Star Trek:
Sigils and Unions
“Inhuman”
Disclaimer: This story, written in response to the "Overcoming Prejudice" challenge at Ad Astra (which stated that the attempt to overcome prejudice does not have to be successful) contains potentially controversial material regarding faith and ideology from our own world. Readers who may find themselves disturbed or offended by such content are advised to please seek other reading now. I would ask those who do continue to bear in mind that Cadet Spirodopoulos is all of eighteen years old at the time this is taking place. As for Commander Rotmensen—all I will say is to look at everyone mentioned in this story, and then to look at him, and then draw your conclusion.
Starfleet Academy—Main Campus
San Francisco, Earth
October 29, 2353
“Mr. Spirodopoulos!” The first-year cadet flinched at the sound of his name, called out by Commander Rotmensen in front of the entire lecture hall, filled to its two-hundred-and-fifty-student capacity. Students of various hues and builds—human, humanoid, and otherwise, turned to stare in the direction of the professor’s glare. Some shifted uncomfortably at the spectacle; others’ eyes gleamed hungrily. “You will report to my office immediately after class.”
Skata! he thought furiously, just barely managing not to whisper the Greek curse under his breath. This wasn’t the first time he’d had a run-in with the first-semester diversity professor, a human man of American birth. The first serious blow-up in class had come during a question-and-answer session and conversation had turned towards the war between the Federation and Cardassia.
Or as Commander Rotmensen would have it—the ‘conflict,’ or ‘dispute.’ Apparently ‘war’ was too rough and uncivilized a term to use if all the enemy was doing was strafing a few of your border colonies and not sending an assault fleet straight to Sector 001.
That hadn’t sat well with Spirodopoulos; apparently Rotmensen was one of that kind of Starfleet officer that had no use for the military component of the service—the very part in which Spirodopoulos had declared his intent to specialize in, right away. He’d heard there were some like that in Starfleet, but had hoped not to see the rumor confirmed up close, and not that way. It wasn’t like all or even a majority of Starfleet officers thought that way. Certainly his beginning personal combat instructor, Chief sh’Zathrien, didn’t, and had spoken of it as a war herself. Nor did he get the feeling all of his other professors would have agreed with Rotmensen either, even though the subject had yet to come up in their classes.
So what was it with this guy, and why had he felt the need to single Spirodopoulos out for this kind of treatment? The intense, scrutinizing looks had started before the ‘Cardassian War’ remark, and he couldn’t put his finger on exactly when—perhaps sometime after the first exam? But why?
Making matters worse, one simply was not permitted to continue as a potential Starfleet officer without passing both semesters of the class. The first semester was the ideological, regulatory portion—how the regulations had come to be and why. The second, taught by the beloved Betazoid professor Shalwa, covered more practical matters, including an overview of the many cultures within and beyond the Federation. It was also the only class at the Academy where attending a party—Shalwa’s famous food-and-tradition celebrations, where each student got to show off something from their homes—actually helped your grade.
But the simple concern of trying to explain why he had souvlaki and baskets of ketchup and fries at the same table—pieces of Greece and America, respectively—would evaporate into thin air if Commander Rotmensen succeeded in…whatever it was he was trying to do.
Rotmensen dismissed the rest of the class.
Spirodopoulos stood, swallowed hard, and whispered a quick traditional prayer in two languages as he prepared to follow. Kyrie Iesou Christe, Yie tou Theou, Eleison me ton amartalon…Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.
Commander Rotmensen sat down at his large, steel desk and scooped up a padd that had been sitting at its dead center, waiting for him. He didn’t say a word as he keyed it on and waited for it to power up, leaving Cadet Spirodopoulos standing at attention the entire time. Finally, Rotmensen set the padd back on the desk and spun it around to face Spirodopoulos. He looked up, meeting the Greek cadet’s eyes with a pale, stony glare. “At ease.”
Yeah, right.
“Do you recognize this?”
Spirodopoulos quickly glanced down at the padd, then back up at Rotmensen. “My Magna Roma case study, sir.”
It had been an uncomfortable thing to write, to say the least. The implications of Captain Kirk’s visit to 892-IV—a world known to its own people as Magna Roma—struck to the core of everything. Starfleet scientists had later determined, based on the Enterprise’s sensor logs, that Kirk had fallen into a parallel universe during his visit. It had been the world’s proximity (and that of its two ‘quantum neighbors,’ Omega IV and Miri’s World) to the former Delphic Expanse that had made the boundaries between universes so effortless to traverse in Kirk’s time. But the knowledge that it was a parallel universe, rather than another world in his own, didn’t make it any easier.
“Your case study?”
Spirodopoulos fought against his own clenched jaw to speak. “Yes, sir.
“Cadet Spirodopoulos. I am going to give you one chance to come clean.” Spirodopoulos bit his tongue. Excuse me?! his olive eyes barked as they flared wide. “You could not have written this paper.”
