SD242211.24 | Com Ivanova, Capt Neyes, Lt MacLeod, Lt Sha'mer | "Second Star To The Right..." pt1
Posted on Mon Feb 20th, 2023 @ 1:07am by Admiral Rochelle Ivanova & Captain Landon Neyes & Lieutenant Ra'lin Sha'mer & Lieutenant Craig MacLeod
2,386 words; about a 12 minute read
Mission:
Genesis
Timeline: BACKLOG
November 24th marked 11 months since the accident. It marked 11 months since Rochelle Ivanova had been declared dead by the Federation. It also marked the beginning of a new regime. Sean Archer had lost the election in spite of pollings showing him to be the far more popular candidate - however, in a dramatic plot twist he’d managed to finish far behind his opponent; Aksel Ravnsson. There was simply nothing that could be done, any attempt to scrutinize the unlikely victory was quickly squashed by Ravnsson’s men as he proceeded to steamroll through the takeover process with his new administration.
The news had hit Japori II and left most everyone with a sour taste in their mouths and dread in their chest. None were affected more than Landon and Rochelle, even if Rochelle had shrugged it off and refused to speak of it. Something that troubled Landon more than he’d have liked to admit, but he’d let it go out of deference to her - after all she'd been six and a half months pregnant with their second child, and given the risk associated, the last thing he wanted to do was upset her. In that same vein, he’d done more than his fair share of magic tricks to keep them from being caught when James Archer and a Kelpian cohort spent nearly three weeks poking around the planet and asking questions.
A world like Japori II was one that hid its secrets well and even better when the pay rate was high. She hadn’t wanted to make contact. She hadn’t wanted to return. Each day had become a gift to her where she’d been allowed to live a life with him in which they could almost forget the strife that impacted Starfleet and the Federation - and he selfishly had agreed to it even when he knew she’d need to return some day. That day hadn’t come, especially not when she was so fragile and vulnerable - two things Rochelle was never meant to be.
As September had turned to October, it became increasingly more apparent that Ravnsson’s agenda was to erase the legacy of Sean Archer and any who had ever questioned him after Rochelle’s ‘death’. Tr’Bak had a source on the inside that was happily feeding information to him in almost real time and he, with just as much gusto, parroted it to Landon. Even he had taken to giving Rochelle her distance - and with good reason.
The warnings associated with a high risk pregnancy held true nearly a month and a week before her due date. In spite of a forty-eight hour battle to try and stop the labor from progressing, the child patently refused to be denied entry into the crazy universe they called home. By the grace of the Gods alone, Landon and Rochelle had been blessed with a perfectly healthy baby girl, even if she was absolutely tiny and ‘a little undercooked’ as Tristan had so eloquently put it. None of that mattered. What did matter was that both mother and daughter had come out of the ordeal on top.
Eirlys Isolde Irelle had been born on October 13th, 2421.
Flash forward nearly two months months - almost a solid year after the accident - and the time had come where it was undeniable that he could be selfish no more. Rochelle had to return and that news had come by way of weary travelers that had defied all odds and challenges to find them.
Ra’lin and MacLeod had managed to disappear from under the heathen President’s watchful gaze and by a stroke of fortune had managed to spot Tristan and follow him back to the homestead. To say he had been happy to see them was a bit of an understatement, even if their appearance left him feeling cold and anxious, worried about who else may have followed them.
The damage was done, and while on high alert the Trill had welcomed them into the fold and quietly introduced them to the newest member of the family. The joy was to be short-lived. News of the arrests hit like a ton of bricks and thus rose the dawn of a new era that may well spell the end for so many things.
It was time to see the Phoenix rise from her ashes once more.
Stepping off their back porch, Landon jammed his hands into his pockets and set out across the yard. It was supposed to be a relax and unwind sort of night. Tristan was meant to watch the children and he was meant to enjoy time with his wife.
