Twenty-Five Years 01 - Introduction
May. 30th, 2009 04:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
measured_wordsAlrighty then - new series! I'll see how long I can keep this up. I'm aiming for one a week, mostly because at the moment, that's probably about what I can manage. However this is liable to change, because unfortunately time is something I don't have in mass quantities.
So, then!
Working Title: Twenty Five Years (I'm open to suggestions - I'm terrible at naming things.)
Characters: Ayel, Nero, T'Lalea (not actually an OC but I did give her a name!), random Narada crew.
Summary: What happened to the crew of the Narada between the attack on the Kelvin and the attack on the Klingons previous to the capture of Spock Prime?
Rating: PG
AN: I am drawing on a number of sources for this - primarily the movie, of course. However, I'm scavenging from a host of other sources as well. I'm considering Countdown, the prequel comic, as cannon, to the extent of chosing some of its explanations over the movie. I'm also working on rumours and clips of things that were cut from the movie, and hoping that none of them turn out to completely contradict what I'm setting up here ;) I'm taking a few things from the novelization, and lifting some cultural background from Diane Duane's Rihannsu novels, with the caveat that cledarly some things have changed since the time of her books, and also that we're not dealing with Rihannu/Romulan nobility here, for the most part. I'm trying to balance things with what we know of ST:TNG/DS9/VOY Romulans.... for better or for worse. So, please forgive my creative license, though if you point out any major discrepancies, I can try and answer to the best of my knowledge why I did what, or fix things if you can demonstrate that I'm really just on crack. Please read, enjoy, and comment! If you might be interested in beta-ing future chapters, please drop me a line :) Thanks!
ETA: Series Notes here
Twenty-Five Years 01 - Introduction
“Status.”
Ayel was conscious of a sharp pain running up the right side of his chest from where he’d been thrown forward into Narada’s tactical console, and a numbness in the corresponding arm. He tried to make a fist, saw stars, and tapped at the computer with his left.
“Heavy damage to the lower decks,” he hissed. “Mainpower offline, all engines non-operational. No power to weapons. Shields are down. We’re drifting.”
He turned. Nero was just slumping back down into his own chair, teral’n still clutched tightly. He wiped idly at a gash above his eyes, green blood smearing against the sleeve of his black coat. “The shuttles.”
“Escaping towards Federation space.”
There was a pause. Ayel imagined he could feel the frustrated seething emanating from his captain, but he may have been projecting – he felt it himself.
“Let the dogs run, then. Their time will come.”
Another pause – this time Ayel’s own. When? He wondered, but didn’t yet dare voice the question. One hundred and fifty four years in the past, and what now? Nero either missed his hesitation, or chose to ignore it.
“Get me the injury reports. Can we cloak?”
“No, sir. Reports coming in from the other decks now.”
“See that the injured are tended to, and send me the names of the fallen. How long until we have warp?”
Ayel nodded, staring blankly at his console for a moment before blinking the characters back in to focus. He steadied himself – hunching forward made breathing painful, and he needed to concentrate. “Main power coming back online now.” The lights brightened as he spoke, words echoed with a dull whine. “Ship’s auto-repair systems engaged. Prioritizing hull integrity and wa-“ A sudden wave of bright black dizziness surged through him, and he fought the urge to sit, or collapse completely, bracing himself against the panel with his left arm, knuckles white. The right didn’t seem to want to listen, but instead of numbness, now there was white hot fire.
“Ayel?”
Warp capacity, his mind supplied, but he felt like he was choking, and couldn’t force out the words. T’Lalea finished the report for him, taking over not in any manoeuvre to usurp his position or esteem with the captain, but because time was short, and Nero needed the answers. He nodded brusquely at her as she rattled off the estimates. Ayel was trying to will his lungs and arm to function, and only half listening. Nero’s voice cut in over his officer’s, ordering a medic to the bridge.
More orders were given – for repairs, for attention to be paid to the sensor array in case of new presences in the area, to monitor local transmissions. A medic (H’Man, Ayel recalled) showed up, patched the gash on Nero’s forehead, patched his own injuries as best he could – a number of broken ribs and related internal injuries, torn ligaments and dislocated shoulder, among other minor things – gave him a painkiller and a stimulant to keep going. They removed the bodies of the dead, including the Starfleet captain, from the command center. The truth was that they weren’t going anywhere for some time.
The captain turned to him, once the bridge was clear. “The calculations?”
