== Mountaintop Observation Point – Vulcan Surface==
A warm, dry wind carrying with it the faint smells of soil gently caressed the skin of Ambassador Ian Lamont as he stood on a Vulcan summit overlooking a vast, empty valley filled with red and orange hues. The bright Vulcan sun slowly sank over the endless horizon and as night fell shadows slowly emerged into existence to play and dance in the absence of the light.
Time passed. The warm, gentle breeze turned cool as the light faded and still the ambassador remained in the quiet solace of the Vulcan outdoors content to do nothing more than watch as the light faded.
A dark bird, high above, drifted by on invisible currents catching the ambassador’s eye until it too faded from view and vanished over a rusty red cliff far in the distance. A last he stirred flexing the sore muscles and his arm which rested in a sling. Their recent mission had left him cold and emotionally drained. He thirsted not for rest, but for something else. He had been unable to shake the images of the Romulan officer who had nearly ended his life. He would be lying if he admitted he was unafraid of dying during those tense moments, but that was not what was burned into his memories. The cold, unreasonable eyes of a killer staring back at him – such was an image he could not forget. As an ambassador, a man of peace, he believed reason, logic, and the rule of law could be used to resolve all disputes. Guile was required at times as well as a certain shrewdness however he regarded violence with disdain. And yet those cold, murderous eyes staring back at him, staring directly into his soul would not leave him. Such a man could never be reasoned with. Diplomacy was useless faced with such an individual.
He refused to believe such individuals existed who lived simply to kill and who took pleasure in doing so. Perhaps it was naïve, but until recently he had never been face to face with someone so consumed by unadulterated hatred. Darker than the deepest obsidian, the Romulan commander’s soul swam in blackness at Lamont’s defiance over the ship’s communication systems urging the crew to revolt.
Somehow he had survived. Survived and gone on to play a role in rescuing Vulcan from another consumed with passions of his own. Countless Romulans had paid the ultimate price as a result of the passions of a select few. Too many Starfleet personnel had sacrificed themselves as well to stop their twisted desires.
Perhaps the Vulcan race had been wise in eliminating emotions. They appeared to be the core catalyst of recent events. Ego, hatred, pride – when unbalanced such forces and furies were more destructive than supernovas. And yet fate had smiled upon the Vulcans. Perhaps it had smiled upon the Charon, its crew, and perhaps even himself. They had by some miracle survived.
Yet it was ironic than the technology captured and utilized by the Romulans to attack Vulcan by surprise was developed by their own hands. The seeds of their destruction had been grown by a small group of Vulcan scientists who had foolishly scattered them to the winds. He could see no logic in their actions but he was no scientist had could not speak to their motivations. He was just a simple diplomat who was no longer the man he was two years ago.
The Charon had changed him. Had he not been uprooted from his former life and position he would still be that man who had sought nothing else but influence and power and all in the name of restoring his family honor. Honor. He had forgotten what it was. It had taken two years, a stern captain, and a few failures for him to remember what it was he had been fighting for.
Two years. He took a deep breath and released it. What a fool he had been and how distant that person now seemed. He couldn’t go back to that life and vowed never to return to such a conceited path. He had no idea what the future held, but one thing was certain. The Charon was his home and the crew his family. For the man two years ago who had done everything in his power to stay off the Charon now he could not be pulled away.
“Nevasa’s light often attracts many visitors”, a voice said at this side.
Lamont jumped having been oblivious to the arrival of another person. He turned to see an old, elder Vulcan gazing out over the horizon at the setting sun and its slowly vanishing rays of warm hues.
“It is quite breathtaking”, Lamont replied.
“Indeed. Nevasa’s light has inspired countless individuals and has illuminated many truths. The katra seeks it out drawn to its warmth and splendor. And yet, those who gaze for too long at its light can become blinded by it unable to see anything else. Even when bathed in the most brilliant light one can lose their way as if engulfed in a sea of impenetrable darkness.”
Lamont slowly turned to face the old man. He went to speak, but was quickly interrupted.
“Forgive an old Vulcan, human. My mind and my logic are not what they once were. I could not help but hear your voice and was drawn to a kindred spirit searching for answers to eternal and profound questions. I could not help but hear you speaking.”
“I..I haven’t said anything”, Lamont replied. “I’ve been alone for…”
“You did not call? I see. You possess the gift but do not understand it. Then you have come to the proper place. You must seek out those who can guide and instruct you. That which burns within has led you here, has led you home.”
“Forgive me sir. I’m not sure I understand…”
“I can hear your call. It is like that of a child crying out for attention. Your blood is bound to this place and flows with the gifts of the Vulcan people. Weak as it is you possess it nonetheless. To ignore it would be illogical. You must embrace that which you do not understand. You must seek the knowledge your blood calls out for.
Lamont gazed at the sun as the last of its brilliant fingers slipped beyond the horizon. Perhaps the old man was right. Something within him had awoken after being in close proximity to Cmdr. Sakarra while in the brig for an extended period some months ago. He had not been able to fully ignore or control the tiny flame within since that moment. He turned to apologize to the Vulcan extremely embarrassed his thoughts had been leaking again while he contemplated his deepest, most intimate thoughts.
The Vulcan was nowhere to be found. Lamont spun on his heels on the rocky overlook realizing his was alone, completely alone. Only the sound of a stiffening, cool breeze could be heard as he scanned his surroundings for the old man.
Had he imagined the entire thing?
Leaning against the railing Lamont closed his eyes. Perhaps the Vulcan was right. Somewhere deep within him was an enigma he had no answers for. It had been awakened and had slowly gathered strength over time demanding him to acknowledge its existence and teasing him with abilities both surreal and tantalizing. He had indeed done his best to suppress such feelings, but here in this place they seemed to be growing in strength. He was unable to ignore the feeling. Perhaps it had unconsciously compelled him to beam down to the Vulcan surface. He still was not exactly sure why he was here or what had driven him to this spot, or this place.
He needed advice. He needed council. Yet the only one he trusted for such things was unavailable contending with mental and physical issues of her own. He could not impose himself upon her, not this time. Somehow he had to find these answers on his own.
He rubbed his head. What would the ship’s counselor say to such introspection? Was he going mad?
He tapped his chest. “Lamont to Charon, one to beam…”, he stopped short.
“Nevermind. I think I will remain on the surface for a time. Sorry to have bothered you chief.”
“No problem sir. Call anytime. Enjoy yourself. Charon out.”
Lamont closed the channel and set off down the dusty path. He thought he recalled a village or town a mile or so away. Perhaps he could find a place to stay for the night and time to further reflect upon a great many questions, emotions, and events.”
[ To Be Continued… ]
Ambassador Ian Lamont
Diplomatic Advisor, USS Charon