Caged – In Memoriam
by Captain Diana Stark & Commander Raul Kerano & Lieutenant Commander Reese Kelly & Lieutenant JG Noelle Bennett & Ensign Abbadon & Lieutenant Commander K'ora
Post Details
In Memoriam
The news of the crew of USS Fury's demise had come as a shock to Diana. Immediately, she'd ordered Roskilly to set about arranging a tribute and memorial and sent for Counselor Bennett. There would need to be a memorial service. People who had worked with the lost members of the Fury would be needing this closure.
Mimi Furst's ear had been set ablaze by the Trill in the flower shop as to the events surrounding the upcoming memorial service and in working with the powers that be had discovered the need for music and flowers to be present at the show. She worried about her ability to perform in front of such a somber crowd and especially in front of Evander, who would probably be off-put by the change in scenery she'd undertaken by arriving in her show attire.
When she arrived, she was blown away by the massive amounts of Earth lilies and roses and a variety of other odd-hued flowers and vegetation from other worlds. The ivory sundress hung from her chocolate shoulders with a slanted hem that was at her right knee and above her left and was accompanied by one of the flowers in a similar tone wedged into her ringlets.
"Ms. Furst," Noelle said gently as she approached with a wan smile, "thank you for coming. You look lovely." Upon seeing the others confusion, Bennett added quickly, "Oh, forgive me. I'm Counselor Noelle Bennett. I regret we haven't met, but I've heard you're quite a popular entertainer on Tesla." As she paused for the others response, Noelle was pleased that she, too, had chosen a comfortable dress to wear to the service. Though black was customary, Bennett wasn't fond of the color and instead had chosen a simple navy cotton dress with a modest scoop neckline and flats.
"Why thank you," the darker woman cooed. "I realize this is a somber event, but where I come from, it's a celebration and an uplifting event. A praise, if you will." Inside, she knew she was just repeating a combination of what came from grandmother and her showbiz training--she didn't truly believe it was a praise, as her views on God were just being molded.
"I think that's a nice way to see things," Noelle replied agreeably. "I don't believe the men and women who've passed on would want us to focus on their deaths, but on who they were in life. Still, it's also important to acknowledge the pain of the loss."
Evander eyed the preparations as if critiquing a work of art, making sure all of the flowers were tastefully spread out throughout the Spiritual center without infringing upon the alcoves of other religions. Although none of the man's family was present, a recording of the event would be sent to them, FNN having donated the film time. Evander suspected that it was more the reporter's doing than that of her manager - but he was not one to complain. Free was free and it was a compassionate thing to do. There would be the main service done in proper military form as well as a two day vigil where any and all could come to give their final thoughts and prayers to those who had perished on the Fury. Along with these, another more personalized service had been planned for some of the deceased, to be accompanied by singing.
People had already begun congregating, and while he had his own personal views on the event, this was for others and so he appeared properly neutral as he greeted those nearby.
Mimi moved over to where Evander was congregating with the well wishers and gave a short curtsey.
There was something familiar about the woman who came over and curtsied to him, but he wasn't exactly sure what it was just yet. "Good morning Ma'am." He said by way of greeting. It was hard to tell who would be emotional or have friends who had passed, so he tried to remain neutral rather than offend anyone.
"I hope that my performance meets your expectations," she said quietly, before moving to take her place.
Evander smiled at the woman, replying before she turned to go. "I am certain that it will Miss. People wouldn't show up here if it didn't mean something to them and that's what this is all about. Sentiment from the heart."
In between greeting new arrivals, Noelle quietly observed the Tesla's new chaplain. Though she'd worked with Evander to plan the memorial and they had discussed his additional plans to offer support, she couldn't say she knew much about him. She wondered if, like herself, he shared little personal information simply because he was most focused on getting others to share what ailed them. She decided she would like to make it a point to get to know him better, as people often sought spiritual guidance before or in lieu of psychological guidance. She liked to think of their duties as two sides to the same coin in a sense, and it would only benefit the crew to have additional support.
Elsewhere
Abbadon had felt some debate about how to respond to a memorial. His customs were very different, even so, from the thlingan way. Humans wept over the loss of those who had passed into the realm of death, thlingan roared to warn the spirits of the dead that an honored soul was soon to come among them.
But those of his order were different, had a different tradition, even though they honored the traditions of the thlingan they happened to preside over and did not turn away those who gave them such an honor. The core, the belief of what came after death, differed. And as thlingan, death made them angry. They didn't fear death, it enraged them, made them fight against it's chilling grasp all that much harder. Even when one was ailing and slowly spiraling away, most would commit suicide rather than appear weak.
