A Pittance of Time

Posted on Sat Oct 12th, 2024 @ 2:05pm by Colonel Zachary Aeyers & Major Beavis Forsyth & Lieutenant Colonel Jeff Fletcher & Lieutenant Commander Wayne Eastwood & Lieutenant Commander Sidric Tobias PhD, MSST, BEng

8,067 words; about a 40 minute read

Mission: Boys of Summer
Location: Remembrance Boulevard, Santiago Bay Facility, Sagan Prime
Timeline: MD1

ON:

Wayne Eastwood stood outside the cenotaph in his Starfleet dress uniform, his heart heavy with a mix of emotions as he waited for the Remembrance Ceremony to commence. Watching the line of bagpipers charge up their bagpipes, he looked around the area to see if he had known anyone. Smiling at a few respective government officials, he checked his watch for the time, everything was running behind time.

Pulling out his mini-PADD from his pocket, Wayne retrieved a draft copy of the service. He was friends with another organizer, Julie Savosh, who had worked tirelessly to put everything together. Straightening his collar, Wayne checked that his Lieutenant Commander insignia was on straight. Dress uniforms were a pain at the best of times, Wayne thought, as he wanted to look perfect and didn't want Franklin Uzi to make an ordeal about how he was out of uniform. 'Where is that old prick?' Eastwood thought out loud, glancing around the area until he caught a glimpse of the wrinkled-up prune of a human being.

Wayne shook his head as he watched Uzi milling around the gates, handing out leaflets to anyone who would stop and greet the 79-year-old man. Wayne tolerated the man, although he knew that he had the choice to run over a stranded dog or save Franklin Uzi, he would save the dog.

Eastwood smirked as he watched this pompous old man walk around the gates, more like a puppet than a man, issuing orders like he was still a Transport Chief on the USS Saratoga. Hearing Uzi's voice made him tense up even more, as he could remember Uzi's comments about Eastwood putting up the Federation flag during the Rememory Melody. It was a simple gesture that Wayne was happy to do, as the ode of remembrance was read by Pettie Savosh.

Eastwood's head was awash with feelings as he thought about that man. As he eyed the ageing pensioner, his mind took him back to the last Sagan Remembers meeting. "Come on, Blurforth. The man hasn't served enough. I was there at Wolf 359. I was a Senior Transport Chief on the USS Saratoga. I watched as our boys and girls were destroyed by the Borg. He needs to be a man well-fitted for the job of raising the flag. I don't regard the Dominion War as enough of a service.”

Snapping back into the here and now, Eastwood softly muttered, 'That old prick,' as he glanced at his watch once more. He never talked about his time as a Starfleet Marine or what he did during the Dominion War, but dear old Transport Chief Uzi wouldn't care. What hurt more was the flippant way Uzi wrote him off, especially after what he had recently sacrificed for them all to be here today.

The Breen Conflict was only two years ago, still raw in Eastwood's mind. As he had only served as a Lieutenant commanding the Vigilant, that was another reason why Sagan Remembers wanted to have a service to remember those who didn't make it. He choked up as he scrolled to look at the names typed in the text, some names he had fond memories with while others not so much. Until he stopped at one, the one to this day he still doesn't understand the enigma of it all: Bryanna Rackham.

Mayor Paul Blurforth walked up to the front of the crowd, ushering the young Starfleet cadets to the front centre and holding out the flags to be put up on the flagpoles at the centre of the cenotaph.

Wayne chuckled to himself, thinking about Uzi's comment on his service and the Cadets they have gotten for the job. He knew they were fresh out of the Academy and essentially green, but he hoped they had enough training and experience for the task at hand.

The Mayor ordered the section leader of the cadets to get into formation in front of the bagpipe group. Blurforth turned back to the crowd to issue a statement. "Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. We will commence this ceremony in just a moment. Please follow behind the bagpipers as we walk the two hundred meters down to the memorial. Thank you."

Eastwood's thoughts were focused on the schedule, "The service is already running late, Blurforth," he grumbled, checking his watch again. "We're twenty minutes behind."

"Gets later every year, Eastwood. For fuck sake," Aeyers grumbled, standing alongside the Lieutenant Commander. "Good morning, by the way."

Eastwood chuckled at the colonel's comment. As the Company Commander gave the order for the bagpipes to begin their march, Eastwood turned back to the Colonels and the Commander and whispered, “Looks like the show is about to start, doesn't it? Shall We?”

"The sooner we start, etcetera," Jeff agreed, and gestured cordially that he would follow Eastwood's lead. "Wouldn't be so bad if the politicians kept their nose out of it. These days it's less of a remembrance of the fallen, and more a 'please remember those standing, for office.'"

Sidric quickly stashed the PADD he had been perusing, and fixed Jeff with a knowing look. "Not to mention all those corporations cashing in on the day," Sid added and took a quick double-step to catch up with Eastwood to take his place in the proceeding.

To the tune of 'Scotland the Brave', the march began and the sergeant's commands echoed through the hollow, reminding the company to keep in step with his cadence. As they walked towards the cenotaph, Eastwood looked out at the crowd, feeling the warmth of the people who had come to pay tribute to their loved ones who had been lost during the incursion or any other Starfleet conflict. Turning to Commander Tobias, who walked beside him, Eastwood remarked, “It's good to see so many people here, paying their respects. Don't you agree, Sidric?”

