Where Command Follows

Posted on 19 Jan 2026 @ 1:45am by Captain Sabrina Corbin

1,572 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Lathira Shoreleave
Location: Lathira IV Tide Gardens

The thermal pool behind the cabana had been engineered to look accidental.

Stone curved inward rather than forming clean edges, the surface uneven enough to suggest erosion instead of design. Steam drifted lazily across the water, blurring the boundary between pool and sea beyond it. The mineral heat sank deep, loosening muscles Sabrina had not realized she was still holding tight.

She lay back against the smooth rock shelf, shoulders submerged, arms resting along the ledge. The world had narrowed to warmth, breath, and the slow rhythm of water lapping against stone. Somewhere beyond the garden wall, waves broke softly against the lower terraces. Wind carried the faint scent of salt and flowering coastal growth.

For a few precious minutes, there was nothing to manage.

Then came the sound.

At first it was indistinct, almost imaginary. A faint chirp, muffled and distant, swallowed by steam and water. Sabrina frowned slightly but did not move. The sound came again, more insistent this time. A Starfleet cadence did not disappear just because one wanted it to.

Her eyes opened.

The commbadge lay where she had left it, just inside the open doorway of the cabana, resting atop her folded robe. Steam curled around it, the soft blue indicator pulsing steadily.

Sabrina exhaled once, slow and controlled. No irritation surfaced, only acceptance. She shifted upright, water sliding from her shoulders as she rose, then stepped carefully from the pool. Warm air met cooler breeze, sending a brief shiver across her skin.

She crossed the stone floor barefoot and retrieved the badge.

“Corbin,” she said, calm and unhurried.

There was a pause, just long enough to confirm the other end was choosing their words carefully.

“Captain,” Elias Merrick replied. His voice was low, respectful, and unmistakably apologetic. “I’m sorry to interrupt your shore leave.”

Sabrina glanced back toward the pool, steam continuing to rise as if nothing had changed.

“I’m listening,” she said.

“A priority communication just came in from Fleet Command. Restricted routing.” He hesitated. “It was flagged for immediate awareness.”

That narrowed things. Fleet Command did not use that channel casually.

Sabrina closed her eyes for a brief moment, not in frustration, but in recalibration. The heat still clung to her skin. The calm did not vanish. It simply shifted position.

“All right,” she said evenly. “Route it to my PADD down here. Encrypted. I’ll review it as soon as it arrives.”

“Yes, Captain.” Another pause, softer this time. “Again, I’m sorry.”

A faint smile touched her mouth, more warmth than humor.

“You did your job,” she replied. “That’s what you’re here for. Thank you.”

The channel closed.

Sabrina set the commbadge back where it had been and reached for the PADD resting beside it. The screen illuminated at her touch, data packets already queuing, Fleet Command headers unmistakable even before she opened the file.
She did not read it immediately.

Instead, she stepped back toward the pool, lowering herself once more into the water. The heat enveloped her again, steady and grounding. Only then did she bring the PADD up, holding it just above the waterline, steam curling around its edges.
Shore leave did not mean absence of responsibility.

It meant remembering who she was when the uniform was not pressing at her shoulders.

Sabrina inhaled slowly, centered herself, and opened the file.

She read in silence.

The water lapped softly against the stone as the PADD scrolled beneath her thumb, each line precise, controlled, and unmistakably Sidra. The phrasing carried no panic. That, more than anything else, set her teeth on edge.

Command-level advisory.
Identity compromise confirmed.
Assume vulnerability until proven otherwise.

Sabrina did not stop at the summary. She followed the attached protocol notes, the layered recommendations, the quiet escalation embedded in the language. Randomized transporter screenings. Biometric variance tracking. Pattern deviation analysis. Measures designed not to reassure, but to catch something clever.

Something patient.

She lowered the PADD slightly, letting its edge rest against the stone as steam blurred the screen. Her gaze lifted toward the sea beyond the terraces, but she wasn’t seeing it anymore. Her mind was already mapping implications outward, like ripples.

Identity compromise did not mean a single breach. It meant trust had already been violated somewhere important. It meant that someone had passed checks they should not have passed. It meant Fleet Command was no longer confident it knew exactly who was standing on its own floors.

Sidra would not issue this lightly.