But not the monks or the disciples.
There was always Toil.
Abbadon stood on his hands, his lower body above contorted as his arms and shoulder and torso strained to keep balance and strength. His breathing was slow, even. His pulse, the thrust of his ichor through his veins and arteries was constant and as if he sat and listened to music.
And in his thoughts, there were symphonies.
later
Abbadon entered the memorial dressed as a Seg'etlh, his black tabard hung to his knees with softly chiming silver metal plates that hung by one fasten at the top and were designed to move and make soft clear notes. He wore woven leather leggings of crimson and black leather, a girdle of sorts attached to the top of the pants with buckles and straps and a leather under-tunic in crimson clung to him, the collar high to his jawline and showing only a sliver of his skin to his clavicle. His hair was loose and floated around his head and his goatee was meticulously groomed, a recent addition since the death of the Fury and her crew. Single strand of red marked his goatee and hair, starting to grow out. His hands were bare, his fingers exposed and though he wore his swords, he also carried a strange case across his back.
His badge and rank were attached to the left shoulder of the tabard, along with several other metal ones, most thlingan-looking and one with symbols in a dialect so old it was no longer spoken.
He paused and looked around for a moment, seemingly lost in a memory, before taking stock of the large room and finding the person he needed to speak with. Spotting the chaplain, he approached the man.
Evander noticed the Klingon approach from the side and gave the man a solemn nod. He did not know of all the rituals of the race, but he knew that death for them was something different and not to be made sentimental over. Whatever his purpose here, it probably had more to do with honor than grief.
"Nuqneh" Evander spoke the one word which translated as close to a greeting as the Klingon tongue possessed.
Abbadon smiled slightly and have a nod of recognition and answered in kind, testing his skills." Duy vIchot'beqmey," he stated.
Evander tilted his head to the side as he struggled with the translation some, switching to Standard to convey his thoughts. "And do you then know the truth and seek revenge in their name?"
"My role is a bit different," Abbadon replied in the same language. "In this duty my Order examines the deeds of those who have fallen, counts their honor, gives them songs to take with them into the afterlife and if necessary champions those they leave behind if they were found to be honorable. If not," he paused and looked at the hologram of the faces of the crew that had died as it cycled through them, "our duty is to root out the reason and resolve it."
"The universe needs more people to perform such a service. While death is a natural part of the cycle of life, wrongful death...needs justice and closure," Evander replied. He would have caught all kinds of hell for that statement back on Earth, but here - this was his flock.
"Once there were many," Abbadon looked a bit pensive, "now there is one. Some day maybe there will be more."
"I truly hope so Sir. We each have our tasks in life and perhaps even in death." Evander replied solemnly, idly wondering about the man's past that made him seem a bit on edge about his words.
Q'tAq entered the 'chapel', the place of the memorial in full, if subdued, armor. Even for a Klingon, he was immense. Taller than most, his sallow-dark skin was slightly different from normal, his bright blue eyes gleamed as he looked about and took it all in. His Manchurian-esque mustache and strip of hair on his chin were striped with white as was his long bound hair. He wore metal plating over his spine and upper body, the equipment was of an old style not seen since the days of Kirk. His ever-present sword rose on his back, the hilt tied with a white cord, the color of death and therefore showing his willingness not to make war during this ceremony devoted to the recently departed.
His gaze fell on Abbadon and paused, a flicker of recognition and a firming of the mouth as his eyes took in the details. He turned to find the Romulan ambassador, whom he had yet to engage formally, to exchange pleasantries.
It seemed to Diana as though she'd lost touch with everything, her crew, the world she was in now, and that she'd lost control of her environment. This small memorial service was meant to be, she hoped, a way to cement herself back into the life of her crew. The experience of having lost yet another crewmember made her doubt herself but at the same time, it steadied her resolve to get to the bottom of what was happening out there in the nebula. The synapses of her ElAurian brain were tingling with stories that wanted to be told but at the same time, she felt like something was missing and out of place. That somewhere there was another story being told and she needed to put things to rights.
Entering the memorial area, Stark wore sparkling whites, gloves, and shined boots. Impeccably dressed out of respect, especially for Bainbridge who was always a "by the book" guy and at Diana's urging had taken the plunge to be more intuitive. He had always been formally engaged, and Stark hoped that his strength and resolve would carry him through, had he been taken prisoner. At least she hoped he did and that it had prepared him to think creatively and beyond the sturdy triangle of legal, diplomatic, military he had built around himself.