Sid glanced out the crowds and was struck by a rare moment of reflection, he had been the ranking officer at the base during the invasion, and as such felt a pang of responsibility for the carnage and loss of life that had followed. Sid wondered how many were here for those who he had been directly responsible for, and what they thought of his presence here. Sid buried the thought, and looked over to Eastwood and replied "yes it is."

As the procession made its way down the pathway, the striking 'V'-shaped black marble memorial came into view, towering at a height of 10 meters and stretching for 30 meters on both sides. At the apex of the 'V,' three flag poles stood tall, and the cadets had already gathered in front, standing at ease, and waiting for their next command. Meanwhile, the surrounding crowd took their seats, which had been thoughtfully placed for the wounded and elderly.

Eastwood softly exclaimed as he realized there weren't enough chairs for everyone, "Uzi has done it again! That fool was supposed to provide at least 300 seats. He's clearly a rube who loves to hear himself talk." He turned to the Colonels and Commander, hoping they wouldn't be too inconvenienced by the shortage of chairs.

Sidric felt his earlier feelings of remorse evaporate. Last year's had been a long enough ceremony, and that had been sitting down. Seeing the consternation on Eastwood's face Sid tried to make light of the situation, "I will be alright, Jeff however might not make it through the opening speech."

"Don't underestimate me," Jeff corrected, but his tone was friendly. "We Fletchers are natural sprinters, I've been saving all my energy for this event just in case. After this I'll just need a nap for ten to fiteen... hours. I'm glad I'm standing on the end so I can stretch my leg at least every so often."

As they couldn't find any seating, the three veterans had to stand up for the service. Suddenly, they heard a groaning moan and saw Uzi limping and shuffling his back leg like an old dog that had been kicked by his master. He struggled his way past them to the head of the service, then pulled himself to the pulpit and spoke with no microphone even though there was one there, "Uh, uh, ladies and gentlemen, hang on, I have a speech I have done, let me find it first." Uzi sounded confused until Blurforth came to his aid and pulled the speech out of his top jacket pocket.

"Ahh, members of the Sagan Prime Council, Mayor Pes Mole and Mayor Blurforth, members of the Federation and Starfleet. Colonel Ayers, where is he? Ahh, there he is, and Colonel Feltcher ahhhh crap I mean Fletcher. Moving on, apologies to SBPD Commissioner Brandt, oh wait, he's here. Uh, anyway, welcome to this service today. As today is a special day."

Eastwood stifled a wave of embarrassment as Uzi stumbled from the pulpit, muttering incomprehensibly about Colonel Fletcher. "What a great way to start it off, you geriatric fool," Eastwood murmured under his breath. He glanced over at Colonel Aeyers and especially Colonel Fletcher, wondering how they were reacting to Uzi's bumbling performance. Uzi's mispronunciation of "Fletcher" as "feltcher" only added insult to injury.

Zach was stifling a chuckle the size of Texas. He gave Jeff a cheeky elbow, trying to find something to indulge in. Eastwood was right, the guy was a rube. He leaned over to Eastwood, "Where did they find this guy?"

“The man served during Wolf 359. He thinks he is the greatest generation,” smirked Eastwood as he turned his head slightly to the Colonel to acknowledge him, “I believe it’s the Federation Anthem next.”

"Know all the words, Eastwood?" Zach joked.

Paul Blurforth addressed the crowd once again, his voice booming over the murmurs of the audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, please rise and direct your attention to the cadets as they raise the flag," he announced, gesturing towards the group of young men and women in uniform. Despite the groans and moans from the elderly and wounded, who struggled to get up from their chairs, the audience complied and rose to their feet.

Meanwhile, Uzi fumbled around for his portable boombox, muttering under his breath as he searched for the play button. "Where is the play button on this thing?" he grumbled. "Hang on, I'll just ask the computer to play. Computer, play?"

“Uzi, I could have arranged for the San Francisco orchestra to perform, but you had to go and insist that you had it under control. This is a complete embarrassment,” softly spoke Eastwood in frustration as he folded his arms and looked at the Colonels. He let out a sigh and shook his head in disappointment as the box started to play a distorted version of the Federation Anthem.

"It's not in Japanese again, is it," Jeff murmured, so only those next to him could hear. "Happens to me entirely too often. Got to the point I had to start trying to learn Japanese. Got weeks into it and realised I was learning Korean by mistake. My luck. Oh, sounds like it's fixed now." And he folded his hands with everyone else and respectfully let the music play.

After the Federation Anthem had ended, Paul Blurforth approached the pulpit once again and addressed the gathering. "Thank you. Now, we will proceed with a poem titled 'Significance of Sagan Remembers', to be read by Tess Polk." He gestured towards Tess, who made her way to the front, paper in hand.

Eastwood, noticing two elderly veterans struggling to stand, murmured to himself, "You'd think they would at least tell them to have a seat." He quickly moved to help them and urged them to take their seats, which they did, followed by the rest of the crowd who followed suit.

Tess unfolded her paper and began to read her poem, which she had rehearsed many times:

“The Significance of Sagan Remembers' by Caroline Peck.

