The conversation with Doctor Drake had been uncomfortable to say the least. Awkward questions with awkward answers had been fired off carefully but without pity. Doctor Remington Drake was a professional who had gone into the field of psychology, and theoretical xenopsychology, with the intent to learn. He had put the human mind under a microscope, over and over again, and had dissected it dispassionately, over and over again, hoping to find out what made people tick. 

It wasn’t Blake’s position to speculate, of course, but they got the feeling that Doctor Drake had very much gone into his field to figure out what separated him from others. He definitely wasn’t like most other doctors they’d ever met. Not that Remington Drake was particularly cruel or even callous. He often asked Blake how they were feeling, about their level of comfort, but without the trappings of empathy they were so used to. Every statement was careful and measured, and it put, well, a lot of people on the back foot when talking to Doctor Drake. He simply wasn’t very emotive, nor did he seem to be particularly empathetic. It had also, it seemed, not at all hindered him in becoming a good doctor. 

He’d walked Blake through a variety of questions that aimed to get to the core of their feelings regarding their gender. Why had they never considered any physical changes before? (A combination of upbringing, perfectionism and work-harder-to-overcome-it mentality.) Were there signs? (Yes, Andromeda had confirmed. Loads.) Would you like to examine possible avenues of transitioning, medically or socially? (Yes, please.) There was also a dispassionate rejection of older questions. 

“There’s an… annoying tendency,” he’d said, “within my field to hold on to older methods. Psychology, like any other field, is mostly curated by the oldest generation still active within it, who just perpetuate what they were taught. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to skip questions about crossdressing and…” Doctor Drake’s jaw had tightened almost without notice, “autogynephilia, which has somehow made its way into the DSM-VII.” Blake had just nodded, Andy squeezing their hand. 

Then the more pleasant but not any more easy questions. Name. Pronouns. For now, they just didn’t want to be Clinton, the man, anymore. That felt like a priority. They stuck with non-gendered pronouns for now, but that felt almost like a stopgap? Sure, they might stick with them in the long run, but only if it was done deliberately. As for the name… they had no idea. That’s not to say they’d never used different usernames, in both digital and physical spaces, a few of which had been surprisingly feminine-coded and would stay hidden in the recesses of anonymous teenage online interactions. There were simply too many, and none of them were particularly “Blake”. Andromeda had been there for a few of them.

As romantic as the notion was, they’d also rejected the idea of choosing a name that went well with ‘Andromeda’. They didn’t want to assume their relationship with her would survive transition, for one, and simply having their identity revolve around someone else felt… unhealthy. 

Almost off-handedly, Doctor Drake had carefully laid out several small booklets on his desk, each perfectly parallel to the other with the same amount of space in between. The first one was about medical transitions, the various different shapes science could swiss-knife the human body into. “My recommendation,” he’d said, “is that you go over these in your own time. People are uncomfortable being described different genital configurations, and that discomfort inhibits their ability to process the information. Take your time.” He’d pointed at the second. “As a high-ranking officer aboard the Sollipsis, you must already be aware of discrimination policies regarding gender and sexuality, but I am obligate to nonetheless give you this.” He’d simply looked at Blake until they’d nodded, and had then nodded back. Then the third pamphlet, which was more or less just a single folded page. 

Blake had looked it through. “A list of references?”

“Sources,” Drake had corrected. “I am always available for scheduled consultations, but there are several psychologists aboard this ship who are more personally experienced with issues of gender. On top of that, there is a wealth of reading material at your disposal, ranging from relationship conflict resolution, with modules for both yourself and your partner,” he’d motioned to Blake and Andy, respectively, “as well as practical material, in both written and video formats, with regards to gender presentation, sexual intercourse and general semantics.” 

Blake’s face had gone red at the thought of being prescribed what had felt like what was being referred to as pornographic material, so they’d latched onto the last thing Drake had said. “General semantics?”

“You can think of it as a form of auto-neurolinguistic programming, if you want,” Drake had said. “There is a tendency for people with marginalized identities and experiences to invalidate those experiences with improper or careless language use. I’d advise you to find what method and language model works best for you.” 

