Star Trek - Fingers Crossed
Copyright© 2026 by SilkStories
Chapter 1: Captain Vance Takes Command
I examined my reflection in the bathroom mirror at Starfleet Headquarters, turning my head to inspect my profile. My fingertips grazed the sides of my straight black hair, now streaked with carefully placed golden highlights - a skill I’d mastered using the hair resequencer. Too many gold streaks would make me look stupid, and heaven knows I always needed to appear perfect.
I snapped to attention before the mirror, arms held rigid at my sides in perfect Starfleet form. My uniform bore captain’s rank insignia despite my technical status as lieutenant - a detail sure to raise eyebrows. The admirals’ board awaited me in precisely thirty minutes.
I selected a uniform design from the replicator options - apparently we had that luxury now. The top featured dark gray material curving into an oval shape just below my chest, the remainder a deep crimson that matched the trousers and black boots.
The fabric clung snugly to my form, my breasts creating an elegant silhouette without needing to shout ‘hey, look at these’. All those mandatory Starfleet training sessions had paid off, leaving my hips trim and toned beneath the tailored lines of the uniform.
I considered the long line of captains and admirals who came before me – women in positions of command, certainly, though precious few Black women had occupied the center seat in Federation history. Perhaps I could bring something different to the role, a touch of personal flair to redefine what leadership could look like.
Some claimed discrimination was extinct now, a relic of our ugly past we’d supposedly eradicated. I remained skeptical despite the diverse alien species now residing on Earth. My own landlord was Vulcan - have you ever attempted rational discourse with one? Utterly impossible, and devoid of anything resembling humor.
I settled my hands on my hips and arched one eyebrow, turning my head slightly as I regarded my reflection. “Picture perfect,” I murmured with quiet satisfaction, a gentle smile playing across my lips.
“Captain Vance, my, don’t you look perfect today!” I declared to my reflection, a playful smile tugging at the corners of my mouth as a faint blush warmed my cheeks. “Why thank you,” I responded in character, tilting my head with mock severity. “Must I keep reminding you of your duties, Ensign?”
The cubicle door hissed open behind me, making my eyes fly wide in the mirror. Shit! Of all people, it had to be Ethan Reeves. That infuriating man stepped out attempting—and failing—to suppress a smirk as he studiously avoided my gaze. He moved beside me to wash his hands, his familiar scent briefly filling the small space. “Vance!” he greeted with false cheer, as if he hadn’t just caught me in an embarrassingly unguarded moment. I narrowed my eyes at his reflection, fixing him with a look that could freeze plasma. “Reeves,” I replied coolly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
The hand dryer roared to life as he dried his hands, yet I maintained my steely gaze on his reflection, my lips compressed in a tight line. Still, the he couldn’t resist tossing my own words back at me with a smirk: “My, don’t you look perfect today?”
I lingered outside the conference room where the admirals deliberated about my fate, or so I presumed. A familiar curiosity gnawed at me – did their discussions ever stray from weighty Federation matters? Perhaps they exchanged pleasantries about the weather, or compared notes on what they’d replicated for breakfast that morning.
Some believed I didn’t deserve to wear a captain’s rank since I’d never served as first officer. I dismissed those whispers with a mental shrug. After all, experience wasn’t everything - or so I tried to convince myself.
The conference room door hissed open and I snapped to attention. Admiral Hawk emerged, his eyes finding mine immediately. “Ahh, Delores,” he greeted warmly. I gave a crisp nod. “Yes, Admiral. Reporting as ordered, sir.”
A knowing smile touched his lips as he returned my nod. “At ease, Captain,” he murmured, leaning in slightly with a conspiratorial wink on that final word - Captain. My own smile broke through then, relief and triumph warming my chest as he gestured me inside with a sweep of his hand.
Perhaps this wouldn’t be as intimidating as I’d feared. Admiral Hawk—or Reggie, as I often teased him—seemed to have already decided in my favor. A quiet thrill ran through me at the prospect: commanding my own starship.
I released a long breath as I followed Reggie into the conference room, only to freeze mid-stride in the doorway. Seated in their customary positions were several other admirals, including Admiral Johnson. His famously bald head caught the light in its usual blinding fashion – scientists having long since abandoned hope of effective hair regrowth technology.
Admiral Riker, Picard’s former first officer on the Enterprise, had certainly put in his time as a first officer—I just hoped he wouldn’t hold my own accelerated path against me. Once renowned as quite the charmer, his current physique and that wild beard seemed more likely to send potential companions running in the opposite direction these days.