With Starfleet's mission, we seek out new life,
Through battles and dangers, we face endless strife,
We fight for justice, for a future bright,
And honour the crews who showed us the light.

Their spirit lives on, in the hearts of all who dare,
To explore the unknown, to venture beyond compare,
And so, we gather each year, to pay our respects,
To the Starfleet crews who gave us our greatest of gifts.

For they are the ones who helped us to see,
A future where we all can be free,
And we must never forget the battles they fought,
For they are the reason our imagination was caught.

Live long and prosper."

The crowd chanted in unison, "Live long and prosper," as they unfolded their pamphlets and looked ahead to the next event in the ceremony. Eastwood glanced at his boots before turning to the men standing next to him with a smirk. "Are you fellas regretting showing up now?" he teased.

"Hey, look, Mister Spock would be proud," Aeyers grumbled. "Nice poem though. Might have that put on a wall somewhere."

"And the Vulcan High Command," chuckled Eastwood as he looked at the pulpit waiting for the next speaker to be announced.

"Good grief, who next?" Aeyers muttered.

Blurforth addressed the weary crowd, his voice ringing out with gratitude. "Thank you, Tess," he said warmly, "that was a wonderful poem." Clearing his throat, he continued, "Next, we will hear from Terrance Fung, a resident of the local monastery. Terrance will be reading the Prayer of Remembrance." As he stepped back, the crowd fell silent in anticipation of the solemn reading.

Getting out of his seat, Terrance, dressed in a brown robe, walked up to the pulpit. Putting his hood down revealed his old, white face with a grey beard. He spoke, "O Lord, in whose sight the sacrifices of Thy people are precious and in whose hand are the issues of life and death, we thank Thee for the courage and devotion of the faithful men and women who laid down their lives in the wars for Starfleet and the Federation. We leave them in Thy gracious keeping, that the good work which Thou hast begun in them may be perfected unto the day of the Lord. We pray that their labour and sacrifice may not be in vain, but that their spirit may live on in us in the generations to come. Give grace to all who mourn, that they may accept Thy will in the fortitude of spirit and perfect faith. And to us, who abide the passing years in ever fonder memory, grant that we may always be mindful of liberty, justice, and truth for which the sacrifice was made, in union with the offering of Thy Son, Our Saviour and Redeemer. Amen. Rest eternal grant unto them, O Lord. Let light perpetually shine upon them, and may they rest in peace. Amen."

The religious crowd responded with a chant of 'Amen'. Eastwood noticed the Colonel muttering the same under his breath and turned to him with a smile. 'I didn't know you were religious, sir,' he remarked, intrigued by this new insight into his commander's character.

"Praise be the Great Bird of the Galaxy," Aeyers smirked.

"I believe Terrance's wife will be reciting the Starfleet Requiem," Eastwood said, turning to address his superiors, Colonel Aeyers and Fletcher and Commander Tobias, providing them with an overview of upcoming proceedings. "After that, there will be a dedication ceremony for a new memorial, with Federation Council members Jim Mazlish and Anthony Paesano, as well as Sagan Prime General Assembly committee member Flick McGuy, in attendance. It's likely they'll be squabbling over who gets to use the scissors to unveil the plaque. Rather who has the biggest, well let’s not go there. You understand what I am saying."

"May I take the pulpit, Blurforth?" squeaked a small voice, and a woman in a brown robe wriggled her way up to the front. Her hood was already down, revealing her weathered face, toughened by her work in the fields where she grew beets for the monastery's soup kitchen. "Ah, Annabelle Fung, ever-thoughtful. She is Terrance's Wife," remarked Blurforth to make sure the crowd knew who she was as he stepped aside and gestured for her to take the pulpit.

Coughing into the microphone Annabelle Fung looked at Blurforth and then to the crowd, "Thanks Mayor Paul for letting me speak, I am here to read the Star Fleet Requiem by Peter Pullstain,

Beyond the stars, where planets meet,
Our starships flew with steady beat,
Through space and time, through dust and smoke,
Our Starfleet fought and never broke.

And we remember them,
Their battles fought and victories won,
Their memories live on,
In the stories of what they've done.

From the Dominion War to the Klingon Front,
Our Starfleet fought with all they had,
At Wolf 359 and Cheron's field,
Their valour shone, and their enemies reeled.

And we remember them,
Their battles fought and victories won,
Their memories live on,
In the stories of what they've done.

From the Borg at Earth to the Xindi threat,
Our Starfleet crews gave all they met,
At Cardassia and Romulus' door,
They stood their ground and fought for more.

And we remember them,
Their battles fought and victories won,
Their memories live on,
In the stories of what they've done.

So let us honour those who've passed,
Their service to the Federation vast,
And pledge ourselves to carry on,
Their legacy until it's won.

And we remember them,
Their battles fought and victories won,
Their memories live on,
In the stories of what they've done."

As the last verse was read, Eastwood shook his head in silence and smirked, thinking, 'I bet Uzi would hate that the Dominion War was mentioned.' He turned his attention back to the ceremony and watched as Blurforth walked back up to the pulpit. "Thank you, Annabelle Fung. That was truly respectful. I appreciate it," he said, before going on to speak about the new plaque in honour of Captain Charlie Diller, who passed away last year.

