Personal Logs: Zital, Serris

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LCDR Zital, Serris

Personal Log


Serris is laid back on a lounger in his quarters, framed by a plant bearing vibrant, marbled cyan-magenta fruit. While his surroundings are immaculate, his skant-style uniform is heavily stained in industrial lubricant, hair and exposed skin matted with grease.

I’ve never been one for recording personal logs. It feels like you’re leaving something behind for someone to find when you’re gone. So… I guess that’s what I’m doing. Probably not the healthiest outlet, but given that I may be taking the last sonic shower of my life, I suppose I should get as much out as I can. At least all of our systems are ready to go.

He shifts uncomfortably, now seated at the edge of the lounger, looking pensive.

I already almost died once this year at Vesuvi. Before that, I didn’t really have much to live for. My life’s work with the Cytherian warp field is on indefinite hold, and I felt like I let Itari down by failing to give meaning to his… her… their… death. I spent a long time working without any real goals or ambition, wanting something to keep my mind off of feeling like a failure. I guess that’s how I wound up on the old Mariner. I didn’t really have time to think when the ship was constantly in danger of falling apart on a dangerous rescue mission.

He looks away from the recording device, wincing at his self-realization.

But that wasn’t sustainable forever. Now, reality’s hitting me. After two weeks in a coma, physical therapy brought me back home. It didn’t feel right, almost dying and realizing my parents would have lost both their children. Come to find out, I had a new sibling I never even knew existed. I knew my parents’ relationship was full of dramatic ups and downs, but I didn’t think divorce, reconciliation, and subsequent child rearing were in the cards for them. At least they’re more hands off with Rettai and allowing… him… her… them… ugh.

A flash of frustration comes across his face as his brow furrows, lowering his head into his open palms.

Pronouns. We don’t have those on Toron V. We’re monomorphic, only one biological sex and zero concept of gender. It’s easier with referring to other species, where they have that kind of defined social convention. Referring to my own people in Standard with alien linguistic conventions gives me a headache.

He sits up again, looking back into the recording device.

I guess I’ll go with “them,” I suppose that’s the most accurate. Rettai has far more freedom than Itari and I did growing up. I guess they… my parents… really have changed.

Serris grumbles unintelligibly, shaking his head.

Singular and group referred to the same way? Standard is so weird…

He squares up, rolling his shoulders and re-focusing on the recording device.

Anyway, from what I understand, the circumstances of Rettai’s conception were flipped compared to ours, not that I ever wanted to know such a thing. Maybe now my sire has a better appreciation for letting children choose their own way now that they’re a bearer, too.

I never really thought about having kids until recently.

Serris’s posture shifts, becoming softer, more contemplative.

On my way back from physical therapy, I stopped off at Sol for a few days to attend a symposium on post-transwarp propulsion technology and decided to make a visit to Club 47. That’s when I met him, taking a punch from a drunk Rigelian like a champ and subduing him with a level of grace completely unbecoming of someone his size. So, we talked. And the chemical influence of his pheromones may or may not have led me to do something a little more impulsive than I normally would have. But the chemistry was immediate, like fire and petroleum.

His face warms with a soft purple blush, adoration obvious in his gaze as he looks past the recording device.

He’s damned capable. Charming, roguish, thoughtful. Not to mention, incredibly handsome and built like a brick house. He never gives himself enough credit for how good he is, either. I’m inspired by everything he’s overcome to get this far, and endlessly grateful to have met him by chance that day. Sure, it’s a little soon to be planning a future together by just about every standard, but I already feel like I know him so well. I suppose he feels the same way, too. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have requested a transfer after I told him about our opening. He hates that he’s not here with me. I hate it, too, but I know Captain Varley has a plan for him. If she hadn’t taken a chance on my idea to rebuild the Mariner, I wouldn’t be on the path I’m on today.

Serris catches his breath, finding himself getting emotional at what’s pouring out.

I know my crew is capable. We faced down the barrel of Klingon disruptors trying to rescue ships out of a black hole, but that didn’t feel as real as this. Before Vesuvi, it didn’t even register that there was more to come, more to look forward to. Now that I’m more appreciative of life, and now that I’ve got something to live for, I really hope I get to come home to him.

He hangs his head, averting the camera’s knowing stare.

End log.

Filed By:
LCDR Zital, Serris

Personal Log


Serris sits at his personal desk in the Chief Engineer’s office, framed by the master systems display of the Mariner.

Before the war, I never saw the value in doing this, but now that I’ve started, I suppose I can’t be judgmental about it. Another one claimed by the grip of journaling. We captured Cero III, and we have a new Chief of Security. Well, new to them. I’m just happy he’s here. I’m especially happy that he didn’t get hit by a sniper while he was down there. Over the moon, as they say. Shame about that pesky biological barrier when it comes to co-habitation. High gravity living isn’t for everyone, I guess.

He allows himself a smirk, which fades as he leans back in his chair and regards a large PADD in his hand.

I’m being pretty reckless about our relationship, and not in a good way. I made a pretty inappropriate joke about his expertise when he was going over the dietary benefits of eating blueberries with Warner over dinner at Estrella. Not the best first impression for him, and certainly not a good impression on my part. I’ll have to make it up to him, and apologize to Warner while I’m at it.

He swivels in his chair, looking back at the master systems display.

This damned design flaw is driving me nuts. I’m floored that this ship left Utopia Planitia with something this basic being overlooked. This never would have flown at Antares IV, I would have personally made sure of it.

His face contorts into a grimace of utter disdain.

All of the software fixes I’ve tried haven’t helped. The only way to prevent the EM scanners and particle flux probes from losing their image is to keep the phasers powered down and deactivate the secondary deflector. If we’re ever in a situation where we’re fighting a ship capable of firing from under cloak, we’re screwed. I’m hoping Command will take me seriously with this next report.

He sighs, turning back to the camera on the recording device, ears drooping.

Here’s hoping the next entry’s a little cheerier.

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