Twenty-Five Years 09 - Conflict
Jul. 27th, 2009 01:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
measured_wordsPrevious chapters and Series Notes
This may be the last section for a while - I am going away next weekend and won't have tome to write for the following three weeks. I'm not sure if I can get anything up before I leave, but I'll give it a shot!
Twenty-Five Years 09 – Conflict
Things were different without the women, and it wasn’t just that the food became even less palatable. Tensions were higher all around. Even the guards seemed more on edge. The first night, the crew took advantage of the disruption in their nightly ritual to catch some extra rest. This second evening, some were seeking other distractions to fill their time. Ayel might have preferred to rest, but as he saw Nero approaching, knew that wasn’t going to happen. He swung his legs back over the side of his bunk, stretched out his neck, and strode over to meet his captain. Nero received him with a nod and headed out of their barracks into the central chamber. He never smiles anymore. But that was the price he paid for his choices: to find no solace in the small things – life, honour, companionship – remaining to them. Revenge was an oppressive, isolating burden. Ayel wondered if the silence made it easier or harder to bear.
He also wondered where they were going. There were a number of other Rihannsu out here already. Most were broken into small groups of people who worked together in the mines, or had on Narada, or both. There were others as well, aliens, gathered in their own cliques and following their own routines or drawn out like his own people by the disruption cause by the women’s absence. Most he knew by sight, and some by name, and he knew Nero did as well.
“Captain!” a voice called. “Ayel!” Vanor waved them over. He was sitting with a few others, Rhyd, H’lad, and Parva, all from his crew. “Join us for a drink?”
Such an innocuous phrase – they’d head it a thousand times before, at the guildhall in Ra'tleihfi, and any of the local alehouses. They’d pull up a chair, share a few rounds between them, and find out how life was unravelling for their people between contracts. He glances at Nero, who shrugged, eyes distant. Ayel wondered if he was remembering the same things. They headed over.
“Drink of what?”
“They call it churn. It’s red, it’s vicious, and it’ll take the edge off of anything.” The old miner pressed a jug into his hands, and he noted it was ceramic, not metal. It was also strangely warm to the touch, and the fumes were strong enough to make him blink even before he brought it anywhere near his face.
“Are you sure it’s not just engine fuel?”
Vanor laughed. It was apparently enough to get him drunk. “It’s no ale, lad, but it’s all we’ve got, isn’t it?”
True enough. He brought the jug to his lips, and swallowed a mouthful. Churn was a good name for it – his insides roiled in protest and he coughed. Nero nudged him companionably in the ribs and appropriated the container. This is a plot to get us to poison ourselves, isn’t it? He could only watch in fascination as his friend upended the jug, swallowing several times before thrusting it back towards he others. The look on his face was expressive, to say the least. Somehow he managed to stay on his feet, though he looked a little yellow.
“Now,” Rhyd slurred, “that’s Fire!”
“That’s our captain,” Vanor shot back. His grin spoke approval, his slitted eyes calculation. “All Fire and Earth. I remember that night on Eilhaunn where you almost drank Thrai under the table? Almost. Well – to the dead then?” He raised the bottle in salute, and drank.
Nero nodded again, slowly, and though his eyes were on the miner, it seemed they were focused on a point very far away. He’d recovered his colour at least. Ayel wondered if they’d stay after that, and Nero clapped him on the shoulder and turned away.
He didn’t release him right away, and Ayel found himself directed towards the shadows at the edge of the cave. Questions queued in his mind – Are you well? What is it? What do you need? – he dismissed them. He knew he wouldn’t get more than an answering glare. No, he was left to guess the matter on his own. The drink or memories, probably both. The captain didn’t seem unsteady, and as horrible as the churn was, it would’ve needed to be pretty noxious to have any strong impact. It hadn’t killed Vanor or the others yet, and he felt only a mild queasiness that probably just meant that he hadn’t had enough. Memories, however, were proving a potent poison these days. They walked in silence, and Ayel couldn’t quite make out his friend’s face. The eyes he could imagine – still fixed on some distant point, blazing like the embers of a dying sun.
