Castaways

Chapter 7

Personal Log, Stardate XXXX.X

Day 16. We're running out of power. I stopped making video logs in an effort to conserve it, but as our situation gets more dire, I decided I wanted to record what's happening on paper at least. We've shut off every system in the runabout with the exception of the UV lights and the forcefield in an effort to keep them running, but power is dwindling. I'm starting to get scared. We sent out our distress signal on the first day. It's been more than two weeks and either we've been unable to receive any communications or our message never got out in the first place. If a rescue team doesn't come for us soon, we won't be able to contain the Raveks. And when... if that point comes... well. I don't want to resort to violence. But if it comes down to the Raveks' lives and ours, I may regret what I have to do.

Julian doesn't seem as bothered as I am. He's concerned, of course. But he seems to believe that the Raveks can still be reasoned with. As smart as he is, it feels foolish to me. They've shown themselves to be murderous creatures, unfit to join the federation for many years to come. I have no doubt they'll want to get retribution for their imprisonment. And I'm even more certain they're going to try and express that desire in the form of murder.

I have so many unsavory and shameful thoughts swirling around in my head now, towards not only the situation as a whole, but towards the Raveks in particular. Thoughts of violence, and anger, and fear. I'll need to talk to a counselor when this is all over, no doubt. But for the record, I don't want to kill them the way I'm sure they want to kill me. If it's wrong to think that makes me better than them, so be it. I'm wrong.

Julian's asking me to help him sort out the remains of the wreckage. Speaking of which, we cleared the bulk of it. But we're still sleeping together for warmth like I mentioned in my last log. I probably shouldn't have, considering that in the event you go missing, there's always a chance that Starfleet can review your logs, but... oh, well. So what if I'm snogging my commanding officer? It's not expressly against the rules. But anyhow, I'm getting sidetracked. And since I made the mistake of writing this in pen, there's no going back and editing it. I'm starting to miss making logs on my computer.

"[Y/N], are you almost done?" Julian asked, and I looked up from the pilot's seat where I'd been writing. I nodded, following him over to the hall so that we could scavenge anything useful from the the severed bulkhead and frayed internal components. He looked tense, I noticed, as we searched for power couplings and anything we could salvage to boost our power output. We'd gone back to the Ravek's lab and managed to bring back some solar panels in order to generate a little extra power, but even if we could manage to hook them up to the runabout, we both knew it wouldn't help much. Solar technology was ancient. With such small panels, they had barely enough output to power a computer, let alone a forcefield. Our only hope was to prolong it until Starfleet came.

"You don't think our communications were fried, do you?" I asked as we sorted out the parts. Julian sighed, uncertain. "Maybe something in the machinery that we missed..."

"I... suppose I can check again. It's possible there's something I missed," he said. "But highly unlikely. You realize how unlikely, right?"

"You're right," I mumbled. "You don't need to remind me of how you can summon the square root of 374 on command."

"You mean 19.33907—"

"Okay, Julian. I get it..." I grumbled, looking away. Julian put down the piece of shrapnel he was holding and gave me a tender look.

"[Y/N]. Even if they didn't receive the communication, they'll have noticed our radio silence by now," he said softly. "A rescue ship should be here any day now."