Crusade Ch3.
"...And as we look forward to the future of our grand United Federation of Planets, we can never forget the sacrifices and pain those brave men and women had to endure to make sure that we would have such a future. We must never forget those many lives lost in the horrible conflict with the Dominion, nor should we forget those lost on simple exploration missions. Each and every one of those brave souls paved the way for your bright new future; make sure you never forget them. I hope you will take their legacy with you as you begin your own trek through the stars. Thank you."
Cadet Jacob Norman did all he could to keep from fidgeting like a distressed rabbit as he stood at attention listening to the recorded message sent by the president of the Federation. Ever since the end of the war, the president had always sent one of these things to that year's graduating cadets. And they were all alike: long, drawn out, and boring.
Norman had always hated these pompous and useless ordeals, and these long speeches always seemed to reinforce his hatred. Ever since he was seven years old at his elementary school's honors student's recognition ceremony, and the principal talked for nearly two hours straight, he had always hated these things. The whole idea of standing still for hours on end while people he never even knew existed gave long speeches on the future and politics and all kinds of other garbage just made his skin crawl. Why did people insist on going through these things?
To Norman, the explanation was simple: people enjoy pain. That had to be it. Somewhere in each and every being's deepest psyche, they all enjoyed just a little bit of torment. And these ceremonies were always filled with enough pain to satisfy even a Klingon.
Fortunately, Norman had endured this one last ceremony with at least passable colors. As the message ended, every cadet did a sharp turn from the large screen that projected the president's address, to the high-seated podium that every speaker had stood behind for the last three and a half hours.
Three hours, thirty-one minutes and fifteen seconds to be exact, thought Norman as he completed his turn.
At the podium, the dean of Starfleet academy was standing in as much of a dignified pose at the portly man could muster. His Starfleet uniform was practically bursting at the seams from having to squeeze in so much heavy fat cells. Norman had always wondered why this man had never even spent an infinitesimal amount of time at the academy's gym, to at least give his uniform some breathing room.
But Norman had to admonish himself; that man probably didn't go to the gym because he was so busy making sure your sorry posterior stayed healthy and educated during your stay here.
The dean looked over each and every student before beginning the last speech of the ceremony:
"Cadets, I have seen each and every one of you grow from bright, hopeful first-year cadets into the future of Starfleet as we know it. I remember going over all of your files as you all paraded off of the shuttle that dropped you off here. I remember personally helping you solve some of life's most difficult problems while you adjusted to life here. I also remember some of the discipline I have been forced to give out to some of you who refused to listen." The dean looked directly at Norman at that comment.
Once, Norman and a few friends thought it would be a good idea to steal a bit of some of the gelatin dessert being served at a dignitary ball one year. The mission was a success until Norman made the mistake of bumping into the dean while he tried to sneak out of the dining hall with an armful of gelatin. Norman would never forget seeing that pristine white uniform suddenly tarnished with a huge pink stain that covered the dean's entire gigantic midsection.
Norman and his friends spent the next three months spending their free time cleaning dishes and floors at the very hall they tried their plan. He also remembered that time because, while he was busy scrubbing a particularly nasty pan, another cadet ran into the kitchen shouting that the war with the Dominion had begun. Norman had spent quite some time trying to calm the cadet down, and to tell him everything she had heard. It wasn't long before the academy held emergency bombing drills just for the unlikely event the war actually reached Earth.
Those drills probably saved Norman's life, because, during a field trip to downtown San Francisco, the Breen attacked the city. Norman took semi charge of the cadets along with the teacher that had been escorting them, and made sure each of the cadets and even some civilians take cover. Fortunately, nobody was killed in their little party, but the devastation to the city was enormous.
In the months after the attack, Norman, just like every other cadet, had to adjust to the new course the academy was heading toward. Because the war was so taxing on lives, classes were accelerated as well as just cancelled. Norman's second year was by far the fastest year of his life in terms of academics.
But as the war slowly turned in favor of the Federation and her allies, all the classes turned back to normal, and Norman had to once again sit through warp-field theory 101 for a full term.
The dean looked away from Norman slowly and continued his speech, "I know that your years here have been unlike any other cadet will ever have to go through again. The horrors of war actually reached up to the very doorstep of this facility, but, through the grace of providence and fortune, this place made it through. And I thank you all for your fine work in making sure it will stay that way for all future generations of Starfleet graduates."
The dean looked over the group of cadets again before taking a long breath and began to speak slowly, "Graduates of this year, congratulations. You are all now members of the Federation Starfleet."
The roar from the cadets nearly deafened everyone in the entire hall, and it lasted for quite some time. Norman made sure he contributed to the riotous noise, shouting and screaming at the top of his lungs, and jumping around with some more exited cadets. The only people who weren't contributing were a small band of Vulcan cadets who were all huddled together, all making what looked like derogatory looks at the other, more joyful cadets. Norman could tell, though, that those looks were all just a mask for the irrepressible joy they felt along with the entire crowd for their graduation.