“Nero,” he said, hoping to drag the other man back to the present. It seemed to work, as he turned to the sound of Ayel’s voice. He seized on his first stray though for something to follow up with. “I expect we’ll have our chance to meet with Ch’Vul after the women get back.” It was nothing his commander couldn’t have concluded himself, but his attention seemed more focused, and his lips tightened in to a thoughtful line. He recognized the distraction, but didn’t appear to object. H’Man’s meeting with Saleema had taken place only a few days before the women were called away. Things had apparently gone well enough that she had agreed to speak to her lover on behalf of the Rihannsu – when opportunity arose. It was reasonable to expect the Klingon geophysicist would be involved in inspecting or overseeing the treatment of the dilithium ore. “I want to be clear on what we’re offering.”
Nero had been listening, hadn’t released his grip. Suddenly, his attention was drawn by something Ayel couldn’t see, and he tensed, turning his second around and, finally, letting go of his arm. Two large, ugly aliens, armed with thick metal rods sheared to angular points were approaching – Nausicaans.
“Is this a private conference, Romulans? Because we have something we’d like to say.” The leader of the two barred his teeth, flashing his tusks.
“What do you want?” Ayel kept his voice firm, switching from Rihannsu to Standard. He could feel his pulse quicken as Nero too a step towards them, hand reaching for his blade. It was the same feeling he’d had when Klingons had boarded Narada, before they’d been pulled back in time. But then he and Nero had kept to the shadows, using the ship against the only one who’d made it past the rest of the crew. Here, they lacked the advantage.
“We don’t think you people understand the hierarchy around here,” the leader growled, tightening his grip around the makeshift spear. “But we’re going to clear that up.”
Nero had already shifted in to a defensive stance, guarding the line of his body with his knife. Ayel mirrored him, closing the space between them so that they stood nearly shoulder to shoulder. It reminded him of fighting drills, instructions his sister pushed him to master. She’d wanted him to be like her, and she’d excelled at llaekh’ae’rl from an early age. It had never come so easily to him. “How can someone with so much stubborn Earth lack grounding?” She’d boggled. “Maybe you’re just too tall.” Maybe I just think too much.
It hardly seemed to matter, as the lead Nausicaaan lunged forward with a vicious jab. Nero was ready – he knew all the tricks to dirty fighting. Stepping in to the attack, he dropped his knife, twisted his body out of the way, and grabbed the spear, pulling it down and out of his attacker’s hands. He whirled it around, levelling the sharpened point at his attacker’s chest. The weapon was not so completely different from a teral’n, and Ayel knew he’d been practicing with that before they’d left Narada.
The other bellowed, jabbing his spear at Ayel. He dodged the blow, landing what he thought was a solid punch to the Nausicaan’s midsection. It barely elicited a grunt. The responding attack was a wild headbutt that caught him in the cheek and sent him reeling backwards, followed up with a fast spear-thrust. He barely avoided impalement by dropping in to a low crouch, reaching back for Nero’s discarded knife as he did. A short bellow of pain distracted both combatants – Nero had managed to stab his opponent deep in the flesh of his thigh, but lost the embedded weapon as a consequence.
Ayel’s hand closed around the knife, a sharp shard of metal wrapped in leather at its hilt. He sprang to his feet, lashing out to force his opponent back. His success was moderate. Less than an arm’s length away, the other fight had turned for Nero, now locked in a painful stranglehold by the taller, stronger alien. Ayel plunged the blade deep in to the shoulder of the Nausicaan holding his friend.
“Captain!” It was Illraehi, T’Lalea’s stand-in, drawing a long-bladed knife as he threw himself in to the melee. Things happened very quickly. Ayel’s opponent whirled on the interloper, spearing him cleanly through the chest with a motion that showed more instinct than skill. Ayel gave a cry, driving his own blade up through the back of the Nausicaan’s thick neck. Both fell – dead. It was the first time he’d killed anyone in a face-to-face fight. His anger was greater than his shock, but he felt a flutter in the pit of his stomach regardless. Nero still needs me. He turned to the ongoing fight.
The captain must have kicked his attacker in the injured leg, as the alien had dropped to one knee. His wounded shoulder sagged, but Fire burned bright in his eyes as he pulled the spear from his own thigh with a great bellow. Nero wasn’t watching his opponent though – he’d stepped back out of range, and his gaze flickered from Ayel to something in the distance. Another bellow answered the Nausicaan’s.
