Her optimism was heartening, even if he no longer was quite the optimistic - or, perhaps, was not quite so naive anymore. He liked to hope for the best, always went to new worlds with the intention of peace and bringing a new light into the Federation. But sometimes things went wrong. The people wanted nothing to do with them. They became enraged to discover that they were not alone in the universe or that not everyone in the universe looked like them, believed as they did, had not heard of their gods or followed their ways. It was the nature of mortality, it seemed.

"A planet, a culture, must achieve warp capable travel on its own - develop to the point that it can stand on an intergalactic stage and not be overtaken by the other cultures it will encounter. It's less about research and more about keeping diversity within the star systems. It's all the different cultures we encompass that make the Federation strong. To obliterate one, however good intentioned we might be - well, that's a sad thing all on its own, and a bit to close to the Klingon for my taste."

He shivered at the thought of the Empire and its conquering ways, having brushed far to close to them for his liking.

He kept his arm wrapped around her as she burrowed, rubbing her arm to try and warm her up some against the chill of the night, which was only deepening. "Oh, I'm sure I could have found a cave somewhere, taken up with a pack of wolves, maybe, grown out a beard," he said, stroking his jaw, trying to lighten the mood. "What do you think? Would a beard suit me?"