"Captain Diller was once a renowned shuttle pilot working on Enterprise 1701-B. He always spoke fondly of his days in service, recalling the glory of his missions. As he rose through the ranks, Charlie became known for his charm and wit, often charming the ladies while keeping his passions for baking, flying, and wooing damsels alive. Charlie loved the stars and dedicated himself to Starfleet, becoming a training officer at the academy before being commissioned as Captain of the USS Scorpion, where he served until his retirement. Forever in service. Lest we Forget," Blurforth concluded, his choked-up voice ringing out over the gathered crowd. "Charlie, you will be forever missed."

"RSVP Charlie. The best of all of us," Aeyers whispered, choking up a bit. He patted his chest. He looked back to his fellow officers, "He opened the Baker Street Bakers. A hero of the city, and of the Federation."

The crowd paused for a moment as they thought about Charlie until they were interrupted by Blurforth's voice. "So as a way to remember his service, the Sagan Remembers committee has taken this year's raffle ticket money, as well as a grant from the Federation Council and Sagan Prime General Committee, matching what we provided. We are thankful to have the three representatives unveil it. Gentlemen, if you please?" he gestured to the front row, where Jim Mazlish, Anthony Paesano, and Flick McGuy were sitting next to his wife, awkwardly smiling, hoping that the local reporter would capture her expression for the local news.

Eastwood turned his head to Colonel Aeyers and smirked, “Isn’t she running against Paesano in the upcoming primaries?” Curious to have Aeyers' input, they watched on as the three stooges' act was once again resurrected before them. “You kidding? They are going to have a squabble on the cenotaph. Christ. Look at them.”

"This should be good," Aeyers remarked, stifling a giggle. "The grandstand is open for business."

As the mourners looked on, the three politicians jostled for position at the front of the crowd. Where the golden cord was to unveil the plaque. Each one was determined to be the first to the cord at the base of the memorial.

Anthony Paesano, an overweight man in a tailored suit, elbowed his way forward, his eyes fixed on the cord as if it were a prize to be won. As he reached for the end of the cord, Jenny McGuy, a tall woman in a pantsuit, quickly stepped forward and claimed it for her partner. Anthony was taken aback, as he had never experienced such behaviour in his 10 years as a parliamentarian of the Federation. Speaking in his native tongue, he said to her, “We are not in the party room now, my dear. Please return the cord and tell your husband to fall in line.” Shocked she straighten her pantsuit and shook her head, “Sorry Anthony my dear. But Flick here to pull the cord much like me in the party room. Pulling the cord.”

“Come on surely, we can come to arrangement. You people promised,” blurted out Blurforth as he watched the absolute carnage that was happening in front of him.

Meanwhile, Flick McGuy, a younger man in a rumpled blazer, hung back, biding his time. He knew that his opponents' greed would eventually lead to their downfall, or that his wife would do all the fighting for him. Sure enough, as Paesano, the overweight man, and Flick’s wife continued to jostle for position, they accidentally collided, sending the cord tumbling to the ground. Thinking to himself, “Hmm, it's my time,” he started to walk towards the cord, but he stopped when he saw Charlie Diller's widow crying, “You are a absolute disgrace. You,” she cried as she leaned into one of her daughter's arms. Straightening up, Flick moved on until he saw Mazlish quickly up on the plate, holding the cord in front of him. “Damn you, Mazlish. You prick,” he shouted before going back into the crowd.

With a sly grin, Jim Mazlish swooped in and snatched the cord, holding it aloft triumphantly. The crowd gasped in disbelief as he confidently pulled the cord to unveil the plaque, relishing the moment of victory. As he turned to leave, he caught the eye of the overweight man and the tall woman, who were still arguing heatedly while being ushered off the cenotaph by security. With a wink, Jim melted into the crowd, leaving his opponents to simmer in their anger and humiliation.

Eastwood was in total shock as he watched the scene unfold. They weren't even halfway through the service when it had devolved into a complete circus. Chaos reigned supreme, and he couldn't bring himself to face his bosses. "I warned them about this. I said, 'Don't invite all three, or give them separate duties.' But did they listen? No. This is a massive circus, and I'm sorry, Colonels and Commander, for all of this."

"Don't be," Aeyers beamed. The Colonel had been watching on with glee. He folded his arms and watched the whole thing continue to go down, "This has probably gone better than anyone could've imagined."

In all the commotion Bethany Renton, CEO of the Eversonian institute, had managed to make her way to the cenotaph. Wearing dark clothing for the sombre occasion decorated only with two small flag pins for Sagan and Starfleet, Bethany held a respectful poise contrasting the fracas of the politicians. Not waiting for the Mayor to introduce her, Bethany launched into her speech. "Good morning one and all, my name is Bethany Renton, and I am the new CEO of the Eversonian Institute."

Sidric, who had been trying to surreptitiously read Ops reports on his PADD bolted upright. Until recently he had been the CEO of the Institute, before being pushed out by the board. He had not spoken to Bethany since his farewell dinner.

Bethany continued, "Starfleet has always been an important part of my life, with dear family members having served."

You mean your uncle twice removed, Sid thought bitterly.