The group of parents and Starfleet personnel who were in attendance began to add their noise to the clamor when they began to clap respectfully. Eventually, though, some proud parents began to whistle and shout, "That's my son/daughter/offspring!" The entire show of unrestrained joy and passion lasted for nearly five whole minutes before it began to quiet down in favor of unending rounds of holopic-taking and congratulation hugs/handshakes between parents and cadets. Even the Vulcan group began to talk with a group of older Vulcans, Norman saw.
Then, the worst part of any ceremony began for Norman. The one thing that made standing still for hours seem like a cakewalk. The one thing in the entire universe that could possibly make even a Borg run away in fear for his life: his parents.
"There's my honey buns!" shouted a female voice from the back of the crowded room. Norman was always surprised at how his mother's voice was able to slice through any noise, no matter how loud, like a laser.
"Yeah, I see him!" Norman's father joined in. While not as loud, his father could project his voice with the best of them.
Jacob Norman learned long ago not to run from the coming onslaught of hugs and pictures, or it would only get worse the longer they had to wait. Within seconds, the duo of slightly overweight humans, adorned in classic colorful Hawaiian-print shirts and khaki shorts nearly trampled their son to the floor. But that might have been preferable to the crushing hug his mother gave him, and the unnecessarily rough noogie his father made him endure.
"I can't believe you made it, son!" Mrs. Norman cried in joy, her obvious tears smearing her makeup, "We are so proud of you!"
"Yeah, son," Mr. Norman said, "We are really proud. Can you believe it, our own son in Starfleet, hopping galaxies, spreading the name of Norman across the stars like that Captain...uh, Kook?"
"Kite?" Mrs. Norman tried.
"I know, Kooky! Captain John Kooky, right, son?"
"Actually, dad, it's Captain Kirk, James Kirk. And I don't think I'll be "spreading the name" like him anytime soon."
"Aw, you know I'm just messin' with ya, boy. I'm just so proud of you! Now c'mon, let your mother take some pics for your aunts and uncles back home."
Jacob agreed hastily, wanting this to be over as soon as possible. He loved his parents very much, but like any child, knew that any extended period with them in an open place was just asking for trouble. The holopic session lasted for a short time, usually with Jacob, a friend, and at least one parent doing some pose that Mrs. Norman was sure a relative would love.
Fortunately, the picture-taking went faster than Jacob thought possible, and soon he was standing inside his cadet's quarters, looking over things before packing them into a bag nearly the size of his bed. His parents had retired to their hotel room and were waiting there for him to arrive so they could share one last family meal before he was assigned to his first ship.
Jacob looked over a picture of himself and a few other cadets after their first EVA test. All of them looked disheveled and sick, but all looked triumphant in their own right. Another picture showed Jacob and his onetime romance, Christine Woods. They were an item for about six months before she decided that the Starfleet way of life was not for her, and transferred out. The last he heard of her was that she was pursuing artistically minded studies on Risa.
Jacob stuffed every picture and banner of Starfleet and stuffed them into any available space he could find in his bag. Eventually, he had packed every momento and item he had collected over his four years at Starfleet academy into a single bag, leaving the room as stark and bland as it had when he first entered it. The only thing out of place in this empty room was a lightly beeping padd.
That's funny, Norman thought as he went to pick it up. He wasn't supposed to be notified about what his first assignment was until later tomorrow, and besides, padds outside of official areas were not a common sight. Norman picked up the padd and looked over the text. At first, he wasn't quite sure what it was, just a bunch of senseless forwarding addresses and numbers that went on for at least six pages. Norman concluded that, if anything, this was one of the longest chain letters in history sent to him by a still playful cadet.
But those thoughts changed when he saw the bottom of the text message. After the pages of meaningless names and numbers, a full message was now scrolling across his padd. It started out with a typical congratulatory note by the writer about his graduation, and what looked like a half- hearted attempt at idle chatter, which Jacob quickly scrolled past.
Until the very end. Whoever wrote the message said they already knew where his first assignment was going to be, and that it was going to be a wonderful first voyage for any young and upcoming career Starfleet hopeful. Norman looked over the paragraph to see if they revealed this mysterious "wonderful opportunity", but the writer remained artfully quiet. Then the message went serious. The writer spoke of concerns about the future of Federation security and how Starfleet was now more vulnerable than ever to an outside infiltration. The message said that there was only one hope for the future. An organization built to fight fire with fire. It was a group that had turned the tables on countless hostile invasions long before they threatened a single soul. It was a group that had been around since the founding of the Federation, and would last until the bitter end.
The last line of the paragraph asked: Are you interested in joining Section 31?
