Beckett didn't cry on the shuttle heading to Starbase 80, as the Cerritos warped away. She'd never thought that her mom - no, Captain Freeman - could be so vindictive. She didn't even listen when Mariner tried to explain what was going on. All she'd done was sing the praises of the Cerritos and her captain, and for that she was all but court-martialed. Nobody was giving her the benefit of the doubt. Even Jennifer thought the worst of her! At least Rutherford, Boimler, and Tendi didn't think that, but...it didn't really matter, did it? The Cerritos had been more than her posting, it had been home. And now she'd been exiled, posted to the worst assignment in Starfleet.
She curled her hand into a fist, digging her fingers into her palm. It wasn't fair! Starfleet was built on justice and fairness and she'd jump on a photon torpedo for people she loved, and it seemed like instead even her own mother would just rather push her in front of one to save face. Well, no more. She'd said a long time ago that if she ever got kicked off the Cerritos she'd quit Starfleet, and now it was time to put her latinum where her mouth was.
The thought of being adrift as a civilian terrified her, she'd admit that much to herself, but she had contacts throughout the Federation. Her name wasn't mud everywhere yet.
That archaeologist chick from the Galardonian fair - Petra? - she'd said something about getting in touch if Beckett ever wanted to leave Starfleet. Good thing I didn't delete her contact information.
As the shuttle approached Starbase 80, she knew what she had to do. First, she was going to resign her commission. Second, she was going to call Petra Aberdeen back about becoming an ass-kicking space archaeologist. If Starfleet had turned its back on her, she was perfectly willing to turn her back on Starfleet.
So why, then, was the place she most wanted to be hanging out in the ship's bar with her only friends?
no subject
Beckett didn't cry on the shuttle heading to Starbase 80, as the Cerritos warped away. She'd never thought that her mom - no, Captain Freeman - could be so vindictive. She didn't even listen when Mariner tried to explain what was going on. All she'd done was sing the praises of the Cerritos and her captain, and for that she was all but court-martialed. Nobody was giving her the benefit of the doubt. Even Jennifer thought the worst of her! At least Rutherford, Boimler, and Tendi didn't think that, but...it didn't really matter, did it? The Cerritos had been more than her posting, it had been home. And now she'd been exiled, posted to the worst assignment in Starfleet.
She curled her hand into a fist, digging her fingers into her palm. It wasn't fair! Starfleet was built on justice and fairness and she'd jump on a photon torpedo for people she loved, and it seemed like instead even her own mother would just rather push her in front of one to save face. Well, no more. She'd said a long time ago that if she ever got kicked off the Cerritos she'd quit Starfleet, and now it was time to put her latinum where her mouth was.
The thought of being adrift as a civilian terrified her, she'd admit that much to herself, but she had contacts throughout the Federation. Her name wasn't mud everywhere yet.
That archaeologist chick from the Galardonian fair - Petra? - she'd said something about getting in touch if Beckett ever wanted to leave Starfleet. Good thing I didn't delete her contact information.
As the shuttle approached Starbase 80, she knew what she had to do. First, she was going to resign her commission. Second, she was going to call Petra Aberdeen back about becoming an ass-kicking space archaeologist. If Starfleet had turned its back on her, she was perfectly willing to turn her back on Starfleet.
So why, then, was the place she most wanted to be hanging out in the ship's bar with her only friends?