Ayel pulled up the program that he’d left running in the background since shortly after Nero killed Robau, after the man had confirmed their situation. He glared at the numbers, suppressing the urge slam a fist into the contrary numbers. “Computer projects that Spock’s ship-“ he spit as he spoke the name, “-won’t arrive here for another twenty five years!”
“Twenty five years.” A pause. “Be precise, Ayel.”
He rattled off the data, to the estimated hour, derived from the strength of the singularity’s gravity well, readings taken of the Vulcan’s ship (especially density and mass), their own course through space-time, and as many other variables as he could think to account for. “I’ve run the scenario three times, it’s all the same. The margin of error is only a few hours.”
Glancing back over his shoulder, he could see Nero staring ahead, thinking: Earth and Fire. Which would win? The captain pressed a button on his command console, and spoke fairly calmly over the ship’s intercom. “Thrai to central command.”
Ayel shared a glance with T’Lalea. Thrai was the third of Nero’s officers. Before, when the Narada had been a simple deep-space mining vessel, Thrai had been in charge of overseeing the work crews. T’Lalea was essentially security, in charge of the ship’s defences against raiders and pirates, and the safety of the crew generally, including from each other. Ayel’s job, as first officer, covered a range of duties, but he was the one responsible for asking the hard questions. Crew and captain both trusted him; he represented the one to the other and was charged with balancing the honour of both. He didn’t have much time to dwell on what Nero wanted with the three of them now before a voice responded.
“Sir, this is Taul in medical. Thrai is dead.”
Hard news. Nero punched the console, closing the link violently. He smouldered for a moment, regarded the two of them both in turn, then addressed them by their fourth names.
Nero had nuhuinen, look-toward, what the humans might define as charisma. People followed him, and trusted him easily. But his friendships with his subordinates ran deeper. The captain would not have it otherwise, Ayel knew, and nor would he. Nero had always been considerate of their lives and their honour, as though they were kin. Mnei-sahe. The loss of ch’Rihan had changed a great many things. They all felt it keenly, and it drove their captain to extremes. But this had not changed. Mnei-sahe had not changed. Its demands, however, and their future…
Ayel listened.
So, then!
Working Title: Twenty Five Years (I'm open to suggestions - I'm terrible at naming things.)
Characters: Ayel, Nero, T'Lalea (not actually an OC but I did give her a name!), random Narada crew.
Summary: What happened to the crew of the Narada between the attack on the Kelvin and the attack on the Klingons previous to the capture of Spock Prime?
Rating: PG
AN: I am drawing on a number of sources for this - primarily the movie, of course. However, I'm scavenging from a host of other sources as well. I'm considering Countdown, the prequel comic, as cannon, to the extent of chosing some of its explanations over the movie. I'm also working on rumours and clips of things that were cut from the movie, and hoping that none of them turn out to completely contradict what I'm setting up here ;) I'm taking a few things from the novelization, and lifting some cultural background from Diane Duane's Rihannsu novels, with the caveat that cledarly some things have changed since the time of her books, and also that we're not dealing with Rihannu/Romulan nobility here, for the most part. I'm trying to balance things with what we know of ST:TNG/DS9/VOY Romulans.... for better or for worse. So, please forgive my creative license, though if you point out any major discrepancies, I can try and answer to the best of my knowledge why I did what, or fix things if you can demonstrate that I'm really just on crack. Please read, enjoy, and comment! If you might be interested in beta-ing future chapters, please drop me a line :) Thanks!
ETA: Series Notes here
Twenty-Five Years 01 - Introduction
“Status.”
Ayel was conscious of a sharp pain running up the right side of his chest from where he’d been thrown forward into Narada’s tactical console, and a numbness in the corresponding arm. He tried to make a fist, saw stars, and tapped at the computer with his left.
“Heavy damage to the lower decks,” he hissed. “Mainpower offline, all engines non-operational. No power to weapons. Shields are down. We’re drifting.”
He turned. Nero was just slumping back down into his own chair, teral’n still clutched tightly. He wiped idly at a gash above his eyes, green blood smearing against the sleeve of his black coat. “The shuttles.”
“Escaping towards Federation space.”
There was a pause. Ayel imagined he could feel the frustrated seething emanating from his captain, but he may have been projecting – he felt it himself.
“Let the dogs run, then. Their time will come.”
