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“Not Forgotten”
“This is definitely the place,” Nereda said to her fellow temporal agent, shortly after materializing. “Those are 23rd century survival shelters, and if that’s not a Class F shuttlecraft, I’ll happily eat a plate of fresh gagh.”
“It’s not that bad,” replied Drij, a wry smile spreading across her face. “Well, providing it’s in season. I know a great place to get it on Qo’noS, a couple of blocks from the Arena of Sompek. Lost a tooth in a little misunderstanding with a server the last time I was there.”
“Oh,” asked Nereda, grinning back. “What was that about? Being an Orion in the KDF?”
“She had the nerve to say my armor was… ill-fitting, and that I should spend more time exercising and less time putting gagh in my belly.”
“And then what happened?”
“I spent some time exercising, especially my fists. She was kind enough to oblige me, hence the lost tooth. The gagh was on the house, however.”
“Any meal that results in dental work is a meal well earned,” Nereda ran a scan with her tricorder and frowned slightly at the results. “Just like the report read – no trace of organic matter at all. All completely obliterated by a directed protomatter reaction, on a planetary scale.”
Drij spat on the ground. “Coward’s weapon,” she muttered. “No honor in that at all.” Nereda nodded silently in response as she entered one of the shelters. “Looks like a common area here. Replicator, workstation… someone was in big trouble in this 3D chess game.”
Drij walked in and took a look around. “Don’t care for chess,” she said. “I do like that Terran game about real estate however – do you know it? It’s the one where dishonorable play can lead to incarceration?”
Nereda grimaced as she examined the computer workstation. “I know it, and I think I’d rather play Liar’s Dice with a Ferengi,” she mused as she coaxed the station into operation. “Let’s see if there are any intact files in here… ah. There are. They certainly built these to last in the 23rd, didn’t they?” Drij pulled up a chair next to her fellow officer and nodded in agreement. “A lot of personal logs,” she said. “See the names? They’re our missing Starfleet officers. This should be interesting.”
“Indeed,” said Nereda. “Let’s find out, shall we? Computer, play log entry 00-01, please.”
***
Chief Engineer’s Log, August 3rd, 1571
Well, we did it.
Sheridan, T’Von, and I are now residents of Draconis III. Above us, in what’s left of Station K-13, our fellow crewmates (and a few Klingons) are snug in stasis pods. Luck and Starfleet know-how willing, they’ll be safe there for centuries if necessary.
We’ve picked a site that’s remote from the locals – reasonable climate, plenty of what we’ll need to survive. Hopefully long enough for someone in 2270 to come back and rescue us. Sheridan thinks I’m overly optimistic, and T’Von just put up an eyebrow and said something about possibilities.
We brought down survival gear and what little supplies were left from K-13 in a shuttle. Good ole Sacagawea – she got us down here in one piece with a little fuel to spare.
Logging out for now; it’s my turn to stand watch. I haven’t had to stand watch since senior year at the Academy. I’m thrilled.
Chief Engineer’s Log, December 18th, 1571
Dennis had to put a few phaser blasts over the head of a predator today. Some sort of death on six legs made out of “fur, teeth, and hate” according to him. Whatever it was, it’s not afraid of water – it was going for T’Von while she was in the lake having a bath. Good thing Dennis was around – I was fast asleep and didn’t hear her call out.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the two of them had a little… bonding experience over the whole thing. She didn’t destroy him in short order at the chess board like she usually does, and he’s smiling a lot more than he has since we got here. How ‘bout that.
Security Officer’s Log, March 21st, 1572
It is certain – we are no longer the only aliens on this planet.
A landing craft of unknown origin broke atmosphere early this morning. Using the sensors within Sacagawea, I have been able to monitor their activities somewhat. They made for an area 17.4 km from our location. I am reasonably certain I detected weapons-fire a short time after they landed. As security officer, I believe the logical course of action would be to prepare a defensive position, and Dennis – Nurse Sheridan – agrees with me. However, Chief Nichols is the ranking officer and has ordered me to reconnoiter the alien position.
Consider this log entry my official protest.
Chief Engineer’s Log, March 23rd, 1572
T’Von made it back from her scouting mission. The new arrivals are definitely not friendly – they wiped out a number of the locals at some sort of crystal mine in the hills. We thought we were far away from any Draconian settlements. We were wrong.
T’Von was able to get some decent scans before she came back to us. The aliens are quadrupeds, with a single eye and mouth mounted in a center mass. They use weapons mounted in a harness they wear around their mid-sections – slugthrowers of some sort. Primitive but deadly.
It kills me, but we’re gonna sit this one out. There are three of us, and at least 20 of them. No telling how many more might be up in orbit.
Chief Engineer’s Log, March 26th, 1572
The aliens aren’t wasting time. T’Von has been tracking them with the Sacagawea’s sensors; I managed a little miracle working to boost their range. I’m wishing I didn’t.
They’re killing them. All the Draconians have are bows and spears… and they’re going up against machineguns. It’s a slaughter.
