Popular Post Karrod Niac Posted April 26, 2022 Popular Post Posted April 26, 2022 We all form a special relationship with the ships we serve on and the occasion of losing one, even when 'planned,' can be very emotional for all involved. The former crew of the Reso decided to commemorate their lost vessel in this stirring and beautifully written group JP. Well done to everyone involved! ===================================================== (( OOC: A huge thank you to everyone who jumped into this scene! I loved reading what everyone added to our little private service. )) (( USS Resolution Memorial, Deck 227/228, Deep Space 224 )) With the lights at minimum illumination, the stars could easily be seen shining brightly through the viewports against the blackness of space. The only significant source of light in the room was the obelisk in the center, projecting a holographic image of the lost ship overhead. Yogan was the first to arrive, and when he stepped through the door into the darkened room, the projection of Resoltion backlit by the stars outside took him by surprise. He’d not seen Resolution during her final moments–the controlled descent into a planetoid with 14 souls still aboard–he had been aboard Rinascita Station at the time, fighting Suliban extremists, depleting oxygen, and his own symbiont. The holo-image of the small-but-heroic ship was how he preferred to remember her. The public dedication of the USS Resolution memorial was to take place shortly. They’d all been invited, but Yogan received permission for his crewmates to gather in private for a short while before the main ceremony. It would be an opportunity for them to see the memorial for the first time together, without the pressures of having to be “on” for the public and manage their reactions for an audience, however well-intentioned they might be. Yogan smiled as his cremates and friends entered and looked at the memorial. When it appeared that everyone who was going to come had arrived, Yogan stepped into the center of the room, just in front of the plaque at the base of the sculpture and broke the solem silence. Yalu: Thank you all for coming. The public ceremony will begin soon, but I thought we would all appreciate this time to ourselves. Before anything else, I just want you all to know that–– ::gestures to memorial:: this was made possible by the Commercial Sector Merchants’ Association. They spearheaded the effort to install a permanent memorial to our ship almost immediately after the news reached the station. Seeing this now, I just want to express gratitude to the shopkeepers and residens of Deep Space 224 for being a part of our extended ship family. Yogan hand brushed against the gold plaque, onto which the names of 13 Resolution crewmembers were etched. The fourteenth victim, Liam Wyke, was represented by a single five-pointed star, as he was not publicly identified in official reports until the necessary debriefings had concluded. Yogan briefly wondered if Admiral Regillensis would have appreciated an invitation to the public service, but that was impossible. He would likely not be a free man for a long time. Yalu: I don’t really have a program or an order of service, or anything like that. Just some time together, and say a few words. ::beat:: Captain, would you care to start? There was nothing quite like saying goodbye. Over the course of so many years and so many ships, homes, places she’d been, goodbye had started to become that ever consistent thorn in her side. Just when she was getting settled and stable, it would come along and knock her over. It would leave her scrambling for the next solid foundation, which she would often find just in time for another wave to sweep through. The Resolution was no different, and yet, it was as different as one could think because it was both a beginning and an end. The raven-haired command officer could still remember the day she set foot on the tiny Nova class ship for the first time, lockstep with Ensign’s Makal Kora and Eliaan Deron. Her fellow Academy graduates and friends had since left Starfleet, but that moment, over a decade ago, still seemed quite fresh in her renewed memory. Kali’s eyes fell on the memorial and considered all that it represented. The ship was gone, and with it, the lives of the few who could not escape the untimely demise. She would never walk the corridors where she had lived, and died, again. The echos of Jaxx, and Kora with his terrier Agrippa, of Guy Hunt, the Laudean child she’d nearly adopted, of her flute, and the budding love story she now found herself happily entrenched in would never be heard again save for in the deep recesses of the minds of those who were there. Those who would remember. As the room had filled, Kali found her