Antagonims & Adaptation
Posted on Sun Mar 16th, 2025 @ 7:17pm by Crewman Mateo Gardel
764 words; about a 4 minute read
Personal Log – Crewman Mateo Gardel
Medical Sciences Specialist, USS Fenrir
I went to Science Lab 2 looking for a crate and walked out with a research project. That wasn’t the plan. It was supposed to be simple—track down the misdelivered shipment, make some snarky remark about Starfleet’s logistical failures, and get back to my own lab where things make sense. Instead, I got pulled into something bigger, something with layers I hadn’t expected.
The lab itself isn’t bad. Open layout, no awkward corners, good visibility—efficient. If I had to work somewhere other than my own space, I wouldn’t hate it, not that I’d ever admit that out loud. When I arrived, two scientists were already there. Lieutenant Montague and Crewman Ni-ya. Montague’s the warm, easygoing type, the kind of person who fills silence with casual conversation and means well when she does it. She makes a space feel lighter, less clinical. Ni-ya, on the other hand, is another story entirely.
She watches people. Not just looks—watches. Her gaze is sharp, analytical, taking in details with an intensity that makes it clear she’s seeing more than most would. She doesn’t waste words, doesn’t engage in small talk unless there’s a purpose behind it. I recognized the game almost immediately. The barbed comments, the subtle challenges, the way she tested reactions like she was mapping out weak spots. She pushed, I pushed back, and for a while, it felt like we were just circling each other, waiting to see who’d give first.
Then she mentioned her research.
Cellular degradation. Not just theory for theory’s sake, but something practical—something relevant. A potential countermeasure for what happened to Lieutenant Paris when he broke the transwarp barrier. A way to stop catastrophic biological failure before it starts. The topic alone was enough to hook me, and for a few minutes, the usual posturing faded. This wasn’t just an abstract discussion; this was something that mattered. Something worth chasing.
But then she told me why she wasn’t taking it further.
She isn’t allowed. Not because of resources or expertise, not because she lacks the capability, but because of restrictions placed on her when she was granted asylum in the Federation. The condition of her acceptance into Starfleet came with limits—hard boundaries she couldn’t cross. She could theorize all she wanted, but actual experimentation? That was off-limits. And what got to me wasn’t just that she accepted it, but that she seemed to believe it was fair.
She said her people deserved the oversight. That she deserved it. That they—she—had gone too far before, and this was the price.
I don’t buy that.
Montague, ever the problem solver, offered a solution. If Ni-ya couldn’t continue the research herself, someone else could. Someone she trusted to do it justice. Someone like me.
I shouldn’t have entertained it. Should’ve kept my head down, retrieved my crate, and walked away. But Ni-ya tested me first, repeating my own words back at me with my phrasing, my cadence, making it clear she wasn’t handing this off lightly. She wanted to see if I’d take it seriously, if I’d treat it like something worth my time instead of just another curiosity. And the truth is, I do take it seriously.
This kind of research isn’t just theoretical indulgence. The Federation’s existing approach to these kinds of biological failures is reactive at best, a desperate scramble to fix something already spiraling out of control. There has to be a better way. If Ni-ya had the freedom to pursue it, she would, but she doesn’t. And now, somehow, it’s landed in my hands.
I told her I don’t take things lightly, especially not someone else’s work. If I do this, I won’t just be preserving what she started—I’ll be pushing it forward, treating it with the rigor it deserves. That was my condition, and she agreed. We’ll work within the Federation’s boundaries, no augmentation, no eugenics. Straight science, above board, with Montague as oversight to make sure no one tries to pull the rug out from under us.
So now, I have a project. One that comes with complications, limitations, and baggage I wasn’t planning to take on.
I don’t regret saying yes.
Not yet, anyway.
End log.
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