“Permission to answer the charge against me, sir!” Spirodopoulos ground out. It was false. Utterly and completely false. He’d written the paper—regardless of how disturbing the writing process had been at times—every last keystroke, from his own mind. HOW could I have ever fallen this low in his mind?! Spirodopoulos fumed. It made no sense. None at all!
Rotmensen nodded imperiously at the cadet.
“My paper is original work. That can be verified through the Academy database.”
“I have already done so,” Rotmensen retorted. “I have no doubt this case study has never been submitted before. But there are those willing to make an exchange for their writing services.”
“Sir, are you suggesting I bartered with someone to do my work for me?” Then he paused, truly hearing himself. His Greek accent—normally quite light—was definitely a bit more pronounced than usual. Was that Rotmensen’s problem? Spirodopoulos took a deep breath; he had to stay calm if he was to make his case. “I realize there are a few sounds I don’t always pronounce correctly. But I can assure you, that has no bearing on my ability to put a sentence together. I have spoken Federation Standard since I was a child. If my language skill is a concern, you can have me tested. And I can assure you, you’ll find almost no difference between me and a native speaker.”
Rotmensen shook his head, a thin, narrow-eyed smile upon his face. “Cadet, that is the least of my concerns. What evades me is how you could believe that I would ever fall for the idea that you would stand behind the responses to the Magna Roma scenario that you have submitted. Did you suspect your own answers would be unacceptable, Mr. Spirodopoulos?”
“What?!” Cadet Spirodopoulos couldn’t help himself. This wasn’t ‘just’ an attack on his academic integrity. Every shred of his personal honor had been put on the stand! “Why—sir!” he interjected before he got himself an insubordination charge on top of all of this. “Why? Why would you believe that wouldn’t be my answer?”
“Because,” the commander informed him, “people like you believe you are bound to interfere where the power to exert your influence exists.”
Spirodopoulos’ eyes went wide, and he went completely, totally still—not even breathing at first. That cannot be right. I cannot be understanding this correctly. It made no sense. Not from anyone, and not from a man in Commander Rotmensen’s position. Maybe…as baffling as it was…Rotmensen did not understand what he was implying, hadn’t thought about it. Yet to call him in here like this…was he simply afraid to lose face after Spirodopoulos offered to have his proficiency in Federation Standard tested? That had to be it; there was simply no way… “Captain Merik interfered,” Spirodopoulos retorted. “Even with Proconsul Marcus not revealing where the Beagle crew was really from—he interfered. It doesn’t matter how well he blended in with Magna Roman society; he’s still guilty.”
His hopes that Rotmensen would walk his remark back were shattered the instant Rotmensen opened his mouth again. “Anyone can see that type of interference is wrong. But what about the Children of the Son, Spirodopoulos? How could you expect me to believe you’d just…walk away? How can I believe you’d walk away, there…or anywhere, with all that power at your disposal—and as a security officer, no less?”
“Commander Rotmensen!” Spirodopoulos exploded, taking advantage of the length of the man’s full name and title to eat up the air time that otherwise would have gone to a number of choice words now that the accusation was all the way out in the open. “With all due respect—” None! “—you do not understand my religion! And how—how do you even know? I do not advertise to everyone I meet!”
That brought a rude, ironic sniff from Rotmensen. “Yes, you do. I saw that gesture you made after the exam…and with the kind of city you’re from, it wasn’t exactly hard to tell, Cadet.”
What?! This time, at least, Spirodopoulos managed to keep the indignant shout from coming out. He knew now what Rotmensen had seen: he had made the Sign of the Cross. He’d always done that after finishing an exam…he’d done his best and now it was in God’s hands. Spirodopoulos had received a few curious expressions and questions in this class, as he had in his other classes—some by humans, some by cadets from other worlds, but he hadn’t seen much difference in the way they’d acted before and after he’d explained his custom. Well…maybe a human or two hadn’t spoken to him again after that, but he could live with that. He would never know why they’d decided that: it could have been an objection to his faith, or it could have been that they simply had other things to do, but they hadn’t seen the need to berate him like this.
“I see,” Spirodopoulos stiffly replied. “I know of nothing in Academy regulations that prevents me…or any other student…from allowing others to find out about their religion.”
“Do you think I am ignorant of what your dogma requires of you?” Rotmensen snapped. “It is your purpose in life to push others into following your ways!”
Oh, that’s rich coming from you! Spirodopoulos fumed. “So the simple fact that I didn’t lock my faith up in my quarters constitutes bullying people? And that’s not how it works. That’s not how it was ever supposed to work! I was praying for success on an exam…I don’t see how that’s an attack on anyone!”
“You don’t seem to understand or care what it means to see symbols of the hate we as a people have rejected!” Rotmensen lowered his tone here—still just as ardent, but the source of it seemed a bit different this time. “And if you can’t even understand that—how can you be trusted to actually do what this case study claims you would do, and simply walk away from the Magna Romans without taking advantage of all the power you would have at your disposal to make them do your god’s bidding, and a prime opportunity the likes of which you people hadn’t had for centuries? How can we trust you to walk away from anyone?”