“What’s going on over there!” The warden.
Nero backed up further as the alien rose unsteadily to his feet, glancing towards a pack of guards assembling near the warden. Getting caught here would mean exile for any of them.
“This isn’t over,” the Nausicaan hissed, slipping off in to the shadows without a glance at his fallen partner.
They didn’t waste time watching him go and made their own exit swiftly, winding their way back to the Narada cave. Ayel’s thoughts were scattered, and the queasiness stayed with him. Once they arrived, Nero withdrew behind the metal wall erected to mark his private quarters. How apt. Ayel had seen the brief flash of deeply buried loss as his friend had looked on yet another corpse of one of his crew – his people. Since the moment the Federation aide ships had arrived, moment too late, in Rihannsu space, Nero had kept that Water dammed behind a wall of steel, tempered with rage: pain turned outward against those who’d hurt and betrayed him. But every additional Rihannsu death pushed at that barrier. It had to. It did for him.
Guards would be here soon, with questions about the bodies. About Illraehi. Ayel pulled himself together, setting aside his own unease. He’d avenged his crewmate. That was all. That was good. He could let the captain do the grieving, carry yet another burden, if that was his wish. Meanwhile, Ayel would do all he could to ensure that he was left alone – that they were all just left alone.
This may be the last section for a while - I am going away next weekend and won't have tome to write for the following three weeks. I'm not sure if I can get anything up before I leave, but I'll give it a shot!
Twenty-Five Years 09 – Conflict
Things were different without the women, and it wasn’t just that the food became even less palatable. Tensions were higher all around. Even the guards seemed more on edge. The first night, the crew took advantage of the disruption in their nightly ritual to catch some extra rest. This second evening, some were seeking other distractions to fill their time. Ayel might have preferred to rest, but as he saw Nero approaching, knew that wasn’t going to happen. He swung his legs back over the side of his bunk, stretched out his neck, and strode over to meet his captain. Nero received him with a nod and headed out of their barracks into the central chamber. He never smiles anymore. But that was the price he paid for his choices: to find no solace in the small things – life, honour, companionship – remaining to them. Revenge was an oppressive, isolating burden. Ayel wondered if the silence made it easier or harder to bear.
He also wondered where they were going. There were a number of other Rihannsu out here already. Most were broken into small groups of people who worked together in the mines, or had on Narada, or both. There were others as well, aliens, gathered in their own cliques and following their own routines or drawn out like his own people by the disruption cause by the women’s absence. Most he knew by sight, and some by name, and he knew Nero did as well.
“Captain!” a voice called. “Ayel!” Vanor waved them over. He was sitting with a few others, Rhyd, H’lad, and Parva, all from his crew. “Join us for a drink?”
Such an innocuous phrase – they’d head it a thousand times before, at the guildhall in Ra'tleihfi, and any of the local alehouses. They’d pull up a chair, share a few rounds between them, and find out how life was unravelling for their people between contracts. He glances at Nero, who shrugged, eyes distant. Ayel wondered if he was remembering the same things. They headed over.
“Drink of what?”
“They call it churn. It’s red, it’s vicious, and it’ll take the edge off of anything.” The old miner pressed a jug into his hands, and he noted it was ceramic, not metal. It was also strangely warm to the touch, and the fumes were strong enough to make him blink even before he brought it anywhere near his face.
“Are you sure it’s not just engine fuel?”
Vanor laughed. It was apparently enough to get him drunk. “It’s no ale, lad, but it’s all we’ve got, isn’t it?”
True enough. He brought the jug to his lips, and swallowed a mouthful. Churn was a good name for it – his insides roiled in protest and he coughed. Nero nudged him companionably in the ribs and appropriated the container. This is a plot to get us to poison ourselves, isn’t it? He could only watch in fascination as his friend upended the jug, swallowing several times before thrusting it back towards he others. The look on his face was expressive, to say the least. Somehow he managed to stay on his feet, though he looked a little yellow.
“Now,” Rhyd slurred, “that’s Fire!”
“That’s our captain,” Vanor shot back. His grin spoke approval, his slitted eyes calculation. “All Fire and Earth. I remember that night on Eilhaunn where you almost drank Thrai under the table? Almost. Well – to the dead then?” He raised the bottle in salute, and drank.
