Plot Log | Commodore Ivanova - "Swallowed In The Sea"

Posted on Wed Mar 4th, 2015 @ 10:08am by Admiral Rochelle Ivanova

2,094 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: A Spot To Kill

The wind bit through the thin yellow scarf she’d covered her nose and mouth with, searing cold and painful as it tortured her lips and assailed her nose and larynx as she tried to breathe. Even her eyes were swollen and demanding they remained shut as the horse beneath her chose his own path. The last she’d seen of his black tipped ears, they were forward and he was more than energetic as he wound his way along the cliff faces as if completely oblivious to their deaths waiting some four hundred feet below. The only bonus to the raging snow storm was the fact that the ice and flakes had created a fog that kept her from being able to see the horror of the canyon’s gaping, hungry maw. If she couldn’t see it, she could pretend it wasn’t there and accept the fact that there was simply no way for her to turn around on that narrow mountain path.

The fact that ‘it’ was a bad idea howled around her mind as she continued to ride on. She should have stayed put and found a different way to sort out her emotions other than running off like a scorned child. Stupidity, however, was a decidedly human trait and she was, after all, decidedly human and still so very young in spite of her rank and accolades. Sometimes it was hard for people, even herself, to remember and realize that crucial fact and stress took whatever in it was allowed when it came to derailing the senses. Derailed… More like crashed and burned, she thought as she squinted through the bitter winds to see where it was her horse had decided to take her. It seemed as if he continued on by memory, his hooves cracking and scraping against the icy rocks as he continued to climb and wind along the ridge. Up ahead her mind played tricks on her, willing her to believe in the strangest of mirages; steam rose in front of them from what looked like vents, not exactly something someone would expect to find in the untamed wilderness, or readily be willing to believe when they saw it. To her it was like Bigfoot. Steam meant heat, heat meant energy, energy sourcing from vents meant civilization and a potential installation beneath the menacing mountain

Rochelle blinked several times, pulling up her mount and took the chance to rub at her eyes with her frost reddened fingers. The steam was really there, billowing from those vents, and the horse pawed as if to say they weren’t at their ending destination yet, a sentiment made all the more clear when he moved off again the moment she released her pressure on the reins.

More vents became apparent the higher they climbed, but the horse breaking into a brisk jog for the last hundred yards of treacherous icy distance kept her from counting just how many they’d passed when the big animal came to a sudden halt. Inertia saw the tiny, half-frozen woman lurching forward and bracing on her mount’s neck before she swung off and hit the ground with a bone jarring thud. Her legs felt like Jello, her body weakened by the cold she’d fought against for the last several hours from the back of a horse wider than some kitchen tables. In retrospect, she realized she’d been nothing more than a passenger, a rag doll that the big animal had simply allowed to come along for a ride he’d made countless times before.

“A…Door. Of course.” She huffed in cold surprise, eyeballing the slate gray entrance way and shuffled towards it after tying up the stallion. Touching the door handle, the little Queen was surprised to find it unlocked – of course up in the wilderness it made sense that someone would have forgotten to lock the thing. It was a mistake that the Atlanteans would soon regret as the worst possible person to have found such a lair slipped inside and was immediately awakened by the surge of heat and curiosity that piqued within her body and mind. The veil came undone first, soon followed by the rest of her snow covered head scarf, it didn’t trouble her that it drug behind her leaving a vet trail of melting ice as she descended the metal grate staircase. It was silent, mostly dark, and void of life – but she wasn’t making any mistakes. Unarmed and very much alone, Rochelle knew that one false move, one noise, and any company that lay in wait would know she was there and disaster would likely soon follow. In silence she crept on, slowly growing accustomed to the straight light the saw dancing up ahead.

At first it was just a faint flicker of purple, but it steadily grew until the Commodore found herself blocking her eyes with her hand and unable to look directly at the light source. What assaulted her next was the violent throbbing hum of energy that sounded entirely way too much like one of the Vindicator’s warp cores for her to feel comfortable around it. Almar would have known what it was immediately, she thought, and Landon likely could have explained how it worked – all the tactician knew was that she was standing face to face with a massive weapon system… And it was on line, hot, and waiting. Climbing over a steel pipe, Rochelle was careful not to upset anything around her. The rail gun’s design was more than familiar and deeply reminiscent of the ones she’d seen affixed to certain ships, but this one wasn’t run on electricity or ship power, it was run by one massively burning and ever churning crystal not unlike the one Kyym had used to scrub her clean of her lie. Her eyes narrowed further, not so much in a squint, but in anger and curiosity as she quickly dissected the size and relative trajectory of the system. It was aimed directly for space, and given the location… Vindicator was in its sites.