Sitting down at the front row, she waited for the service to begin. She took a place near Noelle Bennett and nodded, with a friendly smile, still respectful of the situation.
Noelle nodded in turn to Stark and offered the slightest hint of a smile. She wasn't happy about the occasion, but it pleased her to see Diana back in the saddle as it were. Bennett imagined it would take some time for the El-Aurian to regain her footing after the court martial. Though Diana had been acquitted, there was still a certain grieving process to work through in coming to terms with being accused at all. She didn't doubt Stark was made of sturdy emotional stock, but still, she might appreciate a gentle reminder that it was okay not to feel "okay" despite winning in court and resuming command.
Shortly after Captain arrived, Commodore Furyama made her entry. Two honor guards at either side dispersed into the area before she took a step in, her back rigid with military attention. Swiveling her head from side to side, the ex-security officer eyed the arrangement to take complete stock of the attendees. Spotting Bennett she chose a different route to the other side of the designated memorial space in the Spiritual Center to locate the Klingon Ambassador.
Was it Noelle, or had Furyama spotted her and decided to head in the opposite direction? Bennett knew better than to take such an event, if it were true, personally, but that didn't mean it didn't arouse her curiosity. She was not one to approach members of the brass without legitimate reason, though admittedly, her definition of legitimate was rather liberal and tended to get creative depending on the circumstances.
He was hard to miss as the only seven-foot-three inch humanoid in attendance and he wore jackboots that added another inch or so. He was also in full, if archaic, armor and weapons though he had yet to be seen with a disruptor or phaser on his body. He had taken station in the "important persons" section, where dignitaries who wished to attend the services could do so and he yet stood, having pushed the chair back and out of his way, standing in its place.
Not to be noticed in her absence, though she truly cared little for what the station thought on a personal level, the Romulan Ambassador T'Varra made her arrival, her aides nowhere to be seen - which was unusual for the mature woman. She had chosen to wear the robes of her office with the sigil pin of the Star Empire upon her breast. Silence always seemed to follow in her wake, even in what was arguably a quiet gathering to begin with. It was with a studied regard of who was there, that she chose a place with some distance between her and the Klingon Ambassador.
Looking from right to left from the corners of her eyes, the well trained ex-security officer come commodore noticed both the Klingon (who could miss him?) and the Romulan at safe distances to one another. She made a mental note to keep an eye on the surroundings. This would be a prime area for a diplomatic incident if security wasn't on top of their game.
Grief was not something that Reese felt openly, but after his experiences in the past few months, he'd been taught that grief was not only a way of life, but it was a fact of it. He stood at his quiet place, lost in a sea of uniforms and kept to himself. Memorials were not always good, in his opinion. They signified that some disaster had occurred but, at least this time, it wasn't his fault. He bowed a somber head and gave thanks to whatever deity he still believed in that their souls were in a better place.
The room was filling with dignitaries, all guests on the station and all people he was not accustomed to seeing, being his position was mostly in Station Ops. Despite this, he kept to himself, not wanting to draw any unwanted and unnecessary attention.
Spotting his prey, Q'tAq approached obliquely from the rear, not allowing himself to make a sound until he was close enough to strike. "Ambassador T'Varra, it is good of you to come," he said, slightly behind her and to the side. His voice rumbled with real pleasure though softly so as not to attract undue attention. For a Klingon, he didn't 'stink', either. He didn't really smell of anything.
The Romulan woman gave no sign to indicate if she was surprised by his appearance near at hand, her hands still clasped behind her. Her dark brown eyes regarded Q'tAq with a depth of intelligence that seemed unusual for one in her position. Most Romulans would have considered this assignment a punishment, but there was a distinct lack of annoyance as she replied in silky tones.
"Ambassador Q'tAq...you seem to be oddly pleased for the events taking place here."
"Not the events that led to this nor this expression of loss," he gestured slightly, "but I am pleased to see you, considering all of this." He turned and regarded the display, "There is a certain emotional tone to this that reminds me greatly of some of the older buildings of the Esaidi period," he said softly. "Uplifting, in a way heroic and proud."
"Very few are pleased to see me Ambassador. What is it that makes you stick out from that crowd hmm? I wonder..." T'Varra stated simply as she looked around. "I will admit that this is a bit more tasteful than some Terran funerary proceedings." She added.
*****
Once everyone had settled in and the hour of 10am had finally rolled around, Evander made his way up to the small pulpit that had been placed in front of the shifting holographic pictures of the crew of the Fury. He looked about at the assemblage, seeing a variety of races and ranks and occupations that had come to pay their respects. Most wore the shroud of grief, while others kept to themselves and a few had that look of steely resolve that said they intended to do something about the deaths of the Fury's hands.