Nero nodded again, slowly, and though his eyes were on the miner, it seemed they were focused on a point very far away. He’d recovered his colour at least. Ayel wondered if they’d stay after that, and Nero clapped him on the shoulder and turned away.
He didn’t release him right away, and Ayel found himself directed towards the shadows at the edge of the cave. Questions queued in his mind – Are you well? What is it? What do you need? – he dismissed them. He knew he wouldn’t get more than an answering glare. No, he was left to guess the matter on his own. The drink or memories, probably both. The captain didn’t seem unsteady, and as horrible as the churn was, it would’ve needed to be pretty noxious to have any strong impact. It hadn’t killed Vanor or the others yet, and he felt only a mild queasiness that probably just meant that he hadn’t had enough. Memories, however, were proving a potent poison these days. They walked in silence, and Ayel couldn’t quite make out his friend’s face. The eyes he could imagine – still fixed on some distant point, blazing like the embers of a dying sun.
“Nero,” he said, hoping to drag the other man back to the present. It seemed to work, as he turned to the sound of Ayel’s voice. He seized on his first stray though for something to follow up with. “I expect we’ll have our chance to meet with Ch’Vul after the women get back.” It was nothing his commander couldn’t have concluded himself, but his attention seemed more focused, and his lips tightened in to a thoughtful line. He recognized the distraction, but didn’t appear to object. H’Man’s meeting with Saleema had taken place only a few days before the women were called away. Things had apparently gone well enough that she had agreed to speak to her lover on behalf of the Rihannsu – when opportunity arose. It was reasonable to expect the Klingon geophysicist would be involved in inspecting or overseeing the treatment of the dilithium ore. “I want to be clear on what we’re offering.”
Nero had been listening, hadn’t released his grip. Suddenly, his attention was drawn by something Ayel couldn’t see, and he tensed, turning his second around and, finally, letting go of his arm. Two large, ugly aliens, armed with thick metal rods sheared to angular points were approaching – Nausicaans.
“Is this a private conference, Romulans? Because we have something we’d like to say.” The leader of the two barred his teeth, flashing his tusks.
“What do you want?” Ayel kept his voice firm, switching from Rihannsu to Standard. He could feel his pulse quicken as Nero too a step towards them, hand reaching for his blade. It was the same feeling he’d had when Klingons had boarded Narada, before they’d been pulled back in time. But then he and Nero had kept to the shadows, using the ship against the only one who’d made it past the rest of the crew. Here, they lacked the advantage.
“We don’t think you people understand the hierarchy around here,” the leader growled, tightening his grip around the makeshift spear. “But we’re going to clear that up.”
Nero had already shifted in to a defensive stance, guarding the line of his body with his knife. Ayel mirrored him, closing the space between them so that they stood nearly shoulder to shoulder. It reminded him of fighting drills, instructions his sister pushed him to master. She’d wanted him to be like her, and she’d excelled at llaekh’ae’rl from an early age. It had never come so easily to him. “How can someone with so much stubborn Earth lack grounding?” She’d boggled. “Maybe you’re just too tall.” Maybe I just think too much.
It hardly seemed to matter, as the lead Nausicaaan lunged forward with a vicious jab. Nero was ready – he knew all the tricks to dirty fighting. Stepping in to the attack, he dropped his knife, twisted his body out of the way, and grabbed the spear, pulling it down and out of his attacker’s hands. He whirled it around, levelling the sharpened point at his attacker’s chest. The weapon was not so completely different from a teral’n, and Ayel knew he’d been practicing with that before they’d left Narada.
The other bellowed, jabbing his spear at Ayel. He dodged the blow, landing what he thought was a solid punch to the Nausicaan’s midsection. It barely elicited a grunt. The responding attack was a wild headbutt that caught him in the cheek and sent him reeling backwards, followed up with a fast spear-thrust. He barely avoided impalement by dropping in to a low crouch, reaching back for Nero’s discarded knife as he did. A short bellow of pain distracted both combatants – Nero had managed to stab his opponent deep in the flesh of his thigh, but lost the embedded weapon as a consequence.
