FIC: Divergence 16/?
Spock reflexively covered his head as the terminal he was behind burned from disruptor fire. Pressing tightly against the cool metal, he glanced around the corner and critically assessed his surroundings. There was console damage from phaser and disruptor discharge - but not enough, he thought darkly, for any serious effect upon the operation of the ship, and undoubtedly there was an auxiliary bridge. Laughter echoed, deep and vibrating, causing Spock to tilt his head, attempting to pinpoint the source.
‘Spock!’
He held his silence. The urge to stand was overwhelming but he resisted, bearing down on his back teeth. It would serve no purpose to reveal himself to Nero when the other Romulan lay in waiting. Nero laughed again, seemingly out of breath from his hysterics.
‘One minute, you are a little whelp and then a few hours later there you are, fully grown and so full of rage. From the future indeed - you were there weren’t you? This future where I destroyed Vulcan- you saw it didn’t you?’
A burning pain that rose inside of him, all those telepathic voices crying at once, the high fevered pitch of their terror sharp as a S’harien sword in his heart. Death and destruction and - he closed his eyes: Vulcan, red and large and heavy, wrinkled with the dark furrows of mountains and ranges and gorges, hanging there suspended in space, the gradual disintegration, like an Earth orange unpeeling itself, unraveling, dying unto itself, till -
‘Spock? Answer me Spock!’
Spock’s eyes snapped open. THERE! 150 degrees to his left! Emerging his hiding spot, Spock fired three successive bursts before retreating. A harsh beam of disruptor fire hit the top of the console and he rolled to the left, attempting to avoid the resulting hot sparks. Suddenly Spock held back a cry of pain and clutched at his shoulder where a fiery splint caught on his clothing. Roughly he tore the arm off at the seam and threw it away, watching as the fabric decomposed under the heat. The affected area on his shoulder was already blistering. Spock clenched his teeth and willed away the pain, disappointed for he had allowed his emotions to overrule his better judgment and thus allowed the Romulan to take advantage of -
‘SPOCK!!’
Spock trembled at the sound of his name but remained still.
He would not be provoked. Impatience would be his death and he could not fail, not now, not so close - logic, Spock, use it! It’s your strength! You use what you’ve got!
Yes, logic - the facts:
Nero and his First Officer were two while he was one; only the First Officer had a disruptor but that was sure to change for once the rest of Nero’s crew have determined that there were no more hidden explosives or any other intruders aboard the ship, they will no doubt congregate upon the bridge, leaving him with even more targets. If he chose to escape, the Romulans were more familiar with the layout of the vessel and would undoubtedly track him down before he could find a suitable method of leaving the ship, and if he should manage to track down the Romulan vessel’s transporter room, there would still be the issue of shields, which would prevent his attempt. And should he track down the shuttle bay, if indeed such a vessel (whose primary function was after all, mining) possessed one…
Logically, Jim, the chances of my survival are less than 8.5 percent…
That good huh? The sound of his Captain’s voice was low, teasing, grating.
You are mocking me, Captain… Spock frowned and immediately felt foolish for speaking to a mental projection, even though he had long become accustomed to assigning the Captain to the role of polemicist within his own meanderings.
Yup, came the Captain’s cheerful rejoinder. Look, Spock - all warfare is based on deception; if your opponent has a rotten temper, irritate him; be weak, so he gets arrogant; if he’s strong, evade him; if his forces are united, separate them; feign disorder, and then Spock… crush him…
Spock tilted his head: Sun Tzu, “The Art of War”, an ancient text of the old Earth country of China, incorrectly quoted by Jim during one their fascinating conversations which began as a discussion on chess strategy and gradually migrated to something else entirely:
You wanna know why I can give you a run for your money? Because I don’t care about elegance or order or any of that crap you’re into - I know you, Spock, underneath all that cool exterior you’re really an aesthete; it’s not just cold logic to you, it’s grace from chaos… you want game play that is elegant, so many moves for a check, a plan from beginning to end - and that’s why my illogical moves win… Spock, nothing’s wrong with being logical, but in a hopeless situation, the only logical thing to do is to be desperate…
His head snapped up at the sound of approaching footsteps: the Romulan crew, at least - he concentrated - five of them. Spock had no sonic grenades, nothing to take out a number of targets with one decisive hit. With their presence, his chances of engaging Nero grew less and less, and his chances of -
STOP THINKING ABOUT WHAT YOU HAVEN’T GOT! Dammit Spock, this isn’t a situation where you’re fighting on a ship, with a full-charge phaser array and an armory of torpedoes - you’re alone here, you outnumber and out-gunned, you need to make do with what you have and fill in the gaps, think guerrilla warfare, not Starfleet.
Spock blinked as his mind spun, attempting to break out of his standard thought patterns. This was not the first time that he had been pinned by a more powerful enemy, and previously in his experience with the Captain, they had usually been able to effect an escape through diversion or creative usage of what materials were at hand. Spock glanced down at himself, mentally reviewing his itinerary. He had carried no sonic grenades, but - but….
Spock looked down at the phaser in his hand, one of many he had. A furrow came to his brow as a memory came to him, presenting him with an unorthodox solution.
Yes, Spock, yes, that’s it, yes…
With uncertain hands, Spock slowly detached the phaser from the pistol grip, turned it over and twisted the supercharge control on the back to the maximum setting. A small ascending whine signaled imminent overload. Getting into a crouch, Spock threw it hard in the direction of the approaching Romulans, covered his ears and hit the floor.
BOOM.
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Orbit around Dessica III: USS Enterprise, Shuttle Bay year 2246
Jim Kirk ran down the corridor towards the shuttle bay, ‘MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!’ He yelled, waving his hand impatiently as he sidestepped random midshipman, all shocked but attempting to obey his orders. One or two slammed themselves against the wall and one enterprising young lady even dropped down on her stomach, letting him leap over her since her trolley took up most of the corridor. He glanced back at her even as he kept running to note that she was from Engineering and a blond, promising himself that she was going to get a field promotion as soon as he got back.
Just as he rounded the shuttle, Jim stopped mid-stride in surprise. ‘Sulu! What the hell are you doing here? I thought I told you to look after the ship!’
The helmsman gave a curt and respectful nod, ‘Yes sir, but by regulation 33.9, a Starfleet Captain should not under any circumstances leave on ship’s business without the attendance of at least two officers, one of whom should be a security officer or a medic.’
Jim gave Sulu a long look, wondering if the lieutenant was also going to bring up the fact that when either the Captain or First Officer had been compromised, under no circumstances were the remaining CO be allowed to undertake any duties or mission that would make them similarly indisposed or incapacitate them for command. ‘I’m going, Lieutenant,’ he stated flatly, ‘now I gave you a direct order, so get back to helm and take the con.’
The helmsman shook his head, ‘you misunderstand, Captain, I’m not here to stop you.’
‘Then what are you doing here?’ He said impatiently; by now he could have been aboard the shuttle and on his way. Jim wished that Sulu would either spit it out or go away as every second mattered; when the Narada pinpointed their location, Nero would come at them all disruptors blazing and he would prefer to avoid a confrontation if they could.
‘I’d like to come with you and all due respect, sir - you need us.’ Sulu said solemnly. And I’m not letting you get the Commander back all on your own… it wasn’t said but that was the implication. Jim shook his head when his brain abruptly noted that Sulu used a plural descriptive.
‘Wait a minute, how many of you are there?’
