The claxon howled a warning as the ship lurched dangerously. Through the strobing emergency lights, the captain staggered to his command chair and collapsed into it. “Disengage! Disengage!!”

The bridge crew looked at him, concern on every face. The young woman at comms was first to find her voice. “Captain? Orders?”

Unable to look away from the main screen to respond, he barked, “Cut the feed, Lieutenant. Cut it NOW!!!” Almost immediately, the image on the screen dissolved into static, like a mid-twentieth century television at the end of a night’s broadcast.

“Should I reverse thrusters, Captain?” The helmsman looked over his shoulder, trying to maintain a neutral and respectful expression, though the captain’s evident distress was contagious.

“Yes! Yes! Immediately!” his superior confirmed, his usually jovial voice cracking with tension.

A moment later, the ship lurched, throwing the crew who were standing to their knees. The Captain spun his chair to face the stocky man at the engineering station. “Report!”

“We appear to have encountered an immovable object, Captain.” The engineer’s hands furiously flew over the controls at his station. “Further retrograde motion is impossible!”

“Find a way, Mister!” The man in the center seat sounded as desperate as he looked.

“I canna change the laws of physics, Captain!” the exasperated engineer replied with a level of heat he had spent decades of service learning to suppress.

The engineer was spared a harsh response from his captain by a timely intervention from the tall First Officer. “Captain. Logic suggests that our present course will be counterproductive. Perhaps —”

“Don’t give me logic,” the Captain spat. “You have no idea how bad this could be!” He spun around, his chair effortlessly allowing him a view of each member of his command team. In their worried looks he could see nothing but accusations. “None of you do! This is . . . he can’t . . . he doesn’t know how bad this will be!”

An impossibly long moment of awkward silence was finally broken by the First Officer’s soft inquiry. “What are your orders, Captain?”

“I don’t KNOW! I can’t deal with . . . .” The man waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the static-filled viewing screen. “”with this!” Somehow, he seemed to shrivel in the command seat, looking small and lost, like an orphan boy.

The First Officer raised his eyes to look at the striking woman in command gold who stood, silent and still, on the other side of the Captain’s chair. His straight right eyebrow floated upward in an unspoken inquiry.

She returned the First Officer’s look, then slowly nodded. Sinking down until her eyes were level with the Captain’s she waited until she had his attention before saying, “Jim. It’s okay. I’ve got this.”

“No,” he replied, his voice broken. “No. Please!”

“We’ve known this might be coming. You need to let me deal with it.”

The Captain looked over at the First Officer, hoping, perhaps, to find an ally. But his XO gravely said, “Sir, you are relieved.”

The Captain looked momentarily rebellious, but then his resolve collapsed and he got weakly to his feet. “I’ll . . . I’ll be in my cabin,” he said shakily.

“I will escort you,” the First Officer replied.

“Sir?” the woman asked, giving him a puzzled look.

He returned her gaze and gave his head an infinitesimally small shake. “Commander. In the present circumstance, I have nothing more to offer. Except to say that I have every confidence in your ability to handle it. Carry on. You have the conn.”

The ghost of a smile graced her full lips as she briefly straightened in a position of attention that would have done the Academy proud. “Acknowledged. I have the conn.” Paying no further attention to her nominal superiors, she turned and sat herself in the center seat, silenced the alarm with a practiced flick of her fingers, then swiveled the chair to face the comms station.

“Reopen a channel, Lieutenant. On screen.”

“The channel is open,” the Lieutenant replied formally. “You’re live.”

The Commander returned her attention to the main screen, which showed the image of a boy approaching puberty, wearing an evening gown that was too large for him. Tears did nothing to improve his untutored efforts to understand makeup.

“Dad . . . I’m sorry, okay? I’m so sorry!” The boy’s voice radiated panic verging on hysteria.

“Bring me closer,” the Commander murmured to the helmsman. To the boy, she gently said, “Hey. Hey. kiddo. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

James Nero perched on one knee, his son hugged tight to him, waiting for the boy’s sobs to subside. With his words and his touch, he offered nonstop reassurance and love. Finally, when the boy’s breathing sounded almost normal again, James pulled back enough to look into his eyes. “Want to tell me about it?”

David dropped his eyes. “I was just . . . It’s nothing. Just playing around, okay?”

Tenderly, yet firmly, Jim’s finger pushed his son’s chin up until their eyes met again. “If it was a game, you wouldn’t be crying.”

“But . . . .” David stopped, biting his lip, his face a billboard of uncertainty and longing.

“Now listen to me, kid,” James said seriously. “I’m your dad, and I love you, and nothing’s going to change that, okay? I want to help, but I can’t if you won’t let me.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” David whispered in response.

“You might be surprised. But if you don’t mind, can we have this discussion sitting down? My knee is killing me.”

That earned a half-smile which vanished almost as quickly as it appeared. David stepped back to let his father up, but tripped over the hem of the sequined dress he was wearing.

James caught him from falling with a steady hand on his shoulder, then used his grip to raise himself up, groaning as he did. “Urgggh! This getting older stuff is totally bogus.” Slipping an arm loosely over his son’s slender shoulders he said, “how about you tell me over some hot chocolate?”

“Aren’t I a bit old for hot chocolate?”

“No way! If I’m not, you’re not!”

Side by side, they made their way to the kitchen.

“Enter.”

The Commander walked into the Captain’s darkened quarters to find her superior gazing out the private porthole at a view that never got old. The door swished shut behind her. Stopping in the middle of the cabin, she said, “He’ll be okay.”

“He?”

She shrugged, though he couldn’t see it. “Too soon to tell; you know that. Maybe ‘she,’ maybe ‘they.’ Whatever, we can deal with it.”

“Carol will blow a gasket. You know that.”

“Don’t be so sure. She’s always been a good mom.”

“And when the kids at school bully him? When he has no friends? Who will protect him then?”

“He’ll find friends.”

“We didn’t.”

In two strides she crossed the cabin and laid a hand on his shoulder. “This isn’t about us, Jim. But for whatever it’s worth, we’ve managed well enough.”

James snorted in response. “Have we? I wonder if Carol wouldn’t have done better with someone else. Someone less . . . complicated.”

“She’s loved both of us,” she replied softly. “All of us.”

His smile was crooked; wry even. “Without ever knowing it.”

“We’re a common enterprise. All for one and one for all.”

This time his smile was more genuine. “I know.” Finally giving her his full attention, he said, “I’ll need you to take the lead with David. I just can’t.”

“Likely to be an ‘all hands on deck’ kind of thing, but . . . yes. I’ll take the center seat.” With a smile of her own, she added, “if you're stuck having me inside, you might as well get good value.”

“Always. Thanks for bailing me out today.”

“Any time. Just . . . don’t fight me so hard next time.”

“Okay, Gillian.”

— The End

The author would like to thank the amazing Maeryn Lamonte for inspiring this short story, which is the first I’ve been able to write in months.