"Since this bitter day we remember now, the Institute has been committed to funding projects for restoration of the city's culture, an aspect that is often overlooked after tragedy but is so essential for life. An aspect, that the Institute had overlooked for so long" Bethany said, glancing over at Tobias.

Sid bridled and muttered quietly "of course restoring the art gallery had nothing to do with you wanting to hold corporate events there."

"And so," Bethany smiled brightly, "it is my pleasure to announce that I have directed the Institute to fund upgrades to the Sagan Remembers Memorial Museum."

Sidric fumed, struggling to keep his composure, as he witnessed his Institute going in for cheap PR.

Eastwood stood in stunned silence as he watched the person in front of him display complete disregard for the situation at hand. His mind raced with questions about who this Bethany Renton was and why he had not been informed of her entry into the service. As he turned to face Sidric, he could see the anger and resentment etched on his colleague's face.

"You know her, don't you Sidric?" Eastwood asked, his voice laced with suspicion. "Is she an old flame?"

The tension at the service was palpable as Eastwood waited for Sidric's response, unsure of what secrets lay hidden beneath the surface.

"She," Sidric replied through clenched teeth, "was my chief operations officer when I was still running the Institute." Sid took a deep breath and managed to restore some of his composure. More calmly Sid continued, "that was before she stabbed me in the back."

As Bethany Renton walked away from the cenotaph, Mayor Blurforth straightened his suit and wiped the sweat from his forehead. The agitated crowd's murmurs faded as he stepped forward to address them.

"Thank you, Bethany," he said, his voice carrying over the silent crowd. "Speaking of wreaths, let us pay our respects with these three wreaths we have here today."

He turned to the table positioned behind him, where Frank stood holding one of the wreaths with an eager grin. "These wreaths are for the Return Services League of Sagan Prime, the Return Services League of Starfleet Officers and Enlisted, and the Return Services League of Santiago Bay. I invite the presidents of these branches - Rob Sandhurst, Kris Matters, and Peeta Tarren - to come up and lay the wreaths at the memorial."

The crowd stood still as the three presidents stood up and made their way towards the cenotaph, wreaths in hand. The mayor stepped back to give them space as they soberly walked away to place the wreaths in front of the memorial.

As Mayor Blurforth stepped back up to the pulpit, he looked out at the solemn faces before him. "The next wreath we lay today is in memory of those Starfleet officials who lost their lives as the result of war," he said, his voice sombre.

He scanned the crowd until his eyes fell on a man in uniform. "We call upon Colonel Zachary Aeyers to come forward and lay the wreath in honour of his fallen comrades," the mayor announced, gesturing to the wreath.

Eastwood looked over at the colonel and smiled. "I guess it's your turn, Colonel," he said.

"I've been waiting for this all week," Zach protested as she took the black and crimson floral wreath in his hands and proceeded toward the memorial. He placed it on the plinth and took a few steps back. Despite the unnecessary pomp and circumcision-- circumstance of the whole show, names flooded his mind as he looked at that wreath. It represented everyone he, and everyone he cared about had lost. Six, Tomas, Seffen. Faces flashed through his mind, no longer just names, people. He was misty eyed, perhaps feeling something for the first time in a long time. Then he felt like he ought to get the hell out of there.

As the colonel moved away from the memorial, Blurforth proceeded with the next wreath. "In honour of the wounded and maimed Starfleet officers, we now call upon Colonel Jeffrey Fletcher to come forward and lay the wreath."

The mayor paused briefly, then continued, "Colonel, I apologize for misspeaking your name earlier. If you could please come forward and do us the honour of placing this wreath."

Eastwood looked over at Colonel Fletcher and smiled. Watching the old veteran, Eastwood couldn't help but wonder how he lost his eye. "Looks like it's your turn now," he said, stepping aside to allow the colonel to pass him.

Jeff nodded resolutely and grumbled his agreement. These moments where all eyes were on him, he knew he had to make a practiced and respectable appearance. Ever since the altercations on the Klingon shipyard, his knee ached even worse than before, and his hearing had worsened, as well. There had been emotional tolls, of course, even before the war had officially started. But it had only gotten worse from there. As self-aggrandising and self-important as these events were, Jeff knew he had a duty to present a stoic face in memory of those lost. It just took a little more effort to focus on walking through the pain with everyone watching him. Taking the moments as he walked to remember those lost, the pain in his knee was soon forgotten. So many lost, so many taken away so soon, and for what? He was at the memorial before he knew it, and took a sombre moment to lay the wreath, dreading kneeling down but gritting through it. The injuries he sustained in these intervening years were some of the least felt in the war, he reminded himself. These people had lost so much more.

As Colonel Fletcher walked away from the memorial, Blurforth continued with the ceremony. "In honour of the children and widows of Starfleet, Sagan Remembers now calls upon Lieutenant Commander Sidric Tobias, PhD, MSST, BEng, to come forward and place the wreath."

The mayor smiled as he waited for Sedric to come down to claim the wreath. "That's quite a title you've got there," he remarked with a chuckle.

Sidric smiled politely at Blurforth and carefully took the wreath. Memories of the attack surfaced in Sid's mind as he slowly walked towards the memorial. The USS Tudoise burning above Sagan, the fighter pilots he had ordered to defend city being swatted from the sky, making the impossible decision to reduce the planetary shielding to defend only critical infrastructure. Sid placed the wreath gently thought of his late daughter Six, pausing for a moment. Tobias pulled himself out of his reverie, and returned to his place.

