Standing together in the front row before the podium were the senior members of the clergy who resided on the station: Father McKee from the nondenominational Christian chapel; Rabbi Geller; Imam al-Jazaar; Brother Sihanouk from the Buddhist temple; Zharran sh’Rassa, from the Andorian eresh’tha; and Gom glasch Moar, the resident Tellarite throg, or “sin eater.”

Speaking to large groups was one of the few things that still made Reyes sick to his stomach with anxiety. He took a slow, deep breath and checked for the fifty-third time that his notes were still secure in his hand.

Less than a minute before 1100, Commander Cooper emerged from the standing crowd around the podium, nodded to Reyes, and walked up the three stairs onto the raised platform. He moved to the lectern, switched on a small microphone sensor, and cleared his throat. “Good morning. Please rise.” The crowd rose from its seats or from the lawn. The Starfleet personnel in the audience stood at attention, and a respectful hush settled over the throng. Cooper nodded to Reyes, then looked back at the crowd. “Please welcome Commodore Reyes.”

Polite, muted applause greeted Reyes as he ascended the stairs. Cooper yielded the lectern to him then stepped off the podium, leaving Reyes as the sole focus of attention. Reyes glanced at his first note card, then wondered why he had brought them; he was too nervous to make sense of what he had written. He turned the cards facedown on the lectern, drew a breath, and looked out at the small sea of faces that surrounded him.

“Thank you Commander Cooper,” he began. “Fellow Starfleet officers; enlisted personnel; civilian residents; and honored guests; thank you for being here this morning.

“Today, I stand with you in grief. I mourn with you. Like many of you…perhaps all of you…I lost someone I knew aboard the Bombay…. A friend…. For five years, before she was the Bombay’s CO, Hallie Gannon was my first officer aboard the Starship Dauntless. From her first day aboard she was everything a captain could ask for in a number one; tireless, efficient, always ready to take on one more job. When she took command of the Bombay, I knew her crew had scored a lucky break.

“Last week, they lost their lives serving one another, serving Starfleet, and serving the Federation. History will remember them as heroes. But I’m sure that many of you will remember them first as friends, and as loved ones. Some of you served with them on other ships, some of you attended Starfleet Academy or basic training together. You knew them in ways that others throughout the Federation could not. Feel honored that you had that chance, even though the pain you feel for their loss is heartbreaking.

“I wish I could undo it, but I can’t…. My words must pale when compared to the tragedy that took their lives, shrink when measured against the vast emptiness their deaths have left in our lives. Some of us are in denial; we can’t believe they’re gone. Some of us are raging and desperate to strike back at someone, anyone, just so we can feel like we’re doing something to balance the scales.

“Our anger is justified, but we must not let it consume us. We must not let our sorrow be turned to hatred. Justice is not vengeance, even if some want to believe otherwise. At times like this, it’s vital that we embrace the better angels of our nature, no matter how hard it is.

“We also can’t let our loss paralyze us. Among the obligations of all those who wear the Starfleet uniform, one of the most sacred is our duty to one another. It is a commitment that does not end with the loss of one life, or one ship. The best way for us to honor the sacrifice of Captain Gannon and her crew is to continue their work, to finish what they started, and to make sure they didn’t die in vain.

“There’s a poem, ‘The Young Dead Soldiers,’ by Archibald MacLeish of Earth, that honors those who’ve died in the service of their people. Speaking for the fallen, he wrote: ‘Our deaths are not ours; they are yours; they will mean what you make of them.’

“That’s as true today as when he wrote it, more than three centuries ago. When Starfleet personnel give their lives in the line of duty, they know that it will fall to history—to the living—to judge whether their sacrifices were made in vain, or for a greater good and a better future.

“Ultimately, the value of their lives depends upon how we honor them, and upon how faithfully we continue the work that they began.

“Captain Gannon and her crew gave us their deaths; let us give them their meaning—of peace and wisdom, of service and freedom, of courage and hope.”

Reyes paused. Reverent silence surrounded him like a bulwark. Scanning the crowd, he saw faces streaked with tears, heads bowed in grief, friends and shipmates clinging to one another for emotional support. “When I was a boy on Luna, my father and I planted a tree to honor my grandfather when he passed away.” He turned his head and looked toward Stars Landing and the far side of the enclosure. “In honor of the Bombay and her crew, a tree is being planted right now on Fontana Meadow—a Denevan dogwood. With its year-round flowers and solid roots, it’s a reminder of the lesson of the Psalms—that the life of a good person is like a tree whose leaf does not wither.

“Trees take a long time to grow, and wounds take a long time to heal. But it’s time for us to begin. Great labors await us, but so do great wonders. Captain Gannon and her crew are taken from us, but our lives will be their legacy.

“Thank you.”

He gathered up his note cards and left the podium to strong applause. As soon as he had cleared the stairs, Commander Cooper was back at the lectern, providing instructions for those who wished to follow the clergy to religious memorials scheduled for 1200, and explaining how to find the grief counselors’ offices in Vanguard Hospital.

Lost in his own thoughts, Reyes didn’t see Kirk until the young CO intercepted him on the edge of the dispersing crowd.

“Commodore,” Kirk said, falling into step beside him.

Reyes nodded politely. “Captain.”

“Good speech,” Kirk said.

“Thank you.”

“I’m curious,” Kirk said. “That part about some of us wanting to strike back at anyone…was that meant just for me?”

“Not just you, no.” The two officers stepped onto a flat, moving walkway that would carry them to a bank of turbolifts along the station’s core. “You aren’t the only one who feels a sense of duty to Starfleet personnel lost in action.”

“I didn’t think that I was,” Kirk said. “But if you’re worried that I’m going to do something rash, you needn’t be. I’m still a Starfleet officer. Duty comes first, always.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Reyes said. “And for what it’s worth, you did inspire at least one part of my speech.”

“Dare I ask?”

“The part about making certain they didn’t die in vain.” Reyes lowered his voice. “You and your crew did good work on Ravanar IV. How your chief engineer solved a riddle that’s baffled an entire team of R&D engineers for two years, I’ll never know…but I’m glad you came along when you did. Hallie and her crew are going to be missed around here, but thanks to you and your crew, their sacrifices weren’t empty ones. They owe you a debt of gratitude, Kirk…and so do I.”

Kirk extended his hand to Reyes. “It’s an honor just to serve, Commodore.”

Shaking Kirk’s hand, Reyes nodded with respect. “Likewise, Captain. Likewise.”

Cervantes Quinn strolled past the athletic fields. Reyes’s speech had just ended. The crowd was beginning to disperse into clusters, which wandered off in seemingly random directions. Quinn was looking for Tim Pennington, who he knew would come here to listen to the memorial address if not to report on it.

From the moment Pennington’s story had broken on FNS, Quinn had known that the data card he had planted and directed Pennington to find had been instrumental in exposing the truth of the Bombay’s destruction. When the story unraveled the following day, however, he had realized only then that he had been an unwitting accomplice to the ruination of Pennington himself.