And that had been the most of it. Blake had actually scheduled a follow-up consultation with Doctor Drake. Sure, they wanted to speak to the other queer people on the ship, to see if any of it could help them on their own journey, but something about Drake’s dispassionate way of engagement helped, somehow. They knew they weren’t being judged, and they knew the doctor really did care a great deal about his field, his work and his patients.

The rest of the afternoon had been quiet. Blake and Andromeda had both been excused from a second trip to the Core World’s surface without much fanfare, although throughout the day they’d both been sent pictures taken by Alex and Franklin, and Petri had written a quite gracious and kind letter, wishing Blake a speedy recovery. 

But there had still been the thing, later that night, and they’d been fretting over it constantly, Andromeda giving small words of affirmation for comfort. “You know you don’t have to,” Andy’d said. “The Captain has given you a week off duty, if you want it.”

“I know.”

“You’re still going to do it?”

“Yeah.”

And that had been the whole of it. Andromeda had kissed them on the forehead and wrapped them in her arms. Blake worried about their relationship, of course. Andy had been an amazing partner and girlfriend, and while she was out and sometimes quite vocal about being bisexual, she had fallen in love with and started dating Clinton Blake, boy. Was it fair to ask her to continue a relationship with Something Blake, not boy? Sure, they were still the same person, essentially. But there was the matter of Blake’s own sexuality, too, which, with a whole new range of genders to be, had been unexpectedly thrown wide open. 

And evening had come, and now Blake was figuring out what to wear. There was a small-but-loud part of them that wanted to do something dramatic. Show up in a dress and make-up and go “What’s up, bitches, I’m back.” But then there was the other part of them that was mortified at the idea. Not that it was likely to be a big event. Just the bridge staff and Doctor Riel, if they understood correctly. But it was a big event for Blake nonetheless. 

“Why not something a little more comfortable and casual than your usual uniform?” Andy suggested, offering Blake a sweater they didn’t immediately recognize. It definitely wasn’t something they’d packed. It was only after they’d thrown it on, the soft material hugging them tight, that they remembered. 

“This is one of yours?” they asked. Andromeda nodded, and for some reason Blake couldn’t help but cry, having no idea why. Andy held them again for a bit, and then added a fashionable jacket to go over the ensemble that would allow them to hide a little bit, although there was no hood to go with it like they would’ve preferred. 

The ‘official’ start of the little get-together was at eight, ship time, but with Blake’s fretting and Andromeda’s equally mounting anxiety — she was worried she’d be the only non-officer present — they were already half an hour late when they set out. 

Later in the evening, the lights in the halls dimmed slightly, filtering out some of the blue light, though not enough to obscure vision and, if necessary, could be turned back up for members of the crew with visual impairments. But the overall feeling was one of setting sun, of evening. They also tended to be quiet, although the past two days’ events saw most of the crew either at or on their way to the communal spaces. Everyone wanted to share what they’d experienced, what they’d seen, and hear from others. 

At first, Blake was almost scared of being seen, but to most outside observers, the only thing different about them was that they were dressed more casually than usual. They still got their salutes and smiles, a small reminder that it had now circulated throughout the crew that they’d tried to remove the Captain from her position to save their lives. Though things hadn’t turned out that way, the goodwill it had bought them was clearly significant. 

Over time, the business of the ship’s hallways became calming. Nobody was paying them much attention, where on a calmer day bumping into a curious crewmate might have led to a protracted conversation. Arriving at the door, they took a deep breath. Andy squeezed their hand again. She didn’t say anything. Most of it had been said already. They didn’t have to do this, they could go back, they didn’t have to come out and say anything. That little squeeze, her fingers against theirs, was enough. The door slid open and Hasan’s friendly face beamed down at them. 

“Andromeda. ...Blake, come in,” he said; the pause before choosing to use their last name was almost imperceptible, but they’d noticed it. They hadn’t actually said anything to people yet, and they doubted the Captain would have said anything. 

Hasan’s room was laid out the same as Blake and Andromeda’s, although clearly more time had been spent on making its small seating area more of a living space, and it was currently lively with conversation. Blake had half-expected at least someone on the bridge crew to have invited a (potential) partner, but it seemed that everyone’s various areas of expertise had declared them all terminally single. Not that they looked unhappy. 