Eastwood watched as Commander Tobias placed his wreath at the base of the memorial, lost in thought as memories of fallen comrades flooded his mind. He waited for Blurforth to call his name, but the mayor seemed to have lost his place.

After a moment of confusion, Blurforth finally found his place on the list. "And now, in honour of the memories of the Dominion War, we call upon our very own committee member, Lieutenant Commander Wayne Eastwood PhD, to come forward and lay the wreath."

Eastwood stepped forward; his heart heavy as he approached the cenotaph. As he placed the wreath at the base of the memorial, he silently paid his respects to those he had lost, both during the Dominion War and throughout his long career in Starfleet.

As he walked back to the group, Eastwood's gaze lingered on Uzi for a moment before turning towards the men he considered his mentors. Standing among them, he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and gratitude for the opportunity to serve alongside such distinguished individuals at Santiago Bay.

"Sidric doing the one for orphans," Aeyers began with a whisper to the group of officers, "Glad to see you're finally giving them a nod."

Tobias pursed his lips for a moment at the age old implication before hushedly replying, "we all should think of the children".

"Always," Aeyers agreed.

The group stood in solemn silence; their eyes fixed on Blurforth as he continued his list. Among the names he mentioned was Former Commissioner Philip Brandt of the SBPD, who reverently laid a wreath in honour of the officer's fallen during the incursion. As the crowd watched, two local school students stepped forward, their young faces filled with both reverence and sorrow, presenting a wreath on behalf of the students who had never had the chance to serve.

‘How many children were there in the end?’ Eastwood pondered, his thoughts drifting back to the days following the incursion. The image of the tireless crews working to remove rubble from the spot where the local school once stood was still etched vividly in his mind. Even now, it haunted him in his nightmares—the sight of those little hands, now covered by a solemn blanket as they were being loaded for transport to the bases morgue.

Quietly, Eastwood asked the group, “What was the final number in the end? The Number of Casualties. Do any of you ever think about it?”

Aeyers stayed silent for a moment. He tried not to think about it, that was his main motivation for being so reluctant to be at the ceremony in the first place. He had a solid wager that he, nor his colleagues, would ever forget the view from orbit when they saw their home on fire, the faces of the victims, or what they were confronted with when they rushed in to pull victims out of burning building. He looked at the ground for a moment, "We're still counting."

Eastwood's heart sank as he listened to Aeyers' words. The sombre truth remained that even to this day, they continued to discover remains. Whether it was an intact body or a mere bone fragment, Eastwood knew that all these remains had been carefully preserved within a dedicated vault. The purpose was clear—to establish a comprehensive catalogue that would eventually lead to the identification and rightful return of everyone’s remains to their grieving loved ones.

As Blurforth announced the next group of dignitaries, the names rolled on. First, the Ladies Auxiliary Members of the Vulcan Medical Committee emerged, an elderly Vulcan lady and her grandson both solemnly carrying a wreath. They approached the memorial, their steps measured and dignified. Then came Annabelle Fung, tasked once again with the honour of laying a wreath on behalf of the Local Monastery of the Mighty Bird, paying homage to the fallen.

Blurforth paused, scanning the expectant crowd before returning his gaze to his notes. "Now, as part of the Sagan Remembers ceremony, we honour three remarkable individuals who have served on this esteemed outpost. This year's honourees are Nate McCornish, Jazmin Young, and T'Osh, a Vulcan Science officer. Today, we are joined by their families as we pay our heartfelt respects to them."

"Let us commence," Blurforth declared with a newfound enthusiasm. "Commander Nate McCornish, bearing the Service Number NG125689, served valiantly in the Star Fighter wing on Sagan Prime during the harrowing Incursion of 2388. However, to truly comprehend the essence of Nate, we must trace his journey back to its humble beginnings. Born on November 22nd, 2348, in Mansfield City, Missouri, Nate's indomitable spirit was apparent from the start. His mother fondly reminisced, 'Nate's unwavering desire was to venture into the depths of space, to explore realms beyond the reach of our own stars.'”

"God, he's really into this part. I suggested cutting it short, but what does he do? He delves even deeper into the research. Honestly, nobody cares about Mansfield Plains. Let's keep things moving," Eastwood huffed under his breath. Returning his attention to the group, Eastwood observed their expressions, finding reassurance that they were all fully attentive and engrossed in the lecture or that they seem to be.

"You'd think anyone who needed to hear these peoples' life stories would be already aware of the particulars," Aeyers grumbled as Blurforth bumbled through a long, though generally coherent speech about Aeyers' former wingmate, McCornish, with the mayor labouring particularly over the pilot's love of a pasty from the Baker Street Bakers. Then it was on to Jazmin Young, who no doubt had a fascinating story as well.

"You're not wrong," Eastwood remarked aloud, his gaze fixed on the front as he listened to Blurforth's lengthy monologue about Jazmin. Blurforth went on about how she hailed from a family where she was the youngest, excelled as an honour student in high school, pursued medical sciences at Columbia, graduated among the top ten in her class, and eventually transferred to Starfleet Medical. As Eastwood's eyes briefly dropped to the ground, a sudden realization struck him, and he turned to Sidric. "Commander, if I recall correctly, didn't you happen to attend Starfleet Academy alongside her?"

