Bearing Part III: Interference
Posted on Wed Feb 11th, 2026 @ 6:32pm by Vice Admiral Sidra MacLaren
Edited on on Wed Feb 11th, 2026 @ 8:55pm
1,262 words; about a 6 minute read
Mission:
Dreamdust
Location: USS Caelestis
Sidra did not slow as she crossed Fleet Operations.
The station still ran hot. Traffic lanes stacked beyond the viewport. Clearance queues lengthened. Security filters held firm.
Three minutes.
Cintia Sha’mer waited at the transporter pad. Ensign Quen arrived moments later, a compact bag slung over her shoulder.
“All in-person meetings converted,” Quen said. “Fleet Security briefing is ready. Station posture unchanged.”
“Good.”
Sidra stepped onto the platform.
“Energize.”
Fleet Operations dissolved into light.
When gravity returned, it returned with a different rhythm.
The faint vibration under her boots told her immediately the Caelestis had cleared dock and was holding station well outside Starbase 369’s traffic lanes. Thrusters made small, precise corrections to keep the Ross-class steady in open space.
Captain Rucker stood just off the pad.
“Admiral.”
“Captain.”
There was no ceremony between them. Years ago he had hauled her bodily out of a burning armory when a munitions lock failed and the compartment ignited. He had not hesitated then. He did not hesitate now.
“We are clear of the station grid,” he said. “Standing by to come up to impulse and refine the vector.”
“Let’s proceed.”
They moved through the corridor and onto the bridge.
Stars filled the viewport. Sharp. Unbroken. Close enough to feel depth without distortion.
Rucker crossed to the command well and lowered himself into the center chair. The scale of him always registered for a fraction of a second. The chair was built for command presence. He simply filled it more completely than most.
Sidra remained standing just aft of the well, hands clasped behind her back.
Sha’mer moved toward the forward stations without comment.
“Helm,” Rucker said, “plot the course. Stand by to take us to warp on that vector.”
Sidra lifted a hand.
“Hold warp,” she said evenly. “Full impulse only. Extend forward sweeps. Passive. Layered.”
Rucker nodded once. “Full impulse.”
The deck thrummed as power shifted. The Caelestis rolled gently into alignment and the stars began to slide across the viewport in controlled motion.
“Science,” Sidra said, “gravitic, subspace, ion dispersion, and residual energy overlays. I want density mapping along our vector and twenty million kilometers ahead.”
Acknowledgments followed.
They did not rush.
The Caelestis advanced deliberately, sensors reaching forward into the dark.
Course corrections were minor. Incremental. The forward display filled gradually with interference patterns and data lattices. Nothing definitive. Nothing clean.
Sidra watched Sha’mer without speaking. There was no dramatics in the Betazoid’s posture. Just focus. Quiet concentration.
The vector held.
That was enough.
Several minutes passed in steady work. The rhythm of the bridge settled into pursuit rather than departure.
Rucker shifted slightly in the command chair.
“Course stable. Impulse holding at point eight.”
Sidra studied the evolving sensor field one final moment.
They were not charging blind.
They were listening.
“You have it, Captain,” she said.
“Of course.”
She turned slightly toward Quen.
“Security briefing.”
They stepped off the bridge without ceremony.
// MacLaren’s Office – USS Caelestis //
The secure office was small and shielded. More than adequate for her infrequent use of the ship. When the encrypted channel activated, Commander Hale appeared seated inside a controlled analysis suite. The lighting was low. The background sealed. No unsecured consoles.
“Admiral.”
“Commander.”
“We have a flag on Lieutenant Commander Sena Tal.”
Sidra did not change expression.
“Explain.”
“Incremental biometric drift surfaced during extended review. Within tolerance individually. Detectable in aggregate. That prompted a backward trace of her digital activity.”
“And.”
“One outbound transmission pre-lockdown escalation. Masked within routine traffic. Small. Cleared the station.”
“Destination.”
“External relay path. We are isolating the endpoint.”
“Roll it back to arrival,” Sidra said. “Full audit. Every outbound packet associated with her credentials since the Korolev.”
“Yes, Admiral.”
“Confirm access reduction.”
“Tal’s access tier was reduced with the rest at lockdown. She has not held elevated privileges since.”
