Through The Looking Glass
Posted on Sun Feb 15th, 2026 @ 10:27pm by Captain Onarin Kaen & Vice Admiral Sidra MacLaren
1,801 words; about a 9 minute read
Mission:
Dreamdust
Location: Multiple
[USS Sentinel - Bridge]
The Sentinel slipped from warp with a muted shudder, the starlines collapsing into pinpoints of distant light. A heartbeat later, Starbase 369 filled the viewscreen, vast and metallic, its docking pylons glinting against the velvet dark. The Pathfinder-class vessel adjusted her attitude with a subtle roll, maneuvering thrusters whispering as she eased toward the station on controlled impulse.
At the helm, a young Ferengi lieutenant worked through approach vectors with meticulous enthusiasm, fingers dancing across the console as he recited telemetry in crisp, rapid cadence.
Seated in the command chair, Captain T’Ern regarded the station with impassive Vulcan composure. Her hands rested lightly on the armrests, posture erect, expression unreadable. “Hail the Starbase,” she said evenly. “Priority message for Admiral Sidra MacLaren.”
“Aye, Captain,” replied the Deltan tactical officer. She inclined her head slightly as she worked the controls. “Contacting Starbase 369.” A brief pause followed, just long enough to suggest a complication. “Captain,” she added, turning in her seat, “Admiral MacLaren is no longer aboard the station.”
T’Ern’s eyebrow lifted by a fraction of a degree, an almost imperceptible acknowledgment of new data. She turned her head toward the man seated at her right. “Captain Kaen,” she said calmly, “how would you like to proceed?”
Onarin Kaen leaned back slightly, fingertips pressed together in idle contemplation. The faintest smile curved his lips, polite and measured “Not at the Starbase?” he mused. “How… industrious of her.” His dark eyes glinted with quiet amusement. “It would appear the good Admiral is already on the hunt. Her command ship is the Caelestis, is it not? Let us see where she has run off to.”
T’Ern inclined her head once. “Lieutenant Nalia. Conduct a system scan and attempt to locate the USS Caelestis.”
“Aye, Captain.” The Deltan officer’s hands moved swiftly across her console. “The USS Caelestis remains in-system. She is underway at impulse, heading three-two-point-one mark five-seven.”
“Helm,” T’Ern ordered, her voice calm and precise, “bring us alongside. Open a channel.”
“Channel open.”
The viewscreen shifted, Starbase 369 dissolving into the polished bridge of another starship. Admiral Sidra MacLaren stood at its center, framed by the controlled bustle of her crew.
Onarin rose smoothly to his feet, adjusting his uniform with deliberate care. He stepped forward just enough to claim the center of the frame. “Admiral,” he began warmly, inclining his head with Cardassian courtesy that bordered on theatrical. “What a pleasure. I am Captain Onarin Kaen.” His smile deepened: cordial, charming, and faintly conspiratorial. “Admiral Shras,” he added, voice lowering just slightly, “sends his warmest regards.”
[ USS Caelestis – Bridge ]
The Sentinel’s image resolved across the viewer.
Sidra did not shift her stance. The Caelestis remained steady on impulse, the hunt uninterrupted, even if the interruption itself now stood framed in front of her.
A Vulcan captain first. Composed. Controlled.
Then the Cardassian stepped forward.
He adjusted his uniform with careful precision before speaking. A man aware of how he occupied space. She listened to his greeting.
Admiral Shras.
Sidra’s expression did not change, but something in her spine went very straight.
Starfleet Intelligence.
Of course.
The dragon stirred. Not fire. Not yet. Heat.
She stepped half a pace forward, not enough to seem territorial, just enough to anchor the frame in her command presence.
“Captain Kaen,” she replied evenly. “You’ve found us.”
The words were polite.
They were not welcoming.
Her green eyes held his without flinching.
“Starbase 369 would have received you without difficulty in my absence.”
She did not look toward the command chair, but she felt Rucker’s reaction all the same. A minute shift in posture. A tightening of breath. He knew that tone. He had served with her long enough to hear the blade beneath it.
She continued before Kaen could respond.
“The Caelestis is currently engaged in an active fleet matter. One that required my departure from the station.”
That was all he would get for now.
“If Admiral Shras has business with me,” she added, voice calm, controlled, “I would prefer to understand why Starfleet Intelligence felt it necessary to track down my command ship rather than coordinate through Fleet Operations.”
No raised voice.
No visible irritation.
Only a very precise question.
Her mind moved ahead of the exchange. Intel did not move without purpose. And Intelligence officers did not arrive unannounced in-system unless they were either carrying something sensitive… or looking for something sensitive.
Or someone.
Indi Hawk’s name flared briefly in her thoughts.
The Caelestis did not alter course.
Neither did she.
“State your purpose, Captain.”
[USS Sentinel - Bridge]
Having earned the displeasure of more than a few admirals in his career, Onarin recognized the subtle tightening in this one’s tone , the faint edge beneath the authority. Irritation, carefully restrained. How predictable.
We all answer to someone, Admiral.
He suppressed the smirk threatening to surface, allowing it instead to settle into the warm, unthreatening smile he wore so well. It never quite reached his eyes. Epsilon Fleet had been… turbulent of late. Turbulent enough that Shras had seen fit to extract him from his previous assignment and dispatch him here under the polite directive to “monitor and assist.” A diplomatic phrasing, certainly. In practice, it meant Command wanted someone on the ground they trusted.
