The Service

Posted on Mon Jan 27th, 2014 @ 11:25pm by Lieutenant Commander Ciaran McIntyre
Edited on on Wed Jan 29th, 2014 @ 11:55pm

Episode: Trauma
Location: 11th Fleet Headquarters, Cestus III

[ON]

Ciaran McIntyre's dress uniform pinched at his neck. The muffled conversations behind him were stifling. He turned to glare at them but they were so busy in their own hushed dalliances that no-one noticed.

He couldn't blame them. He couldn't blame the Endeavour's crew.

This was the third memorial service he had attended that day, but it was Adrienne Thiffault's first. He glanced at her gaunt, grey visage and gently gripped her arm just above the elbow. She offered him the ghost of a smile but her attention was fixed on the podium which stood in the centre of the chamber.

Behind it stood the crusty figure of a Rear Admiral whose name had never been uttered throughout the last four hours.

He began his monotone drawl, unflinching in his willingness to repeat the same inane platitudes for each officer.

"We are gathered here today," he began, "to commemorate the heroism and sacrifice of Lieutenant Junior Grade Olivier Thiffault."

He pronounced his name wrong. Adrienne flinched in the corner of his eye.

His words merged into the vaulted ceiling as the Endeavour's crew fell into hushed silence. They found it hard to care; he could tell. He could empathise. This was his best friend being eulogised by... who even knew?

A pencil pusher.

Someone who hadn't seen active service in years. McIntyre had not been asked to speak. Adrienne had not been asked to speak. The services were nothing more than a formality. Starfleet's appreciation of the dead stretched no further than this. They had nothing to bury.

Less admin.

Thiffault had blown himself up to defend the Federation. He had gone above and beyond the call of duty and saved millions of lives. The lives that he had saved were unwilling to acknowledge his service.

To stand there and repeat the same platitudes was an insult to his memory. To Tiret. To Stott. It was an insult to Captain Byrne and it was an insult to Thiffault's wife. The Admiral continued his disinterested monologue.

How many of these did he do a day? How many times did he disrespect the dead with his one-size-fits-all sermon?

McIntyre was numb. The heroes of Starfleet would disappear into statistics and this was their last hurrah. Their last memorial.

He felt sick when he felt her hand gripping his. Adrienne was crying and all he could do was critique the performance of the eulogy. She would never have the closure of seeing her husband lying peacefully, eyes closed and serene.

The picture in his head wasn't much different. The twisted alloy, the cybernetic components of the Borg floating in the vacuum. Still Thiffault floated in the void with complete composure. As though he had laid down to sleep and never woken up.

The reality was as different as it was possible to be. Thiffault's earthly remains no longer existed. There was no remnant of the man they had loved floating through space as his own perfect memorial. This was it. Olivier Thiffault was atoms and the memory of him was this. This moment.

"What do you see when you close your eyes?" The Counselor had asked him.

He had told him. "I see him for what he is."

"Do you think about what he was? The kind of person he was?"

"I see him for what he is."

"Olivier was a hero. He was selfless and he gave his life to save his crewmates. To save Starfleet." The Counselor would try to put him back on track.

"I see it for what it is." McIntyre would tell the Counselor. "I see us for what we are."

"What is that?" The Counselor would ask him patiently each time.

"Cowards." McIntyre would mutter. "Every one of us."

The Admiral's voice droned on. The Starfleet Order of Valour. Posthumously bestowed to each and every one of the Endeavour crew who had died that day. Every one of the brave, and the bold. Their passing marked by Starfleet by four little pieces of tin.

"Cowards." He whispered to himself. "Every one of us."

[OFF]

Lieutenant Ciaran McIntyre
Medical Leave
Cestus III