That whole idea had come to a grinding halt when Ra'lin and MacLeod had shown up on their door step with little more than manic smiles, knowing eyes, and a 'We know. We need to talk.' that resulted in an hour long conversation that had left Landon angry and crestfallen.
He knew what needed to come next. He could be selfish no longer - and neither could Rochelle.
Jamming his hands further into his pockets, the Trill set his shoulders and fixed his gaze on his target.
She was tucked into a wooden chair, basking in the warmth afforded to her by a bonfire he’d lit just after dinner. He could see she’d even discarded her shoes, choosing to tuck her feet up under her and the comfort of the plaid and shearling blanket she’d draped over her lap. His stress-terse mouth quirked into a small smile, recognizing that - at last - she was the picture of comfort and peace. He should have felt pride and happiness, meanwhile he felt nothing but dread and anxiety bubbling within his chest.
Kneeling beside her chair, Landon wet his lips and rested his hands on her lap, “Rochelle…” He started, waiting for her eyes to meet him before he continued, “There’s something you should know…” The Trill’s head shook as he spoke, as if he too refused to truly believe what it was he was about to say and do.
“What’s wrong?” Her posture shifted more upright, more defensive as she took in the sight of him and the sound of his voice. “Eirlys…”
“She’s fine. Tristan, Zed, and Javaan are fine too,” He cut her off, resting the worst of her immediate worries, “It’s the Federation…”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“ROCHELLE!” Landon almost flinched at his own roar and the way her bright blue eyes widened in response to the sound of her name being uttered in such a way. The surprise and shock written across her face instantly fueled the sensation of guilt in his gut and begged him to reconsider and simply live and let live as she had chosen.
But they couldn’t.
He knew that she, like him, wouldn’t turn a blind eye towards those they loved most. He knew she wouldn’t forsake them to the gallows. “You… We... We don’t have a choice anymore. Ravnsson has accused people of treason and murder. Your murder, Rochelle.”
as his words sunk in and took their place within her mind, it was her turn to wet her lips, her mouth suddenly having gone bone dry. A hand rose from where it had been resting in her lap, finding its way to her forehead and eventually to brush a wayward lock of hair from her face. It felt surreal, as if she were trapped in a nightmare. “Who has he accused?” Rochelle’s voice sounded small, drowned beneath fathoms of water and far away. None of them had anticipated this course of action… Except Tr’Bak. Fucking Tr’Bak.
Reaching to take her hand in his, it took every bit of strength Landon had to remain collected and poised. A war had been started, and it was nearly impossible not to heed its call. “The entire Archer family, your aunt, Valeese Stacker, Almar…” He replied as if paying respect to the long lost. If they didn’t act, if she didn’t act, they would be lost.
“Ra’lin and Craig,” he began anew, not needing to look over his shoulder at two figures standing on the porch behind them, “escaped.”
“Escaped.” Rochelle repeated the word. Her eyes had darkened, become more smoky and turbulent than he’d seen them in a long… long time.
Landon nodded, “They’re safe, but the others…”
“Aren’t guilty, Landon.” It went without needing to be said, “That rat bastard is responsible for all of this!” Christ alive she felt as if she were burning alive, suddenly far too hot for a blanket even though the threat of frost still hung in the early night air.
Again, the Trill nodded and got to his feet with just enough time to catch the blanket his wife threw from her body. “I know, Roc, I know…” Not catching fire in the wake of her anger was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. It was so easy to join her in her rage, but that rage was where mistakes could be made and mistakes were something none of them had time for.
“He wants me, Landon.” Rochelle was on her feet in an instant, hunting for the simple pair of slides she'd kicked off earlier in the evening.
“No.”
“We can end this right now if I just go to him…” She continued, finding the damned shoes and stuffing her feet into them.
“No.”
“I can’t let them die because of me…” The redhead half-muttered, half-hissed as she tucked a stubborn lock of hair back behind one of her ears.
