Between Classifications

Posted on Wed Aug 27th, 2025 @ 5:31pm by Vice Admiral Sidra MacLaren & Rear Admiral Trael Bren
Edited on on Wed Aug 27th, 2025 @ 7:51pm

1,262 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: Second Light
Location: USS Arawyn
Timeline: Commissioning Ceremony

“Admiral,” Trael greeted as he offered her a drink. “I heard a rumor that you’ve yet to try Andorian Ice-Wine, and also wanted to say congratulations: Christening a new ship is a big deal. How does it feel?”

Sidra had a restrained smirk as she looked over Admiral Trael Bren with slightly narrowed eyes. She ignored his inquiry and wasn't sure about the drink, but she took it. "I'm very simple with my liquid intake. To say I was surprised to see you would be an understatement."

“Kudos to Mr Merrick for keeping it under his hat,” he replied with a wink.

"Heh," She took a sip of the wine, but anything outside of scotch never sat well with her. Her grimace was attributed to both the drink and the mention of Merrick. "He left me for the Arawyn and handed me a fresh-faced Ensign to polish in his place." Sidra looked around Ten Forward, a moment of pride swelling. The ship would leave in the morning, and she would miss seeing this gem daily. "She really is something, isn’t she?"

“She really, truly is,” Bren agreed as his hand gently rubbed his abdomen. “I kinda miss it—y’know, ‘new ship smell,’ being Captain of the ship all the Admirals were here to see off… speaking of which—” his tone changed “We’re just here for repairs. My CEO says … well … 6 months?”

Sidra chuckled at that, "That's a hell of a repair order, Trael." Her piercing green eyes bore into him, though she smiled; there was an intensity there that most people backed down from. MacLaren said quietly in case there were ears listening, leaning towards him, "Where the hell have you really been?"

“When,” he corrected reflexively, and as soon as the word escaped his lips, a quick roll of the eyes led into recovery from his Freudian slip. “… when the details aren’t classified, I’d be happy to share them with you.”

Sidra’s jaw tightened, the kind of restrained irritation only years in uniform could hide. Need to know the basis and all that. "Well, it's good to see you again either way." MacLaren chuckled and shook her head, "So what are your plans for the next six months?"

“I don’t really have any,” he replied honestly with a shrug. “If I retire, I’ll just get bored, and that’s not good for anybody. I thought about doing that thing where you just board a ship to make the new captain nervous for a week, but I remember how much I hated it when they did that to me, so that’s a non-starter… I guess I’m just waiting for my badge to ring, y’know? Not that I can do a damn thing about it, because my ship’s tits up.”
He gazed off into the stars for a moment. “Vacation? I, from what I’ve heard, the higher your rank, the more likely shenanigans will ensue should you choose to visit Risa.”

“I’m not a beach, tropical person. I wouldn’t know.” Sidra put down the ice wine drink he had brought her, barely touching it. Her eyes went back to scanning the crowd, a practice her security background never seemed to drop. Big gatherings like this always bothered her, too risky. While she looked around at the Arawyn crew enjoying their party, she noticed how much they were interacting, but her mind was mostly on Trael.

“You know, I have plenty of offices open at Fleet Command, if you wanted to occupy one.” She smirked, knowing it was a hard sell. Why was she the only one around here with some brass that didn’t seem to have a ship to play with?

“Plenty?” he repeated with a raised brow and playful smile.”Like 5 of ‘em, and possibly a top-secret laboratory?”

"I do not know what you're talking about," Sidra said dryly, giving him a side eye. ""The station’s still half a construction zone, but we’re dragging Epsilon back to what it should’ve been all along. There hasn't been a lot of Federation support in this region for a long time."

Bren nodded, and as he did so, allowed a pregnant pause to give birth to his next statement. “I’m happy to help for as long as I’m here; what did you have in mind?”

Her lips curled up in a smirk, "I'm going to reverse this back to you. What do you think you can contribute to us?" Sidra was genuinely curious what his response would be. She had no idea where, or rather when, he had been, but it had been a long time since Trael had been heard from by anyone in her circles.

The work they’d been doing on the Eximus was classified. “A broken ship, a valiant crew, and decades of command experience,” he replied factually. “I grew up in Science and if I’m being honest prior to my current … umm… role?--it’s been fighters, phasers, and explosions ever since. I know both sides of the Starfleet coin intrinsically.”

“I have a fleet science officer, a fleet security, and I’m in command of this Fleet,” Sidra stated plainly. “I know you have value here, Trael. What is it you want to produce?” MacLaren knew she was a merciless interviewer, but she also cared about what they were doing back here in Epsilon. “Or maybe just take a vacation, but I don’t think you will.”

“Produce…?” he repeated. The question gave him pause, as it wasn’t one he’d considered. The wording threw him, as he never considered his career as one of production. What had Trael Bren--specifically--produced, he wondered. What could be produced in the months going forward? The word continued to tumble through his head, and he felt a twinge of anxiety for not having an answer readily available. Finally, he settled on an answer, and it was as follows: “Y’know, I’ve never worn a yellow shirt, and when I think about a marriage of Sci, Tac, and Command, I imagine Ops & Logistics as their burbling baby.”
Sidra tugged at the bottom of her dress uniform tunic. She had worn several variations of these over the years; this one was the most forgiving, though she missed the sharp austerity of the old dress whites. Maybe uniforms were supposed to be uncomfortable, an ever-present reminder of what and who they represented.

“Logistics, huh?” MacLaren tipped her head, weighing him with that familiar, steady look. Then she smiled, crow’s feet creasing at the corners of her eyes.

“I could use some help there. Probably a better use of your time than haunting some poor young captain’s bridge—fun as that can be.” Her voice softened into a wry amusement before her tone settled back into business. “Especially since I’ve somehow got to orchestrate a six-month repair order for a starship out here on the frontier. That’s going to take more than requisition forms and polite requests.” She let the line hang a moment, then added with a faint smirk, “At least this way, you’ll be breaking a sweat where it actually counts.”

“Thank you, Admiral,” the old Trill chuckled. “I’ll do my best not to cause too many headaches while I’m here. I’ll look forward to seeing you on base once I’ve got my crew situated.”

Rear Admiral Trael Bren
Fleet Logistics
Epsilon Fleet

Vice Admiral Sidra MacLaren
Fleet Commander
Epsilon Fleet

 

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