Prime Directive be damned. We’re going to do something about it, or we’re going to die trying.
Security Officer’s Log, March 29th, 1572
We have arrived at the occupied Draconian settlement. The aliens have pressed the locals into service, and have put them to work within the crystal mine. We have observed the aliens using small portions of the mined crystal as a fuel source; curiously, the Draconians seem to have a reverence for the crystals that suggests… worship. Considering the barbaric displays present in the settlement, previous attempts at civil unrest have been met with lethal force by the aliens.
I have devised a plan of guerrilla warfare at Chief Sheridan’s request. We begin to implement it at nightfall.
Chief Engineer’s Log, April 2nd, 1572
We hit an alien caravan today as it made its way from the village to the mine. No casualties on our side, 6 aliens down. Our phaser fire spooked the locals that were traveling with the aliens; if the universal translator’s to be believed, they called it “god’s wrath” before they ran off into the trees. Dennis isn’t happy with all of this, and T’Von is all logic and pragmatism as always.
I’m not going to be sleeping well any time soon, that’s for certain.
Chief Engineer’s Log, April 7th, 1572
We’ve got ‘em rattled after that last raid. No reinforcements have come down; T’Von thinks we’re looking at a good chunk of the alien crew here. They seem to have given up on their little mining operation. I’m hoping we’ve put a fear in ‘em and they decide to head for greener pastures.
Personal Log, Dennis Sheridan, April 9th, 1572
The aliens came in the night. All of them, by the look of things. T’Von and I managed – somehow – to survive. Nichols might not be so lucky.
She was on watch when it happened. They hit her with some kind of poisoned barb – looks like they fire them from their mouth. If she hadn’t got off a phaser shot, we may not have had any warning.
I’m doing what I can for her, but I’m a nurse, not a toxicologist.
Personal Log, Dennis Sheridan, April 10th, 1572
The Draconians came to the camp, drawn by all the weapons-fire, no doubt. We established something of a rapport once they figured out we weren’t the kind of aliens that put them to work in a mine, or worse. Unfortunately, they’ve decided that we are all gods.
While I’m nowhere near comfortable with that notion, I am very pleased that they possess a pretty deep knowledge of toxins. That’s not all. Several of them possess what appears to be some form of… well, I suppose the best way to describe it is “psionic healing.” Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen… their healers think Nichols will be on her feet in a matter of days.
Security Officer’s Log, April 11th, 1572
The remaining aliens have departed in their landing craft. Dennis believes they will not return. I am inclined to agree with him. Phasers can be quite unnerving to the unfamiliar, after all.
Chief Engineer’s Log, April 15th, 1572
We made our way back to camp after a lot of ceremony, feasting, and other Draconian hospitality. Pretty sure I drank far too much of the local equivalent of wine, but the cute healer that mended me up took care of my hangover this morning. Sweet girl, it was hard to say goodbye to her.
Dennis and T’Von assure me that the Draconians don’t believe we’re gods (any more), and they’ve all agreed that we’re to live apart for the time being, if not forever. I’m not a fan of that idea, but I could tell it wasn’t negotiable with my fellow officers. Not sure how much rank matters any more at this point, but to be honest I care more about their opinion as friends now.
There’s an island off the coast that T’Von found. We should be able to get our gear out there on Sacagawea. Always wanted to retire on an island paradise; looks like now’s my chance.
Personal Log, Dennis Sheridan, May 18th, 1603
Today we laid Meredith Louise Nichols to rest, under the tree she liked to sit beneath while watching the ocean. She was 67. More than that, she was a fellow Starfleet officer and one of my dearest friends.
From what I can tell, she contracted a virus of Draconian origin. I did all I could with the medical supplies available, but nothing worked. I did manage to ease her suffering, in the end.
Personal Log, T’Von, October 9th, 1625
I am alone. My beloved husband Dennis has passed away, peacefully, in his sleep. Per his request, I buried him next to our friend, Meredith. He would often visit her grave to speak with her. A curious action, and entirely human, but I understand it now more than ever.
I find myself missing the company of my friends more and more. The calm of logic, when I am now faced with emotional distress, is diminishing in effect.
Personal Log, T’Von, September 19th, 1734
Soon it will be my time. The tricorder confirms this. I will be at rest, there to find Dennis and Merry once more. I do not fear death, for I have lived long… and for a time, I knew great prosperity. I am at peace.
***
The temporal agents sat quietly for a time after the final entry played, a gentle breeze blowing in from the ocean outside.
“Hey, partner,” Drij said at last. “We should let the Pastak know what we’ve found down here.” Nereda nodded in agreement. “We will. Moreover, we will let their families know what became of them. They’ll know of their lives, their heroism, and their final resting place. All of it.”
“With you all the way on that. Let’s get to it, then.” The Orion tapped her comm badge. “Drij to Pastak. Two to beam up.”
Paul Reed
Content Writer
Star Trek Online
