Into Orbit, At Rest

Posted on 15 Jan 2026 @ 3:58am by Captain Sabrina Corbin

1,619 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Lathira Shoreleave
Location: Lathira IV

// Bridge //

The planning came together without friction.

Merrick’s logistics were precise, layered, and quietly elegant. Shoreleave rotations staggered to protect watch integrity. Transport windows aligned with local transit. Contingencies built in without drawing attention to themselves. Alura’s influence was unmistakable throughout the documentation. Optional structure for those who wanted it. Open space for those who did not. Wellness activities, excursions, and long, intentionally blank stretches of time treated not as gaps but as offerings.

Corbin reviewed the packet once.

Then again, more slowly.

It was good work. Thoughtful. Balanced. The sort of planning that respected both the needs of the ship and the people who lived within it.

“Approved,” she said at last, returning the PADD. “All of it.”

No revisions. No footnotes. No conditions attached. That, too, was deliberate.

The announcement went out ship wide moments later. Shoreleave authorized for the full week. Rotations posted. Duty coverage confirmed. The language was simple and clear. No embellishment. No encouragement beyond what was already implied by the planning itself.

The ship responded in its own way. Not with cheers or disruption, but with a subtle shift in energy that Corbin had come to recognize. Conversations carried a little more lift. Movements became less tightly coiled. Anticipation, yes, but contained. Professional. Earned.

As Lathira IV resolved on the viewscreen, Corbin stood at ease near the command chair, hands folded behind her back. The planet was a study in layered blues and soft golds, water breaking around stone formations shaped by time rather than intent. Light scattered across its surface instead of reflecting cleanly, giving the impression of warmth without glare.

A place designed to be inhabited, not conquered.

“Conn,” she said evenly. “Move us into orbit.”

Orbital insertion was smooth and unremarkable, exactly as it should be. Reports followed in measured cadence. Environmental scans. Local traffic advisories. Confirmation of resort docking windows and transporter locks. Corbin listened, acknowledged, delegated, and closed loops with practiced ease.

When the last confirmation came in and the bridge settled into its established watch rhythm, she felt the shift within herself.

Everything that needed her attention had it.

Everything that did not had been set aside.

She left the bridge.

// Captain’s Quarters //

Her quarters greeted her with familiar order and one very present judgment.

Ptolemy occupied the center of the room like a sovereign surveying his domain. Large even for a kitten, his orange fur fluffed generously, tail wrapped with smug precision around his paws. His green eyes tracked her as she crossed the space, unblinking and unimpressed.

She stopped in front of him and crouched, resting her forearms on her knees.

“I know,” she murmured, reaching out to scratch under his chin. “You think I have been neglectful.”

He leaned into the touch without softening his expression, accepting affection as his due.

The arrangements were already complete. Environmental controls adjusted to his preference. Replicator settings keyed to his food schedule. A trusted crew member assigned to stop by, ostensibly to check on him, though Corbin suspected Ptolemy would regard the visit as a personal affront.

She lingered longer than necessary, fingers combing through warm, dense fur, guilt settling quietly but persistently in her chest. She had not spent enough time with him. Too many long days. Too many evenings that ended with reports instead of play. He had grown in her absence, not just in size but in certainty.

“I will make it up to you,” she said softly.

He blinked once, slow and deliberate, smug and unconvinced.

Corbin straightened before she could second guess herself.

She packed deliberately.

Not much. Just enough.

A small bag, light but well considered. A couple changes of clothes. A swimsuit. A wrap for evening. A book she had been meaning to start and had not allowed herself the time for. Personal effects she rarely traveled with, chosen not for utility but for comfort.

As she moved through the ritual, she was aware of how rarely she allowed herself this kind of transition. Usually her departures were functional. Mission driven. Purpose bound. Even shoreleave in the past had been framed by obligation, by presence, by expectation.

This time was different.

She chose a dress.

That alone was rare.

The fabric was light and breathable, cut to move easily rather than constrain. Deep blue, close to black in shadow, with a subtle sheen that caught ambient light without demanding attention. Sleeveless, structured at the shoulders. The hem fell just above the knee, elegant without pretense, practical without apology.

Flat leather sandals. Soft underfoot. Quiet.

She left her hair down, brushed smooth and tucked behind one ear. Minimal jewelry. A thin chain at her throat. A ring she wore only when she was not being observed.