"All too briefly," Sid replied, "we only had a few intersecting lines of study." Sid took a moment to recall the details. "She took some units in engineering so that she could innovate on medical tools." It had been some time since Sidric had been at the Academy, "well remembered Mr Eastwood, I see you do know your history."

Eastwood responded, his voice carrying a hint of nostalgia, "I have always found it important to establish a genuine connection with those I work alongside. Knowing the person behind the role adds depth and understanding to our collaboration."

“Yes, I suppose so.” Sid replied raising his eyebrow slightly, knowing a person had always been a secondary consideration for him, until recently.

The group stood together, their gaze fixed on the front, as a member of the Vulcan Delegation purposefully approached. With precise movements, they reached out and accepted the wreath from Blurforth, Eastwood, and the rest of the group. Maintaining unwavering composure, the Vulcan elder wordlessly placed the wreath amidst the multitude of others, creating a solemn forest of remembrance. A moment of stillness hung in the air, as the impassive figure seamlessly blended back into the crowd, quietly reclaiming their seat.

Making his way back to the pulpit, Blurforth cast another glance at his notes, sensing that the final stretch of the ceremony had arrived. "Ladies and gentlemen," he addressed the gathering, his voice steady and solemn, "we shall now observe the Last Post. As the flag is lowered to half-mast, I kindly request a moment of silence. During this poignant interval, Major Beavis Forsyth of the 69th Battalion, 8th Starfleet Marines Corps, will honour the fallen by reading a selected list of names from the casualties."

Blurforth's gaze fell upon the young lady, and with a subtle nod, he signalled for her to commence playing the Last Post. However, as the first note resonated through the air, it wavered. The imperfect sound echoed across the cenotaph, underscoring the solemnity of the moment. Meanwhile, the cadets began the solemn task of lowering the flag, their movements precise and measured. With unwavering poise, Blurforth's voice carried through the hushed atmosphere, his words commanding attention. "I respectfully ask that you maintain absolute silence as we observe a minute of remembrance, paying homage to the fallen."

Forsyth stepped up to the podium. Looking out on the crowd, he felt a shiver run down his spine and a lump in his throat. He felt himself choke up, unable to breathe or think. He grabbed his list of names, slapped it down on the lectern and began reading the names of the fallen.

"Crewman Wes Kuntish-- Kentish, uh, sorry everyone," Forsyth fumbled. He finally managed to get himself contained and continued at a measured pace, "Crewman Willard Ellison. Crewman Vanessa Collins. Crewman First Class Tug Spatchcock. Corporal Craig Millard. Sergeant Smekmae Bott. Petty Officer Second Class V'raxa. Petty Officer First Class David Hemmings. Chief Petty Officer Payntette Black. Chief Petty Officer Mischa Patel. Gunnery Sergeant Snaph Wunov. Ensign N'Kara. Ensign Ethan Cooper. Captain Frank Green. Lieutenant Derwent Polywaffel. Lieutenant Commander Nate Gibbs."

Beavis wiped the sweat from above his lip and left the podium, thankful to be out of the attention of the assembled Saganites. "Thank the Great Bird that's over. How'd I do?"

As Beavis approached the group, Eastwood glanced at him and motioned for him to stand next to him. "I specifically told them to cut this part and go with an audio-visual instead," Eastwood whispered to Beavis.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Lieutenant Commander," Beavis grumbled darkly.

"I was saying that you have done a excellent job, Major. It's a shame they didn't have the hologram visual screen I had arranged from Engineering to display all the names as you read the select few. It looks like Uzi won that battle. We can’t win them all," Eastwood spoke appreciatively as he extended his hand for a firm shake.

Having clarified Eastwood's position, Forsyth eased up a bit and shook the Starfleet officer's hand, "Agreed. Anything to get me out of having to do that again. Some of those names were a mouthful."

“Exactly, what do you think? Colonel Fletcher. How do you think the Major went with the pronunciations of the names?” asked Eastwood seeing that the Colonel was looking at Beavis with a expression of a person who was about to enquire about the subject.

"He stumbled a little at the start but I think he got every one after that," Jeff rubbed his beard. "He did well. Certainly did better than that louse Uzi."

Agreeing with his superior's comment, Eastwood gazed out at the service, knowing it wouldn't be long before the event concluded. Glancing at his fitness watch PADD, he checked his stress levels. He also had a copy of the service pamphlet viewing as the watch was connected to his PADD in his pocket. Turning back to the Colonels, he spoke softly, "I believe there are two tasks remaining for this service, and then we can head to Sagan Memorial Park for the Phaser Fire Brunch, where the Andorian Rotary Club will be in charge of the cooking, apparently." Eastwood quickly checked his watch once more. "Ah, yes, Fung will be delivering the closing prayer, followed by the closing remarks."

Blurforth returned to the pulpit, his dress uniform slightly dishevelled with the top button undone. Being a 65-year-old, he could feel the heat and strain of the proceedings. Clearing his throat and coughing into the microphone once more, he gazed out at the audience.

