Such Sweet Sorrow

[Day 5, 1230 hrs]
[Main Conference Room]

'Thank God this is over,' grumbled Beckett as he unnecessarily fidgeted with his collar.

'Almost over,' corrected Lieutenant Dathan, her expression as usual studied and composed. 'One more speech, sir.'

He made a noise of protest they both knew was fake. Getting to go back up on the podium without sharing it was literally the highlight of Commodore Beckett's week, and Dathan knew full-well it was the only thing which had kept him on this side of bearable for the last few days. She had been the one who ran around finding out flag officers' favourite drinks and meals. She had been the one to ensure all briefing officers knew what they were saying and when. She had been the one to deal with Starbase Bravo's captain when he'd been close to dropping the entire conference on grounds of security readiness. And her reward was that Beckett might shut his damn mouth for one whole day once this was over.

They weren't there yet. But soon. She was vastly over-qualified for these jobs and vastly over-qualified for this sort of success criteria, beyond what even Beckett knew, but she would take the victories she could get for now.

'Are they ready?' Beckett asked at last.

'They're ready when you say they're ready, surely, sir.' Dathan sighed, and looked to the crowd. 'Yes, sir. They're ready, sir.'

'Excellent.' He gave her his mug, and she, one of the most promising up-and-coming officers in Starfleet and an unparalleled specialist in strategic analysis, held his coffee while he went up to speak.

The hubbub, at least, died down when Beckett reached the podium. Officers had enjoyed the comforts - occasionally lacking - of Starbase Bravo. Journalists had prowled for whatever crumbs they could gather. Experts had found themselves befuddled as officers often didn't speak the language of their specialisation. Nobody anywhere had the words of Commodore Alexander Beckett as their highest interest. But he never let things like that stop him when he had a stage.

'Friends. Comrades. Colleagues.' A hand came up, killing all lingering conversation. 'Thank you for gathering one last time. It has been a fulfilling few days, a fascinating few days. A chance for us to learn and in some cases rediscover what awaits us beyond these bulkheads. A chance to meet one another, connect with one another. Wherever we go, however far into the stars our missions take us, we are one Fleet. One Starfleet. And we will never be alone, even if all we carry are the lessons we have learnt and the connections we've made.

'Our time here is at an end. So now it is time to get to work. Go forth, captains and commanders of Starfleet. Do, for the first time in over a decade, what we were born to do.' Here was where he might have made another 'boldly go' comment, but Beckett was not so tone-deaf to his audience as that, even if he blamed Ramar for getting there first a few days ago. 'You may feel apprehensive. There are reasons we pulled back. Losses we suffered from which we had to recover. Threats against which we had to guard. The past has left its mark upon us all, and it is not cowardice to be mindful of this. Caution is sensible, and yet, here we are, looking to be bold again. We will each of us find that courage in our own ways, face this challenge in our own ways. But I have the podium, so I will share someone else's words of wisdom; a poem that strikes close to me each time I hear it.' Beckett rested his hands on the podium, tilted his chin up an inch.

'A voice said, Look me in the stars
And tell me truly, men of Earth
If all the soul-and-body scars
Were not too much to pay for birth.'

He cleared his throat. 'I apologise on behalf of Robert Frost for the Terran male-centric attitudes. But we all have our scars, inside and out. And yet the stars beckon once more, and this is what we were born to do.'

Beckett waved a hand, more vague, more dismissive. 'Your ships and shuttles will be waiting this afternoon to take you back to your assignments, or in some cases to your new postings. Remember all you have learnt here. Remember every connection you have made. And I look forward to reading the reports of all the new sights of this glorious galaxy you send to my desk in the coming days, months, years.' He nodded briskly. 'Thank you for your time. Good hunting. And goodbye.'

He was not a man to stop and listen over-much to the quantity or quality of applause that met his speeches. Beckett was rather more interested in if his speeches pleased himself, and so he didn't pay too much attention to Lieutenant Dathan's flat expression as he stepped down from the podium and rejoined her.

'I'll want my Caravaggio in my office by tomorrow, not just the holo-display,' he said as he took the coffee, and sipped it. Then he made a face. 'This is cold.'

He pushed it back into her hands and stalked off, and Lieutenant Dathan watched him go, musing on all the different ways she could kill him, and wondering how many people would stop her.