"Thank you all for choosing to attend the memorial service for the crew of the USS Fury. Whatever your reasons or however it is that you pay homage, it is still an honorable sign of respect for the fallen. Shortly, I will ask that Captain Stark take my place and do the proper military honors for which I am not qualified to perform. In the meantime, I would ask that you bow your heads and allow your thoughts to rest upon the crew of the Fury. Some of you may not have known them, while others are left with a deep loss at their passing. As we are born, so we will one day pass into the mystery of the beyond and so I would ask that you focus your feelings instead upon the memories that they have left as a gift to you. It is a priceless gift to have shared in the lives of others, one which no other can take from you. All of the good things and bad - they have placed their mark upon your life. It is up to each of you to choose what you will do with those marks, but it is through you and only you that those who have went before will live on."
Evander fell quiet and bowed his head, to allow those assembled to come to terms with his words.
Neither Q'tAq or Abbadon bowed their heads, instead they started at the flickering faces and watched each of them, committing their faces to their memories, preparing to Remember them later during their own ceremony.
Diana closed her eyes and began to meditate as she had done for so many years in the cloistered Vulcan monsatery. She did not pray for them to make it to a great reward or to a god to which some felt was all knowing. Instead, in her quietude she contemplated the great patterns of life and death and how this moment fit within it. Then, she spoke.
No casket to immortalize the bodies that were gone, this was simply a memorial of the men and women of USS Fury. "Give a moment of silence and respect for those who have chosen to serve Starfleet and uphold the precepts of the Federation. The basic principles we defend: all are equal and all are free. To serve is a heavy burden never fully realized until we do lose someone that stood, perhaps only a moment before, next to us. Innocence gone, we understand more completely that the moment we commit is the moment we give up our lives, not... no... not at the instant of death. But far before that moment we pass into another existence; we have already given up our own freedom for the freedom of others. Still, we choose it. We know the repercussions. We give up many things. Comfortable lives. Family. Starfleet becomes our family. Today we remember that we are family and that nobody can truly understand what we commit to the moment we put on the uniform."
After the words were finished, Mimi stepped forward, the clack of her heels drowning out any meditative thought anyone else was having. As she took her place, Durian from the Cabaret also joined her, dressed impeccably in similarly billowing white attire. The music began.
I pray you'll be our eyes
And watch us where we go
And help us to be wise
In times when we don't know
Let this be our prayer
As we go our way
Lead us to a place
Guide us with your Grace
To a place where we'll be safe
La luce che tu dai
As she sang, she watched the faces of the people seated before her reflect the raw emotions they were experiencing--as if her song were bringing them out. Hurt, a shock of sorts, amazement, dumbfoundedness--all were pleasant. With flowing hands, she gestured to Durian, whose deeper voice boomed out in an echo through the room, sending a chill with it.
I pray we'll find your light
Nel cuore restera
And hold it in our hearts
A ricordarci che
When stars go out each night
L'eterna stella sei
Nella mia preghiera
Let this be our prayer
Quanta fede c'e
When shadows fill our day
Lead us to a place
Guide us with your grace
As the song progressed, their motions matched each other as they sang in perfect harmony--as if one voice, two bodies, in motion. The aria ended on a high note from Furst and quickly they both disbanded from the stage as simply as they had come. The raspy breathing of a few audience members accentuated the wisps of smoke coming from the candles and the clack as they sat. Otherwise, a few muffled sobs were all the noise that was made.
Elsewhere, from the vantage of the Barolian freighter leaving orbit of the station and heading toward the Klingon border, the antimatter spread being flared from the station's top was quite confusing and amusing. The ridge-nosed master of the ship counted twenty-one flares before they stopped. "Curious," he mumbled to himself. Shrugging it off, he turned back to his viewscreen and relaxed back into the chair, content to deliver his load of ore around the nebula and to Sherman's Planet.
