Admiral Hikaru Sulu
Born: San Francisco, USA, 2237
Academy Campus: San Francisco
2255 - Entered Academy
2259 - Graduated, Commissioned as Ensign, assigned to USS Arjuna
2261 - Promoted to Lieutenant, JG
2263 - Promoted to Lieutenant
2264 - Assigned to USS Enterprise
2270 - Promoted to Lieutenant-Commander
2278 - Assigned to Starfleet Academy
2280 - Promoted to Commander
2285 - Assigned to USS Enterprise
2286 - Commended for actions during the Cetacean Probe Crisis
2290 - Promoted to Captain, Assigned to USS Excelsior
2293 - Participated in rescue of Khitomer Conference
2296 - Promoted to Commodore, Assigned to Starfleet Academy, Astrosciences
2302 - Promoted to Rear Admiral, Assigned to CO, Starbase 1
2304 - Led Klingon Reinforcements during the Battle of Kadesh
2306 - Assigned to Commander, Explorer Corps
2307 - [CLASSIFIED] Involvement in Cardassian front operations
2310 - Promoted to Vice Admiral, Assigned to Director, Starfleet Tactical Command
2316 - Promoted to Admiral, Assigned to Commander, Starfleet
2316 - Oversees incorporation of Gaen
2317 - Oversees incorporation of Orion Union
2318 - Successful conclusion of GBZ offensive
2318 - Oversees incorporation of Caldonia
2319 - Oversees incorporation of Qloath, Fiiral, and Seyek
2320 - Successfully resolves Eternal Empire crisis
2320 - Oversees incorporation of Risa
2321 - Retired
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A pair of teacups sit full and cold on your desk, both bearing a hint of whisky. By contrast an empty teacup sits beside the pile of data chits and padds. To everything in a navy, though it ply stars, seas, or viewscapes unimagined, there is a corresponding piece of paperwork. Retirement is no different.
You wish Jim and Scotty were here to see this.
There are so many others you would also like to share it with; those already retired, those flung across the lightyears of a Federation far greater than the one they knew as children, and those who left empty chairs at the table of friends. But mostly you wished Jim and Scotty were here.
You'd like to think they'd be proud of their dear friend. Those heady, magic days still call to you, after all. You've grown and matured and gone on to ever more responsibility. A daughter raised and now a Captain in her own right, amassing achievements to rival your own. A ship commanded, a fleet commanded, a command directed, and at the end, Starfleet itself with your steady hand on the tiller. But some part of you is forever young d'Artagnan on the bridge of the Enterprise.
Age is not so cruel as to take that from you.
It is well, you think, that this job is so hard, lest you grow too fond of it. Like Admiral Sousa did before you, you marvel at the longevity of the Iron Lady, Admiral Kahurangi. Stepping onto the bridge of your own starship, seeing your daughter graduate, watching the new Gaeni Councillors step foot into Paris. You may have helped direct a grand offensive against the Ashalla Pact, and against Empress Hayant, but the moments that bring out the tears of pride involve no bloodshed, only growth. No destruction, only knew understanding.
No crisis like the Biophage or the Arcadian War ever beset you, and for that you were grateful. After all, it wasn't like your memoirs will be any the lesser for it. Sousa handed you a baton of promise, and you have taken her promise and rendered it into growth. The Federation was greater now than it was when you took charge. It would be easy to mistake that thought as relating to the count of citizens, the raw square parsecs of claimed space, the tonnage of the fleet. An easy but terrible mistake - those are the yardsticks of tyrants and autocrats. Instead you pride yourself in the breadth of culture that has joined the great diversity of the Federation. In the potential realised.
A last full measure of devotion, pressed down and shaken out. For sixty-five years you have called Starfleet your home, serving not an Emperor or a General but a higher ideal. At long last you have no more to give. Instead, you will look to accept the reward of faithful service: not riches or fame, but the love of brothers and sisters more dear than blood, and the tranquillity of golden years. You will continue in San Francisco, your ancestral home, but first you will travel, to see some of these worlds you risked it all to explore and to befriend.
One last document falls complete to the pile. For the last time you walk away from your desk at the end of a long day. Behind you the two spiked teacups sit, waiting for memories and whispers.
Ahead of you waits Uhura, Spock, Chekov, McCoy, Rand, and Leslie, faithful friends and comrades, and part of the rock on which your Admiralty was founded. You join them in the lobby of the office to the sound of congratulations, quiet but warm and heartfelt. They start to tease you with their plans for your farewell dinner, and Kahurangi and Sousa have both travelled back to San Francisco to take part. You entered Starfleet as a cadet own his own, but you will leave it surrounded by dearest friends.
And to your unnamed successor you bestow the hardest, most rewarding job in the world.
