by B. Delene Carter & Trish Bennett

Captain Owens stared at his desk monitor, a stillness settling over his heart and his mind. It was impossible to think, to determine his next course of action. He, a Starfleet Captain, could not figure out his next move. In fact, his body went limp and he sat down heavily as he tried to rationalize his options.

He was so engrossed in thought that he was only vaguely aware of the chirp from his comm badge.

"Ship's Counselor to Captain Owens," came Dariel's voice after a moment. "Captain...are you all right?"

For a moment, Kyle did nothing. He refused to answer the call, for he knew that Dariel had read his devastation clearly. The Deltan's empathic powers were far too sensitive not to have picked up on his distress.

"Captain?" she tried again.

"Yes, Dariel," he said finally. "I'm fine. I've just received some bad news from home. Nothing I can't handle."

There was a brief pause from the comm badge, as if the Counselor was debating whether or not to believe him.

"Call me if you need to talk," she offered finally.

Owens nodded, then remembered she couldn't see him. "I will, Dariel."

For a time he sat in his ready room, quiet and contemplative. His father had been diagnosed with Terpin's Syndrome, a disease which ate at the lungs. It was common enough among ship builders, but Owens never dreamed that his father would be stricken with it.

But he had, and Kyle now faced a huge decision. If his father gave up his business, he would have many years left to enjoy his life. If not, the disease would end his life very quickly. Kyle knew his father well enough to know that Harris Owens would never give up the ship yard. He also knew that he was his father's only chance to live.

Kyle Owens would be forced to give up Starfleet.

Bitterness ate at the pit of his stomach, and a strange heaviness tugged at his heart. He had always envisioned himself growing old in an Admiral's uniform, not in a workman's coveralls.

First Officer Robinson entered the meeting room with a frown creased between her eyes. She had received a cryptic message from Starfleet Headquarters, urgent and confusing. Admiral Zascot had informed her that she was to take command of the Paragon and lead her on the next mission.

She could not imagine the Captain requesting a transfer from the Paragon. He was proud of his commission and was working to put his past behind him. For him to give up this ship was a drastic move on his part that would hinder his advancement in Starfleet.

Nine pairs of eyes looked at her in silent regard. It was obvious that they accepted the change, accepted her leadership without question, and trusted her judgement. The tightness in her chest eased slightly as she realized that, whatever outcome would be defined in the next few minutes, the officers would be behind her.

Robinson had barely reached her seat at the table when Kyle Owens entered the room. He had already exchanged his uniform for civilian clothing. His blue eyes met her gaze, as if silently asking forgiveness, before he finally turned his attention to the rest of the group.

"As you already know," he began, "I have informed Starfleet Command of my resignation. My father is ill, and without rest he will not have long to live. Unfortunately, that means I have to take over the ship yard, because he will not put its management in a stranger's hands." A rueful smile darkened his mouth as he looked back to Robinson. "The Paragon is yours, Captain."

Without another word, Owens turned to leave. As the new Captain glanced around the table, she realized that she was probably the only person present who had not known the reason behind Owens' resignation until now. Robinson tried to ignore the annoyance she felt toward him as she rose to address the group.

"Captain Owens will be departing immediately," she said. "His resignation will result in several changes in the command structure aboard the Paragon. You will be informed of these changes as soon as a decision is reached." She paused for just a moment, and her voice softened slightly as she continued. "I appreciate your patience and your support during this transition. Dismissed."

The words were barely out of her mouth as she headed for the door. She was determined to speak with Owens, at least for a moment, before he left the ship.

Kyle was just mounting the steps in Transporter Room One when she arrived, his duffle bag flung over his shoulder. Robinson dismissed the operator with a nod, and moved to position herself firmly in front of the control console, facing the former Captain. He was not leaving without an explanation.

Owens gazed at her uncertainly a moment before he finally spoke. "Am I forgetting protocol?" he attempted lightly. "Permission to disembark, Captain."

"Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded calmly.

"I thought everyone already knew."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Forgive me. I guess I'm the only person on this ship who can't read your mind."

Owens smiled grimly. "A slight exaggeration," he said, then dropped the duffle bag to the floor at his side and dismounted the platform to stand before her. "The truth is, I didn't know how."

She glared at him sternly, then finally allowed her expression to soften. "I'm sorry about your father," she offered at last. "And about...everything..."

Kyle nodded quickly, but it was obvious he preferred not to discuss it. Instead, he changed the subject entirely and took her by the arms.

"Don't worry, Tricia," he said with an encouraging smile. "You're gonna be great!"

"It helps that I'm inheriting a good crew," she replied at last, then squared her shoulders decisively. "I can handle this ship."

"I know. I wouldn't trust her with anyone else." Owens finally released her and turned back to remount the platform. "Can I go now?"

Robinson shook her head as she moved around the console to activate the transporter. "Goodbye, Kyle," she said, reaching for the controls.

"Au revoir, Captain."

In a moment, Kyle Owens was gone. Robinson gazed at the empty chamber a moment, then headed for the door. The Paragon was her ship now, and its future was her top priority.

It was time to get to work.