To Serve
Posted on February 16th, 2021 by Scott Ammora

Bulkhead.

That’s going to hurt later. Scott was back on his feet. Stance sound, leverage through his heels, position optimal for fighting. Rush hard, weight of target can help lift the attacker into a better position for further assault, move to finish. Go.

Bulkhead.

Son of a bitch. At least the body absorbed most of the brunt. Get up. Position of attack marginal, proper placement to ensure physical prowess, hands outstretched to prepare for next manuever. Move. Lunge. Attack.

Bulkhead.

Are you kidding? The metallic taste of blood in his mouth moved Scott to step back. He took in his opponent – a huge Klingon, barehanded – and assessed his options. Low and fast. Lift and dump. Get ready, fake left, go…

Bulkhead.

Training programs are terrible. Scott was doing everything right. He was assessing his opponent, using the information he got at the Academy, and was standing his ground. Why was he being tossed around like a rag doll? Hand-to-hand combat is something every Federation officer learns… but when you’re a foot shorter than your enemy, how do you cope?

Brains. Use their weight against them. Be smarter. Move faster. Scott assessed his adversary and their position. This should be easy. It’s a program created by training personnel to ensure that the Starfleet recruits going through this process are faced with the highest level of challenges. The highest level of challenges to their abilities. A test to make men out of boys. This test is designed to be the most insane stress test to ensure they are up to the level of Starfleet security officers. It is designed to make sure that the best make it through while the mediocre find such a test beyond their means. The proverbial weed-out, as it were.

Scott wasn’t ready to give in. He trained for this. He worked for this. And he’d be damned if his final assessment was going to put him on the outside looking in. No, he had to do this. He knew how to handle this brute, he knew what skills he had to use, and he knew what would get him flying marks to be accepted to Starfleet Security. One move at a time. One strength at a time. Exhibition. He had this.

He planted his feet. He accepted the gnarled growl from his holographic opponent. He saw every movement that was about to happen to ensure his acceptance. He was ready. Attack.

Bulkhead.

“Fuck.”

“I have to give it to you, Ammora… heart of a lion.”

“What good is a heart if the skin is bruised?” Scott stood up, wiping the trickle of blood off his face.

“It’s not what is outside that matters… it’s what is inside.”

“Major, with all due respect, I think your hyperbole and one-liners are best for those wanting to protect the Federation from microbes and warp core anomalies.” Scott, his pride wounded and his face showing the physical detriment of his attempts, attempted to stand tall. He brushed off his uniform and placed himself at attention. “My goal is to serve Starfleet as a Federation officer, to protect those we oversee, and to be a stalwart resource for principles established in the Federation charter.”

Major Davidson was no newbie to newly graduated Starfleet officers. He knew they would be preaching their resolve for Federation unity, for Starfleet protection statutes, or for a unifying understanding of how peace should be spread throughout all four quadrants; but he also wasn’t stupid. A man of many years, of many battles, and of quiet force, Major Davidson was an officer to be reckoned with. His understanding of tactical scenarios, trainings of younger officers, and his forthright mentality of honesty was unsurpassed by any Academy instructor. This was the big leagues. “Would you care to physically meet that bulkhead again, Lieutenant?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time, Major.”

“Can you explain to me why you didn’t succeed? Taking into account all twenty-four previous attempts?”

Scott’s breath caught in his throat. He did everything right. He followed protocol. He stood his ground and fought with conviction, strength, and resolve. “I don’t have an answer, sir. I tried. I used multiple techniques, I tried different stances, and I also attempted to include non-Starfleet security protocol as a last resort. I came out with the same result. My failure here is… intangible.”

“Is it?” The gaze from Major Davidson was intense. There was no shifting of the eyes, no blinking, and no physical representation of uncertainty. The man stood before him hard and unmoving, unwavering in his instruction. No wonder he had his title, his position, and his presence: he was a monument of understanding and Scott stood still, his mind reeling on how to respond.

The silence in the room lingered. The holodeck walls had since reverted to the chromium-based pylons and the checkered floor. It had become a room of obscurity. The awkwardness could be cut with a knife, though not served with anything other than a bitter pill and savory critique. Scott straightened up, as if he could do so any better than he was already presenting: “One would assume that no matter the knowledge of combat, one is always bound by physical limitations. My stature was less than the Klingon in this situation and, therefore, I had no recourse for victory of any kind.”

“Wrong.”

“Sir?”

“Your fallacies are in your head, nothing more.”

“Sir, twenty-four failures show that – “

“Show that you haven’t achieved success.”

Scott’s blood boiled. His hands shook. His teeth were slowly eroding integrity. “What do you expect me to do… sir?” The word ‘sir’ punched like a knife. It was borderline insubordination and contained an antagonistic overtone that even Scott knew was unbefitting of a subordinate.

Major Davison looked at him. There was a moment of reflection palatable to anyone watching. “Be better in your next assignment. I saw that you requested posting on the USS Atlantis under Kathryn Harper. I’ll approve that posting, with recommendation… and misgivings. Your brashness is an attribute to your service, but a hindrance to your progress as a Starfleet officer. You will, undoubtedly, be less skilled than your fellow officers. But that doesn’t mean you are any less capable.”

The figurative iron bar leveled his posture and he stood proudly erect at attention… Scott was honored. “Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t thank me, Lieutenant. Thank yourself for perseverance. Even in failure we find new ways to find success. Your runabout leaves at 1500 hours tomorrow.”

“I won’t let you down, sir.”

“Don’t let Captain Harper down.”

And in that moment, minus the failures on the holodeck, minus the words of encouragement and wisdom from Major Davidson, Scott vowed that he wouldn’t let anyone down. He was a Starfleet Security Officer – sworn to protect Federation citizens, uphold values of his ilk, and to be the best officer he could be. That is what a Starfleet officer does: serve.