To his surprise, six other officers filed out from behind the shuttle and came to a parade rest. Jim looked over the closest officer, Tamura, who raised one finely manicured eyebrow, her slender dark Japanese eyes confronting his surprised blue ones. She’d changed from the dress-type uniform and was in plain black pants and undershirt, as was the other female officer, Martine. Jim knew that Spock liked her (‘I do not like anyone, Captain,’ Spock said, raising an incensed eyebrow in his direction, ‘She is a very efficient officer; I admire her attitude and nothing more - there is something to be said about a traditional Japanese work ethic.’) and from the few times he had interacted with her, she obviously thought the sun shined out of his XO’s ass. Jim cocked a grin at her, which she returned with a tilt of her head, terrifyingly reminiscent of his First Officer.
Spock, you’re corrupting the poor girl…
‘Permission to join the away team, sir.’ Tamura said in her low husky voice.
It didn’t sound like a request so much as a thinly veiled demand. Jim glanced at each of their faces; Hadley, Lemli, Leslie, Martine, O’Connell, Sulu and Tamura. Between the seven of them, he had security, weapons, medical, helm and tactical. Sulu, you dog, he thought affectionately and threw his helmsman a sly look before turning back to Tamura.
‘Permission granted,’ Jim said with all solemnity but then broke out in a crooked grin at the answering expressions of relief and smiles. ‘Don’t make me regret it.’
From the looks he got for that, they were not going to disappoint.
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Orbit around Dessica III: USS Enterprise, Deck 7 Sickbay, year 2246
‘I want to go inside!’
‘For the fourth time, you cannot go inside! It’s a sterile room - do you understand what that is?’
Christine Chapel hurried from Ward 2 looking for her wayward charge and watched as Doctor M’Benga continued to argue in his usual patrician manner with the twelve year old version of their Captain. Doctor Talleria was frowning and at the intercom, calling for security personnel. Chapel shook her head and crossed her arms in exasperation, not sure if she was bemused or worried. This didn’t look good, but then she had been warned with a lot of eyebrow wagging and gesticulating by Doctor McCoy that she was to expect a genuine Kirk.
‘Get outta my way!’ The young boy yelled in a harsh tone and shoved at M’Benga hard.
The tall African-English doctor glowered and neatly stepped to the side, unaffected when the boy slammed into him in his attempt to run around and they grappled with each other, each refusing to concede. The Sickbay doors hissed open and a security officer rushed in, looking confused at the sight that awaited him. From the look on his face, he obviously didn’t think of a twelve year old as a threat.
‘Hurry then!’ Doctor Talleria ordered, ‘do something!’
Quickly sizing up the situation, the lieutenant made to grab the boy under the arms and lift him up. There was yelling and cursing and the next thing they knew, Lieutenant Abrahas had staggered back, swearing from a bloodied nose and M’Benga was clutching at his knee seething in British slang. In the middle of all of that, Doctor McCoy stormed out of surgery, a furious scowl on his face.
‘WHAT ARE YOU ALL DOING! M’BENGA, GET IN HERE! THIS IS A SICKBAY NOT A ZOO!’ McCoy glared at each and every one of them, but softened when he met the boy’s eyes. ‘Kid, we’re going to fix him up, so just give us some time and you can come in, okay? I promise.’
All the fight drained out of him, the boy stepped back, suddenly unsteady. Taking a deep breath, Chapel traded looks with Doctor Talleria, and went to guide their charge into Ward 2. Silently, the boy allowed her to prop him up onto a biobed, seemingly on automaton, a radical change from the little spitfire she’d seen just moments ago. It was, she thought dryly to herself, very like their Captain who was in Chapel’s experience, a very unpredictable man.
‘You okay?’ She asked, concerned by his all-of-a-sudden quiet demeanor.
Shrugging, Chapel picked up the derma-regenerator and got to work, gentling testing the skin it left, pink and tender. The young boy gave her a baleful glance and continued to ignore her, staring hard the wall. She gave a sideways look to Lieutenant Abrahas who was nursing a broken and bloodied nose and hid her smile that a boy did that to a seasoned security officer.
‘Chin up.’ She said firmly, moved the regenerator to the boy’s neck. Doctor Talleria filled a hypospray full of Stokaline and injected it gently into the back of the boy’s neck. He flinched and she lowered the regenerator, taking the moment to smile reassuringly at him. ‘It’s okay, just some multivitamins.’
He glanced at her and then looked away, frowning like he was perplexed by something. ‘Why is my dad here?’
Christine Chapel raised both eyebrows, confused for a moment and then felt the axe drop. She could see the obvious resemblance: George S. Kirk could be the splitting image of James T. Kirk from a distance and even up close from the side - or rather vice versa. This was going to be difficult to explain and what did the Temporal Prime Directive say about something like this? Most of the contingencies outlined were for long jumps back or forward in time than a short fourteen years. And none of them had included information on what to do if one were to meet oneself - the regulations assumed that you avoided such a confrontation to begin with.
‘Ah…’
The boy looked at her from under his eyelashes and slowly lifted his head to meet her gaze front on, a suspicious expression crossing his face. ‘What ship is this?’
‘We’re a Starfleet vessel.’ She told him firmly, and then tilted his head to the side before administering the regenerator to the back of his neck. His sharp blue eyes quickly scanned the Ward before coming back to her, his expression becoming uncertain but determined.
‘This isn’t the Kelvin, or the Douglas and your uniforms-‘ He reached out and plucked at her dress, making Chapel gasp in surprise and quickly tug the skirt down for decency.
‘Hey!’
The boy ignored her cry. ‘What ship is this?’ He said, grabbing onto the regenerator and thrusting it away from him. ‘What is your registration number?’
Chapel hesitated, wondering what she could possibly say - there had been no senior staff briefing to cover this! For a moment she deeply wished that Doctor McCoy would come out and deal with this, but then the boy swung his legs the other way and slipped off the bed. He was at the nearest computer terminal before she could shout for him to come back. With deftness beyond his years, Jimmy Kirk slapped in commands on the touchscreen and brought up the information he was after.
‘No! DON’T!’ Chapel yelled but it was too late.
Jimmy Kirk spun around and stared at her with wide-eyed astonishment that quickly merged into apprehension and distress. The boy backed away when she came towards him, hands flying up as if to protect himself from her. With a final stunned look at all of them, the boy turned and ran out of sickbay.
Doctor Talleria rushed to the intercom. ‘Sickbay to Security! We have a young boy - approximately twelve - loose on deck seven! Secure him but do not harm him! I repeat - do not harm him!’
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Orbit around Dessica II: The Narada, year 2246
Spock swallowed down an inopportune cough and peered through the smoke at the area where he had thrown the overloading phaser. That area of the bridge was now twisted from the explosion, splattered with dark green. Vulcan blood and remains, he thought, and some part of him shuddered while the part of him who was a trained Starfleet officer coolly brushed away the observation and considered the carnage as necessary collateral. Through the haze, he spied a Romulan rise above the smoke - Ayel! Grabbing the next phaser in his hip holster, Spock fired. There was a jerk and the Romulan First Officer collapsed in a heap, his disruptor clattering on the floor.
Pushing himself off the deck and staggering onto his feet, Spock narrowed his eyes in the dim lighting of the bridge and edged cautiously out from behind the terminal he had been pinned behind. The bridge was quiet, seemingly devoid of life. Computer terminals continued to chirp and he noticed one particular console with stellar maps, perhaps the navigations console. Gripping his phaser with both hands for more accurate aim, Spock took on a classically defensive pose and surveyed the bridge, turning in a wide circle. He was tempted to call Nero out kept his silence, taking the time to memorize the layout of the bridge and possible defensive points.
‘You surprised me, Spock.’
He spun around. Everything was still.
‘It’s not like you.’