Another pause – this time Ayel’s own. When? He wondered, but didn’t yet dare voice the question. One hundred and fifty four years in the past, and what now? Nero either missed his hesitation, or chose to ignore it.
“Get me the injury reports. Can we cloak?”
“No, sir. Reports coming in from the other decks now.”
“See that the injured are tended to, and send me the names of the fallen. How long until we have warp?”
Ayel nodded, staring blankly at his console for a moment before blinking the characters back in to focus. He steadied himself – hunching forward made breathing painful, and he needed to concentrate. “Main power coming back online now.” The lights brightened as he spoke, words echoed with a dull whine. “Ship’s auto-repair systems engaged. Prioritizing hull integrity and wa-“ A sudden wave of bright black dizziness surged through him, and he fought the urge to sit, or collapse completely, bracing himself against the panel with his left arm, knuckles white. The right didn’t seem to want to listen, but instead of numbness, now there was white hot fire.
“Ayel?”
Warp capacity, his mind supplied, but he felt like he was choking, and couldn’t force out the words. T’Lalea finished the report for him, taking over not in any manoeuvre to usurp his position or esteem with the captain, but because time was short, and Nero needed the answers. He nodded brusquely at her as she rattled off the estimates. Ayel was trying to will his lungs and arm to function, and only half listening. Nero’s voice cut in over his officer’s, ordering a medic to the bridge.
More orders were given – for repairs, for attention to be paid to the sensor array in case of new presences in the area, to monitor local transmissions. A medic (H’Man, Ayel recalled) showed up, patched the gash on Nero’s forehead, patched his own injuries as best he could – a number of broken ribs and related internal injuries, torn ligaments and dislocated shoulder, among other minor things – gave him a painkiller and a stimulant to keep going. They removed the bodies of the dead, including the Starfleet captain, from the command center. The truth was that they weren’t going anywhere for some time.
The captain turned to him, once the bridge was clear. “The calculations?”
Ayel pulled up the program that he’d left running in the background since shortly after Nero killed Robau, after the man had confirmed their situation. He glared at the numbers, suppressing the urge slam a fist into the contrary numbers. “Computer projects that Spock’s ship-“ he spit as he spoke the name, “-won’t arrive here for another twenty five years!”
“Twenty five years.” A pause. “Be precise, Ayel.”
He rattled off the data, to the estimated hour, derived from the strength of the singularity’s gravity well, readings taken of the Vulcan’s ship (especially density and mass), their own course through space-time, and as many other variables as he could think to account for. “I’ve run the scenario three times, it’s all the same. The margin of error is only a few hours.”
Glancing back over his shoulder, he could see Nero staring ahead, thinking: Earth and Fire. Which would win? The captain pressed a button on his command console, and spoke fairly calmly over the ship’s intercom. “Thrai to central command.”
Ayel shared a glance with T’Lalea. Thrai was the third of Nero’s officers. Before, when the Narada had been a simple deep-space mining vessel, Thrai had been in charge of overseeing the work crews. T’Lalea was essentially security, in charge of the ship’s defences against raiders and pirates, and the safety of the crew generally, including from each other. Ayel’s job, as first officer, covered a range of duties, but he was the one responsible for asking the hard questions. Crew and captain both trusted him; he represented the one to the other and was charged with balancing the honour of both. He didn’t have much time to dwell on what Nero wanted with the three of them now before a voice responded.
“Sir, this is Taul in medical. Thrai is dead.”
Hard news. Nero punched the console, closing the link violently. He smouldered for a moment, regarded the two of them both in turn, then addressed them by their fourth names.
Nero had nuhuinen, look-toward, what the humans might define as charisma. People followed him, and trusted him easily. But his friendships with his subordinates ran deeper. The captain would not have it otherwise, Ayel knew, and nor would he. Nero had always been considerate of their lives and their honour, as though they were kin. Mnei-sahe. The loss of ch’Rihan had changed a great many things. They all felt it keenly, and it drove their captain to extremes. But this had not changed. Mnei-sahe had not changed. Its demands, however, and their future…
Ayel listened.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-05-31 07:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-31 01:57 pm (UTC)I'm already planning the next section, at least, and I have some ideas for later on as well. My only problem at the moment is that I only have internet access on the weekends for the next month or so.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-31 04:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-31 04:18 pm (UTC)I have a couple of other short Romulan-centric pieces in this journal as well, if you're interested.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-31 04:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-07 10:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-07 10:23 pm (UTC)