“If you run… You will regret it.” Kyym had said while running a brush through her Queen’s firery copper locks, “If you think they’re safe…” The Atlantean had smirked, “Guess again. The Cardassian is in more danger up there than he ever was down here and all I have to do is say a single word. There’s seven, sweet child, and one of them is constantly keeping an eye on your starship.”

Rochelle had simply gritted her teeth and stayed silent, letting the hateful woman continue her grooming routine and pinning her hair up as if she were an insolent child and Kyym her scolding mother working to prepare for Sunday church. Now… Now she knew… She’d found one of the seven by accident, a sheer coincidence that a soldier’s horse would know the route and dutifully take his rider there. The creature had lead her directly to that proverbial magic ‘x’ drawn in the sand, and in a moment of blind panic she’d come to find clarity. She knew what she needed to do next in order to ensure the survival of her beloved ship and crew. The other guns would be off in trajectory, easily missing – by mere miles – but missing due to how Vindicator was set on her geosynchronous orbit of the planet, aligned perfectly with Gibraltar. “You’re done.” She muttered under her breath, fighting to free herself from the veil and scarves. The sharp sound of a tear and she’d managed to free her legs enough not to be worried about tripping over the long ornate garment she’d been dressed in for the day. Kyym would have blanched if she could see the wild eyed little woman as she so mercilessly transformed into the Phoenix. Even her hair had fallen from it’s perfectly wound and pinned crown and hung wildly across her shoulders as she climbed to the top of the rail gun and to her targeted control box. It was time to dig up that treasure chest.

At her finger tips she had the control to end the madness, to stop the control Kyym held over her and she knew what she had to do. Without a combadge in sight she was forced to work the hard way, exploiting old techniques she hadn’t had to use since her time as a simple Chief Tactical Officer many many years ago on the Griffin. Like remembering the ease of riding a bike, Rochelle’s fingers flew across the console as if she were merely thumbing through some stupid social subspace site; casually and quickly. Things were moved, things were unlocked, and most importantly, things were uploaded to an encrypted link sent straight to a certain yeoman’s handy dandy PADD. The man, she knew, practically slept and bathed with this stupid thing attached to him like a jealous girlfriend.

Wiping the beads of sweat from her brow and shivering at the sensation of rivulets of the wetness raced down the length of her spine, the little redhead was quickly tiring of the oppressive heat coming off the crystal mere feet beneath the crude seat she straddled as she worked. Her bare legs were burning, so much so she could see her skin turning pink from the radiation burns that were slowly, but surely, creeping along her calves and she cursed, shifting her weight and resolving to work faster – as fast as she possible could. One screw up could mean death, a death she wasn’t ready to feel responsible for. It couldn’t happen. It wouldn’t happen and with a loud and arduous sounding beep, she knew it wasn’t going to. Cecil would have everything he could ever have hoped for regarding the system as well as its six sisters. A loud whirring noise and the dimming of the crystal’s light told her that the rail gun was going off line as she’d directed it to and none of the others would rise to take its place, leaving Atlantis Prime defenseless to any attack from the stars above. Vindicator, and the Illustrious, were safe.

Safe.

“Christ…” She sighed, leaning back and again freeing her face of perspiration, relishing in the feeling of a good stiff breeze wafting in from one of the cooling vents. It would be the first time in a long time that she’d be able to appreciate snow and, as she stood to leave the gun behind, she managed a smile. It was a frigid smile. One that spoke of victories and unspoken ‘booyah’s that would come to pass the moment she lay eyes on that wretched bronze bitch. One that – Rochelle’s train of thought was interrupted by the sensation of being thrown into the railing along the surface reaching staircase. With luck and gravity – a small praise of her lacking height to be included – she’d only just been able to catch herself to keep from toppling over the bannister. The ground shook and rocks fell from the cavern’s ceiling, striking the tiny woman as she huddled for cover and continued to scramble for the top, reaching to throw the door open only to find it stuck. “NO!” She yelled, throwing her fist against it as the world stopped shaking, “Are you fucking serious?!” The woman whined and pressed her palms to the freezing cold door.

Only the howl of wind beyond served to answer her.

From the thin crack she’d managed to open, Rochelle could see the shadow of a massive boulder that had tumbled from the tremor. She was stuck with no way out and no hope of escape unless by some stray miracle her crew managed to find her. “Cecil…” She whispered, sliding her back down along the coolness of the metal until her rear end met the floor. The plucky little Petty Officer was seemingly her only hope, that maybe he’d discover a clue in the schematics, diagnostics, and lists. Maybe he’d know just who had sent them and away her search party would be sent. Until such a time, the young Commodore would stew over just how she planned to stick the news to Kyym and longed for a chance to sleep in her own bed on her own ship surrounded by people she knew and loved.


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Commodore Rochelle Ivanova
Commanding Officer
USS VINDICATOR NCC 78213-E

 

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