He narrowed his eyes, slowly turning with his phaser at the ready. Spock felt an urge to disparage the acoustic construct of the bridge. The echo made it difficult to pinpoint the source of the sound. Pushing his frustration away, Spock took a deep silent breath and attempted to reach the second foundation of inner breath, using the stillness of the bridge as an aide.
‘You’re supposed to be an Ambassador, a man of peace.’ But Nero was wrong. In another lifetime perhaps, but in a reality where his world was gone and his people scattered, he was most certainly a man of war.
Spock turned to his left and fired, feeling a brief surge of satisfaction as there was the sound of footsteps clanking against metal decking. Striding towards the sounds, he held his phaser in front of him and fired again and again, watching a dark blur as Nero evaded him between consoles and behind bulkheads and columns. He leaped atop a console in a precariously balanced crouch and fired his phaser directly at the figure which twitched and collapsed. Suddenly in a blur, something slammed into him from the left and knocked him back, sending him crashing onto the metal deck.
Spock quickly rolled to the right to avoid something that came soaring after him and jumped to his feet, backing away to take stock of the situation. He reached up and touched the edge of his lips and looked at his fingers, stained in vivid green. Blood.
Nero sneered, looking very much un-stunned. ‘Hello Spock.’
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Dessica System: NCC-1701/3, Hendrik Lorentz, year 2246
Jim Kirk secured the extra phasers to the back of his utility belt and tucked one in the holster he wrapped around his thigh. All around him, the assembled away team were double-checking and triple-checking their weapons and gear. It was an atmosphere of apprehension and anticipation of what they would find, but no one would describe any of the officers as worried. Everyone was prepared and considering what the crew had been through in the last two years of their mission, this kind of professionalism was to be expected and yet Jim was struck with a feeling of awe. Walking around them, he approached the front and leaned over Sulu’s shoulder. O’Connell gave him a nod of acknowledgement before going back to monitoring communications, his medical emergency surgical kit by his feet.
‘What’s happening?’
The helmsman gave him a quick glance, ‘We’re approaching a matching orbit, approaching the vessel now.’
‘Can they see us?’
The last thing they needed was to have the Narada blast their escape route out of the sky. There was a moment of doubt, as his common sense urged him to put a stop to this madness but then something else deeper inside of him reminded him of the promise to never leave someone behind unless there was nothing left to abandon. Besides, Spock had saved his ass plenty of times - it was time to even the score.
‘Lieutenant Tamura changed our ID to non-Federation, sir - as far as anyone is concerned, we’re just a trading roundabout. I’ll be putting us directly underneath the Romulans. She’ll have sensors-only but no visual contact.’
Jim glanced back at Tamura in surprise and felt a grin come to his face.
Spock, he thought cheerfully, you are corrupting my crew, and it’s awesome!
‘Isn’t she going to think we’re a little too close if you park inside her shields?’
‘Captain,’ Sulu said in a low voice, something in his flat tone saying that he thought the question his Commanding Officer just asked was ridiculous. ‘I won’t be staying within the deflectors, sir - but to use the transporters, I’ve made sure that our trajectory means we’ll have exactly 78 seconds within the shields.’
Jim slapped the back of Sulu’s chair, not wanting to jostle the man. ‘Good work.’
O’Connell frowned and looked to him, ‘Sir the Romulans know we’re here and from their sensor sweeps, they’ve already located the Enterprise but they’re not firing for some reason, their engines haven’t even shifted in power output to indicate pursuit.’
Spock.
It was the only explanation. It’s what Jim would do if he was stuck on an enemy vessel, trapped from returning to his ship and helpless to assist them, and Spock was nothing if not thorough and considerate. Jim felt a smile touch his lips and mentally thanked the Vulcan for looking out for their girl. He frowned as he considered what Spock was probably doing in order to distract the Romulans - it had to be big and dangerous to be distracting an entire crew. A new sense of urgency came to him at these thoughts. Stepping away from the helm, he leaned on the doorway and watched as his crew slowly all drew to attention, each with two phasers, basic medical tricorder, several sonic grenades and two phaser rifles. He cleared his throat nervously; Jim was pretty certain that this was the time to say something brave and Captain-like, but nothing came to mind. All he could think about was the fact that his First Officer was on that ship, distracting with a madman who wanted him to hurt so badly he’d actually committed willful genocide.
‘Thanks for coming. Spock, well, he appreciates it, really.’ He said with all seriousness, looking at each of the crewmembers who had bullied their way onto this away mission. ‘And when we get back to the Enterprise, I’ll have Commander Spock deal with the lot of you for disobeying regulations and letting your Captain go into danger.’
There were a few wan grins in response to his attempt at humor, before Sulu’s shout of warning drew their attention. Suddenly an electric shock snapped across his skin and he shuddered. It seemed like the shuttle just went past the Narada’s shields. Without hesitation, Leslie and Lemli took their position on the newly installed transporter pad, phaser rifles at the ready and Tamura hit energize. They disappeared as Jim silently wished them luck, and prayed that as the initial boarders they’d hold their own against any Romulans they might come against. Hadley and Martine took to the pad, phasers in hand and disappeared. Taking a deep breath, Jim stepped up onto the pad, having an odd déjà vu moment; just like Delta Vega, he thought wryly, and met Lieutenant Tamura’s eyes.
‘Three second delay set, sir.’ The lieutenant said, her soft murmur almost drowned out by Sulu who called out that they had 20 seconds left within the shields.
He nodded and gave her the most confident smile he could muster. ‘Hit it.’
Setting the pre-programmed beaming instructions into motion, Tamura quickly took her place on the other pad and in a flurry of intense light the shuttle’s dark cramped interiors disappeared.
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Orbit around Dessica II: The Narada, year 2246
They circled one another. Spock spied his dropped phaser behind Nero. The Romulan glanced at it before kicking it away roughly with a satisfied grunt, swinging the odd sword-staff in his hand above his head with practiced ease.
‘Don’t be getting any ideas.’ The Romulan growled, and nodded to the remaining two phasers strapped to his hip holster. ‘Take them off, Spock.’
He narrowed his eyes and ignored the order.
There was a sudden jump forward and Spock quickly stepped back, his hand edging towards one of his phasers even as Nero raised the archaic-looking weapon, poised to strike him down. A real possibility, he calculated, considering Romulans were essentially Vulcans; with the musculature development that Nero possessed, he could very well send the weapon 100 feet through air before it hit the ground. Considerable force and definitely enough to pierce him in a short few seconds and yet -
Spock’s hand twitched above the grip of his phaser, tempted to try.
Nero tilted his head, eyes flicking to catch the minute movement of his digits and shot the Vulcan a crooked smile. ‘Come now, Spock, wouldn’t you prefer we did this the old-fashioned way? It’s so much more satisfying isn’t it? Surely those thousands of years apart from us, your cousins, haven’t completely killed off the time-honored tradition of combat.’
The insult brushed across his skin and fell away. ‘There is something to be said for progress, sir.’
There was a sharp smile to his veiled insult that swiftly disappeared when the Romulan’s face darkened in an unfathomable expression. With a visible intake of breath, Nero slapped the staff end of his weapon down on the floor, leaning it on a nearby console before shrugging off his long pelt coat and throwing his garment to the floor, out of the way. With his hands by his side, the Romulan gestured for him to come.
‘I’ve put down the Debrune Teral’n.’ Nero growled, his eyes flicking to the phasers on his belt, ‘At least throw away your toys.’
Blatant treachery was considered dishonorable among the Romulans, this much Spock knew, though only some Romulans adhered to this ancient code of honor, and they were usually members of the noble houses - but Nero was not an officer of the Romulan Fleet, he was a miner from a common house. Slowly taking out his phasers and mirroring Nero’s movements as he stepped away from his weapon, Spock crouched down to place them gently on the floor.
