How do we say goodbye to Lieutenant Chapman?
Back in the days of sailing ships, captains would conduct
funerals for sailors lost in action. Burial at sea, as they called it. These
days we’re launching coffins out of starships and sending them falling into
stars or onto planets. Come to think of it, that’s probably not a good idea.
What if it crashes into a religious site on a pre-warp civilization planet and
ends up leaving them irritated with the Federation?
Anyway, that’s beside the point.
Lieutenant Chapman graduated top in his class at the Academy
with an emphasis on becoming a security officer. That would mean going out in
the stars in starships… as a red shirt.
They say red shirts don’t last long out there in the stars.
They seem to be cannon fodder. They seem to die a lot on away missions on planets
far from home. They meet horrible endings at the hands of mysterious beings or
in engineering mishaps. They seem to lurk in the background around the core of
the command. At least until they meet grisly ends.
They say being a red shirt is a curse. Well, I say that’s a
superstition, and this is supposed to be an age without superstition. I mean,
if all red shirts were meant to die,
how do you explain Scotty? He’s still alive and well and sneaking gulps from
that flask he carries. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the flask, Mr. Scott. We
need to talk about your drinking habits.
Lieutenant Chapman survived it all. Space engagements with
the Klingons and Romulans. Skirmishes on distant worlds with the Ferengi. Wait
a minute, have they been written into the continuity yet? Somebody ask Gene.
He survived that diplomatic incident we had with the Andorians
that left them not talking to us for a year. I mean, just because he tripped
and knocked the ambassador over didn’t mean they had to ignore us. What a bunch of ingrates. He survived the telepathic
aliens trying to alter our minds, and the mirror universe Spock. He survived
that warp core explosion that took out twenty-three of our red shirts in
engineering last year. Which reminds me, we need more red shirts. Both the
shirts, and officers to wear them. We’re running out of both.
Lieutenant Chapman survived that time we were on Talos Prime
and the toga wearing aliens pitted us all against each other. On a related
note, what is it about aliens in togas? If this was a television show, you’d
think the costume department was being run on the cheap. He survived that whole
mishap with Khan. Which reminds me, do you think Khan’s going to be pissed off
someday about the whole abandoning him and his people thing if we go back to
Ceti Alpha Five?
Chapman survived the volcanic eruption on Gama Prime. He
escaped from the giant spiders on Theta Seven that ate six of our red shirts.
He even managed to get away from those phaser arms dealers on Nexos Two. I was
busy making out with their princess, so thanks to Spock and Bones for handling
that with their usual decorum and tact. He even survived that encounter with
the Daleks, which we can’t talk about, because the other studio never signed
off on that crossover. Wait a minute, I didn’t write that. Spock, who wrote
this? What do you mean, someone’s breaking the Fourth Wall? What’s a Fourth
Wall? Where’s... the logic... in that?
I’m getting off track. Back to Lieutenant Chapman. Truly one... of
the luckiest red shirts around. But luck ran out. Maybe it’s true. Maybe being
a red shirt means putting a target on your back.
Maybe death, or fate, or whatever it is, is more than just
an allegorical figure in a black robe, stalking us when our time is up. Maybe
death sees red shirts as easy pickings, an old Earth expression.
Maybe it’s just inevitable.
Lieutenant Chapman knew the risks of being a Federation
security officer. He knew the high death tolls associated with being a red
shirt. But he did his duty with courage and integrity and fortitude. He saw his
fellow red shirts die in awful ways. He knew the stories about being turned to
rock and fed to giant lizards and transporter accidents and warp breaches and
all that.
And still he served.
Until the day the Klingons attacked us again.
Oh, sure, the day was ours. We fought them off. Kicked their asses.
But not before they did damage to the Enterprise.
Including blasting a hole in the ship that sucked Lieutenant
Chapman out into the void of space.
Without a space suit.
They say being out in space, unprotected, is a horrible way
to die. Blood boiling, arteries bursting under pressure. You’ve got just enough
time for your life to flash before your eyes and your head bursts. Well, it’s probably for the best that we’re committing
Chapman’s remains to the orbit of the nearest star. His family wouldn’t want to
see what’s left of him.
Crew of the Enterprise, we bid farewell to one of our own. Again. This seems to happen a lot.
To Lieutenant Angus Argyle Chapman. Thank you for your
service. Say hello to the rest of the red shirts in whatever afterlife comes
after this, because Gene was never really all that clear on Federation ideas about
death. Whoever this Gene guy is. Spock, is Gene the guy who’s breaking through
this Fourth Wall?
Before we send Chapman off into the cold vacuum of space,
again, I’d just like to add that as he was an officer with seniority and
service, he had his own quarters. Those quarters will be given to the winner of
the first annual Enterprise Red Shirt Thunderdome Match. Ladies and gentlemen, I’m
off to seduce the daughter of the Andorian ambassador, so may the best red
shirt not die.
