Commodore Ravnsson | "Go Baby Go"

Posted on Mon Aug 26th, 2019 @ 4:18am by Commodore Aksel Ravnsson

Smoke curled in erotic undulations, making love to the barely perceptable 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.

“Hva med djevelen? Dette viser ingen tegn på at hun er gravid. Mistet hun det?” what about the devil? She doesn’t look pregnant. Did she lose it?, Aksel snorted sharply, tapping the screen with one pointed index fingertip. His patience was wearing thin in all the wrong and most dangerous of places.

“Nei. Hun har fortsatt barnet, hun brukte bare et holo-program for å skjule det.” No. She still has the baby, she just used a holo program to hide it., From the shadows again rose an answer, shifting in that unnaturally uneasy pattern that came with the territory.

Aksel nodded once, allowing his eyelids to shroud his sterling eyes, and smiled. It wasn’t a toothy, friendly smile. It was a smile where only his lips curved upwards in what could be best described as a sardonic simper. “Enhjørningen min.” My unicorn, The screen flickered and died, the PADD as a whole finding itself discarded upon the table with an overt and gentle action made as if it were a sleeping child, or something equally as precious and divine. The machine itself was not, of course, precious, but the information held and contained within was worth every soul on the station, but one. That one was his and his alone to take when the time came. “Så smart, så utspekulert ... Men ikke smart eller utspekulert nok.” So smart, so cunning ... But not smart or cunning enough.

He turned then, his chair creaking as his weight shifted and brought him about to face the dark one in the shadows. The steel eyes blinked once, twice, before narrowing and Aksel drew breath to speak, lifting a weathered hand to gesture for the dark one to listen to the words about to be spilled from his lips. “La meg gi deg noen gratis råd.” Let me give you some free advice, he began, the simper returning and broadening, “Ikke løp fra noe udødelig, det tiltrekker bare oppmerksomhet.” Never run from anything immortal, it only attracts their attention, The lifted hand waved, blessing the statement as if it were a biblical verse, but the statement rang clarion and true.

The unicorn, his unicorn, had run from him and all it had done for her was manage to catch his eye and made him more determined than ever to watch her gasp her last breath from within his grasp.

From within the shadows, the dark one nodded in blatant understanding. Running from the man sitting in front of him was a fool’s errand, one that would land you in the morgue more often than not unless it was his dire wish and desire to see you simply run. Some were lucky to receive such treatment, but many others ran only to be captured.

It made the man wonder just which category the little Vorta woman dwelled in. Aksel had let her run and survive for much longer than most, but knew the grave distaste the El Aurian held for the entire species she represented. Now she’d returned, heavily pregnant and perfectly vulnerable (aside from the station’s Executive Officer, of course, that seemed bound and determined to protect her no matter the cost), and he couldn’t help but wonder just what plan was manifesting itself within his master’s mind.

“Hva med mannen sin?” What about her husband?, he finally gathered the nerve to ask.

Aksel scoffed in immediate response, “Hva med han? Idioten har ikke giftet seg med henne ennå, og han vil ikke få sjansen. Hun er…” What about him? The idiot hasn't married her yet, and he won't get the chance. She’s His voice trailed off into gravel and nothingness and his mouth furrowed into a fine scowl, “Du stiller for mange spørsmål.” You ask too many questions, The El Aurian reached for a satchel setting on the table, all but forgotten. The contents were precious, if not completely horrendous. It was tossed unceremoniously in the direction of the operative before his throwing hand waived him off, disgusted, “Forsvinn. Bevis at jeg fremdeles trenger deg.” Be gone. Prove that I still need you.

It didn’t take a second warning for the dark one to take his leave and beat a retreat back out into the field. Only when he was in the solace only solitude could bring did he pause long enough to examine the contents of the satchel. A cartridge and a hypo greeted him, flopping out into his waiting palm and begging for a deeper look if he was going to prove himself useful enough to survive the next forty-eight hours.

“Fuck me.” He swore, shaking his head. A bright blue medical font spelled out the name Syntocinon across the cartridge meant, undoubtedly, for dispensation into the Vorta’s system. The synthetic version of oxytocin, in that dose, would end a pregnancy in any human by way of early labor, without a doubt. The dark one’s brain roiled and toiled, wrestling with the knowledge that Vorta were immune to most toxins. Was oxytocin a toxin? The question begged answer and with curiosity and his own mortality in mind, the cartridge was clicked into place within the hypo, the hypo was pocketed, and he was once more on his way to prove his usefulness.

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Commodore Aksel Ravnsson
Commander, Starfleet Intelligence
Commander, Section 31
Starfleet