way to the front of the small group, looking at each in turn. Her eyes settled on the darkness found in Genkos’ eyes and she found strength, even as though she thought he might feel it lacking. Try as she might, she was concerned that he would always feel as if part of the destruction was his fault, even if the board of inquiry, and she, thought otherwise. Nicholotti: There really are no words that can fully encompass the loss of the Resolution as well as this memorial, which will stand for as long as 224 does. It almost gives her a new life, despite the fact that she might not fly again. Kali took a momentary break before continuing. Nicholotti: The truth is, as long as we remember her, our service aboard her, and those who gave the ultimate sacrifice to make sure that everyone else got away…she’s never really gone. For a moment, her crystalline blues lost focus and her thoughts once more drifted to those early days. After the silence settled, she simply nodded to her first officer and took her seat. Addison nodded to her CO as she rose to take her place in front of the group. Her gaze fell upon the memorial - the beautiful granite, and the projection of a ship she never anticipated serving on brought a smile to her face. It was fitting, in her opinion, that the simple ship be memorialized in a monument equally simple - both were beautiful in their own ways. MacKenzie: ::gesturing to the memorial:: We cannot bring back those who were lost on the Resolution. Their deaths leave holes in our hearts that each of us will feel for the remainder of our days. Our service on that ship, and the shared experience of its destruction, has bonded us in ways that many crews will never know. She paused to look around at the familiar faces of her colleagues gathered. MacKenzie: But we are stronger for it. And now, we go forward carrying out the duty that our fallen comrades no longer can knowing that they died in service to Starfleet, honoring a mission and tradition that we all value and serve to protect. That is to be our greatest memorial to their legacy. She took a breath in through her nose as the faces of their colleagues flashed through her mind. After an exhale, she nodded to those who remained in front of her and returned to her seat. Vitor stood quietly as he waited for his turn. Although he was beginning to find some peace, being here wasn’t helping. The memories of his only mission on the Resolution weren’t pleasant ones. He even wondered if she should be there. But it was his turn. So he took the step forward. Silveira: I, regrettably, spent little time on the Resolution. Although I have been in the Fleet long enough to suffer losses, this was the first time the ship I served on was destroyed and so many of my comrades died. He paused, looking down, recalling them and his own memorial he did for them in Risa. Taking a breath he raised his head and spoke again. Silveira: I won’t need a memorial to remember them. But this is a deserved tribute to them all. He bowed to the memorial before returning to his previous position. Hallia took a deep breath, taking her own step forward, she folded her hands in front of her, feeling almost at a loss for words. This was far bigger than just simply one Starship, the Resolution was a place where Hallia felt like she was valued for her skills as an officer. She formed so many meaningful attachments and the Resolution had become a symbol of that. Stepping forward once again and then turning to face the officers gathered here today. Suddenly she was at a loss of words, and the old wounds she thought had long healed only seemed to open themselves up once again. Yellir: The Resolution was a small ship, yet like her crew, it was tougher than a diamond. I’m beyond thankful for the honour of sharing this journey with all of you. I wouldn’t trade all of our adventures, journeys to unfamiliar worlds and survey missions for the universe. To those we lost ::beat:: they’ll always be with us, and as Starfleet officers, we owe it to them to keep going just as they did. And… right now, I hope nothing more than to wish them safe travels on their own journeys, w- ::beat:: w-wherever they are… She felt her voice break towards the end of her speech. Once again, to steel her nerves, Hallia took a deep breath. Her lips quivered, yet her face didn’t change. Two tears slid down her cheeks as she looked the hologram in a moment of silence. As Iljor stepped forward, a strand of his shoulder length brown hair slipped from behind his right ear and gently rested against his face. Brushing it back, he turned to look at the assembled officers, all of whom he had come to consider family in one way or another. Then he gazed fondly at the holographic representation of the late starship Resolution