Until They Were Stars
Posted on 06 Apr 2026 @ 2:02am by Captain Sabrina Corbin
1,515 words; about a 8 minute read
Mission:
Arawyn’s Itchy Trigger Finger
Timeline: This is before the rave log from McKinney
// Captain’s Quarters :: USS Arawyn //
The tea had gone untouched long enough for the steam to fade.
Captain Sabrina Corbin stood at her desk, fingers resting lightly against its surface, the other hand holding a padd she had already committed to memory. The words were fixed. They had been for several minutes now.
That was not the problem.
Her eyes moved over the text again anyway, not reading, not searching for errors. Measuring it. Testing the weight of each line as if it might shift when spoken aloud. As if something in it might fail when it mattered.
Behind her, Chief Petty Officer Merrick adjusted the white jacket across the chair, smoothing a line that did not need correction. He had already done it once.
“They’re assembled,” he said quietly.
Corbin did not respond immediately.
Her thumb shifted slightly against the edge of the padd. A small movement, controlled, but not entirely still. The only outward sign that the moment had not yet settled into place.
Too many words and it would sound hollow.
Too few and it would feel insufficient.
“They deserve clarity,” she said at last.
Merrick stepped a fraction closer, just enough to enter her peripheral vision. Not intrusive. Present.
“They’ll have it,” he replied.
She glanced at him then.
Brief.
Measured.
He did not offer anything more than that. No reassurance layered in language, no attempt to fill the space. Just steady presence. The kind that did not ask anything of her.
It was enough.
Corbin set the padd down with deliberate care, aligning it with the edge of the desk. Precision where she could control it.
Her hand lingered there a moment longer than necessary.
Then withdrew.
She reached for the tea. It had cooled, but she drank it anyway. The taste was secondary. The act itself mattered. A familiar rhythm before stepping into something that would not allow for hesitation.
Her gaze drifted once toward the viewport, not focusing on anything beyond it. The stars did not offer perspective today. They rarely did in moments like this.
Three names.
She closed her eyes briefly.
Not in grief.
In acknowledgment.
When she opened them again, the room felt sharper. Defined.
“Help me with the jacket.”
Merrick moved without hesitation. The dress whites settled across her shoulders, the fabric crisp, structured, leaving no room for adjustment beyond the smallest correction at the front.
His hands paused there for a fraction of a second, not touching, just ensuring the line sat exactly right.
She caught the motion.
Caught him watching to see if she needed anything else.
A silent check.
She gave the smallest nod.
I have it.
He returned it in kind.
She smoothed the front once, then let her hands fall.
The tension did not disappear.
It narrowed.
Focused.
“Let’s go.”
// Shuttlebay Two :: USS Arawyn //
The shuttlebay had been arranged with quiet precision.
Lighting lowered to a softer tone. Formation set. Broadcast relays confirmed across every deck. Sickbay feeds active.
Engineering tied in. No one excluded.
At the center, three photon torpedoes rested in their launch cradles.
Each casing was draped in a Starfleet flag.
The fabric lay smooth across the curved hulls, secured at the seams, the delta and stars catching the ambient light. Not ornamental. Intentional. A recognition that what lay before them was no longer just ordnance.
A final conveyance.
Engineering gathered in quiet clusters, their usual energy subdued into something contained. Medical stood nearer the front, composed, though fatigue and loss showed in the stillness of their posture. Senior staff formed a line of quiet structure, dress uniforms lending order to something that resisted it.
Corbin stepped forward.
The room settled with her.
She came to a stop.
For a fraction of a second, the weight of it pressed in.
Her gaze shifted, just once.
Merrick stood off to the side, exactly where he should be.
Watching.
Not the room.
Her.
Steady. Unmoving. Present.
Corbin drew a breath.
Centered.
“On a starship, we measure our days in motion.”
Her voice carried through the bay and across the ship.
“Courses plotted. Systems maintained. Problems solved before they become crises. We move forward. Always.”
A pause.
“But today, we stop.”
Her eyes moved across the gathered crew.
“Today, we remember the lives that made that motion possible.”