“Starfleet Command oversight remains active,” Sidra said.
“Yes,” Hale replied. “Their audit is ongoing and independent. They have not raised Tal. This came from our internal variance sweep.”
“Then this stays with us.”
Sidra’s gaze did not soften.
“Keep the biometric monitoring passive. No visible escalation. If she is aware, she adjusts.”
“Yes.”
“And Commander.”
“Yes.”
“If you receive concrete evidence of compromise or complicity, containment shields in place before approach.”
Hale’s posture sharpened slightly.
“Yes, Admiral.”
“No informal contact. No questioning in corridor. No attempt at conversation. Full compartmental containment.”
“Yes.”
“No risks taken of escape.”
“Understood.”
“Lock down environmental controls in the sector before you move. If she runs, she runs into a wall.”
“Yes.”
“And do not act on suspicion alone,” Sidra added. “Only on proof.”
“Agreed.”
The channel closed.
The room was quiet.
“Containment first,” Quen said.
“Yes,” Sidra replied. “Always.”
They did not return to the bridge immediately.
Sidra remained at the desk after the channel closed. The lighting felt tighter than before. Contained.
Quen moved to an auxiliary console without instruction.
“There are twelve priority messages waiting,” she said. “Three from Logistics. Two from Command. Several from civilian traffic coordinators requesting clearance reconsideration.”
Sidra exhaled once.
Nothing from Tavrik.
“Route Logistics to delayed acknowledgment. Draft response for Command. Civilian traffic receives reassurance but no change in posture.”
“Yes, Admiral.”
They worked.
Sidra dictated short replies. Measured. Controlled. No apology for lockdown. No unnecessary justification. Every response reinforced the same message.
Security remains elevated. Docking delays are temporary. Cooperation is appreciated.
Outside the compartment, the station continued to run hot.
Quen moved efficiently, filtering frustration into structured communication. Reassigning meetings. Converting briefings. Quietly absorbing irritation so it never reached the bridge.
Sidra signed off on the final message and leaned back slightly.
“Anything from Starfleet Command?”
“Routine acknowledgment of access scrutiny,” Quen replied. “No new directives.”
Good.
Sidra allowed the silence to settle for a moment.
Tal’s name lingered at the edge of her thoughts.
Biometric drift.
Outbound packet.
Pre-lockdown window.
And now the ship was moving toward something else entirely.
Her combadge chirped.
“Bridge to Admiral MacLaren.”
She tapped it immediately.
“Go.”
“Admiral, we’ve isolated something inside the interference field. You will want to hear this.”
There was no alarm in Rucker’s voice.
Which meant it was real.
Sidra and Quen exchanged a brief look and stepped into the corridor.
The walk back to the bridge felt longer than before. The deck thrummed faintly under impulse. Controlled. Steady.
When the doors parted, the atmosphere had shifted.
Not visibly.
Not dramatically.
But the cadence of voices was tighter.
Rucker glanced toward her.
“Admiral.”
Sidra glanced briefly toward Sha’mer, a small nod.
“Report.”
“Interference density increased. We isolated a repeating fluctuation inside the band.”
Sidra stepped forward.
“Natural.”
“No.”
“Interval consistent,” Science said. “Approximately every five seconds.”
“Isolate.”
Passive filters engaged. Background noise thinned in measured layers. The fluctuation sharpened.
“It’s modulated,” Science said. “Structured.”
Sidra felt the weight settle before the audio resolved.
Static bled across the channel.
Broken.
Fragmented.
Then—
“—369—”
The voice was distorted. Warped by interference. Barely recognizable.
Static swallowed the rest.
“Replay.”
The fragment returned.
“—not real—”
A burst of distortion.
Then, clearer.
“—they’re watching—”
The signal collapsed.
Silence settled over the bridge.
Sidra did not move.
“Sha’mer,” she said evenly. “Confirm we’re following the right thread.”
She did not look away from the forward display.
Rucker shifted slightly in the command chair.
“Admiral.”
“Maintain impulse,” Sidra said. “Narrow the sweep. I want definition before contact.”
Stars continued sliding past the viewport.
Ahead, something artificial waited inside the interference.
And now it had spoken.
Vice Admiral Sidra MacLaren
Fleet Commander
Epsilon Fleet
RSS Feed