But where I truly lost my composure was at the sight of Admiral Janeway, the legendary captain of the starship Voyager. The woman who’d been stranded in the Delta Quadrant for seven years—and some whispered she’d engineered that disappearance deliberately to evade Federation bureaucracy.
Reggie gestured toward the table with an open palm. “Have a seat, Delores,” he invited, his tone softening as I approached the empty chair. The seat swiveled smoothly to meet me as I settled into it, then rotated back with silent efficiency until I faced all four admirals across the polished surface of the oval table.
My gaze drifted from one imposing figure to another as their collective scrutiny pressed down upon me. I forced the corners of my mouth upward in what I hoped resembled confidence rather than the anxiety tightening my chest. Drawing a deliberate breath, I met Admiral Janeway’s piercing stare directly.
“Welcome, Delores,” she began, her tone measured yet carrying undeniable weight. “We’ve heard so much about you.” Her attention flickered briefly toward Admiral Hawk before returning to me with sharpened focus. “Tell me...” Janeway paused, her voice lowering almost imperceptibly as she leaned forward. “ ... why are you here?” The unexpected directness of her question landed like a physical blow, momentarily stealing the carefully rehearsed words from my tongue.
My chest constricted under the sudden pressure of Janeway’s question. Why was I here? The answer burned bright within me—I wanted to command, to become captain—but the stark simplicity of it felt inadequate beneath such scrutiny. As I exhaled slowly, gathering my composure, I began: “Well, Admiral, first of all, I want to express how deeply honored I am to be in this room with all of you.” Janeway’s expression remained impassive, clearly expecting me to continue. “I am here because commanding is my passion,” I elaborated, my voice steadying with conviction. “I’ve served on many ships—” Admiral Riker cut in before I could finish, his observation landing with quiet precision. “As I’ve heard,” he remarked, steepling his fingers as his gaze held mine. “Though you haven’t advanced beyond the rank of lieutenant.”
“No,” I simply replied. Admiral Johnson leaned forward, his gaze sharpening as he posed the critical question: “Do you believe you are capable of captaining a Federation starship?”
“I don’t believe, sir,” I stated without hesitation, my voice resonating with unwavering certainty. “I know I can.”
A ripple of startled breaths moved through the room. “That’s doubtful,” Admiral Janeway countered. My head snapped toward her, eyes widening slightly as I processed her challenge. “Ma’am?” The single word carried both respect and genuine bewilderment. “In what way?”
Janeway’s gaze never wavered from mine as she delivered her rebuttal with surgical precision. “Admiral Riker is right. You haven’t even served as first officer.” Her pause hung heavy in the air before she pressed the crucial point. “How can you be so certain of your capabilities?”
“Kathryn!” Admiral Hawk’s voice cut through the tension, drawing my gaze as he intervened. “This isn’t an interrogation chamber. We’re here to get acquainted with Delores.” He paused deliberately before adding, “After all, I’ve already commissioned her rank as captain.”
Admiral Janeway met his statement with cool composure. “I’m fully aware of that, Reginald,” she returned evenly, her focus shifting to me with pointed intensity. “But I still need to determine whether we made the right choice.”
Turning to face Admiral Janeway directly, I met her skeptical gaze with steady resolve. “Admiral,” I began, my voice measured yet firm, “I understand your reservations completely. Were I in your position, I would harbor similar doubts.” I paused, allowing the weight of my admission to settle before continuing. “While it’s true that I haven’t accumulated the conventional experience expected of a first officer,” I acknowledged, my posture straightening with conviction, “I possess absolute certainty in my capabilities—and Admiral Hawk has clearly recognized that potential as well.” My tone softened slightly as I concluded, a note of quiet determination coloring my words. “Grant me the opportunity and time ... and I will demonstrate that your confidence was not misplaced.”
Admiral Janeway released an audible exhale as she pivoted toward the other admirals. “Very well,” she conceded, her gaze locking onto mine with grudging interest. “You’ve intrigued me.” I gave a single, respectful nod, a smile touching my lips as I responded formally: “Thank you, ma’am.”
Before the words had fully left my mouth, Admiral Riker interjected with characteristic enthusiasm. “We’re assigning you the U.S.S. Seeker,” he announced. My reaction was immediate and involuntary—a slight recoil of surprise as I processed the assignment. “The research vessel?” I questioned, unable to mask my bewilderment.
“That’s correct,” Admiral Janeway confirmed, her tone carrying an unmistakable undercurrent of wry amusement. Her next words landed with the weight of lowered expectations: “ ... and it will be decommissioned in six months.” The implication in her voice was clear—’what did you expect, a Galaxy-Class starship?’”
