Up on the stage, the heavy crystal tumbler slipped through my father’s paralyzed fingers.

It hit the floor and shattered into a hundred glittering, jagged pieces at his expensive leather shoes.

Part 2: The Resurrection of the Ghost

Captain?

The whispered word hissed through the crowd like a lit fuse.

Admiral Reed held his rigid salute.

He didn’t lower his hand until I raised my own, snapping off a crisp, perfectly practiced return salute.