Wound at the edge of the world

Posted on Mon Oct 19th, 2026 @ 11:18pm by Ensign Sok’i T’Luz

806 words; about a 4 minute read

Personal Log — Ensign Sok’i T’Luz

I have spent a considerable portion of my adult life in space. It would therefore seem reasonable to assume that an extravehicular excursion would not constitute a particularly noteworthy experience.

I have discovered that this assumption was incorrect.

During our investigation of the planetary system surrounding the black hole, our away team docked at an ancient installation whose construction and continued operation raise a considerable number of questions. I suspect Lieutenant Reruk will be occupied with those questions for some time. I have several of my own.

The docking procedure itself was remarkably uneventful, considering the apparent age of the facility. I had anticipated considerably more difficulty. In retrospect, I am uncertain whether I should find the ease with which we gained access reassuring or concerning.

Following our arrival, we prepared for an extravehicular excursion.

I had not worn a Starfleet environmental suit since my Academy training. Although I have considerable experience with protective equipment, I was reminded that familiarity with one design does not necessarily translate into proficiency with another. The suit required several adjustments before I was satisfied with its fit and operation.

I was ultimately successful. I do not believe anyone witnessed the more undignified portions of the process. This is preferable.

It was upon leaving the runabout that I experienced something I had not anticipated. Something shocking in its humanity.

I have performed extravehicular operations before. My civilian career occasionally required the retrieval of injured or incapacitated personnel from damaged spacecraft, stations, and other hazardous environments. Such operations were frequently conducted from medical shuttles whose maintenance records suggested a degree of optimism on the part of their operators.

The work was not unlike aquatic rescue, although the absence of a breathable atmosphere and the potential for drifting indefinitely into open space introduced certain additional complications.

There was always a tether. There was always a patient.

Someone to reach. Someone to secure. Someone to bring home.

There was rarely an opportunity to appreciate the surroundings. My attention was occupied by relative velocity, available oxygen, structural hazards, and the condition of whichever unfortunate individual had necessitated the excursion.

This time there was no patient.

No debris field to negotiate. No damaged vessel disgorging atmosphere into the void. No frantic voice over the communications channel demanding to know how much longer it would take.

There was only the ancient metal beneath my magnetic boots, the installation stretching away into darkness, and the black hole beyond it.

I remained on the platform for several moments.

The black hole was extraordinary.

Its immense gravitational influence distorted the light of distant stars into strange, luminous arcs, while the darkness at its center appeared so complete that it was difficult to comprehend it as a physical phenomenon. It seemed less an object occupying space than an absence carved into the universe itself.

I understand the relevant astrophysical principles, at least sufficiently to appreciate what I was observing. Understanding them did remarkably little to diminish the experience.

Against that impossible darkness, the installation appeared almost delicate. An ancient monument to the ingenuity of a civilization whose identity and fate remain unknown, still enduring in the shadow of something capable of consuming entire worlds.

There was something profoundly unsettling about it.

I found it beautiful.

I also experienced a distinct increase in heart rate, accompanied by the familiar sensation of adrenaline. Whether this was primarily a response to danger, excitement, or some combination of the two is difficult to determine.

I suspect the distinction is not especially important.

What struck me most, however, was the absence of urgency.

For once, I was not there because something had gone wrong and someone needed rescuing. I was not racing against a deteriorating patient’s condition or attempting to calculate whether my shuttle possessed sufficient fuel to complete an emergency evacuation.

I was there because we had discovered something extraordinary, and Starfleet had sent us to investigate it.

I had spent years responding to the consequences of exploration, often arriving after the most interesting events had already occurred.

Now I was standing at the edge of something nobody aboard the runabout fully understood, with the opportunity to discover what it was.

I believe I am beginning to appreciate the distinction.

There are undoubtedly considerable hazards associated with this assignment. Our first days aboard Genesis have already demonstrated that point rather thoroughly. I expect the present mission will provide further examples.

Nevertheless, I find myself increasingly satisfied with my decision to pursue a second career.

I eventually followed the others into the installation. There were duties to attend to, and it would have been inappropriate to remain standing on the platform indefinitely contemplating the scenery.

Although, given the chroniton distortions present in this system, I suppose the precise meaning of indefinitely may be open to interpretation.

End log.

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