‘Good,’ Nero nodded with a smirk, and then leaped back to make a grab for the Teral’n.
Anticipating this, Spock sprang from his crouch into a sprint and slammed his body into the Romulan’s, sending them both crashing into a console. Struggling to turn the blade away from him, Spock made a sound of surprise as they went over the console still grappling with one another and slammed hard into the deck behind. The console whined and sparked as the well-kept blade of the Romulan weapon buried itself deep in its circuits. Springing up, Spock bent his knees and held his hands before him in a relaxed pose of readiness, breathing long and deep. Nero was on his feet quickly. They both looked at the weapon and then at each other. It was useless now, too deep into the machinery without needing some time and effort to extract it.
Spock cocked an eyebrow and gestured for Nero to come, intent on incensing the Romulan. It worked.
With a roar of rage, Nero came at him, one arm fisted and ready to bludgeon him. Spock braced himself and ducked, slamming both hands flat into Nero’s ribs. The Romulan jerked away with a grunt of pain and staggered back, his eyes burning. Without a moment of pause, his opponent sprung forwards and swung at him hard. Spock turned his head but felt a shocking pain reverberating through his skull as the blow connected. He fell back against the floor and quickly rolled to his left and onto his feet in a standard move of Vulcan self-defense. A fist slammed into the metal deck he’d been occupying a second before, sending a jolt of adrenalin through him - he was up against a worthy opponent, and would not have the luxury of making mistakes.
The flurry of blows, counters and punches continued until finally, Spock managed to catch the Romulan’s arm and twist it sharply. A swift head butt startled him enough that he let go. Spock wiped at his mouth and spat out a mouthful of saliva-thinned blood, shaken. If he were human, he would be dead.
‘That’s more like it Spock! Come on!’ Nero yelled excitedly and staggered back, shaking out his injured arm and grinning broadly. ‘COME!’
Truly a madman… Spock frowned as words he had glimpsed from a mind meld with the Captain came back to him: he is a particularly disturbed Romulan…
While a madman was a dangerous opponent, in that he could not be reasoned with nor dissuaded from his goal with pain or injury, he would be reckless and his judgment impaired. That, Spock noted, would be his point of advantage and Nero’s greatest weakness.
Abruptly, Nero charged at him. Dropping down, Spock swept his leg out. Nero slammed into the deck metal with a sickening thud. Before he could stand, Spock felt hands seize the material of his pants and roughly jolt him off balance. Grimacing he hit the floor hard clipping his chin. Pain shot through his nerves and became background noise. Struggling with the Romulan who with a vengeful shriek, Spock slammed the side of Nero’s skull into the floor. A hand shot out with a snarl, Nero grabbed his hair and reversed their positions with twist of his hips and legs, till they were on their sides wrestling with one another. Blunt fingers scraped hard against his windpipe and Spock jerked back, scrambling to his feet only to be dragged back into the fray.
This was no time for contemplation or logic. His instincts honed from years of training as a boy and then in Starfleet, overrode his thoughts and Spock found himself reacting with pure instinct. With a shout, he brought his hands down together for a crushing blow. It was deflected with a grunt by Nero’s braced forearms. Immediately, he changed the point of his attack and grabbed for the Romulan’s shoulders, intending to wrestle and if need be, strangle his opponent into submission. With a heave of his entire body, Nero flipped him onto the floor and followed with an elbow slammed into his stomach. Spock gave a short scream as a rib broke with a crack and seizing the Romulan by the neck, he bit the closest thing.
There was a bloodcurdling scream against his right ear, reverberating around the bridge like a klaxon cry and then blunt fingers dug into the burnt flesh on his right shoulder, making him howl in pain as something twisted just so. Spock tasted blood between his teeth and with a grimace of agony, tore his head away. Nero rolled away and he was alone, lying on his back, the bitter tang of blood slick over his mouth and his right arm paralyzed.
Rolling over, Spock struggled onto his knees and then staggered, crawling with help from his left hand onto his feet. He was shaken by the violence but the ferocity of his rage continued to burn, demanding more.
He raised his eyes and looked to Nero, who watched him, leaning heavily against an abandoned terminal chair. They were both gasping for breath, bearing the evidence of their violent struggle in the rips and tears of their clothes, blood already collecting under the skin of their jaws and swollen knuckles, and - Spock felt the urge to purge his stomach at the sight of what he had done. The top of Nero’s right ear was twisted where he had bitten it in retaliation for the Romulan twisting his fingers through the tender flesh of his shoulder burn.
Protectively, Spock covered his right shoulder and staggered back, taking the opportunity to spit out the rest of the blood in his mouth.
‘Spock,’ Nero said hoarsely, his teeth tinged with green when he smiled, ‘I never knew you had it in you.’
Spock raised an eyebrow at the shudder and the temporarily unfocused look in the other man’s eyes. To secure ourselves against defeat lies in our own hands, but the opportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself…
With clenched teeth, the Vulcan raised his right hand and grabbing the wrist, forced his fingers to move, ignoring the pain shooting from his burned shoulder. An unexpected voice came to him:
Blood loss, even if you think it’s not serious, is enough to make someone light-headed and a little slower, even you, you green-blooded bastard - now lie down and lemme get some blood into you before you faint like a girl!
‘Thank you,’ He murmured, narrowing his eyes, ‘Doctor.’
Charging at the Romulan, Nero only had time to shoot him a look of confusion before Spock’s dominant hand slammed into his throat. Smacking away the Romulan’s hands that attempted to push him away, Spock pushed harder, allowing the edge of the console to dig into Nero’s vertebrae.
‘This is for my mother.’ He said, shaking, feeling his nerves, the pain, everything coalescing into a hard pit in his guts -
SHWOOT!
Spock hit the floor and silently screamed at the sudden pain shooting up from lower left side, close to his heart which pumped harder and faster in panic as he lied curled on his side, gasping for air. In a haze, his eyes flicked up to the lights burning in the ever more distant layers that forced the ceiling of the bridge. Vaguely, in his pain and confusion, Spock noted that it reminded him of the construction within old music halls on Earth, meant to provide natural amplification. Ah the echoes, he thought dimly with some satisfaction that one query had been resolved, so this was the reason…. A dark figure loomed over him, and Spock struggled to see the man who shot him in the back, quite literally.
The Romulan stepped over him and raised his disruptor. Ayel gave him a sneering look. No, it couldn’t be, he’d shot - oh of course, Spock thought sluggishly, yes, he had switched phasers then and didn’t change the setting to kill. A careless foolish mistake… and now…
SHNAP!
Like something slow and beautiful, the Romulan First Officer’s expression froze and he fell, body frozen in shock onto his back beside Spock. The Vulcan blinked slowly, confused and then suddenly he heard someone calling his name.
‘Spock!’
An unspoken part of him responded instantly with a flush of affection. Someone pulled him up and Spock stared at the sight of his rescuer - no rescuers. The Captain grinned broadly, a confusing blur of joy and anger and worry and behind him…. Spock’s eyes flickered to and fro for there was Lieutenant Leslie (specialist in logic solid systems - Engineering Dept, bridge duties qualified), Lieutenant Tamura (specialist in guerilla tactics - Security department, minor in geodetics), and Ensign Matine (specialists in weapons and weapons systems - Operations, minor in hand-to-hand combat).
‘Captain,’ He rasped, at a loss for words. ‘You… should be… on the ship.’
