measured_words | Twenty-Five Years 3

Title: Twenty-Five Years - Capture and Oath

Characters: Ayel, Nero, Narada crew: T'Lalea, H'Man, Paren

Summary: ongoing series exploring what happened to the crew of the Narada between the attack on the Kelvin and the attack on the klingon prison planet twenty-five years later.

Rating: Soft R for implied torture and violence.

AN: Series Notes and chapter index here.

Twenty-Five Years 3 - Interrogations

The crew had all been removed quickly to holding facilities on the station. Armed guards dominated Narada’s command center, weapons drawn and currently pointed at the three remaining Rihannsu. Most attention was being paid to Nero, who stood facing the Klingon intruders, the Debrune teral’n in hand, its blades unsheathed. T’Lalea’s green eyes flashed fiercely, poised to react quickly should she feel any shift in the situation.
Woe be to the Klingons if it should. Little attention was being paid to Ayel. Typical.

Nero surprised the Klingons by, instead of lunging at them, he turned his back and carefully lay the ancient weapon across the command chair. That done, he nodded once at Ayel, who in turn nodded to the lieutenant charged with removing them from the ship. They were led off the bridge, one final trek through Narada to her transporter bay. Only T’Lalea spared a look back towards the teral’n.

Krysk met them at the station’s platform, still glorying in his prize though he was no longer the officer in charge. The thrai in him was showing again, and he chortled a gloating laugh as he ordered the three of them seized, “the pirate dog Nero” with special violence. It was T’Lalea who actually fought, showing her fire. Ayel put up a token resistance as he was manhandled away, more resigned to his fate. Nero continued to show his earth – immovable, indomitable. For now, at least, he would not cry out at any of their blows, and gave them nothing but a defiant smirk for their efforts. They took him away separately.

The cramped cell to which he and T’Lalea were taken already had two occupants. One was H’Man, recognizable by the sunburst pattern that splayed up from the base of his neck over his skull. He was hunched over the other, who was lying on one of the low metal benches protruding from the walls. The medic looked up as the other two were helped inside with a rough shove.

“Where’s the captain? Are you alright?”

“We’re fine.” T’Lalea wiped a smear of green from her bloody nose. “They took Captain Nero away. Who’s that?”

Ayel was already crouched over the still form of Narada’s engineer. “Paren. How is she?” Her face was mottled in ugly bruises, most of which were turning a sallow bronze colour.

“Sleeping.”

He pulled back.

“They broke her nose, and some other parts, but it’s mostly superficial. Still – she was fine when she came off the ship.”

“Animals,” T’Lalea hissed quietly, and winced slightly when H’man came over to check her cuts and bruises, informing her that against the odds, she’d managed to crack a knuckle.

“Now what?” the medic asked.

Ayel sat himself down, pulling his knees close so that the others could do the same. ‘We wait. It shouldn’t be too long.”

It wasn’t long at all before an explosion rattled the entire station.

“Narada!” Paren slurred ash she bolted upright in the aftershock, then groaned slightly.

“She’s off now,” Ayel said gently as H’Man resumed his fussing. “Elements will that the subroutines all work, and she doesn’t run out of power before we need her back.”

“They’re well composed, Ayel.” She was still slurring, and he realized it wasn’t just from being suddenly awoken. She sat up more carefully, waving the medic away, and grinned at him. One of her front teeth was missing. It was disconcerting – she’d been considered the ship’s beauty, with sharp features that caught and held the eye even after she’d shaved all her hair. Paren was one of the few who’d incorporated actual words into her mourning tattoos, inscribing the names of the generation ships that had carried their people to ch’Rihan and ch’Havran millennia ago into the spindly arms of Narada that spilled from the back of her head over her forehead and across her cheeks. “You did well, and she trusts you. It will be fine.” She meant the ship, he realized, and marked it down to further Ship Clan eccentricities. “Where’s Nero?”

“That’s enough,” T’Lalea interrupted, watching out the forcefield into the hall – they could all hear the ring of heavy boots approaching.

“I didn’t give them anything.”

Ayel nodded at the engineer as he rose to his feet, and hoped that earth was with him today as well as the guards beckoned him forward.

They passed several other cells, most packed more tightly with crewmen than the one he’d left behind, though some were smaller. He kept his head eye and his eyes defiant – he owed them at least as much. Seeing them so treated raised honest outrage in his heart. These were his people – all he had left of them. Every face had a name, and he listed them as he passed.

The final name he listed was Nero’s, as they marched him further in to the holding cells. The captain was alone, stripped, lying on his side with his back to the force shield. He had visible bruises marring his tattoos, and open wounds leaking green blood. He was breathing. Ayel had time to notice this, as the guards briefly slowed their procession of misery. Did they think this would break me? The image of Paren, with her broken face, came to mind as well. By the time they brought him to the quiet little room where Krysk waited with his evil smile and his instruments, Ayel knew it was fire, not earth, that would see him through his ordeal.

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“Where is the Narada?”

The words still echoed through his head hours later, resonating with throbbing aches. But Ayel didn’t know, so he laughed until he recognized H’Man hunching over him again.

“Sir!” he repeated. “They’re taking us somewhere.”

Moving, he found as he sat up, brought everything into sharp focus very quickly. The medic was much too short to support his weight easily. T’Lalea kept the guards at bay, carving out a space of respect. The little group of officer were paraded past the crew again, as all were loaded in to a transport. Ayel did another head count, but this time there was no Nero. It was a short trip, and at the end, they were outfitted with ratty, foul-smelling furs before being divided into smaller groups and ushered ungently into shuttles that flew them down to the icy hell of Rura Penthe.