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. We have reached the final two agenda items," Blurforth announced. "Terrance, if you could kindly join me once again to deliver the closing prayer? Everyone, please welcome Terrance."

As Blurforth gestured, Terrance made his way up to the pulpit, drawing back his hood to reveal his bald head. Casting his gaze upon the crowd, Terrance Fung spoke in a solemn tone, addressing the assembly: "Transcendent Cosmos, we gather here today, united as a cosmic community, seeking your guidance and blessings. As we reach the culmination of this gathering, we invoke the spirit of exploration and enlightenment that resonates throughout the galaxies."

Pausing briefly, Terrance glanced down at his sheet of paper before continuing with his speech: "May your celestial radiance illuminate our paths, akin to how constellations guide the trajectory of star-faring vessels. Bestow upon us the wisdom to embrace diversity and foster understanding among all sentient beings, upholding the principles of harmony and respect."

“All for the Great Bird right,” smiled Eastwood as he elbowed Colonel Aeyers who was trying to follow on with Terrance word by word.

"O Great Bird, how we adore you," Zach laughed. He turned to watching with concern as Fung's speech paused for him to 'fung about'.

Fung carefully turned the pages of his speech, hoping that his words would deeply resonate with those around him. "As we embark on our cosmic odyssey, may we gather the strength to fearlessly explore uncharted territories, unlocking the enigmatic wonders that lie within the vast expanse of space. We humbly express our gratitude for the opportunity to serve, upholding the values of unity, compassion, and justice, which are personified by the intrepid explorers who have fearlessly ventured into the final frontiers. As we bring this gathering to a close, let us carry forth the spirit of collaboration and goodwill into our daily lives, working tirelessly towards a future where peace and enlightenment prevail throughout the cosmos. In the name of all those who strive for harmony and understanding across civilizations and across the stars, we offer this heartfelt closing prayer. May our journey be everlasting and prosperous. And to the Great Bird in the heavens, may you live long and prosper."

As the crowd chanted, 'For the Great Bird,' Terrance stepped away from the pulpit, handing over to Blurforth who sported a grin as he shuffled his paperwork. “Ladies and gentlemen, honoured dignitaries, and families of the fallen, the service has now concluded. We invite you to explore the memorial and pay homage by placing a flower or your own wreath at its base. Moreover, we extend a warm welcome to return to the Sagan Memorial Park, where the Andorian Rotary Club has prepared a delectable ‘Phaser Fire’ spread for us to enjoy. I want to express my heartfelt gratitude to everyone involved in today's service. On behalf of Sagan Remembers, thank you.”

As the crowd audibly exhaled, expressing their relief, Eastwood turned back to the group. "See? It wasn't that bad. On a scale of 1 to enduring a tooth extraction without any numbing drugs, I'd confidently rate this experience as an 8," he nervously laughed, hoping his superiors and friends would share his perspective. "Do you agree with my assessment, sir?"

"Definitely experienced worse," Zach agreed. "I mean, there was last year."

"Indeed," mused Eastwood, his thoughts returning to last year's event when Uzi's pants unexpectedly dropped while he presented Zac with his wreath. "Honestly, despite the fiery political disputes and Uzi's pronunciation mishaps, the ceremony went relatively smoothly. Thankfully, his pants didn't malfunction as they did before, sparing the widows from witnessing an unfortunate exposure while he handed you your wreath, Colonel. I must say, I don't know how you managed to maintain composure. The man really should be in a retirement home."

"Pantsing-olds are a regular occurance around here, Commander, unfortunately we're used to it," Aeyers admitted. A bad memory- not even that of Uzi- came and went and made him shudder. "Anyway, for the attendees I'm sure this has been a fairly painless event. Well done to you and the team at Sagan Remembers."

"Thank you, Sir" Eastwood smiled, feeling a warm sense of satisfaction despite the hard work he had put in. While receiving gratitude from Blurforth and Co seemed unlikely, this gesture meant a lot to him coming from the Colonel. "I assume all of you will be attending brunch. Or perhaps you have another engagement? If you'd like, I can offer apologies on your behalf. They won't mind."

"Brian's Pub and Beanery is calling," Aeyers said, "As are our duties, but I might see if I can call in a bit later, I'm sure the mayor has a few more speeches that will keep a captive audience far into the morning, perhaps until midday."

"Oh, uh..." Jeff looked at the missing watch on his wrist but pretended it was there anyway. "Gee, y'know, I think I'm gonna be busy during those speeches. Vetting the new Science Division Chief and everything. I can swing by if I'm really needed, so long as it doesn't affect the length of my duties."

Nodding in agreement with the information that Colonel Aeyers and Lieutenant Colonel Fletcher had told him, Eastwood scanned the surroundings as the crowd dispersed. Only a handful of widows and elderly individuals remained, still trying to piece together the events that had just transpired.

"Well, gentlemen, shall we?" Eastwood gestured gracefully, guiding the group back up the boulevard towards the awaiting transports to take them to their separate ways.

Sidric, who had retreated into a trance while managing to affix an expression of mild interest, stirred. “Ah, yes, right,” Sid said unconvincingly covering for his lack of attention. “Indeed, I should help Jeff. However, attendance to Brian’s would be appropriate.” Sid nodded curtly to the group and made his way out while beginning to read another report.

OFF

 

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