Saturday, October 3, 2009

[USS Charon] SD240910.03 || Personal Log || Amb Ian Lamont - "Preparations"

Personal Quarters
USS Charon



Stepping from the shower, Ambassador Ian Lamont changed into a standard duty uniform and made his way to his washbasin.  His recovery in sickbay from recent exertions in the holodeck had been swift.  Somehow he was having difficulty shaking the hazy phantasmal image of a Romulan surgeon with an odd  mechanical leg from the cobwebs of his mind.  Looming over him with an eerie smile of sorts the dream seemed longer lasting and realistic than most.  Shaking his head he zipped up the uniform and adjusted its sleeves ensuring the computer’s measurements were an exacting tailored fit to his restored body and clear mind.


Lamont ran a brush through his long dark hair.  While against regulation his position and status made his shoulder length hair tolerably possible despite the commodore, no now, captain’s incessant and bothersome infatuation with reminding him about Starfleet dress code.  As he stood at his washbasin gazing into his mirror he contemplated Rehu’s recent demotion.  He had yet to learn of the exact circumstances of the event.  Had she finally pissed off enough people in the Admiralty?  He wondered.


He wasn’t sure whether to be concerned or delighted.  The news was a bit surprising.  Now no longer a commodore Rehu was just an average captain.  He wondered if that fact irritated her given her aristocratic upbringing.  It was true she still held rank over him, but he would not let her forget her place now that she had been knocked from her place on Mount Olympus and back into the world of mere mortals. And there was no doubt she would refrain from doing the same to him.  Their ‘waltz’ would no doubt continue for the foreseeable future however he would refrain from openly challenging her.  Out on the frontier he needed friends more so than enemies far away ‘from king and country’ as the saying went.


Setting the brush down, Lamont pushed his well groomed locks of hair into the collar of his gold uniform tucking them neatly and smartly out of the way.  It was a standard engineering officer’s tunic.  He was due to report to the Chief Engineer in twenty minutes for the first of his now daily visits for whatever ‘menial’ tasks they could find for the ambassador to perform.  He had no desire to dirty his hands with the grease and grime of mechanical operations aboard the ship, yet the work, however tedious was still welcomed over another prolonged stay in the ship’s accursed dungeon.  He refused to be locked up again for Rehu to view like some type of caged zoo animal.


He tugged on his collar which bore the pips of his naval rank.  The pips hadn’t seen the light of day in quite some time and he rarely spoke of his naval rank as it was typically of unused in the profession of a diplomat.  Having ties to the fleet often compromised his ability to persuade and negotiate as an independent third party with loose affiliations with the military.  Still, he was fond of the rank he himself had earned both in and out of combat.  He had discovered he had no taste for the thrill or rush of battle during the last Dominion war.  It was that discovery that had led him into administration and eventually diplomacy.


He smiled wondering how his official rank of commander would be received in engineering.  He outranked the vast majority of the crew in engineering.  Still, with the captain’s sentence of daily engineering duties he knew if he stepped too far out of line Rehu would be there to hold him dangling over the railing of the warp core.


He silently laughed in the mirror.  Did she have the courage to actually push him over the rail and watch him fall to its bottom?  He knew she did.  Her emerald Romulan blood had not been thinned by her dishonor in the Empire nor had her legendary temper as so well he knew. 


Lamont had no personal malice against the captain.  In fact on many levels he admired her.  If they had not ended up what one might call a rival they could possibly be friends.  Both of them had come from aristocratic families, wealth, and power.  It was quite amazing how far they had both fallen from grace.  Worlds apart, yet they were so similar in many ways.  Still, she had an unshakable and absolute belief in her power and authority.  Nothing irked him more than her refusal to listen to him.  Perhaps Starfleet had grown tired of her as well?  Perhaps.  He would soon learn more about her reduction in rank.  Scuttlebutt, while detestable and utterly trivial, did at times have its uses.


He pulled on his collar again.  He hated Starfleet uniforms.  How utterly ridiculous he looked and how horribly uncomfortable these colored straightjackets were.  How the crew persisted on a daily basis in such plain and common garb was lost on him.  With a sigh he checked his teeth and pulled on the crisp, fresh tunic.  He would have to endure them or worse grow accustomed to them as they would now be a daily staple in his wardrobe.


Checking the chronometer it was time he left.  He did not want to be late for his appointment in Engineering.  If anything he was punctual.


Leaving his quarters he set off for Engineering.  He wondered what sort of person this Calhoun was like.  With the then commodore keeping him at arm’s length his chances to fraternize with the senior staff had been limited.  That was about to change.


Stepping into a turbolift he couldn’t help but smile.  He wasn’t sure why he was smiling only that he couldn’t stop.  If his father could see him now what would he say?  Was he a failure to the Lamont name or was he yet to be its savior?  He had fallen so far and so quickly.  Soon he would be sweeping decks or performing other such trivial tasks.  How the mighty had fallen.  Would he be able to ascend to the heights of his family’s former glory again?  Something inside him made him chuckle.  Was it humility?


The crewman on his right gave the ambassador an odd look, but quickly noticed his rank, and averted his gaze.


Stepping smartly from the lift as its doors opened, Commander Ian Lamont, headed down the hall toward main engineering.   His current thoughts were a bubbling mixture of childlike anticipation and excitement versus hardcoded aristocratic, elitist apathy which were silently at war within him.  He still had some lesser demons yet to fight, but they would have to wait for a different time and place for Engineering awaited.


Ambassador Ian Lamont

Diplomatic Advisor

USS Charon