=========
This post brought to you by:
Commodore Makiko Furyama
Captain Diana Stark
Mimi Furst
SPC of Kerano
Lieutenant Commander Reese Kelley
Lieutenant Noelle Bennett
Ensign Abbadon
Klingon Ambassador
SPC of Abbadon
Chaplain Evander DeLuca
Romulan Ambassador
Kora Army
by Captain Diana Stark & Commander Raul Kerano & Lieutenant Commander Reese Kelly & Lieutenant JG Noelle Bennett & Ensign Abbadon & Lieutenant Commander K'ora
Post Details
| Title | In Memoriam | |
| Mission | Caged | |
| Author(s) | Captain Diana Stark & Commander Raul Kerano & Lieutenant Commander Reese Kelly & Lieutenant JG Noelle Bennett & Ensign Abbadon & Lieutenant Commander K'ora | |
| Posted | Mon Jun 14, 2010 @ 6:48pm | |
| Location | [Tesla] Spiritual Center | |
| Timeline | current |
The news of the crew of USS Fury's demise had come as a shock to Diana. Immediately, she'd ordered Roskilly to set about arranging a tribute and memorial and sent for Counselor Bennett. There would need to be a memorial service. People who had worked with the lost members of the Fury would be needing this closure.
Mimi Furst's ear had been set ablaze by the Trill in the flower shop as to the events surrounding the upcoming memorial service and in working with the powers that be had discovered the need for music and flowers to be present at the show. She worried about her ability to perform in front of such a somber crowd and especially in front of Evander, who would probably be off-put by the change in scenery she'd undertaken by arriving in her show attire.
When she arrived, she was blown away by the massive amounts of Earth lilies and roses and a variety of other odd-hued flowers and vegetation from other worlds. The ivory sundress hung from her chocolate shoulders with a slanted hem that was at her right knee and above her left and was accompanied by one of the flowers in a similar tone wedged into her ringlets.
"Ms. Furst," Noelle said gently as she approached with a wan smile, "thank you for coming. You look lovely." Upon seeing the others confusion, Bennett added quickly, "Oh, forgive me. I'm Counselor Noelle Bennett. I regret we haven't met, but I've heard you're quite a popular entertainer on Tesla." As she paused for the others response, Noelle was pleased that she, too, had chosen a comfortable dress to wear to the service. Though black was customary, Bennett wasn't fond of the color and instead had chosen a simple navy cotton dress with a modest scoop neckline and flats.
"Why thank you," the darker woman cooed. "I realize this is a somber event, but where I come from, it's a celebration and an uplifting event. A praise, if you will." Inside, she knew she was just repeating a combination of what came from grandmother and her showbiz training--she didn't truly believe it was a praise, as her views on God were just being molded.
"I think that's a nice way to see things," Noelle replied agreeably. "I don't believe the men and women who've passed on would want us to focus on their deaths, but on who they were in life. Still, it's also important to acknowledge the pain of the loss."
Evander eyed the preparations as if critiquing a work of art, making sure all of the flowers were tastefully spread out throughout the Spiritual center without infringing upon the alcoves of other religions. Although none of the man's family was present, a recording of the event would be sent to them, FNN having donated the film time. Evander suspected that it was more the reporter's doing than that of her manager - but he was not one to complain. Free was free and it was a compassionate thing to do. There would be the main service done in proper military form as well as a two day vigil where any and all could come to give their final thoughts and prayers to those who had perished on the Fury. Along with these, another more personalized service had been planned for some of the deceased, to be accompanied by singing.
People had already begun congregating, and while he had his own personal views on the event, this was for others and so he appeared properly neutral as he greeted those nearby.
Mimi moved over to where Evander was congregating with the well wishers and gave a short curtsey.
There was something familiar about the woman who came over and curtsied to him, but he wasn't exactly sure what it was just yet. "Good morning Ma'am." He said by way of greeting. It was hard to tell who would be emotional or have friends who had passed, so he tried to remain neutral rather than offend anyone.
"I hope that my performance meets your expectations," she said quietly, before moving to take her place.
Evander smiled at the woman, replying before she turned to go. "I am certain that it will Miss. People wouldn't show up here if it didn't mean something to them and that's what this is all about. Sentiment from the heart."
In between greeting new arrivals, Noelle quietly observed the Tesla's new chaplain. Though she'd worked with Evander to plan the memorial and they had discussed his additional plans to offer support, she couldn't say she knew much about him. She wondered if, like herself, he shared little personal information simply because he was most focused on getting others to share what ailed them. She decided she would like to make it a point to get to know him better, as people often sought spiritual guidance before or in lieu of psychological guidance. She liked to think of their duties as two sides to the same coin in a sense, and it would only benefit the crew to have additional support.
Elsewhere
Abbadon had felt some debate about how to respond to a memorial. His customs were very different, even so, from the thlingan way. Humans wept over the loss of those who had passed into the realm of death, thlingan roared to warn the spirits of the dead that an honored soul was soon to come among them.
