Personal Log

[Quelsar 0]

In the darkness of her quarters, Quelsar shivered. It wasn’t cold (in fact, she found it to be just a touch too warm) so she couldn’t explain the spontaneous spasm, and didn’t try to. There were other things on her mind. Quietly, her blue antennae drooping sleepily (though no where near the levels of exhaustion endured by others at that moment) she spoke into the emptiness, ‘computer, begin recording. Personal Log, Ensign Quelsar, Stardate…’ she paused, momentarily forgetting what day it was, ‘stardate 0604.14.

 

‘My arrival on the ship was a quiet affair. Not that I’d been expecting otherwise. I slipped in, a minor change for a department filled with grief. In some ways, this is the perfect time to join a crew, as major adjustments are already underway, and an extra person isn’t going to draw too much unwarranted attention. But the fact remains that, as the newcomer, there is so much I haven’t experienced. I wasn’t even been there for the last, devastating, battle, and this most recent attack compares in only the smallest ways – how can I possibly understand what this crew is going though?’ She paused again and looked around the room, bare of any personal artefacts. Briefly, she considered unpacking such items, but couldn’t bring herself to stand up. On the contrary, she let herself flop down onto the bed, and stared up at the ceiling for a long moment.

 

‘Would you like to discontinue recording?’ The computer asked.

 

Quelsar considered, then shook her head. ‘No, continue.

 

‘The people around me are a team, in every sense of the word, and the loss of their own will merely bring them closer, make them stronger, uniting them under that same cloak of grief that fills the silence between words.’ The phrase came out of nowhere, and she smiled, despite herself, recognizing her brother’s influence in it, before going on. ‘I try not to think about it. It isn’t my place to mourn the passing of those I’ve never met, and I will not do their souls a disservice by pretending to remember them.

 

‘Even so, I feel a touch of sorrow knowing that I never, and would never, meet them. To be mourned so deeply, missed so much… I can only hope that, when my time comes, I leave a similar impact behind. It is a sign that they truly lived their lives.’

 

She stopped again, and wondered if she should delete the last few sentences, but decided against it. It was her small tribute to those that had been lost. The ceiling was unnervingly familiar. Though she’d only arrived a short time ago, the dull grey panels that rested above her head were so like those of her academy dormitory that she could almost convince herself she was back on earth. Almost.

 

‘I miss Earth,’ she said, and only afterwards realized that, not only had she said it aloud, but it had been recorded to her log. Again, she considered deleting, but didn’t. ‘Though not so much the San Diego heat.’ She smiled, remembering, ‘even the winters were warm…’ and, as though realizing how pointless it was to reminisce with a log entry, the smile faded from her blue-tinged lips and she sat up. ‘Computer, end log.’