Personal Log: Lt. Commander Shris Sosalis

Personal Log: Lt. Commander Shris Sosalis

Stardate: 81330.8
Grid: Delta-M (27-M)
Locale: Freeport Annulus Diaboli — “Lucifer’s Ring”

I’ve fallen out of practice with these logs. As an Ensign aboard the Da Vinci, I kept them daily—my naive attempt at discipline. But somewhere between duty rosters and near-death anomalies, I only recorded them when I expected not to return. I suppose this one qualifies.

I’ve recently met the new team. I had reservations about stepping into a command role, but those concerns didn’t last. They make it easy. Each one of them is profoundly capable—almost alarmingly so. Our first mission together, Stardate 81307.8, was supposed to be a routine lunar scan on TV’ral III. It ended with the takedown of a major illegal dilithium operation and one of their enforcers—equipped with a mechanized assault exosuit. I regained consciousness in Sickbay, having been transported out mid-fight by an enemy combatant. Despite that, the team completed the objective. I submitted a commendation for Aze for neutralizing the mech, but in truth, I would’ve given one to each of them if Command would’ve allowed it.

Our reward? Reassignment to the worst station in the quadrant: Lucifer’s Ring.

We received the orders on Stardate 81330. I filed a formal petition for undercover authorization—it was denied. Berza attempted to replicate unauthorized disguises. I admire the initiative, but Security caught it. I informed the team I planned to proceed regardless and would handle the fallout. Then Alissa, resourceful as ever, revealed she had a contact in-system—a salvager named Steve. One exchange of our pristine shuttle for a rusting Ferengi barge later, we had our cover. I expect disciplinary fallout for the asset trade, but operationally it was the right call. The barge barely held together, but Alissa managed to get it running again by making friends in all the right places.

Once on station, we split. Some stayed in uniform; others adopted disguises—identities withheld in the official report. I led the Starfleet team into the Ring proper. We were promptly robbed. Standard welcome.

We encountered a local enforcer named Vael—Orion, stereotypically so—but more cooperative than combative. Through him, we were introduced to the self-appointed “mayor”: Vorek, an ex-Starfleet captain playing marshal to a boomtown slum. He deputized us on the spot. I leaned into the role—played the outsider here to clean up the streets. It worked.

Vorek’s circle includes a Romulan flesh-trader named Rhavik, a Klingon fight promoter named Korvak, and a Ferengi profiteer named Drekk. Rhavik is our primary target, officially. Personally, I’ll see him dead. The flesh trade ends here.

To gain Korvak’s respect, I entered the arena and challenged his champion, Rus’ell. The fight was brutal. I split my bat’leth into dual blades and used my vertical advantage to end it with a throw to the shoulder. I’m still recovering.

We bartered with Drekk for explosives and intelligence—some of it likely derived from wagers placed on the arena match. We also spotted remnants of older tech—likely part of the SFI-documented illicit salvage stream we’re here to trace.

The plan is in motion. Lon, normally quiet, took point on building the core explosive device that will serve as our breach signal. He impressed the Ferengi more than any of us expected. While I enter through the front with the other gladiators under cover of performance, the infiltration team will move in through the rear access corridor using a stolen keycard. The timing must be perfect. They’re carrying a localized EMP. The target: Rhavik’s stronghold. The objective: destroy Vhorik’s Tal Shiar node and eliminate the trafficking network at its root.

I trust them all.

Aze is precise—never misses a beat. He was with me back in the days when I ran with Cara. Alissa is sharp, calculating, practical—deadly when she needs to be. Lon continues to surprise me, and I wouldn’t be shocked to see his name one day beside Montgomery Scott or Charles Tucker.

And then there’s Berza.

Lieutenant Junior Grade Berza Vanel. Trill. Joined. Liberated Borg. The counselors say Frontier Day was a fluke. That the Collective is gone. That there's no reason to worry anymore. But every time I see those assimilation tubules extend, I feel the weight of that day again.

Berza is brilliant. Capable. Calm under pressure. Reminds me of who I used to be before command. They saved my life on TV’ral III. And yet… I hesitate. Not because of anything they’ve done. But because of what they are. If I can’t work past that, maybe I don’t belong in the big chair. Maybe I’m not ready.

Violence has always been easier than clarity. So I’ll fight. Clear my mind. Then decide.

If I don’t make it out—and somehow this finds its way to Cara—
I want her to know I’ve always forgiven her.
And I never stopped hoping she’d come back.

End log.