Captain’s Log, Stardate 012019
I am still recovering in sickbay from the ritual combat. It must have been the strange atmosphere of that desolate place, or perhaps the alien puppet masters who were in charge, pulling the strings for their entertainment, but my memories aren’t quite clear.
I recall the Gorn. The beady eyed, scaly monster lying in the reeds, almost mocking me. A fight he could sleep through – that was the message he intended to send and it was received on my end with grim determination.
Physically, I knew I had no chance of defeating him one on one. Not even Captain Kirk’s heel throw maneuver taught in advanced hand to hand courses at the academy (but only after signing copious liability waivers) could help. It would be my wits that saved me.
My plan was solid. The Science Officer had just put his tricorder to the ground and found, well, something. I believe it was animal droppings, but there may have been a high enough nitrate content to aid in creating black powder. I reached for the diamond which my First Officer carried, necessary in the next step, when suddenly, I heard it.
Music. A pulsing blare of trumpets, a steady and frantic pounding of drums…even now, I hear it in my mind. The fight was already upon me!
Things were a blur. Maybe even the fog in that wretched place was toxic or hallucinogenic, bathed with all the alien spores from the marsh, I don’t know. We had…parking meters? in our hands, the poured concrete footing ripped out of the ground. There was a battle.
It didn’t register until my Starfleet issued shirt ripped. They’d stopped replacing Captain’s shirts due to budgetary constraints. But this was always the first sign you were in a fight for your life.
Things got bad. My nipples were bleeding at one point. I’m not sure why this matters. What really matters is that the Gorn continued lazily watching. He hadn’t moved a muscle, only cracked open his predatory eye to gloat.
It was her. My first officer stood over me. The diamond clutched in her fist and the parking meter raised in victory.
This was not how I’d planned to be remembered in the Federation histories…
Requesting top level classification due to sensitivity of the matter and the inappropriateness of the attached image.