[ Backlog – Occurs Prior To The Charon Entering the Nebula ]
[Personal Quarters – Deck Two]
Ian Lamont entered his quarters in rapid stride as the doors slid closed in his wake. The lighting automatically activated to its usual levels, but Lamont snapped at the computer and lowered the level to something less intense. The dimmed lights were far more soothing than their normal illumination level.
His fingers rubbed the bridge of his nose as he struggled with emotions that had welled up within him like a natural spring breaking through a hard, earthen surface. The last hour had been part terror and exhilaration. Nearly killed by a malfunctioning turbolift and being saved by the witty and ever so logical Vulcan second officer, Lieutenant Tyrax, had complicated what would otherwise been an average day.
Glancing down at the front of his uniform he could see streaks of green where the lieutenant’s injuries had stained the fine materials. He shed the uniform jacket and tossed it over the back of a nearby chair heading to a cabinet behind his obsidian colored desk. Moments later the ambassador produced a glass and a fine crystal decanter which he carefully uncorked. Pouring himself a small amount of the amber liquid, Lamont returned the decanter to the cabinet and took the glass with him to the living area.
He set the glass down on his coffee table and fell onto his couch exhausted physically and mentally from the day’s events. Working his foot free, Ian removed his boots and leaned back in the couch’s inviting cushions as a slow, steady breath escaped his lips. He placed a hand on his stomach and slowed his breathing focusing on nothing more than the slow, even sound of his own breath in the calm, quiet of his quarters.
There were many times he passionately wished for the mental discipline of a Vulcan to temper his human emotions. Now was one of those times. His mind was aflutter with adolescent thoughts and feelings he could neither explain nor dismiss. The harder he tried to suppress the undesired feelings the greater in intensity they seemed to grow like a wildfire rushing across a field of tall, dry grass.
He was unable to stop thinking about Lieutenant Tyrax and his undignified actions in sickbay. He had acted like a buffoon. How silly he must now seem to her? Had he actually asked her out for dinner while he carried her to sickbay? What was wrong with him? Where was his professionalism?
Ian reached down and took the glass of 30 year old whiskey from the table. Bringing the glass to his lips he indulged in a small sip. The potent and expensive beverage was immensely smooth. Its calming, warming effects were not lost on the troubled ambassador who struggled to make sense of his actions and the feelings for which he had no explanation. A slow, deep breath did little to quiet his mind which danced like a teenager’s at the electric sensation of falling…
“No”, he said silently to himself. Such thoughts were ridiculous, childish, and above all else were unbecoming of an officer. He had no use for such things. Ian’s iron will was strong, but not even his legendary stubbornness could tame the fires of the human heart. Secretly he knew this, but he was unwilling and unable to accept the truth as fact. Pride was partially to blame, but more so the ambassador was terrified of the truth. He had never been adept in matters of romance given his tumultuous past. The unpredictable nature of human attraction was a force he was unprepared and unwilling to explore. He had seen no need before and this time was no different. He simply needed some rest. The day’s events were simply amplified and vivid in his mind. Some sleep and a fresh start would cure him of this momentary affliction.
Ian touched the cool glass to his lips and slowly emptied its powerful contents. Filled with the warm after effects of the beverage, Lamont slowly slid backwards onto the couch. His gaze was a million kilometers away as looked upwards through his windows into the dark sea of endless stars. His eyes grew heavy in the calming starlight and a few minutes later the ambassador slipped into the inviting, warm embrace of deep sleep.
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Ambassador Ian Lamont
Diplomatic Advisor, USS Charon
