My Dear Reader,
Sorry that this is a bit late. I had a hard time trying to find something to show you, but I ended up choosing this because it will give you a real taste of what this story is about. The main speaker in this excerpt is one Admiral Alexander Chapman. He, along with his brother, Professor Angus Chapman, is trying to resurrect a special cadet training group (Red Squad) that had previously been banned because of scandal. In this scene, Admiral Chapman is addressing a number of advanced students whom he has hand-picked to try out for the team.
“We stand here today in full view of the Golden Gate Bridge for a reason. This structure, as many of you are aware, is more than a way for people to get across the bay: it's a symbol of Starfleet's heritage. Starfleet, as an organization that has been around longer even than the mighty Federation of Planets, was built by our intellectual and cultural ancestors, and their ancestors built this bridge. A marvel of its time, it has withstood the test of time better than its designers dreamed. The Golden Gate Bridge, an icon of an age, was all but destroyed in our conflict with the Dominion. Slowly, it will have to be rebuilt, piece by piece, until it is restored to its former glory. Starfleet has a similar fate. Starfleet will also have to be rebuilt with young people like yourselves. You are each here because Professor Chapman and I have reviewed your Academy applications and believe that you could be an integral part of this rebirth. Together, we will form a team that will train the best the Academy has to offer so that they, in turn, will have the skills to serve in Starfleet to the best of their ability. This team, this agent of renewal, will be called 'Red Squad.'”
Red Squad? That was why she was there? A chill ran down Carlotta's spine at the thought. There was a lot to learn when you were waiting tables so close to Starfleet Headquarters—she had heard all the rumors, and she knew most of them were true. She had a sudden urge to just turn and run away, but she decided instead to stay and listen. The bridge that Admiral Chapman had talked about had belonged to her, in the way it belonged to everyone in the Bay. The admiral had talked about intellectual ancestors, but she was the direct descendant of some of the original workers. The blood that built that bridge was now in her veins, and it seemed to speak to her as if carrying the voices of the dead. Her ancestors had built this city, and some had even had a hand in building Starfleet. It was her inherited responsibility to keep their legacy in tact. So, even though her instincts told her to flee, she decided to stay. She would listen to this man, and if he told the truth, she would give him a chance.
“Now, I know what some of you are thinking. This idea is not new, nor is the name. In fact, I'm sure that most of you have heard the sad tales of what happened to Red Squad in the past. I assure you, though, that this will not happen again. Red Squad, in hindsight, wasn't a mistake, but it was dangerous. The idea behind it was to take the red cadets—the command-oriented students—and put them in a position where they would get more opportunities to lead. It worked on paper, and for a couple of years, it worked in the field. Once the war started, everything changed. Students from other concentrations were added with the rationale that they would compliment the command students, but this was twisted into the idea that they were a crew unto themselves. Red Squad went rogue—used by a radical for his own ends, the cadets stuffed with enough hubris to make them believe they could act alone. They were put on a ship, made a crew to fight the war on their own, and all but one died. Red Squad was created to breathe new life into the next generation of officers, to give the exceptional students the chance to excel. Instead, their lives were wasted in an ultimately meaningless pursuit. But we need that breath now more than ever. It's not just San Francisco that's being rebuilt—it's the Federation itself. It's the fleet. Each of you has a chance at becoming part of that process.”
The admiral stopped to take a drink of water and give his brother a glance before he continued.
“It's true that we're still going to call it 'Red Squad.' The name hasn't changed, but the meaning has. Those of you who wish to try out for this project will need to understand this new meaning before you apply. Red means much more than command, more than just the true color of this bridge . . . it has a deeper, more primal meaning. It means courage, passion, and for many species,” he nodded at Saraal* as if to admit that she was about to be an exception, “red also is a symbol for the blood of those lost. The cadets that died trying to fight the wrong war—they deserve redemption. All of those who died in the war do. So when you think about joining Red Squad, know that we will be a team stained with the blood of our betters, of those nobler and abler, and that our true mission is to do whatever we can to to honor the lives lost. Many of you knew one of those lives.”
He looked out over the crowd, and saw heads bowed reverently as he invoked memories of the dead, some out of respect, some out of agony. The noticed that the Esposito girl looked especially grim, almost pale.
“As you go through the application process, I want you to think of those who you've lost. I want you to think of what you need to be in order to truly honor them. That drive is what you will need to join Red Squad.”
The admiral finished his speech and sat down, with Professor Chapman seamlessly taking his place.