‘Spock,’ the human said sharply, ‘It’s Jim today.’
part seventeen next part: Kirk, Spock and the away team escape and head to rendezvous with the Enterprise. On board, Doctor McCoy is dealing with young Jim Kirk, distressed by his discovery of the truth about the Enterprise
‘Spock!’
He held his silence. The urge to stand was overwhelming but he resisted, bearing down on his back teeth. It would serve no purpose to reveal himself to Nero when the other Romulan lay in waiting. Nero laughed again, seemingly out of breath from his hysterics.
‘One minute, you are a little whelp and then a few hours later there you are, fully grown and so full of rage. From the future indeed - you were there weren’t you? This future where I destroyed Vulcan- you saw it didn’t you?’
A burning pain that rose inside of him, all those telepathic voices crying at once, the high fevered pitch of their terror sharp as a S’harien sword in his heart. Death and destruction and - he closed his eyes: Vulcan, red and large and heavy, wrinkled with the dark furrows of mountains and ranges and gorges, hanging there suspended in space, the gradual disintegration, like an Earth orange unpeeling itself, unraveling, dying unto itself, till -
‘Spock? Answer me Spock!’
Spock’s eyes snapped open. THERE! 150 degrees to his left! Emerging his hiding spot, Spock fired three successive bursts before retreating. A harsh beam of disruptor fire hit the top of the console and he rolled to the left, attempting to avoid the resulting hot sparks. Suddenly Spock held back a cry of pain and clutched at his shoulder where a fiery splint caught on his clothing. Roughly he tore the arm off at the seam and threw it away, watching as the fabric decomposed under the heat. The affected area on his shoulder was already blistering. Spock clenched his teeth and willed away the pain, disappointed for he had allowed his emotions to overrule his better judgment and thus allowed the Romulan to take advantage of -
‘SPOCK!!’
Spock trembled at the sound of his name but remained still.
He would not be provoked. Impatience would be his death and he could not fail, not now, not so close - logic, Spock, use it! It’s your strength! You use what you’ve got!
Yes, logic - the facts:
Nero and his First Officer were two while he was one; only the First Officer had a disruptor but that was sure to change for once the rest of Nero’s crew have determined that there were no more hidden explosives or any other intruders aboard the ship, they will no doubt congregate upon the bridge, leaving him with even more targets. If he chose to escape, the Romulans were more familiar with the layout of the vessel and would undoubtedly track him down before he could find a suitable method of leaving the ship, and if he should manage to track down the Romulan vessel’s transporter room, there would still be the issue of shields, which would prevent his attempt. And should he track down the shuttle bay, if indeed such a vessel (whose primary function was after all, mining) possessed one…
Logically, Jim, the chances of my survival are less than 8.5 percent…
That good huh? The sound of his Captain’s voice was low, teasing, grating.
You are mocking me, Captain… Spock frowned and immediately felt foolish for speaking to a mental projection, even though he had long become accustomed to assigning the Captain to the role of polemicist within his own meanderings.
Yup, came the Captain’s cheerful rejoinder. Look, Spock - all warfare is based on deception; if your opponent has a rotten temper, irritate him; be weak, so he gets arrogant; if he’s strong, evade him; if his forces are united, separate them; feign disorder, and then Spock… crush him…
Spock tilted his head: Sun Tzu, “The Art of War”, an ancient text of the old Earth country of China, incorrectly quoted by Jim during one their fascinating conversations which began as a discussion on chess strategy and gradually migrated to something else entirely:
You wanna know why I can give you a run for your money? Because I don’t care about elegance or order or any of that crap you’re into - I know you, Spock, underneath all that cool exterior you’re really an aesthete; it’s not just cold logic to you, it’s grace from chaos… you want game play that is elegant, so many moves for a check, a plan from beginning to end - and that’s why my illogical moves win… Spock, nothing’s wrong with being logical, but in a hopeless situation, the only logical thing to do is to be desperate…
His head snapped up at the sound of approaching footsteps: the Romulan crew, at least - he concentrated - five of them. Spock had no sonic grenades, nothing to take out a number of targets with one decisive hit. With their presence, his chances of engaging Nero grew less and less, and his chances of -
STOP THINKING ABOUT WHAT YOU HAVEN’T GOT! Dammit Spock, this isn’t a situation where you’re fighting on a ship, with a full-charge phaser array and an armory of torpedoes - you’re alone here, you outnumber and out-gunned, you need to make do with what you have and fill in the gaps, think guerrilla warfare, not Starfleet.
Spock blinked as his mind spun, attempting to break out of his standard thought patterns. This was not the first time that he had been pinned by a more powerful enemy, and previously in his experience with the Captain, they had usually been able to effect an escape through diversion or creative usage of what materials were at hand. Spock glanced down at himself, mentally reviewing his itinerary. He had carried no sonic grenades, but - but….
Spock looked down at the phaser in his hand, one of many he had. A furrow came to his brow as a memory came to him, presenting him with an unorthodox solution.
Yes, Spock, yes, that’s it, yes…
With uncertain hands, Spock slowly detached the phaser from the pistol grip, turned it over and twisted the supercharge control on the back to the maximum setting. A small ascending whine signaled imminent overload. Getting into a crouch, Spock threw it hard in the direction of the approaching Romulans, covered his ears and hit the floor.
BOOM.
-----------
Orbit around Dessica III: USS Enterprise, Shuttle Bay year 2246
Jim Kirk ran down the corridor towards the shuttle bay, ‘MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!’ He yelled, waving his hand impatiently as he sidestepped random midshipman, all shocked but attempting to obey his orders. One or two slammed themselves against the wall and one enterprising young lady even dropped down on her stomach, letting him leap over her since her trolley took up most of the corridor. He glanced back at her even as he kept running to note that she was from Engineering and a blond, promising himself that she was going to get a field promotion as soon as he got back.
Just as he rounded the shuttle, Jim stopped mid-stride in surprise. ‘Sulu! What the hell are you doing here? I thought I told you to look after the ship!’
The helmsman gave a curt and respectful nod, ‘Yes sir, but by regulation 33.9, a Starfleet Captain should not under any circumstances leave on ship’s business without the attendance of at least two officers, one of whom should be a security officer or a medic.’
Jim gave Sulu a long look, wondering if the lieutenant was also going to bring up the fact that when either the Captain or First Officer had been compromised, under no circumstances were the remaining CO be allowed to undertake any duties or mission that would make them similarly indisposed or incapacitate them for command. ‘I’m going, Lieutenant,’ he stated flatly, ‘now I gave you a direct order, so get back to helm and take the con.’
The helmsman shook his head, ‘you misunderstand, Captain, I’m not here to stop you.’
‘Then what are you doing here?’ He said impatiently; by now he could have been aboard the shuttle and on his way. Jim wished that Sulu would either spit it out or go away as every second mattered; when the Narada pinpointed their location, Nero would come at them all disruptors blazing and he would prefer to avoid a confrontation if they could.
‘I’d like to come with you and all due respect, sir - you need us.’ Sulu said solemnly. And I’m not letting you get the Commander back all on your own… it wasn’t said but that was the implication. Jim shook his head when his brain abruptly noted that Sulu used a plural descriptive.
‘Wait a minute, how many of you are there?’
To his surprise, six other officers filed out from behind the shuttle and came to a parade rest. Jim looked over the closest officer, Tamura, who raised one finely manicured eyebrow, her slender dark Japanese eyes confronting his surprised blue ones. She’d changed from the dress-type uniform and was in plain black pants and undershirt, as was the other female officer, Martine. Jim knew that Spock liked her (‘I do not like anyone, Captain,’ Spock said, raising an incensed eyebrow in his direction, ‘She is a very efficient officer; I admire her attitude and nothing more - there is something to be said about a traditional Japanese work ethic.’) and from the few times he had interacted with her, she obviously thought the sun shined out of his XO’s ass. Jim cocked a grin at her, which she returned with a tilt of her head, terrifyingly reminiscent of his First Officer.