But those of his order were different, had a different tradition, even though they honored the traditions of the thlingan they happened to preside over and did not turn away those who gave them such an honor. The core, the belief of what came after death, differed. And as thlingan, death made them angry. They didn't fear death, it enraged them, made them fight against it's chilling grasp all that much harder. Even when one was ailing and slowly spiraling away, most would commit suicide rather than appear weak.
But not the monks or the disciples.
There was always Toil.
Abbadon stood on his hands, his lower body above contorted as his arms and shoulder and torso strained to keep balance and strength. His breathing was slow, even. His pulse, the thrust of his ichor through his veins and arteries was constant and as if he sat and listened to music.
And in his thoughts, there were symphonies.
later
Abbadon entered the memorial dressed as a Seg'etlh, his black tabard hung to his knees with softly chiming silver metal plates that hung by one fasten at the top and were designed to move and make soft clear notes. He wore woven leather leggings of crimson and black leather, a girdle of sorts attached to the top of the pants with buckles and straps and a leather under-tunic in crimson clung to him, the collar high to his jawline and showing only a sliver of his skin to his clavicle. His hair was loose and floated around his head and his goatee was meticulously groomed, a recent addition since the death of the Fury and her crew. Single strand of red marked his goatee and hair, starting to grow out. His hands were bare, his fingers exposed and though he wore his swords, he also carried a strange case across his back.
His badge and rank were attached to the left shoulder of the tabard, along with several other metal ones, most thlingan-looking and one with symbols in a dialect so old it was no longer spoken.
He paused and looked around for a moment, seemingly lost in a memory, before taking stock of the large room and finding the person he needed to speak with. Spotting the chaplain, he approached the man.
Evander noticed the Klingon approach from the side and gave the man a solemn nod. He did not know of all the rituals of the race, but he knew that death for them was something different and not to be made sentimental over. Whatever his purpose here, it probably had more to do with honor than grief.
"Nuqneh" Evander spoke the one word which translated as close to a greeting as the Klingon tongue possessed.
Abbadon smiled slightly and have a nod of recognition and answered in kind, testing his skills." Duy vIchot'beqmey," he stated.
Evander tilted his head to the side as he struggled with the translation some, switching to Standard to convey his thoughts. "And do you then know the truth and seek revenge in their name?"
"My role is a bit different," Abbadon replied in the same language. "In this duty my Order examines the deeds of those who have fallen, counts their honor, gives them songs to take with them into the afterlife and if necessary champions those they leave behind if they were found to be honorable. If not," he paused and looked at the hologram of the faces of the crew that had died as it cycled through them, "our duty is to root out the reason and resolve it."
"The universe needs more people to perform such a service. While death is a natural part of the cycle of life, wrongful death...needs justice and closure," Evander replied. He would have caught all kinds of hell for that statement back on Earth, but here - this was his flock.
"Once there were many," Abbadon looked a bit pensive, "now there is one. Some day maybe there will be more."
"I truly hope so Sir. We each have our tasks in life and perhaps even in death." Evander replied solemnly, idly wondering about the man's past that made him seem a bit on edge about his words.
Q'tAq entered the 'chapel', the place of the memorial in full, if subdued, armor. Even for a Klingon, he was immense. Taller than most, his sallow-dark skin was slightly different from normal, his bright blue eyes gleamed as he looked about and took it all in. His Manchurian-esque mustache and strip of hair on his chin were striped with white as was his long bound hair. He wore metal plating over his spine and upper body, the equipment was of an old style not seen since the days of Kirk. His ever-present sword rose on his back, the hilt tied with a white cord, the color of death and therefore showing his willingness not to make war during this ceremony devoted to the recently departed.
His gaze fell on Abbadon and paused, a flicker of recognition and a firming of the mouth as his eyes took in the details. He turned to find the Romulan ambassador, whom he had yet to engage formally, to exchange pleasantries.
It seemed to Diana as though she'd lost touch with everything, her crew, the world she was in now, and that she'd lost control of her environment. This small memorial service was meant to be, she hoped, a way to cement herself back into the life of her crew. The experience of having lost yet another crewmember made her doubt herself but at the same time, it steadied her resolve to get to the bottom of what was happening out there in the nebula. The synapses of her ElAurian brain were tingling with stories that wanted to be told but at the same time, she felt like something was missing and out of place. That somewhere there was another story being told and she needed to put things to rights.
Entering the memorial area, Stark wore sparkling whites, gloves, and shined boots. Impeccably dressed out of respect, especially for Bainbridge who was always a "by the book" guy and at Diana's urging had taken the plunge to be more intuitive. He had always been formally engaged, and Stark hoped that his strength and resolve would carry him through, had he been taken prisoner. At least she hoped he did and that it had prepared him to think creatively and beyond the sturdy triangle of legal, diplomatic, military he had built around himself.