Sabrina closed her eyes, letting the heat press into her spine, grounding herself before the weight settled fully. This was not fear. It was recognition. The quiet understanding that whatever Fleet was facing, it had moved beyond theoretical risk.

Her thoughts turned, inevitably, to the Arawyn.

Key personnel. Transporter patterns. Shore leave rotations. Crew who had finally begun to exhale after too many tightly held missions. People who trusted that the systems around them worked as advertised.

She exhaled slowly.

“This is not coincidence,” she murmured to no one.

She reopened the file and skimmed the timestamp. Recent. Close enough that Sidra had likely finished speaking minutes ago. Close enough that other captains were doing exactly what Sabrina was now doing: recalibrating, quietly, without theatrics.

Her shore leave was not over.
But it had changed shape.

Sabrina locked the PADD with a quick tap and rested it beside her, both hands returning to the stone edge of the pool. The warmth still soothed, but it no longer lulled. Instead, it steadied her, gave her a moment to align herself before action followed thought.

She would not rush back to orbit. Sidra had not ordered recalls. That, too, was deliberate.

But she would not remain idle.

Transporter screenings could begin without spectacle. Duty rosters could be adjusted subtly. A word to Merrick. A quiet note to Security. No alarm bells. No sudden tightening that would tip off anyone watching too closely.

Assume vulnerability until proven otherwise.

Sabrina opened her eyes, focus sharpened now, calm reforged into something purposeful.

“Very well,” she said softly.

The sea did not answer. The steam continued to rise. Somewhere above Lathira IV, starships remained at rest, unaware that trust itself had become the variable under scrutiny.

She reached for her PADD again.

Time to prepare.

That awareness settled cleanly into place.

Sabrina did not mistake it for certainty. It was something older and steadier than that. An understanding of how command actually worked when conditions were unclear and time was not a luxury.

She brought the PADD fully out of the steam and began issuing directives.

They were brief. Deliberately narrow. Each one framed as routine variance rather than response.

Security was instructed to begin randomized transporter biometric overlays for senior staff and bridge-qualified officers. No announcement. No single schedule. Pattern noise introduced quietly into what had previously been predictable. The kind of change that looked like housekeeping unless someone was watching very closely.

Operations received a short note to stagger duty rotations for the next seventy-two hours. No justification given beyond “command discretion.” It would raise eyebrows. She knew exactly whose.

Merrick received a final instruction, routed privately.

Prepare contingency briefs. Do not circulate. Await further direction.

She sent nothing to her XO.

Not yet.

Sabrina paused only once, fingers hovering over the display, considering whether to soften any of it with context. She chose not to. Explanation created narrative. Narrative created assumptions. Right now, she needed clean compliance, not consensus.

The PADD chimed softly as confirmations began to return.

Acknowledged.
Implemented.
Understood.
As expected.

She allowed herself a single slow breath, shoulders easing fractionally as the first pieces fell into place. Whatever questions followed, they would follow after the groundwork was laid. That was how she had always preferred it. Better to answer for decisive action than to justify hesitation.

The water around her had cooled slightly, no longer as enveloping as before. She shifted her position, sitting upright now, elbows resting on the stone as she watched steam thin in the breeze.

This would reach her XO soon enough.

They would notice the adjustments. The altered cadence. The quiet tightening around key systems without a stated reason. They would come to her with questions, professionally phrased, carefully contained.

She welcomed that.

A good executive officer should question unexplained changes. Should press for rationale. Should test assumptions. Sabrina did not want obedience without thought. She wanted readiness.

When that conversation came, she would meet it head-on.

But not here. Not yet.

For now, she had done what needed doing, and she would not surrender the remainder of her shore leave to anticipation.

Sidra had not recalled her. Fleet had not sounded an alarm. The situation required vigilance, not theatrics.

Sabrina set the PADD aside and leaned back once more, letting the water reclaim her shoulders. The heat no longer softened her edges, but it held her steady, kept her anchored in the moment even as her mind tracked possibilities.

Above her, the sky remained clear. The sea kept its slow, patient rhythm. To anyone watching from a distance, nothing had changed.

And that, she thought, was exactly the point.

Captain Sabrina June Corbin
Commanding Officer
USS Arawyn

 

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