I drew in a sharp breath, forcing the words out with practiced composure. “I appreciate your confidence in me,” I said, though I wasn’t entirely sure I sounded convincing.
As I moved down the line, shaking hands with Admiral Johnson first and then Admiral Riker, the latter held my hand a moment longer than necessary. Leaning in with a disarming grin, he said warmly, “Good luck, Captain. I know you’re going to do great!” His words, delivered with that signature Riker charm, caught me off guard. My eyes widened almost imperceptibly, heat rising to my cheeks as if I were some green cadet fresh out of the Academy. “Thank you,” I managed, withdrawing my hand with what I hoped passed for professional composure.
Admiral Janeway offered a perfunctory handshake and nod before making her exit from the conference room. In contrast, Admiral Hawk enveloped me in a warm embrace as my arms naturally encircled him. “Thank you, sir,” I murmured within that brief circle of camaraderie. He responded with quiet conviction, “I expect good results, Captain,” to which I affirmed crisply, “Affirmative!”
I caught up with Admiral Janeway down the hall, my footsteps echoing slightly in the polished corridor. “Admiral?” I called out as she turned, her expression unreadable. “Yes?” she responded, her tone neutral yet guarded. The air between us felt thick with unspoken tension; I knew she harbored reservations about my capabilities. Taking a steadying breath, I met her gaze directly. “I’m aware you have concerns regarding my command,” I stated, my voice calm but firm. “But I want you to know—I will deliver results, ma’am.”
Janeway sighed, her posture shifting as she spoke my name softly. “Delores,” she began after a deliberate pause, her voice devoid of its usual command. “I don’t have concerns,” she admitted with unsettling candor. “It makes no difference to me whether you deliver results or not.” My breath caught in my throat as she finished with cutting simplicity: “I simply don’t care.” The dismissive finality of her words struck me like a physical blow, my carefully maintained composure crumbling as anxiety tightened its grip around my chest.
She turned and walked away, her parting words—”Good luck, Captain Vance”—hanging in the sterile air as she receded down the corridor with that familiar, commanding stride. I pressed my lips into a bloodless line and pivoted sharply toward the opposite direction, releasing a slow, measured exhale that did little to ease the tension.
Kathryn Janeway had been my idol, the fearless captain of the legendary starship Voyager, the very inspiration for my own command aspirations. I closed my eyes to gather myself, letting my arms fall loosely at my sides with palms facing downward as though preparing for levitation. Inhaling deeply through my nose and exhaling slowly through parted lips, I centered my thoughts. When I opened my eyes again, a measure of calm had returned. “Bitch,” I uttered under my breath with quiet venom.
Back at my downtown San Francisco apartment, I finished packing my single suitcase, stuffing it with civilian clothes while questioning if I’d even wear half of them. After all, I knew I’d likely live in my uniform for the duration.
I attempted to close the overstuffed suitcase, triggering its automated warning system. A synthesized voice chimed out with irritating precision: “Case is too full. Consider packing less.”
The familiar chime of my front door interrupted my struggle. “Enter!” I called out in frustration just as the panel slid open. There stood Tovan, my Vulcan landlord, hands clasped formally behind his back as he surveyed the disordered room with one upswept eyebrow arched in silent observation.
“May I assist you, Tovan?” I asked, irritation coloring my tone as he turned his impassive gaze toward me. “Will you be departing this residence ... in this condition?” he inquired with clinical detachment. I followed his glance around the space before releasing an audible sigh. He moved to stand beside me, his attention shifting to my overloaded luggage and the glowing crimson indicator announcing its capacity status.
He regarded me for a moment before I relented, removing several articles of clothing and placing them on my bed. The indicator shifted to amber—just sufficient to secure the latches with satisfying clicks.
“How long will your residence remain unoccupied?” he inquired. I explained that I would be gone for six months and had intended to inform him. With that, he turned without further comment and departed. God, he was infuriating.
Seated beside Ensign Daniels—a certified pilot maneuvering our shuttlecraft—I braced myself as she warned, “Hold tight, Captain. We’re exiting the atmosphere, and the inertial dampeners aren’t operating properly.” The craft shuddered violently during our ascent toward the docking station where my new command, the U.S.S. Seeker, awaited. Though the vessel felt like a hand-me-down destined for decommissioning, anticipation thrummed through my veins at the prospect of taking the helm.
“Despite what people say about this ship, ma’am, it’s still a fine vessel,” she remarked as I offered a skeptical smile. “We shall see, Ensign,” I responded with a knowing smirk. “Yes, Captain,” she acknowledged crisply.