and words came to him. Etan: Resolution was my first assignment out of the academy. A great bug deflector dish with a warp core attached. I didn’t know what to expect, to be totally honest. I’d expected a science station posting or somewhere in a laboratory. A starship was the furthest thing from my mind. But I am beyond grateful for the Resolution. She got us through some of the most difficult moments any of us could have expected. But most importantly- for me anyway- is that I found a family aboard her. And for that I will treasure my memories of the ship wherever I go. He looked at the hologram once more, bowed his head in a moment of respectful silence and then yielded the floor, wiping away a solitary tear. It was Genkos’ turn, and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he did so. This was tough - the Resolution was lost under his command, and it had been his final order evacuate the ship. His cane tapped loudly against the floor, sounding almost thunderous as he took a single step forward. Opening his eyes, he looked around at each of his fellow officers in turn and saw them staring back. Adea: The Resolution was our home, and the crew our family. I will forever be proud of what they achieved, and I am glad that whatever happens to us, even once we’re gone, this ::he waved to the memorial with his free arm:: will always remain. May the four ever watch over them. Then, looking down at his feet, he took another step back, his cane almost silent as he did so. After each of Yogan’s crewmates took the opportunity to speak, the room fell into solemn silence once again. He stepped forward, the sound of his boots against the deck echoing slightly in the large, mostly empty space, and he looked at the memorial once again. After losing the ship, watching the escape pods being recovered, writing the lists of survivors and lost, the investigation and subsequent testimony he’d given, and the distance of time since the disaster, he thought he’d made his peace and moved on. Not so. This was the thing he needed, the missing ingredient for closure. Yalu: Omed, my third host, once said, “Lifetimes of wisdom can make you arrogant. Lifetimes of heartache can make you timid.” It was caution, her warning against allowing events like the loss of our ship to make me jaded or paralyzed by indecision. When I looked at the image of the ship, and those fourteen names, I couldn’t help feeling those inevitable questions. “What could we have done differently?” “How could we have changed what happened?” The memory of standing in the shuttlebay of the USS Carpathia and clutching the PADD of names threatened to overwhelm him, but instead of suppressing it or fighting it, he allowed himself a moment for the wave to wash on by. Yalu: I will always remember this ship and the crew who served on her. But instead of dwelling here, I hope this memorial will allow me to look forward instead. To honor the ship and those we lost in the best way possible: by serving Starfleet and the Federation to the best of my ability, exploring space, and adding to my knowledge and understanding of the universe. I won’t always be perfect at it, but that’s what this moment, this memorial, means to me. Yogan could hear the sound of people assembling outside the doors, a low rumble of conversation that contrasted sharply with the almost chapel-like atmosphere inside the room. Yalu: The public ceremony is about to begin, and I’d like to invite everyone who wishes to to stay and dedicate the memorial. Before we let everyone else in, let’s have one last moment to remember the USS Resolution NCC-78145, and those fourteen people who gave their lives in her service: Iefyr Farrel, Chandra Amari, Verian Ohar, Gaavi Lak, Duncan Ruthers, Zenko-Taff, Ev’ell Gridung, Joss Ghunkep, Anaïs Burgess, T’Yor, Saar Spurloecke, Jane van Klaveren, Doria ch’Rino, and Liam Wyke. After the moment of silence, Yogan stepped over to the doors and allowed the residents and shopkeepers of Deep Space 224, the friends and associates who’d so kindly created permanent place of remembrance for them, to enter. [End scene] Commodore Kalianna Nicholotti – Commanding Officer – R238605KN0 Commander Addison MacKenzie – Executive Officer – V239601AM0 Commander Genkos Adea – Second Officer & Chief Medical Officer – G239502GS0 Lieutenant Commander Yogan Yalu – Strategic Operations Officer – D238804DS0 Lieutenant Etan Iljor – Chief Science Officer – C239203TW0 Lieutenant Hallia Yellir – Chief Engineer – G239409EK0 Lieutenant JG Vitor Silveira – Tactical Officer – O238907VS0 USS Excalibur NCC-41903-A 4 1
Genkos Adea Posted April 26, 2022 Posted April 26, 2022 All credit and kudos for this must lie with @Yalu who facilitated this. 3 1
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