I Am Starfleet

Posted on Wed Feb 13th, 2019 @ 1:52pm by Commander Rita Paris

Mission: Dance of the Valkyries
Location: USS Hera, Deck 6, Transporter Room 2
Timeline: 2396

My name is Rita Paris, and I am not a soldier.

Yet I am here, armed and armored in a warzone, leading a unit into combat.

I was brought into the universe on planet Earth 163 years ago, in a time very unlike this one. Yet there are echoes of my era in the modern day. I was born and raised Starfleet, and I in turn serve in Starfleet, in the tradition of my family. That was a universe away. But I am here, and I persist, despite the fact that the reality from which I originated no longer exists. In point of fact, now it never existed, through the wonder of paradox. Yet I persist.

I’m stubborn that way.

Beside me is the last surviving kolinahr of Vulcan, the only Master of Gol who was not on the planet when the renegade Romulan Nero destroyed it with red matter. He is Sonak of Vulcan, and he is my t’hy’la, my husband, my mate, my partner in life. He is the yang to my yin, the animus to my anima. He is Sonak- now no longer the last, no longer a man without a world. No longer a member of an endangered species, he is the center of my universe, the fixed point I orbit who empowers me to navigate my way through life.

Celebrating my individuality and emotional, passionate nature, he provides logic and structure to my mind and my life. We love and respect one another, despite- or perhaps because of- our differences. He is far and away the best man that I have ever known, although he is fond of pointing out to me that he is no man, as the phrase is sexist and speciesist all at once.

Not all of my old-fashioned views and perspectives are appropriate in this far-flung future in which we dwell. So I strive to be better, to expand my horizons and perspectives.

Behind me is Asa Dael, the young immortal El Aurian who is filled to overflowing with care for their fellow sentients. I worry that I am hardening their soul by bringing them with me into dangerous situations. But they continue to bounce back, and the well of compassion within them seems to refill each time after they see the horrors I seem to face, which always seems to demand that I bring along a physician.

I worry for the state of my own soul, with the violence I face which seems commonplace in this day and age. The doctor who ran away from home to join Starfleet because they could not wait to experience the universe is my conscience in white, the red crosses boldly declaring to the universe that they are here to help. I am keenly aware that my words and deeds today will echo through history yet to come in how it affects this young person who will outlive my great grandchildren. Thus they serve as a reminder to cleave to my better nature, even in the midst of war.

Particularly in the midst of war.

On my other side is Mnhei’sahe Dox, the Romulan girl who discovered that her heritage need not be a point of shame on the starship which represents the great melting pot of the Federation. Insecure, filled with self-doubt and self-recrimination, I have served as mentor and friend to her, and she has blossomed into a line officer who is on her way to becoming a starship captain. I am her role model, and I am aware of the responsibility that entails, as I labor to live up to being held up as such an example. This is Starfleet, and this is the job. I love her like a sister, yet I live with the perennial misgiving that I will fail her through thought or deed or word, and that she will fail because I failed her. But she must not know that, so instead I nod confidently to her, reassuring her all will be well as we go to war.

That confidence is a sentiment I wish I felt more strongly. But I am no battlefield virgin, and I am in command. I must appear to be the soul of cool confidence, for the others will take courage and fortitude and bravery from that.

Some days I miss when Sonak was the Commander and I was the Lieutenant. But those days are no more, as our roles have reversed here. As a Vulcan he has no pride nor ego, and his skills remain undiminished, thus his reduced rank matters not at all to him. He is still brilliant, calm, quick to react and competent beyond measure. I am the one who is prone to anxiety and self-doubt, though only he can see it, for he knows me more fully than another other living being ever will. I command because he taught me how, through patience, perseverance and example, as I now mentor those under my command.

We are gathered to beam to the embattled Starbase 336. Transporters are the bane of my existence, but I will beam into battle today. I am terrified because of my history with transporters, which have split me in two, rendered me a ghost, shunted me through dimensions and hurtled me through time and space. In theory the Department of Temporal Investigations has ‘cleansed’ my quantum field of the excess energies that it built up and was carrying, but I still deeply distrust the technology. I have a mission, and I cannot endanger the rest of the landing party with my own fears and weakness. Time is of the essence and lives are on the line, so Rita Paris will grin and bear it, and she will beam into danger.