Alex was curled up and looked incredibly comfortable on a one-person recliner, cradling a small cup of tea, watching Jackson in a hot debate with Doctor Riel — Francesca, Blake reminded themself — Evangeline and the Captain, seemingly about what creatures they’d seen and how the social structures of the Core World seemed to change with the addition of every new species. It was a world in constant flux, how would it be impacted by their arrival. 

When Blake and Andromeda walked up, conversation was interrupted with a small chorus of happy hello’s and warm smiles, but didn’t immediately resume when they sat down. 

“A drink?” Hasan offered. Blake declined, but Andromeda was happy to accept a glass of what appeared to be synthesized prosecco. There certainly wasn’t anything like it in the ship’s manifest, and nobody present, Jackson Manderlay excluded, seemed like the type to smuggle a bottle on board. 

There was a moment of silence as they all sat down, making awkward eye contact, with two people clearing their throat before saying nothing. Finally, Blake decided to cut through the worst of it. These were their colleagues. They’d be working together for months, if not years. 

“So, I have a small announcement,” they said, quietly. Andromeda sat next to them, her presence a consistent encouragement. Everyone was listening with the kind polite eagerness of people who had been dying to ask. “After an… experience, planetside,” Blake continued, “I had something of an identity crisis. I spoke to Doctor Drake and he and I both believe I might be experiencing gender dysphoria.” They let that hang in the air for a bit. “I’m not sure, and it’s going to take me some time to figure it out, but I might be transgender.”

“Do you want us to use a different name for you?” Jackson asked. 

“Uh,” Blake said. “I think, for now, just… not Clinton. Just Blake, until I find what fits.”

“Thank you,” Alex said. “Coming out is hard. Trust me, I know.” They smiled. Most of the crew knew about Alex, of course, as they’d been out and proud for some time. But it was still good to have someone else around who knew what they were going through.

“Yes,” Hasan said, clearly a little surprised. “I… can’t say I understand what you’re going through, but you’re not alone. Well, I mean, you know you’re not alone, but like… we’re here. To talk.” He was clearly out of his element, and Blake couldn’t help but smile and shoot a thank you back. 

“It should go without saying that anyone who gives you any trouble,” Evangeline said, “will be summarily shot.” There was a deafening silence. “I was kidding,” Eva said, suddenly blushing furiously and hiding behind her glass. The awkwardness was thick enough to cut with a knife. Cathérine was the one to break through it with a little chuckle. Evangeline Mayes was sincere, if a little awkward. 

“Well, Blake, I hope you find what you’re looking for.” She paused for a moment, looked them dead in the eyes, and then around the room, before leaning back. “If it helps at all, like the others said, you’re not alone.” She raised her glass to Alex. “Mx Nguyen is proudly non-binary, if I have it correctly.” They confirmed with a little nod. “There are several transgender members of the crew.” She chewed her tongue for a moment. “Among which, if you ever need to talk, is myself.”

Blake blinked a few times. Sure, the Captain had seemed fairly knowledgeable about things like this, but… “Huh?” they managed. 

“I transitioned at about your age, before I even went into the academy. Like I said,” Captain Cathérine Durand said with a smile, “I’m always happy to talk about it, Blake. You are, in no sense of the word, alone. I’m glad you feel comfortable enough around us to say something, and I hope that the Sollipsis continues to be a place of safety for you, and all its crew.” She raised her glass. “To Blake, youngest First Officer ever to have graduated from the academy. Already shaping up to be one of the best First Officers I’ve ever served with, and possibly the best one I’ve ever met. It’s my pleasure to be your Captain.”

Several glasses went up, and Blake was crying before the toast had come at an end, Andromeda rubbing their back. It was, all things considered, a good night.

Elamimax

And that ends 'Episode' 3 of Among Brighter Stars! I'll start posting Ep 4 soon, as a lot of chapters have been commissioned and will be available for Patrons way ahead of anyone else.  Consider joining (it's very cheap), as it allows me to do this full-time. As a Patron, you're guaranteed 30-45k words per month of content between all of my stories being updated, as well as a bunch of other stuff. 

I'll see you in the next one!

And don't worry, I'm not done with Blake yet ;) Not for a long time.