Personal Log: Robert Robinson Stardate 5866.1

 

I never thought I’d find myself in the middle of a revolution, let alone on a planet that might as well be a snapshot of Earth’s 1940s. The parallels were uncanny—the architecture, the clothing, even the weapons. It all felt so familiar, yet so alien. If I closed my eyes, I could almost believe I was back in Maine, reading about the European resistance movements during World War II. But this wasn’t history. This was happening, and I was in the thick of it.

When we first arrived on Beta Corvi II, I didn’t know what to expect. The streets were a powder keg of fear and desperation. You could see it in the way people moved—always looking over their shoulders, avoiding eye contact. It reminded me of old black-and-white photos of Nazi-occupied France. That kind of oppression, the kind that seeps into every corner of daily life, is hard to mistake.

Then we met Alina. She was young, barely older than a teenager, but there was fire in her eyes. She wasn’t just surviving—she was fighting. When she led us to the printing press, I felt a strange kind of pride. These people weren’t just standing by; they were risking everything to spread the truth, to give their fellow citizens a voice. It was dangerous work, the kind of thing that gets you killed.

When the soldiers surrounded the building, I knew we were in trouble. The resistance fighters had spirit, sure, but their weapons were a mess—old, rusty, barely functioning. I wasn’t surprised when they handed me that crate of handguns and asked if I could help. I hadn’t held a gun in years, but some things you don’t forget.

I’ll admit, part of me hesitated. I’ve always believed violence should be the last resort, but these people didn’t have a choice. They were fighting for their lives, for their freedom. So, I stepped up.

Teaching them how to clean, assemble, and fire the weapons felt strange—like I was passing on some ancient, forbidden knowledge. Spock watched me the whole time, his eyebrow raised like he was trying to figure out how I knew so much. I told him I’d spent time at shooting ranges back in my day, but the truth is, it’s more than that. Guns were a part of my world, for better or worse. I just never thought that knowledge would be useful 300 years in the future, on an alien planet.

The fight itself was chaos. Bullets flying, people shouting, smoke filling the air. It was the kind of thing you see in movies but never think you’ll experience. At one point, a machine gun nest pinned us down, and I knew we had to take it out or we were finished. Kirk, Spock, Joran, and I worked together to flank the position, and somehow, we pulled it off.

I’ve never been in combat before—not like this—but in that moment, instincts took over. My hands were steady, my aim was true, and I felt…alive. Not in a good way, not in a bad way, but in a way that reminded me just how fragile life can be.

When the sun came up, and the soldiers retreated, the relief was palpable. The resistance fighters were cheering, hugging, crying. For them, this was more than a victory—it was a spark of hope. Alina stood in the middle of it all, holding one of the freshly printed leaflets. I don’t remember exactly what it said, but the message was clear: the fight wasn’t over, but they weren’t alone anymore.

As we left, she thanked us, though she didn’t really know who we were or where we came from. I wanted to tell her everything—to explain that we were travelers from a far-off future, here by chance, not design. But that would have broken the Prime Directive, and besides, it wasn’t our story to tell.

Now that I’m back aboard the Enterprise, I can’t stop thinking about Beta Corvi II. About the people we met, the lives we touched, and the role we played in their fight for freedom. We didn’t stay to see how it all turned out, but I like to think they’ll make it. They’ve got the spirit, the determination, and now, the momentum.

I’ve spent a lot of time wondering why I ended up here, in this time, on this ship. Sometimes, it feels like an accident. Other times, it feels like fate. After what happened on Beta Corvi II, I’m starting to think it doesn’t matter. What matters is what I do with the time I’ve been given.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my time on the Enterprise, it’s that the universe is vast and unpredictable. But some things are universal—like the fight for freedom, the value of truth, and the courage it takes to stand up against tyranny. If I can help in that fight, even in a small way, then maybe I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.