Personal Log - Nira Said

[Nira Said]

Personal log, Nira Said. Stardate 75549.09.

I have to admit, this is the second time I've undergone a First Contact moment. The first being with the T'Sari and the T'Kori on the Athena. But with Ri'lowo and Fi'turs, and with two separate away teams, each giving their respective versions, I'm starting to think this is one First Contact moment that technically doesn't count.

Every cadet goes through courses, and/or, at the very least, research projects and/or essays about First Contact in the Academy. Considering how big the galaxy is, it's very easy to come across new life and new civilizations, while in the process of the continuing mission to seek them out, explore strange new worlds, to paraphrase Zefram Cochrane. However, in the category of First Contact, as my instructor had mentioned, there are those that are ready and those who are not. Those who are not are primarily those who aren't technologically advanced enough, if at all, and unless they are warp-capable or at a good technological level, the Prime Directive mandates staying away.

Considering what the two away teams went through in Ri'lowo and Fi'turs, it's perfectly obvious that these are more than a people who are not ready for First Contact. These are people wiped themselves out in nuclear conflict and, among those who survived on both sides, are willing to continue their conflict long after their civilizations have been wiped out. It's more than just disappointing. It's dismaying and disgusting to see such a bloodlusting people.

Yes, this is one First Contact that technically doesn't count. It's that obvious. The worst part about it is that there's nothing we can do but stay away. There's nothing we can do to change their outcome and have them settle for peace, not without the Prime Directive in play. All we've done was give them a common enemy: us. After our escape after the Discovery fell into their automated trap (for want of a better word, but the word that immediately comes to mind regarding the twin tractor emitters is "trap"), they tried to launch their nuclear arsenal at us. That, along with the Romulan wreckage (and scans taken of the ship showed it was destroyed by the gravity well nearby), tells me that the only kind of people the Ri'lowans hated more than each other were outsiders.

So, a race willing to continue killing each other long after their civilizations were wiped out, combined with their hatred toward outsiders as well as themselves...They're more than just not ready for First Contact. They're willing to doom themselves to extinction. Their conflict has turned into a dead horse, to coin the human analogy, and to take the analogy further, the beating of the dead horse is so long and frequent, as the flesh decomposes and all that is left over is bones, then they keep beating the bones until they're ground to dust, the intent to grind bones in a crude fashion, and perhaps they'd continue beating the dust that was the ground bones.

I'll have to stop there, otherwise, I might continue ranting in my dismay and disgust. And I'm certain I'm not the only one who feels the same way about the Ri'lowans.

In general, this just wasn't my day, and not just taking part in a First Contact that really doesn't count as a First Contact. Two officers of equal rank in the same away team, both ranking above me, and neither specified who was leading the away team, leaving me a little confused. Not to mention I had just recently ended my relationship with Evandev. I'm sure he won't mind; it's been awkward for him.

Oh, well. Perhaps tomorrow when I come off duty, I can see if I can help cheer up Torra. Tomorrow is bound to be better. And perhaps the next new civilization we meet will, hopefully, be better than what was found in the twin system of Ri'lowo.

End log.

[Nira Said]

Personal Log, Nira Said. Stardate...ah, screw it. After traveling back in time, the calendar is enough to give me a headache.

Barely a month since my promotion to Chief of Security and Tactical and look what I've been reduced to. A saloon girl who ran away from the harims of Arabia. I'm sure there's no doubt the people from the Department of Temporal Investigations is going to take this long, but in all fairness, I have to get this off my chest.

I can't stop dwelling on what had happened to me and the away team in Paradise. It's easy to have an instinctive reaction of the same caliber of reactions expected when one has discovered he or she has been raped; my mind had been so violated. I'm able to was able to calm down eventually, but she couldn't stop dwelling on what happened. I've had always been prepared to disguise herself as a dancer for undercover away missions. I just didn't expect her cover story to become reality, thanks to the natural biological hypnosis of a vampiric-looking future race.

Over time, I've been noticing memories in my head. Memories that I never actually lived. I've no doubt that Captain Tekin will have them, too, along with Don...Lieutenant Addams, and Luby...Nurse Wentlock. And Mister Graham. All the same, I'm fascinated by what I see, intrigued by what I saw. Ten years' worth of memories were implanted in my head. Memories of a life preceding her coming to Paradise with Nevill the Nose, Lulubelle Wentlock the teacher, Donald Damien Addams the writer and his son Alexander Graham Addams. The way it went, Scheherezade looks like geriatric hag who couldn't put two words together to save her own [spoiler]ass[/spoiler].