She turned slightly.
“Petty Officer Melinda Willeman.”
A softer tone.
“A member of our medical staff. She arrived early, not because she was required to, but because others relied on her. She made sure the people around her had what they needed before they asked.”
A breath.
“She brought music into quiet spaces. A voice in corridors, in supply rooms, at the edges of long shifts where it mattered most.”
A pause.
“And on the day we lost her, she was doing something simple. Something kind. Delivering news to a friend. Trying to spare someone worry.”
Corbin held the moment, then continued.
“Senior Petty Officer Dari Avagard.”
Her tone grounded.
“Engineering. Where precision is not optional. Where the margin for error is measured in seconds.”
Her hands settled behind her back.
“She was at her station when the attack came. Doing exactly what was required of her.”
A measured breath.
“She was known among her team for something else as well.”
A slight shift.
“If there was music, she was there. If there was a gathering, she stayed until the last song. She never turned down a dance night, no matter how early her shift started the next day.”
A faint ripple moved through the room. Subtle. Human.
“She carried that same energy into her work. Present. Engaged. Fully there.”
Her voice steadied again.
“She died because she remained where she was needed.”
A breath.
“And because this ship depends on people who do not step away when the system is under strain.”
She continued.
“Ensign Del Bar’lark.”
The tone softened.
“Early in his career. Careful. Precise. The kind of officer others trusted to do the work correctly, even when no one was watching.”
A pause.
“He was quiet in his presence. But constant in it.”
Another.
“And when he was off duty, he volunteered his time with the Feline Welfare group aboard this ship.”
A faint shift again. Softer this time.
“He took on the tasks no one noticed. Cleaning enclosures. Feeding schedules. Sitting with animals that needed patience more than attention.”
A breath.
“He understood that care does not need recognition to matter.”
Corbin let the silence settle fully now.
“These three are not defined by how they died.”
Her voice firmed.
“They are defined by how they lived. By the work they did. By the presence they held among us.”
Her gaze moved across the crew.
“We serve knowing the risks. We prepare for them. But that does not make loss routine.”
A beat.
“It should never become routine.”
A breath.
“This ship is stronger because of them.”
Another.
“And it is diminished by their absence.”
She turned slightly.
“Prepare for launch.”
An officer stepped forward at the control.
At the edge of the formation, a boatswain’s whistle cut cleanly through the air.
Sharp.
Controlled.
A ceremonial call, carried over internal comms as well, marking the transition from words to action.
Corbin faced forward.
“To the crew of the Arawyn. To those standing here. To those watching from Sickbay, from Engineering, from every deck.”
Her voice carried.
“We remember them together.”
A small incline of her head.
“Launch.”
The first torpedo slid forward, the flag retracting cleanly as it entered the tube.
A beat.
The whistle sounded again.
The torpedo launched, a brief flare of light against the dark.
The second followed.
Then the third.
Three points of light carried outward, fading into the vastness.
Only then did she glance, just once, toward Merrick.
He gave a small, steady nod.
Still there.
The third point of light faded into the distance.
Corbin held her gaze on the viewport a moment longer than necessary, tracking something that was no longer there.
Only then—
“End recording.”
The broadcast cut.
For a fraction of a second, nothing moved.
Then it came.
A breath.
Deeper than the ones she had taken before. Slower. Something that had been held longer than she had realized finally easing free.
Not relief.
But release.
The weight did not disappear. It shifted. Settled into something she could carry.
Her shoulders squared again, not out of necessity this time, but out of habit. Of discipline.
Of command.
Corbin stepped away from center.
The formation began to loosen around her, quiet and respectful, the structure of ceremony giving way to the reality that remained. Work still ahead. Repairs still ongoing. People still healing.
She moved toward her senior staff.
Toward the familiar.
Toward those who had stood with her through it.
Her gaze moved across them, brief, measured. Not searching for approval, not asking for it, but something close enough to it to matter.
Hoping.
That it had been enough.
She did not say it aloud.
She did not need to.
They would understand the question all the same.
Captain Sabrina Corbin
Commanding Officer
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