USS Brahe

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====== Personal Log 2421-05-12 ======
{{infobox>
Date = 2421-05-12
Format = Audio
Filed by = Captain [[lcars:zaliel_sel|Zaliel Sel]]
Recording Location = Captain’s Quarters, [[lcars:USS Brahe]]
}}

I’m getting out of the habit of creating these logs. When you make a First Contact, it’s all you can really think about. Paperwork be damned, I want to keep watching their soap operas—purely out of anthropological interest, of course—and listen to their music. The Kit are no exception. Their dramas, comedies, and music are all riveting. I wish I could write how well the contact has gone and that I’m a few kilos heavier for sampling their delicious meals.

But, it hasn’t all been fun. Shortly after our initial contact with the Kit government, we started observing increased agitation among the labor and male suffrage movements, pushing the largely conservative government to adapt to a political scheme more accommodating to Federation ideals. It’s worth saying that the Kit were already going through something of a social revolution when we arrived. How much influence our presence has had will be a matter of debate for Kit historians at a later date. My impression is that we managed to just stumble into it.

After meeting with President Nah’hala’s representatives aboard the Brahe (Jara, Marsek, and Parsa K’mnzi), they established themselves quickly as helpful and inquisitive. While the Matron Jara K’mnzi remained somewhat acerbic, both Marsek and Parsa become a frequent sight in the laboratories and common areas. I wish I had joined them more, but my duties and conversations with Nah’hala occupied most of my time. The Kit President is remarkably easy to talk to. I’d probably call her “down to earth,” if the phrase means anything for a species who actually lives most of their lives underground.

I sent Commander Vance and Doctor Riox to the surface to meet Grand Matriarch B’da K’mnzi (that surname keeps showing up), one of their two heads of state. I chose them for many professional reasons, but ultimately, I’m forced to realize my own insecurities kept me from going to the Sunlit Temple. I could say that it was all the things that B’da represented or that it was calculated posturing. At the end of the day, I look at myself in the mirror and am forced to confront the fact that I failed myself—if not the mission. My only hope is that Kass doesn’t blame herself for what came next.

President Nah’hala invited the Brahe crew to participate in the Kit’s main sport: t’q-zhm, or “Rock Toss.” Though B’da was reportedly spurned by my refusal to meet with her in the Temple (it should be noted that I attempted to negotiate several other venues, but she refused), there was no indication that any greater hostilities would occur. So, when the appointed day came to view Rock Toss, the Senior Staff and I piled into Robin and flew to the surface.

Honestly, it was amazing fun and meeting Nah’hala for the first time—I genuinely wanted to embrace her—it was probably the best first contact mission I had ever participated in. Anyways, we get to the box seats, sit, watch the game. The actual game was relatively short by some standards—maybe an hour long, including the commercials and half-time event.

The event had just ended (the home team, the Burrow Boulders) won in a last-second victory (really an astounding game) when the room seemed to explode. I actually think someone either planted or threw concussion grenades into the room. Regardless, the next thing I knew I was fighting off a splitting headache when B’da and some guards entered the room. They must have stabbed Horace with a spear (I would know this until after the fact) while we were all incapacitated. B’da and Jara exchanged some words. I tried to intercede to put that grand old Starfleet Diplomacy at work when B’da ordered one of her guards to shot me.

Which she did.

I’m fuzzy on the personal details after that. I remember falling to the floor and hearing a lot of shouting. After what felt like an eternity, I was beamed to the Brahe’s sickbay where the medical team saved my life. Since then, I’ve been sequestered in either the sickbay or my quarters. I’m still recovering, but I feel that, if anything, my mental health has taken the hardest hit. I keep going over it in my head: did I do it? Did I piss B’da off so bad she felt the only option was to kill me? Jara and Nah’hala warned me that Kit politics were complicated. Maybe I should have given B’da the same attention as I gave Nah’hala, but B’da wouldn’t return calls whereas Nah’hala was on the line for hours every day. She wanted to know as much about us as I could share—and not about our technology, like so many Academy instructors warned. She wanted to know about our culture. Our advancements in equality, in social programs, and how we helped make those things a reality.

Can I be blamed for leaning on the leader who wanted to speak with me? I suppose, as the Captain, I can be blamed for anything. But, I feel, if anyone had spent as much time with the Kit as I have, they would find them a rich, intelligent, and communal people—some noteworthy exceptions aside.

As I sit in my quarters and watch the Brig footage of B’da in the holding cell, I am trying to understand the woman who tried to kill us. I’m trying to understand her motivations. They don’t make sense. Kass, Parsa, and now Tri’a (the computer is still analyzing the Kit sign language, which we have pathetically little data on) have each independently seen B’da, but each interaction leaves me with more questions than answers.

Another trip to the planet is warranted, but in my condition that would be impossible. I’ll give it some thought, but I think Tom and Kass will have to take the lead on this one. Now, I am out of tea and tired. Maybe a thirteen-hour catnap will help. I haven’t done that in years—if Amanda knew she would be livid!—but no, I think it would be better to leave those skeletons for another night.

{{tag> logs}}