Sitting down at the front row, she waited for the service to begin. She took a place near Noelle Bennett and nodded, with a friendly smile, still respectful of the situation.
Noelle nodded in turn to Stark and offered the slightest hint of a smile. She wasn't happy about the occasion, but it pleased her to see Diana back in the saddle as it were. Bennett imagined it would take some time for the El-Aurian to regain her footing after the court martial. Though Diana had been acquitted, there was still a certain grieving process to work through in coming to terms with being accused at all. She didn't doubt Stark was made of sturdy emotional stock, but still, she might appreciate a gentle reminder that it was okay not to feel "okay" despite winning in court and resuming command.
Shortly after Captain arrived, Commodore Furyama made her entry. Two honor guards at either side dispersed into the area before she took a step in, her back rigid with military attention. Swiveling her head from side to side, the ex-security officer eyed the arrangement to take complete stock of the attendees. Spotting Bennett she chose a different route to the other side of the designated memorial space in the Spiritual Center to locate the Klingon Ambassador.
Was it Noelle, or had Furyama spotted her and decided to head in the opposite direction? Bennett knew better than to take such an event, if it were true, personally, but that didn't mean it didn't arouse her curiosity. She was not one to approach members of the brass without legitimate reason, though admittedly, her definition of legitimate was rather liberal and tended to get creative depending on the circumstances.
He was hard to miss as the only seven-foot-three inch humanoid in attendance and he wore jackboots that added another inch or so. He was also in full, if archaic, armor and weapons though he had yet to be seen with a disruptor or phaser on his body. He had taken station in the "important persons" section, where dignitaries who wished to attend the services could do so and he yet stood, having pushed the chair back and out of his way, standing in its place.
Not to be noticed in her absence, though she truly cared little for what the station thought on a personal level, the Romulan Ambassador T'Varra made her arrival, her aides nowhere to be seen - which was unusual for the mature woman. She had chosen to wear the robes of her office with the sigil pin of the Star Empire upon her breast. Silence always seemed to follow in her wake, even in what was arguably a quiet gathering to begin with. It was with a studied regard of who was there, that she chose a place with some distance between her and the Klingon Ambassador.
Looking from right to left from the corners of her eyes, the well trained ex-security officer come commodore noticed both the Klingon (who could miss him?) and the Romulan at safe distances to one another. She made a mental note to keep an eye on the surroundings. This would be a prime area for a diplomatic incident if security wasn't on top of their game.
Grief was not something that Reese felt openly, but after his experiences in the past few months, he'd been taught that grief was not only a way of life, but it was a fact of it. He stood at his quiet place, lost in a sea of uniforms and kept to himself. Memorials were not always good, in his opinion. They signified that some disaster had occurred but, at least this time, it wasn't his fault. He bowed a somber head and gave thanks to whatever deity he still believed in that their souls were in a better place.
The room was filling with dignitaries, all guests on the station and all people he was not accustomed to seeing, being his position was mostly in Station Ops. Despite this, he kept to himself, not wanting to draw any unwanted and unnecessary attention.
Spotting his prey, Q'tAq approached obliquely from the rear, not allowing himself to make a sound until he was close enough to strike. "Ambassador T'Varra, it is good of you to come," he said, slightly behind her and to the side. His voice rumbled with real pleasure though softly so as not to attract undue attention. For a Klingon, he didn't 'stink', either. He didn't really smell of anything.
The Romulan woman gave no sign to indicate if she was surprised by his appearance near at hand, her hands still clasped behind her. Her dark brown eyes regarded Q'tAq with a depth of intelligence that seemed unusual for one in her position. Most Romulans would have considered this assignment a punishment, but there was a distinct lack of annoyance as she replied in silky tones.
"Ambassador Q'tAq...you seem to be oddly pleased for the events taking place here."
"Not the events that led to this nor this expression of loss," he gestured slightly, "but I am pleased to see you, considering all of this." He turned and regarded the display, "There is a certain emotional tone to this that reminds me greatly of some of the older buildings of the Esaidi period," he said softly. "Uplifting, in a way heroic and proud."
"Very few are pleased to see me Ambassador. What is it that makes you stick out from that crowd hmm? I wonder..." T'Varra stated simply as she looked around. "I will admit that this is a bit more tasteful than some Terran funerary proceedings." She added.
