This is My Last Confession
Posted on 18 Aug 2017 @ 9:25pm by Lieutenant Lake ir-Llantrisant
851 words; about a 4 minute read
Backpost to Season 3, Episode 4: Statecraft
Location: Starbase 74
ON:
Lake ir-Lantrisant’s Personal Log, Stardate 68037.5
I expect this to be my last night as a Starfleet officer.
If I reflect on my career, I wouldn’t categorize it as notable and yet I still record this for posterity. For any of you with the security clearance necessary to bypass my privacy encryptions. Given those of you so inclined, feel free to consider this my last confession.
Do you know how this all started? Can you imagine? I know something about behavioural motivation. I dabble. I don’t refer to my career —sorry, my late career— as a Starfleet Counselor as dabbling in an act of self-depreciation. Humble doesn’t fit me. I know how talented I am, and you must too, if you’re listening to this. No, I refer to counselling Starfleet Officers as dabbling, because the vast majority of Starfleet Officers are so painfully boring.
Most beings take action for love. They chase love, they flee fear, they crave sex, they hunger. That’s most beings. My last night of a Starfleet officer, it all started because I wondered, why not? That’s it.
Why. Not?
I was dabbling with a patient today… I won’t tell you his name, nor his department, but I’ll call him Gareth for argument’s sake. Gareth was listing examples about how one of his colleagues rejected him. I also won’t bore you with those tiresome details. Once he began to repeat the same story for the third time, my mind drifted to form an analogy about the rejection I’ve experienced in my own life. The moment my parents defected to the Federation in my childhood, my entire family was considered dead to the Romulan Star Empire (may it rest in peace). You wouldn’t think it possible for a government to hold a grudge through its litany of coups de main, restructuring and regime-changes, but if Romulans have one thing, Romulans have institutional memory. Romulans have memory written in the blood.
I struggled to craft another analogy to put his rejection into perspective. I thought about telling him about how Romulus fell before I could ever return home. Before I could ever try to return home. (Why did I never try?) I held my breath, waiting for my patient to stop talking, while I considered Romulus burning to a cinder by a supernova; I wanted to point out that at least his colleague never set herself on fire to avoid him. She simply chose another table, in the mess hall, to consume her lunch. She chose a different chair rather than self-immolation.
That’s when it happened. My patient beat me to it. He acknowledged how small that rejection might seem, compared to the way his mother won’t speak to him anymore. I should have let my analogy go. I should have followed my curiosity about what the patient revealed, and explored what it meant to him. I should have, but I thought I was so clever. I thought my analogy would help him see. Actually, no, that’s a lie. I can’t say I thought it would help. I just thought I was being clever and I couldn’t waste it. It’s like I was gassy? And I needed to let it out? It hurt to hold it in.
I spit the words out so quickly, I got them tangled. I think a few of the words got caught between my teeth. My analogy came out wrong; it came out so terribly wrong, it wasn’t an analogy anymore. I think I literally told him to set himself on fire, and then a vomited a little. I think. I’ve been afraid to check my recording.
It started with why not? I know you’re wondering how I got here; you’re wondering how I ended up in this place. If you’re wondering, you’re in luck, because I prepared a flow chart.
8. Vomit in my lap.
7. I told a patient to set himself on fire.
6. Installed a bar cart in my office, because the wood grain contrasts with the surface of my desk nicely, but also because
5. Ate a heavy lunch. I really should complete it with a digestif cocktail.
4. I should work up my appetite with an apéritif.
3. I’m craving a negroni. I’ve been craving one for days. I blame The Man for introducing us.
2. I had a cocktail with lunch, just once. I was enjoying lunch on the promenade; it wasn’t a Federation restaurant. I wondered if I could get away with it, despite Starfleet’s regulations on intoxication.
1. A handsome waiter offered me a drink. I wondered: why not?
I think I might be bored?
End log
Lake ir-Lantrisant’s Personal Log, supplemental.
Huh. He didn’t tell anyone.
Maybe I’m boring too?
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