Post by Nola on Aug 20, 2022 1:27:41 GMT
An Open Letter to Starfleet from Outgoing President Shezor Ell
I don't immediately know how to start this letter. 'Dear Starlfeet' feels odd, and 'To whom it may concern' is somehow both too casual and too formal.
Anyway.
I wanted to write this out before the end of my term, which is swiftly approaching. There are things I need to say, and some things I can't say, but need to at least try.
I'm currently sitting in my cozy home in Appalachia. My darling husband Darrel is in the other room making me something sweet, which I assume is part of a dastardly plan to make me too fat to get away from him again. I'm disinclined to dissuade him from this course.
Not that long ago, I faced the very real prospect of never seeing him again. I was being held in a Tzenkethi prison, and I was certain I'd be dead before long. I was certain the Federation was doomed, that countless millions might be about to die, and that it was all my fault for being a naive fool.
Obviously, I got out of that cell, thanks to a valiant Starfleet crew's decision to risk all to recover me. It'll be up to history to determine whether that risk was worthwhile, but I wanted to share my perspective with the organization that gave me my life back.
I wanted to quit when I got home. I'd been rescued, yes, but I was... damaged, and not only by what had been done to me in that cell. My return to Earth had been delayed, you see, because a significant portion of Starfleet had been turned against itself. Earth was not secure immediately after my recovery, and it would take a few days before the situation was resolved enough to get back to my husband.
It was my fault, I'd told myself. I hadn't seen one man's treachery in time to stop it, and now the Federation, my charge to protect, was fractured. Scores of worlds had announced their secession. Civil war. An end to the dream of galactic peace.
Dramatic, I know, but I've always been something of a 'softy,' as Humans like to say.
So yes, I wanted to quit. Darrel wanted me to quit. A significant portion of the remaining Federation Assembly wanted me to quit, and though they'd never say it, a fair number of the remaining Starfleet brass wanted me to quit, too.
So why didn't I? Why did I decide to stick it out for my remaining term?
I'm not going to self-aggrandize here. It wasn't nobility or gallantry that made me remain at my post. It definitely was not any amount of courage, either.
It was shame. It was guilt.
I know the last two years or so have been a blur. Many of you might only have sparse memories of that day, or might not have even been enlisted when it happened. When Ronan Karn showed his true colors, when Section 31 was exposed and turned the Federation against itself, it showed me a glimpse of a civil servant's greatest fear, but only a glimpse.
When Section 31 turned, the Federation faltered. The politicians were stunned, and quickly paralyzed by paranoia - who could be trusted in those terrified hours? The civilians were aghast, whole worlds frozen with terror as they watched news reports of Federation vessels engaging each other in combat through the heart of our alliance. I sure as hell didn't know what to do, either.
Someone did. In the single, most doubtful moment of the Federation's existence, one group of people knew exactly what to do. One group didn't falter, and didn't hesitate to do what was needed to secure the Federation: Starfleet.
Admiral Walker's deeds on that day are well known, but he would be the first to tell you he was not solely responsible for anything that followed. Ship by ship, fleet by fleet, admirals and captains and crews made the collective decision to follow their mandate of defending the Federation and its ideals. They broadcast ultimatums to the offending vessels, and followed through on those ultimatums. Section 31 was swiftly and systematically expelled from the core systems, from Earth and Vulcan and Andor and Tellar, and then Axanar and Archer and Sirius and Chara, P'Jem and Aldus, Alpha Centauri and Teneebia and Draylax.
The enemy was immediately and definitively denied the key elements needed for true victory. In the span of a week, the worst fears of trillions of Federation citizens were allayed thanks to the phenomenal efforts of Starfleet.
How could I run and hide after that display? When the Federation needed stability most, how could I simply limp into the brush to lick my wounds? A Starfleet vessel risked all to save me. Many more risked all to preserve the thing that I was in charge of preserving. If you weren't going to quit, how could I ever quit and live with myself afterward?
Maybe that's selfish. Maybe that's ego on my part. I know full well there are those who feel I should've done that very thing, that I should've gotten out of the way so that someone more competent, someone less damaged, could take charge. This is not the forum to debate that matter, and it's not for me to decide, anyway.
Nor is it really the point. The point is that the dream of the Federation lives because of you. This election is happening because you preserved the Federation when no one else could, and as difficult as the years have been, as high as the cost has risen, the reality is that the moment you stepped up to fulfill your oaths is the moment the Federation won this conflict.
You've inspired countless worlds with your valor and dedication. Whatever you hear, whatever the political reality we face, nothing can erase that truth. You've inspired our children. You've inspired our civil servants. You've inspired our laborers and crafters, our artsists and performers. You inspired one shattered, broken man to try and be brave, and to do what he felt was right even though it was hard.
Thank you. Bless you. With all of my heart, thank you for helping me get home so my husband could hold me as I cried and plot to fatten me up. Thank you for keeping Armageddon at bay. I will never be able to repay you for what you've spent in doing so, nor can any of us, but I will make it my life's mission until my dying breath to try, anyway. Whatever the future holds, I will never forget what you did for me, and I'll make sure nobody else does, either.