*****
Once everyone had settled in and the hour of 10am had finally rolled around, Evander made his way up to the small pulpit that had been placed in front of the shifting holographic pictures of the crew of the Fury. He looked about at the assemblage, seeing a variety of races and ranks and occupations that had come to pay their respects. Most wore the shroud of grief, while others kept to themselves and a few had that look of steely resolve that said they intended to do something about the deaths of the Fury's hands.
"Thank you all for choosing to attend the memorial service for the crew of the USS Fury. Whatever your reasons or however it is that you pay homage, it is still an honorable sign of respect for the fallen. Shortly, I will ask that Captain Stark take my place and do the proper military honors for which I am not qualified to perform. In the meantime, I would ask that you bow your heads and allow your thoughts to rest upon the crew of the Fury. Some of you may not have known them, while others are left with a deep loss at their passing. As we are born, so we will one day pass into the mystery of the beyond and so I would ask that you focus your feelings instead upon the memories that they have left as a gift to you. It is a priceless gift to have shared in the lives of others, one which no other can take from you. All of the good things and bad - they have placed their mark upon your life. It is up to each of you to choose what you will do with those marks, but it is through you and only you that those who have went before will live on."
Evander fell quiet and bowed his head, to allow those assembled to come to terms with his words.
Neither Q'tAq or Abbadon bowed their heads, instead they started at the flickering faces and watched each of them, committing their faces to their memories, preparing to Remember them later during their own ceremony.
Diana closed her eyes and began to meditate as she had done for so many years in the cloistered Vulcan monsatery. She did not pray for them to make it to a great reward or to a god to which some felt was all knowing. Instead, in her quietude she contemplated the great patterns of life and death and how this moment fit within it. Then, she spoke.
No casket to immortalize the bodies that were gone, this was simply a memorial of the men and women of USS Fury. "Give a moment of silence and respect for those who have chosen to serve Starfleet and uphold the precepts of the Federation. The basic principles we defend: all are equal and all are free. To serve is a heavy burden never fully realized until we do lose someone that stood, perhaps only a moment before, next to us. Innocence gone, we understand more completely that the moment we commit is the moment we give up our lives, not... no... not at the instant of death. But far before that moment we pass into another existence; we have already given up our own freedom for the freedom of others. Still, we choose it. We know the repercussions. We give up many things. Comfortable lives. Family. Starfleet becomes our family. Today we remember that we are family and that nobody can truly understand what we commit to the moment we put on the uniform."
After the words were finished, Mimi stepped forward, the clack of her heels drowning out any meditative thought anyone else was having. As she took her place, Durian from the Cabaret also joined her, dressed impeccably in similarly billowing white attire. The music began.
I pray you'll be our eyes
And watch us where we go
And help us to be wise
In times when we don't know
Let this be our prayer
As we go our way
Lead us to a place
Guide us with your Grace
To a place where we'll be safe
La luce che tu dai
As she sang, she watched the faces of the people seated before her reflect the raw emotions they were experiencing--as if her song were bringing them out. Hurt, a shock of sorts, amazement, dumbfoundedness--all were pleasant. With flowing hands, she gestured to Durian, whose deeper voice boomed out in an echo through the room, sending a chill with it.
I pray we'll find your light
Nel cuore restera
And hold it in our hearts
A ricordarci che
When stars go out each night
L'eterna stella sei
Nella mia preghiera
Let this be our prayer
Quanta fede c'e
When shadows fill our day
Lead us to a place
Guide us with your grace
As the song progressed, their motions matched each other as they sang in perfect harmony--as if one voice, two bodies, in motion. The aria ended on a high note from Furst and quickly they both disbanded from the stage as simply as they had come. The raspy breathing of a few audience members accentuated the wisps of smoke coming from the candles and the clack as they sat. Otherwise, a few muffled sobs were all the noise that was made.
Elsewhere, from the vantage of the Barolian freighter leaving orbit of the station and heading toward the Klingon border, the antimatter spread being flared from the station's top was quite confusing and amusing. The ridge-nosed master of the ship counted twenty-one flares before they stopped. "Curious," he mumbled to himself. Shrugging it off, he turned back to his viewscreen and relaxed back into the chair, content to deliver his load of ore around the nebula and to Sherman's Planet.
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This post brought to you by:
Commodore Makiko Furyama
Captain Diana Stark
Mimi Furst
SPC of Kerano
Lieutenant Commander Reese Kelley
Lieutenant Noelle Bennett
Ensign Abbadon
Klingon Ambassador
SPC of Abbadon
Chaplain Evander DeLuca
Romulan Ambassador
Kora Army