"...And as we look forward to the future of our grand United Federation of Planets, we can never forget the sacrifices and pain those brave men and women had to endure to make sure that we would have such a future. We must never forget those many lives lost in the horrible conflict with the Dominion, nor should we forget those lost on simple exploration missions. Each and every one of those brave souls paved the way for your bright new future; make sure you never forget them. I hope you will take their legacy with you as you begin your own trek through the stars. Thank you."
Cadet Jacob Norman did all he could to keep from fidgeting like a distressed rabbit as he stood at attention listening to the recorded message sent by the president of the Federation. Ever since the end of the war, the president had always sent one of these things to that year's graduating cadets. And they were all alike: long, drawn out, and boring.
Norman had always hated these pompous and useless ordeals, and these long speeches always seemed to reinforce his hatred. Ever since he was seven years old at his elementary school's honors student's recognition ceremony, and the principal talked for nearly two hours straight, he had always hated these things. The whole idea of standing still for hours on end while people he never even knew existed gave long speeches on the future and politics and all kinds of other garbage just made his skin crawl. Why did people insist on going through these things?
To Norman, the explanation was simple: people enjoy pain. That had to be it. Somewhere in each and every being's deepest psyche, they all enjoyed just a little bit of torment. And these ceremonies were always filled with enough pain to satisfy even a Klingon.
Fortunately, Norman had endured this one last ceremony with at least passable colors. As the message ended, every cadet did a sharp turn from the large screen that projected the president's address, to the high-seated podium that every speaker had stood behind for the last three and a half hours.
Three hours, thirty-one minutes and fifteen seconds to be exact, thought Norman as he completed his turn.
At the podium, the dean of Starfleet academy was standing in as much of a dignified pose at the portly man could muster. His Starfleet uniform was practically bursting at the seams from having to squeeze in so much heavy fat cells. Norman had always wondered why this man had never even spent an infinitesimal amount of time at the academy's gym, to at least give his uniform some breathing room.
But Norman had to admonish himself; that man probably didn't go to the gym because he was so busy making sure your sorry posterior stayed healthy and educated during your stay here.
The dean looked over each and every student before beginning the last speech of the ceremony:
"Cadets, I have seen each and every one of you grow from bright, hopeful first-year cadets into the future of Starfleet as we know it. I remember going over all of your files as you all paraded off of the shuttle that dropped you off here. I remember personally helping you solve some of life's most difficult problems while you adjusted to life here. I also remember some of the discipline I have been forced to give out to some of you who refused to listen." The dean looked directly at Norman at that comment.
Once, Norman and a few friends thought it would be a good idea to steal a bit of some of the gelatin dessert being served at a dignitary ball one year. The mission was a success until Norman made the mistake of bumping into the dean while he tried to sneak out of the dining hall with an armful of gelatin. Norman would never forget seeing that pristine white uniform suddenly tarnished with a huge pink stain that covered the dean's entire gigantic midsection.
Norman and his friends spent the next three months spending their free time cleaning dishes and floors at the very hall they tried their plan. He also remembered that time because, while he was busy scrubbing a particularly nasty pan, another cadet ran into the kitchen shouting that the war with the Dominion had begun. Norman had spent quite some time trying to calm the cadet down, and to tell him everything she had heard. It wasn't long before the academy held emergency bombing drills just for the unlikely event the war actually reached Earth.
Those drills probably saved Norman's life, because, during a field trip to downtown San Francisco, the Breen attacked the city. Norman took semi charge of the cadets along with the teacher that had been escorting them, and made sure each of the cadets and even some civilians take cover. Fortunately, nobody was killed in their little party, but the devastation to the city was enormous.
In the months after the attack, Norman, just like every other cadet, had to adjust to the new course the academy was heading toward. Because the war was so taxing on lives, classes were accelerated as well as just cancelled. Norman's second year was by far the fastest year of his life in terms of academics.
But as the war slowly turned in favor of the Federation and her allies, all the classes turned back to normal, and Norman had to once again sit through warp-field theory 101 for a full term.
The dean looked away from Norman slowly and continued his speech, "I know that your years here have been unlike any other cadet will ever have to go through again. The horrors of war actually reached up to the very doorstep of this facility, but, through the grace of providence and fortune, this place made it through. And I thank you all for your fine work in making sure it will stay that way for all future generations of Starfleet graduates."
The dean looked over the group of cadets again before taking a long breath and began to speak slowly, "Graduates of this year, congratulations. You are all now members of the Federation Starfleet."
The roar from the cadets nearly deafened everyone in the entire hall, and it lasted for quite some time. Norman made sure he contributed to the riotous noise, shouting and screaming at the top of his lungs, and jumping around with some more exited cadets. The only people who weren't contributing were a small band of Vulcan cadets who were all huddled together, all making what looked like derogatory looks at the other, more joyful cadets. Norman could tell, though, that those looks were all just a mask for the irrepressible joy they felt along with the entire crowd for their graduation.
