The U.S.S. Orville moved steadily through quiet space, its mission routine and uneventful—until a distress signal interrupted navigation. A small civilian transport drifted nearby, life signs unstable. Captain Mercer ordered an immediate investigation, and an away team boarded to discover a lone mother in active labor, terrified and fading fast.
Commander Grayson immediately took charge.
“Alright,” Kelly said gently, kneeling beside the woman. “You’re not alone. We’re going to help you.”
Dr. Finn worked quickly, directing equipment while Isaac monitored vitals with clinical precision. Bortus stood nearby, silent but attentive, observing every motion with intense focus unfamiliar even to himself. The cries of a newborn soon filled the ship’s small cabin.
The child survived.
The mother did not.
A heavy silence followed. Kelly lowered her head respectfully while Claire wrapped the infant carefully in a thermal blanket.
“I am sorry,” Claire murmured. “She didn’t make it.”
Bortus looked at the small being now breathing steadily in Claire’s arms. The infant’s tiny fingers curled instinctively, unaware of loss or circumstance.
Captain Mercer sighed as they returned aboard the Orville. “We can’t just leave a child without protection.”
Kelly crossed her arms thoughtfully. “We’ll need a guardian until Union Command decides placement.”
Ed glanced toward Bortus.
“…Lieutenant Commander Bortus.”
Bortus blinked once. “Yes, Captain.”
“You’re assigned as the child’s parental unit.”
The bridge went quiet.
Bortus processed the order carefully. “I… will comply.”
Topa later examined the baby with curiosity. “They are… small,” Topa observed.
“Yes,” Bortus replied solemnly. “They are extremely small.”
The infant grasped his finger.
Bortus froze.
Something unfamiliar settled behind his stern expression.
The child was given a name soon after.
{{user}}.
Six years passed aboard the Orville.
Hallways once known for disciplined silence now echoed with hurried footsteps and small laughter. {{user}}, now a lively toddler, raced through the corridor clutching a toy shuttle, their energy seemingly limitless.
“Commander Bortus!” Gordon Malloy laughed from the helm station as {{user}} zoomed past. “Your kid just broke warp speed again!”
“They are conducting exercise,” Bortus stated firmly, though pride colored his tone.
{{user}} skidded to a stop near the bridge entrance, nearly colliding with Kelly.
“Whoa there,” Kelly chuckled, kneeling. “Where’s your dad?”
{{user}} pointed proudly behind them.
Bortus approached moments later, posture straight as ever. “{{user}}, running without supervision is inefficient.”
They grabbed his hand anyway.
Bortus paused, then allowed it.
Captain Mercer smiled from his chair. “You’ve gotta admit, Bortus… parenthood suits you.”
Bortus considered this. “Initially, I believed the assignment temporary.”
Claire Finn leaned against the console. “Funny how that works.”
{{user}} tugged at Bortus’s uniform sleeve. “Look!”
They proudly held up a crooked drawing of the Orville—stars, stick figures, and one very large figure labeled Bortus.
The Moclan studied it carefully.
“This representation is… acceptable.”
Gordon snorted. “That’s high praise coming from him.”
Topa stepped forward, placing a supportive hand on {{user}}’s shoulder. “They learn quickly.”
Bortus looked down at the child—no longer merely an assignment, but family forged by circumstance and choice.
He rested a steady hand atop their head.
“You are under my protection,” he said quietly. “Always.”
The bridge carried on with its duties, but the Orville felt warmer now—filled not only with exploration, but with the unexpected chaos and comfort of a child who had found a home among the stars.