“Commander—again—with all due respect—you do not understand.” Rotmensen’s nostrils flared. Oh, God… Spirodopoulos’ stomach clenched. Am I about to get myself thrown out of the Academy? What was he supposed to think about that? What was he supposed to feel? “If I beat someone until they accept my faith—that’s not faith! That’s fear! And the weight of that sin is upon my head, not theirs! If someone has complained to you about what I did…tell me!”
“If they had,” Rotmensen shot back, “I would not violate their confidence. I would not put them into a situation where they felt I had facilitated a continuation of the harassment!”
“There is nothing harassing meant in the Sign of the Cross!” Spirodopoulos exclaimed. He almost made the Sign again—but he understood now: it was Rotmensen who had perceived the gesture as such a violation, not any of his fellow cadets. And he would not use his prayer as a weapon. “It is a prayer—a blessing…asking for the favor of God.”
Rotmensen propped himself on his desk with a slap of the palms, lunging forward as though bracing on the desk to keep him from knocking Spirodopoulos to the ground. “And what makes you deserve favor over everybody else on this planet? In this universe? What makes you any better than me? It’s exclusivist, absolutist, superior attitudes like yours that nearly destroyed our world!”
In the first instant—Spirodopoulos had no response. He was furious. Outraged. It hadn’t been his people who started the war…the patriarchs had condemned it every step of the way—how dare Rotmensen blame him, and his ancestors, something even the pre-war humans had learned was barbaric. And yet…and yet...dare he assume they’d never done anything wrong? All the way back to that first choice—that first failure to rise…
“It’s not about ‘deserving,’” Spirodopoulos finally answered. “Not at all.” God…it was hard not to say he wasn’t better than this man. Full of indignation as he was—he felt better than this professor, who harassed and attacked him, then accused him of doing exactly that to others, and for what? An act of prayer! It was the next words out of his mouth that went at least a little of the way towards calming him down. “None of us earned being loved. We didn’t earn dignity. It was given to us. It’s inherent in us all.”
Rotmensen shook his head with another derisive laugh. “We are all so loved—says the cadet who went into Starfleet because he wants to play with phasers.”
This wasn’t helping. This argument on doctrine wasn’t helping. Lunging back at Rotmensen for his absolute disrespect for an entire division of his own military…oh, wait, that’s right—he wouldn’t acknowledge Starfleet was a military, was at war…that wasn’t going to help either. Too much further and Cadet Spirodopoulos was going to explode and do irreparable damage. That was, if he hadn’t already. No one was going to be convinced here. Rotmensen wasn’t going to back down. And he surely wasn’t going to back down, either. This cheating accusation could destroy him—not just at the Academy, but any other academic institution he ever attended afterwards. Could Rotmensen get away with it? Could he really?
Spirodopoulos had to do something. He wanted to serve. He was called to serve. Oh, God…
This whole thing—it was happening because they were two humans…two humans with their people’s long, shared, tumultuous and sometimes agonizing history, a particular twist of which had left Commander Rotmensen dead set against him even generations later. If only this were Chief sh’Zathrien, Professor Shalwa…if only…
“Sir!” It was a reach, but it could work… “You’ve always said we are not to judge aliens and their cultures, no matter how repugnant we find their mores! We are not to impose! Would you treat a Bajoran cadet this way? A Klingon? An Andorian?”
Finally—finally—Commander Rotmensen stood without an answer.
“Commander. The work I turned in is my own. This accusation won’t stand. And if it helps—don’t think of me as human.” He feared what Rotmensen could have done to the file, if he were angry enough. But he had to believe he would be vindicated. Rotmensen had to see that he believed it.
Spirodopoulos stood at attention. He hadn’t been asked to…but it felt necessary in this moment. “Will the charge be submitted to the honor board?”
A low growl rumbled in Rotmensen’s throat. He sat down—hard. “No.” Damn you, Spirodopoulos imagined he could hear the man saying. That was it…Rotmensen was starting to realize exactly what sort of trouble he could be in. What do I do? Cadet Spirodopoulos thought to himself. His thoughts buzzed around in his head, arguing for and against reporting this incident. “Dismissed!” Rotmensen snapped—one final bark, one final attempt to reclaim dominance.
Spirodopoulos turned on his heel and marched his way out of the room, completely and thoroughly disgusted.
) is certainly a hateable character. I think all of us who've been in the shcool system long enough have encountered the occasional teacher who just...doesn't...like...you.
), that's pretty much what I was aiming for with Rotmensen. Such...ahem...larger-than-life figures do indeed have a real-life precedent.
I don't see it as a reason to do anything about it at all!
) Terra Prime...I could understand that one more, because there are jerks out there who would do that. But we rarely ever saw legitimate dissent among humans. It really makes you wonder what happened during the Post-Atomic Horror. 