The group of parents and Starfleet personnel who were in attendance began to add their noise to the clamor when they began to clap respectfully. Eventually, though, some proud parents began to whistle and shout, "That's my son/daughter/offspring!" The entire show of unrestrained joy and passion lasted for nearly five whole minutes before it began to quiet down in favor of unending rounds of holopic-taking and congratulation hugs/handshakes between parents and cadets. Even the Vulcan group began to talk with a group of older Vulcans, Norman saw.
Then, the worst part of any ceremony began for Norman. The one thing that made standing still for hours seem like a cakewalk. The one thing in the entire universe that could possibly make even a Borg run away in fear for his life: his parents.
"There's my honey buns!" shouted a female voice from the back of the crowded room. Norman was always surprised at how his mother's voice was able to slice through any noise, no matter how loud, like a laser.
"Yeah, I see him!" Norman's father joined in. While not as loud, his father could project his voice with the best of them.
Jacob Norman learned long ago not to run from the coming onslaught of hugs and pictures, or it would only get worse the longer they had to wait. Within seconds, the duo of slightly overweight humans, adorned in classic colorful Hawaiian-print shirts and khaki shorts nearly trampled their son to the floor. But that might have been preferable to the crushing hug his mother gave him, and the unnecessarily rough noogie his father made him endure.
"I can't believe you made it, son!" Mrs. Norman cried in joy, her obvious tears smearing her makeup, "We are so proud of you!"
"Yeah, son," Mr. Norman said, "We are really proud. Can you believe it, our own son in Starfleet, hopping galaxies, spreading the name of Norman across the stars like that Captain...uh, Kook?"
"Kite?" Mrs. Norman tried.
"I know, Kooky! Captain John Kooky, right, son?"
"Actually, dad, it's Captain Kirk, James Kirk. And I don't think I'll be "spreading the name" like him anytime soon."
"Aw, you know I'm just messin' with ya, boy. I'm just so proud of you! Now c'mon, let your mother take some pics for your aunts and uncles back home."
Jacob agreed hastily, wanting this to be over as soon as possible. He loved his parents very much, but like any child, knew that any extended period with them in an open place was just asking for trouble. The holopic session lasted for a short time, usually with Jacob, a friend, and at least one parent doing some pose that Mrs. Norman was sure a relative would love.
Fortunately, the picture-taking went faster than Jacob thought possible, and soon he was standing inside his cadet's quarters, looking over things before packing them into a bag nearly the size of his bed. His parents had retired to their hotel room and were waiting there for him to arrive so they could share one last family meal before he was assigned to his first ship.
Jacob looked over a picture of himself and a few other cadets after their first EVA test. All of them looked disheveled and sick, but all looked triumphant in their own right. Another picture showed Jacob and his onetime romance, Christine Woods. They were an item for about six months before she decided that the Starfleet way of life was not for her, and transferred out. The last he heard of her was that she was pursuing artistically minded studies on Risa.
Jacob stuffed every picture and banner of Starfleet and stuffed them into any available space he could find in his bag. Eventually, he had packed every momento and item he had collected over his four years at Starfleet academy into a single bag, leaving the room as stark and bland as it had when he first entered it. The only thing out of place in this empty room was a lightly beeping padd.
That's funny, Norman thought as he went to pick it up. He wasn't supposed to be notified about what his first assignment was until later tomorrow, and besides, padds outside of official areas were not a common sight. Norman picked up the padd and looked over the text. At first, he wasn't quite sure what it was, just a bunch of senseless forwarding addresses and numbers that went on for at least six pages. Norman concluded that, if anything, this was one of the longest chain letters in history sent to him by a still playful cadet.
But those thoughts changed when he saw the bottom of the text message. After the pages of meaningless names and numbers, a full message was now scrolling across his padd. It started out with a typical congratulatory note by the writer about his graduation, and what looked like a half- hearted attempt at idle chatter, which Jacob quickly scrolled past.
Until the very end. Whoever wrote the message said they already knew where his first assignment was going to be, and that it was going to be a wonderful first voyage for any young and upcoming career Starfleet hopeful. Norman looked over the paragraph to see if they revealed this mysterious "wonderful opportunity", but the writer remained artfully quiet. Then the message went serious. The writer spoke of concerns about the future of Federation security and how Starfleet was now more vulnerable than ever to an outside infiltration. The message said that there was only one hope for the future. An organization built to fight fire with fire. It was a group that had turned the tables on countless hostile invasions long before they threatened a single soul. It was a group that had been around since the founding of the Federation, and would last until the bitter end.
The last line of the paragraph asked: Are you interested in joining Section 31?