“Captain’s log, stardate. . . .”

Siiiip.

“Ah, screw it. This is part of my personal library, anyways. My name is Captain Jetta Dowe, and….someone will listen to this at some point. But that’s not today. I’m currently in the USS Brawley’s nicest thing they have to offer during this trying time: a spare room. We’re currently on our way to DS-Eleven for repairs and recovery.”

Siiiiiiiip.

“I’m thankful. Truly, I am. But thats not what’s on my mind; whats on my mind is my crew.”

. . . .

“One hundred and twenty three confirmed dead. Fifty three more injured, and we have exactly two hundred and eleven people on board. Most of them from wounds given by the blackout or invading Vaadwaur–two from the warp core explosion.”

Siiiiiiiiiiiiiip. 

“Eurgh. I never liked the taste of whiskey. But I needed something, and this is what I could get.”

. . . .

“I was chained up in that chair and watched those security monitors as countless of our own got mowed down by Vaadwaur. I watched as Ensign M’Hark rip out the neck of countless adversaries. I watched Dr. Sullivan have to make a choice she could so easily regret–and I was sitting comfy in that little chair, not acting because I was scared for my life.”

WHAM!

“FUCK! My life?! MY LIFE?!” Hic! “They’re all DEAD, and I was terrified about MY Life! I am a CAPTAIN, and I was. . . .I was just…stuck there.”

. . . . . . . .

“I can’t put blame on myself for that. No, nobody can. This was…how do you even come back from this? How does a crew return to normalcy when having to take so many lives?”

Siiiiiiiip. 

“I can’t answer you that. Hell, I can’t even think of anything else to say. All I do know is that we have a long, long line of recovery ahead of us. I don’t even know if we’ll be back on the Morro Bay–she may even be decommissioned.”

. . . . . Sigh.

“What a past few days. End log.”