Too Personal A Log

Posted on Mon Jun 25th, 2018 @ 8:42pm by Commander Rita Paris

Mission: Holographic Horrors
Location: USS Hera, Deck 8, Lieutenant Paris' Quarters
Timeline: 2395

After her escapade in the Intel Pod, a little exploration had determined that the experimental Section 13 transporter that had reassembled her upon her arrival here was off-limits to her. Which Security would likely relay to the Captain, who might or might not ask for an explanation and it might carry a who knew what offense.

The navigation sensors were compiling, registering and interpreting the data on the dark matter ion storm they were trapped in, which was going to take some time. Since the leggy lieutenant had disobeyed orders to do so, she would wait for the hammer to fall on that little gem as well. She couldn't wait to be chewed out for that act of rebellion, which technically would just be considered disobeying a direct and lawful order.

Punitive Articles of the SFCMJ
Article 92—Failure to obey order or regulation
Maximum Penalty
(1) Violation or failure to obey lawful general order or regulation. Dishonorable discharge, forfeiture of all pay and allowances, and confinement for 2 years.

For now, the anachronistic astronaut needed to report to Astrogation, which she was still guessing was on deck 10 listed as Stellar Cartography. Hitting Sickbay, Paris grabbed a nurse and convinced the large-eyed woman to run a bone knitter over her cracked ribs. Fortunately, Sickbay was working assembly-line style with all of the mishaps across the ship, so she was in and out without any muss or fuss.

Returning to her quarters, the exhausted and wrung out officer had decided on a quick power nap, just to restore a bit of clarity. After all, she'd been woken in the middle of the night, and the ion storm constantly made her jumpy and uneasy. Rita's personal theory was because she was not native to this universe, and the ion storm knew it. She could feel occasional faint electric tingles along her skin, and she could have sworn she felt it when the nav sensors rebooted, standing right next to them.

But exhausted in the enormous bed in her enormous bedroom, Rita Paris couldn't sleep alone.

"Computer?" Paris called, "Record personal log please?"

=^=Recording personal log=^=, the computer's steady and somehow soothing voice replied, and Paris began speaking.

"I've been here for... a week now, maybe two? Honestly I have trouble keeping track of time. Which is ironic, right? After the first hundred years who even notices a week anymore. I haven't assigned myself bridge duty because I'm not rated to fly the Hera at any level of skill level I'd feel comfortable with... well, what I'd expect from a chief helmsman, at least not yet."

"Besides, the ensign who was chief before I came aboard, from a planet I've never heard of, is a far better pilot than I am, and she officially counts as the only one who's genuinely glad I'm here. Because duty rosters haven't changed in a hundred thirty years, and she hates the paperwork. Which they have not changed, so at least I can still do that right."

Staring up at the ceiling, Paris pulled the blanket up under her chin. "It's not that I don't care where she's from, you know- it's just that everyone on this ship is an alien, even if they look human, and I haven't had time to look them all up and learn about their home planets. Because I'm already looking everything up all of the time, and I'm trying to retain it all but... it's a lot of information all at once, and I'm not Sonak."

There was a pause as she rolled over onto her side, then drew her knees up to her chest and the lonely woman hugged the pillow tightly. Tears came, and she spoke around them.

"I miss him. He was my rock, the center of my universe, the one I could always count on and he's gone and I'm alone and I'm... I'm scared. This is all so intimidating and I know he would tell me that I can do it and that I'm exceptional and amazing and that I'm a good officer and an asset, but... that's not true. Not here. Here I'm only human, on a crew of extraterrestrials who are all far more exceptional than me. Here what they were taught in primary school I am still struggling to learn."

Idly, Rita repositioned her left breast for comfort. "The demotion hurt more than I thought it would. I never realized how proud I was of my rank until I got demoted to fill a dead woman's shoes. But it's more than that."

"I used to be a valued member of the command staff. Captain Stuart and Commander Sonak and me, we figured out the problems and we came up with plans and we worked through our missions. I was a voice of reason sometimes, a voice of common sense others, a wild idea sometimes, but they always valued what I had to say. Here I'm just the stupid blonde in the old uniform struggling to understand, and I'm just an annoyance. My words hold no weight, my ideas and thoughts have no value. The XO resents the captain for forcing me on the crew, and I'm pretty sure she's just keeping me around because I'm a curiosity. My attempts at contributing are dismissed, and I just feel stupid every time I try to speak up.""

Turning a bit in her sleep, the blonde ran her fingers through her pixie cut hair as she frowned slightly. "Well, no, the science officer at least let me know I wasn't wrong, so there's a victory. yayyyyy."

There was another pause, and when she spoke again, Paris' voice was low and quiet.

"I don't think I've got a way back home. They have a means and the coordinates, but not enough power to send me. I think I'm trapped here, and I've... thought about suicide. More than once. I don't know if I have authorization or if I could even work the controls, but if I set the transporter for beaming me outside the warp field on a wide enough dispersal beam, it should do the trick, I think. Maybe the universe would stop trying to kill me with the transporter if I volunteer," she chuckled without mirth. "It's in the back of my mind more and more every day. I don't... I don't wanna live like this. I was a Starfleet officer... I was a good officer, in my day. I was... but now I'm just a relic, an antique, a curiosity. A has-been from the wrong universe. I don't have anything to contribute here."

"I miss Sonak. But he's a hundred years and a dimension away, and, and, I'm never going to suh-see him again..."

There was a keening whine recorded, then a longer pause punctuated by sobs and sniffles which the computer faithfully recorded. After a few moments, a few stronger sniffles were recorded, then the lost navigator could be heard to speak once more.

"The CSO said no one has ever escaped from a storm of this type, so maybe that'll be my salvation. I don't have to end myself if the universe finally manages it for me. Maybe that's why we ran into this storm- it's the universe trying to right it's mistakes since I keep cheating it."

"I don't know... but I don't know most things, anymore."

Another moment of sniffling was heard, then Paris' voice was heard again, clearer and stronger.

"Nobody cares. Nobody is going to listen the one personal log entry left by a dead woman who was supposed to have been dead a hundred years ago. Besides, I didn't even really exist in history here, so not like they'll need anything I have to say for historical records. Computer, erase personal log entry please."

=^=Erasing personal log entry=^=

"Erase me while you're at it, wouldya?" Paris muttered under her breath.

Laying her head on her damp pillow, Paris tried to resume the plan to catnap. She had laid down for that few moments of rest that had eluded her, instead having given voice to her thoughts and emotions. Venting to the universe in an attempt to feel better, while she realized that she couldn't put off speaking to someone in Medical. She knew, but the lost navigator couldn't bring herself to admit her actual feelings on the bleak future she saw for herself to another officer. Instead the Starfleet career girl would keep trying to soldier on, putting on an optimistic smile to try to hide it all inside and externally keep trying to do her best.

Holding the pillow that was a poor substitute for comfort, Rita Paris resolved to keep trying for another day. Which unbeknownst to her in that moment, she always would.

For despite all the troubles and woes that would perennially assail her, at her core, Rita Paris was a survivor.