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"We should go around," his ensign said.

"We don't have time," Michael replied. "The convoy is waiting on the other side."

They sailed into the fog. The ship's lights dimmed. The engines hummed lower. The crew moved in silence, as if the fog had stolen their voices.

Then the ship emerged.

But it was not the same ocean. The sky was green, the water purple. Strange creatures swam beneath the hull, their bodies glowing.

"Where are we?" the ensign whispered.

A voice answered from the mist. "You are in the Between. The space between times."

A figure stepped out of the fog-a woman in a silver uniform, her face calm.

"I am Captain Elara of the Temporal Navy," she said. "Your ship has slipped through a rift. You are in the year 2500."

Michael stared. "How do we get back?"

"There's another rift, fifty miles east. I can guide you, but you must move quickly. The Between is unstable."

They followed her, the ship sailing through purple waters, beneath a green sky. The second rift appeared-a swirling vortex of light.

"Go now," Elara said.

"Come with us," Michael said.

She shook her head. "I am from this time. My duty is to guard the rifts. Go."

The Thunder sailed into the vortex. The world spun, then settled.

They were back in their own ocean, the fog behind them, the convoy ahead.

Michael never spoke of the Between. But every year, on the anniversary, he looked at the horizon and wondered if Elara was still watching.

And he hoped that somewhere, in the space between times, she was safe.

The fog never returned. But Michael never stopped being grateful for the woman who had guided him home.

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