Ayel’s hand closed around the knife, a sharp shard of metal wrapped in leather at its hilt. He sprang to his feet, lashing out to force his opponent back. His success was moderate. Less than an arm’s length away, the other fight had turned for Nero, now locked in a painful stranglehold by the taller, stronger alien. Ayel plunged the blade deep in to the shoulder of the Nausicaan holding his friend.
“Captain!” It was Illraehi, T’Lalea’s stand-in, drawing a long-bladed knife as he threw himself in to the melee. Things happened very quickly. Ayel’s opponent whirled on the interloper, spearing him cleanly through the chest with a motion that showed more instinct than skill. Ayel gave a cry, driving his own blade up through the back of the Nausicaan’s thick neck. Both fell – dead. It was the first time he’d killed anyone in a face-to-face fight. His anger was greater than his shock, but he felt a flutter in the pit of his stomach regardless. Nero still needs me. He turned to the ongoing fight.
The captain must have kicked his attacker in the injured leg, as the alien had dropped to one knee. His wounded shoulder sagged, but Fire burned bright in his eyes as he pulled the spear from his own thigh with a great bellow. Nero wasn’t watching his opponent though – he’d stepped back out of range, and his gaze flickered from Ayel to something in the distance. Another bellow answered the Nausicaan’s.
“What’s going on over there!” The warden.
Nero backed up further as the alien rose unsteadily to his feet, glancing towards a pack of guards assembling near the warden. Getting caught here would mean exile for any of them.
“This isn’t over,” the Nausicaan hissed, slipping off in to the shadows without a glance at his fallen partner.
They didn’t waste time watching him go and made their own exit swiftly, winding their way back to the Narada cave. Ayel’s thoughts were scattered, and the queasiness stayed with him. Once they arrived, Nero withdrew behind the metal wall erected to mark his private quarters. How apt. Ayel had seen the brief flash of deeply buried loss as his friend had looked on yet another corpse of one of his crew – his people. Since the moment the Federation aide ships had arrived, moment too late, in Rihannsu space, Nero had kept that Water dammed behind a wall of steel, tempered with rage: pain turned outward against those who’d hurt and betrayed him. But every additional Rihannsu death pushed at that barrier. It had to. It did for him.
Guards would be here soon, with questions about the bodies. About Illraehi. Ayel pulled himself together, setting aside his own unease. He’d avenged his crewmate. That was all. That was good. He could let the captain do the grieving, carry yet another burden, if that was his wish. Meanwhile, Ayel would do all he could to ensure that he was left alone – that they were all just left alone.
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no subject
Date: 2009-07-27 05:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-27 06:18 pm (UTC)Anyway thanks for other comments. Fights are intimidating to write, but i think it worked out pretty well And yeah, Ayel doesn't think a lot about his relationship with Nero in that way, but I'm glad that it is coming out well anyway.
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Date: 2009-07-27 06:29 pm (UTC)Btw, I read the darkness soliloquy, and while I didn't have anything useful to say about it, I enjoyed it!
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Date: 2009-07-27 06:32 pm (UTC)And thanks re: sermon - I was happy with how it turned out. It was probably the most challenging thing I've written in a while.
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Date: 2009-09-12 05:16 pm (UTC)Anyway. I think I'm a little bit in love with the way you write in general. Your style's wonderfully evocative, and also cleverly concise. I don't know, I just really love the atmosphere in this, and I love the fact that you don't have to sacrifice the crisp pace of the story to keep building it up.
As for the content, I. Can't even believe how happy I am right now. I mean, okay: Rura Penthe fic! Of course that's good news! BUT IT GETS BETTER because I really didn't expect anyone to try knitting Diane Duane's subcanon with the nuRomulans in a larger piece of writing and now that you have and now that it's like this, I think you must be my hero forever. It's such a tricky balance to strike, but you're doing a really excellent job and the results are amazing to read. Mmm.
So yes. I'm enjoying this immensely and, uh, hope that you don't mind collecting another stalker!
no subject
Date: 2009-09-13 01:51 am (UTC)I'm glad you're enjoying it! That's gratifying, as I really love your fics.
I know what you mean about school gear - I've gone from getting one a week to one every... 2-3? :/ However I do have a new chapter written, and hopefully will get it posted this weekend. And am working on the next one as well. So hooray! And thanks :)