The Vulcan Problem

Posted on 28 Jan 2026 @ 4:24am by Lieutenant Jorik

480 words; about a 2 minute read

Lieutenant Jorik's Personal Log, Stardate 242501.27.

I have returned to my quarters aboard the USS Arawyn following an unscheduled encounter planetside. It is approximately one hour since Lieutenant Commander Harlan accepted the provisions I provided and beamed back to the ship. The medical department remains in a state of operational limbo; the Chief Medical Officer and the majority of staff are currently on shore leave, leaving me to monitor routine systems from standby. I have utilized this interval for meditation, though the session was... less productive than anticipated. My thoughts continue to cycle through recent events, requiring active realignment.

The interaction on Lathira IV was brief and controlled. Harlan exhibited signs of moderate fatigue—elevated cortisol indicators, if I were to speculate without a scan—consistent with his reported four-hour sleep cycle following the junior officers' incident. His acceptance of the sandwich and iced coffee blend was unexpected; I had calculated a 67.4% probability of refusal based on prior behavioral patterns. The blend—my own formulation, incorporating Vulcan plomeek extract for subtle sweetness and Andorian tuber root for creaminess—was replicated precisely to his preferences from our bonded period. He did not comment on it. He did not need to. The act of taking it was acknowledgment enough.

This encounter echoes our exchange on the Intrepid, though in inverted form. On the Intrepid's lower engineering bay, the discussion escalated beyond logic. Harlan's frustration manifested in elevated vocal tone and defensive posture, accusing me of treating our bond as an experiment—a "hypothesis" to discard. I responded with facts: the dissolution was mutual, driven by irreconcilable risk assessments and my inability to tolerate his repeated exposure to lethal hazards. The words "suffering" and "petty" were exchanged. I... experienced a momentary lapse in emotional equilibrium, my suppression techniques strained to 92% efficiency. The confrontation ended without resolution, Harlan departing abruptly. I have reviewed the memory 17 times since. Each iteration confirms the variables remain unchanged.

The transporter room transfer yesterday compounded the pattern. Harlan positioned himself deliberately away from me on the pad—3.2 meters, optimal for avoidance without overt hostility. No acknowledgment. No eye contact. Logical, given the context. Yet the silence registered as... suboptimal.

Current status: Medical bay is at 45% staffing. I have run diagnostics on biobed calibrations and hypospray inventories—routine tasks to fill the interval. The CMO's return is ... unknown. Until then, I am available for emergencies but otherwise unoccupied.

This limbo is... inefficient. My thoughts return to Harlan with increasing frequency. Probability of professional collaboration: 98.7%. Probability of personal resolution: 12.4%. I must recalibrate.

End log.

Jorik leaned back in the meditation chair, the low hum of the ship's environmental systems the only sound in his quarters.

The Vulcan lute sat untouched on the low table beside him. He closed his eyes, beginning another cycle of kolinahr breathing exercises.

The variables would align. Or they would not.

He noted it.

And continued to breathe.

 

RSS Feed