Probably not quite what people would expact from "taking a stand".... * * * The girl sat lonely on the ground, her back against the wall of her quarters, her arms folded around her knees, her gaze determined onto the stars that lay dead still outside. The only light in the room came through the view port, and beams of faint light were projected onto the ground before her legs. But they didn't reach her, and the light didn't shone in her eyes which had adjusted to the darkness. For the past five minutes she had been contemplating on whether or not to order to the computer to turn on the lights, if only to divert her focus from the thoughts which assaulted her mind. She didn't know why she bothered, yet she continued to annoy herself by thinking how stupid people were. But not just stupid; ignorant, blissfully so, and they didn't even care. Others would argue that they couldn't know how ignorant they were, but she thought that was a lame argument: people were just too damn pretentious to educate themselves, and the less they knew the more they thought they knew. These were Starfleet officers! Supposed to be the top-notch, the best and the brightest, and she had found them to be nothing but a bunch of idiots. She supposed she shouldn't care so much, and reminded herself not too. Why did she care so much about people's shortcomings. She couldn't help but ponder on the uselessness of it all. There wasn't anyone who could understand anyway. The thought saddened her, and only greatened her reluctance to stand up. She had to get up sometime; she hadn't eaten for the entire time that she had just sat there. It felt as if she were having a conversation with herself. And nearly always, the pessimist won--or "cynic" actually: just because one doesn't have faith doesn't mean there can't be fun to it. Faith, in what? People? No, she most certainly didn't believe in other people. She knew herself, and she knew that she was selfish and self-centered and she could think of no reason why others wouldn't be worse. Faith in God? She laughed to herself at the mere thought. Faith in the Federation? Wasn't that just the same as having faith in righteousness? She had no reason to believe in good, and for all she cared the world was filled with only evil instead. Well, that wasn't quite true, of course, but it accounted to most people anyway. She remembered a philosophy class from a few years back when she was in the Academy. Her professor had taught her, and the rest of the class but she doubted whether any of her fellow cadets had ever bothered to pay any attention at all, that aspiring to righteousness, aspiring to do good, was, according to some grand old man whose name she couldn't remember, the ultimate purpose in life. She had thus decided that doing herself good would be her purpose in life, and had figured that as long as someone is benefitting from your actions, you're doing good. Even if that "someone" is yourself. Still with some slight faith in people at that age, she had raised the suggestion in front of her class and had been met with a bombardment of utilitarian remonstrance from her professor's side and nothing but approving roaring from the rest of the class. Now she asked herself why one would care to do good for others, as her professor had argued, if one doesn't care for others. What was the point in trying to help those people who were too proud to allow themselves to be helped, and ungrateful of any help offered regardless. Blessed be the ignorant; no point in educating those who didn't want it. Besides, she only needed look at herself to see what cleverness does to a person to be discouraged of any effort to enlighten to simple-minded. Not that she'd rather be stupefied, but at the very least she felt safe to conclude that intelligence and happiness were hardly equivalent--perhaps even to the contrary. Without getting up, she ordered the replicator to produce a steaming cup of raktajino. Although she had no intention to eat, she had positioned herself near the unit anyway, and now imagined how she'd argue to Dr. Hall that while technically the Klingon coffee wasn't food, it sure did amount to something. She reached out and held the hot cup with her both hands folded between her body and her knees. Good old Dr. Hall. She remembered the first time she'd really come to know him, which had been about a year after she'd come aboard. Even then, there'd been something in his manners which reminded her of her father. Or perhaps it was more the tone of her voice, which inspired confidence and always seemed to say that, no matter what, things would be all right. She missed that voice. He'd been the only other person on board this damned ship who wasn't so stupid as the rest of them. Not because he knew more, but because he knew that he was just as ignorant as the rest of them. He knew and took if for granted. Why couldn't she? Why couldn't she just accept life as if were? But when Hall had still been around, at least not everyone was so shallow. Now it was just her, surrounded with pitiful excuses for Starfleet officers. As she took a sip of her steaming coffee, the memory of Hall brought her back a year ago, back to the accident. She could see her own face before her as she'd sat contemplating her features in the mirroring broken glass of Robin's helmet. She could still feel the comforting