Fractured Soul...

Posted on 06 May 2017 @ 12:40pm by Ambassador Soral Varro

552 words; about a 3 minute read

ON:

Varro leaned over and blew out the candle that was burning on the makeshift meditation alter he’d set up in his quarters on the Chaka. He’d gotten a message from the XO, Aren, about meeting up about something. He’d shifted that to later today so now he wanted to just relax and catch up on his meditations and try to bring some semblance of peace to his turbulent mind and heart.

Varro stood and walked over to the replicator. He’d been medically examined and granted access to his Starfleet logs. “Computer access Varro personal logs, merge with data PADD files.”

He waited until the personal logs he’d kept through his hellish experience merged into the main core of his personal logs. He drank his tea at the mini dining table while the upload continued. After a good 45 minutes the computer signaled completion.

“Computer open personal log time and date stamp today.”

=/\=Log Ready, Proceed.=/\=

The familiar soothing voice intoned.

“Soral Varro, personal log. Home. I have returned to Starfleet space. I have no words to express the feelings that are tossing about me. The Vulcan side is failing in controlling them. My El Aurian emotions, which in some cases are stronger then human emotions, are all over the place. The colony was bogozh,” he said using the Vulcan word for hell.

“The mines, the life style…I had given up. I had refused to eat and had come to terms with the fact that I would die of starvation. The one constant, my assistant, stayed behind when we were given the opportunity to leave. My own cousin Braxton stayed behind. I don’t understand it all. How could they stay in that God forsaken place?” Frustrated now he stood and paced the area of his quarters.

“I did get off the colony and then I had to endure the Klingon ship with the lies, intrigues, and vile prehistoric blood feuds. I have never been fond of Klingons, to be honest I barely made it through the Mempa talks. The Romulan ship was welcomed.”

He sat back down feeling a bit calmer. The pacing seemed to have calmed his rattled nerves. “Romulans…well they are closer to Vulcans, our distant cousins. The difference between us is that they embrace their emotions and we Vulcan’s do not.” He sighed, “To be honest…this has been a difficult time for me. I have often thought of talking to the counselor but…I am a private man, I keep my pains and thoughts to myself and to speak now would be to betray…” He stopped speaking fighting back emotions.

Varro stood, “Computer..en….e…end log.” He walked over to the bathroom door leaning on it for a moment. Turning on the lights he stumbled, from the weight of his emotions, to the sink and splashed some cold water on this face. He looked at his face, studied the man he saw, a man he wasn’t sure he respected or liked anymore. His hand headed towards the combadge on his freshly pressed uniform. “No!” he said fighting the urge to call the counselor. He could take this on himself. It was his cross to bear alone.

OFF:

Ambassador Soral Varro
Diplomat
Aboard USS Chaka

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