumpled up::

It’s been a really hard week.

I ended up covering a couple additional duty shifts due to another counselor’s last minute personal emergencies, so my hours have been longer. This on top of an inexplicable number of various counseling situations aboard the station, as well as numerous requests for my particular attention for one-off sessions. I’m flattered that I’ve come so highly recommended to some, of course, and I genuinely want to help where I can, but I can’t deny that it’s emotionally exhausting, trying to keep up with the demands of so many in such a short amount of time.

And not all of the appointments ended as well as they could have, let’s say. Towards the end of one of the other walk-ins, too, I think I nearly took offense at a phantom accusation, having been primed to it earlier in the day. That’s sort of the point where I felt like I really needed a break. I did my best to calm myself and finish out and there weren’t any additional mishaps, but still. I felt myself slipping.

I may need to ask Isohlah for an extra couple days to myself next week. Though even given them, I don’t know what I’d do with them.

I’m a little apprehensive over the next time I’ll see Neema. She already asked me for my account once and now I’m afraid now she’s going to be forced to check with me again, over a second encounter that I feel I may have mishandled severely now. I hate to disappoint her or make trouble for her and now I have unfortunately put her in a horrible position in regards to one of her other good friends. I don’t think she’ll be too angry with me, but I’m uneasy regardless.

::the letter continues on the back::

I suppose that is part of the nature of treasured relationships. No matter how confident a person is in the security of what is shared, there’s always a lingering concern that something could happen to ruin it all. It may not be rational, but there it is: whispering swift uncertainties in your ear, tarnishing your recall, sapping your faith.

Like you and I. There are so few constants in life in general and I have considered myself fortunate to have had you as one of mine, even if you can’t be ‘here’ for me all the time. Most days, just the understanding that you would love nothing more than to hear my troubles and cheer me up would be enough. That if I asked you to, you would come without question, as quickly as you could, and then stop at nothing to make me smile. Just knowing that you want me to be happy is often all I need to chase most of my upset away, no matter what the cause.

But tonight … it’s just not.

[Katriel]

#29

Hi.

So the station Ops Chief had informed me a while back that his chamber ensemble was looking for a pianist and I suppose I feel that I have a bit more free time on my hands than I know what to do with (which, I assure you, is at least partially your fault), so I decided I wanted to try auditioning and try playing in a group for the first time.

It took me some time to learn something appropriate for auditioning, since most of the music I already knew seemed a bit too contemporary. Neema wanted to watch my audition for some reason and she seemed enthusiastic afterwards about how I did, though I was less sure. Commander Caspius, who is – for your reference – Vulcan, was naturally significantly more aloof and taciturn as he listened in complete silence. He wasn’t inattentive, though, as he seemed to be writing an awful lot of notes on a PADD and at the end, he thanked and dismissed me without any indication of what he thought.

But I suppose there were not many other competitors, because I received a text communique today that says I have the spot. Now I have to go put in a formal request to have my work hours rearranged a bit to accommodate the rehearsal schedule, but otherwise I’m looking forward to the new experience.

You’ll come to at least one concert sometime, right?

[Katriel]

#32

Just came back from visiting with Emery’s special trio of four-legged guests on station. Apparently the school hoped he might be able to bring in specimens for the students to interact with and learn about, since they don’t see much in terms of real live large animals, so Emery managed to get three of them imported here from Sol. I’ve forgotten the breed names, but there was a giant-sized brown one with an almost shaggy coat, and two smaller-sized ones in solid white and solid black colors. Titan, Wings, and Aphrodite.

I admit I was a bit anxious about meeting them, thanks to the things I have heard regarding their wilder emotional states. Brian acknowledged that they were pretty powerful and he didn’t want to get too close, but I had an easier time, so Emery showed me how to pet Titan safely enough and gave me some trail mix to feed him with. I suppose that much is the same for all domestic animals: the way to their hearts is always through their stomachs. Emery offered to let me try riding and I admit I’m curious, but I don’t know if I’m brave enough or if I’ll have time, since they’ll only be around for a little over a week.

But it was a fun and interesting diversion, anyway.

These days I feel a bit like I am two different people. One aspect is carrying on with life as usual: the work, sleep, eat, and now ensemble rehearsal routine. Dealing with people and appointments, reading case files and writing reports. Setting up equipment for Film Club or planning for the fitness initiative.

::the letter continues on the back::

And then the other aspect only seems to engage in those solitary moments between busy work, the mental ‘white space’ times. I mean, it’s supposed to, but instead of spending that time daydreaming, I feel like I’m just sleeping through it all. Not literally sleeping, but mentally. I’m not really sure what to make of it.

Miss you, Matt. Every day.