[BACK / PLOT LOG] Commodore Ravnsson | "Where Stars Were For Shining" pt 2

Posted on Sat Jan 2nd, 2021 @ 6:16am by Commodore Aksel Ravnsson
Edited on on Sat Jan 2nd, 2021 @ 6:28am

Mission: A Distant Thunder
Timeline: Backlog, December 24th, 2420 - 2058

December 24th, 2420
2058
COLD STATION THETA


It had now been eight hours since Ivanova had left for Earth. Nearly five hours since her shuttle had crashed. Four and a quarter hours since his men had arrived on scene to dig through the rubble and wreckage in search of the wild hearted young Commodore.

They would find nothing but ruins strewn about the desert, her overnight bag, a fair bit of blood, a bit of torn cloth, and her combadge. Just enough to prove that she’d been there and just enough to declare that she’d indeed perished in the hellish scene they’d uncovered on that cold, remote mountainside.

Smoke curled in erotic undulations, making love to the barely perceptible currents that coursed through the room. Life support demanded that there be some sort of movement as recirculation efforts were made, working to filter out imperfections within the greater environment. Imperfections not unlike the patchouli smoke as it writhed up towards the ceiling, twisting in all of its adulterated pleasure. The gray man paid it little heed, he’d grown tired of watching smoke dance some four hundred or so years in the past. It did little to enchant him the way so many new and curious things did with the way they lived and breathed in spite of his efforts and the efforts of so many others. A careful hand smoothed its way over the small screen in front of him, stroking the feminine curves frozen in time upon it.

“Er du sikker?” Are you sure?, He asked the dark man that stood, shrouded in shadows, three or four feet off his right shoulder. Faces, at least those of his underlings, meant nothing. They were dispensable, a proverbial dime a dozen, but the creature in the photograph was one of a kind.

“Ja, absolutt ja.” Yes, absolutely yes. The dark man responded, shifting in his shoes uneasily, his tongue ran over his lips as he gathered more breath, more air for more words in hopes or erasing his growing feeling of inadequacy, “De sagde, at hele rumfærgen faldt fra hinanden,” They said the entire shuttle fell apart, he continued, “
En del af bjerget kollapsede på det, og der er ingen lig at komme sig. Hun klarede det aldrig, døde sandsynligvis med det samme og blev revet i stykker i styrtet...” Part of the mountain collapsed on it and there is no body to recover. She never made it, probably died instantly and was torn to pieces in the crash.

The old man nodded in understanding, but not in appreciation for the words, “Tror du, hun led?” Do you think she suffered? He asked, watching the almost erotic way the smoke continued to dance for him as the oil continued to burn.

Confused, the dark one slowly shook his head, “Hun døde…” She died…

“Før styrtet.” Before the crash, Aksel waved the idiot’s words off as she spoke, irritated by having to clarify the meaning of his words or repeat himself to someone so low and feeble. It made the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes twitch and his mouth turn down in an even deeper scowl than one could have even thought imaginable.

This time, the dark one drew a deeper, more steely breath and set his jaw, “Ingen.”No., he responded simply. It needed no further explanation.

To this, the El Aurian nodded and lifted the burning oil close for inspection, watching the way the candle within the diffuser let its flame lick the fine pottery beneath the oil’s vesicle, “Jeg antager ikke, at hun ville.” I don’t assume she would, he sighed, wistful as his aging eyes remained glued to the flame, “Det var ikke meningen, at Rochelle Ivanova skulle tages på den måde. Hun var en kriger. Et vrede. Det, vi gjorde mod hende, var fejt, men det var den eneste måde at afslutte noget så udødeligt og magtfuldt som hende.” Rochelle Ivanova was not meant to be taken that way. She was a warrior. A fury. What we did to her was cowardly, but it was the only way to end something as immortal and powerful as her. He explained with a sad, somber smile that quickly faded back into that harrowing scowl.

“Hendes død giver mig ingen glæde. At ødelægge hende var som at ødelægge et stykke skabt af en af ​​de gamle italienske mestre. Det var forkert og modbydeligt, og jeg vil bede guderne om deres tilgivelse med den viden, at målene retfærdiggjorde midlerne. Hun var nødt til at gå.” Her death gives me no joy. Destroying her was like destroying a piece created by one of the ancient Italian masters. It was wrong and disgusting, and I will ask the gods for their forgiveness with the knowledge that the goals justified the means. She had to go. He all but spat, setting the decanter down, “Jeg hader de ting, vi skal gøre, men det er til det bedre. Federation er svag. Vi vil gøre det stærkt.” I hate the things we have to do, but it's for the greater good. The Federation is weak. We want to make it strong. he hissed, nodding more to himself than anyone else.

