Personal Log: Sadaann

[Sadaann]

STARDATE: 99449

Sadaann’s personal log.

It seems even we ‘lower decks’, the term used to define officers of junior rankings are required to keep logs of our day-to-day activities and ongoings of our posting. With that in mind, I have some catching up to do. Unfortunately, I was unable to see the Volodi bombing investigation to its conclusion. The investigation falling under the purview of the U.S.S. Endeavor, so I am confident that if the perpetrator hasn’t already been caught, the Endeavor and its crew are working diligently to see the bomber apprehended.

Regarding my reassignment to the U.S.S. Reyga, NCC-98122. The transition has been smooth enough, the only remotely inconvenient thing being: as the Captain has described it, “a little hiccup” referring to some corner cutting from the ship’s construction crew. Under direct command of Commander Sedai and collaboration with Ensign Ban, as well as Lieutenant Ralts we were able to not only detect the issue but correct the correction crew’s error. They left a hatch open.

Moving on. With the ship and crew having settled, Captain Kermit saw fit to host a meet and greet in the mess hall. I attended simply to just observe, however others arrived with conflicting intentions. Before I could settle into an area for optimal observation, I was approached by the Captain and Chief Engineer Kuvak. I surmise this was done due to the fact that we are both of Vulcan heritage. I continue to find the ongoing association of myself and those who originate from Vulcan unpleasant at best and frustrating at worst. It’s proven to bring unwarranted and unwanted expectation. I live by what I can remember of the teachings of my parents, and the lived experiences of M’talas. I do not pretend otherwise.

Thankfully, both the Captain and Chief Engineer were caught up with the arrival of Ensign Ban and Lieutenant Sono, which allowed me to slip away. Something I haven’t had to do since the District 9 incident. It seems my efforts to remain on the metaphorical sidelines wouldn’t hold for long, soon after settling myself into my seat, Ensign Ban had settled himself at the end of the table with a tea set and began to regale me about tea, and how the replicators and rather ineffective at producing the beverage. I, having not had tea or anything reminiscent of it since I was a child had little to contribute to the conversation.

Apparently with how sudden people engage in social interaction while holding little regard as to how said suddenness affects the other, I should look into the possibility of developing a socialization appointment system. For those who take enjoyment from prying into others’ personal logs, I was joking.

Skipping ahead to the Captain’s holo-exercise, there’s not much to say about the exercise itself. The simulated alien species to which simulated diplomacy were to take place with were, to be frank, rather disturbing to look at. I think the grotesque appearance was purposefully programmed by the Captain.

With all things considered, life aboard a starship has been… enlightening to say the least.

Computer, conclude file.

[Sadaann]

STARDATE: 100352.9

Sadaann’s personal log.

It seems my infrequent entries have allowed for… frankly, a lot to have transpired. I’ve become better settled into my life in Starfleet. However, yet, there are parts of me that still have doubts, despite how much reassurance, how much affirmation I receive from my comrades. I barely /feel/ Vulcan, so I’m not quite sure how I’m expected to feel apart of something greater than I, like Starfleet. Nonetheless, I’ve committed myself, it’s probably best I don’t think about it.

Annual performance reviews have passed, at the very least mine has. No matter what is said, meeting with a senior officer, especially about oneself will never be anxiety-inducing. The closest things to authority figures on M’Talas would sooner see someone shot then thrown in the polluted river, than take reasonable reaction to a ragged subordinate. I understand Starfleet isn’t M’Talas, but those three ye-- three years, which felt like an eternity, in constant fight or flight, unable to do either for a vast majority of that time- I- … Moving on.

It would been then, an audible shift in accent could be heard, the Ensign’s faux Vulcanesque, deadpan tone dropping into something more rugged and stern, almost Italian-americana in nature, but still quite distinct from any Terran dialect. Still, however, the Vulcan retained his timid and meek vocal inflictions, despite the accent shift.

K’Nere probably had a point, maybe I should have stayed, helped Rogg with his business, helped K’Nere keep what little we could keep safe. Tried to reunite with Father and Mother. I think I /need/ to go back. I owe them that. Even if it was K’Nere’s Mek’leth that gave this scar, we were basically family.

The swoosh of a door could be heard in the background, followed by the voice of a certain Betazoid.

Computer, end log.

[Sadaann]

STARDATE: 100454.6

The Ensign paced, the gloves normally adorned alongside his uniform lay scattered on his bed. The bed in question, normally neatly kept, after all, when you've lived under invulcane conditions for such a prolonged amount of time, you'd make sure the amenities you do have are kept well. That is, until the guilt takes its time eating through you, the guilt of having been complacent in what could be accurately described as attempted mass murder. As impersonal as it is, launching parts of a sun at a small fleet, as hellish the conditions of war are, those were still lives on those imperial ships. And without so much of a second thought, the captain-- the audacity, "It's not my concern?" Sadaann would blurt out, quickly silencing himself as to not wake his relatively recent roommate. The hell it isn't. To ask someone to help harm another, then tell them it's not their concern?