It is an officer’s duty.

Behind me is the Baroness von Alcott, the captain’s adjutant who serves as her liaison to the piratical empire into which she was born. In truth they are privateers, preying on other pirates rather than assaulting the Federation’s shipping lanes or merchant ships as true pirates. A genetically engineered supersoldier, she is brave, loyal to a fault and possessed of a good humor that I find endearing. I fought Death for her, and she has saved my life. In battle with the Asgaardians, she has a conflict, as she is betrothed to the god of thunder, Thor himself. Yet here she stands, armed and armored for war, prepared to take a stand alongside the ‘fleeters’ whom she claims not to get along with, yet steadfastly defends by placing herself in harm’s way.

Clad in the gold and black armor that covers and protects my form, the hard armored augmentation EVA suit that is not quite powered armor, yet far closer than anything I have ever worn. It displays the Starfleet delta of my era on my right breast, while hanging off my back in an off-center loop of cabling is a cape I've attached for visibility to my enemies, to draw their fire. Bearing a heavy assault rifle capable of wreaking considerable havoc, I prefer the replica of my old Type 2 style phaser, magnetically adhered to my right hip. It is an eccentricity I am indulged in, as is my usual anachronistic uniform. A comm unit occupies my left forearm while a grapnel winch line occupies my right.

Upon my back I bear a blade, and a stolen Valyrie's sword at my left hip, for I am prepared for a number of eventualities. A winged headpiece I've added, clipped to my armor's HUD visor, as a bit of theater to bolster my courage in this Wagnerian opera in which I find I now must take the stage. I continue to struggle to convince myself this is merely an explorer’s protection from the hostile vaccum of space or planets in turmoil. Yet I only seem to don this golden armor when violence is upon us, and diplomacy has failed.

I do not want to fight, but I must. I will do my best to wound, to stun, to discourage without killing.

My opponents may not grant me that luxury.

All of this passes through my mind, as my away team assembles, and we prepare to beam. I will not make a sound, my teeth gritted and my resolve firm, because I must not undermine the confidence of the others. I must be strong, for them, for the ship, for the mission. I am afraid, desperately afraid, and every instinct I have warns me to run, not to do this, to seek a safer way. But there is no time, and it is a luxury I can ill afford. So I shall stay the course and manage my fear, and I will be resolute.

The landing party steps onto the platform, where Security Petty Officer 3rd Class Weinstein awaits us. Nodding to all involved, I leave the great weapon of destruction on my back and draw my phaser, set to heavy stun. Making eye contact with the transporter chief, I realize it is Mr. Kelley, who has witnessed one of my beam in events and been traumatized by it, though not as badly as Chief Fingerman, who retired on Earth after witnessing a transporter test involving me gone awry. I nod confidently to the transporter operator, lending him courage and conviction with my own appearance of calm that I do not feel. Steeling myself, I must speak with authority, to say the most dreaded of words in my personal lexicon. But this is bravery, I am told- to face the fear and do what needs to be done despite it.

I do not feel brave as I speak the word.

“Energize.”

My molecules and component atoms are converted to energy, and I still feel the process which I have been assured is quite impossible to percieve. I am aware of the passage of time as beaming occurs, and I desperately wish it would end, that I could close my eyes and simply not endure this. But the universe has other ideas, and throughout the process I am awake, aware and while it no longer causes me agonizing pain, I can still feel that which should happen in an instant stretch out over what seems like hours to me. In truth, it is but 6.293 seconds, which is still far longer than a modern transport should take. This is one of the signs that the universe is not finished playing dice with me, and that transporters still represent a clear and present danger to my well-being.

I see the station about me as we rematerialize, and feel the transporter rebuilding me piece by piece. The worst part is over, I tell myself, and I prepare to face the battle ahead.

I am calm, because I must honor my rank.
I am brave, because I must inspire.
I command, because it is my duty.

My name is Rita Paris, and I am not a soldier.

I am Starfleet.