How curious that they had chosen him.
“Of course,” Onarin replied smoothly, inclining his head in acknowledgment. The smile remained: polite, measured, impossible to read. “My orders are to observe and aid you, Admiral. I fear that would prove rather difficult from the station while you remain out here.”
His voice carried a soft, almost melodic cadence , deferential on the surface, subtly disarming. Admiralty, he had learned, were prone to escalation when challenged directly. Better to let them feel in control while quietly shifting the board beneath them.
A small pause.
“But I suspect this discussion would be more productive face-to-face.” The smile did not falter. It never did. It was a useful tool. A mask that concealed calculation and, when necessary, had the added benefit of being profoundly irritating. Few things unsettled volatile personalities more than someone they could not provoke.
“Permission to beam aboard, Admiral?”
[USS Caelestic - Bridge]
Sidra did not interrupt him.
She let him speak. Let him explain. Let him smile.
He smiled too easily.
It was the kind of expression that never quite reached the eyes. Fixed. Pleasant. Calculated. Like the Cheshire cat from an old Earth holonovel, lingering long after it should have faded.
Nobody smiled that much without purpose.
Observe and aid.
The dragon beneath her ribs shifted, heat gathering but contained. Starfleet Intelligence had decided Epsilon Fleet required monitoring. They had sent a Cardassian to do it. That detail did nothing to quiet her instincts.
She kept her voice cool.
“You’ve made your orders clear, Captain.”
Her gaze did not waver.
“Epsilon Fleet does not require oversight to remain functional.”
There was no sharpness in the words. Only steel wrapped in command restraint.
He wanted to beam aboard.
Of course he did.
The Caelestis continued at impulse, engines steady beneath her boots. Indi Hawk remained the objective. This was an intrusion, not a priority.
“You are requesting access to a vessel currently engaged in a live fleet investigation,” she said evenly. “That access will be controlled.”
A measured pause.
“If Admiral Shras has concerns,” she continued, “he is aware of how to reach me directly.”
Not a challenge.
A boundary.
Her green eyes held his.
“You may beam to transporter room one.”
Permission granted. Nothing more.
“My security team will receive you.”
Not her.
“And while you are aboard this ship, Captain, you will operate within the parameters I establish.”
The smile did not falter.
That irritated her more than open defiance would have.
“Anything beyond that,” she finished calmly, “will require further discussion.”
She inclined her head once, precise and formal.
“Caelestis out.”
The channel closed.
Sidra stood still for half a breath, heat simmering beneath composure. Then she turned slightly toward Rucker.
“Nobody smiles that much,” she muttered, low enough for the command well alone.
The hunt did not pause for Intelligence.
And it certainly did not grin for it.
[USS Sentinel]
Onarin turned slightly toward T’Ern, who regarded him with a faintly lifted brow. “Oh, you know admirals,” he said lightly. “They have a fondness for theatrics.” His smile curved into something more deliberate, not quite a grin, as his gaze settled on the Vulcan captain. “When I beam aboard, take the Sentinel back to the station and await further orders.”
“Understood,” T’Ern replied with a small, precise nod.
Onarin gave the bridge one final, measured sweep of his eyes, the crew at their stations, the steady hum of controlled efficiency. After a lingering moment he turned toward the turbolift. The doors closed with a muted whisper.
Only then did he exhale. A brief sigh, followed by the faintest chuckle. “I do have a tendency toward melancholy,” he murmured to himself, amused.
There were days he regretted accepting the Intelligence posting. He missed the clarity of command structure, the simplicity of sitting in T’Ern’s chair and executing orders rather than shaping them. There was a certain comfort in momentum. In reacting instead of orchestrating. In being carried by the current rather than deciding where it flowed.
But Intelligence required a different kind of presence.
And then there was Admiral Sidra MacLaren.
He could not properly assess her through a viewscreen. Profiles were useful, necessary, but they were only fragments. He knew the data. Her career trajectory. Her reputation. Her personal attachments. Commodore Stephen MacCafferey, currently serving as Federation Envoy on Tavrik III, her partner. The Tavrik situation, according to his latest brief, was unraveling into a diplomatic catastrophe.
She had a son, though that held little strategic weight. The Federation rarely allowed family to become leverage.
What interested him far more was her friendship with Indira Hawk.
How much influence had that relationship exerted? How much trust had it cultivated, or clouded? And how had that trust contributed to a security failure significant enough to warrant his presence?
That was the thread worth pulling.
He would have the opportunity soon enough.
The turbolift slowed and came to a halt. The doors parted. Onarin straightened slightly, smoothing any trace of introspection from his expression as he stepped into the corridor. By the time he entered the transporter room, the mask was fully in place.
He offered the transporter chief a pleasant, almost warm smile as he stepped onto the pad. “You may energize,” he said softly and prepared to meet the Admiral without the distortion of a screen between them.
[To be continued]
Vice Admiral Sidra MacLaren
Fleet Commander
Epsilon Fleet
Captain Onarin Kaen
Starfleet Intelligence Operative
Epsilon Fleet
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