The 10-Forward lounge known as Roddenberry's was dark as I entered that early morning, with just a bit of glow coming in from the big windows. I left it that way and stepped close to the oversized clear ports. The USS Crazy Horse was in the Earth's shadow.
     Back home, in the Black Hills of South Dakota, I liked to step out onto the front deck in the early morning. The crisp morning air, birds chirping, and turkeys and deer near the yard are a fine way to start the day. No such opportunities on a starship, of course, except for the holodeck, and I didn't have time for such elaborate undertakings this morning. But the briefing room came close, with its sweeping vista ahead of the ship.
     The launch party last night had been excellent, of course. After a year of refit work at Utopia Planetia, the big ship was back at Earth for provisioning, ready to head out on a new five-year mission, with upgraded systems, new décor, and some completely new features.
     The planet below me showed the lights of many cities -- enough so that I could easily see the outlines of continents and islands. As I watched, the limb of the world began to glow. Sunrise. We were in a fairly low orbit, so as we swept around the planet, the sun came up quickly. The glowing sliver of blue that marked the atmosphere shown brighter and brighter until the brilliant sun peaked above the curve of the horizon. It was a symbol of renewal that has been recognized for as long as the human race has been self-aware.
     So I was thinking about new beginnings and new challenges as I gazed outward. Our first assignment would have us heading far out into deep space, into the Beta Quadrant. We'd been there before, and had developed some connections in the region, but it was a long trek, taking us out of the Federation proper for months, probably, if not years.
     What are the implications of that for a Starfleet ship? Being the only Starfleet ship in the sector would be a reality, not an often-repeated joke. We would be far enough from home that communication with family and friends would develop lags further and further away from real time. In turn, that would mean more reliance on ourselves, both operationally and in terms of relationships. That kind of distance also presents challenges for the children and teachers onboard. More distance from Federation culture can mean more provincialism, maybe, resulting from life in a community of 1,000 people and no more than a few dozen young people. That few a number does not cross-pollinate ideas as effectively and small communities have tended to be conservative throughout history. It was the life we chose, of course, when we picked Starfleet for a career, but exploration, scientific discovery and service were more likely to be the motivators, as opposed to isolation.
     The positive side, of course, is the service. The fundamental mission of Starfleet, when you boil it all down is improving quality of life for people of many species. Sometimes that means confrontation and protection, but more often it means expanding knowledge and building fulfilling relationships. Crazy Horse has done plenty of that over the years. The war, crises, first contacts, and even time travel (more than once) have punctuated the more routine periods of my assignment to the ship in which we explored to expand knowledge and helped people. Of course, as captain, I also had paperwork and reports. Although they are not exciting, processing promotions and recognition is satisfying. I had a high track record of approved recommendations and well-received reports.

     So what did it all mean? For me personally, it meant a comfortable way of life, I mostly managed my own time, and I did good things for others. Certainly I served my superiors, but I also helped the people who worked for me be fulfilled in their careers, I helped the people of member worlds of the Federation and friends be safe and secure in their lives, and I served the multi-world culture of the Federation be enlightened through better understanding of the universe. Service. It IS the focus today of the society and culture of my home world, Earth.
     We've been called the first true mature Human society, born out of the chaos following World War III and the revelation of First Contact, although I expect that the citizens of the Information Age that preceded it, the Industrial Age before that, the Age of Enlightenment, and even the Pre-scientific age, thought of themselves as residing in mature cultures, to the extent that they thought about it. But the advent of abundant free energy, invented as part of the research backlash to the Vulcans' reluctance to share in the first decades after First Contact, brought with it a fundamental change in the human psyche. Want and need, and therefore poverty, vanished. For the first time ever, life was not a quest to collect resources. Greed was no longer a motivation. Children never even learned greed, competition for possessions and the need for ostentatious self expression of one's acquisitive success. Such emotional energy manifested itself more and more in personal pursuits in which individuals selected one or more fields, disciplines, or pursuits and strove to excel.
     Such were my reflections as I gazed down on Planet Earth in those private moments before the busyness and formality of the recommissioning ceremony.
     "Michael," said a voice from the intercom, my first officer, Moira. "The VIP shuttle will be arriving shortly."
     "On my way," I said, taking one last look at the sunrise.