No rank. No combadge visible.

She studied her reflection for a moment longer than strictly necessary. Not critically. Assessing.

Good.

She looked like someone who belonged to herself.

// Transporter Room //

Merrick waited in the transporter room, already changed into civilian attire. His posture was relaxed, his attention complete. The room hummed softly, transporter systems cycling in readiness.

“I have secured the cabana,” he said. “Poolside. Close enough to the water to feel it. Far enough from most foot traffic to be ignored.”

She inclined her head. “Thank you.”

“There is no schedule attached,” he added, voice neutral but intent. “No expectations. Alura was very clear on that point.”

A brief pause.

“And I have made it equally clear that you are not to be disturbed unless the ship is on fire or someone decides to initiate a joust.”

The corner of her mouth curved faintly. “Reasonable thresholds.”

She stepped onto the pad without hesitation.

The transporter cycle was brief and smooth.

// Lithira Tide Gardens //

The air on Lathira IV was warm and carried a faint mineral note that reminded her of sun heated stone after rain. Sound reached her in layers. Water moving gently over rock. Voices carrying without urgency. Music that drifted rather than pulsed, designed to fill space without claiming it.

The resort complex unfolded around her organically, structures built into the natural terrain rather than imposed upon it. Light spilled outward in soft gradients, catching on water and stone, never glaring, never insistent.

She walked unhurriedly, bag resting lightly against her hip.

It struck her how different this felt from the ship. The Arawyn was a masterpiece of controlled environment. Every temperature regulated. Every sound dampened or filtered. Air composition monitored to the decimal. Light tuned for function and alertness.

Here, nothing was static.

The warmth shifted as clouds passed overhead. A breeze moved through the open walkways, cool against her skin. The sun pressed down in a way that could not be replicated by artificial lighting, carrying with it a weight that reminded her she had a body, not just a role.

She realized, not for the first time, how easy it was to forget such things.

A member of the resort staff greeted her near the entrance to the pool terraces. Their manner was professional without being intrusive, welcoming without expectation.

“Welcome,” they said, offering a shallow bow appropriate to local custom. “May I offer you a refreshment?”

She nodded.

The drink was cool and fragrant, a blend of fruit she did not immediately recognize, lightly sweet with a hint of citrus and something floral beneath it. Condensation beaded along the glass as she took it, the chill a pleasant contrast to the warmth of the air.

She took a sip and closed her eyes briefly.

It was astonishing how much sensation could be packed into something so simple.

The cabana sat exactly where promised, nestled at the edge of a long thermal pool that curved around natural rock formations. Steam lifted lazily from the water, catching the light in soft spirals. Privacy screens filtered the surrounding space without isolating her completely.

She set her bag down, slipped off her sandals, and rolled the fabric of her dress just enough to rest her feet in the water.
Warm. Immediate. Grounding.

She lowered herself onto the cushioned seating, stretching out with a quiet exhale she had not realized she was holding. The sun pressed gently against her skin, tempered by the occasional cool breeze that moved through the open space.
She sipped her drink slowly, letting the flavors linger.

For a while, she did nothing else.

No datapads. No reports. No schedules to review. No need to listen for alerts or subtle shifts in tone that might signal an emerging problem.

The ship was in good hands. Watches were covered. Systems stable. Every responsibility accounted for and deliberately set aside.

She watched light play across the surface of the water. Listened to the low murmur of conversation around her, voices rising and falling without demand. Felt the warmth sink into muscle and bone.

It occurred to her, not for the first time, how accustomed she had become to control. To predictability. To environments where every variable was known and managed.

Here, she could not account for the breeze or the shifting clouds or the strangers who passed within her peripheral vision.

She did not need to.

The realization was not unsettling.

It was liberating.

She leaned back, closing her eyes again, face turned toward the sun.

Tonight would come later. Evening would bring its own changes, its own rhythms, its own possibilities.

For now, she allowed herself to simply exist within the warmth, the motion, the quiet unpredictability of a place not built to answer to her.

And in that moment, with the ship safely in orbit and the weight of command held by capable hands, Captain Sabrina Corbin let herself rest in the unfamiliar comfort of not being in control.

Captain Sabrina Corbin
Commanding Officer
USS Arawyn

 

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