touch of Hall's arms around her thin shoulders, the warmth of his chest as she's grieved Robin's death. She hadn't cried; there was nothing like that panicking, uncontrollable despair that usually came with the death of a friend. And it wasn't because she'd barely known Robin that she hadn't cried; it had been this sudden realization of uselessness that had struck her and that had saddened her beyond tears. She'd known Robin was like her the first time she'd seen her, smiling widely in her spacesuit, anxious for the first time to get out into space, alone amongst the stars. There'd been this twinkle in her eyes which had betrayed that she wasn't one of them: she hadn't been like the others, she was different. But she had gone, and now that Hall had left her too, there was no-one else. There was no point in staying here, but she knew she couldn't get anywhere else. Besides, there was nowhere else for her to go. She'd welcomed her commission to this ship originally, looking forward to meeting new people, hoping that some of them could become friends. She couldn't remember what had changed her; perhaps it had been Robin's death that had triggered it, and maybe she'd always known. She waved the thought away: she knew she wouldn't be able to remember and it didn't matter anyway. She emptied her cup of raktajino and placed it back in the replicator where it quickly dissolved. Then she calmly retrieved the phaser from her wrist and held it in her hands for a short while, staring at the device and thinking how she'd never noticed how innocent it looked. She adjusted the setting, held it to her head, and fixed her gaze upon the flickering stars outside the view port. She'd miss the sight of the stars. The blast would trigger the alarm, and they'd come for her soon. She pressed the button.
I would argue that this is the exact opposite of taking a stand, really. But I wouldn't question its validity. It isn't the first story I've read here to tackle the issue but it is powerful nevertheless. I was worried were exactly it was going to go and the ending did catch me by suprise. I liked it for that reason alone. Otherwise I would have liked to see a bit more insight as to why she doesn't like the other officers or why she thought they were all so incredibly ignorant. That train of thought really interested me. Of course considering what your protagonist is doing here we can assume that she has some psychological issues which might influence her way of thinking. It was also nicely tied into the events of your series which I'm following with interest but haven't had a chance to comment on yet.
Probably a kiss of death, but I really liked this. Captures my own sense of 'ecclesiastes' sometimes.
I just wrote this without really reviewing and editting it. It's a bit weak in some places and I should have elaborated more on some points... Particularly that it should have been more clear how she was thinking to "make a stand". But overall I'm pleased with it. That her suicide came as quite the surprise was supposed to reminiscent the plot of J.D. Salinger's "A Perfect Day For Bananafish", in which Seymour Glass kills himself at the end, rather unexpectedly so. CeJay, I'd appreciate your comments on "Walking On Broken Glass" also. I'd appreciate them very much. :-)
I find myself of a mixed mind regarding this story. I agree with CeJay in that to me this character's actions are the opposite of taking a stand, but it's a powerful story none the less.
I do see where the character might see herself as under siege. Perhaps she sees herself as taking a stand against the ignorance she perceives around her. I see a disturbed woman trapped in her own paranoia and depression. A very gripping and sad tale. Well-written!
I think there is a stand being taken here, of a sort. Not every culture has viewed suicide as negatively as our own. The ancient Roman Stoics, for example, defended each individual's right to decide when their own life just was not worth living, and to end it at the time of their own choosing. Seneca said that "mere living is not a good, but living well": therefore, a wise man "lives as long as he ought, not as long as he can." And in some cases, the Romans thought suicide could be noble and even heroic: the property of a condemned man who committed suicide would not be confiscated; so by killing himself, the criminal spared his family from having to suffer for his misdeeds. In a way, then, by killing himself, he partly redeemed himself. The idea that suicide is morally wrong arose afterward, along with Christianity. Yet even Christians applaud what might be called 'altruistic suicide'. "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." A soldier who kills himself by jumping on a grenade, to save his comrades, is seen as a hero, and is often posthumously awarded the highest honours for bravery. The main character here seems to have taken her stand on the more ancient principle: when life is intolerable, it's best to just end it. We may see that as a foolish and wrong-headed idea, and even as evidence of psychological illness. Certainly, you can read this story as a tragedy, in which the main character's tragic flaw is her own inability to appreciate life's possibilities. But it's a point of view nonetheless--and on this point, she takes her stand. And I thought my stories were dark and depressing.