A cold eye rolled to bring itself to focus on his underling, “Opdrag Commodores søn til ære for sin mor. Det er hvad vi skal gøre,” Raise the Commodore's son in honor of his mother. That's what we need to do. he nodded, wagging a finger as if he’d had an epiphany, “Det vil forene masserne under os om at se sådan næstekærlighed og omsorg gives til hendes ære.” It will unite the masses beneath us, seeing such charity and care given to her honor.

The underling nodded and then abruptly stopped, “De vil dog ikke gå efter det. Hendes familie. Manden, Admiralerne, Cardassianen ... Archer's søn …” However, they will not go for it. Her family. The man, the Admirals, the Cardassians ... Archer's son … He explained, or at least tried to, “De vil kæmpe og lukke rækker for at beskytte den eneste levende hukommelse, de har tilbage af hende.” They will fight and close ranks to protect the only living memory they have left of her.

“Idiot!” Aksel scoffed, shaking his head, “Vi tager ikke drengen! Vi viser vores hengivenhed og støtte til drengen!” We're not taking the boy! We show our devotion and support to the boy! Oh how it pained him to have to continue to explain his thoughts and plans to those who couldn’t seem to figure out how to process oxygen on their own, let alone follow through with one of the greatest coups of history.

“Ah…”

“Ah…” The Commodore scoffed in mockery, “Gå væk fra mit syn. Det gør mig syg at tale længere med dig.” Get out of my sight. Talking with you any further will make me sick. He growled, reaching for a cigar as the dark one did as he was told without further need of explanation, “Bare sørg for, at Archer modtager min medfølelsesmeddelelse sammen med efterforskningsrapporten om styrtet. Skru det op, og det bliver den sidste ting du gør.” Just make sure Archer receives my condolences along with the investigation report on the crash. Screw it up and it’ll be the last thing you do..

Silence.

Typically it pleased the aging Commodore to be left in the beneficial ambiance of his own discord. Left now he admittedly felt haunted by the ghost of the woman he’d murdered and the dreams he’d snuffed out by issuing such an order. It had always had to happen, of that there was never any doubt and by delaying her death he’d only shown weakness. Poisoning her had only resulted in her rising to the occasion and having her minions lay waste to a rather large and intricately carved facet of his syndicate. Without them he’d been set back greatly and their failure to handle the sale of the Stenellian scientist and denied him the war with the Ascendancy he needed in order to bring his plans full circle.

The Federation had to fall in order to be picked back up, dusted off, mustered, and put to the use it always should have been; a master power that showed no mercy in its conquest for resources and universal domination. Had it been used and led correctly, the Borg, Romulans, and festive assortment of other space garbage foes never would have stood a chance to strike against them, much less caused the damage that they had. Even Federation First had been a xenophobic and highly racist joke that had deeply and profoundly weakened the greater scope of things… And now Aksel simply could not wait any longer. He wasn’t getting any younger and Rochelle had been no closer to switching sides and batting for what he considered the correct team. Instead she aligned herself with other members of the gray order, the Ascendancy, Vanguard. He could have puked at the thought.

No.

She had to die in order to bring upheaval to the hierarchy and weaken them enough to give Aksel and his plans the chance they needed to create solidarity.

If it meant that he’d be haunted by her ghost, he’d learn to live with it.

“Such a waste,” He breathed, taking a long draw on his celebratory cigar he paused in life to nurse in his most somber of ways.

An hour or so later, his pensive sulking was disrupted when somewhere close by a screen flickered to life, bringing with it the entire Starfleet dossier kept on the once vibrant woman.

With more than a passing passive interest, Aksel watched in real time as one of Starfleet’s many desk jockeys began to edit certain statuses and collect certain bits of information for a side file that would be used in the coming days when they laid her to rest. Or at least the memory of her, seeing that her body was strewn about the rugged wilderness of central Arizona. It would seem that his imbecilic trained ape had done as he was told and Archer had gotten the memo, processed it, and in due course did what he must, whether he liked it or not.

When at long last her main status was changed to ‘Deceased’ and her date of death listed as the date before her 33rd birthday, a day before Christmas, the Commodore felt what could have been described as a pang of dark remorse. “You had so many chances to leave, so many chances to live your life. Curse you and your misguided loyalties, child. Curse you for making me waste something as fine and lovely as you.” Aksel continued to grumble to himself, “But I thank you for leaving your bloodlines and connections, indeed.” He chuckled, leaning back to exhale a new, tainted cloud of smoke as the screen went dark and Starfleet truly began to close its chapter on Rochelle Andreevna Ivanova.

Tomorrow would mark the birth of a new era.

How fitting.

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TO BE CONTINUED...
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Commodore Aksel Ravnsson
Commander, Starfleet Intelligence
Commander, Section 31
Starfleet