The Premier
“You must have a bias for action.” The Admiral leaned far over the podium as she delivered the closing lines of her commencement speech. Her voice echoed off grey pockmarked cement walls and she rocked as she spoke. “You can’t fake it. You can’t pretend it. You act or you don’t.” Students and staff sat rigid, straining to show respect. All but Emily.
“It’s easy to defend inaction, but easy isn’t a reason – it’s an excuse. And you’ll always do it from the starting line.”
Her skirt was pulled high on toned, crossed legs. She sat in stunning contrast to the older, battle-scarred master of the induction ceremony.
“Reflection is necessary. Strategy is important. But if you don’t act, the best strategy is worthless. You can think about anything forever. Acting need only be a nanosecond of decision.”
A ring glistened on her finger. She played with it so that everyone could see she was spoken for.
“Finally, always remember that you can recover from a bad decision, but it is impossible to recover from indecision. Indecision will kill you faster than the worst available option.” She paused and took a deep breath as she looked over the crowd. For the briefest of moments she almost looked frail. I could feel Emily smile. “Observe, decide, act, live.” A final pause. “And fight.” Her fist pounded the podium and the thud resonated in the chests of everyone in the quiet spacious room.
She shifted in her chair and yawned. Slender fingers pushed back long bangs that gently curved around the edge of her face.
“All rise!”
The 108th graduating class of the Army Officers of the Free Society rose to their feet – all 156 of them. Four months ago it was 742. Then there was the psychological testing and 543 remained. After the personal commitment exams it was whittled to 342. Finally the class was subjected to three rounds of Observed Internal Conflict Management. The group which bonded so strongly in the previous months quickly killed 12 of their members, sent 121 more to confinement, and suffered 53 dropouts.
“Premier, to the front! Second, follow!”
Emily Collette stood, her uniform skirt now somehow falling to regulation length just below her knees. I stood quickly after her, slow enough so that it was clear I wasn’t challenging her place as Premier, but quick enough to catch a full breath of her unauthorized perfume. She executed a perfect about-face and marched in time with the ceremony cadence to the front of the auditorium.
I followed her through the parted columns of our class. Marching behind her allowed me to see that no one dared meet her eyes. I don’t know if that was out of fear or shame. Probably both. After she passed, though, they had no problem raising their eyes to meet mine. A few proudly shown loyalty, more frequently it was disdain, but most just seemed glazed over.
Her speech was clear and concise. I heard very little. I already knew the heart of it. Where she would take us. Emily Collette had an unshakeable belief in her own destiny. And that belief would lead all of us into the fierce center of a raging conflict and I knew this is how we would probably all die. It was the prerogative of the Premier to choose where and how her class would first serve. The power of that choice was often front and center in the brutal negotiations that determined who ascended to the position. Factions formed around whether it would be a safe placement at a training station, reserve support in a prestigious brigade, or even auxiliary staff under an influential general. Not this time, not for us; the destiny of Emily Collette demanded a more direct path to glory. We were to be the officer corps of the next combat reinforcement brigade headed to Port Ne-Alm.
Though short, Emily’s speech was replete with rousing words, full of the patriotism expected of a Premier. But she gave it with a bored matter-of-fact tone that communicated she understood hers was a captive audience. While recordings were prohibited, she knew the speech would be published and distributed; its content would be her personal introduction to the leaders of the Republic. She needed her words to establish a reputation on paper, she did not need them to inspire the lot of us who were already bound to follow her. And if I learned anything about Emily Collette over the last four months it was that she gave nothing without taking something greater – not respect, not comfort, not compassion, and certainly not the burden of inspiration.
Still, her sense of the historical significance of this announcement required that it be delivered with an element of flair. So before she gave her decision she teased the room by listing some of the many great duty assignments she considered and nearly selected. The sweaty faces of her new subordinates twitched with growing anxiety as she eliminated one well regarded assignment after another. Finally she announced that our duty would be a combat reinforcement brigade. When she did, the attendant officers on stage perked up and more than one cry was heard from the class..Nothing about the monotonous droning or highly manicured appearance of this Premier suggested an understanding of the hardships or demands of war. They did not know her as we did. And then, before the room had time enough to overcome the surprise of her duty selection and wonder about what possible location she might make us serve, she gave it to them.
Breaking sharply from her demure delivery, she snapped her body to attention, bared her perfect white teeth, and shook the stunned room with a loud shout.
“Madam Admiral Tokea, we, the 108th class of the Army Officers of the Free Society, request assignment as the officer corps for a combat reinforcement brigade to Port Ne-Alm!” Gasps issued from staff and students alike. Emily relaxed her composure as abruptly as she had stiffened and strolled slowly back to her seat.