Spock, you’re corrupting the poor girl…
‘Permission to join the away team, sir.’ Tamura said in her low husky voice.
It didn’t sound like a request so much as a thinly veiled demand. Jim glanced at each of their faces; Hadley, Lemli, Leslie, Martine, O’Connell, Sulu and Tamura. Between the seven of them, he had security, weapons, medical, helm and tactical. Sulu, you dog, he thought affectionately and threw his helmsman a sly look before turning back to Tamura.
‘Permission granted,’ Jim said with all solemnity but then broke out in a crooked grin at the answering expressions of relief and smiles. ‘Don’t make me regret it.’
From the looks he got for that, they were not going to disappoint.
----------
Orbit around Dessica III: USS Enterprise, Deck 7 Sickbay, year 2246
‘I want to go inside!’
‘For the fourth time, you cannot go inside! It’s a sterile room - do you understand what that is?’
Christine Chapel hurried from Ward 2 looking for her wayward charge and watched as Doctor M’Benga continued to argue in his usual patrician manner with the twelve year old version of their Captain. Doctor Talleria was frowning and at the intercom, calling for security personnel. Chapel shook her head and crossed her arms in exasperation, not sure if she was bemused or worried. This didn’t look good, but then she had been warned with a lot of eyebrow wagging and gesticulating by Doctor McCoy that she was to expect a genuine Kirk.
‘Get outta my way!’ The young boy yelled in a harsh tone and shoved at M’Benga hard.
The tall African-English doctor glowered and neatly stepped to the side, unaffected when the boy slammed into him in his attempt to run around and they grappled with each other, each refusing to concede. The Sickbay doors hissed open and a security officer rushed in, looking confused at the sight that awaited him. From the look on his face, he obviously didn’t think of a twelve year old as a threat.
‘Hurry then!’ Doctor Talleria ordered, ‘do something!’
Quickly sizing up the situation, the lieutenant made to grab the boy under the arms and lift him up. There was yelling and cursing and the next thing they knew, Lieutenant Abrahas had staggered back, swearing from a bloodied nose and M’Benga was clutching at his knee seething in British slang. In the middle of all of that, Doctor McCoy stormed out of surgery, a furious scowl on his face.
‘WHAT ARE YOU ALL DOING! M’BENGA, GET IN HERE! THIS IS A SICKBAY NOT A ZOO!’ McCoy glared at each and every one of them, but softened when he met the boy’s eyes. ‘Kid, we’re going to fix him up, so just give us some time and you can come in, okay? I promise.’
All the fight drained out of him, the boy stepped back, suddenly unsteady. Taking a deep breath, Chapel traded looks with Doctor Talleria, and went to guide their charge into Ward 2. Silently, the boy allowed her to prop him up onto a biobed, seemingly on automaton, a radical change from the little spitfire she’d seen just moments ago. It was, she thought dryly to herself, very like their Captain who was in Chapel’s experience, a very unpredictable man.
‘You okay?’ She asked, concerned by his all-of-a-sudden quiet demeanor.
Shrugging, Chapel picked up the derma-regenerator and got to work, gentling testing the skin it left, pink and tender. The young boy gave her a baleful glance and continued to ignore her, staring hard the wall. She gave a sideways look to Lieutenant Abrahas who was nursing a broken and bloodied nose and hid her smile that a boy did that to a seasoned security officer.
‘Chin up.’ She said firmly, moved the regenerator to the boy’s neck. Doctor Talleria filled a hypospray full of Stokaline and injected it gently into the back of the boy’s neck. He flinched and she lowered the regenerator, taking the moment to smile reassuringly at him. ‘It’s okay, just some multivitamins.’
He glanced at her and then looked away, frowning like he was perplexed by something. ‘Why is my dad here?’
Christine Chapel raised both eyebrows, confused for a moment and then felt the axe drop. She could see the obvious resemblance: George S. Kirk could be the splitting image of James T. Kirk from a distance and even up close from the side - or rather vice versa. This was going to be difficult to explain and what did the Temporal Prime Directive say about something like this? Most of the contingencies outlined were for long jumps back or forward in time than a short fourteen years. And none of them had included information on what to do if one were to meet oneself - the regulations assumed that you avoided such a confrontation to begin with.
‘Ah…’
The boy looked at her from under his eyelashes and slowly lifted his head to meet her gaze front on, a suspicious expression crossing his face. ‘What ship is this?’
‘We’re a Starfleet vessel.’ She told him firmly, and then tilted his head to the side before administering the regenerator to the back of his neck. His sharp blue eyes quickly scanned the Ward before coming back to her, his expression becoming uncertain but determined.
‘This isn’t the Kelvin, or the Douglas and your uniforms-‘ He reached out and plucked at her dress, making Chapel gasp in surprise and quickly tug the skirt down for decency.
‘Hey!’
The boy ignored her cry. ‘What ship is this?’ He said, grabbing onto the regenerator and thrusting it away from him. ‘What is your registration number?’
Chapel hesitated, wondering what she could possibly say - there had been no senior staff briefing to cover this! For a moment she deeply wished that Doctor McCoy would come out and deal with this, but then the boy swung his legs the other way and slipped off the bed. He was at the nearest computer terminal before she could shout for him to come back. With deftness beyond his years, Jimmy Kirk slapped in commands on the touchscreen and brought up the information he was after.
‘No! DON’T!’ Chapel yelled but it was too late.
Jimmy Kirk spun around and stared at her with wide-eyed astonishment that quickly merged into apprehension and distress. The boy backed away when she came towards him, hands flying up as if to protect himself from her. With a final stunned look at all of them, the boy turned and ran out of sickbay.
Doctor Talleria rushed to the intercom. ‘Sickbay to Security! We have a young boy - approximately twelve - loose on deck seven! Secure him but do not harm him! I repeat - do not harm him!’
----------
Orbit around Dessica II: The Narada, year 2246
Spock swallowed down an inopportune cough and peered through the smoke at the area where he had thrown the overloading phaser. That area of the bridge was now twisted from the explosion, splattered with dark green. Vulcan blood and remains, he thought, and some part of him shuddered while the part of him who was a trained Starfleet officer coolly brushed away the observation and considered the carnage as necessary collateral. Through the haze, he spied a Romulan rise above the smoke - Ayel! Grabbing the next phaser in his hip holster, Spock fired. There was a jerk and the Romulan First Officer collapsed in a heap, his disruptor clattering on the floor.
Pushing himself off the deck and staggering onto his feet, Spock narrowed his eyes in the dim lighting of the bridge and edged cautiously out from behind the terminal he had been pinned behind. The bridge was quiet, seemingly devoid of life. Computer terminals continued to chirp and he noticed one particular console with stellar maps, perhaps the navigations console. Gripping his phaser with both hands for more accurate aim, Spock took on a classically defensive pose and surveyed the bridge, turning in a wide circle. He was tempted to call Nero out kept his silence, taking the time to memorize the layout of the bridge and possible defensive points.
‘You surprised me, Spock.’
He spun around. Everything was still.
‘It’s not like you.’
He narrowed his eyes, slowly turning with his phaser at the ready. Spock felt an urge to disparage the acoustic construct of the bridge. The echo made it difficult to pinpoint the source of the sound. Pushing his frustration away, Spock took a deep silent breath and attempted to reach the second foundation of inner breath, using the stillness of the bridge as an aide.