Suffice to say, they told of me. Najwa Said. A girl born into a harem. Raised and conditioned to serve the master of the harem. Yet she was different. et she knew she was different. She could feel the minds and moods of others around her. She was the best dancer of the harem, at least for a while. She had begun serving the harem since her teens, but she ran away after being violated by one of the harem master's young men. She hid in the crossing caravans until she was well into Ottoman territory, where the harem master won't bother her; no Arab would dare try to bother the Ottoman Empire, or if they did, the Ottomans would be on them like a mule's hoof to a fly.

As she traveled, she realized she could use her skills to her advantage, and especially take advantage of mens' aroused feelings when she danced. For ten years, she made her way west, first in the various caravensaris around the Ottoman Empire, then in exotic theaters in Europe. Paris she enjoyed most before moving to England and finally, the United States of America. Being a foolish child, at first, fortunes came and went faster than the Charge of the Light Brigade. Wiser heads eventually prevailed in Najwa as she learned to use her fortune better, as they provided useful for passages west. Instead of draining her fortunes on drink, they were drained by immigration passages.

Naturally, Najwa eventually had some minor notoriety as the "travelling hoochie-coochie dancer," referring to the "hoochie-coochie" introduced in the 1893 World's Fair in Chicago. Rather than being associated with a nomad back home, and home brought too many unpleasant memories, Najwa decided to settle as far west as possible. It was there she met the card shark known as the Nose, a European schoolteacher named Lulubelle Wentlock, a budding writer named Donald Damien Addams, and his son, Alexander Graham Addams. They met on the stage, but were ambushed by bandits outside Paradise, Arizona...

...and the rest is history...

As intrigued by these memories as I am, I also begin to relate to my old comrades on the Starship Athena; Captain James Carter and Doctor Caleb Brighton were forced to live multiple lives by the Q who named himself, but was not at all like, Ben Gunn the maroon of Treasure Island. I, Captain Tekin, Don, Luby and Mister Graham, we all had just experienced the same thing, but this was different. There was no Q, just a vampire whose biology, as I understand, consisted of natural hypnosis.

And at the same time, the memories are disturbing. In spending almost a day in Paradise, I had attained ten years' worth of memories. Had I remained for three days, the memories would've extended to my early childhood. Within five, to my birth. By the next week, my past would've been completely rewritten, as would Captain Tekin's, Luby's, Don's and Mister Graham's. I would no longer have been Nira Said, the Betazoid Arab who regarded herself as the Nancy Drew and Miss Marple of her generation. I would've been reduced to Najwa Said, the 19th Century runaway harem girl who made and lost fortunes in her travels west. For all I knew, I would've become a slave to the will of the T'hunga, along with the rest of the poor souls of Paradise...a town with a prosperity that should not have existed...a false memory, like those she had.

I'm trying not to dwell on these memories. I'm planning for myself a twelve hour workday, trying to keep myself busy. I may even have to extend my work hours, depending on how bad it gets. I'm trying to make sure I'm so busy I can't dwell on them, enough so that the only times I'm not busy are when I'm sleeping and eating. Unfortunately, it's easy to think of them when I do eat and sleep. Especially when I sleep. I'm not getting much of an appetite. They especially come to me in dreams. Sometimes I'm roused from sleep when the memory in my dreams often gets too intense.

Not even the prospect of marrying Savar can even distract me from these memories.

The crew is going on leave, though I'm not sure I even want to go on leave; I've had my fill in Katra Station, during Discovery's refit, including the insertion of the quantum slipstream drive. Though maybe time with my friends or my fiancee will help. But still, now that I'm a departmental head, I have work to do. There's paperwork to go through, schedules to arrange (not just for myself but for my department). I'm even going to be busy copying my holo mysteries, the ones I use to practice my detective skills in, and reworking them into intruder alert drills for my department. I'm going to be a very busy woman, and I need time. Plenty of time to work.

I'm not sure this will be a problem a common counselor will help with. Don or Captain Tekin, being older and more experienced and thus likely to cope and understand, I'm sure they can be of help. Especially Don. Though Captain Tekin...who knows?

Seeing as how I'm going to be a busy woman, I'm going to need to get going.

P.S. Should my logs be taken by the Department of Temporal Investigations, if you'd like a copy of my holo mysteries, feel free to ask. They're good stories, in and of themselves.

End log.