Tag: sto parallelmiv

Freighter Vana Captain’s Log
Day 222
M. Koril

Hearing of our plight, a Nausicaan in Earth Spacedock approached Tovan and I with an offer to sell us a freighter. He claimed that he wanted to retire, and did not wish to run cargo anymore. Tovan took him up on it before I could weigh in, and now we have a ship again. It is a humble old thing, but it runs all right. I found a skeleton crew and we will be underway soon. Tovan wants to start a regular run between the rich mines in the Alpha Quadrant and the starbases in the Beta. It would be a long haul, but significantly less dangerous than our last job. I think, however, despite my previous misgivings, we should stay close to Romulan space. Perhaps Nurse Bennet got to me. I am anxious for news of our missing crewmembers…against all reason.

M. Koril
Day 218

Victory.
I had some words with our captured Tal Shiar commander. She was tight-lipped as I got a few things off my chest, but she may have indicated that captives were indeed taken from the wreckage of the Jevonite. I have some very mixed feelings about this. Mostly, I feel ill. I wish that Starfleet would have allowed her execution right there, but they claimed that she had too many crimes to “answer” for. At least this is one less Tal Shiar leader in the wild. 
I formally requested to Starfleet that Tovan and I be released at the conclusion of this task force. Starfleet has reluctantly consented, stating that we were never, in fact, in custody at all, and merely victims of Federation hospitality.
Of course.
Tovan has not found any solid leads as to his sister’s whereabouts, and he is loathe as I am to return to Romulan space. This leaves us few options and much to consider.  

M. Koril
Day 211

I have been given the opportunity to join a strike force of Romulan and Federation ships, on a mission to fight the Tal Shiar. Intel is good, though I am skeptical. I don’t wish to miss this opportunity to bloody the nose of the Tal Shiar, however. Tovan will not be joining us. He has found someone from the Romulan Embassy on Earth willing to help him begin anew his search for his missing sister. Perhaps by the time I return, he will have some new information, and I can help him. I feel I owe him that much.

For now, I am splitting my time between the Starfleet and Romulan flagships, trying to help where I can. I keep seeing almost-familiar faces among the crews, and it is jarring to realize that the faces I most want to see are those I will never see again. I feel as if I have lost my entire family. The simmering anger I have contained in my gut over these past months is boiling into a furious rage, and I am afraid I may not be able to control it when we meet the Tal Shiar. I wonder what these people will think of me if I do lose control? I wonder…have they ever seen a Cardassian fight in a berserker rage? 

M. Koril
Day 195

We are being held at Earth Spacedock. I am so tired of sickbay. I am tired of Federation medical officers poking and prodding and trying to be coy. I am tired of replicated Earth food and cold air. I finally convinced someone to bring me something warmer to wear, and they provided me with this sleek, black, vaguely sinister tunic. They claimed that it was designed by their resident tailor Ghemik Telur, a Cardassian. I loathe his sense of style and humor, clearly his time living here has twisted him. At least the tunic keeps me warm.

Nurse Bennet continues to greet me every morning with a maddeningly persistent optimism. She is convinced that other escape pods must have made it, and that Starfleet will find them, and she will not let the matter drop. It has been nearly seven weeks since Tovan and I were snatched out of the cold emptiness of space. If there were other survivors, they could not likely have survived.

Somehow I find that I can’t tell this woman the horror of the one chance they had survived, to have been captured by the Tal Shiar still patrolling the area. Either way, I mourn them.

M. Koril
Day 188

I remember being naive. Believing that the Romulan Republic who gave us orders would also stand behind us if things should go wrong. It took me just over six standard months to find out how wrong things could go. Lying here under the watchful eye of my Starfleet “rescuers” in a secure Romulan medical facility, I am forced by my own mind to recall many unpleasant things. The past is always alive to me, but recent events have made it even more vivid. My nightmares are full of flames, and the wings and talons of birds. Search teams have been apparently dispatched, but there is no news yet of any survivors. I do not hold out hope that any others from the Jevonite have survived. 

Starfleet wishes for Tovan and I to make statements while they debate what to do with us. Technically, they are within their legal rights to prosecute us for interfering with the Painting Fiasco. However, they aren’t certain that this is the best diplomatic choice, since there are still so many questions about what happened that day. Still others want us to be held at a Federation facility and interrogated about our dealings with the Tal Shiar. I can think of things I would rather do.

I remember saying once that this was not our fight, not our war. But the Romulans have made it personal. The Tal Shiar will pay. 

End log.

Escape Pod log
Day 142
M. Koril

Tovan and I got the distress beacon working. He says the gash on my face is getting worse, but I keep forgetting that it is there. I’m much more aware of the cold, and the quiet. Our supplies will only last us another week at most, and we’re just a tiny damaged Romulan escape pod in a vast area between systems. I’m not sure the beacon is even strong enough to be heard outside of the immediate area. And even if it is, who would help us?
I don’t dare say these things out loud, Tovan is trying so hard to stay positive. He keeps saying that Demala survived, even though he admits that he didn’t see her actually leave the ship. However, it wasn’t long ago that I suggested naming the escape pod. Perhaps we’re both becoming somewhat senile in our isolation.
Space has never seemed so empty.

End log.