‘You’re supposed to be an Ambassador, a man of peace.’ But Nero was wrong. In another lifetime perhaps, but in a reality where his world was gone and his people scattered, he was most certainly a man of war.
Spock turned to his left and fired, feeling a brief surge of satisfaction as there was the sound of footsteps clanking against metal decking. Striding towards the sounds, he held his phaser in front of him and fired again and again, watching a dark blur as Nero evaded him between consoles and behind bulkheads and columns. He leaped atop a console in a precariously balanced crouch and fired his phaser directly at the figure which twitched and collapsed. Suddenly in a blur, something slammed into him from the left and knocked him back, sending him crashing onto the metal deck.
Spock quickly rolled to the right to avoid something that came soaring after him and jumped to his feet, backing away to take stock of the situation. He reached up and touched the edge of his lips and looked at his fingers, stained in vivid green. Blood.
Nero sneered, looking very much un-stunned. ‘Hello Spock.’
----------
Dessica System: NCC-1701/3, Hendrik Lorentz, year 2246
Jim Kirk secured the extra phasers to the back of his utility belt and tucked one in the holster he wrapped around his thigh. All around him, the assembled away team were double-checking and triple-checking their weapons and gear. It was an atmosphere of apprehension and anticipation of what they would find, but no one would describe any of the officers as worried. Everyone was prepared and considering what the crew had been through in the last two years of their mission, this kind of professionalism was to be expected and yet Jim was struck with a feeling of awe. Walking around them, he approached the front and leaned over Sulu’s shoulder. O’Connell gave him a nod of acknowledgement before going back to monitoring communications, his medical emergency surgical kit by his feet.
‘What’s happening?’
The helmsman gave him a quick glance, ‘We’re approaching a matching orbit, approaching the vessel now.’
‘Can they see us?’
The last thing they needed was to have the Narada blast their escape route out of the sky. There was a moment of doubt, as his common sense urged him to put a stop to this madness but then something else deeper inside of him reminded him of the promise to never leave someone behind unless there was nothing left to abandon. Besides, Spock had saved his ass plenty of times - it was time to even the score.
‘Lieutenant Tamura changed our ID to non-Federation, sir - as far as anyone is concerned, we’re just a trading roundabout. I’ll be putting us directly underneath the Romulans. She’ll have sensors-only but no visual contact.’
Jim glanced back at Tamura in surprise and felt a grin come to his face.
Spock, he thought cheerfully, you are corrupting my crew, and it’s awesome!
‘Isn’t she going to think we’re a little too close if you park inside her shields?’
‘Captain,’ Sulu said in a low voice, something in his flat tone saying that he thought the question his Commanding Officer just asked was ridiculous. ‘I won’t be staying within the deflectors, sir - but to use the transporters, I’ve made sure that our trajectory means we’ll have exactly 78 seconds within the shields.’
Jim slapped the back of Sulu’s chair, not wanting to jostle the man. ‘Good work.’
O’Connell frowned and looked to him, ‘Sir the Romulans know we’re here and from their sensor sweeps, they’ve already located the Enterprise but they’re not firing for some reason, their engines haven’t even shifted in power output to indicate pursuit.’
Spock.
It was the only explanation. It’s what Jim would do if he was stuck on an enemy vessel, trapped from returning to his ship and helpless to assist them, and Spock was nothing if not thorough and considerate. Jim felt a smile touch his lips and mentally thanked the Vulcan for looking out for their girl. He frowned as he considered what Spock was probably doing in order to distract the Romulans - it had to be big and dangerous to be distracting an entire crew. A new sense of urgency came to him at these thoughts. Stepping away from the helm, he leaned on the doorway and watched as his crew slowly all drew to attention, each with two phasers, basic medical tricorder, several sonic grenades and two phaser rifles. He cleared his throat nervously; Jim was pretty certain that this was the time to say something brave and Captain-like, but nothing came to mind. All he could think about was the fact that his First Officer was on that ship, distracting with a madman who wanted him to hurt so badly he’d actually committed willful genocide.
‘Thanks for coming. Spock, well, he appreciates it, really.’ He said with all seriousness, looking at each of the crewmembers who had bullied their way onto this away mission. ‘And when we get back to the Enterprise, I’ll have Commander Spock deal with the lot of you for disobeying regulations and letting your Captain go into danger.’
There were a few wan grins in response to his attempt at humor, before Sulu’s shout of warning drew their attention. Suddenly an electric shock snapped across his skin and he shuddered. It seemed like the shuttle just went past the Narada’s shields. Without hesitation, Leslie and Lemli took their position on the newly installed transporter pad, phaser rifles at the ready and Tamura hit energize. They disappeared as Jim silently wished them luck, and prayed that as the initial boarders they’d hold their own against any Romulans they might come against. Hadley and Martine took to the pad, phasers in hand and disappeared. Taking a deep breath, Jim stepped up onto the pad, having an odd déjà vu moment; just like Delta Vega, he thought wryly, and met Lieutenant Tamura’s eyes.
‘Three second delay set, sir.’ The lieutenant said, her soft murmur almost drowned out by Sulu who called out that they had 20 seconds left within the shields.
He nodded and gave her the most confident smile he could muster. ‘Hit it.’
Setting the pre-programmed beaming instructions into motion, Tamura quickly took her place on the other pad and in a flurry of intense light the shuttle’s dark cramped interiors disappeared.
----------
Orbit around Dessica II: The Narada, year 2246
They circled one another. Spock spied his dropped phaser behind Nero. The Romulan glanced at it before kicking it away roughly with a satisfied grunt, swinging the odd sword-staff in his hand above his head with practiced ease.
‘Don’t be getting any ideas.’ The Romulan growled, and nodded to the remaining two phasers strapped to his hip holster. ‘Take them off, Spock.’
He narrowed his eyes and ignored the order.
There was a sudden jump forward and Spock quickly stepped back, his hand edging towards one of his phasers even as Nero raised the archaic-looking weapon, poised to strike him down. A real possibility, he calculated, considering Romulans were essentially Vulcans; with the musculature development that Nero possessed, he could very well send the weapon 100 feet through air before it hit the ground. Considerable force and definitely enough to pierce him in a short few seconds and yet -
Spock’s hand twitched above the grip of his phaser, tempted to try.
Nero tilted his head, eyes flicking to catch the minute movement of his digits and shot the Vulcan a crooked smile. ‘Come now, Spock, wouldn’t you prefer we did this the old-fashioned way? It’s so much more satisfying isn’t it? Surely those thousands of years apart from us, your cousins, haven’t completely killed off the time-honored tradition of combat.’
The insult brushed across his skin and fell away. ‘There is something to be said for progress, sir.’
There was a sharp smile to his veiled insult that swiftly disappeared when the Romulan’s face darkened in an unfathomable expression. With a visible intake of breath, Nero slapped the staff end of his weapon down on the floor, leaning it on a nearby console before shrugging off his long pelt coat and throwing his garment to the floor, out of the way. With his hands by his side, the Romulan gestured for him to come.
‘I’ve put down the Debrune Teral’n.’ Nero growled, his eyes flicking to the phasers on his belt, ‘At least throw away your toys.’
Blatant treachery was considered dishonorable among the Romulans, this much Spock knew, though only some Romulans adhered to this ancient code of honor, and they were usually members of the noble houses - but Nero was not an officer of the Romulan Fleet, he was a miner from a common house. Slowly taking out his phasers and mirroring Nero’s movements as he stepped away from his weapon, Spock crouched down to place them gently on the floor.