“Thank you, Admiral,” he nodded to his brother, “Now, for the practical portion of this meeting. In order to be a candidate for Red Squad, you must enroll in my Survival Skills class. You may be aware that this course is normally reserved for second-semester students, so you will need to have special permission in order to enroll. There are thirty spots in the class, given to the most worthy applicants. Out of those thirty, only nine will be chosen for Red Squad. There will be no changes in the number of students allowed in the class, or to the number allowed in Red Squad. In order to request a seat in my class, please fill out this PADD and turn it in to either Admiral Chapman or myself by the end of the day. Dismissed.”
Regards, best wishes, and honor!,
-Cecily Jane
*Saraal is Vulcan. Vulcans have green blood.
Carlotta tried to smile sweetly at Abigail, but the corners of her mouth twisted into a look of contempt. She couldn't help it. How long had she been trying to be patient to this girl? There were times you were supposed to turn the other cheek, and no one could deny that she'd been doing plenty of that, but there were also times when you had to go to the moneychangers and overturn a couple of tables. There were times when being meek was the wrong thing to do, and now was one of those times. Now was the time to act with boldness in order to stop something and make it right.
You know the feudal system is over and done with, right?”
Excuse me?” Abigail showed Carlotta a face writhing in disgust.
The feudal system, you know—knights, princesses, and serfs? We don't do that anymore. It went out of style, oh, about a few hundred years ago.”
You are an idiot. Why don't you just go back to your kitchen?”
"Funny thing: first of all,” Carlotta wagged a finger at Abigail, “it's my father's kitchen, and it's a noble family history that has preserved and enriched the history of our culture. Second, you may have heard of something called the American Revolution? And maybe, you've heard of the Constitution of the United States of America?” Her voice was ironic and playful, making a great distinction from Abigail's poisonous, vicious tone. “It was seven hundred years ago, but you may have missed it, seeing as you're just the daughter of an admiral. Maybe he couldn't send you to the right schools.”
Abigail's anger was boiling over, and she pounded the table when her rage seeped over the edge. Carlotta wondered if Abigail was being violent in an attempt to intimidate her, but even if it was, the admiral's daughter should have known that it wouldn't work.
"If you were smart enough, and if you had paid attention in school, you would have been able to figure out for yourself that for the better part of a millennium, the rest of us humans have been intelligent enough to understand that all human beings are created equal. Should I look that word up for you?”
Abigail responded with a cold, hard stare that tried desperately to mask the fiery emotions within.
"And because all of us are equal, things like occupations, place of birth, and trivial things like that don't matter. You know why? Because we're not a feudal community anymore. We don't need to have a small, wealthy minority stand on the backs of the weak and emaciated. We no longer have to push others down in an attempt to catapult ourselves upward. Instead, we have a society of equals, where we each have an equal opportunity to be judged based on the factors we can control. Not the things we were born with.” She leaned over until she was only a few centimeters from Abigail's nose. “And it seems to me that only a person who was afraid of being deficient would resort to an attempt at weeding out the competitors based on characteristics that have absolutely nothing to do with the prize. So, Princess, it doesn't matter that my dad is a chef and yours is an admiral. What matters is what we've made of ourselves since we came out of the birth canal, and from a purely objective standpoint, I have managed, through my own hard work, to get higher test scores than you have. That, my dear, is a fact.”
By this point, Abigail's face had turned bright red in a heated rage, and it looked like she should have had steam coming from her ears. Carlotta saw it plain as day, but she didn't let it shake her resolve. She aimed to be heard, and she wasn't going to let Abigail stop her from reaching her goal—not now, not ever.
"Now, maybe you're right about the whole kitchen thing after all. Maybe, because I grew up in an environment where I had to work hard, and where I didn't expect to just be handed things out of status, I was better suited to do my own work when I got here. But what's absolutely clear is that I am proud of who I am and where I came from, and I'm proud of who my friends are. You may feel threatened by my success, but you can't stop it. You won't intimidate me, you won't humiliate me, and if you continue to try to destroy me, you'll find that you've merely wasted valuable time and energy on a pursuit destined for failure. Instead, you'll realize that you could have taken at that time you threw away trying to tear me down and spent that time working hard to improve yourself enough to actually compete with me. And if you take too long to notice that, you may find yourself old and alone, without any skills outside of intimidation and manipulation, which you will then realize are useless. You will have made a life for yourself that will be empty and worthless, with the blame squarely on your shoulders. Then, people won't look to you with the worship you crave, but they will see you as a harbinger of destruction by ego, and take you as an example of how not to live. The only true tragedy will be in the fact that you will see this for yourself only after it is too late to change it, but the cold, hard facts of the matter are that sooner or later, the piper must be paid, Your Highness. So I would think a bit about your future payment options before you run up too much debt in the present.”
And with that, Carlotta shrugged, and left Abigail alone to think about what she had said.
Regards, best wishes, and 11,741 words to go,
-Cecily Jane