The ensign taking up a PADD and exiting the shared quarters. His gig as apart of the OPs team had blessed the young Vulcan with a fair amount of benefits, with maintenence clearance allowing you into much more of the ship than the average junior officer. That coupled with his time on the Reyga, Sadaann had been able to find himself a spot, all to himself. Through the intertwining Jeffries tubes, his slender physique allowing him to squeeze into areas he probably shouldn’t be near. Finally, he arrived in a secluded room, unsure of the deck. The room looked like another storage dump, though taking into account Sadaann’s clearance hadn’t allowed him access to this part of the ship, it could be safely said this room wasn’t just another storage dump.

The young officer settled himself in a secured corner of the already cramped room.

“Junior officer’s personal log – Ensign Sadaann’s personal log. We, Reyga that is recently carried out a… less than pleasant attack on Romulan forces-- we… we massacred them. We massacred them, and the Captain says it’s not of my conce-”

Sadaann spoke into the PADD, slowly and gradually clenching his fist as he did

“On M’Talas… my- my hand was forced, those five-- I never wanted to take the lives of anyone, the thought is abhorrent and makes me nauseous. I left M’Talas so I would never be hurt- or hurt others again. Here I am, in Starfleet, like I wanted. Only a year into service and- and I’ve found myself in a war? This isn’t… what I wanted. I joined Starfleet because I expected non-violence, I expected boring expeditions, collecting samples of whatever, doing mundane research, crammed in some underfunded lab. Not- NOT USING A SUN TO CAUSE AS MUCH DESTRUCTION AS NEEDED FOR OUR ENDS.”

Heavy panting could be audible. An attempt to catch one’s breath.

As the log continued, Sadaann’s voice would undergo several shifts. Adopting his urban M’Talan accent anytime his voice rose, only to temper himself back into a semi-stoic and vulcanesque tone of voice. The young ensign’s lack of emotional control making its full display.

"If such an action was required, then perhaps our ends aren’t quite as righteous as I’m told. Those people, it didn’t matter if they were imperial, those people have families-- I wonder how many of their-- their junior officers were simply told their operation hasn’t their concern. How many of those officer’s are just GONE, now. I never agreed with K’Nere’s drug use, not that there was anything I could do about it, nonetheless I can come to understand her, now… somewhat, slightly… whatever,

Computer, I’m tired. End log."

[Sadaann]

STARDATE: 100538.1

Sadaann’s personal log,

The war is over, I feel no better. Maybe a little better, I spoke with a Lieutenant Serris- uh- Zital? I lied, I still feel like targ food. From what I was told, only a small percentage of that convoy survived. The reports are still classified, so getting the exact numbers is rather difficult, but cross-referencing with the computer’s tactical library and prior declassified reports of Imperial Navy doctrine would put the amount of ships somewhere in the twenties.

I’ll hate myself forever.

My heart breaks, and yet I cannot weep for those lives. Serris advised me to just let it out, to simply let my emotions flow. I can’t-- I mean I physically can’t. All of my emotions, they well up, bloating within, constantly choking until they just… plateau, remaining trapped, still very much there but unwilling to be expressed. It’s torture, it’s constantly throwing off my neurochemical balances, and giving me cortisol scares. On Risa yesterday, there was a noticeable dip in cortical activity. I suspect the emotional blockage to be a result of some Vulcan teleplay, most likely my parent’s doing.

I refuse to see the doctor.

I want to go home… I shouldn’t, but… --I miss K’Nere- Rogg too, but I- but I- want…-

Whatever…

Powerboarding’s become less novel, I’ve noticed I do it far less. On M’Talas, K’Nere would probably have tried to make the thing function on land… K’Nere…what are you up to?

It doesn’t matter.

My birthday is in two days, I plan to confine myself to quarters.

Computer end log.

[Sadaann]

STARDATE: 100823.1

What’s in this chocolate milk?-- Oh, it’s on.

Sadaann’s personal log,

Vulcan’s don’t require a nightly-- “nightly”-- whatever passes as night on a starship, Vulcan’s don’t necessarily have to use that allotted time to rest. I’ve been trying to keep myself busy in the meantime, myself and Ensign Idrael are slotted to go scope out the satellite above the planet we’re still orbiting. A much preferable assignment than touching more of those dam-- unpleasant rocks.

I suppose they-- the Captain and Commander would like for me to report on the experience. As if an experience of that nature gets people in a chatty mood. I really don’t want to… but I am a Starfleet officer now… I can’t keep being so… soft, and hiding is no use if they’ll just keep poking and prodding until I open up. I’m not a M’Talan street-rat anymore.

It’s just, that memory, that experience, it was so sudden, so unexpected and the contents of it were… heartbreaking. Emotions of loss and mourning, knowing whatever it is isn’t coming back. A final, gut-wrenching goodbye, and I hated every single moment of it. The only respite I could see is that to my knowledge this loss came about naturally, as opposed to a force coming and causing said loss.

In any case, I need to finish preparations with the other Ensign. Computer, end log.