‘Good,’ Nero nodded with a smirk, and then leaped back to make a grab for the Teral’n.
Anticipating this, Spock sprang from his crouch into a sprint and slammed his body into the Romulan’s, sending them both crashing into a console. Struggling to turn the blade away from him, Spock made a sound of surprise as they went over the console still grappling with one another and slammed hard into the deck behind. The console whined and sparked as the well-kept blade of the Romulan weapon buried itself deep in its circuits. Springing up, Spock bent his knees and held his hands before him in a relaxed pose of readiness, breathing long and deep. Nero was on his feet quickly. They both looked at the weapon and then at each other. It was useless now, too deep into the machinery without needing some time and effort to extract it.
Spock cocked an eyebrow and gestured for Nero to come, intent on incensing the Romulan. It worked.
With a roar of rage, Nero came at him, one arm fisted and ready to bludgeon him. Spock braced himself and ducked, slamming both hands flat into Nero’s ribs. The Romulan jerked away with a grunt of pain and staggered back, his eyes burning. Without a moment of pause, his opponent sprung forwards and swung at him hard. Spock turned his head but felt a shocking pain reverberating through his skull as the blow connected. He fell back against the floor and quickly rolled to his left and onto his feet in a standard move of Vulcan self-defense. A fist slammed into the metal deck he’d been occupying a second before, sending a jolt of adrenalin through him - he was up against a worthy opponent, and would not have the luxury of making mistakes.
The flurry of blows, counters and punches continued until finally, Spock managed to catch the Romulan’s arm and twist it sharply. A swift head butt startled him enough that he let go. Spock wiped at his mouth and spat out a mouthful of saliva-thinned blood, shaken. If he were human, he would be dead.
‘That’s more like it Spock! Come on!’ Nero yelled excitedly and staggered back, shaking out his injured arm and grinning broadly. ‘COME!’
Truly a madman… Spock frowned as words he had glimpsed from a mind meld with the Captain came back to him: he is a particularly disturbed Romulan…
While a madman was a dangerous opponent, in that he could not be reasoned with nor dissuaded from his goal with pain or injury, he would be reckless and his judgment impaired. That, Spock noted, would be his point of advantage and Nero’s greatest weakness.
Abruptly, Nero charged at him. Dropping down, Spock swept his leg out. Nero slammed into the deck metal with a sickening thud. Before he could stand, Spock felt hands seize the material of his pants and roughly jolt him off balance. Grimacing he hit the floor hard clipping his chin. Pain shot through his nerves and became background noise. Struggling with the Romulan who with a vengeful shriek, Spock slammed the side of Nero’s skull into the floor. A hand shot out with a snarl, Nero grabbed his hair and reversed their positions with twist of his hips and legs, till they were on their sides wrestling with one another. Blunt fingers scraped hard against his windpipe and Spock jerked back, scrambling to his feet only to be dragged back into the fray.
This was no time for contemplation or logic. His instincts honed from years of training as a boy and then in Starfleet, overrode his thoughts and Spock found himself reacting with pure instinct. With a shout, he brought his hands down together for a crushing blow. It was deflected with a grunt by Nero’s braced forearms. Immediately, he changed the point of his attack and grabbed for the Romulan’s shoulders, intending to wrestle and if need be, strangle his opponent into submission. With a heave of his entire body, Nero flipped him onto the floor and followed with an elbow slammed into his stomach. Spock gave a short scream as a rib broke with a crack and seizing the Romulan by the neck, he bit the closest thing.
There was a bloodcurdling scream against his right ear, reverberating around the bridge like a klaxon cry and then blunt fingers dug into the burnt flesh on his right shoulder, making him howl in pain as something twisted just so. Spock tasted blood between his teeth and with a grimace of agony, tore his head away. Nero rolled away and he was alone, lying on his back, the bitter tang of blood slick over his mouth and his right arm paralyzed.
Rolling over, Spock struggled onto his knees and then staggered, crawling with help from his left hand onto his feet. He was shaken by the violence but the ferocity of his rage continued to burn, demanding more.
He raised his eyes and looked to Nero, who watched him, leaning heavily against an abandoned terminal chair. They were both gasping for breath, bearing the evidence of their violent struggle in the rips and tears of their clothes, blood already collecting under the skin of their jaws and swollen knuckles, and - Spock felt the urge to purge his stomach at the sight of what he had done. The top of Nero’s right ear was twisted where he had bitten it in retaliation for the Romulan twisting his fingers through the tender flesh of his shoulder burn.
Protectively, Spock covered his right shoulder and staggered back, taking the opportunity to spit out the rest of the blood in his mouth.
‘Spock,’ Nero said hoarsely, his teeth tinged with green when he smiled, ‘I never knew you had it in you.’
Spock raised an eyebrow at the shudder and the temporarily unfocused look in the other man’s eyes. To secure ourselves against defeat lies in our own hands, but the opportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself…
With clenched teeth, the Vulcan raised his right hand and grabbing the wrist, forced his fingers to move, ignoring the pain shooting from his burned shoulder. An unexpected voice came to him:
Blood loss, even if you think it’s not serious, is enough to make someone light-headed and a little slower, even you, you green-blooded bastard - now lie down and lemme get some blood into you before you faint like a girl!
‘Thank you,’ He murmured, narrowing his eyes, ‘Doctor.’
Charging at the Romulan, Nero only had time to shoot him a look of confusion before Spock’s dominant hand slammed into his throat. Smacking away the Romulan’s hands that attempted to push him away, Spock pushed harder, allowing the edge of the console to dig into Nero’s vertebrae.
‘This is for my mother.’ He said, shaking, feeling his nerves, the pain, everything coalescing into a hard pit in his guts -
SHWOOT!
Spock hit the floor and silently screamed at the sudden pain shooting up from lower left side, close to his heart which pumped harder and faster in panic as he lied curled on his side, gasping for air. In a haze, his eyes flicked up to the lights burning in the ever more distant layers that forced the ceiling of the bridge. Vaguely, in his pain and confusion, Spock noted that it reminded him of the construction within old music halls on Earth, meant to provide natural amplification. Ah the echoes, he thought dimly with some satisfaction that one query had been resolved, so this was the reason…. A dark figure loomed over him, and Spock struggled to see the man who shot him in the back, quite literally.
The Romulan stepped over him and raised his disruptor. Ayel gave him a sneering look. No, it couldn’t be, he’d shot - oh of course, Spock thought sluggishly, yes, he had switched phasers then and didn’t change the setting to kill. A careless foolish mistake… and now…
SHNAP!
Like something slow and beautiful, the Romulan First Officer’s expression froze and he fell, body frozen in shock onto his back beside Spock. The Vulcan blinked slowly, confused and then suddenly he heard someone calling his name.
‘Spock!’
An unspoken part of him responded instantly with a flush of affection. Someone pulled him up and Spock stared at the sight of his rescuer - no rescuers. The Captain grinned broadly, a confusing blur of joy and anger and worry and behind him…. Spock’s eyes flickered to and fro for there was Lieutenant Leslie (specialist in logic solid systems - Engineering Dept, bridge duties qualified), Lieutenant Tamura (specialist in guerilla tactics - Security department, minor in geodetics), and Ensign Matine (specialists in weapons and weapons systems - Operations, minor in hand-to-hand combat).
‘Captain,’ He rasped, at a loss for words. ‘You… should be… on the ship.’
‘Spock,’ the human said sharply, ‘It’s Jim today.’
part seventeen next part: Kirk, Spock and the away team escape and head to rendezvous with the Enterprise. On board, Doctor McCoy is dealing with young Jim Kirk, distressed by his discovery of the truth about the Enterprise