Good luck. Godspeed, and fair winds, forever and always.
Shezor Ell
I don't immediately know how to start this letter. 'Dear Starlfeet' feels odd, and 'To whom it may concern' is somehow both too casual and too formal.
Anyway.
I wanted to write this out before the end of my term, which is swiftly approaching. There are things I need to say, and some things I can't say, but need to at least try.
I'm currently sitting in my cozy home in Appalachia. My darling husband Darrel is in the other room making me something sweet, which I assume is part of a dastardly plan to make me too fat to get away from him again. I'm disinclined to dissuade him from this course.
Not that long ago, I faced the very real prospect of never seeing him again. I was being held in a Tzenkethi prison, and I was certain I'd be dead before long. I was certain the Federation was doomed, that countless millions might be about to die, and that it was all my fault for being a naive fool.
Obviously, I got out of that cell, thanks to a valiant Starfleet crew's decision to risk all to recover me. It'll be up to history to determine whether that risk was worthwhile, but I wanted to share my perspective with the organization that gave me my life back.
I wanted to quit when I got home. I'd been rescued, yes, but I was... damaged, and not only by what had been done to me in that cell. My return to Earth had been delayed, you see, because a significant portion of Starfleet had been turned against itself. Earth was not secure immediately after my recovery, and it would take a few days before the situation was resolved enough to get back to my husband.
It was my fault, I'd told myself. I hadn't seen one man's treachery in time to stop it, and now the Federation, my charge to protect, was fractured. Scores of worlds had announced their secession. Civil war. An end to the dream of galactic peace.
Dramatic, I know, but I've always been something of a 'softy,' as Humans like to say.
So yes, I wanted to quit. Darrel wanted me to quit. A significant portion of the remaining Federation Assembly wanted me to quit, and though they'd never say it, a fair number of the remaining Starfleet brass wanted me to quit, too.
So why didn't I? Why did I decide to stick it out for my remaining term?
I'm not going to self-aggrandize here. It wasn't nobility or gallantry that made me remain at my post. It definitely was not any amount of courage, either.
It was shame. It was guilt.
I know the last two years or so have been a blur. Many of you might only have sparse memories of that day, or might not have even been enlisted when it happened. When Ronan Karn showed his true colors, when Section 31 was exposed and turned the Federation against itself, it showed me a glimpse of a civil servant's greatest fear, but only a glimpse.
When Section 31 turned, the Federation faltered. The politicians were stunned, and quickly paralyzed by paranoia - who could be trusted in those terrified hours? The civilians were aghast, whole worlds frozen with terror as they watched news reports of Federation vessels engaging each other in combat through the heart of our alliance. I sure as hell didn't know what to do, either.
Someone did. In the single, most doubtful moment of the Federation's existence, one group of people knew exactly what to do. One group didn't falter, and didn't hesitate to do what was needed to secure the Federation: Starfleet.
Admiral Walker's deeds on that day are well known, but he would be the first to tell you he was not solely responsible for anything that followed. Ship by ship, fleet by fleet, admirals and captains and crews made the collective decision to follow their mandate of defending the Federation and its ideals. They broadcast ultimatums to the offending vessels, and followed through on those ultimatums. Section 31 was swiftly and systematically expelled from the core systems, from Earth and Vulcan and Andor and Tellar, and then Axanar and Archer and Sirius and Chara, P'Jem and Aldus, Alpha Centauri and Teneebia and Draylax.
The enemy was immediately and definitively denied the key elements needed for true victory. In the span of a week, the worst fears of trillions of Federation citizens were allayed thanks to the phenomenal efforts of Starfleet.
How could I run and hide after that display? When the Federation needed stability most, how could I simply limp into the brush to lick my wounds? A Starfleet vessel risked all to save me. Many more risked all to preserve the thing that I was in charge of preserving. If you weren't going to quit, how could I ever quit and live with myself afterward?
Maybe that's selfish. Maybe that's ego on my part. I know full well there are those who feel I should've done that very thing, that I should've gotten out of the way so that someone more competent, someone less damaged, could take charge. This is not the forum to debate that matter, and it's not for me to decide, anyway.
Nor is it really the point. The point is that the dream of the Federation lives because of you. This election is happening because you preserved the Federation when no one else could, and as difficult as the years have been, as high as the cost has risen, the reality is that the moment you stepped up to fulfill your oaths is the moment the Federation won this conflict.
You've inspired countless worlds with your valor and dedication. Whatever you hear, whatever the political reality we face, nothing can erase that truth. You've inspired our children. You've inspired our civil servants. You've inspired our laborers and crafters, our artsists and performers. You inspired one shattered, broken man to try and be brave, and to do what he felt was right even though it was hard.
Thank you. Bless you. With all of my heart, thank you for helping me get home so my husband could hold me as I cried and plot to fatten me up. Thank you for keeping Armageddon at bay. I will never be able to repay you for what you've spent in doing so, nor can any of us, but I will make it my life's mission until my dying breath to try, anyway. Whatever the future holds, I will never forget what you did for me, and I'll make sure nobody else does, either.
Good luck. Godspeed, and fair winds, forever and always.
Shezor Ell