“NO!” He finally roared, shaking his head and grabbing hold of her shoulders before she could breeze off towards the house, “He's using your name and your death as a reason to commit murder, sure, but you’re already dead as far as he’s concerned, Roc! He doesn’t give a shit about you right now and if you just go handing yourself over, he’ll cut your throat and proceed with business as usual and no one would be any the fucking wiser because you. don't. exist.”
“Then what is it that you think I should do? Hmm? What the fuck do I do?” Rochelle seethed in return, narrowing her eyes as she leveled her gaze back on his.
"Ye return fae th' greeve." Craig's brogue rolled soft like distant thunder when he spoke. A fight between the Commodore and her husband wasn't going to solve a a bloody thing, not when Ravnsson was steadily inching the noose ever tighter against the throats of those they knew and loved. The burly Scott cleared away the sensation of tightness around his own throat with a gentle cough and passed a look towards Ra'lin before continuing.
Silence settled over the yard. Not even a bird dared to sing.
Landon looked between Rochelle and the Doctor, watching the colors shift in his wife's eyes as her anger was muted by relief, albeit briefly.
"And how do you suggest I do that?" The firebird asked, folding her arms across her chest, "Return from the grave, that is." There would be no maudlin displays of affection or rushing into tearful greetings between old friends. At least not now... Not when so much was on the line and so much uncertainty still hung in the air, making it thick as molasses and just as difficult to breathe.
With a quick look to Landon, Craig chose not to pussy-foot around the subject. Too much time was wasted playing such trivial games and tap dancing on egg shells. If there was to be an explosion, there was to be an explosion. No amount of sugar coating was going to solve a thing or impede the flow of progress when time was so delicately thin. "The Klingons." A hand went up to silence the guffaw he could practically feel rising up from the little redheaded human woman, "Ye ha'e fowk ties tae th' Klingons. Yer Faither is an Ambassador," He began to explain himself, choosing to stay rooted beside Ra'lin than make any further progress towards the Commodore as if unsure that she were truly there and anything more than a figment of a dream or some sort of holographic apparition. Hope encouraged him to keep speaking, nonetheless. "Whit Ravnsson's dane is an act o' war 'n' thar's nae doubt thar's e'en mare unrest noo that yer Aunt bein' arrested," Craig's brow knit at the thought, "If ye contact thaim, the Klingons, they'll be thare fur ye 'n' hulp git ye back tae whaur ye belong..." He shrugged, looking to Ra'lin for her thoughts, "Or die tryin'."
Landon nodded and hummed briefly in agreement and appreciation for what had been said. "It makes sense." He offered, "Might stop them from going in to Theta with guns blazing. Might be nice to mitigate as much loss as possible."
Loss... There would be loss. It was inevitable. The goal now was to make sure that loss was minimal. It was almost painful for him to look at Rochelle, knowing that if they weren't careful, everything they'd been though could wind up in cinders and ashes all the same.
Silence held out at first. She stood blank as a stone, giving no indication that she'd even bothered to listen to Craig or to Landon as she studied the back of her hand and nails. The only movement to be seen from her was the occasional pass of her thumb over one of her cuticles and the passive flutter of her hair as it caught onto a minimal air current.
"How did you find us?" She finally asked.
"Doesnnae maiter, whit maiters is solving this." Craig replied with a shrug.
"I'll ask again..." Rochelle sniffed, finally raising her eyes to look between the pair, "How did you find us?" The bright blue of her eyes finally settled on Ra'lin.
"Hope."
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TO BE CONTINUED...
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Commodore Rochelle Ivanova
Commanding Officer
USS VINDICATOR, NX78213-F
Captain Landon Neyes (Ret.)
Starfleet
Lieutenant Ra'lin Sha'mer
Captain's Yeoman
USS VINDICATOR, NX78213-F
Lieutenant Craig MacLeod
Chief Medical Officer
USS VINDICATOR, NX78213-F
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